Quelle Weekend!

I have been going through a bit of a hibernation phase lately. When I was in Yellowknife, and even when I lived here before, I was a bit of a party animal. I loved the bars, I loved going dancing, and my weekends included copious amounts of eye makeup and alcohol. Not so much anymore. I am quite content to spend my weekends doing errands and chores and relaxing at home. Sadly, that often icludes doing that by myself. But that's another post.

This weekend, though, that was tossed out the window. I had visits from two, count 'em TWO old friends! Glen came in on Friday night on his way back to Yellowknife. We caught up, went for dinner, watched the Devil Wears Prada, and lounged. Time with him always includes good conversation and incredible laughs. And lately, it also includes gleeful squealing over the Police concert. 33 more sleeps! And I promise, you have Sting's leg. I'll fend Trudy off for you.

On Saturday, I went out with Becky. Well, we went to lunch on Friday, which was an ansolute delight. I've prattled on about her before when I saw her at Christmas. She's one of those friends who you can pick up where you left off when you see her again. Plus, she's the funniest person I know. She has coined phrases used in my vocabulary such as "PWT". We went to a comedy club with four other people, including her youngest brother, and they were all couples. We joked that we looked like a lesbian couple. I haven't had so much fun out in a long, long time.

It was a great weekend, albeit tiring since that was the most excitement I have seen in a while. But it got me thinking. I have been here more than a year, and a roaring good time only happens when friends from out of town visit? That's horseshit! I need to make friends. I think my couch and I have to part ways on the weekends. I can do without the copious amounts of booze, but I am sure my eye makeup would like a workout again.

Must strategize...

Plottingly Yours,
xoxoSallyt

Fugly

Aren't you all so lucky! TWO posts in one day... I was so traumatized by my mid-day bus ride, I forgot to relay this little tale of horror.

I have noticed of late there are some men in Edmonton who go out of their way to be quirky-ugly. Qugly? No. Just plain ol' fugly. They sport ratty moustaches like Brendan Flowers, they were outrageous vests and hats. The often have a penchant for cowboy boots and strange-fitting pants. Check, check, and check! This guy today had it all.

We hopped off the bus at the same time, and as he sauntered up behind me, I could hear the clack-clack-clack of his boots. I am pretty sure they were second hand, and I would bet a bottle of Fresca they were too big. He wore a super tight black tank top under an even tighter gray pleather vest. His pants were a miracle of science. I think he jumped from the 10th floor into them, they were so tight! They were also a purplish hue. And they were Mom Jeans. No pleats, thank god, but they were Mom Jeans nonetheless. They gave him hips! And his ass was huge in them. Oh, don;t forget, he had a thin, white belt on. I couldn't help but stare! But I figure these guys dress so outrageously just to stand out and get stared at. He succeeded.

When I see these guys, I play out a little scenario of their Alberta-bred pappies clapping eyes on them when they return to Stettler on spring break. Their fathers would be heartbroken to see their son strut around town with ironic fringed vests and tight jeans. Pappy would sit on the edge of the bed at night, distraught that Junior would come home from his learnin' all citified and fruity. Pappy would cradle an 8x10 of Junior in his rodeo gear, wondering where he went wrong. When I think of that mini-drame in my head, those hipsters in their hip-creating jeans look even more foolish.

Cattily Yours,
xoxoSallyt

All Aboard the Peasant Wagon!

I made a greivous error this morning. I took the bus in the late morning.

I take the bus everywhere. I don't have a car and although I want one, cannot afford one so I get on the Peasant Wagon. On weekdays, I am on the bus in rush hour. So in the morning everyone is fresh and showered and deoderized. In the afternoon, everyone is a staler version of their morning selves. But it's the bus at mid-day and late night that is scariest. The late night crowd are freaks and drunks and look like they'll make lampshades from your skin. Thus, I avoid late night bus trips at all costs. But it's the mid-day crowd that drives me crazy. It's because they are crazy.

This morning was especially ripe with fruits. One woman was yammering about the new art gallery being built here in Edmonton. She talked like she was in the know. To her, it is a waste of money and it's going to be ugly. But her biggest complaint was that the architect is from the States. Crackpot thinks the architect should be from Edmonton. It's not the unique shape of the building that's so offensive, nor the millions of dollars it'll cost, but that Joe Schmuck the Architect from Edmonton didn't design it.

Someone else was talking about what the government should do about housing prices. He went on and on how he's being gouged and he's on a fixed income and the government should help him. According to him, because he's on a fixed income, he should live where ever he pleases for free. Yeah, buddy? Well, I want to marry George Clooney but we all don't get what we want, now do we?

Now you know why I call the bus the Peasant Wagon.

Buses in the mid-day are full of weirdos; the mentally unstable, those who think the world owes them everything, and they all smell bad. And now that it's hot out, they're all wearing shorts and sandals and it's getting grosser. I have never seen such a wide array of thick, yellow toenails attached to pale, palsied legs in my life! I'm angry now, and taking it out by insulting appearances. Must end here before I go too far.

Next time, I will not forget my MP3.

Transitingly Yours,
xoxoSallyt

Like a Teenager

I was reading the paper this morning while having breakfast, and I almost choked on my coffee. In the Culture section, tucked away next to the movie listings, there was a list of upcoming concerts. Tacked on to the end was the announcement that Justin Timberlake is coming to town in August. Justin Timberlake! I squealed with glee! I would would have screamed but I have neighbours, and I AM 31 years old. Screaming over JT would have been a little over the top.

You know I am there! The chance to hear "My Love" live(my favourite song from Future Sex/Love Sounds, by the way) makes me giggle. I realize that except for the parents chaperoning the concert, I will probably the oldest person there. But dammit, I will be the happiest and most likely the loudest.

Justin Timberlake! EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

Adoringly Yours,
xoxoSally Timberlake

Kicky Old Women

If you read this blog, you know I have a soft spot for kicky old women. The ones who couldn't give a damn what people say or think of them. I love them and secretly yearn to be like them. One day, in about 30 years time, you will see me hitting the streets with glittery glasses and capes and paunchy hats. I will throw my head back with pride and say "suck it"! I cannot wait!

To hold me over, I will spot and relish the kicky old women of today.

To wit, I saw one this afternoon that killed me! She was across the street from my office, sitting at a bus stop. It was warm out today (double digits, no less!) and she had on this long, purple coat and white tam. A tam! Could it be any cuter!? Then she had on these massive sunglasses, but I already own a pair, so no big deal. She had a walker and while she was waiting for her bus, she was mowing down on chips. Just ramming them into her mouth. She licked her fingers with glee. She was smacking her lips. She was truly enjoying herself! I loved her for her sheer abandonment of what others may think!

Don't even get me started on old men. I love them. LOVE them. Not in an Anna Nicole way, but I love them nonetheless. When I see an especially feeble one, I just want to wrap them in blankets and feed them soup. My dad is going to be one. My grandfather was one. So was his brother.

But I can't grow up to be an old man, just a loony old lady. Cannot wait!

Agingly Yours,
xoxoSallyt

Under Pressure

I have weathered several queries about my single status lately. I am on Facebook and am harbouring a nasty addiction to it, and when contact is made with old friends, the question invariably comes up. "Are you married?" Or my personal favourite, "Why are you still single?"

My creative flair flares up and I want to make up some cockamamie tale of widowhood or divorce or a marriage to a criminal. But I just sigh and give the usual pat answers.

My sister got married last summer and it was a lovely ceremony. But throughout the reception, at least 10 different women came up to me and offered their advice and condolences. I would be dancing and a strange woman would grab my arm and with tears welling in her eyes tell me "It's okay, dear, your time will come." At first I was confused. Who was she and what am I waiting for? But as more and more women came up and offered similar advice, I realized they pitied me for being single. Turns out my mother, who was in South Africa for a month and a half before I got there, went all Pimpalicious on me and tried to set me up with any man under the age of 40. She asked these women about sons, grandsons, nephews, cousins, neighbours, anything with a penis that she could introduce me to when I arrived. Up until then, my mother had been very good about having a single daughter. Now she dispenses Dr. Phil's dating advice. As if I will listen to dating advice from a balding middle-aged man.

My nanna, on the other hand, has always questioned me. Years ago, she came from Newfoundland for my graduation from Saint Mary's. She grabbed my arm one afternoon and asked me if I liked boys. My 82 year old nanna was wondering about my sexuality! When I came back from Abu Dhabi last week, I called her. Her first question was "Did you meet any men over there?" Apparently, I was on a husband hunting tour. When I said no, she informed me it's time that I "settle down and take a man's name". I kid you not. Those were her exact words.

I am not dating anyone. I haven't met any decent men to spend a considerable amount of time with. I will not marry for the sake of marrying. I would love to meet someone and settle down and take their name. I would love to get married and have babies. I just haven't met anyone worth doing that with yet.

Are your questions answered now?

Yours,
xoxoSally

The Horse Races, Dhaling

Here are a couple more pictures from my trip. The day after I landed, Jane, Craig and I whizzed up to Dubai for the World Cup horse races. Jane and Craig make fun of their little car, "The Lancer", but it was a fine set o' wheels to me. Craig wanted to get to the races in the late afternoon so by the time we made it to our hotel, he was in a mad rush. Jane and I still laugh at the thought of the three of us screeching up in front of the Crown Plaza in La Lancer, piling out like fools, and rushing around the lobby.

We made it to the races and had a lovely day. It was bizarre, though, to see these people all dressed up in their finery eating shwarmas off styrofoam plates in a big field. Craig got a free bottle of champagne with his ticket, so we indulged in the champagne area called "Bubble".

Jane and I have similar voices, and very similar senses of humour. Both of us were looking around Bubble and appreciating God's humour (read: making fun of people). At the same time, we both clapped eyes on this tubby British guy and his chubby gal pal making out. We both saw tongue. And we both started screeching and screaming and laughing. We called him Jabba the Hut. We figured that Jabba was going home to have sloppy drunk sex with his poor girlfriend and imagined what Jabba would look and/or smell like in the morning. Seriously, it was the highlight of the races for me. I hope Craig wasn't too embarrassed.

Sarcastically Yours,
xoxoSallyt

Jane the Camel Molester

This is my favourite picture from the Desert Safari Jane and I went on. She's dismounting the camel, but looks like she's humping it from behind. We howled when we saw this picture.

I love her little legs!

xoxoSally

Sally the Camel

I told you I was going on a camel ride! It was the most embarrassing and frightening 3 minutes of my life. I had bruises on my inner thighs from gripping that stinky beast!

Achingly Yours,
xoxoSallyt

Back to the Grind

... and I am not happy about it.

I came to work super early this morning, since I still get up at dawn (hats off to you, Circadian Rhythms). As I came in and no one was here yet, I could sense a change. Then as people trickled in and news was exchanged, I could tell something was up. I have a few meetings this week, so maybe something will come of my spooky spidey senses. Or perhaps I am full of shit.

I am not thrilled to be here. At all. It's kind of making me sad, really. All weekend, I was alone. All alone, and that's a shock when you have just spent 2 weeks carousing with your sister. But even that sick sense of lonliness feels better than what I have going on here at work. It's time to move on, I think. Maybe this is just the post-vacay blues. Or maybe I'm just full of shit.

On a funny note, my 92 year old grandmother asked me this weekend if I had met any men in Abu Dhabi. It was her first question about my trip. She also advises me that it's time for me to "settle down and take a man's name". At least she's not questioning my sexuality anymore.

Blahingly Yours,
xoxoSally

Stranded in the Desert

Oh, it's not as dramtic as I make it sound, but I am stranded in the Abu Dhabi airport waiting for a connecting flight from Bahrain. The captain of the plane thought it was a brilliant idea to land the jet in a thunderstorm and now a couple hundred people are waiting for that plane here. We're four hours behind now, and last check 15 minutes ago, the plane MAY be leaving Bah-frigging-rain in 20 minutes. So any foray into Amsterdam is off. I may have 2 hours to spend there. Enough to shower, change, and get on the next plane.

I have, in the past, been in situations like this before, and it was always in Canada. I must say, it is quite civilized here. No one is screaming, no tempers, and the only tears are from tired toddlers. There are no ranting Americans, or screeching Canadians. Everyone is very calm about it. Very "que sera". Even when I could feel a wall-eyed fit brew in my guts when the barely-speaking-English steward failed to answer my question, I stepped back and realized I would be a huge cliche. The ranting, raving North American.

Oh, I see some movement at my gate. Must run before they leave without me!

Tiredly Yours,
xoxoSally

Where am I?

I am in Abu Dhabi now, and am flying home tomorrow at midnight. What a weird and lovely trip. Jane and Craig have been the best hosts, and I have seen a lot. Dubai is mindboggling. The desert is hot. Camels are hard to ride. I don't like sweating profusely. Haggling over prices is common practice here. And "Inshallah" means "if god wills", and my sister uses it a lot. My sister is also very lucky and has a wonderful husband. I love them both.

I have pictures and stories to share, but I will do so after my 30 hour flight tomorrow.

Soarlingly yours,
xoxoSallyt