Tiggers are wonderful things

On Thursday evening the lawyer's office e-mailed me to let me know I was to make my own arrangements with the vendor to pick up the key to my house. I phoned the previous owner on her cell and we agreed to meet after 9pm at the Tim Horton's a few blocks from my parents' house (feels weird to write that).

"I'm going to pick up my key tonight!" I told my dad. He gave me a confused look and so I explained the arrangements.

"Maybe you should call Joanne [my agent] and see if that's okay, it sounds weird," he said.

"Dad, these are the instructions I got from the lawyer's office, it's okay."

My dad just kind of shook his head. I was mad that he didn't seem to believe that I knew what I was doing. It was another case of me going, dad, I'm 25 years old, I can read, I can do this and him going, she's just a kid, when did she get old enough to buy a house?

So I headed out with Truck and sat in the parking lot for a few minutes before the woman arrived. She handed me the key.

"You're stuck with Tigger," she laughed. The key is rather large and is imprinted with an image of Winnie The Pooh's bouncy pal Tigger. I wished her luck and we got back into our respective vehicles.

I sat in Truck for a while just staring at the thing. It felt heavy in my hand and so it should have. It represented nearly a year of my life. Extreme ups, extreme downs, and the closing of a chapter.

Last year I met a cool and special guy in San Francisco. He was smart, funny, amusing and full of life. We kept in touch through chatting almost every day for a while. Summers eventually fade and people's hearts change but there are some characters and some experiences you just don't forget, or want to let go of. When I took the key, I had a flash back to one of our conversations from late July.

him: Oh, guess what my favourite children's book is.

me: It better not be Pablo the Penguin

him: hahaha, no, is that yours?

me: yes. I'm still looking for another copy. Oh Pablo. How about Curious George?

him: No. The clue is "Not the big ones"

I didn't guess it so he told me it was a line from Winnie the Pooh. I had never read Winnie the Pooh before so he suggested that I get myself out, find a copy and read it as soon as possible. As it turns out, "Not the big ones!" is something Tigger says to Piglet when they first meet.

Later that night we were talking about a spontaneous trip to Vegas. I told him I couldn't fly out there because it would eat into the money I was putting away for a house. He asked me when I planned on moving out. I always felt dumb for still being at home while he had been in his own place for a while so I told him, "six months," as if it was something I had been planning for the last year and not just a flippant statement of defense. He questioned my commitment to the goal but I stood my ground (which is very easy to do when the face of the person you're talking to is a computer screen).

The next day I told my mom I wanted to move out. And for the next six months, which turned into nine months after two places fell through, I was determined I'd stick to my word, even when the guy and I eventually lost touch. When the house search got rough I cursed myself for making such a ridiculous statement. I was changing my life because some dumb boy who no longer had two minutes to have a conversation or respond to an email made me feel guilty. A boy is a stupid reason to do something but I refused to give up.

So there I was last night, almost a year after that conversation, holding Tigger and reminded of the exact moment that had put me there. I looked upwards, shook my head and said with a wry smile, "you have a very twisted sense of humour that one day we are going to have a long discussion about."

I emailed the guy that night and sent a picture of the key. I don't know if he remembered the conversation from last July, (I doubt it) but he said I couldn't change the locks and give up the key. I know he's as happy for me as I am for him and all the adventures he's got planned for himself.

I've come a long way but I'm ready to turn the page and see what comes next. At the very least, it should make for some good blogging.

I'm really happy.

I'm old, don't interrupt me during my programs

I was watching The Hour tonight and near the end of a commercial break the phone rang. I answered it.

"Hello, I'm calling from the Prairie Research Institute on behalf of MPI, is there anyone available in the household who is between the ages of 18 and 24?"

Ever since my 25th birthday I've been a little sad that I'm not longer in the coveted 18-24 youth market but today, it finally paid off.

"Nope, sorry, " I said and happily returned to George.


In other news, I'm going to pick up my house keys in about half an hour.

Oh yeah, and Prairie Research? You don't care about my opinion, but I think MPI are fear mongering socialists who can pitch their immobilizer program right next to the gun registration debacle.

Wow, I think I just saw the last moments of my youth fly by.

Not really, I'm still afraid of thunderstorms ;)

Dreamy TV

I went shopping on Saturday with my mom. We started off at a few garage sales. I found some blinds for my bedroom and the spare room for five bucks a piece. After that my mom asked me if I wanted to go check out TVs because I had mentioned that a few places had them on sale this week.

"That'll be the ultimate sticker shock, " I laughed. "From looking at three dollar items to thousand dollar stuff."

Man I hate electronics shopping. I stand there and stare at all the different sizes, colours and brands and I have no clue. The ever so helpful sales people have a clue though. They know they can drown me in specs and technical terms and eventually I'll cave in and take their word for it.

I could have done more research and actually learned about what I should be looking for but I could hardly be bothered. It's just not that high on my priorities. I needed a TV. I wanted a modest sized LCD panel to hang in my living room or possibly the spare room. I don't watch a lot of TV or movies so I don't really care about the slight differences in picture or sound quality. I just wanted something functional and affordable and I was not going to let anyone talk me into something I didn't need.

But there I was in Best Buy at the end of a long afternoon of hopping from store to store, and I was looking back and forth between four different screens, two of which were out of the price range I had in mind, trying to figure out which one looked better. Even though they all looked about the same I tossed a few options out purely based on my unsubstantiated opinions about the brands. Aside from that I was lost.

One of the sales guys spotted me and took me in under his wing. He told me what he thought I should get and I trusted him. He was cute and I liked the way he talked with me. Yes. That is how I made my decision about my TV. That is how I also ended up buying the wall mount, fancy dancy cables and extended service plan and spending about $200 more than what I thought I was going to.

How'd this happen? I think I have an idea. I hate the experience of electronics shopping, so I instead decided to turn it into something like shopping for a guy. The first place I went to was Leon's. An older guy caught me there but didn't have too much to say. Then I went to Visions. Mmm. That place was nice. All the guys were in suits. I almost got something there but I guess there was still something missing from the total package.

The next place I went to was The Brick. I hate The Brick. That place makes me feel dirty. Every time I walk in there the guys just look at me like I'm their next big fat commission cheque. The sales guy who pounced on me there tried to dazzle me with his technical knowledge but he wasn't interested in what I had to say or what my needs were. He seemed kind of desperate so I felt bad about walking away. Finally when I couldn't take him anymore I lied and told him I had to go look at chairs, which is the equivalent of telling a guy you can't see him tonight because you have to wash your hair.

Best Buy was the last stop. I was tired and overwhelmed and then along came Richard (I think that was his name, oh well, let's pretend it was). He was a cutie all right. He had the glasses, good shoes a sweet and honest face and a hot pair of cargo pants. He told me about how he was working on one of his last shifts because in two weeks he was getting shipped out by the military. I also learned that when he first moved out he had buckets for chairs in his living room (I didn't care at all how ridiculous and made up that sounded). He said over and over that he wasn't going to pressure me into anything but he knew that I didn't want to be there anymore than he did. He wanted to be at the beach or the gym. Yeah, suddenly I wasn't in a drab electronics store buying a TV, I was in the sun playing Frisbee on the beach with Richard. And while I was handing over my credit card and chatting about Starbucks we were grabbing drinks somewhere.

At the end of it all he walked me and the TV to the door and waited with me while my mom brought the car around. Then he loaded it into the car--just like any nice guy would do. Then he shook my hand, bid me adieu and we parted. See, I didn't buy a TV. I spent $1300 for a 20 minute date with Richard and he gave me a TV. Sweet huh? I know I have about 2/3 of my readers shaking their heads in disgust right now. *Shrug* I'm just glad that chore is over. Go ahead and shame me now.

North Dakota Nights

This is a post I wrote after the first weekend of June but didn't get around to publishing until now so the date references are a little old.

A perfect summer Friday night. Some people like to hang out on a patio with cold drinks. Some like to catch the latest blockbuster movie. Some head up to the lake for a weekend in the bush. Me, I like racing. Dirty, fast and loud. I had my first taste of the season this past Friday and I can't wait to get back.

My mom picked me up from work at 11:30. We came home, changed, threw some things in Truck and headed south to Grand Forks, ND. My dad had left earlier that morning with the motor home and Elmo. The drive takes about two hours. It's pretty boring, frankly. The scenery consists of farmers' fields, occasional overpasses and roadkill (which always makes me feel sad).

Grand Forks is a small city with a population of about 50,000. On Friday nights people from all around the area make their way to the speedway to watch four classes of cars chase each other around a 1/4 mile track made of dirt. There's a small green space on the east side of the track affectionately known as Little Canada, where Winnipeg fans and drivers park their motor homes for the night. Most are regulars and old friends who will greet you with a cold, cheap American beer (sometimes a Canadian one if you're lucky).

When we were 18/19 my friend Michael and I drove down a few times just for the night. After the race we hung out in the pits for bit, said hi to some people he knew and then headed home around midnight. Micheal's parents, Joyce and Mike park their motor home at the track for most of the season. Shortly after my mom and I arrived, Mike pulled up in his black Ford truck. My dad put Elmo on his leash and walked over to say hi. My mom and I couldn't believe dad was walking Elmo around. He just doesn't do that. I took a few quick pictures of the rare scene.

We weren't sure if the races were going to run that night. It had been raining off and on all afternoon and the skies still looked threatening. It was sprinkling again at 6:30 when the hot laps were supposed to be starting. Hot laps are a chance for drivers to test out their cars and see what kind of condition the track is in.

In between the rain clouds I took some pictures of the haulers pulling in and life around Little Canada. Mom baked a Papa John's pizza.

If you saw one of the rigs that drivers haul their cars around in out of context, you might think it was a truck and trailer going to a movie shoot. On the outside they're non-descript motor homes with a matching trailer. Inside, they're pretty tricked up. Racing is an expensive sport so only a few of the more successful drivers have the customized rides. And don't be fooled by the plain shell. Inside there's a flashy and powerful beast--sometimes that's just the driver.

The skies held in and the first heat started almost on schedule. They run four classes in Grand Forks. The street stocks are the entry class. Some cars are just a few steps above what you'd see in a demolition derby. Modifieds are funny looking cars that appear to have their front fenders missing and a short back end. The late models closely resemble the stock cars you'd see in NASCAR. The last to run are the sprints, which are funny looking small bodied cars with two big wheels in the back, two small wheels in the front, and a big wing on top of the car.

As the race night goes on, each class gets progressively faster and louder. The streets are like the opening act in a concert. They warm the crowd up a bit or sometimes just get annoying when it seems that they can't get one lap in without someone drawing a caution flag.

The lates and the sprints are my favourite to watch. They're fast, loud, flashy, and the driver skill level is impressive. When I was younger I used to beg my mom to let me go to watch a race but she always told me I wouldn't like it because it would be too loud. Crazy as it is, I think I like the sound the best. The roar is like a freight train and it rumbles against your chest when the cars reach full speed at around 120 mph. There's also nothing like the smell of burning methanol--the fuel that the sprints and lates use. It smells only slightly acrid and actually a little sweet.

Because of all the rain in the area over the past week, the track was pretty tacky--perfect maybe for a spa mud bath treatment but challenging to drive on. Usually when I've gone the track has been dry, which means when you go home your face is lightly dusted with black dirt and you'll blow black snot out of your nose. You can only imagine how the drivers manage to see through the dirt--cakey or dusty. Most use tear offs on their helmet visors--a stack of plastic films they can pull off as they get dirty. If you've never been to a race before, regardless of the track condition I'd advise you not to take any of the front row seats unless you feel you didn't eat enough dirt when you were a kid.

There weren't many Winnipeg guys to cheer for that night but Mike Balcaen (of the Balcaen and Sons Plumbing, Heating and Air conditioning company in Winnipeg) picked up first place in the late model features race. It didn't seem to matter to anyone watching that he's Canadian. The crowd was just happy with the show.

For the sprints race I like to watch the young and talented Mark Dobmier. He always takes the back of the pack challenge and I think I've only seen him lose it once when his drive shaft fell off. He took it again on Friday night and worked his way up to first place to take the checkered flag. He moves around the other cars as if they are stuck on second gear. My dad was cheering for Lou Kennedy Jr., the Winnipeg representative. Lou was doing well until he ran into the back of another guy and flipped his car. What a wreck.

After all the races were run, dad and I walked around in the pits a bit. Mom headed back to the motor home to check on Elmo. The pits are where fans get to talk to their favourite drivers about the wins, the losses,the awesome passes and the crashes. Some drivers are pretty friendly, others are just there to assess damages and pack up. It's a bit weird that the cars look so big from my seat in the stands yet so small and simple up close.

I wish I knew better one of the drivers. I'd love to help out on a team in some way. My dad used to help one of his buddies with his late model car and I love listening to the old stories. I also have a dream to do some kind of documentary on dirt track racing. I think it would be fun to get together with a few friends and spend a few days talking with some drivers, track owners and fans.

After a quick tour around the pits, dad and I shoved our hands in our pockets and walked back to the motor home. I think he misses the old days as much as I wish I was a part of them. Take me back.

More pictures here