Sunday, February 15, 2015

Valentines Day: If it doesn’t seem like a good idea, it probably isn’t...

--> My iPhone rings. Ring tone is set to old phone (remember those phones that we used to plug in the wall? Yeah, it sounds like one of those.). It’s about the only ring tone I can tolerate except for when I hear it at 4a.m. because this was the one night I forgot to put my phone on sleep mode before I went to bed.

Now most normal people would be concerned that someone was calling them at 4am (like someone died or whatever). But not me, nope, my brain jumps to my list of friends I have living in different time zones that could be calling me because they don’t know that it is 4 fucking am in the morning! Who am I kidding. There is an app for converting time zone differences and the only person likely to make that faux pas would be me, 5 years ago, one beer away from total blackout. And obviously I’m not calling my future self unless of course I am calling my future self at 4a.m….

Winnipeg birth home (you can't see me bc I'm covered in snow!)
Anyways, I’m pretty sure I’m not calling my future self because if time travel (or bending or whatever it's called) were possible wouldn’t it make more sense if it went the other way? I mean shouldn’t I be calling my past self to warn me of some disaster I should avoid or whatever. Like “past Andrea” (which is current day Andrea?!) don’t go to work on xx day because that is the day an airplane crashes into your building. And no you don’t die, after all it is a float plane that crashes into your building. And it crashes due to engine failure and not because it is some key component of a terrorist plot because you live in Victoria and are not cool enough to live in New York. Regardless of all of that, your future self gets all super traumatized by the event which is kind of insane really when you look at your life already (current life?!). I mean how much worse can it really get?!

Well fuck, I guess I should answer that phone then.

It’s Paulo. Which is about as likely as me calling my past self. 

And the conversation goes a little bit like this:

A: Seriously? WTF Paulo?!

P: Meet me in Port Angeles tomorrow.

A: So when you say tomorrow you mean today?

P: of course.

A: Dude I have to get in a run tomorrow.

P: Yeah, I know. You run every day.

A: I take one day off!

P: Really? Well that’s disappointing. I kind of expected more from you...

A: (sigh) Why am I meeting you in Port Angeles?

P: Not important. Just be there at 9:45 am at the entrance to the waterfront park.

A: Is this like some Twilight thing? Did Bella and that vampire guy whatever have their first date on the boardwalk? And you want to reenact this on Valentines Day because you are seriously fucked up and have issues that you really should have seen a therapist about by now? 

P: No that's not why. And Bella and Edward did not have their first date on the boardwalk in Port Angeles. Bella and her friends were in Port Angeles buying dresses for prom…fuck you, it isn’t a Twilight thing. Just be there.

And Paulo hangs up on me. I think because he ran out of time and didn’t have another quarter to extend the call. Which makes me wonder where the fuck is he that he is using a public pay phone?! Do they even have public pay phones anymore?! Or maybe that was past Paulo calling future/current day Andrea with an important message for the future!

After that, I get up and go for my run so I can make the first ferry over in time for 9:45am meet up with Paulo.

Ok. Is it weird that I would just drop everything and go meet Paulo? And the answer is a simple no...and yes. First it is Paulo and he has permanent residency in the best friend tier so I kind of have to do what he says even if it makes no sense and has the potential to not make much sense later. I’m half joking. This is what I know. Paulo would do anything for me and I for him. And if he needs me to meet him it is probably for a good reason. Also, today is Valentines Day and I got nothing else planned that I couldn’t push back until tomorrow. Also, I may be a bit curious to find out if I'm in fact meeting a "past Paulo" who has an important message for me about the future. Like life and death important. (FYI - lack of sleep makes one do questionable things).

Some city in Syria that I wasn't born in.
So off I go. I buy my ticket to Port Angeles and get in line to go through security and that’s about as far as I get. Apparently, I qualify for extra screening on account of me being single, travelling alone on Valentines Day and my passport having a Qatar stamp in it.

As they escort me to a secure room located somewhere in the bowels of the ferry terminal they inform me that it’s nothing personal and that border security is always tightened on holidays, as these are prime target dates for Islamic terrorists.

A: So you think I am an Islamic Terrorist? (I kind of am impressed that someone thinks I can be a terrorist but mostly I just find this super hilarious and end up laughing a bit too much to be considered even remotely appropriate behaviour given the situation I'm in).

Border Security Dude (BS Dude): No one is saying that we are just taking you in for further screening.

A: Well I don’t think you would be taking me for further screening if you didn’t think I was an Islamic terrorist. I mean do I really fit the profile of a terrorist?

BS Dude: What do you mean? Are you trying to tell me you are a terrorist?

A: No! Dude! I’m a hot blonde girl, what about that makes you think terrorist? It might make you think about sex…wait a minute, is this what you do when you want to see the inside of a hot girl’s anus?! Throw out the whole “you qualify for extra screening” thing?!

BS Dude: Alright Ms. You need to calm down and stop saying the word terrorist so much, it’s not helping your case.

A: Case!?! I’m now a case?! Holy fuck, you are totally sending me to Guantanamo aren’t you?!

Obviously I don’t calm down and we finally arrive at the secure location where I will await my inevitable anal probing. And yeah, I’m kind of kicking myself for dropping the T-bomb so many times during that conversation. Will I ever see daylight again?! I wonder as they lock the door behind me.

I turn away from the door and check out the room. A row of very uncomfortable plastic chairs drenched in some very unflattering lighting conditions (i.e., fluorescent lighting) and no windows, just a small box of a room, which also happens to be painted white. And of course let’s not forget that the room contained other suspected terrorists.

Yes, there was also two drunk gay men in the room with me.

A: well it is a hot bed of terrorist activity in here!

Remember how I think I’m hilarious?! Yeah, well, apparently drunk gay men don’t think I'm hilarious. And as predicted with drunk gay men who don't find me funny, they get all in my face about me being gayist because I don’t think they could be terrorists.

And of course I have to defend myself.

A: I just think if you were terrorists you wouldn’t be drunk is all. It has nothing to do with you being gay.

Gay man #1 (GM1): Do you know how hard we had to work to get where we are today?!

A: I’m sorry? We’re being detained as potential terrorists how can this be considered an accomplishment?!

GM1: 30 years ago they would have never thought us to be terrorists!

A: Seriously dude, where you even born 30 years ago, you look a bit young.

GM1: We are middle aged. I am 32! And Raphael over here is 48! You must learn to respect your elders!

A: Fuck that, you’re not my elders.

GM1: There it is with your homophobia again.

A: Dude! I’m older than you. I’m your elder! (Respect that bitches!)

GM2: The young people of today. So disrespectful. They have no idea what hard work is, the hurdles we had to overcome to be considered equals.

A: Ok, this is ridiculous. How long do I have to be stuck in here with you people.

GM1: What do you mean by you people?!

A: Ok, do you really have to yell everything?

GM2: Calm down Francois, obviously this privileged princess doesn’t understand what adversity is, we cannot expect her to understand. There is no use.

A: Do you really think I look like a princess? Cool, because I was kind of going for the whole regal style thing today, like the way I did the curls and all. (I’m now distracted feeling up my hair).

GM2: I think you did a very nice job with your hair. I’m just sorry its attached to such a closed minded oppressive bitch.

A: Harsh…Ok, I just want to clear the air here, I think we may have got off on the wrong foot. What I meant by “you people” (I used air quotes) was not in reference to you being gay it is in reference  to the two of you being bat shit crazy. Which in all fairness, you are probably just coming off that way because you are both really drunk. I mean, I get a little cray cray when I drink. Friends? (we have a group hug)

GM1: I don’t think we can be friends but I will stop yelling at you.

A: Thanks. I’m just going to sit over here on this side and pray for an early death.

5 minutes later, I am retrieved by a morbidly obese border guard (MOBG) who happens to be clutching a Dairy Queen blizzard in his chubby hands.

A: Oh no, you are not going to give me a Dairy Queen blizzard enema are you?!

MOBG: There was a mistake in the screening criteria used to assess you.

That was MOBG's way of apologizing. Of course there was a mistake! Apparently under skin color they checked off brown instead of white. An honest mistake anyone with half a brain could have made, which to be honest didn’t exactly inspire me to continue on with my voyage into foreign territory. I mean if they can screw up my skin color they can fuck up my place of birth and the next thing you know they will be deporting me to Syria. Fuck that! Also, I had to get some real food in me, being detained for 20 minutes really burns a lot of calories, especially when you are being accosted by two middle aged homosexuals who are not terrorists and not because they are gay but simply just because they are really stupid drunk.

On my walk home I received a text from Paulo cancelling the meet up. Apparently he was stuck in a blizzard and couldn’t make it…now I will never know what message past Paulo had for me! Oh and the next time I decide to leave the country spontaneously it is going to be on a passport devoid of stamps from the Middle East, as apparently hot blonde girls don’t get away with anything anymore!

1929 - St. Valentines Day Massacre (Hey it could have been worse?!)

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