I adore garlic more than anything, but even I think this is ridiculous

I was searching epicurious for biscotti recipes, and along with a vast variety of biscotti, my search also returned a recipe for linguine with calamari and garlic. Now those would be some biscotti that I wouldn't want to dunk in my coffee. Ew.

School's out for summer!

Well, winter break, technically, but the fact remains that I'm done with school for three whole weeks.

All the studying, putting up with dillholish fellow students, and doing group projects pretty much entirely on my own (which, for the record, I'm batting 1.000 on so far. Two down, one to go) is over with, and all that remains is the wait to see if I'm 4.0, and what, if any bursaries my scholastic aptitude might bring.

And now, if you don't mind, I'm going to drink my weight in gin.

Oh expletive deleted

We're in the middle of exams now, and it seems I have to write four, I repeat, FOUR exams tomorrow. One of them I've been trying to write for the past two days, and another I tried to write today, but the bleeping computer system kept going down, so they extended the deadlines, but it seems that tomorrow is my last day to write those two, and the other two are in-class, so there is no delaying them to a day when I'm not already writing two exams worth at least 20% of my final mark. How in the diddly am I supposed to do all that in one day? Is tomorrow one of those 72 hour days the legends foretold? And why am I getting punished for their dillholish decision to upgrade the system in the middle of exams? If my grades suffer at all due to this, I'll have someone's head on a pike.

And now back to studying four verdammt subjects in one night. Grrrr.

How to tell when you desperately need caffeine

You drag your butt out of bed, and into the kitchen to make some coffee. You turn on the coffee maker, and listen to it gurgle, with joy in your heart because you know your coffee-fix is mere minutes away. When the gurgling stops, you go and grab the pot and your mug, and pour yourself a nice cuppa. You take the first sip, then look at the pot, and realize you forgot to put the coffee in the filter.

November 22nd

I have lots of wonderful memories of my grandfather.

Playing in the basement of his house on PA days. How he always remembered my love of anything tiny, and made me display units to exhibit my extensive collection of wee little trinkets, like the plastic duck, or the ceramic cottage. Trips to Swiss Chalet. Our cottage, where for years he would drive up on holiday, and spend his only time off the whole year building new steps down to the beach, or chopping wood for the fire, or whatever needed to be done. Spending the day walking around his hometown with him, hearing all about his childhood, and how life was in small town Ontario in the early half of the last century. How he wanted to hear about whatever I was doing. The giant dollhouse he built me - all on his own, complete with working electricity.

There are some less pleasant memories too.When my grandmother died, the woman he had been carrying on a long-term affair with came to the funeral. He married for a second time, and it was not a good match. He drifted away from his family, as she only wanted to see hers. But being of his generation, and being the man he was, he did not consider divorce an option, even when he knew it would be best. That drove me nuts, and not just because it meant I had to listen to her bloviate on every topic under the sun, from being an undergraduate, to how my parents should put their good china in the dishwasher.

When he couldn't get up and down stairs on his own anymore, the decision was reached that he would move into a home. His wife didn't want to go with him, and the slow process of divvying up the assets began. When he moved into Central Park Lodge, he flourished. He was around people he enjoyed, and he became quite the popular man around the lodge. He met a woman soon after moving in, and they soon became an item. He couldn't marry her, which she wanted, because of his wife, but they spent every day together. She took him up north on a boat ride. She took him on day trips. For the first time in ages, he was happy. Then he started to get worse, and she started doing more things on her own, preparing for life after him, but first thing every morning she'd have breakfast with him, and she'd stop in for lunch and after dinner. She sat with him and talked to him and made sure his food was cut up small enough.

A treasured memory I have of my grandfather is one I know I've created from a picture taken long before I was born. He is wearing a fedora, and a smart coat. He is kneeling down in the snow, and looking up at the camera with the grin he wore so often. He is young, dashing, and his kids aren't even a glint in his eye.

He died one year ago today. This morning, his girlfriend called us to tell us how much she loved him, and what a wonderful man he was.

He was my last link to that generation. Grandaddy, I miss you. We all do.

No, that timestamp is not a misprint

It is indeed 4:20 am. I have just finished totally redoing, from scratch and then copying out by hand, a group project so that it will be ready to hand in in less than 6 hours. And when I say I, I do mean me alone. Grrr. Yeah, there's a long story behind it, but I'll wait till I've had some scotch and some sleep before getting into it.

Damn you Cupid!

And there we have it. Just over two months into my school odyssey, and in my role as Diane Fossey, I have fallen hard for one of the gorillas. That's right kids, in less than two months, I've gone from total disdain for my fellow students, to crushing on one of them something fierce. And yes, I know how inappropriate it is. And no, I'm not going to do anything about it. I knew my flirty and crush-prone side would show through eventually, but I always figured it would be surface around one of the guys who frequent the coffee shops around school, or maybe one of the young profs. Never did I think it would be a student. And he's just so damn young. But terribly, terribly appealing. Oh well, I think he is in my program, so maybe I can just wait it out. Give it a few years. In the meantime, I'm going to have to start wearing better outfits to school. For no reason whatsoever. Stop looking at me like that.

Oh Frabjous day!!

Calloo Callay!

My financial worries are abated for the next little while. I can now return to purchasing such frivolous items as food and caffeinated beverages.

They must be the size of baseballs.

Let me see if I've got this straight.

http://www.thestar.com/News/Ontario/article/274514

You're driving 50 km over the speed limit, and you get pulled over by the police, and you expected a ticket, but you didn't know that now you get your licence and car taken away for a week, and this is somehow everyone else's fault but yours?

Your balls must be large enough to be used in a major league baseball game, sir.

So what that you didn't know exactly what the punishment was. So what? You knew speeding was wrong. You were speeding. Excessively. You were caught. There is punishment for breaking the law, and you know what, who cares if you are "okay" with that. You don't want to get nailed? Try not driving 150km. Or even better, try driving under the speed limit, period. I hear that works. I don't speed, and have never lost my licence, and haven't ever got even one speeding ticket. See how that works?

Take the "I didn't even know about the law" line and stuff it. Ignorance of the law is no defence, sunshine. And that whole (direct quote here) "I have three kids, I have to go to work for a week and they just do not give a crap. They have no sympathy for people and it's unfair and they treat people like crap."? Makes you look even more of a douche than I thought would be possible. It isn't the fault of the police that you can't get to work. Did they make you speed recklessly? Did they stop you from driving responsibly? Hells no. You did it your own damn self, and this situation is all your fault. So sack up, and take responsibility for a really moronic decision.

And don't freaking go 50 over the limit again, because next time, you might kill someone. Dumbass.

It's all for you

Because it had been far too long between "Mabel is a bumbling moron" posts, while preparing my dinner this evening, I managed to toss soy sauce all over my kitchen, and into my front hallway. All over the upper and lower cupboards. All over the stove. All over the floor and walls. All over everything. Never let it be said that I don't have the grace of a gazelle.

Three months, two days.

That's how long I felt the condo was home before having that feeling torn away from me. I knew it wouldn't last, but I figured it would be 6 months at least before my financiers would strip me of that notion. Shows what I know. It's a good thing I'm not a gambler.

No hats for you

So, I wussed out, and didn't come up with anything for crazy hat night. Which was probably a good thing, as we stood no chance. The team we played made fake curling rocks for hats, which were so awesome that when one of my teammates used one of them when it was his turn to throw one end, I thought he had just made a terrible shot with a regular rock, and wasn't tricking me by throwing the fake one made out of Dollarama salad bowls.

As for the game itself? We're now 3-0. I'd say it is all due to me, but that would be a bald-faced lie. And I'm trying to cut down on those.

Why I've been absent (aka Excuses, Excuses, Excuses)

So, I keep meaning to pop in to update you on my thrilling life, but I keep not doing it.

The reasons I've been absent are many and varied, and not limited to:

Midterms. My nerdy side needs me to study like mad for tests. Funny story though, it didn't keep me reminded of a couple of midterms until the minute I walked into class. This would have been tragic had the classes not been the two that I sleepwalk through and ace.

Money stress. The less we talk about this, the better. I don't really need to lose my mind again. Or my lunch.

My sister's birthday. Lame, but there you have it.

Job searches. I'm this close to pretending that I didn't spend 6+ years working in the financial industry, and instead sat around creating art with what I picked out of my nose. Maybe I'd have better luck that way.

And finally, I have been given the task of coming up with an idea for our curling team's theme for Crazy Halloween hat night, and my brain seems to be broken. Oh yeah? You try coming up with a theme for hats that four different people can wear AND curl in. Not so easy, is it?

And during all of this, I've had the week off of school. I was going to get so much done this week. Apparently not.

It's that time of year again

The weather is cool (today, at least) and it is getting dark earlier and earlier. And you know what that means. That's right boys and girls, it is time for another season of Saturday night social curling. Try to contain your excitement.

Last night was the first game of the year. And in a nice change of pace from last year, I didn't have a panic attack about forgetting how to play. That doesn't mean I was any good though. I still managed to smash my knee (glad to see I haven't forgotten how to do that) but shockingly, my weight was lighter than usual, so my rocks weren't careening through the end of the sheet. Before I get too excited about that, I'll wait and see if I can duplicate that next week.

Oh the game? We won, so we're 1-0. Break up the team!

Don't worry, this isn't another whiny post about my age

But it does have to do with how old I am. Wait, don't go. I promise the grumbling is gone. For my birthday, I got a new shower curtain, and a step stool. And I was so excited, you'd have thought I got a new car or something cool. It would be sad, but it is a really nice shower curtain and the step stool folds up!

Now, I hate to say I told you so...

http://www.cbc.ca/canada/ontariovotes2007/story/2007/10/10/leaders.html

...but I freaking told you so John Tory. I called it ages ago. And the fact that I'm smarter than all the people on your staff should frighten you to death. I'd offer to help you out, but, fact is, I like my soul too much.

And now, to be completely juvenile - Nyah nyah nyahnyah nyah. Cram it with walnuts, ugly.

More tips for John Tory

I know, I can't believe it either. Next thing you know, the rivers will run with blood. We've already had the locusts (see: Cleveland-New York baseball game this weekend) so the end times must be upon us.

But seriously, John John - if I may be so forward as to give you this moniker - have you lost your mind? The ratcheting up of the attack ads was one thing, and not effective in the least by all accounts (see: polls, all recent ones.) But chastising voters? Do you actually think this is going to change people's minds? Do you really think that someone who was going to vote Liberal (or NDP, Green, or anything not PC) is going to decide that now that you've come out and accused them of low standards that they must prove you wrong and vote for you? If anything, it will entrench their opinion. Plus, it makes you look like a whiny, sullen, childish douchebag who isn't mature enough to govern the province of Ontario. Which I could have told you before the public humiliation.

On the bright side, you have done something that I never would have thought possible after Stephen Harper and the Harris years, (which is totally the name of my next prog-rock band). You made me feel sympathy for a Conservative. If the end times aren't upon us, that is something to build on.

Un-freaking-believable

With the humidity, it is 40 degrees Celsius in Toronto today.

No, there is nothing insane going on with the weather, nothing at all. This is not cause for panic.

And the birthday joy just keeps on coming...

My ipod seems to be broken, I have nothing to put on toast for breakfast tomorrow, and the test I have to take tomorrow is apparently heinous. Oh, and my hockey team lost again.

Universe, you do know that my birthday is over now, right? So feel free to leave me alone.

Embodiment of Irony

Anyone who knows me knows that I've always hated it when people get upset about getting older. It drives me bazoo. The example that brings up my ire the most is that of a girl I went to school with, who cried, honest to goodness cried, the day she turned 21. I was appalled and sickened by that. I couldn't get over that she thought her life was over at that point.

So it is with great regret that I have to say I've turned into everything I hate. I've shed tears over being in my thirties. I suck.

And that's what you call ironic, Alanis.

I'm old

I'm sitting at home today, fate having smiled upon me and worked it out so that I have no classes on this, my birthday.

I'm now no longer thirty, but "in my thirties". And for the first time ever on a birthday, I feel old. Is it because I actually think being in my thirties is terrible? No. Do I think it is especially old in and of itself? No. But society and mother nature have deemed that it is. There are certain things you are supposed to have done by this age, and there are certain things that biologically, after 30 get harder.

I'm in my thirties, and I'm not close to being done with school. Which means I'm not close to establishing a career.

I'm in my thirties, and I don't have a real life plan. Oh sure, I kinda know what is going on for the next few years, but after that? Who knows?

I'm in my thirties, and I don't have any savings. I have enough to get by for now, but retirement for me at this point looks to be spent begging for change on the street.

I'm in my thirties, and I'm not in a relationship. Hell, there aren't even any prospects on the horizon. And you know what they say about the chances of a woman over 35 getting married...

I'm in my thirties, and I don't have kids. I think I want them, but if I don't get on that right quick, it won't happen.

I'm in my thirties, and my parents won't be around forever. This isn't news, but they are of an age where dying wouldn't necessarily be dying young. People die in their sixties. Both my parents lost one of their parents by the time they were my age.

Wow. Writing that all down was supposed to be cathartic, and to maybe explain why I'm less than joyful. But reading it in print? It is just damn depressing. And if I didn't have a latte and chocolate chip pancakes waiting for me, I might just stick my head in the oven. But I've never say no to caffeine and chocolate, and I don't intend to start now. After all, I'm in my thirties now, and stuck in my ways.

I knew veggies weren't good for me

My Fortune Cookie told me: Don't you just hate it when even the aubergines are plotting against you? Get a cookie from Miss Fortune

A political message

Now, I will grant you that I'd rather have my tongue beaten paper-thin with a meat tenderizer than vote Conservative, and I live in fear that they will win the upcoming election, and destroy everything I hold dear. But as someone who thinks democracy is a good thing, I want there to be actual choices for people come election time so that voting doesn't become an exercise in 'Who is less evil?', so I'm considering this my public service for the week.

Attn: person who is running John Tory's campaign

Hi there,

You don't know me, and probably don't like me, what with all the crazy liberal thinking I do, but I want to help you. Not enough to get you elected, you understand, but enough to ensure that democracy really works. So listen closely:

Stop the attack ads. Now.

They are nonsensical, using stats that aren't even remotely true, and prey on people's darkest fears. Which is just douchey. The whole "Killers are walking around on bail and it is all Dalt's fault" premise is especially annoying because bail isn't part of the province's jurisdiction. It is part of the federal bailiwick, and even then, we have this pesky little thing where people have rights, so judges are loathe to just lock people up without bail pending their trials.

I know it is super easy to go with a whole "Liberals are evil, and if you love your family, you'll vote against them" because you don't need to do any research, you just make stuff up and slap it on the air, thus allowing you to go home to your families. But attack ads don't really work in Canada (remember the whole "Jean Chretien's face is deformed so he obviously can't lead the country" ad? Or more recently, the "kitten eater" email? I'm thinking you're looking for a different outcome than that in which those two resulted.) Canadians seem to get more angry with the attacker than the attackee, unlike the States, where attacking is always the right choice.

Plus, it looks shifty that you want to be in charge, but can't articulate reasons why you'd be a good choice. As my mother always says, "Because is not a reason". So give people some reason to think that you have a plan, at least, a plan beyond "Dalton sucks". That way, you might actually get your wish (in which case, I may need to flee the province. I survived the Harris years, and I have no wish to go back. Shudder.) but at least if you are chosen, it will be because the people chose you and your policies, and didn't just vote against another Liberal government. That is the goal of democracy, isn't it?

Now I know, if you change tacks, you will have a lot of work to do, and I don't just mean coming up with actual stands on stuff, though you should do that too. You'll have to convince people to listen to you. I know that all of my friends change the channel when your ads come on, mostly because we know there is no actual political discourse going on, just slander. And we all know, slander is only fun when you are sitting in a bar attacking people who aren't there. It has no place in politics.

Lastly, even if you don't want to take my advice and develop ads that aren't of the attack variety, could you please take the current crop of ads off the air? For me? I know there isn't much time before the election, but I'm finding I have to charge across my place quite frequently, so that I can change the channel before I'm subjected to yet another attack ad. And one of these times, I'm going to end up skidding into a wall or something and injure myself. So please, if not for democracy, then for my health. I know that if you get elected, you'll appreciate it if I'm not sucking money out of our health care system.

Yours Truly,

Mabel

That tears it

The next person who throws themselves at closing doors on the subway in the hopes of cramming themselves through, pushes me out of the way in order to get on the train in front of me, or races me for a seat is gonna get my stiletto heel lodged in their eye but good.

Shudder

I just saw a commercial for the movie Sidney White. And may I just say, Amanda Bynes, sunshine, you look like some sort of haggard, plastic, overly tanned version of a human being. You might want to do something about that. That vision of you will replace the whale in my dreams.

Remind me...

...cuz I keep forgetting: when wearing crocs, is it cooler to match them exactly to your shirt, or to go with a contrasting colour?


(trick question: It is never cool to wear crocs.)

Reader poll

Would you go back to a restaurant if they served you a meal with a baby cockroach on your plate, and even though they made you a fresh meal, they didn't offer to comp your repast?

Me neither.

Dear TTC,

Really?

No seriously. Really?

Do you actually think that raising fares so that a one way trip costs almost 3 dollars is going to help? Yes, I grant you that you will get a bit more money from each trip, but I think it will backfire. The fares are already too high, and this I think will be the straw that broke the camel's back. People aren't going to take the subway if they can help it. Most of my friends don't take it every day, and if you jack up the price again (something like the third time in three years) they are going to stop altogether. Because frankly? Aside from it being simply galling that you have no shame in charging almost 3 dollars for a one way trip, no matter how short it is, um, how do I put this delicately?

Your service sucks the monkey.

Overcrowding. Unreasonable wait times in between trains. Subway lines built in the middle of nowhere while the populated core has to continue cramming onto one east-west line. Trains being put out of service in the middle of rush hour, dumping hundreds of people out, who then have to wait for up to twenty-five minutes for a train they can squeeze onto. Drivers who slam on the brakes at every stop, sending people flying. The last train leaves well before 2am. No early morning Sunday service. Frequent stoppages in service along the whole line while an issue is dealt with at one station. I could go on, but if I listed all the problems, I'd get carpal tunnel syndrome.

I know you're scandalously underfunded, and that chafes my ass something fierce. In fact, I think the fact that the provincial government pays nothing into your budget is a crime and I'm considering voting for whomever promises to rectify this situation in the upcoming election, but it seems to me that this notion of raising fares again is cutting off your nose to spite your face. Winning the battle but losing the war. Some other cliché that means the same thing. This is not the way to fix things. Please reconsider.

Relax, it was only a false alarm

The apocalypse is not nigh. I know, with my success in math yesterday, I was sure it was just around the corner, but today things took a turn back to normal for Mabel. Today I was befriended by a very nice soul who doesn't have the sense that God gave gravel, and if today is any indication, seems I will be forced to explain how to do everything to him at least three times a class. I skillfully managed to have one of my pens leak all over my bag and my jeans, ink that I then unknowingly transferred to my hands and arms. And I also managed to launch my pencil through the air in the middle of class, while fiddling with it during the lecture. Mabel and her spazzy ways are back. The end is not upon us. You may return to your sinful ways.

Sign #12 of the coming apocalypse

In math class yesterday, we were learning all about net pricing, list pricing and discount rates, and I was not the last person to understand what the prof was talking about. In fact, I was at the head of the class. When someone asked a question, claiming that we didn't have the right formulas to solve the problem, I knew he was wrong and knew which formula to use immediately.

I know. I'm scared too.

Ramping up for week two: In the name of science

So, after a few days away from the hurly burly of school, I think I have some perspective on the whole damn thing. Instead of just looking at how much I don't fit in, and how much I look down on my fellow students, I'm going to try to take the tack that I'm there to study them for some sort of scientific research.

To paraphrase Principal Scudworth: I will be Diane Fossey, and they will be the gorillas. But where will I find the mist?

Douchebag of the Week

I present this inaugural edition of the one of the most prestigious of awards to the dicksmack at W network who decided to not only switch the day and time Veronica Mars is on, but to randomly start back at the beginning of the series, leaving me in the lurch in the middle on season two. I need to know what happens!!!!!

May your coffee always taste of feet and every bikini wax cause rashes.

Back to School: Week One in review

As you may have heard, I have decided to re-enter the scholastic world after almost a decade away from it. I knew that it would be a great change to my life, and thought I was prepared for it. Bwahahaha. Ahem. As I was saying, classes started this week, and here are my general impressions of week one:

Holy Flirking Schnit.

Oh, you'd like something a tad more descriptive? Fine.

Last week, when I went to the orientation for the business school, I realized that I am so far out of my element. More than one person brought their mom. To orientation. I mean, I know that going off to school can be scary, but if you need to bring your mommy to the orientation session four days before classes start, you probably aren't ready for post-secondary education. When sitting the auditorium for a presentation, about 70% of my fellow students went 'Ooooooh' at the lights dimming, and tittered when in the presentation there was a reference to someone meeting their boyfriend at the student help centre. Later, someone actually asked if we needed to take our own notes in class. I was concerned, but figured this was just orientation, and when actual school started, my classmates would behave more like adults and less like a bunch of ten year olds hoped up on sugar with a supply teacher.

So, this week I go to class, expecting things to be better, and I can't believe I'm in a post secondary institution. People can't shut up in class, and they aren't talking in whispers, oh no, but at a volume that is normally reserved for when someone is talking on their cellphone in public, even when the prof is trying to lecture. They show up almost an hour into class, and when we're given a ten minute break, they traipse back half an hour later. They can't take notes, or at least can't take them at an appropriate speed, as student after student demands that the prof return to an earlier slide so they can take another five minutes to copy down the 17 word definition of social marketing in addition to the ten minutes we spent earlier with that slide up in front of us. Did I mention that a copy of this presentation will be available on the web next week, and that all these definitions are also found in the textbook?

In another class, the prof gave out an article to read on the subject of preparing business students for the business world, and he said "Here's an article to think about, now it doesn't get everything right, but it does make you think." His attempt at provoking thought resulted in one particularly petulant student (who had spent the better part of a half hour sleeping right in front of him) actually yelling at him that she didn't want to wear a business suit, wasn't going to, he couldn't make her, and look at what he was wearing, so he had no right to criticize her clothes (see-through top and low rider jeans with her g string hanging out. Everyone has a right to criticize that garbage, no matter what they are wearing). And let's not even speak of the vast numbers of people who played computer games or spent all class on Facebook.

I finished my first week of school wondering what the hell is wrong with kids today. I knew going back to school would make me feel old, but I figured I'd at least get once through my weekly schedule before that happened. Glad I didn't put any money on it. I'll need that money for booze.

Psst! I have to tell you something

I haven't been totally honest with you, and it is eating me up inside, so here goes:

I have a boyfriend.

I know, I know. I should have mentioned it sooner, but I just wasn't sure I could share our love with the world. See, he doesn't call a lot, or frequently, and we don't go on dates or anything, and I didn't want to get too excited about it, but now I know it is real, so I need to share this with all of you.

It started a little over a month ago, the day I moved into my new place. The phone rang, and I saw that it was "private". Now, I figure it is probably my friend E, whose cell number is blocked for complicated reasons, as the only other people who call me from "private" are my mom and Stormy, both from work, and I didn't think they were in the office in the middle of the night.I answered the phone, exhausted beyond belief from all the unpacking, and almost said "Hey E!" but my brain and mouth didn't connect on that. Boy was I happy I didn't say anything, as on the other end of the line was this unintelligible male voice, one I had never heard before. I said he had the wrong number, and was about to hang up. Then he asked how the move went, and I wondered if maybe my exhaustion was affecting my ability to recognize my own friends, so I said it went fine. Then the voice kept talking, wanting to know how his "sweetness" was doing, and wanted to know if he could come over. I kept repeating that he had the wrong number, and eventually hung up. Then, I promptly fell asleep and forgot all about it.

This weekend, I get another couple of phone calls from the mysterious "private", and I don't answer them, due to my status as a grumble-puss. I check my voicemail earlier today, and along with some messages about the bar snafu, there is a garbled message from the same unintelligible voice, asking how I was doing, suggesting we should get together, saying that he misses and loves me. So, I guess it is official. I have a boyfriend. Granted, we've never met, and I feel dirty and kinda uncomfortable after he calls, but it is better than being alone, right? Ah well, maybe I can get over those feelings in the next month so that I'm ready for his next call, and he can finally arrange to see his "sugar".

Grumble grumble grumble

Over the past few days, I've been in the crustiest of moods. Everything is making me lash out. People in cars behind me honking at me when I don't drive through yellow lights so that they are stuck at the red light too. People not showing up on time, leaving me sitting alone in bars. People who wander up and down the aisles of the grocery store in a zigzag pattern, shouting at top volume on their cellphones, thereby making it impossible for anyone else to get their shopping down and also giving them a headache. Now, all these things are annoying, I will grant you, but I'm getting so worked up over them, far more than I should. I can't be around people right now without completely losing my cool repeatedly. So, until class on Tuesday, I am going to keep myself away from others, in hope that I'll evolve out of this current state.

Until then, I am the Grumble-puss. Coo coo cachoo.

Me Wantee!

Oh man, I have absolutely no need for these as they are the most impractical things ever, and even if I had them, I'd only really have a place to wear them to maybe once a year, but I'd promise to wear them every day to all events just to make them worthwhile.

Honestly, sad as this is, I could die happy if I had a pair of these.

An Ode to a 5am fire alarm

You suck the monkey.

Tech Support Honour Roll

Over the past few weeks, I have dealt with more internet tech support people than I can count on all my fingers and toes. And I would like to thank those who were helpful and didn't make me want to smack them till they bled. So here goes:

To Rick, Greg, and David -

You guys rocked. You actually did your jobs, weren't total dicksticks (TM Stormy) while dealing with me, and in the process you restored my faith in humanity. Your many colleagues can go to hell and die.

And we're back... kind of

Call me naive, a cockeyed optimist, or just plain dumb, but I didn't foresee that the company who took an hour to determine that they do provide me with internet service would muck up the transfer of service to my new place so badly that nearly a month later my service is way slower than dial-up.

I know. I'm going to start wearing a placard around my neck that indicates that yes, I am indeed the village idiot.

As the situation is still not resolved (hence my scheduled 8am service call tomorrow) and it takes 10 minutes to load a page, I'm not sure when I'll be back. So here's a little teaser on what I've been doing with myself to tide you over: a whole lotta unpacking, using my dishwasher so much it borders on obsession/stalker territory, sleeping as soundly as the dead for 12 hours a night in my new bed, and arguing feminist causes with my french conversation instructor.

And now, while I wait for this post to load, I'm going to go soak in my deep and lovely soaker tub. God I love this place!

Ack!

I'm in the middle of losing my mind as we are now T-minus 4 days till the big move. I know I've been neglecting you, but so much has happened, it could take me the next four days to recount it all. So here's an overview. Since last we spoke, I:

...threw out my back and spent the next four days hopped up on robaxicet.

...took possession of the condo.

...got lost in the underground lot no less than four times. In one day.

...drove back and forth across the west end of the city more in one week than I have in the past two years.

...picked out my schedule for school - no 8am classes for me this semester.

...continued the fight (in vain) against the raccoons who are trying to destroy my dad's pride and joy - his lawn.

...painted the condo.

...dealt with the flooring installers, trying to explain that "yes, I know that you can't nail down flooring into concrete, and I do understand that it needs to be glued, and I told all this to the people who took my order, so I don't care how, but you get someone here today who can install this floor!"

...painted the condo some more.

...did something to my wrist so that any movement causes shooting pain, and a wave of nausea.

...packed.

...realized I have far too much crap, and maybe the notion of possessions is overrated.

...dumped coffee grounds all over myself and anything within a four foot radius. Twice. Don't ask.

...packed some more, and started wondering why I didn't let people take the things they coveted when I had my "Goodbye to the Apartment" party.

...came to the conclusion that those things will look awesome when I finally get them in place at the condo.

...had about 17 breakdowns, usually when I made lists of all the things I still had to get done.

...worried that my stuff will all get broken during the move.

...made more trips to the Depots (both Business and Home) than I can count.

...watched two seasons of Arrested Development, my only source of entertainment in this busy and trying time.

And that's pretty much it. Oh sure, there was some sleeping, lots of coffee, and the occasional bottle of red wine, but that has been my life recently. The next week and a half pretty much promises to be more of the same, so there's a good chance I won't be back at the computer till August. Don't worry, I'm sure I'll have lots more "Mabel is a moron" tales, along with the rhapsodizing over my giant kitchen. And now, I really should get back to packing...

Fate knows best?

I've lived in my apartment for almost four years, and in all that time, there have been two constants. I've never seen a cute boy in the building without a ring on his finger or hot better half in tow, and I've never been able to get a parking spot. Never, that is, until today. Just over two weeks from my move date.

Today I borrowed a car and spent the day running errands, mostly related to the upcoming move. On four separate occasions, I came by with the car looking for a spot, and every time I found one. Not the same one every time either, but there always was one. And no, not one at the far end of the complex. Always one right smack dab in front of the doors.

After finding the last one, I grabbed the boxes from the back seat, the bubble wrap and my purse from the front, and I headed for the building. With some difficulty, I managed to get inside only dropping the boxes four times. I went to the elevator, and saw that thankfully the button had already been pushed. Then I became aware that someone was coming up from behind me, so I shifted around a little and saw it was a cute guy with a bike. We both get on the elevator, and after I ask him to hit my floor for me, we get to chatting. He asks about the boxes I'm carrying, and how long I've been living in the building, and I can't believe that I'm finally having the kind of conversation I'd hoped to have when I moved in. Then we get to his floor, and he keeps chatting as he gets out of the elevator and the door starts to close. And do I drop the boxes and hit the button to keep the door open? Or surreptitiously stick my foot in the way of the door? Oh hell no. I just let the door close on the one cute guy without a ring or girlfriend by his side who has talked to me in this building, without getting his name or finding out what apartment he lives in.

And with so little time left here, I'll probably never see him again. Even if I did, I guess there is nothing to prove that I'd actually handle it better. I'd probably just be plugged into my ipod and ignore him. Evidently Fate was right to keep the hot guys from me as I just can't handle them.

But I think I handled the parking spots well, so if that could continue later this week when I will have a car again, that'd be super.

How hot is it?

So hot they had to close down some lanes in the 401 because the road buckled due to the heat.

Sadly, that's not a joke. They really did have to close down a major highway because it couldn't handle the temperature. I know it is hotter in other places in the world, but this is Canada. We just aren't built to deal with this kind of heat. Are the roads in Texas buckling? I think not. And if to further prove my point, I just broke a sweat removing magnets from my fridge. Again, no joke.

Damn you Entertainment Tonight!

I just saw the new Telus commercial, and as soon as I heard the song, what instantly pops into my head? That it is from High School Musical. Which I have never seen. It is amazing how my brain sucks this crap in. How is there room for it all? I'm surprised I can still walk and talk at the same time.

Oh. My. God.

I just agreed with Dr. Phil.

My worldview has been torn assunder.

I can't believe you don't shut up!

Can someone please explain to me why the grass near my apartment needs to be mowed constantly, and the grass bits blown around with leaf blowers after? I can understand if it happens occasionally, or for short periods of time, but the noise has been going on for more than two hours now. And this is after two hours of it yesterday too. I'm losing my mind. Or at least I think I am. It's possible it is still there but I just can't hear it over the lawnmowers.

No 'foundations' for me!

I went for my placement test today, after cramming all the math I could into my head over the past two days. Know what? It worked. I don't know what mark I got on it, but when I went in to talk to the placement person after the test was done, she took a look at my math mark, and said "Wow." And she didn't mean it in a"Wow. I can't believe a human being could be that stupid and still have the required brain stem function to allow them to breathe by themselves" kind of way. Me math good.

I don't have to take the english course (I'm guessing my kick ass essay on the pros and cons of cell phones blew them away) and I can go straight into the regular math class. Yippee!

Now if I could only do something about my anxiety issues, and get the phone number of the hottie who worked the desk, I'd be all set...

A great loss

I don't know if any of you are acting buffs, but I am, and when I read the paper this morning, it was like a punch to the gut. William Hutt, one of Canada's finest actors, died today.

His body of work is extensive, but my personal favourites are Long Day's Journey Into Night, and his turn in Slings and Arrows. Last year, when he performed his last role on the stage at Stratford, Prospero, in The Tempest, my mother and I got tickets, hoping to catch him one last time. When he had to pull out of the performance, I wanted to return my tickets. I'm not a huge fan of The Tempest (I'm more a Richard III kind of girl) and was only going to see his brilliance in person. We went, and his understudy was just as poor as I'd feared. Then again, who could match up to William Hutt? No one. The acting world, and all those who enjoy it, are poorer for his passing.

Medical mumblings

Here's a medical tip for today: If you have blisters, and want to put polysporin on them to help the healing, make sure you grab the tube of poly, and not the tube of goldbond, for as the directions tell you, putting goldbond on a blister is not a good idea. It will burn and make the blister look worse, so that everyone who sees the blister, even days later, will think you've just cut open your foot and will recoil in horror.

Sometimes I think I bumble around so much just so that you can learn from my mistakes.

You're welcome.

More school-related angst

Quick: What's the difference between an assessment test and a placement test?

Other than when in the registration process one takes it, and how much they cost - nothing. At least as far as I can tell. When I applied to go back to school earlier this year, I spoke with the head of the Business school, and she told me I would get a notice telling me to go for math and english tests, and I could ignore it. It did, and I did. Now, months later, I get my registration info pack, and inside, along with a complicated multi-step registration/course selection process, there is a note that says I need to book a test for math and english. Initially, I ignore this, as I have confirmation that I don't need to take any tests. But then, I get a nagging feeling, and read everything over again, and scour the internets, and my anxiety pays off. I really do need to take this test, as this is a placement test, not the assessment test I was exempted from. This one is shorter than the assessment tests, and won't cost money, but I have to do it before signing up for classes, which means I have to do it this week.

Forget for a minute how stupid I am to not have triple checked this earlier. There will be time enough for all the 'Mabel is a freaking moron' talk later. Now I have to brush up more quickly than desired on my math skills. I'm pretty confident about the english - though reading over the requirements I did see that they will be testing to see if sentence fragments and run-on sentences can be avoided. I know, I know, reading this you'd think they're all I use! - but the math is causing some panic.

I never did all that well in math in high school. Oh, I could do the homework fine, but in test situations, I always messed up. This is part of the reason my career in the financial industry was so amusing to my parents. But I figured that I could probably scrape through. I was going over the practice tests, and it seems that I'm a giant moron. I got 71% on one of them.

My good friend Roxxy tried to make me feel better, saying that everyone panics around math, and that if I got placed in the "foundations" class, I'd just look even smarter than usual. That's why I love her. While I know having to take a "foundations" math class first term wouldn't be the worst thing in the world, it does make me ill. I'm supposed to be smart. I always did well, usually without trying. And I guess I kinda figured that math wasn't important to me in high school, so that was why I didn't excel. And now, it looks like I'm having to face the fact that math is never going to be my strength. That is bad enough, but the mere thought of having to take esentially a remedial class makes me want to vomit. I'm not necessarily good at facing adversity when I didn't expect to. I can deal with challenges if I expect it to be a challenge, but if I think I can handle something and then it turns out I can't, I'm not really good at dealing with that. And I think of myself as a good student.

Oh well, I guess this will be another opportunity to better myself. At this rate, I'll be evolving into a beam of light any day now.

Anyone else's head feel like it is gripped in a vice and you've downed a giant bottle of zambuca?

No? Just me then? Fine.

Did I mention how much I love humidity and the pain-bringing air pressure that comes with it? With all the time we'll be spending together over the next week, we may as well get married. And according to the opponents of gay marriage, now that gays can get married, anyone can marry whatever they want, be it a snake, a dog, or a child. I haven't confirmed it, but I think humidity/air-pressure could work. So until I hear different, we're getting hitched. If anyone is interested, the couple is registered at Home Depot and Ikea.

Just call me Limpy McGee

You'd think that at my age I would have learned to not wear new shoes for the first time when walking around the neighbourhood running errands. You would, but you'd be wrong. I went out earlier this week, and thought my new shoes would go perfectly with my outfit. And they did. But when I got home, I saw that my decision was a poor one. I had no less than three blisters. Per foot. Two of which are large enough to have their own postal codes. I'm in immense pain and it is all my fault. Wah!

Do Not Disturb

I'm a very private person. Oh sure, I babble in this blog and whomever wants to can read it, but it is stuff I choose to share, so I don't mind. But I hate it when people are in my space when I haven't invited them.

So imagine how happy I was when I got notices dropped in my mailslot on Friday morning, announcing that I was going to have two separate visitors to my apartment. They needed to inspect the place to see what renos need to be done after I leave (the person who lives here next gets an all new bathroom. Lucky sob!) and then they wanted to show my apartment to potential renters. No, I didn't just sigh and accept it. Do you even know me at all? That's right. I freaked out. I hate the thought of people being able to rummage through my life. That's actually the part of my death that upsets me most. I don't like the thought of people being able to go through and see stuff that was private and I didn't want anyone to see. But I'll get therapy to deal with that, and hopefully I have some time to do that, freak accident notwithstanding.

More importantly, more pressingly, I have to deal with the notion that until I move out, this place isn't really my own. I mean, they booked a viewing of the apartment for 10am. On a Saturday. And didn't even ask me. The person who came to see it was from out of town, so even when I called to try and see if the viewing could be delayed, I was out of luck. That's right, some person who may rent my apartment has more of a right to be in my place whenever than I do.

I can't wait till I move.

I'm in love!

His name is Splish Splash. He's a flavour of the month at Baskin Robbins, described as a "Blue Raspberry sherbet swirled with Blueberry ice" and he dances across my tongue. We were meant to be together forever.

I can go out in public again

After spending the last four days putting warm compresses on my eye to get rid of the sty, I am happy to report that I finally look human again. It is still visible, but only if you know what you are looking for, and even then, it isn't so gross that you will be forced to look away. I can now venture out into the world without having to wear my sunglasses at all times. Yippee!!

I think I liked it better when I wasn't sleeping

Stress manifests itself in different ways. For months before I found myself jobless, when I knew what could possibly be ahead, I couldn't sleep. Even after I found out my fate, I still couldn't sleep. Eventually I came to terms with not being able to sleep and then randomly sleeping for 12 hours straight at inopportune times. But finally I started sleeping again, and I thought that was wonderful. Until now.

My body was dealing with my stress by not sleeping. I guess it decided it didn't work, so it found another way. For the past couple of days, my left eye has been bugging me. And today, I wake up to find that I have a sty. It itches, and I look diseased. And I get to spend time putting warm compresses on it. 6 times a day.

Hello?

What self respecting floor installation company returns calls at 7:50 am? Lady, just because you get to work at 7am, doesn't mean the rest of us are up and raring to go at that hour. Yeesh.

Are you a loan shark? Do you understand how high finance works?

I'm walking along the street in my neighbourhood, and I see this man kind of edging towards me, like he wants to talk to me. Like any good Torontonian, I ignore him. But he keeps trying, so then I wonder if I'm being callous and he just wants directions, and I turn towards him. He doesn't want directions. He launches into a spiel that starts with him being a diabetic, and ends with a request for me to give him money in exchange for his ticket for the subway to help him get insulin.

My knowledge of high finance is extensive. It tells me that you break someone's legs in advance to ensure that they pay back the money you've lent them. But while I may not be up on the exact cost of insulin injections, I'm thinking it is a tad higher than 2.75$ Canadian, no matter how high the dollar is right now. So unless he had a ginormous wad of tickets to sell, I think he won't be able to afford his insulin shot.

Oh my, do you think he was just trolling for cash, and lied about the insulin?

Fashion Tip #18

Women who are crowding 50 should not, under any circumstances, wear their hair in pigtails in public. Especially not when combined with bangs that are curled and spritzed to within an inch of their lives.

EA meeting

My name is Mabel, and I'm an exclamation point-aholic. It has been minutes since I last used one. I know that I use them way too much, way beyond what is strictly necessary. I use them not only with friends, but when I'm alone too. Can someone here be my sponsor?

She so litigious!

Wow.

Seriously, I don't know what else to say. I thought Rebecca Eckler couldn't go any lower. I was totally wrong. She is suing the makers of the movie Knocked Up (disclosure: I haven't seen it, and don't plan on it, just because I can't buy the premise that Kathrine Heigl hooks up with that total slob for a one night stand. No effing way.) So, while I loathe Eckler, I'm not crazy about the movie (Judd Apatow's previous work notwithstanding) and am not about to take the side of the movie developers just because.

But honestly? She's suing them because she feels they stole from her novel of the same name. Some of the reasons she lists, other than the title, are that in both her book and the movie, the woman who gets pregnant by accident feels out of place at a party with booze, that she seeks advice/support from a person close to her who has children, and that the fiance is Canadian and Jewish.

Well, not to trivialize Eckler's experience, but I'm gonna go out on a limb and state that pretty much every pregnant woman has gone to some sort of event and felt out of place because she couldn't drink like she could before. I think it is as much a part of pregnancy as morning sickness or back pain. And I know that if I was pregnant, especially if it wasn't planned,I wouldn't go to my childless friends for support and advice. Oh no, I'd be calling my friends with rugrats faster than you can say 'pre-natal classes'. So far, my theoretical pregnancy mirrors Eckler's too. Crap! I'd better duck in case of copyright infringement! As for the fiance being Canadian and Jewish (because that combination never occurs anywhere but in Eckler's book so it must be stolen from her) I can only say that Canada is kinda close to the US, and Apatow has worked with some lovely Canadians, so it is completely believable that he came up with this on his own.

There are other claims she makes, and while some I can't speak to, some just make me laugh. Like that the title is the same. Yes, because the slang 'knocked up' is never used to describe pregnancy in this day and age, especially when the pregnancy is from a one night stand. And while I don't have a degree in graphic art and design, I'm thinking that punching up the words by putting them in different colours is on page one of the design school handbook. The fact that a pacifier and a martini glass were used in both? Quick, think of two items that are each easily recognizable to everyone, no matter the language spoken, the age, or culture of the audience, as a signifier (yeah, I'm getting all semiotical on ya) for the different stages of life being represented in the work, one for pregnancy/having a baby, and the other for the free and easy single life. I'm guessing most of you came up with the pacifier for baby, and if you didn't come up with the martini glass, you picked something to symbolize booze. Coming up with those two ain't rocket surgery. Or uncommon.

Now I should note here that I'm not saying Eckler plagiarized them, or that she shouldn't be pissed. In fact, I can empathize with her. There is nothing fun about working your butt off on something, only to find out that someone else had the same idea and is getting more play. My fourth year project was a brilliant study of Canadian culture and the intrisic link to the donut shop. People thought we were crazy, and there hadn't been anything (that we could find) done on the subject before. But then, around the same time we were finishing up, some grad students did something so similar you'd almost swear they cribbed off of our research, and they got lots of press about it. I was annoyed, and hated explaining that 'no, we came up with the idea on our own and did the work ourselves and didn't copy them thanks very much' to everyone. But I never thought of suing. I just figured it was such a good idea that other people had it too. It sucks, but you move on.

Besides, I think that creative works are all plagiarized in one way or another. Are there really any new stories to tell? Probably not. Most stories have been told, one way or another. So when you tell yours, it isn't so much about the newness of the tale, but about the execution. Make yours interesting and well told, and you've done wonderfully and people will love it, no matter how many times they've heard the "kid from the wrong side of the tracks makes good and wins the girl" narrative. Make it trite and so transparent that one only has to read the first page to know exactly what will happen, pretty much page by page, and you've done terribly and will make people throw your book across the room in frustration. Emily Giffin, I'm looking in your direction here.

Oh, and finally, if two people can independently invent the telephone, why is it so hard to believe that two people could almost simultaneously develop a humourous look at being pregnant?

Just chill, Rebecca.

It's official!

I own property.

Oh sure, there are some formalities to take care of, but as of the middle of next month, I will be the proud owner of my own home. I'm giddy with anticipation, a bit terrified of the change, and overwhelmed by all the little things I'll have to take care of before the move. Changing my address. Cancelling services. Packing up all my stuff. My brain hurts just thinking about them. So I'm not going to. For now, I'm just going to think about the good parts, and do the happy dance.

For future reference

Blogging after less than 3 hours of sleep and a stressful day is not a good idea.

I may have been a little hasty, and well, overly pessimistic yesterday. But almost no sleep and then a rousing round of "Why you are a failure as a daughter" will do that to a body.

Things are looking up today. Or at least, I'm able to see that it isn't as gloomy as I said it was yesterday.

I've found a place I love. An offer has been made. I gave my notice to my current abode.

By noon tomorrow, we'll know if I've got a new home.

Don't tempt fate

Seriously. Don't do it. Don't ever hope for anything good in your life. It just won't happen. Oh, it will look like it will, but then at the most gut wrenching time, your dreams will be crushed.

And those patterns to relationships you thought you both outgrew? Pffft. Of course you didn't. It just seemed like you did so that when they finally reappear, it is at the worst possible time, and pretty much guarantees that said relationship is irreparable.

If you look to the left, you will see a sad woman.

Search over?

The time stamp at the bottom of this entry does not lie. It is 2:48 in the morning. And I can't sleep. Again. Some more.

But this isn't random insomnia. I don't want to jinx it, but it looks like I have found a condo that fits all my criteria, and I'm going to be putting in an offer in the next day or so. I'm scared, and excited, and nervous, and panicked and lots of other stuff. So that's why I can't sleep.

Send me your good vibes. I really like this one. This could be home.

It's lash-tastic!

Now, anyone who knows me knows that I love makeup. The crazier the colour, the better. I'll try anything. That vibrant aqua colour? I've got it and four others kinda like it. Sparkly pink liner? Count me in, it'll go great with my hot pink shadow. But I've never worn false lashes before because I just didn't do that much with my lashes period. Until recently, I didn't always wear mascara but after an old coworker yelled at me when she heard that, I've always got it on. Yesterday I went for a makeover and Vivian, the makeup artist asked if she could put some on, and as I trust her, I told her she could do whatever. I nearly passed out when she took the eyelash curler to me, and she kept asking if I was okay when she was putting the lashes on, because I kept grimacing. But after all that, when I stood back to take a look, I was blown away.

My eyes looked fantastic! My lashes went on for miles, and they actually didn't look fake. I finally understood why men swoon when women bat their eyelashes. The best part was that I felt like a total diva. I called out for someone bring me a martini and some bonbons, and for the rest of the day, I kept sneaking looks in any reflective surface just to catch a glimpse of my awesome lashes.

Now today, as I look in the mirror at my pathetic and non-false natural lashes, I can't help but feel I look funny.

Suddenly the notion of getting eyelash implants doesn't seem quite so ridiculous.

I'm also clumsy

On top of my idiocy, I have this knack for ungainliness that is just awesome. I make Bambi trying to walk on ice for the first time look downright graceful. This morning, I ground up some coffee beans, and then promptly dumped half of them all over my arms, my feet, and the kitchen floor.

Stormy once said of me "Mabel: She puts the 'ass' in classy."

Truer words were never spoke.

Oh hey, did I mention I'm an idiot?

Just checking. But in case you needed yet another example, here it is.

I was invited to attend a girls night at the apartment of a friend of mine last night, an apartment I'd never been too. So, being the anxious dweeb I am, I scouted out the route on the good old TTC four days in advance. Then I checked again a day later, and twice more yesterday. I committed the directions to memory, and made lengthy notations in the memo pad on my cell, Snowball II, all about what streets I need to pass, and what streets I shouldn't pass or else I've gone too far. Yeah, I know, I'm certifiable. Anyhow, I was sure that all I needed to do was go to Davisville Station, and catch the Bayview 11 bus, and the rest would be easy.

(Pause for dramatic effect)

Again, to reiterate, I'm an idiot, so of course it wasn't that easy.

I get to the station, and get on the bus, and keep my eyes peeled for the street names. Note that I'm not looking for the numbers, oh no, because that would make some kind of sense. And my logic does not resemble your earth logic. Hell no. So I'm looking and looking, and not seeing the streets I need to. A creeping dread is developing in the pit of my stomach. Then all of a sudden, I'm at Eglinton, which a quick look at my notes on Snowball II confirms is way past where I need to be. So I jump off the bus and look around, when it dawns on me that the address on the building in front of me is 1787. And, in case you aren't mathletes, is pretty damn far from the address of my friend, which is in the 1300s. I did that math in my head. Impressed? So I start hauling ass, trekking down Bayview, in the hopes that I will be able to get there before I'm so late that some guests might be leaving. After a bit, I realize that Mount Pleasant Cemetery is coming up, and then, I look to my left, and I see that I'm finally at my friend's place. A split second later, I realize that I recognize the building. And I should, because my aunt lived in the same complex. For over 4 years.

That's right. Despite lots of planning and map checking, I got lost on my way to a place I have been dozens of times before.

Later, at home, I check my work again, trying to see where I went wrong, and it turns out that the Bayview bus never even passes by my friend's place. I read the map wrong. Over and over.

Tremble at my intellect.

Sigh.

All quiet on my front

I've been kinda silent lately. I guess I'm just not feeling it, the whole writing thing. Or maybe I'm just tired from spending too much time looking for condos to buy. I don't rightly know.

Yeah, you read right. I'm gonna be entering the real estate game. Table Mabel's gonna own property. First, condo fees; then, enslavement of the entire world. Mwahahahaha! Picture me tenting my fingers in the pyramid of evil.

Over the past week, I've spent lots of time pouring over the internets, trying to find a one bedroom condo, with a balcony, in a nice, friendly neighbourhood that is near-ish to the subway and that I can afford. Oh, and it has to be "safe" according to my parents. So don't even bother suggesting that I move into a tent in the middle of Cracktown. And, I pretty much need to move, like, yesterday. I know, I'm gonna have better luck finding a leprechaun. Sigh. But I love a challenge and I'm gonna do it, even if it kills me. The thought of a washer and dryer of my very own has me salivating.

The Jaded Club

I have an admission to make. I'm jaded and proud of it. But while I have no problem with the way I am, I would like to "be with my own kind". You know, hang with people who have the same tendency for continual cynicism. As such, I'm creating a club for the jaded, where we can get together and celebrate our dearth of hope. I'm hoping some of you feel the same way, so I've enclosed the application package, in case you'd like to join.

**********************************************

Dear Applicant,

The Jaded Club thanks you for your interest.

We are always on the lookout for promising new members to join us in our continual state of cynicism. However, you must understand that we are an exclusive club, and as such, have exacting standards to which we must hold our members. Just being jaded is not enough.

Please answer the questions that follow at the bottom of this communication, and your membership application will be evaluated. Note that we thank all applicants for their interest, but only the candidates who have been selected for a follow-up interview will be contacted.

Regards,

Table Mabel
President and Founder, The Jaded Club


The Jaded Club Membership Application Form

1. Do you make snide comments when witnessing any public display of affection?

2. Do you think that a white knight will come and rescue you?

3. How tolerant are you of the general public?

4. Are you convinced that there is no one out there for you?

5a. Have you ever dreamt of being Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman?

5b. Would you punch someone who has?

Complete the following sentences:

6. The best thing about being jaded is _____________________.

7. Love _____________________________.

Pick the most correct answer:

8. What word would best describe you?
a) melancholic
b) cynical
c) world-weary
d) jaded

9. People, as a general rule _______.
a) are idiots
b) are morons
c) suck chunkers
d) chafe my ass

10) In 30 words or less, describe what you would bring to The Jaded Club:

Let's get a few things of my chest, shall we?

Here are just some random things that are driving me bazoo:

Does it really take 8 people to pick out a bottle of pancake syrup? Do you all need to be closely involved in this decision and in doing so take up three aisles in the grocery store? For 15 minutes?

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We're in North America people. We drive on the right side. We also walk on the right side. This applies to whatever/wherever you're doing it, be it an escalator, a sidewalk, a platform, or a hallway. If there is no one coming in the opposite direction, feel free to walk in zigzags if your heart so desires, but if you aren't alone, get the hell over the right side now!

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When I'm struggling to open the door while holding my many grocery bags, I'm actually not doing it so that you can ram into me and knock me off balance just to make it through first and then let the door slam in my face.

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Most city sidewalks are about wide enough to fit two, maybe three people abreast. It's delightful that you have a litter of children, but I don't enjoy having to all but climb onto newspaper boxes so that you can pass by whenever you'd like. They have strollers for two (or more) children that don't take up 5 feet of space across, and instead only take up the space of one person, so that other people can use streets too. Look into it.

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What the hell is up the horrendous state of the streets and sidewalks in this city? They are a messy combination of broken cobblestones, uneven pavement, slanty sidewalks, cracks and jagged gravel. Are you trying to make me wear ugly and "practical" shoes? Or is it me with a broken ankle, torn acl and smashed in teeth you are after?

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Lady, despite what you may think, I am actually allowed to have my purse stand out 2 inches from my shoulder. See, we have this concept of there being a tiny amount of personal space that surrounds a person, a space which should not ever be entered, unless you have been given explicit permission or are performing life saving cpr. So if you can't find a way around it, despite the four feet of space between me and that display of condiments, then you shouldn't leave your house. Ever.

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And finally, to the jackhole who buzzed me in the hopes of getting into the building at 5:42 this morning, 40 minutes after I finally fell asleep, I hope you get the plague.

There. Now I feel better.

For me? The times, they are a changin'

So, remember when I said that I had a sugar daddy who was going to keep me in my lovely apartment during the upcoming three years of school? Well, I still do have a sugar daddy, but the sugar daddy has had some second thoughts, and it turns out that it is no longer desirable for me to stay in my sweet, wonderful apartment.

Oh, don't worry. I'm not getting turfed onto the street or anything. But it looks like I have to move, probably soon.

So, instead of feeling all cozy here now, I find myself looking around at the life I've collected and just seeing stuff I need to pack. And it doesn't quite feel like home here any more.

Me so cranky

I've been cranky as all get out recently. I don't rightly know why. Well, I know why I was cranky yesterday - stupid atmospheric pressure making my head feeling like it is both imploding and exploding at the same time - but other than that, I have no bloody idea. Okay, the lack of edible food in my apartment might also have something to do with it. Yeah, I said 'edible food'. I've got lots of elements of food, but nothing that would combine to make an actual meal. I've got pasta but no sauce. Lettuce but no veggies. Bagels but nothing to put on them. Coffee but no milk. I'm almost down to nothing. I've eaten all the tarragon and drunk all the soy sauce. Mostly? I think I just feel like I'm in limbo and I don't like to limbo. I'm easy but not flexible.

Question:

Am I a bad person because I want to bundle Rebecca Eckler up and ship her to Antarctica so that I never have to hear her insipid comments again?

And here's a followup: When the hell did Rebecca Eckler become "one of Canada's most popular journalists and writers"?

Wanna know what's a really stupid idea?

Staffing the ice cream store on a gorgeous, summer-like afternoon, when kids are out of school and people are walking around with only ONE person. It's not like the weather has been crappy recently or anything, so why can't you maybe have two people so I don't have to wait in a lineup of 20 people for my scoop of red raspberry sorbet?

Paranoid much?

http://www.thestar.com/News/article/211189

I'd make a joke about how it was probably the poppy (opium! Afghanistan! The war on terror!) that got this whole thing rolling, but sadly, I'd probably be right.

Aw yeah!

I went for a walk today and came back with my first sunburn of the year. Just a slight reddish tinge to my shoulders, nothing too bad or painful, but it just makes me feel all tingly inside. Summer's almost here!

Shout out!

Last week, I met up with an old co-worker for coffee. And aside from being able to spend some quality time with my true love caffeine, it was really good to see him. I saw him almost every day for over three years, and it has been pretty odd these past months not to see him pop over for a chat or to take something from our candy drawer.

But seeing him also made me a little sad. He reminded me of what I really miss about work (besides the paycheque! Thanks, I'll be here all week. Try the veal.) and that is my co-workers. I worked with some of the most fun, most interesting, most helpful and most skilled people. They made coming in to work every day if not delightful, then at least bearable. They didn't mock me for my random, weird dancing to music that was only in my head. Or if they did, it wasn't to my face. I doubt I'll be as lucky again.

So, to you in particular, Pelowpages, and to all my old work cronies in general, thanks for all the good times, and just for you, I'm doing a lovely version of the sprinkler.

Example #4792 of my idiocy

I'm getting ready to head out, and I reach for my compact to check my makeup. But for some reason I can't actually see my face in the mirror. After a few seconds, it finally registers. I didn't pick up my compact, but an eyeshadow container. I stared into the lid of an eyeshadow container and wondered why I couldn't see my reflection.

I'm so stupid.

Minty AND chewable?

Man, it is so great that science has found cures for all disease and solved all our major problems, cuz I've had to put up with a birth control pill I have to take with a glass of water for far too damn long. If I want to be sexually active and not pregnant, I have to be responsible enough to take a pill every day, and I need to drink water with it to wash it down. What is up with that? Did we lose a war here? I can't believe we call this a free country, with that sort of crap.

But now science has fixed this important issue and come up with a birth control pill I can "take wherever", according to the advertising.

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/16098766/

See? That's what I'm talking about. A chewable birth control pill that tastes minty. Finally. Now we can call ourselves civilized.

In case you couldn't tell, I was being sarcastic.

Chewable birth control pills? Really? And pardon my Latvian, but why? Are there really lots of women walking around complaining about not getting to use their teeth enough while taking the pill? Did someone think that chewing gum was fun, but you have to throw it out eventually, so what would be awesome is something to chew that disolves instead? Do lots of people love the taste of spearmint but hate gum, and need to get their fix somehow? Is taking a pill currently so difficult that you can only do it in the comfort of your own home?

Oh, and while we're on the topic of the "portability" factor, I read some of the directions, and you have to drink an 8oz glass of water with this chewable pill anyhow, so wouldn't it be easier to just toss one down the hatch with the water instead of chewing followed by a water chaser?

On top of the fact that this sounds like a marketing brainstorm idea gone really wrong, I just can't believe that good money and energy were spent to get it developed. I'm all for science, (ask anyone, I'm always experimenting. Suzuki, I'm gunning for you!) but couldn't we be doing something more, um, productive than developing birth control pills that we can chew and taste of spearmint? Like develop a giant tomato that could end world hunger? Just asking.

I'm very mad at vous

Remember back when I was all "Facebook is awesome and I love it and can't believe I waited so long to join"? Yeah. Me neither.

I mean, sure, some cool stuff has come of it. Like last week, I met up with an old friend from out of town, who I had lost touch with over some...unpleasantness, and we were able to patch everything up. I'll grant you, that was pretty damn fantastic. Aside from the whole 'beer-dipped phone' incident, of course.

However, as I mentioned before, due to Facebook, I also had to spend time with my ex, and that was slightly less pleasant than having my tongue beaten paper thin with a meat tenderizer. But I thought that was it, so I could deal with it, and consider it a small price to pay. Oh how I was wrong.

About a week ago, he sent me a friend request on Facebook, along with a message about how it was so nice to see me, how it had been far too long, and how perhaps it had been long enough for us to be friends.

And therein lies my problem.

I just don't know what to do.

On first blush, I wanted to delete it and go on blissfully ignoring him, but every time I go to do that, I can't. I log in for the express purpose of blowing the request away, and then I start thinking about it, and it occurs to me that I should be able to get over everything and be his friend, even if it is only in a "anyone I have ever known should be counted as my friend" way that online communities breed. Did I say no to someone I talked to occasionally through high school? No. Did I say no to a guy I only hung out with in groups a few times more than a decade ago? No. So why can't I just say yes and leave it at that? Am I that broken? Do I need to hold a grudge that badly? Sure, things ended terribly (understatement alert!) but this was someone I held dear for a long time, a mostly good time. Do I need to count the whole relationship as a black stain on my life?

Ugh. I had no idea this whole thing was going to be so damn complicated.

A Dear John letter

Dear John McCain,

Remember how I used to say that I loved you? Turns out I was wrong.

We've drifted apart over the last few months, what with you turning into an insane, far-right-wing hack and all, but tonight's performance on The Daily Show was the last straw. You were asked a question was about prolonging the terms of American troops in Iraq, and you managed to ramble on about how the troops think the war is a good thing, and refused to acknowledge the question, despite it being asked more than once.

I hate you just as much as I hate Rumsfeld, Cheney, or any other Republican heel who can't think beyond your party's talking points.

Don't ever call me again.

How not to write the subject line of an email

If you are sending an email from the online college application system to one of the applicants a few days before the deadline for accepting offers from schools as a reminder to fill out a survey about how awesome the system is, don't put "College Applicant Final Reminder" in the subject line. It may cause the reader to freak out and think that they didn't manage to accept the offer they thought they had over a month ago, and worry that they don't know how to use a computer.

Once upon a time...

...in a land not so far away, a young woman was very sad. She needed to get a new phone, as hers had decided to go for a swim in a pint of Steamwhistle, and was no longer functioning in the way a phone should. So, she put on her most sensible shoes, and headed off to find a Bell Service Centre.

After a long walk down Bloor Street, she reached her destination. She took a deep breath, and entered the store. Once inside, she found herself confronted with two sales clerks. Not knowing which one to pick, she smiled at them both, and chose the one that smiled back. She explained the trials which she had been through, having been without a phone for almost a day, though she glossed over how exactly the phone had come to cease working.

The helpful sales clerk was very sympathetic. He took the phone from the woman and inspected it, to see if he could discern the problem. He turned it around in his hands, opened it up, turned it off and on, and then opened the back of the phone to see the battery.

And with the removal of the back of the case, there was an overwhelming aroma of beer. It swirled around the clerk and our heroine, and she hung her head as the clerk spoke the words she knew she would have to hear:

"That's beer. The warranty doesn't cover beer."

So she reluctantly fished into her purse for her wallet, and paid for an identical version of the broken, beer-logged phone she had bought only months ago. And she left the store not long after, a few hundred dollars poorer.

The moral? Never let friends hold my phone over a full pint. Wait, I mean, 'one's phone'. Because that totally never happened to me.

My luck sucks rocks

I was out last night with some old friends (and totally didn't get my phone dunked in a pint, despite what you may have heard) and along with lots of laughing and reminiscing, there were far too many shots consumed.

So today I'm feeling like death warmed over. All I want is to have a nice warm shower to wash away the grogginess and turn me back into a human being.

I stumble to the shower, turn it on, and nothing comes out. I spend a minute or so just looking at the tap. Then it dawns on me that I saw a notice yesterday, something about needing to work on the water system today and how our water will be off from 8:30 till 5. There will be no shower for Mabel today.

If anyone needs me, I'll be collapsed on the couch.

Dear Bell Service Centre:

Your warranty on phones covers them accidentally being dropped in a pint of beer, right?

Not that that's why I'm bringing my phone in. I'm just curious.

Really.

@#$#$%@#$%!!!

I'm in the crustiest mood. I don't know why, but everything is pissing me off to no end. I'm supposed to go to dinner with some friends, and when they informed me I'm supposed to pick the place, I got irrationally angry. I'm ignoring the messgage for now. On top of my usual "bad mood" tactics of yelling at the tv or radio, and stomping around like a four year old, I actually burst into tears.

And no, I'm not PMSing. I'm just super prickly. I'm really quite the charming catch.

So...

Oh Facebook, what hath thou wrought?

So, we have established that I gave in to Facebook and found lots of good stuff on it. And for a while, things were hunky dory. But now, I think we're having our first fight.

Let me start from the beginning.

A while ago, Stormy created a group in Facebook, in order to rope one of our friends into joining. Again, as I keep telling you, peer pressure is awesome and you should always give into it! Anyhow, we decided that this group for people who knew our friend, the Admiral, would be open to everyone, in case some of his friends that we didn't know wanted to join. And it worked, on both counts. Our friend joined, and a number of other people found the group and joined it too. This includes ex-boyfriends. Then Stormy decided that we should have an event for the Admiral, and sent out an invite to the group.

You can probably see where this is going.

Last night was the event. We met up at a bar we all used to spend far too much time in when we were much younger, but it was too packed, so we left and went to another bar close by, but not one we frequented together. We left messages for people we knew were coming but weren't there yet, to let them know we'd changed locations. But we didn't tell everyone. So imagine our surprise when around the corner walks someone we didn't leave a message for. My ex.

I tell you, my stomach dropped out when I saw him. I thought I was going to be sick.

Now, I understand that some people can be friends after breakups and all that. But ours wasn't what you would call a 'amicable split'. It ended terribly. We were together for about 2 years, and it took me at least that long to get over the pain and deal with the issues. I'm back on solid ground now, but seeing him walk into the room, even now, 6 years after the fact, and it was like a punch to the gut, ripping off the band aid. Choose any metaphor you'd like. It was that and worse.

I did the only thing I could do. I ran to the bar.

After the initial sucker punch of panic, and a couple of gin and tonics, I was hit with the double edged sword of pity and regret.

The pity, I was expecting. I've heard things about him since our split, and the years haven't been kind to him. After we broke up, he slid down the path to crazyville. Instead of the cute young thing he was while we were together, he became a mirror image of Grizzly Adams. He had some dealings with the law. He became deluded about his own abilities, and downright mean about the abilities of others. He tried to rope friends into shady dealings. It got to the point that I wanted to deny we had ever dated.

The regret, on the other hand, was a total shock. I sat there, trying not to look at him, yet unable to pull my eyes away. I kept wondering how it had all gone so wrong, and how he could have hurt me like that (side note: Guys, don't ever, EVER, tell your girlfriend you really want to sleep with one of her best friends. Just don't.) and how the sweet, caring man I fell in love with had turned into something I barely recognized.

There was only one thing to do. Drink more.

After a number of additional drinks, I realized that I was going to have to be the bigger person, and go talk to him. This would not only make me feel better, by being the adult in the situation, but would help me get over all the squishiness inside me. So I moved over, and eventually, got him to talk. He asked if I was still working for the same company, and when I told him about my lack of a job and my scholastic plans, he remembered that I had always been interested in that field. We talked a bit about what I was doing, where I was living, and he was actually kind of sweet. I caught a glimpse of the man I had at one point thought I'd marry. It wasn't a long conversation, as he had plans to head on to another event, and that was probably a good thing. I learned last night that I haven't quite dealt with everything as well as I thought I did.

Long story not so short? We're thinking of changing the group to 'by invite only'. And Facebook? Please, if you want us to continue being friends, don't bring back any other past loves. I don't think I can take it.

Finally!

For ages, I've been walking around, telling everyone and anyone who will listen that what Gatorade should do is make Gatorade in a flavour I can handle in the morning, because the regular stuff just doesn't work for me in the morning. And now, wonder of wonders, I see they've finally done it. I just saw a commercial announcing that Gatorade now has Gatorade AM, which comes in "flavors developed to appeal to you in the morning".

Pardon my Latvian, but what the hell are flavours that appeal to me in the morning? And how are they different from flavours that appeal to me at midday or in the evening, or even in the middle of the night? The commercial wasn't forthcoming with the details, so I'm going to assume that AM flavour is extra strong coffee that can peel paint off the walls. Either that, or toothpaste.

It's tax time!

No, this isn't a gentle reminder to file your return, although you should do that. PSA over.

I just saw a news piece on ABC complaining about illegal immigrants in the US. The gist of the piece was that the IRS doesn't turn over information to immigration from illegals who file tax returns, and how this is a terrible thing, because it may be counteracting all the work of the border patrol to get rid of those horrible leeches (which really America, don't you see how insane you are with this 'we need to build a wall around us to keep undesirables out' plan? Look in the mirror, and you'll see China. Or East and West Germany. Doesn't that make you think twice?) Contrary to what I would have thought, apparently there are a number of illegals who pay taxes every year, despite not having any of the other perks or responsibilities of citizenship.

They interviewed one man who had been a bank manager in Peru, but was now illegally in the US and was working as a painter. When they asked him why he paid taxes, he said "Because I make money in this country and I want to give back to it." I can see why you wouldn't want a slacker like that in your country. As opposed to someone like Wesley Snipes, who has made millions of dollars, on top of all the other perks of being a celebrity and yet doesn't feel he should have to pay taxes at all.

I try and I try America, but I just can't figure you out.

Best. Headline. Ever.

From the Toronto Star today:

"Wonder twin powers activate Canucks in OT"

Was it in the form of steam? The article doesn't say.

Urgh

I'm not a doctor, and except for on those long lost tapes of a third rate soap opera, have not played one on tv. But shouldn't extra strength Advil liqui-gels - you know, the ones they tell you to only take one of every four hours, due to the complete awesomeness of their painkiller ability? Yeah those ones - shouldn't they actually take the pain away in less than three hours? Or am I missing something? Because if they are so strong and amazing in their pain-killing skills, I would think they'd work, um, quicker.

In a completely unrelated story, do you think that popping 6 of those liqui-gels in 5 hours will cause permanent damage to one's insides? No reason, I'm just curious.

Fine, have it your way

New Jersey? You're dead to me.

I'm asking nicely...

So it has come to this.

Last day of the regular season, and the last playoff spot is ours, but we need a little help to hold on to it. Come on New Jersey, help a girl out. You owe us after the Kaberle incident. Beat the Islanders today and we'll call it even.

I'm an idiot: update

So last night, I pick up my mail, and sure enough, among the bills and flyers for fast food, there is a folded up piece of paper, sealed with staples and with my name and the words "USB drive" emblazoned on it, with my USB key inside.

Thanks a million. I can only hope that if you need it, someone is as nice to you as you were to me.

I'm an idiot

I know, I know. This isn't exactly shocking news, but I just had it confirmed yet again.

I just got an email from a name I didn't know, and was about to delete it as spam, when I read the subject "USB Drive" and I thought, "hmmm that isn't sexual enough to be spam", and then I felt my stomach drop, wondering if indeed it was about my USB key. So, after psyching myself up, I went to check my keychain, just to convince myself I still had it. But sure enough, my USB key was missing. After calling myself a bunch of names, mostly unprintable, I opened the email, and lo and behold, it wasn't spam. It was from some nice man who found a USB key in the lobby of my apartment building. He doesn't live in my building, so he took it home, opened the files, found my email and has offered to bring it by to my place today.

While this does restore my faith in humanity - because, seriously, how easy would it have been to wipe out the files and keep it for himself? Which reminds me, you sir? Are awesome. - it doesn't show me in a good light. I have all sorts of personal information on that USB key. No, not just music that I tell other people I don't like, but I really do, but actual important stuff. Like copies of applications I've sent in for jobs. In the email, he says he found it Saturday. How many times have I used my keys since then? Tonnes. And did I notice anything was missing? Of course not. You know the saying "I'd lose my head if it wasn't attached to my body"? Well, in my case, it isn't hyperbole.

I really am an idiot.