Sigh, Friends.

I went eye glasses shopping with my sister yesterday.This wouldn't have been such a deplorable exercise if my sister hadn't have spent TWO THOUSAND FUCKING OSAP DOLLARS on laser eye surgery four months ago. She says that she, "misses her glasses" and wants to, "experiment with things that can make her face look different." So instead of buying fifteen dollar sunglasses from Shoppers, she opts for two hundred dollar Gucci frames from the eye center in the mall.

She says she doesn't want to spend that much money. She'll probably go to Wal*Mart and buy cheaper ones. But still, Ques le fuck? My sister has postpartum with her eye glasses.

Many moons ago, when I was absolutely obsessed with chit chatting on ICQ and IRC and all the other pedophile pickups, I met my dear friend Jason. Jason at first was a charming British fellow, who was overly clever and a very talented writer. Naturally, I fell madly in love with him.
Over the years I knew Jason, the differences between us were more than vibrantly apparent. Jason's a capitalist pig; he'll admit it to you if you ask him. Compared to him, I'm a love-stung hippy and when our personalities met in a spot of ethics or personal preference, man did we clash. I didn't mind though, that clash was what made our friendship appealing. We both made our mistakes, but because of our dueling personalities I was able to forgive him and he, not at all.
In our last conversation he said he lost his trust in me completely. He said that I was welcome to talk to him, but our friendship would never be intact again. I didn't want to be a source of procrastination, or a filler in the middle of a boring business day, so I just let it go.
There are days when I miss him entirely too much. He was a source of inspiration to me and because of our lack of correspondance, there is a noticeable lack of creativity in me. And then there are days where I burst with frustration when I think of him. My sister's birthday for example, the day I left for New York, oddly his birthday too - I was in an awful mood.
There are things about him that finally make sense. Like how he seems to only date women from the other side of the universe, so there will always be an exscuse to mask the real reasons when it's time to breakup.
I asked him to stop reading my blog. I'm sure he hasn't. He needs that insight into other people's lives. Wether it be for comparison, understanding or education he attempts to stay connected to people through a medium with the smallest amount of commitment.

Jason.

The poster child for an unhealthy fear of normal commitment to the people he cares about.

Poor soul.

I've only worked seven days in the entire month of February. That means I saw Josh two days during the entire month. That's weird.
I'm afraid that he lied to me about how he stopped reading my blog and read the entry about the 3'somes. There's a massive part of me that doesn't care if he read it because as I've said so many times, it's my fucking journal. And then there's the motherly bit of me that's afraid of my potential screwup in my obligation to him.
I told him ages ago that I was going to be his friend through thick and thin and now, I haven't seen him in an entire month. Yeah, fair enough, I was on vacation, but I hardly made an effort.
Andrew has been telling me for ages now not to put myself in situations that have potential for disaster. I agree with him completely. Unfortunately when the stripper fight blew up, I used that line of reasoning on him and he in turn, shot it right back regarding Josh. That fight was when Andrew really expressed his disliking of my friendship with him and that was when I finally felt guilty enough to stop hanging out with Josh.
Oddly enough, almost a week after the fight, Josh for the first time asked me to hang out with him and I told him no. I feel like shit for it. The whole time I've been going on and on about how he should just tell his wife to fuck off and now I'm in the exact position that he's in.

I don't know what the deal with Thom was. He really is the one person that bugs me the most because the mistakes in our relationship were made when we were both young and inexperienced and now, in a slightly more educated existence, I can't talk to him about it because he's fallen off the face of the planet.
I don't know why I want to talk to him. From what I understand, he's turned into a strikingly large arsehole as well. I wish he'd come out of hiding and prove me wrong or right.

Rob.

I love Rob. I wish he was tangible so I could talk to him.

I know Katie has her own life to live on the west coast, but it's weird when she just sorta pops in for a minute. It's terribly motherly. Sort of like someone is hoovering over my existence and making sure everything's ok from afar. I don't like that she knows so much about me now and I so little of her, but I would never want her to stop reading my blog.
Again, I wish she was tangible as well.

My friends are fucked. But I suppose that's just a reflection of myself. Or maybe I'm the fucked up one and I make everyone fucked up. Probably the latter.

I watched Pollock last night.

Compared to him, I'm really not that bad.

But I'm still fucked.

Start Spreadin' the News.

Day One

"So I'm going to bring some sandwiches to eat on the way there. I don't want to spend a fortune on stops to feed my belly. Do you want me to bring you anything?"

Oh I grumbled.

I grumbled in absolute frustration until he showed up at the house, only fifteen minutes late, holding a jumble of roses that had slightly began to wilt on their way from Toronto. That's when your heart melts, because only a completely clueless boyfriend holding dying flowers in the middle of the night on Valentines Day can be found adorable.

We left Canada in the wee hours of the fifteenth. Oh the thrills of traveling across North America. The open road, the breathtaking sunrises through the mountains, the highways splattered with crimson blood, presumably from a deer that had been mutilated by a transport.

Ga-ross.

We arrived in Jersey at 9:30am with a pile of Cinabons, Chug Orange Juice and bottles upon bottles of Motor Oil. Andrew's car had sprung a leak.
I can't say much for Jersey. It really is to New York, what Hamilton is to Toronto. Whoever decided it to be the Garden State was obviously from a different dimension. It sort of looks like an updated, industrial Mordor - the pit of hell. It severly lacks gardens. Maybe I was looking in the wrong place.

Becuase we had arrived so early and we could only check into our hotel so late, we had to find something to do, which would keep the truck in a cheap location. What did we see first upon arriving? The mighty Statue of Liberty of course. It's actually not that mighty upon viewing it for the first time. It looks rather tiny. Tiny and crap.
It was an adventure to get to the statue parking. We drove through pits of mud, mountains of gravel and valleys of muck. Eventually when we saw the cobblestone road, we knew we were in the right area. Driving down that road was like going on an off roading adventure in the middle of the biggest city in the universe. It was stupidly fun.
There was of course, a million school children going on the obligatory, crap class outting with their very disgruntled teachers. I can't say that children from Jersey have any sort of manners, but they can definitely dance. Better than I can anyway.
After slowly meandering through all the brats in line, we arrived at the simple white tent, which contained the most advanced tourist security system known to man. There were buckets, and guns and scanners and trollies and all sorts of flashing machines to X-ray my inards and outards, boots and purse. I was made to strip down; literally to nothing more than my tangtop and jeans. Boots off, jacket off, sweater off and belt. Put 'em in the bucket and pass through the metal detector. I guess the whole flamming red hair and Ben Folds hoodie screams "terrorist." Funny, that the girl behind me with the belt made out of bullets seemed to pass through without a problem. The fuckers.
Unfortunately for Andrew and I, the ferry first brought us to Ellis Island which really is a gem of American history, but a very boring tourist stop. It's nice to see the old buildings that they have restored to be 'pretty,' with the more-than-slightly looking Nazi Eagles peering down from the sloping roof, but I really don't want to see 3D bar graphs and charts depicting the incline and decline of immigrants to New York over the past century.

BORING.

Liberty Island however is beautiful. It's like walking onto a hidden sphere of France with it's ornate benches and shady pathways; suiting for the lady it houses. Miss. Liberty is massive when you're standing underneath her and mildly unnecessary. I guess it really is one of those presents that the Americans couldn't quite re-gift.
We didn't stay long on the island, just long enough to justify the children's fear of the local seagulls as one divebombed my head and ripped my boiled hot dog right out of my hand. I can't say that it was a huge loss, being a boiled hot dog and all, but it still pissed me off enough for me to be overly cranky. Poor Andrew.

By the time our ferry ride was over we had just enough time to burn our way through the Holland Tunnel, check the car, check into our room, drop off our bags, sigh at the size of our piddly room and our wonderful scenic view of the building beside ours, hop in a cab and beg the cabby to get us to the Ed Sullivan Theatre, quick like a bunny. HOP, HOP, HOP.

"So yeah, you got the address for that place?"
"What? No. Where they film Letterman."
"Yeah, I'm going to have to call it in."
"CALL IT IN? L.E.T.T.E.R.M.A.N?"

How can you be a cabby in New York, and not know where the Ed Sullivan Theatre is?
After our asshole-of-a-cab-driver ripped the ten dollars out of our hands, he cautiously unlocked the doors so we could escape and run into the back of the line.
We got our tickets. We were on Adam's Gold List, and we were thrilled because they pulled us aside to tell us that we were special and to show up at four forty-five, while everyone else had to show up at four thirty.
We skipped down Times Square, clicked pictures like average tourists and fell in love with the infamous New York, Black and White cookie. Devil food, let me tell you. We pranced back to the hotel, got changed and ready for Letterman and only had to make a mad dash back to the hotel room once, as Andrew had forgotten his ticket in his other pants. No big whoop though. We got there on time.
And like Sardines in a can, Andrew and I squeezed into the ridiculously tiny seats and watched Mr. L belittle his Vice President and make funnies with Charles Barkley. The show would have been wonderful, if I wouldn't have had to contort my body to fit into the seat. I guess we weren't special after all.

We ate at some weird foot court, tucked into a wall somewhere on seventh. It was greasy. Fitting adjective for New York's cuisine and come to think of it, most of New York.

Back at the hotel Andrew and I were preparing for a rightly deserved nap. We had been awake for over twenty-four hours and we were both cranky and uncomfortable and just wanted to sleep all of our ick away.
The Milford is a nice hotel. It's busy and clean and in the middle of a lot of interesting places and people, but the service and size absolutely sucks ass. In our room we had a chair, a two foot high dresser that supported a TV and nothing else, two night stands and a bed. There was a closet, but because the ironing board was stored in it, there wasn't much room to store anything else, so our only option for our luggage was the chair and the floor.
Because Andrew was sleeping on the side of the bed closest to the chair, I plunked his suitcase down there. I put mine on the floor, in an area that I thought wouldn't be a problem, but since Andrew has such massive feet, it was destined to be one, no matter what I did with it.
Sometime after a romp in our tiny bed, Andrew got up to use the facilities and as I drifted off into a hazy post-sex sleep, I was awoken by the most horrid of yelps I've ever heard. I jumped out of bed concerned and cautious and asked,

"What happened?"
"I just stubbed my toe on your luggage."

And I said "Oh," gave a giggle and slapped myself back down on the bed to regain my sleepy state.
The lights flashed on soon after, and out of the bathroom came Andrew, waddling like a wounded duck, trying desperately not to yelp some more.

"Look," he yelled and so I did and there I saw 95% of a toenail ripped completely off a toe and the surrounding foot covered with blood. I in turn, yelped and begged for forgiveness for laughing and soon followed my shock with a string of,

"Oh my God does it hurt? Ewe Gross, gross, gross, gross. What do we do? What do we do? Waddawedooooooo?"

Andrew could barely walk. We decided to hobble down to the lobby to see if we could find someone to admister first aid. The security guard wasn't very helpful. He just looked in awe and sympathy at Andrew's wound, gave us some disinfectant and a bunch of bandaids. So we hobbled back to the room and again, another string of, "Waddawedo's?" followed from us both.
I eventually decided that it was best to call the front desk to see if there was anyone on staff who could admister first aid, or at least someone who would be able to help the situation.

"Yes hi, my boyfriend ripped off his toenail and I was wondering if there was someone you had on staff who would be able to look at it?"
"Your boyfriend did what?"
"He ripped off his toenail. Maybe a nurse or someone with first aid knowledge that could look at it?"
"I don't understand what you're asking."
"I NEED SOMEONE TO LOOK AT MY BOYFRIEND'S BLOODY FOOT."
"Hold on one minute."
*muffled phone voice*
"Yeah, Charlene I don't know what this person wants. First Aid or something. Who can I transfer her to? Who? Ok, what's the extension? What do you mean you don't know? What is it?"
*remove hand from phone*
"Ok Ma'am, I'm going to transfer you to the bellhop."
"What? The bellhop? What the hell..."
*ring*
"Hello?"
"I just talked to you on the phone, you said you were going to transfer me to the bellhop."
"He didn't pick up? Hold on."
*click, ring*
"Hello?"
"My boyfriend stubbed his toe, I need someone to..."
"Yeah, hang on. I'm sending someone upstairs."

And five minutes later, a useless manager arrived to inform us that he could call an ambulance for us. Thank god for the service at the Milford! We asked if he could open the phone for us so we could call CAA for travel insurance purposes and we were told that we would have to pay a fee downstairs for local calls. We opted for the pay phones in the lobby.
So after about two hours of, "Waddawedo's" and lectures from CAA officials, we went to the Duane Reid down the street, bought a load of bandages, tape and nail clippers and I, Anna.the.sight.of.blood.makes.me.want.to.die.gross.gross.gross.Oster played nurse to my boyfriend's battered toe. It was gross.
After moving my luggage to a different position in our tiny room we both fell into bed.

"If this is what New York is like all the time, I don't ever want to come back."
"It was just a long day."
"Yeah. Maybe. Or maybe I'm not made for New York."

Day Two

We awoke at eleven the following morning and groomed ourselves while we decided what was to be done with our second wild day in the city.
Lunch at McDonalds was our first stop, then the Empire State Building and the Moma. If there was any time after that, we would high tail it down to Central Park and then to the musical. Our day was just beginning and in true New York fashion, our day was already loaded to the tits.
We decided to try the Subway to get where we needed to be. Thankfully Andrew, the trusted TTC operator could translate the spaghetti map of subway lines because I was clueless.
The transit system implemented in New York is smart. There's little to no way someone could force their way onto the train and swiping a card to get on through the barriers is easy and efficient. Toronto should get their asses in gear and do the same.
We walked out into the warm February sun (yes, February sun. It was 55 degrees in New York the three days we were there) and adjusted our eyes. We looked up and down the streets, looking for the building and then BAM, right infront of us, towering like a mammoth Art Deco sculpture was the Empire State Building.
We strolled hand in hand down Fifth Avenue. I was spellbound by all the shops and weird street corners that we passed and desperately wanted to go in them all, but knew we didn't have enough time.
We walked through the revolving doors and after fifteen minutes of elevator rides, non-optional tourist photos of you and your lover infront of a badly painted backdrop of the building and meandering through the lengthy lines of velvet ropes, we made it to the top. We could see clearly for five miles and what a sight it was. I had been to the top a long while ago when I was nine. I remembered it being a lot bigger and a lot scarier. This time it was like standing on a cloud.
Andrew and I, in our tourist like ways, read all the information we could and laughed at the little drawings of King Kong hanging from the top. Oddly enough, on a rainy day you can actually see the rain falling up if you're on the Observation Deck. That shit is crazy man. No one should be up that high.
On our way down we sucked face in the elevator, only for the novelty of saying, "Who can say that they made out in an Empire State Building elevator?" and then popped back on the subway to get to the Moma.

I was in a good mood that day. It was a bright and beautiful, breezy afternoon and I was spending my vacation with the man I loved. Thinking about going to the Museum of Modern Art just didn't register really, not until I saw what it had to offer.
I almost walked past a Dali and his melting clocks. I awed at the Three Musicians and was dumbfounded to learn that a dog was draped under their chairs and the man dressed like a harlequin was Picasso himself. I never liked Pollock until I got lost in one of his paintings. Marilyn Monroe stared back at me from her massive canvas. Drowning girl, in all of her dotted glory died before me, Van Gogh's stars dazzled me into maybe liking him just a little and Monet's literal wall of lillies struck me stupid. The illustration wing prompted me to try some copper etchings and Jasper John's flag made me jealous. Now all I want to do is draw.
I never thought that I could be a talented artist, but after seeing a Modern Art collection, I know I am. I could have stayed there for days, maybe months.

We had more than enough time to stroll through Central Park. We bought some smoothies from a street vendor and made our way right through the middle. There was a small skating and hockey rink for children with a covered shed wrapped half way around it for parents to sit and watch. A beautifuly carved gazebo stood brilliantly on a hill of slate, surrounded by a terrace and trees. An old Dairy that was converted into a gift shop quaintly glowed in it's own little corner.
We decided on trying to find the Alice in Wonderland Statue as that was the only thing we could really find on our teeny, tiny map. On the way back we stumbled into a gorgeous lake near the boat house, surrounded by a gigantic waterfountain and a big square. As we strolled through it, we noted a Strawberry Fields sign and so we went and paid respects to the Imagine Circle that was adorned with roses in the shape of a peace sign. It's really quite petite. You'd think that something so renowned would be mammoth.
There seemed to be a flock of young hippy-kids guarding it from undeserving tourists. There was also a man obviously playing Beatles tunes on a gee-tar. It was Eerie.
Central Park simply does not belong in New York. It is an Emerald in a sea of filth and grime and anyone who takes it for granted in New York should be shot. Again, I could spend days wandering that park, sitting in boats, eating the food, looking at the statues. It really is quite rare and I envy any city who can boast to own such a place.

I was worried for the musical. I didn't know if Andrew would even remotely enjoy it and it was expensive. It sucks bringing your boyfriend to something that you want him to do with you more than once, knowing fully well that he may never want to do it again after seeing one.
The play went as I expected it to. There were twists in the plot that differed from the novel greatly, mainly to make the story fitting for the stage. The actors were absolutely outstanding and I'm not going to lie, I was insanely jealous. Now that my voice is either completely lost or destroyed, I long for the days when I could partly sing like someone from a Broadway Musical.
Turns out that Wicked, the musical was the best one I've ever seen and even Andrew commented after the First Act that it was, "Well worth the price of Admission." I was so relieved when he said he would go to another and we decided that it would make an excellent Mother's Day present.

We bought more black and white cookies on the way back to the hotel and thankfully, didn't stub any toes before we fell back into sleep.

Day Three

We had to check out of the hotel by twelve so we woke at around ten and ate in the Celebrity Deli, which was located in the hotel lobby.
I had waffles and freshly squeezed orange juice that was simply to die for. Andrew had Corned Beef Hash, eggs and toast which was quite possibly the best thing I've ever tasted, other than the black and white cookies of course.
We checked out of the room and checked our bags into a baggage hold so we could spend the rest of the day in New York.

Our first stop was the Museum of Natural Science which was boring at first, but crazy neat by the end of it. Most of the museum looked like a hunting lodge as it had animal pelts hanging in the glass cases, attempting to display the different sizes of Wombats and Spider Monkeys.
They were featuring a Darwin exibit and had some massive turtles just chillin' outside of the entrance. We spent an extra long while looking at what I think were fake, dead reptiles in their glass cages. There was a giant alligator. freaky.
We ended the visit with a walk through the dinosaur bones exibit which was massively intimidating and then through the Ocean exibit that had a man made whale hanging from the ceiling which was literally the size of my mother's house. There was also a display showing a giant squid attacking a sperm whale. Apparently no man has ever seen a giant squid and the only evidence there is of them, have been the bodies that have washed up on shores after storms. That, and the tentacle marks left on the sides of whales are presumabed to be left after battles of life and death. The grossest fish that we saw though was a weird little creepy thing called the, cookie cutter fish. At first I thought like a moron, "Oh cookies! Yum!", but then learned that it's a fish that latches onto it's prey and cuts out a circle of flesh from the body for food. That's nasty. Gross. Gross.
See! New York taught me useless information. It's a SMRT city.

We ventured to Canal St. where we found a Burger King and a load of absolute shite. If you want pirated DVD's, scarfs, purses, t-shirts, huge bling or Molexes, Canal St. is the place to go. Andrew and I wanted none of the above, so we went to China Town instead and bought some tea.
I guess all the walking that day had made us mass hungry, 'cause after we had just eaten at Burger King (Yeah I know, a lot of fast food. We're poor. Eating at the Olive Garden in Times Square sounds good in theory, until you get the flippin' bill), we wandered into a small Oriental Pastry Shop.
I was in awe of the cakes. They were so artistically decorated with fruit and chocolate and icing that they, in their own right were edible pieces of art. I was for the first time excessively excited about my future career.
Andrew got a Green Bubble Tea thingy with tapioca that he usually buys in Toronto in his little tea shops. I always think they're nasty, but for some reason the one he had in New York was dynamite. Toronto! God Damn, get your fucking act together. The pastry side of it all in theory, looked amazing but was a little wonky when it came to taste.I had never had a rice ball before and after having one in New York, I never will again. I thought it was going to be a pastry puff sort of thing, but upon poking and proding it, I realised it was anything but. Biting into a rice ball for the first time is like biting into a raw fish. Ewe. It actually didn't taste bad, but the texture was too much.

Never. Again.

Andrew got what we thought was something like a Long John. After biting into it, we realised that it was just a bun with a load of butter in the middle. That's some fucked up shit. Creamery Butter.
We took the Subway back to the Port Authority where we had found a rad pizza shop the day before. Andrew loved the pizza so much that he nearly bought a whole one the second time we visited. The restaurant was a cafeteria style setup so Andrew would get the food and I would try to steal a place to sit so we could eat our pizza in peace. NO BIG WHOOP.
So I stole some empty chairs and placed them near the edge of the patio, which was really just a short fence with a bar attatched to it. I noted that one of the chairs was a little weak so I decided to grab that one so Andrew could have the stronger one. Of course, the chair collapsed and as I went down, some notoriously seedy man standing on the opposite side of the fence yelled,

"Woah shit, you ok?"

I laughed nervously.

"Jeeze, you're not that heavy," he squawked.
"I hope not."I was embarassed. The seedy man kept talking.
"So are you from Holland or sumpin?"
"Uh, no. Canada."
"Really, you got an accent. "
"Oh, ok."
"So there's lots of black guys that surf in Canada eh?"
"Uh. Not where I'm from."
"Where you from den?"
"Toronto" (for the sake of their possible lack of knowledge regarding Canadian geography).

Another guy turned around then and said,

"Oh yeah, the winter olympics."
"What?"
"The winter olympics, Toronto."
"Uh, they're in Torino."
"Yeah, I know that. I'm saying you're Canadian, you watch the winter olympics."
"Oh yeah, I guess."
"Yeah, we don't watch that shit until the summer olymics comes around."
"Oh. Ok."
The seedy guy continued..."I used to go to Niagara Falls all the time for the fourth of July. I haven't gone in a while though. You've seen the falls?"
"Yeah, I used to work there."
"It's beautiful. Really beautiful."
"Did you go to the Canadian side?"
"Yeah, I don't really know. I guess I did. Whatever side Montreal is on. I went to Montreal too."
"Oh. Right. Yeah. Ok."
"So what you doin' in New York?"
"I'm on vacation with my boyfriend."
"Oh yeah, he lives in New York?"
"No, no. I'm on vacation with him."
"Oh right. You're visiting him?"
"No, he's just buying us some pizza."

Andrew showed up then. The man's disgusting smile turned upside down.

"Yeah, don't worry man. We're just trying to pick up your wife."
"I'm not worried. There's a fence."

He shut up then, and we ate our pizza in peace. We had two slices of pizza left over. We saved them for the ride home.
Andrew stopped at a Deli to buy a notorious New York sandwich and I bought twenty dollars worth of Black and White cookies, which was only six. SIX! Fucking New York prices.

We grabbed our bags, grabbed our car, paid the hundred dollar fee and left the city. We crossed the Tapenzee bridge on the way home. Andrew's friends Krista and Tony had recently been to New York and had stopped at a giant Outlet Mall in Jersey called Newbury Commons. They had reccomended it to us and since I had a lot of money leftover, we decided to stop in to see what it had to offer. Unfortunately the traffic was so bad on the way there, we managed to pull into the parking lot just as all the stores were closing. Total Bummer. We took a look at the different stores and decided that it wasn't worth staying for and back on the road we went.

We nibbled on pizza and sandwiches on the way home and decided that once we reached Binghamton that we would find a hotel and continue the journey home the next day.

We stopped at a Motel 8. Andrew went in to see if there were any rooms available and as he waited for the receptionist to help him a couple came down from upstairs and said,

"Uhh. I guess your maid didn't get to cleaning our room because the bed isn't made and there's used condom wrappers everywhere."

Andrew cringed. When she did finally get back to him she told him that there was only four rooms left and none of them had heat. We immediatly left and approached the Econo Lodge two seconds down the road.
An elderly woman with a wicked bad case of Parkinsons was manning the desk all by her lonesome. She was a sweet old woman, but no one wants to talk about the weather and pretty birdies at eleven thirty at night when you just want to sleep.
The room at the Econo Lodge was three times the size of our room in New York and three times cheaper. It was an awesome find. Totally stoked on that room. We ate the rest of the pizza and the sandwich and turned in for the night.

Day Four

We left the Econo Lodge at eleven the next morning and went in a mad persuit for some grub. Andrew insisted that there was a truck stop nearby and I wasn't going to argue with him, 'cause the man loves his truck stop cookin'. Unfortunately, we couldn't find it, but did find a Taco Bell and so we had Nachos and Burritos. Good breakfast.
On the way back to the highway we saw the Cracker Barrel. We wept.

We decided to stop at a mall in Syracuse 'cause Andrew wanted shoes and I wanted clothes and a couple hours later, and one Friendly's stop to boot, we arrived, excited to spend some mad coin.
Andrew and I are two very big people. Andrew's six foot five and has size fifteen feet. I'm five foot ten and my chest makes it very difficult to find clothes that fit me correctly. Sometimes it's easy to find clothes. Asking this question usually solves most problems."Do you carry size fifteen shoes." And when they say no, off you go.
Andrew and I walked the three flights of mall and couldn't find one store to support our needs. We bought nothing. I was depressed and moody and Andrew had to deal with it. The car ride after that was miserable.
I snapped out of it eventually and we both decided that it would just be best to go to Buffalo, as we would more than likely find what we need where we know it existed.
I bought a pair of pants and three shirts at the Galleria. Andrew bought a pair of shocks. We're both looking fine.

We stopped at the Cracker Barrel for dinner and of course at the Dutry Free to pick up some booze for Andrew's folks.

We crossed the border at ten o'clock pm on Saturday night.

***

Andrew decided to spend the night because he didn't want to leave right away. We decided that our trip would have been tops if we would have had and extra day to do everything we did. Our vacation was packed. We were hopping constantly. But it was awesome.We're going to go back. Hopefully within the year.

I'm stoked.

A Bad Day.

So Valentines Day has crept up on me again and again, I have nothing to show for it except a $45.00, amber pendant that I bought myself for a necklace I have yet to make. I've wanted it for ages, but couldn't bring myself to spend close to a hundred dollars on it. By some random act of God, I stumbled into the Pen Centre on a half off day and scooped up the charm with only an ounce of guilt associated. Thank you Jebus.

"What asshole made February 14th, 'Hate Your Boyfriend Day,' 'cause all the women you know are making you jealous by showing off their pretty presents?" Is Andrew's question.

My boyfriend, the most sentimentally retarded man on the face of the planet.

I tried to tell him that to me it wasn't the present, it was the thought (an idea that seems to be lost on him, time and time again), and that I don't get jealous of other women getting silly gifts on a day that means nothing, but more so, left out. No man has ever adorned me with love in such a way as the typical Valentine's Day stereotypes flow and I'm sure I'd hate it if it happened, but that doesn't mean I don't want to know what it likes.
Andrew still has yet to grasp how the female mind works. I don't blame him, but he should really just catch the hint and act on the crystal clear point that I just illustrated for him.

His response to my comment was, "Well you can tell all your friends that your boyfriend is driving you to New York for a vacation."

Oooo a two day vacation in New York that I'm paying for, that is just as much for you as it is for me. Forgive me if I'm not overwhelmed with happy-love tears.

I went to Toronto last Friday to start off my vacation with a giant bang of normality. Going to Andrew's is always such a social event.
Experiencing Andrew's family is like running a manner marathon. First you have to fake interest in whatever rubbish Diane is on about and then nod in agreement over recipes and proud stories of her daughter-in-law. Before dinner you have to chop the vegetables, make the salad, set the table and during dinner, have to fake interest all over again in the midst of their family debate-athon where they, batter eachother with historic references to upset their daily news updates.

IT'S HARD.

After dinner you clean the dishes.
Cleaning the dishes wouldn't be so awful if Andrew helped, but he never does and so I stand alone at the sink, in my boyfriend's mother's house, scrubbing her dishes. She of course, watches with a scrutinizing eye, making sure that I clean each one properly. Brutal.

Hanging out with Andrew's friends is equally frustrating. I'm only a shy individual in social settings when I have something to loose. If Andrew wasn't friends with his friends, I would be as blunt and awful as I wanted with no thread of regret or care, but because they've been his friends for ages, I have to keep myself in check. All significant others have this problem, all significant others hate this.
Tony and Krista aren't difficult to be with. They're funny and strange and are generally easy going folk, but they're semi-rich potheads that have a bar on top of their fridge, whom like to play poker.

Whatever.

Smoke your dope, drink your booze that's tackily located on your fridge that you call a bar and play your poker, just don't make me do it. When I say I don't want to play poker, that I'd rather watch, I mean it. So take your fucking chips and shove them up your arse, I DON'T WANT TO PLAY.
But they made me play anyway, and I won everything, so bully for me and your shit game. I showed you whose boss.
Most times I'm sure Andrew's friends tolerate me because I'm with Andrew. I wonder if they'll be absolutely offended when I decide to just not hang out with them in the future? I wonder if Andrew will be?

We spent a couple hours at Casa Loma which was a bizarre experience. Walking into a grand castle in the middle of Toronto is fucked. Walking in rooms that are nearly a hundred years old and then walking into a cafeteria/gift shop in the basement is absolutely evil.
The castle itself was absolutely stunning. There was secret passage ways, an elaborate shower with all sorts of nozels and pipes, winding metal staircases that scared the poop out of me, a conservatory where X-Men was filmed, a weird peacock light and a very badly written, but beautifully illustrated story that was plaqued on the wall for all of the tourists to read. It was definitely something, let me tell you.

I suppose I'm a writing a pre-entry to mask my excited state. Well to be honest, I'm not really excited at all. Perhaps when we cross the border I'll be a little more thrilled. Probably not though. Crossing the border for me is like stepping into my backyard.

It's strange to think at that this time tomorrow I'll be standing outside the Late Show entrance, waiting to get my tickets for the event. It's strange to think that I'll be wandering around New York with my massive bastard of a boyfriend, looking at museums and street vendors the days that follow. It's such a bizarre difference to my day-to-day life, but not one that I actually consider a vacation. Probably because it doesn't fit the stereotype. OooOoo! Are Galleries and the cheap thrill of being on the border of almost always being mugged! Yes please!

I realise that I am always doubtful of what my trips will bring me. I realise that I'm quite worried about interacting with Andrew for such a long time in such a cramped environment. One hundred and thirty dollars only allows you a room the size of an outhouse. I hope it does not smell like an outhouse.

I guess I just expected a much more grand time away during my two weeks of time off. This time was designated for England and even though I'm not sulking over not being there, it still is rather crap to think of the multitude of differences between the two places and my huge desire to rather be in one, than the other.

I wonder how much longer I'll have to wait before I can go. At least a year. How awful.

Lemons.

I'm on vacation for two and a half weeks. Two weeks of no Wal*Mart. I think there may be a chance of returning to some level of normal sanity. Now I just need to get my birth control in check.

Stewie gave his two weeks notice on Monday. Last night was the last time I would ever work with that strange, but absolutely alluring man. He is such an odd person. I will sincerely miss his quirks.
Because it was our last night, Derek and I had arranged a breakfast with him this morning. Somehow in the midst of the evening, Josh agreed to come and so we thought, 'hey, this is going to be a good time.' And so we sat for forty-five mintues, waiting for Stewie, putting our good faith in him, hoping that he would brighten our day with his lemon-zesting self, but he never did. I cried a little on the inside. Stewie stood us up.
The breakfast was still a memorable event. I've noted as of late that Derek has been hitting on me a lot more than he should be and it's beginning to make me a tad uncomfortable. I'm sure he's paying me more attention because he hasn't been laid for months and I'm a little putoff by this sudden swing of character. This string of peculiar comments from Derek, topped with Josh's mild and always distant, but still very much apparent compliments struck me in an odd spot. How does one respond to two men paying so much affection towards moi? Diddums doesn't know and I don't think she ever will. Needless to say, it felt good and I may have flirted a little by removing my sweater to show off that extra bit of cleavage at the breakfast table. I am so naughty.

By the end of it all a slice of lemon was catipulted betwixt my boobs and I was full of coconut cream pie and coffee.

I'm sure you agree, good breakfast

Mo' Money, Mo' 3somes.

Three fucking weeks I've been sick. Today and yesterday have been the worst though. Before I was just stubbed up and achey, now I seem to be a mucus factory. I've broken into my mother's stash of hot lemonaidee drinks, but they unfortunately, are doing absolutely nothing. The only improvement to my state was that I managed to hork up a block of pleghm in Dianne's car this afternoon. It was quickly replaced by more of my nose's discharge.

I went twenty-two years without having to drive. I enjoyed my rebellion against the car. I don't like contributing to a problem that could be a cause of my premature death. I don't like knowing that I could accidentally damage someone or something by doing my day-to-day activities. I don't like having unexpected breakdowns that take a considerable chunk of my vacation money. Fucking Tercel. Why did you have to break NOW?
I considered leaving her in Mum's driveway. It would save my wallet from unexpected financial escapades and piss D right off. Unfortunately this growing up-responsibility issue jump started and now the Tercel is taunting me with it's newly replaced, slightly-used alternator. Again, fucking Tercel.
Dianne offered to 'help' by paying a hundred dollars of the bill. I told her no. It would be nice to have a parent swoop down and fix the problem for me, but knowing Mom, she has no intention of doing this random act of kindness without some sort of emotionally-draining and mentally-exhausting fee. "Why don't you want to come to the craft show with me Anna? Remember that time I paid for your car..." It's already ringing in my ears.
Andrew offered to loan me some money for our trip. That idea was quickly obliterated by my pride. I don't like having him pay for everything. I like that the cost of our holiday has been split equally down the middle; I like being dependant on my self.

Thank God for my education fund. If I hadn't had the sense to start saving in the middle of last year, I never would have had the chance to squander it all on a trip to New York.

FUCKING TERCEL.

Josh and I haven't spoken in quite awhile.
Because of our oddly placed shifts at work, I only see him one day a week. The days that we do see eachother, I barely talk to him. It seems to me, that there isn't really much left to say to him anymore.
Last Sunday he told me that his wife had been influenced by another woman at work to engage in a 3some. My jaw almost hit the floor when he said that she was proposing it for their upcoming anniversary.
I admit that the idea of 3somes are very attractive and sure, I've dabbled in the hypothetical ideas of them for the amusement of the moment. I've even suggested them in the heat of a seriously exotic sexcapade, but never in my right mind would I think that Ann, with all of her insecurities would be comfortable enough to persue this avenue with her very inexperienced husband.
I do not have the emotional capacity to be in a 3some with Andrew. I could not put our relationship in the unsure clutches of such a brave new experience with so many uncertainties. I can't imagine the outcome, I can't imagine the depth of the feelings that I would experience. I can't imagine how I'd be able to function properly afterwards, knowing fully well that I can barely stomach the thought of Andrew going to a strip club, let alone watching him fuck another woman in my presence. It's then I realised that If I couldn't be emotionally equipped to deal with such a circumstance, there was no way in God's right mind that Ann could.

"You're crazy Josh. I think this is a bad idea."
"Why are you hating on this so bad?"
"I don't think your wife can handle it. We both agree that I'm more sexually liberated than both of you and if I can't handle it, there's no way she can. It's a bad idea."
"Well, there's rules."
"Rules?"
"Well yeah, like I can't actually have sex with the girl, but I can accept oral sex from her."
"Can you give her oral sex?"
"I don't know."
"That doesn't seem like a 3some to me. 3somes are supposed to be liberating, not confined. It seems selfish."
"It's not. It's not for me anyways, it's for her."
"Pfft. I think it would mean a lot more to her if you told her that the only woman you wanted was her and left it at that."

He seemed so excited at the proposition - What man wouldn't be? It also seemed like he somehow stumbled into a moment of freedom from his wife's tyranny and he was approaching me with a chance to persue a sexual encounter between the two of us that would be legal. He seemed disapointed when I told him how I felt.
I don't know if he was trying to approach me to be the third in his new experience. If he was, I give him credit for having more balls than I thought he had. If he wasn't, than I'm afraid I'm starting to stumble into an ego. Either way, by the end of our conversation I knew he was either embarrassed or mildly upset.
By the end of the night he was angry enough to slug me in the arm and I just flat out, fucked off. Josh doesn't know how to flirt verbally or in a non-violent physical way. Our flirting in the past has been through pinching and sucker punches, but now it's just painful and not in any way fun. Actually, having a friendship with Josh these days, is not in any way fun. It's tediously demanding and one-sided and that's nothing that I can change. He married into a circumstance that he chooses to live up to, even though it seems to bring him nothing but unhappiness and repressed anger against everyone in his life. It has finally become too much work to keep up with and I've decided uneasily, to just let it rest and see what comes out of it's hybernation.
I didn't talk to him for two days after he punched me until he randomly showed up on msn, something he never does. I shot out some bitter phrases pertaining to his inability to say sorry. He sent me an email saying that he thinks he should stop talking to me because it's the only way he can stop himself from hurting me. Or so it seems.

I will never understand Josh because I'll never understand why he makes things so hard for himself. Beneath the rubble of an overbearing marriage, his own insecurities and learned bitterness could be a very independant and happy man if he just brought himself to realise his setbacks and do something constructive with them. Of course, my idea of doing something constructive would be for him to leave his wife, as she seems to be the root of all his problems. But then, I suppose that's the easy way out of a shitty situation. Unfortunately, I can't ever see the shitty situation being anything but, a shitty situation.

I'm absolutely terrified by how unbalanced I've been feeling as of late. My moods have been swinging and like a seven thousand pound wrecking ball. It's been knocking all sorts of issues into my otherwise calm relationship with the wife.
The stripper thing, I admit, I do not like. But there are days when I really don't give a crap if he goes and then there are days where I feel like my soul will fly out of me if he does and the worst part is that I have no control over it. I don't feel depressed. I don't feel like some overbearing weight is sitting on me. I don't feel stressed or worried, I just feel unbalanced. The birth control is fucking me right up. I think.
Two days ago I was minutes away from dumping Andrew because I felt like I was pushing him. I thought that we were not compatible due to our not seeing eye-to-eye on issues such as marriage and our future living arrangements, and sure, those are major issues, but our opinions of them are not so varied. After we spoke, after I released my frustrations and took a long nap, I almost broke down at the thought of loosing him. I'm completely insane! And it worries me because if I had to deal with my shit in the situation he was in, I would have left a long time ago.

There's an overwhelming amount of guilt involved when you realise what you take for granted.

Fickle, fickle girl.

So I won tickets to see David Letterman for New York. I was completely awestruck by my ability to answer a trivia question about the show, as I never watch the show. I may not have any real luck, but I sure am full of the dumb sort.