Posts from — September 2009

I wish I had a personal panic button. It would be perfect for those situations where an abrupt cessation of activity or exit point is required.  Of course, it would need to be sophisticated and have teeny, tiny speakers that put out some ‘boom’.

 Allow me to illustrate:

Situation 1

 I’m trying to reason with a difficult client. She has brought her aunt along with her for ‘support’. They have both been hit with the stupid-stick a time (or ten) too many. There is no way for me to make them understand any time this century. I’m about to snap.

 Click.  (That’s me pressing my panic button).

 A low, beeping alarm sounds through the room.

 Computer-Generated Voice:  Auto shutdown engaged. Back away from the Jenny. I repeat, back away from the Jenny. Initiating destruct sequence: 10…9…8…

 At this point, I give my client my best, wide-eyed, concerned look and say “Oh dear. You’d better go. This has never happened before. It can’t be safe. Run!”

 Ideally, my stupid client and her stupid aunt would scurry on out of there. Yay!

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Isn’t technology great? I just received an email notification that my new cello is in Industry, California – right on schedule. Unless there are unexpected delays with Canada Customs, I think I can reasonably expect to have my new cello in my eager hands by next weekend. Yay!

My new cello is Chinese. I don’t even know which luthier supervised its creation. I only know that the reputable Linda West has repaired a minor blemish and vamped it up for my playing pleasure. I haven’t even heard the cello and only have Linda’s assurance of its solidity and warm, even tone.

It’s not particularly wise to purchase a cello you haven’t seen, handled and heard but it was a bargain I couldn’t pass up. Cross your fingers for me, Readers, as there are mixed reviews on the quality of currently manufactured Chinese cellos.

Perhaps my recent awakening of emotions has repercussions. I think I’m becoming THAT girl. You know, the one you see in the grocery store but pretend you don’t and promptly turn on your heel and dash toward the nearest baking aisle so you can pretend to be involved in selecting chocolate chips – Oh no! Here comes THAT girl with all the sappy feelings! Look busy!

Yup, I might be that girl.

I recently toured the tunnels of Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan with THAT guy responsible for all my renewed sappiness. I was both saddened and outraged for all the Chinese immigrants that were exploited in their labours for the underground laundries.

I can’t help but picture then toiling away in substandard conditions while carving cellos in their native China – overworked and underpaid in much the same fashion as the Chinese immigrants.

Though this idea should have deterred my recent purchase, I can’t help but feel that my cello will have added personal value. I imagine that somehow the labour, energy and dreams of determined, Chinese souls have been imprinted on my instrument and it will sing all the sweeter because of it.

I’m a lucky girl…with only a few, minor psychological issues.  

It isn’t easy to admit that in relation to men I am unable to answer the question “What do you want?” With the exception of absolute, must-have personality traits (ie. an awesome, somewhat warped sense of humour) I can’t seem to get past my unwillingness to create and categorize my ‘ideal’ man. I don’t believe, for example, he must be blonde-haired and blue-eyed with only one dimple, a slightly crooked grin, Schwarzenegger’s abs and all the exact same interests as me.

How realistic is that, really? If a man has black hair, lacks dimples entirely and hates painting one another’s toe nails during slumber parties he doesn’t even get a shot? He just gets the ‘once-over’ and immediate dismissal? What if he’s one of those rare gems that treats me like the sexiest woman alive even when my hair is a disaster, I’m not wearing a stitch of makeup and my ass is hanging out of the baggy pyjama pants I should’ve thrown out long ago?

Maybe I’m looking at it wrong and I need to focus on the most pertinent categorizations but I really couldn’t be bothered. I don’t want to specify skills, interests and physical characteristics. Aren’t I supposed to “just know”? I don’t want applications, references and financial statements prerequisites (ha ha!).

So there we have it. Dr. Phil would likely not approve of my not knowing what I want. I do, however, know what I DON’T want.

I don’t want any relationship in any context with any person that makes me feel bad in any way, shape or form. Period. No matter the circumstances, intentions or lack thereof I do not want any part of feeling bad.

And I think that’s fair.

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