31 July 2006

Day Eighteen and Sixteen Hours!

My man is sixteen hours away from me. This means he just may arrive here before Aunt Flow comes! I'm thrilled, although I can honestly see getting my period an hour before he arrives. That's the kind of luck I have.

Anyway, it was another sleepless night. I thought this whole stopping smoking thing was supposed to make me feel better. Nope, I actually feel like crap. My sinuses are stuffed up. My sleep pattern is all fucked up. I'm a walking zombie today. A walking, yawning zombie. I woke up every hour, wide-eyed. The raccoons came back and tore apart the neighbour's garbage at 5am and I couldn't help but laugh. I tossed and turned, stared at the ceiling. I finally fell asleep around 8am and an hour and change later, an old friend called. It was nice to hear from her but I feel like nothing ever makes sense when I am this tired.

I can't even write an exciting blog entry here! Bah!!! This is my last official entry as a Tour Widow, at least for the time being. I should be recounting the days in a carefree manner, laughing over small moments. I choose to yawn instead. I dream of nap. Mm, sweet sweet nap...

Maybe I'll be more clever later today. Right now, I am toast. And it's not even noon.Good news is, I have to wait up 'til 4 or 5 in the morning so I can let the boyfriend in. Sleepy...

30 July 2006

Day Seventeen - Almost Home!

I told myself no blogging until I get my shit together today. And finally, said shit is together. Here I am, at 11:42pm. It's a little later than I expected and I'm a little less full of piss and vinegar. Hopefully, I will entertain someone out there.

I heard from my partner early in the afternoon. He was calling from a small city about 2 hours west of my hometown. This means the easy part is done. Now comes the hard part - driving through Ontario. It would have been incredibly easier to simply drive through the States but they do not have any proof that they are NOT doing shows there. Otherwise, they would technically need a work permit to cross the border. Instead, they painfully cross the large province of Ontario. I wish them luck but what I really wish is for them to be home...NOW.

You see, the race is on. Yes, they all want to be home. Yes, they all want to see their significant others. However, I am full-on PMS monster. The race is on, bitches! I'm going to get my period anyday and, sweet baby Jesus, I want me some dirty sex. Damned period. I'm not what you call a regular girl. The only thing regular about my cycle is how it always seems to come whenever something relatively special is going on. Fuck you, Aunt Flow, fuck you! *shakes fists to heavens*

I wish I knew exactly when they were arriving, because I'm neurotic that way. The house is tidy. There's food in the house to eat. I will shortly finish watching the "things" I've downloaded and I'm too embarrassed to watch in front of my partner (it may or may not be Big Brother 7 live feeds). Also, I can just see him coming home when I'm taking out the garbage in my pajamas - while, not to mention, being incredibly bloated from PMS. I want him to come home and see the pretty me. Not the bloated whale in unsexy pajamas handling a bag of garbage, haha.

All in all, I am so very happy that he will be home very soon! It's exciting actually. It brings me back to a time when we were doing the whole long distance relationship thing. I feel like that girl of two years ago, getting off the airplane to see her lover again! I'm all giddy inside and elated! My knees are weak! I want to look extra pretty for him (even though I'm sure he thinks I'm always pretty, even in bloated pajama pants)! I just want to give him that long-at-last kiss! My best guess is that he will be home either VERY late Monday night or anytime Tuesday. Sigh...kisses!

The rest of the day flew by. I spent the majority of the day completing my last lesson on my online French course. I need a break. There is too much to remember about past and future tenses, too many verbs. My head is toast. I'm surprised I can write in English here tonight because the French honestly kicked my ass tonight. I don't think I have learned too much but I'm proud that I stuck to it nonetheless. I wasn't too pleased with the Barnes and Noble class anyway.

Other than the French, the rest of my day was great. I lingered at the bookstore, caressing the spines of gently used books. I picked up some groceries in a, believe it or not, relaxing environment. I talked to my plants. I talked to an old friend. I may or may not have done a short and spontanious robot dance to Gnarls Barkley. The sun was shining, the temperature was very comfortable, and old men ogled me in my neighbourhood. I feel sassy! Maybe a little bloated, but definitely sassy!

Perhaps it was the wine and estrogen - I had a couple of girls over last night for a soirée. It's nice to be surrounded by girls, as strange as that sounds. Our apartment is usually full of boys, which would probably appeal to my single girl friends. I'm usually swimming in testosterone and band sweat. It was my first time buying white wine and I ended up with a bottle that had a drawing of a monkey (not a member of the 60s band) eating a banana on the label. It screamed quirky, even though I dislike monkeys. It was also my first time buying a bagette. Does that mean I am now officially a true resident of this city?! Anyway, it was a lovely evening of drinking on the patio and girlish gossip. I look forward to more nights like that before summer is over.


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29 July 2006

Day Sixteen - Light-headed and Dreamy

I'm feeling light-headed this afternoon. Am I falling apart? Is my blood sugar all wonky today? Please tell me body, I'd really like to know. I thought I was supposed to feel better after quitting smoking. I'm shaky and quivery - my body says to take it easy. I couldn't sleep last night. I woke up early, with a lot of energy. I popped on my hair metal compilation and bopped around the house. It was after that I started feeling shaky and light-headed. All I wanted to do was rock.

Maybe I need a sammich? Perhaps, I should play weepy and lethargic music instead of energetic inspired-by-the-80's music? Currently, I am listening to Dogs Die In Hot Cars. Ooh, I love 'em. They make me wanna slap on some jelly bracelets and do a Molly Ringwald dance. Enjoy it while I can...soon the man will be home and he'll leave the house whenever I feel like tripping back to the 80's or getting jiggy with it with hiphop. Yeah, I like saying things like "jiggy" to make me sound like a complete loser.




I had a dream last night about a girl who was being severely stalked by a man who could morph into different races. He was very mean and no one believed her. All she wanted to do was run away and be safe - but she couldn't. He placed bugged objects in her room so he could hear her plans on where to run next. He was the actor who plays Henry Gale on Lost/the orderly in Saw. When he morphed to attack her, he turned into a black man. The black man looked like Kramer's lawyer Jackie Chiles from Seinfeld. Even though I should have been taken aback by a scary stalker dream, it was Jackie the lawyer on Seinfeld - haha.

How could anyone be scared of Jackie Chiles!!! And he had that great moustache in the dream!!

Anyway, the band will be back home soon. Unfortunately, the van is sick with a broken alternator. My partner seems far from happy and I hope it is just the road talking. I probably unnecessarily fear certain things. I just want all of them to come back and DE-STRESS. Take some days off. Realise that being on the road causes personality clashes. Give it some time. And then have everything be back to normal.

Yeah, I don't do tension very well. I'd rather avoid it completely.
Can't we all get along?

28 July 2006

Power Cleaning - A Romance With Mr.Clean

One of the great things about having the house to myself is that I can freely dance like an idiot and not feel ashamed. Tonight, I slapped on my track pants (or something close to being track pants, I'm just trying to make myself sound gangsta) and threw on a Kanye West cd...and power cleaned. Holla! Usually, I listen to heady depressing music when I'm alone but I figured I'd "raise the roof" *insert Arsenio Hall dog calls and hand motions here* and kick it up a notch. Actually, I just wanted to make sure my power cleaning went quickly instead of listening to mopey music while tragically scrubbing the bathtub.

Yeah. Power cleaned. Everything is sparkly shiny. I think Mr. Clean loves spending Friday night with me. He reassures me that I am not a loser for staying in on a Friday night. So there.

I'm afraid I do not have any witty and captivating cleaning stories, unless you get off on girls who clean in low-cut shirts. Cleavage heaving away, with each and every scrub. Meow! Actually, I guess I got some more lipstick on the bathroom floor somehow. No big surprise, I get lipstick on everything. When I mopped - cleavage heaving, by the way - lipstick was smeared everywhere. Oh, Mr. Clean! Our love affair continues!

The guys are playing in a small city out west tonight. I wish I was there. There have only been two venues that I have been jealous about. Obviously, back home was one of them. Party with my friends, get drunk with my sister. Then, there was tonight. The only reason I want to be there is to meet my close online friend. No fair. I want to drink out of sour cream containers with her. Le sigh. Regardless, I hope they have a fantastic send off to the road home. They are missed and I hope they can return to the city in good spirits. And not wanting to kill one another.

Soon, soon, soon!

Day Fifteen - The Final Countdown

Insert some Europe hair metal band synth here...because it's the final countdown! Oh yeeeah! One more show!

First of all, every website I go today is down. Everything I touches no longer turns to crap, but crashes. I think you can no longer blame it on Tom - I'm convinced I broke myspace. Sigh. Actually, I lied. I didn't break myspace. Although, I would really love to give myspace a punch in the neck given the chance.

I shouldn't be surprised, nor am I in any desperate need to check my myspace. I just wanted to spend Friday catching up on email. I punch in my email and password - oh look! An unexpected error! I punch it in again. And maybe a few more times. It eventually works, right? Well, then I received a bold red message that said I punched in this password too many times and now I must punch in the verification code. Here's the kicker - the verification code wasn't showing up. Thanks, Tom.

Hours later, the code is now appearing but I still cannot log in. Unless I've suddenly become dyslexic this afternoon but the code ain't working worth shit. I don't know how it is to run a major website that's very popular - but the amount of errors and shit becomes really tiring. Somedays, I just want to turn my back to it and press delete.

I'm happy to say that I feel much better today! Yay! No more heart attack! I even had a dream last night. I was at a friend's place and she was having a garage sale. She was selling bulk canisters of lime flavoured novelty condoms and a ton of vibrators. I wanted to buy a vibrator, so she showed me how to hook it up. She pretty much put the faux cock onto this power drill body - it was rather intimidating! Still, I bought it.

Not much to report. I spent the afternoon chatting to a friend online, doing French lessons, and coloring my roots. My hair is a major pain in the ass. Let's just say, it's not fun coloring your hair when it reaches down to the middle of your back.

I'm turning into a goddamn hippy.


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27 July 2006

Day Fourteen - Sick of it ALL.

Sigh. One more gig and a whole ton of country between there and home. I think I am officially sick of it. I just want him home.

I still feel physically unwell. I've had a difficult time putting my finger on it. It feels like heartburn yet it feels like a panic attack. It's less strong today but it's still dragging me down. It is the same feeling I had when I drank that Corona beer. Is it an allergic reaction to all the red wine I drank on Saturday night? I felt like this a day or two after drinking one and a half bottles of Corona. Perhaps, this lasts longer because I drank more wine that night? Whatever it is, I am sick of it. It's tiring. I have PMS. I'm lonely.

Come to think of it, this is the first time I have had no one to lash out on while on PMS. Hmm. These last few days I have felt like crying and crying. I'm not going insane, I promise. I just need to cry and release all that pressure I feel building up on my chest. I feel so far from witty and interesting. I feel like I failed at writing with all this time that was given to me. I have to remind myself that at least I am going through my French lessons online.

I couldn't sleep for the life of me last night. I would have loved a body next to mine, just so I could listen to the rhythm of his sleeping breath and have it lull me to sleep myself. I was tired but wide awake in bed. Around 4 in the morning, a raccoon started tearing apart the neighbour's garbage and I laughed. At 5, the raccoon and his friends came back for a second helping. It was amusing. Like I said in the past, raccoons are only funny when they are digging through your neighbour's garbage.

I feel like I am wasting away.

However, that is probably just an ultra dramatic statement brought to by the letters : P,M,S.

26 July 2006

Day Thirteen - I Feel Weird

I haven't been feeling well, these last few days. I thought, at first, it could be just the simple start of your general cold since my friend fell sick. I can handle that. I feel weird though. I know something isn't right but I can't actually put my finger on it. It's the same feeling I had when I drank that Corona beer, but not as queezy.

The best description is I feel like I am on the edge of a major panic attack. The funny thing is, I don't feel that mentally/emotionally stressed out. My throat and chest feels somewhat warm. I have a slightly heavy feeling in my chest. I'm exhausted. I feel like I can be easily winded, as though I have been smoking too many cigarettes (I haven't been smoking and not even craving it because of this feeling). I feel a little lightheaded and emotional. My appetite is fine. I feel better when I curl up on the couch and after I eat or drink something. I have a bad taste in my mouth.

I can function...don't get me wrong. I just don't feel right. Should I be concerned?

A friend reassured me and told me to stay clear of all those nasty self diagnosis websites. Heh, is it possible to be having a two day long heart attack? I talked to my partner and I cracked down in a big ol'mess of tears. Earlier, I paid some bills and I got teary-eyed. I curled up on the couch and cried for no reason. It's like I need a HUGE mental breakdown of tears to let it all out and I'll be fine.

My biggest worry is money. I don't feel like talking about it now, sorry.

Good news, I booked my flight to go back home. I'll be broke but at least I'll be stress-free.

25 July 2006

Groupies

What is it with girls and musicians? If someone has an answer to that, I'd really like to know.

I understand that when you settle down with a guy in a band, you have to learn to deal with the "fans". There's no way around it. Yeah, it's not fun to have flashes of secret jealousy but it comes with the package deal - and it doesn't help when the band's lyrics praise naked boobies and anal sex. Though it's all in good fun for the boys, I'm certain there are fans who naturally assume that these four guys are swinging playboys and mansluts who are just waiting to take a groupie back to the van and then it's on their way to the next gig.

That is the concept that creeps me out, only because I know the band personally. I'm aware of their personal lives and I know who they are when they aren't plucking guitar strings or singing into a microphone. They are far from playboys and mansluts - heh, maybe only for their patiently waiting partners at home!

I know I didn't lead the life of angel in my single days. I know I got myself into some pretty messes. Like most girls, I can be attracted to musicians. I can also be attracted to postmen or waiters or athletes. Heh, I don't discriminate! Maybe I am just a shy person, but it never really crossed my mind to set my drunken eyes on a musician with the goal of fucking him. Well, maybe young Leonard Cohen...but that's another story.

The other night, a cross-eyed hefty gal tried to pick up my man. She was cool at the beginning of the night. She had a boyfriend and he was to stay with them, as the others were at another house that was full of cats. Fine. She ends up dipping into the sauce and suggests that they "screw in the van". Don't worry...her boyfriend was only in the house with her four year old child. Yeah. The night before that, two girls tried to pick up him and another guy from the band. At least they backed away when they said they were in relationships.

Screw in the van? Jesus H. Christ. That irked me. I keep reminding myself...this is what happens when you're with a band guy...this is what happens when you're with a band guy. I threw it back at him. What if a man said that at the party I went to on Saturday night? Would he be pissed off? He said he wouldn't be, especially if the guy was that drunk. I know the truth, however. He would be very pissed off. I'm not into these games that make other people jealous but it will never happen here. I'm invisible to the eyes of Quebecois men. Back home, I was on fire. On fire!

This is the bottom line. These girls are only after them because of the fact that they're on stage and playing music. Would they be approached if they were simply that guy in the crowd enjoying the band? Probably not. Place an instrument in their hands, add some hair grease, and show your tattoos - and they're Gods. Take away the instruments and they are just any other guy with styled hair and tattoos. Dime a dozen. If you overanalyze that to death, there's not much compliment to be had there. Like I mentioned before, I know I've been through some pretty lil messes in my past. Now, I would hate to know the only reason why someone wanted to fuck me was because I was on stage. I would hate to know that I am just another girl that was unfuckable beyond the stage. There is so much in between to discover that goes unnoticed - and I think it's kind of insulting that all the in between stuff is completely disregarded.

Of course, I'm not a man in a band. I'm sure they probably get off on simply knowing that these girls are stupid enough to put out - and that's how these guys usually think, my dears.

It used to really make me crunchy when they coaxed girls into showing them their breasts. I've threatened to do that myself but I'm a little uneven, if you will. Then it hit me. Not my boobs, haha. I would be way more hurt and jealous if my partner actually sat down with one of these fans and had an intense conversation about those little but significant details. I would be hurt if he deeply asked her what her favourite book was.

So anyone, please tell me - what is it with girls and musicians? Why is it that they can say they are in a relationship or married, but these girls still try to weaken them into "screwing in the van"?

I would really like to know.


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Day Twelve - Fuck White Margarine!

I just rolled out of bed a little while ago. I'm groggy and stuffed up, but I feel not too shabby otherwise. Thank God for the discovery of coffee! If I didn't have that morning companion, I'd be lost.

I slept well but in the middle of the night there was a bit of a thunderstorm. It woke me up but didn't alarm me. I got up to close the window, in fear of the potential wind that might knock over my collection of carnivorous plants. Instantly, I fell back to sleep. There must have been a lot of rain as I collected three mason jars worth of rain water! No, I don't collect rain water for the hell of it. It's the best to water your Venus Fly Traps with and it saves me from spending two bucks on distilled water every other week.

It has been weird since my partner left. I haven't had a dream that I can recall! I wonder if my body is a little more alert in bed because he is gone? Perhaps, I simply dream weird dreams for his amusement. I have me some strange ones typically.

I have to pay bills today (or very soon). I dread bills, like everyone else does. I know there's no way around it. They have to be paid, regardless. It makes me crunchy. I am holding off looking for work because I want to go home in mid-August. But money is tight. I really don't want to forgo August. I miss my family and I have a friend coming home from Asia. It's a matter of surviving until then and have a bit when I come back. Ah, sometimes I wish I was a kid again! I guess it's my own damn fault for not finding something to fall back on during these summer months. Let's hope my stinkin' work calls soon.

The other day I wrote the provincial government via their website to enquire about a French program that is offered but clearly hidden. I wish they would just cut me some slack but I realize that I have to do my fair share of sleuthing. I asked about this program or if there are any programs for people who are struggling with French and steady employment. I explained that I cannot pay for French classes as my employment isn't solid. I don't want to have to go on welfare just to take free French classes. I don't want to go on welfare, period. This program, I have heard bits and pieces about, is one where the government pays you while you take the free classes. I can do that! Finding information is another thing. You would think that a province so proud to be French would encourage others to learn. I received an email from them yesterday. All they sent me were links to other sites - the English school board, a collection of online French lessons, and a list of schools that offer classes. Yeah, thanks...for nothing. That did not answer my question ONE BIT. Sometimes I just want to say "FUCK YOU, QUEBEC". Fuck your white margarine and fuck your no caffiene in light coloured sodas. Fuck you!

Heh, my PMS says hello.

24 July 2006

Day Eleven - Slightly Sick

Well, there are only three more shows and a whole lot of driving in between. Soon, he will be home. Le sigh!

I think I caught a little cold. I don't feel that bad but I could feel a lot better. I feel so incredibly lazy which makes me wonder where all this time has gone. I haven't written this book that I babbled enough about. I guess one cannot force creativity. I know I can't. I'm like a dry wash rag. No matter how hard to squeeze or wring it, you ain't gonna get water - not even a drop. I built up this amazing large task for myself and I ended up a little overwhelmed. That's not to say I have no ideas. Au contraire, mes amis. There are some ideas blossoming in my head.

The thing that concerns me is that I have nothing to show for my time apart from my partner. By the way, I am way to critical of myself. I wanted him to come home and be as proud of me as I am for him. I have been doing a lot of those French lessons online so I guess I have a little something something. I don't know if I can use it in public but c'est la vie.

I did hear from my partner tonight and he has fallen sick himself. Poor guy. He is a very typical Cancer. He likes his home, he likes his space, and he likes doing things on his own terms. I think he just wants to come home, regardless of feeling ill. I don't think I could handle being with the same people every day and then work with them at night. I'd go nuts and just want to go home pronto. He's sick and I know how he is when he falls ill. I wish I could have him here just to make him a little tea and honey, before cuddling in bed. I miss those simple things. I wonder if I am feeling ill because he is. Ah, that's the romantic version. I'm sure I just caught a germ.

Today has been a groggy one. Luckily, I woke up to a lovely gift in the mail! Oh, if there is anything that makes me happy - it's receiving mail! My friend from back home, a newer friend at that, send me a little something in the mail. A random gifting, if you will. Wow, what a surprise! She sent me a little makeup bag that is white with flowers and card deck faces (it actually reminds me of the 50's floor tiles in my grandmother's house). Inside, another surprise! A $25 gift certificate from MAC Cosmetics and a pair of Bettie Page barettes! And best of all, a short handwritten letter. Letters are wonderful, a true lost art!

Just to let random readers know, the barettes rock. I have about four different kinds of barettes now from the same company - BeBop Hairwear. The designs are rockin' and fun! They are full of attitude and style. I don't even know how to do my hair and these barettes cause me to gather up the compliments. Whether you want skulls, Betty Boop, polkadot bows and bats, tiki stuff, or even Elvis - she's got what you need! I love love love this girl's stuff - and she is an amazing person in real life. Check it out. Mine are little Bettie Pages with a light blue with white polkadot ribbon! Very cute and sassy!

I tried to rest up today, in order not to get sicker. I curled up on the couch and watched The Breakfast Club again. Now, I'm gonna get a lot of slack from 80s movies fans here - but I really would love to see a Breakfast Club reunion or look into their lives in 2006. I know such a movie would bomb completely. I can see Brian being the rich, smart computer geek. I can see Andy and Ally Sheedy's character being the oddest couple - kids, she's bossing him around because he can't talk to herself, basically taking care of him and the family until she has a big ol' breakdown. Claire and Bender - considering how his dad talked to him and berated him, he's a prime candidate to be a miserable bastard as an adult when he's in relationships - will obviously have an abusive relationship. She'll eventually become an alcoholic. Maybe Btian would like to dabble in coke. Or did that happen in the actor's real life?

And I just realized what a lacklustre idea that was - haha. Hey, I'm not feeling well.

23 July 2006

Day Ten - Pooped Out

It's day ten of Tour Widowry. I am struggling at the keyboard. I want to write, I honestly do...but I'm such a pooped out kitty. Le sigh! All I feel like doing is curling up on the couch and staring blankly at the television. It's one of those nights where I would love to have a package of sleazy cable challenges to waste time with. Nope, I have fuzzy farmervision instead.

My stomach is queezy. I don't know if I am getting sick or if I am simply worn out or if I have the beginnings of PMS (I'm sure it will arrive the same day as my partner does. THANKS, BODY!). Maybe it is a combination of all three. My stomach is unsettled and I need something to distract myself with. I am currently downloading a couple of 80's movie classics and the Big Brother live feeds from yesterday.

As sad as it sounds, I want to see Kaysar with a shaved head. I'm really not liking the season this year, by the way. I think they are all a bunch of fucking losers who are simply there to play the game - the game of promoting their crappy t-shirts and the restaurants they have shares in, their websites and their supposed acting careers. Don't worry, in a year they will all be forgotten. AND, they hate on Chicken George. Man, at least he is not plastic and fake. Nakomis, George, and Danielle seem like the most real people there.

I didn't come here to complain about reality television though. I'd rather complain about my stomach and my indecisiveness. Should I make soup or not? Can I handle it or not? I didn't really eat as much as I normally do? This is why I like the man in the house. He knocks me down a notch and shows me that I really do overanalyze for no good reason.

So! Last night I went to a party with the other lovely Tour Widow. I'll send a "shout out" to her, heh. It was a nice time, I was surprised. Usually, I'm very uptight and nervous when it comes to parties. I lurk where no one socializes...I stick to one area...Yeah, I've never been good at parties. This one was lovely and calm. I drank some red wine. I smoked some cigarettes. I talked to a few people I never really sit down and talk with. It was nice. I felt like I wasn't just "the girlfriend". Knowing that is a nice feeling. Now, if my stomach was feeling better - I'd give you more details. Blarg.

A little drama on the way home though. I brought my wine in this "new" backpack that a friend gave to us. I thought it was alright looking, more ergonomically designed than my tube-like Swiss Army bag. We were in the cab to drop my friend off at her bus stop and then I would continue to go back home. I'm feeling a little fuzzy from wine. I look through my bag. I can't find keys. Okay, so I wanted to cry but I kept it in - haha. I'm kinda freaking out...I keep looking. Every worst case scenario pops into my mind - what if they are in the door and our place gets broken into...what if I left them at the party...what if I have to get a locksmith and I can't pay for it...what if my in-laws yell at me...

We get all the way out (hour long bus ride) to my friend's place. Lo and behold. My keys! They were hidden in some sort of retardo hidden pocket. I kind of felt like an ass after that. However, if I really did lose them - I'd feel like a bigger ass.

I have more to my night and today but I'm really not feeling that hot. I need to eat and drink some hot tea with honey.

I know, I know. Y'all want to hear about how I almost peed my pants last night. It'll have to wait...mawahaha!

22 July 2006

Day Nine

Day nine...and I'm trying to be a busy lil bee. Well, I'm probably doing a horrible job at it! I slept in and I woke up feeling at peace. I find that I am sleeping on his side of the bed now, with my back facing the wall. I wonder if it's a territorial thing? I usually sleep facing the wall, with a body behind me. I have yet to spoon with my baseball bat, haha.

This afternoon has been all about tidying up, while fitting in my pathetic attempt at exercising - HAHA. I must laugh in all-caps. Basically, I've ate a lot of pasta while he's been gone. The carbs are all going to my thighs! Well, not really. I'm doing situps and some other type of exercise that is probably not even considered an exercise. I'm also lifting 10 lbs weights. HAHA. It's getting a little easier. Maybe by the time he comes back, I will look like Arnold and challenge him to an arm wrestle...heehee.

Everytime I go to the store, I forget to buy Mr.Clean. Or M.Net, if you live in Quebec. My floors are kinda grubby and it doesn't help that our hardwood floors are all scratched up - at least it hides the grub. Now, I'm paranoid if my tour widow friend sleeps over. I don't what to be known as the girl with the dirty floors...and I don't want her socks or bare feets to look like she's been running through a field of dirt...

Tonight, I am conquering my fear of parties...HAHA. Another loud laugh in all-caps. I should go as it will be good for me. I need to start being more out there. I'm sure it won't be as bad as I dream it will be. It should go smoothly and it will probably be fun. Maybe I'll surprise myself with some witty banter! Maybe I'll be on fire!!!! By the power of the prairies, I will be on fire!!!

21 July 2006

Using French, Thanks to Barnes & Noble University

Being the sassy broad that I am, I decided to stir up the proverbial pot and use my French at the grocery store. Instead of saying a mumbled "merci" - I added a semi-loud "beaucoup" to the end of it. Heh...it's something. As well, when I asked for cigarettes (yes, yes...smoking again) I proudly said "aussi" out loud. The cashier looked at me blankly. They're not super friendly at my local grocery store. Whenever I hear people ask for cigarettes, they never say "Players, aussi!". Ah well, it's something.

Actually, I don't care for this Barnes and Noble course too much. I think it's truly meant for people who just want to order food in France and get by with random sentences. It bothers me that I am reading over these lessons and not getting the full explanation of proper verb uses. I know my verbs in present tense but I can't talk about the future or my past. I'd really appreciate a lesson or two on that, even though it would simply be there to refresh my rusty ol' memory. And don't get me started on their message board - it's so difficult to navigate.

When I got home from the grocery store, I decided to shut off the computer for a while. It wouldn't. I silently freaked out and became glad I bought those cigarettes. I hate the computer. If it was mine, I wouldn't care as much. It is not my computer, however, so I have to be extra careful. The last thing I need is my man returning home to lost files and blood curdling screams as I curl up on the couch crying. That's not a good way to say hello after three weeks on the road.

Anyway, I called his father and he talked me through shutting it done properly. I'm not a dummy - I know how to do this. I just wanted him to guide me so that my partner doesn't think I just did what I thought was best (and then having it fuck up). Everything is okay. Whew.

The only issue is that when I am shutting down the computer via that window that says shut off, restart, etc - the screen goes black and white. When I hit cancel, it returns to color. I'm gonna keep my fingers crossed and hope that something tragic does not happen. According to my astrology loving friend, we are in a mercury retrogade and we should back up our computer files.

I'm with headache tonight. I feel better from my little breakdown this morning, but I am feeling a little lonely. I'll survive. A party tomorrow night will probably change that fairly quickly.


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Day Eight - Ms. Lonely

Late last night, I found myself in a sour mood. I think this tour widow thing kinda sucks - well, at least, last night and this morning. You know, I'm happy for my partner and all that crap but it would really be nice to just have him near. Yes, I'm whiny and I know he would rather be home than in a stinky van too. I think PMS is kicking in, though my cycle is wonky as it is. Watch, I'll get that visit from Aunt Flow the day before he's to arrive back home - that's the kind of luck I have.

The truth to my being bummed out was I looking at flights online. I want to go back home. I think it would be lovely to go back in the summer vs. the winter. I haven't been back in summer since I moved and my home town is not fun in the heart of winter. As well, I have a close friend who is visiting from Asia then. So, I'm looking at this website at flights and the prices are pretty high. My parents offered to pay for it but I want to get the best deal for them. I'm very indecisive. I know my partner has other shows next month ... but when are they, what day would he like me to go on (not like it matters), will we have enough time to ourselves...Yep, here I go again, analyzing every single detail until I get myself sad.

I never ended up booking my flight either.

Then, there was a thunderstorm. I don't feel very proud about admitting how I was a bit of a scaredy cat last night. I was, I admit it. I remember a time when I used to watch the thunder and lightning through the living room window as I sat on a wee chair. I loved it. Of course, mom was close by so there was no reason to feel afraid. Last night was something else. The sky looked like some sort of massive strobe light at a rave. I couldn't believe all the flashes of lightning. It was striking fairly close at that! It got me a little nervous. Call me a defenseless girl, but when you previously lived in house that got hit by lightning twice - you get a little bit paranoid.

I just talked to my partner. I ended up in stupid tears. I couldn't contain myself. I think I have PMS and this quitting smoking thing has affected my emotions a touch (however, I feel better physically). One of my biggest faults is comparing my life and myself to others. I hear him having fun and I get a little sad. Sad for not being alongside him. Sad for not having that interesting of a life. Heh, that's me being melodramatic though - things are not that bad. How can one measure "interesting" anyway? He also told me he did a little acid last week on tour. I'm glad because he didn't do it around me. I'm pissy because I am honestly not cool with that kind of shit. Smoke your weed all you want - I'm cool. Do anything else and I feel like I have betrayed my inner list of traits I like in a partner. I don't care if I sound square, I'm simply not cool with drug use that isn't just weed. He could at least lie to me - but the photos from that after-party gave it away. I don't want to hear about it.

I had a hard time sleeping last night. I could feel anxiety rising in my chest. Every time I would sink into that first stage of sleep, I would wake up with a panic of allowing myself to let go. Somehow, I drifted into sleep.

Well, I asked for that sad and self-destructive mood to bring out my writing - hahahaha...Maybe my masterpiece will be written tonight!



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20 July 2006

Day Seven - Quitting Smoking

It's been a week since I have played the role of a Tour Widow. How time flies!

Today, I thought I'd give up smoking again. I know I don't need it and I know that in the long run it will effect me. I have such a paranoid mind that all I see is getting sick from smoking too much. I hate how it makes my lungs feel and I hate how tired it probably makes me feel as well. It's not good. It's been a good day without smoking. I don't feel moody. I don't feel like killing anyone. I suppose if my man was home right now, I'd probably be super crunchy.

It's pretty easy for me to quit smoking. When I lived back home, I only smoked casually or just during work breaks and every other evening. I did not smoke at home, in fact I hid it from my folks. And then I move here...Here, the cigarettes are insanely cheap. Here, everyone smokes. Here, if you don't smoke you are kind of the minority. It's easy to start smoking in this city and, believe me, it's easy to smoke my face off while I am staying here alone. My problem is I over-indulge. If I have a fresh pack of cigarettes before me, I will chain smoke. I over-indulge in a lot of ways, but that's probably the most unhealthy one. I should stop while I don't have the pressure of anything on my back, nor do I have a boyfriend flaunting his smoking ways before me currently. This is perfect timing.

That's not to say I would decline a cigarette at this very moment. Au contraire, mes amis. Quite truthfully, I would love one right about now. I'm sure this quitting thing will only go so far because it's difficult to control yourself when you are a with a bunch of smoking friends. We'll see.

It's easy for me to quit because my first vice is nail biting. I want that more than anything, to be honest. It's a daily battle not to bite them all of in a fit of whatever-mood-I'm-in. It's not a pretty habit and I have had many a person bark at me because of it. I have tried my best to grow them into pretty lil claws, but they drive me nuts. They end up getting in the way because I am not used to them. I keep them very, very short. I admit, I still take a little nibble here and there behind my boyfriend's back. Of course.

Yeah, I kinda want a cigarette but I have no cash on me. That's probably a good thing. I just stared at the monitor for a good minute, daydreaming about a cigarette. That's not good.

I'm getting a little down on myself for not accomplishing great and fantastic things so far, with my time apart from the man. I know I got to a bad start, with the weather and all. That wiped me out for a good three days or so. I have been doing French, so that's good even though I am confused at this point. I'm doing the daily blog (and found a good secret for attracting a crowd. I'd tell ya...but then it won't be a secret anymore - nya nya!). I've kept the house relatively clean - though I previously admitted the bedroom looked like a mall vomited all over the floor. The main thing is that I am in contact with people and eating well. And gosh darn it, I did not go insane (yet?)!

I sit and try to write. My head is toast. Do I have to be terribly sad and self-destructive to write? I mean, I feel good here - I'm missing the guy but I'm not truly sad and I haven't fallen into a pit of misery. That's good. The bad part is is that I am not accomplishing what I said I would. That makes me feel like a complete idiot. I might as well say that I enjoy the fine art of lacrosse (yeah, brain is so toasted that I cannot even come up with a good comparison!) because it's not like I am doing much where writing is concerned. And if I don't have this apparent talent, what the hell am I good at anyway? Maybe I'm just one of those floaters. They just float and are meant for a meaningless life of retail jobs. That's the spirit!!

I'm still feel like I am sitting around and gaining weight. So much so, I actually did some sit-ups today! I did that and some other type of movement that makes me feel like I am actually doing something without having to join a gym. I took out a 5lb weight barbell too. For a tall girl such as myself, one would assume that I kick arse. Ha! I laugh bitterly. I am so weak, but my legs are strong. Roar! I lifted these weights for a little while (in front of the fan) and felt so winded.

The only true moment of wanting a cigarette came when my friend called me. Sigh. I love this guy to pieces, he's a sweetheart who means no harm. The problem is that I can only take so much of him before I need a time out. I realize he is ADD and I realize he has some issues - but it's very, very tiring to sit through his phone calls. No, he doesn't drag me down. He just doesn't recall what he told to you during each and every previous phone call. So I hear the same things over and over and over again. If I have to hear about how he left his sunglasses in Mexico one more time, I will explode. It's not like he went to Mexico last week - he went in January.

I'm spending a lot of time lounging around in the man's boy shorts underwear. I'm sure I look lame and there's a little muffin-top action going on...but they're comfortable. Sigh...I always want a cigarette after I finish a blog.

19 July 2006

Day Six - Hometown Review

Ah, day six. Time is going by, ain't it?

Well, last night I lived vicariously through my partner and each and every old friend of mine back home. The band played in my home town and of all cities on their schedule, it was the only place I was truly jealous about not being able to attend. Last night, I sat here and grumbled to myself. I bitterly smoked cigarette after cigarette. I waited. I was even nervous - will they impress my friends? Will people show up? Will they end up hated my home town as they assumed they would? What if they think my friends are lame and square as the rest of English Canada?

Thankfully, I had a lot of sleuths who took of every single detail to satisfied my analytical mind! I was wired all day so I stayed up rather late to get wind from people, either online or via telephone. And that I did.

The first person to call was my lovely sister. She, ever the optimist, confessed that the show went very well. They blew the other band off the stage and my man's guitar playing was very impressive. A few people danced at the front of the stage. It was reasonably crowded for a Tuesday night (according to another friend, it was more full than usual!). The people seemed to enjoy it and the band members were all in jovial moods. There was only one set of home town boobies flashed to the band. Yay, for home town boobies!

My partner met a lot of my friends that he never had the chance to meet when I was in the process of moving out of my city. I felt a little sad at knowing I was not there to give big hugs to old friends with him, but I am very pleased he had the chance to meet my crew. I even got one friend to grab his ass and tell him that I send my regards - apparently, he got a kick out of that. From what I heard from people, it seemed to prove a positive environment for the boys and a relaxing one at that. It's just want they needed, methinks.

I went to bed excited like a kid hepped up on candy. In fact, I couldn't fall asleep until well past five in the morning. I was wired. I have to admit that I felt on fire all day - I was witty as fuck and I had no one to bounce my brilliance off of. The thing that made me so giddy was hearing from my sister and many other friends about what my partner was saying about me. I felt like that kid in school who finds out that their crush likes them back! He said so many sweet things! He told everyone how much he misses me and loves me. He told them that he just wants to come home to me. He told my sister that he wants to come back to my home town to become more close to my family and he that he wishes to meet my grandmother. Yeah, I was getting teary-eyed at this point! He said that he was sorry that he called me up in a grumpy mood (I took no offense!). He was introducing my sister's husband to the band as "his brother-in-law" - that made me get very sappy too! Also, he told my sister to tell my family that he is really a doctor who drives a cadillac - I don't really know where that came from other than the rum, haha. I know I turn to my very protective big sister whenever things aren't calm in my relationship, so it was nice for her to see how much of a gentle, peaceful, and kindhearted person he really is. Don't get me wrong, she has never doubted that. It made me very happy to know that many of my other friends saw that side of him as well, even though they don't know him very well.

I talked to the man in the morning. I set them up to stay at my friend's place. It made me truly happy to know that they were being well taken care of and that he would be well fed in the morning. Perhaps, that sounds a bit silly of me. I figure, it must be tough on the road as they are constantly sleeping the van or on the floor and not able to do laundry. My friend's mom was very hospitable and extended this invitation many months ago. He called in the morning, the sounds of sizzling bacon and sleepy chatter in the background. He was well rested and happy to declare that he actually slept on a bed last night - in his own private room, at that! I talked to my friend for a moment, who is sending a gift with the band for me. He told me how the show went and how much he loved and missed me. They sounded like they were in for a big breakfast. I told him to give my friend's mom a big hug from me.

Later, I received an email from the mom. She said many sweet things about him - how intelligent he is, how polite, and how young he looks! He is a very nice man, she said. I believe they just may stay there on their way back home. Ah, if only my partner could see my folks while he is at it.I suppose it's close enough but they'll be worn out.

I've been walking on air today. Tomorrow is his birthday. Sigh...no birthday blowjob, haha. Actually, I don't think we have ever spent his birthday alone - he's always been playing a show. Next year, it will be the same!

On a side note:
-I am struggling through lesson two of French. Good Lord. I thought I kicked ass on lesson one. Je suis stupide! Mais Oui! Nothing sinks in in ye olde noggin.
-I am smoking too many cigarettes in lieu of kisses.
-I feel like all I am doing is sitting here and getting fat. I'm probably not but I fear my boyfriend will come home to a beluga of a female.
-All I have been eating is pasta salad. I really should learn how to estimate because my pasta salad for two could have served a family reunion.
-And best of all, I have recently grown another nose that I fondly call my new beak. Yes, the brightest and biggest zit you have ever seen on the bridge of my nose. Hot.

18 July 2006

Learning French

The break from the heat has given me a better opportunity to take full advantage of the day. Sure, the bedroom looks like a shopping mall vomited all over the floor again but I think I have made a good effort at my time off.

I entered the virtual class room. I am taken an online course at Barnes and Noble University. It is French for Beginners. I have gone through lesson one all afternoon and it stretched into the early evening. I'm proud of myself! I still have to complete to writing exercises and perhaps I should practise on here. Thankfully, a lot of it makes sense. Those two damned years of French in junior high paid off. I still regret not using my paid - gulp - course to the full extent. That was a good waste of $300. Ah well. It's never too late.

The biggest hurdle with learning French is becoming more confident. It's hard to just strike up a conversation at this point. Everyone knows me as English. What would they think if I, all of a sudden, started parlez vous-ing at them. It makes me laugh, because in my head I can see my brilliant expertise. Ah, that is only a dream. One day, I'll show them. I'll be mais oui-ing and s'il vous plait-ing until the cows come home. You'll see.

Another thing is, with a lot of these beginner French courses, is that it is Parisian French. It is far from the Quebecois French they speak out here. It's more chewed up and spat in your face. That's not an insult to the Quebecois. I'm just calling it like it is.

On a side note, I am completely and utterly jealous that my partner's band is playing in my hometown tonight. I want to be there! I told a few friends to grab my man's ass and tell him I send my regards. I hope that happens. I hope my hometown proves them wrong, oh yes. Often, it is a city that is at ease with complaining. People complain there are not enough good shows or events to attend. When there is something finally great in the city, no one shows. They are much more content to sit on their couch and complain until winter-time. I hope for a fun show and lots of people. If the city disappoints them - I will take it personally!

I just want to be that girl surrounded by friends and loved ones, enjoying the music. Bah!

Speaking of my love, he is stressed out. I don't like to hear him in this state. I sincerely hope that it is just the lack of sleep that is talking. I just want to rescue him and be along side him. He is a typical Cancer. He loves being at home. He loves his space. He gets cranky when that is denied. And boy, does he ever love his own bed. Meow!

I will, hopefully, hear from him tonight. I lined up a place for them to stay. There will be beds and a hearty breakfast in the morning. Selfishly, I hope there are a lot of good wishes for me from my old friends that I miss so dearly.

Day Five : A Very Hot Female


Who's kidding who, the last few days have not be fun. I'm missing my very own musician, but I'm dealing with it. It is humidity/heat that I have the problem with. If humidity was a person, I would punch him or her right in the neck. Ha-zah!

It's still very warm and sunny out. The humidex reads 32C (89.6F) but compared to the last few days, this is like the damned arctic. If it's one thing I hate, it's sweating like a marathon runner when the only active thing I am doing is simply sitting still. Not hot. I think I have suffered from bouts of heat stroke over the last few days in my sweat-box of an apartment. I have been very lethargic for no other reason. I set out to have a very enthusiastic and active day. By mid-afternoon, I am done. My sinuses get blocked, my head aches, and my stomach becomes very unsettled. I am normally the type of person who does not get nausea so it causes me to become very whiny and needy. Heh, it's easier to control when you have no one to complain to! Anyway, whenever I get a bout of nausea, I end up becoming paranoia. Did he plant a seed? Did I drink bad milk from the fridge? Do I have worms? Nope, it's just the damned heat. I guess I should be happy that it's not a case of the worms.

My in-laws brought over two fans. Unfortunately, they did not want my autograph (Hey-o! I'm here all week!). I have three fans in total. My living room is like an 80's model photography shoot - my hair blowing around in the wind, while I wear my Jordache jeans and neon tube top to the sounds of Michael Sambello's Maniac. Ah, paints a lovely picture for y'all!

Seriously though, this heat is causing me to become a great sloth. I can't think. I can't do anything with such an uneasy stomach. I can't focus, even on the most easy tasks. At least I cleaned up the apartment yesterday, before my fellow Tour Widow came by for dinner. After my surprise in the garbage though, I had to retire from everything. I was done for the day. Blarg!

It was lovely having my girl friend over last night. She brought over a bottle of chilled white wine and strawberries - she claimed she was not going to seduce me, haha. I don't think a guy has even done that for me before (I do recall, however, trying that out on a man in the past. He was more interested in the television. At least, I didn't have to share my damned strawberries)! We sat outside on my patio and talked for a few hours. It was really nice and I appreciate her company. I'm no master chef, but I like making dinner for friends. I made a cold pasta and bean salad - which doesn't sound like much. Originally, I was supposed to make chili but after sitting in my apartment, otherwise known as the fiery depths of hell - I imagined the both of us spontaniously combusting due to being overheated.

I'm such a cheap drunk, it's not even funny. Half a bottle of wine and I'm fuzzy headed. This is the reason I care not to drink in public anymore. When feeling the booze, I get warm and loving and social for a good half hour. After that, I just want to sleep. I've always wanted to be that wild and crazy drunk. Well, it wasn't my life ambition - I just wish it didn't hit me in such a sleepy way.

After my tour widow company left, I went online and chatted with a friend I haven't talked to in YEARS. This was a girl that lived back home. We used to go to this particular bar together and dance our asses off. We used to have a blast together. She's a very kind-hearted girl and I always wished the best for her. When she moved back to her reserve in Ontario, I was very sad. She ended up falling in love with a French man and now she is "with seed". It was nice catching up. The only stupid thing is that I found out her partner's family is from here and they were out here last summer! If only I knew, we would have hooked up for a coffee!

Tonight, the band plays in my hometown. It's the only stop on their tour that I am rather bitter about. I know my old crew will be there. I would have been in MY environment if I was there. I would have been the one dancing and getting my boobs grabbed by my friends! I would have felt a lot more comfortable and into the music. I hope my town treats them well. I know, sometimes, there is a lack of spirit and participation. I want to prove the band wrong! I want them to love playing there. They better put on a good show for my friends...or else! I'm certain I will get the full update later on tonight or tomorrow. I really wish I could be there.

Le Sigh.

17 July 2006

Day Four - Panic Attack

Call me dependant on my man. Call me a stupid defenseless girl. Paint me whatever you wish - I don't fucking care. Right about now, I would really love my man to be around.

No, not for a moment of passion and not even for the companionship (though I would not object). I need him to kill some bugs. Oh, sweet baby Jesus...I need him to kill some bugs.

The summer I was 23, I smoked weed here and there. I never truly liked the feeling of being high. I would become even more quiet and withdrawn. I would stare at people for a little too long. I would obsess about how I wasn't saying anything and how boring I am. That same summer, our city's trees were infested with tent worms. I never liked worms but I could deal with them. I mostly just avoided them. Being high that summer and getting over some personal issues, for some reason, helped me develop this panic and fear of worms. Plus, I had a really bad first date where I found a worm in my tea - after I finished drinking it. I guess I can't say I'm scared of any kind of worm. Seeing them fills me with panic, especially those tree worms and maggots. Even thinking of them turns my stomach. I'm pretty cool with earthworms but feel very uneasy when it rains and they are all over the side walk.

I've been a very busy bee this afternoon, getting the house all clean and tidy. Tomorrow is garbage day. I kind of put it off last garbage day and I don't put the bag outside as raccoons have been a problem lately. I take the garbage out of the can and worms. Worms. Maggots. I'm domestically embarrassed to admit that, but I suppose it has happened to everyone at least once. I freeze. I feel shivery, cold, and dizzy. Usually, at this point I call for my man to deal with it. Instead, I stand there and breathe deeply. This has been the only moment I have truly wanted a cigarette. I run for my bottle of hairspray to kill them. There are a few on the floor too. They won't die. I get hot water and disinfectant for the garbage can. I'm armed with too much paper towel to kill them. I want to vomit and I want to cry. I hate worms. I am still shaky...

Somebody give me a fucking cigarette and a shoulder to hang onto. I'm on the quivery edge of a panic attack.

16 July 2006

Day Three

I had my last cigarette two hours ago. I'm considering quitting for good. Let's see how I will feel about that two hours from now or tomorrow when I finally crack open that bottle of red wine I've had since Christmas. I sincerely wish to quit or at least become a social smoker as I was before. I know my body hates me the more I smoke. I hate myself the more I smoke. I'm turning 30 next year and I don't want me no babies. Both my partner and I should be taking good care of ourselves since there will be no children to take care of us in the future. Ah, if only the thought of child birth and pregnancy didn't repulse me. Otherwise, I'd have a kid. I'm sure one or two would come in handy to plug in the coffee machine every morning (the switch is broken and outlet is under the table) or sweep under the bed for dust bunnies.

I guess you can say I am somewhat tired today. I think the novelty of an empty house to myself is starting to wear thin as of this evening. I find myself irritated, but mostly at myself more than anything. I know I am not making full use of my time here. I haven't started my online French classes. I just started to write something and that is why my head feels like a bowl of oatmeal. I am becoming a little too lethargic for my own good. Honestly, I just really want to blame it on this blistering humidity. Okay, I'll do that.

On the plus side, I have had some wonderful telephone conversations with friends. Normally, I miss their calls or it's too late to call. I'm a night owl. I'm cool with late night calls. I talked to a few people back home and a friend in Costa Rica. We caught up and that is always important. We complained together and contained our secret catty behaviour! Meow. I miss having that spicy Latina in my life. I regret not hanging out with her as much as I should have. It's my own fault for being so anti-social. From now on, I will only be anti-social to the people I don't give two shits about. I'll open my arms and welcome the rest in.

It's even a struggle to write this post. My eyelids are feeling heavy. The fan is pointed at me and yet I still consider the notion of ripping off all my clothes for the sake of personal comfort. My sinuses are giving me hell. The computer is like some sort of miniature furnace. I should really shut this nonsense off and use my eyes for something worthwhile. Reading, for example.

I did not have the company over as I expected. It's okay, though. I think both our brains took a vacation this weekend. I hope they are enjoying their holidays together. I don't know if it's the heat or if it's the change of daily routine, but we both feel like we are moving at a different pace. It's too bad, I would have appreciated the company today. However, I feel unable to maintain a normal conversation. The heat is truly getting to me. I went to bed with an upset stomach last night and I am gaining a new one as we speak. The other tour widow(s) and I might hook up tomorrow. I have promised to make vegetarian chili. It is the only thing I know how to successfully make. No rush, if the ladies cannot come with.

I did some writing today, but I consider it cheating. Basically, I blended together two pieces of writing I scribbled months ago. It's a struggle and I feel utterly forced. Dance, monkey, dance! I shouldn't even be this hard on myself. I just wanted to write. I have looked forward to this moment for a few months already. I was anxious to get my fingers in a dance on the keyboard. Now, I sit here and stare blankly at the screen. Today, writing is like panning for water in the desert. It's a big, big struggle. I guess it's my fault for not planning this idea out, heh. I've never been good at making plans.

I've been keeping myself distracted with episodes of Everybody Hates Chris. I like that show. It's like the Wonder Years with balls. I like Chris Rock's narration. Later, I will watch some episodes of Bullshit. Until then, I will listen to some old Gordon Lightfoot songs in hopes of any kind of inspiration. All I feel inspired to do is to nap. At least I do that well!

I heard from the man. He is in the middle of Ontario as we speak. He is well and recovering from a hangover. He sounds happy and satisfied. He is only mildly disgruntled as the pillow he took with him no longer smells of me. That was sweet to hear. Everything is going smoothly. The shows are going well. I pulled out the mom card and expressed concern at the possibility of the boys drinking too much and too often. He confessed that one of the guys almost suffered heat stroke in the van. I wonder how they ever overlooked the consequences of touring across country in summer without air conditioning or windows that open. He almost had a heat stroke the weekend before last. Clearly, he is the weak one and I know I'm talking like I'm on a reality show here. They should be a little cautious about getting plastered. At least, consume some water!

Yep. Today, the novelty is wearing off. I miss him and it's only day three. Sure, I miss all the juicy stuff. What I really miss is having that companion, that someone to share words and tea with. I miss having that certain someone who laughs at my incredibly lame sense of humor.

Hopefully, whenever he hears a bird caw-CAW! - he thinks of me.

Rachel and Rob Rotten

You know what I should be doing? Something productive. That's what happens when you download a handful o' porn and have an inviting pack of cigarettes. I indulge. If I had a chocolate cheese cake before me, I'd probably eat the whole damn thing while I'm at it. Perhaps, all at once for comic value.

I watched a plethora of Rachel Rotten porn (see pic, with some guy). I heard about her through a friend at work. My co-worker blurted out loud in front of many people that I remind her of this particular adult entertainer.I wasn't embarrassed, by any means. When I googled her up online, I found a small picture of her. She had a mouthful of cack and her eyes closed - it looked so much like me that it shocked me! I can see how people think she looks like me and I am certainly not complaining about that (minus the fact that I am way more fleshy but with less boobage and have a big ol' Eastern European head). She's a very pretty girl - and there are not too many girls in porn I can freely label as pretty. Of course, I'm no porn expert either. I don't know much about her but what I do know makes me like her "work" (is that the proper term?) even more so. The porn she shot was with her boyfriend Rob Rotten. They look cool - these are the kind of couples I long for in porn. She has a nice hair style, complete with bluntly cut bangs. He's covered in tattoos (and not crappy tribal ones) and has a big mohawk. She's got real boobs. He's got, um, a tattoo on his penis? It's different and I appreciate that. They look hot together and you can sense their attraction to one another. And that is what makes watching this enjoyable. Though, you know they are aware of the cameras - you can tell that he actually likes going down on her and it's not just for show. You can tell he was being careful to not mess up her bangs or ruin her makeup - I found that genuinely sweet. I wasn't utterly repelled when I saw him naked either. That's always a good sign. Shaved legs and baby oil isn't a turn-on for most women.

The only thing I found a little unsettling was how thin she looked when she was spread out this way and that. I'm going to say that it's the camera angles, but I almost wanted them to take a break so she could eat a sandwich.

I wonder how she manages to give head without messing up her cherry colored lipstick? I wonder how her hair stays so perfect? Good God, if ever I leave my lipstick on...I end up looking like a clown with rocker hair. Kudos.

I watched another one that I had to turn off shortly after. It was three girls enjoying one another. I could deal with this, even though on of them had strange looking fake breasts. Two of the girls were fine. The other one moaned as though she was undergoing an exorcism. It, quite frankly, disturbed me. I kept thinking about that movie, The Exorcism of Emily Rose. She kept moaning and inserting a few, "Do you fucking like that?" grunts. It scared me. Not only did it seem like she was undergoing an exorcism, but she had this look on her face that most men would be afraid of. The face of a crazy, drunken, and obsessive ex-girlfriend. Not hot.

Ah, at least the phone didn't interrupt me this time as it usually does! I win!

15 July 2006

Day Two - An Unsleepy Tour Widow

It's late morning and I feel well rested. Insert sleepy time morning music here.

Last night, I watched The Straight Story. It's a true life story about an old man who travels for many weeks on his John Deere lawnmower across a few states to see his brother that he had a falling out with, who recently had a stroke. It's a sweet story, but one I thought would be better watched alone. It was slow and lazy, and I like that about movies. I have to say that it was on the depressing side of things, but it still warmed my heart. I like rural tales and I enjoyed seeing the country side. It kind of reminded me of Margaret Laurence's The Stone Angel, which is my favorite book. Though it scares me to know that one day I will be old and not as mobile, it provides a good view into the life of older folks who truly desire their independance back. Their minds still work but their bodies don't allow them that brand of freedom. It was a sweet film and it got me a little teary eyed - especially when Alvin was talking to another old chap about being in the war.

At my on again/off again job, I do telephone surveys on behalf of the government. One of the hardest ones was a satisfaction survey for war vets. It was awful but completely enlightening. Yeah, everyone in the office dreaded it and some were quite mean in regards to the older people. They take their time to answer the questions carefully and at times they were confused(thanks to awkwardly worded questions written by French people). It was frustrating for us. Despite all of that, you heard some sad and unforgettable stories. People now laugh and say that war is bad. Hell yeah, it's bad. But to hear it from the mouth of men and women who were there and ended up getting fucked over when they are seniors are another thing. What I gained was great respect for these folks. What I learned was I cannot relate. The hardest thing I realized is that, on the most part, we treat seniors and older people like they don't exist. Not only do a lot of these people get next to nothing for benefits (especially, widows of war vets), but we put them through confusing telephone procedures and fancy lingo in letters. I don't think we should dumb it down but we should take that extra time they so deserve. I will never forget hearing the crying voices of old men and women in pain. It wasn't only the pain of their old age bodies - it was the pain in their hearts from fighting in the war and the pain in their hearts for losing their soulmates. We, the younger generation, take older people forgranted. We should all go to hell when we curse as we walk behind a slower old person or when we forget to keep in touch with our grandparents.

Before dinner, I tackled the sink of dishes. Today, it's the bedroom. I don't know what happened but it looked like a mall threw up all over the floor. Jesus. I did not accomplish as much as I thought I would yesterday, on my first day of being alone. Ah well, I was beat.

It seems like the moment my partner left, I am more body aware. I feel like I gained ten pounds in a matter of hours, all in my tummy region. I probably didn't. I should be more active and I should be more fit. It seems that whenever I plan on going back home for a visit, I get super aware of my body and fear that I'll return home to whispering voices that will comment on weight gain. Ah, I shouldn't complain. I'm still fitting into my pants.

I slept very well last night, next to my baseball bat. I usually don't fall asleep peacefully unless I have someone near. I missed having that extra body in bed though. I fell asleep without that heavy nervousness hanging over my mind. This is a good sign. At five in the morning, I had this dream that someone was yelling at me to answer the green phone. Of course, the telephone was actually ringing right by my head and I missed the call! It was the boyfriend checking in, sounding sleepy and drunk. I feel bad that I missed that call.

I took care of the wallet this morning. It is officially off in the mail, along with a short handwritten note and a cheque. I'm sure his father will put in another phone card and some extra cash. I'm glad that's taken care of.

Today is all mine. I feel awake and refreshed. And sticky - it's another humid day out. I don't know what I will do with myself but I sincerely hope that I do not waste this day. I have to catch up on my own journal, clean up shopping center clothes disaster in the bedroom, and get a little writing in. I believe another tour widow will call me this evening. Oh, I should also fit another visit to the used book store down the street.

The whole day is mine!!!!

14 July 2006

Out of Town Events & the Reason I Don't Tag Along

It's always hard to hear from someone you admire that you are fucked up. The worst thing about it is actually knowing it.

There's a good reason why I do not go along with the boys, when there is room for me in the van. I feel like I stick out like a sore thumb and I feel social anxiety kick in full throttle. I'm not one for team sports.

Last weekend was no exception. In fact, it was a rough one. Well...only half the time.

The first part of the voyage was great. I felt very positive and I pumped myself up for the outing. It's not like I'm some sort of recluse or wack-job in the first place. I just have to encourage myself to not fall into a pile of anxious messiness. I try so very hard but my inner demons always seem to win!

I know it's probably not healthy but I tend to stick to the people I am most comfortable with. Being in Quebec and not French, I lean towards the English people. It's a comfort zone, though I realize I should try a little bit harder with the French. The only reason the first half of the band trip went smoothly was because I had another girl friend there. An English girl friend and one that I understand when she speaks French. It calms me and, besides, I honestly enjoy her company. We chatted, we laughed - it was a good time on the road. Eventually, everyone fell asleep in the van with the exception of the driver and myself. I felt at a loss for words, but there's so much you can say when you are in the backseat.

The show went just as well. I chatted up a storm. I was friendly. I felt good inside. It was a hot summer day and I felt my skin getting redder and redder. I tried to revive myself with my good friend, Beer. I drank a quarter of a can and felt uneasy. It was one of those days where I couldn't hold down alcohol. I shouldn't be drinking in the first place, given the heat and the lack of food in my tummy. Sometimes it is either drink and be a part of the crowd until I black out (low blood sugar) or stay sober and healthy. At least I know better to not listen to the Beer Demon, that lurks inside each and everyone of us. I floated around here and there, but mainly stuck to the people I drove in with. I made a couple of rounds, talking to a girl from back home (what a pleasant surprise!) and another girl I met off Myspace. Everyone was having a good old time.

Enter inner demon.

At the end of the night, I was tired and sunburnt. I just wanted to chill out and relax. Take it easy, if you will. I should have known better because before I knew it, people from the outdoor show were being invited to our hotel room left and right. Insert the beginnings of social anxiety here. I fell into a less than pleasant mood to say the least. It took forever for everyone to pack up their vans and I got stuck manning the merch booth. I have no problem with that. A local approached me and we talked about the town we were in and I casually mentioned how I would love to see Niagara Falls as it was only 15 minutes away. I figured that while we were this close, we may as well see one of the world's biggest tourist spots.

He replied, "It's only fucking water!"

That was almost the straw that broke the camel's back! It's only fucking water? What the hell? It's freaking Niagara Falls! I tried with clumsy words to explain myself. I proudly stated that I was from the prairies and you don't, obviously, see landmarks such as that. He looked utterly bored. He turned his attention to the French girls and they all began to rave about Quebec. It's the best, it's the greatest, the woman are the best women. Yeah. I felt like a big ol' prairies reject! After that moment, this guy did not speak another word to me nor did he acknowledge my presense - even when saying goodbye the next day! I have to say, it kind of kicked off that mood and offended me.

We all piled into the van and it's drunken French people everywhere. And it's also drunken French people singing drunken French songs. People are laughing. They understand. I sit there, clued out as usual. Frustration is beginning to rear it's ugly head.

We get to the hotel room and there's a good number of people. I am instantly cranky. Cranky like a little child who has been stuck in a mall or out in the sun all day long. I just want to crash. I don't want to socialize with a bunch of drunken strangers. They sensed that, I assume, as no one approached me.

There's always a kind of awkwardness when you are the only sober person in a room full of drunks. I was glad that they were all having a good time. I just felt a little disassociated, a little disconnected from that brand of fun. I know it was my choice to come along and not drink, I know it's not my say to what the band wants to do. I tried to swallow my seemingly selfish feelings but it was next to impossible. I know I showed a look of irritation on my face. I felt isolated and in my own nervousness - all I wanted to do was flee. I seem to always want to flee when I am far away from my own shelter.

You know, I don't like this about myself. It's a side I have always known but it seems to have come into bloom upon arriving to this city. I'm the sober one. I sit back and watch people being asses. I see them having fun and taking silly photographs and grabbing boobs and doing stupid dances. I sit back and what kicks in is a longing to return home. I used to be like this, I recall as I sit back. Now, I am stuffy and stiff and awkward. I cannot seem to let loose. I know I'm fun. I know I am interesting. And I certainly know I am downright silly! However, with the majority of the people in this city, I cannot seem to break out of this very tough shell I have built around me. I feel left out and I know I have made myself feel left out all on my own.

I go for a walk. I would prefer to go on my own but I do not know the city well. I long for a visit to a trusted 711. They don't have any here. I settle for a lacklustre convenience store. I curse the postcard situation. My partner is not impressed. I can almost tell that he wants to keep away from me.

As we return, I latch onto two younger girls who are very nice and sweet. They are sober and tired - they, too, are waiting on their boyfriends to quit partying and head back to their hotel. I sit there, smoking endless cigarettes, and outright complain. I vent and vent and vent. They feel bad for me. Not only can they see the tired expression on my face but they can see the irked expression that comes with the other kind of younger girls who think it's so fun and cool to flash their titties to a band in front of a camera. Ah, the sweet icing on the cake. These girls I sat with felt so bad for me that they took it upon themselves to take me to Niagara Falls. I tell them how appreciative I am for their gesture and thank them for listening. I bond with these girls, even though one of them said she was age five in 1990. Upon hearing that, I imagined myself as a complaining old hag! I get to see Niagara Falls. Just my luck, there were no lights on. Still, something amazing before my prairie eyes!

We return to my party and the token completely fucked up girl was awake (again). She had this shrill voice that made you want to spontaniously do roundhouse punches to the neck region, to anyone in your path. A lot of people were gone, but they were still in and out of our room to rescue beer. I clenched my fists, tried not to storm into my room(but probably did), and went directly to bed to the sweet sounds of shrill voiced completely fucked up girl yapping away about something to gain any kind of attention.

Sleep. Sleep is always a beloved companion.

In the morning, I was full of rise and shine. I had another one of those sympathy hangovers. My head was killing me but I was happy to get out and enjoy the drive back. It was a waiting game. Hungry and anxious, I paced about but was in a calmer mood. It was morning. And then we went for breakfast.

I'm all over breakfast. Nothing makes me happier than a greasy breakfast and that first cup of coffee. A group of 12, we were. We get two seperate tables. I, of course, get stuck at the French table. Usually, I enjoy listening in (though it has taken me a long time) and I sit back. Eventually, the words are translated. I sit there in silence and gobble down my grub. I think only a few words are spoken to me. I get pissy at the rude comments they say about the waitress in French.

We drive for eight hours, plus rest stops along the way. All French, once again. No one says a word to me. Once again, I shut my doors. I feel a sad storm brewing inside. No one talks to me and I barely understand (only insults and dirty comments about women, I seem to get). I just sit there. I sit through the long drive and nothing. I come to the point where I pretend to read and sleep because what's the point, I figure. I know I cannot speak French and I know it's my own damned fault. I could have tried harder. I know it's easy for them all to fall into it. But I just sit there. I feel unimportant, left out, cast aside. It's an incredible lonely feeling that I have only tasted since moving here. It's bad enough when someone is involved in a fun conversation without you, but it's worse when you barely understand a single word being said. It's incredibly lonely and I do not think anyone in this circle of acquaintances can relate. I come off as a grumpy snob when all I feel is tremendously left out. After eight hours of that, I fell into another round of sad.

Not only did I mope around with a little angry cloud over my head on Saturday night, but I stared off in my own silent world for hours upon hours. I know it's mostly my doing, my own odd feelings. What was I suppose to do? How was I suppose to act after that many hours of non-stop language that I just did not understand? How was I suppose to react when the only English spoken was in regards to the young attention whores displaying their naked boobs? The only thing I could think of was a good swig of homeopathic anxiety remedies.

I know I was a bit of a pain in the ass, this past weekend.

When we got home, we both exploded. And when I say exploded, it's honestly not that bad. Perhaps, the proverbial pot bubbled over. It was long and messy and full of tears. Sigh.

I reacted to the whole weekend and chose to bring it up by turning into a wingnut. I brought up the naked boob attention whores. Not cool. Just insecure. Whenever I try to verbally explain myself, sludge flows out of my mouth. Nothing works. I sound like an insecure idiot. I tried to explain that I just couldn't fit in and I felt left out, so I reacted harshly. I told him that I felt lonely. That I used to be cool and fun and wacky. I told him that eight hours in a van and not being spoken to once drove me crazy. I told him that I do not know what to say to new people, especially when they are not sober. He told me next time to stay home.

He told me that it is not normal for me to be here for two years and not have a set of friends. He's right. He told me that it's not normal that I have been here for two years and haven't tried to learn a stitch of French. He's right. He told me that I haven't tried hard enough and that I sit to watch the world go by. He's right. He's right. He's right. He told me that I am not well adjusted. He's right again. He told me that I have a lot of potential and he wants to see me use my talents. He's right - problem is, I have no idea what this potential or talent is. He told me that I am not a very happy person. He's right. He told me that he is afraid to go away for three weeks, in fear of me going insane. That hurt.

(Of course, being the paranoid person that I am...I actually wondered "what if I do go insane!?")

He compared me to his friend the schitozphrenic. Yep, and that hurt too.

The thing is, I know he is right on a lot of levels. Maybe I just don't like hearing it spoken so bluntly.

Sometimes, I am so afraid of letting loose here and getting close to people. I feel like I am on a constant first date with a lot of people. You know, those wonky gaps of silence and that small talk. I'm fine with that, only until I start thinking about home and I get very lonely. I recognize that change within me and I am not sure it's a good change. I just want that old set of friends like I had back home, like people have here. Sometimes, I am afraid of letting those old friends go in order to accommodate the new ones - yet I know there's no reason to why I can't have both. Sometimes, I am so very afraid of losing my own identity here in the sea of French. I want to be that prairies girl for a long time. I want to be proud of where I come from. I never want to forget my home, my background.

And that is the reason why the Tour Widow doesn't go on tours. I complicate things. I complicate things there and in my own damn head. I make a molehill into a mountain. I panic. I want to be at home or in private. I desire my own schedule. I don' t want to socialize with girls who are barely legal who have no shame to piss in a parkade or flash their tits at every guy who holds a musical instrument. I'm better off left at home. I may go insane but at least I'm not miserable.

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