'She would have to be!' [addled, yet, in unison]

This often happens when I am home, but the need to update seems more urgent when I am back in Newfoundland.

Yup, you read that right. I am back on the island that holds my heart and perches on one or more of my DNA strands.

It is strange coming home. I don't know why that surprises me so, as it seems to happen everytime I get here. The trip is always marked by four distinct themes. And I feel the need to share.

1) Waiting at the airport gate to board the plane, I am always amazed by the number of moustachioed gentlemen that fly to this rock. I know, culturally, the moustache never went out of style in Newfoundland, but it is a little frightening. I counted 23 men waiting for the plane that were sporting upper lip hair, and only upper lip hair. No goatees, full beards, van dykes or any of that fancy crap. If you have the good fortune of visiting this wondrous place, please, try and beat my 23. I dare you. At the least you will be less bored.

2) Flying to Newfoundland on a discount carrier (the only way to go, I might add) you will always be faced with having some sort of sex trade worker on your plane. This is a non-negotiable. There will be some sort of peeler, prosie or some such waiting for the plane. This time I had two strippers who were travelling together. Blonde as the sky is blue and tanned like you could buy it 5 gallon jugs, one of them was wearing an old school hip-hop knuckle ring. Fun, fun, fun.

3) Half the plane will clap when you land, while the other half will complain that that landing was nothing to clap about.

4) As a returning newf, the departure lounge is a uncomfortable place. Standing, waiting for the boarding, you have to eye every other passenger, but like a ninja. You see, every person there is checking you out and you have to check them out, but nonchalantly. Every person could be someone you know, but they could also be someone you don't want to talk to. That is the risk of the departure lounge. Ironically, i caught the eye of a woman I went to high school with. We had been friendly enough back then and early on in university, but it was obvious that she didn't want to see me and I probably conveyed the same message. It was quite a shock when we were seated together. Until she asked her travelling companion to seat between us. Small talk was made, but then for the rest of the flight ignorance was bliss.

contradiction girl meet everyone

I always imagined my wedding
would be on a beach, barefoot.
Or deep in a forest.
Barefoot?
Yeah, barefoot.
So, basically you love being barefoot?
Yeah.
But, you love shoes.
You bought a pair tonight because
they went with your outfit.
Yeah, I really love shoes.
And socks... I luv socks!!!
I have two full drawers
filled just with socks.
I really luv socks!

'Whenever a woman does a thoroughly stupid thing, it is always from the noblest motives.'

At one point, I thought the funniest thing I ever experienced was finding a banana peel on the floor of the Humour section at work. That was comedy on a level only the gods could muster.

Until last night.

Last night I was invited over to a 'special' friend L.'s house as her parental figures were away for the long weekend. She was so excited. She never gets to have me over and privacy being in short supply I was thoroughly looking forward to the night.

As you can well imagine, naughtiness insued and before long I was being led through a darkened house to a stairway on the way down to her room. Not having spent much time there, I was a little hesitant working my way in the dark. Bouncing off walls and into door frames. I made my way towards the top of the stairs.

WHA-BUMP-DITTY-BUMP-BUMP!!!

That was the next sound to fill my ears.

'Was that you?' I meekly called out into the dark.

'Yes,' came a forlorn response from the shadows.

'Did you just fall down the stairs?' I quizzically posed with aplomb.

'Yes,' she echoed.

'Are you okay?' I progressed, managing to hide the panic from my voice.

'No,' she replied.

I bounded down the stairs just as she managed to turn on the lights. Hunched over, grasping her elbow, she looked like a helpless damaged pet, albeit wearing a sun dress. I just wanted to cry.

'Are you okay?' I asked again. 'What's hurt?

'I landed right on the edge of the step with my bum,' she winced. 'I banged both my elbows and I think I wrenched my neck again.'

She looked in a lot of pain. The only thing in her eyes was shock and fear. I just wanted to hug her, but thought better of it, lest she want to hit me.

'You should take some Tylenol or Aspirin or something. You know, the anti-inflammatory one,' I said, trying to be helpful.

'Ibuprofen,' she added. 'I think I have some Advil upstairs.'

And she marched back up the devil stairs, clutching her neck.

'You know,' I said, following her,' I could have gotten it for you. You may want to sit down. Did you hit your head?'

'No.'

'You should ice your neck. It will help.'

'We don't have any.'

'Well a bag of frozen veggies would be better anyway.'

'It's okay. Don't bother.'

'No. You should ice it. I'll need a towel, but something fairly thin, like a tshirt'

'I'll get you something.'

'Will, you sit the hell down. You know you can just tell me where it is.'

'It's faster if I get it. Will this do?'

'Yes, 20 minutes on, 10 off. Now sit down, for God's sake!'

We lay there. On her bed. Her mostly sitting up as she tried to ward off the seizing of her neck. Me trying to keep her happy and laughing.

'It's cold. Can I take it off yet?'

'No, 5 more minutes.'

And on it went, until we turned out the light and fell asleep. Frozen veggies in a pile on the floor. And I slept. I slept like I haven't in weeks. Her sensory deprivation chamber of a basement room sucked me in and knocked me into the deep, deep sleep of the dead. Until.

'Fuck!' she hushed into my ear.

My eyes darted open, my brain still asleep. 'What?' I brilliantly asked.

'They're home!'

I looked at the red beacon of an alarm clock in the dark, dark room. 4:57am, what the hell?!?

'L. whose car is in the driveway!' a female voice called from upstairs.

'Shit! Busted,' my inner sixteen year-old remarked.

Hold on, I'm 32.

'Peter's, Mom.'

'Hmph! Well, we need to park and we are not leaving the truck on the street,' the disappointment almost palpable.

'Tell them you fell down the stairs,' I blurted, the panic seeping from every word.

Hold on, I'm 32.

'Good idea,' she said as she hobbled upstairs in her night dress.

Night dress! When did that happen? I am so dead!

Hold on, I'm 32.

I grabbed my stuff and headed for the stairs. With the minor delay of brushing some soggy green beans off my sock, I made it up the stairs and into the kitchen. L. was engrossed in conversation with her mother.

'Goddamn people behind us! Making so much noise we couldn't sleep! So we came home, goddamit!'

Thin like paper, thin like paper, no one can see you! I thought as I sidled towards the front door and my shoes.

Hold on, I'm 32.

L. backed away, following me out.

'I think I better just go home,' I whispered plaintively.

'Yeah. I think that might be for the best.'

But, I'm 32, I thought as I headed out walking past her step-father unloading the truck.

He stopped and looked. A word wasn't spoken. Just a look. A look, given between Brazilian and Newf. In the dark. A look that carried weight.

My pace quickened heading for my car door.

Getting in, backing out quickly, considering the worst second impression I have ever given, all I could think was She is so cool. She feel down a flight of stairs and didn't so much as make a peep, but when her folks came home and I had to leave she started swearing like a sailor. Awesome.