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Archive for August, 2005

At least my physiotherapist will be happy.

August 28, 2005 3 comments
I went to see a physiotherapist on Wednesday to see what she could do about my shoulder. I injured it last summer at a soccer game and haven’t gotten around to fixing it yet. Essentially, it works well as long as I keep my arms below shoulder level. This is actually kind of a handy restriction to have, since the wtb is appalled by people who dance with their arms above their head.
 
During my appointment, the physio asked me when my next soccer game was. I replied that I had playoffs coming this weekend, but would then be off until October. Although she was concerned that I would be playing four games in two days, she was grateful for the month of rest. Plenty of time to fix me up and send me on my way.
 
Time passes and Friday arrives. I pick up the wtb and we head on over to my first game of the weekend. I tried to do all the stretches my physio recommended, but the game was a 6:30 pm start and after putting up the nets, there was barely enough time for me to get my gloves on before scurrying onto the field.
 
The first five or ten minutes of the game go well. I get a little work, but nothing I can’t handle. Then the magic moment: The ball is lobbed in from way down the field and is approaching me at a very high bounce with players giving chase. I make the instantaneous keeper decision to attack the ball. Normally when it is coming that high, I would either catch it, or if there’s a crowd like now, I would punch it. No problem. Unfortunately, it was out of my crease. I couldn’t touch it with my hands, which leaves me the option to head the ball. I have headed the ball before without any issues so I don’t anticipate any problems.
 
Problem.
 
The forward running in, trying to score, decides that she, too, would like to head the ball.
 
One of my defensemen  later sent me an email saying that the "sickening crack" of our skulls connecting gave her nightmares all weekend. Let me tell you, it was pretty loud from where I heard it too.
 
I dropped to the ground immediately, thanks to the effect of gravity on my large butt. I was on my knees with my head on the ground, thinking that because I didn’t know where the ball was and I was obviously not anywhere near the net, I should just stay down there until the ref blew the whistle. Then I hear one of my players yell, "She’s bleeding!" That doesn’t sound good.
 
I feel my nose as logically, that seems a good place to bleed and find nothing unusual so I think, "must be the other player". Then I lift my head and a stream of blood pours out from my left temple at roughly the same flow you’d get from a well-maintained drinking fountain. I watch the grass turn red.
 
By then my team surrounds me. I am thinking, ‘I hope the wtb’s ok or she’ll never come to watch another soccer game ever". I am told to lift my head. I do. Julie bravely puts her bare hand on my gushing forehead. I spurt blood all over her. She tells me to put my gloved hand against my head as additional pressure. I do.
 
Through the crowd of players and spurts of blood, I see the wtb. She defied her instinct telling her that only players were allowed on the field and came to get me! Someone wrapped a towel around my head and we all wandered off the field.
 
After doing a quick check to ensure my eyes were ‘tracking’, they gave the wtb directions to the hospital and we drove away. Well, there was a bit of a pause in the parking lot as small children danced around the car and the mother looked on with a very dopey grin. No lady, your children are not adorable, they are in the way and I’m bleeding to death. This towel with pieces of my brains on it should give it away.
 
Anyway, we got to the hospital and within 90 minutes, I had six stitches and a tetanus shot.
 
The player who hit me went to a different hospital and waited 150 minutes for only four stitches (no tetanus shot).
 
I was told that I had to be with a "responsible adult" for 24 to 48 hours and that she had to wake me up every two hours to ensure I was lucid. So I brought the wtb back to my place to be the responsible adult. (I had no other options – my mother doesn’t get here until next week.)  As the wtb can sleep through a train wreck, I set my alarm clock. It went off, I got up and re-set it for two hours later and went back to bed. In the morning, I asked if she heard the alarm go off at all that night, she replied that she hadn’t. So really, if I had died in my sleep, I’m sure she only would have told me to stop hogging the covers and then rolled my corpse off the bed.
 
Anyway, I was told not to do any strenuous activity for 24-48 hrs so I did not play the rest of the tournament. We finished second though. Exactly where we would have finished had I played the rest of the games.
 
The photo below shows what I looked like Sunday morning. It’s not as bad as it looks. I haven’t even taken a Tylenol since it happened.
 
And my physiotherapist will be glad my shoulder is ok.
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Anglophone angst.

August 25, 2005 Leave a comment
Occasionally, I will peruse the job search sites to find out if anyone else has positions similar to mine, and if so, how much they get paid.
 
I just found the perfect job for me: Quality Process Manager for a company that requires the applicant be comfortable with "gay male ADULT" situations.
 
Unfortunately, I cannot apply as you have to be bilingual.
 
Or was that ‘bisexual’?       Damn! Either way, I’m inelegible.
 
Categories: LGBT

Centipede invasion!

August 25, 2005 Leave a comment
A couple of weeks ago, the wtb was doing laundry in my basement. I was sleeping upstairs. Please don’t draw the conclusion that she slaves away doing housekeeping while I lounge. I assure you, this is not the case.
 
Anyway, she comes upstairs and tells me that there is a "huge centipede with millions of legs swimming in the laundry sink". Apparently, she was doing laundry and noticed the bug in the sink. As it was too large to squish, she tried to drown it by turning on the tap and filling the sink with water. Then she noticed that the bug was Alex Bauman. (He’s a Canadian Olympic swimmer.)
 
"Are you sure he was swimming and not drowning?" I asked.
 
"Yes," she replied and acted out a pretty good impersonation of the bug to illustrate the ‘swimming’ action, which obviously could not be mistaken for drowning.
 
So I had to take care of it. I grabbed some tp, went downstairs, looked in the sink and found a bug that was hardly a "huge centipede with millions of legs" – it was a small bug with wings and maybe six legs. And it certainly wasn’t swimming, it was drowning. I smushed it and went back to bed.
 
The next day, we were downstairs folding laundry and started discussing the bug. I told her that her bug identification skills needed some work. Then we discovered that there was indeed a centipede and that it somehow escaped the sink, leaving a poor non-centipede bug to suffer its fate. We have been unable to find the centipede.
 
Last week, Mikey, a co-worker, calls me into his office. There is a huge centipede on his office wall. We decide to capture it and humanely release it into the parking lot. I get a paper cup and eventually trap it. It took a lot of chasing as this Ben Johnson bug had a lot of speed. But we did manage to catch it and release it back to Mother Earth – well Mother Asphalt anyway.
 
Today, Allison, another co-worker, comes into my office describing her valiant efforts to thwart a centipede in the ladies washroom. Unlike Mikey, she could handle the bug on her own and it only took two attempts to throw a paper towel over it and squash it with her shoe. But then she was unable to pick up the bloody corpse and throw it out. That became my job.
 
Sigh. I really thought people valued me for more than just bug disposal.
Categories: Uncategorized

The lesser of two evils.

August 22, 2005 Leave a comment
The wtb’s parents did a wonderful job, through intent, skill or just blind luck, of raising a human being that I love dearly. She’s an amazing woman on so many levels, it is impossible to list them all. [Aside: I bet she would want me to list them all though.]
 
And yet, I cannot decide which parent is my preferred wtb parental obligation:
 
Her father is a born-again christian. He loves the wtb (and visibly demonstrates this through various fatherly statements and actions) but does believe she is need of spiritual re-alignment before she will be allowed eternal salvation. Being her partner, I, too, need some spiritual re-alignment. I also need a haircut, but that’s neither here nor there.
 
While visiting him last week, he only suggested that the wtb get a real job (she works for a children’s book publisher), that my issues with the translation of the bible he gave me were based on my poor lifestyle behaviours – not the translation, and that allowing same-sex marriages was an example of how crazy society has become. Then we had to sit and listen to some very racially offensive jokes from his foster son.
 
On the plus side, I think he likes me personally as he has suggested I become a foster parent, did come and visit me in the hospital, and also insisted on a hug before I left on Sunday.
 
Her mother, on the other hand, doesn’t think I’m going to hell. Or if she does, she keeps it to herself.
 
Her mother also appeals to my virgosity as she is tidy, clean and purges excess household items well. Unfortunately, she usually tries to purge them in the wtb’s direction. She also bought the wtb a paper shredder for her birthday, which is a horrible gift choice for the wtb, but an excellent gift choice for me. We kept the shredder at my place for several months before our break up. Then it went back to the wtb’s house with her food processor, clothes, toothbrush and squawky cat. Although we are kind of reconciled (enough for me to accompany her to her dad’s, but not enough to buy wedding cake toppers), only the toothbrush has returned to my house.
 
This weekend, the mother wanted to go out with the wtb and her sister, but we already had plans so we offered to meet them for dinner afterward. Mother was not amused and cancelled everything because:
 
(a) the wtb did not change plans from attending a once-a-year event to attending an event that is available year round, and
(b) the wtb invited me along.
 
To my recollection, I have never been invited to the mother’s home or along on an outing. But she does give me gas money when I do visit.
 
I’m conflicted: a politically-incorrect father who treats me well but thinks I’m destined for eternal damnation versus a politically-correct, virgo mother who seems to dislike me.
 
 
By the way, have I mentioned how much I love my own parents?
 
 
Categories: Uncategorized

My grandmother would agree…

August 19, 2005 6 comments
I received a thank you card from a co-op student working at our company. It was very thoughtful and I’m very grateful.
 
However, in the last paragraph, she wrote:
 
"I am happy to know you such a nice girl. I hope you could find a good husband soon."
 
And my friends are surprised when I say that I can pass for straight. I’m telling you, the fact that I’m queer never occurs to some people.
Categories: Family, Work

A Giggle of Seniors

August 18, 2005 4 comments
I had a couple of hours to kill between work and joining the wtb to watch Canadian Idol. So I went to see Broken Flowers at the Queensway Odeon.  I was there early, so I read Trans-Sister Radio (one of my library books) until it started.
 
My review of the movie: not awful. Very slow. Sharon Stone was unrecognizable.
 
My review of the book: excellent. I really like it so far, but I’m only about halfway through.
 
Anyway, as I was walking out of the movie, a group of elderly ladies (I think that’s called a "giggle"…) was also walking out. One turned to me and asked, "Did you think that movie was laugh out loud funny?"
 
I said that no, I did not think it was "laugh out loud" funny – it was a very subtle funny. She agreed and informed me that the tv commercial had said it was "laugh out loud" funny and that, although she HAD laughed out loud once or twice, she didn’t think it was "laugh out loud" funny.
 
Then her companion asked me if I liked it. I replied that it will do for a matinee. She replied that could be done in a half an hour. Apparently, she thought is was slow too.
 
Very much enjoying our conversation, I added that if the lighting were better, I would have read my book. She agreed and said "Dear, I would read it with you." And she couldn’t help but agree that at least it would be worse had we seen The 40 Year Old Virgin. Although maybe not. It did get some good reviews.
 
I hope that when I’m in my twilight years, I’ll have a giggle of women to go to bad movies with.
Categories: Uncategorized

And it’s FREE! (that’s less than a dollar)

August 16, 2005 Leave a comment
 
The wtb has been trying to convince me to get a library card since I met her. It’s part of the Guelph hippy plan to convert me to a Value Village shopper. I think my reluctance has to do with bad memories of going to the Edmonton Public Library in 1988 with Fanny and Bash to borrow books for our King Lear essays. The evil librarian publicly reprimanded us for trying to borrow so many King Lear texts and made us put some back. So much for the pursuit of higher intellect in a conservative, red neck, albertan library. No wonder I left.
 
Anyway, in an effort to convince me to return to the library system, the wtb has been borrowing books and movies and sharing them with me. She has been largely unsuccessful with the movies because library movies are very lame. They are worse than the dvd’s in WalMart’s $6.99 bin o’ dvd’s. I only watch them because it’s a good excuse to cuddle on the couch. he he.
 
However, with the books, she has been much more successful. I have quite enjoyed the library books she’s lent me. In fact, I don’t know how she finds all these good books. And many are queer-based books, which I didn’t think the library would condone – especially after the uptight Edmonton Public Library experience.
 
So now I have a Mississauga library card. I borrowed three books on my first trip. I’ve finished two of them and am working on the third. I also just finished a book that the wtb borrowed from the Toronto Library.
 
These Guelph hippies may be onto something. But I’m still not going to shop at Value Village. ew.
Categories: Uncategorized