Saturday, March 31, 2007

It sure ain't the old 'yawn and stretch'

Recently, my good friend Stormy was invited over to a gentleman's place for dinner and drinks. They sat on the couch, and in due time, he made his move. You know, the move to indicate that he was interested in more than just her wit and vivacious spirit. And while she wasn't necessarily surprised that he made a move, the move he made shocked her.

He stuck his head in her armpit.

I know. I was blown away too. I consider myself a pretty modern woman, open to new ideas and all that jazz, but a head in the armpit as a declaration of romantic intent? New to me. We talked about this scary, apparent latest development in the art of seduction, and couldn't figure out what would possess anyone to try it, especially when breaking in a new partner.

But upon reflection, I think we may have misunderstood the gentleman's intentions. I was perusing the archives of a favourite site of mine, when I read an entry that shed some light on things. The writer in question was going to shake hands with someone, when there was some confusion about whether it was a hug or a shake, and her head ended up in his underarm.

So, maybe, just maybe, Stormy, you misread his move. Maybe he was just trying to hug you. Or maybe we should all be very afraid.

Friday, March 30, 2007

Mark this in your calendars

Today is Angry Friday (tm The Stormy Diva).

This means you are allowed to be crusty and pissed off at any little thing, and no one can give you grief about it. And you can throw hissyfits whenever you'd like. Me? I'm taking the opportunity to whine and stomp around my apartment complaining about my computer being slow, construction outside, slow-ass cashiers, the stupid bird that chirps nonstop during daylight hours in the apartment next door, the fact that I don't have any cheese, and many other things.

I haven't quite figured it out, and I will have to check in with Stormy on this, but I think that Angry Friday will be a monthly event. I'll keep you posted.

You're welcome. And enjoy.

Introducing Chemical Schlong

My good friend Stormy does this thing on her blog, called Private Part Fridays. In it, she talks about the important groinal issues of the day. You really should make a note in your dayplanner to read it. Anyhow, a while ago, when bandying about possible topics, we got to talking about men who Nair their nether regions, and we decided that if we started a band, the name would be Chemical Schlong.

As we don't know when to leave well enough alone, we thought it would be a good idea to come up with our song list for our first album. Obviously, we went with an eponymous album title. I like to think that when we get to our fourth album, we'll do the same thing, so that people will then have to give their own titles to each of them so that they can distinguish between them, much like people have to do with the Green and Blue Weezer albums. But that is far in the future.

For now, I would like to present to you the playlist for Chemical Schlong's debut album (which you can also find chez Stormy). We have decided to do our own covers of songs, with a few minor lyric and theme changes. Enjoy.

Chemical Schlong

Sexy back (Justin Timberlake) Back hair = not hot. We're taking hairy back.
I bleed (The Pixies) A musical how-to guide to injury-free shaving.
Wave of mutilation (The Pixies) A songcycle highlighting hair removal horror stories.
Inbetween days (The Cure) The ugly side of stubble.
Boys don’t cry (The Cure) And men don't cry when they get their back waxed either.
Is it in you? (Charlatans) Poison Control telephone numbers put to song in case of accidental ingestion of depilatories.
Where is the line? (Bjork) Brazilian or Bikini?
Electric Renaissance (Belle and Sebastian) A duet about electric razors vs. waxing.
Hotwax (Beck)
Burnin (Daft Punk)

I'll be sure to let you all know when the album is released for public consumption, and of any tour dates.

Tuesday, March 27, 2007

What's currently chaffing my ass?

I try to ignore advertising, in all its forms. I hit the mute button, I fastforward (yes kids, there used to be this thing called a VCR, and you could record stuff off tv onto 'tapes' and watch it later. I still use one) or I change the channel.

But despite all my best efforts, I have managed to watch/listen to some ads recently. Strangely enough, mostly it has been the same two ads. And I want all trace of them wiped off the face of the earth.

Have you seen these new Ontario ads? Holy freaking mother of god, those are irritating. They are far too damn long, and the music is vomit-inducing music. Let's not even get into what pathetic Sens fan made this commercial. I mean come on, nobody, and I mean nobody, is coming to Ontario so they can be a Sens fan. And could you find a way to play them more often? Because I found watching TV last night that I almost saw a couple of other commercials during the commercial breaks. Sigh.

The other one that is driving me bazoo is the radio ad for the the new chocolate muffins, cookies, etc from Tim Hortons. 30 seconds of two annoying people coming up with stupid words to describe how wonderful the new stuff is. Here's a tip: when your ad is 80% incomprehensible rambling, it is going to make most people tune out, and make me swear to never try your product, despite my long love affair with anything chocolate. And again, try airing it a little less frequently. Even if it was cute the first time (which it really wasn't - the made up words thing as advertising is so overplayed. See: some product I don't remember but uses the word 'crucheweesy') it wouldn't be by the 40th airing. Which is roughly 4 hours after the first. Urgh.

Both of these ads, which are interestingly enough for things I do like (Tim Hortons and Ontario are both highly recommended. If you haven't tried them, you really should!) have the same effect on me. And that effect is that when I catch them, I am overwhelmed by the desire to gouge out my eyes and rupture my ears with a sharp object. Now, I'm not an advertising exec, but I'm pretty sure that's not the reaction they are looking for.

Monday, March 26, 2007

May I have your attention please?

I was browsing the internets today, and I came across Dilbert cartoons (don't ask) and I laughed uproariously at them. All of them.

Obviously I have worked in an office for far too long and have lost my soul. I'm going to stick my head in the oven now.

That is all.

Sunday, March 25, 2007


Over the past week, I haven't been able to get Baby Got Back out of my head. And that hasn't been helped by the version done Gilbert and Sullivan style I found on the web. Hilarious. Go watch it:

"Little in the middle, but she got much back" Hee!

Friday, March 23, 2007

I'm officially old

Not age-wise, of course. Age-wise I'm still a strapping young lass, barely over the drinking age (play along, okay?). But in my heart? I'm old.

I was flicking through the channels, and ran across "Behind the Scenes" for that classic piece of cinema, Showgirls. I saw this dance, where she licks - actually full-out, entire tongue, Gene Simmons-style licks - the stripper pole. And my first thought? Ew, that's so gross. I don't even want to think about all the sweat and germs on that thing. She could pick up Hepatitis.

I'm getting some support hose as we speak.

What the hell did I do last night?

My throat hurts. It feels like I spent the night screaming. I know I had some upsetting dreams, and I know in those dreams I was yelling. Is it possible that I actually was yelling all night, and that is why my throat feels like someone rubbed sandpaper all over it? This isn't the first time I've woken up in the morning and feel sure I must have been up to stuff during the night. Not like that, come on, grow up, you know what I mean. I need someone to sit with me at night so that they can testify to what I do. Oh, you're saying that no one wants to sit and watch me toss and turn every night for no pay? Really? Hmmm. Okay, who wants to help me set up a camera system so that I can tape my nightly hijinx? And now, while I'm waiting for some assistance, I'm going to go get some tea with honey to soothe my poor throat. Anybody?

Tuesday, March 20, 2007

I swear, this is the last curling entry

I promise, really it is, but I've sat on this for too long, and I just saw this verdammt commercial again and I can no longer contain my rage.

Has anyone seen the commercial for a certain "putting the yowser back in your trouser" product that wasn't endorsed by Bob Dole? Y'know, the one where people are curling? (I know, I'll come up with something new to obsess over, I promise)

Let me count the problems with this espece de merde.

1) The fall he takes? While curlers are awesome about rushing over to tend to someone who has fallen (thanks guys!) that weren't no fall. That's barely losing your balance. No one is going to suggest that someone not continue playing after that, and no curler worth their salt is going to stop playing after that.

2) The fact that the man and his wife then get up and leave the club, instead of him just sitting out an end. What kind of grade A bullplop is this? Even if you need to sit out for a bit, you don't leave, you just go to the side and rest, and as for your teammate leaving too? Hells no. You can't curl with only two people on a team. It is against the rules. You need to have at least three people, so unless you are severely hurt, like 'call the ambulance and get a gurney ready for my near-corpse' hurt, you wouldn't get a team member to leave the club with you. It is just bad manners, and curling? Is all about manners. And booze. But mostly manners.

Which leads me to point the third:

3) While I'm delighted that you can now engage in sexual relations with your wife again, what type of asinine, juvenile moron are you that you can't either wait an hour till the game is done, or, if you indeed must punch her ticket immediately, just call in sick before the game, so that your teammates have a chance to find someone to take the place of your overly randy ass? You're a grown man, so stop behaving like a child.

And let's not even get into the suckiness of their charade. How about waiting till your a little further away before you titter about your sneakiness? Yeesh.

So, in closing? A terrible ad, because it just doesn't work. On any level. As a curler, it seriously chafes my ass to see that commercial, and basically has made me conclude that if I'm ever in a situation where my partner needs to use said product, I'm going to steer him towards the competition. That's how pissed I am. And hey there drug company, stop trying to use poor old curling to peddle your remedy for erectile dysfunction. What did curling ever do to you?

Medical update

My knee is no longer puffy, but is now varying shades of green and yellow. And hurts like a mofo when I bump it into something in the middle of the night.

Monday, March 19, 2007


While reading the newspaper today, as I do every day, being the erudite lass I am, there were a couple of stories that caught my eye. Two very different stories that both made me go, "What in tarnation?" (I'm actually a grizzled gold miner. I hide it well, don't I?)

The first story was about, I kid you not, a person who died in the middle of a flight, and so that the family could 'deal with their grief', the body was moved into a seat next to a complete stranger.

I'll give you a moment to take that in.

The second was about a man who had been bitten by his sister's cat and ended up in the hospital for three weeks with an infection, and when he couldn't get any satisfaction from her insurance, he sued his sister, won, and was awarded over 100 grand.

Now, I frankly can't decide which story is more appalling.

On the one hand, you've got a person who paid for a flight, first class no less, and after waking up from a nap, notices that a person is sitting next to him, and learns that this person is dead, and was moved from the seat where they died, and into the seat next to him so to ease the pain of the family they were sitting with. Now I'll grant you that moving the body away from the family was the right thing to do, but couldn't they find a better place to put it? Like away from paying customers? If I'm that guy, I'm suing the airline fast than you can say 'me so litigious'.

On the other hand, you've got a guy who was at his sister's place, and her cat bit him. He says that the bite got so infected that his hands swelled up so that they looked like, and I quote here, "plump hot dogs" and he had to spend three weeks in hospital. This ran up medical bills in the thousands of dollars. I don't want to sound like a heartless bitch - or do I? - but seriously? What the hell did you do after the bite that it got so infected? Did you take any sort of precautions, or did you just start pouring test tubes full of bacteria over the broken skin? I mean, three weeks in the hospital is a crapload of time, so it must have been some kinda infection. And suing your own sister to get money for the bills? Yeesh. Way to build family unity. I don't want to be at that Thanksgiving table. No sir.

Both of these stories piss me off to no end, but for different reasons. I can't believe that the airline would treat one of their passengers that way. Well, actually, I can, but I just hoped they wouldn't, and I recommend litigation to anyone on that flight. But as for the suing bite victim, the fact that he would sue someone because he can't properly clean a wound or seek timely medical attention chafes my ass something fierce. That's what medical insurance is for, jackhole.

I'm so blinded with rage that I can't even concluded this little rant here cogently, so I'll just end with this:

Some people suck chunkers.

Sunday, March 18, 2007

It's Finals time!

Has it come to this? The last curling entry till October is here. I know, try to contain your excitement.

Last night was the final night of Saturday Night Social Curling. The losers of last week's games played a shortened relegation game at 7, and the winners (us included) played for the finals of each division in an 8 end 'winner takes all, loser goes home with jacksquat' bout (note that in SNSC, we normally only play about 6 ends), so this was to be a test of endurance. A test of endurance to be followed by potluck, booze, and a prize table.

The game started off well, with a win of the coin toss. It went downhill, but quick. My first shot went straight through the house, but that wasn't even the worst part of it. My delivery, which has been getting much better, closely resembled a bellyflop. I slid out of the hack, and promptly bounced chest-first into the ice, ramming my knee nicely, and splaying my limbs out like I was trying to make snowangels. This may be the time to mention that my good friend Stormy once said of me "She puts the 'ass' in classy."

After that fantastic start, you had to know that only good stuff would happen. Just not to us. We let our opponents steal 4 points that end. Four. Freaking. Points. Stolen. I hang my head in shame at the memory of it. Other reasons to hang my head in shame? The temper tantrum I had when after yet another terrible shot, I threw my stabilizer and it made such a noise that everyone on our sheet turned around to see what was the matter. Yeah, I'm 30. I just don't act like it.

And the top-notch play continued. One of my teammates was supposed to be sweeping, but wasn't paying attention, then all of a sudden realized that he needed to get on it, and in his haste, he dropped his broom, tripped over it and fell sprawling to the ice.

It didn't look like it was going to be our night. Despite the presence of our lucky peppermint patties, we weren't getting anywhere. Drastic measures were called for. So we came up with the 'tequila end'. The premise was simple. Every second end, one of our friends would go to the bar and get a couple of shots of tequila and some lemon (which, I must say, makes tequila tasty as all get out. I'm beginning to think I could get used to this drink). She'd bring them to the hall by the ice, and we'd run out, down the tequila, suck on the lemon, and then run back in. Fun, tasty, and needless to say, it loosened us up considerably.

After the tequila ends started, we started making better shots, and the comeback was on. Even shots that didn't work out exactly as intended were going our way. (Warning: overly technical curling talk follows) I was supposed to throw a takeout shot, but I was off line, and my rock raised our guard into the intended takeout victim, and took it out. Things were starting to roll in our favour. Our opponents started to miss shots they'd been making all game, and one even decided to copy my fantastic delivery from the start of the game. I did it better, just so you know.

More importantly, after the tequila ends started, we started to have fun out there. We decided that if we couldn't blow people away with our awesome curling abilities, we could at least entertain them. So, in between shots, we started dancing. Just a little at first, but then, getting giddy about the upcoming tequila end, we started dancing to the song 'Tequila'. Synchronized dancing, complete with an a cappella version of the song no less. After each dance, we'd bow for the audience.

Nearly three hours after we started, we left the ice, having lost the game 8-6. I'd like to point out that I was offered more than 20$ to take a dive in the last end, but I didn't take it. We lost fair and square. We entered the clubhouse to resounding applause. Everyone had thoroughly enjoyed our little dance routines, and the views of us downing tequila shots in the hall in between rocks. We may not have won the game, but I like to think we won people's hearts.

Oh, who am I kidding? That's loser talk and I know it.

All that was left (seeing as the food from the potluck had been long gone) was the prize table. I wasn't looking forward to going away empty handed, but there were too many prizes, so they started drawing names out of a hat for the leftovers. Have I mentioned I don't like losing? Just checking. I needed to come away with something, so I started needling my friend to look for my name and pull it out, so that I'd at least come away with something, and while I'm not saying it worked, I did get called to go up to the prize table. Eventually. Thanks for helping me out Scott. Eventually.

So even though I didn't win, I didn't go away empty handed. I walked away from the night with a bruise on my knee the size of Texas and a bucket of mix to make blue margaritas. And that's better than winning. Really.

Tequila eased the pain in the knee, plus the pain of losing. But boy am I going to miss all this. What am I going to do with my Saturday nights now? And what about my knee? It does now have seven months to heal, but I'm wondering if that might be too long. I mean, all that time without being bashed on ice? I'll be out of practice come the fall.

So, if you see someone on a Saturday night, bashing their knee into some ice, don't worry. It's just me, training for next season.

Friday, March 16, 2007


So, I just applied for a job. And I'm feeling nauseous about it. The application itself, and the thought of having to do an interview, yes, but also? The idea of me having a job again. The notion of going into an office to do some menial task that will bore me to tears and suck my soul away. What a baby. Two weeks out of work and already I'm scared of going back. Do you suppose someone would pay me to be a smart ass? Cuz I love that job. And am awesome at it. You can check with my references.

Thursday, March 15, 2007

I Want Those Shoes!

I don't know if I would have picked this book up on my own - barely-in-control shoe fetish notwithstanding - but my cousin and her husband gave it to me as a Christmas present, and she has good taste about this stuff, so I gave it a chance.

I Want Those Shoes! is a very short book, at only 123 pages including the glossary, broken into small chapters, sometimes only a page and a half long. The chapters are so short because they each deal with a new topic - sometimes a style of shoe, or some historical information on different trends, or on the practicalities (such as the impending doom that rain brings). The author is from Italy, and so many of her examples are based on what she sees/saw there, and don't do anything for someone who has spent her life in Canada, but they are amusing nonetheless.

My favourite chapter was 'The Point of Life', which dealt with the whole point (heh. point. puns are phunny!) of pointed toe shoes. I like the notion that I wear them because I am "of a tribe of particularly intelligent women whose skills are wasted on manual work, and who are destined for positions of power." My ego likey very much.

The most disturbing chapter? Easily the one that talked about women getting, I kid you not, ankle and calf liposuction and 'filing' done to make shoes fit better. I don't quite know what 'filing' is, and I think my lunch will stay down better if I keep that level of ignorance.

It was a light and easy read, and for someone who claims that shoes are more important than many things, highly entertaining.

Rating: 3 out of 5 bottles of gin.

Tuesday, March 13, 2007

Not to be judgemental but...

...when Nick "Backstreet Boy" Carter is the sanest member of your household? You have a serious problem.

No, I didn't just spend an hour watching House of Carters. Really.

Idle hands...

There's got to be some sort of equation that can explain why the more time a person has on their hands, the less they actually get done. Something like:

TA (time available) * WR (work required) = ??? (well, I'm no mathematician. Suggestions?)

But seriously, this really is a problem, isn't it? It can't just be me, right? I've been at home for a week, plenty of time to do the dishes that have been piling up, to wash the clothes in my overflowing laundry basket, to organize the stack of books sitting in the middle of my floor. And yet? Strangely, I've done none of it. Instead, I've been watching far too much tv, reading a lot, and catching up on sleep that I went without for a couple of months when I was worrying over the state of my job and what the hell I was going to do next. Noble pursuits all, but I was hoping I'd have more to show for my time off.

So, without an equation to prove I'm doing nothing wrong, I'm faced with having to actually do something about it. Starting now, I'm going to turn off the tv (there's no curling to keep me glued, and it isn't sweeps, so there is no excuse) and put music on in the background. Nothing says scrub the kitchen sink and sort laundry into piles like Basement Jaxx.

Update: Well, I've organized the bathroom and scrubbed my tub. Victory is mine!

Monday, March 12, 2007

The Abortionist's Daughter

Just finished reading The Abortionist's Daughter. My thoughts on it? In a word? Meh. End of entry.

Oh, you'd like something a little more descriptive? Fine. It was okay. I mean, it wasn't bad, but I found I was easily distracted and it took way longer to get through the 280ish pages than it should for someone who reads as quickly as I do. But weirdly, despite how long it took me to finish, I think the book was too short. Things weren't really developed, ideas were dropped into the text half-formed and then left, never to be picked up on. Was it intentional, showing snippets of the characters and their complex lives or was it just for lack of space or even worse, poor storytelling? Characters acted in ways that seemed to come from nowhere, and I spent a lot of time thinking "Where the did that come from? Did I miss something here?"

Speaking of the characters and what we did learn of their personalities, I found most of the characters behaved randomly and mostly like jackasses. I know you don't need to sympathize with all characters, but if a book relies on delving into the whys and wherefores of the characters more so than the actual mystery, then you'd better have at least one or two characters who don't annoy readers with their continual idiocy. The only one who came off as sane and who I could really connect with was the abortionist who was murdered in the beginning of the book and who we only come to know through flashbacks.

And that was another problem. There were flashbacks throughout, but they weren't really clearly delineated. The only indicator, if there was any, was the month. Sometimes the flashback was to years in the past, and sometimes it was to just before the murder, but it took some figuring out to determine which was which. And though I love mysteries, if the part of the mystery I'm spending most of my time trying to figure out is where in the time continuum the action is taking place, we've got a problem.

Rating: 2 and a half bottles of gin out of 5. Not terrible, but not as riveting as I hoped.

Aren't sections supposed to make things easier to find?

Punk rock: rock music marked by extreme and often deliberately offensive expressions of alienation and social discontent. - Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary

Can someone please explain to me how in the hell The Weakerthans are considered 'punk'? I don't really have a point here (other than to complain) but it seems to me that if you are going to go to the trouble of splitting your music store into categories, as opposed to the less complicated alphabetical order, you should have the categories make, um, what's the word I'm looking for here, oh right, sense. I'm not going to look for The Weakerthans in Punk, so why put them there? If I'm looking for Tony Bennett, should I head to the Electronica section from now on? Yeesh.

Sunday, March 11, 2007

Semifinal Saturday

It seems that our terrible outing last week did the job.

With our sucktastic play, we managed to put ourselves into 'C' Division, instead of 'A'. With that happy thought in our heads and hearts, we went out to play our 'C' Division competition. I use that word loosely, as it wasn't a competition for long. We took three with the hammer in the first end, and stole five in the second. We called the game after 5 ends, with an 11-1 victory to our credit. I made some terrible shots, but there was also a perfect draw to the button, so I'm pretty happy with my performance.

Next week, the final week of the season - I know, you're looking forward to fewer curling updates - we battle for the 'C' Division crown. To our competition, recognize that in just under a week, we (along with our secret weapon) will mop the floor with you. Get the crying towels ready.

Friday, March 9, 2007

Everthing's coming up Mabel

So it appears that I get to go back to school for something I really want to do AND keep my apartment at the same time! How you ask? I have a sugar daddy. Except there's no sex involved. How awesome is that?

Thursday, March 8, 2007

Note to Self:

If at all possible, when having to start up a new way of life, try not to do it during the Brier. With all the stupid TV coverage, I've ended up watching far too much curling and doing far too little actual work on my new life this week. Wait, do you think I can get paid to armchair-skip bonspiels I'm watching on TV? Because if so, I need to know who to send my timesheets to.

Wednesday, March 7, 2007

Is left is the new right?

So I'm taking a cab - again, yes I know, I have a problem. I'm working on it people, but this addiction is harder to break than heroin. At least I assume it is. I'm guiding the cabbie through the winding side streets of west Toronto, and I tell him to turn right at a stop sign. So what does he do? Of course. He turns left. When I repeat that I wanted him to turn right, his response was "Oh, yeah, too many right turns". Can someone explain to me in what world that actually makes some sort of sense? I could understand if I'd asked him to go left, and because of all the right turns we'd been making, he went right instead, but this whole "So many right turns so I went left" thing is beyond me. Am I missing something?

Tuesday, March 6, 2007

More on Shave-gate

Am I the last person to hear that the fallen one allegedly shaved her head to avoid possible drug testing? Am I the only person who isn't looking down my nose at her for this? I mean, if it is true, how practical is that? Getting rid of something that could possible give K-Fed custody of small children is a no brainer, right? Can I get through this post using only questions? Yes. Dammit, I mean, yes?

Saturday, March 3, 2007

Mister Cab Driver

I have this theory.

In a former life, I was a cabbie. And not just any cabbie, oh no, I was a terrible cabbie. A cabbie who rigged her meter to overcharge unsuspecting passengers, who refused to take direction, who got lost all the time, who drove so recklessly as to cause accidents wherever she went. A cabbie who brought terror and anger to her fares. And now in this life I'm getting my karmic payback.

I'm sure there are nice cabbies out there, but lord knows they don't seem to pick me up. My friends can testify to the fact that while I do take cabs more often than them (no car and laziness - not a good combo) I get more than my fair share of wackos. There was the time the cabbie yelled at me because he was concerned I wanted to make a couple of stops en route, and even when I said no, he kept freaking out. Or the time when a cabbie refused to listen to my directions, missed the exit, thereby adding at least another 6$ to the fare. Oh, and the time when I was rudely informed that the intersection I wanted to go to didn't exist, even though it totally did. And let's not even get into the time I spent a rush hour trip with Mr "Those damn immigrants are ruining everything by being on welfare". Sigh.

But for all the insane cabbies that make me fear for my life, or at the very least want to bash my head repeatedly into concrete, there have been two that were awesome. One is an older gentleman, with a beard like Santa. He drives me home from curling on occasion. He remembers me, even though there was a 7 month gap between rides. He always opens the door for me. Until tonight, he was the only one who I wouldn't mind driving me again.

Tonight, after a humiliating loss, a cabbie came to pick me up and he wanted to know all about curling - which reminds me of the cabbie who lectured me about how stupid curling is and how I shouldn't waste my time with it, especially because I was a girl. I'd forgotten that one. Boy that was a fun trip. Anyhow, I explained to the cabbie tonight that while losing is never fun, it might have been the best thing for us. See, we're gearing up for the playoffs, and we've been doing pretty well. After this week, we all get seeded, and the way we'd been going, there was a pretty good chance we'd end up in 'A' Division. Problem is, we aren't really 'A' Division material. We've been lucky. We've played some weak teams. And if we end up in 'A' Division, we will get our asses kicked so hard they'll be coming out our mouths. As a team, we agreed that this wasn't something we were looking forward to, so we joked about tanking tonight's game. We didn't though. We got beat soundly just by sucking royally. The cabbie wasn't sure that maybe we didn't tank it subconsciously, and was concerned that maybe our plan would backfire, and we'd still end up in 'A' despite everything, or that we'd have to play this team again and lose. He talked strategy with me. Not that he knew anything about curling, he just wanted to chat. Combine that with the fact that he got me home quickly and without any close calls, and he may be my favourite cabbie ever.

I hope that if I'm heading home after the finals and I need a cab that he is on call. Thanks sir, for restoring my faith in cabdrivers. Now if you could just do something about my poor shot-making...

Friday, March 2, 2007

Day one of the rest of your life

Today is Friday. Normally on Fridays, I drag my butt in to work, sometimes for a perfectly timed meeting at 9am. I ask you, you in their right mind would book meetings for 9am on a Friday? My coffee hasn't had a chance to take effect yet, and that can be a real ugly scene. Where was I? Right. Today is Friday, and normally, I head into work, looking forward to the weekend and all the joy it brings.

But today was different.

Today, I stayed home. I slept till 10. I made coffee and heated and frothed up milk to put in it. I sat in my pjs long past noon. Was I sick? Was I on vacation? Was the office closed due to a broken gas line? Was I avoiding the sloshy trip into the office? No.

I suppose I should explain. No, we have no time. Let me sum up.

In 2000, after trying to figure out how I was going to figure out what to do with my life, I fell into a job at a financial institution. I figured it would do till I came up with something better. But the years passed, and my job changed, and I grew to, if not love, then at least really kinda like what I did. I enjoyed my colleagues, and I felt like I was learning and challenging myself. True, there were the semi-regular middle of the night rude awakenings with me shouting out "No! When you include any product information, it becomes product penetration, and that's totally different!" or "The Shift key, the one you use to make the big letters!", but all in all, I was happy.

Recently, everything came crashing down. The financial institution decided it needed to cut jobs, and mine was one of them. I had always considered myself undefined by my job, but I learned the hard way that this isn't true. For a while after hearing the news, I felt that if I wasn't an analyst-whatchamejigger, I was nothing. What the hell was I going to do now? For a while, it felt a bit unreal. The past few months have been trying. I've alternately not been able to sleep, or found myself sleeping 12 hours straight. I've been manic and depressed. I've been overly peppy and lethargic. I'm sure I've been a treat to be around.

Then I got to thinking, did I really want to be an analyst-whatchamejigger? And if not, I still had to answer the question: What did I want to be when I grew up?

Following some good advice (thanks Dad!) I started reading books on changing your career and pouring over course catalogues, trying to see if anything popped out at me. And little by little, something did. I didn't want to do what I'd been doing for the rest of my life. Finally, after many hours of soul searching and pouring over job ads, I made a life changing decision. I decided I was going to go back to school full time. This will mean major changes for me. No more financial freedom, because anything I earn will be a pittance. No more nice apartment, because I can't afford to not work full time and keep it. No more, well, no more of the life I've been leading for almost 7 years. While this is terrifying, I'm still really happy and excited about this new challenge. I made the right decision, and I have to thank my old employers for forcing me to make it.

So over the last few months, I've been packing up books, sweaters, cds, doohickeys and the like from work and bringing them home. I've been bought more coffee than should be good for a person (thanks guys!) and I've been given touching cards and heard kind words from all my co-workers.

Yesterday was my last day. Today was day one of the rest of my life. And I spent it lounging around.