Fair warning: The following post has some graphic descriptions. If you are reading this and I work with you, I don't mind, but if the next time I see you in the hall you can only acknowledge me with a half glance and a deep blush, all I can say is that I warned you: I make reference to underwear and boobs. That being said, I think this is a good post. So enjoy, and keep your head down if you must.
Sometime, some how this week I grew a knot in my left shoulder. It makes my whole arm burn sometimes. I try icing it and heating it but it is slow to go away.
"Why don't you go for a massage?" Lisa asks me on Thursday night.
"You know me, I don't do that stuff."
"So you'd rather just live with the pain?"
"Well by the time I find a place and make an appointment, the pain will probably be gone."
I know Lisa is right, but I have never gone for a massage before. I am pretty sure I have some coverage with my benefits plan, but I'm not really sure how much. I figure it's about time I give this a shot, so I decide to call today and see what I can get.
I manage to get an 8:00 p.m. appointment at a place just a short drive from my house. I shower, shave and put on my favourite pair of underwear--blue, low-rise Joe Boxer bikini briefs. They're my favourite because they have JB stitched on the side (for Joe Boxer of course) and I like to pretend they are monogrammed just for me. As for the routine, well, it's Friday night and I am going to go lay half-naked on some stranger's table so they can rub me down. I want to feel presentable.
The place is in this old townhouse. Inside, it still looks like a house. I am greeted but no one offers to take my jacket, or even invites me to have a seat. The radio is playing Britney Spears' Womanizer--not exactly giving the zen vibe I am looking for.
I fill out some paperwork and meet my massage therapist, Dan. He's average height, a bit lanky, but cute enough. Skater shoes--blah.
Dan leads me up the stairs into a small room at the front. There is a chair, which I decide will be where I drop my purse and coat.
"Okay, you know how it goes . . ." Dan starts to say.
"No, actually, this is my first time."
"Oh, okay then. Well you remove your clothing except for your underwear and slide in between the two sheets here. You should also take your necklace off."
Okay, great. I nod. Dan leaves and I strip. Now, he only said, "except for your underwear". I assume that means removing the bra, because I know I read that on the website, but if he comes back in and I'm laying face down on the table, bare back, is he going to be like, "oh, you took your bra off too. Oooh-kay then." I shoo the paranoid voices away and unhook my pink bra. I pile my clothes on the chair, decide that I should tuck the pink bra beneath my t-shirt (because clearly, I am just not ready for Dan to see my girly undergarments at this early point in our relationship) and position myself face down on the table.
Dan knocks on the door and I indicate that I am fine for him to come in.
"Oh, I just need to go grab some more oil. I'll be right back."
I take a look at my view: a rather uncomfortable looking wooden stool is directly below. I decide to keep my eyes closed.
Dan comes back ready to go. He starts with a general rub up and down my back.
"So you work at Good Wooden Leg?" he asks. Oh, I think. We chat during these things?
"Yeah, I'm in advertising," I say.
"Oh yeah, did you go to Red River for that?"
"Yeah, well, actually I did a four-year program with Red River and the University of Winnipeg."
"Oh, CreComm?"
"Yeah."
"I applied to that program but I didn't get in. But I got accepted to massage therapy school at the same time, so it worked out in the end."
Huh. Go figure. I'd always felt that it was by some small miracle that I got into the Creative Communications program. I was going to apply to Architecture, but at the last minute I changed my mind and got my application into Red River. So I got accepted to the Creative Communications program that eventually led me to my career in advertising and my current place of employment, Good Wooden Leg, which provides me with the benefits to cover most of this massage along with the stress to need the massage in the first place. Meanwhile, Dan the Man didn't get into the program but did get into massage school so that he can now be the first one to rub my glutes. Yes, I suppose that is some kind of interesting twist of fate.
He pulls down my JBs as we make small talk. If he's going to do that, why am I supposed to keep them on? I hope the oil doesn't stain them. I mean, oil is really hard to get out of cotton.
The small talk ends and he flips my underwear back up. He moves on to focus on my sore shoulder.
"Is the pressure okay?" He asks.
"Yup." I figure, no pain, no gain, right? And beside, I can take it. He does press in pretty hard. At some points it feels like he is circling his fingernail in there. I won't give in though.
I mentally follow along as he moves up and down my back. It's not quite how I thought it would go. I thought there would be more variety, more moves. That he'd help me discover muscles and nerves that I never knew I had. Nope, I'm pretty sure I've felt all those before.
I keep waiting for the moment to come where suddenly I feel, I don't know, tingly or something. But it doesn't happen. I listen to the music but it's a song I don't like. I wish I had the remote so I could change it or something. I actually consider asking him to skip to the next song. Sigh. Am I expecting too much? Why can't I just let go and relax already?
I feel the sheet being draped over me. Is my session over already? It can't be, I paid for 45 minutes and I am certain I've only heard five songs so far. If each song is a maximum five minutes long then I must have at least a good 20 minutes left still.
I'm still doing the math in my head when Dan says, "Okay, you can flip over now and slide down a bit."
What? Oh. Okay. I clasp my hands to my chest and do my best to modestly and gracefully "flip". I look up to see Dan holding the sheet up for me, smiling. I lay back down, close my eyes and try to assess my level of nakedness. I really can't tell where the sheet is. In this semi-relaxed state everything feels light and airy, so I keep my hands pressed to myself. I definitely have my left nipple under wraps, but I have no idea where the right one has ended up.
Dan lifts my head and starts doing this thing to my neck. I start to melt and then I finally feel it--the tingling release. It works its way down into my knees and toes and floods out everywhere. Yes!
"Okay, we're done."
What? No we're not! I'm just getting started.
"Take your time getting up. I'll see you downstairs."
I get dressed and notice that I feel a bit woozy. My contacts are all dry. Maybe I should have stayed on the table a bit longer. I turn the doorknob (ew, it's kind of slick) and go meet Dan downstairs. He offers me a glass of water in a plastic cup.
"How are you feeling?"
"Good."
"Would you like to book another appointment, or just call in the next time?" This feels like that awkward part of the date where one person says, "that was fun, we should do this again," but the other person is thinking, if I get all the green lights on the way home, I should make it in time to catch The Hour with George Stroumboulopoulos at 11.
"No, that's okay, my schedule is all over the place anyway."
"Okay, well, I'll give you my card. I only work Friday nights and Sundays because I'm still in school. But everyone else here is great too."
And then I realize, Dan is still new to this too. Sure, he's got the basics, but he's not ready to do the signature techniques yet. I forgive him. Still, I'd really like to see what a pro could do for me. I guess this means I'm putting my cute glutes back on the market.
Friday, October 24, 2008
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
After a few birthday candles, Jillian gets her wishes
This is a weird thing about me. Every time a bunch of good stuff happens to me, I think I am going to die. Literally. I think, this is it. This is my untimely death window. I am at a pinnacle of happiness and now I am going to get hit by a bus.
It was announced officially today that come February 2009(ish) when Amara goes on maternity leave, I will fill her position for the year and they will hire someone on contract to take on my job. This plan has been in place for a few weeks now and I've had to sit on this secret until everything was in place for making the announcement to my department. I know, that alone nearly killed me.
This opportunity is a dream come true for me. Honestly, I've wished and wished that I could get on to this team. I just didn't see how it could happen. Cue small miracle.
I was heading home from work one day after the plan was in place. I was jubilant. At the corner of Portage and Vaughn there was a man singing a Praise Jesus song. The sun was shining. My hair was good. All I could think was, this is when I am going to get hit by a bus. It's just like TV. Complete with the ironic soundtrack.
Obviously, I did not meet up with 10 tonnes of metal that day. In fact, as you know, life just kept on getting better. Between my upcoming trip to New York and the year-long vacation from my current job, how can this possibly get better? Should I make a new wish? I am so excited to see what happens next. I hope it involves shoes. Or boys. Or boys with shoes. Oooohh!
It was announced officially today that come February 2009(ish) when Amara goes on maternity leave, I will fill her position for the year and they will hire someone on contract to take on my job. This plan has been in place for a few weeks now and I've had to sit on this secret until everything was in place for making the announcement to my department. I know, that alone nearly killed me.
This opportunity is a dream come true for me. Honestly, I've wished and wished that I could get on to this team. I just didn't see how it could happen. Cue small miracle.
I was heading home from work one day after the plan was in place. I was jubilant. At the corner of Portage and Vaughn there was a man singing a Praise Jesus song. The sun was shining. My hair was good. All I could think was, this is when I am going to get hit by a bus. It's just like TV. Complete with the ironic soundtrack.
Obviously, I did not meet up with 10 tonnes of metal that day. In fact, as you know, life just kept on getting better. Between my upcoming trip to New York and the year-long vacation from my current job, how can this possibly get better? Should I make a new wish? I am so excited to see what happens next. I hope it involves shoes. Or boys. Or boys with shoes. Oooohh!
Sunday, October 19, 2008
October 19: Random thoughts
Falling for you
Yesterday I raked my front yard. Today I wondered why.
Here comes the bride
I was out with my mom today and picked up some antique sheet music. I don't play anything, but I had to have this piece--The Wedding of Jack and Jill. It's over 70 years old. The lyrics are priceless:
Now the boy was Jack, the girl was Jill
The story's old but they tell it still
Of the way they tumbled down the hill
On a sunny day in May.
But there's something more you never heard
An owl told me he's a wise old bird
And he told this story word for word
All about their wedding day.
There's more, and it gets cuter. As I said, I don't play a thing, so I'm going to ask Lisa to try it on her piano one day. At first I was planning to frame it, but now I don't know if I can lock it up like that.
Ladybugs 12
Is it ladybug season? Is there such a thing? I've been seeing them all over the place lately. I've seen a few in my house even. They remind me of Under the Tuscan Sun. There was some message or metaphor in there about looking for ladybugs but not being able to find them until you stop looking. Knowing that I wanted to mention this, I set out to take a picture of one. I had only seen one about twenty minutes before, on the door jamb. but do you think I could find one once I got my camera out?
Rubber boots
This afternoon mom, dad and I drove out to Ile Des Chenes to take in the town's fall supper. It was going to be my third one of the year and second one this weekend. I'm not sure if my west coast or American readers are familiar with this type of event--essentially, it's a thanksgiving dinner in a community hall or church. Ten or 12 bucks gets you a ticket and all the turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, vegetables and usually one unique local dish you can fit on your disposable plate.
Dad's cousin and her family live in Ile Des Chenes, about 20 minutes south of the city. We took Truck because dad need to bring home a few bundles of shingles he was getting out there. Dad drove. I only ever drive dad if he's sufficiently drunk or half asleep. Poor mom hugged her knees in the back.
Dinner was good. Tonight's local specialty was the perogies. Yesterday at Grandma's church the ladies made curry chicken. Last month when we went to Otterbourne we had French meat pie. I am disappointed none of the places yet have served cabbage rolls.
We headed home around seven-thirty. The sun had already set and it was pretty dark, but not completely black. I think there is no sky more beautiful than a prairie one. I know people will feel differently. Tonight, the land was black and the sky was a mix of deep royal blue, gold and amethyst. I pulled the collar of my jacket up to my ears, snuggled in, and enjoyed the ride down the highway.
Dad started to fiddle with the rear view mirror, flicking the map light on and then trying to turn it off.
"What are you doing?" I asked, sounding annoyed, but not really. I knew what he was doing. A car had just pulled in behind him.
"There is no flippy thing," I told him, knowing he was looking to tilt the mirror to block out the glare. "It adjusts automatically. I paid $500 for that technology," I said, again in my mock-annoyed voice.
"Well I don't understand this stuff," he said, matching my tone. We actually could have been arguing, but tonight we were just pretending with father-daughter affection. It makes no sense really.
The Silver Sun Pickups started playing on the radio. I turned it up a notch because I love that song and because it is my truck and I will listen to the music as I choose.
"Y'know what I need?" I said. "A pair of rubber boots to stick in between the window and the box of the truck. I've seen that a lot lately."
"You mean a pair of yellow ones?" My dad asked. He's really trying to poke a stick in my eye now, but there's still a warm tone. All my life I wanted a pair of yellow rubber boots. One day, someone gave me an old pair and I loved them. Then, my grandma borrowed them for a fall display at the church and the display caught fire and the boots melted. It broke my heart. I've never found another pair like them.
"Remember your old green truck, dad?"
"Yeah."
"This is just like that, except there's no holes in the floor and mom has to sit in the back."
Dad had an old, rusty, green truck when I was a kid. It was bigger--a 3/4 tonne--but still a Chevy. I loved that thing. I loved how it smelled. I loved the old, old radio, and the novelty of lifting up the floor mats and being able to see the road below. I was a weird kid.
"Should we take the perimeter or Bishop Grandin?" Dad asked.
"I don't care. You're driving," I replied. But later I changed my mind.
"Are you taking the perimeter?" I asked.
"Yeah, I don't want to go through that construction again. Is that okay?"
"Yeah. I don't want to go through the city lights."
So we drove in the mostly dark for the rest of the way. I wanted the trip to last forever.
Dad backed Truck into the driveway. I went inside the house for a bit to see Elmo. When I came back out he was unloading the shingles, grunting and moaning.
"You need to start hiring some help," I said as I watched him.
"I need a son-in-law," he retorted. I looked back at Truck and thought, I'm doing the best I can. Then I remembered a conversation I'd had with mom earlier today. We were looking at a My Little Pony stuffed toy that blinked and talked. I know, suddenly it sounds ridiculous to me too. She was quite taken with it though.
"Maybe I should get it and one day someone can play with it," she said.
"Some poor little boy sure is going to be disappointed one Christmas morning then," I replied. She put the toy down. My poor mom. Not only am I denying her grandchildren, I've also decided the fantasy ones are rough and tumbly boys.
Life was rosier in the truck.
Yesterday I raked my front yard. Today I wondered why.
Here comes the bride
I was out with my mom today and picked up some antique sheet music. I don't play anything, but I had to have this piece--The Wedding of Jack and Jill. It's over 70 years old. The lyrics are priceless:
Now the boy was Jack, the girl was Jill
The story's old but they tell it still
Of the way they tumbled down the hill
On a sunny day in May.
But there's something more you never heard
An owl told me he's a wise old bird
And he told this story word for word
All about their wedding day.
There's more, and it gets cuter. As I said, I don't play a thing, so I'm going to ask Lisa to try it on her piano one day. At first I was planning to frame it, but now I don't know if I can lock it up like that.
Ladybugs 12
Is it ladybug season? Is there such a thing? I've been seeing them all over the place lately. I've seen a few in my house even. They remind me of Under the Tuscan Sun. There was some message or metaphor in there about looking for ladybugs but not being able to find them until you stop looking. Knowing that I wanted to mention this, I set out to take a picture of one. I had only seen one about twenty minutes before, on the door jamb. but do you think I could find one once I got my camera out?
Rubber boots
This afternoon mom, dad and I drove out to Ile Des Chenes to take in the town's fall supper. It was going to be my third one of the year and second one this weekend. I'm not sure if my west coast or American readers are familiar with this type of event--essentially, it's a thanksgiving dinner in a community hall or church. Ten or 12 bucks gets you a ticket and all the turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, vegetables and usually one unique local dish you can fit on your disposable plate.
Dad's cousin and her family live in Ile Des Chenes, about 20 minutes south of the city. We took Truck because dad need to bring home a few bundles of shingles he was getting out there. Dad drove. I only ever drive dad if he's sufficiently drunk or half asleep. Poor mom hugged her knees in the back.
Dinner was good. Tonight's local specialty was the perogies. Yesterday at Grandma's church the ladies made curry chicken. Last month when we went to Otterbourne we had French meat pie. I am disappointed none of the places yet have served cabbage rolls.
We headed home around seven-thirty. The sun had already set and it was pretty dark, but not completely black. I think there is no sky more beautiful than a prairie one. I know people will feel differently. Tonight, the land was black and the sky was a mix of deep royal blue, gold and amethyst. I pulled the collar of my jacket up to my ears, snuggled in, and enjoyed the ride down the highway.
Dad started to fiddle with the rear view mirror, flicking the map light on and then trying to turn it off.
"What are you doing?" I asked, sounding annoyed, but not really. I knew what he was doing. A car had just pulled in behind him.
"There is no flippy thing," I told him, knowing he was looking to tilt the mirror to block out the glare. "It adjusts automatically. I paid $500 for that technology," I said, again in my mock-annoyed voice.
"Well I don't understand this stuff," he said, matching my tone. We actually could have been arguing, but tonight we were just pretending with father-daughter affection. It makes no sense really.
The Silver Sun Pickups started playing on the radio. I turned it up a notch because I love that song and because it is my truck and I will listen to the music as I choose.
"Y'know what I need?" I said. "A pair of rubber boots to stick in between the window and the box of the truck. I've seen that a lot lately."
"You mean a pair of yellow ones?" My dad asked. He's really trying to poke a stick in my eye now, but there's still a warm tone. All my life I wanted a pair of yellow rubber boots. One day, someone gave me an old pair and I loved them. Then, my grandma borrowed them for a fall display at the church and the display caught fire and the boots melted. It broke my heart. I've never found another pair like them.
"Remember your old green truck, dad?"
"Yeah."
"This is just like that, except there's no holes in the floor and mom has to sit in the back."
Dad had an old, rusty, green truck when I was a kid. It was bigger--a 3/4 tonne--but still a Chevy. I loved that thing. I loved how it smelled. I loved the old, old radio, and the novelty of lifting up the floor mats and being able to see the road below. I was a weird kid.
"Should we take the perimeter or Bishop Grandin?" Dad asked.
"I don't care. You're driving," I replied. But later I changed my mind.
"Are you taking the perimeter?" I asked.
"Yeah, I don't want to go through that construction again. Is that okay?"
"Yeah. I don't want to go through the city lights."
So we drove in the mostly dark for the rest of the way. I wanted the trip to last forever.
Dad backed Truck into the driveway. I went inside the house for a bit to see Elmo. When I came back out he was unloading the shingles, grunting and moaning.
"You need to start hiring some help," I said as I watched him.
"I need a son-in-law," he retorted. I looked back at Truck and thought, I'm doing the best I can. Then I remembered a conversation I'd had with mom earlier today. We were looking at a My Little Pony stuffed toy that blinked and talked. I know, suddenly it sounds ridiculous to me too. She was quite taken with it though.
"Maybe I should get it and one day someone can play with it," she said.
"Some poor little boy sure is going to be disappointed one Christmas morning then," I replied. She put the toy down. My poor mom. Not only am I denying her grandchildren, I've also decided the fantasy ones are rough and tumbly boys.
Life was rosier in the truck.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Clown
This morning, as I was walking wearily back to my cube from the printer, I sighed and let my eyes shut out the world for a moment.
Thud.
I walked smack into the corner of my doorway.
"Ow. I just walked into the doorway of my own cube, " I announced to the peanut gallery.
Kat laughed and I felt much better.
It actually really hurt. Thank God for my audience or I'd probably cry.
Thud.
I walked smack into the corner of my doorway.
"Ow. I just walked into the doorway of my own cube, " I announced to the peanut gallery.
Kat laughed and I felt much better.
It actually really hurt. Thank God for my audience or I'd probably cry.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
A New York Minute
I feel bad, I haven't posted anything since my big New York announcement. I told you good things were coming up for me, right? New York wasn't even on the list, so that means more good announcements are coming. (I know, how do you top birthday in New York?) Sorry, I can't share anything new just yet, but hopefully I will be able to any day now.
Since Doug asked though, I will oblige and share more details on my trip. I will leave early in the morning on December 4 and arrive late in the afternoon. I will transfer planes in Toronto. Hopefully this goes better than my first experience with such things in the Vancouver airport while en route to San Francisco.
I have already started researching and sketching out some plans with my friend, Adam. I've been very conscious of trying not to preface every idea with, "on the episode of Sex and The City where Carrie..."
I am looking at going for a trapeze lesson (like in the episode of S&TC where Charlotte gets married to Harry and Carrie has "rabbit sex"). I also want to hit up this bar I read about called Manitoba's (there's no place like home), and I hope I can find time to go skating at Rockefeller Center. Oh and I must, I simply must, eat a piece of birthday cake.
And before I know it, Monday will come, and it will be time for me to pack up my memories and treasures, and fly away home.
I can't tell you how excited I am.
Since Doug asked though, I will oblige and share more details on my trip. I will leave early in the morning on December 4 and arrive late in the afternoon. I will transfer planes in Toronto. Hopefully this goes better than my first experience with such things in the Vancouver airport while en route to San Francisco.
I have already started researching and sketching out some plans with my friend, Adam. I've been very conscious of trying not to preface every idea with, "on the episode of Sex and The City where Carrie..."
I am looking at going for a trapeze lesson (like in the episode of S&TC where Charlotte gets married to Harry and Carrie has "rabbit sex"). I also want to hit up this bar I read about called Manitoba's (there's no place like home), and I hope I can find time to go skating at Rockefeller Center. Oh and I must, I simply must, eat a piece of birthday cake.
And before I know it, Monday will come, and it will be time for me to pack up my memories and treasures, and fly away home.
I can't tell you how excited I am.
Tuesday, October 07, 2008
And it would be fabulous
On another ordinary Sunday, in her ordinary place, wearing her ordinary weekend clothes, something extraordinary happened.
"Have you ever been to New York?" her friend asked.
"No," she said.
"When are you coming?"
And just like magic, she had a plan. She was going to wake up in New York on her birthday, and it would be fabulous.
"Have you ever been to New York?" her friend asked.
"No," she said.
"When are you coming?"
And just like magic, she had a plan. She was going to wake up in New York on her birthday, and it would be fabulous.
Saturday, October 04, 2008
Bar fly
I’m at the Palomino Club with Judy, Cindy and Cindy’s girlfriend, Carmen. It’s my inaugural visit to the Pal. Judy’s connections got us on a list, so we walk in through the kitchen.
They were surprised when I said I wanted to come out with them. They’ve been planning it all week but I never really know what I’m going to feel up to doing on a Friday night so I don’t commit.
“You’re going to leave with a handful of phone numbers!” Cindy said on Friday afternoon.
“I’m going to buy you shots!” Carmen told me before we left. I was being awkward and shy for some reason. People always want to fix me by feeding me alcohol. It bugs me.
We stake out some bar stools in the back end. I love watching Judy talk to random guys. "Do you know him?" I ask every time. She doesn't. It's hard to believe she was nervous about the date she had earlier that day.
“Let’s go for a walk,” Cindy says to me after we’ve hung out for a bit.
“Where?”
“Just around. You know, so guys can check you out.”
Oh. Right.
“You have to walk slowly, and bop to the music.”
I lead the way but soon feel a tap on my shoulder. It’s Cindy.
“Slower!”
I feel weird. I’m not really into the whole point of the mission but I make an effort to look around and make eye contact. I catch one guy looking so I smile back but keep moving. Again, a tap.
“Didn’t you see that guy? He was totally checking you out!”
“I know, I saw!” I nod with enthusiasm but continue my way to the front. I don’t remember how it happened now, if Cindy co-ordinated it or if I just walked into it on my own, but suddenly I am talking to a short blond guy. He has a drink in hand and looks like something you’d catch on spring break in Florida. I am pleasantly surprised and go along with it.
“I’m Ryan,” he says.
“Hi, I’m Jill.”
He is there with friends. It is his second bar of the night. He had just come from The O.C. (not California, but the Off Campus bar in the south end, near the university. Definitely spring break type.) I might have been more interested if he wasn’t already hammered.
Cindy is on the floor dancing the boot scoot. We watch. I used to know the steps. Ryan makes motions like he is trying to show me. I can’t catch what he is saying exactly though because of the music and his alcohol-induced speech impediment.
And because the country songs always come in pairs, the Boot Scoot is aptly followed by the instantly recognizable sound of the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band’s Fishin’ In the Dark. I actually like that one. Every time I hear it I think of my old friend Michael Maryk and his loud clapping. I’m 18 again, singing along with my friends, but with better hair.
You want to dance? Ryan asks. I think to myself, why not? This is what I came for.
So I do my own little Jillish version of two-stepping but Ryan just kind of rocks back and forth and stares at me. Some guys are better dancers with a few drinks in them. Evidently, some are not.
After the song Ryan asks if I’d like a drink, so I follow him up to the bar and order a dark rum and coke.
“Dark rum eh? That’s awesome. I’m just drinking rye and seven,” he says.
“You want a shot?” He asks.
“No, that’s okay, I’m good with this, thanks.” But he’s already ordered two dirty hookers, or whatever those common pink things are. It goes down like Kool-aid.
We move off to the side to chat. He’s 25 and working as a plumber, which I admire, actually. I tell him if I could do it over again I’d take a trade. He’s from the country but moved to the city when he was 16. He’s working on starting up his own business with a friend and spent his summer working on his uncle’s farm. He spits a bit as we talk and he has a nervous laugh. I think he could be interesting in another place and time. He really likes my hair.
“It looks really good. Not many people can rock the short hair thing,” he says. “But you look great. You’re the only girl here who can do it.”
They’re playing rock again. I think I recognize the song as Fire Woman, but it’s actually She Sells Sanctuary. I’m really disappointed in myself. I should know better.
“You want to go dance?” He asks. I lead the way. On the dance floor he wants to get closer and I tolerate it a bit. At the time I am thinking that I owe him something for buying me a drink and a shot, but that’s just stupid. This isn’t my thing. This isn’t my place. This isn’t my guy. I’m not about to tear down my defenses to make others feel more comfortable.
At the end of the song I excuse myself to go "look for my friends". I end up bumping into Terry, my pizza guy. He's been our waiter for as long as I can remember at this little Italian restaurant my family has been going to for years. At one time I had a school-girl crush on him. He recognizes me instantly and I feel warm, like I've been hugged.
Cindy and Carmen are ready to go. Some guys have been acting like jerks towards them. I'm a bit disappointed because I've just spotted a guy whose hat I'd like to try on, if I could only get to him. I'm finally feeling into it, but now it's too late.
We cap the night off with some McDonald's. I get the small fries and an orange drink. It looks like half of a Happy Meal, minus the toy. Cindy, Judy and Carmen are talking into their cups and giggling, but I feel awkward and weird again. I'm 18 again, but with better hair.
They were surprised when I said I wanted to come out with them. They’ve been planning it all week but I never really know what I’m going to feel up to doing on a Friday night so I don’t commit.
“You’re going to leave with a handful of phone numbers!” Cindy said on Friday afternoon.
“I’m going to buy you shots!” Carmen told me before we left. I was being awkward and shy for some reason. People always want to fix me by feeding me alcohol. It bugs me.
We stake out some bar stools in the back end. I love watching Judy talk to random guys. "Do you know him?" I ask every time. She doesn't. It's hard to believe she was nervous about the date she had earlier that day.
“Let’s go for a walk,” Cindy says to me after we’ve hung out for a bit.
“Where?”
“Just around. You know, so guys can check you out.”
Oh. Right.
“You have to walk slowly, and bop to the music.”
I lead the way but soon feel a tap on my shoulder. It’s Cindy.
“Slower!”
I feel weird. I’m not really into the whole point of the mission but I make an effort to look around and make eye contact. I catch one guy looking so I smile back but keep moving. Again, a tap.
“Didn’t you see that guy? He was totally checking you out!”
“I know, I saw!” I nod with enthusiasm but continue my way to the front. I don’t remember how it happened now, if Cindy co-ordinated it or if I just walked into it on my own, but suddenly I am talking to a short blond guy. He has a drink in hand and looks like something you’d catch on spring break in Florida. I am pleasantly surprised and go along with it.
“I’m Ryan,” he says.
“Hi, I’m Jill.”
He is there with friends. It is his second bar of the night. He had just come from The O.C. (not California, but the Off Campus bar in the south end, near the university. Definitely spring break type.) I might have been more interested if he wasn’t already hammered.
Cindy is on the floor dancing the boot scoot. We watch. I used to know the steps. Ryan makes motions like he is trying to show me. I can’t catch what he is saying exactly though because of the music and his alcohol-induced speech impediment.
And because the country songs always come in pairs, the Boot Scoot is aptly followed by the instantly recognizable sound of the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band’s Fishin’ In the Dark. I actually like that one. Every time I hear it I think of my old friend Michael Maryk and his loud clapping. I’m 18 again, singing along with my friends, but with better hair.
You want to dance? Ryan asks. I think to myself, why not? This is what I came for.
So I do my own little Jillish version of two-stepping but Ryan just kind of rocks back and forth and stares at me. Some guys are better dancers with a few drinks in them. Evidently, some are not.
After the song Ryan asks if I’d like a drink, so I follow him up to the bar and order a dark rum and coke.
“Dark rum eh? That’s awesome. I’m just drinking rye and seven,” he says.
“You want a shot?” He asks.
“No, that’s okay, I’m good with this, thanks.” But he’s already ordered two dirty hookers, or whatever those common pink things are. It goes down like Kool-aid.
We move off to the side to chat. He’s 25 and working as a plumber, which I admire, actually. I tell him if I could do it over again I’d take a trade. He’s from the country but moved to the city when he was 16. He’s working on starting up his own business with a friend and spent his summer working on his uncle’s farm. He spits a bit as we talk and he has a nervous laugh. I think he could be interesting in another place and time. He really likes my hair.
“It looks really good. Not many people can rock the short hair thing,” he says. “But you look great. You’re the only girl here who can do it.”
They’re playing rock again. I think I recognize the song as Fire Woman, but it’s actually She Sells Sanctuary. I’m really disappointed in myself. I should know better.
“You want to go dance?” He asks. I lead the way. On the dance floor he wants to get closer and I tolerate it a bit. At the time I am thinking that I owe him something for buying me a drink and a shot, but that’s just stupid. This isn’t my thing. This isn’t my place. This isn’t my guy. I’m not about to tear down my defenses to make others feel more comfortable.
At the end of the song I excuse myself to go "look for my friends". I end up bumping into Terry, my pizza guy. He's been our waiter for as long as I can remember at this little Italian restaurant my family has been going to for years. At one time I had a school-girl crush on him. He recognizes me instantly and I feel warm, like I've been hugged.
Cindy and Carmen are ready to go. Some guys have been acting like jerks towards them. I'm a bit disappointed because I've just spotted a guy whose hat I'd like to try on, if I could only get to him. I'm finally feeling into it, but now it's too late.
We cap the night off with some McDonald's. I get the small fries and an orange drink. It looks like half of a Happy Meal, minus the toy. Cindy, Judy and Carmen are talking into their cups and giggling, but I feel awkward and weird again. I'm 18 again, but with better hair.
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