Saturday, November 22, 2008

Cleavage visits; Hijacks Blog

Hello friends, this is Cleavage hijacking the Peach’s blog. I can’t say hijack in airports when I’m traveling between continents, but I can totally say it on this blog. Hijack! Jihad! Bomb! I am a blog terrorist!!! I’m also in Canada for two weeks, visiting friends and family (in that order) and generally vacationing. It hasn’t been very restful or very fun up to this point, so I ran away to the Peach’s. Some numbers to help you understand why I ran away:

Number of times my sister has told me ‘I don’t know, we haven’t thought about that yet’ with respect to wedding planning for her 2010 extravaganza (in which I’m supposed to be the maid of honour): 173
Number of times that phrase was shrieked at me through a haze of tears and estrogen: 112
Number of times my dad has caught me smoking pot since I came home nine days ago: 2
Number of times I have smoked pot to forget how crazy my family is since I came home nine days ago: four
Number of times I have gotten drunk to make dealing with the crazy family easier since I came home nine days ago: three
Number of kms driven to escape family by sleeping on Peach’s floor and giving her a guilt complex for being a ‘bad’ host because I foisted myself on her in the middle of the week: 406

I arrived, late, driving my mom’s minivan and with the Englishman feeling a bit bemused about what, exactly, we were doing in CapitalCity.

Cleavage: I’m so glad we’re not at my parents’ house.
Englishman: So, are we going to do touristy things?
Cleavage: Um, sure? I want to make Peach dinner tonight though, she sounded rough on the phone. And you know, if she needs help with anything, like picking up groceries, we could do that too.
Englishman: So we’ve driven 400km to be live-in help?
Cleavage: Shut up. She’s my friend and my sister is bridezilla.

Peach greeted us at the door of her apartment, trailing an old issue of the Globe and Mail stuck to her sock and carrying a mug with something scummy inside.

Peach: Hiiiiiii! Look! I drink coffee now! This is coffee! In this cup!
Cleavage: Um…wow. Is that mold? In the mug? In the mug you’re drinking from?
Peach: Come in, I cleaned the shitter for you! I don’t clean anything any more because it - hey, did I tell you that I drink coffee now?
Cleavage: Are you sure it’s ok if we stay here? We could go to a motel or something…
Peach: God, no, don’t mistake my complete emotional paralysis for a lack of interest, if I could summon anything close to a will to live I would be REALLY EXCITED that you’re here. But it turns out that sleep deprivation is like botox for my soul, so I just look and sound angry and crusty all of the time, and this week has been really bad, I have this seminar tomorrow and I’m editing an article right now, and there is a group meeting here in half an hour so you have to sit on the couch and be very quiet…
Cleavage: I brought my mom’s turkey soup, home made pizza, and my own sheets and towels.
Peach: *sob*…don’t tell the group meeting about the pizza.

Number of times I heard the word ‘Wikipedia’ while eavesdropping on the group meeting: 7
Slices of homemade pizza consumed by Peach while standing in kitchen: 2
Alternate uses for Globe and Mail: Slippers, foot rest, insulation against ridiculous cold of Capital City, pirate hats.
Cups of coffee consumed by group members after 10:30pm: three
Minutes the Englishman and I lasted in the apartment with intense journalism students before going for a walk in -10 weather: 55

The next morning, Peach went out, presented, and was back doing worky-type things before The Englishman and I had managed to peel ourselves off the air mattress. I made myself some breakfast while The Englishman sat on Peach’s couch, enjoying the restful silence.

Peach: Um, do you want to watch TV or something?
Englishman: No, I’m ok.
Peach: Do you need food?
Englishman: No, I’m not really hungry yet.
Peach: So you’re happy to just…um…sit? And stare?
Englishman: Yup. Am I making you uncomfortable?
Peach: …no.

Times Peach apologized for being an awesome, crazy grad student: too many
Number of times Peach came out of her room topless to finish a sentence: two
Kilometers walked by The Englishman and I that afternoon while Peach sweat over a freelance proposal: 15
Percentage of those kms walked unnecessarily because The Englishman does not have as infallible a sense of direction as he likes to think: 30
Uses for Globe and Mail: Cat litter. Cat toy. Cat bed. Cat scratching post. Cat perch.
Minutes after we arrived home before Peach announced she was quitting journalism: 3
Hours we waited to go out for food because Peach had one phone interview, then another, then another, then had to transcribe notes: 4

So we taxi to a dive bar, drink moderately but steadily, eat too little, and Peach and I reminisce about our UniversityTown glory days. For five straight hours.

Number of times I thought Peach was going for a rack grab when she wanted a tender hand-holding moment: One.
Minutes walking home in -11bazillion degrees: 25
Epiphanies during walk home: 2
Disbelieving journalism classmates sworn to secrecy over revelations of scandalous undergrad behaviour: 1
Joints smoked: 1
Disbelieving boyfriends horrified by candid revelations: 1
Meat sticks consumed: 2
Percentage of meat sticks fed to cat: 10
Number of orifices violated with meat sticks prior to consumption: 6
Uses for Globe and Mail: Rolling joints in the fold. Torch to keep joint lit so we don’t have to keep running into the kitchen to light it off the stove burner. Rewrapping leftover meat stick pieces. Pirate hats.
Times in the past 72 hours that The Englishman has pestered me for sex and been turned down because I didn’t want to share with Milo: 1337

The Englishman and I spent the entire next day in bed, while Peach sweated out the meat sticks and did some journalism type things, and then there was a mad dash to get Peach packed for a weekend at QueenB’s.

Peach: I need to clean the cat’s shitter, and give him extra food…
Cleavage: I’ll do it.
Peach: You’ll clean my cat’s shitter?
Cleavage: You once picked my wedgie for me because I was too drunk to manage. I think I can clean your cat’s shitter.
Peach: Put some fresh litter in while you’re at it.

****

And that was Cleavage. Isn’t she wonderful? Also, now you have a source to prove just how crazy J-school has made me. I’m going to go wrap myself in Globe and Mails and cry.

ThePeach

10 comments:

TM said...

I was going to say thanks for the evidence of how insane your life is before I even got through reading the thing ... I'm sending you stuff.

spaz said...

Why didn't cleavage and I meet!?

Cleavage said...

We did not meet because you were more committed to becoming April O'Neill than meeting Peach's amazing bitches.

The Peach said...

Hi! I'm drunk! I'm gonna go motorboat cleavage RIGHT NOW. TITTIES.

OMG I love everyone.

Sonya said...

Peach, you've got competition. I LOVED THIS ENTRY. Not as much as last night's drunk dial. But a lot. She nailed you. Literally?

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