A fence makes perfect neighbours!

Well everyone I am sure is familiar with Ken and Barbie. If not it is our neighbours who I would assume think that they are better then us. This theory makes me ridiculously happy as they are really a pair of suck sacs which is a continuous source entertainment for hubby and I.

Thursday morning I am leaving the house to find the biggest piece of dog shit on my lawn. Not just on my lawn but right at the edge of my patio stone where my stairs are. It's not my shit, hubby swears he could do better and Dancer is not allowed to defecate on my front lawn cause it's just gross. Funny enough it looks much like the shit of an 80 pound dog which coincidence would have it...Ken and Barbie own one. Dicks!

Saturday morning hubby and I awoke to find Barbie and two other women (her mom and sister perhaps) out front. Barbie was working on the "garden project", which I am becoming increasingly put off by. I was looking at it the other day and I have decided that there is nothing I can do to compliment it or make it better. So not front garden for me.
Anyway, she is ripping up more sod and planting more tropical plants and now there are stone tiles and white rocks and oh my, being added. It looks like a grave that shat on itself. So we leave the house and she says "Hi", and nothing else.
We arrive back home and now there are more relatives, and again no words exchanged.

Sunday morning we decide to get up and go for a little breakfast. We get ready, open our door to find a Filipino family of six standing on my lawn. What the hell. Hubby and I are kind of stuck in our tracks as our eyes dart around our property and we struggle to process the events coupled by anger and astonishment.
It would appear that on this beautiful Sunday morn, Ken and Barbie have decided to have a garage sale and not only use most of their property, but also ours. I am standing there watching my lawn (which is in critical condition at the best of times) be tramped on. Corners of the sod edge are sticking up and I am up to my knees in their shit.
Now I am not a freak about my lawn, but I am trying to keep it alive. When the builders laid the sod we got the shittiest pieces. Every piece is a 1x1 square, when everyone else including Ken and Barbie got long strips of sod. So I am trying to stay off the lawn in hopes that it will take.
Now the neighbourly thing would have been to mention to us that they were having a garage sale and may the use our lawn, but nope they are better than us and therefore can do as they please. So they are all looking at us, I say "Riiiiiiight" and head to the car and Hubby manages to get out, "Oh, nice" and also heads to the car. We are not looking like happy people and drive away.
I assure to my hubby that if Ken woke up to find our shit on his lawn he would f'kn lose it, but it's okay for him. We proceed to spend the rest of our breakfast thinking of ways to sabotage them. They have not told us yet, but they are moving to BC and I would think that it will be really soon by the looks of it. They should keep in mind that they are going to have an open house and we will be there...giddie up!
So upon our return Ken, a fearless or stupid man steps up and says, "Sorry about people on your lawn and stuff". Hubby is almost in the house and I am face to face with him. I want to say, "Oh having a sale to save for your half of the fence bumdart"? I could start a fight and get this all off my chest. I could get the satisfaction of kicking both barbie's and his ass. I could rip him a new one show him what a women who doesn't need to share brain cells looks like. Or I could distract them all with the large amount of shiny items and make them dance for me. However, instead I decide that it would be the better to be the bigger person and I simply say, " uh yeah, whatever" and continue into my house as I slam my front door.
Idiots! I really hope that they move soon and that we get someone decent moving in. I hope that the first thing the new people do is resod the lawn and remove that God Awful situation.

OPEN HOUSE - Here are some of my ideas

• Leave during the open house, but open all the windows and pump mega death while we are gone.
• Put my Christmas lights back up (at the sale Barbie had a 6' decorated xmas tree...sweet)
• Cover my front lawn in dog shit
• Put bullet hole decals on my front window and garage door
• decorate the utility box that we share...Maybe butterflies and twinkle lights
• Post a sign on the top of my fence stating "pay for you half of this fence before I light it on fire and we can share the backyard".
• Flaunt my plus size body in a petite two piece
• Hang numerous religious items around my front door
• Park my car on the lawn (see not a freak for the lawn)
• Let the visitors know that I am a representative for a pyramid scam and would be interested in talking about it to them
• Post a beware of dogs sign on our door and fill our back yard with friends dogs and claim them as ours (5 or 6)
• Do them same with children and have a sticker on my car saying "Say no to birth control"
• Soak wood chips in a curry, fish and onion marinade for a day or two and then smoke it on the BBQ during the open house

Of course you know this plan could back fire as we could attract Linda's neighbours from hell. You know the kind that enjoy mega death until the wee hours of the morn. Were planning to park a pickup on the front lawn and cannot afford a dog or children, but have a half dozen of each.

Oh God grant me stable and normal neighbours!

QUIZ

I feel pressure by the cool kids...they're all doing it, so here it is again.

1. Who are you?
2. Are we friends?
3. When and how did we meet?
4. Do you have a Crush on me?
5. Would you kiss me?
6.Give me a nickname and explaine why you picked it.
7. Describe me in one word.
8.What was your first impression?
9. Do you still think that way about me now?
10. What reminds me of you?11.If you could give me anything what would it be?
12. How well do you know me?
13. when was the last time you saw me?
14. Ever wanted to tell me something but couldn't?
15. are you going to put this in your Blog and see what I say about you?

Two other questions I wanted to know...It's for research.
1. Were you breast fed?
2. Do you like vanilla?

Happy monday!

Update on life events

Hi all I thought that I don't want to write a single blog on one topic today so I am going to just provide some updates to recent life.

If everyone can all settle down we'll get started.

1. Fertility. What a shitty word. For those who have read my hubby's blog he went into detail of the events that took place during our visit to the baby making factory. I will spare you a repeated story but will share my perception of the matter. She had our results from all the testing we have done and on a whole we are healthy people...Surprisingly. She said that everything for me was fine except that my results from tests during ovulation were poor. In fact almost non existent. I was truly shocked and hubby was like bouncing in his chair like a giggling school girl who needs to pee...Dick! I was confused as previous doctors had already done that test many times and things came back normal, plus I have what I refer to as super slip (TMI increased cervical mucus). Yep, it my super power! Plus I get pains at ovulation time. Now I know that it is possible to not ovulate one month and ovulate another and clearly numbers don't lie and this would be the reasoning behind my one line on my piss stick, but it was her response that pissed me off.

Doc: "Katherine (oh that's a good start), I seriously doubt that you are having super slip. In fact it is pretty much impossible".

Me: "Well I have a pantie full that begs to differ". I said good day sir!

Anyway, she is going to start us (me) on some treatment. I am pretty sure I am going to loose my job due to the amount of time away from the office but, I suppose this is what you do for babies. Now that part the disturbs me the most is the progesterone. Even though my test came back normal for progesterone, she says that it is a very unstable hormone and can dip or spike at anytime creating a hostile uterus and causing babies not to stick. She feels that my last pregnancy probably ended due to this issue. So she would like to monitor me and give me progesterone starting now until after week 12 of pregnancy. Sure not a problem I appreciate that.

Her nurse later informs me that the progesterone are in supository form that she recommends I take rectally and that I will need to 3 boxes. Pardon Me! I think I just went white at that point and the next thing I know I am leaving the office with a prescription for bum darts. I ask you, what the hell does my ass have to do with getting preggers? I am not shoving pellets up my arse like some modified pez dispenser. Jesus, there has got to be a better way. I am way to gassy for that and 2 a day...Shit, I've got a carpool commute to work. I am use to dealing with a turtle head, but not a turtle head and a bum pellet. I started thinking about what she said, "progesterone creates a nicer uterus for baby". I doubt I will be growing a baby in my ass! So I have clarified this with my peeps that are also going through this and they too where coached to stuff pills into their anal cavity, but after outright refusing they were able to do it vaginally. Which really is only slightly better, but better. So if I seem extra crusty I am dealing with an infestation of baby pellets.

And my hubby who thinks this is really funny I quote "BAHHHHHH ... I love it"! end quote. You're a sick bitch and if one of these pellets happens to slip out, and I hope it does...I'd watch your precious ass while you sleep. He is such an assmunch!

2. Fat lady store - done! My last shift was last Saturday and I must say that I am enjoying the freedom. I can actually feel some of the stress subsiding, ahhhhh in with the good and out with the bad.

3. I have not been on a good piss up for some time now. Any of you that are interested in a backyard drinks and laughs session please let me know. I bought some wine and some wine and some wine and some gin! I figure if gin (aka liquid pantie remover) works for getting client preggers that I should be trying it too. Please raise your glasses in a toast to kick'n it old school and being reckless!

4. I made reference to my lack of sleep a few posts ago. Shortly after publishing that post my sweet mom (also a tragic sleeper) called me to talk. She mentioned that my niece who I affectionately refer to as "love nugget" or "midget", has been having trouble sleeping. It would seem that my 2.5 year old niece has been waking up in the night crying and clearly terrified. The other night she started during the wee hours of the morn. A parental guardian came to her assistance and asked, " nugget, what are you crying about, why do you keep waking up this way"?

Nugget: I so scared. I close my eyes and they here. I cry.

PG: What happens when you close your eyes, what are you seeing?

Nugget: (terrified and upset) OHHHHH, I so scared. I close my eyes and, and (really crying) somes muffins and donuts. Child completely breaks down into sobbing.

PG: That is a dream, you are (trying not to laugh) dreaming about muffins and donuts. They are not really here...it seems real but the are pretend. Everyone has nightmares. You will be okay, we are right here...Everything is okay.

Nugget: More clam now and shaking her head in agreement say, "Yesh, I has nightmares". And returns back to a slumber.

Seriously, what is so terrible about muffins and donuts, other than the gross amount of calories. I know that Tim's has got to have the worst service at times, (like this morning) but the product is good. From a professionals prospective I would recommend limited visits to Tims and maybe some conditioning therapy in regards to bake goods!

She is so damn cute, I love her to bits!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I wish everyone a great weekend and would like to take the time to thank all of those who have provided supportive comments and hugs. I love you guys, you are wonderful.

Babies R Not

Making a baby sucks. Seriously I am just about to go back drinking, smoking, rock'n sex and random party favours. In the words of Tracy (whatsthatnow.blogspot.com), I am just going to kick it old school. I am tired of being the responsible adult. I spent my whole teenage existence trying not to get knocked up and now it's almost impossible.

It all started the morning when I pissed on my sixth ovulation predictor stick and nothing ( well okay the faintest of lines), but that equals nothing. I am suppose to be ovulating this week, and to determine that you pee on the stick (so hot). The 2nd line is suppose to be as dark or darker than the control line. I have to squint and turn the stick on an angle and reflect light off of it to see the faintest line ever. Now if this were a preggers test I would be excited, but I digress. So now that I have these damn things I am not going to ovulate...Super fantastic! I thought the pregnancy tests where disappointing with the one line bullshit, but now I am also sad from these stupid things.

I got a call from the fertility clinic this afternoon saying that they don't have the results of one of my tests and therefore may not be able to keep my appointment for tomorrow. That's right you don't have the results! Why, because the test is a 12 hour fast followed by blood work and then a glass of sugar syrup that I need to drink, which I am sure tastes like ass. I remain fasting and come back to the lab 2 hours later for another round of blood work. Who the hell has time for this shit? I live in the west and commute an hour to the east. I see clients throughout the day and then go to a job to most evenings and weekends.

I have done your 28 vials of blood work. I have done the piercing of my cervix while I balance in some yoga position on the end of a diving board and just before I think that I am going to freak out, my ovaries get a shot of dye blasted through them. I have had a complete stranger perform an ultrasound just for shits and giggles on a very full bladder and for an encore performed a transvag...sounds as good as it is. I have also just recently spent 70 bucks U.S. for a shit load of ovulation predictor kits to determine when I should do it, according to my doctors request. What more do you want from me. Even think about taking me off the appointment list for tomorrow and I'll break limbs.

Me: I have waited over a year and 4 doctors to get to this pathetic point I am not waiting another 2 months for this. I am becoming increasingly impatient as THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH ME!!!!!!!Plus this appointment tomorrow has absolutely nothing to do with our fertility, it has to do with analyzing the results. Analyze this sister, if I don't get shot up with fertility drugs and some f'en sperm soon, heads are going to roll. I am keeping the damn appointment.

Nurse: kay, Mrs. D we'll see you at 3 then.

I guess I would be happy to play this game if I had nothing to compare it with, but I do.

I started trying Feb. 04 after a miscarriage and hubby and I have been to doctor to doctor.
A girl at work, we'll call her CM started fertility in August 04 and another friend of mine we'll call her TS, started in 05.
CM had a bunch of medical issues to sort out before treatment and is currently preggers with twins at 21 weeks.
TS has the same type of situation I do and she is on round 2 of fertility drugs and treatment. Her doctor gave her a shot for her to take home out of the drawer of his desk. Hello, I too am interested in black market drugs.
Mine...Still doing tests for the fun of it. She must get a hefty kick back for OHIP or something.
Please do not get me wrong I have not ill wishes for my two friends, they deserve babies more than anything...I am just a little pissy.
So, I patiently wait for my turn to come and truly think that this is more stressful and disappointing then ever. I just needed to bitch a little and I am stopping at the LCBO on the way home tonight. Then maybe I will go to the drug store to purchase a box of condoms that I will poke in with safty pins.
My summer student has suggested that I use the turkey baster for kicks!

Ahh, vote for Pedro!

Bring in the clowns!!!

I woke up this morning feeling a little hung over. I could understand this if I had actually consumed some alcohol, but no such luck. What we have here is sleep deprivation at it's best.
A co-worker referred to me this morning as less than cheery and not a morning person. She was clearly making a blanket statement about every morning and not just today in particular.

I am the worst sleeper. Like most people I love to sleep, but it never happens for me unless I have consumed large amounts of alcohol or I take sleeping pills. Which now only happens when I am very sure that I am not preggers.

I go up to my bed at 10 and hubby and I usually watch a half hour of tv and I am for sure lights out by 11, if not earlier. So we are lying there and I can tell by hubby's breathing that he is already asleep. I just turned out the light, how is he asleep? So I wake him up, " Are you sleeping already (he loves this game)"? He kind of shouts at me and turns back over. I count....1, 2, 3, .... 11, 12....17 dammit he's sleeping again, 17 seconds! If I am feeling exceptionally cruel I continue to wake him up another 4 or 5 times to notify him of how quickly he fell asleep that time. Sometimes he laugh, but mostly it's groggy shouting which is still amusing.

So the lights are out, hubby is boring and I am wide awake. I have my eyes shut and I am trying to slow down my breathing and fall asleep, but things keep jumping into my thoughts. It's like a black tv screen with different images that pop up. Sometimes it's reflection on the day or a replay of a conversation that I had with someone. Sometimes it's creative and I get ideas about paint colour, landscaping, or organizational projects. At times it's something that I find exceptionally funny (hubby loves this one) and I break into giggles and nose snorts. Other times it is a panicked realization that I have forgotten to pay a bill 5 days ago, lock a door (and it is usually not to do with my home), call someone back, or finish something that was needed at work. Lastly my all time favourite is what I like to call "Bring In The Clowns".

Picture me lying in my bed. It's dark, it's quiet and all of a sudden in drives one of those clown cars (insert circus tunes doot doot doot todoootle) it's lights are flashing the horn is beeping and it pulls up beside my bed. The door opens and out jumps a clown. I look over at my hubby who is now in a coma like state and say, "babe the clowns are back"! He of course has no response and no clowns of his own. For those of you that don't know me I am terrified of clowns, mimes and anything with a mask. I therefore course chose a clown to represent my night thoughts.

Now it is not just a clown, it's a clown with a problem.
Clown # 1 has come to remind me that I have several bills outstanding and that I am in the over draft even though I got paid yesterday and incase I forgot, I have 3 birthdays and 2 weddings and I still owe MIL and a co-worker money. Then he fucks off. I start worrying about what he has just told me, but not for long because here comes another one.

This one talks to me babies and my lack there of. Reminds me of appointments and the cost that I am going to be putting out (see Clown #1).

Clowns 3-7 deliver news about home improvements needs. All the things that I should be doing but don't have the time or energy to do. Family members health and the dreaded possibility of someone dying. My health and weight and how fat I looked today when I mistakenly caught a glimpse of my reflection in the car window. Work and stress that is created there. Friends that I have been meaning to make time for but haven't, my hubby's job, our marriage, our finances and anything else that they think I should examine at this hour. Then just as I have broken into a sweat and on the verge of a panic attack the all pile back into the car and drive away. BASTARDS!!!!
It's now been 78 minutes since I turned out the light and I am still up. I get up and have a pee (stress makes me pee) and wash my face and back into bed. I now spend the next 2o minutes re-attempting to lull myself into blissful slumber.

12:18 I awake, Ken (neighbours Ken & Barbie) is in his spotless SUV and is pulling out of the driveway. Ken displays this behaviour every night and I spend the next fifteen minutes wondering where the hell he is going. Every night I analyze this event and that come up with several theories but that is another blog. I try to fall back asleep but not for long as here comes Ken exactly a half hour later. Seriously where the hell is he going. I am up anyways I should really follow him on night.

2:24 I am awakened by what seems to be a tremor, it is construction neighbour. He is a fantastic neighbour and works like a dog, but returns all hours of night and insists on entering his home through the garage. This requires him to use the garage door opener which shares a wall with my headboard.

3:00 Hubby gets up for his nightly pee. I am awake but lie there with my eyes closed listening to the sounds of nature. He sits on the edge of the bed and cracks open his water bottle which previously was a frozen mass. He has a few giant slugs from the bottle each time allowing the remaining ice to hit the neck of the bottle and back. He gets up on his feet and performs a geriatric run to the pisser knocking over things as he goes. He is courteous enough to sit, as we have had previous arguments regarding him power pissing in the middle of the night. However he has lost the inability to refrain from making the AHHHHHH sounds as he pees. Then he flushes and comes back to be where he is compelled to check my status. "Babe you sleeping"? I calmly make the #2 with my fingers and slowly stoke them over my closed eye lids and say, "eyes closed....Sleeping". He laughs and rolls back over and just before he passes out expels a Hugh fart in my direction...Super!

4:12 Cat scratching at the door
4:13 get out of bed and let cat in
4:14 Cat on the bed meowing
4: 15 Kick cat from the bed
4:22 Cat is under the bed playing with a tampon that she has stolen from my bag on the floor
4:23 get out of bed and on the floor and pull cat out from under the bed
4:25 close bedroom door after chucking cat into the hallway
4:30 sleep

5:30 I am awake again. I think I heard a dew worm fart. AH, getting brighter, sun rising, dog looking at me. If I go back to sleep right now I will get 45 minutes of sleep.

6:40 fuck, I hate to wake up before the alarm...I should get up I feel good and really...NO, must sleep this could be the best 5, ok 4.5 minutes of your night.

6:45 I am awake for the last time and feel like a bag of crushed assholes. Hubby bounces out of bed like a freak on beans and takes the dog out. I am lying there trying to focus when hubby returns 7 minutes later and he starts complaining about me still being in bed. I cannot even speak, I am so pisses about my night that if he says another word or pokes me I am going to hit him in the face.

I finally drag myself into the shower and as I pass my bed on the way downstairs for work I declare that tonight I will be in bed at 8. I know though that I would only be a wonderful dream.

P.S. Dark circles are hot!

Dirty Scalpel

Yesterday MIL went into the hospital for surgery. The day piror I had gone over for a quick good luck and wish you well visit and discovered that this surgery was going to be a good 5 hours and that FIL would be waiting alone. Now my hubby would have gone and sat with him, but he is in BC on business. I thought about it the whole way home and decided to go to the hospital in the morning and surprise him. FIL is a great guy and I just felt that no one should be alone when they have a spouse in surgery so we made it a day.

This brings me to my blog.

I have been inside many hospitals all over and I think that they are all pretty compareable. There are a few like; Sick Kids and Mac that are bigger and better and that comes with perks, but overall I generally know what I am going to encounter when I go into a hospital.

• an ass-raping over the cost of parking
• no cell phone and no smoking signage
• a gift shop
• a big name coffee shop
• a hospital cafeteria
• and sick people in poorly painted rooms

MIL is at Hamilton General, a hospital that I am not familiar with. So I make my way into Hamilton yesterday morning at 8. Keep in mind that I know my way around Hamilton better than a tourist, but I have never been to this hospital. So I am approaching it the hospital and the directions says that it's on Barton so I turn left and super, it is indeed on Barton but the parking in on Victoria, the street I just turn off of. Thank God Barton is not one of those one way for 6 days streets so I was able to turn around at a Tim's and get myself to the parking garage.
$2 for the half hour $10 max, check off ass-raping.

I get my self into the hospital, down to information and the lady directs me to day surgery. I question her as MIL will be here for 5-7 days. She says, "Day surgery down the hall on the right, ask someone there". Okay, down the hall on the right, ah day surgery....

me: Hello I am looking for MIL.
Nurse: Dear I am sorry you are too late.
Me: WHAT... ( they just should never say those words all in a row)
Nurse: lol, oh no I mean she is in the O.R. Go to the 3rd floor and check with the volunteer and then wait in the O.R. waiting room.
So up to the third floor via the service elevator (no idea how I got on that) which drops me off in the bowels of the 3rd floor. I start my search for the O.R. waiting room or a volunteer. I find a sign posted on the wall:
HIU
O.R
ICU LOUNGE
ICU
BURN UNIT

Right...where the hell is Skippy the volunteer?
Okay logically I will take O.R., wrong I get to a door "no admitance staff only"...ok.
Lounge...that sounds like a waiting area, it is but no FIL. I am going to find someone. I come across a security guard...perfect she knows this place inside and out...I ask for the O.R. waiting room.
Security: oh sure just at the end of the hall last door on the left. Then she is gone.
Come to think of it there is no one in the halls. It's O.R. on a monday morning? I see clear evidence of activity from the dried DNA on the walls (gross), but not a soul.I reach the door ah finally...f**K it's a stairwell.
I decide that I am going to go into that no admittenace area and see if a nurse can help me. I find what looks like a glassed in nurses station. There are about 5 people in scrubs who look at me and quickly drop their heads careful not to make eye contact. Where is the O.R. waiting room, I mouth through the glass...nothing. Dammit where is this place? I go back out into the hallway and take the path to HIU where I find a door with HIU/O.R. waiting room. I open the door to find 7 or 8 seriouly shitty chairs in a dimmly lite room which is not ventalated, is empty and about 9x9. OMG I cannot wait here for 5+ hours. I decide to go back down to the lobby, maybe FIL is having a smoke or a coffee.

Here is where I discover that there is no big name coffee place and that everybody goes a block down the street to Tim's, which ironically enough I had already been there to make my u turn.
I am almost at the point of losing it when FIL rounds the corner and all is well.
We head back up stairs to show FIL the creepy little room that they call O.R. waiting room and once up there I have to pee...of course I do. FIL and I quickly decide that we would rather have bamboo shoots stuffed under our toenails than sit in that excuse of a room so I will have a quick pee and we will go sit in the main lobby which was way nicer.

I am waiting for the single use washroom for a few minutes when I hear, "There's a washroom down here". Well, well the imfamous Skippy everyones favourite volunteer....WHERE THE HELL HAS HE BEEN! Oh, there's a washroom down here, so bloodly helpful, jerk.

So I walk down to this washroom and struggle with an unnatually heavy door while I try to find the light... I'm in.
Son of a bitch....what the hell happened here. I am a very small washroom with my back against the door clutching my green handbag. I immediately notice a large hole in the wall that resembles a head or a head/shoulder combanation. My eyes dart to the grunge covered sink that is slightly dripping and faucets covered in visible dirty finger prints. The toilet is covered in piss both the seat and back tank and someone appears to be suffering from a raging case of spontaneous pubic hair loss. That's right and it's everywhere. I quickly rip a piece of paper towel from the roll and I am frantically try not to touch anything as I get the door open.
Sweet Jesus, I yell over at Skippy, "This washroom is not fit for human use". If MIL had of made a pit stop into that washroom before surgery, she sould have gathered her bags and left.

Most of use would not eat at a restaurant that had a washroom like that, let alone surgery.
It's a hospital for christ sakes...if the washroom is that flithy what the hell does the O.R. look like. I mean that is where they actually cut you open...two words rib separater, that can't be a spotless procedure. It is what I would refer to as dirty scalpel syndrome.

So mental note if in Hamilton avoid everthing but Mac.

On a happier note MIL is doing fine.

Hi Aimee

I know that you check often so I just wanted to give you something to read.
If you are outside today, please respect your skin and use spf 30.

Bye for now peaches!

Done

Well, after a lot of self talk I have decided that enough is enough. I have concluded that for 7.50 an hour it's not worth it.

• My body aches and I am one of the few people still left working there that does not have dark blue veins popping out of their legs...I'd like to keep it this way.
• I am tired of picking up clothing off the floor that is not mine and taking snotty comments from women who are clearly 3 sizes bigger than the clothing they tried on and some how is my problem that the pants made her legs look fat! Unfortunately the only response that I am able to say is, "ahhh, the pants, yeah they have that funny material". When what is so loudly screaming in my head to get out is, "Right the pants. Yeah... no, sweetie those pants were sooo small and sooo tight that it is almost unhygienic for me to put them back on the hanger for someone else to try on".
• I am done with the stalking and fake smiles...really it's not fake, It's more pain and discomfort that looks like I am forcing out a smile.
• I can no longer tolerate changing garbages, vacuuming, cleaning toilets and windexing at the end of every long shift
• I despise having my weekends taken away from me and mandatory 3 hour meetings at 730 on a Sunday morning or 530 Sunday night
• Most of all I will not miss the misfits that make up my team, It really is like a work project for special needs people...which would be okay if they weren't claiming to be normal high functioning individuals

Which leads me to this;

Dear Leader of the Sales Asses:
It is with deep regret that I must notify you of my resignation as sales ass, effective Friday, June 17.
I feel very fortunate to have been apart of the team at (insert store name here) and thank you very much for the opportunity. My experiences and training have been invaluable, and I leave with many pleasant memories of wonderful people that I have had the privilege of working with.

Sincerely,

Top Sales Ass

There you have it....It's a bit of a stretch but at least I am done.

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

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

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.

P.s
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

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

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.
amen