Nettie, my mother's best friend and strongest encourager in her battle against cancer, died this morning from her own fight; it was something we all expected was coming as her cancer had been in her life for several years, but even death draws faster than we can prepare for. After all the ups and downs of hopes and dreams and promises of new medicines to buy more time, the end has to come eventually - we just pray it never does.
I spent Thanksgiving dinner with Jeannette and her husband Marcus and his sister Lynne who came over from Scotland. Being Scottish both Marcus and Lynne have a great, quick-witted and biting sense of humour - and while Jeanette used to snort when she laughed, it took all she had that night to nod her head and grimace. And though looking at her reminded me of my mom the week that she died, a breathing skeleton with vacant eyes, she still had her fire because she got up on her own, unannounced to get the gravy started for dinner. Even with everyone trying to sit her back on the couch and take over she snapped back " You will screw it up!"
She even had a plate of dinner, with her hubby's Yorkshire puddings made the right way with two eggs and milk on the kitchen counter to warm to room temperature.
Marcus told the infamous "Marky and Nettie Love Story" after dinner. Though physically impossible with all the drugs in her system Jeanette seemed to have a glow come from within her as he shared their wild tale of true love. She sat there with her eyes closed as if listening to a bedtime story, and every once in a while she would open her eyes and look at her husband and give him a knowing, loving look. He told of how they met in the 70's - Jeanette was working at UBC and Marcus was working on the ships in Scotland; his brother was attending UBC at the time and was an acquaintance of Nettie's. On a short break from the ships, Marcus decided to come over to visit his brother and as it happened there was a party the next night. Of course Jeanette was there and according to Marcus, the moment he laid eyes on her when they were introduced it was like he was struck with a big arrow of certainty and was immediately high on the love drug. They were both in relationships with other people at the time but had both been so smitten with one another that they knew that no matter what the outcome was, they would have to be together. Marcus continued to tell us that they spent the next night together ( although no sex was had) and the next night (when the sex was had) Marcus asked Jeanette while they were taking a walk together "I know this sounds a bit insane especially considering we've only known eachother three days, but would you fancy getting married? Oh and could you let me know soon, my trip is coming up short and I've got to get back to the ships."
It wasn't until a little later on that night after Marcus had told us the story and everyone had gotten up to tidy up the dishes that Jeanette had mustered up the strength to tell me this : "Heather I didn't know much then or know what to think, but all I knew when I met Marcus and he asked me to marry him, that NO was not an option. "
I will miss Jeanette so much. Saying goodbye to her is like letting go another piece I had left of my mother - grief comes back again, though this time it is a little easier, and a little more bittersweet.
To me, Fair Friend, you can never be old,
For as you were when first your eye I ey'd,
Such seems your beauty still. - William Shakespeare
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
Don't get too close to me - you'll wish your Mama never had you.
Evidently this evening I'm a wee bit cranky (Schmoe, be thankful you are working tonight. <3) and the end is nowhere in sight.
Today at work was bearable thank goodness, because it was just me and the new kid, and bailing was not an option. See my monthly issues are a bit more of a pain to deal with than what seems to be the average woman's ordeal. I keep telling myself that if giving birth ever becomes a reality in my life it will be like a picnic in the park just with sweltering heat and little pests everywhere, but a lovely, uneventful picnic lunch nonetheless. I must have a fantastic level of pain tolerance in order to be able to function when the bitch is in town. She always overstays her welcome and is known to hang around for a full seven days, and even sends her things a week ahead of time sending me in a mad dash for supplies and hard drugs and sends my fiance into hiding. When he has detected it is safe for him to come out, he tells me that two weeks out of the month are enjoyable for him -poor guy. Oh whatever, he still proposed to me.
So after work this evening I go to the store and I go about getting my usual groceries. I of course needed to make a stop into the feminine care aisle. I reach to grab a box of tampons when a male store clerk comes strutting down the aisle like Mr. GQ and asks me assuredly if he can assist me with anything obviously not taking note of where we were both standing. I gave him a blank stare as I held my box of tampons in mid-air, wondering if this guy was trying to be funny or completely out of his mind thinking he could possibly know more about women's feminine hygiene products than me. I swore I saw the colour drain from his face when he clued in and with a start looked at the O.B. box of buckshots in my hand, took one look at my face and bolted.
I didn't think so.
Well he made me forget about the pain for a moment.
I finally got what I needed and made my way to the register, and of course waited in line behind a guy with a fist full of coupons. It's probably my upbringing, but seeing a guy being so frugal with his groceries and taking enough time to cut out the rebates is really odd; I'm still not sure where I stand on that right now, you might want to ask me later.
By the time bizzo is finally rung through, cashier girl is working double time and has already started scanning my items through and before I can tune back into the real world after reading about Oprah's secret love-child with an Alien, it has come time for me to pay. Always wanting to be one step ahead, I go digging through my purse to find my wallet deep within; once located I try to find my debit card which is NOWHERE to be found. And now I am annoyed at myself. I am crampy, bitchy, flustered and now embarassed because I am holding up another customer who is heaving air and sighing so much that I cast my steely glaze their direction and the hint is taken. Cashier girl tells me to take my time, it's probably in my bag; she understands because she does it all the time. Well that annoyed me because I am really organized for the most part, this kind of shit doesn't happen to me, and I am not usually spacey and flighty but this bitch has been here almost a week and it's time for her to go cause she's wreaking havoc. Just to top it off, as I am tossing things out of my purse like Mary Poppins, I hear a familiar annoying voice at the end, "Can I assist you to your vehicle with your purchases?". I look up slowly to face none other than BuckShot boy from the Menstruation section.
"No. thank. you." I growled back in a tone that said "Can I help throw you into oncoming traffic?"
Finally I located the damn card, paid and got the hell out of there. Unfortunately with my period comes nausea, and it didn't help when 'Pee-Man' was there waiting at the bus-stop to get on. I seem to think this man suffered a brain injury of some sort in the past, because while not that old he is not completely altogether, as in a few pieces short of a puzzle, a jig-saw type. There are two smells that absolutely make me want to wretch and that is the smell of human urine ( most strong in the city when people pee on the exteriors of buildings) and cat piss. 'Pee-Man' unfortunately for all of us, smells like both; and today was particularly bad. I didn't know how bad right away, I just knew the moment that I saw him standing there picking his nose as if he was seeking the Holy Grail, that I would smell him and I might be sick. AMAZINGLY enough I held it together by covering my mouth and nose to avoid any asphyxiation and vomit inducing as well as turning off my hearing aids so I couldn't hear him clearing his noise by forcing the air out of his nostrils hoping to loosen up the walls.
Oh Lord help me.
Save me from this insanity.
Save this world from my insanity.
Menopause is looking real good these days.
Today at work was bearable thank goodness, because it was just me and the new kid, and bailing was not an option. See my monthly issues are a bit more of a pain to deal with than what seems to be the average woman's ordeal. I keep telling myself that if giving birth ever becomes a reality in my life it will be like a picnic in the park just with sweltering heat and little pests everywhere, but a lovely, uneventful picnic lunch nonetheless. I must have a fantastic level of pain tolerance in order to be able to function when the bitch is in town. She always overstays her welcome and is known to hang around for a full seven days, and even sends her things a week ahead of time sending me in a mad dash for supplies and hard drugs and sends my fiance into hiding. When he has detected it is safe for him to come out, he tells me that two weeks out of the month are enjoyable for him -poor guy. Oh whatever, he still proposed to me.
So after work this evening I go to the store and I go about getting my usual groceries. I of course needed to make a stop into the feminine care aisle. I reach to grab a box of tampons when a male store clerk comes strutting down the aisle like Mr. GQ and asks me assuredly if he can assist me with anything obviously not taking note of where we were both standing. I gave him a blank stare as I held my box of tampons in mid-air, wondering if this guy was trying to be funny or completely out of his mind thinking he could possibly know more about women's feminine hygiene products than me. I swore I saw the colour drain from his face when he clued in and with a start looked at the O.B. box of buckshots in my hand, took one look at my face and bolted.
I didn't think so.
Well he made me forget about the pain for a moment.
I finally got what I needed and made my way to the register, and of course waited in line behind a guy with a fist full of coupons. It's probably my upbringing, but seeing a guy being so frugal with his groceries and taking enough time to cut out the rebates is really odd; I'm still not sure where I stand on that right now, you might want to ask me later.
By the time bizzo is finally rung through, cashier girl is working double time and has already started scanning my items through and before I can tune back into the real world after reading about Oprah's secret love-child with an Alien, it has come time for me to pay. Always wanting to be one step ahead, I go digging through my purse to find my wallet deep within; once located I try to find my debit card which is NOWHERE to be found. And now I am annoyed at myself. I am crampy, bitchy, flustered and now embarassed because I am holding up another customer who is heaving air and sighing so much that I cast my steely glaze their direction and the hint is taken. Cashier girl tells me to take my time, it's probably in my bag; she understands because she does it all the time. Well that annoyed me because I am really organized for the most part, this kind of shit doesn't happen to me, and I am not usually spacey and flighty but this bitch has been here almost a week and it's time for her to go cause she's wreaking havoc. Just to top it off, as I am tossing things out of my purse like Mary Poppins, I hear a familiar annoying voice at the end, "Can I assist you to your vehicle with your purchases?". I look up slowly to face none other than BuckShot boy from the Menstruation section.
"No. thank. you." I growled back in a tone that said "Can I help throw you into oncoming traffic?"
Finally I located the damn card, paid and got the hell out of there. Unfortunately with my period comes nausea, and it didn't help when 'Pee-Man' was there waiting at the bus-stop to get on. I seem to think this man suffered a brain injury of some sort in the past, because while not that old he is not completely altogether, as in a few pieces short of a puzzle, a jig-saw type. There are two smells that absolutely make me want to wretch and that is the smell of human urine ( most strong in the city when people pee on the exteriors of buildings) and cat piss. 'Pee-Man' unfortunately for all of us, smells like both; and today was particularly bad. I didn't know how bad right away, I just knew the moment that I saw him standing there picking his nose as if he was seeking the Holy Grail, that I would smell him and I might be sick. AMAZINGLY enough I held it together by covering my mouth and nose to avoid any asphyxiation and vomit inducing as well as turning off my hearing aids so I couldn't hear him clearing his noise by forcing the air out of his nostrils hoping to loosen up the walls.
Oh Lord help me.
Save me from this insanity.
Save this world from my insanity.
Menopause is looking real good these days.
Johnny Appleseed - AMEN!
Last night concluded all of the Thanksgiving shenanigans that might take place during the weekend with my family; it was also my cousin Nantina's birthday.
My aunt went on a baking frenzy this weekend and believe it or not made a killer pumpkin pie so I really didn't need to waste all my time buying the mass-produced styrofoam junk in the stores - whatever, I'll still eat it. My aunt also made two attempts last night to bake my cousin a cake. A simple no fuss 'any-dumbass-can-do-it-so-can-you' Betty Crocker type cake. Of course my aunt being a careful baker checked on the progress and upon seeing uneven shape on the surface thought that bubbles in the batter was no good and so after a few minutes of baking in the oven, proceeded to take the pan out and bang it on the counter, thus letting all air out of said bubbles. I don't need to tell you I am sure that the result was a VERY flat sad looking cake. It did not rise much more. She then flipped pan the over and the 'cake' flopped out. This sad brick simply would not do for her adult child and so she insisted she have another go; only this time would let the cake do it's thing. Everything was going according to plan the second time around, my aunt carefully making sure noone spoke too loudly or walked too 'heavily' in the house should the cake fall again. It all looked quite beautiful (a better word for 'normal') when she removed it hot from the oven; however things went terribly, terribly wrong when she flipped it over again to remove the cake from the pan and instead of coming out nicely in one piece it had come out in pieces. I'm sure my aunt was cursing herself because she knows as well as anyone that you are supposed to let the cake COOL before doing any flipping or any removal.
I will say that no cake goes uneaten in my family, and it doesn't matter what condition it turns out to be, just hand out the forks and they will have at'er.
We also do things according to traditions, however we also create our own. Instead of turkey we opted for beef dip for dinner - I'm sick of the bird anyway, it's over-rated. As usual there's very little of anything serious happening at the table, normally jokes are told and people are mocked and it's another day at our house, but as all families should do, we reflected on memories and went round the table sharing what we were thankful for in our lives. It went a little something like this:
Cousin Nantina : "I'm thankful for my mother who makes me not one, but two cakes because she loves her daughter oh-so-much."
Me: " I'm thankful to have an Aunt and Uncle who love us and support us."
Sister 1 : "Ditto"
Sister 2 : "Ditto"
Uncle Neil : " I'm thankful for John Labbatt." ( as he looks fondly at his beer can) " No but in all seriousness, I am thankful that 'The Rick Mercer Show' and 'This Hour Has 22 Minutes' has been moved to Tuesday nights because otherwise I'd be missing them right now."
Aunty Lou : " Wow Neil. That was moving. (rolls eyes) Well I am thankful for all my family whom I love, even though they are a little crazy and morals are questionable. And I am thankful for my little granddaughter Alyson and her sister or brother inside her mummy's tummy."
Alyson : (makes funny face) two year old's statement is inaudible.
Cousin Ian : "Yeah I wanna ditto what Aly just said and also I am thankful that I can pass gas and it doesn't hurt. I just did, did anybody hear it? It was AWESOME! Felt soooo good."
Alyson : shrieks of horror and disgust " NANA!! DADDY STINKY!"
And of course we ended it all with the glorious birthday cake that almost never was.
" And so I thank the LORD! For giving me the things I need, the sun and the rain and the appleseed! The Lord is good to me! JOHNNY APPLESEED! AMEN!
*food fight ensues*
My aunt went on a baking frenzy this weekend and believe it or not made a killer pumpkin pie so I really didn't need to waste all my time buying the mass-produced styrofoam junk in the stores - whatever, I'll still eat it. My aunt also made two attempts last night to bake my cousin a cake. A simple no fuss 'any-dumbass-can-do-it-so-can-you' Betty Crocker type cake. Of course my aunt being a careful baker checked on the progress and upon seeing uneven shape on the surface thought that bubbles in the batter was no good and so after a few minutes of baking in the oven, proceeded to take the pan out and bang it on the counter, thus letting all air out of said bubbles. I don't need to tell you I am sure that the result was a VERY flat sad looking cake. It did not rise much more. She then flipped pan the over and the 'cake' flopped out. This sad brick simply would not do for her adult child and so she insisted she have another go; only this time would let the cake do it's thing. Everything was going according to plan the second time around, my aunt carefully making sure noone spoke too loudly or walked too 'heavily' in the house should the cake fall again. It all looked quite beautiful (a better word for 'normal') when she removed it hot from the oven; however things went terribly, terribly wrong when she flipped it over again to remove the cake from the pan and instead of coming out nicely in one piece it had come out in pieces. I'm sure my aunt was cursing herself because she knows as well as anyone that you are supposed to let the cake COOL before doing any flipping or any removal.
I will say that no cake goes uneaten in my family, and it doesn't matter what condition it turns out to be, just hand out the forks and they will have at'er.
We also do things according to traditions, however we also create our own. Instead of turkey we opted for beef dip for dinner - I'm sick of the bird anyway, it's over-rated. As usual there's very little of anything serious happening at the table, normally jokes are told and people are mocked and it's another day at our house, but as all families should do, we reflected on memories and went round the table sharing what we were thankful for in our lives. It went a little something like this:
Cousin Nantina : "I'm thankful for my mother who makes me not one, but two cakes because she loves her daughter oh-so-much."
Me: " I'm thankful to have an Aunt and Uncle who love us and support us."
Sister 1 : "Ditto"
Sister 2 : "Ditto"
Uncle Neil : " I'm thankful for John Labbatt." ( as he looks fondly at his beer can) " No but in all seriousness, I am thankful that 'The Rick Mercer Show' and 'This Hour Has 22 Minutes' has been moved to Tuesday nights because otherwise I'd be missing them right now."
Aunty Lou : " Wow Neil. That was moving. (rolls eyes) Well I am thankful for all my family whom I love, even though they are a little crazy and morals are questionable. And I am thankful for my little granddaughter Alyson and her sister or brother inside her mummy's tummy."
Alyson : (makes funny face) two year old's statement is inaudible.
Cousin Ian : "Yeah I wanna ditto what Aly just said and also I am thankful that I can pass gas and it doesn't hurt. I just did, did anybody hear it? It was AWESOME! Felt soooo good."
Alyson : shrieks of horror and disgust " NANA!! DADDY STINKY!"
And of course we ended it all with the glorious birthday cake that almost never was.
" And so I thank the LORD! For giving me the things I need, the sun and the rain and the appleseed! The Lord is good to me! JOHNNY APPLESEED! AMEN!
*food fight ensues*
Monday, October 09, 2006
For the Love of Pumpkin Pie
For some odd reason, I have not been able to get my hand on some pumpkin pie for about the last three years. I never used to care much for it, that nutmeg flavour really didn't jive with my tastebuds but as it always happens, the foods you hate as a kid suddenly get tastier with age (that or your tastebuds have all been killed off.). So in an attempt not to miss out this year I went to the store and bought two - one for myself and roomie, and another to take to my family's tonight for dinner. I went to one store near my apartment first, but they didn't have whip cream so I wasn't going to waste my time with the pie if they don't have anything to top it with. Just like how I can't eat my pancakes without syrup, I cannot eat pumpkin pie without the whip cream; and it can't be just any kind of whip/whipped cream, it has to be the CANNED 'whoooooooooosh' kind, not the frozen 'Cool Whip' edible-oil-product(or in other words trans fat)-in-a-tub stuff, nor the liquid cream in the carton that needs sugar added and a good beating - it has to have a nozzle and it has to make a noise. It is the only way to eat pumpkin pie. And I would prefer it be chilled ahead of time, thank you very much.
I blame my mother for this pie insanity.
What's up with this new canned chocolate whip cream? I'm all for chocolate in any way, shape, form and wrapper, and heck I will probably end up with a can of this whip cream in my hand, but what is it FOR? Oh I know, it's for the lonely Saturday nights watching movie marathons without Schmoe. * sigh. When he's here I'm sure I will find other uses.
This year I will not be having turkey - no, in fact I am having both Thanksgiving dinners with Scottish folk so there will only be roast beast, smashed tatties, turneeps and peas and Yorkshire pudding with gravy - oh and now, there shall be the heralded Pumpkin Pie. Bring on the whip cream!
whoooooooossshh!
I blame my mother for this pie insanity.
What's up with this new canned chocolate whip cream? I'm all for chocolate in any way, shape, form and wrapper, and heck I will probably end up with a can of this whip cream in my hand, but what is it FOR? Oh I know, it's for the lonely Saturday nights watching movie marathons without Schmoe. * sigh. When he's here I'm sure I will find other uses.
This year I will not be having turkey - no, in fact I am having both Thanksgiving dinners with Scottish folk so there will only be roast beast, smashed tatties, turneeps and peas and Yorkshire pudding with gravy - oh and now, there shall be the heralded Pumpkin Pie. Bring on the whip cream!
whoooooooossshh!
Saturday, October 07, 2006
Giving Thanks and Astronomical Wedgies
This weekend is the Canuck Thanksgiving; when I was younger I remember our dinners being loud, busy and full of hooliganry.
My family used to congregate down at our trailer in WA state and there we would meet up with our other family members and countless friends; it wasn't unusual to have more than 50 people in attendance, but this often resulted in quadruple the amount of food and several turkeys (one year we named them respectfully 'Charles, Princess Di and Camilla' - they even wore crowns.). There was always a large group of kids that we counted on being there and of course we would run around causing trouble, with the dogs chasing after us getting in the way of adults carrying trays of food, peeling potatoes and carrots and heaving picnic tables to form a dining area not unlike a mess hall. It was chaos and everyone loved it.
We were fortunate most years to have our friend Lisa Brokop join us for the weekend; this usually meant she was taking a break from recording or touring or just home to visit from Nashville. She always brought her guitar and would treat us to songs around the campfire, with her mother playing the accordion by her side. One year, Lisa brought her friend Doug Flutie with her for the big dinner - I of course had no idea who this man was, but figured he had to be famous enough when all these people came to my trailer and they weren't there to see Lisa. My dad would pester me to get his autograph, but never told me who he was. I know now he was a famous quarterback football player for the NFL; his brother Darren plays for the CFL. Now that I am older, I see him endorsing cheap long distance phone companies and breakfast cereals on t.v. whereas his brother has taken his place as a football star. That's gotta hurt, just a little bit.
As a kid I was pretty contemplative and was often caught deep in thought and analyzing the person in front of me; I remember watching this Doug Flutie man sitting in my dad's lawn chair in my yard in front of my campfire with my dog running around him as he talked about his kids and Sesame Street. I was baffled as to why my dad, a proud, silent man would be so coy as to ask me his young daughter for this man's autograph. What was so special about this guy? Hardly a hero, in my opinion.
Now that Thanksgiving is here again, I look back on those dinners that I so looked forward to every year, when everyone was carefree and when life seemed to hold fewer burdens. I think about the loved ones who are now gone and those whose lives are drawing to a close, never to join us again and I am saddened. But with pain comes the opportunity to consider what is still left to be enjoyed, what Thanksgiving dinners are yet to come when the children of years ago now have children of their own and a new generation is born to carry on their own carefree ways. I know that even though my trailer is gone and my parents will not be joining my family this year, that some things will never change - jokes will still be told, skits will be performed, children will sing and dance and my cousin Ian will still give us all wedgies when we least suspect it. Ya gotta love family.
My family used to congregate down at our trailer in WA state and there we would meet up with our other family members and countless friends; it wasn't unusual to have more than 50 people in attendance, but this often resulted in quadruple the amount of food and several turkeys (one year we named them respectfully 'Charles, Princess Di and Camilla' - they even wore crowns.). There was always a large group of kids that we counted on being there and of course we would run around causing trouble, with the dogs chasing after us getting in the way of adults carrying trays of food, peeling potatoes and carrots and heaving picnic tables to form a dining area not unlike a mess hall. It was chaos and everyone loved it.
We were fortunate most years to have our friend Lisa Brokop join us for the weekend; this usually meant she was taking a break from recording or touring or just home to visit from Nashville. She always brought her guitar and would treat us to songs around the campfire, with her mother playing the accordion by her side. One year, Lisa brought her friend Doug Flutie with her for the big dinner - I of course had no idea who this man was, but figured he had to be famous enough when all these people came to my trailer and they weren't there to see Lisa. My dad would pester me to get his autograph, but never told me who he was. I know now he was a famous quarterback football player for the NFL; his brother Darren plays for the CFL. Now that I am older, I see him endorsing cheap long distance phone companies and breakfast cereals on t.v. whereas his brother has taken his place as a football star. That's gotta hurt, just a little bit.
As a kid I was pretty contemplative and was often caught deep in thought and analyzing the person in front of me; I remember watching this Doug Flutie man sitting in my dad's lawn chair in my yard in front of my campfire with my dog running around him as he talked about his kids and Sesame Street. I was baffled as to why my dad, a proud, silent man would be so coy as to ask me his young daughter for this man's autograph. What was so special about this guy? Hardly a hero, in my opinion.
Now that Thanksgiving is here again, I look back on those dinners that I so looked forward to every year, when everyone was carefree and when life seemed to hold fewer burdens. I think about the loved ones who are now gone and those whose lives are drawing to a close, never to join us again and I am saddened. But with pain comes the opportunity to consider what is still left to be enjoyed, what Thanksgiving dinners are yet to come when the children of years ago now have children of their own and a new generation is born to carry on their own carefree ways. I know that even though my trailer is gone and my parents will not be joining my family this year, that some things will never change - jokes will still be told, skits will be performed, children will sing and dance and my cousin Ian will still give us all wedgies when we least suspect it. Ya gotta love family.
Saturday, September 16, 2006
How to Scar Your Child for Life
I first saw this a couple weeks ago and laughed my head off and quickly forgot about it. Today I was reminded of this sick contraption as I was thinking about how some people I meet in my daily travels (even my own family members, dare I say) seem to be a bit 'quirky' and I start to wonder what happened to them in their childhood that would make them so odd as adults. Well whatever it was, this gadget shown above is the 21st century's version of the ultimate trauma inducer.
This thing here is called the 'BabyKeeper'. It's actually a clever, albeit weird solution to a real issue that parents have when they are out running errands with their rugrats and run into the dreaded problem of having to use the facilities; how is one supposed to hang on to the child while they hold their pants ( or, err... 'other' belongings)? ANSWER : You just throw this bad boy ( not the kid) over the door and sling your child inside! There Junior hangs in wait as he watches the most mortifying scene of mum or dad relieving their innards in plain view. And if it stinks, he's got nowhere to run, perfect. I think I will use it as a method of discipline for my kid, even when he's 13 yrs old.
But not only is it a sick tool for minding your child while you are busy doing your 'business' but it's a PRACTICAL sick tool! Why not get your kid to hold your purse and coat while he/she watches you hover and squat? Kid kicking you in the head? No problem, give the baby a roll of toilet paper to occupy themselves. Just throw your coat over the kid's head to blind them like they do with animals who scare easily. Beautiful.
Just be warned Mum and Dad, this invention will haunt Junior for the rest of his days. He will think of you the day the class bully hangs him up by his underwear on the hooks in the locker-room and hate you for the pansy he has become. You'll get yours someday! And 'Shame' will be your middle name.
Jimmy Wants Donkeys
Yep, Jimmy wants Donkeys. Jimmy wants donkeys at his wedding. Jimmy's fiancee is actually considering having donkeys at her wedding. Apparently donkeys cost big $$$, so won't you support Jimmy in his quest for some ass?
www.jimmysdonkeyfund.com
'Cause hey, who doesn't like the idea of donkeys wearing sombreros and carrying saddlebags full of cervezas at a wedding reception? Who needs waitstaff when you can have Noble Steeds? Mariachi band? Save your money! Rent donkeys instead!
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Operation Eden
Operation Eden
Clayton is still going at it - using his gift to help his Mom and little brother and thousands like them recover from the wrath Katrina left behind a year ago.
I'm glad Bush is there. I'm glad he is walking past the homes still left barely standing, walking past the people crying softly while sitting on the front steps of what used to be their homes. I hope his breath is caught as he walks past the thousand plus candles lit in memory of those who could not make it out.
My friend Suseh used her vacation time from work to take a trip to Mississippi a month ago to help Habitat for Humanity build houses. When she came back home, she was sick and dead tired and she said she felt as though she had worked so hard and yet accomplished so little - the work left to do is unthinkable. Barely a dent has been made in the devastation still left behind.
I am on the fence about this one year anniversary coverage that all the networks are devoting their time time to - while of course it is needed to remind the world that Katrina may be long gone but NOLA is still trying to pick up, I can't help but get past the feeling that it is boosting their ratings. Instead, I look to Clayton and others like him who have devoted their efforts and honesty and personal connections to document what is really going on.
For those of who who read my blog, if I haven't already convinced you to look at Clayton's photos, please do so - it's good to get a healthy dose of reality and pull the heartstrings.
Clayton is still going at it - using his gift to help his Mom and little brother and thousands like them recover from the wrath Katrina left behind a year ago.
I'm glad Bush is there. I'm glad he is walking past the homes still left barely standing, walking past the people crying softly while sitting on the front steps of what used to be their homes. I hope his breath is caught as he walks past the thousand plus candles lit in memory of those who could not make it out.
My friend Suseh used her vacation time from work to take a trip to Mississippi a month ago to help Habitat for Humanity build houses. When she came back home, she was sick and dead tired and she said she felt as though she had worked so hard and yet accomplished so little - the work left to do is unthinkable. Barely a dent has been made in the devastation still left behind.
I am on the fence about this one year anniversary coverage that all the networks are devoting their time time to - while of course it is needed to remind the world that Katrina may be long gone but NOLA is still trying to pick up, I can't help but get past the feeling that it is boosting their ratings. Instead, I look to Clayton and others like him who have devoted their efforts and honesty and personal connections to document what is really going on.
For those of who who read my blog, if I haven't already convinced you to look at Clayton's photos, please do so - it's good to get a healthy dose of reality and pull the heartstrings.
Monday, August 28, 2006
Fountain of Youth contained in an Ass's teet - who knew?
World's oldest woman, Maria Esther de Capovilla, dead at 116
Born on Sept. 14, 1889 - the same year as Charlie Chaplin and Adolf Hitler - Capovilla traced her lineage to Spanish nobility, but enjoyed drinking donkey milk in her youth.
Interesting. ( can someone please fill me in on the relevance of the above sentence? Spanish nobility, donkey milk - I says pardon?)
Yes, Mrs. de Capovilla was the world's oldest woman on record - remembering of course that there could very well be many other cryptkeepers like herself amongst us; back in the day everything was documented by chiseling into stone tablets, so it's not easy to produce the proper documents and identification to prove one's true age and not just the one when everyone forgot to keep count. "You're how old again Aunt Agnes?" "Who? ME? Bah, I been long and dead years ago, I just came for supper."
Hmm, I wonder if Mrs. de Capovilla would get carded at the liquor store....
Anyway, yes so obviously in getting with the times, wallets decreased in size to accomodate the new pocket size I.D. cards and the engraved stones were far too heavy to lug around in one's back pocket let alone to fit in a leather billfold or purse, and stone was a commodity back in the day too, I'm sure of it. Bartering was the way they did it back then, they traded donkeys for stone, and donkeys were expensive! And imagine what a pain in the ass ( ooops, hehehe pun intended) it would have been to bring your donkey in for some rock, only to have no donkey to drag it home for you? Yes, those were trying times. Now today, you can definitely barter a piece of your own ass for 'rock', in fact we have a name for it : CRACK HO.
But Mrs. de Capovilla was lucky. She didn't need to trade in her ass for rock, no her family could afford proper identification and she was fortunate enough to have been able to preserve it all these years. So what did she do with all her donkeys you might ask? She kept them for her cereal in the morning! How do you suppose she got so bloody old?
Born on Sept. 14, 1889 - the same year as Charlie Chaplin and Adolf Hitler - Capovilla traced her lineage to Spanish nobility, but enjoyed drinking donkey milk in her youth.
Interesting. ( can someone please fill me in on the relevance of the above sentence? Spanish nobility, donkey milk - I says pardon?)
Yes, Mrs. de Capovilla was the world's oldest woman on record - remembering of course that there could very well be many other cryptkeepers like herself amongst us; back in the day everything was documented by chiseling into stone tablets, so it's not easy to produce the proper documents and identification to prove one's true age and not just the one when everyone forgot to keep count. "You're how old again Aunt Agnes?" "Who? ME? Bah, I been long and dead years ago, I just came for supper."
Hmm, I wonder if Mrs. de Capovilla would get carded at the liquor store....
Anyway, yes so obviously in getting with the times, wallets decreased in size to accomodate the new pocket size I.D. cards and the engraved stones were far too heavy to lug around in one's back pocket let alone to fit in a leather billfold or purse, and stone was a commodity back in the day too, I'm sure of it. Bartering was the way they did it back then, they traded donkeys for stone, and donkeys were expensive! And imagine what a pain in the ass ( ooops, hehehe pun intended) it would have been to bring your donkey in for some rock, only to have no donkey to drag it home for you? Yes, those were trying times. Now today, you can definitely barter a piece of your own ass for 'rock', in fact we have a name for it : CRACK HO.
But Mrs. de Capovilla was lucky. She didn't need to trade in her ass for rock, no her family could afford proper identification and she was fortunate enough to have been able to preserve it all these years. So what did she do with all her donkeys you might ask? She kept them for her cereal in the morning! How do you suppose she got so bloody old?
Now THAT's a kick to the ball sack!
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Sunday, August 27, 2006
Portobello West!
Oh I can foresee saying farewell to my hard-earned cash on the last Sunday of every month when this UBERcool market takes place at the Plaza of Nations!
The exhibitors list alone gives me goosebumps! One doesn't have to go trekking all over Vancouver to find all the unique styles and designs of local homegrown artisans and designers, instead they will congregate one day out of the month to show off their wares!
I am done for!
I wish I could have gone out to the very first market today, but conveniently one will be happening on my birthday weekend next month - oh yes, oh yes.
Kinda makes me think I should get in on the action and put my creative side to some use - maybe make some $ on the side. Oh but to make money you have to spend money and well all these other creative folks who already spent their money are now getting mine! Oh! The INSANITY!
Friday, August 25, 2006
Strange Dreams
I had a dream last night that my sisters and I woke our Mom up from her death. I don't remember exactly HOW we did that, because she was cremated and well that would take an awful long time putting her back together again. What I do remember, however, is that she wasn't quite finished healing, as if when you get to heaven there is a process that takes a duration of time in order for your new body to come to fruition, instead of the INSTANT renewal I'm sure we all imagine. She was groggy, and quiet, a bit ticked off like we all are first thing in the morning when we have to go to work and the only place we want to be is snuggled under the warm covers again. We tried to converse with her and make up for lost time but she was having no part of it. In fact it reminded me of how she was just days before she died, delirious from her pain meds and in and out of consciousness. In the dream it made us uncomfortable to be so selfish to keep her from healing properly for our own selfish wants to have our Mom back again, so we did what we had done when she was alive and in so much pain, we told her to go home to heaven, that it was ok and that we loved her. And just like that, she was gone.
Sometimes at night I hear her calling my name like she used to do to wake me up for school.
Scares the hell out of me sometimes but I like it.
Sometimes at night I hear her calling my name like she used to do to wake me up for school.
Scares the hell out of me sometimes but I like it.
Friday, August 18, 2006
When the odds of winning the lottery are not enough
So in my ongoing quest to gain more money to pay off my debts and live a half decent life I have decided to join a lottery pool with the three other co-workers; for $2 every friday I give myself four chances at winning millions, unfortunately we are up against the rest of the country. Thankfully the population of Canada is not nearly the size of the US, but that means our jackpot is not the grandeur sweepstakes that is the US lotto, however for this same reason I have a better chance of winning than say, Ms.Jane Doe of Springfield, Illinois.
I realize of course that my chances of hitting the jackpot are are slim to none and that I am potentially wasting my pocket change (ok so loonies and toonies can amount to some decent cash if saved up, but that takes too long) and of course should the planets and stars align in my favour and I do get lucky, I still have to split my winnings amongst the three others; still, that adds up to a whole lot of loonies and toonies and hat would pay off my ever-growing credit cards bills, pay my rent and send me to school!
It's been suggested to me that I get a part-time job on the side, or be creative - well prostitution is out of the question and what the hell can I make that would gain me some padding in my wallet? Sure I am creative and can come up with some decent artwork if I can get past my perfectionist tendencies and actually finish what I start.
Fresh out of ideas, I figure gambling is my best bet(no pun intended). Loan sharks are hungry and looking for fresh blood according to the newspapers these days- people are going missing and they just so happen to be gamblers with more to lose than they are worth and apparently dial-a-dope crack dealers are making a KILLING! But see, crack dealers are slime balls and I would hate to be one of them - I just want money, I don't want to ruin people's lives in the process.
Apparently it's not just me who's out to strike it rich; even the old people are all lined up at the lotto kiosks in the mall, camping out at the food court tables scratching their lives away. This morning on the way to work I was reading the daily free crappy newspaper that everyone gets hit in the head with pushy vendors and after reading the Employment section I read more about high school drug pushers and the governments feeble attempts at dealing with payday-loan type businesses and the glories of being a loan shark here in this gambling addicted region. It was there on the third page in I read a short quip in the top right hand corner about two old bitties in California, who appeared to be frustrated at their own financial stresses and saw little chance of winning the US Jackpot, decided to kill a couple of homeless guys for a few million bucks. WHY THE HELL DIDN'T I THINK OF THAT? Brilliant.
Old people are not as sweet and delicate as they appear. These two old bags were a tag team and devised a plan to befriend two transients and convince them to be signed onto the old bitties insurance. After all was said and done and everyone was had by two old tricksters, the ladies then ran over both homeless persons, dragging them to their deaths. I'm sure this didn't all happen in one day, which makes it even more sick to think both women did not have the conscience or heart to feel badly for what they were doing and were about to do.
Needless to say, it didn't work. Both homeless persons are now dead and two old women are in the slammer with their big fat debts still haunting them.
Cross that plan off the list then, back to the drawing board.
* I will find out tomorrow for sure if I have won anything. In the meantime I am off for a weekend island getaway, a little fun in the sun with my sisters and cousins - the forecast calls for great fun to be had under the sun, should be a good time. We just hope the seagulls don't drop their loads on our tummies as we bake on the beach.
I realize of course that my chances of hitting the jackpot are are slim to none and that I am potentially wasting my pocket change (ok so loonies and toonies can amount to some decent cash if saved up, but that takes too long) and of course should the planets and stars align in my favour and I do get lucky, I still have to split my winnings amongst the three others; still, that adds up to a whole lot of loonies and toonies and hat would pay off my ever-growing credit cards bills, pay my rent and send me to school!
It's been suggested to me that I get a part-time job on the side, or be creative - well prostitution is out of the question and what the hell can I make that would gain me some padding in my wallet? Sure I am creative and can come up with some decent artwork if I can get past my perfectionist tendencies and actually finish what I start.
Fresh out of ideas, I figure gambling is my best bet(no pun intended). Loan sharks are hungry and looking for fresh blood according to the newspapers these days- people are going missing and they just so happen to be gamblers with more to lose than they are worth and apparently dial-a-dope crack dealers are making a KILLING! But see, crack dealers are slime balls and I would hate to be one of them - I just want money, I don't want to ruin people's lives in the process.
Apparently it's not just me who's out to strike it rich; even the old people are all lined up at the lotto kiosks in the mall, camping out at the food court tables scratching their lives away. This morning on the way to work I was reading the daily free crappy newspaper that everyone gets hit in the head with pushy vendors and after reading the Employment section I read more about high school drug pushers and the governments feeble attempts at dealing with payday-loan type businesses and the glories of being a loan shark here in this gambling addicted region. It was there on the third page in I read a short quip in the top right hand corner about two old bitties in California, who appeared to be frustrated at their own financial stresses and saw little chance of winning the US Jackpot, decided to kill a couple of homeless guys for a few million bucks. WHY THE HELL DIDN'T I THINK OF THAT? Brilliant.
Old people are not as sweet and delicate as they appear. These two old bags were a tag team and devised a plan to befriend two transients and convince them to be signed onto the old bitties insurance. After all was said and done and everyone was had by two old tricksters, the ladies then ran over both homeless persons, dragging them to their deaths. I'm sure this didn't all happen in one day, which makes it even more sick to think both women did not have the conscience or heart to feel badly for what they were doing and were about to do.
Needless to say, it didn't work. Both homeless persons are now dead and two old women are in the slammer with their big fat debts still haunting them.
Cross that plan off the list then, back to the drawing board.
* I will find out tomorrow for sure if I have won anything. In the meantime I am off for a weekend island getaway, a little fun in the sun with my sisters and cousins - the forecast calls for great fun to be had under the sun, should be a good time. We just hope the seagulls don't drop their loads on our tummies as we bake on the beach.
Thursday, August 17, 2006
My Love Hate Relationship with YouTube
I have been debating whether or not to get a bikini wax or even the full-on brazilian, however after viewing this video clip I now know I probably will never get that wax nor can I trust YouTube ever again.
Damn You, YouTube. Damn You.
Damn You, YouTube. Damn You.
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Don't touch my Keith's or I will have to kill you.
I knew this was going to happen. My roommate stole one of my beers. Roomie, who is eligible for the senior's discount, frequents the local beer and wine store far more than I do. Her beer of choice is Rickard's Red, and while I like that one I much prefer my Keith's. See? I even put a possessive in front it : MY Keith's. I love this beer, and I hate beer-moochers.
I hate to be the bad guy who shows up at a party or get-together without libation in tow. Sure it's offered, 'oh go and grab a beer from the fridge' but it's an unofficial one-time only invitation. After that, you risk your reputation, your own future beer stock and even possibly, your life.
It happened before - roomie snagged one of my beers without informing me or asking. I had gone into the fridge to grab it, only to find I was grabbing at thin air. I go and check the empties and inventory tells me I should have one left and before I could second guess myself whether I had already drank it, there Roomie stood in front of me with my beer in her hand . " Oh, I took your last beer, hope you don't mind."
heh. old bag.
What was I going to say ? I couldn't be so low and trivial and have a tantrum about my last beer. No, instead I remembered that the chances were good of her coming home the next day with a case, and I would swipe one without her knowing. Sure enough I did just that and she never said anything, but it would figure that it would backfire on me; now she has taken it upon herself to go ahead and take my beers in the future.
Tonight after I had come home I quietly snuck into the apartment and placed my case of bottles in the fridge ever so carefully without making a noise - they were still in the plain white plastic bag so not to give away the contents, tucked away safely near the back of the fridge on the bottom shelf.
Sure enough an hour later I heard a knock on my door, it was Roomie in her sickening syrupy sweet voice asking if she could have just ONE beer.
I stomped and jumped up and down and cursed under my breath and then composed myself " Sure! Go right ahead! I hope you like it!"
God I'm such a wimp.
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
"It's a FREE Country!" - or is it?
I witnessed the most bizarre argument this evening, which is saying a lot considering I hail from a town of yahoos and public fights are a normal occurence.
They were already sitting there waiting for the bus when I came, just two teenagers 'in love'. She was sitting on his lap, they both weren't speaking and I thought nothing of it; enter stage left, an elderly lady who lives near me in another apartment makes her way into the shelter and sits beside the lovebirds. I was making some phone calls on my cell to help pass the time and I had turned around momentarily to check my surroundings only to see the two kids now completely engaged in a heavy make-out session. She was standing in front of him as he stayed seated and his head was lost in her chest while his hands groped her behind. Obviously this took me by surprise but the look on the lady's face made me tell my sister on the phone I was going to have to call her back later.
Now I know this older lady to be quite pleasant; her voice is soft and almost child-like and her hair is always done immaculately, twisted in a coil and positioned on top of her head and her blouses are always buttoned up to her chin. She walks slowly with the aid of her cane but always wears pumps with a two inch heel. Everyone knows her and they greet her because they can expect the same in return. I have to admit that just her presence and likeability makes her almost 'grandmotherish' even to a stranger and so the urge was there to get the kids to behave while in her presence. Before I could even think of how to I was going to approach them about toning it down a notch there she was with her cane waving in the air " You two oughtta be ashamed! Look at the both of you carrying on without a care in the world. Why you, young lady have barely got any clothing on at all and here you are displaying your 'ass'ets to everyone on Columbia Street! The NERVE! Teenagers these days, they all want to be Hollywood."
I thought for sure the two kids would be so embarassed at being scolded by a complete stranger in public for their sexual antics that they would stop and be on their merry way, but would you believe the girl actually got up in front of the lady's face and challenged her to fight? She was excessively rude hurling a string of obscenities the old lady's way, telling her that she was old and decrepit, cranky and ugly and not with the 'times'. She even pulled my favourite talk-show teenager line " You don't know me! Who are you to judge me, you don't know me!" The old lady's response was "Why would I want to know you? There's nothing to know, it's all right here for my eyes to see, and I don't want to know a two-bit whore." Well that last comment just added more fuel to the fire.
It never went anywhere, even with my own attempts at backing the old lady up in her arguments. I told the kids that it was disrespectful not only to her but also to me and I said it wouldn't be something they would want to brag about that they got into an argument with an elderly person. Hardly something to boast about.
The girl returned my comments with her bold statements " If someone wants to start sh*t with me, I throw the sh*t back. I don't give a f*ck if it's some old hag, I'll bring it if that's what they are looking for. It's a free f*cking country - didn't you know lady, this is CANA-DUH, we can do whatever the f*ck we want."
I was sure this lady was thinking her husband fought in the war so that this girl could get it on in public without any regard for others. I just hope she didn't think it was all pointless.
Would you believe that this lady then started to get on my case for revealing too much of my own 'goods' once we were seated on the bus and discussing what had just transpired. She did it in her not so subtle way and I did my best not to look as though her comment affected me, but humbled, I pulled my shirt up a little higher when she got up to exit the bus.
She was still muttering to herself and waving her cane in the air as she walked to her building. Poor old girl, I hope she can sleep tonight and learn to pick her battles in the future, some are futile.
They were already sitting there waiting for the bus when I came, just two teenagers 'in love'. She was sitting on his lap, they both weren't speaking and I thought nothing of it; enter stage left, an elderly lady who lives near me in another apartment makes her way into the shelter and sits beside the lovebirds. I was making some phone calls on my cell to help pass the time and I had turned around momentarily to check my surroundings only to see the two kids now completely engaged in a heavy make-out session. She was standing in front of him as he stayed seated and his head was lost in her chest while his hands groped her behind. Obviously this took me by surprise but the look on the lady's face made me tell my sister on the phone I was going to have to call her back later.
Now I know this older lady to be quite pleasant; her voice is soft and almost child-like and her hair is always done immaculately, twisted in a coil and positioned on top of her head and her blouses are always buttoned up to her chin. She walks slowly with the aid of her cane but always wears pumps with a two inch heel. Everyone knows her and they greet her because they can expect the same in return. I have to admit that just her presence and likeability makes her almost 'grandmotherish' even to a stranger and so the urge was there to get the kids to behave while in her presence. Before I could even think of how to I was going to approach them about toning it down a notch there she was with her cane waving in the air " You two oughtta be ashamed! Look at the both of you carrying on without a care in the world. Why you, young lady have barely got any clothing on at all and here you are displaying your 'ass'ets to everyone on Columbia Street! The NERVE! Teenagers these days, they all want to be Hollywood."
I thought for sure the two kids would be so embarassed at being scolded by a complete stranger in public for their sexual antics that they would stop and be on their merry way, but would you believe the girl actually got up in front of the lady's face and challenged her to fight? She was excessively rude hurling a string of obscenities the old lady's way, telling her that she was old and decrepit, cranky and ugly and not with the 'times'. She even pulled my favourite talk-show teenager line " You don't know me! Who are you to judge me, you don't know me!" The old lady's response was "Why would I want to know you? There's nothing to know, it's all right here for my eyes to see, and I don't want to know a two-bit whore." Well that last comment just added more fuel to the fire.
It never went anywhere, even with my own attempts at backing the old lady up in her arguments. I told the kids that it was disrespectful not only to her but also to me and I said it wouldn't be something they would want to brag about that they got into an argument with an elderly person. Hardly something to boast about.
The girl returned my comments with her bold statements " If someone wants to start sh*t with me, I throw the sh*t back. I don't give a f*ck if it's some old hag, I'll bring it if that's what they are looking for. It's a free f*cking country - didn't you know lady, this is CANA-DUH, we can do whatever the f*ck we want."
I was sure this lady was thinking her husband fought in the war so that this girl could get it on in public without any regard for others. I just hope she didn't think it was all pointless.
Would you believe that this lady then started to get on my case for revealing too much of my own 'goods' once we were seated on the bus and discussing what had just transpired. She did it in her not so subtle way and I did my best not to look as though her comment affected me, but humbled, I pulled my shirt up a little higher when she got up to exit the bus.
She was still muttering to herself and waving her cane in the air as she walked to her building. Poor old girl, I hope she can sleep tonight and learn to pick her battles in the future, some are futile.
Friday, August 11, 2006
Would you please stop that? Ma'am? Thank you.
"ohhh. otay."http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5sCL_AATSv4
My trip home today on the loser cruiser reminded me of a MadTV skit where
My hearing aids were turned off as they normally are when I am the bus on my way to or from work - this keeps the noise levels at a comfortable level and it also helps me avoid the weirdos who try to make conversation, they see the hearing aids and assume I am deaf, not that I am ignoring them. Love these things. Some like to call it selective hearing, I call it peace and quiet. See there's benefits to being'impaired'.
Normally I would also have my eyes closed, most people do this to rest their eyes or catch up on some needed sleep missed the night before, I however do it so the perv standing in front of me doesn't think I am staring at his crotch and the woman beside him, her ass. But today on my way home was different. I was seated near the front of the bus, a miracle in itself to even get the chance to sit and though my hearing aids were off I could see the 'NEXT STOP' light on the ceiling to the right of me blinking on and then off, on, off, on, off, on, off. I knew it had to be one of three things : a child having a field day while mum or dad was unaware; a malfunction of the bell system or an aloof passenger leaning against the bell located at hip level for those in wheelchairs trying to stay out of everyone's way. The bus was far too full for me to see through the bodies to see if in fact someone was triggering the bell unbeknownst to them. I could see heads start to turn as the bell would ring and the light illuminate with every movement of the bus. Was someone playing games? Did they think this was FUNNY? Well I did - I tried my darndest to stifle my laughter as I imagined the bus driver giving way to his ticks of annoyance everytime the light flickered. I could see his reflection in the rear-view mirror trying to find the culprit, but it was fruitless, too many bodies. I heard a muffled announcement so I quickly turned my WHISPER 2000 aids on to hear "...if you could KNOCK IT OFF, I would appreciate it. And if anyone is aware of who is doing this, kindly come up to the front and tell me. Thank you." His obvious threat of bodily harm seemed to do little good as the bell continued to ring and light-up at every bump, turn and lurch. One person hollered at the driver to 'STOP THE BUS!! You missed my stop!" Only for the driver to slam on his brakes and retort back " How do I know when someone wants to get off, the jokester wants to get off at every stop."
This was all becoming too funny. It was clear there were no children on the bus and certainly someone would have glared the prankster into stopping the nonsense but still it continued. It could only mean one thing, and sure enough as the bus stopped to let another passenger off, people shifted to make room and there I saw her, the unsuspecting woman leaning against the bell with a worried look on her face.
The driver was still mad as hell that noone would fess up to the dirty deed and I didn't want to embarass the lady by hollering at her to please "step away from the bell". I was given a chance to approach her discreetly as a frail elderly woman stepped onto the bus; I immediately offered up my seat and went to the offending woman and explained that she was in fact the one to blame. I felt badly for her with an embarassed look on her face, one mixed with disbelief that she was the one causing the bus- driver to pop his anxiety pills, and the other passengers to curse under their breath. Sure enough she realized it was indeed her. The driver practically kicked us all off the bus once we approached the station. I swore the bus was still moving when he opened the doors.
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
Is it Friday yet?
Well here I am back at work after a long weekend; it was BC Day, not Canada Day as I am sure many Americans may have thought - but then again I bet they didn't even blink when it was Canada Day, three days before July 4th, but thanks anyway.
I don't have a lunch because rent broke me and it's starting to rain. The sun was shining when I left home this morning so naturally I didn't bring a jacket and an umbrella would have been of zero use to me unless it was for self-defense - little did I know at the time; so as you can see my day so far is not off to a good start - and it's only Tuesday.
You might be thinking "Relax, at least it's Tuesday and not Monday!", well that is exactly where the problem lies. When the calendar calls for the weekend to be a long one, we all jump for joy at the chance to sleep in on Monday but we forget so easily to read the small print where it promises us that the next four days are going to be long and grueling, and it NEVER, EVER fails. Go ahead and try to find it in your pin-up girls, exotic get-away locales and cuddly animal calendars, sure enough it will heed this little warning.
So I am debating whether or not we should even have these long weekends in the first place - I mean sure they are there in place to commemorate events such as Rememberance Day and hey don't the Brits actually celebrate a day where some dude named Guy Fawkes tried to burn down the Parliament Buildings? I realized after they were celebrating the fact that he got nailed for doing it, not praising him for trying - but hey they are English, they're funny like that.
Regardless, I don't know if an extended weekend is worth the extended week that follows... now if we would all just join together and call for the abolishment of long weekends maybe my voice will be heard.
anyone with me?
Hello? Those buggers took an extra day off - why didn't I think of that? DAMMIT!
I don't have a lunch because rent broke me and it's starting to rain. The sun was shining when I left home this morning so naturally I didn't bring a jacket and an umbrella would have been of zero use to me unless it was for self-defense - little did I know at the time; so as you can see my day so far is not off to a good start - and it's only Tuesday.
You might be thinking "Relax, at least it's Tuesday and not Monday!", well that is exactly where the problem lies. When the calendar calls for the weekend to be a long one, we all jump for joy at the chance to sleep in on Monday but we forget so easily to read the small print where it promises us that the next four days are going to be long and grueling, and it NEVER, EVER fails. Go ahead and try to find it in your pin-up girls, exotic get-away locales and cuddly animal calendars, sure enough it will heed this little warning.
So I am debating whether or not we should even have these long weekends in the first place - I mean sure they are there in place to commemorate events such as Rememberance Day and hey don't the Brits actually celebrate a day where some dude named Guy Fawkes tried to burn down the Parliament Buildings? I realized after they were celebrating the fact that he got nailed for doing it, not praising him for trying - but hey they are English, they're funny like that.
Regardless, I don't know if an extended weekend is worth the extended week that follows... now if we would all just join together and call for the abolishment of long weekends maybe my voice will be heard.
anyone with me?
Hello? Those buggers took an extra day off - why didn't I think of that? DAMMIT!
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