Divorce - Fun for the Whole Family!

I should probably explain my last post so I don't just look like Debbie-Downer over here.

I went to my parents house on Sunday, like I do every week. My parents are getting divorced but they still live together, like they have for 27 years. They each have their own living room, and they don't sleep in the same bedroom - it's been like that for years.

They still eat meals together with my younger sisters. My dad does most of the housework since he's semi-retired and my mom resents him for it since she's 9 years younger and still has to work.

My mother is an alcoholic but even when she isn't drinking she can be truly mean. The last three Sundays I've been over there she's found a reason to start a fight with me. Not just a minor fight but she starts yelling at me, slamming doors and generally just makes me cry.

Then she has the nerve to ask my younger sisters why I haven't been spending time with her lately, and tells them I'm on my dad's SIDE (like we're children and have to choose sides).

The difference is that my dad almost never talks about the divorce. When he talks about my mother, it's like he feels sorry for her. He reminds us that she loves us and he never says anything about her unless she is being particularly mean.

My dad is not by any means perfect. He can be controlling and he has a short temper. You can tell his way of "fighting" against my mom is by being the calm parent. I don't see anything wrong with that.

The reason I don't like hanging out with my mom lately is because all she talks about is how bad of a person my dad is. Or she'll talk about some aspect of the divorce, throwing it out there like it's such an improvement in her life.

She sorted the Christmas ornaments into "her" pile and "his" pile, organized hers neatly in special boxes and left his in a jumbled pile. Then she felt the need to show off how much bigger her pile was. She acts like a child.

I think my mother is pushing me away because she knows if it came down to it, I would hang out with my dad more then her. She's hard to deal with and I'm so sick of hearing about how bad of a person my dad is.

I'm sick of hearing her plans for divorce, I'm sick of hearing about how my dad plans to screw her in the divorce proceedings (he doesn't want to hire lawyers, he wants to just settle it - "you take your things, I take mine". She has a divorce lawyer and it seems like she WANTS things to get nasty. She wants him to be miserable). I'm sick of hearing about SIDES and whose SIDE we're on. I'm sick of being around her.

If that means I've chosen my dad's side, well so be it.

Me, Myself and I

I think in total I had 9 hours of sleep this weekend. It was even a long weekend so I had three days to rest and relax, clean my house and get organised for my upcoming trip to the East Coast. Of course, I ended up not getting anything done at all and will now have to come home after working both jobs and clean my house top to bottom since the furnace guys are coming tomorrow (goody).

I won't be home to enjoy the furnace men although I can imagine they are named Larry and Ted, wear pants that are slightly too tight for them and would not be found in any porn movie involving home repairs. At least that's what he sounded like on the phone. Y'all.

This morning, bored and tired at work, I googled myself and found out that I am apparently a photographer, a model, a folk singer, a Doctor (natural health practitioner actually), a video game tester, a news anchor, a member of a womens lacrosse team, a contestant on a popular reality TV show, author/artist, and a nanny. I'm a very busy woman. The good news is that my name is so common that future employers will have a hard time finding any dirt on me via Google.

Either because I'm intrepid and resourceful or sort of a creepy stalker, sometimes I look up the name of the guy(s) I'm interested in on Google. Most times it generates either their Facebook profile or the time it took them to run a marathon and that they came in 357th out of 400. Guess I need to pick some more interesting men.

In other news, I hate when people talk to me in the elevator. Unless you are complimenting my shoes, I don't care about small talk. What the weather is like or how fast the elevator is or what your son is going to name his dog is not a detail I care to discuss with you. I talk to enough strangers every day, I don't need random dude in an elevator to be my new friend. Unless you are gorgeous and on your way to check-in on your multi-million dollar company that you preside over from your home in the Carribbean, feel free to chat. Otherwise just please don't talk to me. It's awkward.

Oh yes, it's my adorable niece's birthday today and she's one year old

Happy birthday Meredith!

Pointing Out the Obvious

Today I'm guest blogging for Miss Well-Intentioned over at the Well-Intentioned Heartbreaker. She's charming and adorable so it's worth it to check her out. While you're there you may as well read my post too.

First a little story:

One of my closest friends is a blonde (not surprising you say? Since I am a blonde and we tend to move together like a pack of lions stalking our prey? Well, you are correct). Anyhow, she is an intelligent girl with a degree in English and plenty of life experience.

She is actually a natural brunette, but the blonde definitely suits her better. There are times when Blondie says or does things that make everyone around her pause and think "yes, the blonde stereotype is still alive".

Her and I went to get our passports one cold day in January. We both had our forms filled out, passport photos in hand, waiting in line to talk to the officer inside. I went in first and the woman checked over my forms twice before handing me a number and calling "next!"

Blondie walks in, lays her form on the desk and says: "Um, ok, so I'm not really sure what to put for hair color. Should I put my natural hair color or the color that my hair is now?"

The woman peered at her over her wire-rimmed glasses and with a slight frown said: "Just put blonde, honey".

Now skip on over and visit Bee oh and read my post too: Deal Breakers

Asshats (Can I Title My Posts With an Expletive?)

I hate facebook. I think it's the spawn of the Devil. See, as much as I try to use it for world peace and stuff that's good for mankind (and such as) I find myself turning into a creepy stalker every once in a while. Last night for example I casually clicked on (ex)pseudo-bf's page and looked through his pictures while holding my stuffed rabbit to my eyes, rocking back and forth a little, sobbing and hyperventilating into a brown paper bag.

Kidding.

I did however look at his new girlfriend, who has a little message on her page for me - what the hell? Let's say her name is Beach (and not for the obvious resemblance to another word), she has written "Beach is: B is for Alice" um, wait a minute? Who are you? Why are you talking to me? What is this world coming to? Are you people 30 or 16?

Then I felt like an idiot because that means she knew I would look at her page. Which means pseudo has said something to her about me. Which means I may or may not look like an asshat depending on what he told her.

I do wonder though, because he told me once that this other chick, S, might find me on fb and write me a letter because she was in love with him. I laughed about it then but now I'm thinking; does he think I'll do that? Is that what he warned this new girl?

He must have a huge ego if he thinks I'll care enough to find his stupid new girlfriend and look at all her ugly pictures covorting by the beach and stuffing rib-eye in her face. Hello, I would never look at all her pictures while wondering what exactly is so great about her.

Anyway, the thing that bothers me about the whole thing is the fact that I DID find her, and he knew I would and he used that to rub it in my face like a huge asshole. Last time I checked I was a pretty awesome person, one who would never write a letter to a guy's new girlfriend no matter what he did to me. A person who would look at the pictures but feel that bitter-sweet feeling for them because it means at least he's off my hands now. Normally I would think "aw that's sweet" and move on with my life. He had to make it weird.

The worst part? I broke it off with him and now he's trying to make me look like a crazy stalker. Hell-o?! The restraining order expired three moths ago - get over it already!

Now if you'll excuse me, I have a letter to write.

Road Tripping

As I've previously mentioned, I'm off on a delightful adventure this weekend to Kamloops. Tomorrow morning I'll be sprawled across the back of a luxury SUV in my evening gown, reading STAR magazine, drinking champagne and eating bon bons. Actually, I hallucinated all of that. I'll really be crammed in the back seat of a little Mazda with my two younger sisters. Not younger as in "they are 5 and oh em gee how cute are we?" but as in they are both 20. So three 20-somethings in the back seat of a tin can with wheels for seven hours.

My mum will be in the drivers seat because apparently dad's driving is too erratic, although I don't see how cutting two hours off our long-ass drive could be a bad thing. So what if we get pulled over twice? The BC cops have no jurisdiction in Alberta!

I remember when I was little, every time we got pulled over I thought my dad was going to jail. I even had a dream about it when I was in kindergarten (that's true). My dad likes to speed, especially through the mountains. My mum apparently likes to live, therefore she is taking the wheel this time.

I haven't been on a car trip with the family since...oh I dunno, 1999? Back then Christina Aguilera was still messing around with genies, The Verve was breaking up and Lenny was singing about American Women (or possibly just one in particular).

When I was even younger, we went on road trips as a family all the time. No one ever agreed on the music. Dad liked kind of heavy rock music, mum liked top 40 style music, my older sister Dizzy liked a mix but mostly lower key stuff and I was usually all about the girly music: Ace-of-Base all the way.

There were certain tapes we could all agree on: REM, Out of Time; Sheryl Crow, Saturday Night Lights; that sort of thing. Usually it was dad's music though, so a steady diet of Led Zeppelin, Nine Inch Nails (who I'm actually going to go see on Tuesday, more on that later), The Doors, The Who, New Kids On The Block - oops, I actually just slipped that in his tape deck when he wasn't looking. Step by Step! Ya!

Ok, moving right along. Actually, side-tangent again: when I was sixteen I was listening to the Backstreet Boys in my room, singing along with the beautiful, melodious and completely non-commercialized lyrics when my dad came up, turned off the stereo and said: "Here. Listen to this." and handed me Alice Cooper. Thus began my (upward) spiral of rejecting crappy pop and embracing real music. Thanks Pops.

Ok, now moving along for real. I'm actually a little excited to play driving games such as "Find The ABCs on Random Signs in Order from A-Z", "What Does That Guys License Plate Really Say", "Name A Band/Place/Movie Using the Last Letter of My Word", "I Spy", "Categories" and my all time favorite "I Have To Pee..No, Now!" Back in the day, these games mostly resulted in time outs and tears. Don't worry, Mum eventually got over it and joined back in on the fun.

Of course these days we have a laptop with a connector cord so we can watch movies and make fun of hilarious skits on YouTube. And by hilarious skits I do mean people falling and monkeys throwing feces, oh and that cockatoo that dances. He's awesome. I'm not sure if the road trip will feel quite the same with all this modern technology.

Either way all I'm bringing is a pillow, The Selfish Gene and an extra large black coffee. Or possibly a venti, sugar-free, half-caf, extra hot, skim-milk, no-whip hazelnut latte. They love it when I come into Starbucks.

Debt Cards

I got a lovely call today from a gent over at Mbnba bank (at least I think that's what he said - he spoke so fast an auctioneer would have issues keeping up with him). See, apparently I've been pre-approved for a credit card! This is so exciting, I can hardly stand it.

Nevermind the fact that he called me Mrs. Boland for the first five minutes, and when I said I wasn't her he switched and said that I had been pre-approved as well. Imagine that, getting approved without them even knowing your name. What a world we live in!

I can't be rude to these guys though. I feel sorry for them. Like how you feel for Girl Guides selling cookies, Walmart greeters, or ex-boyfriends who wait outside your work and follow you home. If I can half listen, throw in an "uh huh....yup..." and still do my work, just to make some poor unfortunate soul feel like he got through to one person well then by God I will do it.

I'm a humanitarian, what can I say.

I liked this guy's outlook on life though. After asking me a few questions such as what my position was at The Company, yearly income, where the office was located etc., he responded enthusiastically the same way each time:

"Oh, that sounds nice!"

I have a feeling if I told him I was a roadkill scraper making $8,000 a year and the office was located in a sewer he would have said "Oh, that sounds nice!"

He then asked me if I remembered how much I pay for rent each month. No actually, I have no idea. I just give blank cheques to my landlord and let her fill them out. Some months I slide my credit cards under the door and let her go shopping. I just cross my fingers when the statements come in.

I don' t think anyone has ever let him finish his whole speech. He seemed thrilled to read the last ten minutes and kept pausing to check if I was still there. I especially liked how he closed with: "Thank you for choosing mbnba bank". Sorry but actually you cold-called me. I happened to answer the phone but I definitely didn't choose you.

I didn't want to break his poor little heart though so I said nothing and am eagerly anticipating whatever it is he just signed me up for.

The Real World: Resume Edition

I'm working on the ol' resume. No, I'm not planning on leaving my day job anytime soon, I have it pretty good here. It's my part time job that is starting to drive me crazy (see the ridiculousness here). I love serving, don't get me wrong - I wouldn't do it if I didn't because I don't need to.

I just know it's time to leave a place when I start dreading having to even enter the code at the back door to get in and start my shift. And I don't just dread it because my memory friggin sucks and I can never remember the stupid code.

Anyway, while updating (read: embellishing) my resume I started thinking about resumes in general. If I was honest my resume would look something like this:

03/2007 - Present
The Oil Company I Work For
Exec Ass't & Office Admin

- Delegating responsibility to my underling
- Writing Blog entries
- Dealing with whiney sarcastic jerks at phone/xerox/computer companies
- Trying to appease 5 bosses
- Writing letters, filing letters, signing letters, posting letters, assigning letter-writing to others, responding to letters, stacking letters, unstacking letters

10/2006 - Present
The Restaurant I Serve At
P/T Server

- Seeing how many wine glasses I can carry in one hand without dropping any (I'm up to 9)
- Chatting with hostesses in hopes they will seat my section when I am bored
- Making fun of guests in the service alley
- Telling new people to find something (like a bacon-stretcher) in the basement. There is no basement. There is no bacon-stretcher.
- Flirting with cute co-workers/managers/guests

Volunteer Experience

10/2007 - Present: Chair of Oil Company Charity Committee (pick random charities, give them company money)
07/2006 - Present: Global Parent, Unicef (give them money)
1998-2006 - Bingo/Casino (was forced to do this for extracurricular activities)
2001 - Bilingual Debate Tournament Judge (received desperately needed bonus marks in Social Studies)
1995 - 1999: SPCA (got to play with dogs and skip church on occasion)

Summary of Qualifications

- Demonstrated excellent hand-eye coordination
- Prone to make others look superior
- Ability to deal with aforementioned whiney, sarcastic jerks
- Happily find ways to rid you of hard-earned money via charity organisations
- Superior winking, giggling & eyelash-batting skills

I Need Another Vacation

[Aside: Surviving Myself put on a writing contest, which I entered yesterday. Check it out here - he announces the winner tomorrow. The criteria was that it was supposed to be humorous and start with the sentence "He was confused." Great idea - check it out!]

I hate traveling to places that I know nothing about. I watch the Amazing Race, I know what those people look like. I don't want to be one of them. "Why isn't anyone speaking English??" Well you fucktard, you are in China. There's your first clue.

Anyway, to prevent this from happening, I always like to do a bit of research. I went to Cuba with ten girls, so before we left I read up on the history of the last one hundred years. Che Guevera? Check. Fidel Castro and his little band of governement-over-throwing militants hiding out in the mountain ranges? Check. Cuban Trade Embargo? Check. I was an expert on the topic (Side note: did you know that JFK was going to end the embargo, but the week before he was to sit down with Castro, he was shot? Um...Conspiracy?)

What else I learnt was to bring shampoo, soap, toys, crayons, clothes you never wear, spices, first aid supplies, cream, toothpaste, gum etc. They have none of this stuff, or what they have is really poor quality. We left gifts on the pillows in the morning and in return we got little animals shaped out of our towels.

The first night we were there, we all decided to go party in Veradero. At one peso per beer how could you go wrong? Well in this outdoor/indoor bar - walls but no roof? Check. Bathrooms but no toilets? Check. Trees growing out of the dance floor? Check. We all drank copious amounts of alcohol and by the time we decided to leave, we were all stumbly, hooker-drunk losers. I grabbed one of the girls and we headed back to the resort.

In the condition I was in, I never should have tried to speak to the cab driver in Spanish but I did. I was trying to say "¡Es tan oscuro aquí! La noche es tan negra" (It's so dark here! The night is so black) because it is literally BLACK out. You can't see ten feet in front of you. I ended up saying something along the lines of: "¡La noche es tan oscura como un asno del negro!". I still go red thinking about it.

Not sure where I came up with that, but I didn't realize what I'd said until I told my dad about the cab driver giving me a very strange look. After I told him the sentence, he laughed for about five minutes before letting me in on what it meant. The night is as dark as a black man's ass. Nice one Alice. Way to not be an ignorant tourist.

The Problem With the Gym

Alice: I need to renew my gym membership. Like, yesterday.

Frenchie: I need to renew my will power. Can I pay for that? I would... a lot

Alice: I think they accept your soul as payment

I meet with my new trainer this week. He is Scottish and sounds very intimidating on the phone. The first trainer I had was from Newfoundland and laughed at pretty much everything I did. And not in the "gee you sure are funny!" way. No, more of a "haven't you EVER stood on one leg on a teetering Bosu Balance Trainer while throwing a ten pound medicine ball rythmically against the floor and simultaneously doing leg presses with ankle weights on? No? Ha ha - wow you newb!" sort of laughing at me way.

I'm always nervous meeting a trainer. I actually asked for a girl trainer the first time but was paired up with the Newfie. I'm sort of glad I had a guy because although I wasn't attracted to him, I wanted to work harder to impress him. Or something like that. With a girl I'd just try to gossip with her to distract her from the fact that I wasn't really working out. At all. Ever.

The thing with the trainer though is that if they're too good looking you're embarrased to work hard. Sweat pouring down your face, arms quivering with the strain of that ten pound weight (kidding - I lift at least 12.5), real or imaginary flab jiggling everywhere as you jog in place. I need to not be thinking about what my trainer would look like naked and instead be concentrating on how many more times I can lunge before I collapse on the floor like a puddle of out-of-shape Jell-O.

Another thing? All the trainers seem to have photographic memories. "Alice! We haven't seen you in three weeks, two days and six hours! Have you been away? No? Well, you can sure tell" *wink* Do they take that as a class in preparation to become a trainer? Memorize all members' schedules. When you see a member, mark it in the little book. Always check this book the next time they are in to ensure you can embarass them with the knowledge that it's been 24 days since they were last in.

Also, what's with the hip thrust maneuver? In case you are unfamiliar, it's where you lay on your back, put your feet on a slightly raised area - like a step, bend your knees and rhythmically raise your hips up and down. Yes, just like when you're having sex - well, if you were having relatively boring sex. Somehow when I do them it always seems to be perfectly timed to the worst song. I just start with the hip thrust - and up, and down - when inevitably "This is Why I'm Hot" starts playing. Way to call attention to yourself and look like a huge narcissistic asshole at the same time.

(It's my picture and I'll make myself as damn skinny as I want to)

Most. Awkward. Night. Ever.

I had a fabulous day. I was woken up at 8:30 am (yes, I realize an early wake-up does not a fabulous day make - wait for it) by my friend Blondie to let me know West Jet was having a seat sale. She's been trying to get me to come to PEI with her for ever. We booked our flights round trip for $380! To understand the ridiculousness of this you have to know that it's across the country (obviously) and that when I went to Newfoundland in 2002 it cost me $1100 - and that was considered "cheap".

Anyhow, after booking it (in one month I'll be in Halifax, traveling through New Brunswick, over the Confederation Bridge and into PEI!) a whole group of us decided to go rafting down the river. Since Calgary has no real beaches, unless you count the slew in the South which is more of a man made sewage lake, this is the next best thing. There are literally thousands of people who go on a nice day, drink beer, listen to music and float along down the river. It was fantastic - my day was shaping up very nicely.

My work sponsored a Heavy-Horse Pull team this year (I sound like such a cowboy lately - I swear it's just because the Stampede is here this week) so I brought two of my very good friends - PA and his wife Frenchie (one girl whom I can tell anything to without ever being judged - love her). We watched the event and drank free beer and generally had a really good time. The cute singer of the band at the event even came and introduced himself to me, which was sweet.

One of the Committee Chairmen and I were chatting and he asked where my boyfriend was. I said I didn't have one since O/N and I haven't really talked about it or anything. So he goes into the whole "Well, why not? Pretty young girl like yourself?" To which I always feel like answering:

"Because I don't actually need a boyfriend to feel good and secure and like I'm worth something. I'm perfectly happy being myself, independent and knowing that I have all my fantastic friends and a great guy who I like spending time with. I don't necessarily need the labels and the crap that may come with it and maybe in a few years time I'll be all over that like white on rice but for now I'm actually quite content just living and taking things as they come."

But of course I didn't say that. I laughed, shrugged and said something awkward. You know with the whole batting of the eyelashes. "Tee hee, I dunno".

So that's fine. Cab drivers ask me if I'm married all the time and when I say no they ask why. When I was a receptionist, the clients in the reception area would ask me if I was married and why not. Strangers always ask me if I'm married and although I feel like telling them that I'm not sure I ever even want to be married and it's none of their business anyway, I don't. I laugh and blow it off, but it does get kind of annoying.

It wouldn't have bothered me so much except that walking to the bar with PA and Frenchie we ran into my friend Bubbly and her new boyfriend. Then my friend PartyGirl and her new boyfriend. We proceeded to the bar with Bubbly and bf, where we met her friends. Another couple. I'm normally very good at not being awkward or even feeling like a 5th (7th?) wheel but this was like coupledom embodied. So between the texts with O/N (who was out with his guy friends for a birthday) I had to enjoy 3 new couples and a married set. Granted the marrieds are the best and I never feel awkward with them. New couples however? Totally different story.

So I left.

And here I am, drunk and rambling. Maybe I'm being a big baby and should have just sucked it up and enjoyed spending some QT with my friends, but really? Not feeling it. Plus I met three really awesome people while waiting for a cab outside, which we ended up all sharing. To thank me for sharing (cabs are impossible to find this week) they paid for my fare so I guess all in all the day was actually pretty great. I think I'll just have to stay out of those awkward 5th wheel situations for a while.

Sorry!

"Do you know where I can get a FastForward [newspaper] around here?"

"Hmm, I think the Unicorn Pub down the street may have some. It's a few blocks though"

"Is that place still open?"

"Well it was the Dubliner for a while but it's back to The Unicorn now..."

"Nowhere closer?"

"I don't think so, sorry"

Canadians apologize for everything. We apologize to people we pass in the street, even if we're the one to step off the curb to make room. We apologize to cab drivers if they take a wrong turn, we somehow figure it was our fault; "Sorry my house is actually ten minutes in the other direction. So sorry".

We apologize for missing a friends phone call. We apologize for taking the last drops of coffee, the last donut, the last piece of cake. I woke up in the middle of the night, went to get a glass of water, tripped on my coffee table and promptly apologized to it.

We even apologize for apologizing too much, and for that, I'm very sorry.

Bistro Watching

The tomatoes sit on the saute station; shiny, red, ripe - the green stems holding them together like a trail of school children holding hands while crossing the street. The smell emulating from the fourno oven is that of pine nuts roasting; pungent and woody. As I sit at the bar, watching the chefs in a somewhat calm disorder garnishing, tossing, grilling; I bite into my warm, sweet, walnut-stuffed fig after carefully slicing through the crisp, salty prusciutto enveloping it.

The girls next to me emit a high shriek worthy of having stumbled upon a graveyard of spiders, or perhaps finding a pair of Louboutins on sale. Certainly not a shriek worthy of the mere mention of her friend Dave. She tosses her hair and smiles broadly. Her friend speaks to her in a low voice. The gales of laughter that follow are a testament to the easygoing triviality of the conversation.

I catch the waitress' eye and she gives me a knowing half smile. These girls are here all the time, the high heels and skirt suits at odds with their girlish demeanors. The hairstyles may change; the shoes, the facial expressions, the outfits will change but the girls will remain the same in essence. I am these girls. We all are.

The men across the bar sip their wine, swirling it pompously in their goblets, watching as the legs trail down the interior of the glass to the burgundy pool below. They discuss the merits of "liquid lunches", which are especially rampant during Stampede week. They argue about the possibility of rain. The one with the glasses being of the point of view that rain is inevitable; the grey-haired, slightly heavy man believing the sky will remain cloudless; the sun continuing to emanate rays all afternoon. The one with the glasses is the one who will end up being right.

A family sits behind me, the son wearing an expression of resentment and boredom. His mother scolds him, telling him to take his earphones out while they are eating dinner together, as a family. I smile, remembering our family dinners all too well. I once cried because we went to the same restaurant and they sat us at the same table and I was sure we were going to order the same thing we had last time. There were six of us, my parents and their four daughters, so table choices were limited. Even back then, at five years old, I needed change - thrived on it.

After dropping off my bill, the waitress sighs heavily and begins rolling cutlery in large white cloths. She has had tourists all day; Europeans who are used to having the tip included in the cost of the meal. Children who can't stop exclaiming over the horses! Outside! Look mommy, look!

She has been wearing her boots for five hours, without stopping to stretch her toes, massage her feet or even pull up the sock that has fallen indolently below her ankle. She pauses now to turn up the country music that can scarcely be heard over the din of chatter in the bistro. By weeks end everyone will be sick of country music but for now it is a welcome distraction.

I place my money in the bill fold, leaving an extra large tip as I know too well what she is going through. I walk out of the bistro as the first raindrop falls to the earth. The door swings shut behind me, and still the chefs garnish, toss and grill. And still the tomatoes hold hands.

Ad Sense - Non Sense

I don't get the Verizon commercials. "Can you hear me now"? Basically they're saying that the reception is so crappy that this poor guy has to stand on top of fences in the Artic to get a signal. They really should have him saying: "Can you still hear me?" Then at least we know that he could hear them in the first place. Although if I had someone asking me every five minutes if I could still hear them I'd just say no and hang up.

Speaking of advertisements, there are a few slogans that really make no sense to me. If we took them literally we'd all be a bunch of lunatics. AT&T's - "Reach out and touch somebody"? Sorry but that's creepy. Especially when you consider the Yellow Pages ads that say "Let your fingers do the talking". Put the two of those together and we have a serial rapist on our hands.

Like a good neighbor, State Farm is there - well it's rather unfortunate that my neighbor is a fat creepy dude who wears sweatpant shorts and no shirt while smoking (who knows what) in his garage year round. If my house burnt down in the middle of the night I'm not so sure I'd want him there while I run screaming out of my house in my little booty shorts and tank top.
Just saying.

How do they come up with this stuff anyway? There must be men in suits sitting around a table discussing their options:

Exec #1: "How can we possibly improve on what we have? I love: "It's what I eat and what I do" it really speaks to the people.
Exec #2: "Yes but how can you DO a burger? Wait, wait, I think I got it - by eating it. Yes I do see the logic there Stanley"
CEO: "Okay, how about: McDonalds, it's what I eat and what I do ALWAYS"
Exec #1: "Isn't that sort of like Coca-Cola's slogan?"
CEO: "Dammit"
Exec #2: "We have to appeal to the kids here fellas. We need some slang in there"
Exec #1: "McDonalds: it's what I eat and what I do - in the hizzle!"
CEO: "I'm loving that"
Exec #2: "I'm loving it!"
*a look of inspiration crosses over their faces and thus a slogan is born*

Sometimes I think maybe they don't really put that much thought into these slogans either. Toshiba's "Choose Freedom" slogan - what exactly does that mean? If we choose a Sony are we relegated to the first twelve channels forever? Where does this freedom come into play with a Toshiba that it doesn't with a Samsung? Oh and there's another gooder: "Digitally Yours". Now they're playing with our emotions and getting all Hallmark on our asses. You can certainly tell what market they're aiming for.

Good thing I don't believe everything I hear...

I'm richer then I think, am I, Scotiabank? Well I think I'll just go on a little shopping spree here and take care of that problem. Oh nevermind, I lost my American Express and I just don't feel right leaving home without it.

Hell In A Handbasket

Sometimes I start to think about "Reasons Why I'm Going to Hell". After the first ten or twenty I just try to stop thinking about it, while rocking back and forth and slowly chanting : "I'm a good person, I'm a good person".

Here are my latest reasons:

1. Sometimes I pretend to be pregnant (by holding a hand protectively over my stomach and walking leaned back a bit with a discernable waddle) on the bus or train. My 4" heels are pissing me off and I just want a seat.

2. I always hope that no one else makes it to the elevator in time before the door shuts. This could stem from my hatred of loud-breathers (especially when in close quarters) or from the fact that I don't want to stop on every floor on the way up to my own.

3. I give people makeovers in my head. I imagine different hair colors, what kind of makeup I would put on them, the clothes that I would dress them in. This is fully, totally a narcissistic I'm-better-than-you attitude and I'm fully aware of that. I still do it.

4. I blog at work. I act like I'm sooo busy half the time and that my job is stressing me out when really it's only certain people that stress me out. My job can be stressful for sure but mainly it's the unrealistic expectations that are put on me, not the job itself.

5. I date like a guy.

I've lived with two boyfriends, (one for two years even!) and was the one to break up with both. In fact I think I've broken up with pretty much all of my boyfriends. There is one guy I can think of where I truly felt like I was acting like a girl sometimes and that's pseudo-bf - only in the last few months and only because he was the only guy I can think of who didn't want to seriously date/move in together/whatever.

With Pseudo-bf I always had the thrill of the chase. I guess that gets old though. One of these days I may actually want to settle and guess what? Karma is a bitch.

6. I've borrowed items from friends and 'forgotten' to return them. They will eventually get them back, it's just that that black dress is so perfect for that party next weekend. Those cargo's? Who knew they'd make my ass look so good?

7. I have, on occasion, tried to blame a minor slipup on someone entirely blameless. "I'm SURE I gave that report to you to file. No? Hm, that's weird. I could have sworn I did." Then I get back to my office and find said report on the bottom of one of my great heaping piles.

8. I may or may not have accidentally set a golf course on fire one time.

9. I return my really late books to the library by sneaking them in and putting them back on the shelf. I then go to the front and whine that I know I have returned that book and could they please check their system again. (ed note: This also works for late movies).

And the number one reason I'm going to hell:

10. I don't believe in hell.

However, if I were to go there, it would be a really cold place where no one wore high heels and we were forced to listen to Al Gore talk about how great he is, watch him shine his Nobel Prize while he is spending his millions of dollars heating each of his homes and driving around all his SUVs to get to his private jets so he can fly off and talk about how global warming is bad. We'd also all be forced to eat things like pigs feet, calf's liver, tripe and chicken claws. Oh, and water chestnuts. I hate water chestnuts.

R&R

Ahh the weekend...A time of rest and relaxation. That was my plan anyway - I'm going houseboating next weekend and wanted to get myself in top form for those shenanigans (if any of y'all have ever been you know what I'm talking about. It's ridiculous).

Instead my weekend is turning out to be the busiest fucking weekend ever. It's a pretty good friends birthday tonight so I really should party with her. Also, a friend from High School (S)'s birthday is tonight. Normally I wouldn't worry too much if I had other plans but here's the catch: a different, very good friend of mine (Boobie McGee) was (randomly - small world) dating S's friend. They broke up, but S still really wants Boobie to come. Her ex-bf will be there so Boobie wants my support. Still following?

Saturday I have a BBQ to go to at noon, a BBQ on the exact opposite end of the city at 4, and a going away party/BBQ on the other side of the city at 8. Not sure how I'm going to work that out considering that I don't own a vehicle. At least Sunday we're going rafting down the river, which equates to:
water + sun + men + booze & cigarettes = heaven

My Weekend by the Numbers:

1: new outfit for S's birthday
3: BBQs I will attempt to attend
4: hamburgers I will collectively consume at said BBQs
2: hours I will spend deciding what to wear
40: dollars I'll spend on Mac makeup
90: minutes I'll spend getting my hair done
5: songs I will sing drunkenly at at least one BBQ
4: embarrassing calls/texts I will make to at least one guy
6: girls we will try to fit on one giant raft floating down the river
Too many: units of alcohol I will consume

Here's to the weekend...

Hi, It's Me! Every Girl Ever! (My Version)

Hi there! Thanks for coming to pick me up! I know you told me 7:30 but I still have to put some more eyeliner on. Why don't you have a seat on my lovely couch - just knock a few of those cushions off, there ya go! Watch out for the candles though! Isn't my home lovely? I opened an Ikea catalogue and just picked a million things. Gosh Ikea makes life easy!

Excuse me while I go freshen up. Don't worry my roommate is around here somewhere, she'll make awkward small talk with you to prepare you for the evening, while making judgements about you in her head - which her and I will discuss at length when I get home!

Sorry that took so long, I have no idea what I do in the bathroom for half an hour! Gosh, I look pretty! I see you met Snookie and Sugar-Pie, my kitties! That's great that you're pretending to like them and pet them when really you are severly allergic and will probably have to take several anti-histamines later. Well, let's head out, shall we?

What a gentleman you are! Thanks for getting the car door for me, I love men who believe in gallantry. Well except when it's sexist, I get to decide when it's ok and when it's sexist! Fun, no? Don't worry I won't reach across and get the lock for you. I know it's raining out and all but I'm too busy wondering why you're taking so long and making me wait while you fumble with the lock!

What a cozy resturant you've chosen! I never choose, I always tell you I don't care where we go and then if it's somewhere I don't like you get to hear me complain about it endlessly! This is fun because it takes the pressure off me and lets me judge you yet again!

I know you told me we were going for dinner and all but I'm actually not that hungry, weird no? I guess I'll just order a salad and the most expensive martini I can find. Are you going to eat that pasta? I should have ordered pasta.

Let me tell you all about myself! I have all these friends who are the BEST ever! I can gossip with them and giggle endlessly about other people! Did you know that Jennifer Aniston is dating John Meyer? I'm glad my friends and I can talk about all that important stuff together! I know if I ever had a real problem they would probably start acting really busy and not return my phone calls but they are seriously the BEST EVAR!!

I have this heinously boring job but I still love to talk about it! Especially about the clothes other people wear there and who's dating whom! It doesn't matter that you've never met any of these people, I'll still tell you all about them! It's almost like you DO know them! How lucky are you?

Well, dinner was nice but I'm awfully tired and there's a rerun of The Bachelor that I'm dying to watch! I'm going to pretend to offer to pay for the bill, but if you actually wanted me to pay any of it I'd be shocked! I don't even think I brought any money! Then I'd have to tell all my (BEST EVAR) friends about how you made me pay on the first date!

Well here we are, back at my place! Why don't you walk me to the door so we can have an incredibly awkward goodbye? How about you pretend you had lots of fun and say that we should do it again sometime? Ok, well awfully nice spending time with you! What was your name again?

...And Chocolate, Don't Forget the Chocolate

Tuesday afternoon I was having some issues. A stomach thing and it involves blood but I won't get into that. Anyway, I made my way to the Doctor after Googling my symptoms (I suggest NEVER doing this - all it managed to do was cause me to immediately think "I'm Dying, OMG I'm Dying").

Of course, as Murphy's Law dictates, anytime you have an embarrassing medical problem, there will be:

1. The hottest Doctor ever
2. A resident Doctor who is sitting in with your Doctor, learning and therefore has MORE embarrassing questions then the regular Doctor AND/OR
3. You bursting into tears

Luckily my Doctor is female, so I avoided the first problem. I did however have a resident Doctor sitting in and I DID burst into tears (thanks again Google-Medicine). SinceI had stomach problems a few months ago and was tested for a few things already with no results, now they are looking at more serious possibilities.

As soon as the Doctor said the words "tumor" and "most likely benign" I just couldn't help it. I bawled. I'm sure it's nothing, she assured me it's probably nothing but it's still scary as hell.

I moped around at home Wednesday and Thursday. I know I'm being a drama queen and a hypochondriac but the fact that I had 5 vials of blood taken to check my hemoglobin and other wonderful things yesterday and that until I can get in to see the people who check for tumors I have to visit my Doctor on the regular, I'm not gonna lie - it fucking scares the shit out of me.

This calls for copious amounts of red wine...