Good Wednesday evening, my peeps! First off, to my Friday Ficioneer Friends, I apologise for not getting to all of you last week. Was one of those weeks. I shall strive to do much better this week, I promise!
Our Fabulous Fictioneer Facilitator, Rochelle, has chosen one of my photos. Hmm… wonder where she “snagged” that one from? All good. I did give her the A-OK, of course!
Should this cute decor inspire you to write your own 100- word story, please do and add your link by clicking on the blue frog below. It’s a fun challenge and really teaches you to cut the fluff!
They had arranged to meet at a bar/restaurant on the happening street of town. For most, it might seem weird to meet close to midnight but when you worked late shifts, this is what you did. No biggie, they were both night owls.
She got there early and waited by the entrance. She’d never noticed the umbrellas before. How cool! She snapped a few pics, shared them on Instagram and waited.
Over half-hour late. Starting to feel uncomfortable, and getting certain looks designed for a “working woman”, she chose to wait in her car.
Ever since her bout with cancer, my hairdresser only works three days per week (can’t say I blame her, quite frankly) – usually on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays. Occasionally, she’ll switch her Saturday for a Friday. More often than not, I get an appointment on Tuesdays (nice and quiet), sometimes on Thursdays (a bit more action); I avoid Saturdays because, frankly, I just do.
Last week, I called Françoise to see if she had any openings and she could only give me the next Friday morning at 9:00 am. I accepted (gawd that is early!) since I usually have Fridays off and if I don’t, I probably won’t start until 4:00 pm which just so happened to end up being the case. I know for most people 9:00 am is no big whup but when you work the night before until 11:00 pm or later, you just don’t really want to have to put the alarm clock on…
There was just Françoise, waiting for me, and one of her colleagues, let’s call her Yolande, because I have no clue what her name is, and she is taking care of one client whilst another waits in one of her chairs. Yolande talks loud. No, I mean LOUD. And she sounds like a dock worker. I asked my sister if she knew what her name was and her response was: “The one with the potty mouth? No clue.” 😉 So. Yolande it is.
Another customer comes in – Yolande’s. The noise level has gone up more than a decibel. Not long after, in comes Pierre-Luc, owner of the shop and requisite gay coiffeur – walk and talk as one has come to imagine as well as the expressive hands. What can I say? Stereotypes were not born of the air.
Pierre-Luc’s customer comes in.
During all this coming and going, at the other end of the salon, Françoise and I exchange looks and smiles, with the occasional laugh at the conversation behind us, while she does my own roots in a shade of exactly my natural colour (coz I’m wild like that) and if she wants to speak to me, bends down close to my ear otherwise must shout above the din. She is not the shouting kind.
Dye applied, she leaves me to read for my 45 minutes as her customer comes in. Or rather, attempt to read. I go through comments on my last post, chat with a friend on messenger, and then try to get into my book. I, at first, keep my back turned to the circus behind me in said attempt. Finally, unable to concentrate, I give up and turn around to enjoy the show fully.
One woman, who is trying really, REALLY hard to “keep it young” is sitting in the third chair. Her flaming red hair is standing up in chunks all over her head, while her roots are being refurbished with the appropriate shade of “You Can’t Miss Me”, giving one the impression said chunks are pulling her face up though we know it’s the result of one visit too many with Dr. Nip and Tuck. Her face is painted to match her hair, clothes appropriately loud – ’nuff said. Trying hard to look sophisticated and worldly until she opens her mouth and the trash talk that emits is enough to make one take a step back. She is Yolande’s customer.
The door opens and a man pops his head in, letting Ms Flashy-Red know he saw her car and knew she must be close by and hoped to see her. Then leaves. Well THAT starts a whole rush of “What was that?” and she admits the man seems a tad smitten with her and basically follows her around. The comments of “Did you call the police?” are mingled with the “Look at you with your admirer!” One can’t help but laugh. The man is in his early 70’s or well-used late 60’s…
Just as my timer pings, Mr. Loverboy pops his head in to check on his “sweetie”, well hidden behind Yolande, who is just finishing up one of her ladies – you know the type who comes for her weekly wash and set, now properly pouffed and spray-netted and sent out the door.. He says: “I get to see you in your pre-beauty stage!” and leaves.
Ms Flashy-Red says, “Oh my God, he won’t leave me alone and he can’t see me!”
To which I retort: “If you want to get rid of him, maybe you should let him see you like this!” Everyone cracks up.
By now, I have had my hair washed and have moved to Françoise’s chair for my cut. In the mirror I can see Pierre-Luc teasing (they still tease?) the hair of one of his weekly-wash-and-set ladies and find myself wondering if all of this should end up in a post. Of course it must as here I am.
The conversations are one one top of the other; a true cacophony. The customers know each other; the hairdressers (we are not in the “stylist” business here) interjecting their two cents’ worth… I feel I’m in the middle of a mix of “Coming To America” and “Steel Magnolias”. Everybody knows everybody and their business and I’m just sitting here enjoying the show
Oh… and, before you ask… end result (once I re-wet it and removed all the gunk…)
“See me for who I am, and then you’ll see the real me.”
― Anthony T. Hincks
I have had many adjectives assigned (allotted? thrown?) to/at me over the years. Most, I believe, are positive: athletic, strong, caring, generous, beautiful, smart, intelligent, cultured, interesting, resilient (why do I cringe with this one?), open, accepting, helpful, talented, optimistic, realistic, honest, funny. Some, I know, are negative: bitchy, cold, heartless, naive, disorganized, lazy, delusional, ridiculous, foolish, sarcastic (on the fence on where this one belongs) – there are surely more but why focus on the negative? And some fall somewhere in-between; or rather, I know they are not necessarily negative per se, but when they were thrown at me, were not meant to be complimentary: eccentric, weird, different. Many, as you can see, are contradictory because perception is, well, what you perceive.
One day I will get to the point in my life where I can say this is my philosophy as well. I am working on it. I like to think I’m a good 75% there.
What has this got to do with my title? Everything. And nothing, to tell the truth. I am, and have been, at various times in my life, every single one of the adjectives above – and more. And will again in the future. Because that is who I am. What you see, is what you get. No one is all good, all the time, no matter what people say or think (ridiculously optimistic)? Nor are they all bad, all the time either (foolishly delusional)?
I’m blathering.
Because I have been thinking lately about friendships and romance. And won’t lie. Have been rather frustrated and kinda lonely at times. Maybe I’ve been thinking too much!
We are dying from overthinking. We are slowly killing ourselves by thinking about everything. Think. Think. Think. You can never trust the human mind anyway. It’s a death trap.
And, much as I say I have no expectations, it’s really hard not to have at least a little…
Friendships: We form all sorts of friendships with people. Some are surface-type and of lesser import and others go much deeper. With the deeper ones, we like to think (and can’t help but expect) the other feels the same way about us as we do, them. It is heartbreaking when you realise that no, you are not on the same wavelength at all. Sometimes the other plays along to your tune to make you happy until they finally admit to themselves that this is not what they wanted in the first place and slowly drift away or immediately cut ties. You are left standing wondering what the hell you did wrong and why the music stopped. The truth is, you did nothing wrong. And neither did they. The other had different lyrics in mind. To be fair, it goes both ways. And to be even more honest, there rarely is malicious intent (this may be naive of me but I’ll keep that trait, thank you very much). Of course, it would be wonderful if each communicated to the other their desires from the get-go…
“When you part from your friend, you grieve not; For that which you love most in him may be clearer in his absence, as the mountain to the climber is clearer from the plain.”
― Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet
Romance/Sex/Love: This one is a hard one. I can say all sorts of things but losing Mick put me in a position I was frankly not that interested in finding myself. I remember telling him once that I would prefer to keep the devil I knew then to find myself out there on the “market” again. Thanks a lot, Mick. What’s a woman to do? 51, working in her own kitchen, all her friends (mostly) are coupled… How are you supposed to meet people guys? So I signed up for a couple dating Apps. Yes, those ones. And I won’t lie. I had a lot of fun. And a lot of headaches. I was not looking to become part of a full-time couple – not permanently, anyway and not at that particular time 😉 I wanted to go out, do stuff with someone, date. Not that I have a problem with taking myself to the movies and such; but let’s face it, it is much more enjoyable à deux. This dating shit is not for the faint of heart, lemme tell you. I could write a book. Point is, I go off and on these stupid sites every time I get fed up of being alone and in the hope of meeting someone who wants to do more than have a one-night-stand. That old optimism thing. Which I quit again. Was exhausting.
“…sometimes I get tired. Sometimes I get bored. And sometimes all I want, more than anything else in the world, is to go on a freaking date.”
― Kiersten White, Paranormalcy
I shall call this my little rant. It shall pass. It always does.
Worked an 11-hour shi(f)t and am a tad wired. It’s 1:00 a.m. and I can’t sleep. This story swam in my head on my way home. After some deliberation, this is what I came up with. 🙂
Thank you, always, to Rochelle for being the ultimate cat-herder with this unruly group! This week, she chose Liz Young‘s photo. Last time I checked, it was July and not October which makes this choice all the more fun and challenging. Smooth, Oh Purple One!
Care to join in on the fun? It is, you know… Fun that is. And when people read your stories and comment on yours, as you do theirs, well, the joy is multiplied. So, do not be shy, click on the Blue Frog below and add your link. Easy-peasy!
“Send me off forever but I ask you please
Don’t fence me in…”
“Shut up!”
“No? Don’t like that one? How ’bout:
‘She’s in the jailhouse now…
Ah-di-o-dalee-eehee-dee-o-ti!'”
For Chrissakes… you are so not worth this agony. Stop!”
“What? You kidnap me, lock me up, hope to get who knows how much moolah from my folks and you want me to keep quiet? Screw you! I’m useless to you dead.
“I’m stuck in Folsom Prison
And time keeps draggin’ on….”
“Fine, Little Birdy, sing. You ain’t getting out ‘til your folks pay up.” He left, closing the door behind him.
It’s true. I cannot lie. I am lazy. No, no, don’t bother, ye who get “exhausted” reading my posts about all the things I have to take care of. No, no. That’s me being pushed against the wall, forced to take care of whatnot and whoseit, truth be told. I so love a clean house. Hate cleaning it. I love a beautiful garden. Hate weeding it. Love a clean car. What is UP with men getting all excited to clean theirs? I think my mother rubbed off on me! She always says she was meant to be a “Poule de Luxe” – which literally translates to a “Luxury Chick” I could be A-OK with sitting on my arse, book in one hand, something cool and refreshing in the other and while away the hours while someone else does the work. Of course, I would never have that satisfaction you get from a job well done. Or done as well as it could be.
I do this to myself EVERY SINGLE YEAR! I take a stroll around my front yard and note the roses are surrounded, kept from showing off. Those evil weeds just keep coming back. I do have to hand it to them. They are so very clever, insinuating themselves around the bases of plants that will gladly rip my skin off as I bring an end to their existence. Of course I could use a claw-thingy (oh look, it’s called a “Cultivator” – thank you Google), and I do… but let’s face it, you can’t remove the corpses with other than your hands, encased in gloves, or not.
Having finally cleared out the weeds, I walked around my little “patio” in the front and was promptly refused access by the overgrowth of some tree – sorry. I have absolutely NO idea what each and every plant is except for the lilac – and that’s coz I love them and I planted it there. Anyway. I sure hope my timing was okay but I spent a good hour pruning said trees and bushes so that I could, if I so wanted to set myself up to, sit on my little patio and watch any passersby pass by.
I can tell you. I foolishly (or not) did not take any before pictures, but it shore to look perty now…
Weed-free
Pruned… well most of ’em
Now that I am looking at the picture, I am reminded that my, ummm, “shaping skills” must next be made to work on hedges and other shrubs… that one in the patio pic, in the back… looks like it’s having a bad hair day, morning-after-the-night-before style, don’t you think? Maybe I should leave them to the experts. Like when I call them, because I so want to spend more hard-earned dinero on this house before selling it, to trim my cedar hedges. Mick used to do it every year but, since I need to pay, I think ever two is just fine. Which means it’s this year.
Speaking of Mick, lemme just apologise to him right now – again. He used to do almost all this stuff by himself. The trimming of trees and laying down of mulch – reminder to self: GET THE BLOODY MULCH so I don’t have to break my back for the rest of the summer.
And, finally, I get to the point of my post. Talk about taking the scenic route…
Why, oh why, did your work ethic NOT rub off on us, Mick? OK… maybe it was too late for me, (old dogs and all that) but could you not have been that little bit more influential on your sons? They really did not have to take after me in this certain aspect. OK… Maybe I’m being a little harsh on myself, maybe I’m not lazy per se, just not particularly organised, or rather, consistent. It would definitely make my life a lot easier if I were.
So, I’m trying to change things up here. I’ve been trying to show the boys that doing a little each day keeps things less discouraging. That, I, too, work a full-time job but still get shit done. That it’s okay to have moments to relax (post on my fabulous yesterday to come tomorrow) but that there must be times spent doing one’s share. Would be insanely fabulous if they could do so without my having to nag and complain.
Trying to have MY newfound work ethic rub off on them…
Good Wednesday, my peeps! It is Friday Fictioneers time and this week we have a sorta special. Rochelle and I decided to link our stories, just for fun. So…if you haven’t already, you really should read hers first 😉 then mine… Our lovable clown, Russell, is the “hero” of our stories so… Russell, just know, we absolutely adore you!
If you want the rules and regs, well, you’ve already seen them on Rochelle’s blog, right? If you want to simply link your story, please click on the blue frog…
Shelley and Dale were hot and sweaty from their hike. Shelley said it would be nice to cool off in Gayer’s pond but worried, saying he was mean as they come.
“Looks harmless to me. Offer him a drawing.”
Shelly would have none of that as she felt he had no clue about art.
“Hey! Draw him with that clown nose he likes so much. Oh, and put that bloody invisible box he goes on and on about. Hey Farmer Gayer! How ’bout Shelley draw a picture of you in exchange for a swim?”
I swear, those two! Karen and Marc have done it again. This time they’ve dragged Frank in as well. Will be interesting if he plays with us this time. You see, Karen read an article, shared it with Marc, they extracted 11 words then emailed me, sending me a copy of the text that inspired this craziness (no, you cannot read it). Karen’s story is here. Marc’s is coming tomorrow, he said. Mine follows. And yes. It is my birthday today so, I went with that 😉
Birthday Dinner
She was invited to join her friends at the Clubhouse Bistro Bar to celebrate her birthday but declined, choosing to stay quietly at home, in her new comfy chair, with a TCM movie, a glass of wine and a burger picked up from the drive-thru. No cooking today. However, on her way out, she ran into that busybody Ethel with her passion for Jesus. What she would give to dunk that self-righteous Dinosaur‘s head in a bowl of Holy Water! Desperate to get away from Ethel, she quickly retraced her steps.
Sans burger, it looked like the Twinkies, sent by her friend, Marc, who was trying to bring her to the dark side after all their joking around about the merits of the “cake”, would be her meal. She couldn’t be cross with him now could she? She even gave him absolution now that she had nothing else to eat.
*******************
Now, I know this was shortlived, however, it did traumatize certain, peeps…
