This is How The Universe Repays Kindness, Apparently

The universe is enjoying my sudden generous spirit and has decided to kick my ass for it.  I thought I would dispense some good cheer early this morning by helping out a fellow coffee connoisseur, and this is how the program ‘payback-for-nerds’ works.

: I get a parking ticket…I could go into further detail but I would have to commit Hari Kari and that would be a Japanese faux pas.  Maybe.  I think.  I’m not up on Japanese faux pas, so I really can’t say.  I’m totally guessing.

: I had to cancel my dentist appointment that I had previously cancelled due to my being out of the country and all, only this time it was to escort D2 to an all important job interview with Target, who said the interview would last for like 2 hours, but really only lasted long enough for me to fly back to work, attain said parking ticket and fly back to get her.  Awesome, really.  And the lady on the Dentist office phone was kinda bitchy at me and all “why are you cancelling this time and on such short notice?” and I was all like “I have a really important meeting I can’t get out of” which really, was sort of the truth with a side of fries.  Kind of. Karate.  Thought I’d throw in a Japanese word to just confuse you and distract you from my obvious little tiny lie…I guess it could be classed as “white”.  Not sure why it would be white, really.  What if it was a little black lie? Or blue?  Or maybe fuchsia?  Yeah, fuchsia…definitely a pretty pink lie.  White is totally boring….who tells a boring white lie?  Ugh..if you’re gonna lie, totally commit to it and make it a vibrant pink!  I guess now, I’m endorsing lying…I’m an awesome mother.  All the kids say so.  What a role model!  “Kids, if you’re gonna lie, make it big, bold and beautiful!”   I think that’s my new motto/slogan/life credo. 

The pink hearts really bring home the 'lying needs commitment' theme

The pink hearts really bring home the ‘lying needs commitment’ theme

:  the air conditioning at work decides to be a temperamental menopausal bitch and work only if it feels like it and only if you say please and buy it cold caramel cappuccino with extra whip cream on top…. on this surprisingly humid day in September, which is odd for our province this time of year.  It totally throws a wrench into the obvious plan for the heating system to be booted up and ready to blast copious quantities of heat to every nook and cranny in the building, except of course, for my office.  I’m stoking firewood for the winter.  S’MORES!!  

: My digestive system decided to hit it into high gear sending me dashing awkwardly to the washroom every ten minutes…mid sentence or not, I was ‘on the go’….people were left baffled by my quick exits and others were wondering how I knew so much about the cleaning habits of the washroom attendant and which stall had an alarming lack of paper.  It was during one of these dashes that I spied the toothpaste splashes on my top and attempted the ill-fated water mark disaster.   See below….

: I erroneously decided to wear a deep purple top, which would normally be lovely except for the toothpaste splashes adorning the top portion of said lovely top.  It looked like I walked through a screen door that had been coated in white paint.  In my attempts to correct said Fashion Faux pas, I quickly smeared water over the dots which left a big dark stain that stretched ever so slightly downward, encompassing my entire right boob.  It looked like I’d been lactating for quadruplets.  I rock.

I should try to remember that wearing purple can be iffy

I should try to remember that wearing purple can be iffy


Big Things…I Bring Cups!!

 coffe girls

I’ve noticed recently that if I ever get the least bit annoyed with someone, I instantly refer to that person as an asshole.   Incidentally, there are A LOT of assholes around.   Due to the current economic climate in this province, we are constantly being inundated with emails about lobbying the government.  After each email, I refer to the writer as an asshole and delete it.  I’ve deleted so many emails and labeled each author according to his asshole seniority number.  So far, the seniority ends at number twenty five.  Asshole number twenty five sounds like he needs therapy and strong intervention techniques to quell his over-riding anger management issues.  Asshole twelve is immature and requires some English translation lessons.  Of course, this whole thing could be attributed to my over-active sensitivity issues due to the lack of grains in my diet and my heightened need for sugar.  Just sayin’….

I was on Twitter when I noticed that the winner of the Pulitzer Prize in Literature was a book about North Korea and carries the reader “into the most intimate spaces of the human heart” Sounds totally depressing to me. If I ever win a Pulitzer for my awesome book, I won’t be carrying readers to any totalitarian countries that are ready to aim missiles at your head just so the reader could experience it or visit intimate spaces in people’s hearts.  That’s too weird, even for me.  My book would probably cover the wild and wacky world of taxidermy…or the controversial world of flatulence smell reduction underwear inventors…true story.

I’ve realized that I’m totally addicted to caffeine and sugar.  Since limiting my carbohydrate intake to a few spare pieces of fruit and accidental bread crumbs that happen to land on the floor that I invariably fight the dog for, I have noticed my dependency on coffee has risen substantially.  I’ve also become distinctly aware that if I don’t drink said coffee in a timely manner, I become a snarling bitch ready to stab you in the face should you decide to get in my way.  Case in point.  This morning’s conversation with Hubby:

Me:  Can you get in the shower soon please?  I have to get ready too.

Him:  Relax it’s only 6:20!

Me: *grumble, fuck off, grumble, bitch*

Ten minutes later:

Me:  Can you puhlease get in the shower?  Ugh, I KNEW I should have got in there before you!  God, I was going to, blah, blah blah, blah

Him: For Pete’s sake (Author’s note:  That would be me: I don’t know who Pete is, but for his sake, I should have shut up already)


Him:  It’s 6:30! You don’t need to be at work until 8:00!!

Me: *irritated silence*

Ten minutes later

Him:  I’m getting in the shower now

Me:  It’s about time!  I’ve been waiting…I so should have gone first.  I don’t know why I was….blah, blah, blah…*stocks off to the kitchen whilst the dog is biting my pant leg which leads to dragging said snarling dog along the kitchen floor while I attempt to pour more coffee and continually complain about Hubby’s slowness and lack of consideration for others who have to get to work, dammit*

Fifteen minutes later

Him:  Didn’t you hear me?  I yelled I was out of the shower so you could get in since you’re in such a hurry this morning


Him:  Okay, you don’t have to get all snippy about it.

Me: Was I snippy?  Hmpft.  You would be too if you had to wait for you to get out of the shower.

Him:  *rolls eyes and leaves*

Good idea….

The Spring Thaw

So the weekend happened and the exhausting task of searching for dead bodies in the melting snow has me a little freaked.  What?  You think I’m kidding?  Pfft….I wish.  Seriously, the snow has melted in exponential amounts and everyone is afraid to go into their backyards right now in fear of what they’ll find.  I know some runners who refuse to run the path around the ‘hood in case something pops up that they would rather not witness.  I should back-story this a bit.  See, in January or February of this year a young man was last seen exiting a cab in our neighbourhood never to be seen again.  Many people believe he headed for the wooded area that a new subdivision is currently under construction and is also home to a walking path.  They think in his distraught state, he fell or fell asleep out in someone’s backyard or lawn somewhere.  That weekend he went missing there was a violent winter storm and the thoughts are that he succumbed to the weather.  Inhabitants are put on the lookout by the local police to scour their backyards before the full-on melt is on.  Has me a little jittery.  I hope he is found so he can be put to rest and his family has some closure.  I hope he is found to be living downtown after joining a band and dying his hair blue.  I can hope!

Spotted:  I so wish I had taken a picture of this when I saw it happen on Saturday afternoon.  My neighbor who lives across from me and beside Miss H has the reputation of being, not only a busy-body, but a lawn fanatic.  I guess she doesn’t give a shit about dead bodies, because she and her Hubby were out shoveling what’s left of the snow onto the road.  Yeah, I see you laughing.  I shit you not.  She’s pissed because as she gazes longingly at my house, its brown grass apparent and void of any snow or ice like everybody else on my side of the street, she looks down at her lawn and all she sees is a big pile of brownish frozen crap. Her snow bank remains piled on the edge of her front lawn, its brown ice and shit-colored edges egging her into a maniacal fury.  (insert wicked laugh here)  So out she goes after wrangling hubby out of his comfy armchair, with shovels in hands to set to right a definite wrong and swing those shovels as if it was the last thing they were put on earth to do.  Poor, Mr. Pat.  I would have paid good money to see him heave a big shovel full of snow at her in playful spitefulness.  Good money, I tell ‘ya!

Son played hockey on the weekend and ended up in emergency department with a possible concussion and sore ribs.  Have I ever told you how much I hate hockey?  Yeah.  Now I have reason to pile on the hate even more.  He is 80lbs soaking wet and the kid that power- drived him into the corner FROM BEHIND weighed as much as me…or more. (okay, he weighed a lot…)   Son bounced back up instead of staying down reveling in his pain and made it back to the bench.  He sat with his team despite the pain until the end of the period.  He followed his team into the dressing room for the intermission.  He came back out to start the third period with his team.  He sat on the bench and wanted to stay.  Then the nausea set in and Hubby whisked him to emerg.  Two hours later after seeing nice doctor and, by all accounts cutie x-ray techie, Son is fine.  He ended up missing the whole celebration on the ice, the medal presentation, the fun, the frivolity.  Kid that hit him received no penalty.  Nada. Nothin’.  They said if son had stayed down on the ice like we tell him NOT to do, the kid who committed the illegal hit would have been given a 5 minute penalty and tossed.   That’s not Son.   He has heart.

He was visited at the hospital by one of his friends and given his medal.  He is feeling fine now, just tender ribs but hockey has forever placed a sour taste in my mouth.


AND, for all of you who need a little reminder why I love to blog, read this and revel in the glory that is logic.

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Fear and Paranoia Are Now My Besties

My blogging days have dwindled since the episode-that-shall-remain-nameless.  Fear has held me tightly within its grasp and I am struggling to be free.  It ain’t easy.  I’m constantly looking over my shoulder to see who’s watching, then I’m incessantly censoring my words to make sure they’re not offensive or distorted; twisted into being malicious.  It’s a slippery slope.  It’s an uphill climb.  It’s fucking craptastic.  I hate thinking someone is misinterpreting what I’m saying as a slight against anything.  I’m simply saying what’s in my gut, people.

Maybe I should have a disclaimer clause at the beginning of each post clearly stating my wanton disregard for other’s feelings on the subjects I tend to complain about.  Or maybe I should have one of those announcers at the beginning of each post, like certain television programs, warning people of the ‘mature subject matter’ and the ‘material some may find offensive’.  I could leave out the ‘contains nudity’ part…or maybe I should include that.  Maybe more people would read on…stuff to think about.

It’s nice to think that some people actually miss me…is that weird?  Hmm…I’ve thought about re-opening the past, but that would just lead to more shit to hit the fan, so I think I’ll leave well enough alone.  If people miss me that much, they could track me down.  Or I could tell them.  Gee, that’s a swell idea.  Invite people to this one..hmmm…I think I shall prepare my formal invitations.  They’ll think it’s a party…I suppose drinks could be served.  And snacks.  Marvelous idea.

I’ll get working on the list.  In the meantime, thanks for stopping by and reading.  I shall be in touch and see what roaming around the ‘sphere I can do without getting decapitated in the process….that’s rather painful…I’d rather steer clear of that, thanks.


My Name Is Ishmael, But You Can Call Me Asshole

That’s kind of where I’m at today.

We love you, but you’re an asshole.

Yeah…I can kinda see how you came to that conclusion.

Is there any use in attempting to defend myself?  No?

Asshole it is!

But you love me, right?

You still think I’m pretty awesome most of the time, right?

Everybody is allowed one mistake, right?




Oh, sorry.  I was talking to myself….