...at work is set up to be as condescending as possible.
I dialled into it this morning to check my messages and was pleased to hear I had 1 new message. Our machine at home intructs you to push 1 to listen to new messages. Out of habit, I pushed 1.
A completely incredulous belittling automated woman's voice blurted in my ear, "Two?! TWO?!?! That is not an option!"
Wow.....wow. I thought my paycheque was a blow to the ego. But being berated by the automated phone system is even more humbling.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Thursday, April 29, 2010
I am losing.....
....my ever-loving mind. We have had four house showings in as many days. Which is great! But I can't do this for much longer. I get knots in my stomache. I have to race home from work a half hour prior to the showing....do a cursory sweep and blow any remaining dog hair of the couch (god bless leather furniture), then light some scented candles, wrangle four dogs into the van and go for a drive while people come in to tour my home.
On Monday, the boy promised he would be home from work by 5:30. Which was perfect timing because the showing was at 6. He could help me with the dogs, and I would have company while I drove around the neighborhood killing time.
There was just one problem with this plan. He didn't get home at 5:30. Nor did he arrive at 5:45. But the realtor did. So did the propective buyers. Strange people milling about in my laneway means 4 excited dogs, barking at the window and jumping over each other. It means me frantically looking for their leashes. It means them completely ignoring my hushed please to co-operate with me just this once. It means panic as I'm trying to wrestle them out the door. It means furstration. It means tears welling up in my eyes as I hear the agent coming through the back door. It means me tripping over 4 dogs while trying to make it out the front door unseen. It means me dropping one leash and having to chase one of the dogs half a block up the road. It means my purse getting tangled in the leashes and spilling it's contents onto my neighbours lawn. It means a combined weight of almost 150 pounds of canine pulling me up the street in my flip flops. It means me cursing the boy the entire way.
Don't ever sell your house. Just stay where you are.
On Monday, the boy promised he would be home from work by 5:30. Which was perfect timing because the showing was at 6. He could help me with the dogs, and I would have company while I drove around the neighborhood killing time.
There was just one problem with this plan. He didn't get home at 5:30. Nor did he arrive at 5:45. But the realtor did. So did the propective buyers. Strange people milling about in my laneway means 4 excited dogs, barking at the window and jumping over each other. It means me frantically looking for their leashes. It means them completely ignoring my hushed please to co-operate with me just this once. It means panic as I'm trying to wrestle them out the door. It means furstration. It means tears welling up in my eyes as I hear the agent coming through the back door. It means me tripping over 4 dogs while trying to make it out the front door unseen. It means me dropping one leash and having to chase one of the dogs half a block up the road. It means my purse getting tangled in the leashes and spilling it's contents onto my neighbours lawn. It means a combined weight of almost 150 pounds of canine pulling me up the street in my flip flops. It means me cursing the boy the entire way.
Don't ever sell your house. Just stay where you are.
So upon....
....realizing that Sandra Bullcok had seemingly made the impulsive decision to adopt a baby in the midst of an ugly separation from her husband, I admittedly thought that she was clearly trying to fill a void in her life by replacing her husband with a baby. I mean, couldn't she just have gotten herself a dog?
Nothing like a new little puppy to lift your spirits and make you feel less alone/depressed/unloved. And no, it hasn't excaped my attention that I have 4 of them.
Don't judge me.
Nothing like a new little puppy to lift your spirits and make you feel less alone/depressed/unloved. And no, it hasn't excaped my attention that I have 4 of them.
Don't judge me.
I have to say....
....a special birthday greeting to the boy. It was his birthday yesterday (coincidentally, I am also taking this opportunity to gently remind him that he's got exactly 10 years on me).
I informed him the day before his birthday that his gift would not be arriving until the weekend so that he would not think I had forgotten to get him something altogether. He immediately insisted that he did not want anything, that I should just cancel whatever it was I had ordered, that it would be "a waste". Then he demanded I tell him what it was I was getting him so he could tell me the reasons he didn't need it. This argument lasted approsimately 10 minutes.
Me: "I'm not telling you! You always end up making me tell you what your gift is and I really want to surprise you this time."
Him: "Tell me. I don't want anything so you better just tell me what it is."
Me: "Fine, it's a new BBQ."
Him: "Oh. Ok, you can get me that."
So much for surprises.
Anyways, the boy unknowingly provides material, fodder, inspiration and content for my blog, on top of putting up with me on a daily basis. Even seeming pleased to do so. He keeps me on my toes. He would do anything for me. And for all this, I am eternally grateful.
Happy birthday Sparky.
I informed him the day before his birthday that his gift would not be arriving until the weekend so that he would not think I had forgotten to get him something altogether. He immediately insisted that he did not want anything, that I should just cancel whatever it was I had ordered, that it would be "a waste". Then he demanded I tell him what it was I was getting him so he could tell me the reasons he didn't need it. This argument lasted approsimately 10 minutes.
Me: "I'm not telling you! You always end up making me tell you what your gift is and I really want to surprise you this time."
Him: "Tell me. I don't want anything so you better just tell me what it is."
Me: "Fine, it's a new BBQ."
Him: "Oh. Ok, you can get me that."
So much for surprises.
Anyways, the boy unknowingly provides material, fodder, inspiration and content for my blog, on top of putting up with me on a daily basis. Even seeming pleased to do so. He keeps me on my toes. He would do anything for me. And for all this, I am eternally grateful.
Happy birthday Sparky.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
My brother is.....
...a nurse. Recently his work paid for him to take some additional training. Here is what he emailed me about it:
"So for the last two days I was at this seminar for my work that would have made you go insane. It was a class were they teach healhcare workers to heal people using their own and their patients energy. And you have to keep in mind that my hospital is paying me to go to this. They made us make "lasers" out of our fingers to cure each other. We also had to open each others chakras and do magnetic sweeping of each others energy fields. All of which only involves waving your hands over other weirdos who are eating up this bolony. I can't believe I kept my composure. I felt like I was with a bunch of smart Children who believed in Santa clause. And just so u know our instructor can't perform "psychic surgery" cause it's too beyond her...but don't worry she can reach into u ( with her energy fingers ) and feel your organs to make sure there ok. And don't forget to ask permission from her pendulums before you use them so not to confuse their energy. I feel like I live in another universe. It's scary. "
My response:
"Ahahahaha.......I am SO glad that wasn't me. I would have totally cried when I got home. I would have had an anxiety attack. Or told someone off. I can't handle that s***."
"So for the last two days I was at this seminar for my work that would have made you go insane. It was a class were they teach healhcare workers to heal people using their own and their patients energy. And you have to keep in mind that my hospital is paying me to go to this. They made us make "lasers" out of our fingers to cure each other. We also had to open each others chakras and do magnetic sweeping of each others energy fields. All of which only involves waving your hands over other weirdos who are eating up this bolony. I can't believe I kept my composure. I felt like I was with a bunch of smart Children who believed in Santa clause. And just so u know our instructor can't perform "psychic surgery" cause it's too beyond her...but don't worry she can reach into u ( with her energy fingers ) and feel your organs to make sure there ok. And don't forget to ask permission from her pendulums before you use them so not to confuse their energy. I feel like I live in another universe. It's scary. "
My response:
"Ahahahaha.......I am SO glad that wasn't me. I would have totally cried when I got home. I would have had an anxiety attack. Or told someone off. I can't handle that s***."
The house....
....is up for sale. And my anxiety has been in overdrive knowing that at any second someone could call wanting to see it. Who knew so much dog hair could accumulate in between twice-a-day sweepings?
I was so excited the night the sign went up. Of course I took photos. It was as if my child were going off to school for the first time. Ok, it was nothing like that. But still, it was exciting.
I'm not afraid to admit that while I usually try to keep my house somewhat tidy, it's been hard. And it's only been on the market since Saturday morning. Especially when we've got 4 dogs. And sometimes kids. And a boy who works in a rock quarry and comes home covered in dust every night. MY O.C.D. is in high-gear right now. Not to say I haven't picked up a few little tricks along the way to cut down on prep-time before showings. Allow me to share:
-It's ok to hide dirty dishes in the oven. If a potential buyer want to look in there, they do so at their own risk as far as I'm concerned.
-The dryer is just asking to be a storage unit for dirty clothes.
-Scented candles are good. I like to hide them (the ole' "smelled and not seen" trick) so that people think my house just naturally smells like Lemon Ripple or Butterscotch. And not dog hair.
-And yes, I always have fresh cut flowers on my dining room table. Right.
I can't believe I just googled "Superstations to sell your home"...but I did.
"Bury St. Joseph. Because St. Joseph is the saint of family and home, it is a long believed tradition to bury a statue of St. Joseph in your home's backyard. He is believed to bring luck in any real estate transaction. To receive St. Joseph's full power, he is supposed to be buried upside down with his face towards the street."
Who is St. Joseph, how do I get ahold of him, and how do I convince him to allow me to bury him in my yard?
I was so excited the night the sign went up. Of course I took photos. It was as if my child were going off to school for the first time. Ok, it was nothing like that. But still, it was exciting.
I'm not afraid to admit that while I usually try to keep my house somewhat tidy, it's been hard. And it's only been on the market since Saturday morning. Especially when we've got 4 dogs. And sometimes kids. And a boy who works in a rock quarry and comes home covered in dust every night. MY O.C.D. is in high-gear right now. Not to say I haven't picked up a few little tricks along the way to cut down on prep-time before showings. Allow me to share:
-It's ok to hide dirty dishes in the oven. If a potential buyer want to look in there, they do so at their own risk as far as I'm concerned.
-The dryer is just asking to be a storage unit for dirty clothes.
-Scented candles are good. I like to hide them (the ole' "smelled and not seen" trick) so that people think my house just naturally smells like Lemon Ripple or Butterscotch. And not dog hair.
-And yes, I always have fresh cut flowers on my dining room table. Right.
I can't believe I just googled "Superstations to sell your home"...but I did.
"Bury St. Joseph. Because St. Joseph is the saint of family and home, it is a long believed tradition to bury a statue of St. Joseph in your home's backyard. He is believed to bring luck in any real estate transaction. To receive St. Joseph's full power, he is supposed to be buried upside down with his face towards the street."
Who is St. Joseph, how do I get ahold of him, and how do I convince him to allow me to bury him in my yard?
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
I am re-reading....
.....a book by one of my favourite authors right now, Pamela Des Barres. Pamela was a famous groupie back in the 70's.
Anyways, I love her books, and have become convinced I was a groupie in a former life. In a thinner, hotter & more exciting past life.
It all started with Aerosmith. (If you do not share my affinity for this particular band, I don't think less of you. You may want to skip this blog posting though. And, you may want to re-consider your musical preferences as I think you'll find they will really enrich your overall happiness. Just my opinion.)
When I was a kid, I remember my Dad had an Aerosmith t-shirt. I don't think he particularly enjoyed their music. And I'm 99% sure he'd never seen them in concert. For all I know he may have picked it up at a thrift store. But that winged logo stayed with me for years.
One of the first cd's I ever bought on my own (I use the term "bought" loosely - this is back in the day when ordering dozens of cd's from mail-in record companies and then never paying for them was pretty much status quo) was the soundtrack to Wayne's World 2. I wanted to original soundtrack but couldn't find it so I settled for the second edition. Featuring, of course, Aerosmith. It's mortifying now, but when I was 12, opening all the windows in the house and playing "Dude Looks Like a Lady" at top volume seemed like the best idea in the world. (It's a good thing I grew up in a very small town, where things like this were generally not thought to be too strange. I did move out the day after my high school graduation though. Onto the big city, small apartments and lesser judgement regarding my love of classic rock bands fronted by men 30 years my senior.)
A little later, I dated a guy who proclaimed himself to be the world's biggest Aerosmith fan. The weird part is, I didn't find this out until after we started hanging out. At one point in high school he had even been the singer for an Aerosmith tribute band. I know, right?! "Love in an Elevator" was totally our song. It's ok. You can laugh. Or be disturbed. Embrace your feelings either way I say. Anywho.....I never told him about the extent of the affinity I had for the same band because I didn't want to steal his thunder. Everyone knew that was "his" band. So I let him have it....until one night over drinks, my childhood best friend, having just been introduced to this guy for the first time, brought up the subject my Aero-love. This guy just looked at me in stunned silence. He had many questions...How come I had never told him?! We had so much in common! It was meant to be! (As it turns out, it was not meant to be. At all. But that is another story altogether.)
While in the end this relationship went down in flames, it did nothing to damper my enthusiasm for Steven Tyler & company. In college, two girlfriends, Shanna, Lisa and I road tripped it to Toronto for the weekend to see Aerosmith play there.
Then, about 5 years ago, I headed home to Ottawa to celebrate my birthday. Of course, Lisa & I had picked up tickets to see Aerosmith that same night. See, they were playing in my hometown on my birthday. (As you'll see, this evening eventually goes down in history as one of the best birthdays ever, and henceforth Lisa & I no longer celebrated my birthday, but instead acknowledged it as Steven Tyler Day.) Anyways, after a big dinner with family & friends, Lisa, her sister & I headed to the show. The first thing Lisa & I did was load up on drinks so we wouldn't have to leave our seats. We're classy like that. With that little task taken care of, the second thing we did was buy matching bright yellow, too-small Aerosmith t-shirts from the merch table. While standing in the concourse, sipping our coolers and admiring our new purchases we were approached by an angel. A real, live angel. Or, maybe this person happened to work with the band's inner circle. Whatever. The point is, this person thought we looked like big fans and that we might be out for a good time. We were handed two tickets to the VIP area front & centre of the stage. No questions asked. Tears were shed. Hugs were exchanged with this wonderful stranger. Then more tears. And screams. Drinks were gathered & spilled and we made our down to the front. That night Steven Tyler held my hand. I swear. Just for a minute. But it felt liketime stopped. My friend, after consuimng 8 vodka coolers, took the more brash approach and lunged toward his waist, and succeeded in..um..groping his inner thigh. More tears were shed. More drinks were consumed. Much dancing and singing and screaming took place. Neither of us had a camera. But it doesn't matter, I didn't need one. Those dear memories, and Steven's tender caress, will be cherished forever as a photo developed in my heart.
Anyways, I love her books, and have become convinced I was a groupie in a former life. In a thinner, hotter & more exciting past life.
It all started with Aerosmith. (If you do not share my affinity for this particular band, I don't think less of you. You may want to skip this blog posting though. And, you may want to re-consider your musical preferences as I think you'll find they will really enrich your overall happiness. Just my opinion.)
When I was a kid, I remember my Dad had an Aerosmith t-shirt. I don't think he particularly enjoyed their music. And I'm 99% sure he'd never seen them in concert. For all I know he may have picked it up at a thrift store. But that winged logo stayed with me for years.
One of the first cd's I ever bought on my own (I use the term "bought" loosely - this is back in the day when ordering dozens of cd's from mail-in record companies and then never paying for them was pretty much status quo) was the soundtrack to Wayne's World 2. I wanted to original soundtrack but couldn't find it so I settled for the second edition. Featuring, of course, Aerosmith. It's mortifying now, but when I was 12, opening all the windows in the house and playing "Dude Looks Like a Lady" at top volume seemed like the best idea in the world. (It's a good thing I grew up in a very small town, where things like this were generally not thought to be too strange. I did move out the day after my high school graduation though. Onto the big city, small apartments and lesser judgement regarding my love of classic rock bands fronted by men 30 years my senior.)
A little later, I dated a guy who proclaimed himself to be the world's biggest Aerosmith fan. The weird part is, I didn't find this out until after we started hanging out. At one point in high school he had even been the singer for an Aerosmith tribute band. I know, right?! "Love in an Elevator" was totally our song. It's ok. You can laugh. Or be disturbed. Embrace your feelings either way I say. Anywho.....I never told him about the extent of the affinity I had for the same band because I didn't want to steal his thunder. Everyone knew that was "his" band. So I let him have it....until one night over drinks, my childhood best friend, having just been introduced to this guy for the first time, brought up the subject my Aero-love. This guy just looked at me in stunned silence. He had many questions...How come I had never told him?! We had so much in common! It was meant to be! (As it turns out, it was not meant to be. At all. But that is another story altogether.)
While in the end this relationship went down in flames, it did nothing to damper my enthusiasm for Steven Tyler & company. In college, two girlfriends, Shanna, Lisa and I road tripped it to Toronto for the weekend to see Aerosmith play there.
Then, about 5 years ago, I headed home to Ottawa to celebrate my birthday. Of course, Lisa & I had picked up tickets to see Aerosmith that same night. See, they were playing in my hometown on my birthday. (As you'll see, this evening eventually goes down in history as one of the best birthdays ever, and henceforth Lisa & I no longer celebrated my birthday, but instead acknowledged it as Steven Tyler Day.) Anyways, after a big dinner with family & friends, Lisa, her sister & I headed to the show. The first thing Lisa & I did was load up on drinks so we wouldn't have to leave our seats. We're classy like that. With that little task taken care of, the second thing we did was buy matching bright yellow, too-small Aerosmith t-shirts from the merch table. While standing in the concourse, sipping our coolers and admiring our new purchases we were approached by an angel. A real, live angel. Or, maybe this person happened to work with the band's inner circle. Whatever. The point is, this person thought we looked like big fans and that we might be out for a good time. We were handed two tickets to the VIP area front & centre of the stage. No questions asked. Tears were shed. Hugs were exchanged with this wonderful stranger. Then more tears. And screams. Drinks were gathered & spilled and we made our down to the front. That night Steven Tyler held my hand. I swear. Just for a minute. But it felt liketime stopped. My friend, after consuimng 8 vodka coolers, took the more brash approach and lunged toward his waist, and succeeded in..um..groping his inner thigh. More tears were shed. More drinks were consumed. Much dancing and singing and screaming took place. Neither of us had a camera. But it doesn't matter, I didn't need one. Those dear memories, and Steven's tender caress, will be cherished forever as a photo developed in my heart.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
