Going Nowhere....Not So Fast

I'd just like to preface this post with the following information: I am currently sitting at the local pub drinking by myself...I'm able to do this because I can now walk to the local pub, and I can now walk to the local pub because I have finally moved out of the caustic urban mega mall that is the suburbs and into the big city.

It's been about a week and a half since the move and from the limited time I have spent here I have made the following observation: the pedestrians here seem to have only two variable speeds: running and strolling. I tried to walk at a brisk pace the other day down to the liquor store and between getting stuck behind the stop-and-smell-the-roses pacers and the get-out-of-my-way-I'm-fucking-fit runners I got nowhere fast. It's annoying even while driving, because anytime I have to turn that's when the fucking strollers decide to cross the street...mostly while staring at their shoes and apparently counting the fucking stones in the asphalt. I'll wait until they finish meandering across the street and as soon as I go to step on the gas here comes the fucking runners out of nowhere. If pedestrians are allowed to cross a fucking street all willy-nilly then they should either wear helmets or it should only be a small fine if I happen to take them out at the knees with my windshield.

But seriously though, it's the runners that really get to me.

I'm sitting here, trying to enjoy my cigarette and they're swooshing by like a pack of obnoxious herd-like animals with running shoes, practically screaming "look at us! We're fucking athletic aren't we?! Look at you just sitting there on your ass like a derelict of society...get us some fucking water and make yourself useful will you?"

Luckily, the convenience store down the street sells trip-wire...I mean fishing line.

All Out of Rope.

......and if it had a chance in hell of working, I'd take the dullest razor blade and slice my wrists into ribbons and let the blood escape. 

......and if I thought it might make you stop,  I'd crack my skull into a million pieces just to show you what I think. 

......and if it would provide a possibility that you might finally desist, I'd mix a deadly cocktail of amphetamines and send them singing through my veins.

If there were anyway to just shut you up I'd choose any death at all just to stop your voice from damaging me, like acid to my ears. 

Cover Letter

K.Reynolds

katharosblog.blogspot.com , internet

kreynolds@gmail.com

Dear Hiring Manager,

I'm replying to a job your company posted on kijiji.ca for an Executive Assistant (which I would be perfect for), but there's something I need to discuss with you first: honesty. See, here I am sending you all of my personal information right there at the top of the page being all completely transparent and you won't even tell me what company it is I'm applying to! What is this, the job opportunity Mystery Box? Did you ever consider that I might have a few requirements that YOUR company might have to meet? (Already you should have an innate desire to hire me because unlike most applicants, I have standards). Job interviews are like blind dates: neither of us really want to be there and chances are one or both of us is going to end up disappointed. So let's be up front with each other shall we? You meet my salary expectations, but to be quite honest I don't care how big your benefits package is...could we exchange that for coming in late occasionally? And while we're getting down to the nitty-gritty here, what's your policy on office supplies? Are you going to get all possessive on me when I sneak a few dozen packages of post-it notes home in my handbag? Speaking of post-it notes, how do you feel about lined post-it notes? Great innovation or creativity suppressant? I won't tell you which way I lean, but let me tell you I am passionate about the subject! And really, what else could you want in an executive assistant? I can clearly communicate better than you can company-who-won't-even-give-out-their-name-and-obviously-has-trust-issues and I have a slightly overzealous obsession with office supplies, can you say “hired”? Now before you show me to my desk, I have something I'd like to confess. I know you were trying to be all anonymous and everything, but I totally Googled your postal code and found out where you live and what it is you do. I'm not a stalker or anything, I just like to be well-informed. Which brings me to my next question, as a company solely devoted to promoting diversity how opposed are you to a few fairly inoffensive racial jokes now and again? I know it's not exactly “politically correct” but have you heard the one about the Mexican gardener?

There Ain't No Rest for the Wicked...

It's too bright outside...I feel overexposed. 

I love the night. 

Cast in deep shadows, nothing is certain. 

From far enough away, we all look like someone else. 

Your Parts Will Go On And On...

Dear Saturn, 

I never realized how much you meant to me until you were cruelly ripped from this world by an incompetent Polish guy in a Corolla, we had some good times though didn't we?

I never named you Saturn, other drivers would have named you "Sally" or "Suzie", but not me dear one, I always respected you too much to equate you with a middle aged waitress. 

I remember the first day I brought you home, pushed in the clutch, threw the gearshift into first and realized I had no idea what I was doing. You were so patient with me Saturn, remember the first time I tried to get into a steep driveway and screwed up so badly that I now know what burnt clutch smells like?

You always forgave so generously, I cannot count the number of times I took out my anger on your dent-resistent polymer side-panels and you took every kick without showing a scratch. 

Remember when we almost ran out of gas outside of Oshawa? Saturn I'm so sorry, but seriously I didn't know anyone had planned a city where you could go 20 kilometers without ever finding a gas station. We made it to that Esso together, me turning off the ignition and coasting down every hill and you ekking out every last drop of gasoline in your fuel lines. 

Near the end you even stopped making that annoying beeping noise when the tank was almost empty, because Saturn, you knew I wouldn't damn well fill up until I had to. 

Remember when I said goodbye to you Saturn as they hooked you up to the tow truck? I gave you a good 'ol pat on the back for a job well done and ended up with a nice deep cut in my hand from your splintered side panels. I know it wasn't a last little bit of revenge for not changing your oil in the last 8,000 kilometers, it was your way of leaving your mark on me so I could carry a piece of you with me just a little while longer. 

They've sent you to selvage my dear Saturn, to be picked over like carrion by remanufactured car part vultures. They'll tear you apart and sell you off piece by piece to go into countless other cars just like you. You'll save lives Saturn.....well actually you'll just save a few people a couple bucks....but everytime I see a Saturn I'll think that maybe a little part of you is living on in them. 

Amen.

Anticipation

Apart from the whole emotional trauma (or lack thereof) there are two things that happen when you become "unattached" that really affect your life:

1. You can kiss other boys. (Or men if you so wish to do so)

 THIS IS IMPORTANT!! NEVER FORGET THAT YOU CAN ACTUALLY GO OUT AND DO THIS AND IT IS PERFECTLY ALRIGHT! 

2. Your friends, family, neighbours, postman and complete strangers will become never-ending fonts of knowledge dedicated solely to when, who, how (and in some strange cases "what") you should date.

Some of you will say that this second item really shouldn't be that important, but as someone who was told from a young age that EVERYTHING I DO IS WRONG I usually get advice on any major decision from an entire panel of representatives.....hey, I'm all for democracy alright?

So far, while some representatives have been divided on a few issues, there is one on which they stand in solidarity.....very LOUD solidarity:

THOU SHALT NOT RESTRICT THYSELF TO ONE PERSON, THE MORE THE BETTER. 

And i get where they're coming from, especially in respect to me, the girl who cannot stop having back to back relationships like it's a saturday afternoon CSI marathon. But just for arguments sake (and thanks to freedom of speech YOU CAN'T STOP ME) I'm going to tell you all why I think YOU ARE WRONG. 

Anticipation. 

What, you need more than that?

Do you remember the first kiss you had with someone that you really liked? Wasn't it awesome? 

And I'm sure that a kiss on the first date is really good, for me the more build-up the better. 

So just imagine this:

There is this one person currently in your life that just stands out a little more from the rest, so you decide to get to know them just a little better. Sometimes you find out that they have a strange penchant for scrapbooking their financial statements and it ends right there AS IT RIGHTLY SHOULD,  BECAUSE WHO DOES THAT!? But if you're lucky, you start discovering someone who is way more than what they appear to be. I mean, this person has untold DEPTHS of not-too-scary and sometimes kinda wonderful things about them. The more you learn, the more you want to know. It's like a Pulitzer prize winning book with a really bland cover, you're not sure why you even picked it up to begin with, but you end up reading it until the early morning hours because it is JUST THAT GOOD. Eventually you become absolutely consumed with this person, you start imagining places that you would go together, conversations you would have, jokes you would both totally get and the imaginary sex? IT DOES NOT SUCK. 

And in real life? You haven't so much as touched this person in any way. No hand holding, no accidental footsies, no gratuitous hugging and of course do not even think about staring deeply into their eyes. Did you just think about it? You thought about it, didn't you? Well STOP.

Then there comes that moment, just before THE TOUCHING that you are physically and mentally more aware of this person than any other. For God's sake you could pick out the exact shade of their eyes on paint chip at home depot, graph the number of times they blink per minute and catalogue every item of clothing you've ever seen them in. 

I live for that moment and the one that comes after it. The moment that their lips and your lips finally, FINALLY get to meet. Because it breaks down that no-touching barrier and all of a sudden you can do all of those things you've been thinking of incessently for weeks. You can finally wrap your arms around their waist, trail your fingertips down their arm or nibble on them a little. Actually, save all biting and nibbling for at least the second date, you can work up to that.

And you know what? The kissing doesn't even really matter. It doesn't even have to be that good, and you wouldn't even know. It is the thrill, the release of ALL OF THAT TENSION rushing at you that makes it better than any roller coaster, horror movie or near death experience. 

Focal Point

This whole "unattached" thing was supposed to give me a chance to reconnect with myself. 

Rediscover what it is I'm passionate about, what I actually want from life.

Instead, I've spent most of my time thinking about you.

I'm disconnecting the internet.

Either kiss me or never speak to me again, I can't handle this in between shit.