Tuesday, May 31, 2005

Cyclist Should Be Shot

I arrived at work and it took me an entire half hour more due to the launch of bike week and two brave cyclists. I say brave only because they dared to cross me this morning and attempted to survive while doing so.

What the hell is wrong with these people. I know people like to bike, I don't know why, but I do know that there are trails and mountain bike courses and off road areas available to them. As if drivers at 8 in the morning do not have enough to deal with on the road.

This morning I got off the highway at ErinMills as it was at a stop and took the service road. I wasn't not on that for 5 minutes before I found myself taking a detour through soccer mom, school zoning hell, due to road repairs. I finally get back onto my charted route and here we go a cyclist nope make that two, on Mississauga Road. For those of you not familiar with Mississauga road it is beyond packed in the mornings as it is the only access to the QEW for the yuppies. It's one lane south bound (my direction) and it's very narrow. Really not a road designed to carry heavy volumes of content traffic.

So some dumb dart who has been watching BTV and has heard that it is bike week, has decided to get himself a shiny new helmet and an alarmingly tight spandex unitard and bike to his job downtown.
He and some other social reject on wheels, are riding their little bikes all the way from Mississauga Road at the Service Road to Cawthra and the Lakeshore where I was finally able to grab a break-a-way and pass the bastards.

Apparently by law I am to accept this road sharing crap as they have the right to the road. Really...I find this interesting. I am puzzled how one might think that throwing a 7lb bike and a 97lb rider a.k.a Urban Jockey, in the mix with 3 ton trucks, school buses, SUV's and your everyday car might be a good idea. They should have warning labels on the helmets reading, "Sweetie, this little shiny helmet is just to scoop your remains up with, not in any way for your protection". I mean motorcycles have enough trouble sharing the road with vehicles and they are able to keep and exceed the speed of those around them. But that's just my opinion and I although kind, I am a cynical bitch.

Now these two were I my opinion not qualified to put there own pants on let alone be called experienced Urban Jockeys. Going 15k down almost the middle of a narrow road repeatedly looking over your shoulder at the driver who is ready to clip you is not experienced. Get the hell off the road. It literally took ever fiber of my being and every ounce of my "do good" philosophy to keep from doing us (the rest of the irate drivers behind me) a favour and shooting these two freaks.
Hey here's an idea, if we want cyclist to share our roads lets give them a lane of their own. Two cars don't travel in the same lane side by side trying carefully not to hit each other, because we all have a right to use the same road. Get your own damn lane and get some real clothes.

Ever imagine the state these people turn up to the office in. Sweaty and smelling like fear mixed with diesel exhaust. They are sucking on an abused water bottle like it's some nectar of the Gods, panting and wiping the slight drool from their chin with the back of their hand. Standing there inside your office door stretching in an inappropriate manner and talking to you about their awesome ride, but you cannot hear a word they are saying because you are so distracted by the fact that you are having to view parts of this guy that only his wife or doctor should have to endure. All the while frantically trying to keep your breakfast down as you involuntarily picture his 97lb naked frame and that wee package in colour.
P.S. attention men, does that thing shrink when you ride? If not I plead to you please, please, P-L-E-A-S-E lose the spandex unitard, for the love of all that's holy!

I once worked with a guy that ran during his lunch hour. Now my opinion of runners is pretty much the same as cyclist, but I digress. I know first hand the visual that I am outlining for you and really after that encounter could you really respect this guy, especially as your senior? I just got the giggles and than horror flashbacks.
People do me a favour if you like to bike:

  • Keep it to a trail or at the very least a wide laned roadway with room to pass your ass
  • Loss the unitard
  • want to preserve the environment, take transit, roller blade or walk better yet stay home

Bike Bitch

Signing off

Friday, May 20, 2005

Chivalry is dead!

Chivalry is dead...well at least in our house.

My dear hubby was once a man of this dying breed. I use to think what guy still opens doors and acts with such honor? And in the words of my mother, "This too shall pass".

Lately my dear man has been in a world of his own...Solely his own.

It's his T.V. and we will watch what he wants. I have changed my viewing pleasure to meet his so that I may too enjoy relaxing infront of the tube. We do in fact have a tv upstairs in our bedroom, it's a wonderful 13 incher and it's so brutal on my eyes I usually end up rolling over and going to sleep.

If you know me you know that I am addicted to SIMS and for whatever reason this drives my hubby up and over the edge. It's like he wants to spend time with me, but also wants to watch something ridiculously hideous and is also jealous or put out that I am going upstairs for some down time.

When we are driving in the car (doesn't matter what car or whose driving) it's Mark's f**k'n talk radio. What man in his early thirties listens to talk radio non-stop. I have married my dad. It drives me insane. I get car sick at the drop of a hat and all the talkitty talk talk about politics, UFO's, or conspiracy theories makes me nausea. Especially seeing that we are in my car. It's my dollars that pays it and yet I must endure this bullshit.

Last week we went to a party and while traveling through the backside of the house to get to the door, he let a gate slam in my face. Hey dumb dart, thanks for holding the gate...dick.
He laughed it off...me not so much.

Those who know me know that I am not one to take things lying down and I am certainly not subservient to my husband, but the ongoing battle has exhausted me. He doesn't see it and doesn't get it.

The topper and the reason for this blog occurred this morning.

He has had my car all week to get to work as I belong to a carpool and it's not my week to drive. I jump in my car this morning get onto the highway and ding...gas light, you son of a bitch.
Everytime he takes my car for the week I get it back with no gas in it. He blames it on the fact that I have decided to take the car back from him unexpectedly on the Friday morning and his plan was to get gas on Friday. Well today he had no intention of taking my car to work therefore no intentions of filling it.
So here I am on the highway knowing that I am going to have to pull off at the next exit Bronte and get gas at the Quality Inn lot, which is a freaking nightmare. I am also pissed that the whole drive up to this point is all about me trying to adjust my seat and do I smoke...NO, the why the hell does it smell like nicotine palace in here?

So I pull into the gas station and think ok this will be quick pull in, pump and get out...no biggie. I was mistaken, first the pumps are all full and the only one available is on the wrong side, not a problem I will back up swing around and reverse in. Right, there is a truck that has now been abandon behind me so that I am unable to fully back up and I cannot pull ahead as the pumps in front of me are occupied...Super. So this leads to me performing a graceful 42 point turn in order to back into this spot.

Ok, I get out and throw my debit card in the swiper and beeping, what the f**k. Attempt 2, beeping. On the 3rd pass I discover that this particular pump only takes credit cards at the pump so now I have to pay inside. I fill up and go inside to find the truck driver having a full on conversation with the cashier about the vote last night and how Canada is going to the shits, of course. So I continue to wait for another 7 minutes until I am compelled to break them up in an attempt to save their lives. I am now ready to rip their faces from their bodies.

I get in my car and try to navigate my way out of the lot. The lot is shared by a Tim Hortons without a drivethur which results in people just abandoning their cars everywhere. I have finally made my way to the edge of the driveway and I need to make a left hand turn. The on ramp to the highway is so close I could lick it, but I am trapped here with these dumb darts trying to get into the Tim Hortons....move, move your damn car, I only needed gas, move!
11 minutes, 11 minutes to make a left hand turn and I was the first car. So I am now on the on ramp and breathing deeply, leaving my experience behind.

I would like to take this opportunity to thank my husband for his compassion, foresight, and protection into my well being. I believe we may have exchanged a part of a vow that when a little something like this, "to honor and to protect". Now that's amusing.

From now on when I pass by a women on the highway who is at the side of the road pissed off and kicking the living shit out of her car, I will know that chivalry has died in her home too.

Signing off chivalry widow

Thursday, May 19, 2005

Death by Employment

Those who know me know that I picked up a part time job at the end of February 2005. The purpose was to earn a little extra cash in order to off set the cost of upcoming fertility treatments.
So instead of continuously worrying about how we were going to afford this, I decided to land myself a second income. Ha-ha I can hardly get the words out...Second income, the guy sleeping outside the ACC on a Friday night makes more than I do in a month. I know, I have witnessed my brother give the guy 20 bucks. I earn 26.25 an evening and when I say earn I mean earn.

I am working at a fat woman's clothing store and it's a dream come true. I am allowed to refer to this store as "fat women" as I am pleasantly plump... Ok fat!
My evening starts off with me quickly pit stopping into my home at 5:30 (need to be at job #2 at 6) to change my clothing, do my hair and put on make up. That's right I am doing all this after my day job, where hair, make-up and dress are not required, although I am sure they appreciate the effort I make to come each day with pants on.
Anyway, this retail job requires me to have a business professional attire...For 7.50 an hour.
Moving along.

I arrive at work where I am given a small run down of new arrivals, changes to the store, store targets, personal sales targets and my duties for the night (vacuuming, cleaning toilets, garbage and windex...I have no time for this at home but I digress). I usually zone out during this run down as lets be honest my productivity peeked at 11 that morning. Once the pep talk is completed I am to hit the floor running.

The first fat lady has entered...Seek and destroy bank account...Mission sequence launched!!!

Customer: walks into store totally unaware of the sales associate stalking her

Me sales ass: In my creepiest sales friendly voice, "Hi there, How are you today? (don't wait for an answer) We are currently having our ( insert promo of the week here) sale. Though out the store you will find yellow/red/God know what colour, tags indicating our sale items.

Customer: Panic stricken and moving away hopeless trying the, "I am just looking thank you technique".

Me sales Ass: I am immune to her petty techniques and in my Ninja like ways (I have successfully completed the sales ass training component) pop up in front of her, stopping her in her tracks and continue on with my mission. Do you have our club card!

Customer: visibly taken off guard with my intervention answers yes, yes I have your card. Ah ha... The I will tell you anything to get you away from me technique. Good one grasshopper, but there's a reason why I am the Ninja!

Me sales Ass: Do you have the card with you? Is it in your purse? I must see it, must see card.

Customer: Yes, yes I have it right here. Here is the card. Her eyes are now darting in every direction looking for the nearest exit.

Me sales Ass: So what brought you into our store today? (disregard anything she says other than sometime that translates into $$$$) What size are you both top and bottoms? Come let us shop!

I must continue to follow her around in a stalking like manner and fool her into thinking she is shopping with her best friend. The whole time we are both being stalked by a supervisor who is making sure that I am "engaging the customer" properly. I am about 2 questions and 1 harmless tap on the shoulder away from being arrested. Anyone who knows me knows that this whole situation is the furthest from my comfort zone.

I worked last night with a co-worker who was a little more my style and I was not required to be such an ass.

Now since I started we have had 2 people fired and another quit as she was moving out of town. I have become very aware that my boss does not seems to like the interviewing process and has made little attempts to replace these people over the last few months. I and the rest of the workers have had to pick up the slack which includes but not limited to every f**k'n weekend. I have had a few weekends where I got a Saturday or Sunday off, but it snowed or rained like a bitch.

Last night I looked at my schedule and discovered that not only am I working Friday night, but now Saturday (shift of the last girl fired) and Sunday...all day...all weekend for $ 7.50. AHHHHHHHH I have just been bend over and given a " you're my bitch sale ass", ass raping.
I almost cried right there on the spot. So my co-worker says,"well if you're upset now, you'll really like this...Pat's last day is next Friday". NOOOOOOOOOOO not Pat, take anyone but Pat. Pat has been the only person there that has made this whole painful, never get this part of my life back experience more bearable.

Son of a mother! So now Pat is leaving and I will be forced to shove fat ladies into a change room for 3 nights/week plus very weekend....Kiss that summer good bye.

I think I need to throw in the towel except for this sick work ethic that I cannot seem to shake. I can hardly get up in the mornings. Waist down feels like someone else's body parts. It's like lower body transplant from an 90 year old. Everything cracks and creeks and if you thought I was a miserable and moody bitch before...Watch out, I am a sales Ass! I really feel that this job is going to kill me. Death by employment, really not the most romantic way to go.

I had managed to save up three hundred dollars. We went to the clinic at the end of April and she informed us that there was a registration fee of a non refundable $250, super so all that work and I have $50 for fertility...Now that is worth it no?

Signing off Sales Ass

Wednesday, May 18, 2005

The dead guys following me

So I have always believed in the spirit world and their excessive need to pop in and out of our lives at their leisure.
I had heard a rumor from my friends Linda and Heather that there was this woman that walks among us with spooky powers, The Wizards Daughter a.k.a Joan.
Joan was invited to my home this past weekend to give me and my hubby a little reading since I was not able to attend the party that Linda and Heather were at.
I have to admit that although I am a believer in the spirit world I am also very leary of it as I tend to be a bit of a port hole for them. Our intimate reading quickly turned into a family affair and as others descended back downstairs from their reading, I grew that much more anxious. It was finally my turn and I have to say that she was quite good. She maybe in fact be a witch.

Without boring you with details here's what the cards reveled:

1. She stated that I had a good marriage. - True

2. Stated that we met by mistake. - True

3. Stated that I wondered who would ever marry this guy. - True

4. She knew I had lost a baby that I wanted to name Jack - True, if it had of been a boy

5. Stated that Jack would return back with another named Alex, identical twin boys - not so sure about that, but it's a comforting thought that she saw some prospects of kids.

6. Stated I had mood swings and that she feels that they are caused by food allergies - mood swing... What the hell, who does she think she is, in my f**k'n home telling me I have....ahhhh she said I would have babies. I love babies :o)

7. Said I would be moving out west for a few years due to my hubby's job or something and that I won't be happy but need to go - The hell I do. I am sure he can get his own apartment and fly home on weekend. shit now... I have 2 new babies

8. Stated that I had ties to the movie industry and that I should be there for my career - True

9. Said that I did not have any angels or spirit guides, but instead a large gang of spirits that follow me around for protection...like a collective conscious. That these spirits came to me during my birth when I was in trouble and have been there ever since. She asked if I had ever felt I was being watched in the shower/tub or while I sleep? - True, my mom and I did almost die during my birth. And hello, I shower with my back to the door and never ever look out or into the mirror during the showering procedure as I feel something is always watching me. I think I liked it better when I thought that I was crazy. A bunch of dead guys following me and watching me shower...sick bastards, but I guess chubby chasers cross over too.

10. She said that I worked with a man who is a lair and his behaviour is unpredictable and he is very much in everyone's face. - TRUE, especially seeing that I work with all women and the only man is exactly what she described.

11. She stated that I had a client who had died and was following me (too) and appreciated all I had done for her - Maybe true who knows most of my dead clients are guys but hey...Just add her to the other dead guys following me.

Over all I was pleased and felt strangely at ease. I am not sure if anything will come of it, but I am glad that I agreed to the experience.

Signing off
Kate and the dead guys

Wednesday, May 04, 2005

Boys R Dumb

Well it has finally happened, I have joined my fellow bloggers...I am so weak. Hey I suppose that even I would benefit from more therapy so here I am.

It is actually my husband that has driven me to this place.
My dear hubby and I have been together for almost 10 years now, going on 4 years of marriage. He is a wonderful man and a quality husband, but as for is common sense...Not so much.

We have a chocolate Lab named Dancer and she is our current substitution for children. She is crated while we are away from the house during the day. Mainly due to the fact that we have her as a foster dog in our home from the CNIB (she's a breading dog) and they have crated her for the first year of her life.

My story begins here;

I arrived home this evening after a painful day of work to find my beloved upstairs on his hands and knees in our bedroom, ass facing out the door with a hint of butt crack to make the greeting extra special. He is sucking up was appears to be dog pooh with the little green Bissell carpet cleaner. The whole room smells of ass and there is no sign of the dog.
I'll bite.
(me) "Hey babe, what's ahhhh, going on here"?
(mark) "The dog shit".

And there you have it... The dog shit.

And indeed she did. Upon closer inspection I concluded that not only had the dog shit, but what we have here is an anal explosion of the fiercest kind. Clearly something did not agree with this dog and although not entirely the dogs fault, do you have any idea what happens when a dogs ass erupts in crate...Nothing good my friend, nothing good.

It is like a crime scene, there's Hershey squirts on the walls, on my beige carpet, all over, up and behind the dresser and on every back inch of the metal crate. What the hell did this dog eat...Cook your food man!
As I watch my husband force pieces of turd up a Bissell, it becomes clear to me that at some point this is going to be my problem. Of sure he seems to have things under control and at least he made the effort to clean this up but I will remain leary of my involvement.

I decided at this point to leave the bedroom and locate the dog who I still had not seen since I got home. I went to the back door and there she is happy to see me and covered in shit. It was like she was going into battle or something, with streaks of pooh across her head and camouflaging patterns shit down her back.

I have no idea what the hell went on here while I was at work, but serious...I threw up a little bit in my mouth. I am sure, walking in on that situation was shocking, but what dick tracks a dog covered in crap all the way down my beige carpeted stairs across my hardwood floors and out side. Hello... The bath tub is 2 feet away and trust me the shit isn't going to just disappear.

Now I have the 60 pound turd with hair stuck to it, jumping all over me in great excitement. I make Mark come and get her and bath her immediately!

Upon re-entering my bedroom, which still smells like a fart bomb... I discover that my husband has apparently completed the cleaning of poop and has left me the task of vacuuming up the remaining dog hair and placing everything back to normal.

Job done, the bedroom is shit free, the smell of ass is dissipating and we retire to the TV for a little R&R.

That bring my to the trigger for this log.

We went up stairs together just a half hour ago or so. Me on my way to play a little SIMS and Mark on his way to get ready for Ball. (That's right another ball season is upon us, but that's another blog).

I am just ready to settle down for the night, but decide to have a quick pee before doing so.

I go to the bathroom turn on the lights and are you freaking kidding me! There is not one square inch of surface area that is not covered in dog hair and I mean tons of it. I am freaking out and he is killing himself laughing. The shower curtain us hanging out of the tub, the bathmat is soaking wet and looks like a skinned dog and the floor is covered in a blanket of fur. I step in for a closer look still cursing that man I married and there it is, a partially drained tub with a 3 pound wad of dog hair stuck in the drain, that could have been mistaken for Chewbacka, son of a bitch. He bravely comes into the washroom kisses me quick and running out says, "Oh yeah and you need to empty the Bissell...it's full of shit, have a good night".

I felt at that moment compelled to write this down for all to read. I have officially joined the blog culture.