One month, four weeks

"Hey. What's up?"

"Hey."

"Haven't heard from you in a couple days."

"Yeah."

"Busy?"

"Yeah."

"So, how's your girlfriend?" A chuckle.

"I don't have one." Laughter.

"Ok, then how's your boyfriend?"

"How do you know David? It's not official yet."

Uh, what?

One month, four weeks. All that time wasted on this and I could've been doing something worthwhile instead of waiting around for nothing to happen.

Thankfully, it took less than 28 days to forget about S.

Snot on a sweater

Why do I have to sneeze so hard that snot ends up on my black, fine-knit jersey sweater before a premiere? And why does no one tell me about the wad of goo before I leave the office?

Farting in someone else's bed

Medical studies show that a person has to pass gas approximately 14 times a day. Whether it's all at once, or spread out throughout the day, inevitably people have to let a couple of them rip or face the consequence of implosion.

For some reason, there is never a good time or place to pass gas in public.

But, the most bothersome aspect of this is when you're in bed. If it's your own, you can always flap the sheets, hoping the smell will dissipate. If you're in someone else's bed, then you have a problem... especially if someone else is in the bed with you.

What to do?

The best way to handle this is by slipping out of bed, going to the loo, turning on the exhaust fan, squeezing your butt cheeks and slowly let them out. I never said it would be the only (or easist) way to handle nocturnal emissions, just the most tactful.

Of course, everyone does it, but no one wants to admit it (sort of like shitting). The last thing you want is for someone you like to think you about you and farting in conjuction. Then again, I don't fart. Ever.

Grocery shopping turns me on

Every time I go to the grocery store, I want to run out as fast as I can. It's not the fact that the parking lot has no spaces close to the entrance, the store is filled with fat and obnoxious people, and there's never any fresh strawberries when I want them.

No, the fact why I don't like going to the grocery store isn't due to the shopping, but the employees. None of them are old, most of them are in high school or college and approximately 80 per cent of them are pretty hot.

For some reason, the attractiveness gene skipped my generation. True, there is something about adulthood that lends itself to a mature sexuality, but nothing beats youth.

And, when you see them give you the eye, there's nothing I can do but place my basket in front of my basket. Maybe they're being friendly, but I don't think their goal is to see who sells the most melons. None of them work on commission. If I pay any attention to their wanted advances, I can come across as a lascivious old man. Then again, it doesn't help when I'm casually holding a cucumber against my crotch.

When the cashier hands me my receipt, gives me a wink and tells me to have a great day, I feel like taking her on the conveyor belt, right in front of the other customers.

But, those thoughts leave my mind the minute I walk back outside to the parking lot, but they'll come back the second I walk through those doors the following week when I go grocery shopping.

Text messages in the night

Just to prove the sort of person I attract, at 1:30 a.m., my phone rings its shrill tone that breaks the silence and jolts me out of bed. It’s a text message. When I lean over and grab the phone (situated beside my head), I scroll down and look at the number; it’s unknown to me.

Then I read the message: It’s XXX!!! Wanna have some hot sex. I’m horny!!!

I look at the name. I have no idea who it is. Who the fuck got my number? It’s unlisted and I hardly ever give it out to anyone. Those who I do give it out to are in my phone book. This name and number is not there.

When I look through my e-mail contacts in the morning, I find who it is. It’s kind of a shock. J disappeared off the face of the planet almost a year ago. Haven’t heard anything since. Of course, as it was with J, I’d get messages out of the blue and they were usually for the same thing.

It’s a good thing I never took them too seriously (after being stood up a year ago), because now I can turn over in bed and fall right back asleep after receiving a text message in the middle of the night.

So friggin' cold

Upon waking up this morning, I realize something is wrong. It's not the pending feeling of doom that lingers over my head like most days, but that the heat isn't on in my room. The temperatures dipped to below 20 degrees Celcius overnight and I was feeling the brunt of it. Fuck, I hate this.

When I get out of bed, I huddle over to keep warm. It works for a couple of seconds. Goosebumps appear over goosebumps. Making my way to the bathroom, my posture resembles that of an 80-year-old man with scoliosis.

Since I have to commute, I have to jump into a cold car and drive to the train. The metal creaks and groans, like I do in the morning; only one of them should be making those sounds. Four seconds after I walk outside, I feel my testes making their way inside, trying to escape from the cold.

The only benefit is my face loses all muscle memory and it’s as blank and emotionless as a Park Avenue doyenne who is regularly shot with litres of Botox. Sadly, it’s not only my face that doesn’t feel a thing – the rest of my body is taken over by frostbite.

At work, it takes me a while to get warm. Eventually, the sensation of feeling returns to my body, but I think I’ve lost a fingertip in the process of flexing it when typing on the keyboard.

Why can't winter be warmer? I'm not asking for Ecuador, but this is getting too close to Edmonton for my tastes (and testes).

After birthday

Even though January 10 is a national holiday, commemorating my birth, it doesn't mean the weather will work in my favour.

**

The snow started to fall around 8 p.m. on Friday night. It seemed safe enough to venture outside at the time. The only thing I didn't realize was the snow wasn't going to stop falling into the next morning.

The plan was to be at the club at 10:30; early enough to avoid some of the crowds, and not-so-early as to appear like a bunch of losers who have nothing to do than go to a club at a really early hour. Because of the snow, those plans changed as we waited for people to arrive at J's (so we could take a couple of cabs at once).

It didn't work out that way, so it was every man for himself.

The cab ride to the club should've lasted approximately 5-7 minutes. Instead, it took 25 minutes. Everyone was driving slowly and swerving from side to side, as if they had all gone off their tracks and were magnetized to every other vehicle on the road.

Upon arriving at the club, we were not allowed in because the club was already at capacity. It wouldn't have mattered if we had reservations (which I didn't bother to make because I thought I would've been there an hour before). The snow continued to fall as a group of us waited outside (while a couple of friends waited inside for us).

When we - finally - crossed the threshold, things changed. The music was thumping, the crowd was rubbing elbows, and we were slowly defrosting. A couple of drinks later and a bit of manoeuvring around the masses, we were in a better place.

Of course, I managed to get a hold of table by doing what I do very well: move things out of the way and claim the territory as my own, while feigning ignorance. The group of us sit with our drinks and have a few laughs, oblivious to the fact that it was 1:30 a.m. and we were hungry.

After a trip to a fast food joint, we start to make our way back home. Sadly, everyone else had the same idea, so we were jockeying for the same cabs. While we tried to hail a cab, we ended up making our way back home - it was just easier than waiting in the snow.

The only saving grace was falling into bed at 3 in the morning... and going to sleep at 4.

Unbirthday

According to Wikipedia, an unbirthday is an event that can be celebrated on any day that is not the person's birthday. It was originally coined in Lewis Carroll's Through the Looking Glass, which became a very well-known song (at least to me) "A Very Merry Unbirthday to You" in the 1951 Disney animated feature film Alice in Wonderland.

And although tomorrow is my official birthday, today is my unbirthday. So, a very merry unbirthday to me, to me!

To those who are celebrating their unbirthdays today, I wish you a very merry one.

To those who are celebrating one tomorrow, just realize it's a national holiday in Canada, commemorating my birth.

**

By the way, cash is the birthday gift that keeps on giving. Just so you know...

Birthday plans

For the past two weeks, people have started making comments about my pending birthday. Namely, they want to know what I’m doing to celebrate my 25th on January 10.

Part of me wants to do something special, while the other part of me doesn’t want to do a thing because of all the work that goes into doing something special.

J has asked several times what I want to do and I’ve said I don’t care. Even though my birthday is celebrated as a national party in Canada, to me, it’s a day like any other.

But I feel like I have to do something for my family and friends. And, since I’m one for planning and not being spontaneous (if you want to see me pissed off, surprise me with something), inevitably I’m the person who’ll be putting things together.

It’s not about the gifts and candles on the cake, but it’s figuring out when to do it (day and time), where to go, what to do there, who will be invited (and who won’t), who will RSVP, how everyone will get there, etc. etc.

Who knew that planning your own birthday party would be a lot of work? If it’s this much of a pain, I’m not going to do a thing and stay 24 for another year.

By the way, mark January 10 with a big, red circle on your calendar...