“When I married Jon and, consequently, had children.”

Does anyone expect these poor children to be at all well-adjusted?

How are children ever a consequence of marriage?

1) You should want them before you have them.

2) If you don’t want them, you should know how to prevent them.

Just sayin’.

This is a Sponsored Post written by me on behalf of Haagen Dazs. All opinions are 100% mine.

If I could do only a few things for the rest of my life, I’m not sure what all would be on the list, but I know for sure that writing and travel and music and theater would certainly be amongst them. I can also guarantee that I would make the same crazy jaunts to see the people that I love to watch act on stage and to see concerts… even if they are on a different continent. So, what are you passionate about? Music? Fashion? Food? Haagen-Dazs has begun a new series exploring the passions of some of Canada’s most famous creative minds called Passion Profiles. The talk show, which is hosted by Cheryl Hickey of ET Canada, delves into the passions of musicians, designers and chefs and seeks to enlighten and inspire the shows viewers to explore their own passions. If you want to see what inspires some of Canada’s finest musicians, artists and creators, check out Passion Profiles. On September 8, 2010, Passion Profiles will feature musician Jann Arden. Which is most excellent. Because, I have to say, I am pretty passionate about the song “Insensitive,” which may, in fact, be one of the greatest songs ever written.

So, Tuesday night I got to see Wendy Crewson in Love, Loss and What I Wore. Which was oh so wonderful for me. But it wasn’t just Wendy. Indeed, the entire cast was a treat. And Margot Kidder… just too cool.

Great script, great performance, and most fantabulous after-performance.

First thing to note, and so incredibly strange for us, was the fact that we were like the only people waiting outside of the stage door who didn’t know one of the actors personally. Is that not a thing in Canada? I mean, WTF? When we went to see A Little Night Music last week, there were barricades on either side of the stage door and lines like twelve people deep.

Anyway, Wendy came out as the last person in the backstage brigade. We looked at her with smiles of anticipation. She looked back at us and said, “Margot is coming out the front.” So Shawna says “We were waiting for you.” And Wendy is like, “Really?” And we’re like “Uh, yeah.” So, then I tell her that she is one of my favorite actresses, and she’s all “That is so sweet.” And Shawna tells her that we can’t see everything that she’s in in the U.S. (Because, you know, we are the U.S. and we wouldn’t possibly stoop to buying TV shows from Canada. Since our television plate is loaded with such high-class fare.) She asks where we’re from and Shawna says Pennsylvania (only true for another twenty-some odd days, but close enough) and Wendy says, “You didn’t drive all the way up here to see this, did you?” And I say, “We drove all the way up here to see you.” And she’s like, “I’m in shock.” And she actually looked quite in shock. Cause she had no idea she’s that cool to me. And then she’s like, “Thank you. That’s amazing.” And I’m like, “Thank you. It was awesome getting to see you on stage.”

And then she hugged us.

I asked if they were as in awe of being onstage with Margot Kidder as they seemed. And she was like, “Yes, she’s amazing,” and talked all about how Margot was open about everything in her life, including her crazy. And we got to make a mutual joke at Montana’s expense.

Then, when she signed my playbill (though that’s a really generous term, cause it’s really more of a flyer), Wendy dropped our blue Sharpie and wrote on her t-shirt. She said that she was “Graceful as always” and picked it up. And I told her that I’m a writer and all of my clothes have ink stains on them.

So, as we had our picture taken by some of Wendy’s old friends who were waiting outside of the theater as well, she asked what I wrote and I told her about my book and how I wrote screenplays and how I won the award in the screenwriting competition. And she’s like congratulations. And I said maybe one day she’d be in something of mine, to which she responded, “Well, I’m free in five days.”

It was just so strange, because she was nominated for yet another Gemini Award the same day as the play, and yet she was so sincerely amazed that we would drive that far to see her. I simply cannot imagine such a humble reaction from any of our Emmy award nominees.

Wendy Crewson. Simply wonderful.

And clearly as blind as a bat without her glasses.

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TITLE: Between the Shadow and the Soul (13/24)
PAIRING: A veritable clusterfuck… but there is only one way it can end up.
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Never was. Never will be. No profit. Just love.

(Jill’s POV)

She wasn’t going to skip Lindsay’s father’s funeral. She refused to let Lindsay make her that person. She would be there for Lindsay like she always had, whether Lindsay wanted her there or not.

Of course, it would have been easier if Lindsay didn’t have to make it quite so known how much she didn’t want her there.

When Jill had gone up to Lindsay at the funeral, she’d gotten just enough acknowledgment that people may have known that they were colleagues. There was absolutely nothing in the brief exchange to lead anyone to think that they were actually friends.

If they were actually friends.

A notion more easily thought than accepted.

Jill loved Lindsay, enough that it hurt to be brushed aside as if she were nothing more than a pest to be avoided. But, when it came to clemency, that love only went so far.

Lindsay was hurting too. Jill got that. Lindsay was longing, she was jealous, and she felt left out. She had a right to all of those emotions.

But she didn’t have the right to act like such an arctic bitch.

Frankly, Jill was rather tired of being the bad guy in all of this when she hadn’t done anything wrong. At least not to anyone but Lindsay. And what she had done to Lindsay, she didn’t know she was doing. Not at the time. Not until it was too late. Now, she wasn’t about to just hand Cindy over to Lindsay to save their friendship. That was too great a sacrifice. It was too much to ask. If that’s what Lindsay expected of her, maybe their friendship wasn’t worth saving.

Then, maybe all of this was just an excuse for the fury she’d been harboring for days toward her best friend. Former best friend? Adversary? As if she needed any more of an excuse to be furious. She was fine with feeling the fury on Cindy’s behalf, because she knew that Cindy wouldn’t feel it herself.

Despite the obvious chill at the funeral, Cindy hadn’t heeded Lindsay’s cold shoulder. Not really needing to watch a repeat of Lindsay’s barely cloaked desire for Cindy, Jill had set her gaze to the floor as Cindy stepped into Lindsay’s personal space and put her arms around her.

But she needn’t have bothered.

The embrace barely had a chance to begin before Lindsay put her hands on Cindy’s upper arms and pushed her back a step, as if the two of them hugging in present company was somehow inappropriate. Which it shouldn’t have been… and wouldn’t have been… if they were just friends.

As was always the case when Lindsay was insensitive and distant, the pain raged unmistakably in Cindy’s eyes, and, as was the routine response, Lindsay pretended not to see. Though it was a fight Jill wanted to have right then and there, given the circumstances she just met Lindsay’s eyes over the top of Cindy’s head, not bothering to withhold any of her disgust, took Cindy by the arm and led her away. Like physical distance from Lindsay could somehow undo the damage.

Though it was far from the intention, Jill was certain, Lindsay’s snub had the direct consequence of Cindy sitting alone with Jill in the back of the room and leaving without even telling Lindsay goodbye.

Jill suspected it was also largely responsible for the fact that, when she drove Cindy home that night, Cindy asked her to stay. As uncertain as she felt about the timing of the request, and as possible as it was that Cindy just needed somebody, not necessarily her in particular, Jill didn’t have the ability, or the desire, to say no to her. Which is how she’d discovered what it felt like to have Cindy curled up tightly against her, wrapped in her arms.

Jill had expected it to be nice. She hadn’t, however, anticipated such a crash course in sensation. Physically, she’d been that close to more people than she could count on both hands, but never had it felt so much like it’s exactly where she wanted to be. Her heart had pounded so hard all night that she couldn’t sleep. But she knew that Cindy wasn’t physically ready for anything more. And Cindy made no move to initiate it.

Every night since had been the same - sleeping at Cindy’s apartment, lying awake, heart thrumming and fluttering so out of control she just marveled at her own body, and Cindy sound asleep against her.

And Lindsay? She was been absent from their lives. Almost entirely. Tom had given her a non-voluntary week off from work, and in that time, neither Jill nor Cindy had spoken to her at all. Aside from daily updates, during which Claire assured them that Lindsay was fine, they had no real way of knowing how Lindsay was coping. Or if she was coping. If she were an acquaintance keeping such as distance, she might very well have been a non-entity. But, she wasn’t just an acquaintance, and so she was still there, even though she wasn’t.

The fact that Lindsay had exiled them to secondhand information bothered Cindy a lot. Jill could see it every day. Truth be told, it bothered her nearly as much. But, if Lindsay wanted to talk to them, she knew where they were. And, if Lindsay needed anything, she wasn’t asking them.

And if that’s the way Lindsay wanted things, it was fine. That’s the way it would be.

Or so Jill thought.

But when she called Claire for a status check on what was supposed to be Lindsay’s first day back at work, and Claire told her that Lindsay hadn’t shown up that morning, Jill realized that no amount of anger eclipsed her concern. And, when she went to Tom to ask if he’d sent anyone to check on Lindsay and Tom told her that Lindsay wasn’t in her apartment or any of the other places they’d thought to look, it didn’t make Jill any less determined to find Lindsay and make sure that she wasn’t doing something stupid.

Because Jill knew where Lindsay would be. The same place Lindsay always went when she didn’t want to be found. Jill knew, because she was Lindsay’s best friend.

Once.

When she pulled up in the parking lot and found Lindsay’s car parked right where she thought it would be, Jill felt an immense sense of satisfaction. Lindsay could revoke her friendship at any time, but she couldn’t take away the things they’d already shared. She couldn’t take away the things that Jill already knew.

Though the sun was exceptionally bright, and the bar especially dim, Jill didn’t even take the time to allow her eyes to adjust before heading toward the back booth. She didn’t need to see to know that Lindsay was there. Because that’s where Lindsay always sat, and just where Jill found her four inches into an eight-inch glass.

Not waiting for the invitation she knew would never come, Jill slid into the booth opposite Lindsay. It took no time for Lindsay’s somewhat dulled eyes to focus on her, but it did take a moment for Lindsay to accept that her solitude had been intruded upon by the last person she wanted to see.

“Why are you here?” Lindsay asked in the place where, if not a warm welcome, as least a courteous greeting should have been.

“You didn’t come to work,” Jill returned calmly, though she felt anything but. “And you didn’t tell anyone you weren’t coming.”

“What are you? Tom’s truant officer?”

Jill watched Lindsay put the glass to her lips. She wanted to maintain her anger, keep her defenses up. She didn’t want to create an opening for Lindsay. She knew that, right now, Lindsay would be more than happy to walk through any breach in her façade and go on the attack. But she couldn’t deny the anguish in Lindsay’s movements either, or the strained expression of fortitude that couldn’t quite hide the shattered interior.

“Everyone is worried about you,” Jill said quietly.

Lindsay looked up at her. For a moment it looked as if she might actually care, but then she raised her glass again and the walls went right back up. “Well, you can go on back and tell them that I’m just fine.”

“Are you fine?”

“I don’t want to talk to you,” Lindsay returned with such haste and conviction it could only be the truth.

“I know,” Jill countered. “You haven’t wanted to talk to me for days.”

Lindsay actually had the humaneness left to look somewhat guilty before she looked away again. And Jill knew that it wasn’t the time to have this conversation, the conversation that they needed to have. Lindsay needed time.

“So are you going to leave, or do I have to change tables?” Lindsay snapped.

Her humanity evidently a quickly passing illusion, Lindsay was so damn vicious that the notion of walking softly moseyed straight out of Jill’s mind. If Lindsay couldn’t bother with civility, then there was no reason for her to bother being gracious.

“I know why you’re here,” Jill stated matter-of-factly.

“I would hope,” Lindsay said dryly. “You were there. And even if you weren’t paying attention to the body in the casket, I’m sure that the death of a regular witness, and one-time suspect, created some extra paperwork for the DA’s office.”

Jill shook her head. It was as if Lindsay was looking for even more reasons to hate her. Or maybe just to further justify the hatred she already felt.

“I am sorry about your dad, Linds,” Jill asserted. “But that’s not what this is about. I know what’s going on with you.”

“You think?” If Jill didn’t know that it was directed at her personally, the smirk that came to Lindsay’s face might have misled her into believing that Lindsay was actually enjoying the conversation.

“You want her, don’t you, Lindsay?” Jill asked point-blank, watching Lindsay’s smirk quickly fade into a tight-lipped glare. “You wanted Tom back and you are with Pete, but now that I have Cindy, you want her.”

Lindsay scoffed, a quick, insulting sound of derision, and looked out at the dirty, splintered hardwood. Jill thought for sure that she would deny it, put up another pretense, dismiss the accusation and send her on her way. But after a few seconds, Lindsay’s jaw tensed and the knuckles of her left hand turned white on the glass. “It has nothing to do with you.”

“So, it’s true?” Jill asked in disbelief. Until that very instant, she’d actually held out some hope that she was reading into things.

The longer Lindsay didn’t respond, the more desperately Jill needed to hear her refute the claim. Of course I don’t want Cindy. I’m happy with Pete. I wish the two of you well. How hard were those things to say?

“Is this how it’s going to be?” Jill questioned when Lindsay said nothing. “Are we going to stop being friends over this?”

Though Jill squirmed just stating the possibility, Lindsay didn’t flinch at all. “I assume by this you mean Cindy,” she rasped, the look on her face resolute, her eyes completely unforgiving.

Lindsay wasn’t going to make this easy, and she certainly wasn’t going to relent. Which put them at odds. Because Jill wasn’t relenting either. “If I have to choose, I pick Cindy.”

It should have ended the discussion. It should have ended everything between them. If Lindsay would just give up.

“So do I,” Lindsay declared instead.

“She’s not an option,” Jill forced out, all of the fury running through her system pooling behind her eyes and projecting outward. How could she even be debating this?

“You’re not right for her,” Lindsay countered, the alcohol in her system allowing her a calm, relaxed appearance that annoyed Jill to no end.

“Oh, and you are?”

“More than you.” Apparently, Lindsay didn’t care in the least just how arrogant she sounded.

“How do you figure that?”

She truly wanted to know Lindsay’s magic equation, but when Lindsay finally stopped avoiding her gaze and looked up again, Jill wished she could withdraw the question. She knew that it was loaded. She just didn’t anticipate how willing Lindsay would be to pull the trigger.

“When I find out you’ve screwed someone else in your office,” Lindsay uttered low. “I’m not keeping your secret this time.”

Heart leaping straight into her throat, Jill nearly choked on it. If Lindsay could actually go so low as to use it against her, their friendship must officially be over. And, at the moment, Jill could feel nothing but relief.

“Fuck you, Lindsay.”

Grabbing the edge of the table, Jill pulled herself up out of the booth and headed straight for the door. Compelled by something strong and unforgiving, she simply didn’t care anymore that Lindsay was doing the idiotic thing, sitting in a bar alone, trying to drink away her pain. Which never worked. If Lindsay wanted to simmer in her misery and resentment, she could do it alone.

When she reached the door, Jill stepped out of the darkness and back into the sunlight. But it felt remarkably colder than when she’d walked in. And, when her cell rang a moment later and she glanced at the caller ID, she blamed Lindsay for the fact that she didn’t want to answer.

“Hey,” she said as she picked up anyway, struggling to find a normal tone of voice.

“Hey,” Cindy answered, sounding relatively cheery in the aftermath of Jill’s previous conversation. “I’m going to be working late tonight.”

“Big story?” Jill asked as casually as she could manage.

“Big power trip is more like it,” Cindy responded.

Miraculously, Jill felt a small smile come to her face, and took her first easy breath in several minutes. “So, will I see you tonight?”

“Hopefully,” Cindy returned.

The one word broke through all of the residual anger, and much of the doubt, and Jill felt tears at the back of her eyes. “Good,” she breathed.

“Are you okay?” Cindy asked, picking up on the small shift in mood as surely as if Jill had started openly sobbing into the phone.

Sighing, Jill tried again to sound normal, very nearly succeeding. “I’m fine. I just really hope that I get to see you.”

“Me too,” Cindy said softly before she was cut off by a booming voice in the background. “I should probably go.”

“That’s okay. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Are you sure that you’re okay?” Cindy asked again.

“Yes, I’m okay,” Jill assured her.

Appeased, Cindy said goodbye and hung up, and Jill was left listening to silence. As she lowered her cell, she unconsciously glanced back toward the bar. She hated that she still felt any responsibility for Lindsay’s safety, but her emotions didn’t just turn off as easily as Lindsay’s apparently did. So she did the only thing that she could defend with her conscience, called Tom and let him know where Lindsay was and that she was as fine as someone drinking alone in the middle of the day ever was.

But, when Jill hung up this time, she didn’t look back. Satisfied that she’d done enough, she walked away, leaving Lindsay to fend for herself.

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Why Does This Shit Always Happen to Me?

Let me set the scene… again.

Late night train car. Just after midnight and a half. Two young women get on at the first stop and actually get a seat. Which is fantastic, because one of the women chose stupid shoes and, as a result, is suffering severe back and foot hurts.

The train pulls into the second station. More people get on, but the seats fill quickly and many are forced to stand. One new passenger places a pink duffel bag directly in front of Foot Hurt girl and stands facing her, which is always an imposition, but not totally unusual.

The girl with the hurting feets notices the new passenger’s nice red and white plaid shirt and glances up to take a look, realizing that the person she thought was a guy, despite the pink duffel, might actually be female. This was later confirmed by an untraumatized third party.

Having noted the shirt, Foot Hurt lowers her gaze, because she doesn’t make a habit of conversing with those towering over her on the train.

A few seconds later, Plaid Shirt does something unexpected.

She grabs her crotch.

Foot Hurt sees it, because it’s right at eye-level, but ignores it. Then, Plaid Shirt grabs her crotch again. And then again. Then, apparently feeling the crotch-grabbing is not having enough of an impact, Plaid Shirt begins to incorporate more of herself, rubbing up and down from chest to crotch… over and over and over. And Foot Hurt realizes just averting her gaze isn’t getting the job done and puts her hand up in a way that looks like she is merely tired and resting, but actually shields her eyes so that her nausea doesn’t continue to grow and she doesn’t end up puking on Plaid Shirt, because she isn’t entirely convinced that puking wouldn’t be seen as a mating ritual.

Yes, that Foot Hurt girl was me. Yes, I feel dirty.

But Shawna feels guilty. Because the entire time that this was happening, Shawna, sweet, oblivious Shawna, was complaining about how the guy beside her kept falling asleep and slouching on her.