further adventures of rocket bride: september 3, 2001.

september 3, 2001.

(actually, august 23 - 6. shh!)

God. So much to talk about. So many stories, crammed in one on top of another. I've been trying to figure out a way to catalogue this raw material and frankly, I'm stumped. So I'll try a mix of things. But I figure that if I do 3 days a day from now on, I just might finish this entry before the next goddamn Ice Age (StanFest, I'm looking in your direction!)
Here goes.

Thursday was not the best of days. I was cranky & sleepy from - well, from everything. By the time the Boy came in from 2 days on the road, I was just about freaking out because I couldn't concentrate on packing. It was like my organization just sailed out the frigging window, along with my ability to sleep through the night. On our way through town, we picked up Miri & J by chance, and made them dinner on our little hibachi.
This is where it gets weird. At 11:30 I got a call from Dirk, asking if Tymothi:J could borrow $300 to secure a rental car. I wasn't terribly thrilled about the prospect, since I just spent the week depressed about my general inability to save money, but ethically I had no choice. I stayed up another hour and a half finalizing details of the scheme and desperately wanting to go to bed. By the time I made into the bedroom, the Boy was already asleep and rather cranky. As was I. And to make a long story short, we had the worst argument of our relationship that night. No, I don't really want to talk about it, except to note that it was 2:30 before we felt that it was okay to drop into an exhausted sleep.

Work was simply excruciating. The Boy & I talked as best we could over breakfast, but soon had to rush off to our respective jobs. In the chaos, I somehow forgot to pick up the umbrella that has been my constant companion in this summer of inconstant weather. And of course, I wouldn't be mentioning my umbrella if it didn't start raining that morning. Not polite, gentle rain, either: hard, cold driving rain, the kind that had eluded the farmer's fields all summer. As Dirk said, once I went on Tymothi:J's mission, I had to suffer through his pathetic fallacy. Sigh.
After a small, sociable wait in the bank lobby before the doors opened, I returned to work for as long as I could stand it. It was an uphill battle, though, and after I did my best to finish a few small projects, I staggered home for a long nap. It wasn't like anyone noticed; my supervisor was "working at home" and the office has yet to put me on contract for the year, so barely anyone is aware of my presence anyhow. Going home to nap would be a justifiable activity most days.
I finished up my packing just in time for the Boy to arrive in a black cloud. Seems that due to a co-worker's automotive incompetence, he would have to return the van to work on Saturday afternoon and thus bugger up his plans to spend the long weekend dirty as hell and pie-eyed on 'shrooms in Antigonish (at a very Om-like festival called Evolve). He was upset, of course, but cheered up when I suggested that we offer the ticket to Miri & J, who at least would get some good out of the whole mess. Eventually the three of them decided to travel together and have one good night of Evolve madness, but this conclusion required much group discussion and cut down on any time the Boy & I might've used to talk quietly. So it goes. We had dinner in Halifax and I was gone.
I spent the plane ride reading The Neverending Story, listening to Stacy's Hella-Goth Dance Mix CD, worrying about the Boy and trying to get myself ready for the vacation. Being on a plane without the Boy was hard: I'd never been on a plane by myself before, and I'd traveled with the Boy and the Boy only for the last 3 years. I did manage to write a little story about my teenage self and the roots of my near-obsession with the Savage Garden. Later, shopping with Stacy, I decided to call it "A long day's journey into goth."
The landing was the usual hassle, and the sheer volume of people complicated absolutely everything. I'm just not used to big pushing crowds any more and I had forgotten on a purely visceral level how smelly & pushy Toronto is. Just the airport gave me a bad turn. My dad was there to pick me up, and we had a nice chat on the way to see my mom at work. Once arrived, my mom & I talked each others' heads off, her co-workers showed me ribald email attachments, and I was asked to change an annoying screen saver. All part of the technogoddess job, honey.
(Aside: God, I love seeing my mom in the hospital. Just to see her quiet competence, surrounded by practical, take-no-shit nursing professionals is more than worth the lost sleep).

Woke up late (although not as late as I'd like; I'm still on wage-slave sleep schedule), and had a sandwich with properly crusty Italian bread. Mmmmm. That's one thing about NS; they're mostly Celts, and they understand tea biscuits better than a properly crusty loaf. And the pizza here is atrocious. But I digress...
After a certain amount of computer tomfoolery, I packed a couple of big suitcases and took off for Toronto proper. Scherezade had offered to take me in for the duration of my stay and I was looking forward to this greatly, as it's been too many years since we've had a chance to really connect. She was in the middle of cleaning up her possessions when I arrived, so I met a considerably sweatier and less glam Scherezade than I remembered. She's like me: sloppy when necessary, but she cleans up nice. We hung around the house for awhile, then hit Bloor Street to see if they could still honour my slightly-expired coupon at the fabulous lingerie store "Secrets From Your Sister." I had intended to buy some sensible underwear and maybe a nightie or too; some items to replace my rapidly decaying army of cotton underthings. Then I saw a black lace corset, and I knew I was lost.
"I'm just trying it on," I told Scherezade, wondering who I was trying to convince. "It's the whole gift certificate," I muttered as I checked myself out in the mirror. But even as I tried to be sensible, I felt myself drowning in inevitability. A corset. I finally own a black lace corset. eeeeeee
We also stopped by the Beguiling, where I spent far too much money on Love & Rockets. But at least I know what happens between issues #42 & 49. Um, sex. A lot of sex.
"Who didn't my sister have a torrid love affair with, Ofelia?"
"Me. And her kids."
- Petra & Ofelia in Palomar

We had dinner that night at Hernandos (which made me miss Pixie Stix & Q terribly, but what can you do). Stacy, Jesse & St. Stephen showed up, bringing individual big hugs for me (the kind with prolonged holding and little cooing noises), admiring my goth hair, and ushering in the period wherein I basked in love & conversation. I had missed everyone in little individual flashes, when something I was doing or experiencing reminded me of them, but I hadn't realized how my whole life has become quieter and more solemn simply from being away from my friends. Over dinner we reminisced about Stupid 3^rd year Tricks (brought to you by alcohol! Troubled by excessive dignity & unneccessary self-respect? Why not try alcohol in large groups?!) where I basically had to abase myself repeatedly to Scherezade for all the stupid decisions I made in the company of Ophelia & the Posse.
During the 'what's new in Nova Scotia' portion of the conversation, I mentioned seeing Fred Penner at Stanfest (it would be name-dropping, but really, who would be impressed by a casual Fred Penner sighting? Jesse performed a complicated two-handed devil hand signal and remarked, "It's more metal than one hand can handle. It's Fred Penner."). This led nicely into a discussion of first concerts, where Jesse & I discovered that we both had been taken to see Huey Lewis & the News during the "Sports" tour (and were probably in the same auditorium, come to think.) So overall, dinner was a nice blend of love, humiliating admissions, and Mexican food. And really, what more is there?
Back at Scherezade's, I quickly donned my new corset, the ever-populate "fuck me" skirt, and Pixie's shiny hand-me-down patent leather docs (not only do I have a beautiful sister who's the same age as me, but we have the same size feet, so I can benefit from her waning interest in a gothic wardrobe! whee!) Scherezade did not seem terribly interested in a night out, but she trooped out for a good hour before deciding that she was simply too sleepy to stay out. Before she left for home, she handed over her keys and drew a map to her house in order to compensate for my horrendous sense of direction. This proved to be very convenient for the both of us, as she could snooze away in peace and I could stay out as long as I liked.
(Digression: overall, staying at her house was one of the best decisions I made that week: she's so laid back as to be fully horizontal, yet welcoming in a way that's hard to describe. It was like we were back in the summer of '96, watching movies in her basement & wearing slutty outfits to the meatmarkets of Queen Street (those days I used to wear a full blouse over a camisole while leaving my parents' house, and shimmy out of the outer layer on the dancefloor. In retrospect, tattooing 'slut' across my forehead would've been more energy-efficient...but then again, I never slept with anyone that whole ugly year, so there you go.) I haven't felt that intense connection between us in years, ever since Ophelia, Mr. Metal (Scherezade's ex, that is) & a bunch of stupid decisions came in the way. I thought it was gone. I'm very happy to be proven wrong.)
That night Morgan & Little Spider came out to dance & mope, bringing along LS's date. Now that she's finally broken with her previous live-in boy and thus put an end to over 10 years of continuous boyfriends, she's abruptly discovered the joy of dating. It was kind of amusing/endearing to see her giggle like a budgie on nitrous while sitting next to this tall dark stranger. Morgan, on the other hand, was coming to the end of a 2-week period away from Toad, and was very anxious to be a Mommy again. She rallied briefly after a "walk" with Jesse, but overall did not have a very good time.
What I found most striking about this duo is that they have both started smoking in the year I've been away. I've known then since the age of teenage stupidity and have never seen them smoke...and yet they both began chain smoking Belmont Milds as soon as they came through the door of the Garden. Seeing this, I made a characteristically foolish decision: if they would smoke, well then, so would I. So I smoked. And it made me nervous & jittery but I also felt pretty good, pretty sexy. (Digression concerning feeling sexy: I hadn't realized how much I missed friends touching me and complimenting me. It's been a pretty anonymous summer in NS. And the great thing about TO is that I get it from both genders - compliments, that is. In Wolfville, I'm the married woman and they can't respect me enough. Respect! Bah!)
But it didn't help the deeply disjointed feeling I carried about all night. Part of it was the smoking, yes. And part of it was being in the Garden again and feeling the same mix of happiness and boredom that I always used to feel in those unholy walls. But Stacy drove in this particular nail when she commented on Dirk's absence: Paul played "Sex Dwarf" and the triumvirate was still incomplete. He wasn't there that night on my triumphal return, and it felt ill-fitting to be there without him. Don't get me wrong; I've been there lots of times without him. In fact, some of my best memories of the Garden are nights when he punked out and I went anyway, because I didn't want to let an hour of preening go to waste. But still, it felt wrong. He & Tymothi:J were in Lindsey watching St. Pete's play on the assumption that Pete was returning with them to assist in Day One of Dirk's latest move, an event euphemistically titled Movapalooza. Unfortunately, none of this worked out for him, leaving Stacy & I with a gap in our hearts and Dirk with 2-fewer bodies for Movapalooza on Sunday. But we'll get to that portion of our tale eventually...
As for the other participants, there are only a few more to mention. Paul Barber correctly predicted my attendance, and showed up with a birthday present. Dav came out briefly, but was pre-occupied and sad and left soon after. Jesse was there as well, and kept me right distracted by nibbling on my hand at opportune moments. (Perhaps there was too much of this...I'm a sucker for good, no-implications flirting and Jesse offers the best quality of this product.) The dancing was kind of fun, but I seemed to have run afoul of some kharmic S&M deity, as I became quite the punching bag for various participants: a jab to the breast, hard elbows in the kidney, many foot stompings, and a spectacular ricochet off Big Unfriendly Morgan (no relation to my sweetie highschool friend Morgan) and into Stacy during a mad headlong dash to the dance floor. "If you bumped into her, you shouldn't care," he offered by way of response.
"I don't need to bump into you to get close to Stacy," I muttered under my breath.
When Paul closed the place down, there was the requisite spacey shamble of coats and plans. Jesse offered to walk me home, which, apart from the joys of companionship appealed to me far more than taking a cab (I'm a cheap little thing...you know haw much black lipstick & sushi I could get with that cab fare?) We were all standing on the corner of Queen and Bathurst when I suddenly conceived of an idle desire to see the much-vaunted 53515705 (g)rave because, let's be honest here, I wanted to find out if Hilary is really, as my 14-year-old cousin terms it "all that and a bag of chips." (Dark chips, in this case. With goggles.) The universe appeared to be paying me back for all the bodyslams of the night in some fashion, as I was with someone who was not only completely casual about sneaking us in the back way, but had the connections to make this as seamless as possible. There's something to be said for brute confidence, that's for sure. Anyhoo, bearing in mind that it was 3 in the morning and the place was rather depopulated, I got a certain amount of bitchy satisfaction out of the fact that it was not particularly excellent or even consistently themed. Exactly 5 people were dressed in "futuristic cyber military" gear, the rest being men in tanktops & phat pants, twirling glowsticks. My corset earned quite a few smiles, but I tend to think that it was the e more than anything else. Hilary walked by me once, looking pissed off. I soon grew bored, grabbed Jesse & started the long walk home.
And what a walk! Before Saturday, I had classified Jesse as an acquaintance rather than as a friend; someone who I would never call myself but whom I enjoyed seeing once in awhile at game or at other people's parties. The walk home was very long, and we were able to have a Real Conversation, that is, one not drowned out by the overpowering sound system of the Garden. We talked about theatre, literature, professional programs & general stuff. Maybe I'm making such a big deal out of this because of my lonely isolationist summer or something similar, but it was just great to have a Real Conversation, the kind I have with Stacy or Scott or the Boy. One of the benefits of moving to the sea-bound coast is that it's suddenly easy to tell acquaintances from friends: friends keep in touch. But without a cushion of casual people popping here & there, life can get pretty lonely. And it's been way too long since I made a new friend.

I woke up late, partly because I wasn't terribly anxious to join in Movapalooza but mostly because Scherezade has the best bed in the world!! It's soft & firm & there's lots of pillows everywhere; it's big enough for the two of us to sleep comfortably without snuggling; it's cool & warm & airy & just doggone perfect. Hippies use the word 'tantric' to describe someone who can move in and out of social situation with utmost grace and a minimum of disturbance for others involved. Following this usage, Scherezade is the most tantric person I've ever slept with: I'm a fairly light sleeper, but she could get in & out of the bed & the room without waking me for more than a second. It's an amazing trick. The Boy is fairly good at this kind of thing, but Scherezade was amazing.
The day started slow. Scherezade, her roommate Isabella & I hung around in the living room for awhile and watched a lady on cable teevee decorate her ceiling with squares of silver foil, then it was off to a little caf� on Bloor to eat a lunch disguised as breakfast. I called Dirk outside & determined his geographical position, bid a reluctant goodbye to the girls, and set off for Movapalooza (re-entry encouraged!) I found Dirk sitting outside his apartment building, alone below a sea of boxes that waited to be moved from the second floor.
Perhaps I have never explained that I'm a great big sucky baby? Well, I am. I hate physical labour with a passion and whenever it becomes necessary I usually get help from the omnipresent men around me. I can mostly get away with this sort of thing because I stay busy no matter what, and I'm never ungrateful for the brute lifting. But during Movapalooza the only things I was not expected to lift were huge liquor boxes full of books and large pieces of furniture. Everything else became part of my sphere of influence, so to speak. Fortunately, soon Tym showed up, which took some of the lifting burdens off me.
To make things even better, it was the hottest, humid-est day I think I've ever experienced - sweat was pouring down my body by the first half-hour, and I became desperate for something to use to tie up the hair that persisted in clumping to my neck.
"Dirk? Do you have a scarf or a head band or an elastic?"
"Or a cock ring?" Tym added helpfully.
"I think we agreed that nothing that comes from Scott's cock is going in my hair," I shot back with a smirk.
But it wasn't all bad: I did get to spend 10 hours with Dirk, and about 8 hours with Tymothi:J, even if that time involved hauling Dirk's crap from pillar to post. And as we were hauling the first load into the new house, I contracted a fortuitous blister and had to sit down and drink a beer while the boys finished unloading the truck. I had to. Surely you understand. And while I'd like to claim that Movapalooza worked my feet raw, the truth is that I probably got the blister off to healthy start by wearing unfamiliar boots up & down the Garden's dirty floors.
Dirk & I finished off the night with a late appearance at the Snowballs In Hell wrap party, which I attended as an unshowered goth version of Daisy Buchanan. I quite enjoyed watching the rushes, although an unreasonable guilt twitched in me while seeing the project that I had not helped. I worked it out by writing "nothing!!" on my plastic beer cup, and thus advertising my non-participation. Exhausted by a full day of Movapalooza madness, Dirk & I monopolized the couch & a bag of chips, reminiscing about "The Magic Schoolbus."
Conversation topics: what the movie would've cost if the lighting had been rented and not loaned, Jesse's dad's infamous pin-toke story, Stacy's Polkaroo boyfriend, post-secondary programs and microbrewery beer. Joel thought I was Mary for awhile, and neither of us figured it out until he asked after Q (who is doing fine, as far as I know...speaking of siblings I never hear from...). We split a cab with Stacy at 1 a.m. and I (once again) crawled into bed with Scherezade.

More vacation fun awaits! In the words of Joseph Campbell, "follow your ka-pow!"

	september 3, 2001. (actually, august 23 - 6. shh!) God. So much to talk about. So many stories, crammed in one on top of another. I've been trying to figure out a way to catalogue this raw material and frankly, I'm stumped. So I'll try a mix of things. But I figure that if I do 3 days a day from now on, I just might finish this entry before the next goddamn Ice Age (StanFest, I'm looking in your direction!) Here goes. Thursday was not the best of days. I was cranky & sleepy from - well, from everything. By the time the Boy came in from 2 days on the road, I was just about freaking out because I couldn't concentrate on packing. It was like my organization just sailed out the frigging window, along with my ability to sleep through the night. On our way through town, we picked up Miri & J by chance, and made them dinner on our little hibachi. This is where it gets weird. At 11:30 I got a call from Dirk, asking if Tymothi:J could borrow $300 to secure a rental car. I wasn't terribly thrilled about the prospect, since I just spent the week depressed about my general inability to save money, but ethically I had no choice. I stayed up another hour and a half finalizing details of the scheme and desperately wanting to go to bed. By the time I made into the bedroom, the Boy was already asleep and rather cranky. As was I. And to make a long story short, we had the worst argument of our relationship that night. No, I don't really want to talk about it, except to note that it was 2:30 before we felt that it was okay to drop into an exhausted sleep.

	Work was simply excruciating. The Boy & I talked as best we could over breakfast, but soon had to rush off to our respective jobs. In the chaos, I somehow forgot to pick up the umbrella that has been my constant companion in this summer of inconstant weather. And of course, I wouldn't be mentioning my umbrella if it didn't start raining that morning. Not polite, gentle rain, either: hard, cold driving rain, the kind that had eluded the farmer's fields all summer. As Dirk said, once I went on Tymothi:J's mission, I had to suffer through his pathetic fallacy. Sigh. After a small, sociable wait in the bank lobby before the doors opened, I returned to work for as long as I could stand it. It was an uphill battle, though, and after I did my best to finish a few small projects, I staggered home for a long nap. It wasn't like anyone noticed; my supervisor was "working at home" and the office has yet to put me on contract for the year, so barely anyone is aware of my presence anyhow. Going home to nap would be a justifiable activity most days. I finished up my packing just in time for the Boy to arrive in a black cloud. Seems that due to a co-worker's automotive incompetence, he would have to return the van to work on Saturday afternoon and thus bugger up his plans to spend the long weekend dirty as hell and pie-eyed on 'shrooms in Antigonish (at a very Om-like festival called Evolve). He was upset, of course, but cheered up when I suggested that we offer the ticket to Miri & J, who at least would get some good out of the whole mess. Eventually the three of them decided to travel together and have one good night of Evolve madness, but this conclusion required much group discussion and cut down on any time the Boy & I might've used to talk quietly. So it goes. We had dinner in Halifax and I was gone. I spent the plane ride reading The Neverending Story, listening to Stacy's Hella-Goth Dance Mix CD, worrying about the Boy and trying to get myself ready for the vacation. Being on a plane without the Boy was hard: I'd never been on a plane by myself before, and I'd traveled with the Boy and the Boy only for the last 3 years. I did manage to write a little story about my teenage self and the roots of my near-obsession with the Savage Garden. Later, shopping with Stacy, I decided to call it "A long day's journey into goth." The landing was the usual hassle, and the sheer volume of people complicated absolutely everything. I'm just not used to big pushing crowds any more and I had forgotten on a purely visceral level how smelly & pushy Toronto is. Just the airport gave me a bad turn. My dad was there to pick me up, and we had a nice chat on the way to see my mom at work. Once arrived, my mom & I talked each others' heads off, her co-workers showed me ribald email attachments, and I was asked to change an annoying screen saver. All part of the technogoddess job, honey. (Aside: God, I love seeing my mom in the hospital. Just to see her quiet competence, surrounded by practical, take-no-shit nursing professionals is more than worth the lost sleep).

	Woke up late (although not as late as I'd like; I'm still on wage-slave sleep schedule), and had a sandwich with properly crusty Italian bread. Mmmmm. That's one thing about NS; they're mostly Celts, and they understand tea biscuits better than a properly crusty loaf. And the pizza here is atrocious. But I digress... After a certain amount of computer tomfoolery, I packed a couple of big suitcases and took off for Toronto proper. Scherezade had offered to take me in for the duration of my stay and I was looking forward to this greatly, as it's been too many years since we've had a chance to really connect. She was in the middle of cleaning up her possessions when I arrived, so I met a considerably sweatier and less glam Scherezade than I remembered. She's like me: sloppy when necessary, but she cleans up nice. We hung around the house for awhile, then hit Bloor Street to see if they could still honour my slightly-expired coupon at the fabulous lingerie store "Secrets From Your Sister." I had intended to buy some sensible underwear and maybe a nightie or too; some items to replace my rapidly decaying army of cotton underthings. Then I saw a black lace corset, and I knew I was lost. "I'm just trying it on," I told Scherezade, wondering who I was trying to convince. "It's the whole gift certificate," I muttered as I checked myself out in the mirror. But even as I tried to be sensible, I felt myself drowning in inevitability. A corset. I finally own a black lace corset. eeeeeee We also stopped by the Beguiling, where I spent far too much money on Love & Rockets. But at least I know what happens between issues #42 & 49. Um, sex. A lot of sex. "Who didn't my sister have a torrid love affair with, Ofelia?" "Me. And her kids." - Petra & Ofelia in Palomar We had dinner that night at Hernandos (which made me miss Pixie Stix & Q terribly, but what can you do). Stacy, Jesse & St. Stephen showed up, bringing individual big hugs for me (the kind with prolonged holding and little cooing noises), admiring my goth hair, and ushering in the period wherein I basked in love & conversation. I had missed everyone in little individual flashes, when something I was doing or experiencing reminded me of them, but I hadn't realized how my whole life has become quieter and more solemn simply from being away from my friends. Over dinner we reminisced about Stupid 3^rd year Tricks (brought to you by alcohol! Troubled by excessive dignity & unneccessary self-respect? Why not try alcohol in large groups?!) where I basically had to abase myself repeatedly to Scherezade for all the stupid decisions I made in the company of Ophelia & the Posse. During the 'what's new in Nova Scotia' portion of the conversation, I mentioned seeing Fred Penner at Stanfest (it would be name-dropping, but really, who would be impressed by a casual Fred Penner sighting? Jesse performed a complicated two-handed devil hand signal and remarked, "It's more metal than one hand can handle. It's Fred Penner."). This led nicely into a discussion of first concerts, where Jesse & I discovered that we both had been taken to see Huey Lewis & the News during the "Sports" tour (and were probably in the same auditorium, come to think.) So overall, dinner was a nice blend of love, humiliating admissions, and Mexican food. And really, what more is there? Back at Scherezade's, I quickly donned my new corset, the ever-populate "fuck me" skirt, and Pixie's shiny hand-me-down patent leather docs (not only do I have a beautiful sister who's the same age as me, but we have the same size feet, so I can benefit from her waning interest in a gothic wardrobe! whee!) Scherezade did not seem terribly interested in a night out, but she trooped out for a good hour before deciding that she was simply too sleepy to stay out. Before she left for home, she handed over her keys and drew a map to her house in order to compensate for my horrendous sense of direction. This proved to be very convenient for the both of us, as she could snooze away in peace and I could stay out as long as I liked. (Digression: overall, staying at her house was one of the best decisions I made that week: she's so laid back as to be fully horizontal, yet welcoming in a way that's hard to describe. It was like we were back in the summer of '96, watching movies in her basement & wearing slutty outfits to the meatmarkets of Queen Street (those days I used to wear a full blouse over a camisole while leaving my parents' house, and shimmy out of the outer layer on the dancefloor. In retrospect, tattooing 'slut' across my forehead would've been more energy-efficient...but then again, I never slept with anyone that whole ugly year, so there you go.) I haven't felt that intense connection between us in years, ever since Ophelia, Mr. Metal (Scherezade's ex, that is) & a bunch of stupid decisions came in the way. I thought it was gone. I'm very happy to be proven wrong.) That night Morgan & Little Spider came out to dance & mope, bringing along LS's date. Now that she's finally broken with her previous live-in boy and thus put an end to over 10 years of continuous boyfriends, she's abruptly discovered the joy of dating. It was kind of amusing/endearing to see her giggle like a budgie on nitrous while sitting next to this tall dark stranger. Morgan, on the other hand, was coming to the end of a 2-week period away from Toad, and was very anxious to be a Mommy again. She rallied briefly after a "walk" with Jesse, but overall did not have a very good time. What I found most striking about this duo is that they have both started smoking in the year I've been away. I've known then since the age of teenage stupidity and have never seen them smoke...and yet they both began chain smoking Belmont Milds as soon as they came through the door of the Garden. Seeing this, I made a characteristically foolish decision: if they would smoke, well then, so would I. So I smoked. And it made me nervous & jittery but I also felt pretty good, pretty sexy. (Digression concerning feeling sexy: I hadn't realized how much I missed friends touching me and complimenting me. It's been a pretty anonymous summer in NS. And the great thing about TO is that I get it from both genders - compliments, that is. In Wolfville, I'm the married woman and they can't respect me enough. Respect! Bah!) But it didn't help the deeply disjointed feeling I carried about all night. Part of it was the smoking, yes. And part of it was being in the Garden again and feeling the same mix of happiness and boredom that I always used to feel in those unholy walls. But Stacy drove in this particular nail when she commented on Dirk's absence: Paul played "Sex Dwarf" and the triumvirate was still incomplete. He wasn't there that night on my triumphal return, and it felt ill-fitting to be there without him. Don't get me wrong; I've been there lots of times without him. In fact, some of my best memories of the Garden are nights when he punked out and I went anyway, because I didn't want to let an hour of preening go to waste. But still, it felt wrong. He & Tymothi:J were in Lindsey watching St. Pete's play on the assumption that Pete was returning with them to assist in Day One of Dirk's latest move, an event euphemistically titled Movapalooza. Unfortunately, none of this worked out for him, leaving Stacy & I with a gap in our hearts and Dirk with 2-fewer bodies for Movapalooza on Sunday. But we'll get to that portion of our tale eventually... As for the other participants, there are only a few more to mention. Paul Barber correctly predicted my attendance, and showed up with a birthday present. Dav came out briefly, but was pre-occupied and sad and left soon after. Jesse was there as well, and kept me right distracted by nibbling on my hand at opportune moments. (Perhaps there was too much of this...I'm a sucker for good, no-implications flirting and Jesse offers the best quality of this product.) The dancing was kind of fun, but I seemed to have run afoul of some kharmic S&M deity, as I became quite the punching bag for various participants: a jab to the breast, hard elbows in the kidney, many foot stompings, and a spectacular ricochet off Big Unfriendly Morgan (no relation to my sweetie highschool friend Morgan) and into Stacy during a mad headlong dash to the dance floor. "If you bumped into her, you shouldn't care," he offered by way of response. "I don't need to bump into you to get close to Stacy," I muttered under my breath. When Paul closed the place down, there was the requisite spacey shamble of coats and plans. Jesse offered to walk me home, which, apart from the joys of companionship appealed to me far more than taking a cab (I'm a cheap little thing...you know haw much black lipstick & sushi I could get with that cab fare?) We were all standing on the corner of Queen and Bathurst when I suddenly conceived of an idle desire to see the much-vaunted 53515705 (g)rave because, let's be honest here, I wanted to find out if Hilary is really, as my 14-year-old cousin terms it "all that and a bag of chips." (Dark chips, in this case. With goggles.) The universe appeared to be paying me back for all the bodyslams of the night in some fashion, as I was with someone who was not only completely casual about sneaking us in the back way, but had the connections to make this as seamless as possible. There's something to be said for brute confidence, that's for sure. Anyhoo, bearing in mind that it was 3 in the morning and the place was rather depopulated, I got a certain amount of bitchy satisfaction out of the fact that it was not particularly excellent or even consistently themed. Exactly 5 people were dressed in "futuristic cyber military" gear, the rest being men in tanktops & phat pants, twirling glowsticks. My corset earned quite a few smiles, but I tend to think that it was the e more than anything else. Hilary walked by me once, looking pissed off. I soon grew bored, grabbed Jesse & started the long walk home. And what a walk! Before Saturday, I had classified Jesse as an acquaintance rather than as a friend; someone who I would never call myself but whom I enjoyed seeing once in awhile at game or at other people's parties. The walk home was very long, and we were able to have a Real Conversation, that is, one not drowned out by the overpowering sound system of the Garden. We talked about theatre, literature, professional programs & general stuff. Maybe I'm making such a big deal out of this because of my lonely isolationist summer or something similar, but it was just great to have a Real Conversation, the kind I have with Stacy or Scott or the Boy. One of the benefits of moving to the sea-bound coast is that it's suddenly easy to tell acquaintances from friends: friends keep in touch. But without a cushion of casual people popping here & there, life can get pretty lonely. And it's been way too long since I made a new friend.

	I woke up late, partly because I wasn't terribly anxious to join in Movapalooza but mostly because Scherezade has the best bed in the world!! It's soft & firm & there's lots of pillows everywhere; it's big enough for the two of us to sleep comfortably without snuggling; it's cool & warm & airy & just doggone perfect. Hippies use the word 'tantric' to describe someone who can move in and out of social situation with utmost grace and a minimum of disturbance for others involved. Following this usage, Scherezade is the most tantric person I've ever slept with: I'm a fairly light sleeper, but she could get in & out of the bed & the room without waking me for more than a second. It's an amazing trick. The Boy is fairly good at this kind of thing, but Scherezade was amazing. The day started slow. Scherezade, her roommate Isabella & I hung around in the living room for awhile and watched a lady on cable teevee decorate her ceiling with squares of silver foil, then it was off to a little caf� on Bloor to eat a lunch disguised as breakfast. I called Dirk outside & determined his geographical position, bid a reluctant goodbye to the girls, and set off for Movapalooza (re-entry encouraged!) I found Dirk sitting outside his apartment building, alone below a sea of boxes that waited to be moved from the second floor. Perhaps I have never explained that I'm a great big sucky baby? Well, I am. I hate physical labour with a passion and whenever it becomes necessary I usually get help from the omnipresent men around me. I can mostly get away with this sort of thing because I stay busy no matter what, and I'm never ungrateful for the brute lifting. But during Movapalooza the only things I was not expected to lift were huge liquor boxes full of books and large pieces of furniture. Everything else became part of my sphere of influence, so to speak. Fortunately, soon Tym showed up, which took some of the lifting burdens off me. To make things even better, it was the hottest, humid-est day I think I've ever experienced - sweat was pouring down my body by the first half-hour, and I became desperate for something to use to tie up the hair that persisted in clumping to my neck. "Dirk? Do you have a scarf or a head band or an elastic?" "Or a cock ring?" Tym added helpfully. "I think we agreed that nothing that comes from Scott's cock is going in my hair," I shot back with a smirk. But it wasn't all bad: I did get to spend 10 hours with Dirk, and about 8 hours with Tymothi:J, even if that time involved hauling Dirk's crap from pillar to post. And as we were hauling the first load into the new house, I contracted a fortuitous blister and had to sit down and drink a beer while the boys finished unloading the truck. I had to. Surely you understand. And while I'd like to claim that Movapalooza worked my feet raw, the truth is that I probably got the blister off to healthy start by wearing unfamiliar boots up & down the Garden's dirty floors. Dirk & I finished off the night with a late appearance at the Snowballs In Hell wrap party, which I attended as an unshowered goth version of Daisy Buchanan. I quite enjoyed watching the rushes, although an unreasonable guilt twitched in me while seeing the project that I had not helped. I worked it out by writing "nothing!!" on my plastic beer cup, and thus advertising my non-participation. Exhausted by a full day of Movapalooza madness, Dirk & I monopolized the couch & a bag of chips, reminiscing about "The Magic Schoolbus." Conversation topics: what the movie would've cost if the lighting had been rented and not loaned, Jesse's dad's infamous pin-toke story, Stacy's Polkaroo boyfriend, post-secondary programs and microbrewery beer. Joel thought I was Mary for awhile, and neither of us figured it out until he asked after Q (who is doing fine, as far as I know...speaking of siblings I never hear from...). We split a cab with Stacy at 1 a.m. and I (once again) crawled into bed with Scherezade. More vacation fun awaits! In the words of Joseph Campbell, "follow your ka-pow!"