Old Man Lips

I bartend and wait tables as a day job. That being said, it goes without question that I have a truck load of stories about people and their social artardedness. Most of these I will save for another time and place, but this one is too good to be true. I have this one regular. For the purposes of this story we will call him "Calvin" which means bald (and yes, he pretty much is). He comes in almost every single day, same table, same lunch, exactly two cups of coffee and he will resort to shaking his cup at you if you do not bring it within a time length that he considers to be reasonable. All the girls dote on him because he seems a sweet older man, and he is a war vet, which is out of most of our sheltered Canadian realms of comprehension, but it still earns him brownie points for the sole fact that he was there, brave enough to do something that we can't fathom. Anyhow, I digress. Calvin, however, is a bit of a randy older gent. He has flat out told me that he's tipping me extra when I wear a lower-cut shirt at work, and has proceeded to make some strange reference to him "vibrating" when I come around (I didn't ask, I won't surmise, you are welcome). He also tends to let me know when a younger woman comes in that he thinks is sexy and makes no bones about what he would like to do with her, given the chance.

So each day, when Calvin comes in, I bring him his coffee and complimentary bread and he gives me a hug and kiss on the neck/cheek area. Not my favorite moment of the day, but hey, if that's all the action they guy can get who am I to deprive him of it? Lately, he tells me, he's been crocheting to pass the time. He tells me he's been working on a table cloth, and I mention I could use a scarf. So he finishes up his table cloth and sets to work on a scarf. Yesterday he brought it in. "Blue, like your eyes" he says, beaming with pride. He is so proud of himself. It really is a nice scarf. So I go to give him a hug of gratitude when he grabs my shoulders, purses his lips and kisses me. Dead center on the mouth. Wow. I mean, it's a beautiful scarf, but nothing will erase the memory of juicy old man lips. Perhaps it wouldn't be such a big deal if I viewed him a little more like I view my grandfather (whom, by the way, I DO NOT kiss on the lips) and a little less like a hormonal adolescent in a senior citizens body. Watch the movie "Venus" with Peter O'Toole and you will know exactly what I am talking about.

I still feel slightly violated, and am not sure how I'm going to approach the next morning's hug and kiss scenario. Let's hope he doesn't get any wacky ideas about a new approach. Make no doubt about it, if I wasn't concerned about his Osteo-arthritis, I would have slugged him like he was 25.

So that's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Heathen Speak

My father and I recently had a long discussion about the effect that being a Pastor's Kid for the majority of my childhood has had on my perception of the church. It seemed he was concerned that my lack of interest in attending church at this particular time had to do with some latent repressed frustration that I was holding onto from my childhood or early adolescence. I humbly (or not so humbly) begged to differ, and tried to explain that my current disinterest in church has very little to do with the church itself, and a lot to do with the people in it. I include myself with this lot, just to be clear. I am attempting to define, of late, how to be involved in a setting where people are so often fake, hypocritical and lacking in almost all of the things they profess to have in abundance. Don't get me wrong, there are wonderful people in the church who imbue the very essence of what I think a person of faith should, but there are so many others who wear their faith on the outside, and then yell at their kids, kick their dog, have severe road rage, and worst of all DO NOT TIP THEIR SERVER'S at Sunday lunch. This is where the rub comes in.

I am crystal clear on the idea that no matter where you go in life, you are going to run into the bad seeds, the angry and the hurting and those who lash out at others. My problem occurs when this becomes an acceptable practice in the church and these people are not called out on their actions and continue to damage themselves and those around them, not to mention tainting the view of anyone who comes into contact with them and hears that they belong to "the church" and are still allowed to act the way they do without consequence.

I suppose I know deep in my heart that we are all responsible for our own actions, and ultimately will be judged on that, and that I don't have to answer for the person sitting next to me in the pew looking at dirty pictures on their cellphone during communion, however, I'm not sure I'm ready to jump on the bandwagon of church, where this continues to go on. How can we make a difference when the people working side-by-side with us are sabotaging our efforts on a daily basis?

And yet, I still feel the need to sustain my spiritual growth in some way, by talking and learning with others. is there a way I can have the best of both worlds? Is there a place that I can be honest and open about who I am and all of the bad things that I do, and learn how to overcome them? Is there a place where we don't have to keep the ugly a secret and where we can learn to deal with our issues so that even through our own growth we can make a difference? I just don't know yet.

Is Anybody Out There? (In Manner of Pink Floyd)

Does anybody read this? I mean, clearly I do because I'm extremely self involved. However if I am writing only for myself there are several things I will cease to censor for the comfort of anyone who may be viewing.

Time to go plan for some Saturday Mantras.

Four Mantra's for Friday

1. Will not spend precious time using expensive internet cellphone to check email and messages at work like a cyber-addict, will instead wait until home an can use less expensive laptop like normal person.

2. Will look for nice outfits to wear from expansive closet instead of going shopping after shift to find sexy new clothes to impress boyfriend, friends and population at large.

3. Will not even consider eating one of the restaurant's desserts, instead will eat whole wheat pasta and salad for lunch, with no snacks until dinner.

4. Will quit referring to self as "Workplace Grandmother" just because am at least 5 years older than 90% of staff.

GOOD PLAN!

Unsweet Dreams

So imagine for a moment that you are being escorted by a plain-faced man with a surprisingly strong grip to a room. Once the man opens the door and thrusts you in the room, you start to feel a slight sense of panic. The walls are a decrepit mauve colour, and the room is very small. The man with the firm grip makes sure you are fully inside and leaves, closing the door behind him. As soon as he does so, the door disappears and you are in the room alone.
As you look around you see that the room is square shaped and not quite wide enough for you to spread out your arms without touching the hideous walls. You also notice, alarmingly, that there is not only no door but also no windows or ceiling vent. You are trapped.
As you stand there pondering your exit strategy your sense of panic is rapidly increasing. You touch the wall where the door disappeared moments ago but only feel it pushing back against your hand, cold, almost rubbery. You feel your way around each wall with the same sensation. You speak. "Hello?" but your voice sounds empty and far away. Now you're really beginning to freak out. You begin to kick at the walls. Nothing. They almost seem to indent and bounce back with each kick. You push the wall as far as you can. It makes a hand shaped imprint which immediately springs back when you remove your hand. This goes on for some time when the panic becomes overwhelming (did I mention you're claustrophobic to begin with?).
You begin to scream, at the top of your lungs, but with each new scream your voice becomes quieter and quieter until you cannot even hear yourself. You are trapped. There is no escape, no one to hear you, you cannot even hear yourself.

Then you wake up.

So this dream is the reason I couldn't sleep the other night. I think it's fairly obvious what it represents on a base level, but I'm wondering what specifically in my life would entreat such a nightmare to interrupt my usual fire-and-brimstone-cannot-wake-me routine. It took me a while to recover from this one, and I can still vividly feel what I felt in that room even though it was a few nights ago. Similar experiences?

Kinetic Energetic Worry

Do you ever suspect that our emotions have more of a link to our physiological makeup than we realize? I have been contemplating the connection between worry and illness these past few weeks. I have begun the ever-uplifting search for a new job. With each interview I go on, comes the stress of deciding which job will be better, financially, emotionally and in terms of time constraints. Then I have to consider how to make the transition. Will I make enough money during training to sustain my financial needs? Will I be able to establish good working relationships with my peers and bosses? Is this even what I'm supposed to be doing?

On top of that, Derek and I have been doing projects on top of projects in order to make extra money and gain experience in our field. Each of these comes it's own limited-edition deadline, and crap load of work, planning, and the occasional (I use this term lightly) technical problem.

Add onto that attempting to pay off student loans and save for Christmas presents, and a possible trip to Edmonton over the holidays and you have pretty much the three main courses on my menu of worry. This is not to say that I don't have things to be thankful for, or that I am not managing quite well, but sometimes I get to wondering; When we don't feel our worry creep up on us, can it manifest in other ways?

I've known plenty of people who can't sleep when they're stressed, others who get sick to their stomachs, and some who just get so run down that they get ill each time. It just makes me wonder how many of our physical ailments are connected to our emotional state. Obviously this question has been asked by many before me, or we wouldn't be blessed with expressions of "don't worry yourself sick", however I am just curious if this question goes further than I have considered in the past. Perhaps I'm proposing that if we lived in a worry free Garden-of-Eden (pre-serpent of course) stasis, keeping our stresses to a minimal, perhaps we would never have to deal with illness?

Perhaps it isn't aspartame that causes cancer, but worrying that aspartame may be causing cancer that causes cancer? Maybe it isn't the fact that we aren't sleeping that gives us the cold, but worrying about the fact that we aren't sleeping that causes us to contract it? Clearly I don't even subscribe to this theory, or have any idea what I'm even talking about, but it is interesting to think about the amount of energy we are putting into worrying, and where that energy may be coming from.

Anyhow, now I'm rambling. I think I'm going to go worry about dyeing my hair to cover up the fact that I have more grey hairs than any twenty-four year old should ever have to admit to.

Side of Baby Kittens...

Speaking of baby kittens (and in a veiled attempt to honour my previous promise) my joint-custody cat, of which I am the cool dad that takes her to the movies on the weekend, has gone and got herself knocked up. We recently adopted her off of Craigslist and were told she was just under a year old and had been found outside. We took her in and got her settled and took her to the vet to get her shots updated and make an appointment to satiate Bob Barker's incessant Price is Right tag-line. At this point we were informed that she has at least two kittens on the way, and a good chance for more.

What I am attempting to get at is that we will soon have kittens who need homes. I am not able to keep one at my place for longer than a weekend, and the two mommies already have two cats that can barely co-exist with each other. So if you would like a kitten, please let me know. If I get more interest than I anticipate I will happily accept bribes in the form of cold hard cash, movie passes, or season's tickets to the Oilers (I know, I know). I would prefer to find homes independent from the SPCA if possible.

*SIDE NOTE*

If you are planning to go out to a restuarant in the next decade, do me this small courtesy and allow your server to finish greeting you in whatever fashion their establishment demands before you blurt out your drink order without so much as a hello. We understand you are thirsty, but social niceties do still apply. Just remember, spit may be tasteless but it is still ooky. You may hold the tip, but we hold the power. Evil Laugh.

Ok, I feel better.

Authenticity

I have one request. (Well, truthfully I have many, but you can breathe a sigh of relief as I am only going to deal with this post.) Whatever you do, please, be real with me. There is nothing less appealing than a half truth, or a non-truth. Now, I understand that social niceties demand a certain level of holding back in order to get along in our world of euphemisms and innuendos, however, once you have passed the point of 'second cup of coffee' it is time to drop the act and tell the truth.

How can a person be expected to give valuable advice when they are only going off a half truth? Please don't insult my intelligence by holding back a crucial piece of information until after advice is given, and then following said advice with "well, actually, I should tell you the whole story". I find that the reason people give a half truth is because they are afraid of what you might say to the full truth, and most of the time this fear is justified, however, if this is the case then don't bring it up at all. If you are going to tell me half the story then grow a pair and tell me the whole thing, or keep your mouth shut. I don't have time for this. I also don't have time to get to know you part way. I want all or nothing. Perhaps this is a lot to ask, but I didn't sign up for your secret society so give me some credit and give in, show me your inner beast. The worst I'm going to say is "Ew".

So now I've read over this, and it sounds a little scarier and a bit less gentle than I usually like to be, but I need to rage a little on occasion. So thanks for listening. Sunshine and rainbows with a side of baby kittens in the next post, I promise.