Yukon Jen: A Series of Random Events
My life since 2005
And while I’m here, I thought it would be funny to borrow Mr. Pineapple Head’s accoutrements back from Julie and re-incarnate him in the Yukon.
After a trip to the grocery store (one of three in town)…I’d found only two pineapples with any potential.
Stay tuned. I’m going to take him snowboarding.
I have much to tell about the past few days…it is always good to see family at Christmas. Highlights so far:
My sister and her family arrived late last Friday night.
They trimmed the tree and finished shopping and in general, and had a few days before Christmas to relax.
My Dad (aka Santa) picked me up at the airport at 12h15 AM on Christmas morning. I was glad to get home in time.
Santa left half the living room full of presents….note the fire in the television in this picture.
We started opening presents and called my other sister in Toronto. We played Smurfin’ Beer of course.
Top three presents of the day:
 |
A collector teddy bear (courtesy of Jorden and his Bear Factory to Grandma Bear). |
 |
A handmade quilt (courtesy of my Mum–and most probably my Dad–to Nat and Darryl) |
 |
The largest toy nutcracker you’ve ever seen (courtesy of my other sister to her sixteen-year-old nephew. … How can you get any more random?…what else could a sixteen-year-old guy need? Although it turns out there is a story behind it all. Something about Jordo and getting married in a nutcracker uniform???? |
After a big Christmas breakfast, we went for our annual ski at Mary Lake. Well, Mum, Chantel, and I did. Jorden, Nat, and Darryl went for a hop, skip, and a jump down the road and back.
After playing outside for a few hours, we all reconvened at the house. Dad had been slaving all day over the turkey. We goofed around a bit in the living room (taking pictures and singing to some golden oldies). Then–we ate dinner. Dad and Darryl ended up in a turkey coma.
Can it get any better than that?
I haven’t been blogging. I have no excuse. I have been a bit busy though. I have a new housemate (or two). We have been getting acquainted. Krista and her son Conor moved in in October. I’m happy that they are here. Conor is five. And I find myself identifying with having a five-year-old in my house.
As soon as they moved in, I had to start unpacking some of my boxes. There wasn’t enough room for me, my boxes, and two new housemates. One evening–just after Halloween, I unpacked my collection of children lit books into the built-in shelf in the living room. I guess I figured I have a reason to unpack them now that there is a five-year-old in the house.
I finished and went into the kitchen to get something ready when Conor appeared in the doorway–with the box over his head.
“Look at me! I’m a box!”
How fun. How to have fun with a box. There’s all kinds of new thingamajigs that cost all kinds of money. Why spend the money though? You can just use a box!
We cut out some eyes, nose, and mouth in the box. Then–he wanted space for his arms. We cut out arm holes. He was very excited to be a box. And me? I was excited that he wanted to be a box.
Later that week, Conor and his mom went to a birthday party at the local Healdsburg Bar and Grill. He wanted wanted to wear the box. Apparently, he stood up on the table, with his box over his head, armed with his light saber and shouted to the entire restaurant:
“Look at me! I’m a box!”
Last summer, when Cindy was here. I had just bought a fabulous set of kitchen knives. They came in a box. Part of the packaging was a three-dimensional, triangle-shaped box. Basically, it looked (or could look) like a pirate’s hat–made out of cardboard. I immediately put it on my head–for the simple effect of putting a triangle-shaped piece of cardboard on my head.
It fit. Perfectly. And, it was just funny that when Cindy arrived home–I greeted her with a box on my head. And she looked at me a bit sideways–but maybe she just thought I was a crazy lady from Canada. And that’s what people from Canada do–they greet their foreign friends with boxes on their heads. And we just laughed at the thought of it all.
Hmm. Well–maybe, just maybe, this was one of those situations where you had to be here. I don’t know if I can explain why it was so funny.
So, when Conner appeared in the kitchen doorway with a box on his head saying: “Look at me! I’m a box.” And I immediately identified with my five-year-old housemate who thought it was funny to put a box on his head.
He IMs me at 4h30 pm:
How’s your day going?
Ok. Better now
Can you hang out tonight?
um sure.. What were you thinking?
Maybe I can get my friend Dave to cook.
Really? How do you do that?
Special talent #143.
Just a sec.
I work in another window finishing up my work items for the week.
Um… How about a movie? I am Legend?
What happened to your special talent?
It’s not working tonight. So…movie? Sebastopol? 6h40? or 7h20?
I calculate. 6h40 gives me almost two hours to finish what I’m working on and arrive at the cinema. Backwards calculate.
6h40 – 20 minutes (time to get to the cinema) = 6h20
It’s 4h40 now. That’s one hour and forty minutes to finish and freshen.
He IMs again:
We’ll meet my friends J- and girlfriend S- there.
Panic.
Breathe.
THAT IS NOT enough time to finish and freshen. Meet his friends!!! He tells me this at 4h40 on a Friday afternoon? What is he thinking?? Why can’t he mention it the day before. I need time. I need to prepare.
Breathe.
I type:
How about the 7h20?
That would let me finish my weekly workload. (I’m mentally calculating the time it’s going to take me to prepare).
Let me check. brb
OK. 7h20. At Sebastopol Cinemas.
Where’s that?
I wait.
He pastes an address in the chat window.
Two clicks I have directions from Google maps.
That was fast.
Special talent #153
OK. 7h20. I’ll see you there.
4h55. I have until 7h00 to prepare to MEET HIS FRIENDS. I’ve only known him just over a month. We’re trying to figure out where we are and what we are doing. BUT—I’m apparently meeting his friends tonight. NO PRESSURE THERE.
I’m wearing bland and frumpy things today—my favourite, comfortable brown corduroy jacket, my retro CBC T-shirt, and my extra-wide and extra comfy clown-like shoes from REI. I DO NOT FEEL special enough to be meeting his friends. Think—I tell myself. Think.
Start reading this story here.
I finish my work (and what I don’t finish, I’ll finish from home on Sunday). I run out to the parking lot. I approach my Honda but it doesn’t respond to my remote. What’s wrong? I get to the car and have to open the door with the key. UGH. I’ve left my lights on all day.
Run back to the building, but I’m on a contract, my key has limited access. I can’t get back into the building after 5h00 pm. I walk along the windows on the ground floor. Maybe somebody is still at their desk AND I’ll be lucky enough that they have booster cables.
No such luck. Everybody’s gone home. I feel like I have a huge neon L floating above my head. I walk back to my car, trying to figure out what to do. I don’t know where my head is lately. I’ve also forgotten my cell phone at home today. Or—put it in a cupboard or something—and couldn’t find it on the way out the door this morning.
Now–I can’t help myself. I’m laughing at my misfortunes and I find my right hand stuck in the shape of an L on my forehead. That three-dimensional L: Forefinger pointing upwards with the thumb perpendicular and the middle finger thrust forward so together they resemble an X-Y-Z axis. God, I’m such a loser sometimes.
A woman comes out the side door and walks towards a large white YUKON truck. Ah—I think. She has a truck. She must have booster cables.
Excuse me. Do you think you could give me a boost?
She looks a little unsure, but nods her head. Yeah. I have cables. I’ve never used them before though.
That’s OK. I sigh. I have. I have done this a lot. (Not recently mind you—but when I had my original Honda. They didn’t have the audible warnings on the base 1988 model and I was continually forgetting the lights). I was obviously so preoccupied this morning that I just tuned out the Ding! Ding! Ding! indicator that my lights were still on.
She retrieves the cables from a bag in the back of the truck. We decide it’s best if she pull facing my car. I pop my hood.
Just to be sure about the cables, I read the instructions. I figure you can’t go wrong with that. Except now– everybody has an opinion. A pickup pulls into the parking lot.
Do you need some help? They ask. Turns out to be friends of the lady in the YUKON. Just giving her a boost she says. But she’s leary about what to do. We determine she needs to pull closer to my car.
Together, we get my car started. I’m relieved—except—it’s now after 6h00 pm. I still have to find something to wear so I feel presentable and special enough and not frumpy. I speed down to Meryvn’s. I’d just been Christmas shopping the day before so I knew I could find something worthwhile and it wouldn’t take too long.
Start reading this story here.
Open the driver’s door. Get in. Check the watch. It’s 7h05. Great. 15 minutes to get somewhere 20 minutes away. I can’t help but think that if I hadn’t left my lights on all day, I would have actually been on time.
Get out of the parking lot. I’ll get there when I get there. I’m a good driver. I’m not reckless. I drive fast though—because I don’t really want to be late.
I find exactly where I need to go fairly easily. I’m only five minutes late. He’s waiting for me outside the box office.
I make a mental note to breathe and try to relax. Breathe. He sees me as I’m trying to find a place to park and comes over. He gets in and says…There’s no parking over there—try the street.
Uh. Hi. Sorry I’m late. I left my lights on and had to get a boost.
No prob, he says. We’ll only miss the previews.
We find parking and go in. He finds his friends (in the dark theatre) and we go sit down. He motions me into the aisle first and makesbrief introductions
Hi. I nod and sit down. He’s made me sit between him and his friends.
I’m petrified. And anxious. I’m sitting between him and his friends. I’m glad there’s action on screen and proceed settle down to watch the movie.
Except, I just find myself more and more embarrassed—because I KNOW what I have just done to get myself here five minutes late and that’s all I can think of. HOW LAME IS THAT?
I want to hold on to his arm to calm myself down, but I don’t know if I know him well enough to hold onto his arm in front of his friends. So I just bear down in the seat and sit on my hands. And when the music intensifies and I know something is going to happen, I look up at the ceiling so I’m not looking at the screen—because I am so nervous.
I look up at the ceiling and around at the walls. All around—anywhere but the dark, jerky camera motion on the screen. Then I wonder that his friends will think—what is she looking at? Crazy girl C. She doesn’t watch the movie. She just looks around. I’m not even looking at anything. I’m just trying to calm my anxiety and not watch the tense bits of the movie.
What am I anxious about anyway?
Start reading this story here.
I comb the racks and find a cute patterned dress. Great. Have to find the accessories now. Shoes. Check. Sweater. Check. Tights. Check. Good job I know my way around that store. I hurry to an available cashier. He takes his time at the checkout. Do you know if you buy one sweater, you can get two for free?
No. I say. It’s OK. I don’t have time to look for two more sweaters.
You sure? This promotion is only on today. You could get two more sweaters and not pay any more.
I can’t think that fast. I tell him. I’m—uh–on a bit of a timeline.
He proceeds to try to convince me to buy two more sweaters. And takes all the time in the world to ring up my purchases.
Whatever. Just ring it up already. I sigh. I glance at my watch. 6h40. Good job I asked for the 7h20 movie.
I grab my purchases and dash out of the store. What do I do with my face and hair. UGH. Miss Frumpy. Doesn’t matter that I’d found a cute little dress in record time.
I decide to go into the Safeway beside Mervyn’s. There’s got to be something I can use there. I buy a travel pack of PONDS face wipes, some deodorant, hair gel, and a brush. BACK TO MY CAR!
What do I do now? It’s almost 7h00 and I don’t have time to change anywhere. I get in the passenger side and start pulling off the frumpy clothes. Quick freshen up with the PONDS face pack. Pull the tags off the new clothes and wriggle. It’s not easy to change in the passenger seat of a Honda Civic…in a parking lot…in the dark.
All the while—I am getting more and more anxious. I briefly consider calling from a pay phone or borrowing somebody’s cell just to cancel. I’m NOT READY TO MEET YOUR FRIENDS. I want to say. I’m NOT READY FOR THIS. It’s a lot of pressure—AND I’m trying to get presentable…in the passenger seat of my car…in a parking lot…in the dark. I start to hyperventilate.
I take a deep breath. I take a few more. This is as good as it’s going to get, I think. I finish pulling up the tights and put on the new shoes.
I try to do something with my hair—I brush it out and add a few dollops of gel to the sides.
I have no idea how I look. I’ve just changed into a brand-new outfit in the front passenger seat of my car. There is no full-length mirror in the front passenger seat of my car.
I take a few more deep breaths.
I get out of the passenger side and walk around to the driver’s side.
Breathe.
Compose myself.
Breathe.
Start reading this story here.
The movie ends. We all laugh at the intensity. He makes formal introductions. I nod and smile—because I can’t think of anything intelligent to say. We make our way out to the lobby.
I am in agony. COMPLETELY EXPOSED. COMPLETE AGONY. His friends are standing around talking and I’m feeling so very exposed and raw. They are sizing me up discreetly. I’m in their peripheral vision and I can feel it. I want to look at him—for help. But I can’t. He’ll see. He’ll see how much I like him. I want to grab on to his coat and hide behind him and mumble something. Instead. I just stand there exposed and raw. I wrap my arms around myself and look down.
I’m mortified. COMEPLETELY MORTIFIED. My tights are too bright. I have bright-brown legs in dark brown shoes. I look up. One girl is chatting away about the movie. I think she’s saying how she’s mad at her mom for not telling her about the dog. I still can’t find anything intelligent to say. I’m speechless and I’m looking down at my legs. SURELY—surely they’ll figure it out.
Interesting girl C. She’s awfully quiet. Doesn’t say much. What was up with those tights? Why are you hanging out with her? That’ll be the end of it I suppose. I won’t be able to show my face again.
Later, we go for dinner. Just him and me. I’m so nervous from the whole experience—I can’t eat. I can’t even talk. I just look at him and wonder why he’s there.
I stare at his mouth again. I like the way he talks. I like his voice. I know I like what he’s saying—but I’m not paying attention to the words, just the movement of his lips.
I look back at his face. Does he notice me staring? Probably. What have I got to loose this time?
Can I kiss you?
He looks at me sideways. Thinks for a moment, smiles, and nods his head. Sure.
