Rainy Days and Mondays

We're having a terrific thunder and lightning storm in Toronto. There's really nothing better on a Friday night than writing a blog and watching the rain in your cozy apartment and Blue Rodeo tshirt. 

I forgot to tell y'all about going to Blue Rodeo by myself a couple of weekends ago. I love them. I was afraid of running into JWs (they all love that band for some reason) but they are my favorite so I chanced it. I kept a low profile, drank a glass of wine and had a wonderful time. And then I bought a tshirt, even though we all know I have way too many Blue Rodeo tshirts. I figure if I get to the point where I let the JWs keep me away from the things I love, they're still winning. I want to win. :)

Anyways, I'd like to reintroduce you to Donia, aka "Trashy Black Ho". Before y'all think I'm racist, she's totally okay with that nickname. She started it actually, she kept calling me "Streetwalker Barbie". Streetwalker Barbie needed a comeback. 

She is the oldest non-JW friend I have in Toronto, besides my brother of course. (Who is fabulous, yes Michael, you're fabulous.) I met her 19 years ago and even though as a JW you're not technically allowed to be friends with the rest of the world (unless you're converting them, then it's okay) we managed to work it out somehow. And stay friends all these years. 

We've gone through a million ups and downs, mommy issues, boy problems. I remember when the screensaver on her computer said: "Happiness is the remission of pain." Dramatic much? But we both were. :) 

I went through my first real heartbreak with her next door. She used to sing "Rainy Days and Mondays" to me at the office. She has a beautiful voice. I think about that when it rains as crazy as it is tonight. 

When we worked together our offices were right next door to each other and we used to just talk through the walls. The girl who worked across the hall would kill herself laughing to us. We were ridiculous and probably extremely inappropriate most of the time.

Then, she got cancer. She was exactly the same age as my uncle Ken, who I watched waste away from that fucking disease. But she beat it. It wasn't easy and there were a lot of sacrifices made on her part. But she is one of the strongest women I know, she did it and then it was over. And everyone was so happy. 

And then it came back. I'm old enough to know that second time around is never good. They gave her 6-12 months to live last August. I would visit her, see her in her hospital bed and we would make jokes about her dying. Because that's how she is - always funny, always smart, always rescillient.  

One night, we went to visit her in palliative care. My brother offered to make her seafood pasta in a few nights. It was raining and he wiped out on his motorbike on the way home. He showed up, on time, a few nights later with real dishes and cutlery and the seafood dish. He had a broken arm. But that's the kind of love she inspires with her pure soul. 

I don't think everyone will understand our humour. I've been so sick myself I haven't been able to be there for her the way I would have liked but tonight we caught up and made plans for Monday. We were talking about all the things we've been through and my wedding came up. 

Me: I was a pretty bride though right?

Her: Yah totally. I wanted to knock you down and rip your face off. 

And there you have it - Streetwalker Barbie and Trashy Black Ho stuck with each other for eternity or until something comes along that can actually kill us. We're doing pretty good beating the odds so far. 

Tonight? Hearing the news that she was cancer free? I cried as much as I cried the night she called me and said the cancer was back. But these were tears of joy, of relief, of finally feeling like the Universe I try to believe in was righting itself after all this pain. 

I love you bitch. Thanks for not dying. 

Sullivan out.