MISCELLANEOUS ADVENTURES

This one time, in high school, I was at a party at my friend’s cottage in the dead of winter. Now, you have to understand that this “cottage” was really just a shack on top of a hill in the middle of the woods. It consisted of one room, with two sets of bunk beds, a wood stove and no running water to speak of. Like any good high school party in the middle of nowhere the place was packed with misfits, booze and weed.

Being a person of excellent judgment and under the influence of a myriad of illegal substances, when finding myself suffering from a dire need to pee, I took it upon myself to go wandering outside looking for the perfect spot to hunker down. Now, I should mention that I undertook this adventure wearing nothing but a tank top and jeans, despite the fact that Canadian winters are not known for their temperate climate. It was cold. A cold, I was apparently immune to. What I wasn’t immune to was getting lost in the woods, because that is exactly what happened while I was looking for the perfect place to pee.

I didn’t get very far, since soon enough, although how fast could a bunch of drunken teenagers realize that someone was missing is unclear, I started to hear my name being called out by a couple of my friends. Following their voices, I was able to find my way back to the cottage and despite all signs pointing to the contrary I did not suffer a terrible and untimely death in the woods at the hands of the Canadian winter. No, I survived.

I survived, unscathed, until I eventually found myself having to go to the bathroom once again. I was about to venture outside when someone stopped me at the door and insisted they accompany me to make sure I wouldn’t find myself in another compromising situation. S., good friend that she was, lead the way to the back of the shack where I could pee in relative privacy and most importantly in safety.

The snow had formed itself into a thick layer of rough ice solid enough to withstand our weight. It was a calm night, no clouds, a full moon lighting our path. No matter how clear the night was looking behind me was not something I had considered. Little did I know, that I was in fact standing on the cusp of a rather steep hill. So there I was unbuttoning my pants, preparing to squat and unleash a torrent of piss on to the pure white snow, when gravity suddenly decided to make me its bitch and flipped me backwards only to have me slide down the entire hill on my bare ass.

Don’t ask me how S., who was standing right in front of me, didn’t see what would inevitably happen as soon as I shifted my weight into a full squatting position, but she didn’t. She did however have the pleasure of watching me make my way down the hill on my poor poor ass. I also have to say that she was no help at all when I had to climb back up the hill despite having a severely brushed and scratched backside, since she was too busy rolling on the ground laughing her head off.

The kicker is that I still had to pee. Unwilling to gratify my audience of one with a repeat, I wrapped my arms around a tree trunk before attempting to lower myself close enough to the ground to empty my bladder. Despite pleading with S. for uttermost secrecy about the events that had just transpired, I did not live it down as soon as I would have liked, since the first thing she did when returning inside was announce to everyone the adventure my ass had just undergone. Needless to say, I had a hard time sitting down the next morning. 

MY STEPMOTHER IS AN ALIEN

I don’t really consider her my step-mother, after all, I already have one mom and that’s more than enough (what I really mean to say, is that it would feel like a betrayal to my actual mother to assigned the title to anyone else). 

My step-mother (cringe) wears too much perfume and she always gets lipstick on her teeth. With age her eyesight has gotten worse, which has not improved her ability to apply make-up.

When I was seven years old, or maybe eight, she accused me of stealing a gold chain from her, and my Dad made me give it to her even though it was a chain I had gotten with my Mom on a trip to New Brunswick. He figured that was the quickest way to resolve the conflict. If I really wanted a gold chain he could just buy me one and at least she finally shut up about it. 

My high school history teacher was married to her sister-in-law and he would often hear tales of my various misdeeds at family dinners. All of them lies, which is odd since I did enough “bad” things in my life without others having to make anything up. 

Every conversation with her revolves around the same inane subject matter over and over again. The only thing she cares about is being healthy, which is not a bad thing in-of-itself, but it does create a certain lull in any lengthy conversation. Her second topic of choice is starting any sentence with “You’re such a pretty and smart girl, if only you…”

My Dad recently told me that he’s never loved her, and although I’ve never had any kind of special relationship with this woman, now that he’s cheating on her and considering leaving her, I feel bad. I feel sorry for a woman who I’ve known for over twenty years. I feel sorry for a woman who has often acted as a shield, of sorts, between my Dad and I. I feel sorry for a woman who used to make me pancakes for breakfast every other Sunday. 

THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS

I was at a bar tonight and I was talking with one of my friends about relationships. More specifically, we where talking about my Dad and the state of his affairs. As an example, A. told me about a past relationship of his where the girl in question adored and loved him beyond anything he felt for her. He went on to say that he thought she was a wonderful person and all that, but that he just didn’t feel it. He could have continued in the relationship and he could have given her just enough to keep her coming back for more over and over again. A surge of power in the form of manipulation, but he choose to let her go. 

I listened to him talk, but my mind was suddenly split in two. I could hear him and respond to what was being said, but I was also simultaneously overwhelmed by a deep sense of sadness. I wanted to cry. I could feel it in my throat and in my eyes. I suddenly saw, we great clarity, that the relationship he was describing was an exact representation of what I was feeling. I could have been that girl. I’ve definitely known people who use the truth to shield themselves from responsibility.”I told you from the start how it was, and anything that happened after that is not my fault.”

Not those exact words and not expressed by the same person, but I know that what he was saying was true. The same goes for saying “I’ll be the bad guy, I’ll take it all on me”, there’s no real responsibility in those words. Only another form of avoidance. I’ve never known what it’s like to be loved and adored by another person like that, but just as the person who is on the receiving end of that kind of dedication should know how and when to cut the other person loose as to not hurt them any further, so should the person who gives themselves in that way know when to stop.