Going to the park was the next logical step, then, so I did.
I believed that I was to meet Shanan at the gazebo in Wascana park, but when I got to the gazebo, it was covered in children. Unless the age of university students had dropped drastically, this was not the right place. Still, I waited for a few minutes just to make sure.
That's when I noticed how rife with goose poop the place was. Goose poop was here, goose poop was there, goose poop was under my butt. Good times.
You don't know how much you care about goose poop until it's stuck to your butt.
I checked through my e-mails to see where I went wrong with the meeting place, and I saw mention of the war memorial, so I googled the war memorial and headed on over to the one by the Legislative Building.
Again, no university profs or students were there. In fact, no one was there except me, and it was terrifically boring.
Wascana felt like some kind of windy, bug-ridden, overly bright, goose poop-ridden purgatory. I was really quite annoyed with the whole thing. I'm not a fan of direct, unyielding sunlight, and I also find bugs buggy and wind overstimulating.
Without thinking, motherfucker slipped out of my mouth a little too loudly, and a passing skateboarder gave me the finger and shouted fuck you.
I ducked into the park's public washroom.
I made an arbitrary rule this morning that I had to take pictures everywhere today, so I did. Being that it was difficult to get much of a picture in such a confined space, I stood up on the toilet seat to get a better shot.
I'm glad that I did. Otherwise, I never would have been able to read the creepy, and possibly pervy, message scratched into the facing half-wall. How sweet.
I don't know why my toes are that colour, either. Stop staring at them.
Back to the geese. Wascana is lousy with them.
For those who do not have personal experience with the Canada goose, it is one nasty mofo. They hiss and menace and occasionally give chase. They pretty much hate any living thing that is not a goose, and that one down there hated me. I actually fell on my ass when he leapt forward a few steps to make sure that I knew what a beastly piece of work he was.
Shanan eventually called me to see where the hell I was. It turns out that I WASN'T EVEN IN THE RIGHT PARK.
She was in another park with another war memorial. It turns out the war memorials and parks go together like chocolate and peanut butter, and I had been wading through goose poop and documenting public washrooms and angering passing skaters a mile away from where I was actually supposed to be.
Speaking of peanut butter, Shanan and I finally joined up and decided to go to Tangerine, where Shanan ordered a peanut-buttery dessert.
"Can I take a picture of your moonpie and put it on the internet?" I asked, and she said yes.
We're very close.
Later, we picked up the Palinode and went to the Lil' Belizean Cook Shack, because this is what Shanan and I do. We eat together and work on my double chin.
Do you know what I Belize? I Belize that aside from the really tasty samosa, I ended up with some flat bean muck and a Jamaican patty that tasted like an old refrigerator around the edges. Yum.
And then the Palinode glared at stuff and I stopped writing this run-down of a very long Tuesday, because if I went into how we also went to Tea Kitchen and Rhoda's and Shoppers and Seed and met a hiccuppy baby and whatnot, this would get ridiculous. Plus, I have a date with the farmer's market in the morning, and I have to get some sleep.