Wow, I feel like I haven’t blogarrhea’d out a post in eons, not because I’ve been lazy…okay, maybe a tiny bit lazy, Freddy and I are power-watching, or Bluthing, all 4 seasons of Arrested Development before he goes away for the summer. But I have also been busy flying my broomstick in the west end of the city. I’m going to have to change the title of this site to “my toronto WHEEEE”…you know the “EH” stands for “east hoods,” right? It’s not that bovine Canadian colloquialism, “eh” that every patriotic hoser uptalks at the end of every sentence whether it is a question or not, because I never do that….eh?

Anyway, I have a job in the west end and more on that later, I signed a confidentiality agreement that I read as assiduously as an Apple licensing agreement when downloading the latest version of iTunes,in other words not a single word of it passed through my retinas, so I don’t want to blab about it too much in case I say something that taints the orange halo. When I say “west end,” I am not talking about twee Trinity Bellwoods, half-gentrified Parkdale, or that contrived, trendy, boring dump, Liberty Village. My new job is in deep, dark Etobicoke! Do you know how long it took me to learn how to spell it? So many syllables, where do put the emphasis? For those of you out-of-towners who read me, you say it like: uh-TOE-buh-COH…the K is silent, like all good k’s should be. Etobicoke is the stomping grounds of our mayor, Rob Ford, and where I work, dollars for donuts, he will walk in one day for a weed whacker or a propane tank and I am going to just DIE star-struck. I mean it, the more shenanigans the mayor gets into, the more I love him and I love him more intensely each day as he is such an amazing gaping goatse of an asshole, but in an entertaining way. So delete me or whatever.

I thought I hated the west end and it would be a drag to get there because in my old age I have developed a fear of highway driving. Every time I’m on a highway, I keep thinking my mind is going to snap and I will spazz out and steer my golf cart into a giant truck. That’s another thing, my little first generation Scion XB drives like a toy car and velocity is not its thing, so when Precious gets to the highway speeds, there is a definite sensation that her wheels are going to pop off, especially when she hits those thrill bumps at Humber Bay. So I take the Lakeshore/Queensway and I love it. I am a mellow city driver and stop lights don’t get me down and time is my bitch, I like to waste it doing the most mundane things like sitting in traffic. Also I have discovered all kinds of cute stores and restaurants along the way, like THE CHEESE BOUTIQUE off of South Kingsway. My sister told me about this place, it’s rooms full of cheese, chocolate, and pepperoni. It’s like a culinary museum where everything is for sale and melts in your mouth.

It’s a whole new world for me and fuck knows I need a change, you can set your watch by my east end activities. I am super-stoked about my job. I get to wear steel toe safety boots, so I found a cute pink pair at Mark’s. gonna put the “ho” in Home Depot. There you go. The other day when I was walking to the training room from the paint department, which is going to be my beat, I got all choked up and teary eyed, not because I was sad but because I was so overwhelmed with a relief and gratitude. Weird, right? Everyone there is so nice, I’m just not used it. I’m used to being invisible. Even the training has been fun. Don’t you just hate being in a conference room with out a bunch of motley strangers and then being forced to do that thing where they go around the room and everyone has to say their name and tell something about themselves…like what? I have nothing to say about me, ironically, and I live in absolute fear of these types of situations. I hate saying my name out loud and always have the impulse to say my name is Ginger. At The Home Depot, which I can’t stop habitually pronouncing “DEE-poe,” as “duh-POE” emphasis on the last syllable, they find it funny and my unbridled enthusiasm charming. Instead of circle jerk introductions, we partnered up, cracked open a box of Smarties, chose 3 colours each, and asked each other 3 questions from the board which matched each colour. Important inquiries such as what is your favourite tv show and what would you do if you won the lottery? Then we got to introduce our partner and tell everyone what we learned about him/her. This was genius because in less than 10 minutes and with just 3 questions, I got my partner, George’s, entire life story including his phone number. I am going to rock this job.

Also there is a Bier Market next door which is one of the better chain restaurants. After my third(!) and final  interview last week, I met Jesus there for a pint. Not THAT Jesus, MY JESUS, JESUS OF THE JUNCTION, the name of my screen play, don’t steal it. This Jesus has always got something going on, he needs me for “free” therapy which costs him a minimum of 2 pints, sometimes 3…or when he is completely needy then we have 4. Trust me, it’s a bargain, he is such a hot mess. He is 43 and dating a 20-something-year-old like he is entitled even though he barely has a job, you know the type. He lives in his married sister’s basement for free but babysits her kids whenever she needs him. This is a pretty awesome set-up because when they are at school, he spends all his time at the gym or the tattoo parlour getting his ink touched up. He does have the most beautiful mermaid tattoo on his forearm that I am jelly of except that she is wearing a seashell bra, I would have had her sans bra but with strategically placed flowing hair, or not. Who cares about a nip slip on a tattoo? It’s so badass. But Jesus does because he doesn’t want to “shock his mama.” That is just so hilarious.

He can’t sit on a patio in the sun because one of his arms, the non-mermaid one is freshly scabbing over with blue and red flakes of skin. It’s some big mess based upon the “Red Wedding” from “Game of Thrones.” Gross. So we sit inside at the bar on the only nice day of the summer so far. Whatevs, I actually care about the weather. The sun is bullshit anyway, I like this whacky cold summer. But let’s get right into Jesus’s problem du jour.

Jesus’s younger brother, Hector, is getting married at the end of the month. It turns out EVERYBODY, family and friends, hates the guts of his fiancee. She is a “conniving cunt,” his words, and is after him for his business which is a fish market, The Fish Monger’s Cunt, name of the next screen play, don’t steal it. He went on a big rampage about her that we don’t need to repeat but suffice to say, this is one of those women that give bitches a bad name.

Jesus asks: Should somebody tell him, before he gets married, that we all hate her? Or do we just let it happen and watch the inevitable train wreck?

What do you think, people?

I am of two minds on this sort of thing, having been in and seen people in destructive relationships. On one hand, you can’t tell someone NOT to be with someone because they won’t listen and they will resent you.”Love” makes people not just blind, but deaf AND with the judgement of a drunken teenager. Ages ago I used to be in a circle of couple friends (“couplings” *barf* I know) where the dude was funny, smart, and handsome but his wife was this super-ugly, chinless, pear-shaped militant vegetarian twat with no humour or redeeming qualities whatsoever, and yet I was the only one who vehemently hated her. I am convinced the others in the group just put up with her because the guy was so nice, but no, they seemed to actually like her. I had to scratch it up to one of those mysteries of life where I am the outsider and everyone else is in the Twilight Zone. But when EVERYONE hates the person, that is meaningful and maybe someone should say something. If you don’t, then some day, maybe not next year, but in two or three, Hector will wake up from his oxytocin fog and look at the woman he married and shriek whilst biting off his arm: “WHY THE HELL DIDN’T SOMEONE WARN ME I MARRIED A COW?”

I think it’s up to Jesus, the best man.

So the burning question is: How do you tell someone they are about to make a huge Bluth-style mistake?

1. The passive aggressive approach. You tell a story as though it is an Aesop Fable and you hope the person understands it is about them. Like Jesus could watch Arrested Development with Hector, specifically an episode that depicts Michael’s disdain for George Michael’s homely girlfriend, Anne, and he could turn to his brother and say something LOL-like: “This show is so much like our family, if I were a character, I would be Michael and if you were a character, you would be George Michael.” And then hope he gets it. But he won’t, because people are stupid. And Jesus is totally GOB anyway, so that point would be moot.

2. Get even more passive aggressive. Send him an anonymous note like: YOUR FIANCEE IS A COW, DON’T MARRY HER. SIGNED, A FRIEND. This will probably never work. People believe anonymous notes are written by embittered cat ladies or hermit men who have enough equipment in their sheds to build bombs. BUT! At least it plants a seed in their dumb heads.

3. Tell him gently. Simply say: “Hector, I think you might be rushing into this and if you want to back out, it’s okay.” And you have done your due diligence, although probably far too mild mannered for it to have any impact that when he does end up chewing his arm off, coyote-style, he will completely forget you said anything at all.

4. Just tell him straight up. I am a fan of this one and have been known to point out many loitering, flatulent elephants in any given room. Say it in language he can really understand: “Hector, usted está haciendo un gran error, tu novia es una vaca, todo el mundo le odia.” And there you have it. Brutal honesty is super scary and sometimes you will have diarrhea afterwards but it will be a great relief, trust me.

5. And if you chicken out: Get your friend to work it into a blog post and send him the link, and if he gets past the first 5 bloated paragraphs then he gets the message and if he doesn’t, it is out there forever living in the ethers of the internet where you can access it in 10 years and say: “I TOLD YOU SO!”  Oh, and anybody else who knows somebody who is about to make a huge mistake, you can send this as a cautionary tale. You’re welcome.

This is about fixing a broken heart and I am OBSESSED with this video: