Sunday, May 9, 2010

1.09 - A story about being sh*t-canned...

Good evening lambs-

How are you?

It's Sunday night and I'm sipping a cup of mint tea and listening to a new episode of "Sex with Emily". If you haven't checked her out, please do. Emily is also a friend of mine on Twitter, so from time to time you'll catch tweets between Em and I. Emily is finishing up her book as I'm trying to finishing the draft for my manuscript here in the next month.

The call home has happened for me once again when I found out that my Guela (grandmother) was having a major surgery involving the removal of a tumor from the side of her face later this last week. I was incredibly shocked to find out that not only is the tumor benign and all is well in the facial department, but that a newly-found tumor in her brain may be more cause for some concern.
Never one for lots of drama, this was way to much for me to handle. I, in fact, depressed myself and Panda at a recent dinner a couple nights ago when I found out via phone call from my mum the night before my Guela's surgery.

It got me thinking as I paced and cried outside the restaurant, "why am I sad? Why am I crying? Why is this so unbearable?"

For future reference, as a child, I spent my time for a near twelve years growing up between my home with my well-off parents in an upper-middle class neighbourhood and with my Guela in a very low income part of town. The fine line between the two environements: one being full of ambition and time for family, but it had to be scheduled and the warmth of my Guela's home where nothing was new and everything was in Spanish or from the dollar store or Avon was very evident as I grew into the person I am now.

I am, undeniably, the richest poor person you'll meet and the poorest rich person you'll meet.

-I'll drive the same car for years to keep down costs and never buy a new one.

-I'll spend 80 bucks on meal, but never have groceries.
-I will know how to make the most out of $10, but make you think I spent $100, etc.

Poor/Rich Boy

That's me.
Rich, but humble.
Poor, but plentiful.
I think maybe that's what hurt the most, the fact that even though I knew everything was going to be okay, I had a doubt that I had not been there as a good grandson or son. As I sat there just minutes earlier at table with good friend, Panda and enjoyed $80 worth of a lifestyle I've taken time segregated from my family to achieve to only face the reality, that my foundation, my Guela, was falling apart.

With that said, all went well, and we've enjoyed a quiet mother's day at my family's home. I've forgotten how to keep it all in my brain here at home. I've spent alot of time with Panda lately and only to the greeting of gossip and remarks. Mostly due to the blog, "good friends" have brought up the fact that my friend and I have been the subject of many of my posts online and in my blog stories.

As I sat at the table for the $80 dinner the other night, all red-eyed from my phone call, I sat and looked at Panda across the table and told him what was going on. Already stressed out from work, Panda listened distantly as I verbally melted down to our server and to him and as I tried to regain my composer, he came out with the sentence:

"you are more than welcome to stay with me whenever you'd like, but next week, I think I need my space."

So, go home?
I sat in silence.

I was already the subject of the local Us Weekly

Already the backroom talk.

Already #2 or #10 (depending on the day) on someone's crush list.

My best friend has rarely spoken to me in the last two week

My grandma is in major surgery and has another found illness that could kill her and now...
I'm being shit-canned.


Written off.

Told to go home.

But my reaction was unnecessary, you know?

I knew eventually I'd probably be told to go home or to give him his space.

But maybe the timing was off.

Already buzzed from my wine, I went back up to the loft and began to pack my overnight bag. Panda got ready for a rigorous workout. There were no words.
He knocked on the bathroom door.

"Can I use the bathroom please?"

I walked over to the kitchen and pretended to text.

He asked me if I'd like to work out and I said mumbling, "no."

He asked me what was wrong.
Again, "no. nothing ... [mumble, mumble, mumble]"

As I turned to ellaborate, he was out the door.


My heart was already black with ache from my Guela's sickness news and stained with the ashes of being shit-canned by my friend who just wanted a little space from my madness.

Really, Josh?

You're upset?

I went to the shower and cried.

Cried for my Guela, cried for Panda, cried my mum, cried for my stength to come back.

How oh how can you become one the most succesful people only to have absolutely nothing *at this moment* in your life.

That is the poorest rich person.

So, the next day I woke up and got ready and made a joke, "Well, say good bye, you may never see me again... you know after shit-canning me."

Panda replied groggy from sleep, "shut up!"
"I'm kidding. Have fun with your space. See you next week"

Cocky to assume I'll be back in a week yes? Unrealisitic? No. Probable? Maybe. Just maybe.
With one day of sadness behind me, I took on the world and was lifted by my interaction with my salon lambs. I came home and had sushi with my sister and passed out after a few glasses of plum wine.

Next on the list: the book.

I have to finish my book.

As I took into consideration Panda's need for space, I got to wondering: does he just not want to be a character on the blog? Because everything I've ever written about him has been unharming.

It occured to me as I enjoyed time with mum and Guela today, jealousy kills.

Jealousy kills relationships. Whether someone is poisoning my friends' brains with remarks about what the blog may or may not say.

Jealousy kills work relationships. As I do well, I notice the distance between me and so many now.

So, to all my "good friends" that don't understand what a good friendship is like: thank you.

Thank you very much for your attempted views and criticisms and plagueing my relations. It builds character. Not one person will ever take away my family or my ambition, not even causing anxiety to my friend and a need to write me off for a week.

Good friends don't shit-can each other.
Good friends don't talk smack in blogs.
And good friends always come back.

To follow me on Twitter. Visit
Emily Morse of Sex with Emily is
And to Panda- I absolutely adore you. See you in a week! wink wink
And to my Creator- thank you for blessing me with my mum, Guela, Panda and all my favourite people. You rock!

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