Everything is Automatic

I'm exhausted.

Yesterday, my folks were kind enough to drive me up to Orillia to pick up my new car. I had been in a state of combined excitement and disbelief all week long. But once we got up there, it started to sink in that I was actually going to be driving a different car from now on, and a manual one at that.

After I had signed my life away, the car was officially mine. The salesman went through all the features with me and then my folks got in as they wanted a spin. They were very impressed and thought the car was very nice.

I'm not sure if it was beginner's luck, but learning manual with the Guru and then test driving the car last weekend were a lot easier. Perhaps it was my Doc Martens. Perhaps it was the cardboard mat stuck in the clutch and brakes. Perhaps, I was just nervous with my folks being there. Perhaps I was nervous because Berry was actually mine now. Whatever it was, I stalled. A lot. It was really quite embarrassing and frankly shook my confidence quite a bit.

I must commend the good citizens of Orillia. They really are a very patient bunch. Unlike Toronto, no one was wailing on their horn if I stalled (sometimes twice) and that at least made up for things.

We made the decision that we would drive back and stop just south of Barrie at the rest station. My Dad rode with me and my Mum followed in their car. I did ok, particularly on the highway, but I must admit that I was completely relieved when my Dad offered to take the car home. By this time, my nerves were well and truly shot.

The good thing about it was that my Dad gave me some pointers as he was driving. My Dad is truly a master of manual transmission and it was quite something to behold. Funnily enough, driving my car was the first time he had ever driven a manual in Canada. He said it's like riding a bike and I just needed to get used to it. Funny, I thought I pretty much had it figured out.

Later in the afternoon, I just had to go to bed and get a nap. It was as if everything caught up with me; a busy work week, hemmorhaging cash for the rental, anticipating getting the car, finally having my own wheels again after about three weeks without.

Early this morning was the first in about two weeks that I woke up too early. I was probably still wired. Later, the Marine and I went to the parking lot that the Guru had taught me in. Of course, given the fact that the Marine had driven a motorbike for over 20 years, he pretty much picked it up like that. I also practiced going into first. A lot. It's amazing the difference a pair of shoes makes. I wore my sneakers this time.

So of course, I must now abandon my Docs and find suitable winter foot wear, since as unfashionable as I can be, I draw the line at sneakers and jeans. Seriously.

So after buzzing around a bit, I felt like I had gotten my groove back. But it's still not second nature to me yet, and I'm used to having a very high competence level in terms of my driving. Instead, I'm having to get used to not only paying attention to the road, but paying attention to the car too. But I forged on, even heading up this afternoon to Yonge and Eggy to see the Duke and driving him around the area. He said I was doing great. I just liked all the stop signs. It was good practice.

Although, now I know what manual drivers mean when they say a traffic jam is a bitch. I was literally just floating in first for about five minutes on Yonge, trying to get to a street to turn left onto.

Then came the next test. I drove the Duke home and then drove to get some groceries, in the dark. So I was really and truly driving by feel.

So I have returned home, rather frazzled, but feeling quite good about things. Ultimately, I think it will be a good decision in terms of wear and tear and mileage. And manual is fun to drive. But I seem to be really going through the gas, probably because I am not driving the car as efficiently as I could. Then again, it is technically an SUV so it serves me right. Then again, I'm going to run this car into the ground too, so why not have something I like and that works for my lifestyle?

I figure this will all work itself out. One good road trip in the country will probably make it all worthwhile. But in the meantime, it's made me exhausted and grumpy.

Yeah I know. I'm sure you all feel REALLY sorry for me.

Ten Pin and A Coke

"Tonight, WE BOWL!" - Adrian Zmed as Johnny Nogerelli, Grease 2

Last night I attended a bowling tournament hosted by some really cool people in another division of my company. It was a United Way fundraising event for the company's adopt-a-family portion of their fundraising.

The Decoder had wanted to go up, so he offered to drive. It actually worked out perfectly because he had stuff to do and I had work to catch up on after a day of meetings. So he came back later, with "Mindy" and off we went to Super Pin or Super Play or some such place on Dufferin just south of the 401.

Mindy was a really really nice girl who I liked a lot. She was asking me about my cats, and was quite amused by all my stories about how they came to be with me, and how in general, cats just seem to find me. After a scrumptous chicken dinner at a place I'd never heard of, we went to the bowling alley and got started. We had a fourth team member called "Tom", whom my niece will be very impressed to know works on post production for Max and Ruby, one of her favourite shows.

Tom used to work in a bowling alley as a kid and hadn't bowled for about 13 years, when he met a guy at a mutual friend's birthday party who also wanted to start bowling again. He's only been back at it since March. Tom was unbelievable, spinning the ball like baseball pitcher, curving it in at the last minute and getting strike after strike.

I've really been feeling a lot better lately on my anti-depressants. The primary thing is I'm sleeping through the entire night now, and that makes all the difference. So in feeling better, I'm trying to take advantage of fun corporate events where I can meet people I normally wouldn't encounter in the course of a day. I really enjoyed myself last night. Mindy and I gabbed and I did something I rarely do. I got a Coke to drink. Of course, I'm paying for it in Sudafed today, but it was still worth it. It was fun just hanging around and meeting new people.

Of course, the Decoder totally kicked my ass. But this was only because I discovered all too late a 9 lb bowling ball that had holes small enough for my fingers to fit into. Once I actually started having control of the ball, I was kicking some serious ass, scoring 122 on my last game. This is very good apparently as according to the Decoder, you basically have bragging rights on anything above 120.

After the tournament, we gathered as a group for the awarding of the tournament trophy to the highest scorer, which was, surprise surprise, Tom. They had made up this hilarious trophy made out of a bowling pin with a big huge fake green gem on top. Apparently the winner gets it for 30 days after which it is displayed in a company vault for all to see.

While all this was going on, I asked the Decoder if he and Mindy were seeing each other or if they were just friends. I asked this because, well, I'm just nosy.

The Decoder replied "No comment." This is course is male code for "I can't live without her and if this doesn't work out I'll be devasted."

She's such a nice girl. He better get a move on and take it up a notch.

Sometimes a girl needs more than a fried chicken dinner and a night of bowling, know what I'm saying?

Baby Love

So on Sunday, I went to my friend Berry's (heh! that's my car's name!) baby shower. Her baby is due in late December, which is hilarious because she always maintained that she would time things in such a way that her kid wouldn't get a double dip on presents, i.e. birthday and Christmas so close together.

Is that God I hear laughing?

Anyway, I was looking forward to the shower because when Berry or her family through a do, you know the food is going to be great. They always go to such trouble to make people feel at home. So I'm on my way to Berry's sister's house when I see Berry. So I ask if she wants a ride in The Egg (our Toyota Corolla rental) and she says that her sister's house is right there and she's not supposed to know about the shower anyway, so she was just going to work on being surprised. Hilarious.

Now I have to admit that as much of a girlie girl as I can be, I find events like showers to be an exercise in estrogen overload. Or maybe, it's just that I don't relate well to the other women or don't feel I do. I mean, I love kids and I think life would truly be unbearable without them, but I just don't know if motherhood is for me. So when I'm at baby showers and the topic du jour is motherhood [as it should be] I find I just can't relate to the conversation.

And then there's the breast feeding. I always get a little freaked out by this and I don't know why. I mean, I have breasts. If I had a kid, I'd prefer to breast feed. But then I see another woman doing it and it's like "Oh my God! A naked tit! And this isn't a movie!

Maybe it's just me.

Berry got a really good selection of presents. Sometimes new moms can get overloaded with booties or toys or pajamas. But she got a really good selection of everything to help her get started. I didn't realize the receiving blankets I got were so pink. It was subconscious I suppose but I really am betting on a girl. Gut feel here folks - no pun intended. Berry's sister's mother-in-law thinks it will be a girl too, but her method is more scientifically based. She thinks is a girl because Berry's ass has still stayed flat.

I then had another interesting conversation with aforementioned sister's mother in law and her daughter. They used to live in my neighbourhood in the 1960's, close to Bloor Street. Turns out their house - their whole neighbourhood actually - was torn down to make way for Brockton Highschool. Unbelievable. You know, as much as I hate NIMBYism it's better than the alternative, which is developers going in and building whatever they damn well please. It breaks my heart to think what Parkdale would be today had some of its former architectural glories been preserved. Then I talked to the daughter and her daughter about New York as they are planning a trip there next summer. I didn't realize I had so many funny stories from my time there until I told to them.

Then I offered to drive Berry's mother home as she lives close by me. Then Berry's sister in law came out to me and said that her mother had just said, "Do you think Zesty will drop me off at the house? Because it would be no trouble for her to walk from the corner." I then said I'd actually be dropping her off four blocks away on principle for asking such a ridiculous question.

We got into a good conversation on the way home. Berry's mom likes to travel so I was asking her if she had any adventures planned. One of her sons is in Edmonton, so she said she like to go see the dinosaur bones out there next time she visits him. Then we pondered what would be left of the streets we were driving through in a million years. We came to the conclusion that archeologists will analyze our by then ancient middens and think "Yikes!"

Little Thunder is Dead. Long Live Big Berry

All hail online shopping! On Saturday, I drove up to the Davenport Subaru dealership in Orillia to look at a 2002 Forester. It was in my price range and was red! This is exactly the colour I have been looking for. Don't get me wrong. I loved Little Thunder and her understated and elegant grey colour, even if she was pretty rusty in her later years. But I suppose I'm just in need of a change and wanted something that better reflected my personality. After all, I'm planning on driving this car into the ground too.

So the Marine and I went up to mighty Orillia. It was an absolutely glorious day for a drive and it was the first time in ages it seemed where we were able to spend some real time together just talking and hanging out.

We arrived on time [All hail Mapquest.ca!] and were met by the sales person I had spoken to in the morning: Pat. He was a very nice older gentleman, who had once worked as an auditor for Price Waterhouse. Eventually, he couldn't take city living anymore and moved back home to Orillia.

We had a good look at the Forester. It's a little bit worn in, that being, in a three year old car way, but nothing to worry.about.

Then I had a test drive. Now I must say that I was a little apprehensive because I hadn't been in a standard car since the week before, but All hail The Guru! Her lesson served me well, and I was whipping around the streets of Orillia in no time. It was amazing to drive a car with so much more power than I'd experienced before. Standard is actually really really fun to drive. Well. I like it anyway.

So after our tour of "Hidden Orillia", I arrived back at the dealership completely sold. I of course asked if the price was maleable, knowing full well it wasn't because Subarus are awesome cars and it's completely a seller's market where they're concerned, BUT Pat the sales dude did knock off the registration fee which was about $300 bucks.

So in short, I was able to get the car, get my financing and get my ownership transferred over all at the dealership. I was absolutely over the moon that my financing came through. I was really proud of myself because I have had to work really hard to maintain my credit rating. Some days I wondered why I bothered. Saturday I realized why I did. All that hard work made a new car happen when frankly, we needed it most.

Who the heck loses two cars in three days? Oh well, no half measures at our household, I'll give us that.

So later on that night, I had a freak out because I looked up the car on Carfax and the mileage report said the car was at 61K in September. THIS YEAR. But it's now at 100K. Of course it made no sense. But I did call Pat and I'm glad I did because the record online was completely out of whack. Makes me wonder what my fee was for exactly. At any rate, even if wonky mileage had been the case, I'd of gotten the car anyway.

So I pick up the Berrymobile on Saturday and we can get back to a somewhat normal life. The rental was great. Just not $280 a week great, you know? Still, I feel a little pang when I see Little Thunder on the driveway. I have so many memories associated with her. Funny how this year has gone, new job, finding Toby a new home, getting a new car. Letting go and moving on seems to be the lesson of choice this year.

Just Sayin' Hi

Just wanted to say hello. Short version is: Saturday, bought a car. Sunday, went to a baby shower. Oy! Da booties!

Later.

Super Zesty Strikes Again!

So last night I went to a very chi-chi-frou-frou party for Flare magazine. It was at Flow, which last time I was in Yorkville was a Movenpick. Actually last time I was in the parking lot Ragdoll and I went to I was working at another company.

Seems like a lifetime ago. Thank God it is.

So there I was in my black jacket hanging out with the uber-fashionistas and well cocktailed feeling like "Yup. They're hush puppies y'all". I thoroughly enjoyed my club soda.

Then a VP at Rogers who has one of those lovely English "to the manor born" accents told us about the year that was. Then the editor spoke.

Then the chick who was the last woman standing on INXS Rock Star did a set with her guitarist, or "emoter boy" as we called him. He was doing that scrunchy rock face all the time. Puh. Leez. But the singer was really quite good.

Then came the important part, the door prize. As the bucket of business cards was being taken to the front, I berated Ragdoll into obtaining one from her purse and at the very last moment, popped it into the bucket with a level of panache not seen since the Ice Capades of the 1980's.

The result. Ragdoll won a prize of course. A $250.00 gift certificate for Yorkdale mall.

Well.

Looks like my work here is done.

It's a bird! It's a plane! It's Super Zesty!

Yes Dear Reader, I was able to strike a decisive blow for justice on Monday.

Rembrandt and I were heading out for a bite to eat. As we headed up to the main road we heard this horrendous bang, like an engine backfiring or a fire cracker going off.

Turning around, we saw a rental truck, but there was nothing wrong with it. No damage, no wiggling exhaust pipe, nothing. As the truck started to back into wherever it was going to, it revealed the bike it had just crushed. The back tired was completely pretzeled.

My outrage knew no bounds. They didn't even stop. So I proceeded to leave myself a voice message at work with the license plate number. Then I just ended up memorizing it and went into the building next the where the bike was parked.

It was deserted, so I decided to leave a note on the bike, except that the truck and its evildoers were still there. I figured they would take the note, so Rembrandt and I went off to lunch. My plan was to just tape it to the door of the office building.

It ended up that when were heading back to the office, there was a fellow standing outside by the bike. I said "Is that your bike?" and he said "No. It's my friend's."

So I handed him a note that had the license number of the truck and the time of the bike pretzling and my phone number

The bike owner left a message with me later saying that he'd been able to file a claim for the bike with the rental truck company and just wanted to thank me very much.

Beware evil doers! Zesty is watching!

Call Me Zesty Andretti

So in keeping in line with the recurring theme in my life of mechanical apparatus going completely tits up, my blog about Sunday is nowhere to be found. It would seem that my files and I just barely got out alive. Then again, the laptop is over 10 years old. I should be grateful it still turns on.

Anyway, I discovered that The Guru's talents are not only limited to yoga. She is also an excellent teacher of 5-speed. Granted, I do think some natural talent played a role, as I had mastered it in about 10 minutes or so. Then we went on a drive. Funny, driving's so much more complicated when stop signs are involved.

Once I got the hang of things and practiced being on hills, we went on the highway. How ironic when we passed a Shifters car. This is a driving school recently featured in the Toronto Star that teaches five speed. So of course the Guru and I start wailing with laughter as I became pretty much competent in about half an hour and FA FREE! I then uttered an expletive riddled sentence in the direction of the Shifters car, the meaning of which was essentially, "How do you like them apples?!"

Before brunch we stopped at my house where I returned a call to my father. Imagine my shame when I discovered that right at that very moment, the Guru's dad was there dropping off illegally copied DVD's. Truly, the illicit Glaswegian underworld is alive and well. I shall, however, not turn anyone in to the authorities as I'd like to watch the DVD's too.

The Guru and I then went to brunch where I bitched about Thursday at my job. And in the end what happened?

Well it was like nothing happened, because contest entry results are 100% higher than the last contest they had.

Yeah that's right. On my watch y'all.

Who's yo mama?

The Royal

Meet me in St. Louis, Louis
Meet me at the fair,
Don't tell me the lights are shining
Any place bu there,
We will dance the Hoochee Koochee
I will be your tootsie wootsie
Meet me in St. Louis, Louis
Meet me at the fair.
--- Title Song of the 1944 film, incomparably sung by Judy Garland

So, because of changed plans, I ended up having time after all to go the Royal Winter Fair with my Mother Effy, Sister Myrtle and niece Rosy.

Needless to say, Rosy was excited so we reminded her of the rules that Franklin the Turtle so rightly points out in Franklin goes to the Museum: No running. No shouting. Stay with the group.

Well. Various sheep, goats, cows and a 1000 pound pumpkin later, I had become a victim of the magic vaporizing family.

I called my sister's cell phone and left a message on where I was. She called me back and told me they'd meet up with me in about five minutes.

Sure enough, they arrived. Rosy then declared in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear

"ZESTY! YOU DIDN'T STAY WITH THE GROUP!"

My sister pointed out, however, that I had been very smart in staying in the same place.

"Yes." said Rosy in a withering tone that barely concealed her contempt for my ineptitude.

Kids. Gotta love 'em.

Friday, Friday

I was delighted that the company I work for actually observes Remembrance Day. I think it's important. I think it's important because we should remember the sacrifices a whole generation made so that we can enjoy the freedom we have today. I can only imagine that for those remaining, they must shake their head somewhat at what the world has become. They got their lives highjacked for about 5 or 6 years and for what? The Jerry Springer show.

But I digress. Ironically enough, I haven't watched a cenotaph cermony in years, but as it was, I took the day to book all my tune up appointments: doctor, dentist and osteopath respectively. Given how I've been feeling lately, I suppose there was a part of me that didn't want to think about my grandparents. I have only one left, and thinking of the grandparents that I've lost makes me think of other people I've lost and my brain doesn't have much
threshold. So, in the end I decided to invest a day in taking care of myself, and felt duly thankful for it.

I was happy for the distraction. I had had a horrible day at work Thursday with sales people essentially making mountains out of molehills. They involved their GM when all that was necessary was a phonecall. It's astonishing what people will do on the basis of assumption. We all do it I suppose, but you know I'm still inclined to pick up the phone and ask someone if they're getting something done. I wouldn't assume they aren't and then start the
email volley.

Sigh. At any rate....

I was out the door for 9 a.m. as I had an 11:20 a.m. appointment with my doctor who is at Bathurst and Wilson. I wanted to give myself plenty of time to get there as I was on transit due to our lack of a permanent vehicle at the moment. The Marine needed our rental care to take his tools to work. It was such a lovely day, that I decided to get some exercise and walk up to Lansdowne subway station. I'm used to buzzing around the city in a car, and you get a totally different perspective when you walk in neighbourhoods.

I still remember a walk I had in my old neighbourhood of Queen St. W. It was a winter's night with a snow storm going full throttle, except it was one of those lovely storms where the snow is sifter steady and the snowflakes as big as tomatoes. It's still one of my fondest memories.

As it was, I got to Landsdowne station and elected to purchase a day pass. I figured I'd be on the TTC at least three times, and for $.50 more, I could gain some flexibility.

So I go up to the kiosk and ask for a day pass. The TTC guys says no. I ask again for a pass. He again says no. I said why. He says because I say so and starts cracking up. So no kudos for comedic genius but I did remark to him that I was just way too tired to get that joke and he had some nerve pulling it on someone without a coffee in them. This just made him laugh harder.

Speaking of coffee, it occurred to me in my seemingly never ending moments of genius, that as I had a TTC day pass the city was truly my oyster. As a result, I was able to get off the train at Spadina and Bloor to get a coffee and muffin at the Second Cup.

I decided to sit in to eat my muffin and take my coffee with me. While doing so, I was entertained by "Goodfellas: Part II". Honestly, the way some people talk is right out of a movie. You almost wonder if it's actors reheasing at large.

So back on transit, I proceeded up to Wilson. That is one long ass ride y'all, not to mention that it's a long ass ride to one of the more depressing areas of town. It's also somewhat freakish going over the 401. You have sense of speed in a car really, but when you go overhead and see them hurtling through, it's frightening in its own way.

So having made good time, it made sense to walk to my doctor's office. Plus I supposed I enjoyed the walk because it slowed me down and just let me experience things. It felt so decadent to be out and about on a weekday, with plenty of time to meander over to where I was going.

I arrived at my doctor's early and read some of the things she has out. One was a book by a doctor. It's a collection of his favourite quotes and they're rather good, however, he feels the need to provide his scintillating commentary on them. By this I mean nuggets like "I hope Jamilla, that you shall remember this." or "Anthony. Remember our time in Belize." Uh. Yeah. I understand that quote on rainbows SO much better now.

I see my doctor. I said Hey, I'm a total stress ball dude. I'm battling my depression. Whatdya think? So she suggests holy basil and rhodeola as an herbal solution or Wellbutrin as a perscriptive help. Of course I said I was trying to watch my diet and exercise which is a load of total crap. Well it's not like these items are not on the radar screen though. So I don't know what I'll do. Part of me wants to take something, part of me doesn't. I don't know why I'm debating it so much. Anti- depressants were so helpful during my last really bad bout, and yet I feel reluctant. Weird.

So I leave my doctor just as the Bathurst bus is arriving at the stop, which leads me to a question: Why - oh why - does this happen when you have all the time in world? Why doesn't this happen when you're late for work or trying to get those standing room only tickets or run into that old paramour you'd really rather not talk to at all, when you're just begging for the arrival of a bus to save you.

So I get off at St. Clair - I hope you've got your Toronto maps out by now to trace my route - and the bus heading eastbound runs a red light so we miss it. This is profoundly annoying. And I think every TTC driver who does it should have his nuts cut off. No. That's too soft. They should have to watch 40 episodes of The Love Boat back to back. Yes. That's metting it out rather nicely I think.

So of course the elderly couple next to me start ranting about it and I'm right there. Right. There. I've got a coffee in me and all the time in the world. He's bitchin'. I'm Right On Brother. He's talking about the petition they started to keep their wheel trans. How the heck are they going to get to appointments? he says. I'm Rage Against the Machine Compadre. Then the next bus came along and I got a seat at the back, my compassion duly spent.

I arrived at Yonge and Davisville. Can you believe this is only half way through my day? Feel free to get a beverage.

Next on the agenda was lunch, but just before this I purchased a copy of The Star. My rationale is that I'm on my own and would like something to read. The truth is that I think I'm becoming addicted to trash tabloids. This is probably justification alone to go on persciption drugs. I mean we're talking about The Star here folks. Herbals just won't be strong enough.

I decided to go to the Tudorish pub that's conveniently located next to my dentist's office. The waitress confirmed that I can seat myself. Then I'm waiting. And waiting. And waiting. I finally say excuse me to a fellow, no doubt the owner, who responds in this withering tone "Yyyyyyyyyyyeeeeeeeeeeeeesssss?".

I say "Can I have a menu?" He looked like he wished the earth would swallow him whole. It was truly a thing of beauty. However in the end, the outrage of his ill advised insolence was more than made up for by one of the nicest meals of fish and chips I have had in quite some time. My mind suitably traumatized by reading about the trails and tribulations of celebrities, I proceeded to the dentist.

When I was ready to be taken a nice assistant came out and led me to the back. He said "Would you like a carrot juice?"

"Pardon me?"

"A carrot juice."

"No I'm good."

I'm then putting my stuff down when he realized I'm getting fillings so we have to go upstairs. So he says

"Would you like a parafin wax hand treatment?"

"Pardon me?"

"A parafin wax hand treatment?"

"Uh. Sure."

So I end up dipping my hand three times in hot lavendar wax. It makes your hands look like Frankenstein's. Then the assistant put my hands in plastic bags, and then in terry cloth mits. I decided to just roll with it.

We get upstairs to the chair. I sit down. He says: Would you like me to turn on the massage pad?"

"Pardon me?"

Next thing I know I have this mat vibrating in intervals along the entire length of my body.

The dentist arrives. She was very nice and she tells me I don't need a needle but they will have to air/sand blast my teeth out. I'm like cool. No problem.

Then she puts blue goggles on me, the kind you'd wear if you were, oh I dunno, moving molten lava around. She then tucked a tissue underneath the bottom of the goggles so it flapped like a flag everytime I breathed. So there I was, mittened, goggled, tissued and vibrating at regular intervals. I felt like Bel Air's answer to Darth Vadar.

An hour later we were done. The other nice thing was that the dentist only charged me 93 bucks per filling because I had explained to the receptionist how me and my poor ass had just lost two cars in three days. Oh yeah. The Marine's car shuffled off this mortal coil last Friday. Little Thunder duly followed on Monday. Still, I thought it was a nice thing for her to do.

Next stop: Osteopath.

Now the osteopath was recommended to me by Ragdoll. I feel if anybody knows a thing or two about bones, it's her. So I decided to give it a try. I eventually found the office after an hour spent in Indigo, where I had another moment of insolence that I had to smack down.

I was sitting on the floor in a corner, because the chairs had been replaced by islands of books. So some hardcore staffer comes along and asks me to get up and use the chairs downstairs, in a rather patronizing tone I might add. So I say in a very loud voice, "Oh. THAAAAAAAAAAAT'S where all the chairs went!" Then I smacked the biggest shit eating grin I could muster on my face and went downstairs. I read the current issue of the Lemon-Aid used car guide and gleaned all the information I needed for free. HATCHA! Take that Indigo!

So I found my osteopath's office just up the street in Yorkville. Nice guy, but the front reception has that old person pee smell. It reminds me of when I volounteered in a nursing home.

My osteopath was very nice. I must admit though that I felt somewhat uncomfortable. I tried to think of myself as Rubenesque as opposed to Potatoesque while I stood in profile and walked around and bent over. He was totally cool. I just like to have female practitioners to avoid this weirdness.

But this dude if FAH. REAL. He found that my left hip rotation was too tight, that four vertebrae in my lumbar spine are twisting to the right, that two verterbrae in my neck are compressed and that my sinuses are way too tight, which is why I'm prone to infections. I don't know what he did, but I felt so much better afterwards. My hips felt like they were even for the first time in, well, ever.

I then met my friend Lady Gallis at Pottery Barn and we ate at 7West. Gallis and I have so much in common I wonder how we ever parted ways after high school. She's probably the only female my age next to the Guru to whom I could say "Aw well, that's the baw up tha slates noo." and she'd totally get it. Weird how we ended up finding each other again at a grocery check out.

After a lovely dinner, her husband (who is also my part-time Chinese numerologist by the way) drove me home. As husband and wife, he and Gallis got along perfectly well, and I have no tension or seething undertone of resentment to report in this blog whatsover. Damn them and their love.

And well, that was Friday.

R.I.P. Little Thunder

Well I am sorry to advise that after 15 faithful years of service to both my family and myself, my 1990 Nissan Sentra finally gave up the ghost as of this morning. The transmission had been acting up for a while. The Marine had it at work yesterday morning, and when he had to move from where he was parked, he saw a whackload of red tranny fluid on the ground. He took it to AAMCO pronto, and we got the bad news this morning. It's not that Little Thunder is beyond repair, but I'm not willing to spend over $3000 to fix the transmission on a 15 year old car.

Then of course The Marine got the obligatory lecture about how if L.T. had been brought in earlier, it would have been salvagable for $700-800. This conveniently overlooks two things, the first being: the time we did bring it in before and nothing was found to be amiss and the second being that $700 - 800 was not readily available at any given time in the last year. I won't even get into the fact that this tranny was first installed in early 2003, by the same shop for the aforementioned 3K, so this would have been a second transmission. Uh. No.

All I'll say is thank God for CAA. Best damned money I've ever spent.

Practicality aside for a moment, I can't help but be a little sad. L.T. is basically the car I've driven since I learned to drive. I know it like the back of my hand. When I was talking to Ragdoll about it tonight, she said "We were driving around in that car in Grade 13!" I have some great memories about that. In fact, all of mine and Ragdoll's great driving moments have been in Sentras for some reason. There was our summer day's roadtrip to Niagara on the Lake in her Sentra, Fleetwood Mac's Greatest Hits fully cranked. Then Ragdoll's Sentra crapped out and we spent the next summer in mine - although at that time it was really my mother's. Now Ragdoll has a Sentra of her own. How funny is that?

I remember that I could not wait to drive. I turned 16 in March and had my license by August. I loved being able to get myself places and take my friends with me. I didn't really have a good network of friends until the last two years of highschool, so once I got one, we went everywhere it seemed. Lunchtime runs to Sherway Gardens for smoothies at Cultures were a particular favourite.

L.T. has driven me to and from heartache and triumph of all kinds. It's been my saving grace. It ended years of lugging laundry on transit or by taxi, and picking up groceries every night because I could do one big shop once a week instead. It appeared just as my home became a destination point for feline refugees so vet vistis were no problem. It took me to never ending doctor's appointments the year I was sick and has taken me on countless miles of roadtripping through the backways and small towns of Ontario in every season.

I also enjoyed the challenge of keeping L.T. going. It was a point of pride with me, a challenge almost. It's funny how you can be so attached to something inanimate. Yes, it is pride indeed. I enjoyed getting the most out of something in a society where everything is disposable. I think that's the obligation of any material blessing. Take care of things, and use them up well.

But as the saying goes, all good things must come to an end. If I'm honest, I think the ol' girl is just damned tired. She doesn't owe anyone a damn thing. And I have to admit that it will be nice to get a newer car, to have A/C again, to have a lined trunk instead of just the metal casing with holes where the wheels are. She's cost a lot of money the last few years, but at the same time, it was money I could find. The last few years, at times, have been a little rough. Having L.T. made all the difference, when it really counted.

Mobility. It's a beautiful thing.

True Confessions

Friends, Romans is proud to present another installment of its continuing series:

TRUE CONFESSIONS

1. My cat Lolly has a foot fetish.
   
2. The dish soap in the kitchen at my office smells exactly like Irn Bru, which I drank a lot of as a kid. Funnily enough, it doesn't worry me in the slightest.
   
3. I slept in until 1:00 p.m. on Sunday and seriously, SERIOUSLY could have stayed in bed the whole day.
   
4. I have entered a United Way auction at work. If I am successful, I will make my radio debut on one of our country music station's morning shows! Watch this space.
   

A Rose By Any Other Name

It occurred to me that I would be well advised to seek the counsel of my readership regarding an important decision.

During the past year of my austerity plan, I made a concerted effort to use the perfumes I had received as gifts. I had five bottles all used to varying degrees. I am delighted to report that I am now just about finished my last bottle, that being what I refer to as the Scooby Doo perfume, Carolina HER-RER-RA!'s signature scent.

I find I am feeling rather saucy in my newfound Cougardom, as my selection of potential perfume purchases has been narrowed down to the following:

Brit by Burberry.

Sake by Fresh

Poison by Christian Dior.

Any and all input is welcome.

Ups and Downs

I'm beginning to feel better.

It started with the vitamins I ordered. They came in last Friday and I've been taking them religiously ever since. I've been taking a multi-vitamin and a supplement called 5-HTP which is a natural precursor to serotonin. Work is still ballistic, but I feel less frantic about things and feel like I can think. Maybe I just needed a good b-complex shore up to handle my stress a little better. At any rate, I woke up this morning at 7 a.m. and it was the first in weeks where I slept right through the night. So maybe I'm on to something.

I think I've almost recovered from my IFOA outings, which I'll be sure to tell you about. I know I still need to post Remembrance of Things Chinguacousy and a recounting of my road trip from late August. I consider this blog like a Billy Connoly monologue. I get round to things eventually.

Still a little sad this week though. I saw our neighbour at lunch today (I had popped home for a bite.) Her husband passed away suddenly a week ago Sunday. It was a massive heart attack. I was watching a movie downstairs and saw the siren lights. I immediately thought of him and was praying it wasn't. I looked out the window just in time to see the paramedics heading in next door.

Time just went on and I knew that wasn't good. I knew that meant they were trying to resuscitate someone. The Marine and I felt like idiots, wanting to know what was going on and at the same time, not wanting to appear obvious about. I looked out our front door peep hole and there were the paramedics putting a covered body into the van. Just as I saw this, his wife just started screaming. It was one of the most awful things I've ever heard, just pure and unadulterated pain.

The next evening I took over a card from myself and the Marine. Her sons were out on the porch, one of whom I'd met the night we got our offer on our house accepted. He and his Dad had invited us next door for a drink and they told us about the house. It was just so lovely and I remembered having such a good feeling about moving to the neighbourhood.

I just asked to drop off the card and he said "Oh no. Come in. She'd love to see you." We went into their basement door via the front and there she was sitting with her family, just staring into space. But when her son called to her and she saw me, she actually smiled. I just said "I am so sorry." and gave her a hug and a kiss. Such a sad thing. They'd been in that house together 30 years, had raised their family there.

I will never get by the "one minute your here, the next your not" nature of death. She woke up with him in the morning and in the evening he was gone.

So when I saw her today, she looked ok. She looked as well as you can expect a woman who has just lost her husband of God knows how long to look. It was another good reminder of how truly short life is, which is why I'm going to keep on trucking with my depression recovery plan.

November Horoscopes are Here

Which you may access by clicking here.

I live, to give.