Lonely Day

Posted: August 23rd, 2003 | Author: | Filed under: Wishful Thinking | Tags: , , , , , , , | No Comments »

Today was horribly, horribly lonely for me. Although it is unfair to say that without qualifying that today had its good parts. But understand that the good parts consisted of my parents celebrating the anniversary of thirty-three years of married life (not helping with my feelings of acute loneliness) and my dear friend Paul’s wedding announcement phone call (also, not with the helping).

All day I was surrounded by swarms of people, yet felt completely isolated. Bell jar styles. Entirely my fault, really. I was in a black mood from the moment I rolled out of bed, and I spent the day pursuing my own freakish little interests, all by myself. Went alone to the Toronto Comicon for a couple of hours, just to get my bearings for tomorrow, and then stayed up late watching the live performance of ‘Evil Dead: the Musical’, also alone.

At the Comicon, I didn’t take any spending money, and didn’t really try to meet people (although I did have a decent talk with Janet Hetherington of Lulu fame, and discussed fonts and child-friendly comics with her partner Ronn Sutton who pencils Elvira). Every time I go, I find I’ve forgotten what big, geeky conventions are like. So many people, so much noise, so many obsessions. Masses of people wearing odd smelling combinations of leather and felt and wool, and The Masquerade isn’t even until tomorrow.

I used to find this atmosphere incredibly charming and relaxed, especially when going on my own. Everyone you met was a potential friend through shared interests and the bonds of nerd-dom: everybody just letting their fake green hair down, expressing their individual passions and kinks in a comfortable, safe environment. I was one of them. There were many young women today who reminded me of me at 14, but I wasn’t feeling that connection. Conversation with my fellow redhead Alex, Purveyor of Buttons and Partner in Crime, was a great comfort. Eventually, however, I had to leave her be so she could flog her wares, and I set up wandering aimlessly through the hordes again. I experienced some difficulty navigating the Artists’ Alley, which is my favorite section, due to a desire to avoid causing discomfort. Hopefully will do better tomorrow.

Left the convention at around 8:30pm, to avoid the closing rush and because the solitude of crowds was starting to choke me and my feet were sore (people kept stepping on the back of my flip-flops all day). The soreness and solitude continued as I decided to walk back to my place and make a detour along Queen Street — not the best idea. Sat down and cried for a while in a park on the way home. When I got back, there was the sound of tumbleweeds rolling over my answering machine. Nobody had returned my calls, so I indulged in about three minutes of abject self-pity until the phone rang, and who should it be but my friend Paul.

Cutting to the chase of the matter, he told me he had asked his long-time girlfriend Amy to marry him five days ago and they’ve planned the wedding to take place in less than two months. I am ecstatic for Paul, and supremely happy to be going to his wedding since there is no question I will have a good time, but I have to admit I was having some trouble mustering the necessary “huzzah!” tone in my voice. Call it a little girl fantasy if you will, but I was sort of hoping by the time Paul decided to tie the knot, I wouldn’t have to attend solo. Just sort of brought the loneliness of the day to a new low.

I had to cut the phone call short to run off to the Tranzac Club and get my reserved ticket for Evil Dead. The advantage to going to shows alone is that there is never any trouble finding good seats. I had a perfectly clear, close-up view of Ash beheading his girlfriend, and his demon-possessed sister taunting him from the chained cellar door was right at my eye-level. The production was marvelous. Although a couple of the musical numbers were weak, and the second act lost some of the momentum of the first, it was well worth the $17 admission. The actors were hilarious and had decent singing voices, the band tight, and the staging inspired. I have to give it two evil, severed thumbs up.

It’s two-thirty am. I’m sleepy. There’s a cold breeze coming in my window from the street, and I’ve wrapped my duvet around me like a cocoon. I wish someone warm and nice-smelling had their arms around me, holding me close. Sad.

2003-08-23 – 2:25 a.m.

Parting With Paul

Posted: August 14th, 2003 | Author: | Filed under: Wishful Thinking | Tags: , , , , , | No Comments »

When I take on a friend, it’s not something I do lightly: I’m in it for the long haul. That is why I chose to be absurdly unpopular and generally hated right up until about grade six (and then just mostly hated until grade twelve). It allowed me to be more selective later in life without starting friendships I would only abort later. It had nothing whatsoever to do with my regular attendance at band and choir rehearsals, and my magnetic attraction to books about dragons and unicorns. Star Trek conventions were definitely NOT a factor.

In 1988 I finally decided it was time to try and mix with my fellow humans in a manner that did not involve having sand thrown at my eyes or being tied to a tetherball pole. I initiated a rigorous search for a best friend, which ended with me meeting a girl named Christie with an unfortunate perm, a passionate love of yoghurt and iced tea, and a smokin’ hot intellect. The bonds of friendship were cemented, and from those humble beginnings, I’ve gone on to make friends with nearly six other people. Mother continues to be proud.

Eighty-eight was also the year I met Paul. Paul is the kind of guy who would have elective surgery to remove one of his kidneys so it could be transplanted into a sick puppy, only later realizing that his kidney is a human kidney and therefore completely useless to the dog. He’s just that giving. Half-Egyptian, half-Scottish, all fun, he’s a God-fearing man with a heart of gold. In our 15 years together, I have seen him conquer braces and fail to conquer girls, after which I published his angsty teen love poetry in my pretentious teen zine. Taking a flying swing at being cool, I once bleached the living daylights out of his hair and attached safety pins to his Docs and kilt. And after the hunt for cool had been abandoned, I helped pay for the police-uniformed stripper who cuffed him to a chair in the cafeteria at my residence and made him blow out lit matches on her nipples for his nineteenth birthday. We’ve bowled together, acted on stage together, engaged in ill-advised bouts of musical performance together, and I once made him a sock puppet girl for Valentine’s Day when we were both going through a rough patch with dating. Rising above all this, he lives his life with a dignified, quiet Paulitude, and I love him for it.

(Tragically, Paul’s eyelids have been closed ever since his older brother, Chris, crazy glued them shut as an April Fool’s Day prank in 1989)

(As my “good luck in school” gift, I throttled Paul until the pain of asphyxiation caused his eyes to pop open once again. He’ll thank me later.)

After many years of gambolling around, taking a lot of naps, submitting supremely late papers, and eking out a living designing websites, Paul has finally made a career choice. There was a dead heat between staying on as drummer for his band, ‘The Gardens Faithful’ and entering law school. The heat broke, and the call of evil won. ‘Twill be law. I went to see him off early this week at his goodbye and good riddance bash at Hernando’s Hideaway, only to have further close encounters of the high school kind.

Flame-haired Chrissy, a talented photographer with a keen eye for bad men, was in attendance. Infamous for once setting me up on the most disastrous blind date known to mankind, highlights of which involved Leonard Cohen, a mullet, glow-in-the-dark mini-golf, and an underage drinker marinating in red wine slumped over the backseat. She remains giggly and unrepentant about the whole ordeal, but since she’s become published and important, I guess I’ll forgive her.

Brave-hearted Sara, my co-champion in the Moose Scavenger Hunt debacle of 2001, saw Paul off as well. Having just returned from a seven day hike through the northern wilderness with her boyfriend, she looked a little bewildered at being back among the noise and lights of civilization. During an inspired, totally random photo shoot one lazy Sunday afternoon, I managed to talk her into changing out of my pleather corset dress into a wedding gown while standing at the intersection of Yonge and Bloor. I also persuaded the third, insane member of our photo shoot into wearing nothing but a big diaper, sucking his thumb and crying while lying in the foetal position on the steps of Toronto General Hospital, but if I DAre reVEal hiS idEntity, ceRtainly PAin will ensue.

A greasy Mexican good time was had by all, but I am deeply saddened by Paul’s imminent departure to London. After all that work finding them in the first place, I hate to see my circle of Toronto friends dwindle even by one. In support of Paul’s move to a more lucrative and soulless path in life, and in memory of our brief mutual flirtation with punk, I will chop my hair off and dye the spiky remains black on his leaving date, next Thursday.

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