Rice Krispies suck at the staying-in-the-bag game. They do. And now everyone's being sarcastic about it. I told Claire that I would dump the bag on her head, and she said she'd beat the hell out of me if I did. Karen said she'd protect me, but I'm still a bit too chicken to try it, especially knowing that it would take both of us to equal one Claire.
(Claire said I sucked last night because she says I write her name more nicely than does she. Go me!) Fumbling off to finish getting ready for shopping adventures. Must exchange more money.
Oh. My. Goddess. I met Sarah Slean's dad. And he gave me a poster. Oh holy Goddess, once again I am going to die of sheer awesomeness. So, yeah, we went to The Nutty Chocolatier. I bought a little stuffed moose for Cosette and a chocolate thingy for Mum (I never know what to buy her ... when in doubt -- CHOCOLATE!) and two pieces of maple sugar candy for me. I am so hopelessly hooked on maple sugar candy. And as her dad was ringing up my purchases, I said that I had heard about the shop from Sarah Slean's website. He smiled and said, "Nice to know my daughter's doing something for me." And then he said, "I'll just have to get you a poster." And he went in the back room and brought out this brown tube of posters and got one out for me. It was double-sided, too. Super rule! Wow. Oh my God. I love Toronto!
And then we passed a radio station as we were walking to the mall, and they were playing Tori Amos -- "Cornflake Girl". And while I was poinging about that, Lindsay goes, "We're never going to get you out of Canada." She might be right.
In the mall, I went to Indigo and bought three CDs: Wild Strawberries/Twist, Amanda Marshall/Everybody's Got A Story, and Emm Gryner/Science Fair. They cost a lot. I think I might have chosen the most expensive CD shop in Canada at which to buy those. Oh, well. Then I went and bought Lucretia a shot glass (she collects them).
Then we went to HMV, where I didn't find anything else I was looking for and also realized that I was rather short on money again. So I bought nothing. Miracle of miracles, heheh. Claire and Karen did buy things, though.
So we're walking through the food court when suddenly we discovered that, yes, Virginia, there is Orange Julius in Canada. The last time I saw an Orange Julius was at the mall when I was ... ten, maybe. So I absolutely had to buy a hot dog and an Orange Julius. Awesome. Yay yay yay. Getting a table was an adventure; we had to stalk around looking for people who were almost done eating. At last we got a table and ate. Claire and Lindsay got Chinese, and Claire's fortune cookie had no fortune in it. So Lindsay got her another one, which had a fortune.
Karen got a Coke and it had a teeny straw like the ones at the Upfront. (The Upfront = teeny straws and no refills. This may be common practice in Canada, but we're a bunch of Americans and one pseudo-Canadian.) So she complained a little, but not much, and bought an Orange Julius, too, because she appreciates the wonder that is Orange Julius.
I really liked the fountains in the mall. They had fake pink and purple water lilies floating in them. No American mall I've ever been to cares enough to float water lilies. Even fake ones. And everything is so clean here. I've really been impressed. Toronto the Good, indeed.
We're in the hostel again, planning our next move. Lindsay wants to go to Chinatown, I think, but I'm not entirely sure where we're actually headed. There are a few headaches among us, one of them mine. Ack. I think now we're going to Chinatown tomorrow and resting up now. I'm achy, but I'm really not that sleepy, so I'm writing because I have to do something to fill up the empty hours when I haven't got Robert to talk to.
We're supposed to go ice-skating at six. I am not particularly excited about this since I am klutzy at best on roller skates and have only been ice-skating once in my life. I am not looking forward to freezing my ass off and then falling on it a lot. I suspect that the only thing at which I would suck more than ice skating is probably skiing. *whimper* I dun wanna break my arse! Or my leg!
My dad's going to laugh when I tell him that they still have Orange Julius in Canada. Oh, and I went back to the shop where I bought the shot glass and bought more maple sugar candy and a leaf-shaped bottle of maple syrup for Granny and Pawpaw. So now all the appropriate people have been shopped for, as I've decided that the best thing I could give Robert would be the full, unedited, handwritten version of this journal.
Money is very tight right now. I'd rather not have to dip into the emergency money my parents gave me, instead proving that I am responsible and able to budget, but I may have to change some of my money back to American money, and as the cashier at a shop we visited on Sunday joked, "A dollar to us is what, 20 cents for you?" Gah. I may need the emergency stash. But I bought my parents presents. I hope Dad likes his hat. I will have to take time before I come bearing gifts and remove price tags. It would certainly not do to have them still attached.
I could definitely live in Toronto. I really like this place. I really do. I think the Canadian jokes about me might have been a fair cop. (Oh! Funny of funnies: the guy at the desk asked Lindsay to repeat herself when she said, "y'all". I was dying laughing. Up here, she's the one who talks funny. I can't get over it.) If I knew my way around, I'd feel like a native. My pronunciation certainly fits in.
Somebody joked that I'd eaten the poppyseed hot dog bun so that I could fail an opium test and be "forced" to stay in Canada. Is it that apparent how in love I am with this place?
I would say that my Spanish has been doomed to uselessness, but I've heard it spoken on the streets and in stores. I've heard so many languages. It's a lot like Manual -- very diverse, all kinds of faces and voices ... but everyone seems to stick with their own kind in the end. Still, the parallel community lives seem to blend harmoniously. It's a start.
My headache is starting to get the better of me, so I'm going to rest and let the aspirin I took do its work.
SIGHTS: I've seen so much. Now I'm back in the hostel.
SOUNDS: The church bell across the street. Turning pages. Sleepers' breathing. A car horn, only the second I've heard here. My own scritching pencil. "Cornflake Girl" still playing in my head. I heard Amanda Marshall's "Trust Me (Baby This Is Love)" on the radio at Subway yesterday. I love it.
Crazy Man sighted again by Lindsay and Karen. This time he was speaking German. In hurry. Later. Must eat.
At the public ice rink, crying because I suck at skating, my ankles are absolutely on fire, my calves are following, everyone else is so much better at this than I, and I am embarrassed to death, especially so because Claire saw me crying. And, sickeningly enough, all this just makes me want to go back to Louisville and learn to skate.
This old Asian guy who didn't speak much English tried to help me, but after several rounds of his telling me what to do and my trying and failing utterly, he gave up on me. I appreciated how nice he was to me, but after he gave up, all I wanted was to get back to the bench where I'm sitting now. I feel so stupid, not least because I still can't totally stop crying. It took so long to make Claire go away. I hate having people see me cry.
And now the other three girls are talking to the really nice, funny British guys and I'm over here, entirely too ashamed of how much I suck to talk to anyone. I must look horrible. My nose is running, my face is tearstained, and I feel like I'm never going to stop being embarrassed. I should probably go join the others, but I haven't the heart for it.
I just want to stop watching the little kids who suck less than I do. I want to stop hearing Lindsay playing for attention. I want to be confident, or at least not this afraid of people. If I ever move to Toronto, it will be after, and only after, I am a proficient enough skater not to have to repeat this. Oh, God, I hurt. Oh, God, I'm so very humiliated. If I could just keep my ankles from flopping over. If I could just manage to bend my knees and stay on my feet all at once. If I could just stop crying.
I still love Toronto, but damn, I hate myself.
The rink is really pretty, though. I think it might be better if I drew now.
Lindsay is annoying me. She just came over and asked if I would watch her camera. When I agreed, assuming acquiescence would be the quickest way to make her go away, instead of handing it to me like a civilized person, she hung it around my neck and skated off. I recognize the misplaced anger, but that doesn't justify it.
Oh, yay! The Zamboni is coming out! w00t! No wonder everyone cleared the ice. This little kid just yelled, "It's coming!" and it was exceedingly cute. There's something strangely hypnotic about watching the Zamboni.
I'm listening to this guy tell his kid about learning to skate. He just said, "If you don't fall, it means you're not learning." I just talked to him a little. I joked that I learn an awful lot. His little girl is just starting, too. She's afraid of falling. And he was telling her about the Zamboni, and he told her it began with the letter "zed". It made me smile. Ooh, wait, we're going somewhere.
Now we're sitting in a coffee shop with the British guys, shooting the breeze. It's incredible fun. We've been talking for a while about just about everything. David Gray is the "lead" one, or at least, the one who does the most talking. When he noticed me writing in my journal, he said, "My name is David, D-A-V-I-D, Gray, G-R-A-Y, yes, like the singer, but please don't ask for the rendition of "Babylon", as I'm tone-deaf." Heheh. He's not that tone-deaf, though, as he just regaled us with a version of "Winter Wonderland" that is all about Paul being a drag queen, and the tune was very recognizable.
Paul, a bit of a weirdie who once auditioned to be a backup dancer for Britney Spears, just characterized us thusly: a writer (me), sweet and innocent (Karen), a crack whore (Lindsay), and a philosopher (Claire). Beautiful. Just beautiful. The other guy's name is Justin, but he says next to nothing. David's talking now about how I should sell the movie rights to my journal and how cool it would have been had we had a film crew following us around from the beginning. He says that there would have to be one camera for Karen alone.
I hate this. I am sitting in the rightmost stall of a bathroom in a bar, and all I want to do is throw up. No, I haven't been drinking. I have the same headache I had, only it's a full-blown migraine, and the other three are too busy having a good time to care that I am sick unto death. If I could just throw up.
Ahead to Day Five.
Back to Stuff I Wrote.
© Cynthia 2002.