Lucky 21?

I am slowly growing older...1, 2, 3, 10, 24...........meh...
There are a few numbers that become increasingly worrisome as the years, months, and sometimes even minutes pass.The most important is quite obviously age. 
Now, I'm no old crow...in fact, my boss calls me a "Spring Chicken", but I am certainly not getting any younger - any more "Springy".  I have celebrated my 21st birthday 4 times because for some reason that was my fond age.
At 21 I was living alone in southeast Calgary, working for Rogers Radio Group.  Rogers was fine but in such a huge city where I only knew 2 people, I spent most nights bored and lonely.  My sister lived a half hour drive away and my friend, Carlene...even farther.  What else happened at age 21 for me?  Oh, I got in that head on collision.  That was a treat.  Totalled my car, and with no collision coverage was sans vehicle for a while.  At age 21 I moved from Red Deer to Calgary and then back again for a guy I really shouldn't have moved around the block for let alone back to Red Deer.  Then I went from jobless to working at the worst station in the market at the time.  Yeah...21 wasn't so great.  But, I held on to 21.  I liked how it sounded, "I'm 21.".  It's so nonchalant.  It's like no big deal.  At 21 it doesn't matter if you haven't been to college...yet.  No one cares if you still drive a Sunfire at 21.  If you are single and promiscuous and irresponsible...its fine, at 21.  Really if you are anything more, you're put on a pedestal.  When I was 21 I had an education, a career, an apartment, and an automobile...so despite the crap year, I was a success!  The thing about aging is just like time, it never stops.  You can't stop time from ticking, and I am 24 not 21.  24 feels different.  It's only 3 years past, but what was more than enough then, seemed to fall short of satisfactory now.  Why?  I'm actually doing significantly better now...and so I should be!  More importantly, I should be proud of where I am, and where I can still go...beyond 21! 
In the game of Blackjack, 21 is the lucky number.  If you play your cards right, you take the cake.  Anything past 21?  A bust.  But wouldn't it be something if the game didn't end there?  If you could choose to stay in and let the pot grow?  If 21 wasn't the be all end all?  If you could carry on and win even bigger?  Perhaps that would take the meaning out of Blackjack, but for this girl...it puts the meaning into life.  If I keep the ambition and allow it to grow, there's really no way to go home a loser...no such thing as a bust. 
At 15 I wrote in a diary.  At 20 I began writing commercials.  At 24, I added a blog!  Soon I will write a book.  Eventually I'll have a hit, so I will write another, and another...each paperback more successful than the last.  I will live wherever I want, write whatever I feel, and nap whenever I please.  Non of that has anything to do with a number, and I'll be thanking God I got over 21.
And somewhere inside that book, on my first published pages it just might read: To Me, on my 40th birthday.
...and if I'm wearing my slippers, sipping my coffee, and making my living from anywhere in the world...the number 40 won't matter either.

Giving It A Shot

It started innocently enough.  Last October I found myself in a very uncomfortable situation.  Credit card debt.  I was faced with 2 choices (3 including bank robbery); start being ultra thrifty, or grab a second job.  The mere thought of being a penny pincher shot a vivid image in my head of my frugal aunt who literally keeps track of money spent on little things like 5 cent candies, so after almost a full minute of consideration I decided on the later of the two.  Well that was easy!

I immediately hit fast forward on my daydreaming and envisioned myself driving a hot new vehicle, vacationing in hot tropical climates, and carrying bags that were hot out of the Coach factory.  Then suddenly I realized, I had no clue how to land a job that didn't involve writing catchy/annoying radio ads.  It was time to consult the higher powers...grown ups!  I promptly paid a visit to my old radio station to see my good friend Kwame, a seasoned radio announcer I used to work with who had only been in the city for a few years but had quickly become a local celebrity and a fairly "connected" member of social society.  It turned out that Mr. Kwame had a bit of an in with a successful business man who basically monopolized the bar and nightclub industry in Red Deer, so he generously offered to arrange a meet and greet if I was interested in that line of work.  Of course I said yes in the blink of an eye and told Kwame to just let me know when and where, but as soon as I left the station I felt strange...

What is going on?  Could I really work in a bar?  What will my sister think?  What will my dad have to say?  What does that say about me?  What if I have to dress like a hooker?  Where do you even get hooker clothes?  What if I get offered drugs?  I don't want to do drugs! 

Oh Christ...my morals were kicking in.  But as I turned the key in my Pontiac G5 and the Check Engine light illuminated my dash, I decided it was too late to abort the mission.  After all, Kwame was so sweet to do me a favor...and I had already booked a trip to California and had my heart set on Vegas in the spring.  I drove home, cleared my new financial plan with some important members of parliament (a few friends who I knew would tell me to go for it), and tucked myself into bed with a smile on my face and dollar signs in my eyes.

The next few weeks were...interesting.  After much back and forth communication and scheduling through Kwame (who I now call my agent) I finally had a sit down with the gentleman I now refer to as Asian Boss Man.  I instantly won him over with a low cut top and my charming whit, and he threw me right into the tornado of a Halloween party at one of his nightclubs, with only 3 days notice.  I was horrified (pun intended)!  I had no experience, I had no allies, and I wasn't sure if my costume was sexy or just cute.

October 31 arrived quickly.  I was as ready as I could be, which for me then meant my Ghost Busters costume was assembled, my hair was curled, and my bra was cinched up almost tight enough to lose circulation.  I showed up an hour early for a crash course with a 6 foot 1 MILLION black man named Dax who was sporting a Gi for the evening.  Coincidentally, I sort of knew him.  Dax grew up in the village of Trochu, just minutes from my home town.  We were never really friends growing up, but I was glad to have any kind of relation to grasp onto at that point.  Dax had been tossed in as manager that night though he himself was just a bartender as well, which I thought seemed sketchy until he opened his arms, shot me his pearly whites and said "Welcome to the industry!".  He quickly rattled off a price list for me, showed me how to use the liquor guns, and taught me the 5 classic drinks and shots.  It was pretty overwhelming.

How am I going to remember all of these prices?  What if I get a price wrong?  Will that fuck up my till?  What if someone asks for a drink that I don't know?  What if they want me to do a shot with them?  What if I get sweaty?  Can they smell fear?  Is someone going to barf on me?  What if I barf back?

Then something beautiful happened...Barry entered the bar.  Barry was not a regular employee but was stepping in for the Halloween party, and more specifically to be my partner in crime for the night.  Barry is Asian, but I couldn't quite decipher exactly what flavor because I really couldn't see him.  He was dressed head to toe as a panda bear.  Clever right?  Barry the bear!  PANDA bear because he is Asian!  Barry quickly slapped some confidence into me.  The first thing he did when we met was snatch my hand written price list and crumpled it into a ball saying, "Listen Babe...if you don't know it now, you may as well make it up...'cause you won't have time to look at this shit.".  He told me the same sort of rule for mixing drinks and making shots.  He said no one would get mad at me because Halloween puts chicks in a good mood, and my costume was enough to make the men happy.  I laughed because it was funny...and awkward, but as I would learn, Barry was right!

The bar wasn't packed that night.  It was steady but comfortable.  The ideal amount of traffic for the inexperienced me.  Actually the only thing I found uncomfortable that night was my outfit.  I was hot!  Not sexy-hot, sweaty-hot.  You're working fast in a room full of drunk people.  A gal is bound to get a little hot, and a little sticky...neither in a good way.  Oh, there was one other semi-uncomfortable factor I should mention.  This 4 foot factor is called Papa.  He is Asian Boss Man's dad.  He is a very tiny, very old, and very Asian man who stood beside my till for the ENTIRE night just lurking and watching.  I'm not exaggerating.  He literally stood in one spot from 10 'til 2 without flinching.  He didn't speak, he didn't sit...dude didn't even take a pee break!  He DID however find it appropriate to break wind consistently every 5 minutes.  I'm no expert on Asian cuisine, but whatever Papa had for supper was clearly giving him some digestive difficulties.  Lucky me.

Despite Papa's indiscretions, the night flew by.  It was new...it was fun.  Call me a dork, but I was looking forward to the end of the night so I could show off my superstar cleaning skills.  To my dismay, bar tenders are not required to do a lot of cleaning.  Last call was over shortly after 2.  Then we wiped down our bar, and the Swamper takes care of the rest. 

Did you know that every bar or nightclub is designed like some kind of maze or castle?  They are. There are all sorts of strange rooms and staircases, and connecting passage ways of all different shapes and sizes.  After our strenuous clean-up, we took our bucket of money and I followed a girl through 2 rooms and up 2 different staircases to a tiny little closet-sized loft where we sat on boxes and counted our change on a wooden bench.  I felt dirty, I'm not going to lie.

My first night was a success!  I left the bar with sore feet, but had a smile on my face and a wad of cash in my wallet.  I arrived home ecstatic, but with it being 4 am at the time, I had to ignore the urge to call someone to gush.  I slept until 3 pm the next day, and happily so.  For about 2 weeks after that night, all I could think about was that I wanted to bar tend again, and again...all the time!  I was almost obsessed.  I think I only made about $200 that night, but there is nothing quite like the taste of dirty, tax-free cash! 

I've continued to bar tend since.  It's allowed me to do a lot of those original dreamy type things already.  I'm tired at times and have very limited social time, so I'm sure this gig has an expiration date...but it doesn't smell funky yet so it's still good. 
Sometimes I do get a hint of something unpleasant...then I see Papa, with a shit-eating grin.

Can You Really Pass That Up?

In life, there are far too many things that are bad for us.  Cigarettes...poutine...tanning beds.  But why is it that it seems to be the naughtiest of things that so strongly draw us in?

A friend of mine is like most of us, on a diet.  She constantly flops back and forth between starving herself, and binge eating.  The other day, I had a bowl of fresh and delicious strawberries cut conveniently into bit size quarters.  I could have easily eaten the entire thing myself, but I offered her some.  To my astonishment that dear dieting diva took one look at those quaintly-cut berries and said, "No...I better not.".  NO, I BETTER NOT?!?!  Strawberries!  She looked at my bowl of strawberries as if it were a box of dough-nuts from Tim's  that she'd love to devour but she'd "better not.". She passed them up!   When I saw her a few days later, she couldn't stop talking about the ENTIRE PAN of cinnamon buns she had just made, and ate.

Now...I can't help but relate almost everything to men (not to be confused with me relating to men...I don't understand them at all).  "Dieting"; searching for someone healthy for our hearts.  Maybe it's easier than we thought.  Maybe the trick is knowing when to bite!  Learning to SEE the good ones when they're there.  A guy who cooks you dinner, makes you laugh, and kisses your forehead if you fall asleep during the movie.  Can you really pass that up?   Because just like that pan of cinnamon buns that will always be harmful to your hips...certain men will forever be hard on your heart.  So when you find those special ones, who make you feel nothing less than perfect...your best bet is to bite!

I started buying strawberries a few weeks ago.  I've never been more satisfied. ;)