DROPPING BOMBS + PULLING G'S

Got up really late today. Was lying in bed fantasizing about love, with no one in particular, which definitely sucks. It pretty much always ends up in tears. Boo hoo, woe is me. Mom comes down to tell me that my father (aka Aboo) will be here in 15 min. She’s found a bunch of his old air force stuff, so he’s picking it up. I drag my pathetic bones out of bed, wash the tears from my cheeks, and slap on a smile.

Aboo arrives. He comes in with his usual nervous, socially inept air that hides the fact he is actually a supremely confident and strong-willed individual. It must be strange for him to enter into this house that used to be his. I wonder at Denny’s ability to accept my father into, what is now, HIS home. My Parents (to the third power) are quite a remarkable bunch of old folks. But, I digress. It is now around 12:45 in the pm and almost time for Aboo’s 1 o’clock meal. Eternally the air force pilot, he eats (and does most things) on a rigid schedule. I happen to be quite famished myself, what with all the morning internal moaning, so I decide to make us some grub.

Khakina. Never heard of it? Well, its one of the most delicious egg scrambles you’ll ever have. Onions, tomatoes, coriander, sautéed in butter and special ingredients (you will never know the secret!). Eggs are tossed in and voila! Very yummy breakfast. I get to cooking, as Aboo and Mom start talking about history. My father’s history, to be exact. It begins quite simply, with Aboo discussing how to use his helmet and oxygen tube thingy. Then, as is the case with Aboo, the discussion turns to facts- scientific facts. He starts to talk about G forces and this special suit he had to wear that inflates to combat the weight of this mysterious gravity force. I learn that when the human body is under 2 G forces, our weight doubles. That G forces also make your blood heavy and almost impossible for your heart to pump, which then causes a loss of consciousness. Ca-ray-zay.

At this point, I’m not really an active part of the conversation. I’m just cookin’ and listenin’. All I hear is ‘when you’re pulling G’s…and dropping bombs…’. Hmm. The fact that my father was in the air force is, of course, common knowledge. But something about hearing ‘dropping bombs’ come out of his mouth, is new to me. I have no connection to that time in his life. My siblings grew up on the air force base, hearing air raid sirens, being in bunkers. I grew up in suburban Toronto, with snow and ballet lessons. I mean, MY dad, who is now a cute 70 year old man, discussing his history of dropping bombs and pulling G’s, just sounds so…gangsta. So, Hip Hop. B.O.B. anyone? That’s right, you heard me. This is some real-ass shit people. So don’t mess with me, alright? My pops will bomb your ass.

PURPLE MUUMUU SWEATER + ICE CREAM (09/12/09)

Woke up to discover the neck ache has returned. Great. Have to be at work in a couple of hours, which is only going to make my neck hurt more. Okay, really? This is not the reality I would choose for myself. Ah well, I say, I’m a responsible adult and will do what is right. I will take a muscle relaxer. By the time I arrive at Dundas Station, I’m in serious need of an iced coffee. The muscle relaxer has kicked in, and my body feels great. But the mind? Not so much- hence the iced coffee. For some reason, I drink one and become immediately happy. Instant happiness is definitely a requirement for the crap job, so I get my icy beverage (even though I know it will only serve to dehydrate me, possibly causing a headache later in the day). At this point it’s a means of survival.

I arrive at the crap job to find out that they are not in need of my expert selling services- at least for today. Perfect. Wonderful. Miraculous. The associate manager (who I adore, by the way) informs me of this, and I can’t help the grin that escapes from my lips. She notices, and smiles, and I feel as if I’ve let the cat out of the bag. But its all good, I’m quitting anyway.

Now I get to spend this sunny Saturday with my sister Omita (aka The Baji) and my beautiful niece Aliyah. We lounge around for a few, and then decide to venture out to Roncesvalles (aka Roncy) to get ice cream at The Film Buff (they rent fab movies, AND sell $2 ice cream cones- go figure). But, man…am I hungry. It seems the euphoric effects of the iced coffee have worn off, and the belly them hungry. I am alone in my stomach grumblings, so Aliyah and The Baji get beverages instead. Over ‘lunch’ I find out that my niece was at Christie Pits until 1am last night (this morning? That always confuses me…), and she didn’t let her mother know- which is tres irresponsible. She is looking rather sheepish, and you can see the weight of guilt on her face. So, I let it slide. THEN I find out it was a 3-girl to 3-boy outing, and I give her the glare that only aunties can conjure. She gives me more sheepish, with a hint of angst. I ask some questions, mainly ‘who’ centered, and drill her a ‘lil about this new mystery friend ‘Astrid’.

ME: Who’s Astrid?
SHE: My friend.
ME: I’ve never heard you talk about her.
SHE: Well, she’s my friend! (the angst and frustration mounts)
ME: If she’s your friend, how come I’ve never heard her name before?

This exchange continues for a bit, and is followed by lots of tumbling over words. But, she tells me the deal. Fine, I say. Knowing the whole time I’m just busting her chops. Her mom was waaaay worse- but shh, don’t tell her I said that.

After the grub, The Baji suggests that we ‘wander’ up Roncy. Hmm, sounds dangerous. Financially dangerous. And it proves to be. Aliyah gets a coat, I put an awesome sweater on layaway (‘cuz I’m that kinda chick). Its somewhere between a muumuu, a blanket and a sweater, and I absolutely HAD to have it. Or at least guarantee that it would be mine at some point in the near future. Since I don’t have $160 to spend on a sweater/muumuu right now, I went the layaway route. I’m confident that its money well spent, because I KNOW I’ll still be wearing it when I’m 80- its just that cool. I mean, its purple folks. Purple.

CRAP JOB + STINKY BUNS

Let myself sleep in later than I had intended, this morning. Even though it meant forgoing my morning poop, I figured I needed the extra Z’s to prepare me for my 6th day at the crap job. No pun intended. I try to be positive about my retail position- try to look at it as a means to an end. But, that’s not really working out for me. The problem is that I don’t give a shit what people wear. I don’t care if they buy the damn jeans or not. If you don’t want ‘em, don’t get ‘em. No biggie. Of course, when you’re being told every couple of hours what your ‘SPH’ (sales per hour) is, and asked how you plan on improving it, you feel kinda stressed. And, quite honestly, this is NOT the kind of stress a 33-year-old woman needs to welcome into her daily life. No sir. Especially when the question being posed is by someone ten years my junior. Its funny, its not even my ego that has the problem- trust me, I’ve been checking in. I just don’t wanna do it. I can’t fake the enthusiasm much longer. I know it’s only been 6 shifts. So what I say. So fucking what? I quit.

After working five hours of what was supposed to be a nine-hour shift, I was sent home. Due to my crappy SPH no doubt. It was a welcome release, though I had to feign disappointment, as I learned from a co-worker that being sent home early was a BAD thing. So I played along, pretending that I was oh-so disappointed in myself, blah blah blah. And then I walked out the door with a spring in my step. Even better, I caught a ride home from the subway with my lovely mother and stepfather, Dennis (aka Denny).

Because you get worked like a horse at the crap job, I was barely walking when I got home- so famished was I (you don’t have to believe me, I don’t care). Denny fires up the barbecue and I vanish into the basement to satiate my Facebook craving. I see that Gabby is still living the fabulous life in Miami, dining on foie gras and lounging at the beach. Le Bambi is living it up in Gay Paris, and by the looks of her picture, is becoming quite the Parisienne (at least, what I IMAGINE a Parisienne to look like). Ah, the lives of others, what a welcome retreat. Then Mutah (my bastard cat) stuffs his face and throws it all up on the floor- complete with that weird ‘aahcaack’ sound cats make when vomiting. Ah, the life of Ayesha, what an unwelcome reality check.

I smell the burgers, so venture out in search of my meal. They look great, I can see some peppers sticking out of them with flecks of coriander. The buns are all ready. But wait, what is that green fuzzy stuff? Denny, these buns are moldy. I watch my Denny stuffing the burger into his face, my mother not far behind. They look at me like I’m crazy. Denny says ‘Yeah, they’re starting to go.’ Starting? Um, how about they’re already gone? Nope. The Parents aren’t buying it (as previously indicated- selling is not my forte). I can smell something funky, and it is definitely the buns. Green, fuzzy, stinky buns. Not going to eat them. I am viewed as somewhat ridiculous and ‘picky’ because of my bun refusal, which is actually slightly appalling. But, whatevs. I know I’m not ‘third world’ enough. Its cool. I’m secure in who I am. So be my guest- enjoy the stinky buns.

So since I'm going through many changes lately (moving home, breaking up with BF etc...), I've decided to document the lessons I'm learning- and re-learning- here on my blog.

I have a general feeling of empowerment, sprinkled with moments of deep sadness and regret. Why regret? Well, it seems I have made the same 'mistake' more than once- with regards to my love life. I rush in because of all the amazing feelings I have for said boy, and then I realize that maybe we're not that compatible. By then I feel obliged to stay the course and bust my ass trying to make it work. Which only results in me forgetting about myself and drowning my personality in the 'others' needs. Mind you, I see clearly my fault in this behavior. Making the other person somewhat dependent on my catering ways, until it becomes unbearable for me to continue. And then I must end it, which inevitably results in their shock and pain. So, what I'm really saying is: One should never be untrue to themselves, no matter how uncomfortable or painful it may be to reveal. It is ALWAYS better to be expressive in the moment. You avoid delaying and prolonging situations that don't need any extension. Nip it in the bud. Better yet, take more time before plunging into a relationship that may not be the best fit for you. The funny thing is, I've thought these thoughts before. But, this time I feel truly committed to following my own rules. To be 100% authentic and truthful, no matter what. I will not chase any man. I will not. I will not make the first move. I will not. Now, perhaps this sounds a little archaic. But, you know what? I want to see what a man is made of. Are they courageous? Are they upfront? Do their actions and words match? I want to know that someone will fight for me, and WITH me if necessary. Will they challenge me intellectually and spiritually? Will they have a strong enough ego to deal with my criticisms as well? Love is about courage. And the fire to fight for what is best in each other.

Poems...

I've decided to post some of my poems. Mostly old ones...its been a while.

PURITY DISEASE
in the midst of ease
and, purity disease
i find it hard to breathe
through the thickness
of Falsity
that seems to envelop me
developing
a sense
of what Should
and Shouldn't be.
walls are raised
only to be praised
as what is Right
fights
with what Is
i mind my biz
keeping my wits
'cuz
the sky is falling
and My god
is calling
from the Outside
to the Inside
where
glitches in the Matrix
fuck with my eyes
causing me to wonder
what my ceiling
is Concealing
and what to believe in.
giving way to the Intangible
demanding
that i find my Role
amidst all this Chaos
i deepen my thoughts
enabling me to See
that
God is Humanity
and all we have is
We.
grief stricken
i listen
to echoes of Hatred
uttered by the Unknown
against our Own
killing each other
softly
with words of Abuse
and profuse
Profanities
causing Dis-Ease
among the Tribe
as we try to gather
our Wits
and our I's

- 2002

Sprawled

Here I am, sprawled on the floor. This was one of the best nights I've had in a long while. After partaking of some lovely 'silly-sibens', my besties and I boogied the night away- just the three of us. It felt like a coming home. Like reconnecting with my authentic self and celebrating the love I have for my beautiful friends. Not to mention my fab bronze sneakers. Man, it feels good to be back...

its been a while...

Here I am sitting at my desk (at work) wondering about life and how exciting change can be. Will be moving home in just over a month, and am actually quite happy about it. The newness of home is interesting. Anyhow, just felt like writing SOMETHING, since I've been neglecting this blog for...way too long. Oh well. No one reads this shit anyway...