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”.