OK, here's your problem as I see it. Every time a situation slipped through your hands you'd medicate your loss with drugs, or alcohol, but the problem here is...you don't smoke anymore and you only drink on weekends so you're left with your thoughts. It's not companionship you lack, you have plenty of friends and when you want to be you're very pleasant and able to talk to women. The problem here is, you're still young but getting older. You see older wiser people ending 20 year marriages over tiny imperfections leaving children out in the cold or the possibility of having their own kids slowly slipping away as father time and mother-nature take their natural course. You can't stop or slow down time, you can't sit in cruise control for years on end. That's why your friends in their early twenties started investing in RRSP's and high stake bonds. Life as you see it for your friends is going swell, with good relationships, solid cash flow and career paths. You're sick of looking at your reflection in the mirror and seeing a failure. You cringe when you explain what your job is so you lie to make it look a little better. You school on the weekends trying to cram in courses that you'll need for a new job which is likely going to close by the time school is done for you and you'll be stuck at an entry level position for another 3 or 4 years making 15 bucks an hour wondering if you've made the right choice. You only get one shot at life and now that you're in your early to mid twenties you start to wonder if you're going to make anything of it at all. "But you're still young" doesn't ring true anymore. "Love can wait, your time is now" is fading more and more as the sun sets on another year. But you don't want to rush your decision and settle on the first piece of hot ass that comes walking your way, so you get picky. You've paid your dues. You've been fucked over and fucked over a few yourself. You're not proud of what you've done in the past but no one ever lies on their death bed and says "I regret fucking her..." because it's been done, there's no rewind, and there's definitely no time to think about it as death's cold hand swipes your eyes shut one last time. I know you're scared, and that things seem bleak. The cold pillow beside you in the mornings is a bothersome thing, but thinking back to the body that used to occupy that spot in your bed and heart brings upon feelings of gut-wrenching anger and hatred. Sure it still hurts a little, that's fine, and if your friends don't see why it still does then to hell with them for now because you need some you time. Going back to exes never helps, it only puts a band-aid over the situation. Not the good kind that come off in one swipe, the crappy kind that leave that sticky stuff behind to gather dirt and lint from various places. You hate burning bridges so you cling to past experiences and lives that should be buried and moved on from. You wonder why certain people in your cell don't call anymore, but are stumped when people who shouldn't call still do. Don't they get the hint? What it really boils down to, is that in your life, no one can ever take away what you truly feel was the right decision for you. That's why so many kids run away to Hollywood to make it big, or to Greenpeace to save the whales, or to the army to kill a terrorist. It's not what your parents, friends and extended family members would have done, or what they want for you, but you know it's right and that it fits. But you're not a soldier, or an actor, or a crazy vegetarian hippie that has a hard on for trees. You're just confused, and I promise it gets easier, it truly does but it's not something you can rush. So sit back, enjoy, but don't relax too much and get stuck in a rut, because the next think you know, life will pass you by and you'll be left wondering how you let time slip through your fingers and if it's too late to start...



...again

I didn't think anyone read these ... then I got a comment on the one and only one I typed up, and it was wicked, so i've decided to add another story about me and what's happened in my life, and if you don't care, fine.

The water was calm and clear and refreshingly cool. The boat ripped around the lake pulling screaming kids behind it. I stood on the dock laughing as one by one the kids flew head over feet into the water. I had been debating for the last 20 minutes whether or not I should throw my 6'1 250 pound ass into the tube and go for a quick twirl. My brother, also 6'1 but nowhere NEAR 250 pounds decided to join in. We hopped on either side of the massive tube, each laughing at our plans to throw the other one off at full throttle. We revved up and took off.

The sun cast a rainbow in the spraying wake ahead of us. The first 2 minutes were relaxingly bumpy. Weight shifted from side to side as the tube swept over the wake with every turn. And then, it happened. I fell, skipping across the water and slamming to a halt. The sudden loss of weight on the left side of the tube caused it to buck back at my brother knocking him out 20 feet ahead. We laughed as the boat came back around to pick us up. I hopped in first, my hand slipped out from under me and as I tried to sit up I knew immediately something wasn't right. I yelled, but they took it as a sign to take off and pick up my brother. My head bounced off the tube slowly ripping my teardrops *anti-eyebrow* from its place on my face. I saw red, I tasted blood, my face was twisted in a mess of mesh and surgical steel. The pain was unreal. It felt as if my face had been threaded with twine and on either end a football team pulled with all their might. I felt flesh tear as I rolled in agony. My brothers laughter turned into yelling as he told my family to head to shore and get a knife. It was a 10 minute round trip. I bit my lip. I was furious. The pain, losing the piercing, everything just wasn't right. I could only imagine what was waiting for me when I got back into shore. The rest of my family, aunts, uncles, cousins, my grandmother, all greeting me with, "That'll teach you never to pierce your face." or "I knew this would fucking happen, now you're scarred for the rest of your life" and so on. I took a deep breath, I sneezed. As I sneezed I heard a ripping noise, but it wasn't my skin, it sounded like velcro. I told my brother to look to see if the mesh was attached with velcro. 30 seconds later I was separated from the tube of death and mutilation. I wanted to cry. Not because of the pain, but because my piercing was gone. Ok so that sounds gay, but whatever, I fucking loved that shit. Anyways, the ride home was silent. The piercing still in my face but a bloody mess. We cruised into town looking for the hospital, and being cottage country the closest one was 40 minutes away in Newmarket.

After a shit drive, local anesthetic that went in one end of the piercing canal and out the other *into my eye* **in other words it did nothing to freeze my face** and a 2 minute session with a scalpel and unfrozen face, insert a generous amount of bleeding into the ear *I was lying down* and 5 minutes of applying pressure to a cut that wouldn't stop bleeding and you've got the worst ending to the best weekend ever. So, goodbye loyal piercing, you stuck in me from day one. We formed a bond of scabby goodness and washed it all away with warm water and sea salt. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got to rub my scars with vitamin E and Cortizone to minimize the scarring. Scarring? Scaring? fuck it...

-Andrew

I walked into the 7.5 million dollar mansion with my eyes wide and jaw dropped. I gawked at the size of the main entrance. A winding staircase wrapped up to the upstairs while a gorgeous skylight cast shadows on the marble stairs. I got the grand tour of the upstairs. The master bedroom, the walk-in closet which was double the size of the master bedroom. The master bathroom connected the two together. White marble floors, a white marble shower, white marble counter tops, a gorgeous jacuzzi bathtub under a 6 foot by 8 foot stained glass window. The main office with beautiful redwood cabinets. Double glass doors lead onto one of two balconies. The childrens rooms were next. The twins slept on the north side of the west wing, while the youngest slept on the south side. All 3 bedrooms including a computer room had beautiful marble and granite en suites. A second winding stair case lead to the kitchen and dining area. To the west of that, the 5 car garage and north of there, the training and rehab centre. A lap pool, marble sauna, his and hers shower rooms, and 2 bathrooms all marble as well surrounded the work out area. Beside the garage were stairs leading to what used to be a games room.

Small holes littered one of the walls suggesting a dart board had once been there. In the middle of the room sat a regulation size Snooker table. The brilliant green felt suggested no one had used it in ages. A door lead to a cedar sauna which had been used as a storage room. Continuing through the maze of stairs, walls and doors, we walked into the main rec-room which housed an enormous fireplace which was never used, with good reason...it would take someone a year and a half of wood chopping to feed a fire big enough to head the room for one week. I sat in it comfortably...it was a dare. We exited the room, found two fully furnished apartments with kitchenettes, bathrooms and shared washers and dryers. We headed back up the stairs to the top floor and began planning the demolition of the top floor.

I spent 8 hours on my hands and knees slicing and rolling wall to wall carpet. My finger tips burned and blistered. My knees ached from the constant up and down action. My arms were rough and bloddied from the carpet tacks, and the rough underside of the carpet. My calves and hamstrings burned from the continuous stair climbing while carrying upwards of 40 pounds of carpet. I laid the old carpet down on the marble floor below to protect it from the dirty and muddy boots to come in the following days.

Day one was finished, day two welcomed me with open arms. Myself along with 4 others, a camera crew and television host began ripping apart the drywall, crown molding and any cabinets left behind by the previous tennants, who happened to be Alexander Mogilny and his family. We chopped, hacked, ripped and kicked the drywall apart in huge chunks and tossed them into a waste bin outside. Wall outlets sparked and zapped as we shorted circuits, insulation covered our arms making it itchy and uncomfortable, and outside a light rain began to fall.

After 4 days of ripping tearing and kicking the shit out of the walls, the insulation and ceilings needed to come out. I was handed the ugly task of insulation removal. I pulled out chunks of yellow itchy fibreglass insulation kicking up dust and ripping any remaining drywall off the stud screws. I noticed some odd discolouration on one of the pieces of insulation. I pulled on it as I normally did and as it fell on me, I regretted my actions immediately.

It felt like rain falling on my head, but I knew it wasn't rain. I knew immediately that it was ants. Thousands of black carpenter ants. Those large ugly sons of bitches. The rained down on me, running all over my neck and down my shirt. I shuddered at the thought of them making their way downtown. I grabbed the front of my pants and tightened them as tight as I possibly could have while shaking off. For the rest of the day I couldn't shake the feeling of thousands of tiny hairy scratchy legs swarming my body and flooding my senses. But that was work. For the first time in over a year, I felt proud of what I had accomplished at work. I smiled the whole ride home after my first week. I finally felt good about my job.

-Appleby