What can you do when someone doesn't like you? What do you mean we aren't friends? Somebody doesn't like me. Can you believe that? I couldn't. Oh all the things I have thought. I have been trying to convince myself that its not my fault. But it still seems like I should do something about it. So this is my plan:
1. Flattery- compliments, clothing, haircuts, personal aroma etc.
2. Showering them with smiles that I create in my eyes and cautiously pander towards them as though sharing a secret
3. Paying attention to each and every word they are saying, nodding and smiling with understanding.
4. Inquiring about family and pretending to be interested
5. Compliment- did I say that already?
6. Confess a seemingly personal fact about myself. As though confiding in them, creating a sense of intimacy.
7. Laugh at their jokes- especially bad ones.
8. Winking, though should only be used with pointed clarity -as a limited resource.
9. Sing to them, sweet things to them.
Trying to put their name into the lyrics as a subliminal coersion.
10. Offer them things- things from my purse, or that I have at home. Second hand impromptu gifts are highly underrated.
On the Melicious side:
11. Point out the flaws of the people they do like to make yourself look better.
12. Try to turn other people against them. So you are their only friend option.
13. Commiserate with people who don't
like them and try to get the dirt to be used against them at a later date.
14. Cry.
15. Spread a rumour, causing all the rest of your mutual acquaintances to dislike them, thus alleviating the need to worry about ever seeing them again.
With a plan this elaborate and enticing I think more people might pretend they don't like me, just to get this limited edition 'please like me' bonus package minus the Melicious-ness. But it's strange. I like being liked. And I am working hard trying to create a perfect me to be liked by him. Shame. If all theses tactics fail I should start tweeting bad things about them and hope that it gets picked up and made into a sub-par book and poorly rated television show. But you like me. You really really like me?
When I was young and my Bro was younger, my family went on a trip to Florida. The typical Canadian escape over March Break to a place filled with other Canadians off for March Break. My Papa being the efficiency expert he is, forced a 3 day drive into a 2 day window. Which would of course be the best way to start our vacation. My father pushing through Michigan and racing through Georgia, and the 3 of us sleeping for almost everything in between. In a race against an unknown timekeeper, challenging him to stay up all night; stopping only for vending machine coffee and rest stop bathroom breaks. When we arrived in Florida he was tired and grumpy. That much I recall. And what could make a grown man even grumpier? How's about Disney, Epcot and Universal with 2 kids complaining about standing in line and too young to really appreciate the value of a family trip...Ya I think that would do it.
One of the reasons my Parents chose Florida, was the free stay at a timeshare resort, 40 mins from all tourist destinations, a great location with quality amenities and guaranteed property amelioration. After the last few years in the US economy, I guess they are happy they declined, even though they sat through (with us) 2 long winded slideshow presentations and 5 different pushy sales tactics in increasingly smaller rooms. Including: Bribing the children, free tickets to local attractions and lots more exciting and incredible offers. But they obviously didn't know: my family doesn't feel guilty for taking the free shit. That's how they trap those other poor buggers*insert thumb point at the rube next to you.
The most memorable parts about this vacation though was the cheap- side of the highway Croc farm that we went to... Not quite a zoo, not a petting farm, it was a strange mix of domestic and exotic animals. With a GIANT concrete crocodile out front, acting as the doorway to this not so foreign land. It's huge teeth rounded down from the probable sharp points they used to be, before people got all worked up over things like that. The crocodile show was every 15 mins, not very exciting though a burly man in blue coveralls did put his head into the mouth of a small crocodile. The croc was the size of a chocolate lab with a longer snout and tail. Though the safari expedition host empathically assured us, it was very dangerous. He was later selling souvenirs in the gift shop.
On our visit to this park, my Papa's mood improved drastically. We were 6 hours from starting back towards home and he was finally smiling. Starring at a screaming monkey. You know the kind with the pink bums, that have clearly been using rough toilet paper. Papa had put a quater into the turn machines filled with food pellets for the caged animals and was holding a handful of those dried out nuggets. And that monkey was reaching as far as he could while still hanging from his rope, screaming for all that food. Papa throws a pellet. Monkey makes a lame attempt at catching, misses, pellet falls to the floor, monkey shrieks, and holds his hand out for another. Papa laughs, throws another pellet. Another lame grab at the air and another missed pellet. More screaming and angry bouncing- monkey begging for another try to catch another pellet. And so it goes, throw, swat, scream, laugh, throw; until my Papa is on his very last pellet. Making eye contact with this high hanging Monkey, Papa says: "It's the last one, you better catch it." With an exaggerated lob my Papa sends that last pellet high into the air, Monkey extends his hand like God to Adam on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, catches it triumphantly lobs it into his mouth, blows a raspberry then sveltely slides down the rope to collect the handful he's missed. Starring at this, it dawns on me, even at that young age. That monkey has tricked my Papa out of his handful of pellets. Pretending the whole time that he was trying desperately to catch those pieces, knowing he could, but if he did, that was the end of the game. That monkey was smarter than all those timeshare sales people put together.
On our way back out the crocs mouth the safari expedition host tells me to pick any souvenirs I want for a dollar. I choose a tiny message in a bottle filled with sand: Beachfront Property. Then clutching it closely, I climb back into the Winstar, saying goodbye to Florida and Papa aims us Norh, towards home. We made it back in 1.75 days, a record for even my driven Papa. But what's the point of a record if you don't keep trying to break it.
Interesting side note. While researching this blog, I learned that southern Florida is the only place Alligators and Crocodiles live side by side. This little Monkey says: who's teaching who?
The following letters are actual advice I've given this past week dictated:)
Dear Melicious;
I am a dedicated life instructor. People come to me whenever they are in a jam and I help them fix it. I am quite happy to give all my opinions for free. Problems arise though when I don't take my own advice. Or stop giving my advice to people who don't want it. Please help me to help myself.
Signed,
Do as I say, not as I do.
Dear Do-Do,
I know that my big mouth can sometimes get me into trouble. The most important thing to remember about your advice: Only give what you would be willing to receive. That's a narrow row to hoe. Being the voice of reason can hurt your friend's ego. My advice is to be brave, be bold, be yourself. Watch out for opinion backlash. Never say anything definitively bad about someone's significant other; it's bound to hurt you in the end. And keep your comments aimed at the positive to avoid hard feelings. It's tough to give good constructive criticism. Speak gently from your heart. That's the best language to learn if you can't stop talking.
Supportively,
Melicious
Melicious,
It's been a longtime since I fell in love. I am worried that my chance has passed me by. All my friends have a special someone, and they have stopped inviting me to dinner parties and celebrations- except their weddings. How do I tell them how I feel and stay friends?
Yours hopefully,
Friends without benefits
Dear Friendly,
Your situation is not a rare one. With most groups of buddies; amis come and amigos. It's easy to feel left out and I know you miss your pal-around time. But maybe it's up to you to suggest a girl's night without partners. Or else borrow a 'Dude' for an evening of dinner party fun. Making sure that 'Dude' is the most annoying and selfish person at the table will remind your BFs of how you deserve someone fabulous. Perhaps even sparking a fun game of match maker that you can work on with your friend? All in all know is that if your friend is a good one, she'll listen to you and try to help you feel more welcome. If she's not? Well I guess that answers itself:$
Heart!
MM
Dear Melicious,
First time writer, longtime reader. I guess my questions is, when are you going to write a book? Something that will really help people live life with a Melicious flair?
Love you long time.
Dear Longtime, Firsttime,
Thank you so much. Its always great to hear that kind of enthusiasm. I have been asked this regularly over the last 4 months, and all I can say definitely is: there will be a book. A thin, flimsy, perhaps even printed at my house, more like a pamphlet-book. Let's hope:)
Keep those eyes peeled,
Melicious
Dear Melicious,
I am a performer and I know how strange this business can be. It has always been my way to learn something new and then after 'mastering' it I loose interest. I was taught that having more skills was the best way to go about expanding my resume. But I am still not landing any gigs.
Suggestions?
Mad-Hacktress
My Mad-Hacktress,
If there is one thing I've learned its that you have to specialize. Focus on the things that will make you the most sellable. Being sorta alright at everything isn't good enough. If you want to stand out, be better than alright. You don't have to be olympic athlete good. Being very good at a few things will always be better for your career. So focus on yourself, focus on your goals and focus on the positive. Other than that career wise and generally in life the only thing you can control is you; and sometimes even that's too much.
Be brave, be bold. Focus.
Melicious
As always boys and girls, I am happy to help and eager to listen. If you're looking for your bees-wax, I've got it over here.
When I graduated theatre school I thought it was only a matter of time until my name was up in lights and people were making parodies of me. Drawing cartoons for the New Yorker, you know the things that optimistic young ingenues believe. That everything will come up roses. Well, needless to say things haven't turned out that way. And I should have seen it coming:
My first unionized-paying theatre gig was 2 months after my graduation. I was the 3rd person in my class to book a paying gig. And I was proud! Boy was I. I mean, by no means was I playing Cleopatra, but I was working in my chosen field; leading myself towards my dreams!*insert angelic choir. Okay, okay, I am making it sound way better than it was. I was getting paid $375/ week and no per diem to be in Stratford, while still paying rent in Toronto. With this in mind the production arranged for me to billet with a local family. Now to be fair; I needed to stay somewhere for free, and my billet family loved the theatre: it was a match made, in well, not quite heaven.
Having taken a bus from Toronto to Stratford, I was frazzled and my host family wasn't at home until after my first day of rehearsal. Trucking all my clothing for the 4 weeks of rehearsal and everything I thought I could possibly need including 3 books, a pillow and my almost as large as a desktop-laptop. The first day of rehearsal was tiring, and the combination of almost 4 hours bus travel to Stratford, a full 10 hour day of script breakdown and blocking, when I finally arrived at my billet's home- they were waiting at the door, excited to meet me. Then there was the complex introductions to Father, Mother, 2 kidlets, 1 golden retriever & 2 cats. I just wanted to go to bed, but being the polite and sociable person I am I accept their invitation to dinner; a four course meal with lots of starch.
Hours later when I was finally climbing into bed I was exhausted. Falling asleep almost immediately; all thoughts of reading dashed by the lack of bedside lamp. While drifting towards dreaming, I heard noises, strange noises. Something like a helicopter... Could that be right? I am in the basement of a Stratford family home; no where near a helipad. Then a screech. Like a bat or vampire disguised as a bat. Waking in a confused state, trying to remember where I am. Oh yeah, I am in a strange bedroom...Where is the light switch again? Feeling the nearby wall, I find it. Snapping the light on to reveal a disaster. Across the room standing in my suitcase is HouseCat 1- posed like a black Halloween cutout, yellow eyes wide with fear. Frozen in a tableau of confusion, we stare at each other. Then the helicopter sound and screech begins again. The helicopter is actually this possessed feline shooting pooh out of its bum and into my very full suitcase. The suitcase filled with my life! A spray of kitty diarrhea shooting into and over all my personal belongings. And just as suddenly as it began HouseCat 1 screeches one final time and vaults herself out of my suitcase, down the hall, and into the furnace room. Leaving me alone in a strange basement, in the middle of the night, starring into my litter box suitcase, wondering where to begin.
This is the strangest welcome wagon I've ever received. Needless to say, there was very little sleep that first night. Between rewashing all my laundry and waking the billets with concerns over their smallest family member, I was a wreck the next day for rehearsal. As far as omens go, this should have been a big black X, against my chosen career, but against all odds I've carried on this clearly glamours path. Come hell or flying kitty poo. The best lessons I learned: keep your suitcase zipped and off the floor and never snap on the light if you hear a helicopter in a stranger's basement.
I am a 30+ year old. It took me 3/4 of a year to become alright with that. Getting older and becoming the person I never thought I'd be old enough to be; for example a Mme, changes things. I don't mean that in the dramatic I am getting old way. But at 23 I was convinced that I would never actually be mature. Twenty-three Whoa! was quite frankly a crazy and strange age. I didn't know who I was or who I really wanted to become. The only thing I knew was who I didn't want to be, which didn't help. I knew I didn't want to be alone. And I really didn't want to be scared anymore. I was very nervous. Nervous to have an opinion. Nervous to be myself. To say what I thought, and have an actual full blown personality and all the great and awful things that go along with it. Which brings me to where I am now. Seven years after I was so scared. I am not nearly as scared. But now I have friends who are going through those 23 year old things. And I see their fears, which scares me all over again. But Baby, regardless of the things that scare you, you are who you are... And it would take a lot of time, effort and therapy to change those things.
Dear 23 year old:
My biggest concern; the way you cover yourself up. Painting yourself with thick layers of synthetic skin, protecting you from the world outside. I know you're scared. I can see it in the measured way you talk. The ruler leaning against your phrasing. Taking the wind out of your sails. You deserve more from yourself, and it makes me sad that you don't think so. If you, a beautiful 23 year old don't feel love for yourself at the prime of your life, when you are the most beautiful, natural and lovely creature, what hope is there for the rest of the world? Including the 30+year old woman that I am now. Dear 23 year old, you are so amazing that watching you become a brave and idealistic soul is inspiring the people around you. Please understand that all the best people you know got their hearts broken by people who pretended to love them. That you're not perfect, and nobody expects that from you, except you. You are better than the way people treat you. Your high school friends won't be your only friends forever, and soon you'll get to choose a whole new clique, people who will be your family because they love you, not just because they live in the same school district. But being a grown up will be really hard for the few first years. Kitty says: Hang in there baby.
When I was your age, I was crazy. I couldn't get a grip on the idea of becoming a "member of society". Paying taxes and doing things like cleaning my own apartment. I lived with roommates; which teaches you how to suffer in silence. Grin and bearing dirty dishes and uncleaned washrooms. Girls are not easy to understand at the best of times. Twenty-somethings are even worse. With the climatic apex of living on their own and trying to be grown ups before they really understand who they are...Can I even tell you. I hated myself, I didn't need anybody's help, I covered myself with laquer and expected people to see past it. But you don't need to hide to be seen. You are beautiful and I know you can hear me. Please know when a 30+ says it's going to get easier, that it will. It doesn't stay crazy for much longer. Dear 23, you are young and beautiful, things get better and we will welcome you at our 30+ table because you help us to feel like we're helping:) And Sister Sledge, we are family, because you chose me.
While on my soggy walk home from work the streets were filled with people looking for a good time and people who'd had too much fun already. The swanky bars in my neighbourhood had line ups and covers, neither of which I could afford. So, I found a dirty, dark, dank place that smelled like cedar, wet dog and drowned sorrows. I think I looked good when I left the house this morning but it has been 14 hours since then and I've been rained on, twice. The rain waited until I had blown my hair dry, put my makeup on and forgotten my umbrella. When I bellied up to the bar I was greeted by a sarcastic smile and a furrowed brow. Aww c'mon now, I was already feeling poorly; tired, wet and worn. Ordering a bottle of Pabst blue ribbon, the keeper of the bar slids it down the unfinished surface at me. Catching the frosty bottle I fell into the rhythm of the retro music; C'mon Ilene and Dancing on the ceiling while sipping my smooth blue ribbon. Music soothing this soggy savage beast. It amazed me how much better I finally felt.
I have always been a musical person but when I used to go to concerts , but I never loved them as much as I do now. Maybe I wasn't seeing the right bands at the right venues. A few coloured spotlights and some atmospheric smoke can make a huge difference, turning an album into a experience. Having a sound guy who knows his space is a plus too. Turns out that these things change the way you feel about the music. I am lucky to have Hubby expolring new musical territories while I work; coming home to a new favourite every few days.
Songs have a way of attaching themselves to our memory banks. Investing our lives with a soundtrack. I have started making regular deposits, accruing interest. Songs about wanting things to stay the same or sorry that things changed. Waiting for a wanting to end. How a few lively guitars can sound; then add a trumpet or string quartet and shift your state of mind. So, I sit quiet and calm at this reclaimed bar. Filling out a memory bank withdrawal slip, I think of youth and love, life and loss. My stringy damp hair sticking to my face as I start to sing along, beer in my hand, a song on my lips and in my heart. Loving the music I've listened to all my life and learning to be Myself again, though a slightly soggy version. So, I thought how-ABBAout I say thank you for the music, for giving it to me:)
Every month I have 3-5 days when I am a crazy full moon-atic. When this not so pleasurable version of me appears to keep Hubby company, he never takes it well. It also takes him 2 days of me being not so nice for him to realize that it has been 28ish days since I was this mean. So, needless to say he is finally getting the rhythm. I also admit that working 14 hour days, most of which are in Hamilton have amplified these symptoms. Yesterday, I wasn't nice at all. I didn't deserve a second thought, let alone a premeditated ambush of love. But that's what I got. He sniper-ed me with a happy marriage and a grenade of smiles. Starting my day at 4:30am has created a split in our sleeping schedules, some nights he works that late. Our weekends are full of all the errands and all the life we can jam into them. We've been busy. Today as I was waiting at work for my work to start again, I got a text.Hubby: I have a surprise for you when you get home:)Melicious: Ginger Beer!Hubby: Better.Melicious: The Comish has moved out?Hubby: Nah, he's staying...Melicious: Dang. You got me that super expensive nightie from SFYS? (SFYS: Secrets from your Sister, Toronto's most amazing lingerie boutique)Hubby: Nope.Melicious: Washed the Sheets?Hubby: Nope. But I'll do that too.Melicious: Oh geez. I racked my brain trying to figure out why this rainy Wednesday was suddenly so special. Two hours later I saw Hubby's Facebook post: "Melicious is going to be surprised when she gets home" Below this statement friends and relatives posted their hypotheses, I was surprised to see what they thought would surprise me. Thank Rod nobody suggested another FanBoy toy! Then text:
Hubby: 2 surprises.:)
Melicious: Oh dear my love.
Hubby: ETA? Wanna make sure things are nice for you.:)
Melicious: Why?
Hubby: There are 3 surprises.
Melicious: That's a bit much.
Hubby: You're worth it.
I sat at work thinking about surprises. I finished work. I rode home from work thinking about surprises. I got off the bus...then I walked home thinking about...that's right, surprises. Turns out I really love surprises. I should say that again. I REALLY love surprises. Climbing the four floors to my condo I thought some more. Turning my key in the lock, opening to smells of my current favourite food: Saag Paneer Roti. Mmmhmm, dinner is served. Hubby turning the corner close on Jilly's heels, both of them wagging with excitement to have me home. I smile. If this was the surprise- I really liked it. And I smiled. But I came into our nearly new apartment and you know what? It was painted. It was painted in one day. I left and came back and it was painted. The cans had been sitting in our den for the last 3 months waiting for their chance to show their true colours and they did. My house was transformed and I didn't even have to help do it:) BEST SURPRISE ever. My vintage inspired bedroom... I mean OUR bedroom is Bibbity Bobbity-Blue and the den is Buttercup yellow and their both done. Two coats, dry, clean and finished. Boy, was surprised. A huge checkmark for the TO DO list and a giant gold star for the best Hubby I've ever had. My 2 other surprises? Clean sheets and 2 books from my Wishlist. SO, as a representative appointed to speak for this Moon-atic; Hubby please remember she'll be back in a month and you've set the bar pretty high. I love you! I love you! I love you. But that's no surprise.
Text me, Facebook me, Tweet me but whatever you do, don't call me. In the last 3 weeks my phone has rung quite a bit and on the other end has been someone I loved and a few times something completely unexpected but just as special. But it made me realize; it's been a long time since I had one of 'those' phone calls. You know the ones I mean. The phone calls that stop the world and change everything. I've been so focused on being happy and taking advantage of all the good luck I've been having, that I forgot the whole universe is in motion. I'd forgotten things could change drastically and never change back.
When I was growing up I lost 3 Grandparents, an Uncle, a Cousin and one classmate for each year of high school. I've lost people to illness both quickly and slowly. Watched people fall apart and become someone I couldn't recognize. I have watched people loose themselves and forget everything they love. People have been ripped away, without warning. And people have lingered painfully. And the ringing of the telephone has always been the messenger. The phone can be a dangerous tool if wielded thoughtlessly.
On the other hand, I have had phone calls to welcome a new baby. People exploding with joy. Momma calling to share good news and Papa calling to tell me a joke. Phone calls about people traveling to interesting places, asking me to watch their animals. Conversations about raises and engagements. Good friends calling to check-in, and make plans. A job offer that you never dreamed you'd get. Each time the link has been a complex series of satellites and wires, bringing their special messages to me.
What I am getting at is this: Things have been going so well for me in my personal, private and professional life; that I had a shock of worry. Worrying if the other shoe would drop. I have been on a roll. Picking up the phone expecting nothing but the beep or the occasional wrong number. An optimist through and through... I just don't want anything to change. Please, please, please...I love things right now. I want to have my Parents forever, my Hubby beside me, my BFF nearby, my Bro happy, I want the freeze frame. Is that so much to ask? When listening to my BFF's voice carried over those wireless waves; I realized that nobody wants things to change. They would do anything to keep the happy status quo. But sometimes it's not up to us. Sometimes the phone rings and it's the call we've been dreading. So give those you love the 411 and trust that the world will keep changing, every time the phone rings.
Hubby and I moved into our new place 3 months ago. Our first evening at our new place, we were sitting and watching out our new windows. There was a man in a white, crisp collared shirt with a big lady bulldog. Both Hubby and I remarking how cute the puppa was. Until she pooped and her owner pretended not to see it and then walked away. Needless to say; the Commissioner was not impressed.
Since that first day, the amount of excrement has drastically increased. Hubby is convinced that it all belongs to the bull-dogette, which would actually be very impressive. That stocky lady must eat a lot cuz there is a lot of poop at various stages of decomposition and petrifaction. It's been bothering my Hubby every time he takes our Stinker out. Bothering him every time he looks out our window. And it started to bother me when the Commish wouldn't stop obsessing about it.
Then this past weekend; after 3 months of stewing over pooh. While standing, some might even say lurking on our patio (the deck as I refer to it ironically). Low and behold, the lady bulldog with her owner, wearing the same white collared shirt, let's his big lady do her business in the same outback area. The man looks around taking stock of who is watching-sees no one and walks away from the chocolate swirl his big lady left:( Hubby has had enough, 3 months of starring at poo from our window and obsessing has emboldened him.
"You gonna pick that up?" To which the man looks up and sees the 2 of us watching him from the deck.
"You gonna pick that up?" the Comish asked again.
"Can you see where it went?" the man laughs
"Yeah, it's right there, where your dog pooped."
"Point it out to me."
Hubby leaning over the railing points into a dark spot and makes a broad sweeping gesture. The man in the collared shirt laughs it off, bends down to collect it, waves and then says goodnight. Hubby feels great. The pride he feels for sticking up for himself fills the air. Suddenly, there's a voice from below.
"Pick it up!?! What are you the shit police?" Hubby and I were both surprised to hear this. Shit police? No, we've got way bigger fish to fry.
"Dude who gives a shit if I pick up this dog shit?" looking down from our deck, we find our downstairs neighbour: the man in the collared shirt and his dumbass douche friend.
"Look at it out here." Backwards hat drunk friend says while gesturing to the construction holes, temporary fence and general disarray. His rudeness adding to the disaster that is our 'yard'. We are surrounded by mud and I understand that it can seem like a little dog turd is the least of our esthetic landscaping problems.
"Its a dump. You think one piece of shit is gonna make a difference?"
"I don't want to look at your dog's dump. Don't you want to make this dump a little better?" I ask with my heart on my sleeve and my optimism squeaking from my throat.
"Well, I don't even live here why would I even give a shit?" And why should he give a shit if we don't? It is our home; and we need to take pride in it, no matter the current state. Right?
So, what did we achieve? Hubby yelled at the man in the collared shirt who picked up one teeny tiny dog turd, leaving the rest on display. Then the man turns out he's our downstairs neighbour. What are the odds of that? In our 3 building complex there is an average of 20 suites per floor, each building having 8 + storeys. The only person we've yelled at is an unhappy downstairs neighbour with a sloppy lady bulldog and a douche with a big mouth BFF, making us feel bad for being the try-harddo-gooders we are. What are the odds? I guess they're stacked meliciously against us, but don't worry Comish, I am a great partner who's not afraid to call for back-up.
This having a full time job thing is really cutting into quite a few of my preferred activities. Like hanging out, hanging out with friends, hanging out with my dog, you know important things. What having a full time job is great for is spreading the news. You know that news really does spread, New York, NEEEW Yooork. Sorry, tangent*refocusing hand. The problem is; I am not used to knowing what's happening in the world. I mean hearing it all. Floods and fires and shootings oh my. That's not even to say that whole southern cannibalism thing or foot in the mail business.
It can't be a coincidence that the world is going a bit crazy this year can it? That the four horsemen of the apocalypse are starting to saddle up and ride around our over populated world the way the Mayans predicted? Do you remember partying like it was 1999? Thinking that computers were going to implode and/or take over the world because they had never changed over a century. Well, that was one hell of a weird time too. People buying water, batteries, generators and stockpiling basements; as if it would really help. What did we think was really going to happen...oh right, we didn't know. That was the problem.
Now, let's talk Toronto this past week. There was a shooting in the Eaton's Centre with 8 injured and 1 dead. Rumour has it; it was gang related. And not to seem insensitive but that relieves me, I am slightly less horrified than I would be if it were a run of the mill psychopath who merely wanted to murder some mall shoppers. I feel awful for the injured parties. I also feel bad for the people who work at the mall, as it's been closed for investigation until further notice. Most of those part time employees don't have insurance to cover the lost wages.
The Union super flood? Let's break that down for a sec. It rained so hard and so fast that our Toronto transit couldn't keep the 3 lowest subways from flooding. They were closed the better part of the day. A system that people rely on to get them around the city, what's supposed to be the Better Way flooded like the lower decks of the Titanic. People running for their lives, again...Anybody else see a problem here? Oh, and what goes hand in glove with flood? Fire; that's what. The Ontario forest fires to be exact. The rain was needed to quench that; but Ontario's largest city got it instead. I heard estimates of rain as high as 60 cm...which I think is impossibly high, but my meteorology is a bit rusty.
As for the CDC releasing a statement to the effect that: Hey everybody, it's not a Zombie outbreak. It seems strange that we were worried it was. I will expand on this further, you better believe that we'll talk Zombie Infestation plan soon. But for now let's just glean. Okay, so of all the monsters in the whole wide range of monsters; humans are by far the scariest. Especially humans with a cannibalistic disease that can't be tested for or tracked. That's scary. People eating people, and more and more often. It's just a matter of time before human meat becomes the ultimate in eating locally:$
Alright, alright. Maybe I've seen one too many end of days movie; but it's typically the guy with the conspiracy theory that cracks the code (or dies first). So, maybe I should pick up a coulpe cases of water, some batteries, a shot gun and a good pair of running shoes. Or maybe I should loosen my tin foil hat and take a deep breath. Then again, it never hurts to be prepared.
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