And a big fat goodbye to you 2012!

This year I leave you not with a deliriously stupid new years resolution (that I would most likely not follow through on anyway because heck a girl's gotta eat and drink right?) no this year I want to leave you with a few quotes from a book I just read that truly every one should read. You may take from these quotes what you will or you may take nothing at all and think I am, again, full of drivel. Be that as it may, these quotes made me think a bit and I felt the need to share. From The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry by Rachel Joyce:

"Harold walked with these strangers and listened. He judged no one, although as the days wore on and time and places began to melt, he couldn't remember if the tax inspector wore no shoes or had a parrot on his shoulder. It no longer mattered. He had learned that it was the smallness of people that filled him with wonder and tenderness, putting one foot in front of the other; and a life might appear ordinary simply because the person living it had been doing so for a long time. Harold could no longer pass a stranger without acknowledging the truth that everyone was the same, and also unique; and that this was the dilemma of being human."

"Harold sat in silence. The silver-haired gentleman was in truth nothing like the man Harold had first imagined him to be. He was a chap like himself, with a unique pain; and yet there would be no knowing that if you passed him in the street, or sat opposite him in a cafe and did not share his teacake. Harold pictured the gentleman on a station platform, smart in his suit, looking no different from anyone else. It must be the same all over England. People were buying milk, or filling their cars with petrol, or even posting letters. And what no one else knew was the appalling weight of the thing they were carrying inside. The inhuman effort it took sometimes to be normal, and a part of things that appeared both easy and everyday. The loneliness of that."

"Harold walked the towns that were full of the sounds of other people, and the roads that traveled the land between, and he understood moments from his life as if they had only just occurred. Sometimes he believed he had become more memory than present. He replayed scenes from his life, like a spectator trapped on the outside. Seeing the mistakes, the inconsistencies, the choices that shouldn't have been made, and yet unable to do anything about them."

To my amazing, unique friends I thank you for all your love and laughter throughout the years. Your unending support means the world to me and the stories you share are infinitely priceless. I raise my proverbial glass to toast you and wish you all a fantastic 2013! (And for those of you who think I have hit the "man I love you" stage of drink? No, the party hasn't started yet!)

A Look Back

Well, the year is coming to a close and it is usually around this time that I think about all that has happened over the year.  This past year definitely had some of the saddest moments with stupid, nasty cancer being the dominate theme.  My heart goes out to those friends who will have many “firsts” next year without their loved one.  I would love to say that it gets easier but that is a huge pile of donkey doo.  It doesn’t get easier, but you can change your mind about how you are going to spend those “first” days without your person.  Remembering and sharing is the best way to keep your person close to your heart forever and a good friend will always want to listen to a story about why your mom stuck her tongue out in every family photo or how much your wife loved shopping.   

This past year also brought some interesting challenges.  I am currently in the final decision making phase of my proactive solutions to some of the angst from the year.  Do I just order the rocket launchers, pepper spray and night vision goggles or do I use a more friendly approach and plant trees, wear noise reduction headphones and drink more?  Time, patience and funding will all be considered during this phase. 

All in all the year provided many lessons that, apparently, make up the greater whole of who I am.  May the lessons next year be easier ones with a whole lot less calories! 

To all my friends and self appointed family – may your next year bring joy, lots of laughter, very little heartache, a good sandwich, a full tank of gas and a frosty beverage on a hot summer day. 

Whatever happened to picking up the phone?

I have to say it and I will admit I am old but here goes:  Facebook, Twitter and the like are really starting to annoy the crap outta me.   I will first off say that Facebook does have its good qualities – like if you have relatives overseas or such and you wish to contact them or send them photos etc.  (might mention here that email is also a great way to do this – and a teeny bit more private but whatever – email is obviously outdated?) anyway my annoyance is mostly generated from the fact that today it seems that people have to post and Tweet every freaking thing they are doing, not to mention (and this is my personal non-favourite) the once sentence, sigh from an attention seeker.  “Having a bad day” or “Struggling to figure out what I am going to do” or “So upset right now”.  Really?  Back in the day if we had a dilemma we phoned a friend or just kept it to ourselves.  Instead the immature and obviously socially stunted people have to post their one sentence wo-is-me so all their friends post back immediately with the much needed attention – “what’s wrong?” or “is everything all right?”  Then the real fun begins.  They spend the next hour discussing their problems with a dozen people and then can’t figure out why everyone and their dog knows their business!  What has the world come to when people air all their dirty laundry on social media and then pitch a hissy fit because someone they don’t like knows their every move?  Almost positive the term “private life” is going to be extinct along with “personal and confidential” and “need to know”.  

There comes a time.......

There comes a time when I really want to tell people to stop bitchin.  I have been known to say that if you are just going to bitch and not do anything about the situation you are bellyaching about, then it would be better for everyone if you just kept your mouth shut.  Kinda like a person who complains about politicians and then you find out that they don’t even vote!  Kinda nullifies your right to bitch if you don’t vote don’t ya think?  Don’t get me wrong – I love a good bitch session!  Sometimes it’s cheaper than therapy.  What I am talking about is a person who always complains about the same issue over and over and over again and never does anything about it.  Give me a break!  You gotta have better things to bitch about?  Or how about those people (dare I say people who may be getting a bit older) who bitch and complain incessantly about things that they have no control over – like traffic?  What the hell?  You don’t have anything better to do than go on and on about shit that is not ever going to change?  Move to the desert.  Not many traffic jams there!  If we all only spent less time whining and more time thinking about how we can do better oh what the world will be.  (and yes, I can already see this post coming back to haunt me while I am mid bitch session.  I am completely aware that I am bitching about bitching and that is a complete contradiction.  It's what I do.)

Christmas is Coming? Ah Crap.

Here we go again!  Halloween barely gets wrapped up and we get inundated with Christmas.  Every store I have been in over the last week is piping Christmas music and the race is already on to find the “perfect” gift.  It’s ridiculous really, not to mention being very bad for us!  We just finish the Thanksgiving left overs, hop from that right into little delicious candy bars only to start with the Christmas cheer (egg nog and other spirits), cookies and the oh so heavenly box of chocolates! (Don’t even get me started on stuffing and gravy.  I would probably drink gravy if I lived alone!)   No wonder so many people carry the pudge!  For heavens sake we need a period of fasting!  You would also think with all the shopping and running around doing all the Christmas prep stuff that it would automatically cancel out some of the calories ingested during this time.  Not so much. 

I have been counting down the years where, upon the arrival of Christmas, I can hop on a plane and go somewhere warm and sunny and forget about cookies, turkey and presents, but alas I was put in my place by the youngest money sucker who reminded me that there will always and forever be hockey tournaments right around the time I would be sipping on my pina colada.  Darn it all anyway.  That means I have another eight or nine years before this dream happens. 

That or foreign boarding school baby!

In The Real World

Yes, in the real world if you are hired for a job you are expected to do that job and do it well.  Of course if the minimum expectations of the job are not met, well your gonna get fired.  It seems like these same guidelines do not need to be met when volunteering for a position, however sad that is.  So I ask this – Should the same high standards and expectations still be required when a person volunteers for a position, especially if that volunteer position involves working with people and in some cases children?  What if the volunteer doesn’t do a good job or is negligent in his position?  Do we shrug our shoulders and say “Oh well, they are volunteering their time after all.”  Do we just let the person do a shoddy ass job because he or she is giving their time and we should all just appreciate that they are there at all?

Well, as you might have expected I have a definite opinion on this!  I don’t give a fat, flying hamster if you are paid or not for a job, if you apply for a position that automatically IMPLIES that there are a set of realistic expectations that are required for that job.  Volunteer or no volunteer if you can’t do the job, get the hell out.   

A wise man told me recently: “Sometimes it’s better to hire NO guy for the job then the WRONG GUY.”  I couldn't have said it better myself!

Why you should never buy a sweater with a belt - The Wardrobe Chronicles‏

Today started out like any other frost on the pumpkin fall day - cold. I am certainly not a fan of cold but Fall is one of my favourite seasons. Mostly because my entire wardrobe is made up of articles in the morbid colour wheel - black, brown, grey and sometimes a little blackish grey (no, Mom, not navy blue. Stop pushing the navy blue. It doesn't go with black.) Anyway, back to today. I mistakenly believed today would be a good "sweater day." Sounded good this morning when it was freezing cold but as I sit in my car writing this in the swealtering heat I see the err of my ways. The sweater in question is a big floppy turtle necky sweater that came with a black belt. I distinctly remember buying this article last year because I saw a lady at the mall with a butt the size of a tropical island and thought "heck, if she can wear a sweater like that so can I". So I purchased the turtlesweater and only wore it once last season. My unfortunate wardrobe malfunction was related to the "comes with sweater" belt. All was well until I ate my lunch at 10 am (will discuss early lunch eating another time). You see, the belt fit before lunch. Not so much after. I only ate a half a sandwich but that seemed to be enough to put the belt capacity completely over the edge and the damn thing kept popping open! I tried in vain to keep the thing on and when my work day was done, went to my car, took the thing off and threw it on the floor of my car. I would have thrown it into the garbage but there is no way of knowing if I at any point would have to get out of the car and I refuse to get out of my car un-accessorized.

Wardrobe lesson learned. If you get a belt WITH a sweater, throw it out. Do it right away. Do not leave the house only to have your belt pop off in the elevator at work or during a business meeting. Save yourself the embarrassment.  Stupid sweater.  Oh, and I might mention here that quality sweaters DO NOT come with a belt.  I am just sayin.

Why I Hate Teenagers - Chapter 46

I’m serious.  For quite some time now I have been very unimpressed with the maturity and respect level of today’s teenagers.  Now that summer is very, very over Sloth One and Sloth Two (once aptly named Huh? And What?) are teaching me all kind of lessons on what I have done wrong as a parent and I am in a perpetual state of frustration over their apparent lack of motivation and new found level of laziness.  The obvious sense of entitlement that I have written about it is at an all time high.  I have been known to say quite often that teenagers are dumb but now, in hindsight, I think they are really smart.  Mostly because I would give up a kidney to live the life of lazy luxury that they have!  Who wouldn’t want to barely work, pay no bills, stay up all night, sleep all day, never have to cook a meal or clean up anything and, when conscious, spend time with friends?  That sounds like livin the dream to me!  Paybacks a beeotch teenagers and your turn is coming!

 

What Your Momma Neva Told Ya - Part Two

Why is it that there are some things our moms just did not feel was necessary to share?  Really Mom?  You might have warned me just a little about the “mam-o-gram”.   I, of all people, understand the necessity for chicks to have these tests.  It saves lives.  My current hate on for cancer made me no longer able to put off this test.  Oh Nelly!  Has technology not come far enough that they don’t feel like they should made a less barbaric machine to check the lady bits?  Come on people! There has got to be a FEMALE technician type person out there who knows something about something and can make this machine a little bit more like going to the spa and less like have body parts ripped from your body.  I believe I shall file this rant under the sub-topic “If I Ruled The World” as well because this is one of the serious medical changes that will be made when I take over power.  Honestly - is this one of those "man made" machines?

Perhaps I am a little "annoying voice" sensitive as well.......

Yes, well the title says it all.  It is a well known fact that annoying people make me crazy to the point of dreaming about revenge type scenarios.  A couple of my ex-coworkers, now friends, probably remember the “temp” we had in the office who sat behind me for a couple of months.  This chick took the award for the most annoying adult I have ever met in my entire life.  For a full 7.5 hours this loony bin talked to herself and made grunty clucky noises all freaking day.  I took to wearing ear plugs to work because I was one grunt away from chucking my stapler at her.  I thought she was going to be the only person to drive me to the point of planning to hurl myself over the top of her desk and strangling her (had my insanity plea completely planned for after as well).  I. Was. Wrong.  In the last couple of months I have had to work on the same floor as a person who, every single freaking morning, calls her daughter to ask her if she is getting ready for school, has she had breakfast yet and not to forget a long, painful list of things for the day.  Every morning.  That’s not the worst of it.  She also relays the entire message to her husband all the while using her OUTSIDE voice in a very singsongy, baby tone that makes me want to puke in my garbage can.  All this time I thought this ladies daughter was six years old!  I was close.  Turns out she is IN GRADE SIX.  Poor kid.  She is going to hit high school and her mommy is going to lead her towards the path of getting the crap beat out of her!  If hearing her baby her 11 year old isn’t enough, apparently she needs to run her daughters entire school from her desk at work as well.  Hot lunch orders, earth quake kits, soccer practice and on and on and on.  If I were her boss I would tell her to go home and stop stealing time!  Paycheques are serious people.  Treat them that way!

The Pool, the Road Hockey Game and the Well Behaved Children? What?

Well damn if I don’t have a single great story to tell about the team party.  Nada.  Not a single parent got completely wasted and landed in the pool.  Everyone kept their clothing on and there was no telling sign of throw up in the bushes or on the lawn to clean up the next day.  Seriously.  Is everyone just getting more mature?  I don’t get it.  There must have been a half a gajilion children there as well and they swam, played road hockey, ate and watched a movie and there wasn’t a single fight. 

A times they are a changin people.  Oh yes they are.

And Let There Be A New Cast of Characters....

As with any new “season” (this one being hockey) there is a whole new cast of characters for me to laugh with, laugh at and bring into the fold.  This year is going to be no exception.  To start I will have to introduce you to a lady I met quite some time ago as I believe her and her husband will be heavily featured in my writing in the next six months.  Before I even met this chick I called her Coach.  Not because she coached hockey or because she wore track suits all the time like Sue Sylvester on Glee.  No.  She had the cutest pair of Coach flats and, at the time, I was a little Coach crazy having just welcomed my first Coach bag into the family.  As I have already dubbed the one and only real Coach with that name and if I used it for two people Coach’s First Wife would be sooo confused, I am forced to find another code name for my friend.  I was having difficulty with this one mostly because she is such a freakin nice person with no obvious flaws!  So I came up with Gucci.  Yes, Gucci.  Not because she has a Gucci bag (which she just might) but because the definition of Gucci is “good, awesome, high quality” and that seemed to fit.  Now Gucci’s husband is another situation all together.  I like to think of myself as being pretty high ranking on the Board of Directors in Sarcasmville but Gucci’s husband? – this guy IS the CEO.  I look like a sarcasm practicum student next to him!  (Dammit all if the chocolate bar names wouldn’t work in this case – Big Turk?)  Now that I think of it, I think I will just call the man Mr. CEO.  It works.  The reason I introduce you to these folks is because they are both insane enough to have a team party this weekend and, if things go according to my predictions, I will be writing about said party for quite some time.  Let’s just say I am thinking all kinds of Cracker Jack are coming to the pool!

To be continued………

Stripper names?

I have been on a particularly long run of insomnia lately and I have to confess that I am not the most creative human while I toss and turn trying in vain to fall asleep.  Most of the content that flits in and out of the neuron holder is drivel.  Senseless, crazy drivel.  The last absolutely brilliant idea was to give all my pals stripper names and let them try and figure out who they were as the stories unfold.  Although the idea sounded fun and a little wacky, once I used up Bambi and Barbie I was stumped!  (I already have a friend named Bambi and she was not named for her pole dancing abilities.  Strictly for the love of deer.  Which is weird all in itself!)  Apparently my stripper name knowledge is not extensive.  So once I discovered I have no imagination at all in the creation of new stripper names, at least at three in the morning, I moved on to chocolate bars.  Mostly because I had watched a re-run of the best show ever - Sex in the City - and there was a reference to Mr. Big in the episode.   It occurred to me shortly after that not a single one of my friends would like to be referred to as "Oh Henry", "Eat More" or "Butterfinger".   Don't get me wrong here I had a fabulous time coming up with sufficient chocolate bar names like: Bounty, Cherry Blossom, Big Turk, Crunchie and of course Skor (like Thor?).  Just to put the name to the character would be an issue.
I am infinitely grateful that I do not sleepwrite or sleepblog.  I am positive I would confuse myself as well as you all!

There is just no "quiet" space anymore.

The other day I found myself at a level of pissed off that was so extreme I felt it was necessary to leave my home in search of a quiet place where I could calm down. I decided, since it was mid week, that the beach would be relatively quiet so I got myself a coffee and drove to the water. I get there, find a nice shady spot to park my car and get settled in for a little people watching session between chapters of my book.  (Of couse you are only hearing about the rational part of this rage.  I did go online to see if there was a "Voodoo Doll Making for Dummies" book.)
As you can imagine my peaceful, serenity session got foiled. Three parking spots over a very, very old couple were sitting in their compact car, windows open, having a full blown, knock em down screaming match! I was taken aback. I guess I thought that by the time you hit your 70's you would be too tired to scream at your significant other. It was all I could do not to yell at the fella out my car window to cut the old bird some slack. This is the second time in as many weeks I have had the misfortune to hear couples toss it up out in public. After the first time I thought to myself "being a couple shouldn't give someone a license to treat another human being with disrespect." Does being in a relationship with someone make it ok to treat them poorly? Is it any wonder most marriages end in divorce? It's pretty sad when a person treats their friends with more respect than they do their spouse.

Shouldn't we do better? I say if you can't get along with others then learn to live alone.

Dead Bodies, Penguins, Stupid Catch Phrases, For the Love of TV and Scrappy Goes Wild!

To update you on one of the current frustrations - No the air conditioner has not blown up or caught on fire or any of those other dastardly things I have been dreaming about. In fact our wonderful, hearing impaired neighbours have purchased another air conditioner for their lower floor as well!  I have a conspiracy theory going on in my head now of course. Who the heck runs two air conditioners twenty or more hours a day and leaves their doors and windows open? Especially now that it is getting cooler out at night. What exactly are they cooling? Bodies? Oh goodness I can’t even go there. Maybe the fridge is broken and they have their food in front of the air conditioners or maybe they have a penguin (personally a huge fan of the penguin idea even though I know deep down inside that not all penguins need to live in cold climates and of course I am going to assume that it is totally illegal to have a penguin. They are just so freakin cute and it’s better than imagining a makeshift morgue taking up shop in the hood!)

Getting seriously sick of the new catch phrase“It is what it is”. Honestly people. Isn’t that just stating the obvious? It wouldn’t be bad if I didn’t have to hear it over and over again! That leads me to wonder if other people notice the repetitive use of the same phrase or is it just me? Am I word or sentence sensitive? I’m gonna guess that I am since I am still NOT going to read the repetitive sentences and descriptors in the other Fifty Shades books even if my pal Scrappy plants them in my car, house or anywhere else for that matter. I WILL NOT READ them (Sam I am). Although the Fifty Shades series have brought me much joy in the sheer fact of just ridiculing them and laughing about the effect they have had on the chicks who have read or are reading them. What the hell, if it’s getting people to read who am I to complain.

The new year has begun (Not losing my mind. Someone screwed up the calendar and made January the beginning of the year instead of September, which is really the start of the year.) School has started. The extreme joy of what appears to be never ending hockey tryouts and of course my personal favourite – my shows are back baby! Although having a break from regular programming has allowed me to expand my television viewing horizons and I am now addicted to Canadian and American Pickers, Pawn Stars, Long Island Medium and almost any show that involves the food network. I am on my way to becoming a very knowledgeable, well rounded (insert snicker here) human with interests in many things. Thank goodness for PVR. What did we do before that? Oh ya, VCR. Ha. Sounds like eight track now doesn’t it?

Speaking of Scrappy – I had the pleasure of being invited to the surprise party her husband put on for her oohhhh lets say 30^th birthday. Hell no. Let’s make that 25^thbirthday, mostly because the damn chick has more energy than your average six year old. Although I have been told she does not drink caffeine or alcohol, I am convinced she does some kind of illegal, back alley drug to keep up that energy level. I plan to conduct a full investigation and report back. I am not opposed to stalking.   (Although I might mention here that the chick WAS walking around with the biggest wine glass I have ever seen with, I am assuming, alcohol in it.  Unless she had her husband install a Slurpee machine somewhere in the house.  Then my money is on Slurpee!)

So New York and I ditch the kids with New York’s kind husband, Chatty Charlie, and head out only to get to Scrappy’s house and not know a single, solitary person. Notta. Scrappy, who has at some point figured out her husband is putting on a party for her, hasn’t even arrived yet. Apparently she is “shopping”. This in itself is extremely probable as I personally elected Scrappy the Captain of the“Shop Team” last year some time, however, when the chick finally shows up at her own party she is wearing a super sexy dress, sweet new shoes AND her hair is done? I call bull monkey on the supposed shopping trip and I am going to say that girl spent the day at the salon! She looked freaking fabulous (in hindsight I am pretty sure this is the first time I have seen her dressed up because who the hell shows up to lacrosse wearing anything other than jeans or yoga pants) and was, as usual, the life of the party. Note to Scrappy: Lady, I think all that bitching paid off. The house renovations are fantastic and your husband still appears to like you! Win, win sister!

And let it be known.....

"My Fancy Friend"

A good friend sent me this story a little while back because it was definitely, one hundred percent blog worthy.  It has taken me this long  to re-create and post this one because it needed to be written with best intention and sometimes I can come across as a bit sarcastic (stop laughing).   I will preface this story with a little background information.  My friend Bambi, who lived in a super small, no Tim Horton’s town, moved to a slightly larger small town that has a Tim’s (and a mall!) and has had the great fortune of meeting a new friend who likes the simple things in life – purses, shoes, designer clothing, having her nails done….. oh, you get it (I just have to name her Mini Guess.  You will get it later).  When Bambi met  Ms. Guess she emailed me right away to tell me all about her and how perfect she was and how she was so super nice etc. etc.  I was suspicious immediately.  Most of the time perfect is so totally flawed but I have a policy about getting to know someone first before I decide I don’t like them.  So I meet this new friend and low and behold she does seem nice and after reading Bambi’s email I realize Ms. Guess has a whole ton of class and truck load of common sense!

Here is a blurb from Bambi’s email: 

“ON another note, my friend here (my only friend here) had a baby last weekend! They live close by so I will get to see the baby lots.  This is my fancy friend...and I have a funny story...worth blogging about.....remember you met her at the tournament?   Big blonde hair?

So, her water broke on Friday night.....and what does she do...not call the Dr......she plugs in her hot rollers and does her face! And then she called the Dr.!   They went in for assessment and got sent home for the night and were told to come back the next day to be induced if she had no contractions overnight.    No contractions happened.

So they go back the next day ...she’s all made up and has her hair done, wearing a Guess maxi dress and wedges.  Got her Starbucks on the way.  She asked the Dr. and nurses if she could keep her Guess dress on through everything...(no hospital gown for that princess).  So she was in labour looking fabulous until the last few minutes when they did have her change in to hospital gown. Super funny.”

I had a great chuckle about this, firstly because when I read it the first time I thought I read Guess MINI dress and thought she must have been nuts (not to mention super fit?), but after a re-read, realized maxi and mini were quite different.   Secondly, I thought it was amazing that she seemed so cool and laid back about it – seriously, how do you tell the dude at Starbucks to NOT take his time with your Skinny Vanilla Latte because you need to get to the hospital and deliver a baby? 

Fickle?  Diva?  Princess?  Maybe.  However, I think if one took a poll of most women (one’s who do NOT wear Birkenstocks) they would begrudgingly agree that if they could do it again, they would most certainly have their hair and makeup done and be wearing something fabulous for the hospital pictures.  I mean come on, who doesn’t have a disgusting picture of themselves holding their new born baby in a hospital green, backless gown with your hair all over the place and no make up to be had anywhere?  Why not look fabulous?  All the time people.  All the time.

I leave you with a picture of a Guess Maxi dress that I found on line.  Of course I took a copy of the sexiest one I could find.  Just for reference purposes.

Why I Need Ladies Night - A Short Story

This is an almost exact replica of an email I sent out to my ladies regarding the need for the ladies night that was forthcoming that evening.  I have had to alter it a bit as the original email had quite a few extra special profanities and a bit of bad grammar.  This is the best "G" rated version I could swing:

Why I Need Ladies Night - by Jody

To start, today is the lucky day that I get to work at home.  Sounds like a good start, No?  So when 7:45 rolls around I simply shut off my alarm because my commute is super short (down the stairs) and I was so tired I figured I could sleep a bit and just work later in the afternoon.  Win, win.  I happily drift off to sleep until 8:01 when I am alerted by the manfellow that I need to get up.  He apparently did not get the memo about my flexible work schedule.  Uggggg.  So I get up. 

What do I get up to?  Well, the cat shit on the staircase should have been my first clue that it is going to be an interesting day.  I walk right by thinking “I gotta get a coffee in first before I take care of THAT” only to see cat puke on the carpet in the office of which I plan to spend my day.  Bugger.  I proceed to the kitchen to make my coffee and there is cat puke (I think anyway – it could very well have been a combo puke/shit.  No telling.) all over the family room carpet and on the kitchen floor!  Seriously!  What the hell did that cat eat?  I swear he is not the size of a Rottweiler just average cat size so he must have been on a new cat “cleanse” because clearly the entire contents of his stomach/bowels is all over the floor in my house.  So instead of my fabulous espresso that I was going to have to get over the fact that I was not still sleeping I spent the next 20 minutes cleaning up cat yuck and trying not to puke myself.  My work day just got even longer.  Also, I anticipate spending my happy day working at home with a sulking, moody teenager who got home at 1:00 in the morning, sitting around all day waiting for me to get out of the office so he can lock himself in here and play Xbox.  Three words: Get. A. Job.

What the rest of the day will bring…. I have no idea but you can bet I will be RUNNING out the door this evening to meet up with you ladies! 

Your sleep deprived, irritated friend

Well if you have to be addicted to something.....

Yes.  I am addicted.  To what?  How about wonton soup!  Yes, I am well aware that soup is “winter food” and it is the middle of summer (Mother Nature missed the memo about it being the middle of summer because she clearly thinks its freakin fall) anyway……  back to the soup.  I realize the word addiction may be a little strong however the “compulsive need for and use of a habit-forming substance characterized by tolerance and well defined physiological symptoms upon withdrawl” doesn’t seem that far off really.  You see there is a little restaurant in the building I work in that makes wonton soup to order.  So the wait may be a bit longer than the traditional slap some meat on bread, sandwich but the wontons are made right when you order them and oh they are so yummy.  So every time I am at work all I can think about is going downstairs and getting me some soup.  On the weekends I find myself planning what day I am going to treat myself to lunch.  Shame is the only thing that prevents me from actually ordering the stuff every day (but trust me if I could find a way to order it and have it delivered so I don’t have to walk the “soup again?” line, oh baby I would.)  Heck, last time I was there the little fella that runs the place took one look at me at said “the usual?”  So I guess if you have to be addicted to something why not a little wonton (baby!).

Salon Rules Ladies!

I am hereby putting forth a new rule – if you must, for any reason (I clearly do not care what the reason is) bring your CHILD to the salon whilst you are getting your hair done you shall be charged a twenty dollar, PER HOUR, fee for annoying the crap out of the other patrons.  I don’t care if you think I am being mean.  I had the misfortune of having to sit through two entire hours of listening to a woman’s 12 year old kid annoy the hell outta everyone, including the two hairdressers.  He was loud, obnoxious and interrupted every conversation in the salon with his personal opinion.  I don’t know about the rest of you but I enjoy spending three hours at the hairdressers to GET AWAY from children, get a new do and read my book in peace while I am “processing” aka “while the magic happens”.   What the heck this woman was thinking I have no idea.  It was all I could do to keep my mouth shut and not tell her to put her kid in the car.  Clearly, salon etiquette went out the window or I am now wondering if she doesn’t think her kid is annoying, just the rest of us do!  The way I see it, if there is a $20.00 an hour “annoyance service fee” the crazy people will possibly re-think and get a babysitter or the very least crack the windows in the car!

The Floor Less Travelled

Today I was asked to do a job at work that I have never done before (I might mention here that I have never done this particular task because it is not part of my job.  Not that I mind doing something different every once and awhile, depending on the request.)  Let me also say that I have a very specific job and this job really requires that I almost never have to physically speak or see actual humans. This is one of the best parts of my job mostly because I am not a huge fan of people.  So I was asked to pick up the mail for the department which in itself is not that big of a deal, EXCEPT I did not have a clue where to pick up said mail and the requestee disappeared right after logging the request!   I hurriedly emailed one of my co-workers who was off site and asked if she happened to know where this mystery mail was because clearly this is information I should know and cannot remember.  Feeling a bit like a fool I then had to go back into old emails to see if the only other person I know who works in this building had her address in her signature line so I could gleen a little information from that.  Low and behold, after searching through ten emails, I found one with her address on it.  Fifteenth floor.   Weird.  I suppose I get in the elevator every day and go to a lower floor and my brain has some kind of mental block about there being a huge number of floors above me.  What’s with that?  So I go to the 15^th floor, look around like an idiot and ask someone walking by if they know where the mail is for the floor I work on.  She shows me the mail basket and low and behold the thing is empty making this adventure somewhat of a bust.  This is one of those times where I am going to use the excuse “tired and hungry” because it makes me think that I might need to step outside my quiet shelter and realize there is a whole big world out there.  Of course as long as I am not required to talk to people I don’t want to, then forget it.  I’ll stay here.

Summer? Really?

I apologize for the long delay in posts.  Nothing worse than trying to follow the daily mishaps of others misfortunes and they drop off the face of the earth!  Everything I have written in the last couple of weeks was filled with anger and I did not want to share the misery.  It seems I spent too many precious days being mad at cancer and although I am still pissed off, I am trying to use that anger to see things in a different way.  I have been forced to learn a few lessons.  Damn it all anyway.

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I don’t want to be jumping the gun and all but it seems as though summer is finally here!  Although the old boy eradicated another man eating spider from in the bathroom yesterday, which according to old folk knowledge, means it’s going to rain.  At least we have him to blame if it does start to rain again.  So there’s that.

In order to prepare for the onslaught of pasty whiteness and patchwork tan lines I have been diligently applying a mild self tanner for the last week.  I am not sure if it is working but I made the mistake of wrapping a white towel around myself a few days ago shortly after the application and did not realize until I got home from work that my entire tan for the day was all over the towel!  It kinda freaked me out.  All I could think of was that the self tanning cream was most likely spending all of its quality time on the inside of my clothing NOT on my skin!  It’s a damn good thing I don’t wear white!

I have had this master plan floating around in my head to spend as much time as possible reading in my backyard oasis as soon as it got warm enough to take off the layers of sweaters and jackets.  That plan has now been foiled by the new neighbours who live behind us as they both seem to be going through some kind of menopause together because they have been running their very old air conditioner for about 18 to 20 hours a day.  It’s like listening to the hum of a monster truck running that has holes in the tailpipe!  All. Day. Long.  I try to ignore it but when you spend tons of money and time working on your yard to get it to the “oasis” stage, all you want is just a teeny, tiny bit of peace and quiet!   Now I spend my time in the yard waiting for the air conditioner to blow up since the thing appears to be at least a century old and is forced to work twice as hard because they have all the windows and the back door open all day as well!   Here we thought it was a good thing having a retired couple moving in behind us.  Let this be a lesson in “be careful what you wish for” because I am pretty sure both of them are stone cold deaf or they used to live right beside an airport and they miss the jet noises!  (This would be a good point to mention that they were both up at 6 freaking thirty this morning sawing and moving wood in their backyard.  What that was all about I have no idea.  Strange really.  It’s a damn good thing I had to get up this morning at 6:30 or I would be ordering rocket launchers on line right now!)  The thought of spending the entire summer inside with the windows and doors closed makes me want to scream.  I am secretly hoping they get a thousand dollar hydro bill since they clearly cannot hear all the noise they are making. 

Time to head out to the nursery to find “noise reduction” trees or start looking on line for remote acreage in the sticks somewhere!  Ear plugs?  Seriously!

An Open Letter to Cancer

All right asshole. Enough all ready! You have made it quite clear that you are more powerful and you run the show. You can stop now. We understand and begrudgingly respect your superiority. Please just stop. You have single handedly ruined two families in less than two weeks. You took from us one small Titan and now one tough Rebel. Can't you just say you got the win and take a freaking vacation? How about finding something else to do with your time? You are the kind of evil words are beyond describing. Our hearts are filled with hate for you and some of us are going to use that hate to kick you down a few notches. It's your turn, you selfish, good for nothing disease.   Rebels don't rest.......... they just get even. 

If it looks like a novel is it really?

I so seriously have to express my opinion on this one.  There is a book right now on the best sellers list that I have to say I bought and read quite a bit before the whole “scandal” of the thing came out.  I have to admit that I did like the book cover.  It was simple and had a catchy title (Fifty Shades of Grey) so I read the e-preview first and that seemed good so I forked over my ten bucks for the thing and loaded it on my e-book.  First couple of chapters were not too bad.  Not literary genius, but not bad.  By the third chapter I had realized a couple of things: the author clearly did not go back and proof read her own work because the use of the same handful of descriptive sentences are already starting to annoy the hell outta me and the story line was clearly not leading anywhere but down the path of porn.  I keep reading but early on come to a part in the book where the main character is being encouraged to sign a contract that clearly is not in her best interests and quite obvious to me that if she had even an ounce of self esteem she would have told the contract holder to stuff it up his ass!  At this point I tell myself “if she signs that contract I am done reading this crap.”  This is the first time in my extensive reading career that I have ever told myself I am not going to finish a book and I have read plenty of shitty books that I always stick it out with until the end.  As it turns out the main character never ends up signing the contract in THIS book, however there are a few more books to follow that are supposed to entice us to run to the book store and purchase up the whole series to see if she actually does!  There has become quite a stir about these books – mostly because the book consists of all kinds of soft core porn scenes that the average house wife who missed the whole “Friday Nights without Borders” series on HBO a few years ago, have never seen the likes of.  At the end of the read I wanted my money back and in no way will I be purchasing (or borrowing) the books that follow.  Even local radio announcers were jesting that they could write a best seller like this, all they needed to do was write a bunch of predictable sex scenes and fill in the rest with blither and they are good to go!  My opinion: If you take out the sex and the repetitive descriptors in the book you are most likely left with maybe a dozen or so pages of nonsense.  I heard a nasty rumor that they were going to turn this book series into a movie!  Oh lordy you have got to be kidding!  How are they going to make this one R rated?  I can just see it now – the ratings review board trying to tell the producers they need to take this smut to the Porn industry and have a nice day.  How do you even tone it down enough to rate when 80 percent of the book is sex? 

I have since been trying to “cleanse” my intellect with all kinds of books that involve the author putting a little more of an effort into an actual story line (I inherited a bunch of those older kind of books that are made with paper pages, mostly murder mysteries, and I have been steadily plowing through a book a day.  At the end of this all I should be able to either apply for a job as a detective in the homicide department or start up a successful website on all the things you shouldn’t do if you want to commit a crime.)

Bottom line people – Don’t judge a book by its cover!

The Trouble with Parents

Today has been one of those days where, on one hand, I read about parents who just lost their young son and would have done anything, absolutely anything to keep him alive.  Cancer robbed this family of, among many other things: grade seven graduation, high school, acne, driving lessons, girlfriends, graduations, weddings and grandchildren.  Cancer robbed them of being able to see their son go to bed safe every night and rise healthy and happy every morning.  I bet you my left leg if there was some way to prevent this, any way, this family would have taken that opportunity.  In a heart beat.  The other side of this story is another parent, same day, who does not seem to care enough about the possibility of his son potentially getting cancer.  Do you think if this parent could see into the crystal ball of life five or ten years down the road, when his son might be going through possible cancer saying to himself “Gee I wish I had taken those extra few minutes to make sure my teenage son wasn’t lying to me about smoking?” or “I wish I had taken the time to listen to others when they had concerns and not just shrugged it off.”  Why do people not try to do their best as parents all the time?  Is that not part of the job – to keep them safe from harm?  Especially when you can obviously see that the kid makes bad choices in all aspects of his life?  What makes you think this choice is going to be any wiser?  I think, at the end of the day, I never want to have any regrets as a parent because I never, ever want to watch my child, at any age, go through what this family went through.   In the end isn’t it important to be able to say that we all did our very best for our children?

I am attaching a link to the blog of the family who lost their son.  Please do not read this if you are already sad.  Losing a child is the absolute saddest thing I can think of in the world.  I only post here for those who need a reality check and should take more care and concern of the children you brought into this world.  That and please, please hug your healthy child today. 

http://mcburneys.blogspot.ca/

To the McBurney's - the huge gaping hole in your hearts will never leave but in time, having known Kade, will fill that hole back up with the remembrance of love and all the joy he brought to your lives.  Thank you for sharing your pain with us.  It reminds us that every moment is a gift and it shouldn't be squandered.

The Good Bad Hair Day

I am currently still on the fence about the enormity of the series of events I write about next. I will be consulting an educated panel of people to help with this calamity. Mostly my most honest, bestest friends and maybe my doctor. If I can get them to take me seriously.

The other day I had a necessary, much needed appointment with my hairdresser. Most of you know the “necessary” in what I am saying. (Oh what I would give just to have dark roots again! Seriously.) Anyway, my hairdresser usually spends a great deal of time with a straight iron taming the Fantastic Frizz but this time I just did not have the patience to sit there while she painstakingly flat ironed 12 pieces of hair at a time so I asked her to just blow dry it so I could run. Well, I got home and expected to see the same Rosanna Anna Danna I usually see in the mirror after I dry my hair but NO……. hair looked fabulous. What? How could this be? She just honestly used a brush and a blow dryer and nothing else. She has some kind of magical talent because I have never been able to do this to my hair and trust me, I have tried! So I think to myself (yes, that’s a song lyric and the first in many mistakes I am about to make) I should take a picture of this hair so I can do this by myself. Oh dear. I take a few pictures and am quite satisfied that I have captured the image I need to use later. Then I look at the photos. Holy batshit! Is that me? What the hell happened to my face? THAT is clearly not the chick I see in the mirror every day! So I text the old boy, who is at work (possibly mistake 3 or 4 at this point) and tell him that I just took a picture of myself and hello– When did I have a stroke? Clearly the person in the picture has had either super bad plastic surgery or had a mild stroke! One half of her face is lower than the other! I have been walking around all crooked faced and probably drooling and no one has said a word!

I get a text back quite some time later that reads only: Really? That’s it. Honestly, I was sort of expecting a reply that said something to the effect of “Last year, you didn’t notice? Ha ha” or “You have always looked like a stroke victim. Ha ha.” (notice I put the “ha ha’s” in there to offset the obvious uncomfortableness of the topic?) I talk to him on the phone some time later and I ask him about his lack of response (not to mention lack of sense of humor.  Seriously? I would have been all over that!) to this question and you know what he says? “I’m not touching that one. I’ll just get into trouble.” Really dude? Do you know what that response has done to my damaged Ego and dwindling self esteem? Permanently killed both. They packed up and went somewhere non-lopsided. I am left with a shelf full of self loathing and a shattered sense of what I thought I looked like.

I spend the rest of the night watching Cake Boss and wondering if my deformity will straighten up if I finish that open bottle of wine in the fridge or should I double check the eyebrows? Maybe they are just crooked? Forget the new roof, forget college tuition and forget expensive sports tuition – this girls lookin for a plastic surgeon (of course after I have cleared up the possible stroke issue and had a piece of cake).

Because The People Want to Know (Well MY People Anyway!)

To provide updates on some of the previous unresolved posts, the sleezy escort company has pulled all the advertisements using the young man’s cell number off the internet.  For now….  No, they never contacted me to apologize or anything of the sort.  I am pretty sure that they were none to concerned with the “call” I was going to make to the police BUT were just a teeny bit nervous about my mentioning exposing the story to the media.  Kind of makes you wonder.

Just to note: I had absolutely no idea what a huge business this “escort” thing was and clearly must have missed the government passing new legislation making prostitution legal?  Where have I been?

On another note I was walking by the office on the ground floor of the house on the weekend and low and behold there, right in the entrance way, was a very large spider carcass!  I cannot confirm or deny if this is the same blood sucking spider who was threatening to bite me and build a condo in my closet however I am going to live in the knowledge that it was him and I can resume my forty trips to the closet every morning trying to find something to wear without having to do a full area scan every time.  This will undoubtedly save me much time in the morning thereby allowing me to get to where I am going with a matching outfit and completely stress free. 

I do have to note that the old boy was still unconcerned about the potential spider threat and refused to check the carcass for blood on it's fangs.  I did make him however flush the thing down the toilet.  Hey - you never know with these things.  I am sure spiders have been known to "play possum".  Right?

Useless, Good For Nothin Animal

This morning I found out just how useless my pampered, overfed, spoiled, prima donna house cat actually is.  As I was getting ready for work I flicked on the closet light and opened the door and there, staring me right in the face was the ugliest spider I have ever seen in doors.  The damn thing just sat there and gave me the Clint Eastwood stare down.  I will also note right here that said spider was on the old boy’s side of the closet which automatically leads me to believe (read: blame) that the sucker was brought in by him.  I very quietly backed out, closed the door and shut off the light.  I am well aware how quickly something with that many legs can move and I did not want to risk grabbing my bag and clothing while Spidy was in obvious attack mode.  What the heck is Plan B here?  I can’t go to work with my pajamas on?  My clothing and car keys are in there being guarded by a spider with longer legs than me!  I went downstairs to make my coffee and try to calm down and come up with a plan.  I go back up to the closet and open it and low and behold he has moved – to my side of the closet!  Ah crap.  I again, back out and close the door.  Then I look at the bed.  Hmmm.  Old boy is snoring and I do not have enough time to wake him and explain the severity of the situation.  He would be all “you woke me up for that?”  Then I look over to my side of the bed.  Shouldn’t that very large bed hog who is sprawled out at the end of the bed, snug as a bug, be more concerned about the creature lurking in the closet?  So I poke him a few times and tell him to “get the spider”, “do your job and get the crazy ass spider before it starts a colony in my clothing” and “come on, pleassseee”.  I have been joking as of late that the cat is acting like a teenager right now and I tell ya, this was it!  In response to my poking and pleading I got absolutely NOTHING!  He didn’t even open his eyes!  Why the heck he was so tired, I have no idea?  It’s not like we have a cat door and he was out marking his territory on the neighbourhood all night or carousing with his buddies.  What the heck is he good for if he can’t rid our home of the occasional arachnid?  I would have retrieved the other, smaller feline from the boy’s room but I am pretty sure this spider could take her.

Plan C appears to be me stretching my body into the closet, all the while keeping one eyeball on the freak show on the floor, and grabbing my bag and any clothing I could reach.  Once I had all the items I needed I went back into the bathroom, carefully shook out all articles of clothing before putting them on, just in case Spidy had a decoy hiding somewhere in the fabric, and got the hell outta the bedroom.  I write the old boy a very nice note telling him that we have a huge, huge visitor camping out in our closet and if he can’t get the lazy, good for nothing, teenage cat to do the job he better get a vacuum because the sucker is to big to squish and will surely leave a mark big enough to chalk outline.  (I find out an hour after getting to work that he did not even give the whole calamity a second thought because he “would have to take the whole closet apart to find it.”  Yah?  What’s the issue?  Seriously.)

So I get to work all twitchy and uptight and whom do I discuss this with?  No one.  I can’t say a word.  If I relayed this little story anywhere within a football fields hearing length of my co-worker, who incidentally has a pathological fear of spiders, she would need to go home to ingest Adivan and red wine.  So I sit at the office wondering where Spidy is hiding and if I can stop by the nearest firehall to borrow a hazmat suit so I can take care of him myself.  Don’t predict I will get much sleep tonight unless I have a carcass safely encased in my vacuum cleaner.  Stupid nature.

Phrase of the day and the rant not sent

So to start off this little ditty I must confess that I am a bit of a news junkie.  No, I don’t watch the news.  That crap is too depressing and there always seems to be some nasty story that I wish I could turn time back and never hear, so I don’t watch.  I like world news, my way.  I read the Globe and Mail online.  Mostly just the headlines.  If a headline interests me, I might give the article some of my time (maybe – obviously it has to be well written and have a catchy first couple of lines or I’m history).  It’s a time effective way of figuring out what is going on in the world without all those nasty details.  Honestly, the blogs I read have a way of letting me know exactly what is going on in the world anyway so I’m good. 

This leads to my blog title and my adventure with the Globe and Mail today.  The past few days, or couple weeks to be honest, I have had the phase “Your sense of entitlement is astounding” popping up in my head.  Over and over.  In various forms.  So as I do my daily headline scan today I see this: “Are today’s youth worse off or just lazy and entitled”.  Holy coincidence Batman!  This I gotta read!  Click on said article and low and behold it’s not a well written, fact filled article - The Globe and Mail want public opinion on this timely topic.  Where do I start?  Should I begin with the epic levels of lazy that abound in the House of Sand and Dirt?  Please!  If someone had told me how lazy teenagers are I would have reconsidered children and just gotten another cat!  Entitled?  Oh let me count the ways!  I am beginning to think this generation of young people should be called the “you owe me” generation. 

So within a few minutes I had my outline mentally prepared for my submission to the Globe and Mail.  As the morning progressed I realized that I was now moving into the small, bitter novel category.  Hmmm.  Should I just send them proof quoting some of the verbal, entitlement outbursts that I have witnessed in the last few years?  Should I start a study for the paper titled “Just what do you think you’re entitled to” and use 200 teenagers and their parents from various demographic areas as lab rats?  Should I just send them a copy of my post from April 24^th?  Then I realize that writing a novel to the news may provide a nice, anonymous stress release for all the Entitlementism (yes, I made that up) I deal with on a daily basis however I am not completely “head in the sand” not to point out that there is a very huge, don’t want to admit it, let alone say it out loud, chance that we as parents are completely to blame for raising these “gonna pitch a hissy fit if I don’t get what I want” youth and I can’t stomach that chapter.  Just can’t do it. 

To Laugh, Cry or Yell - now Really People, Really?

Well, as promised I continue with the “To Laugh, Cry or Yell” story.  Now called “Really People? Really?”  You will get the title change.  So things have been running along as usual.  The boy has only gotten a few “repeat” customers texting him asking to meet.  He and I devised a crafty little reply to these texts that goes something like: “Well, you say I have met you before but unless you met me on my elementary school playground, I’m gonna guess you have the wrong number.”  This has certainly shut up a few of the disgusting perverts that’s for sure.  Last week I figure I better Google the number again to see if the Escort company is just too embarrassed to reply but has done their due diligence.  Well, I’ll be a monkeys uncle!  Two new ads, same phone number, different named company are the top two hits.  Seriously?  What the hell is wrong with you people.  So I go on a little crusade and email every single “contact us” address on the webpages, new and old (because the first sleeze bag company has ignored all my requests).  The jist of my emails are this (and there are many):

Please (and I am asking politely, for the THRID time) remove my young sons cell phone number from your website.  As I have requested three times, and you clearly do not care about the lost revenue or children’s safety, I will be notifying the police AND the news media next.

Within minutes I get an email reply from the new company that says only: Removed.  That’s it.  No sorry for your inconvenience.  No whoops.  Nothing.  I re-Google and the new ads and the first two hits are gone.  Excellent.  The first company who had the number listed also got the new remove request email, and many of them, but I have heard NOTHING. 

The Better Business Bureau tell me to contact my service provider.  They are apparently responsible to let the company know that they are incorrectly using one of their numbers.  So I email my service provider.  They promptly reply that “This is a situation of the business not updating their own contact records” and then go on to tell me that they do not sell or disclose any of our personal information etc. etc. What the hell the whole “personal information” thing means is just ridiculous.  And I am sorry Cell Phone Company – this is not entirely a matter of a company not updating their records, this is a matter of you not making sure the new numbers you give out are not from some disgusting, escort company. 

Then there is the issue of the escort company clearly not NEEDING the business.  Hello dipshits, if you have the wrong number posted, your not getting the customers.  A four year old could figure that out.  Losers. 

So today the boy gets two calls.  One from a gym saying he missed his fitness class (hey, even sleezy escort chicks have to stay fit) and the other from an “alternative” newspaper about an "ad".  Guess who I am emailing next………. 

The Ugly Side of Sport

First off, let me say that I am not a “newby” in the kid sport arena.  I will not willingly disclose how old I am but I have had kids in various sports for over 13 years.  That’s a long freakin time.  I have learned a lot of lessons along the way.  During these years I have met some people who I now consider “my people”.  They are kind, generous people who give their time and energy to sport for no other reason than for the love of the sport and the kids.  I have met people who inspire and motivate kids in ways that are truly heartwarming.  There are people out there who coach, not just to get their own kid “somewhere”, but because they love the sport they are coaching.  This group of people so far, in all the years I have invested, are the majority.  Thank goodness.

I have, as well, been introduced to the highest level of Crazy Ass Nut Bars in youth sports you can imagine.  I am learning to keep my mouth shut.  Just sit back, watch the crazy show and enjoy the ride.  There is however a time when it’s not ok to sit back and watch and it’s not ok to keep your mouth shut.  That time?  When someone in sport, who is in the position of power, belittles and potentially causes harm to a child.  At no time, ever, should a child of any age be belittled in front of their own team mates and no child should EVER not feel safe when attending a sport.  EVER.  End of freaking story.

Why Getting Older Means We Are A Lot More Set In Our Ways or AKA: The Adverted Panic Attack

This morning I got to the office, opened my email and saw a note from my manager requesting that I meet her for a scheduled meeting at a different location.  This would require me to a. Take public transit or b. Drive my car to a location I have never been to before.  WELL.  Let me explain the sixty-five levels of near panic that went through my head.  Where to start?

Let’s start first with the public transit fiasco.  If I am required to take public transit I need at least two days notice.  I will need to physically and mentally prepare for this adventure.  The skirt and heels I am wearing today will not allow for adequate “running” in the event of a robbery, stabbing or drunkin pervert.  I will need time to get to the bank to withdrawal money for the tickets to get on the unpredictable, computer run, death trap because seriously, who carries cash?  Pepper or bear spray will need to be purchased.  A purse change will need to take place (Can’t be having that big, flappy open top purse.  Must switch to smaller, close to the body, zipped up bag.  Hell, if there’s time I might just find a fanny pack. Ha ha ha – goodness, there’s a picture.)  A certain amount of mental prep work has to take place before this trip can happen.  I find it appropriate to get into “fighter mode”.  That way if a potential criminal or pervert looks to you as their next potential target, you have your game face on.  The “don’t mess with ME motha” face.  I need time to get into character, put on temporary tattoos and develop an imaginary “rap” sheet.  I’m thinking by now you have gathered that I am not a huge fan of being stuck in a train that I can’t get out of.  My rule: if you are so close I can smell you, you are too effin close.  I, in no uncertain terms, want to be in smelling range of any stranger.  EVER.  There is no where to run and hide from the crazed drug addict with a gun.  End of story.

Next, let’s review the problem with me driving to a location that I have never been to without adequate notice.  Two things right off the bat: I have absolutely NO gas in my car and was lucky to just get to the office this morning and I left my GPS at home.  I am too old to drive around trying to figure shit out with just a printed copy of Google Maps.  I make an active effort to not be stressed out while driving because my personality lends itself to intentionally ramming someone with my car if they piss me off.  Better to just avoid that kind of situation.  Driving also requires the pre-trip to the bank for cash for the insane amount of money needed to park the car.

So I stare at the email meeting request for a bit, internally cussing my lack of spontaneity, and email my manager with a polite request to meet on the phone.  I did not tell her about my “two day notice” requirement but did mention that if she wanted me to go there I would have to find a bank first because the twenty three cents I currently have in my wallet will not get me on the train and fare evasion is completely out of the question.  She was understanding and agreed meeting on the phone would work which is good because my next email was going to go over the finer points of providing “danger pay”.

Oh to laugh, cry or yell?

Still not sure if I should blow a biscuit on this one or not.  It is sorta funny.  You be the judge.

A little over a month ago, the oldest money sucker got a new cell phone that also required him to get a new phone number.  The guy at the phone store was all “Dude, this looks like an easy number to remember.  Why don’t you take this one?”  Great.  New phone acquired.  New phone number secured.  All is well with the world right?  Again, not so much.

Boy comes home yesterday and tells me he has been getting bizarre voicemails from people and equally strange texts. So he reads me a few of the texts.  Good thing the boy already has a complete vocabulary of swear words because I am sure I used at least a half dozen choice words.  You see, after finding out the general content of the messages the boy was getting, I immediately do what every person with functioning brain and a decent internet connection does:  I Google the number.   Well, if there isn’t a lovely picture of a lady wearing almost nothing and MY SONS CELL NUMBER printed delicately between her legs (probably to keep said picture a teeny bit G rated).  I almost lost my lunch.  Really?  I was on the phone to the mobility provider before you could say: “what the hell.”  I explain the horrifying situation to Mr. Personality of a Flea that his fine company gave my son a sleazy, escorts number and the number is plastered all over the internet.  Mr. Flea explains to me that the number most likely belonged to Ms. Escort previously and would I like to change the number?  Really dude?  You know how much of a pain in the ass it is to change your number and contacts TWICE in a little over a month?  The boy in no way wants to change his number again and is in the background shaking his head NO and looking at me like he might just go a bit wiggy if I make the change.  So I tell Mr. Flea we are going to wait a week and see if we can take care of it another way.  I hang up only after being completely disgusted at the guys level of customer service.  If I worked there and got that call I would have been all “Oh my goodness, I am so sorry.  We certainly should have done a better job making sure the number your teenager was  given was ‘clean’ and I will report this to my manager so no other young person has to deal with this again.”  That was just a little bit of what I was looking for.  The guy did not give a shit and I was probably just interrupting his online game of Plants vs Zombies. 

I then spend the next hour sending hate, threatening emails to the escort service to remove my sons cell number from their website.  I will definitely update you all if I hear anything from the escort service (Really people: escort service? Who are we kidding here?) 

I did laugh about it the rest of the day and thanked my lucky stars the boy was older when this happened.  A friend mentioned what a complete shit show this whole thing would have been if it had happened to someone who had a jealous spouse.  Could you imagine?  Finding your husbands cell phone and seeing those messages thinking he was soliciting an escort service.  THAT my friends is law suit worthy! 

Draft of my letter to the phone company:

Dear Sirs:

Well it seems in your haste to make a quick sale you have successfully reassigned a cell number that once belonged to a disgusting, most likely disease ridden, escort named Portia to my teenager.  Way to go.  Come on people, you are not just a phone company, you also provide internet service as well.  Ever occur to you to have a gander at some of your retired numbers on line BEFORE you put them out there for re-use?  Would it hurt to check these things out?  Would it also hurt to train your customer service personnel to be a little bit sensitive and perhaps proactive?  Honestly, a ten year old could have handeled that call better. 

I decided to censor the rest of the letter at this point.  To many nasty words were spilling onto the page and, although my mom doesn’t read this, I am sure someones mom does!

Stay tuned.

All in half a day. Aka Good vs Annoying

Today it seems is turning out to be one of those days where good and annoying are vying for the most votes.  The day started with something unexpected.  I saw a young taxi cab driver get out of his cab and help an elderly lady up to her doctors appointment on the second floor of a building.  He probably lost 6 bucks worth of time doing that for her and he didn’t see to mind.  Did I mention he was young?  Little while later I was sitting in an office with an older lady and gentleman.  They did not come in together.  They did however spend over 15 minutes trying to out “ailment” each other.  It was amusing at the start.  “Ya, well I have arthritis.  Do you?” They discussed the pills they were taking, the various parts that hurt and who had the next doctors appointment (Gentleman Jim won, his appointment was today.  Her appointment was way later.  Tomorrow.  Made me promise myself that I would never be that woman, although I have had a few conversations as of late with girlfriends about the slow decline of our bodies.)  The whole time the Ailment Fest was going on there was a young child screaming in the back of the office at the top of his lungs.  He was so hysterical that apparently the entire office staff of four needed to restrain him.  Fun.  So after they finished torturing the poor child the staff returns to the front and l, who I might add walked in and grabbed a little number from the “Take A Number” dispenser well before the elderly people arrived, get line jumped by Gentleman Jim!  What the heck dude?  Why do you need to jump the line?  Got a job to get back to?  Seriously!  Normally I am pretty patient but I was starting to lose my mind with all the kid screaming and the elderly complaining.  Held my tongue.  Even after being helped by a Snook-a-like in a nurses uniform who had the personality of a stick!

As I leave the office, a woman walks up to me and asks if I know where the washroom is.  I tell her and she turns and walks away.  Huh.  Manners?  So I called back a friendly “your welcome”.  Come on people.  I know you can do better. 

So far annoying is winning and it’s not even noon!

Perhaps We Are To Hard On Our Teenagers?

A friend recently sent me a link to a video of a dad shooting the laptop of his ungrateful little brat of a teenage daughter (yes, he shot the thing with a gun!).  Apparently her life was so hard she decided to share this with the entire world through social media and in the same breath completely trash her parents.   So her dad answered back.  Through social media.  After watching and listening to this dad I muttered “Every ungrateful teenager needs to see that.”  They also need to hustle their asses down to an inner city neighbourhood and/or a third world country to get an idea how bad they really have it.  Imagine the nerve of parents nowadays asking kids to make their beds and help unload the dishwasher?  Don’t those parents know that these are very stressful times for teenagers?  Why, they have to go to school for almost six whole hours a day, five whole days a week! (unless of course there is another one of those special pro-d day things, in that case it’s a whole four days.)   How can we expect them to do anything other than come home from school and sit in front of the tv or xbox until they get called for dinner and then back to the tv until 11:30 pm or so when they decide it’s time to go to bed?  I feel bad for teenagers.  They are also, it seems, expected to graduate from high school!  Holy Hannah! Isn’t that enough?  Why, I wonder, do we as parents expect any more of them with all the pressures they have of this impending graduation?  What? We also wouldn’t mind if they cleaned their room and cleaned up behind themselves?  Seriously.  Isn’t that asking too much? 

I’m not sure about you all, but I know when I was a teenager it was much easier.  My generation only had to graduate, have part time jobs (only if you actually wanted money), AND …… wait for it: we had chores.  I know this is a bizarre concept but we were actually required to help out around the house.  DAILY.  Not once and a while.  Not when it was convenient for us.  Not only after we had a two hour gaming session.  No.  We did them when we were told and we did them often.  Kinda makes sense looking back now.  I mean we did live there.  Why wouldn’t we help out in the upkeep of the home we lived in.  I also don’t recall my mother handing over any money so I could go to a movie (or buy a car for that matter) and she never spent $100.00 a month on a cell phone plan so I knew my friends social statuses or what celebrities were having for breakfast.

The best part?  When the dumb asses get on social media complaining about how mean their parents are and how they hate living with their parents and how incredibly hard done by they are.  I only wish they would also list why they hate living in such a bad place.  Is it because their dad beats them?  No.  Is it because they are neglected and have three younger siblings to care for?  No.  Is it because their mom is a heroin addict who can’t keep food in the house?  No. No. No.  It’s because they: have to pick up after themselves, help out around the house, at least pass their classes in school, be polite to others, make their bed and other seriously damaging, life altering demands.  (All the while they want laptops, Iphones (with monthly plans no less), expensive sport camps and equipment, to have no curfew, be able to go where ever and do what ever they want and have money given to them for their entertainment.)

So looking forward to the next generation of workers.  How many of them are going to have a conflict with their managers, stamp their feet and walk out of the workplace proclaiming "This isn't fair!" and then promptly Twitter the world of the incredible injustice they have just experienced (Only after getting in the car that Mommy and Daddy bought, insured and put gas in for them.)

Oh dear.  It's not lookin good.