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On August 4, 2010, Chad Angers sent me a message on Facebook.

2010-08-04 there are two types of men in the world
reasonable men and unreasonable men
the reasonable man adapts himself to the world and the unreasonable man adapts the world to himself
hence change is only driven by the unreasonable man

I met Chad Angers on a park bench, in a park on Rachel street, off St. Laurent. My arm was broken and I was about to go meditate at the Zen centre. A few minutes earlier, I had sat on another park bench in Parc Jeanne Mance. In four months, I would be turning twenty-five years old. I decided that it would be an excellent idea to stop getting drunk and sleeping with Simon. It was time to make a list of what I wanted in an ideal partner. I wrote down a bunch of qualities. I don’t remember any of the qualities, except perhaps that this ideal partner should be much taller than me. Simon was only five ten or eleven, and I am a tall five eight.

Chad Angers came right over and sat beside me.

“How did you break your arm?” He asked. He was at least 6 ft 5., with dark curly hair. As soon as he came near me, my vagina got all wet. This doesn’t tend to happen so spontaneously. Without considering any of the other on the list besides height, I decided that this was my man.

Chad Angers never capitalized nor punctuated. He had a very long, hard dick. I remember feeling it through his grey sweatpants, the kind Simon would have had to wear at his morphine studies. And once I saw his dick in his loft apartment in a secret neighbourhood. I’m not sure why I was there but Chad Angers took his pants off and his dick was hard and in my face. We were up in his bed. To get there, you had to climb up a ladder. Rapunzel Penis. That was the closest we ever got to having sex. I am pretty sure I never put his dick in my mouth.  I feel like this would have left a bigger impression.

That time in the loft was the last time I saw Chad Angers. A few months later, he called me and invited me to a movie. I said no. He hung up, then called me back yelling.

“You’re the worst shit stroke of bad luck that ever happened to me.” Some people might say that up until then, Chad Angers had had a lucky life. Others wouldn’t. I wouldn’t. Years before I met him, Chad Angers drove his bike down a hill and ran into a tree. He hit his head and spent a whole month in a coma. Meeting me is either better than spending a month in a coma, or worse.

When I first met Chad Angers, for some reason I thought his name was Chad Angell. I always believed that this would have made all the difference.

The End.

Chuckie the Horse and His Penis
Chuckie the Horse and the Day Jack Layton Died
 

Cuts:

I wish I were disciplined enough to make things instead of just rambling incoherently and never polishing or finishing anything.

The children at the Montessori School polish glass, wood, brass and silver.  The silver is not really silver. Silver and aluminum and stainless steel all go into the same category. Same with brass, copper and any other brown metal. In French all the brown metals are called cuivre. In the dictionary cuivre’s first translation is copper. It used to be that the Montessori children would polish all the brown metal objects with licorice flavoured toothpaste, the natural kind without fluoride. There was a brass and/or copper boot, a brass and/or copper dog and a brass and/or copper mouse. For whatever reason, when the children covered the objects with the licorice toothpaste, the toothpaste would turn green. Most of the time, they would use so much toothpaste that you wouldn’t be able to tell what kind of surface they were polishing. I can’t remember if they were supposed to remove the toothpaste with a q-tip or a toothbrush. A toothbrush makes sense. Either way, they did a relatively terrible job. Now the Montessori directress has switched them over to some official metal polish. She gives the children individual servings of metal polish since they can’t be trusted to take a reasonable amount. Typically, children are not all that reasonable. Does that mean they are unreasonable? 

***

The Montessori directress let me keep the extra licorice flavoured toothpaste. I forgot it in Halifax when I moved away. The Boatman told me that he uses it, even though it tastes a bit disgusting and doesn’t really clean your teeth.

Post-Script:

Hair Elastics, Deodorant, and Dental Floss. In my life, I have found that these items exist in either great abundance or complete scarcity. Right now I am experiencing a period of relative abundance. Though maybe I could do with a little more floss.

This came up when I googled "Vintage Dental Floss" and I thought it was quite fabulous.

Follow me on Twitter: @mypelvicfloor
Ecstatic Facebook Adventures

Simon Says
Locks and Keys
Why I am Like Jane Fonda

 

Chuckie the Horse and the Day Jack Layton Died

Jack Layton died two years ago today. August 22^nd, 2011. He was the leader of the New Democratic Party. One of the reasons I like him was because he ate granola and blueberries for breakfast. Stephen Harper the conservative prime minister apparently eats something much grosser. Despite the blueberries, Jack Layton died of prostate cancer. On August 22^nd, 2011, I had been living with the Boatman for just over a month. During the afternoons, I often got drunk, tired of pretending I had something meaningful to do before the Boatman came home from work. The day Jack Layton died, I got drunk on gin and diet soda and I thought about Jack Layton and I thought about writing another book.



Jack Layton, our optimistic NDP leader. Source.

 Jack Layton wrote a letter to Canadians and he told them to be loving, hopeful, and optimistic. Filled with gin and other carcinogens, I hardly felt any of these things. I felt mild despair. But Jack Layton said that optimism is better than despair. I should try to be optimistic. And change the world.

So I tried. I tried to write this story about Chuckie the Horse and the Day that Princess Diana died.

The first time I ever saw a horse’s dick was the day Princess Diana died. It was an enlarged version of my father’s and about one and a half times the size of the wooden rulers we used in math class. I was at the Perth fair, watching the equestrian competition with my friend Janine. Janine had long, thick blonde hair that went down to her waist. She’d gotten a ninety-nine percent average in grade seven and she was so good at the piano that she’d been the pianist in the school’s performance of The Pirates of Penzance. Janine used to ride horses too. She knew all the horses in the Perth Fair and we were allowed to go back into the stables to pat their heads and brush them with a shell-shaped comb. The horse show was two days before our first day of grade eight. I was eleven and Janine was twelve.

Chuckie was the horse’s name. Maybe he was a thoroughbread. His hair was dark brown and his back legs looked like enormous chicken drumsticks. I didn’t know much about horses because my family lived in town. Janine and I squeezed into either side of his stall.



Chuckie the Horse and his long dick looked something like this.  Source

 “Yes, Chuckie, yes,” Janine cooed, stroking his nose. It was my turn to use the shell-shaped comb to brush his mane.

“I heard Princess Diana puked up her food,” I said.

“That’s revolting,” said Janine. Chuckie snorted. Janine's always said that her stomach stuck out more than mine did, and that it was softer. I said that she was smart and beautiful she had long perfect blonde hair and so she beat me.

“I think Princess Diana was beautiful.” I sucked in my stomach and rubbed Chuckie`s neck. During the school year, I swam two hours a day with the Perth swim team. In the summers, there was a break and I became intensely afraid of gaining weight. I spent my days walking our family dog around Perth’s perimeters, counting my steps and making sure I made it to at least 6000, or else I did not deserve lunch. While I stood still, I clenched and unclenched my buttocks, in the hopes that it would remain firm. Every night before bed, I performed 1000 abdominal exercises. I looked forward to the fall when swim practices would resume and someone else would have the responsibility of inflicting weight-management strategies upon me.

“I miss riding you, Chuckie,” said Janine. “Good luck.” We walked toward the end of Chuckie’s stall to comb his belly. That’s when his dick went down. Or up, I suppose. I knew very little about dicks at the time. Chuckie’s dick was long. Wide for its length, but still wide. In nine years, a sixty-eight year old intellectually disabled Polish woman named Jadwiga would ask me, “Erica, why men have the long thing?” Alas, I never had no satisfactory response for Jadwiga. Or for me.

“That’s really gross,” I said to Janine when I saw Chuckie the Horse’s dick. Grosser than Diana puking up her food. Much Grosser. Way Grosser. When Janine and I sat down on the bleachers, there were sixteen hours left if we wanted to die on the same day as Princess Diana. There were seven and a half years before I would touch a real cock. Eleven years, eight months until I would touch and suck and vaginally penetrate Simon’s.

The special thing about Simon’s dick was that he could cum from a blowjob and remain hard for a full blown session of intercourse. Shorter than Chuckie the Horse’s, but harder. Hard as wood. I was never thrilled about giving extensive blowjobs before sex. It took too long and by the time he came, I wouldn’t be in the mood anymore.
That’s as far as I got. I didn`t know what else to say. I wasn't in the mood anymore.
The End.



Oh, and here's Princess Diana. Source.
She died before Twitter even started.

Jack Layton's inspiring letter to Canadians

Exuberant Bodhisattva on FacebookTwitter: @mypelvicfloor
I Let Go, self-help book by Erica J. Schmidt

What the fuck should I do with my life, Part Two
What a Beautiful Face
How I am violent, by Erica J. Schmidt