Wine and weddings and road trips...oh my what a hangover!

I'm sitting in Seattle right now...hanging out at my friends' apartment. They are at work. I am not...lazy girl I am...the most productive things I've done today are take a shower, bang out Moonlight Sonata on their piano, poke through V. S. Naipaul's Beyond Belief, and check my email. The lady of the house should be back in an hour and then we'll have lunch and have one of our infamous this-is-the-reason-we-could-never-study-together-during-undergrad conversations and then I'll head back to Van, and the weekend will be over.

This was one of those weekends that felt like it went on forever...it seems impossible to believe that Friday was only three days ago. My sister and I had a shopping date with my mom during the day...and Friday night we had one of our phenomenal dinners with my crazy god parents. Fantastic Italian restaurant called Amacord. My father was in charge of reservations and of course neglected to make them...8 o'clock rolls around, our party is at the house drinking wine and eating brie with Leslie Stowe's Rosemary and Pecan crackers (seriously the most phenomenal cracker with a soft cheese...completely unbeatable...Eve, I'll bring a box with me)...and all of a sudden the question is where are we going to eat...good thing the owner of the restaurant likes my dad...he had things rearranged within a half hour and we were sitting down to eat. They do fantastic risotto there with wild mushrooms...and they'll half the size for you so that it's perfect for an appetizer (the gnocchi is also sensational), halibut with white wine and capers for a main, and enough tirimisu for the table to round out the meal. All of this washed down with a really great BC wine - I think it was a Sand Hill Pino Grigio. One of the most fun things about this restaurant is they will often serve you shots of liquor and squares of chocolate with your check: Frangelico, Sambuca, Amaretto. It's always disappointing to me that there is only one shot per person.

Saturday morning I awoke at the crack of 6 AM, nursing a mild hangover. I had to pick my friend up from the airport at 6:30...she was flying in from Alberta for our colleague's wedding in Qualicum Beach. And so we grabbed her luggage and hightailed it to the ferry which we took to Victoria. We had reservations at noon for high tea at the Empress hotel. I've never done this before, and though I hear that it is a rip off (54 bucks for a pot of tea and some finger sandwiches)...I also think that it's an experience to be had at least once....And my friend had never done it either. It was lovely...tea was served in a silver pot...we ate scones with clotted cream and smoked salmon and cucumber sandwiches, and felt very Victorian. It was also very interesting for the people watching...I mean come on...this is high tea at the Empress...not happy hour at the Boom Boom Room....I don't think it's too much to ask middle aged women to bust out a bra...maybe leave the crushed velvet halter top in the hotel room...perhaps a pair of heels to replace the grimy old flip flops.

After tea we drove the Malahat up to Qualicum for the wedding, which was lovely...on the grounds of this old inn overlooking the ocean. There were bubbles...and we know how I love to blow the bubbles. Most of the guests were family of the bride and groom...and then the groom had some friends there. I was with a party of 5 of the bride's law school friends and, for the second time this summer at weddings, I felt a bit like the Witches of Eastwick or something. The ungodly single city girls whose dresses are cut too low, and who drink too much; who are ogled by the husbands and scorned by the wives. Example: the MC (single friend of the groom) decides that the clinking of glasses = bride and groom kiss rule only applies if the clinkers kiss first. Of course it's only women at our table and somehow after a few glasses of wine we were convinced to up the titilation factor by kissing eachother. Oi...and then yada yada yada...there may be some compromising pictures of me and the best man. I don't know why they let me out of the house alone. It's the problem with drinking wine out of carafes...if you have the bottles, then you see them on the table and can monitor your consumption...but with carafes and waitresses who are on the ball...I probably had the better part of two bottles of white wine over the course of the night...or maybe more. Oh well...it was a good time.

Sunday morning came far too quickly. I had promised the bride and groom that I would drive them to Seatac in Seattle, where they were leaving for their honeymoon in Costa Rica. I figured that it would be a way to get my gas paid to visit my friends in Seattle. We thought that four hours would be plenty of time to take the ferry across and drive down to seattle...2 for the ferry...2 for the drive to Seattle. Alas, border line ups and crazy construction on the highway...we left the hotel at 1:15PM and we arrived at Seatac at 9PM on the dot. It was a LONG trip...especially given our hungover conditions. That being said...great tunes...good conversation...I can't exactly complain. Then...bottle of wine with my friends...yams with butter and brown sugar which I've never had and absolutely loved...and then one of the deepest, soundest sleeps in my recent history.

And that brings me to now. It was a good weekend...the kind that leaves you glowing...and also slightly hung over.

We had a perfect day sailing yesterday...me and my dad. We took the boat late morning and spent all afternoon criss crossing the harbour, manouvering around the half dozen freighters that awaited unloading. The sky was completely clear, there was a light wind...maybe 15-20 knots coming in from the straight...the sea was fairly calm. The wildlife was plentiful: tons of harbour seals, bald and golden eagles, and blue herons.

We took turns pilotting on each tack, trying to beat top speed of eachother...my dad won...he cracked 6 knots once. But we were just smoking...averaging about five and a half through most of the afternoon. The boat had a good heel going...usually about 15 degrees or so...but once my dad had it over at about 25 degrees. That takes trust, it does. I was perched in my favorite position, up on the high side of the boat, with my feet dangling over the edge...it's a rush when you heel over that far.

My favorite part is probably the coming about...it's so exciting....one person at the helm, one person manning the sheets. At the cue, the pilot spins the wheel, and the boom slams across, one sheet is loosed and the other pulled, fighting against the wind, and then cranking the winch so that the genoa is taut...and the boat rolls in the surf, and the wind catches in the sail, and all of a sudden you feel this sudden lift as the boat surges forward, propelled by nothing but the force of the wind. It's so quiet...the only sound is the wind and the surf...as the hull of the boat cuts through the water. I remember one time, when I was about 12, we were crossing the Georgia Straight under sail, and all of a sudden we were surrounded by a school of porpoises...and because we were so silent, they grew bold enough to approach the boat...and they ran along side of it, diving under the bow, playing in the wake. We have a picture...it is one of my fondest memories.

I miss the ocean...I think more than anything. It never ceases to amaze me the power of the ocean and the sea air to clear the mind, and calm the heart. And it does great things for the hair too.

The Fat Lady is on in Five.

So that's it...summer is officially ending...my job is finished...I fly out today sans lip gloss. Three weeks of vacation...and then summer is o-v-e-r. So...wow.

I'm not really in a place to be profound today...I went to my friend's stagette last night. She's getting married on the island next weekend. I've never been to a classic, ridiculous, penis-cup, suck-for-a-buck kind of stagette, which this was. Because most of us are in law, and TOTAL geeks...there was a theme...I'm embarrassed to even say it..."prisoners of love"...we were all outfitted in black and white with hand cuffs and whips....and bubbles (which aren't exactly related to the theme...but I love bubbles and they were definitely the novelty of the night). It was completely out of control...by the time we let our boys join us at about 1 or so, there was speaker dancing and body shots on the bar.

I love the time of the night between bar closing at two...and stumbling back to the apartment at 5:30...the slow trickle out of the bar, jovial conversations outside, stolen street corner kisses, wanderings shoeless because you're done with the heels and you see nothing wrong wandering barefoot through downtown, back to someone's apartment for "just one more" (I love the people who show up for the one last drink...some old friends, some you just met that night - drunken comraderie...it's fantastic) and then the slow dispersion of your evening companionship as everyone tends to leave two by two...yada yada yada. It just seems like that time can never last long enough...so contented...happy.

But one thing that I wanted to mention was this dish we had at one of the bars. Stuffed strawberries...seriously...I think this is what prompted the allowance of boys because these things were utterly orgasmic, and totally easy to make on your own. Superripe, supersweet strawberries...cut off the green, stand upsidedown. Cut off the pointy end and add melted chocolate and a dollop of whipped cream...replace the end and then drizzle caramel all over the strawberries and the plate. Of course the better the quality of the ingredients, the better the experience - I think this whipped cream was infused with vanilla bean, for example, and the caramel was nice and thin...perfect for dipping the strawberry...you could probably also add some kind of liquor to the chocolate or something like that...but seriously...the memory is still on my lips.

It was a good night...I wish every night could be that good.

Things that make you go hmmm??

First of all...sometimes, just when I think that the world is no damn good, people are just fantastic and I love them. Charlotte will be well taken care of during my vacation...three different homes, everyone more than willing to help me help her. I'm so happy!! And she's doing so well...she's taking her medicine with some resistance but without too much complaint and she's gaining weight, becoming more brave and investigative, and purring all the time. My colleagues call me her "mommy"...but I'm averse to that title..."custodial guardian"...we'll see about the "mommy" thing...in time.

Secondly...I confonted a stereotype that I never even knew I had today. I spent my lunch hour at an outreach today. A shelter for hookers on the "skid row." And you know one of the things that I was most suprised at?? The amount of men, and transgendered women that were there. I guess I just had this image of bleached blond, strung out, emaciated women with fuck me heels ...I guess I just never gave much thought to the composition of the hooking population. A coworker and I hung out there for a couple of hours....they call her "Blondie", me "Pretty Eyes"...we're technically there to answer legal questions, provide resources, that sort of stuff...so we chatted with people, ate ice cream sandwiches, watched a bit of Pet Cemetary opened some files. At one point there was an altercation between two of the women - one straight, one transgendered. And the woman who runs the place called a group meeting. Apparently the "street" has been present more and more in the shelter these past six months...I gathered that she meant that there had been more and more violence and problems recently. She opened the floor up for comments from the people there (probably 25 or 30 in total). One women commented that she didn't understand why there were so many men there. And one of the men stood up - other than rather feminine clothing, he lived as a man - most of the men there lived as women (I'm not sure I'm explaining this very well) - and his comment was that he had been coming there for five years, and he didn't know where he would be if it wasn't for this place. And then, with a sudden burst of emotion, he said, "You all know that I'm out there every night sucking cock just like the rest of you." I'm not sure I have any other comments about this. But I do know that my reaction to it was surprise...and then surprise that I was surprised. I guess it's like it's one thing to know...know with your head. And it's another thing to "know"...know with your heart. And at that moment I knew with my heart that this was real...that these lives were real...that these women, these men they were all real...and that my own perceptions of what life on the streets was like were not real. But the thing is...I could spend every single day at that shelter...and I could "know" with my heart what real was for these ladies, but the difference is that every single night I go home and I curl up in my cozy apartment with my adorable kitten, or I stress about my boy situation, or I hang out with my girlfriends and drink wine, or I do any one of the things that I have talked about here in the past little while - but they...they are out on the streets sucking random cock for $30 a pop. Man...we judge...so easily.

I was having this one conversation with a meth head today (man...meth heads and their teeth...for me that's a for sure reason never to touch the stuff)...but regardless...she's not hooking much these days. A few months ago she had a bad date - john threw her out of the car and then ran over her leg. She's permanently crippled now, has had two surgeries on her leg, and another one scheduled for October. She has bi-polar disorder, diabetes, and a whole host of other problems in addition to her addiction - she looks way older than her 35 years. Anyways, she had some questions about her conditional sentencing order relating to a criminal conviction a little while ago...so we started chatting, and were chatting when the outburst occurred. So I asked her what she thought...why there had been increasing problems. Her answer was that there were some bad drugs on the street right now...bad mixes, bad varieties, just bad. And then she said that there were always more problems in the summer because there were more people on the streets - it's warm...hookers don't like to stand out in the cold. So in the summer there are more people competing for johns...and, consequently, less money to go around. The combination of the two makes people edgy...and angry. I've never given much thought to the social dynamics of the street.

Ok...and then a totally different and totally shallow, superficial, vain comment...but important to me and I don't give a damn what it says about me. I am very upset that I apparently am no longer allowed to take lip gloss on airplanes. I can deal with the no liquids thing...but my lip gloss...that's crossing the line for me.

I have a baby!

Our office in the twilight zone or something like that because the most bizarre things happen there. We have law offices upstairs, downstairs, and on the same floor, and we're all pretty friendly...we shoot the shit from time to time.

Yesterday afternoon one of the receptionists came up from downstairs with a tiny kitten in her arms. Apparently one of the lawyers discovered her on the street, and actually thought that she had hit her with her car. The kitten had a bit of a messed up eye, and a bit of a bloody nose, but she was eating well, and drinking water, and was a complete cuddler. She is black with green eyes, white socks and a little pink nose. Soo cute.

The issue then was who was going to take her. All we've been hearing around town was how crowded the pounds are, how the SPCA has no room at the inn, and the fear was that if we took her in that she would be euthanized.

Suddenly, all eyes are on me...yes, I have mentioned getting a cat, yes I love cats, but I had decided that my apartment was just too small, and I just couldn't afford it. Besides...I leave in four days, off on my whirlwind cross continental trip...for three weeks.
All of a sudden money is slapped on the table - there...take her to the vet; homes are offered up - there, we'll take care of her while you're gone; and the guilt trips were served on a silver platter - If you don't take her, she might be put to sleep.
And so before I knew it, I was taking a kitten in a box to the vet. I have to give her penicillin wiith an oral syringe, and eye drops - neither of which does she particularly enjoy. She doesn't live in a box any more, of course. She has her own little palace now, lined with this furry pillow thing and cashmere scarves, and little lambs in ballerina costumes stuffed with cat nip. She's going to be spoiled rotten this kitten - I can't help myself.

I'm trying to socialize her to the kennel so that I can travel with her, and bring her to work...shit like that. But this is proving difficult. Last night she cried when I closed the door (though she's sleeping quite soundly in there now)...I made the mistake of hanging water for her on the door...and then she got upset and tried to get out, and dunked herself in water, which made her even more upset (so cute though, all water logged). So I took her out, removed the water, and towelled her off and gave her a hug and then put her back. I gave in a little bit. She had to sleep in her bed...but I put the bed on my bed so she could sleep next to me. She stopped crying after that. And then at five thirty when she woke up I let her out so she could curl up next to me. I figured she deserved a reward for sleeping through the night.

Her name is Charlotte. When I first met her, we weren't sure if she was a boy or a girl...so I named her Charlie...I figured that was pretty ambiguous. But now I know, and so now its Charlotte...Charlie for short.

Update: She wasn't found on the street...she was found in the middle of the fucking highway...this cat has some kind of survival instinct. Her finder actually thought she was dead on the highway and drove over top of her...like she was lying in between the wheels. The lawyer looks in the rear view mirror and sees Charlotte get up and have some kind of fit (I suppose I would as well if a car ran over top of me)...Lawyer freaks out (is a total animal lover), slams on the break and rescues Charlotte....takes her to court...brings her back...the rest is history.

Moving Day

Our office is moving today...across the hall. Our benefactors have decided to take our old office space and turn it into an elaborate reception area. I'm not complaining, our new office has hardwood floors, fresh coat of paint, bona fide interview rooms rather than just partitions. Nothing like a move to make me feel all fresh and clean again. It's motivated me to go over my files, clean up my desk, start fresh.
When I was a kid and my mom started to feel restless or upset or disconcerted in anyway, she would always change up the furniture in her house. Either move it to different rooms, or just move it around the room...and of course when you move the furniture you have to clean out the cabinets and drawers and reorganize. Afterwards she would feel calm...like she had a new house, like her life was now orderly and fresh. Though it was just a superficial makeover of a room, it manifested a psychological makeover as well.
I think I've inheirited her tendency...the best way to cheer up for me is to reorganize my closet...clean it out...rearrange it by color and type of clothing, reorder the hangers so they are color coordinated and hanging in the same direction, refold and coordinate all of the clothes in my drawers. I know it sounds like a cheesy metaphor - cleaning out my closet - but it really is rather cathartic. Same with moving or reorganizing in general...it's like creating order in my surroundings helps to maintain order in the chaos that is my mind.

Communication is a marvelous thing

How often do I argue with someone only to realize that we're both saying the same thing, albeit in a different way? Too many, that's for sure.

I have exactly 4 days of work left...which blows my mind. I just don't know where the summer has gone. Granted, I spent a good portion of it being depressed: combination of sister strife, career chaos, and just general decision making dilemmas. Now that I feel like I have things under control, I just want the summer to last and last. Alas, 'tis not to be.

But you know one thing that I really did realize was that considering and evaluating the decision is the difficult part...but committing to it, if it's the right decision, is so easy. Sometimes, for me I think that the hardest part is closing the doors, rather than opening them...if that makes any sense. That, and doing something that deviates from the plans that my parents have for me. But even then, the scary thing isn't doing the thing, it's telling them about the thing that I'm doing - again...not sure if that makes sense. Hell, it took me six years to get up the courage to tell them that medical school wasn't for me...it only took me six months to tell them that civil law isn't for me...or not that it isn't for me, but that I prefer the alternative. Hell, that's an improvement if you ask me - 6 years to 6 months. My mother thinks that if I practice criminal law, I'm going to wind up getting murdered by one of my clients...she's a worrier...and into the melodrama. I also think she watches too much Law & Order.

I went out to the farm this weekend - without the boy. This was good, I think...I have perspective again...I set the rules for a reason, before I got all suckered in...and I think that I still want to abide by them. Truly, we would never work relationship wise...but we are very compatable other wise and that's fine by me.

I learned how to use a riding lawn mower this weekend, and I cut acres of grass...and then ran over a piece of barbed wire which buggered up the blades, and took me and 2 middle aged men to pull out (I wasn't strong enough, their arms weren't small enough...it worked out between the three of us). It was very fun...but I got a wicked sun burn...OUCH!

Though there may be plenty of guys in the sea...

...sometimes you want the one on the end of your pole. Or so I'm told by my oh so wise colleague.

I hate this...I didn't want this, I got suckered into this, and now I'm both grrr and neurotic, and I hate feeling neurotic. But you know what this means...it means that the bastard got under my skin. I have lost control.

Never did like fishing...stupid jack ass.

Hmmm...it's pouring rain right now. It suits my mood.

It's Always Nice To Hear I Love You

One of my crack smoking clients professed his love for me to one of my colleagues today. Apparently we have really interesting conversations and I smell good...or something like that.

My colleagues tease me because I always find myself in situations requiring hugging a crying stranger in the courthouse bathroom, or gentle rejections of marriage proposals. I made a homeless guy an egg sandwich a few weeks ago, and included in his lunch bag carrots, yoghurt, V-8, and multivitamins - they teased me about that for weeks. But, I'm sorry, doncha think that the homeless guy - of all people - could use a few multivitamins. The other day I interviewed a client with some serious anger issues - beats his girlfriend, and the police, and the postal workers...shit like that. I was in the office with my two beefy frat boy colleagues, and they were hovering outside the interview room waiting for him to launch himself across the desk aiming to strangle me. He didn't...he wound up crying instead. My frat-boys promptly bestowed upon me the award for best interview of the summer. Meh...everyone has their issues.

It's nice to be loved...even by druggies with criminal records as long as my arm. Probably won't take them home to Mom...generally want to use hand sanitizer after our meetings...but it's still nice to be loved.

Why is vulnerability such a scary thing?

This is probably going to wind up being a little more personal then I would like...but I had the girls over tonight and I've had too much chocolate and just enough red wine to feel like telling some self truth.

I've alluded to my controlling nature on more than one occasion. I like to compartmentalize my life, down to segregating my friends from eachother: high school friends here, McGill friends there, law school friends here, UBC friends there, work friends some place else...and boys...well they get a whole spot in my life to themselves. I don't like them to mingle...it gives me anxiety on the odd occasion when I consent to worlds colliding. My high school friends tease me that they won't meet a boyfriend until after the wedding. I laugh...but there is a kernel of truth to it.

I don't know what it is...I profess about how wonderful my friends are...how accepting and unconditional their friendship is. I believe that...after all, these are people who helped me get over unbelievable insecurity issues that I left high school with...those who shall remain nameless may recall an early meeting involving me beating my head against a metal door frame. I tell my new friends about the Lindz of days past and they don't believe me. And it's true...I am confident now...and fiercely independent, and stubborn as all hell. So I'd like to think that I don't believe or care about what my friends think of eachother, or of my boyfriends or of me for being involved with all of the above. I'm more inclined to believe that my issues in this regard are a vestige of the past - a sliver of non-confidence in my own decisions - a reminder that I once was not so decisive - the tell tale heart in my closet of skeletons...maybe I'm just not good enough...and maybe everyone will be able to see it if he is generalized to the rest of my life.

But I don't have the luxury this time around...he's a relative of my boss...he's now met everyone that I work with...I've met his parents for crying out loud...my tell tale heart is thudding in my ears...and revealing itself in newly developed neuroses. This was supposed to be casual. This was supposed to last exactly three weeks until I left for my vacation. I offered him supposedly what every guy wants...sex with no strings. I was very up front about it...I got verbal confirmation (albeit somewhat manipulated...but I'm not going to go there here). And yet here we are...and I'm playing the multiple phone calls a day and cute text messages, and playfulness and flirting...and I feel like I'm being wooed for crying out loud. And I don't know how things went off the rails...I remember when...in crystal clear technicolor because the alarm bells started clanging loudly, but I don't know know how. My colleague says that the simple explanation for all of this is that I stole the remote control. He says that men like to control the relationship, just like they like to control what is watched on tv. I set the parameters of what was game and what was off limits (namely: any sort of emotional attachment), and I made the "relationship" forbidden fruit...and that's why he wants it now. Well shit...if I'd known that's how the game was played, I may have done several things differently in the past.

Regardless...I now find myself in a position where I feel like I'm losing control a little bit...capitulating just a little bit. This is usually the point at which I turn tail and run...hence my laundry list of "the ones who got away."

See, I think that part of my self-growth, en-confidencing procedure was to become independent, and to be able to rely on myself. Travelling - China, India, South - East Asia - that was a huge factor there...learning to rely on myself. But I think I've gone too far in the other direction. I resist relying on anyone for anything...including orgasms. No, seriously...it's about reliability...consistency...dependability. The fact of the matter is that people are flakey...they let you down...they lose interest....and then you get hurt...or disappointed...or heart broken. And then I worry that maybe my self confidence is too fragile, too young to withstand a blow like that. Yeah but the really fucked up thing is that I really am a romantic at heart...a cynical romantic. It reminds me of the first verse of that Stevie Wonder song, "I Believe (When I Fall In love It will Be Forever)":

Shattered dreams, worthless years,
Here am I encased inside a hollow shell,
Life began, then was done,
Now I stare into a cold and empty well
The many sounds that meet our ears
the sights our eyes behold,
Will open up our merging hearts,
And feed our empty souls

Ha.. that's me...emotionally void - a cold and empty well - yet still holding out hope for prince Charming. The problem is that even if I met him...I'd probably run. My red wine buzz has worn off now...I should probably publish this before I lose my nerve.

I Suppose I Should Put My Money Where My Mouth Is