Monday, March 22, 2010

Faceplanting the Light Fantastic

Ya know, I don't set out to fail at life. Flava Flav aside, no one does. So when I constructed a lovely, simple plan to do an errand on Sunday, I had to clue as to the shit show for which I had just bought a ticket.

I had spent the previous night alone, drinking old fashions and chatting with hometown friends on the msn. At one point in the evening, I had thought I might venture out solo to The Beaver so I popped a couple of my beloved non-drowsy decongestants that turn me into a dancing machine. Or a sloppy mess. Anyone who has read a single post of mine can imagine which of these two outcomes came to fruition. By 1:30am, though still chatting with some Winnipeg peeps, I'd moved on to include a couple of Torontonians, as well. It took every fiber in my fuzzy, cuddle-starved being to resist their suggestion of coming over for rom-coms and laying our limbs on top of one another. Thank god I keep my apartment in such a state of unruliness so that I can under no circumstance accept a spontaneous invitation such as this.

Upon waking the next morning, I felt like crap. What a waste of a Saturday night. The only way to assuage the creeping self-loathing would be to venture forth into the warm (1°C) and bright (overcast) daylight to walk (gimp) beside my fellow humans (mouth-breathers). I had three things I wanted to do:

  1. Walk my bike to the nearest gas station and refill the tires, as it had spent its winter attached to a traffic sign outside the neighborhood Montessori school gathering rust. Why I lack the ability to take care of my possessions it beyond me.

  2. Ride my newly inflated bike to Chapters and buy Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang, the new collection of asshole essays by Chelsea Handler. A reader's note here: When I am writing, the voice in my head is that of the hypothetical love child of Ms. Handler and David Sedaris. So there's anothr piece of the puzzle for ya.

  3. Take my new book to Tequila Bookworm, my neighborhood hippiester cafe for my new favourite thing, their smoked salmon platter, hold the gherkins. In reality, I order this so I can inform others that I spent my lunch "gherkin off." Ha...ha.

In order to properly illustrate how wrong everything went, I have illustrated, using my print screen and MS Paint prowess (click to enlarge):

1. 10:47 - I leave my apartment. Despite being overcast, the natural light still burns. I unlock my bike. Wow, unlike germs, rust isn't just a myth.

2. 11:02 - I arrive at Petro Canada and discover a pay-by-the-minute compressed air dispensers. Fudge you, PC. Fudge you.

3. 11:04 - I walk across the street to good ol' dependable Shell. The air dispenser is free. I give Petro Canada an over-the-shoulder finger. When I go to fill up the tire, it inflates with the pressure from the machine and then immediately deflates. Clearly, there is a hole in my tire about the size of an infant's head and it needs to be taken to a bike shop. Fa-fa-fabity-fab-fabulous.

4. 11:08 - I make the unwitting mistake of not walking up Spadina and discovering what would have made my life a whole lot easier (See #5).

5. 11:25 - I reach Chapters on John St. I comb the entire store looking for the book, implementing computers and laymen alike in my search for this tome. I stndd around for 10 minutes while one of the Vested tears apart the backroom searching for the 5 copies that their website claims the store has. Upon his return, he presents me with an apology and a voucher for 15% off at a different store. Finally, something good has come of this. I ask if he knows of any bike shops in the area and am told that there is one just a block up but that people rave about Dukes. Score two for Chapters! "Where is that?" I ask. "Spadina & Richmond," he replies. This is roughly 250 feet from my apartment. POINTS REVOKED, CHAPTERS.

6. 11:59 - I backtrack to Dukes. It is closed on Sundays. I start to seriously question my faith. I fronttrack to the other bike shop.

7. 12:07 - I pass a homeless man in a wheelchair asking passersby to give him "change for pussay.""

8. 12:16 - I arrive at the bike shop a block away from where I was 35 minutes prior. It is closed. I become an atheist. I lock up my bike and kick a pigeon.

9. 12:21 - I catch a streetcar. Step in what may be partially congealed vomit from St. Paddy's.

10. 12:26 - I arrive at Eaton Centre. I jaywalk. Foiled again, coppers!

11. 12:28 - There is a standard escalator practice in Toronto that one stands on the right side and walks on the left. Upon entering the mall, I notice that on my escalator, the Asians all standd on the left and everyone else on the right. Why? If your native tongue were Hebrew or Arabic, I might be able to give this a pass, but Asians? Don't most oriental languages go up-down? If anything, shouldn't they be attempting to ascend the descending escalator and vice versa? I don't get it, Asians. Yes, you have the most appealing natural body odour of all the major racial groups, but what do you want from me?! Incidentally, the only non-Asian is a white woman standing next to her friend and waxing on about how Torontonians don't take advantage of their city's culture and diversity. Lady, first off, you're in a mall. Secondly, based on the size of your ass, it would seem that the only culture and diversity you've been getting is from the International Selections menu at Boston Pizza. Anyway, I get to Chapters and after finding the Humour section (under a big sign that, naturally, reads SPORTS...) I buy my book and get the eff outta there, though I must admit that having listened to Lisa Loeb, k.d. lang and the soundtrack from Glee on their store muzak kinda makes me think that Chapters knows my soul.

12. 12:57 - Now aboard the streetcar with dreams of bagels and a schmear, I receive a call from ESLothario inviting me last minute to his show that afternoon. He insists that I come as he reeeeeeeeally wants me to meet his boyfriend. Aw, hells 2 da no. I tell him that I'd love to but that I just have too much to do though he should call me if they're doing something afterwards. I then make a note to pick up a new sweater after my what-started-out-as brunch so I can feel extra kicky should this meeting transpire.

13. 1:06 - I arrive at Tequila Bookworm and order my smoked salmon platter. It is not nearly as good as I'd anticipated. The book, however, is awesome and while I never did get that call from ESLothario, I still wound up going to Winner's and picking up some madras sneakers that'll be ballin' on my trip to Miami next month.

Finally, I recently got called out by brown sporadic commenter Herr Kanada for making my posts too long. To him, I'd like to say a special thanks for reading and if you have festering occupations with length then that is something you need to take up with your therapist and not with me via facebook chat. Best of luck with that.


soft nonsense said...

Maybe Flava Flav is a success because he aims to fail at life, and does so with a vigor that few possess.

Also, as a semi-Chicagoan, I have always longed to kick a pigeon. I hope it was as gratifying as I'd imagined it in all of my wonderful daydreams.

Anonymous said...

sorry to hear about your bad day...but reading about it sure made mine better!!! :)

also, best line: "money for pussay"...oh my dear goodness. wow.


Anonymous said...

aww crap. i mean "change for pussay".


stop judging me.


Tocalabocina said...

I share your admiration for that fresh Asian scent. I also covet their hair. Damn you Asians with your boquet and your sheen and your knack for preparing cuisine that renders me an untameable glutton.

Shrinky said...

A puncture the size of a small infant's head? Damn you, you child-maimer, that was my neice's head you popped last year!!