Running

Greta is going to pass this test, and then she is going to start paying attention to people again. Instead of spending all her "free" time running and thinking (latently, too-lately) about comebacks against that snarky gyne-onc fellow who's been on her case all rotation. She's running running running, and doesn't feel much at all.

Babs at work

It had been a week since Babs and Greta had talked in that small cafe and two since Babs had woken up with a hangover to kill and a mysterious message written across her back. She had yet to call the number and she still had no idea who J.W. was. At the moment though, none of those things mattered as Babs stared at the huge pile of case law she had to read in the next two days. It took her roughly an hour to read 10 pages and fully understand them so at this rate... Babs lifted the pile of paper at its middle half-heartedly then let it drop.

She'd be here until midnight both nights.

Grimacing at the tiny words written about a boring topic, Babs jumped when someone knocked at her door. It was Richard. She could tell it was him out of the periphery of her eye as he tended to fill the doorway - especially when he wore his robes as he did now.

"Were you just in court?" Babs asked him, trying to keep her voice level. She hated that even now, after an affair of nearly three months with this man, he still set her on edge. She turned in her chair after she'd said this.

Richard nodded. It wasn't that he was extraordinarily good looking. He was smart but not that smart - and not as smart as Babs for that matter. It was that he was... confident. Confident and tall and slightly condescending. Babs was putty in his hands and she hated it. "Thought you'd be there. You could have learned a thing or two."

Babs scowled at him turning back to her work, "my loss. I'm busy - did you want something?"
She felt rather then saw him approach. And as he did so, she heard her office door click shut behind him. He stood directly over her without touching her, saying nothing. The tension was unbearable. Babs did not turn around nor did she say anything. Eventually she felt his hands on her neck, pulling her head back...

Later, after he'd left, Babs waited a respectable time before making her way to the bathroom. There was a private one on the third floor and at this point she knew the most discrete path to get there. Looking in the mirror in the tiny, windowless room Babs checked to see if her mascara was smeared and it was then that she took a good long look at her 29 year old face. Every line, every mark, every uneven feature stared back under the florescent light. And of course, she started to cry. She didn't know where it came from but she clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle the sobs that rippled out of her body. She lost track of how long she stood there, one hand on the sink for support, the other covering her mouth, staring into the mirror and crying. Every now and then someone knocked but she chose to ignore it.

Eventually she sat down on the toilet and forced herself to calm down. Deep breaths. And then she stood, splashed water on her face, fixed her mascara and went back to her desk.

She'd be here until at least 2 am now. Damn him, Babs thought, this was the last time.

The last time I saw Richard

"I don't know how it started - actually no, that's a lie I do know. It was when I first saw him. He was doing a public speaking engagement about ethics and the law. He was so callous, so funny, so-"

"Tall?"

Babs laughed taking a sip of her wine. "Yeah, that too."

"Go on." Greta tried to hide her yawn behind the back of her hand. She looked like a child that was overtired but didn't want to go bed. It was quiet, warm and dark in the small cafe they'd found near Trinity Bellwoods. It was also crammed with people caught between afternoon and evening, too cold to wander and too far from downtown to go home. The waitress in the place moved carefully to avoid the winter coats piled up on the backs of chairs.

"Well anyway, after I was hired things between us were always friendly. I'm sure he knew how I felt but it wasn't until the Christmas party that things started to happen between us."

"Wait that was when?" Greta was rummaging through her bag now, trying to find her buzzing pager.

"Late November. So I guess it's been a couple of months now - do you have to go?"

Greta was frowning at the page number - she didn't recognize it. Could someone page you long distance? And who had her pager number except her colleagues at work? "No I - I'm not on call. This is probably a mistake." Still, she pulled out a pen and scribbled the number down on her cocktail napkin for future inspection.

"'This is probably a mistake' - I think that's what I said the first time we got together," Babs smiled faintly. "So how do I correct it?"

Greta shrugged and drained her glass.

Somewhere else in the city, Lucy ate her fried egg with some freezer burnt wonder bread, Jason the metal head did a line of coke off his dirty living room coffee table, the lawyer Babs was fucking took out the garbage, and the garbage Greta had neglected to take out began to stink up her apartment.

Elsewhere in the city, a tall lean man with long dark hair was wondering where his favorite shirt went to, J.W. sighed and rolled over in his sleep, and from her desk in the emergency ward at Mt. Sinai, the nurse who had given Greta's pager number away to a complete stranger, could see that it was starting to snow.

Jager-filled dreams

Lucy blinked and looked again. The tag line actually said "do you like Metallica and shit?" Right, her eyes were playing tricks on her - or maybe it was the state of her computer screen after she'd spilled juice all over it 6 months ago.

Lucy sat back in her chair, thinking about the last Metallica guy she'd gone for. She'd justified the pursuit with the conclusion that all those years of singing "Master of Puppets" at the top of her lungs while making scrambled eggs on Saturday mornings had to count for something. The truth was, Lucy had always loved the dirtbags. She couldn't help herself. There was something spectacularly seductive about a greasy ponytail and tight jeans.

For their first date, they had met at a heavy metal bar. Jason wasn't quite as hard-core as she would have liked him to be (no Pantera armband on his jean jacket, no tattoos on his knuckles), but he did have an air of heavy metal about him, with his longish hair and guitar calloused fingers.

They spent the night drinking Jagermeister and talking about a wide variety of topics. Lucy almost punched him during their discussion about Russian literature (she not being a fan and Jason being a groupie of the gulag), but all in all it was a very successful date.

The only problem was that at the end of that night, Lucy, in a drunken horny haze, grabbed Jason and kissed him. She just couldn't handle the sexual tension any longer. It's not that he didn't respond, or that the kiss was bad (in fact it was very hot and Lucy had felt slightly quivery every time she thought about it), it was just that Jason didn't call her for several days after that date.

She had spent that time, as so many women do, wondering if her forwardness wasn't the reason why. She feared she was falling back into that familiar position as an emasculating/horny feminist and she'd asked herself why this always happened and why couldn't she keep her hands to herself for once?

As the silence between her and Jason grew, she knew she couldn't be the one to call him. She couldn't be the one doing ALL the work. She just had to wait patiently for him to make a move. It was imperative that his balls stay intact at this point...

Ghah! Lucky clicked on the email, trying to wipe the rest of that memory away. Jason had ended badly, with bad sex, some lame exchange of vague promises and an early morning exit.

The screen loaded up with pictures of the prospective candidate.

It was fucking Jason.

Jesus christ. Lucy closed her laptop and went to go fry an egg. Thank god she hadn't posted a picture. But then again, he was so stupid he might have sent the email anyway.

And what's that Lucy up to anyway?

Lucy stepped into her tiny kitchen and began putting away the 17 dollars worth of groceries from the Lucky Charm Mini-mart near her apartment. It was always a gamble grocery shopping at the Lucky Charm; you never knew when the store would have fresh vegetables or just rotting heaps of things no longer recognizable. Remarkably the prices, though always varying, never appeared to reflect the quality of the produce but rather the particular mood of the store's owner.

Today's spoil included milk, carrots, lettuce, almonds, some sort of chutney to add to her collection and "damn!" Lucy swore. "I forgot the filters." Another week of carefully reusing her last coffee filter stretched out in front of her.

She sat down at her kitchen table and clipped open her laptop - why had she said that out loud? There was no one here but her. This thought, coupled with the muffled laughter coming through the walls of her apartment, guided Lucy's mouse arrow to the online dating site she'd been trying to avoid. On line dating had been nothing short of a disaster for Lucy. Amongst the few non-55 year old 5"4 men from Mississauga who consistently sent her pictures of themselves and their compact cars, had been Giles who'd been gay, Chris who'd also been gay, Dan the 24 year old asshole, Phil who had been married, and her latest disaster: Mick who'd broken her heart and sent her into a downward spiral of depression and binge drinking within 36 hours of meeting him.

She could see that her account, untouched for the past two weeks, had one new message waiting for her. She blinked several times, reading the tag line of the person over and over, it said "Do you have my Metallica T-shirt?"

Life goes on in Boyland

"JW? No I don't think so. Oh wait a sec I want to get some zucchini."

"What? It's November they don't have zucchini - if they do they probably got it from Loblaws." Babs stood with her arms folded in the middle of the farmers market in Trinity Bellwood park. Only in Toronto would there be a farmer's market in a downtown park at 730 pm on a Tuesday, in winter. Greta, having just worked an 18 hour shift, still wanted to go and was currently molesting some potatoes, her fingerless gloves she used for smoking out the back of the hospital, also handy in this situation.

"Anyway can't you think of someone? Who writes a note on someone's back?" Greta rummaged through her handbag that looked like it could hold roughly half the contents of the entire market if she wanted it to.

"No," Babs said a little miserably. Looking around her she saw nothing but hipster families. Tall skinny men with curvy wives and stylish children - it all made her sick.

"Anyway, how's work?"

"It's fine, I spent 13 hours yesterday trying to understand aboriginal treaty law. I think I know less now than I did when I started - are you going to buy those or not?"

Greta dropped the potato back onto the frost-bitten pile with a sigh. "Nah - let's go get a drink. Lucy told me you're doing some married guy and I wana hear about it on my one night off this week."

More revelations

"Anyway I gotta go, call me later."

"Talk to you later." Babs hung up the phone and lay back down in bed. She turned to look at Lucy who was filing her nails with one of the 20 emery boards Babs always had lying around. She was wearing a large Metallica t-shirt Babs had never seen.

"What did she say?"

"She said I slept with some ice climber and then she said she bought them for me. I don't know if she's lying about both things or not. Can you pass the chow mien? Hey careful, don't get that shit on my bedspread..."

Lucy and Babs had ordered Chinese. It was a fast growing tradition on mornings after a big night.

"So you honestly don't remember ANYTHING from last night?" Lucy blew on her nails and accidentaly dropped the emery board in the fried rice. After making sure Babs wasn't looking, Lucy discretely put the whole thing aside.

"Well no - I remember going to that second bar, what was it called?"

"My secret life?" Lucy guessed "something like that - it was on Queen West, not far from here I think."

"Right and I remember getting separated from you and Greta. She went home before us I know and I was telling someone - hey what happened to you? You were talking to someone, I don't even remember you leaving."

Lucy tugged at her t-shirt "same old shit. Don't even know his name really. I didn't bother to say goodbye this morning. He wouldn't have called anyway."

Babs nodded "was he cute?"

Lucy grinned "he was hot. Squirlies! That was the bar. Yeah, he looked nice lying there in the morning light. I didn't bother to wake him. Wish i could remember what we talked about."

"Yeah," Babs swallowed. "Me too. I wish I knew how I got home. I also don't think Greta gave me these long johns and i KNOW i wouldn't have slept with an ice climber. I mean, would I?"

"Depends - did he resemble a pirate in anyway?"

"Shut up about that" Babs punched Lucy in the arm. Lucy had the goods on Babs and knew she had a soft spot for movie type villains. Lucy was fine with it - hell she liked real life villains. The longer and dirtier the hair, the more skeletons on their t-shirts, the better.

"Lucy?"

"Yeah babs."

"I'm having an affair with a married man. And I don't know what to do."

"The back of the long johns!" Lucy cried.

"What? Didn't you just heard what I-" Babs said but Lucy was already pushing her forward and pulling at Bab's long underwear.

"Let's just see if there's a name on these things..."

Babs leaned forward, disconcerted on a number of levels. "Do you see anything?"

"No," Lucy admitted. "But someone HAS written a telephone number across your lower back along with 'call me when you are ready' plus their initials - do you know a J.W.? Now tell me about this married man."

BS

Babs took a breath.

"That's bullshit."

Greta had a reputation for extreme exaggeration.

"Babs, I bought you those longjohns as a joke when you got back in February from Eqypt".

"Ergh."

"Sorry. I thought i was funny, both times."

Long John

greta texted the girls from the lobby of mount sinai. this was about the fortieth time during this two month rotation that she swore never to drink again.

a Saudi IMG bought her a latte and managed to touch her thigh while handing it to her. he said he was pleased to be on call with her that night. Greta very audibly groaned and opened her first chart.

fourteen yr old 22 wks gestation incest suspected/ consult psych. Greta could always suspend her hungover state for cases like this.

her pager went off. it was frigging Babs. she called her back.

"Do you recall me EVER purchasing long johns?"

"Babs, he was an ice climber. I think they live in their longjohns. In fact I've treated dermatological fungi caused by excessive and utterly unhygenic longjohn-wearage in those prone to participation in dangerous and painful winter sport. His name was Dan or Don or Ron and he's supposedly visiting from Red Deer for the weekend. Or he just lives at that seedy motel on Ossington. You're back already eh, how's Lucy?"

"MOTEL?"

Morning after 3

"Mmm. Hello?"

"Babs? You awake?"

"Mmm."

"Babs do you have my keys?"

"What?"

"Babs it's Lucy, I think you have my keys"

"Mmm don't think so - didn't Greta have them?"

"No i called her, she was throwing up. She says she doesn't have them."

"Where are you?"

"Outside of your apartment."

Babs sat up, her hair a dark brown cloud. Her eyes were rimmed with mascara and she was wearing a backwards shirt and a pair of long johns that she'd never seen before. The memories of the previous night came hurtling towards her so hard that she fell backwards against her headboard with a smack.

"Ouch!"

"Babs?"

What had she done?

"Babs? Can I come in? It's kind of cold out here."

Morning after 2

Lucy felt the light on her face but she refused to open her eyes. She refused to do so because she knew that if she did, she'd be forced to face who was lying next to her. And she wasn't ready to do that yet. Instead she kept her eyes shut and in an evasive maneuver, rolled sideways and out of bed.

Safely on the floor - whose floor? - Lucy opened her eyes and peeked through her fingers. She'd landed in a pile of laundry, shoes, maybe both belonging to her - she herself was wearing an XXL Metallica t-shirt and nothing else. Oh wait, she had on one sock. Sitting up slowly Lucy peered over the edge of the bed and at the person who she'd been lying next to.

"Oh thank Christ" she breathed. He was still asleep.

Getting dressed as quickly as she could with her head spinning, Lucy couldn't help feeling as if she was in a Margaret Atwood novel - did any of those heroines wear Metallica t-shirts? Finding her shoes Lucy pulled her hair back into a pony tail and looked back once at the sleeping figure on the bed. Despite everything, Lucy allowed herself to smile.

Fuck it, she was keeping the shirt this time.

Morning after 1

Greta opened her eyes. At least she tried to so that she could find her alarm clock. How was it noon already? Good thing she'd bothered to set it or she'd have been late for her rotation. Raking a hand across her nightstand and knocking over various things - ear plugs, lotion, a half empty class of water and pictures of her family she finally reached her alarm. But by now she was awake. Greta sat up slowly, raising a hand to her pounding temple. She was horribly awake.

"Let's see" she heard herself say. "I remember the party." She swung her legs over the side of her bed and touched her feet to her cold hardword floor. "I remember the pub" she stood. With a slight teeter she made her way to the bathroom but stopped short when she reached her computer. The monitor was on and her steps has jostled the thing out of sleep mode. Her email was open. Frantically Greta lurched forward, and clicked on the sent box.

Two emails had been sent - apparently - by her last night. One was to Eliot in California. The other was to her friend Jill, the Love Coach.
"Oh god" Greta stumbled onward to the bathroom and threw up.

Are you thinking what I'm thinking!?

Lucy, slobbering drunk at this point, just kept repeating the words "makeover makeover makeover makeover makeover makeover MAKEOVER!" and then giggling hysterically afterwards.

greta gets coached

“DRASTIC?”

Greta spat four feet in front her.

“Exactly what part of our lives in the last, oooh, ten years, HASN’T been drastic?”

Greta occasionally moved to other countries to pursue love, ditto Lucy. In a different take on avoiding real life, Babs just went all over hell and creation on platonic adventures in the Third World. Her most recent trip to England with her mother did not of course count. But that sojourn in Jordan to avoid feeling like the other woman over Christmas most certainly did.

“Drastic is our PROBLEM, Babs. If we didn’t have to be so goddamn extreme all the time we’d be considerably more tolerant. Or tolerable. Or whatever. I’m not kidding, I think we are miseducated about love. I went to Queens with a woman who teaches love coaching, we should take it. I’m serious. She stopped working for the Bank of Canada because lovecoaching was more successful.”

“Greta stop working from home on that fundraiser, it gives you too many opportunities to watch Oprah”.

“Yeah…I’m sorry Gret, but there is no way I am spending money on a love coach. Have you seen my student loans? We could make an extreme change and be, you know, GENTLE. See how that pans out.”

“I am not going to be infantilized in order to find someone to clean up after”.

“Oh lighten up. Let’s go somewhere and get another round”.

Babs lays it down.

When they'd first arrived, Greta had run into some friends at the pub with good weed - Greta knew half the city. She and Babs had stepped out into the snow for a toke while Lucy ordered the beer.

"Seriously guys," Babs' eyes were red as she held her hands up near her face, turning them over and repeatedly looking up to see if the other two women were paying attention. They weren't.

"I know just how this is going to end up," Lucy took another gulp of her beer. "I'm going to see him in the hallway on Monday and he'll say 'hey' like shared a table at the cafeteria - where the food is SHIT by the way..."

Lucy was getting loaded. She was doing this because she was slowly filling up with regret. She'd already had an intense loathing for her academic department and all the reprobates in it, now she had gone and fucked the only person who seemed remotely cool and she knew how the rest of the story would go - it always had the same ending. Lucy always thought she should write a movie about her love life - she knew the script by heart now but she had the vague suspicion the film would be co opted and result in a Reality Bites for the millennium kind of feel. Lucy could never put her name on such a project.

Greta nodded as Lucy ranted on, her chin in her hand, stoned as well but not displaying any outward signs of it. The dull light of the pub glinted off her bangles. This was her only night off for the next three weeks and here she was, spending it with her two other single friends in a dingy pub in Cabbage Town. Greta had been in school for the last 15 years. Two undergrads, two masters (one of them an abandoned PHd) and then med school. She was still young despite all that academia; she'd finished high school two years early, and been nothing but blond ambition since. But what, she asked herself, did she have to show for it in the love department? Why couldn't she focus her ambition to find someone half decent? Hey was that guy with hockey hair checking her out? Oh god.

Lucy's rant had subsided into gloomy drinking when she looked up at Babs who was trying to get their attention. "What?"

"I said we need to make over our love lives!" Babs said again, wiping a chunk of hair out of her face. Babs had gone from thinking about her hands to Lucy's Man Hands academic to her own male troubles. Babs hadn't told either woman yet but she was having an affair. It was with a lawyer at the court who had been married for 10 years. The attraction between them had been instant and Babs hadn't known about his wife until it was much too late to turn the attraction off. The sex was fantastic (usually in his office which made it even more fantastic) but afterwards, always afterwards, Babs felt like hot garbage. Not to mention an intense loathing towards him.

"What do you have in mind?" Greta asked.

"Well look at us," Babs said "three over educated successful young women with zero prospects in the love department. I don't mean sex department-" Babs said as Lucy opened her mouth. Lucy closed it again. "I mean Love. You know, like spend the night, read the paper, fight over who is going to clean the toilet love? I mean, what the hell is going on?"

Greta and Lucy exchanged a look - Babs tended to get preachy when she'd had a few too many.

"Obviously we are doing something wrong!"

"Maybe we should take a course?" Greta suggested.

"Or fix our feng shui" Lucy added "I think one of my plants is blocking a mirror or something."

"No no no," Babs said, getting testy. "We have to do something much more drastic!"

Later That Night

"Hey guys have you ever looked at your hands? I mean Really. Looked at your hands?"

On their way to glory

“Soooo?” Greta nosily asked. “Did ‘Mr. Man Hands’ measure up?”

Lucy smiled as sheepishly as a girl like her could. “Well, it was definitely the best academic sex I’ve had. But that’s not saying much, to be honest.” She took a swig from her flask and winked at her girlfriends. “Did you guys meet anyone interesting?” she asked, half jokingly.

Babs rolled her eyes hard. The party had been more painful for her than the other two. She just had no patience for pretentious academics. Somehow Greta and Lucy had learned to cope; Greta by being a great actress and Lucy by sleeping with half the academic community of the greater Toronto area.

“Fuck you, Lucy," said Babs, as they continued to walk towards the subway. "I would have never agreed to go if I had known the level of douchebaggery that was going to be involved." Her heels clacked loudly on the sidewalk. "Anyway, the night's not over yet, bitches. We’re going to the pub. Three pitchers of dirty draft is the only way to unclench my jaw.”

And so the three women walked into the night with hopes of drunken glory.

those teeny hipster ankles

Lucy was, in fact, finished with man-hands in the under-the-stairs mini powder room. The unique leverage options of the sloped ceiling should not be underestimated. But the problem with these old quaint homes and old quaint mini powder rooms is that they are fucking old and the faucet leaked irritatingly and then at one particularly exuberant moment of bathroom bucking the glass doorhandle smashed off (man-hands has an immediate shiner on his right thigh). So Lucy is stuck in the loo and banging on the door like the claustrophic maniac she is when not distracted by coitus, and even though Greta and Babs know by now that's where she disappeared to, they don't realize all the violence is non sexual.

When Lucy finally busts out there is eyeliner drawn across her forehead, diluted by excessive sweating. Greta produces a lorazepam and the last dribble of scotch from her handbag. Babs offers deodorant. She also has a crumbled sports bra in her clutch and indicates Lucy should use it to wipe herself down.

They get the hell out of there and Greta trips on a tiny hipster squatting dreamily on the front porch.

Party 2

"Yeah we're thinking about moving further east - you know to Leslieville. Though, not this far east of course - but, well pretty close i guess."

Babs sat with her head propped in one hand, trying to hide her emphatic boredom with a level look. She sat on the edge of a chair listening to some bland looking half of a couple explain their one life in the most basic of components.

How did she get herself into these situations? Stuck talking to a 30-something boring couple with boring jobs living a boring life with their stupid cat, bad taste - Babs imagined a lot of black iron wrought plant stands and candle holders in their beige living room.

"I'm sorry?" Babs blinked. The woman had asked her a question while she'd been busy hating - she really had to curb that, for all she knew these people could be sadomasochists and much more interesting than herself.

"I said what do you do?" the woman leaned over her husband/boyfriend/whipping boy.

Babs straightened a little, "oh I'm doing my articles now." Babs checked to make sure her cleavage wasn't showing. She was wearing a red dress that she bought for 8 dollars at Smart Set and it tended to slip when she wasn't looking.

"Oh, nice" the woman said, effectively ending the conversation and cementing Babs' initial impression of her; boring as shit.

Babs looked around for her friends. Greta with her shiny blond hair and many bangles was easy to spot - she was leaning against some door frame listening intently to some zany looking academic who was gesturing in sweeping motions while explaining something to her. Lucy was nowhere to be seen - Babs could only assume she was getting it on somewhere with that dude she'd said had big hands. What was it about Lucy and man hands anyway?

"Excuse me - I'm going to get a drink," said Babs.

Party time, part 1

Greta had taken the news fairly well. There was only some minor screaming and melodramatic moaning before she agreed to go to the party. Lucy had promised her infinite material for mockery, since the party was going to be filled with socially awkward film studies majors. The only reason she herself wanted to go was because of the hot guy who’d been recently hired in the communications department. He looked fresh yet angry and had unusually large hands for an academic. When they’d met for the first time a few days ago, Lucy had been pleasantly surprised by the strength of his grip and the roughness of his skin as they shook hands. She immediately pictured a hot love affair, something she always felt she’d been robbed of in grad school, with all her ageing feminist profs. She planned to make up for lost time, and if it wasn’t with a student (it seemed like slim pickings in all of her classes this year), then it would have to be with the new guy with man hands.

The three of them arrived at the party wearing cocktail dresses and heels. Lucy carried a flask of jagermeister discreetly in her purse and offered swigs to her friends as they approached the dreaded party.

“Shit. I may as well,” said Babs as she took a giant and painful swig. “At this point, I’ll take all the help I can get.”

Greta looked disgustedly at the dark liquid Lucy was offering her and proceeded to pull out her own be bejeweled flask of scotch. That’s what Lucy loved about Greta; the fact that she was always surprising her.

“Here goes nothing,” Lucy said. “Oh and lay off the tall dark haired one with the flavour saver. I’ve got dibs.”

Babs and Greta looked at each other and rolled their eyes. So that was why Lucy was so desperate to attend this lame party. They should have guessed…

And so

"Lucy i gotta go," Babs said, picking up her purse from the floor.

"What? We just got here" Lucy protested, "what's wrong?"

Babs fumbled with her laptop, jamming it into her purse. "I - I don't feel well." The truth was that she didn't. She had experienced a sudden wave of depression thinking about her own problems with men - namely her most recent that she refused to face. This was accompanied by a sudden lurch in her gut she knew was a sign of unpleasant times to come in the bathroom.

"You want me to walk you home?" Lucy stood up with Babs, concerned.

"No - I, it's ok." Babs smiled and yawned. "Listen I just need a nap. We're still on for tonight - did you call Greta about going to that party first?"

Lucy looked a little guilty. "Noooo. But i will, i promise!"

"Lucy..."

Babs, Lucy and their friend Greta, an aspiring abortionist beginning her first year of residency in family medicine, had made plans to go for drinks that evening. Lucy had unfortunately also agreed to attend a party at some fellow academic's house. The party was way out in the Beaches and judging by Lucy's description of the party goers, was extremely likely to be lame-ass. Babs had consented to go for an hour provided that Lucy break the news that they were going to Greta. Greta lived all the way on the other side of Toronto in High Park and it would likely take her an hour just to get to the party. Greta also had a flare for the dramatic.

Lucy laughed nervously and grabbed Babs' arm. "I'll tell her I promise. Meet you on the corner at 9 ok?"

Babs of little faith shook her head. "Ok, i'm going for a nap. See you in a few hours."

Babs, the voice of reason

During her Masters, Lucy had landed the best supervisor in the department. He was a cute academic from Quebec who became a really mean drunk at departmental parties. Lucy found this endearing since she hated most of the people in her department anyway. He was slightly balding and had a notorious interest in large breasted woman. Lucy never thought twice about it until late one night, after a wine soaked dinner party, she received the corrected version of her second chapter from him via email. The comments he made throughout the paper were so clever and analytical that Lucy felt a familiar dampening of her panties. The following week, in her supervisor's office, things were unusually awkward. Suddenly Lucy couldn't make eye contact with him. And for some strange reason, she had worn her most restrictive of push-ups bras and a plunging v-neck sweater. As she exited his office after the meeting, she felt dizzy and sweaty. Oh shit, she thought. What the hell am I going to do? The obvious thing: Call Babs.

Luckily, Babs had a good (and well-groomed) head on her shoulders. She always managed to talk Lucy down from these compromising situations. After a couple of pitchers at the local dirt bar, Lucy had been convinced that sex with her supervisor in the copy room was in fact NOT a good idea.

With a sweet afternoon beer buzz and a successful "therapy session", Babs had felt on top the world. Now if only she could apply such common sense logic to the problems in her own life...

Intervention!

"Lucy - remember when you wanted to sleep with your supervisor?" Babs asked after her friend finished recounting her tale of a 36 hour date followed by no emails and a week long hangover.

Lucy blushed, taking a quick gulp of her coffee "yes."

Me: Late 20s, attractive, intellectual. You: Hot, emotionally unavailable, sociopathic, preferably with a neck tattoo

Lucy's "crisis" was low on the drama scale. She had recently become involved with a guy she'd met on the internet. He was hot, stupid and had the forearms of a Greek god. Lucy had a penchant for prison tattoos and women-haters. It was an unfortunate combination for a Women's Studies Phd candidate. This particular dirtbag had suddenly given her the cold shoulder without any warning and Lucy was visibly upset. Babs tried to console her friend, but she just couldn't understand why Lucy persistently fell for the same guy.

Career/Coffee Advice Pt. 2

"What's up?"' Babs asked once Lucy took her seat at their table. She watched her friend of 20 years struggle violently out of her ski jacket. Babs had no idea why someone as cutting edge as Lucy wore things like ski jackets. Babs often thought Lucy, in winter, could pass as one of the people who stood outside the Halifax general hospital on smoke breaks.

"Crisis!" Lucy moaned, at last shrugging off her jacket - or at least she tired to say. Her coffee came at the same time so it turned into "cris-thank you".

"Crisis?" Babs took a sip of her own coffee, happy that she wasn't the only person suffering a crisis - though hers was primarily based on the mediocrity of her personal life. And her living situation - let us not forget that.

Career/Coffee Advice

"Beautiful renovated bright one bedroom downtown basement apartment. Must share only washroom with two others. Available now."

Babs clicked on the next listing. Looking for an apartment in Toronto was an attempt to achieve an impossible balance. Price could be right, location wrong. Location great, number of bedrooms off. Location, price right - sharing of washroom with "others" issue - wrong.

The more she looked for a new place, the more she realized that she wasn't going to be moving anytime soon, at least not until her student loans were paid off. A waitress set a steaming coffee cup down on her table. Babs clipped her laptop shut. She was meeting Lucy at Mosaic, a coffee shop down the street from her apartment that she'd recently discovered. The deal went that you placed your order at the front and then had a seat. The service was slow but Babs liked the idea of actual service, even when all you ordered was a coffee - it made her less resentful of the tip jar at the front.

As Babs was slipping her laptop into her shoulder bag, she heard the door at the front jingle. Looking up she could see Lucy now inside and making her way towards Babs' little table. With her hair in braided pigtails and her bright green ski jacket swishing as she walked, no one would have guessed that Lucy taught feminist porn and gender violence in cinema at Ryerson University.

"You have to order your coffee at the counter and then they'll bring it to you" Babs called to Lucy when she approached. Lucy nodded and pivoted towards the front counter. Babs took a sip of her latte. With her dilapidated bachelor apartment and second hand furniture, she bet that no one would have guessed she was a lawyer either.