Wednesday, May 27, 2009

Who Do You Open the Door For?

Ok M-Styles, your new post request is filled at the cost of my ability to sleep. Because I'm having residual freak out and can't settle, so I might as well write.

I was just sitting in my living room having some late night (11:30) soup, listening to Sigur Ros and reading. Suddenly became aware of an epilepsy inducing flashing light through the window. My first thought was, 'hmmm .... popo car outside, someone must me dicking around in the grocery store parking lot,' followed by 'maybe R. forgot something and is trying out a new way of summoning me' which sort of made sense, given that less than a half hour before he'd been chucking stones at my window.

So I looked out the window, half expecting a familiar face. But no, there's a relatively young, very attractive man in rolled up combat pants and black shirt standing on the back steps holding up a police badge and motioning to the back door. Now, if there had been a police car out there, or even another cop, I wouldn't have questioned it. But there wasn't. And it immediately felt wrong.

And this is the part that really bugs me. Everything in me wanted to phone the Victoria Police before I went to the door to confirm that they were actually responding to a call and that he was legit, but I didn't. I went to the back door with my phone in my hand, as if it would have done me any good if he was actually a nasty ass predator with a dollar store badge. And I held the door open a little to talk to him, as if I could have shut it stopped him from kicking it in. I was so incredibly aware of how vulnerable I was to whoever this person was, and I knew it was ok to call and confirm that he was a cop, but I didn't, lest I get in the way of someone that had called for the police.

He asked if I was in #4 (which I'm not) and relayed on the radio that the apartment with the light on was not #4, then asked me questions about my neighbours. Was it a woman that lived there alone? When was the last time I'd seen her? They're new, a couple, I've only met them once (seem nice), I'm only really aware of them when they are slamming the door on their way in and out. He said they'd had a call from her and came in to knock on their door. I locked myself back in my apartment and called the non-emergency line to confirm that the police were supposed to be there (i.e., that I hadn't just let a non-cop potential psycho killer in and now I really needed the popo), which they were. There was a lot of banging on the door across the hall accompanied by 'Victoria Police, open the door', clearly several more officers had arrived, and finally a guy opened the door. From behind my door it sounded exactly like an episode of The Shield.

"Victoria Police, we had a call to this address, is your girlfriend home?"


"We need to talk to her, she called us"


"We're coming in, is there anyone else in there?"

So, so surreal.

And in the end it seems it was a false alarm, the call was from the former tenant, and for whatever reason her number was registered there. I'm assuming it was the beautiful, sort of crazy one who was forever fighting with and breaking up with guys, and often took her domestic phone squabbles out to the hall so I could hear them better than I'd have liked. Seemed to live for the drama, that one, and I hope for her sake that it was just a drama call and nothing serious is going down.

My poor neighbours were probably fast asleep and now as skeeved as I am.

And I'm mad at myself. That I didn't take the extra few seconds to make the call to clarify he was legitimately a cop before I went to the door. That when I did I took the time to look up the non-emergency number rather than calling 911. Because God forbid I inconvenience anyone, even if it's at the expense of my own safety. Good one, Gignac.

Sunday, May 10, 2009

What Time is it, Mr. Wolf?

I know, I know, it's been over a week. The internet has been a cold and lonely place. I'm awful...

Truth be told there's been a lot going on the last few weeks, but nothing I really want to write about. I'm burned out on my own shit.

So this will be short.

First thing - The Racoons last night were freaking awesome. I know, I know, the Wolf Parade comparison is stale, but come on, they faced it head on and played This Heart's on Fire. Love. Seriously, Team Vancouver, go check them out June 8th at Richards on Richards. And Team Victoria - June 12th, Sugar, CD release party. Posse up!

Second thing - Patrick Wolf.

Dear Patrick,

I fucking love you. I don't know if you like girls, and if you do you probably like little arty cool euro-chicks that read Proust and fart watermelon bubbles. I am not that girl. But I have an overwhelming desire to be your big spoon, gently nuzzling your shoulder blades to calm you when you are in the throes of a nightmare, warming your icy feet under my legs when we are curled up, burned out on the couch watching Skins, watching with admiration and a tinge of lust as you sit at my vanity, creating your Bowie-esque sexy-alien-ingenue looks while channeling Annie Lennox in the video for Why. I want to watch you kiss Owen Pallett. I don't know if you guys play that way, but in my head you do. I will be at your show at Richard's on June 6th. I know I sound crazy, but really, I'm a nice girl. Don't be scared.

xoxo ~ m

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