Archive for August, 2008

29
Aug
08

Meet the co-workers

By shawnster Leave a Comment
Categories: Shawn
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Have you ever felt your co-workers are gossiping behind your back?

I mean, I really have to wonder about what kind of image I have at work. You spend enough time at a place and sooner or later you’re going to hook up with a co-worker, right? Or two. Or three… I think I stopped at two. And that one of them had quit by then. Actually, if you want to get technical, maybe three, if you count the woman I met through a work Christmas party who used to work here. But I digress.

So anyway, maybe the office gossips have nothing better to talk about, or maybe I’m just paranoid. But it seems to me my personal life comes under more than its fair share of scrutiny. This is one of the hazards of being single, or having been single for a period of time; the Not-so-smug Marrieds have nothing better to do then speculate. And since the office is filled with married folks and breeders, the talk turns to my extracurricular activities.

To wit: last Saturday night I brought the Texas Twister to a work function, a barbecue at the Point Grey house (with a million-dollar view of the city) of the former publisher of the paper I write for, in honour of the retirement of our former editor. I guess by then rumours had been swirling that I was seeing someone–not too long ago, the assistant editor had outright asked me, for instance. However, most of my co-workers at this barbecue had the decency to not treat the Twister like a lab specimen. Not so the former editor, a grizzled veteran of the newspaper game and an ex-Albertan (cowboy hats and cattle farms, stampedes and oil). “So,” he said, sitting between the Twister and I as we consumed our burgers a couple hours into the party. “You know about Shawn, don’t you?” He proceeded to imply that I sleep around a lot, that one-night stands are standard procedure for me, and that I suffer from severe flatulence. (Only one of these charges is true.) A little bit later, another co-worker sidled up to the Texas Twister. “You’re the first girl that Shawn has introduced as his girlfriend instead of just his friend.”

Now, I know that she meant well, but I was in for a severe tongue-lashing from the Twister on our way to the car after the party. Being somewhat tipsy, she couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was exactly she was angry about, but certainly I felt like my image had been tarnished. There was a lot of “What Sandra meant to say was…” and “What Mick really meant was…” Nonetheless, I did get slugged at one point. (The Twister has been getting into the habit of punching me. I’m sure I bring it on myself.)

Then, a few nights after the barbecue, a more official retirement party was held for our former editor. At this one, an office gossip from Upstairs (we have a very Upstairs/Downstairs structure where I work; Upstairs is Production, Sales, and Party Planning) asked me if that had been my girlfriend she’d seen me with at the barbecue. When I said Yes, she asked how long we’d been seeing each other. When I told her, she said, “She seems young.” Uhm, can you be a little more subtle? I thought. “Younger than some,” I replied, “older than others.” I was being purposely cagey; this was, after all, the woman who had informed upon me once to someone I was dating about what a terror I was to the virtue of the office womanhood.

Also at this more official retirement party, my former boss came over and asked if the Twister was still seeing me. “Yes,” I said. “No thanks to you.”

He smiled beneath his Grecian Formula’d beard. “I was helping you,” he said. “Making you seem like a bad boy. Girls like that.”

Considering he probably did more good than harm in the long run, maybe there was a reason he was once the editor, after all.

22
Aug
08

Curious me

By shawnster 1 Comment
Categories: Shawn
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Ever since a co-worker told me about what happened to a friend of his after a Jack Johnson concert I knew it was my responsibility to you, my faithful blog-readers, to investigate. See, the story I heard was that, this guy received not one, not two, but no less than THREE phone calls from female acquaintances looking to hook up following a show by the laidback, acoustic-guitar-strumming, Hawaii-livin’ surfer dude. (I’m not sure if the phone-call recipient even went to the concert.) Other stories I heard were that something like seven women showed up for every guy, and that Jack Johnson wears garlands in his hair and emits rose-petals from his ass.

Okay, the latter is an exaggeration, but that’s the impression one would get about the guy who did the soundtrack to the movie version of Curious George. So what did I find at Thunderbird Stadium, the Vancouver manure field at which he played last night?

Well, there were girls–lots of ‘em, and in varying degrees of cute. They seemed to come in pairs and threes, and were pretty excited at the prospect of seeing JJ. With Wingy in the lead—he was, after all, procurer of the tickets to the sold-out, outdoor love-in—we hobnobbed with a few of these, including: Trystan, Judiete, and Janice, who were worried about their friend (turned out she’d bought an invalid ticket from a scalper and might not be let in); and Colleen and Jessica, who pointed out the fact, in case we missed it, that the Jack Johnson T-shirt she was wearing highlighted her boobs.

But there were, or so it appeared, nearly as many guys at the show. Maybe word has spread, and the dudes had heard that something about Johnson’s mellow surf-sounds acted like an aphrodisiac on the fairer sex, reducing them to quivering masses of good (i.e. horny) vibes looking for a surferman substitute. Even more disturbing, however, was the number of families in attendance. Apparently, if you’re going to record a soundtrack to Curious George, the hippie parents are going to bring their offspring and set up a tarp so that the whole family can share in the good times.

If by now you’ve reached the conclusion that Jack Johnson tunes do not dominate my iPod, you have read between the lines. However, this isn’t the place to malign his fans or dis the guy, who is doing more for the environment than I ever will and is a happily married family man while I am an embittered ex-music journalist who is just now entering into what might be termed a mature, intimate relationship. (Well, here’s hoping…)

At any rate, the evening ended, as these types of evenings are wont to do, at Bin 941, our favourite late-night hang. The food, including a prawn-and-scallop dish, a portobello mushroom dish, and a chunk of halibut with a potato-and-chorizo side, was delicious, and the company fine. Pearly and I had picked up our favourite sidekick, young Crystal, who endured our bantering and Pearly’s liberties and innuendo (“Can I show him the picture of you sucking a lolli[pop]?”) with long-suffering good humour. She and Pearly argued about who caused a ruckus over a decade ago when two members of the band Radiohead played a small club and stopped the show because of a couple of noisemakers. Crystal said she had it on good authority Pearly had nothing to do with stopping the show, whereas Pearly maintained he did: “I was there. I was the cause. I know what I do.” (Radiohead just played in town, hence the reason the band’s name’s been on everyone’s lips.)

I don’t know why Crystal puts up with us, and I keep trying to get her to write this blog to explain her point-of-view vis-a-vis what it’s like to hang out with us, but though interested, so far she’s resisted. If she doesn’t soon, I might have to try writing this blog from her perspective, just for fun.

Next: the girls from Sweet Soul Burlesque put on a bikini car wash. I expect to have the cleanest car in Vancouver by Sunday.

15
Aug
08

Annual looming-birthday freakout

By shawnster Leave a Comment
Categories: Shawn
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Boy, nothing takes it out of a guy more than being at the city’s #1 singles spot and having a girl tell you, “If you haven’t had one by now, you’re probably not going to have one.”

The “one” in question is, of course, a threesome. No, I’m sorry, it’s actually a child. I don’t quite recall how the subject came up, but it was during a conversation at the 20th anniversary of a Vancouver institution called the Roxy. Now, this is quite a famous place in these parts, and if the phrase “Girls Gone Wild” hadn’t already been trademarked by some dude in California, it could just as easily belong to the Roxy. Some of the stories I’ve heard include the time a friend was sitting around with the staff one night after closing and suddenly the door to the women’s bathroom opens and there’s this stark-naked woman standing there. “Jed”—or whatever the bouncer’s name was whose services she was waiting for—”Jed, when are we going to fuck?”

Then there was the time one of the staff was doing a girl from behind in the liquor storeroom, or someplace similar. It was cash-out time, and the manager found him and simply started laying out his tip money in five dollar bills on the back of the girl.

And I’ll probably never erase the memory of witnessing what I’ve since learned is called an “upside-down cumshot.” This is where a bartender pours booze from the bottle into the throats of girls as they lean their heads back over the bar. This was a few years ago, when a second- or third-cousin was visiting, and she and her friend wanted to go to the Roxy, which they’d heard so much about.

Now, the Roxy has never been my type of place to hang out, even with the above reasons to become a regular. The cover bands are kind of cheesy, the lineups long, and the people hockey fans. But I have to admit I was having a great time last night at the (open bar) 20th anniversary. Former wingman the Big D had come out, and proclaimed, “I’m the best wingman there is. Where’s Wingy?” We were hanging out with a publicist and her friends, and the publicist was getting quite tanked and talking about coming home with no underwear and gangbangs at the Hells Angels clubhouse (not that she was involved). One of her friends was the girl I’d had an unsuccessful date with around Christmastime—if by “unsuccessful” I mean, I thought it was a date until I heard, secondhand and while the “date” was still in progress, that she didn’t think it was a date. It’s always fun running into someone like that, someone with whom you shared an uncomfortable two hours, and knowing you are going to go back to someone wonderful later that night (as I did).

So, as I was saying, all in all it was a good night, at least until Liz dropped this bombshell. I mean, I’m not even sure I want kids, but I want to at least think they’re still a possibility (however remote). And who is she to say that? What makes her the expert? But then I realized, I’m just a little over-sensitive these days, what with a birthday coming up in less than a month. Anyway, I think I got the better of the conversation, in the end:

“Why?” I responded. “How old do you think I am?” I’d already guessed her age at 25 or 26, and she hadn’t corrected me—though, as is my custom, I’d subtracted a few years from what I really thought.

“Oh no, I’m not getting into that trap,” she replied.

“You can still save yourself—just guess my age, shave five years off, and say that. That’s what I always do.” I paused. “Though of course, I didn’t do that in YOUR case.”

There is one thing I am too old for, however—and that’s staying at the Roxy just to see some more upside-down cumshots or girls flashing their boobs onstage while the house band plays “Sweet Home Alabama.” Some high-end, over-priced food was calling my name, and so the Big D and I headed out while the party was still in full swing, feeling a little older, a little wiser, and a lot more drunk.

11
Aug
08

I now pronounce you loud and louder

By lenatic 1 Comment
Categories: Lena
Tags: , , , , , ,

At last! My sister is married. Relief.

AND! I totally wasn’t thinking about this for the past several months, but her husband has tons of nice, fun, cute male relatives from the East Coast. Huzzah!

I’d met a couple of them before, but didn’t fully realize the implications till this past weekend: Family events will be a whole lot more entertaining from now on. Instead of me and my sisters huddling together in a corner and hooting and hollering while all our prim ‘n proper aunts/cousins/indeterminate relations stare at us disapprovingly, we  now have someone to holler along with us.

 I don’t think there was a single day last week that our merry little band didn’t get some kind of noise complaint. We started as we meant to go on: At the Feast at Lele, this super-expensive luau-sitdown-dinner thingie in Lahaina, my sister’s ex-boyfriend (now Mr. Gay Maui) toasted the happy couple with vodka shots, and flashed his chest at the whole restaurant three times (“It’s boys gone wild! Boys gone wild, do you hear?”) Then he and I got in a discussion about motorboating and the merits of waxing vs. Veet–him being an inclusive kind of guy, he shared all the gory details with my mother who was two seats down. Then we changed the subject to pre-wedding mani/pedis, the Jersey Boys came over from the next table to say hello (we called them the Jersey Boys all weekend before realizing that none of them are actually from New Jersey), and next thing you know, my friend Remy has her feet on a Jersey Boy lap, and the other ones are ready to re-enact an arm-wrestling match they’d had at Denny’s–shirtless–the previous night. Fire-eating, back flips and Jim Beam-fueled rowdiness ensued.

And that was just the first night. Every one that followed was similar in all-around craziness, though the location and activities differed somewhat. I won’t go into all the details, but I will tell you that I am one sexy bitch when I throw on an Elvis costume complete with sideburns and a red scarf; that three members of the wedding party can apparently not only surf, but do handstands on their boards (I’m not one of them); and  finally, fat-free French Vanilla International Delight coffee creamer is friggin’ delicious when you blend it with dark rum.

Let’s see…what else… Oh yes. Lindsay and I gave the wedding speech in call-and-response, with friends testifying and shouting Hallelujuah as the spirit moved them. Immediately post-reception, I was so exhausted/wasted that I passed out behind the seats in our friend’s truck, still wearing my bridesmaid dress, with a steam iron on my chest. And in case you’re wondering how the gentle bride and groom reacted to all this…well, they really had no room to complain, since whatever the hell they did in their room caused such havoc that the hotel had to evacuate them, move the furniture onto the balcony, and strip out all the carpet. Not that they cared–I got them a room at the Four Seasons down the street.

So. Good times. Glad it’s over. Glad to have some Jersey Boys in the fam. Though I do foresee even more noise complaints in my future.

03
Aug
08

Signs of Pride

By shawnster Leave a Comment
Categories: Shawn
Tags: , , ,

Every year during the August long weekend, Vancouver becomes a gay mecca. It probably already is, but the annual Pride celebration tuns the city into a San Francisco North. Today, Sunday, is the Pride Parade, a flotilla of gay-themed floats streaming through the streets of downtown, egged on by tens of thousands of well-wishers, parade-lovers, and sexual orientations of all stripes. I got firsthand experience from the inside of the parade last year when, for the “float” (actually, an old black truck decked out with signs and streamers) sponsored by one of the papers I write for, I duded myself up in buttless chaps and a black leather vest and not much else, and allowed our randy receptionist, dominatrix-clad, to lead me around by a leash and, ever so often and to the crowd’s great delight, smack me on the ass with a riding crop.

The things I’ll do for attention! Actually, I figured I might get a girlfriend out of the deal, but for some reason, dressing in black leather, allowing myself to be spanked in front of thousands of people and being part of a gay pride parade didn’t result in my phone ringing off the hook, or any marriage proposals. At least, not from any straight girls.

Meanwhile, signs of gay pride are everywhere. Yesterday on Commercial Drive, the centre of lesbian activity (gay men prefer the West End), butch-cropped women in couples filled the sidewalk and the aisles of a sex-toy store. I was surprised anything was left on the shelves, actually. And this a.m. I came back from getting a coffee to find a Harley-Davidson decked out with rainbow flags parked in my building’s underground lot.

I won’t be checking out the parade this year, however, or even boarding the boat that the (gay) owners of my neighbourhood gym have rented to celebrate both Pride Weekend and the 10th anniversary of their gym. Instead, as I told the girl who helped me select some items at the sex-toy store, I’ll be staying in and celebrating Straight Pride Weekend. I was trying to be funny, but with all sincerity she replied, “It’s all about being proud of who you are.”

I did look pretty good in those buttless chaps, though.

02
Aug
08

The wedding is nigh…

By lenatic Leave a Comment
Categories: Lena
Tags: , , , , , ,

One week from now my sister will be a married lady. And I will hopefully have a nice tan. Everyone’s entitled to their own goals, right? I mean, a trip to Hawaii is a trip to Hawaii, and even though there’s a wedding to go to one day, hopefully we can all still squeeze in some beach time.

So at any rate. After the dogwatching debacle of last week, matters between my sister, her fiance and myself improved. I stopped doormatting around (you will be happy to know, Jonathan). In fact I turned into a Roaring Woman, Extraordinaire. Happily I did it via text message, so no one’s eardrums were perforated or anything. And the soon-to-be-blissful married couple turned out to be tres understanding.

Unhappily, the rest of the fam…eh, not so much. They’re in full wedding mode, and every time I hear from any one of them, I get an earful: Have I gotten my shoes? How was ‘my’ bachelorette party? Do I realize that I need to pick up my dress from the seamstress myself b/c other people are very busy and can’t be bothered? (This last one from my other little sister, who works as a bartender 25 hours a week and keeps herself very busy the rest of the time brewing beer in the bathtub and looking up conspiracy theories online.)

The most important admonishment I’ve heard, though, is this: I need to not only show up, but show up and be completely undistracted, 100% in vacation mode, ready to party, and absolutely under no circumstances preoccupied with mood-killers like, um, my own life.  Deadlines? Contracts? Commitments? People waiting on me by the dozens? Psshhh. It’s all irrelevant.

The family dynamic, to me, is an interesting phenomenon. Family can not only tell you what to do, but they can tell you how to feel, and feel totally justified. (Yes, I know Jonathan, I don’t have to go along with it…but that won’t stop them In fact, they’ll try twice as hard.)

On the bright side, personally I couldn’t be in a better spot to be a maid of honor. I have had no social life for the past 2 months (okay, except for that one night in the Nicaragua bar), and therefore have nothing to distract me from the big, important relationship, which is my sister’s.

Actually, the last date I had wasn’t even a date–it was a halfway date? An almost-date? A quasi-date? With someone I’m quasi-dating, so I guess it fits. He’d been out of the country for a month, returned and kindly offered to distract me from my pre-wedding/book-writing hell by taking me out to dinner. I jumped at the chance–even I know what havoc all work & no play can wreak on a body. (Not to mention, a soul.) Anyway. Dinner was nice, and then I asked him to go pick up my sister before hitting the cocktail bar. She was lonely. Her fiance was working. She wanted to test out different mixed drinks, in the hopes of selecting ‘official wedding cocktails.’ I’d promised her I’d call…I mean, at this point I know there’s a place in the rule book that states: Official wedding cocktail selection is a priority. So we went and got her.

An hour later, he dropped us off and bailed. I’ve barely heard a peep since. I don’t really know what to think about that. Was the third wheel pickup inappropriate? Dunno. Do I care? Eh. Anyone who’d be put off by it was, let’s face it, off already.  (Actually I think this dude is way more enamored of my job than he is of me. You laugh, but repressed creative types are prone to that.)

So here it is Friday, and I must finish a chapter, and go to Los Angeles with my dog, and finish another few chapters, and be ready to fly on Tuesday. Indeed it is a good thing I don’t have a Friday night date.

(Truth? I want a Friday night date. Tonite, I deserve one.)

It’s not going to happen. Not tonight anyway. I am a maid of honor, a book writer, a sulky family member, a dog mama, a catsitter and a once-in-a-while doormat…and that, for now, is gonna have to be enough.

 

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