The Old Lady In My Shadow


Vancouver has been going through a bit of a cold snap this week. As in cold enough that I’ve debated putting on actual shoes rather than wearing my usual flip flops. It’s so cold that I’m actually wearing extra layers, and mittens whenever I have to go outside. It’s not winter jacket weather, but I do need to wear a long sleeve shirt underneath my hoodie.

Or rather, it’s not winter weather for me. It’s cold out and the wind makes everything extra special chilly, but it’s still not winter weather for me.

However, for this little old lady I encountered today, it is winter weather. She was bundled up in a long pink jacket that looked more like a sleeping bag than a jacket. She had on a toque, a scarf was wrapped around her face, she was wearing huge mittens, and her hood was up and pulled tight around her face. She looked cold.

She was also standing weirdly close to me. So I stepped back to give her some space. She stepped forward as I moved back. Thinking she wanted to stand in the general area I was in, I stepped to the right. She stepped to the right with me. At this point I was kind of annoyed because I thought she was trying to push me out of the bus line like this, so I decided to give her more space and I stepped to my right again. She moved to the right with me.

It was then that I noticed that her scarf wasn’t fluttering in the wind. I also noticed that she was huddled up rather tightly. She looked cold. I looked down at her and shifted to the right again. She shifted with me. And in that moment I knew exactly what she was doing!

This sweet little old lady was using my body to block the wind!

I’m five feet and nine inches tall, I have fairly broad shoulders and I am by no means “small”. This little old lady was…well, she was a little old lady. The top of her head barely reached my shoulders and she just looked so small and cold that I stood still and let her use me as a wind blocker. And we stood like that for almost five whole minutes. Her, huddled in my proverbial shadow, and me, towering over this sweet old lady who was so cold that she used another human being to block the wind just so she could avoid a few more degrees of cold.

You have to give her props for her creativity. I also gave her props for being ready to move around with me just so she could keep using my body as her wind buffer.


My Very Dear Friend


Winnie the Pooh quote

One of the things that I love about Winnie the Pooh is how he references his friends. He almost always calls Piglet “My very best friend” and he almost always references everyone else as “My very dear friend…” I think it’s adorable and a great way to speak of your friends instead of just calling them a “friend”.

In thinking about this, I thought that it would be great if I were to start calling my friends, my very dear friends because they are very dear to me. I love them all. Then I got to thinking how I could make this an acronym! I could tell people all about my VDF…Wait. No, that probably won’t work. VDF sounds like some sort of STI and the last thing I want is for people who don’t really know me or who haven’t caught onto my new acronym to think that I’m running around naming my STI’s.

So maybe I will hold off on referencing people as “my VDF”, but I do think that I will start referencing my friends as “my very dear friend” because it’s cute and I like it. I’ll just hold off on calling them “my VDF”…

P.S I don’t have any STI’s, nor have I ever had an STI. I just think if I went around saying “My VDF, Christy”, people would think I was talking about an STI that I named and then they would get insulted that my STI’s got a name and theirs didn’t. Except I don’t have STI’s and I’m sure the people I talk to don’t have STI’s either and if they do, that’s totally ok, but I’m sure they don’t want to talk about it so…this is getting awkward. I don’t have STI’s and I’ve never had one.

My First Greyhound Trip


814854bfc60f04fbb1cbf305675583a4a383906d95fbe1cfe87f3ba2d618c575Since I moved away from home in August 2005, I’ve taken the Greyhound home more times than I care to count. Sadly, I’ve been stuck sitting with, or near, a weirdo more times than I care to count. Even more sadly, I can name three bus trips home that were good trips where I didn’t have to deal with some creeper who wanted to turn my skull into a decorative vase.

One of those good trips was after I spent the night with Jack Daniels and I was so hung over the next morning that I slept through my entire bus trip and no one bothered me.

I also would have slept through my first Greyhound trip, but thanks to my very first Greyhound creeper, I didn’t.

I went home on the evening bus. I was taking the Greyhound home so that I could watch my sister’s first volleyball tournament of the season. She’d called me while she was sitting in the hammock that used to be in my bedroom that week. She was crying which made me cry. Then I made immediate plans to go home for the weekend. This was the first time that I had ever traveled anywhere by myself and this incident is the reason behind why I’m convinced everyone that gets on a Greyhound bus is a potential murderer and foot fetishist.

It was dark, it was late, and I was tired. I’m also tall so there is almost no way for me to comfortably lay on two Greyhound bus seats. So after some tossing and wiggling, I finally got comfortable enough to sleep. I was leaning up against the window with my jacket tucked in behind me and I was wearing flip flops so those were on the floor while my feet hung off the side of the seat.

I was just starting to drift off to sleep when I felt something slide up my foot. I was sure I was imagining it, so I shift around a bit to make sure nothing was touching my feet and then I tried to fall asleep. Then I felt it again. It felt like fingers were sliding up the soles of my feet. Something was going to pull my feet off! So I kicked my feet and opened my eyes to see if anything or anyone was around that could be touching my feet. I didn’t see anything so I figured someone had walked past me on their way to the bathroom. After I had snuggled back down and was about to drift off, I felt something on my feet again. This time it brushed across my toes and then I felt someone kneading the balls of my feet.

I flipped my shit out. I absolutely lost it. As quickly as I could I snatched my feet away from the hands that were touching them. I tucked my legs under my body and sat up on my knees to look over my seat at this creepy old man who was sitting behind me. I remember him in line to get on the bus behind me. His teeth were yellow and brown. On the bus I could see that his black jacket was old and worn out and his black dress probably used to be a good pair of dress pants. He wore a tie. He didn’t look threatening, but at the same time I couldn’t help but think, “Yeah, well it’s not like murderers go around with signs around their neck saying they have vacancies in the holes they have in their basements.”

As I glared over the seat at him, he looked up at me. He seemed surprised that I was awake. He looked like he was trying to be helpful when he said “I’m sorry that I woke you. You have such beautiful feet. Can I give you a foot massage?”

I could barely say “no” as I got up, put my shoes on and moved seats.

The unfortunate thing about this whole event? I’ve had creepier things happen to me on the Greyhound. What’s your worst Greyhound story?

Eyes Wide…Closed While I Walk


This year I’m playing netball on weekends and most of my games are at 9am. Which means I need to be up at 7am and out the door by 8am to get there on time. Now, I’m not a morning person, so 7am is a bit of a challenge. Especially since I don’t live at home anymore where my mom will hassle me until I get my lazy ass out of bed. Instead of being forced out of bed, my alarm clock went off at 6:45am this morning and I shut it off, thinking that I hit the snooze button.

I woke up at 7:32 and needed to be on a bus by 7:59.

I missed my bus and had to walk to the nearest train station. Except I was running late so I cut through the people’s yard who live behind my house (they’re kids are always hopping the fence into my yard, so I figure we’re even) and jog to the station if I wanted to be on time for my game.

You’d think I’d have woken up by this point, but I’m really not a morning person so as soon as I got on the train I fell asleep again. I asked a lady who was going to the stop before mine to wake me up before she got off the train. I got to nap for 15 minutes, I should be awake by now right?


The walk from the train station to the gym where I play is pretty much a straight walk so I walked/stumbled most of the way there with my eyes closed…because, ya know, that totally counts as sleeping too.

I only opened my eyes because a guy tapped me on my shoulder and asked me if I was ok. With only one eye open I mumbled that I was fun and stumbled on my sleep way to my game. He probably thought I was drunk.

What do you do for extra sleep?


Hmmm…uh oh?




This seems like a good question to answer since I took a break from playing Dungeons & Dragons Online to make sure that I got my daily post posted. In DDO, I’m the main character. I’m currently in the process of leveling an air savant sorcerer. This means that I basically specialize in shooting electricity and bursts of sonic beams out of my hands. My character is also a warforged so it’s made out of stone and wood and is like a steam punky robot type thing.

So how fucked am I?

I think I’m pretty fucked. My character electrocutes anything that it can attack without hesitation. Well, I should say that I like to electrocute stuff without hesitation. Anyway, my character is pretty good at zapping things. It’s like Zeus resides in my palms and loves to toss his lightning bolts out of them and straight into the faces of my enemies.

I think I’m pretty fucked. I’m not resistant to being shot in the face with lightning and my character this life has a level of rogue and is pretty damn sneaky. So if my sorcerer pops out of nowhere with the intent to kill me, I’m pretty much dead. And sadly if I try to run, I’ll probably just die out of breath.

On the other hand, if the last game I played was Terrarria, I think I’m pretty safe. My character is currently set up to look like a bunny. Who wears a top hat. And swings a great sword. I’d want to capture and pet that character.

That’s So Clichéd


While I was making dinner tonight I got a phone call from a guy that I went on a date with about a year and a half ago. It was a really bad date and neither of us bothered to call the other back, but I forgot to delete his number out of my phone so I was really surprised to see his name popped up. I was also really suspicious. During our date I suspected that he was the sort of guy that would kick kittens for dollars. So I was really weary of my conversation with him.

It actually was a very nice conversation despite the fact that it was also kind of awkward. It was that sort of conversation where you don’t know how to break the ice so you just kind of awkwardly jump around on it and look for a crack that you can break through to get things going. In this case it meant that he and I kind of asked random questions back and forth for fifteen minutes while I made pancakes.

No I didn’t set them on fire. They were rather tasty.

The conversation was kind of nice too. Or it was until he asked me if I could go anywhere in the world right now, where would I go?

He said it in a flirty way and I think he was hoping I’d say something slutty like “into your pants party where everyone is coming”, but that wasn’t how things went down for him.

eiffel_tower_at_night_paris_france-normalMe: I would go to Paris.

Him: Paris.

Me: Yes. Paris. Right below the Eiffel Tower.

Him: That’s so clichéd. Don’t you think?

Me: Yes, but I think your poor attempt at a booty call is clichéd as well.

Him: Pardon?

Me: Dude, we had a bad first date, and we haven’t spoken in like a year and a half. This is either a booty call or you want to find out where I hide my cat so you can kick her. And let me tell you, mister, if you try to kick my cat I will kick you square in the wiener.

Him: What?!

Me: Don’t “what?!” me! You’re the one being unreasonable in your demand for my booty or my cat to kick.

Him: I don’t want to kick your cat!

Me: Then why did you call?!

Him: Well, I uh…I, umm…

Me: So you do want to kick my cat don’t you?! I hope you know she is on an island surrounded by sharks with lasers on their heads who would rather die than let her be kicked. I love my Chicken Little!

Him: I think I should let you go.

Me: I think so too. I need to check on those sharks to make sure they haven’t lasered each other to death.

Then I hung up and sat on my kitchen floor and laughed and laughed and laughed. After I laughed so much that I nearly had an asthma attack, I enjoyed my perfectly made pancakes while I watched “The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh”.

A Romantic Gesture


I was text messaging with a friend while I was at work today and she was complaining about her current boyfriend and how he never does anything romantic for her. I decided to play Devil’s Advocate and asked her if he was doing things for her that he might consider romantic, but she might miss entirely. Which I immediately got in trouble for because “Girl Code” dictates that I am to immediately take her side in all things, no matter what.

It prompted this conversation:

Her: What would you consider a romantic gesture?

Me: A man who wants to mingle his books with mine.

Her: Ex-squeeze me?

Me: You know, the commingling of books.

Her: That’s not romantic. That’s just…books.

Me: I should wash your mouth out with soap! Take that back!

Her: What?! Why?!

Me: The commingling of books, in my opinion, is about the best way that any man can show me that he loves me. It’s like this super sweet way for a man to blend his life with mine as we properly sort our books out together on the many many shelves that we’ll have. Also, books are never just books. They’re precious fountains of adventure, life, and infinite possibilities and hope. To insult books so blatantly is to wish for someone to drive an ugly nail through an ignorance stick and beat you with it.

Her: Ok. That’s weird.  Everything you just said. In a text message. Did you really type all of that?

Me: You clearly do not have a romantic bone in your body.

Her: I have no bones in my body. No romance, no sexy tiems!

Me: Mingle your books! I’m tellin’ ya, it’s gotta be about the sexiest thing ever.

Her: I’m going to talk to someone less obsessed with books.

Me: That’s your choice. My books give me all the romance I need right now. And when I’m ready for more I’ll find me a man that wants to put his books on the same shelving as mine.

Then she stopped messaging me. I felt bad for not being helpful, but she asked a question and I gave an honest answer. What would you consider a romantic gesture?