Peace like a river

Many thanks to those who have offered words and gestures of comfort in the past few days. I appreciate your kindness more than you know.



~ peace like a river attendeth g. mango's way

There is a balm in Gilead

This morning my friend Keturah died after a long, hard battle with cancer. She was twenty-one.


Until we meet again, my friend. Until we meet again.

~g. mango's soul finds rest in God alone.

Left Coast

I'm here. I'm safe.

It's a balmy ten degrees.

I think I'm in love.

~g. mango is walking around in a jetlagged haze and a t-shirt.

Leaving on a jet plane

FROM THE DESK OF GREEN MANGO

Dear Torontonians that I love,

We will always have Paris.

Missing you already,

G. Mango

FROM THE DESK OF GREEN MANGO

Dear Vancouverites that I love,

We will never have Toronto.

Exited to live amongst you nonetheless,

G. Mango


~g.mango doesn't know when she'll be back again. oh, babe she hates to go.

Time management

I took a break from packing to make a new shortcut icon for Green Mango.

Firefox users, how do you like it?

Internet Explore users, you may be able to see it if you add me to your favourites. If not, you will have to wallow in your icon-less misery. Or, you know, switch to a better browser.

Opera/Safari/Netscape users, I will not insult your browsers. But I have no idea whether you can see it. Let me know if you can.

~g. mango, wasting her time since 1854

Step into my parlour said the mango to the fly

I have to keep reminding myself that I am not moving moving. I mean, I'm picking up my life and going to start anew, and afresh. . . and again. I looked into my suitcase and saw 400 cheques, 190 pairs of contacts, two flash lights, and three jackets. And then I realized that, unlike the countless packing sessions when we moved house when I was a kid, this time I can actually leave some stuff behind and still have the hope of seeing it again.

At that same moment an angel of the Lord reminded me that:

• I write, maybe, two cheques a month
• I have cool glasses and wear contacts all of three times a year
• Nobody needs that many contacts anyway
  
• I am lucky to have had insurance that covered such gratuitous contact lense purchases
• Flash lights are for wimps
• Jackets are for losers

~g. mango says "No, no, Mr. Angel. Jackets are for girly-men."

Trip and fall down memory lane

Packing for the big move continues. And the more stuff I go through, the more I realize a) I own lots of dust-covered stuff that I have never used b) I own lots of dust-covered stuff that I will never use c) I own far more dust than previously thought.

But the adventure through the dust storms has proved to be enjoyable nonetheless. Mainly because I keep stumbling over my belongings from yesteryear, and consequently stumbling into nostalgia-filled dazes.

EXHIBIT A: Giant saucer-shapped glasses, four pairs

The problem with having been an child in need of corrective lenses in the eighties is that the only corrective lenses available to us were fashioned by myopic design deliquents. If you are currently in your twenties or thirties, I challenge you to look through your class photos from that time. I guarantee the kids in the glasses look more like they are wearing either coke bottles held together with rejected scraps of thick pastel plastic (80s), or small glass saucers held together with rejected scraps of thin secondary-couloured, and/or gold-coloured metal (90s). In each case, the diameter of each lense will be no less than 37.5 cm.

EXHIBIT B: Locked diary (read: Easily-picked diary) from grades six through eight

Now this is what I call infotainment! I have information on every single one of my crushes, my ups, my downs, my friends, and our (countless) break-ups and make-ups. As for entertainment, as if trying to decode my ten-year old monkey scratch isn't fun enough, my take on reality and understanding of what constitutes solid literary content is sure to make anyone laugh. And then cry. And then laugh again. Oh, to be a preteen girl again. I would not wish it on my worst enemy.

Do I hear you clammering for an excerpt? Too bad. Here's one anyway. Names have been changed to protect the guilty.

FROM THE DESK OF PRETEEN GREEN MANGO

June 4, [the grade seven year of our Lord]

Dear Diary:
. . . Math class seems to be a very popular place for talking. In math class Annie asked me if I wore bras and I said "You can see it can't you?"
"Yes I can, at least you can wear one."
"Anyone can wear one."
"I can't"
"Yes you can."
"Green Mango, 28 is too big for me!"
"So, I was 26 at the beginning of the year."
"You grow fast."

. . .

Thanks for noticing, Annie.

~and that, boys and girls, was the very last time g. mango wore a bra

Pack, man

So, I'm finally getting down to the business of packing up all my worldly goods. On Mango Mom's suggestion I'm trying to pack one of my brand spankin' new suitcases with clothes, and the other with stuff.

The other night I started rolling up some of my clothes, just to see if I could use the smaller of my brand spankin' new suitcases and the designated clothes carrier. Anyone wanna guess the outcome? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? Bueller?



I may have mistakenly packed my lips in this bulging, crudely drawn suitcase. Fortunately, I still have my trusty gimpy leg.

~ don't tell g.mango's sisters that they are inheriting everything that doesn't fit in this thing.

You can't hire me, I quit!

Today was my last day at work in hospital alley. Let's all pause for a moment of raucous revelry.

By this time next week I will have officially given up my Torontonian citizenship. Not because I want to. But because they make Torontonians do that when we become residents of any Canadian city, town, or village outside of the Greater Toronto Area . Of course, this forced forfeiture of citizenship is not required if Torontonians move to any one of the suburbs that litter the outskirts of the centre of the universe this great city of ours. Because suburbanites like to pretend they are from Toronto anyway. Evidently, they have not been informed that Whitby is not Toronto, and as Whitbians (Whitbanese? Whitbites?) they are essentially lying to themselves and others when they say they live in Toronto. But we Torontonians still love those adorable little suburbanites. It's so cute when your colonies try to imitate you.

Apparently, Torontonians have wronged every single person who does not have the privilege of having been swallowed up in the spreading expanse that is the Greater Toronto Area. I have been informed by many non-Torontonians that we are pompous, superficial egomaniacs. I think they are just jealous haters.

And that, they tell me, is precisely why I have to give up my Toronto citizenship posthaste.

In any other situation I would defend my dear Tdot to the near death, and cling to my Torontohood and pompous, superficial egomania with all my strength. After all, Toronto is the capital of the world and the source of all that's good.

But Vancouver is offering me 15 degree weather in February. I think I'm willing to make the sacrifice.

~g. mango solemnly swears to pretend to hate Toronto for ever and ever. amen.

Another day, another drama

'Member what I said on January 10? That thing about getting girls to wear mood rings. Well, I could easily make that exact same post today. But I will spare you the agony of having to read the same mediocre frustration-filled post twice.

I got a scathing email from a (former?) friend today. Something about me fronting like everything is okay, and having to take responsibility for the destruction of our friendship. Destruction of our friendship?! Guess I missed that memo. I didn't even know we weren't friends anymore.

It's true that we had a falling out of sorts. I tend get close to people, but bolt as soon as they get too dependent. It's a tragic flaw, I know. Which is why I'm working on it. And also why I offered aforemention (former?) friend a multitude of peace offerings, and a handsome collection of olive branches. And up until the Email of So Much Drama, I was under the greatly mistaken impression that we were all better now. Many months of emails passed between us, I heard all about her new beau, she was invited to all the social things that pertain to people in the circle of friends to which she belongs in my network of social relations.

I guess I should have clued in when she turned down every invitation. But really, some people do not like social things. And she was generally very nice about not coming. So I didn't think twice about it.

But apparently, I am a schmuck. And a rotten, frontin' ex-friend, doused in evil, dipped in malice. Why does no one pass this information onto me?

And why, even though I have been a girl for my whole life, do I not understand my own kind?

~g. mango doesn't know how boys live with us.

Hair today, gone tomorrow

Three things.

First, that has to be the lamest title I have ever dreamed up for one of my posts. Please hold your applause.

Second, I decided last night that I will not be stressed anymore. Not about work, not about the big move, not about the fate of humanity, not about life, the universe, and/or everything.

This new approach has been working well for me. I suggest you try it.

Third, to celebrate my newly-embraced state of stressfreeness, I got my hair cut. Actually, that's a lie. In reality, my hair was getting so long and unruly that I was forced, out of concern for those who have to look at me, to seek professional help. So after work off I trekked to my friend Sharon to see what all she could do with my mop. Well, it was more like a cross between an afro and a mullet. An afrolet?

And not only did she work wonders with my mul-fro, but she also fed me good food. Mmmmm tandoori chicken. Sharon, you are my hero. And mighty fine cook.

Once again, for the visual learners. Some die-o-grahams.

BEFORE

The afrolet in its natural habitat.

AFTER

Free acoustic guitars and tandoori-coloured lipstick with every hair cut!

~g.mango says "so long stress and bad hair. and thanks for the fish!"

Stressed to impress

I think I need to take some time to centre myself or something. 'Cause I'm sure I'm supposed to be excited about the Big Move. But all I am right now is stressed beyond belief. I have so much stuff to do. And apparently so many people to see.

And unfortunately, not a lot of time to see them.

So if you ask me to hook up with you in the next two weeks and I say that I can't, please don't take it personally. It's not 'cause I don't love you. ( I do!) It's not because you're not a priority. (You are!) It's not 'cause I've been trying to hook up with you since October and you keep bailing on me, you inconsiderate son of a motherless goat. (You suck!) It's not because you smell. Because your malodorous charm is obviously the foul foundation of our friendship.

Hope you still love me! 'Cause I still love you. You son of a motherless goat.

~g. mango will take two deep breaths. and three sour apple martinis.

The crow flies at quarter to ten

Mango Mom dropped by the ol' blog yesterday. Everytime she visits she says that I share too much of my personal information on this thing. So to honour my Mom, the best Mom in the history of Momkind and the wonderfulest person alive today, (perhaps you know her?) I will shower her with excessive compliments I will be delphically cryptic in today's post. And say that today may or may not be my day off.

And I may or may not be purchasing some sort of unspecified goods at major retailers that are situated in secret locations all over Southern Ontario. These goods may or may not be in preparation for a large-scale re-location on my part. But then again, I may have been lying this entire time. I may not be moving anywhere. There may be no dream job. Perhaps I'm a fiction writer, and this G. Mango is only a character in my novel . Or perhaps this whole blog is just a test for my pysch thesis for my Masters degree in which I explore how people get attached to characters that aren't even real. . . .

Or I may just be hanging around or something.


Look ma' no details!

~two little mangos swinging in a tree, one is blind and the other one is a counter operative spy who is not moving to vancouver.

The great eskate

I've been so stressed these past few days. Who knew packing up and deserting your family, friends, and livelihood would cause such pressure in an innocent mango's life?

And who knew that it would cause an innocent mango to write the previous sentence that is oh so rife with blatant lies content flaws.

'Cause really, you can't call what I'm doing deserting. And you definitely cannot call this thing that I'm doing at l'hôpital a livelihood. And also, you knew. You knew all along that I would be stressed out of my mango mind. And still you didn't tell me! I think this is grounds for disownment. But as I also knew all along and failed to mention it to myself, and thus would have to disown myself as well, I will instead pledge my undying love to you, and present the following drawring.

If ever you are stressed, remember: skating in the parking lot at work really does make you look like a Grade A goofball a lot less stressed out.



I am better than Sale and Pelletier combined!

~g. mango: skating her way to the gold since January 2005

All the world's a skating rink!

Man, I love freezing rain! Or more correctly, I love it when the sidewalks, and parking lots are all covered in a thin sheet of frozen water.* I feel like a kid again, slippin' and slidin' and otherwise having the time of my life!

Makes me want to officially reclaim my childhood, and unrenounce my girlshiphood.

*I also like the fact that I can be late for work and blame it on the freezing rain, when really I slept in 'til 7:30.**

**Which is not what I did today, but still good for future excuses totally what I did today.


~g. mango is perfecting her triple salchow

Mood Rings

Relient K has a song about getting all the emotional girls in the world to wear mood rings so guys can figure out what all is going on in their pretty little heads.

I've decided to join the boys on this issue. Freakin' girls. And their freakin' emotions.


She said to me she's so stressed out that it's soothing
And all I said was "Someone get that girl a mood ring"

'Cause when it's black it means watch your back
Because you're probablly
The last person in the world right now she wants to see
And when its blue it means that you should call her up immediately
And ask her out 'cause she'll most likely agree
And when it's green it simply means that she is really stressed
And when it's clear it means she's completely emotionless
And that's all right, I must confess.

~g. mango is temporarily renouncing her girlshiphood

Thai a yellow ribbon

Earlier this week, Mango Mom decided that since I have Fridays off, Fridays would now be my night to cook dinner. So yesterday, even though I wasn't gonna be home to eat dinner, I took it upon myself to wow the crowd by whipping up some Pad Thai. Unfortunately, we were out of almost everything you need to make Pad Thai. And I wasn't about to drive a whole five mintes to go to Big Land Farms. So I improvised.

We didn't have any Pad Thai noodles. So I just used three minute chowmein noodles. And we didn't have any fish sauce, so I used oyster sauce. And we didn't have any frozen shrimp, so I was gonna used dried shrimp ('cause that works too), but we didn't have that either. And I couldn't use peanuts 'cause S. went and got herself all allergic to them, so I decided to use her almond butter substitute-peanut-product-wannabe thing. But then an angel of the Lord descended from heaven and told me that almond butter is nasty, so I conveniently forgot to put it in. And we didn't have any red peppers, so I was gonna use green peppers. But then the angel came back and said "That thing I said about almond butter? Same thing goes for green peppers." So no peppers.

My sisters, noting that I was in substitution heaven, opted to call my creation Faux Thai instead of Pad Thai. I think that is an accurate description.

And judging from the rave reviews that I got when I came in today, that had to be the best Faux Thai they have ever had in their lives. And seeing as it was my first time trying my hand at the Thai formerly known as Pad, it was definitely the best I've ever made.

~g. mango is half asian, half sensation!

The Wet Coast

All right, enough with the procrastination suspense, here's the 411 about Vancouver.

WHO

The ever nomadic Green Mango: World Saver Extraordinaire.

WHAT

The Big Move and the Dream Job. Capitalized not for effect, but for, umm, you know. . . good measure?

WHERE

Vancouver. Specifically East Van. My neighbourhood is like Kensington Market meets the Danforth meets Little Portugal meets Church and Wellesley meets Tent City meets Flemingdon Park. I love it. But it can be a little rough. Good thing I'm an Urban Warrior Princess.

WHY

Short answer: Child and youth work.

Long answer: The acquisition of the aforementioned, and afore-arbitrarily-capitalized Dream Job. I am returning to work with the fine folks at UrbanPromise. Sound familiar? I talked about it here. I'll be developing, launching, and directing a new outreach program for the neighbourhood kids from grades 5 to 8.

For those of you know me in real life, this is similar to what I did when I was in Vancouver last time. But more so. And now I get paid. (YAY!). But not a lot. (BOO!). But I can raise support to supplement my income, so I can buy food, and stuff. (YAY!). But I hate asking for money. (BOO!).

No I don't. Please send me money. You'll even get a tax receipt.

Even though this is not the most lucrative venture, it is, in fact, still a dream come true. It's true that my new hood is not the most wonderful of places all the time. There is a high drug presence, and lots of other stuff that goes along with a high drug presence. But I get to work with fantastic kids and their families, making a difference in the community, and doing my part to save the world. And having already worked with the kids, staff, and volunteers twice before, I can safely say that I already (and officially) love their guts!

WHEN

My first day of work is Jan 31st.

I fly out at way-too-early o'clock on Jan 27th. And arrive just in time to be jetlagged for weeks. You'd think with all my travels around the world (read: the Western Hemisphere) that my body would finally clue in that I am a chronic vagabond, and would stop continually forcing extreme jetlagged-related pain upon me. You would think.

~ vote g. mango for best urban warrior mango with a penchant for aBitRary capitalization

Equal pay for equal cluck

FROM THE DESK OF GREEN MANGO

Dear Mr. Kung Pow,

Thank you for your letter expressing your concern about not being mentioned in my last post.

Pursuant to Article 27, paragraph 6a of the Green Mango Equal Recognition Accord (Poultry Section), I would like to say that I like your chicken too.

Sincerley,
G. Mango

~bet you five bucks g. mango had chinese for lunch!

Finger lickin' good

FROM THE DESK OF GREEN MANGO

Dear General Tao,

You make good chicken.

Sincerely,

G. Mango

~g.mango loves her some chicken!

A sheep at the wheel

I haven't forgotten that I said I'd post about what all I'm going to be doing in Vancouver. But I haven't had the time to post à cause de the prep for the Big Move, and all the stuff I've been trying to organize at work before I leave the present (non-dream) job. And also, I have been busy with holiday revelry and merrymaking. And also sombre tsunami stuff.

So, yes, the epic story of the Big Move and the Dream job is coming to a theatre near you! This week. I promise!

In the meantime, here is a short list of things that I will not be doing in Vancouver:

• Basking in the glory of being a resident of the centre of the universe a World Class City
• Verbalizing my belief that Toronto is the sacred city of God a World Class City
  
• Driving faster than 50km an hour
  
• Going through an entire day without being subjected to unhealthy levels of second-hand weed smoke
  
• Enjoying a day without unhealthy levels of percipitation
  
• Using my degree
• Freezing my butt off

~g. mango is a Toronto expat waiting to happen, and a contributing member of the Toronto diaspora.