Tag Archives: injurious behaviour

Just a Car Crash Away

Look Ma I'm An Artist!

Last night, I was minding my own business, just heading to Red Lobster for some crab legs with my gentleman friend. I was looking forward to the hot savoury biscuits and the mid-week alcoholic beverage I planned on ordering (don’t look at me like that, Dad, I’m a grown up and I’ll drink vodka on Thursdays if I wanna!) and was just explaining to my companion that I really didn’t understand the appeal of drawn butter with seafood cause, well, it’s just freaking butter and who put butter on meat, anyway?

As we were preparing to pull into the parking lot, we noticed some shit-for-brains on one of those e-bikes zooming down the sidewalk. The sidewalk! Whatta jerk! He was weaving from side to side too – it was ridiculous. So we’re just about to make a right turn into the parking lot (using the driveway with the big IN sign, cause we like obeying signs yo) when a dude in a white work van makes a left turn into the street (from the IN driveway, because he’s a rebel who disobeys signs I guess). This guy was seriously ugly – bright yellowish red afro that started right at the top of his head because of his receding hair line, a sleeveless basketball jersey, and crazy I’m-on-crack bugged out eyes.

Well, he didn’t look where he was going when he pulled out, because he was too busy cackling at e-bike guy, and he T BONED ANOTHER CAR! We saw the whole thing. Read more »

How Far Would You Go To Protect Yourself?

Imagine yourself in physical or mortal danger. If you don’t do something to protect yourself, serious harm or death will befall you or your family.

How far would you go to protect yourself? What would you do? I’d do anything to save my family, you’re  thinking. I would kill to save my son. I would do whatever it took. No questions asked.

Would you lie? Cheat? Steal? Would you defend yourself physically, even if it meant the harm or death of your attacker?

What if your attacker were your own child? Would you kill your own child to protect yourself, if your child were trying to kill you?

Seems a little far-fetched, even to me, that this would happen. I mean really, what child would try to kill its mother? And what parent would, in turn, place more value on her own life than their child’s, and actually kill that child to save their own soul? I can’t imagine that ever happening.

Unfortunately, I don’t have to imagine it happening. Reality has supplied us with this exact scenario in Calgary, Alberta, where Aset Magomadova, a refugee from Chechnya, stands accused of killing her fourteen-year-old daughter Aminat by ligature strangulation [link] in what she calls self-defense.

[link] Toronto Star article
[link] Global News, Calgary

According to the media, the fourteen-year-old girl had a history of drug abuse and regularly took crystal meth, which is known to cause erratic, violent behaviour in users [link], as well as mood swings and unpredictability. The articles go on to say that the police had been called to the home five times in the last five months, by the mother, who feared for her safety and that of her young son, who has muscular dystrophy. Aminat was often brought home by police, high, after violent fights with her mother.

This family obviously had a lot of problems, but despite repeated visits from police for domestic disturbance, no authorities were ever brought in to assist the family, despite Aset’s desire for intervention. She felt she could no longer control her daughter, and with the help of her sister, attempted to convey this fear to the police. She even stayed in a battered women’s shelter for a few days, less than a month ago.

Nobody ever referred her to the appropriate social services, such as the Calgary and Area Child and Family Services, or the Domestic Dispute and Cultural Resources units of the Calgary Police. This family could have been helped. This girl could have been saved.

How did Calgary fail this struggling family after it survived refugee untold horrors at the hands of Russian soldiers? Who knows the horror in that girl’s mind after living through what we can only imagine in our worst nightmares. It’s no wonder she turned to drugs to alleviate the damage done by terror. But it all went horribly wrong.

Now, the girl’s mother is in jail, charged with second-degree murder, and her wheelchair-bound son is in foster care. It breaks my heart. However, I am torn.

I’m trying to put myself in this woman’s shoes. I imagine that Gwen Junior is older, the same size as me, and prone to violent drug-induced rage. I imagine that she beat me. I imagine that she smashes furniture, breaks windows, and runs away constantly, only to be brought home by police time after time. I imagine her coming at me with her fists or with a weapon, hatred and rage in her eyes, intent on causing me physical boldily harm. What would I do? Would I allow her to hurt me? Would I try to protect myself without causing her pain, if it were at all possible? Or, with my backagainst a wall, would I fight back?

The thought haunts me. What would be more powerful: maternal instinct or fight-or-flight response?

* Article originally written in March 2007



The Ghost of Christmas Present(s)

*UPDATE* So my mother called me about ten minutes after I posted this to provide me with a detailed list of all the awesome Christmassy shit she does, thereby refuting my claim that she’s a grinch. And she’s right – I just like to poke a bit of fun at my mom sometimes, I love her. She made a very valid argument: it’s not that she hates the holidays, it’s that she hates what the holidays do to some people. Totally true.

Normally I’d pretty this post up with a picture or something but y’all are just gonna have to deal because I’m not having it today.

Don’t get me wrong, I love the holidays. It’s my favourite time of year. To begin with, my birthday is just a week before Christmas, so growing up the two events a kid looks forward to all year were, for me, back-to-back. I love almost everything about Christmastime: the lights, the decorations, the music, the food (oh God the foooooooood), the parties, the drinking, the gift exchanges, the shopping (yes, I even love the shopping), and of course, spending more time than usual with friends and family.

But this year, it’s been a real struggle to go through the motions, and I’m not sure why. It seems I’ve lost my holiday mojo. I can pinpoint a few things that may have caused this:

1. Holiday Haterz. They’re everywhere this year! What the holly? I have a couple of Grinches in my family – you learn to grin and bear their grumblings. If it were anyone else I’d go postal, but you don’t tell your mom to STFU. I get that not everyone enjoys the holiday season. You’d like to think they’d be sensitive to others and would try to curb their rage, but ragey people aren’t really that well-known for their rage-curbing abilities. Anyway, I already know how to deal with my mom’s bah-humbug attitude: I just keep her nice and tight. Hey Ma – ever wonder why I drink three times as much during the holidays as I normally do, and why I always take you down with me? It’s cause I LOVE YOUUUUUUUUUUUU NOW HAVE A MERRY GODDAMN CHRISTMAS. (lol) This year, I’ve had to deal with a couple of bitter angry people in my workplace, too, who have entitlement issues and decided to kick up a big stink about what they’re NOT getting for the holidays. And that’s discouraging. With the poverty, hunger, political chaos, and serious bullshit going on out there in the world, knowing that some people really think that much of themselves is a real downer when the holidays are supposed to be about everything other than receiving (although trust me, I do get the irony in that). While these two lovely, lovely individuals DID almost succeed in ruining my holiday happiness, I am happy to say I managed to get back on track (helped in no small part by my good friend Mr. J. Daniels) and am back in the ho-ho-ho spirit.

2. Busy-ness. I’ve been damn busy, son. In October, I spent a month away from my job; instead of answering fifty phone calls a day from pissed-off people with entitlement issues, I spent 70 hours a week following a little guy with big dreams all over the city in his progressive, and unfortunately unsuccessful, bid for Mayor. I had a great time, made many important contacts, and learned a lot of super neat shit.  But I mean, I am a sedentary, middle-aged office drone, and it took a toll on me. The day that gig ended I fell sick from sheer exhaustion and I feel like I’ve been playing catch-up ever since. I spent the entire month of November up to my arse in grievances, harassment and discrimination complaints, and discipline issues. All this on top of my regular job, which as I mentioned before, typically involves eating shit on the phone all day from people who really don’t see the point in being nice to poor call centre assholes like me. In early December, I was elected to the executive board of my union’s area council AND I was recruited to lobby my member of provincial parliament about how my good friend Dalton McQuinty wants public service workers to take a pay cut next year (and how we’re gonna tell him to blow it out his butt). On top of all this, I was in night school once a week until recently (and am now an accredited union counselor, BOOYA). So uh, how’ve ya been? I’ve been a mite busy, kids.

3. Mo’ money, mo’ problems. Our problem, however, is definitely not mo’ money. It’s less money. But I won’t bore you with an explanation. Yes, I do see the world’s smallest violin player sitting on your shoulder playing the world’s saddest tune just for me. Shut up and get me some Bailey’s, shorty.

4. C’mon get up, get down with the sickness! And oh baby, what a sickness it’s been. My best friend’s had it for almost a month. My ex had it for over two weeks. I started shovelling Cold FX and Vitamin C horse pills into my maw the moment they started sneezing but all it got me was just barely healthy enough to go to work, not QUITE sick enough to stay home without feeling guilty. SO BASICALLY I BLAME DON CHERRY: FOR ENDORSING SUCH A MEDIOCRE COLD REMEDY AND FOR CALLING ME A LEFT-WING PINKO LAST WEEK. (What? It hurt my feelings?) (Okay, it really didn’t LOL.)

Anyway, my first official round of holiday parties is this week, and on Saturday it’s my (30th) birthday, so I hope that all this liquid happiness will be enough to put a bit of mojo back in my step.

In Which Gwen Drinks For Free in Jerusalem

One night earlier this year, my ex and I went to dinner at Jerusalem Restaurant. It’s one of my favourite restaurants – it’s a Mediterranean buffet. The food is incredible. Several different kinds of chicken and lamb, tabbouleh, seafood, grilled veggies as far as  the eye can see (asparagus, zucchini, eggplant, cauliflower), saffron rice, salads, roasted garlic, lentil soups, Warak Enab,  hummus and baba ghanoush, falafel, hot freshly-baked pita bread, and more!

Yum! The food here's so good.

Even better, they feature belly dancers every night of the week! We love watching the belly dancing.

Gorgeous! I love belly dancing

So we were just sitting down to our first plate of food. Our table was in the aisle that had a direct path from the kitchen to the bar. A busboy was coming from the kitchen with a dolly, and the dolly was stacked with five crates of clean water and wine glasses. The stack was about four feet high. Suddenly, the wheel of the dolly caught on the rug right in front of our table and all of the crates tipped forward, crashing into Stuart and I with a booming  sound that almost shattered my eardrums! The plastic crates smashed into my left knee and Stu’s right foot and over a hundred glasses broke all over us! I was literally ankle-deep in broken glass, and couldn’t even move because of the sea of jagged glass around me.

So scary! Thought I was going to be hurt!

The manager of the restaurant comes rushing over yelling “Oh my god are you okay? Oh my god oh my god!” She was snapping her fingers for staff to clean up the glass, calling the head waiter over to move us to another table, promising to bring us replacement drinks (we were just drinking Coke) and apologizing profusely.

The indicent scared and embarrassed me. Not only was everyone in the restaurant was looking at us, but it happened so fast that I thought I was going to be hurt! I had no time to move out of the way. For several minutes afterwards my heart was beating a mile a minute and I had a mild panic attack on the way home. Imagine if we’d been cut by a falling shard of glass, or if my knee had actually been hurt by the plastic crate that hit it!

So we were moved to a new table (a MUCH better table, might I add) and were offered free unlimited wine for the evening to make up for the incident (would have been better to offer us our meal on the house, but I am NOT one to pass up free booze!). The rest of the evening passed very pleasantly, the highlight being towards the end when we watched the belly dancer coax an old grandpa up to dance with her. The guy looked just like Frank Barone from Everybody Loves Raymond. This guy gets up and starts dancing with the belly dancer, and he’s better than she is! He even taught her some sexy moves! It was fucking hilarious.

What’s the scariest or most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to you in a restaurant?