YOU LIGHT UP MY LIFE

What Vancouver lacks in snow it makes up for with Christmas lights. Every where there a constellations of them; balcony’s, the grove of trees near the Inukshuk, and of course St. Paul’s, which looks like Honest Ed’s in Toronto this time of year. If the city turned off the streetlights, I doubt it would make a difference in the winter night.
I’ve been to more parties in the last month than in the whole year combined. Parties are a bone of contention with me: I love getting invited to them, I just hate going. Socializing makes me anxious. This holiday season has been particularly challenging: I gave up smoking. I had no other choice; it was either smoke or stay in for the month of December.
So far I have been to four Christmas parties: The Diorama party, The Pilsner anniversary party, The Shop’s staff party, and Morticia’s leather beer bust. I’m pleased to report I have not punched or made out with anyone so far.
At the Shop’s staff party I broke the cardinal rule of drinking: never mix; never worry. The culprits this time were beer, wine and tequila. I have no idea how I got home. The next morning I got a phone call from Matilda telling me I was an hour late for work. I jumped out of bed in the same clothes I wore to the party. My head felt like someone had it with a frying pan. Nonetheless, I stumbled around the apartment, changing my shirt and getting Hawkeye out for a quick pee. Who knew if I had walked him before passing out the night before. The fresh air didn’t help. I might as well have been throwing up over the side of a boat on choppy water. As I walked to work I remembered throwing up into my pillow, and yet I didn’t wake up in my own vomit.
I could barely stand at work. If I wasn't in the toilet dry heaving, I was sitting in the corner on the white plastic pails where we keep the sugar and honey, my face in my hands. I was so embarrassed, but pretending nothing was wrong would only look worse. I could see Ollie glaring at me out of the corner of his eye. It was a price I was willing to pay.
“What’s that?” Matilda asked, pointing at my pants; they were covered in red clumpy splotches.
“Puke.”
I told Ollie I was going home to change, but halfway there I knew there was no going back. When I opened my apartment door I was over whelmed by the odor of vomit. Though I didn’t vomit in bed, I did manage to throw up on my couch and floor. Just when I thought I couldn’t get any more nauseas, Hawkeye got up off my bed and started licking it.I can't imagine how much lower I'll have to go before I finally hit rock bottom.
Even the lingering scent of puke didn’t stop me from decorating the apartment for Christmas. It was the first time my decorations have seen the light of day in two years. The last time was in San Francisco.
Craig Valentine was with me, he was in the town for the night Christmas shopping. The last time he saw my Christmas decorations he was still with his ex-lover. “Oh my God!” he kept saying, as he opened one decoration after another. “I gave this to you!”
“Remember this?” I asked, holding up a one-pound ceramic Christ Child.
“South Park nativity!”
Jesus was a gift from my Portuguese cousin the priest. Back in San Francisco I had these South Park piggy banks that I used to arrange around baby Jesus every Christmas. They’re expressions were so perfect; they looked like they had just found them at the bus stop.
“Unfortunately, I sold the South Park contingent at a garage sale before I left San Francisco,” I said.
I put Valentine in charge of lighting the Christmas tree while I lit up the bookcase. He kept forgetting the tree lights were stuck on the “Dim” setting; every time the coloured lights faded out, Valentine would sigh, “Ohhh.” The lights faded in and out five or six times before he remembered.
What is it about Christmas lights that make us so nostalgic?

GarpinBC

LAW & ORDER

Since Peggy makes her own wine, I try and return the empty the bottle whenever she brings over a full one. The bottle will usually kick around my kitchen for about a week before I actually physically return it. I’ve come so close to just fucking it, throwing the bottle in with the rest of the re-cycling, but it seems like such a cold thing to do to something that was made with such care. Inevitably, I ‘ll remember to take the empty bottle with me when I’m opening; it’s usually when I have the least on my mind.
It was just after four in the morning when I left for work. As I was walking up Burnaby, I thought, “Maybe I should have put this bottle in a bag.” But the bottle was empty and the only people I ever saw this early in themorning were guys coming home for a trick and the junkies who hang out in front of the grocery store in the cul-de-sac on Bute.
As I rouned the top of the key hole of the cul-de-sac, I noticed a large amount of homeless people perched on the wood stairs where flowers are sold during day light hours. It’s a pretty harmless corner, but this morning it looked ominous. I had on my big quilted coat, wool cap, and the empty bottle. They eyed me, squinting at my bottle. Then out of the corner of my eye I see a cop car pull up beside me. I breathed a sigh of relieve and then I looked down at the empty wine bottle in my hand. I shook my head at my stupdity.
The cop in the driver’s seat rolled down his window and asked me to put down the wine bottle. “Where are you coming from?” he asked.
“My home. I’m going to work.”
“Where do you work?”
“Coffee shop on Davie,” I didn’t feel obligated to give him the name of where I worked. I had done nothing wrong.
“What do you do?”
“I bake from four-thirty to six in the morning.”
“Which coffee shop?”
“The Shop. The bottle belongs to a friend.”
“Oh! The Shop!” I thought this was my cue to go, so I picked up the wine bottle and started on my merry way. “Put the bottle down please.”
I started laughing. “I was just thinking I should have put the bottle in a bag,”I wanted to say, but thought it best to not offer any information unless asked. I’ve seen enough Judge Judy to know the low down. Then I started to panic. If these guys asked me for I.D. I was fucked. They could haul me in if they wanted to. The cop leaned over to his partner, a woman who was obscured by the top of the car. She mumbled something to him.
“Do you smoke?”
“I quit a week ago today.”
“We were looking for someone who was loitering, but he was smoking.”
I looked behind me where there were six people loitering and smoking.
“Can I go now?”
“Move along.”
I hoped the cops would follow me to work so I could prove my story. As I was passing the frame shop, I noticed the lights were on in The Shop. What the fuck? Was Matilda opening? The door was wide open, and the furniture was stacked in the back. The floor shimmered like red glass. “Hello,” I called into the shop, looking for whom ever was responsible for this.
“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” shouted a Hindi voice. I looked to see short man running across Davie, a hand threatening hand in the air, from where he had been chatting and keeping an eye out in front of the PayMo.
“I’m showing up for work!”
“You’re not the girl?”
“No, I’m not the girl. I’m the guy who was working the morning you didn’t wax the floors.”
“Oh yes, yes! The floor just needs another five minutes before you can walk on it.”
It was a pain in the ass trying to get all the muffin mixes out of the cooler and behind the counter. Once I had everything, I was stuck there while the second coat of wax dried on the floor.
All things considered, I got everything done at a reasonable time. I even had enough time to help set the tables and chairs up. Everything was coming out of the oven, and I was on top of things again when one of our suppliers showed up with our frozen order – shit like blueberries, doughs, eggs and beveridges. It’s a fucking pain in the ass to put away first thing in the morning; more so when you’re in a bad mood and haven’t smoked a cigarette in a week.
After I had everything put away, this nut comes into the shop with a Seattle’s Best Coffee cup and plops himself down in the corner. Peggy points himout to me. “Hey there,” I say. “It’s customary to buy something if you’re going to hang out.”
“I’m just waiting for some people. Sorry about that.”
“If you’re really sorry you’ll wait for them outside.” He got up and left without incident.
“You’re really good at that,”Peggy said.
“Hey man, even the best of us get told to move along.”


GarpinBC