"You can do a lot in a lifetime, If you don't burn out too fast"
(Rush, Marathon, Power Windows, Rel. 1985. Music by Lee & Lifeson, Lyrics by Peart)
It's been a crazy week, and one that is fraught with difficulties, problems and conversely some massive excitement (With me? there could be no other kind, really). I've made a rather big decision work-wise, and am working towards my future. If I can speak historically for a second? I'm so on the ball that everything I do is probably sprinkled with pixie-dust, and blessed with good fortunes going forward. Really. I mean that. A lot.
Here's a good example of why I'm sharp like marble / smart like stick:
As I might have previously mentioned, my dear friends Terry & Sab moved into this big-ass farmhouse about 1000 miles from where I live. Terry sent out an email a month ago inviting everyone to their housewarming party on August 16th (today). Last Saturday (the 9th) I had it in my head that it (the 9th) was the day. Last Saturday, I even re-opened her email (clearly inviting us on the 16th), to get their address and Google map it, but obviously & casually disregarded the rest of the message again - clearly stating Saturday, August 16th. I had it in my head to call Randy & Drew and carpool out with them, but I figured that I'd probably leave early and it was best to venture out on my own, so why bother them right? So last Saturday, I canceled some other plans that I had for that night (which might have even involved sex) & gassed up the car, then drove the entire hour plus out of town, to enter the wilds of extreme southeast Surrey BC. If I haven't belabored this point enough yet - You need to know that I had an entire hour of driving time while getting out of the city, to figure out what day it was, sadly, I didn't. It wasn't until I pulled into their driveway seeing only Sab's car there, when something odd and foreboding grew inside of me. I had this weird, sense of dread, of confusion while walking up to their front door, and as I was ringing the doorbell it hit me. Sab opened the door, looked at me, and at the exact same time it hit me like a lightning bolt:
Sab: "What are you doing here?"
Me: "Oh. For God's sakes! Your party is NEXT week isn't it? Not today".
Sab: "Yes. That's correct Sir. I was napping, WHAT are you doing here again?"
Me: "Great. Um, Well sorry about that. I brought some beer".
Sab: [pause]"Come on in".
It went downhill from there. But luckily my friends love me even for my foibles, and Terry showed up not long afterwords, and she was gracious enough to laugh at me, scorn & mock me, then cook me dinner, plug in a movie and even forgive me for accidentally kicking over a glass of red wine that I had placed on her floor.
Today though was indeed the day of the party, I arrived back out that their house with my timing intact, the scheduling was tight as a button, and all was right in the world. it was a scorchin hot day, Our friends were there, Terry's Mom & Dad showed up (who I have sort of adopted all those years ago), and with Bon, STEVIE! (who must be named here), Randy, Drew, Stroke-Dog and assorted children, and we all sat on their deck and had a lovely time enjoying friends, family, and various canine stroke victims.
Eventually I left to make the hour drive home, and stopped at the gas station at the corner of Main & 2nd. The attendant was hovering over a map with a not-unattractive girl, and after a minute or two, she looked at me and said "How do I get to Whistler? Is it far?" I thought about it for a second, and replied that it is about 1.5 hours with no traffic, and do you have hotel reservations...? She said that she didn't and had driven up to Vancouver from Oregon to celebrate her sisters birthday, and basically, had no idea that Whistler was at least 1.5 hours north, and hotels were booked all over the lower mainland. Girlfriend and her sister are probably in for a long night. She even asked me if Whistler was a cool place, and were there like, bars there? Yikes.
Upon leaving her and pulling out of that gas station, I was stopped at the next red light. A mini-van was beside me, and two very heavily made up, trampy-type girls rolled down the window and asked me for directions to Granville & 12th . I just shrugged, put on my good Samaritan cap, and told them to pull over just ahead. It turns out they were hookers (driving a mini-van, oddly enough). The girl driving couldn't have been more than 22, and the passenger was Latino and spoke very little English. The Driver thrust a piece of paper into my hand with the John's address, and the to / from directions from the stripper bar, to the destination to somewhere around West 12th, was written with a big $250 EACH circled in black mascara pencil. I told them how to get there, the one who could speak English smiled and thanked me. The one who didn't really habla muttered something under her breath something about me possibly being a "Punta". Regardless, I smiled, waved back, and with my double good neighborly duty clearly being accomplished, climbed back into the Millennium Falcon V.3.0 and continued my journey home. (Rush, Marathon, Power Windows, Rel. 1985. Music by Lee & Lifeson, Lyrics by Peart)
It's been a crazy week, and one that is fraught with difficulties, problems and conversely some massive excitement (With me? there could be no other kind, really). I've made a rather big decision work-wise, and am working towards my future. If I can speak historically for a second? I'm so on the ball that everything I do is probably sprinkled with pixie-dust, and blessed with good fortunes going forward. Really. I mean that. A lot.
Here's a good example of why I'm sharp like marble / smart like stick:
As I might have previously mentioned, my dear friends Terry & Sab moved into this big-ass farmhouse about 1000 miles from where I live. Terry sent out an email a month ago inviting everyone to their housewarming party on August 16th (today). Last Saturday (the 9th) I had it in my head that it (the 9th) was the day. Last Saturday, I even re-opened her email (clearly inviting us on the 16th), to get their address and Google map it, but obviously & casually disregarded the rest of the message again - clearly stating Saturday, August 16th. I had it in my head to call Randy & Drew and carpool out with them, but I figured that I'd probably leave early and it was best to venture out on my own, so why bother them right? So last Saturday, I canceled some other plans that I had for that night (which might have even involved sex) & gassed up the car, then drove the entire hour plus out of town, to enter the wilds of extreme southeast Surrey BC. If I haven't belabored this point enough yet - You need to know that I had an entire hour of driving time while getting out of the city, to figure out what day it was, sadly, I didn't. It wasn't until I pulled into their driveway seeing only Sab's car there, when something odd and foreboding grew inside of me. I had this weird, sense of dread, of confusion while walking up to their front door, and as I was ringing the doorbell it hit me. Sab opened the door, looked at me, and at the exact same time it hit me like a lightning bolt:
Sab: "What are you doing here?"
Me: "Oh. For God's sakes! Your party is NEXT week isn't it? Not today".
Sab: "Yes. That's correct Sir. I was napping, WHAT are you doing here again?"
Me: "Great. Um, Well sorry about that. I brought some beer".
Sab: [pause]"Come on in".
It went downhill from there. But luckily my friends love me even for my foibles, and Terry showed up not long afterwords, and she was gracious enough to laugh at me, scorn & mock me, then cook me dinner, plug in a movie and even forgive me for accidentally kicking over a glass of red wine that I had placed on her floor.
Today though was indeed the day of the party, I arrived back out that their house with my timing intact, the scheduling was tight as a button, and all was right in the world. it was a scorchin hot day, Our friends were there, Terry's Mom & Dad showed up (who I have sort of adopted all those years ago), and with Bon, STEVIE! (who must be named here), Randy, Drew, Stroke-Dog and assorted children, and we all sat on their deck and had a lovely time enjoying friends, family, and various canine stroke victims.
Eventually I left to make the hour drive home, and stopped at the gas station at the corner of Main & 2nd. The attendant was hovering over a map with a not-unattractive girl, and after a minute or two, she looked at me and said "How do I get to Whistler? Is it far?" I thought about it for a second, and replied that it is about 1.5 hours with no traffic, and do you have hotel reservations...? She said that she didn't and had driven up to Vancouver from Oregon to celebrate her sisters birthday, and basically, had no idea that Whistler was at least 1.5 hours north, and hotels were booked all over the lower mainland. Girlfriend and her sister are probably in for a long night. She even asked me if Whistler was a cool place, and were there like, bars there? Yikes.
I'm really jazzed and frightened about this new thing I'm about to embark on. I'm going to be flying without a parachute, and jumping without a net. I don't know how it is going to turn out, but at the very least, I gave some hookers some good directions.
I could use some myself.
When I got home, I was listening to Rush: "You can make the most of the distance". It seemed appropriate.
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