First World Problems

Living in a first world country has made life easy for the most of us. Clean water, education, a relatively easy job market, and the ability to travel are just some of the things that most of us can enjoy. I'm not saying that everyone has easy access to these things but in general they are at our fingertips.

It's very easy to take these things for granted, but every now and then it hits me -- hard -- in the face -- that our problems are downright ridiculous.

I received a call today from my friend. Her little girl, CT, is going to be celebrating her sixth birthday this weekend. Like any little girl celebrating her birthday she's excited. I'm going to be 32 on my next birthday and I'm excited. I didn't really get to celebrate my last one because of being all pregnant and stuff, so I'm hoping that the next one will make up for it. 

My point is, she's six, and she's excited.

Naturally she is excited around her peer group. A whole group of bouncy six year olds.  However, not everyone can be invited. Sometimes there just isn't the space for a big group of kids, sometimes another kid is an annoying little ***** so they don't get invited because all they have done is make her life miserable for the last year and a half. Either way, thems the breaks, we all move on.

Right? RIGHT????

Apparently, not so. This particular child's mother called the school -- that's right, THE SCHOOL -- to complain that her daughter wasn't invited to CT's party on the weekend.

Yep, you read that right. CALLED THE SCHOOL.

As though the school would do something about it. There are a number of things shocking about this entire situation. Here they are in order of how they come out of my head. You can be the judge of just how down right laughable they are.

• A mother called the school to complain that her daughter wasn't invited to a birthday party.
• The school didn't laugh in that mother's face. (I would have; in fact, I'm STILL giggling.)
• The school took CT aside to "have a talk with her."
• When my friend called the school, they told her that CT should be more aware of how she may be hurting other kids' feelings.
• My friend didn't laugh in the school's face.
• When my friend asked what she was supposed to do about it, she was told "maybe you should do what I do, and just not have birthday parties." (She should have laughed again. Right here.)

Are you KIDDING me?

First off, as a mother, if you have a problem with my child, you come to me.

Second, what exactly do you think the school is going to do about it? Tell me that my child has to invite everyone or she can't have a birthday party?

Third, the school should have informed this woman that this has nothing to do with school and they were not getting involved. (Or told this woman that her daughter is a stuck up little diva and being left out is pretty much going to be the norm for the rest of her adolescent life. Too far? Nah, she's the one that called the school.)

End. Of. Story.

But no, not so....

The school decided to have a side conversation with CT about this, then speak to all the classrooms to explain that not everyone can be invited to everyone's birthday party outside of school, then sent a letter home with all the kids requesting that for all future birthday parties the invitations be given to the teacher who can then hand them out discreetly to the students invited. (Which would be acceptable, except that it wasn't invitations that upset this little princess, it was other girls talking about how excited they were to be attending.)

I have discussed this matter with The Man and we have decided that in no way has CT done anything wrong. She's turning six and is excited about her birthday party. The school should mind their own damn business and should have told the woman that this was a personal matter and to attempt to approach CT's mother, my friend.

These, my friends, are FIRST WORLD problems. I can guarantee you, in no third world country are there children that have their mommies call the school because the kid in the next hut didn't invite them to their party. Why? Because they are too busy working in the fields helping their families survive. Also, a lot of them probably don't have a phone. Or the ability to send their daughters to school.

But seriously, where does it end? In 10 years is this same mother going to be calling the school to complain that the boy her daughter likes doesn't want to date her? Or maybe she'll call the Dean of the University because the young woman two rows over has a newer laptop and that makes her daughter feel bad.

At some point this little girl is going to turn to her mom and (not so) politely tell her to mind her own business and get the hell out of her life. At some point she is going to realize that her mother is an embarrassment to her, and likely the reason she hasn't been invited to any birthday parties since she was six.

Of course, this is the same mom who will probably tell her kids that putting out will get you love.

First world problems, my friends, first world problems.

Signalling; Not Only is it Nice, it's the Law

So I've noticed recently that fewer and fewer people are using their signal light. Like a dramatic decrease in appropriate signal usage. Once I noticed this I began to see it more and more.

Not only is it stereotypical bad drivers, it's also regular people, bus drivers, taxi cab drivers, and the police.

Now if you live in the country and you never encounter another driver, then frankly I couldn't care less if you signal or not. But when I am trying to exit a parking lot, and the five vehicles that are in my lane choose not to signal and turn into the parking lot, I lose my temper. A little.

So for those of you out there that don't signal, one day someone is going to lose their shit on you. And it will likely be one of my kids that does it. Not only will I have to shell out money for drivers education (where I'm told you will fail if you don't use your signal light) I'll also have to pay for anger management for my kids. Our plan is to enroll them in both programs at the same time.

So here's examples of when no one cares if you signal:

• If you are a pedestrian. 
• If you are flying a plane.

Chances are, if you are behind the wheel, you are none of those people. It is more likely that you will fall into one of the following categories, where it is very much appreciated if you signal, because everyone thinks you're a douche bag if you don't:

• If you are driving a car.
• If you are driving an SUV.
• If you are driving a truck.
• If you are driving a van.
• If you are driving a rental vehicle.
• If you are test driving a vehicle.
• If you have passed your driver's test.

And most importantly, if you are driving and you are going to turn and someone else is waiting to exit that same entrance. Signalling lets them know your intention in this case your intent to turn, thus allowing the person waiting to exit an opportunity to actually exit. It also lets the people behind you--who are likely travelling at maximum allowable speed--to prepare for your inevitable slowdown to accommodate your turn.

Here's a fun little fact to go along with it, if someone hits you because you failed to signal the accident becomes your fault. That's right, your insurance will go up, you could go to court and have to pay for things like "damages", "loss of wages", "pain and suffering". You'll also get demerits on your license. Enough of those and you'll be taking the bus, because driving is a privilege and if you can't handle it, the city offers public transportation. If you feel you are too good to take the bus or the train, you can always call a cab. But when you are sitting in the back of the cab, I bet you'll be hoping you have a driver that knows how to use his signal light.

To make you non-signalers look even dumber, vehicle companies were nice enough to put the signaler within pinkie reach of your left hand. You don't even have to move your hands from the recommended 2 and 10 position to reach it. Even if you signal at the LAST possible second, you can just drag your fingers along with turning the wheel and the signal light will go off! THEN just to make it EVEN easier, the signalling stops all by itself when the turn has been completed and the wheel has returned to it's resting position.

For those of you who do use your signal I thank you, the universe thanks you, and all of the law-abiding citizens thank you. 

For those of you who don't signal, and will not signal even after you read this, we don't thank you at all. Not even a little bit.

Dear Fetus

Dear Fetus;

How's it going? Good? Yeah? I'm happy for you.

I have decided after several verbal conversations, to put this in writing and so have it on record that your current actions are not acceptable.

Your lease isn't up for another 12 weeks, and while I'm all for early moving, it is too soon. Your new home is not yet ready for you. I'll need at least 8-10 more weeks to prepare. I know, that seems like a long time, especially considering that is just over a third of your entire existence at this point. It also seems like a long time to me, and I don't think either of us will be happy if you continue to chip away at the walls of your current home in an attempt to break into freedom.

You may not be aware of this, but practising knife fighting at this point is not something that I find acceptable. It is also unacceptable to be using what I can only assume is a jackhammer in an effort to remove walls or add windows to your current living area. There is a very strict building code, and unfortunately tenant renovations are not on the approved list. Consider this your cease and desist order. 

There is only one exit and for safety reasons this has been blocked off.  I understand that you are very quickly out growing your living space ... believe me I know.  I am also aware that while the living space you have provides you with all the things you need, you are probably starting to look for additional stimulation. This is a fair and very reasonable request. I will forward it on, and have the man with the very deep voice talk to you more often.

To make the next 8-12 weeks more pleasant for the both of us, I have comprised a list of things that I think will be mutually beneficial:

• There will be no more tap dancing, parties, knife fighting, or kick boxing. The neighbours have been complaining, they have been around a whole lot longer than you and frankly we both need them right now. It is in your best interest to keep them happy.
• My kidneys, liver, bladder, spleen, lungs and ribs are not there for your personal amusement. Surprised? One day when you are all grown up and have a fetus of your own, you'll understand and I'll be there to say "told you so".
• I will continue to provide you with regular intervals of sustenance, however if I happen to be running a minute or two behind schedule, you have to stop making me sick. When I'm sick I don't really feel like eating, and if I don't eat; neither do you.
• Water is important. While I know that you are literally swimming in it 24/7, I happen to need additional amounts to live. Getting angry and throwing tantrums are not something that will change the fact that this is a requirement.
• During the next 10-12 weeks I would appreciate it if you were able to fall into the same sleep schedule as everyone around you. I understand that it is very dark in your home and that day light and night time don't mean anything to you but they mean something to me. We would get along a whole lot better if you slept when I did, that way we both can get the rest we need and I can stop crying from exhaustion.

Now that you have my list, I await your rebuttal. Considering you are not currently being charged anything for your room and board, I would be surprised indeed if you have any qualms of your own. I will assume that any lack of communication (verbal or written) is agreement on your part. However, if you object to any of these terms, please submit your reasons in writing no later than the end of the week.

Thanks,

6 + 6 = ???

Every now and then I get a hankering for chicken nuggets. I can't think of anything else. I close my eyes and I can see them, smell them, taste them.... I want them and I want them now.

So this one day the nugget-need hit me, so I got in my truck and drove to the nearest fast food nugget producer.

Clerk: "Hi, what can I get you?"
Me: "Can I get 12 nuggets, regular fries and orange juice, please?"
Clerk: "Our nuggets don't come in 12's."
Me: "Ummm, pardon?"
Clerk: "Our nuggets don't come in packs of 12. They come in 6, 10 and 20."
Me: "No problem, but I still want 12."
Clerk: "They don't come in 12's. I can't give you 12 nuggets."
Me: "I'd like 12 nuggets."

At this point, not only am I seriously confused, I'm also getting more than a little bit frustrated.

Clerk: "I just told you, they don't come in 12 packs."
Me: "Yes, but you said they come in 6 packs."
Clerk: "That's right."
Me: "So I'd like 12 nuggets."

Anger rising.

Clerk: "They. Don't. Come. In. 12. Packs."
Me: "6 + 6 is how many?"
Clerk: "12."

Silence.
More silence.
Even more silence.

Me: "Yeah, I'd like 12 nuggets."
Clerk: "The only way I can do that is to give you two packs of six."
Me: "REALLY?!"
Clerk: "Yes."
Me: "Well, I guess that will have to do."

This, right here, people, is just one more reason why education is important.

Mom's Girls

I remember hearing mom always say she only wanted girls. She was "blessed to have gotten two girls." I don't think I ever learned why she didn't want sons and it probably doesn't matter. She got me, and she got my sister. So she got her girls.

My sister is younger. Two years and eight months younger, to be exact. Two girls. Just like she wanted. I don't think she always wanted to live out on a farm, but that's where we were. In a house, in a field.

I remember one summer when I was seven or eight, so my sister would have been five or six, we kept a garden out back of the house. It wasn't much, but it gave us all something to do. We'd weed the garden, and harvest the garden. A lot of the time, we'd just eat the vegetables from the garden. Just mom and her girls.

It was late summer, and my mom, my sister and I were out working in the garden. Mom had this habit of eating peas (pod and all) right off the vine while we were working.

One day, my sister and I got it in our heads to "help" mom get the best pea pods. We'd pick out what we thought would be the largest and juiciest pods and bring them to her. She'd thank us both, probably just thankful that we weren't arguing. No, we weren't fighting. Not that day. That should have been warning sign number one: her girls were getting along.

We were too busy to fight. We were giving mom the "best" peas. We were helping, we were behaving. We were inspired. We were working together. We were headed down a dark road, and she didn't even see it coming.

We took a large pea pod, opened it and removed all the peas.

Then we got a worm.

I don't remember if it was my idea or her idea, but I do know it was my idea to wash the worm off in a puddle. Who wants to eat a dirty worm?

By this time, we had already set a precedent of bringing pods to mom, who would thank us and then eat them. Probably so happy that her girls were getting along, and working together. So like we had been doing all afternoon, we brought her the pod.

We watched in anticipation as she raised the pod to her lips. Our eyes grew wide. She grew suspicious, as her two girls watched her so intently with huge unblinking eyes. Then she stopped.

She opened the pod to find a live worm (clean-ish) where the peas should be. I don't remember her reaction, but I remember that we ran for it, giggling. A lot.

When dad came home that evening, she told him the story. The whole story. How we were working in the garden. How her girls were so helpful. How we brought her the best peas to eat. How one pod had a wriggling worm. How we had been good enough to wash it off in a puddle.... How she would have fallen for it, if her girls hadn't stood there and stared at here so intently ... as if waiting for something.

He laughed, and laughed, and laughed. Which meant we could laugh and laugh. We were totally off the hook. When dad laughed, we weren't going to get in trouble. So we all laughed. All except mom, who didn't think the situation was really all that funny.

I bet if she had thought of it first, she would have laughed. She would have laughed until tears rolled down her cheeks. But she didn't think of it first. Her girls did.

Yeah, mom wanted girls. But my dad got two tomboys.

Chain Letter, Chain Posts, Repost This

As an avid user of various social media pages, I am finding a disturbing increase in people posting crap to my wall. 

It used to be mostly religious stuff:

• "repost if you believe in God"
• "repost if you need a prayer"
• "repost if you have the courage"
• "repost, because if you don't God won't know you love Him"

First off, my religious beliefs are none of anyone else's business. Like most people, there are many people I only vaguely know, or have met through a friend of a friend of a friend of that guy who used to walk his dog on Tuesdays. While I'm sure all these people are lovely people, my private life is just that -- private. I don't need the potential axe murderer knowing what church I take my kids to, or when I might be home alone, because I have to post it to appease the masses.

However, it has become far more than just religious. Now they have reposts for everything:

• "repost if you are going to vote for so-and-so." Guess what, I'm Canadian I can't vote in the American Presidential Election, and who I vote for is no one's business.
• "repost if you support <fill in the blank>" Who and what I support are who and what I support. I don't care what you support.
• "repost if you don't support <fill in the blank>" How do you know that I don't support that? Maybe I DO support some cause that you are dead set against, how do you know that you haven't completely offended me by telling me not to support something I fully believe in? Like gun registration, or criminal background checks for the ice cream truck driver.
• "repost for Google/Microsoft/Facebook to send you one million dollars" Do you even realize how ridiculous this makes you look? Honestly?
• "repost to keep the powers that be from shutting down your computer remotely from their super secret lab where they have nothing better to do."
• "resend this IM to keep blackberry from deleting your contact list"
• "If you don't forward this within 5 minutes of opening you will be cursed with 200 years of really bad luck" so if I mark that message as 'unopened' does my timer restart?

The worst one I have seen lately, was an incredibly graphic picture of a very clearly abused animal. Not to get into too many details, but not only was this animal previously abused, I'm sure the abuser took the picture immediately after said abuse to post on his or her wall. 

Don't get me wrong, my heart went out for this animal immediately. I don't understand how anyone can be so cruel. But I don't need you posting it on my wall.

As many of you know, I have a small child who is very much interested in technology, and it was only by the slimest chance of luck (probably because I reposted about needing some guardian angel to watch over my technological journeys) that she didn't see it.

I am glad that you don't support animal abuse. No one should, but you know what? 

I don't support people eating burgers made out of live otters, but do I put pictures of baby otters struggling in vain to escape a bun up on your wall? Nope.

I also don't support child pornography. Do I post terribly explicit pictures on your wall, and ask you to repost them if you also don't support it?

No. No, I don't.

And why? Why wouldn't I do this?

Because some things are not appropriate. And putting a graphic depiction of you "not supporting animal abuse" on MY wall, where MY child could very easily see it and more than likely want to know exactly why that puppy is lying in puddles of ketchup is not appropriate. 

I noticed that when you posted this disgusting picture on my wall, you did not include a contact number where my children can call you for an explanation. I can see how in your righteous passion for getting the word out on what you do and do not support you may have over-looked this. But to refuse to provide me with this when I ask for contact information, screams of band-wagon jumping at its finest.

If you want to support (or not support) something, and you want other people to follow along behind you after visually bombarding us with your support-this or anti-that propaganda, you better have the chops to actually put your name on it. That means that you will put actual references to places that we can volunteer/donate to/call for more information. That means I can call you or email you or IM you for more information, and you will be more than happy to answer my questions and those of my children.

If you aren't prepared to do this, then perhaps you should stick to posting stuff on your own wall.

Gender Neutral; Google it.

When I found out I was pregnant I did what any normal woman does.

I went shopping.  I mean, I had to find some way to tell my hubby that he was going to be a Daddy. 

Evidently, there are very few department stores (in my town at least) that will carry gender neutral baby clothes.  I was perplexed.  How EXACTLY am I supposed to surprise the love of my life with a baby outfit, if I can't find something that is not pink with ponies, or blue with Monster trucks?

Even if I am having a boy, maybe he won't like monster trucks, maybe he will be more concerned about the effect these monster trucks are having on the environment.  Or maybe it’s a girl, and she would like to see monster trucks on her little pink t-shirt.

I was immediately distraught over the rampant sexism in newborn fashion, and deeply distressed over the lack of yellow and green outfits.  I asked, what I thought to be, a nice looking attendant with a super chipper smile, and an “I CAN HELP" button on her vest where to find gender neutral baby clothes. 

Her super chipper smile, faded slowly from sincere to frozen, she stood there looking at me, with her head cocked slightly to the side, as though deciding if she was imagining me.

After a really long, intense silence, I said, “Do you work in this department?"

"Yes."

"Okay, great! Where can I find gender neutral baby clothes?"

More silence.

"You know, for people who don't know if they are having a boy, or a girl, and want to buy something. Gender neutral.... Like yellow or green...?"

At this point she slowly turned her head to the rack that was right beside us.  A rack jam packed with bright pink outfits, all covered with ponies.

Then she turned her head to the other rack, where the clothes were blue and monster-truckish.

Then she looked back at me.  Still nothing.

"Do you understand me?"  Just in case I had slipped into Klingon because apparently that happens to me every now and then.

She assured me in her most-not-so-customer-friendly voice that she most certainly did. Then she continued to stare at me.

So I asked her for the THIRD time, "Where are the gender neutral baby clothes?"

Again she looked at me as though my hair had turned to snakes and I was silently willing her to become stone.  Finally she opened her mouth and said "We are in the baby clothes section."

It was right here, some tiny little thing in my head popped.  She no longer had her super chipper smile, and she was certainly not using her most helpful voice. 

“I am aware that we are in the baby clothes section.  In fact, both these racks have a sign that says "Girls" or "Boys". What I am looking for are clothes that are yellow, green, maybe even white because, believe it or not, at 5 weeks I have no idea if I'm carrying a boy or a girl, and I want to surprise my man by buying a super cute little outfit for our currently GENDER NEUTRAL child.  Do you think you can direct me to where I might find something like that?"

After another few moments of intense stare-down time, I determined that this was certainly not going to work.  Either this girl did not understand the words that were coming out of my mouth, or she simply wanted to see how far she could push me before I bludgeoned her to death with a teething ring.

Work Article--Without Telling You Anything About Work

It's Wednesday. That means I'm at work. That also means that there is a good chance there will be a new blog. Guess what! you win. There's a new blog. And since I've had this planned out in my head for the last couple hours, this should make up for that whole last post.

We'll start with a touch of back story. This is a re-cap of the interaction between myself and a Team Lead at work. Team Leads are a lot like supervisors, but instead of supervising, they literally lead a team, which I think is super awesome. Also, I'm more likely to capitalize Team Lead. So I will refer to him as TL.

(Just a note, this is not a change to Tinkerbell's name; he is and forever will be called Tinkerbell, he had his chance he doesn't get to change it now.)

TL: "Hey can you work on something for me? Y'know, instead of texting."

Me: "What do you need?"

TL: "Can you write an article for the newsletter about our internal online information site?"

Me: "Ummmm... creative writing isn't really my thing."

TL: "Says the Blogger." (Touche)

Me: "Have you read my blog? It's stuff that I see and then I make people laugh about it." (Satire! not stuff for the company newsletter!)

TL: "It doesn't have to be long."

Me: "Can we use my blog about Two Digit Entry? That's work related."

TL: "No."

(This is where I made a little bit of a sad face. I liked that entry.)

Me: "How long are we looking at here?"

TL: "Half a page, single spaced in size 9 font."

Me: "Size 9!! Are you kidding me??"

TL: "No."

Me: "Oh. How do I get to said internal online information site?"

TL: "Are you kidding me?"

Me: "No." (I sort of was, because I had received an email telling me to go to the site, and I did go, but haven't really had to use the site since then ... but it was worth the look on his face....)

I was kinda worried about this, I mean don't get me wrong I enjoy doing little projects on the side at work, it makes me feel special (Juvenile? Maybe, nah-nah-nah). It wasn't even the fact that dozens of my co-workers would be reading my writing, I like getting attention, which I suppose is abnormal for a introvert, but true for me nonetheless. The thing that worried me was I would have to use a different style of writing.

As you can probably tell, I'm a little sarcastic. I like to make people laugh at the stupidity of the world around them, usually MY OWN!! How was I supposed to write an article that people with important titles would likely read. People like "Director" and "Senior Vice President of Security" and "Guy that Signs Your Cheques". (Internally I was totally hyperventilating). 

Luckily I was able to find a balance between informative and funny. That, and the site wasn't nearly as scary as I had thought it would be. In the end I really enjoyed writing the article. I hope that people will enjoy reading it at work. I also hope that whoever edits it, won't make too many changes. After all, I just discovered I can be funny AND informative.

AT THE SAME TIME!!!

My Apologies

So it's been a while since I posted. I have to apologize. Apparently nothing interesting has happened around me lately, and I certainly did not want to just post crap.

I want to post stuff that will actually make you laugh or cry or think. But alas! life doesn't always give us what we want. If it did, I would be posting all day every day with all the funny stuff that has happened to me.

We have finally hit winter here in Alberta. Or rather; winter has finally hit us. Hard.

When I came to work, I was immediately asked why there is nothing new on the blog. Again, I'm very sorry.

My friend, Proti, told me that I should blog about the winter. I did that already in the post entitled Dear Winter.

I have to say that since that posting, winter has been very cooperative. There have been some very windy days, but overall we have been very lucky this year. And as I look back on winters gone by, I realize that they are no where near as bad as they used to be.  Maybe they just seemed so much worse because I was younger and lived in the country. Everything seems worse when you are young, have no transportation, and live in the country.

This week we are hit with incredibly cold temperatures. A base temperature of -27 degrees. I don't even know what that is for you Americans, but it's cold.

Very. Very. Cold.

Proti wanted me to talk about how her delicate brown skin is not equipped to handle this cold. I assured her that my Canadian white skin was no better equipped than hers. Which now that I read it, was way funnier when it happened due to our utmost mutual sincerity.

At least it hasn't been windy, and there isn't four feet of snow. Much to the dismay of my children who wish to go sledding. They'll appreciate this when they are older, I'm sure.

Surprisingly, the buses, both school and public transit, are running on time. So far. Evidently there are some people that have had their furnaces break. Coldest day of the year, and the one item that is supposed to keep you warm decides it needs a day off.

So while this post hasn't been the funniest, or the saddest, or the most thought provoking, the over-whelming number of people wondering if I have died will be appeased. 

Maybe something funny will happen to me on the bus, or later on today. Or maybe tomorrow.  I promise I haven't gone away, and I certainly don't intend to. I just don't want to be posting stuff that won't make you sit back and go: "I WISH I had thought of that first."

Thank you to everyone who is out there reading this, and waiting so patiently for the next post. Your support means a lot to me.

Post Christmas Contentment

Now that the holidays are over, it’s time to sit back and relax. Probably take some time to digest the massive amounts of food that most of us consumed over the last few days, and prepare for any New Year’s Eve plans we may have.

That is, unless you are like every other person in this city of one million.

Then it’s time to shop.  Shop, shop, shop.

There’s no time to enjoy the gifts that were received, we have to go out and spend money on other stuff.  I mean, those holiday sales won’t last forever.

I’m not condemning it. I got gift cards for Christmas too, and frankly some of the deals that are out there this week are just too good to pass up. 

I went shopping with The Man yesterday. We had received several gift certificates and wanted to take advantage of the amazing bargains. We spent several hours wandering around the mall, being pushed around by other frantic shoppers.

We went to the stores that we didn’t have time to go to before Christmas, maybe get something for next year. We went to the stores we had gift cards for.  We looked in the stores that we wouldn’t normally shop in. We went to familiar stores and looked at things we’ve always just put off or said we would get ‘next time’. We walked and walked through store after store.

And we came home with nothing. 

Aside from lunch at a truck stop because they make the best club sandwiches in the entire world, we didn’t spend anything. We didn’t even get fancy coffees which is really unusual because we get coffee all the time.

I have to admit I was very sad. A whole bunch of family members gave us an opportunity to spend their money on stuff we wouldn’t normally buy for ourselves and we still came home empty handed.

But don’t worry, we’ll try again. And again, and again, until we spend the money, get the best deals and make sure we top up on that holiday shopping cheer. We have to make sure we have enough to remind us why we avoid Christmas shopping to begin with.

Tomorrow I go shopping with Sister.

Christmas Decorations

This may be incredibly surprising to learn, but I don't like decorating the Christmas tree. I don't know why. It just seems like so much effort even though I don't even take the lights off of it each year.  We have a fake tree because I think it is terribly wasteful to get a real tree every year. Might smell nice, but I don't think that justifies the eviction of countless forest animals.

This year the tree made it up pretty early in comparison to other years.  It is standing in the living room, by the window. Looking very green.

I had asked The Man to decorate it with the kids but that hasn't happened. Which kinda works out.

The Daughter must have gotten tired of looking at a plain boring tree all the time, so she took it upon herself to make, colour, and hang decorations.

She used construction paper and regular paper and elastics and paper towel and markers and various colours of glitter paint (which makes everything better), and to be perfectly honest I feel that this is the best decorated tree in the whole world and I'm not just saying that because I hate decorating trees and since I didn't have to do it that makes it the best. I'm saying this because she took the initiative to sit down--for an extended period of time--and focus on ONE task.

She told me I couldn't look until she was done.

When she was finished she proudly showed me her homemade decorations.

There are:

• Four skulls and crossbones
• Three paper towel ghosts
• Two candy canes
• And a picture of a zombie eating a kitten (so she says, I don't think it looks like that, but I'm not going to crush her creativity)

Since then, I have asked The Man a couple more times to decorate the tree with the kids while I am at work, because it would be a good thing for them to do together (since I did it alone last year) and not because I'm at work and wouldn't have to help.

I came home the other night, and it was not decorated. At first I was a little upset. And by a little I mean I was super pissed because I had been asking for over a week, and a week is a really long time, and in my head it was all a conspiracy to see how long it would take before I just did it myself.

Well I'm NOT going to do it. I don't want anyone else to do it either. 

She put a lot of effort and work into these decorations. The ghosts even have happy faces. Yeah, they're happy ghosts. Probably because they get to hang out around a tree and not some creepy house that no one is brave enough to go into and really Christmas is about being together and this lets the ghosts do that.

And frankly, I don't think there are any other decorations in the whole world that better depict the awesomeness that is our family.

Random Incident

This is an actual text conversation between me and The Man the other day while I was at work.

Me: I love you. SOOOO much!

The Man: .... how come? (nice eh?)

Me: Cause you're awesome.

The Man: I love you soooo much too.

Me: I am extremely happy that you used the same number of "o"s as I did.  It's okay that you didn't use an exclamation mark. I know how you feel about them. I even limited myself to one*. Just for you.

Me: SEE how much I love you?

The Man: LOL

Me: Can I buy a llama?

Silence.

*The Man feels that multiple exclamation marks are silly.  I feel that if I use four of them, it means that I am four times as excited about the sentence than if I had only used a period. And even though I was exceptionally excited about my sentence and pretty much everything else happening around me that evening, I restrained myself because that's what you do for people you love.

I didn't end up buying a llama because the website was far too complicated and I had a very limited attention span that evening.  Also, even though it was a charity thing that I was trying to support they wouldn't have given me a tax receipt because I am Canadian. And while it isn't about the tax receipt, it would be nice to get one that says "Thank you for your purchase of a llama".

I did however find e-cards on the same site and I sent three of those, but only two made it to the recipients, which made me sad, but I didn't pay for the cards.

I feel I won.

Vision of My Daughter Dating

I went to check on my daughter while she was sleeping the other night. I do it every night, sometimes she wakes up and we have a sleepy conversation more often she just sleeps through it.

My mind flashed forward 10 years, I wish it was 20 or 30 or 100, but realistically it was 10.

This is how I imagined it will happen:

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The Man opens the door.

Intense silence and stare down time. People find The Man very intimidating. This is a good thing.

Date: “I’m here to date your daughter.”

What the Man hears: “I’m a psycho axe murderer and I’m here for your daughter.” (This is probably what Cheryl Bradshaw’s father/stepfather would have thought if she had actually agreed to date Rodney Alcala after he won the Dating Game. Luckily for her she refused to go out with him even after she chose him to be the winner but then decided he was too creepy.)

Date: “May I come in?”

What the Man hears: “I’d like to scope out your place for future potential illicit activities. IE: Break and Entry or a quick getaway.”

What the Man says: “Come in, have a seat.”

What the Date hears: “Come in, I’m going to cut you.” and the faint click of a shotgun.

The date comes in and sits down, because the Daughter will not be ready, of course .  There is a long awkward silence when I come into the room.

Me: “Would you like something to drink?”

What the Date hears: “I’ve poisoned everything in sight. Good luck.”

What the Date says: “No, thank you.”

What I hear: “I’m way too nervous, and I might pee on your coach.” Which would suck because it’s not actually our couch it belongs to The Man’s sister and I don’t think she would appreciate having some strange boy who was attempting to date her niece urinate on it.

What the Man hears: “I’d rather just take your daughter and leave it takes a long time to dismember a body and I kinda wanna get to it.”

The Daughter then comes down the stairs.

What the Date says: “You look fantastic.”

What I hear: “Your daughter is beautiful.”

What the Man hears: “I’m going to cut her into little bits so her beauty never fades.”

They then leave after I take a dozen or so photos to remember this moment in my little girl’s life.

What I think: “They look so cute. I hope I don't have to take a hit out on him later.”

What the Man thinks: “I’m going to tell Trina I’m going out to the store, and I’m going to follow this little punk and the moment he tries anything I’m going to pounce like a tiger (roar!!!!) and he’s going to be in for a world of pain and that will be a lesson to every other low life scumbag who tries to ‘date’ her.”

What the Date thinks: “Holy crap, she gave me the right information. I’m the luckiest guy in the whole world.”

What the daughter thinks: “He is the luckiest guy in the whole world.”

More likely The Man will meet up with the Ex and they’ll both follow them around then the Date will have Dad and Step Dad just hoping for him to do something really dumb.

Like pay for her movie/dinner or hold a door open.

Best Bus Ride. Ever. So far.

I got on the bus today which was busier than on the weekdays but then it could be because everyone who works downtown on the weekdays probably doesn’t start in the afternoon so there are fewer people, but on the weekend when most people don’t work they apparently take the bus downtown to do other stuff.

There was an elderly Asian woman probably in her late seventies if I had to guess who was standing near the front. The ride proceeded as usual, until this woman started to sing. She sang “The Sound of Music”. At full volume.

But she didn’t know all the words to the song, so she would mix the words with other songs like “How do you Solve a Problem like Maria” but she kept the tune to “The Sound of Music” which was awesome, because the words don’t match at all and it makes the brain wonder “WHAT IS GOING ON?”

After a few songs – at full volume, she then moved on to singing hymns and started yelling about God. When it appeared that no one was listening to her, she began to spell the words. C-h-r-i-s-t is K-i-n-g, just in case we weren’t sure which Christ she were talking about because it is always best to cover your bases when on a bus filled with people of different ethnicities and probably different beliefs. It's your R-e-s-p-o-n-s-i-b-i-l-i-t-y.

She would switch between singing hymns and yelling at the atmosphere “he is the only way to happiness” and “he is the only king” and “we must put our trust in him to be saved” all in a sing-song voice in mostly English words with an Asian accent to the tune of “The Sound of Music”.

As the bus slowed she made her way to the front, stopped, and turned to face us all.

She then raised her shopping bag filled arms in what I can only assume was her best impression of Jimmy Swaggart during a faith healing frenzy. She spoke so quickly that I wondered if she had begun speaking in tongues.


She looked serious—not like “hello! I'm trying to save you...” but more angry like “why must I always be surrounded by evil-doers who don’t pay attention when I sing songs with the wrong words to the wrong tune and all must perish."

Then exited the bus to a notable lack of applause.

I was left completely uncertain if she was blessing us all with her spirit or if she were casting us all to the fires of eternal damnation as unbelievers.

Best. Bus. Ride. Ever.

The whole time part of me was waiting for someone to tell her to sit down and be quiet or for someone to pick a fight because they were offended with what she was saying.

Another part of me was all like “wow, good for you.” It takes an incredible amount of courage to speak about your beliefs with anyone, let along sing them in the wrong tune to a bus full of strangers.

Now I have “The Sound of Music” score stuck in my head but that’s okay because I really like that movie and I’m sad that I only have it on VHS, when I was sure I bought it on DVD but I can’t find it so maybe I dreamed that I did but after today I’m going to have to go get it for real. Because it is awesome.

All Grown Up

I’m an adult. This is new.

I mean I’ve known about it for some time, I’ve been able to vote for over a decade and I drive a car and I pay bills and I have my own credit report.  So I knew I was an adult but it didn’t really hit me until very recently.

A friend of mine wanted to get together and go for dinner or a movie or a pub where I could watch her drink or something, just out. I was unable to accept this very open invitation because of ‘stuff’.

Stuff includes work and getting the Child to school and being there when kids get home from school and Christmas shopping and doing laundry and washing dishes and bathing the Child—and relaxing.

Yeah, relaxing counts as doing something. 

She was all like “what’s your plan?” and my honest response was “relaxing” and she understood. Have some tea and read a book. With chapters and no pictures.

Ten years ago, I wouldn’t have been caught dead relaxing. Relaxing meant going to the club and letting off steam, or going for drinks with friends, or sleeping until two or five-ish in the afternoon. Relaxing didn’t mean having tea and staring at a wall, but I’ll do that now.

I’ll just sit. Like a cat. And stare. At the wall. I’m not sad or depressed or easily seduced by the pattern the lights make on the walls, okay well sometimes it happens but for the purposes of this we’ll say I’m not. I’m lost in thoughts. Real thoughts. Thoughts about adult stuff.  Like global warming and utility bills and “M” rated video games.

I never thought I would say things like “turn the music down” or “can’t you just sit still?” or “act like a normal human being, why do you have to skip everywhere you go?” But these are all things I find myself saying to my child. I used to listen to loud music and skip, I don’t remember when I stopped doing it.

I don’t understand how she gets bored when she isn’t doing anything.  I would love to have nothing to do. There is always something that needs to get done, oh don’t get me wrong,  I’ll procrastinate and I’ll avoid it like the plague, but it’s still there. It’s still something that needs to be completed. Sooner or later.

I even think twice when asked “wanna go drink?” I think about going to the bar or the pub and then I think about how much less it would cost to just buy liquor and drink it at home. Not to mention how much quieter it will be.  And if I decided to drink myself into a stupor, I don’t have to even think about how I’m going to get home.

I’m an adult.  But I can still stay up as late as I want for no good reason because no one can make me go to bed because I’M THE BOSS OF ME.

Unless I’m at work.

Awesome Socks: They're Awesome

There are relatively few things that will make me exceptionally happy. And by relatively, I mean not a lot of things at all.

One of these things is socks. Not just socks, awesome-socks.

They make me far happier than I ought to be considering they’re just socks, but don’t tell them that because the dryer monster already kidnaps enough of them and I wouldn’t be able to handle run-aways as well.

Anyone can scurry down to the store and pick up a six pack of white socks that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about seriously awesome socks.

I have dozens, literally, and none of them are the same.

I have socks with bats or cats or witches. Socks with stripes or dots or zebra patterns.  Rainbow zebra pattern. There’s a pair of socks that have black leopard print on them, but those aren’t mine and I don’t know where they came from and it would be really weird to wear someone else’s awesome-socks.

The Man doesn’t understand my awesome-sock happiness. He doesn’t understand how I can go out shopping all day long and come back with nothing more than five new pairs of awesome-socks and be pleased about my productivity for the day.

To be fair, I usually come home with lots more stuff, I also really like shoes and purses and bags especially ones with lots of pockets. My point is; if I ever did come home with nothing but five pairs of awesome-socks I would be okay with that.

I have socks with baby chicks, frogs, ladybugs, army camouflage in various colours, and skulls. I have super bright socks in yellow, orange, green, pink and blue.

The plainest pair of socks I own are all black but made out of super fluffy short-cropped-pseudo-boa material.  I don’t know if that is what they are actually made out of but I can’t think of another way to describe them.

My best pair of socks are jail striped knee highs with Jack Skellington on them.  My sister bought me those when she was down in Disneyland.  In fact Disneyland has an entire store dedicated to awesome socks. She took pictures.

The Man immediately told me I couldn’t go. I can’t even go if I have an awesome-sock budget.

I think he secretly wishes he had awesome-socks so he could share in my awesome-sock joy. Which I can understand because all his socks are white, gray, or black, and while that’s functional it’s also less awesome.

But that’s okay because I’m sure when no one is around my awesome-socks hold support meetings for less fortunate socks that are awesomely-challenged so they don't commit sock suicide.

Christmas Cheer and Entitlement

I was out Christmas shopping today, mostly for the kids, though I did buy myself something. I won't say what it is because it'll make me jump like 10 more points on the geek-o-meter or more.  The point is, I was waiting to get through an aisle, and it dawned on me.

I was the ONLY one waiting my turn. People were pushing and shoving and the store wasn't even really that busy, people would actually move other carts and not say anything.  One of these same people actually shoved a child out of the way so that they could get a better look at something they didn't even end up putting in their basket. They didn't apologize, or help the child up, or even look remotely remorseful about the fact that they just provided a life lesson to a very impressionable individual.

Push people around. You'll get what you want.

I really hope that person is or one day will be one of my readers. Yeah, I saw you.  You're getting coal from Santa this year, my pushy friend, and probably every year after for the rest of your life, until you can open your own coal store and the little kids that you pushed around will all be environmentalists who will have you shut down for ruining the earth and then you'll be on the street and everyone will push you around. You deserve it.

Typically Canadians are the politest people around.  We apologize when someone bumps us. But when Christmas comes around —look out! We turn into after-midnight-over-fed-gremlins. Yeah, and we'll push kids around to get what we want.

Remember a few years back when the Tickle-Me Elmo doll came out or those creepy Furby things, and people DIED during the shopping frenzy? They died! And it was probably someone related to Mr. I'm-gonna-shove-a-child I saw earlier.  Merry Christmas, I killed someone in your family so I could get a ridiculous doll that was the least popular item by Easter but I don't feel bad about it because I-GOT-THE-DOLL.

This is what Christmas has become. A show of I'm bigger and I have more money, so I can push others around (even kids!) because I'm more entitled to that item than the average person who has to work like mad to make ends meet.

All year long, we teach our children to respect others and to treat others the way they would want to be treated. To care for those who are less fortunate.  We all like to talk about Christmas being the season of giving, about good will towards men and all that, but that's not the case.

Christmas is a free-for-all, we'll talk a good show and we'll even donate to the local church or to the food bank, but if anyone gets in the way of the newest fad item this year, we'll cut you.

It makes me sad that I'm raising two, soon to be three children in a world where full grown eligible voters have no problem pushing kids around to see a toy on a department store shelf.

You know what, those kids are going to grow up and have the final say in what sort of establishment passes for an acceptable nursing home.  Those kids are going to grow up and make laws about what senior citizens can and can not do.

So maybe just maybe pushing around the people that are going to be running this country when you are sitting in adult diapers is not the best plan in the world. Just sayin'.

Sticky Note Destiny

I have this quirk about paper.  I like it.  A lot.  Probably an inappropriate amount.

But I don’t feel that it’s unhealthy.  I mean paper comes from trees and trees were living and there are lots of people that chain themselves to trees so that loggers can’t chop them down and make stuff out of them.  I don’t do that.  I don’t chain myself to the photocopier to keep people from making copies.

I do, however, get moderately upset when static in the machine causes blank pages to come out with the pages that were printed and people just throw those pages in the trash. 

They get angry at the paper because there are blank papers every second page of their five hundred page (single sided) PDF, because “looking at the screen hurts their eyes”.  They should be getting mad at the copier. It’s the copier that is creating the static that causes those papers to stick together.

The paper didn’t ask to be attached siamese-twin style to a page that gets printed on.  And throwing that blank page in the garbage is denying it its paper destiny.

Years and years ago, a seed began to sprout and grow into a really big tree. There it was minding its own business when loggers came along and chopped it down because the tree-hugging hippies didn’t find it worthy of saving.  After that, it went to the lumber mill, so on and so forth it becomes paper.

That paper is then packaged up with more paper, and sent to businesses where we photocopy pictures of our hands because it entertains us.

The least we could do is put those blank pages back into the photocopier so that they can fulfil their paper destiny.

Tinkerbell thought it would be amusing to put sticky notes on my jacket.  This didn’t bother me at all until I discovered that they were blank. He didn’t even write on them or draw little smiley faces or tell me what an awesome job I’m doing.

He robbed these little sticky notes of their sticky note destiny.

So I saved them.  I pulled off each piece of fluff, fuzz and hair, and wrote sticky note protests directed at Tinkerbell and how he was not respecting their rights as a once living thing.

Each of the six sticky notes has been given its own voice and I have ensured that their protest will remain heard by using scotch tape to secure them to my file cabinet.  Scotch tape likes being part of a good cause. 

Two Digit Entry - Simplification

I’ve mentioned that I work in customer service.  We have an automated phone system to help simplify things.

There is a step in the system that says:

“Using two digits for each entry; please enter your birth month and year, (then there's an example) followed by the pound sign.”

I feel that these instructions are pretty clear.  There’s even an example.

But it never fails. Someone will be transferred over saying that the automated system will not accept their birthday.

“I’m sorry to hear that. What did you enter?”

“My birthday.”

“Yes, what numbers did you enter into the phone?”

“04-26-1875.* That’s my birthday. Should I have put the date before the month?”

“No, it’s asking for two digit entry for birth month and year.”

“But I entered my birthday.”

“Yes, however the system is only asking for the month and year.”

“Oh! So I should enter 04-1875.” (Statement, not question).

“No, the system is asking for two digit entry for the month and year. So you would enter 04-75. For April, 1875.”

“Okay, so what do I do now?”

“Once you hang up with me, call the same number back and follow the prompts on the phone.”

“I have to go through that all over again?!”



*Please note, this is a completely arbitrary date. This does not refer to any particular instance of this happening. To my knowledge I have never talked to anyone born in 1875.

Brain Battle. I lost. Or did I...?

I was up late the other night, very late, really, really very late, and all I could think about was maintaining my funniness levels.  I had this entire internal dialogue going with my brain about how staying up late would or would not help my blogging abilities.

Me: What if people stop thinking I’m funny, and they determine I don’t deserve to have webspace.

Brain: Your pages hits are getting higher every day, I don’t think that is the case.

Me: But what if I’m having an off day and I write something no one thinks is funny?

Brain: Has that happened yet?

Me: No, but it could happen.

Brain: We can figure it out tomorrow, it’s time to sleep.

Me: No, I have to figure this all out now.

Brain: It’s 2:30 in the morning, seriously?

Me: When else would I think about it?

Brain: I don’t know, maybe during the day like normal people.

Me: Have you met me?

Brain: Way off the point. It’s late, time to sleep.

Me: Can’t sleep, I have to think about this now.

Brain: You can think about that in the morning. Now we sleep.

Me: No, in the morning I have to think about getting Child ready for school.

Brain: Okay, think about it when she is at school.

Me: No, then I have to think about other stuff. Right now is the ONLY time I can think about this.

Brain: Is not.

Me: Is too.

Brain: No, it’s really not. You need to get sleep.  Do you think you’ll be able to produce anything anyone will want to read if you deprive me of sleep?

Me: Maybe.

Brain: No, you won’t. I’ll be too tired to make coherent sentences.

Me: Maybe people think that’s funny.

Brain: Unlikey. I’m shutting down now, good luck thinking about anything without me.

Me: Don’t go yet…! We need to think about this!

Brain: Muahahahaha…. Zzzzzzz

Turns out, you really do need your brain to cooperate in order to get anything done. Especially when it involves a lot of thinking stuff. 

Also turns out my brain was pretty serious about not helping me that night, after the brain shut off, the subconscious kicked in and I had to endure dreams about people hating me for not being funny.

Maybe subconscious and brain are working together to teach me a lesson, but really I doubt that'll work. In the end, I just ended up with one more thing to write about. So maybe I did win after all.