Awww shut up!

A comedian once said on TV that finding a soulmate is easy. Just look for someone who's not an asshole. I totally agree. Because so what if you two share the same interests if he always ditches you to watch footie (or hockey, or soccer) with his mates? Today, though, I realized that there's one more trait that's just as important: find someone who has the ability to listen. To other people, that is. If anything, it's probably one of the most important attributes your boyfriend or girlfriend must have.

Thankfully, I didn't realize this fact from my own boyfriend. It was thanks (or no thanks?) to this gentleman I was unfortunate to have had to speak to at work.

The guy was giving a reference for this woman he used to work with. Before we started, I told him that the interview would take approximately five minutes and asked him whether he'd be okay with that. He said that was fine. So off we went. Right off the bat, though, I knew - to my dismay - that he was one of those people who loved talking for talk's sake. But he was special. He was either in love with that woman, or he just loved hearing his own voice reverberate through the phone line. I put in practice all kinds of techniques available out there to cut him off politely for each question to prevent me from writing a 5000-word essay to present to the hiring manager, but it looks like I'd need new techniques after that. Finally, after way more than five minutes, I managed to ask all the questions I had to ask. But guess what, if normal people would take "Well thank you for your time today" as a farewell sentence, he took it as "Do you have any other comments?"

I said no less than five times, "Well [his name], thank you so much for your comments." But save for the last one - when I must've started to sound like I wanted to either scream, or cry, or fart out of frustration - he started a new trail of praises for that ex-colleague of his.

And this is the best part. Just before we hung up, he said, "That was more than five minutes, wasn't it?"

Asshole.

I love my job

I interview people on a daily basis for the purpose of employment references. It may not seem so, but it's a stressful job (but then again, which job isn't?), though there's always something that keeps us entertained, or... as the insider joke tells it, "keeps us checkin'".

Here are the top three things that cracked me up recently:

Me: What was he employed as at the time?
Referee: He was my bitch.
(Needless to say, I had to ask further about this candidate's responsibilities...)

Me: What's your position?
Referee: Sitting down.
(I was so tempted to scream, "Lame!", but decided to laugh along with him instead.)

Colleague: Is this a good time to speak to you?
Referee: I'm in labour at the moment, can I call you back?
(I can't remember what my colleague said in response, but I'm pretty sure the phone call didn't last that long.)

Cruel summer

Disini lagi musim festival nih. Sekarang ini lagi ada Francofolies, minggu sebelumnya ada Juste Pour Rire (Just For Laughs), dan minggu sebelomnya ada Jazz Festival. Itu yg gede-gede. Pada saat yg bersamaan, ada festival2 mini seperti Haitian Music Festival dan Les Nuits Afriques. Maklum, lagi summer. Terus terang, gua suka banget summer disini, soalnya gua bisa berkeliaran naek sepeda kemana-mana. One of the most fun things is discovering a nice looking restaurant or cafe in the middle of nowhere. Resenya ya... humidity-nya itu. Mesti mandi dua tiga kali sehari. Ganti kolor dua tiga kali sehari. Numpuk deh yg namanya cucian.

Aaaanyway.

Gua baru pindah nih, by the way. Akhirnya, gua punya tempat tinggal sendiri (dalam artian tinggal sendiri, walaupun masih nyewa) tanpa embel-embel roommates. I live in a small three and a half, a real-estate term here which means a place consisting of three rooms (bedroom, living room and kitchen) plus a bathroom (the half room). One thing I learned from moving to my own place was that moving is expensive. And I'm not only talking about the furnitures. I'm talking about inexpensive little things like a dish sponge, a broom, cleaning products, plates, cups, tea towels, kitchen knife, chopping board, and so on and so forth. In fact, I didn't have to pay much for furniture. The only thing I bought was my bed. The rest, like my coffee tables (x2), bedside drawers, and sofa, I picked up from the street. I love this city.

Except for one insane incident a few weeks ago.

It happened on Avenue Mont-Royal around 10pm. The boyfriend and I just got out of Tim Horton's, the donut shop, and we were walking back towards my place, not too far from there. At the same time, a young man was walking in the opposite direction on the same sidewalk. As we passed each other, I noticed a yellow-coloured something around his neck. Something that moved. Something that ressembled a... a... a... oh for fuck's sake, it was a snake! I screamed my lungs off as soon as I realized what I thought it was. For your information, at this point, I wasn't 100% sure that it was a real snake. I didn't think it was legal to walk around with that thing around your neck (but the shock was so great that I screamed anyway). I mean... hello? We're on a street lined with boutiques, restaurants and cafés! But then the man, hearing my anguish-filled scream, turned around and said, "Don't worry, it's not dangerous!"

My ex-roommate later confirmed that it was indeed a living snake, capable of breaking all the bones in your body (ok, this last point's an exaggeration), because he had seen it at Tam-Tam's, a weekly Sunday event at Parc Mont-Royal. And... as if I wasn't emotionally bruised enough, last week there was another snake-related incident about three blocks away from where I live. A woman discovered a python under her bed, and it was not hers.

So it's confirmed. I live in a neighbourhood that, God knows why, attracts snakes. Alright that's it. I'm going to start sprinkling salt around my windows and doors. Either that, or I'll have to see a shrink and get my phobia fixed.

Never dreamed you'd leave in summer

Two weeks went by without you, and finally, two days ago we met again. Our meeting, let me describe it in two words. Dark chocolate. Our conversation was sweet, and we were sweet to each other. And yet, an air of bitterness hung in the air, above our steaming cups of tea, a quietly persistent reminder of how not too long ago, our conversations were constantly plagued with questions, whose answers I could not bear to hear.

There is someone else I care about now, and for once, I'm going to let my head rule my life. I have placed too much trust in this thing called instinct. And it has let me down.

So I guess, this is where we part. Somewhere on a leafy street, in front of your car, one sunny late afternoon in July.

My summer temper

Being a very competent klutz, naturally I hate it when people place their shoes where they are not supposed to be. Like right in the middle of the room. It might make a great home video, but somersaulting in the dark over somebody's stinky sneakers isn't something I want to do on a regular basis.

So as you can tell, I'm on a whingey mood. So here goes the rest.

For the first time in my 28 years, I have hay fever. Gee, thanks Montreal. It started last weekend. I got out of the house in the afternoon and right away, I was greeted with swirls and twirls of pollen. There was so much of it and I kid you not, the city looked like a giant cotton candy machine. But if the real cotton candy gives you toothache, this cotton candy gives you a blocked nose, watery eyes, sore throat, and a very, very cranky Karina.

I'm also pissed off with my apartment. First, the dryer broke down. Then, the fridge became unreliably warm when the temperature swelled. And here's the worst part, my bedroom - that pretty little room, and the only reason why I'm staying in this shit hole - was unable to defend itself from the heat. It became so hot inside that I didn't even dare turn on any kind of lighting for fear of setting the whole place ablaze.

Oh well, at least tomorrow's Thursday.

Blast from the past

I was in bed a few nights ago, seconds away from falling asleep. Then suddenly, I found myself in the bedroom my sister and I used to share when we were little. There was a single bed on the left hand side of the rectangle-shaped room. Across it, a brown study desk. I was sitting on the floor in between, and so was my sister. I was playing with one of those toys that taught children to recognize shapes. There was a red plastic cube box whose six sides were adorned with cut-outs of shapes. A square, a rectangle, a circle, an octagon, a crescent moon, and a star.

The door opened and in poked my parents' heads. My mother spoke and I looked up.

"We are leaving now, so grandma will stay with you tonight, is that okay, dears?" I didn't know where they were going and I didn't ask. My sister might have said something to them, though I was too busy with my toy to pay attention.

The door closed and not long after, the front gate creaked open, letting out my dad's car, and creaked back closed. I wasn't aware of it then, but it was the last night that I was the youngest child in the house. The date was October 8th, 1985.

My dad came home the next day, my mum a few days after. More than eight thousand days have come and gone since then, including the day my grandmother left and never returned.

Funny how randomly the brain picks which memory to surface.

What a difference Doraemon makes

Just in case anybody's wondering, I had a nice weekend. The weather from Saturday morning onwards was not agreeable but thankfully I had a lovely companion to spend time with indoors.

We didn't do much. We just played the role of couch potatoes pretty much all weekend long. What impressed me was that he could sing some of the lines from the Candy Candy theme song. Apparently Candy Candy was really big in Belgium. He didn't know about Doraemon, however, and when I showed him an episode on YouTube, he didn't really like it. But, "I enjoyed watching you enjoy it, though." Wow, this guy is good.

And just for the record, the theme song for the weekend was "What a Difference a Day Makes".

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Despite all that loveliness, I am still at a loss, thinking about what had gone wrong that had brought me to this point. I'm not in a bad situation or anything, but this was certainly not what I had in mind a few weeks ago.

Still, I'm loving this city. And with spring well underway, there is no reason for me to be sad or think about the what-could-have-beens. Besides, sooner or later, they* will all eventually disappoint, anyway.

*men.