Hungry Stairs

The other day, I was on my way to the gym. Making my way up the very long escalator at Villa Maria metro.

I had my backpack sitting on the step in front of me. Somehow, along the way one of the straps found it's way into the mechanical steps. I noticed, maybe 5 feet from the top and tried to un-tug it. But it didn't budge and I knew I was toast.

There were lots of people behind me. I had to act fast. I was afraid I'd suddenly jam up the system and send bodies flying backwards on the steps. I got to the top of the escalator, felt the first pull of resistance as the stairs tried to drag my backpack into its gears. I gave it a massive yank.

RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIP!!!!

My backpack strap ripped right off! Crammed tight in the escalator jaws. But it was still moving!

Some lady behind me gave me a pity look. But I actually didn't care less about the bag. I had actually been looking to replace it for a long time (the zipper had a fabulous knack for splitting open after it was closed). Coulda been worse. My stinky gym clothes could have come flying out, whacking people in the heed.

Escalators are mean. And peckish.

Is that code?

I gave Corn a grocery list the other day. Listed were:

Jiggen
Dendle Vlas
Beenit Budder
Bled
Floot
Zoy Milg
Joglid
Jilly Bebbers
Jibs n Znags

He nailed every single one. Can you?!

Don't Feed The Animals

My heart went out to an ugly ass pigeon sitting outside the front entrance.

I guess cuz it was cold out and he was alone and fruitlessly pecking at specks of nothing on the ground. I had just gotten groceries so I stopped, ripped off a piece of pita bread and threw it at him. And he cooed and raced over to it.

The very second the bread was airborne, a girl came out of my building and saw me doing it. She didn't look at me. She DID look at the pigeon. And I knew she musta thought I was a crazy bird lady.

It's not "pigeons" it's - "pigeon", I thought. One! 'm not insane yet! I just feel for the guy. It's 25 below out here! HAVE A HEART, WOMAN!

Anyway. I watched him from inside the front entrance, pecking away at the bread. I was having a heartfelt man-bonds-to-beast moment. Then he stopped. And waddled over to a patch of snow and took a bite. OF SNOW!! And shook his head...like he needed to wash his mouth out or something.

Then he left the bread and returned happily to pecking at bits of nothing.

Asshole.

Murderer.

I have a confession to make.

I have a black thumb.

I am no good with plants. I mean I absolutely LOVE them. I love having them. But I end up loving them to death (fortunately, I am better with people).

Oh, sorry. You wanted proof? Here is a plant (sic: carcass) in my living room:


(As you can see, I also suck at focussing an AUTOMATIC camera.)

That plant used to look more like this (but way more leaves, even):



After less than a month in my home, it's turned into Nicole Richie's horticultural stunt double. The person who gave it to me said to repot it. And I did after it started to look a little tired. But it kept ailing. Til I frantically searched the net for answers. Seems my little Nicole was rootbound. She was growing so fast that her roots got all tangled up in a big, ol' suffocating mess. The roots were so dry and compacted that no water was even making it to them, even if I watered it.

Yesterday, I pinched off all the crispy leaves. I soaked the rootball in a pail of water, then broke up the soil all around it and loosened up the roots so they'd have some breathing room.

I'm not ENTIRELY sure if I'm imagining it or not, but today I thought I noticed the remaining droopy leaves perked up juuuuuust a touch. Which would mean they're finally getting the water they've been dying for. I will be ASTOUNDED if Nicole actually pulls through.

Then she'll sue me and go on Oprah.

What is the secret to horking up phlegmballs?

Seriously - would someone please enlighten me? Does it involve meditation? Deep breathing exercises? How come guys are so good at this?

Right now, I'm on Day 6 of my cold - near the end - with that annoying phlegmy cough/post-nasal drip and I don't know how to hork up the phlegmballs!

Does anyone remember the toll-free number to order the Lungbrush?

Eat this!

Back in university, there was a guy who lived across the hall from me in residence. His name was Eric. Eric was clearly a nerd. Still, that was no reason not to like a guy. Lord knows I was in no position to judge (all wide-eyed and Timmins-haired). Some of the best people I know are nerds. So, in the first, fresh week of university life - my roomate and I decided we'd get to know our neighbours. We asked Eric and his roomate Matt if they wanted to go for dinner - hang out, get to know each other, make some new friends at university.

We walked over to the Eaton's Centre in downtown Toronto and grabbed a seat at a restaurant inside. Everything was going swimmingly. There we were - 4 freshmen - new to the city and the school, making good first impressions. Then Eric ordered the ribs.

Ribs. They are a messy food. Not usually a menu item you'd feel comfortable eating in front of new people. Sloppy, greasy, eat-with-your-hands...definitely not a first (or fourth) date food. Either way, Eric got the ribs. And the way that Eric proceeded to EAT his ribs is something I had not seen before and will (hopefully) never see again.

Eric - a slim, understated, dark-haired boy dove into those ribs like he'd never seen food. He squished each piece up to his face, smearing barbecue sauce all over his cheeks, gnawing every last thread of meat from the bone. He moaned in culinary ecstacy. He chewed, smacked and gulped his way through a massive pile of ribs like he was a blue ribbon food-eating champ at the county fair. Eric was oblivious to the 3 of us - sitting stunned - as we watched him chow down. It was honestly like watching a hyena tear through a zebra carcass.

What surprised me most was the fact that Eric never ONCE used his napkin--even a sleeve would have sufficed! The rib sauce was smeared all over his face, INCLUDING his forehead and it didn't seem to phase him that we were in a busy, public restaurant. Finally, I had to say something, which felt awkward considering we barely knew each other but....

"Eric? Why aren't you wiping your face?"

"It wastes time".

It wastes time. In other words, it impedes the food-eating process. The more time you spend being hygenic, the less time you have to smash food into your face. And once every scrap of food was gone from view (save the few meat bits stuck to his face) he stood up, smothered in sauce and casually strolled through the crowded restaurant to the bathroom. And that is where he washed his face. I'm sure if they had a shower, he would have. A total body experience, to say the least.

Why am I telling you this story today? Well, back then I didn't understand it. But now, 12 years later - I wonder if maybe Eric knew something we didn't. Maybe there was some sort of reason to his rhyme. Maybe he was in training for something..hurriedly packing in the nutrients to feed his brain so he could one day catapult himself into the upper echelon of nerd society.

Smart guy. Too bad about the ribsauce.

I really gotta get some balls. I was walking down the street and saw a giant worm slowly wiggling his way across the sidewalk towards traffic. Lots of things flashed through my head:

Doesn't he know the lawn is the other way?

Is he trying to commit worm-suicide?

What if he gets trampled by a dog or shoe or gets picked up and thrown by a kid?

What if I come back tomorrow and he's been baked to the sidewalk by the sun?

So, I sucked it up, plucked up his wiggly body and tossed him on the nearest lawn.

I need a life. I think even the worm thought I was a lame-ass.

p.s. I hope to god I didn't touch that meaty, connecty chunk as seen in the photo. Touching worms is gross enough. Touching their meaty, connecty chunks is even nastier.