Well...THAT Was Embarrassing

THIS is why I can't get out of bed in the morning...

Trent and I were on our way home from work last night, taking our usual route of 14th street to Crowchild Trail. I was blasting an audiobook by Jennfer Weiner, a collection of short stories titled The Guy Not Taken, which by the way doesn’t make any sense to me at all. There hasn’t yet been a single story about a guy not taken, let alone a whole collection of them. But then, who the fuck am I?

Anyway, as Trent and I were chugging along the busy road, I felt a curious tweak of intuition, one that I had felt while driving to work that morning, that told me something was wrong with Trent. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it; something just felt weird. I turned down my audiobook and then flicked off the A/C so I could listen for a second, and that’s when I heard it.

Trent had a flat tire.

What the fuck? I wondered, as I pulled off the busy road and into a Safeway parking lot. These tires were brand spanking new, as of a couple of months ago. I would be so pissed if one of them was already useless.

I parked Trent and got out to take a look. But every single tire looked fine to me; I even kicked them to appear like I had some idea of what I was doing, but they were all full of air and firm. I did not have a flat tire.

What should I do? I wondered. I decided I should just get Trent home and ask Dad to have a look at him and tell me what’s up. Trent had just been in the shop a week ago to get his A/C fixed, but I couldn’t imagine how that could in any way be related to the sound of a flat tire.

I pulled back into traffic and stopped at a red light. When the light changed to green I accelerated and went through the intersection, and suddenly Trent woobled dangerously in my hands and BAM! The back of the truck dropped out from underneath me.

“FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!” I screamed as Trent and I slammed to a violent halt. I put the car in park, then put my shaking hand to my pounding heart. “What the fucking fuck just fucking happened?” I cried.

“My father raised his head, and his look hardened. ‘Is that all you’ve got for your old man?’ he demanded harshly...”

I punched the power on the CD player with my free hand. “Shut up, Jessica! I’m busy,” I moaned, and reached for the door handle.

I could feel all the eyes of rush hour traffic upon me as I stepped out of my car and looked back towards the intersection. A yellow truck had stopped a few car lengths behind me, and a guy about my age was just getting out of the driver’s side door. He leaned down to the ground and picked up a big black tire from the meridian, and started walking towards Trent and I.

I looked back at my Trent. The rear driver’s side tire had somehow morphed into a bright orange, ugly piece of rusted steel that sat directly on the pavement. I wasn’t 100% certain, but I suspected there had been a tire there when I left the tattoo parlour ten minutes earlier.

“Lose something?” the guy from the yellow truck asked with a grin as he dumped my tire onto the road beside Trent.

I felt a bit of relief; he wouldn’t be smiling if my tire had actually gone through his windscreen and decapitated his children. Well.  One would assume.

“I don’t think so...” I twirled my hair and stuck out my hip. He laughed, then reached into hie pocket and pulled out a cell phone.

“Need to call anyone?” he asked.

“No, I’m good,” I said, and gestured to Trent. “I’ve got my phone with me.”

He nodded and walked back to his truck, pulling out into traffic again with a wave and driving off. I reached into the car for my cell phone, then called Roadside Assistance and my dad. I started packing up as much stuff as I could possibly cram into my purse and my gym bag, dumping the bags onto the meridian and stuffing them full of books and costumes and stripper shoes from my car.

“You okay there?” I heard a voice say to my butt as I was stretched across the backseat, trying to dislodge my makeup bag from underneath the seat. I pulled back out of the truck and saw a man standing in front of me, laying his bicycle to rest on the pavement beside my tire.

Allen, as it turned out, knew a lot about cars. “You lost your fleeber flabber and your gazoobadunk,” he explained a few minutes later, pointing to various bits and pieces of my vehicle.

“Mmmmm, yes, of course,” I nodded thoughtfully as he spoke. “Yes, the gazoobadunk. That’s what I thought, too.”

He came up with a plan to get my tire back on temporarily and to get Trent off to the side of the road to wait for the tow truck. He set to work, lying on the ground underneath my truck, beside his abandoned bicycle.

And that’s when the ambulance pulled up.

Two paramedics jumped out and came running towards us. I looked up in surprise. “I’m okay,” I called out to them. “No worries, I’m fine.”

Such a lot of fuss over lil’ old me, I thought gleefully to myself, patting my hair down and blushing prettily.

Allen slid out from underneath Trent, and assessed the situation and what was actually going on.

“She didn’t hit me,” he called out to the paramedics as he stood up, and they immediately pulled up short.

“Oh thank god,” one of the said, slapping Allen cheerfully on the back. “We saw the bike beside the car and you underneath it and thought...”

They all had a good laugh. I sniffed haughtily and turned away. Oh I’m FINE, thanks! I wanted to yell.

Allen went back to work on Trent’s tire and the paramedics started directing traffic. I continued to "Mmm-Hmm" my support for Allen as he took a “lug nut” from each of Trent’s other tires and reattached my fourth wheel.

Suddenly there was another young man with us, chatting with Allen and the paramedics about what had happened. I figured he was just another looky-lou, and I thought, how rude to come all the way over here just to be nosy. What a douche.

“So, can I just get your name and number?” he finally said to me.

My mouth dropped open. You’re hitting on me NOW? I thought wildly. WTF?!

“And just who are YOU?” I demanded of him, hands on my hips.

“Uh...your tire flew off and hit my car?” the young guy said.

“...oh,” I said. “Right. Of course.”

We exchanged names, numbers and insurance info, then Allen suggested I go and take a picture of the kid’s car and the damage. I left Allen and Trent and the paramedics and walked across the street to the other car.

“So, could I just get you to sign something, saying that the accident was your fault?” the kid asked as we waited at the lights to cross the street.

I laughed and clapped my hands with delight. “Yeah, right,” I grinned at him.

He didn’t see the humor. “Why not?” he demanded.

I laughed again, thinking, what am I, a fucking idiot? I stuck my nose up in the air and said as regally as I could, “I will not be signing anything without my solicitor present.”

He rolled his eyes, but he didn’t press the matter, so I assumed I had done a good impression of a person with a solicitor. Or who could spell solicitor.

Eventually all was solved; Trent was packed up and towed off to the mechanic’s, Allen was dispatched home with a sweaty kiss and my blubbering gratitude, and the paramedics went off to find an actual accident. And now it is just me at home on my own, missing Trent and hoping this little incident didn’t cost more than, say, $20 to repair.

Fingers crossed, people!

Whooops

.

We're In This Together Now (Sucka)

"Somewheeeeere out theeeeeere, I dreeeeeeeeam of Kaaaaaaage tonight."

I've become impossible
holding on to when
when everything seemed to matter more
the two of us
all used and beaten up
watching fate as it flows down the path we
have chose


you and me
we're in this together now
none of them can stop us now
we will make it through somehow
you and me
if the world should break in two
until the very end of me
until the very end of you


~ Nine Inch Nails


Oh, Trent. When I saw you decked out today in your brand new winter gear, I couldn’t have been more proud.

You looked so gorgeous, so handsome and strong and ready for winter. I was brought back to that fateful day last year when I almost lost you. The accident that had nearly cost you your life, and the the emergency surgery that had followed.

I also reflected today on just how much you have been there for me for the past ten years of friendship; the long cold nights when we cuddled in the snow together, keeping each other warm when we had nowhere else to go; the miles and miles we drove across Canada together during the years I worked as a dancer; all the off-key singing and endless babbling you have put up with from me without ever judging me or criticizing my choices in life; always being there to protect me when I had no one else to turn to, when I was frightened and alone; the way you held me when I wasn’t feeling well and just let me lie there for hours, groaning and feeling sorry for myself.

The best part yesterday when I dropped you off at Canadian Tire was when the mechanic added that extra note to your file:

“Please Call Car Trent. He Likes This.”

And when I went to pick you up this morning:

“Are you here for Trent? His new winter tires look great!”

They sure do, baby. They sure do.

I know I've used this picture over and over and over again. But it's
too damn cold to go outside and take another, so suck it up.

.

(Oh) No, You Don't

"No, dude, seriously, I was like this close to Kage's ass,
all I had to do was open my mouth..."

Smiling in thier faces
While filling up the hole
So many dirty little places
In your filthy little worn out
Broken down see-through soul


Baby's got a problem
Tries so hard to hide
Got to keep it on the surface
Because everything else is dead on the other side



~ Nine Inch Nails


“Hey, isn’t that my sweater?”

I froze in front of my computer screen for a moment, then looked over my shoulder at M and assumed the expression of an innocent cherub. “Mmmmmmm?" I said with an angelic smile. "What was that, my love?”

“My sweater,” M repeated crossly, pulling a black hoody down from a shelf in my closet. “Isn’t this my sweater?”

“Oh. No, I don’t think so,” I said politely, then cast around quickly for a diversion. “Oh my god, baby,  did you see that? What the dogs just did? Baaaaaaaby? Did you see? What the dogs just did? It was incredible! Come over here, you gotta see this!”

I ran over to the dogs and gestured at them excitedly, though all three of them were just lying there in a motionless heap on the floor, doing nothing at all. Except snoring and drooling.

“Hey, this one’s mine too!” M exclaimed, ignoring my desperate Jazz Hand-ed attempts to attract his attention, and pulling down another thick black hoody from the depths of my wardrobe. “And this one.” A purple hoody with the cuffs cut off tumbled to the floor, followed by an emerald green one with long, holey arms; my personal favorite.  A blue one with a bright metal zipper was close behind.

He turned to stare at me, exasperated. “Kage, just how many sweaters have you stolen from my house in the past few weeks?” He tossed the multicolored bundle onto my bed.

“That’s it, just five,” I said haughtily, my hand on my hip. “Jeez, talk about selfish.You can’t let me borrow five goddamn sweaters, M? I mean, really. I am simply appalled by your lack of charity.”

“Nine, ten, eleven...” M counted, returning to the closet and pulling down a wildly patterned Rip Curl sweatshirt, followed by a black-and-purple Billabong zip-up. A big black pullover with his band's logo splashed across the front teetered precariously on the edge of the now almost empty shelf.

“That one’s mine,” I piped up helpfully.

He turned to look at me, shaking his head in amazement. "No, it's not."

I looked down at my hands, suddenly enamored with the shape and condition of my nails.

“Oh my god, what is this?” he demanded, and reached into the far depths of my closet.  He turned back to me and waved a glittering, hot pink zip-up hoody. Brightly embroidered flowers and rainbows decorated the chest in sporadic fashion, and the short capped sleeves were edged with lace. He unfolded it and held it against his chest, which, even with the capped sleeves pulled all the way out to each side, fell at least eight inches short of reaching across the breadth of his torso.

M narrowed his eyes suspiciously and peered more closely at the sparkly abomination splayed out on his chest. “Kage, this tag...does it say Please, Mum?” he asked incredulously.

I anxiously began chewing on my bottom lip, then glanced up at the white stucco ceiling for inspiration,  or maybe an escape route. Instead, I looked into the eyes of my Henry Rollins poster, who glared back down upon me broodily.

Help me, Henry, I thought desperately, and cleared my throat.

“Okay, I realize what this looks like,” I began, winding my fingers together as I tried to find the right words to explain, but they were nowhere to be found. Where the hell did they go?

“It looks like you stole a sweater from my three-year-old daughter, that’s what it looks like,” he grinned.

Oh, there's the right words, I thought uneasily. They’re coming out of his mouth. 

I couldn't think of anything clever to say, so I stood up and walked sheepishly to the closet, where I grabbed a plastic bag from one of the small drawers on it's inside wall. I went back to the bed and started cramming in the recently-recovered stolen goods.

“Aw, baby, I was just kidding,” M chastised gently, watching me grab another plastic bag. “You don’t have to do that.”

“No, M, I do,” I said earnestly. “I should never have taken your sweaters home without your permission. What I did was wrong.”

“Wow,” he looked impressed. “There’s really sweet of you to give them back, babe. I’ll just run this first load out to the car, then.”

I grinned broadly to myself as he walked outside to his car. M was right, it was sweet of me to give back  all of his sweaters.

After all, I can’t steal them all again if they’re still at MY house.


.

Big Man With A Gun

Oh, hey, Trent. 
Gosh, you look lovely tonight. Better than lovely. Mmmm.
Ker-ist, it's hot in here.
And I think my panties just fell off.

I am a big man, yes I am
And I have a big gun
Got me a big old dick 
And I like to have fun


Held against your forehead
I'll make you suck it
Maybe I'll put a hole in your head
You know, just for the fuck of it


I can reduce you if I want
I can devour
I'm hard as fucking steel 
And I’ve got the power


I'm every inch a man 
And I'll show you somehow
Me and my fucking gun
Nothing can stop me now


~ Nine Inch Nails


Did I say gun?

I meant award.

Good work, baby. See you at home...


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Happiness In Slavery

"Oh Trent, you're such a poppet, holding my award for me..."

Don’t open your eyes, you won’t like what you see
The devils of truth steal the souls of the free
Don’t open your eyes, take it from me
I have found, you can find


Happiness in Slavery


I don't know what I am 
I don't know where I've been
Human junk 
Just words and so much skin


Stick my hands thru the cage 
Of this endless routine
Just some flesh caught in this big broken machine


~ Nine Inch Nails

I haven’t been around for a few days, now. 

On Monday I went for the first of a few dental surgeries. During my time under, I am quite certain that Dr. Yu and his assistant removed my teeth and replaced them with tooth-shaped cyanide capsules, so they could sit back and watch the hilarity ensue.

Now, I know what you’re all thinking, but I AM NOT PARANOID.

All I’m saying is, they’re watching me.

I’ve spent the past several days under my blankets, bemoaning my soon-approaching death and my apparent lack of adequate dental hygiene. Actually, it’s less a lack of  proper care of my teeth, and more an irrational and irrepressible fear of the dentist that has lead me to my current state of misery, but whatever. You say tomato, I saw Ow, my teeth hurt hurt. Anyway, Mr. Rollins, my beloved MacBook (cuz I get to touch it all the time, get it? GET IT?), was but a mere two feet away, on the floor beside my bed, but I was too lost in my solipsistic misery to lean over and pick him up and do anything productive. Besides that, I could see that he was far too busy, working double duty as Billy’s hot water bottle.

Anyhoo, in my absence, I have been remiss in acknowledging a few things that really deserve to be acknowledged. I need to apologize to the adorable Jewels, who very kindly threw an award my way over the weekend:

I was planning to respond to her generosity on Monday, as Sunday was, of course, my imaginary boyfriend Henry Rollins' birthday, which obviously takes precedence over everything in the entire world. In fact, I was somewhat looking forward to seeing what nonsensical gobbledygook would flow from my fingers, fresh from general anesthetic as I would be on Monday afternoon. However, I failed to account for the sleepiness that would overtake me the moment I saw my bed.

And here we are, three days later. 

In accepting this award, I realized that I forgot to pass along another award, that was given to me by my buddy Sugar Free, at Sugar Free Thoughts.

Um...oooops-a-dilly. 

Christ. I’m up to my boobs in unrequited awards, here. And so, here we go. Here’s the seven things you don’t want to know about me:

1. Besides Henry Rollins, I wish Stephen Colbert and 1979 Jello Biafra lived in my pants. I’m not sure if you knew that. Did you know that? Now you do.
2. I don’t know why I’m so angry and hateful sometimes. Or maybe I do, and I just don’t want to tell you. I like my charm to remain something of a mystery.
3. I was in a movie once, called “Confessions of a Go Go Girl”. It was terrible, but my boobs looked fantastic.
4. When I was little, I owned a pair of Wonder Woman flip flops. I loved them, and cried when me mum threw them away.
5. I once got suspended from elementary school for paying two girls to kiss on the school bus.
6. I used to have an office job. I made roughly the same amount of money in a month that I made in a weekend dancing, so I chucked it after nine months.
7. I am supposedly good with children, but they terrify the shit out of me. I’m so scared they’ll break, and that I’ll be the one to blame.

Okay, so the Jadip award I am giving to a girl named Daae, at Fickle Frustrations (and other such things). Daae and I were in hop-sital together, though she has made it through a lot more successfully than I. She is an amazing young woman, who keeps fighting every day, and though I’d shoot myself in the face before I’d tell her, I’m very proud of her for how far she has come. Plus, she’s going to be a famous concert flutist one day, and I fully plan on riding her coat tails to infinity. 

Now, here’s my seven suckers for the Stylish Blogger award:

Highway 10 Revisited

Hed Above Water

Sugar Free Thoughts

Procrastination Squared

A Daft Scot's Lass

Lesbians In My Soup

Venom, Secrets & Lies

These are all really well written and funny blogs. Take a sec and go check 'em out.

 I’m going back to bed, to die of cyanide poisoning. 

Somewhat Damaged

Hey, lover, sorry I'm late!
...yes, thank-you, Mariqueen, you are dismissed. 
You can leave Trent alone now.

Lick around divine debris
Taste the wealth of hate in me
Shedding skin succumb defeat
This machine is obsolete


Made the choice to go away
Drink the fountain of decay
Tear a hole exquisite red
Fuck the rest and stab it dead


Broken bruised forgotten sore
Too fucked up to care anymore
Poisoned to my rotten core
Too fucked up to care anymore


~ Nine Inch Nails


He lived.

TRENT LIVES ON.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!

NO ONE can get between a crazy stripper and her dilapidated, clapped-out piece-of-shit car!

NO ONE.

Hahahahahahahahahahahaha! (Evil, sadistic laugh that makes you vaguely uncomfortable.)

That is all.

"My BABY!"
*Sadly, the rest of the reunion photos have been deemed inappropriate 
for public consumption by the Department of Motor Vehicles.

The Ruiner

Hey, baby!
Who's the chick with the fucking Crazy Eyes?

The raping of the innocent 
You know the ruiner 
Ruins everything he sees
Now the only pure thing left in my fucking world 
Is wearing your disease


How did you get so big?
How did you get so strong?
How did it get so hard?
How did it get so long?


What you gave to me
My perfect ring of scars
You know I can see 
What you really are


You didn't hurt me 
Nothing can hurt me
You didn't hurt me 


Nothing can stop me now 


~ Nine Inch Nails


Oh, God, Trent. I hope you’re okay.

The accident today was so scary. Holy shit. I can’t even believe it happened.

And now they’ve got your body opened up somewhere, trying to meld your insides back together and save your life.

And all I can do is sit here and wait.

It didn’t even feel real when we hit the ice and went off the road, did it? As we bumped over the embankment and just kept going, I kept thinking, No fucking way, and wondered if, and then when, we were gonna hit that pole.

How far would you say we missed it by? Half a foot? Maybe less?

I was lucky. No injuries, only shock.

You, not so much.

My parents had to drag me off of you, sobbing and screaming. I clung to your body as it was quickly losing it's warmth, and told them I had to stay with you. But they shook their heads and physically lifted me off of you.

“No!” I cried, as they hauled me back to their truck. “We can’t just leave him here in the snow!”

“Kage,” my dad said softly. “There’s nothing more you can do for him. It's out of our hands now. You just don’t have that kind of power.”

I hated him then for being right - I didn’t have that kind of power, no matter how badly I wanted it. I exhaustedly gave up fighting and let my parents fold me into their truck, as I cried and mewled out pathetically for you, over and over.

And now I lie, curled up on the floor in my room, praying to a god that I don’t believe in that you will survive, Trent, and come back to me.

I don’t know what I would do without you. I suddenly realized today that I don’t have any friends left, other than you. Who else is gonna go to the gym with me twice a day? Who else will listen patiently and laugh along encouragingly as I try, over and over and over again, to get all the Dead Kennedys song lyrics right? Who else is gonna go with me anywhere I want to go, any time I want?

I’ve pushed everyone else away, Trent.

All I have left is you.

Please, baby, please.

Don't die.

Come home to me.

Hang in there, Trent, my sweet, rusted-out piece-of-shit. Mummy loves you.

Frozen Loved Ones (And How To Dispose Of Their Remains)

Honey? Don't forget to brush the horses...

"Arbitrary rules teach kids discipline. If every rule made sense, they wouldn't be learning respect for authority. They be learning logic." 
~ Stephen Colbert

Dad called on his way home Tuesday night, when I was still sick in bed, intermittently vomiting my guts out. (Against my will. It's different. Ah, shut your whore mouth.)

“You’d better run outside and check on Trent, hun,” he said, and I groaned. “I know you’re sick, Kagie, but it’s minus 27 out there, and you haven’t checked on him in a few days.”

I cried and moaned, and even tried a few 'Can’t you do it, Daddy?’s, but to no avail. He was my baby, ergo my responsibility. I reluctantly crawled out of bed and got dressed.

I stumbled out into the back yard, leaving the dogs inside the house, so I would only have to deal with one frozen pet at a time. “Trent,” I called out as I approached him. “It’s...hack! hack! Ugh...It’s Mummy!”

I opened the side gate and walked through.

And there was my poor baby Trent, frozen in the snow.

“Trent?” I said, and approached him. “Trent?” I said a little louder, and gave him a gentle kick with my boot.

Nothing.

Uh oh. Uh, fuck.

I tried to turn him over, but he didn’t budge. “Please, baby, please, you cannot die on me,” I moaned, and tried desperately to turn him over again. I just wasn’t strong enough, though, and I started to cry.

“Please, Trent, don’t leave me!” I begged him, and desperately ran my hands all over his body, trying to warm him up. “Please, baby, please! Wake up!”

Headlights suddenly caught my eye, and I saw my dad pulling into the lane. “Dad!” I screamed. “Dad, help me! I think Trent’s dead. What do I do? What do I DO?”

Dad jumped out of his truck and ran over to Trent’s lifeless form, and tried to turn him over too, but he couldn’t do it either. I stood beside him, and cried helplessly.

“We’d better get him into the garage, where it’s warm,” Dad said grimly.

“How the hell are we supposed to do that?” I cried. “We can’t even turn him over! How are we gonna get him in the garage, push him?”

Dad gave me a look that said I didn’t leave him outside, and I shut up. We actually did try to push his lifeless bulk into the garage, but of course, it didn’t work.

“What now?” I asked sulkily.

“We’re gonna have to push him in with my truck,” Dad said.

“Oh my God,” I moaned. Dad went back to his truck, and I went to sit in the snow and cry. I watched as Dad backed his truck straight into Trent, and I screamed when I heard the sickening crunch of the truck colliding with my baby. Dad’s tires were spinning and spraying snow everywhere, but eventually, he got Trent into the garage.

When the job was done, he came and pulled me out of the snow. “I’ll finish here, Kagie,” he said quietly. “You get back to bed.”

I walked away in a daze, and walked back into the house, where I kicked off my winter boots and then just crawled into bed, still dressed in my winter jacket, scarf and mitts.

I couldn’t believe it. Trent was gone. My baby was dead, and it was ALL MY FAULT.

“Trent,” I cried into my pillow. “I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

I didn’t get out of bed for two days. What was the point, if I didn’t have Trent?

I had to get up today, though, to go see Dr. Cram-It-In and explain why I am the weakest (and the rudest) member of the Eating Disorders Program. I could barely move this afternoon, my depression was so great, but I knew I would be booted from the program if I didn’t show.

“Kage,” Mum said when I finally shuffled out of my room.

“What?” I said miserably.

“Your Dad wants to see you in the garage,” she said, and motioned for me to go outside.

I sighed, but walked out the front door, and into the garage.

As I stepped into the garage, Dad turned Trent over, and my baby roared back into life. I screamed in terror, and almost ran out of the garage.

“Trent!” I yelled and turned back into the garage, then jumped up and down on the spot like the moron that I SO AM. “Trent! Trent! Trent! Trent! My baby! You’re alive!”

My dad grinned from behind the steering wheel. “Only just,” he grumbled.

“Whatever,” I snorted, and threw myself dramatically over Trent’s hood, and began kissing it gratefully. "Oh, my baby. Did you miss your Mummy? Did you? DID you?"

“Ew,” I said, and wiped the city’s grime from my mouth. “Puh! Gross. Hey, do you see the significance of what has happened here, Dad? Do you? Huh? Huh?”

“Uh, no,” he said, and slid out of the driver’s seat. “What is the significance of what has happened here, Kage?”

“My passion for Trent Reznor has breathed life back into this car,” I said sagely.

“What? No, it hasn't! I have!” Dad cried.

But I would not be swayed. “My passion for Trent Reznor has breathed life back into this car,” I whispered manically.

“Oh God,” Dad rolled his eyes, tossed me the keys, and walked out of the garage.

Ha ha! Long live my never-ending, definitely-bordering-on-unhealthy obsession with Nine Inch Nails!

Oooops, I mean...long live my Chevy Tracker.

And long live my Dad!

Cuz you WANNA put your FEEEET on my RUGGGG, don't ya? You really WANNA put your FEEEET on my RUGGGG, don't ya? PIMP JUICE.