Slow Down

“Startled out of my ipod trance, I looked up from my bus seat and stared at a tall man in his thirties wearing an Ontario Hydro worker’s uniform. He smiled at me, then ran off the bus and jumped back into his Ontario Hydro truck before the light turned back to green. I was still staring when the bus pulled past the truck. He was waving at me.”

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Lasting Effects

“As most of you know, I am not eating refined sugars. It is my inexpert opinion that refined sugar was put on this earth to taunt those who cannot eat them. Same goes for butter and cheese. To all the diabetic and lactose intolerant people out there: kudos to you. Big kudos. The kind of kudos you would shout up to Yao Ming because he’s so tall and probably can’t hear regular-sized people talking. Sound waves just don’t travel that far.”

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Fat Swan

“All dancers do this. We take two, three, four week breaks wherever we can find them and pamper our bodies with food, massages, and sleep. We do absolutely no exercise because our bodies are screaming for relief. Then we come back to work feeling fresh, rejuvenated, healthy and fat.”

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Routine

“A trip to the hospital is never fun but it can certainly be entertaining. I recently made one such trip for a family member undergoing a simple procedure. As promised, the medical aspect was totally routine. So routine, in fact, that the medical resident left early! I ran into him, dressed in his winter coat and hat, on my way back from the coffee stand.”

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It’s All Relative

“As I do those things that happen once a year, every year—physical at the doctor’s office, check up at the dentist, dress fittings, Halloween, midterms—I realize that although I’ve grown so much in certain respects, in other ways, I’m exactly where I was four (even five) years ago.”

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Tale of Two Cities: A Bushel and a Peck

“Without Hunky by my side I was more aware of pedestrians. Religious men often fidget and shift their weight from foot to foot because they are used to doing so when reading from the Torah. As I passed the bus stop, the men stood completely still.”

“Hunky came to visit my first weekend in Domaine Forget. I was as giddy as a goose.”

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Tale of Two Cities: First Days

“The first thing Hunky and I did in Tel Aviv was hit the club.
What else can you do at 5am when you’re hours late for check in at your hotel?”

“This is not a simple jazz fest. It is a full-fledged symphony with all the brass. I know better than to drink real milk. Very bad girl.”

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Putting Out Fires

“In any city, I hate to be a tourist. I get this from my Mum. Whether she is in Paris or Mexico City, it is imperative that the inhabitants believe she is in her hometown. She accomplishes this with outfits: chic pantsuits with kitten heals in one city and breezy skirts with Weitzman sandals in another. I, on the other hand, use attitude. When I’m dragging my suitcase through Columbus Circle, attitude is the only way to get by. The New Yorkers on the streets thought I was returning from a glamourous trip abroad instead of hopping from one apartment to the next. It was my usual Visiting Fireman routine.

“Visiting Firemen: Term developed by Dear, my paternal grandmother.
Definition: People who speed from one location to another, dropping quick hellos and goodbyes like hot potatoes. I know firemen don’t throw hot potatoes at fires. Just roll with it.”

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A Tactical Error

“My overly-dramatic-when-upset mind concluded that Crazy A was going to invite me into her prostitution ring. Or worse, become my pimp. When I finally calmed down I realized that she was a harmless, slightly eccentric woman who hadn’t yet adapted to Western culture. Perhaps in the East people dress more conservatively. Perhaps a fitted dress is the sign of a prostitute. No! Calm down, I reminded myself. She did not think I was a prostitute and she did not want to introduce me to her pimp. That settled, I went back to my reception duties.”

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Reality TV

“It’s difficult to decide which is more entertaining—the trashy TV or the members themselves. One older gentleman introduced himself as James Bond. I wasn’t fooled. His gym card said Peter in big bold black pen. Another younger gym buff makes a big loud show in front of me every time he enters or leaves the facility. “And remember, Bob,” he bellowed from across the reception desk, “your wife will love it.” Sufficiently repulsed, I stood up to fold some towels. Bob proceeded to tell me that the gym buff suggested waxing Bob’s chest. Bob is approximately 65 years old. I doubt his wife has been waiting through forty odd years of marriage for the day when he finally waxes off his rug. If gym buff was trying to discreetly inform me of his hairless chest, I am not impressed. My Hunk has the most wonderful hairy chest and if he ever suggested waxing it, I would pinch his nipples, and not in a good way.”

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