For the first time in a long time, I was able to take some time to read the newspaper. I was able to get caught up on a local catastrophe, the horrific accident early Wednesday morning that caused a major traffic jam, as well as the story about Martha Stewart's new home.
As far as the accident, it's certainly a good thing it happened in the wee hours of the morning or there would have been a lot of fatalities. That 401 is becoming so clogged all day long with trucks and cars that it's hard to discern when rush hour starts and ends. There is really no good time to drive on it unless it's after 10:00 pm. When is the government going to realize that we have to do something to improve transportation in and around the city? It seems that the 401 is always under some sort of construction but it never really improves. Whoever designed the section where the 427 joins the 401 should be shot or better yet, chained to a chair in the middle of lane three from the right shoulder, right where you exit the 401 west to take the 427. That lane, for years, used to be an exit lane or a drive straight and stay on the 401 lane, but now, after some construction, it's been turned into an exit only lane. You might be wondering what the big deal is, because it doesn't sound like one but it is.
Close your eyes (on second thought don't, you need to keep reading) and visualize this huge trans Canada highway cutting through one of the largest cities of the country. At this one point we have 6 + lanes heading west. 3 lanes in the express and 3 plus in the collectors. The express and collectors lanes are separated by a concrete median. Everyone is driving at full tilt coming around this bend with a slight incline. The concrete median disappears and now you have 6 lanes all conjoined, heading harmoniously in the same direction.
A big overhead sign indicates three lanes for the 427 to your right and 3 lanes for the 401 to your left. Remember that before, that third lane from your right would allow you to take either the 401 or 427. All of a sudden you have a flash of red as brake lights come on simultaneously across all lanes and everyone comes to a complete standstill. It happens every friggin day. I don't even wait to see the flash of red anymore, I just take my foot off the gas as I am heading around the bend because I know that I will be screeching to a halt as six lanes of cars try to jockey around so that everyone can go in the direction they want. You invariably have some asshole at the last minute realizing that he can't go straight or turn, that is sitting in that third lane. Near accidents happen every day because of this improvement.
And it continues to go downhill from there. You lose the collectors lanes for a little while but get them back briefly after you pass the 427. Then you lose them completely after the cut off for the 410/403 where at one point if you were in the express lanes, your lanes decrease to two. Why could they not maintain the flow and allow the decrease in lanes to happen slowly outside of the metro area? Away from Toronto/Mississauga?
That is part of the daily struggle thousands of us put up with everyday while we try to get to work on time. You would think that employers would be empathetic to commuters and allow a flexible start/end within a half hour or so. If you are late 10 mins then you stay late 10 mins at the other end of the day. How hard would that be? Instead you have people sitting in traffic jams that are completely beyond their control, going crazy because they are fearful of losing their jobs. It's absolutely ridiculous.
Ok, I'm through with the 401 for now. Onto more pressing issues, Martha Stewart.
I can't help but feel a little sorry for her. I know, you're thinking I'm completely crazy, but as far as I'm concerned, she probably didn't do anything that tons of other people haven't and don't do every day, but she got caught and is being made an example of. For what I'm not sure. What will change by persecuting poor Martha? Will other rich people with access to inside information decide NOT to advantage themselves because they're afraid that they too may have to spend a few months behind bars? I doubt it very much. I think that people are jealous of her success and are happy to see her fall. For that I feel sorry for her. I feel sorry that she is disliked that much.
This is why I hate reading the news. I get all pissed off and upset.
Tomorrow I'm only going to read the comics. :o)
Thursday, September 30, 2004
We're in!
Finally the old apartment is empty. Mom and I took one final walk through before we handed in the keys and it was a good thing. I had left my good broom, no not the one I use to fly around on, but my good broom that I sweep with. It was in the corner of my old bedroom.
Not sure why moving is so hard, not only physically, but emotionally as well. We've had lots of arguments, tears and laughter the past week. Everyone is affected in a different way.
As I put the key in the lock for the final turn, my mother asked me if I was sad. I said yes I was. I remember how excited my daughter and I were when we moved in. The beginning of a new journey is always exciting. I looked at the grimace on my mother's face and returned the question back to her. She laughed, "No I'm not sad to be leaving here. Don't forget, I wasn't here as long as you were and I didn't have a room. So no, I'm not sorry that I'm not sleeping on the sofa in the livingroom anymore."
I forgot that she had been camping out in the livingroom for the past couple of months until we moved. So no, it wouldn't be the same for her, but I know that there were places in the past that she moved from with tears in her eyes.
I keep reminding myself that homes are just bricks and mortar and that isn't the thing that makes you happy or sad for that matter. It's the memories that you built while you lived there. Happily, memories move right along with you.
I think I'll take a moment to relax before I start into the next phase (unpacking).
Not sure why moving is so hard, not only physically, but emotionally as well. We've had lots of arguments, tears and laughter the past week. Everyone is affected in a different way.
As I put the key in the lock for the final turn, my mother asked me if I was sad. I said yes I was. I remember how excited my daughter and I were when we moved in. The beginning of a new journey is always exciting. I looked at the grimace on my mother's face and returned the question back to her. She laughed, "No I'm not sad to be leaving here. Don't forget, I wasn't here as long as you were and I didn't have a room. So no, I'm not sorry that I'm not sleeping on the sofa in the livingroom anymore."
I forgot that she had been camping out in the livingroom for the past couple of months until we moved. So no, it wouldn't be the same for her, but I know that there were places in the past that she moved from with tears in her eyes.
I keep reminding myself that homes are just bricks and mortar and that isn't the thing that makes you happy or sad for that matter. It's the memories that you built while you lived there. Happily, memories move right along with you.
I think I'll take a moment to relax before I start into the next phase (unpacking).
Wednesday, September 29, 2004
Impulsive, Spontaneous Idiot
Not sure if I've mentioned before that I can be impulsive. Impulsive and spontaneous. I'm also a salesman's dream. I'm sure silent alarms are triggered as I enter stores, signalling all sales personel to be on the lookout for me, the easy sell.
It happened to me again yesterday. I was out on a shopping trip to buy a mattress and boxspring for my mother. That was cool. I knew what I wanted and where I was buying it and after laying around on a few different mattresses, I had made my purchase all within 15 minutes of walking in the store.
I was in and out in no time. Pleased with my speedy shopping prowess, I decided that I should drop into The Brick (a store I never shop in) and see what they have in the line of entertainment units.
My stereo stand is rickety and the TV stand is old, and I thought that the new apartment deserved something better. It deserved a unit worthy of its wall. Nothing big and bulky. Nothing cheap looking. It should be stylish yet classic, sleek and modern, but not stark. The most important thing would be that it should house my stereo and TV all in one unit. I wanted to be able to access the stereo easily, so it would be preferable to have open shelves as opposed to glass doors.
Upon entering The Brick I was quickly greeted by a female salesperson. She was friendly enough but was not overly aggressive. I managed to easily wrangle myself out of her clutches within seconds.
Before I departed however, I spoke with two more salespeople, and one of them sold me an entertainment centre. The last one like it, because it was so popular. The ugliest piece of furniture, what in the hell were you thinking?, according to my daughter when I showed it to her today. In the back of my mind, I already knew this and this is why I decided to take her back to the store today to show her my purchase prior to it's delivery on Wednesday.
I'm not sure if it was the fact that she almost wet herself laughing so hard when I showed her my prize or her frank statements on what a piece of shit it was, but something about her reaction gave me the strength that I needed to cancel the order and get a refund.
With her total support, I managed to be firm, say no, get money back and walk out of store without dying of embarrassment.
I'm not allowed to do anymore shopping alone.
It happened to me again yesterday. I was out on a shopping trip to buy a mattress and boxspring for my mother. That was cool. I knew what I wanted and where I was buying it and after laying around on a few different mattresses, I had made my purchase all within 15 minutes of walking in the store.
I was in and out in no time. Pleased with my speedy shopping prowess, I decided that I should drop into The Brick (a store I never shop in) and see what they have in the line of entertainment units.
My stereo stand is rickety and the TV stand is old, and I thought that the new apartment deserved something better. It deserved a unit worthy of its wall. Nothing big and bulky. Nothing cheap looking. It should be stylish yet classic, sleek and modern, but not stark. The most important thing would be that it should house my stereo and TV all in one unit. I wanted to be able to access the stereo easily, so it would be preferable to have open shelves as opposed to glass doors.
Upon entering The Brick I was quickly greeted by a female salesperson. She was friendly enough but was not overly aggressive. I managed to easily wrangle myself out of her clutches within seconds.
Before I departed however, I spoke with two more salespeople, and one of them sold me an entertainment centre. The last one like it, because it was so popular. The ugliest piece of furniture, what in the hell were you thinking?, according to my daughter when I showed it to her today. In the back of my mind, I already knew this and this is why I decided to take her back to the store today to show her my purchase prior to it's delivery on Wednesday.
I'm not sure if it was the fact that she almost wet herself laughing so hard when I showed her my prize or her frank statements on what a piece of shit it was, but something about her reaction gave me the strength that I needed to cancel the order and get a refund.
With her total support, I managed to be firm, say no, get money back and walk out of store without dying of embarrassment.
I'm not allowed to do anymore shopping alone.
Monday, September 27, 2004
Day uhmmm four?
This is day four of the big, slow, move down the hall. Day four for Mom and daughter but only day two for me. *thank god*
This was a productive day but it seemed like all I was doing most of it was waiting on people.
The telephone was hooked up early this morning without any intervention from an actual person, well maybe there was intervention but it would be akin to Homer Simpson pressing a button rather than someone coming out with a tool belt and friggin around with wires. That was good. Rogers cable did have to send a tech out though. They said they would be here between 11:00am and 2:00pm. The fellow arrived at 11:10am with tool belt, back pack and clip board in hand. He looked very officious even though I guessed he was only 14 years old. Perhaps it was because he was Asian that he looked so youthful. In any event, he was very efficient and had everything up and running in no time.
My building had also scheduled Rogers cable to come into my unit today to do repairs on the line that runs down this end of the building. There were two of those fellows working on that little project so it became very confusing whenever another Rogers cable guy came to the door and wondered where the other Rogers Cable guy was. I could never figure out what guy they were looking for and it invariably took a few questions just to get that far. I'm not sure but I think I detected a little bit of impatience when I just didn't come out with the answer they wanted immediately. Of course, once I explained that there was "my guy" and the "building guy", it was all perfectly clear. The building cable guys frigged around in and out of my apartment until after 2:00pm.
My daughter asked me to give her a ride to work this morning prior to any service people arriving and I thought it would be a good time to change my address at the Post Office. I never imagined that something that should only take approx 5 min would end up taking close to an hour.
I know, you're already thinking that I should know better, especially since I'm a government worker myself, but I am not your typical government worker. I have good work ethics and do believe in customer service.
Not so, where I visited this morning. It was about 10:05am. The Postal Station is located in the mall where my daughter works. The lineup was already 6 deep when I filed in at the end of the line.
No problem, two people are working. Shouldn't take long.
Postal Worker One was an East Indian woman with Henna markings all over her hands and arms. From my location at the back of the line, I thought she had either burn marks or had tried to slit her wrists at some point. She took a long time staring at the computer screen over the top of her bifocals in between short conversations with her client who actually departed the store for about 5 minutes before reappearing in front of her again while the rest of us just stood and watched.
There wasn't anything else to look at because Postal Worker Two, a 40ish woman with long, stringy blonde hair who looked like she had just rolled out of bed after a night of heavy drinking had quickly departed through a doorway after her one customer had left.
She was gone forever and I wondered if the bag that she was looking for was located at the other end of the mall. Or perhaps she had to drive the envelope to a secret location in another part of the city. One could only wonder, because it seemed like she had completely vanished through the mystery door when all of a sudden she sauntered slowly back into view.
The woman at the front of the line waited patiently for Postal Worker Two to call the next person, but instead a lady who had been working away at an envelope at one of the stations off to the side, jumped in front of everyone else and asked Postal Worker Two for a piece of tape. This was not a quick request. It's difficult to move quickly after a drinking binge. Postal Worker Two moved in a sloth like manner to fetch the tape dispenser off the back counter. I was afraid she would have to enter the mystery door, but breathed a sigh of relief when she stopped short and reached the tape without disappearing from view.
Postal Worker Two must have been happy for the diversion because she chatted a little bit with the line budding woman, even chuckled before saying goodbye.
Impatient woman at the front of the line was not happy. She even spoke out against Postal Worker Two for serving someone who clearly had not been standing with the rest of us. Postal Worker Two was like a viper, sarcastically asking if she was wanting to be looked after now and then making a point of letting us all know that she had waited on the line butting person prior. This must have been last week, or the week before but she tried to tell us all that the woman had just purchased some stamps just moments before and it was not necessary for her to have to stand in line twice. I tucked that away in the back of my mind, because I had a funny feeling that I would be expected to step away from the counter once I made my request and then I would have to wait once again to hand the completed forms in.
I looked at the woman behind me in disbelief at the rotten customer service and told her that I guess the rest of us should take note not to expect good customer service, or rather any service, and if we have a problem with the level of service we are receiving, we better not speak out about it or we are liable to get no service at all. She laughed and agreed. She then confided that she purposely came into the Post Office an hour before needing to be at work, because she knew that she would end up spending most of her time in a lineup.
She questioned why the gentleman that had come out of the mysterious door once, handed a roll of coin to Postal Worker Two and had glanced around the room at all the people waiting, didn't open one of the wickets to help clear the crowd. I laughed and told her that was wishful thinking. He was clearly a manager. Besides, what incentive do they have to speed up and provide good service? There is none. If we are unhappy about it, then we can go home without our stamps, but the reality is that our mail will never get delivered unless we go back, stand in line and take the shitty service that will be doled out to us.
In the end, I got Postal Worker One, was handed forms, told to fill them out over there and then I jumped back in front of other people who were waiting. I was home about an hour after I left.
The balance of the day was spent looking after the cable guys, going to buy my mom a new box spring and mattress, buying a new entertainment centre, buying a new computer desk and putting it together, then throwing my computer together to finally get back online by 11:00pm tonight.
Tomorrow is another day. Things that still have to be done are: gather balance of belongings and lug down to new apartment, fill all nail holes with pollyfil, clean entire apartment, unpack and arrange new apartment and hopefully enjoy some time doing nothing. My body is aching from all the strange physical exertion and I'm glad that we have had so much time, otherwise I'm not sure my Mom or I would have survived.
This was a productive day but it seemed like all I was doing most of it was waiting on people.
The telephone was hooked up early this morning without any intervention from an actual person, well maybe there was intervention but it would be akin to Homer Simpson pressing a button rather than someone coming out with a tool belt and friggin around with wires. That was good. Rogers cable did have to send a tech out though. They said they would be here between 11:00am and 2:00pm. The fellow arrived at 11:10am with tool belt, back pack and clip board in hand. He looked very officious even though I guessed he was only 14 years old. Perhaps it was because he was Asian that he looked so youthful. In any event, he was very efficient and had everything up and running in no time.
My building had also scheduled Rogers cable to come into my unit today to do repairs on the line that runs down this end of the building. There were two of those fellows working on that little project so it became very confusing whenever another Rogers cable guy came to the door and wondered where the other Rogers Cable guy was. I could never figure out what guy they were looking for and it invariably took a few questions just to get that far. I'm not sure but I think I detected a little bit of impatience when I just didn't come out with the answer they wanted immediately. Of course, once I explained that there was "my guy" and the "building guy", it was all perfectly clear. The building cable guys frigged around in and out of my apartment until after 2:00pm.
My daughter asked me to give her a ride to work this morning prior to any service people arriving and I thought it would be a good time to change my address at the Post Office. I never imagined that something that should only take approx 5 min would end up taking close to an hour.
I know, you're already thinking that I should know better, especially since I'm a government worker myself, but I am not your typical government worker. I have good work ethics and do believe in customer service.
Not so, where I visited this morning. It was about 10:05am. The Postal Station is located in the mall where my daughter works. The lineup was already 6 deep when I filed in at the end of the line.
No problem, two people are working. Shouldn't take long.
Postal Worker One was an East Indian woman with Henna markings all over her hands and arms. From my location at the back of the line, I thought she had either burn marks or had tried to slit her wrists at some point. She took a long time staring at the computer screen over the top of her bifocals in between short conversations with her client who actually departed the store for about 5 minutes before reappearing in front of her again while the rest of us just stood and watched.
There wasn't anything else to look at because Postal Worker Two, a 40ish woman with long, stringy blonde hair who looked like she had just rolled out of bed after a night of heavy drinking had quickly departed through a doorway after her one customer had left.
She was gone forever and I wondered if the bag that she was looking for was located at the other end of the mall. Or perhaps she had to drive the envelope to a secret location in another part of the city. One could only wonder, because it seemed like she had completely vanished through the mystery door when all of a sudden she sauntered slowly back into view.
The woman at the front of the line waited patiently for Postal Worker Two to call the next person, but instead a lady who had been working away at an envelope at one of the stations off to the side, jumped in front of everyone else and asked Postal Worker Two for a piece of tape. This was not a quick request. It's difficult to move quickly after a drinking binge. Postal Worker Two moved in a sloth like manner to fetch the tape dispenser off the back counter. I was afraid she would have to enter the mystery door, but breathed a sigh of relief when she stopped short and reached the tape without disappearing from view.
Postal Worker Two must have been happy for the diversion because she chatted a little bit with the line budding woman, even chuckled before saying goodbye.
Impatient woman at the front of the line was not happy. She even spoke out against Postal Worker Two for serving someone who clearly had not been standing with the rest of us. Postal Worker Two was like a viper, sarcastically asking if she was wanting to be looked after now and then making a point of letting us all know that she had waited on the line butting person prior. This must have been last week, or the week before but she tried to tell us all that the woman had just purchased some stamps just moments before and it was not necessary for her to have to stand in line twice. I tucked that away in the back of my mind, because I had a funny feeling that I would be expected to step away from the counter once I made my request and then I would have to wait once again to hand the completed forms in.
I looked at the woman behind me in disbelief at the rotten customer service and told her that I guess the rest of us should take note not to expect good customer service, or rather any service, and if we have a problem with the level of service we are receiving, we better not speak out about it or we are liable to get no service at all. She laughed and agreed. She then confided that she purposely came into the Post Office an hour before needing to be at work, because she knew that she would end up spending most of her time in a lineup.
She questioned why the gentleman that had come out of the mysterious door once, handed a roll of coin to Postal Worker Two and had glanced around the room at all the people waiting, didn't open one of the wickets to help clear the crowd. I laughed and told her that was wishful thinking. He was clearly a manager. Besides, what incentive do they have to speed up and provide good service? There is none. If we are unhappy about it, then we can go home without our stamps, but the reality is that our mail will never get delivered unless we go back, stand in line and take the shitty service that will be doled out to us.
In the end, I got Postal Worker One, was handed forms, told to fill them out over there and then I jumped back in front of other people who were waiting. I was home about an hour after I left.
The balance of the day was spent looking after the cable guys, going to buy my mom a new box spring and mattress, buying a new entertainment centre, buying a new computer desk and putting it together, then throwing my computer together to finally get back online by 11:00pm tonight.
Tomorrow is another day. Things that still have to be done are: gather balance of belongings and lug down to new apartment, fill all nail holes with pollyfil, clean entire apartment, unpack and arrange new apartment and hopefully enjoy some time doing nothing. My body is aching from all the strange physical exertion and I'm glad that we have had so much time, otherwise I'm not sure my Mom or I would have survived.
Saturday, September 25, 2004
It's only down the hall...
The moving is in full swing. Well maybe half a swing. I had to go into work today and finish up some things that could not be left since I have next week off. I figured I would be home by early afternoon, but stayed at work until after 4:00pm. That sucked because my daughter and mother ended up doing a whole lot of the move today by themselves.
The best part was that they weren't killing one another by the time I got home.
My sister is getting her sons to give us a hand tomorrow with the heavy stuff and with any luck we'll be sleeping in the new joint tomorrow night.
My daughter has to work tomorrow, so she focused on her own room and is actually sleeping there tonight. It's a great apartment with the master bedroom and bath at one end and the other two bedrooms and bath at the other end. I decided to give the master to my daughter while my mom and I will be next to one another.
She set up her room, tv and bathroom tonight, then suddenly reappeared in the apartment to give us a kiss goodnight.
"Night, I'll see you in the morning!"
"Ok, bye."
The door closed and I went back to packing up my cd's.
"Did you hear what she was saying a minute ago?" My mom was laughing about something that my daughter had told her.
"No, what?"
"She said she had to come down and say goodnight because she was starting to feel sick all of a sudden. She said it felt like she had moved out of the house and she didn't like it. I'm telling you right now, she's never moving out!"
Ahhh, good, cause I'm not in a hurry to see her leave.
About half an hour later the phone rang. She called one more time to see if the cat missed her and to say goodnight. hehhehehehhehe, it's only down the hall, but far enough away for her to miss her aggravating grandma and mom.
The best part was that they weren't killing one another by the time I got home.
My sister is getting her sons to give us a hand tomorrow with the heavy stuff and with any luck we'll be sleeping in the new joint tomorrow night.
My daughter has to work tomorrow, so she focused on her own room and is actually sleeping there tonight. It's a great apartment with the master bedroom and bath at one end and the other two bedrooms and bath at the other end. I decided to give the master to my daughter while my mom and I will be next to one another.
She set up her room, tv and bathroom tonight, then suddenly reappeared in the apartment to give us a kiss goodnight.
"Night, I'll see you in the morning!"
"Ok, bye."
The door closed and I went back to packing up my cd's.
"Did you hear what she was saying a minute ago?" My mom was laughing about something that my daughter had told her.
"No, what?"
"She said she had to come down and say goodnight because she was starting to feel sick all of a sudden. She said it felt like she had moved out of the house and she didn't like it. I'm telling you right now, she's never moving out!"
Ahhh, good, cause I'm not in a hurry to see her leave.
About half an hour later the phone rang. She called one more time to see if the cat missed her and to say goodnight. hehhehehehhehe, it's only down the hall, but far enough away for her to miss her aggravating grandma and mom.
Friday, September 24, 2004
Moving
It's moving time again. We (mom, daughter and myself) are moving apartments in the same building. Not only the same building but the same floor. They (not sure who *they* are) say that moving is one of the most stressful things that you will endure during your lifetime, ranking high up on the list amongst death, marriage and starting a new job.
I have moved 18 times in my lifetime. This is number 18. This is the closest move I've made, just down to the end of my hall, and it is the most disorganized. We were to move on October 1st, but the property managers told me that if they got the apartment ready early, then they would give me the keys. I hadn't heard anything from them until last night. They gave us the keys a week early.
My mother left me a very excited, breathless message on my cell phone to hurry home because we were getting the keys. She could hardly contain herself. Since we decided that we were going to cohabit with one another again in early summer, my mom has been camped out in my living room. I guess the thought of being able to get dressed in a room with a door was the thing that really made her happy. Or it may have been the thought of being able to roll over in bed, stretch her feet out straight or I don't know just kind of sprawl on a 90 degree angle if her heart felt the urge. Whatever it was, she was bubbling over. I saved her voice message so that I can replay it some day when she is screaming at me.
I had to work today, so my daughter and mother were left to their own devices to start moving small things down the hall at their leisure. We still have a week. I took next week off work so that I could finish (actually start) packing. I didn't even consider that I would be able to move anything in until possibly Wednesday so anything that got moved today was an absolute bonus.
I thought that my family realized this as well. When I called to say I was on my way home from work it was apparent that the moving stress had already begun. My daughter admonished me for being a packrat and told me how many heavy boxes of books I own. She asked if there was any reason for having a box full of papers from 1981. The drill went on for quite a few minutes, as I meandered along the 401 parking lot on my way home.
The thought of not going home and going somewhere else flittered briefly through my mind. I tried to flick it off my brain as quick as I could. I know how weak minded I can be. The stories I could tell, but that can wait till later.
Home is where I went. Tempers were short. Grandma and Granddaughter were in separate rooms, both with miserable looks and I felt extremely guilty because I had been working all day.
I listened to the bitching about what the other did or said to the other one all day, and how much "junk" I have, and what could be the possible reason for not having thrown anything away. After the bickering stopped for a little while, I reminded them both that we weren't even supposed to be moving today. Today was a bonus, so SHUT UP.
I hate moving.
If I can't keep up with updates for a few days, it's because I'm being whipped into action. I'll be back soon.
I have moved 18 times in my lifetime. This is number 18. This is the closest move I've made, just down to the end of my hall, and it is the most disorganized. We were to move on October 1st, but the property managers told me that if they got the apartment ready early, then they would give me the keys. I hadn't heard anything from them until last night. They gave us the keys a week early.
My mother left me a very excited, breathless message on my cell phone to hurry home because we were getting the keys. She could hardly contain herself. Since we decided that we were going to cohabit with one another again in early summer, my mom has been camped out in my living room. I guess the thought of being able to get dressed in a room with a door was the thing that really made her happy. Or it may have been the thought of being able to roll over in bed, stretch her feet out straight or I don't know just kind of sprawl on a 90 degree angle if her heart felt the urge. Whatever it was, she was bubbling over. I saved her voice message so that I can replay it some day when she is screaming at me.
I had to work today, so my daughter and mother were left to their own devices to start moving small things down the hall at their leisure. We still have a week. I took next week off work so that I could finish (actually start) packing. I didn't even consider that I would be able to move anything in until possibly Wednesday so anything that got moved today was an absolute bonus.
I thought that my family realized this as well. When I called to say I was on my way home from work it was apparent that the moving stress had already begun. My daughter admonished me for being a packrat and told me how many heavy boxes of books I own. She asked if there was any reason for having a box full of papers from 1981. The drill went on for quite a few minutes, as I meandered along the 401 parking lot on my way home.
The thought of not going home and going somewhere else flittered briefly through my mind. I tried to flick it off my brain as quick as I could. I know how weak minded I can be. The stories I could tell, but that can wait till later.
Home is where I went. Tempers were short. Grandma and Granddaughter were in separate rooms, both with miserable looks and I felt extremely guilty because I had been working all day.
I listened to the bitching about what the other did or said to the other one all day, and how much "junk" I have, and what could be the possible reason for not having thrown anything away. After the bickering stopped for a little while, I reminded them both that we weren't even supposed to be moving today. Today was a bonus, so SHUT UP.
I hate moving.
If I can't keep up with updates for a few days, it's because I'm being whipped into action. I'll be back soon.
Wednesday, September 22, 2004
Walker?
I had to pick up my daughter at 9:00pm from her work. My mom reminded me at 8:45, so I wouldn't forget. I was really tired and did not feel like heading back out again, but I didn't want her to walk home either, so off I went, late as usual.
I could see that the light was green at my corner. The infamous corner where it refuses to change from red if you are unfortunate enough to get stuck there. Unless of course, you hit the right spot to activate it. For more information on this phenomenon, click here. Anyway, with a push to the gas pedal I was able to swerve around the corner, almost on two wheels, just as the yellow turned red.
While I was sitting at the next red light, worrying about being late and how my foot is killing me from some cracks on my heel, the phone rang.
"Hello, hello, hello! HELLO!"
"Hi Mom?"
"Hi."
"Do you want a walker?"
"A what?"
"A walker."
"What?"
"Do YOU want a FUCKING WHOPPER?!? You know, HAMBURGER?"
"Ohhhhh, sure, hahahha thanks."
What a sweet daughter I have! Such lovely language.
She's always telling me that I'm deaf. Maybe I am, or as what happened tonight, I was so self absorbed in my foot ache that I thought I heard her offering me a device to help me walk, rather than hearing what she was actually saying. Perhaps this is the real problem with hearing problems...listening.
I could see that the light was green at my corner. The infamous corner where it refuses to change from red if you are unfortunate enough to get stuck there. Unless of course, you hit the right spot to activate it. For more information on this phenomenon, click here. Anyway, with a push to the gas pedal I was able to swerve around the corner, almost on two wheels, just as the yellow turned red.
While I was sitting at the next red light, worrying about being late and how my foot is killing me from some cracks on my heel, the phone rang.
"Hello, hello, hello! HELLO!"
"Hi Mom?"
"Hi."
"Do you want a walker?"
"A what?"
"A walker."
"What?"
"Do YOU want a FUCKING WHOPPER?!? You know, HAMBURGER?"
"Ohhhhh, sure, hahahha thanks."
What a sweet daughter I have! Such lovely language.
She's always telling me that I'm deaf. Maybe I am, or as what happened tonight, I was so self absorbed in my foot ache that I thought I heard her offering me a device to help me walk, rather than hearing what she was actually saying. Perhaps this is the real problem with hearing problems...listening.
Tuesday, September 21, 2004
Arrogant Asshole 1 - Suzy Snow 0, for now
Dear Mr. Arrogant, Ignorant, Asshole:
I just wanted to thank you for almost pushing my car into the transport truck that was in the lane beside me this morning, when you decided that you would like to be where I was.
I'm really sorry that I didn't notice that you were trying to shove your arrogant ass in front of me. I hope you didn't think I was being cheeky when I laid on the horn for what seemed like at least ten minutes.
I was really happy that you ignored my spontaneous outburst and continued to barrel in where I was. I knew you were an intuitive person when you knew that I would back off rather than risk injuring myself, or other innocent commuters.
You really are amazing. Balls bigger than your head, I bet. Although if they are, I certainly do not want to see the tool that holds them up. Well, I guess I wouldn't mind seeing it, but forget about using it around me, I think I've already established that I do not like pain.
I hope you were able to take a few moments out of your busy, important life to read this letter. If I disturbed you, please accept my apologies and sincere hope that you get back to whatever it was that elevated you to supreme being of the 401 as quickly as possible.
Please rest assured that the next time you think you are superior and should be driving where I am, I will ram your sorry ass right into the guard rail so hard that they will need a tow truck just to pull your fucking teeth out of the concrete.
Sincerely,
Suzy Snow
I just wanted to thank you for almost pushing my car into the transport truck that was in the lane beside me this morning, when you decided that you would like to be where I was.
I'm really sorry that I didn't notice that you were trying to shove your arrogant ass in front of me. I hope you didn't think I was being cheeky when I laid on the horn for what seemed like at least ten minutes.
I was really happy that you ignored my spontaneous outburst and continued to barrel in where I was. I knew you were an intuitive person when you knew that I would back off rather than risk injuring myself, or other innocent commuters.
You really are amazing. Balls bigger than your head, I bet. Although if they are, I certainly do not want to see the tool that holds them up. Well, I guess I wouldn't mind seeing it, but forget about using it around me, I think I've already established that I do not like pain.
I hope you were able to take a few moments out of your busy, important life to read this letter. If I disturbed you, please accept my apologies and sincere hope that you get back to whatever it was that elevated you to supreme being of the 401 as quickly as possible.
Please rest assured that the next time you think you are superior and should be driving where I am, I will ram your sorry ass right into the guard rail so hard that they will need a tow truck just to pull your fucking teeth out of the concrete.
Sincerely,
Suzy Snow
Monday, September 20, 2004
Monday, Monday, La, La, lalalalaaaaaaaaaaaaa
Monday's suck eh? I hate Monday. Usually I do anyway, but today was not that bad. I was in a good mood when I woke up this morning. As tired as I was, from staying up too late, trying to catch up on my blog reading, I was in a pretty good mood. That is because I had a very good weekend.
It started out by me taking the day off work on Friday and driving 3 hours to a place called Southampton, on Lake Huron. Beautiful little town on the edge of one of the great lakes. Beautiful sandy beaches, with even more beautiful homes and cottages along the edge.
My best/oldest friend Debbie was performing in the ,Canadian Big Band Celebration. She has been taking voice lessons for approx 10 years as a hobby. She works full time and has no intention of pursuing this professionally, however, as in everything she does, she strives for perfection and puts a lot of effort into her craft. She is a great singer. She has a wonderful voice and is usually scared shitless before a performance. This was the first time that she has done a gig like this, singing from 9:00pm to 1:00am.
She had her own cheering section, her mom and dad, brother and his wife, second cousin and his wife, a couple that they know, her husband Dennis and me. We grabbed the two tables in front of the bar with a good view, and short distance for refreshments.
The compliments were very heartfelt and generous and the only negative comments were in regards to the noisy tables in front of the bar. Debbie tried to pretend that she didn't know us.
I made an extra special effort to capture the essence of her performance through the lens of my daughter's digital camera. I was unaware that after several glasses of red wine, a Caesar, white wine, then back to red that the operation of the "dummy proof" equipment would become so difficult. I managed quite nicely in Ottawa. It's a piece of cake.
The pics looked good in the camera. Yes some of them were a little dark, well maybe a lot dark, but wasn't that what the photo software was for? Aren't you supposed to be able to lighten, colour correct, focus, bloody well reset the whole background if you want with that software? You can imagine my frustration when after all the doctoring this is what I got.
.
I took hundreds of snaps just like it. All dark, and when they are lightened up they are all blurry. It would seem that my hands may have been a tad shaky, or the flooring in the old legion was wobbly, causing the pictures to be fuzzy. Fuzzy and dark.
Intermittently, there are fabulous snaps like this one of me.
. Oh but wait, that's because I wasn't taking the picture.
My dreams of escaping the mundane world that is mine Monday to Friday, to become a photo-journalist living on the edge are squashed. My ego is bruised, kind of all dark actually. *sniff* *sniff* I guess I'll have to turn my creative urgings to something simpler that I can handle. I wonder if there are any macrame classes starting up soon?
more musings on the weekend to be continued...
It started out by me taking the day off work on Friday and driving 3 hours to a place called Southampton, on Lake Huron. Beautiful little town on the edge of one of the great lakes. Beautiful sandy beaches, with even more beautiful homes and cottages along the edge.
My best/oldest friend Debbie was performing in the ,Canadian Big Band Celebration. She has been taking voice lessons for approx 10 years as a hobby. She works full time and has no intention of pursuing this professionally, however, as in everything she does, she strives for perfection and puts a lot of effort into her craft. She is a great singer. She has a wonderful voice and is usually scared shitless before a performance. This was the first time that she has done a gig like this, singing from 9:00pm to 1:00am.
She had her own cheering section, her mom and dad, brother and his wife, second cousin and his wife, a couple that they know, her husband Dennis and me. We grabbed the two tables in front of the bar with a good view, and short distance for refreshments.
The compliments were very heartfelt and generous and the only negative comments were in regards to the noisy tables in front of the bar. Debbie tried to pretend that she didn't know us.
I made an extra special effort to capture the essence of her performance through the lens of my daughter's digital camera. I was unaware that after several glasses of red wine, a Caesar, white wine, then back to red that the operation of the "dummy proof" equipment would become so difficult. I managed quite nicely in Ottawa. It's a piece of cake.
The pics looked good in the camera. Yes some of them were a little dark, well maybe a lot dark, but wasn't that what the photo software was for? Aren't you supposed to be able to lighten, colour correct, focus, bloody well reset the whole background if you want with that software? You can imagine my frustration when after all the doctoring this is what I got.
.
I took hundreds of snaps just like it. All dark, and when they are lightened up they are all blurry. It would seem that my hands may have been a tad shaky, or the flooring in the old legion was wobbly, causing the pictures to be fuzzy. Fuzzy and dark.
Intermittently, there are fabulous snaps like this one of me.
. Oh but wait, that's because I wasn't taking the picture.
My dreams of escaping the mundane world that is mine Monday to Friday, to become a photo-journalist living on the edge are squashed. My ego is bruised, kind of all dark actually. *sniff* *sniff* I guess I'll have to turn my creative urgings to something simpler that I can handle. I wonder if there are any macrame classes starting up soon?
more musings on the weekend to be continued...
Thursday, September 16, 2004
Shit Happens
I found out today, that shit does happen. It happened to me first thing this morning. Just as I was about to step out the door, already running behind time, with a request to drive the daughter’s boyfriend to work; I stepped in a piece of dog shit.
Sammy, the elderly pooch of the house, had an incontinence problem at some point during the night and guess who found the missing link? Yes, you’re right, it was me. I spotted two loose ones laying on the carpet, strategically placed a stride apart from one another. To prevent a mishap, I decided to quickly pick them up before leaving.
What I didn’t see was one that was camouflaged on the brown patterned wool rug. In fact, I didn’t realize I had actually stepped in one until my mom happened to walk past and step into the already flattened, fido feces with her bare feet.
"Jesus Christ, arrrrrgggggg!"
"Oh no, did you step in that shit?"
I looked towards the last lingering piece of dung, but it was still waiting to be scooped up. My eyes travelled across the floor from where my mom was standing towards my own feet and the trail of poop bits led right to my left foot.
"Damn, I don’t have time for this, Christ!"
I took my sandal off, grabbed a paper towel and carefully pushed the excrement out of each of the grooves in the bottom of my sandal.
"That’s good enough Shelly, you’re going to be late for work!"
"I don’t care, I can’t go to work smelling like shit!"
Before long, my sandal was as good as new and I was out the door. Not smiling, but out the door.
Great fucking start. I looked at daughter's BF out of the corner of my eye and tried not to place blame in his direction. It really had nothing to do with him, but that 8 minutes picking shit out of my treads wouldn’t have really mattered too much except that I still had to drive him to work.
A little while later, at a time when I should have already been at my desk…
"Can I help you?"
"Yes, I’ll have an extra large coffee with triple milk and a multi-grain bagel, toasted with cheddar cheese please."
"One extra large, triple, triple. Anything else?"
"No, that was one extra large, triple milk, no sugar, with a multi-grain bagel toasted with cheddar cheese."
"Extra large, triple - triple, extra large with triple milk, and a toasted multi-grain bagel with cheddar cheese. Anything else?"
"That’s still not right! I want only ONE coffee, with triple milk, NO SUGAR and I want ONE bagel, multi-grain, toasted with cheddar cheese."
"Drive through."
Geezus fucking christ, first I step in shit, now I have to put up with shit. I should just go home to bed, because I can tell it’s gonna be one of those days.
Sammy, the elderly pooch of the house, had an incontinence problem at some point during the night and guess who found the missing link? Yes, you’re right, it was me. I spotted two loose ones laying on the carpet, strategically placed a stride apart from one another. To prevent a mishap, I decided to quickly pick them up before leaving.
What I didn’t see was one that was camouflaged on the brown patterned wool rug. In fact, I didn’t realize I had actually stepped in one until my mom happened to walk past and step into the already flattened, fido feces with her bare feet.
"Jesus Christ, arrrrrgggggg!"
"Oh no, did you step in that shit?"
I looked towards the last lingering piece of dung, but it was still waiting to be scooped up. My eyes travelled across the floor from where my mom was standing towards my own feet and the trail of poop bits led right to my left foot.
"Damn, I don’t have time for this, Christ!"
I took my sandal off, grabbed a paper towel and carefully pushed the excrement out of each of the grooves in the bottom of my sandal.
"That’s good enough Shelly, you’re going to be late for work!"
"I don’t care, I can’t go to work smelling like shit!"
Before long, my sandal was as good as new and I was out the door. Not smiling, but out the door.
Great fucking start. I looked at daughter's BF out of the corner of my eye and tried not to place blame in his direction. It really had nothing to do with him, but that 8 minutes picking shit out of my treads wouldn’t have really mattered too much except that I still had to drive him to work.
A little while later, at a time when I should have already been at my desk…
"Can I help you?"
"Yes, I’ll have an extra large coffee with triple milk and a multi-grain bagel, toasted with cheddar cheese please."
"One extra large, triple, triple. Anything else?"
"No, that was one extra large, triple milk, no sugar, with a multi-grain bagel toasted with cheddar cheese."
"Extra large, triple - triple, extra large with triple milk, and a toasted multi-grain bagel with cheddar cheese. Anything else?"
"That’s still not right! I want only ONE coffee, with triple milk, NO SUGAR and I want ONE bagel, multi-grain, toasted with cheddar cheese."
"Drive through."
Geezus fucking christ, first I step in shit, now I have to put up with shit. I should just go home to bed, because I can tell it’s gonna be one of those days.
Wednesday, September 15, 2004
Birds, Birds, Birds
Mom and I just got back inside from taking Sammy (the dog) out for his nightly constitutional. It's a lovely warm, summer evening. The sun is in the final stages of setting and the air is still, except for the kaleidoscope of birds flying between my high rise and the one across the street.
Our building is on the edge of a lovely ravine, filled with lush trees and a small stream. The property itself is very well treed providing a lovely haven for our feathered friends.
I wasn't aware of the sky dancing above at first. In fact, what caught my eye was an outline of bird heads along the edge of the high rise across the street. They covered every spare inch of roof top. They also occupied every rod on the antenna. It was the oddest thing. We stood watching groups of birds flying in from the north, south, east and west towards the building and as a group took off from the roof another group would settle. Some birds swooped down swiftly to their selected spot while others hopped up and down as if they were arguing with one another about where they were going to sit. All would be still for about 2 minutes then as if a shot had been fired they would billow up into the air just as another crowd fell into the vacated spots.
I'm not sure what kind of birds they are, but they reminded me of swallows, with their long, sweeping movements: graceful, swirling, dizzying.
My mom remarked that they were making her nervous and we both mentioned Alfred Hitchcock's thriller, Birds at the same time. I remember seeing that movie when I was only 5 years old. I was traumatized for weeks. The evil beasts filled my nightly dreams, picking away at my eye glasses (even though I never wore any), pecking at my hair. Blood covered my face and body, as my parent's tried to fight them off and eventually just as I was about to succumb, I would wake.
Funny how a memory such as that can turn an wondrous moment into an apprehensive one.
***My mom just switched to the news where they are reporting on Hurricane Ivan and the tornado watch that Florida is under. I feel guilty for my stolen moments of awe at Mother Nature when somewhere else right now she is being a real nasty bitch.
Our building is on the edge of a lovely ravine, filled with lush trees and a small stream. The property itself is very well treed providing a lovely haven for our feathered friends.
I wasn't aware of the sky dancing above at first. In fact, what caught my eye was an outline of bird heads along the edge of the high rise across the street. They covered every spare inch of roof top. They also occupied every rod on the antenna. It was the oddest thing. We stood watching groups of birds flying in from the north, south, east and west towards the building and as a group took off from the roof another group would settle. Some birds swooped down swiftly to their selected spot while others hopped up and down as if they were arguing with one another about where they were going to sit. All would be still for about 2 minutes then as if a shot had been fired they would billow up into the air just as another crowd fell into the vacated spots.
I'm not sure what kind of birds they are, but they reminded me of swallows, with their long, sweeping movements: graceful, swirling, dizzying.
My mom remarked that they were making her nervous and we both mentioned Alfred Hitchcock's thriller, Birds at the same time. I remember seeing that movie when I was only 5 years old. I was traumatized for weeks. The evil beasts filled my nightly dreams, picking away at my eye glasses (even though I never wore any), pecking at my hair. Blood covered my face and body, as my parent's tried to fight them off and eventually just as I was about to succumb, I would wake.
Funny how a memory such as that can turn an wondrous moment into an apprehensive one.
***My mom just switched to the news where they are reporting on Hurricane Ivan and the tornado watch that Florida is under. I feel guilty for my stolen moments of awe at Mother Nature when somewhere else right now she is being a real nasty bitch.
Tuesday, September 14, 2004
Spastic Tuesday
Today was a spacey or spastic day for me. Probably because I didn't get enough sleep last night. I stayed up too late reading my new book - "He's Just Not That Into You". It's quite informative. Gives both a woman and a guy's perspective on why guy's do what they do.
It's infinitely informative. Some of the highlight chapters that drew my attention are: He's just not that into you if he's not calling you (you see how difficult this is?); He's just not that into you if he's not dating you (this one was particularly revealing); He's just not that into you if he's not having sex with you (this one was tricky to figure out without the book); He's just not that into you if he's having sex with someone else (this one blew my mind); and to save you from me listing them all, my all time favourite, He's just not that into you if he only wants to see you when he's drunk (this was really shocking to read).
I know it all seems like it should be obvious but believe me, to us females, it isn't. We still cling to the belief that men think like we do. Apparently they don't. They are pretty up front about the whole thing and what I've learned is, if you can ignore or dismiss whatever they say and basically just base everything on their actions, you can save yourself a whole lot of headaches and heartaches.
Of course, I've already started to implement some of the good advice. I've refrained from calling Casual Guy, who has been missing in action for almost two weeks, until tonight. I was going to make the phone call on Saturday. Today is Tuesday. The book helped me get through three days before I made the call.
Do I wish I had just listened to the damn book and not called? Yes and No. One half of me thinks that it's not fair to let him off the hook that easy. Not calling is easy. The other half of me feels silly for being the one to call him when clearly if he wanted to talk to me, he would have.
Oh well, I know one thing, I cannot back up time and take it back, so what? He knows I was thinking about him, and it's not a secret anyway that I enjoy his company. I won't be jumping to make the call again. That's it. I told him that I thought he was dead, was glad that he wasn't and that's about it. If he doesn't want to play with me anymore then so be it. Someone else will come along that will enjoy my company.
Just a quick example of how stunned I was today, besides this last one, I suggested to my friends that we should go to Harvey's for lunch. I was craving their new Grilled Salmon Burger. A 4oz Salmon Filet, chargrilled on Harvey's special grill, placed on a toasted bun with tomatoe, mayonaise and dill pickles. MMMmmmmmmm. They were easy to convince. Everyone was on board but rather than taking one car and conserving fuel, we decided to take two. The youngsters jumped in the Flintstone mobile and the oldsters went in my car.
My zombie decided to jump in about the time I got behind the wheel and drove us to Wendy's. We chitty chatted all the way. We both commented on the lame people driving out the in driveway. I even yelled "wrong way" as I passed one of the cars.
I parked, locked the doors and we proceeded to the entrance, still not realizing anything was amiss. Old gal turned and remarked how she didn't realize there was a door on this side of the building, and I was surprised that she didn't know that.
"Why yes, there are two doors to Wendy's!"
"Wendy's! Shit. Geezus, what the hell are we doing here?"
We burst out laughing, quickly turned and rushed back to the car.
I laughed even harder when I realized that I had to drive out the exit entrance because I needed to turn left and I couldn't if I went out the proper exit.
Quite some time later we joined our young friends who were already eating. By the time we waited for the salmon to be cooked, it isn't fast food, we should have been back at our desks. We set such a good example for the newer employees.
I finished the day off with a trip to the movie theatre to see Paparazzi. It was pretty good. A little lame with the ending because it certainly was one that you say to yourself, "only in the movies" but it was fun, mindless entertainment.
It's infinitely informative. Some of the highlight chapters that drew my attention are: He's just not that into you if he's not calling you (you see how difficult this is?); He's just not that into you if he's not dating you (this one was particularly revealing); He's just not that into you if he's not having sex with you (this one was tricky to figure out without the book); He's just not that into you if he's having sex with someone else (this one blew my mind); and to save you from me listing them all, my all time favourite, He's just not that into you if he only wants to see you when he's drunk (this was really shocking to read).
I know it all seems like it should be obvious but believe me, to us females, it isn't. We still cling to the belief that men think like we do. Apparently they don't. They are pretty up front about the whole thing and what I've learned is, if you can ignore or dismiss whatever they say and basically just base everything on their actions, you can save yourself a whole lot of headaches and heartaches.
Of course, I've already started to implement some of the good advice. I've refrained from calling Casual Guy, who has been missing in action for almost two weeks, until tonight. I was going to make the phone call on Saturday. Today is Tuesday. The book helped me get through three days before I made the call.
Do I wish I had just listened to the damn book and not called? Yes and No. One half of me thinks that it's not fair to let him off the hook that easy. Not calling is easy. The other half of me feels silly for being the one to call him when clearly if he wanted to talk to me, he would have.
Oh well, I know one thing, I cannot back up time and take it back, so what? He knows I was thinking about him, and it's not a secret anyway that I enjoy his company. I won't be jumping to make the call again. That's it. I told him that I thought he was dead, was glad that he wasn't and that's about it. If he doesn't want to play with me anymore then so be it. Someone else will come along that will enjoy my company.
Just a quick example of how stunned I was today, besides this last one, I suggested to my friends that we should go to Harvey's for lunch. I was craving their new Grilled Salmon Burger. A 4oz Salmon Filet, chargrilled on Harvey's special grill, placed on a toasted bun with tomatoe, mayonaise and dill pickles. MMMmmmmmmm. They were easy to convince. Everyone was on board but rather than taking one car and conserving fuel, we decided to take two. The youngsters jumped in the Flintstone mobile and the oldsters went in my car.
My zombie decided to jump in about the time I got behind the wheel and drove us to Wendy's. We chitty chatted all the way. We both commented on the lame people driving out the in driveway. I even yelled "wrong way" as I passed one of the cars.
I parked, locked the doors and we proceeded to the entrance, still not realizing anything was amiss. Old gal turned and remarked how she didn't realize there was a door on this side of the building, and I was surprised that she didn't know that.
"Why yes, there are two doors to Wendy's!"
"Wendy's! Shit. Geezus, what the hell are we doing here?"
We burst out laughing, quickly turned and rushed back to the car.
I laughed even harder when I realized that I had to drive out the exit entrance because I needed to turn left and I couldn't if I went out the proper exit.
Quite some time later we joined our young friends who were already eating. By the time we waited for the salmon to be cooked, it isn't fast food, we should have been back at our desks. We set such a good example for the newer employees.
I finished the day off with a trip to the movie theatre to see Paparazzi. It was pretty good. A little lame with the ending because it certainly was one that you say to yourself, "only in the movies" but it was fun, mindless entertainment.
Monday, September 13, 2004
Slightly Amused
I feel as though my battery is almost dead, so I'm just posting a couple of random thoughts that have been floating around my head today.
I went to my friend Trudy's trailer on Saturday and spent the night. It was a lot of fun. We had a campfire and I consumed a lovely bottle of red, it was perfect.
A couple of Trudy's neighbours stopped by to join us and have a chat. Andy and Kurby. Funny, funny fellows. Single too. Well almost single. Andy has a long term girlfriend but she wasn't there.
After the initial introductions and small talk the discussion naturally took a turn to sex and relationships. The two bachelors giving Trudy and I their point of view on women, relationships and sex.
The funniest conversation was initiated by Andy but Kurby and I found ourselves laughing about it well into the following afternoon. It would seem that according to Andy, women who allow a man to go down on them (oral), are very generous.
I would like to think that Andy had consumed one too many rye and cokes and that his waterlogged brain was slightly adjective dyslexic. Just to make sure that he was serious I checked in on him the next day and he still vehemently defended his opinion. To the rest of us, this was just too funny.
Here I thought that a man that only wants to be gratified orally could rightly be referred to as a greedy, selfish, bastard. Seems I'm wrong. He was only being generous.
Kurby offered to be generous to me. An offer that was very hard to decline, especially when he offered a coffee in return. When I didn't drop to my knees at the offer of a coffee, he said that he had another option that he was sure I would agree to. He would be selfish to me for 15 minutes, if I allowed him to be generous for an hour.
Ok I know it's hard to follow, just think in opposites.
"Of course, it will only be for one night."
"Of course, what else would it be?" I asked. I gave him my most wicked smile I could conjure up, licked my lips and said "no thanks."
He pouted and made of point of stating that honesty doesn't pay. I told him that I disagreed and thanked him for being so honest. Damn fool. If he had just kept his mouth shut, you never know what may have happened, but somehow when he articulated that it would be a one night stand, it somehow seemed far too cheap and scuzzy to accept.
On a more solemn note, the love of my life called me the other night. I had called him after fighting the urge for two weeks. We have maintained a casual friendship since he broke up with me two years ago and occasionally have a chat on the phone. It seems that he is moving in with the relationship wrecker that slipped in between us. I was surprised at how hard it hit me. I had just made statements only a few weeks ago about how I was finally over him. Anyway, I guess that door has finally slammed shut, I'm just waiting for something else to open. It's getting claustrophobic in here.
I went to my friend Trudy's trailer on Saturday and spent the night. It was a lot of fun. We had a campfire and I consumed a lovely bottle of red, it was perfect.
A couple of Trudy's neighbours stopped by to join us and have a chat. Andy and Kurby. Funny, funny fellows. Single too. Well almost single. Andy has a long term girlfriend but she wasn't there.
After the initial introductions and small talk the discussion naturally took a turn to sex and relationships. The two bachelors giving Trudy and I their point of view on women, relationships and sex.
The funniest conversation was initiated by Andy but Kurby and I found ourselves laughing about it well into the following afternoon. It would seem that according to Andy, women who allow a man to go down on them (oral), are very generous.
I would like to think that Andy had consumed one too many rye and cokes and that his waterlogged brain was slightly adjective dyslexic. Just to make sure that he was serious I checked in on him the next day and he still vehemently defended his opinion. To the rest of us, this was just too funny.
Here I thought that a man that only wants to be gratified orally could rightly be referred to as a greedy, selfish, bastard. Seems I'm wrong. He was only being generous.
Kurby offered to be generous to me. An offer that was very hard to decline, especially when he offered a coffee in return. When I didn't drop to my knees at the offer of a coffee, he said that he had another option that he was sure I would agree to. He would be selfish to me for 15 minutes, if I allowed him to be generous for an hour.
Ok I know it's hard to follow, just think in opposites.
"Of course, it will only be for one night."
"Of course, what else would it be?" I asked. I gave him my most wicked smile I could conjure up, licked my lips and said "no thanks."
He pouted and made of point of stating that honesty doesn't pay. I told him that I disagreed and thanked him for being so honest. Damn fool. If he had just kept his mouth shut, you never know what may have happened, but somehow when he articulated that it would be a one night stand, it somehow seemed far too cheap and scuzzy to accept.
On a more solemn note, the love of my life called me the other night. I had called him after fighting the urge for two weeks. We have maintained a casual friendship since he broke up with me two years ago and occasionally have a chat on the phone. It seems that he is moving in with the relationship wrecker that slipped in between us. I was surprised at how hard it hit me. I had just made statements only a few weeks ago about how I was finally over him. Anyway, I guess that door has finally slammed shut, I'm just waiting for something else to open. It's getting claustrophobic in here.
Saturday, September 11, 2004
Thursday, September 09, 2004
I'm not sure where I went. I was so surprised when I realized that I wasn't where I thought I was. It's disconcerting to me; to wake up while driving home from work. My mind had slipped into another zone and for a little while, I have no recollection of my drive. All the cars around me slipped away. A big chunk of the 401 disappeared completely.
All I know is that I was surprised that suddenly the traffic had thinned and that I could begin my move over to the far right lane prior to the 427 cutoff rather than waiting until I got to the other side of the construction zone, like I do every other evening. It was as I was changing lanes that I realized that I was not physically situated where I thought I was. I had already driven through the narrow, condensed construction zone area and I was exactly where I normally am when I begin to change lanes every other night.
That is scary. What was I thinking about? Would I have averted an accident if something had happened suddenly, while I was in this zombie state? Certainly I must because this isn't the first time this has happened. It used to happen every day when I made my trek from Mississauga to Barrie for a 6 month period.
If I can drive safely, in this automatic mode, I wonder if I could harness this skill and apply it to other aspects of my life? I could happily be deep in thought, analyzing my newest interest while my zombie engages in conversation with my mother during dinner. At work, I could train staff and answer their questions while I daydream about sandy shores, hot sun and cute cabana boys. I could enjoy the meanders of my mind while my zombie goes out to do the grocery shopping, chauffeurs my daughter to and fro, visits with relatives, there are so many uses.
Perhaps I could get a spot on the lecture circuit teaching other's how to bring out their own inner zombie. I may get slotted on the same circuit as Sylvia Browne. I could do a Zombie Channelling for Dummies book. Surely I've stumbled onto something big.
Now if I can only concentrate on this long enough to follow through before my zombie takes over I'll have it made.
All I know is that I was surprised that suddenly the traffic had thinned and that I could begin my move over to the far right lane prior to the 427 cutoff rather than waiting until I got to the other side of the construction zone, like I do every other evening. It was as I was changing lanes that I realized that I was not physically situated where I thought I was. I had already driven through the narrow, condensed construction zone area and I was exactly where I normally am when I begin to change lanes every other night.
That is scary. What was I thinking about? Would I have averted an accident if something had happened suddenly, while I was in this zombie state? Certainly I must because this isn't the first time this has happened. It used to happen every day when I made my trek from Mississauga to Barrie for a 6 month period.
If I can drive safely, in this automatic mode, I wonder if I could harness this skill and apply it to other aspects of my life? I could happily be deep in thought, analyzing my newest interest while my zombie engages in conversation with my mother during dinner. At work, I could train staff and answer their questions while I daydream about sandy shores, hot sun and cute cabana boys. I could enjoy the meanders of my mind while my zombie goes out to do the grocery shopping, chauffeurs my daughter to and fro, visits with relatives, there are so many uses.
Perhaps I could get a spot on the lecture circuit teaching other's how to bring out their own inner zombie. I may get slotted on the same circuit as Sylvia Browne. I could do a Zombie Channelling for Dummies book. Surely I've stumbled onto something big.
Now if I can only concentrate on this long enough to follow through before my zombie takes over I'll have it made.
Wednesday, September 08, 2004
Pics of trip to Ottawa
Starting out, Hwy 7 heading East
Piggy roasting over an open fire...
Party
Lake view
Dogs
and some more later...
Piggy roasting over an open fire...
Party
Lake view
Dogs
and some more later...
Biker Chick
"I need gas. I'm going to pull over to get gas now, you girls will just have to wait."
"Ok mom, we're not in that big of a hurry."
Good. Whether you are or aren't I'm getting some gas.
"Do you think I can maneuver my car between that Harley and Van?"
The only pump that didn't have a car in front of it stood on the other side of a haphazardly parked Harley and one of those blasted family vans.
I sized up the room between and decided it would be close. If I was going to hit one or the other I would choose the van. I could see a couple of bikers standing in front of the doors to the shop, talking to a mechanic and decided the family van would be easier to deal with.
They were dressed as most bikers do, in leather, blue jeans, helmets, sun glasses, long, greasy hair straggling over the edge of their collars, scruffy moustaches and beards covering their faces.
I manage to squeeze neatly in between and park my car even though the talking had stopped and they made no attempt to hide the fact that they were staring at my driving skills. In awe, I'm sure.
I step out of the car and flip the lock to my gas tank. I can feel the eyes on my back as I grab the hose and insert the nozzle into my car. I quickly look in their direction to see if they are in fact watching me and am surprised that yes they are. Two of them are about 10 feet away, sitting on their motorcycles, unabashedly staring at me and when I looked in their direction, one of them (the better looking of the two) smiled widely at me. I couldn't help but smile back. He was cute. He had a great smile.
What did I do that for? My daughter and her boyfriend's sisters are sitting in the car and I'm flirting with some bikers while I'm getting my gas. Geezus I'm sick.
I turn my attention back to squeezing the big nozzle and watching the opening to my gas tank intently, in case some of the fluid decides to overflow all over the place. It has happened once before. About 10 years ago, but I've never forgotten. I pay attention now. And I cannot encourage this attention from these vagabonds. My daughter is in the car!
The gas nozzle clicks off and I hang it back up without looking in his direction. I know he's still staring. I can feel it. I also feel my cheeks turning bright red. I'm blushing. I'm embarrassed. I'm 43 years old. He's probably 33. I'm not a biker chick. I'm the furthest thing from a biker chick. I'm fat. I'm brunette. They like skinny, big breasted, blondes. My lips start to spread into a nervous, uncontrollable smile as I compare myself to a biker chick, and I almost start to laugh out loud as I contemplate what my daughter is thinking. I know she is watching this intently. All of my passengers are.
I open the car door to grab my wallet. I feel like I'm doing a public performance and the pressure is brutal as I try not to knock the door into my head or something...it's unnerving, all this attention. I don't like it.
MD (my daughter) looks over at me and says, "What the hell is this?" She nods towards my audience.
"Nothing, give me my wallet, hurry."
"Do you see those guys over there? Why are they staring at you? Are you flirting with them?"
"NO, hand me my wallet, hurry."
My cell phone starts to ring and I practically throw myself onto it, thankful for something else to concentrate on. "HELLO!!, HELLO? HELLO?"
"Shelly?"
"Yes Mom, what do you want?"
I walk quickly towards the door of the garage to pay for my gas. Phone to my ear, mouth yapping quickly, barely hearing my mother on the other end. She's a diversion. She is my saviour. I need her to stay on the line to help me make my way into the garage, pay for my gas and get out of there. I pass another biker on my way. I know he turned his head to watch me walk in. He took his cue from his friends. He smiled also when we passed. I pretended to be deep in conversation in the middle of a very important telephone call. I was oblivious to the rif raf.
I quickly pay while I continue with my call and walk proudly back to my Toyota. My mom hangs up before I get in the car. Struggling with my damn purse I try to stuff my cell phone into the small spot that is available in the junk filled bottomless pit of a bag. This delays my opening the door and getting in. They're still watching. I'm on fire with embarrassment. I want to laugh out very loud and yell at them to stop.
I manage to open the door, I glance their way and they are both smiling openly at me.
"Hey there, how are ya tonight?"
"Not bad."
"Where are you off to?"
"Home."
"Can we come?"
"No, my mommy wouldn't like it."
"We don't want to see your Mother!"
I'm in the car. Door is closing. He's at my window. I slowly roll the window down.
"My name is Sam." Reaching into his wallet he pulls out a business card and hands it to me.
"We're in the entertainment business. Ya know, DJ, impersonations, Elvis, Rod Stewart. Anyway we're doing a big party downtown, not this weekend but the week after next. We would love for you to come. Bring your friends. Give me a call and I'll tell you all about it."
I take the card and put it on my visor.
"Thank you Sam. Bye bye!"
I roll the window up, the girls burst out laughing and I drive as quickly as I can out off the lot, swerving in front of the cars that were approaching so that I wouldn't have to stop to wait for a chance to turn onto the road.
"Well girl, you should be happy, you still got it!" MD's boyfriend's 15 year old little sister gave me that vote of confidence. "You just had some bikers try to pick you up!"
Yikes. Something's definitely wrong with this world.
"Ok mom, we're not in that big of a hurry."
Good. Whether you are or aren't I'm getting some gas.
"Do you think I can maneuver my car between that Harley and Van?"
The only pump that didn't have a car in front of it stood on the other side of a haphazardly parked Harley and one of those blasted family vans.
I sized up the room between and decided it would be close. If I was going to hit one or the other I would choose the van. I could see a couple of bikers standing in front of the doors to the shop, talking to a mechanic and decided the family van would be easier to deal with.
They were dressed as most bikers do, in leather, blue jeans, helmets, sun glasses, long, greasy hair straggling over the edge of their collars, scruffy moustaches and beards covering their faces.
I manage to squeeze neatly in between and park my car even though the talking had stopped and they made no attempt to hide the fact that they were staring at my driving skills. In awe, I'm sure.
I step out of the car and flip the lock to my gas tank. I can feel the eyes on my back as I grab the hose and insert the nozzle into my car. I quickly look in their direction to see if they are in fact watching me and am surprised that yes they are. Two of them are about 10 feet away, sitting on their motorcycles, unabashedly staring at me and when I looked in their direction, one of them (the better looking of the two) smiled widely at me. I couldn't help but smile back. He was cute. He had a great smile.
What did I do that for? My daughter and her boyfriend's sisters are sitting in the car and I'm flirting with some bikers while I'm getting my gas. Geezus I'm sick.
I turn my attention back to squeezing the big nozzle and watching the opening to my gas tank intently, in case some of the fluid decides to overflow all over the place. It has happened once before. About 10 years ago, but I've never forgotten. I pay attention now. And I cannot encourage this attention from these vagabonds. My daughter is in the car!
The gas nozzle clicks off and I hang it back up without looking in his direction. I know he's still staring. I can feel it. I also feel my cheeks turning bright red. I'm blushing. I'm embarrassed. I'm 43 years old. He's probably 33. I'm not a biker chick. I'm the furthest thing from a biker chick. I'm fat. I'm brunette. They like skinny, big breasted, blondes. My lips start to spread into a nervous, uncontrollable smile as I compare myself to a biker chick, and I almost start to laugh out loud as I contemplate what my daughter is thinking. I know she is watching this intently. All of my passengers are.
I open the car door to grab my wallet. I feel like I'm doing a public performance and the pressure is brutal as I try not to knock the door into my head or something...it's unnerving, all this attention. I don't like it.
MD (my daughter) looks over at me and says, "What the hell is this?" She nods towards my audience.
"Nothing, give me my wallet, hurry."
"Do you see those guys over there? Why are they staring at you? Are you flirting with them?"
"NO, hand me my wallet, hurry."
My cell phone starts to ring and I practically throw myself onto it, thankful for something else to concentrate on. "HELLO!!, HELLO? HELLO?"
"Shelly?"
"Yes Mom, what do you want?"
I walk quickly towards the door of the garage to pay for my gas. Phone to my ear, mouth yapping quickly, barely hearing my mother on the other end. She's a diversion. She is my saviour. I need her to stay on the line to help me make my way into the garage, pay for my gas and get out of there. I pass another biker on my way. I know he turned his head to watch me walk in. He took his cue from his friends. He smiled also when we passed. I pretended to be deep in conversation in the middle of a very important telephone call. I was oblivious to the rif raf.
I quickly pay while I continue with my call and walk proudly back to my Toyota. My mom hangs up before I get in the car. Struggling with my damn purse I try to stuff my cell phone into the small spot that is available in the junk filled bottomless pit of a bag. This delays my opening the door and getting in. They're still watching. I'm on fire with embarrassment. I want to laugh out very loud and yell at them to stop.
I manage to open the door, I glance their way and they are both smiling openly at me.
"Hey there, how are ya tonight?"
"Not bad."
"Where are you off to?"
"Home."
"Can we come?"
"No, my mommy wouldn't like it."
"We don't want to see your Mother!"
I'm in the car. Door is closing. He's at my window. I slowly roll the window down.
"My name is Sam." Reaching into his wallet he pulls out a business card and hands it to me.
"We're in the entertainment business. Ya know, DJ, impersonations, Elvis, Rod Stewart. Anyway we're doing a big party downtown, not this weekend but the week after next. We would love for you to come. Bring your friends. Give me a call and I'll tell you all about it."
I take the card and put it on my visor.
"Thank you Sam. Bye bye!"
I roll the window up, the girls burst out laughing and I drive as quickly as I can out off the lot, swerving in front of the cars that were approaching so that I wouldn't have to stop to wait for a chance to turn onto the road.
"Well girl, you should be happy, you still got it!" MD's boyfriend's 15 year old little sister gave me that vote of confidence. "You just had some bikers try to pick you up!"
Yikes. Something's definitely wrong with this world.
Monday, September 06, 2004
So Nice To Be Home!
I made it. It took me five hours both to go and come home, even though I took different routes, and I'm happy to report that my drives were uneventful.
I honestly think that my attention span is only good for a five hour trip, max. I amused myself on the way to Ottawa, by taking numerous photos with my daughter's digital camera. Yes I was driving at the time, but I refrained from talking on my cell phone while snapping. Not sure why but the scenery looks bland in the pictures, even though it was quite beautiful to the naked eye. I'm going to try to get my pictures uploaded and will provide a link in the near future.
On the way home, I amused myself by pretending to be a Formula One driver while I swerved in and out of the slow moving vehicles that were imposing their sloth like driving habits on me.
The pig roast was a lot of fun. I've decided I would not survive in the wilderness though. I much prefer to see my protein packed in cellophane. The site of Porky swirling around on the spit was heartbreaking. I had a piece of ass anyway. I couldn't resist. When it comes right down to it, I am a carnivore.
I took 4 bottles of red wine with me for the weekend. I drank two, with help and came home with two. So I didn't get drunk, didn't eat any funny brownies and I never smoked any peace pipes. All in all, I would say that I was pretty well behaved.
I was clumsy though. I ended up spilling red wine all over my favourite white gauze shirt. I have it all gummed up with stain remover right now and before I go to bed, I'm going to pray one more time that the stain will come out. Perhaps after this next wash (number 10) it will disappear.
This incident happened early on in the party, before all the guests had arrived. I was busy snapping pics of the pig, the guests, the playing dogs etc. and Mark, a neighbour invited me over to his place to upload the pics. On the way up the slope to his house, I slipped and sloshed my wine all over myself. He graciously grabbed a t-shirt for me to wear. In the end, his USB was too big and we were unable to transfer the pics to his computer. I felt funny about going back to the party next door wearing his clothes, besides the fact that it was not nearly as attractive as my own shirt, but because it drew unwanted attention by most of the guests. Turns out we were the talk of the hour. I think it was forgotten by the time I sloshed wine all over his T-shirt. I decided that I would just ignore the last spill. He doesn't know that I ruined his shirt as well, so I will also pray for the wine lord to remove those stains.
It was a very pleasant, cool evening. I was exhausted by the time we headed back to Ottawa even though it was only 10:30 pm. We had been there for about 8 hours and it would seem that the air in the country does have an impact on me. My head bobbed in the front seat all the way home. I hope I wasn't snoring. :o)
The rest of the weekend was very enjoyable. We went for breakfast two days in a row at different restaurants, went for a drive to a nearby town in Quebec, Alymer and enjoyed the waterfront, went to dinner with a group of friends from the pig roast party and sat around gossiping.
Ana and Bob, my hosts were so wonderfully gracious, that I was a little sad to leave.
I am very happy to be home though. To see my daughter, mom, my pets and my beloved bed. I love my bed. In fact, it sounds like a good idea, I think I'll go to bed now, and perhaps I can post some pics tomorrow.
I honestly think that my attention span is only good for a five hour trip, max. I amused myself on the way to Ottawa, by taking numerous photos with my daughter's digital camera. Yes I was driving at the time, but I refrained from talking on my cell phone while snapping. Not sure why but the scenery looks bland in the pictures, even though it was quite beautiful to the naked eye. I'm going to try to get my pictures uploaded and will provide a link in the near future.
On the way home, I amused myself by pretending to be a Formula One driver while I swerved in and out of the slow moving vehicles that were imposing their sloth like driving habits on me.
The pig roast was a lot of fun. I've decided I would not survive in the wilderness though. I much prefer to see my protein packed in cellophane. The site of Porky swirling around on the spit was heartbreaking. I had a piece of ass anyway. I couldn't resist. When it comes right down to it, I am a carnivore.
I took 4 bottles of red wine with me for the weekend. I drank two, with help and came home with two. So I didn't get drunk, didn't eat any funny brownies and I never smoked any peace pipes. All in all, I would say that I was pretty well behaved.
I was clumsy though. I ended up spilling red wine all over my favourite white gauze shirt. I have it all gummed up with stain remover right now and before I go to bed, I'm going to pray one more time that the stain will come out. Perhaps after this next wash (number 10) it will disappear.
This incident happened early on in the party, before all the guests had arrived. I was busy snapping pics of the pig, the guests, the playing dogs etc. and Mark, a neighbour invited me over to his place to upload the pics. On the way up the slope to his house, I slipped and sloshed my wine all over myself. He graciously grabbed a t-shirt for me to wear. In the end, his USB was too big and we were unable to transfer the pics to his computer. I felt funny about going back to the party next door wearing his clothes, besides the fact that it was not nearly as attractive as my own shirt, but because it drew unwanted attention by most of the guests. Turns out we were the talk of the hour. I think it was forgotten by the time I sloshed wine all over his T-shirt. I decided that I would just ignore the last spill. He doesn't know that I ruined his shirt as well, so I will also pray for the wine lord to remove those stains.
It was a very pleasant, cool evening. I was exhausted by the time we headed back to Ottawa even though it was only 10:30 pm. We had been there for about 8 hours and it would seem that the air in the country does have an impact on me. My head bobbed in the front seat all the way home. I hope I wasn't snoring. :o)
The rest of the weekend was very enjoyable. We went for breakfast two days in a row at different restaurants, went for a drive to a nearby town in Quebec, Alymer and enjoyed the waterfront, went to dinner with a group of friends from the pig roast party and sat around gossiping.
Ana and Bob, my hosts were so wonderfully gracious, that I was a little sad to leave.
I am very happy to be home though. To see my daughter, mom, my pets and my beloved bed. I love my bed. In fact, it sounds like a good idea, I think I'll go to bed now, and perhaps I can post some pics tomorrow.
Thursday, September 02, 2004
Party Time
I'm starting to get excited about my road trip tomorrow. I'm going to visit my friend Ana in Ottawa.
She's a woman that I used to work with several years ago. She still works for my department but in a different location than me. We used to have a ball working on the front desk, looking after our clients. In between, we would be cracking jokes or just getting into mischief.
It's usually a very good time, catching up, having some laughs etc. The last time I was there, which would be approximately a year ago, I over indulged in White Russians. Ana and I had discussed before the party what kind of drink we would be consuming. A safe, easy to handle one. We decided to make White Russians. We would split on the ingredients. I had never actually had a White Russian before that night. After the first sip, I was hooked. What a smooth, sweet, delicacy. Well, one, two, three, we were out of Kahlua. I KNEW it. We argued in the liquor store about how much to buy. I wanted to buy a big bottle of Vodka and a big bottle of Kahlua, but she didn't want to spend that much money so she bought the small bottle of Kahlua, I bought the big bottle of vodka.
We desperately needed to replenish the Kahlua. Ana called one of her late arriving friends and they agreed to go to the Liquor store for the missing ingredient. In the meantime, I needed a drink and Bob was opening a bottle of wine. I love wine. Red, White, Sparkling, Blush, whatever, it's all good. I accepted Bob's offer of red wine and after a couple of glasses we were back to the White Russians.
I really had a good time at the party. Ana had made some funny tasting brownies; I had far too much to drink and remembered laughing a lot. I wasn't laughing the next morning though. I was so sick that I thought I was going to die. Ana had made plans with her friends to meet for brunch and then I was going to drive the 4 + hours back home.
I had to decline on the brunch thing. I was not going anywhere further than the bathroom and even that was an effort. I was beginning to think I would not be able to drive home.
It only took me until 5:00pm to feel well enough to venture away from the washroom. Ana seemed happier to see me leave than she did when I arrived. I tried not to get too sensitive about the whole thing. I know I'm a good guest. I cleaned up after myself every time.
This morning in response to my request for directions this is what I got instead:
NO BARFING THIS TIME. I MEAN IT. YOU BETTER NOT GET ALL CRAZY SHELLY!!! I'm so excited about you coming!!!! We're going to have so much fun!
I'm getting the impression that perhaps Ana doesn't agree that I am a good house guest. Her excitement is overshadowed by her orders for me to behave. Maybe I should just stay home. Nah! To hell with her, maybe I'll do a Black Russianthis time instead!
She's a woman that I used to work with several years ago. She still works for my department but in a different location than me. We used to have a ball working on the front desk, looking after our clients. In between, we would be cracking jokes or just getting into mischief.
It's usually a very good time, catching up, having some laughs etc. The last time I was there, which would be approximately a year ago, I over indulged in White Russians. Ana and I had discussed before the party what kind of drink we would be consuming. A safe, easy to handle one. We decided to make White Russians. We would split on the ingredients. I had never actually had a White Russian before that night. After the first sip, I was hooked. What a smooth, sweet, delicacy. Well, one, two, three, we were out of Kahlua. I KNEW it. We argued in the liquor store about how much to buy. I wanted to buy a big bottle of Vodka and a big bottle of Kahlua, but she didn't want to spend that much money so she bought the small bottle of Kahlua, I bought the big bottle of vodka.
We desperately needed to replenish the Kahlua. Ana called one of her late arriving friends and they agreed to go to the Liquor store for the missing ingredient. In the meantime, I needed a drink and Bob was opening a bottle of wine. I love wine. Red, White, Sparkling, Blush, whatever, it's all good. I accepted Bob's offer of red wine and after a couple of glasses we were back to the White Russians.
I really had a good time at the party. Ana had made some funny tasting brownies; I had far too much to drink and remembered laughing a lot. I wasn't laughing the next morning though. I was so sick that I thought I was going to die. Ana had made plans with her friends to meet for brunch and then I was going to drive the 4 + hours back home.
I had to decline on the brunch thing. I was not going anywhere further than the bathroom and even that was an effort. I was beginning to think I would not be able to drive home.
It only took me until 5:00pm to feel well enough to venture away from the washroom. Ana seemed happier to see me leave than she did when I arrived. I tried not to get too sensitive about the whole thing. I know I'm a good guest. I cleaned up after myself every time.
This morning in response to my request for directions this is what I got instead:
NO BARFING THIS TIME. I MEAN IT. YOU BETTER NOT GET ALL CRAZY SHELLY!!! I'm so excited about you coming!!!! We're going to have so much fun!
I'm getting the impression that perhaps Ana doesn't agree that I am a good house guest. Her excitement is overshadowed by her orders for me to behave. Maybe I should just stay home. Nah! To hell with her, maybe I'll do a Black Russianthis time instead!
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