Baseball Players Are Pussies

Please don't try to dissuade me or defend them because I'd just laugh at you if you tried. Remember last year when Jeter dove onto the turf and laid there wracked in pain for a good 10 minutes like he needed his last rites? They may have wheeled out the stretcher... lord, they may have brought the whole ER down onto the field, I'm not too sure. But what did he end up with? A bruised thumb. Ohmigod!

When I heard that Chacin left the game last night with a crampy finger all I could do was roll my eyes. Dude, walk it off! Suck it up and play through the cramp. It'll eventually go away on its own. What the hell.

How do hockey players get their teeth knocked out and come back for their next shift? How do they break a leg but manage to hobble back to the bench so the next guy can jump on the ice? How can they stand in the hallway to get that gaping hole stitched up and return to the game? Inconceivable! (The Princess Bride was on a few days ago. Oh Westley....)

I don't know what breed of men they have in the MLB but seriously, let's tone that suck factor down a few notches. Nobody wants to hear about female cramps and pains but if a baseball player gets a cramp we want to send him get well cards and pretty balloons. This world makes so little sense that it's practically inconceivable.

Saturday Quickie

Bike riding to a nearby supermarket, we stopped at a red light. On a nearby light post I noticed a piece of paper taped onto it with the little cut-off flaps at the bottom for easy ripping.

Stinky T: Hey! Quick Divorces from $300!

Mr. Stinky: Haha! Look, someone already took one (of the flaps with convenient 1-800 number).

Stinky T: Haha! Wow, $300.

Mr. Stinky: $300... I could afford that.

Stinky T: Hey we'll go half, $150-$150.

Mr. Stinky: Done.

Stinky T: Niice!

Starburst Attack

A few fortnights ago an incident occurred which forever changed the dynamics between T-J and I. It wasn't planned and nobody was injured severely but it was gut-bustingly funny and became an instant classic. To this day when we retell the story it's a slapstick comedy reenacted in tandem coz it's always funnier that way.

I'm not a sweet snacker, I prefer to munch on salty foods instead. About the only time that I crave sweet stuff is when I'm PMSing. I don't know why. Sometimes I will even want chocolate but that's rare. I'm not a fan of chocolate as it does nothing for me. The mind just boggles. Back to the topic.

I hadn't had Starbursts in awhile so when I saw that they were on sale I bought a bag of the assorted flavours. I was enjoying them immensely at my desk and asked T-J and Shuster if they wanted to share in my bounty. Shuster came over and grabbed a few while T-J held out her hands for me to toss one over. We work about 10 feet away from each other so you'd think no problemo, yes? But if you did then there'd be no story to tell.

For the record I was planning on gently tossing it over so that it would land in her outstretched hands. Somehow the synapses grossly misfired because I winged the damned thing at her and because her hands were kind of head level guess where the Starburst went.

In the instant I let it fly my mind said "whoops!". In the half a millisecond (what would that be?) before the candy hit her, she must've seen the imminent strike because her head turned away from me and her hands morphed from catcher's mitts to shields. In the silence of the office we heard a small "tock!" and T-J's "AAAAAAOoow!!"

When the rest of that second passed we burst into laughter. My profuse apologies were drowned pitifully in the undertow of our tear filled hysteria and everytime I tried to explain my intent a fresh wave of mirth would burst forth. Why do we have boxes of kleenex on our desks? It's definitely not to combat nasal drip, unless it results from laughing. Nay, the kleenex is to aid in our recovery after such events of stupidity, especially when T-J revealed that as she shied away from the Starburst missile and yelled in reaction to being hit, a big gob of drool fell from her mouth and onto the floor. We laughed until it hurt, then we laughed some more until it got numb.

I don't even know if she ended up eating that candy. I can't remember coz all that laughing caused me to black out and forget the rest of the day. What I do know is, you can only get away with such acts of violence against your friends. If it had been anybody else and I had laughed to the brink of pissing myself, I can assure you that formal complaints would have been drawn up and issued. That would be followed by severe scolding and an indefinite ban on candy with pointy corners. And that's so not fun when that's about all we care for.

Just Add Water!

We've got Sea Monkeys in our office. They were on sale at the toy store and we decided they'd be the perfect addition to the ambience of our hard-working environment. I should tell you that this is the second generation. The first, may they rest in peace, were mercilessly slain in the historic event known as the T.R. Massacre*. I shall not divulge the tyrant's name, as he might slap me with a big, fat libel suit and as much as I cherished the pets I don't have the kind of money to go to court over such frivolity.

Sea Monkeys are a cutesy name for a species of brine shrimp. They are itty bitty little swimming creatures, kind of like lice or moving dandruff. They come freeze-dried in little packages and magically become animated when you mix them into a jar of pre-treated water like you would make lemonade.

They’ve essentially become the centrepiece of our office as we get frequent visitors throughout the day to check on their growth, numbers and watch them buzz around the tank. Everyone drops by to see them, it’s like freak circus central! I tell ya, this office is full of fre.. characters!

I’m happy to report that second generation Monkeys are thriving. After the T.R. Massacre we learned our lesson, there are now colourful signs all around the tank warning people not to touch or pick it up. Anytime a visitor gets too close to the pets we immediately screech out warnings which include promises of dire pain and torture should they disregard the signs. So far the combination of warnings have proven to be superbly effective.

So now, a little bit wiser and a little less soaked we are all living harmoniously with our sea creatures. Hopefully it stays that way coz I like that they are such an attraction and draw many new and returning visitors to our cozy little office. All it took was mixing a few things together to bring forth life! Playing god makes Stinky T ve-ry happy.

*Coles Notes version of the genocide: T.R. picked up the tank to look at it and proceeded to spill it all down his pants, namely his crotch. Now I know it’s not rocket science, but if you see a container filled with water why shake, tip and turn the thing upside down? I know, right?!?

Expand Your Lungs

The weather lately has been beautiful, the humidity has snapped and although it can get hot under the sun, you can’t beat hanging out in the shade. Mr. Stinky and I enjoy the outdoors; we bike, garden, hike, camp and go for walks… even on those yucky, sticky days. I figure you can’t be a constant shut-in, right? Everyone needs to go outside to relax, get some fresh air and have some fun when they can, especially since the majority of us go into a state of semi-hibernation come winter.

I’m coming to the realization that a lot of people don’t agree with me, a lot of people don’t like to breathe outdoors air or be outside. The past week or so, we’ve enjoyed having the windows opened and the a/c off. There is almost always a lovely breeze coming from the lake and it feels nice… different from manufactured cool air. I’ve even been using the side burner of our BBQ more often, just to be outside. However, all through the day and night, our next door neighbour’s a/c is running. And loudly at that. These last few nights temperatures went down to the low teens but I’ve deduced they like it much colder than that. I don’t even know what their bills are like but to give you a hint: they moved in about 6 months after we did and once as I was doing some gardening I looked at their meter. The numbers were already much higher than ours. Yowza!

It’s not an isolated case either, I’ve been told by some that their windows do not open. At home if the heat’s not on, then the a/c is. Not only do I find this quite wasteful in terms of unnecessary hydro use, which translates to further lining the pockets of our energy providers it leaves me with the question of why we don’t like natural, fresh air? Do we believe that it’s better inside? Not to get all scientificy here and I won’t be referencing anything, but I’m pretty sure that most studies between indoor and outdoor air have proven that the latter is usually cleaner and fresher. Or perhaps the age of artificial living has moved in whereby we don’t do or use anything unless it’s not in its raw state. Intriguing.

In any case, I don’t know why it’s on my mind. I don’t suppose it’s an issue of right or wrong, just different mindsets. But if you can before it gets cold, go outside and enjoy the weather. It doesn’t get any better than right now.

Back!

Days Gone: 4
Mileage Claimed: ~50km
Bear Encountered: 0
Moose Encountered: 1
Bug Bites: Stopped counting after the first one
Scary Storms: 1

I'm back. Rest your weary, little hearts, we made it safely back out the bush. Although for the rest of this post you will think of me as Lumpy T instead of the usual as I'm covered in bug bites, scrapes and bruises. More later.

We were gone for 4 days, and as stated above the round trip was roughly 50km worth of rowing and portaging. There was a lot of rowing; my arms and shoulders are sore but I held my own. Sometimes it felt like all we did was stroke... stroke... stroke... but we actually moved at pretty good clips. I've learned to look far off to where we were going, not in front of me, especially if we were rowing across the current coz then it gets trippy. Like we were travelling diagonally, or sideways which, when it was super windy was definitely the case. There was also the fear that we might tip over. Back country canoeing/backpacking is quite different from being in the familiar. We couldn't just whip out cell phones to call for help if anything bad were to occur. If something happens to you out there you're pretty much fucked. Ain't nobody gonna come rescue you coz how would you call them and how would they know where you are anyway? Since our packs were 30-50lb they'd be dead weight and sink so fast we wouldn't even see where they hit the water. All the gear and food would be gone in an instant, thus severely handicapping us. I was super vigilant in my quest to keep the canoe upright.

We were careful not attract any bears to our campsites. I'm pretty happy that we came out having never met each other, although according to park statistics it actually is very rare to see one of these creatures. Park rangers are lucky if they see one or two a year. Good odds for me.

On the second day we stayed on a small island littered with moose poo, actually moose poo dots the entire park. They're not very picky about where they go... think also of roughly two dozen chocolate Timbits in one pile. At about 4pm, while we were hanging out in our campsite which is located in the clearing at one end of the island Mr. Stinky and I heard branches snapping and something walking in the bush. We looked up and saw a huge brown shape walking through the trees, its footsteps thumping the ground so heavily that we felt them. The camera came out and we waited. The shape turned into a very impressive bull moose taller than Mr. Stinky's height of 6' and came as close as about 6 feet away from where we pitched our tent. We were very excited due to our proximity, plus they usually don't come out in the middle of the day. It got spooked and jumped into the lake to swim back to the mainland. We stood and watched the whole time while it grunted and huffed the water out of its nose. Absolutely awesome.

I don't like using bug spray so I endured the bites. I find that the first bite is the worst; after that they all sort of cancel each other out so although I tried to swat them away, kill them or do the Mosquito Dance I did get bit but only had to use the spray once.

The last night of our trip it stormed. You could hear God noisily inhaling from somewhere down in Alabama before blowing it across the land... winds in the city cannot compare in terms of strength and noise. The lake was choppy and it rained. I had visions of us trying to make our way back come morning with lashing winds and pouring rain, and me screaming at Mr. Stinky "I HAAAATE youuuuu!! You did this to meeeeee!", not unlike how I imagine it might sound in the delivery room. Luckily for us it cleared up in the early morning and we got out without any incident.

After days of eating trail mix and dehydrated foods we headed to Kelsey's for our celebratory gorge. Tossing aside the skimpy lunch menus we devoured the entrees of choice and several hours later stuffed ourselves silly again. Heaven.

Bear Warning

I'm off to my weekend portage tomorrow. Mr. Stinky and I are heading up to Algonquin for a long weekend of canoeing, camping, bugs and skinny dipping (!). I'm very excited as it's my first experience. We're regular car campers but this time we're going a step further into the bush and away from life. It's our mini vacation... as a regular vacation seems to be out of our reach right now so this'll do.

I've never camped where the land belongs to the bears. I'll have to be careful and remember not to smell too yummy to one of them but I'm sure if I smell like hot dog Mr. Stinky'll remind me to change my clothes before bedtime. If one should get agressive, I can assure you that I will not be playing dead or curling into the fetal position. Why you ask? Simple. If a hungry and angry 800lb beast decides that he wants to nosh on some Stinkyback ribs I hardly think that I'm a good enough actor to remain calm until he's done and goes away. I really do not believe that calmly presenting oneself on a platter surrounded by sprigs of green garnishings will discourage a hungry being. No, presentation is a large part of eating and I for one am not willing to look like a yummy dish for Ursus grumblytummyus.

Instead I resolve to fall into total panic mode whereby squawking like a chicken, running back and forth, jumping into the lake, flapping my limbs around and throwing gear at it like my toothbrush, pillow and underwear, for some reason will totally make sense. I will not be the generous main course of the night for the damn bear. I will convince myself that my actions are deterring him from clamping down on me even though my clear and rational mind knows that I'm just whetting his appetite.

So, dear readers, I plan on returning Monday night. I'll be tired so don't expect me to rush to the nearest piece of technology to update you on how I got a soaker, hiked up some hills and made potty in the bush. You can however, check here on Tuesday since I've got the day off from work and should have some time to type. If I don't make a peep by Wednesday you may safely assume that Mr. Grumblytummyus greatly enjoyed some Stinkyback ribs and you'll need to tell the rangers that they'll probably find me in random piles of bear poop.

The Blue File

A co-worker came into our office just now. There are three of us in here: T-J, Clueless and me. Usually when our manager comes in to ask us questions we sit in our chairs looking blankly back at her slack-jawed, hoping someone else knows the answer, any answer. However, our manager's questions usually make sense as they are logical and specially designed to make us squirm in our seats. This question, well..... I've changed a few details to keep things ambiguous but yah...

Co-worker: Excuse me, have you seen the blue file?

Magnificent 3: .....................?

The Shuster a frequent visitor sits and observes.

Co-W: It's a blue file.

M3: .........................?

Co-W: I'm looking for the blue file.

M3: .......................?
T-J: Like a blue file folder? Yes we use those here....

Co-W: No no, it's an existing blue file.

T-J: Is it empty?

Co-W: No, it's got stuff in it. It's a blue file.

Clueless: It. would. help. if you had an address…
Stinky T: Do you have any other information about the file?

I should tell you that Co-W is notoriously secretive, nobody knows why. If you locked her up in solitary, tortured her within an inch of her life and threatened any and all kin she's got she still probably wouldn't tell you what colour the sky is if she didn't feel like it, so divulging this bit of information surely must've torn pieces out of her heart and soul.

Co-W: ..........Uh...It says..... "6 Pink Elephants and 20 Toes".

M3: OHH! OK, that file! Yah, we don't have it.

Co-W: No? Are you sure you don't have that file? (Wanders around, poking her little nose everywhere) It's a blue file.

M3: Nope.

Co-W leaves. I look over at Nancy T-J and the Shuster and they're both sitting v-e-r-y still, trying to hold something in. I decided to find out what that something could be.

Stinky T: So.. I'm looking for a woman... She's a woman. An existing woman. Have you seen the woman?

The office erupts into peals of laughter and tears of hilarity. We can't get over what just happened. Like complete idiots we put the incident on repeat and keep on asking each other where the blue file is. T-J is yanking out sheaths of kleenex by the handfuls in an effort to dam up the flow of streaming tears, while snorting and snuffling, trying to catch her breath through her laughter in what I can only think of as some sort of hysterical epileptic seizure. The Shuster is shaking tremulously in his chair so much that I didn't know if he'd ever be able to stop and wiping his eyes in futile. All the while I'm trying to keep a straight face. The rest of the day is a wash because about the only thing we can talk about is the blue file.

As of the time of publishing we still don't know where that darn blue file is.

Mazel Tov!

Oh dude! I just realized it's been a year since I started this. That surely must be the coolest thing you were told today.

Hand-Drawn Questions

> Didn't Snow White and Cinderella suffer from mad cases of morning breath when their princely saviours on white horses awoke them from their deep sleeps? Also, how did they also not mess their beds or get bed sores?

> How come Pepe Le Pew's horny obsession with the black cat was seen as funny and not as what it really was: stalking, sexual harassment, sexual assault, dry humping and practical rape?

> I know we all knew that the Beast was a cursed human prince on the inside, but Belle sure as hell didn't and fell in love with him anyway. Wouldn't it be beastiality if he didn't turned back and they consummated their true fairy tale love? This question also works for Roger and Jessica Rabbit. Friggin' pervs.

> Wasn't Jem ever concerned that Rio was two-timing with her alter ego Jerrica when she wasn't around? And how come Jerrica was OK with him getting some rockstar nookie with Jem, while we're at it? Someone's got both identity and self-esteem problems if you ask me.

> Was Tweety a boy or a girl, coz he had some raging eyelashes and pouty lips and no discernible genitals. Maybe the question should really be: Pre-op or post-op...

> Why did no one ever kill that pansy-assed sidekick of the Mighty Hercules? Even as a kid I thought that Newton was the most annoying thing ever and I bet he was "touched" too. How can you trust a boy who prances around constantly anyhow?

> The Amazing Spiderman, when he swung along the city's skyline doing his spiderly patrol thing at the end of the episode after he had saved Gotham, Grayskull or whatever, where did his webbing attach onto? Heaven, perhaps?

> Were He-Man and She-Ra siblings or lovers for pete's sake?! Or maybe, BOTH...

> When they concentrated real hard, clenched their fists and stuck their rotund little bellies out to give the Care Bear Stare and/or Care Bear Cousins Call, did any one of them ever accidentally push out a fart?

> How come Charlie Brown never bitch-slapped or kicked Lucy in the head after she pulled the football out from under him? I bet that would've made her think hard the next time she tried that stunt.

> When they were flying around in Neverland did any of the Lost Boys ever take a peek up Wendy's nightgown? Coz I would, if only to make sure that her bloomies didn't say "Wednesday" on a Thursday. Eeew..

> I was probably 4 when I watched Bambi and nobody would tell me what happened to his mom. What's up with that?

Asian Addiction

It was the summer of 199... 8? 9? Whatever. I went to Taiwan on a student exchange program. My intentions were good, I wanted to learn the language, immerse myself in a different culture and see the world. Only later did I hear that the trip was infamously known as the "Love Boat"... a 6 week opportunity for horny teenagers to indulge in all their sexual fantasies without the fear of mom and/or dad walking in and impeding the copious amounts of copulation going on.

Whatever the case, what happens in Taiwan stays in Taiwan. Needless to say a lot of stuff happened that will provide me plenty of memories to last a long, long time. What really struck me, was that no matter where the people came from, Asians will be Asians. In the age right before digital cameras came along (or were in the everyman's price range), everyone was packing. Film canisters were everywhere, we had all scoped out the cheapest, fastest best developing places. The fact that I had to think about what those containers were called and how film become pictures tells me that indeed, the traditional 35mm camera is very passe.

I brought 6 rolls of 24 exposure film for my 6 week trip. That's.. 144 pictures. After the first week people were running around with multiple albums in hand stuffed full of pictures to show their new friends. I couldn't understand how anyone could take so many pictures! By the end of the trip people were going home with cases of pictures while I had my 6 rolls of memories to bring back to Canada.

Everywhere I go I see Asians toting cameras around and clicking at any and everything. I've seen a busload of tourists run after squirrels taking pictures and countless group pictures being taken with ever multiplying cameras appearing with every click. I've had to suffer through countless torture sessions looking at the vacation pictures of friends who took 8000 pictures when 20 would have sufficed. It's nice that you had fun, but it was your vacation. Your pictures really don't mean anything to me, just like mine won't tickle your soul either. The context just isn't there for me. And if every picture contains a stock shot of you and your honey posing in front of whatever interesting there is in the background that you've just obliterated, tedium soon turns into thoughts of putting a bullet in someone's head. I'm not too picky about where that bullet goes...

What do people do with so many pictures? Mr. Stinky and I rarely print our pictures and when we do, after a week or so it gets tossed in a random corner or shelf. Would taking 144 pictures versus 1444 really mean anything to anyone after time passes and you forget who that bunch of people in your pictures are anyway? Where are my Taiwan pictures? In a box. Somewhere. When was the last time I looked through them? Sometime awhile ago. Besides a few fond memories, would I really care about what all those people from around the world are doing right now? Probably not.

Perhaps I was short-changed a few Asian genes while hanging out in my mother's womb. I don't seem to be Asian enough in many respects. I should've shot out of there with a camera in one hand and chopsticks in the other, smelling of mothballs and driving a Japanese economy car. Instead I might have introduced myself to the world while driving a pickup truck with my cursing finger extended and a big ol' sneer they hoped was a smile on my face.

I may be pissed off at something... what that is isn't quite clear to me at the moment.

Blame Game

The headlines these days are all focussing on the troubles in the Middle East and getting people out of harm's way. Actually, I haven't really been reading or watching the news because everyday is the same dredge. I don't find that the news is "news" per se, more like media hype and exploitation of suffering and pain. In the winter it's all about how cold it is. Cold alert! And the snow and ice, oh the pain, the pain! In the summer we can't stop talking about how hot it is. Heat alert! Smog alert! Red alert, shields up!

But back to this topic. Really, you don't think all of this war stuff was happening before it suddenly became sexy and Pulitzer Prize-worthy? You think this whole Israel-Muslims-Christians pissing contest haven't been going on since forever? Look up The Crusades, they've been pissed off at each other since they defined "pissed off". What I'm noticing now, though is that there's a lot of news coverage on the evacuation of people from the Beirut, Lebanon area. And even louder are the bleets of the angry people who blame their governments for not doing enough, especially Canada.

?????????? Enough? Enough what? Why is it your government's responsibility to bail your ass out when trouble a-cometh? Why do you need to rely on someone else to rescue you when your life of milk and honey suddenly turns into vinegar? This I don't understand because it wasn't the government of Canada who put them in Lebanon in the first place. It was their conscious choice to live and raise families or vacation there and knowing that there is a risk of war or being attacked, they should have taken that into consideration before going and maybe even have a back-up plan if something were to happen. Which indeed, happened. Having dual citizenship is great, but if you don't live here, don't pay taxes and speak of Lebanon as "your country", don't expect us to rush to your aid at the first sign of trouble. It's my damn tax dollars that shuttles your freeloading butt out of the danger zone so don't run to anyone with a camera, microphone or notepad complaining how the Canadian govenment took too long, it should be ashamed of itself and needs to do more to take care of its own people.

The point is, you knew things were happening. Maybe not at first, but the signs were there and when it got bad you still had time to jet yourself out of there. But no, you sat home and did nothing. Then you expected Canada to have waiting cruise ships sitting in your harbour ready for you to leave. And I bet that when things settle down you'll be on the first plane back to Lebanon. I also bet that if bombs weren't dropping all around you, there wouldn't even be a passing thought of Canada in your head. Want someone to blame? Look in the mirror. Grow up and take some responsibility, someone has to and in this case it's not the government's fault.

Look, I don't want people to die. I just don't like the heaping mounds of shit Canada has to sit in everytime something happens. To extend an olive branch of goodwill, my Morden Centennial is starting to bloom. This is from me to you, please get out safely.

Duck Duck Goose

We decided to have some friends over on Sunday, so I invited Emma and Goose (explanation to follow) for a small, intimate evening together. The plan was for a nice, easy bike ride along the Waterfront Trail followed by (non-group) showers, dinner and then just hanging out. Seems easy, right? It started out innocently enough, it was friggin’ hot and muggy but since we live by the lake temperatures are usually much more tempered by it and even on the hottest days in the City, there is a cool breeze that comes off the lake making the outdoors that much more enjoyable.

The ride was pleasant enough; we rode roughly 15 km, round trip. There were lots of families out for picnics and family fun days and it was nice to see so many people having a good time. On our way back, I was riding with Goose who, at this point in time hadn’t been dubbed with said moniker yet, while Mr. Stinky and Emma were a ways back. All of a sudden a gigantic Canada Goose flew out of nowhere and almost crashed right into Goose’s head. I let out a scream of surprise and got a super close-up of a goose butt that I never wanted to see and he ducked and swerved while the bird flapped frantically, finally landing on the grass a few feet away. As I looked back, Emma is laughing at Mr. Stinky who was flying across the grassy field trying to spook the lounging birds, one of which had just spooked Goose and I.

After the feathers settled down we laughed about the incident. There aren’t many stories you hear about which includes almost being taken out by an unprovoked waterfowl and especially since that thing was so big we were pretty sure that Goose would have been knocked to the ground. I rationalized that perhaps the goose had lousy vision or had just consumed a heavy meal and couldn't quite attain normal flight altitudes. But now you know why his name is Goose.

The rest of the evening was pretty normal, we had fun, we ate, hung out and went home. Last night as I was talking to Emma on the phone, she was also on MSN with Goose. There were several threads of conversation going on at once making things a little confusing at times. While we talked about whatever, she would also interject with Goose’s replies as well as her responses to him as per their conversation.

Somehow or another the topic of handjobs came up. As she was typing that due to the incident, it was entirely logical that we change his name to Goose, I made a comment to her about giving out handjobs. All of a sudden she said, “I think that’s a good nickname for me.” Stunned, I blurted: "..HANDJOB?!?” Now it was her turn to be bamboozled and she shrieked into my ear, “WHAT? Wh… no!! That’s what Goose said!” Of course at this point we both dissolved into laughter because the timing was just so perfect that the two conversations came together like that and how do you time coincidence anyway?

That’s my Goose story, I think it’s a keeper.

Need White Out?

Another good one. I love the happy expression on his face!

Got A Leak?

This is totally the picture of the day. Why kids should not be left alone.

Haircut

Got one a couple of days ago. Cut I like. Salon, I did not like.

My hair got to be about halfway down my back. It was starting to get heavy and boring. I cut my hair like, once or twice a year... certainly not the recommended three to four months or whatever the experts say. Actually, I think my last cut was about this time last summer. Nice. So since the trips to the salon are a rare occurence, it's a big deal for me. I ask for everything to get chopped off so I can start all over again. My hair currently sits on my shoulders. Nice and short.

I decided to get my hair cut at a salon near work because it'd be so much more convenient if I just use my lunch hour and not have to go home, get the car, drive to the salon and so on. I had been to this place before for my summer pedicure which I wasn't too impressed with but I thought, feet and hair... different parts, different people.

I made my appointment the day of, going in person to tell them I wanted a cut at 12:00pm with a Director Stylist. At 11:48am, just as I was about to leave for my appointment the phone rang and they said there was a mistake. They had to push it back to 12:30pm. I was OK with the time change since it seemed like an honest mistake. When I arrived at the newly agreed upon time, I was taken to the colouring chair instead of the hairwashing station. The stylist asked what colour I wanted. ?? I told her I was there for a cut. She went to check the book at the front and front desk girl came and told me I was there for an updo. ??? I said no, I was there to get. a. hair. cut. There was some grumbling and such, no apologies for me, and a demand to know how and when I made the appointment and who I talked to.

After we cleared the air my stylist went to work. She was good, super good. She was fast and knew what she was doing. We didn't talk. None of the people there spoke to their clients. None of them smiled either. It was a surreal experience, like I was in some world of haute couture where everyone's so cool they're bored. Whatev. I didn't feel like small talk anyway.

When she was done I went up to pay. The bill was more than I had expected. Turns out instead of a Director Stylist I was attended to by a Master Stylist which means she's good enough that they charge me extra. I'm not opposed to paying what they charged since I thought she was worth it, but seeing's how I had specifically asked for an apple and they gave me a pickle it was unnerving. All the more so because they had screwed up every single detail of my appointment. To err is human but in this case they went errrrrrr and I didn't get an apology.

I paid but I don't know if I want to go back. I should be OK though, since I have a whole year to find another place to visit. Either that, or the anger fades in time and I end up back there again.

On a topic totally unrelated to hair, there is a light bulb on its last gas molecule, prong, whatever, above my computer which means it's exactly where it should be to drive me bananas. It's flickering and making the "tink, tink..... tink" noise constantly making it tremendously hard for me to concentrate on my work. I want to start throwing things at it just to shatter the tube and make it stop but then I'll probably get in a lot of trouble when the guy comes to fix it. He probably won't arrive until 3:36pm today, just in time to keep my last thread of sanity from blitzing out and causing me to go on a huge paperclip throwing, paper crumpling, chair spinning, plug unplugging rampage. Heh... remember Rampage? Sigh.. I have to find my happiness somewhere. With all the flickering I might start to think I'm suffering from a mini stroke or something. At least it'll provide an alibi for my climbing and punching things and eating people. What?

Randomosity

> I’m a party pooper with this World Cup thing going on because I don’t like the diving culture of the sport. I don’t like hearing from my friends “Who cares? You’re in it to win!” because that’s exactly what we try to teach our kids not to do. Winning is important, but not at the expense of the spirit of the game and your dignity. I don’t pretend that diving doesn’t exist in any other sport but it seems that this is the one game in which it is so prevalent that it’s infused, encouraged and a skill to be mastered. The attitude in soccer right now is not sportsmanlike at all and it disgusts me. And please get off the road where cars belong. Gumming up the streets coz you feel the need to celebrate will only further the anger felt by people like me and directed at people like you.

> I notice that I walk like a man. Squared shoulders, head up, perfect posture and big, purposeful strides. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not, since it seems all the other women in the world (that I have observed) walk differently. We’ve got such gaits as the slouchy, shuffling death march, the jiggly boobs, swinging hips walk and stompers. I like that I don’t walk like that, but I worry that I might look butchy when I walk…. wait, why do I even care what you think?! Feh.

> When girls take pictures and they sweep all of their hair to one side, over their shoulder and let it hang down their chest and then either do the demure head tilt to the side or so that they are looking coyly up into the camera I just want to slap the piss out of them. Why? Why do they think that’s a good pose? Who told you that you look attractive? Who the hell wants to look at the hair hanging down your chest? That demure little smile looks so disingenuous that I just can’t believe it reflects your personality. It’s a picture damnit, relax and smile. This leads me to my next point.

> Everyone takes a bad picture once in awhile. Deal with it! Don’t get all immature and destroy, crop or cut yourself out of a picture just coz you don’t like it. The picture doesn’t make you look fat or ugly, that’s just the way you look. I’m not saying you are fat or ugly, that is just. how. you. look. So grow up. You may not be used to it coz we all look at you more than you look at yourself and we all have image issues anyway which results in seeing only what we want to see in the mirror. Conversely, pictures don’t make you look hot when you’re not. It’s reality, stop holding out for the “perfect” shot coz there’s no such thing (if we’re aiming for your standards).

> I love getting sun and tanning. I know about the risks of sunburn, skin cancer, sunspots and premature aging and yet I still tan. I figure I’m in my prime now so why wouldn’t I want to look good? Ain’t nobody gonna check me out when I’m 60 and think “She’s old and dumpy with the nylons wobbling around her ankles but damn she’s got nice skin! I think I’ll ask her to have some Metamucil with me!” Is that youthful ignorance? I don’t bake long enough to get too dark or burnt so I don’t feel that I’m killing my skin at a crazy rate. And I know that I increase my chances of developing skin cancer with the sunnage and all, but after reading multiple reports about how we’re all bound to be afflicted anyway by (any kind of) cancer during our lifetime I can’t say that I’m going to stop enjoying mine. By no means do I have a cavalier attitude towards this disease as I’ve had close dealings with it and I wouldn’t tempt fate by gulping down a bucket of PCBs. But since my body and environment are continuously swimming in a toxic stew, I’m resigned to the fact that cancer is inevitable, not a maybe.

> To the guy at the drugstore who saw me slowly heading towards the cashier, grabbed his stuff and ran (I’m not joking) to her even though there was nobody in line, dude. We don’t all have to be first all the time. If you’re that eager to give somebody else your money, be my guest.

Toast

That's what I look like after a weekend under the sun. I think I look gorgeous and ain't nothing you say will change my mind. We went up to the trailer Friday night and had a relaxing couple of days. We bobbed around in the lake, laid on the boat, played some tennis, rode around on the bikes and laid on the boat some more. I have lost my pasty winter pallour and have achieved ultimate yummy summer glow. Hooray for damaging UV rays.

The only poopy thing about the weekend was that I lost my sunglasses, I don't remember how they jumped off my head but I suppose I wasn't paying attention and they went into the drink. Now I don't look quite as cool anymore when I'm out in the sun. I complained that I'm all squinty when I go outside now and Mr. Stinky relayed his sympathies by saying, "Aren't you always squinty anyway?" Sucky... I have to go buy a new pair now. Bah.

So now I'm back to work and back to reality. I feel good and refreshed. I feel so good I might do something productive today! Two more days until the weekend, weeee!

On Demand

At the behest of Holden, I must talk less about gardening and more about the funner stuff in life. Since hockey is done for the season I didn't think there was anything to tell you but I just heard that my boyfriend Gary Roberts has asked his team, the Florida Panthers to ship him back to Toronto. Gary baby, I know you want to be near me and I love that you're finally telling the world but I have my doubts that you'll be back playing for the Leafs. Reasons? Many: you're past your prime, you've got a high price tag, the game has changed and you didn't leave on good terms with our current GM. As much as I adore having you on our team and watching you play I just don't think the odds are in your favour. Sorry baby, that's just how the sporting/entertainment world rolls.

I also don't have any new train stories for you, although I will say that I never tuck my legs under the seat when I'm riding. The subways on the TTC take heavy, daily abuse and many a time when I sit on a seat the whole bench will creak and shift. I decided long ago that if ever I was on one of these benches and it gave out I might look ridiculous falling but I won't be screaming bloody hell from broken legs flattened by all the weight on top.

I should mention that last Saturday Mr. Stinky and I went to see Nine Inch Nails at the Molson Amphitheatre. It was great, it was loud and it was a screaming lovefest. The weather was lovely and he's an awesome performer. I used to dislike them a lot. A lot. Inversely, Mr. Stinky loves them just as much if not more. So for a long time it's been a battle when we choose what music to listen to. I thought it was just angry noise, he's screaming and yelling about death and pain and anguish and something or other that eventually gets drowned out by the deafening din. Like, shut up and pull the trigger already if you're that friggin' miserable! But somehow I was convinced to go the concert they held at the ACC in November of last year and I enjoyed it. Actually, I enjoyed it so much I was a little disappointed because we didn't have the greatest seats and couldn't see much of what was going on onstage. So when I heard they were coming again, this time to a smaller venue and thus more intimate setting, I encouraged Mr. Stinky to go. And it was great. Last Saturday was a perfect weekend, it ended with a lot of "...WHAAT??"s and the lingering stench of smoke in our clothes and hair. It totally helps that Trent Reznor is so super hot now that he's cut his hair, got some sun and buffed up those skinny arms, whatta beefcake!

Oh, and a few days ago I was in a drugstore when someone's cell phone went off. Continuously. At maximum volume. I hate it when people jack up the sound and don't answer, it's so annoying! So of course with this piercing wail from several aisles down reverberating throughout the entire store, I yelled "Answer your phone!!" The ringing went away. Then I ran over to the offending cell phone guy now talking on his phone, grabbed it and smashed it over his head repeatedly. He reached for a bottle of foaming soap and aimed for my eyes but I dodged it by throwing jars of vaseline at him and once he was down I shoved a whole bunch of suppositories up his nose and around the corner. I had vanquished my foe! The story is true only until he answered his cell, the rest is inspired by real life events that could have happened if life indeed imitated my crazy imagination.

Red Faced

In keeping with the colour theme..

*Ring... ring.... ri*

Stinky T: "Hello?"

Stern Paternal Voice: "Your apology is accepted!"

Stinky T: "...Eh?"

He sounded familiar but not really and I didn't want to give away that I had no clue who it was so on we continued...

SPV: "Your apology is accepted!"

Stinky T: "Uhhhookay..."

SPV: "Your apology is accepted!"

Stinky T: "What am I apologizing for again?"

SPV: "Forgetting your promise to call on Father's Day!"

Ah-ha! This narrows it down considerably and now I know for sure that he's also got the wrong number coz I didn't forget Father's Day this year!

Stinky T: "Well I'd apologize if you were my dad."

SPV: "Your apolo.. what?!"

Stinky T: "I said I'd apologize if you were my dad."

Flustered Paternal Voice: "Wh...who... who is this?!"

Stinky T: "I'm definitely not your daughter!"

FPV: "Isn't this 741-9600?"

Stinky T: "Yes it is."
at the same time,
Background Voice: "9660!"

FPV: "OH! 9660! I must have the wrong number!!"

Stinky T: "I'm afraid so. But Happy Father's Day anyway!"

FPV: "Uh...ah....oh I'm so sorry! You sound so much like my daughter, really, yousoundjustlikeherandIthoughtyouwereher.... but thank you. Thank you for your well wishes."

Stinky T: "No problem. Sorry I couldn't help, but have a nice night. Bye!"

FPV: "OK, bye."

Hahahaha... that was quite enjoyable. I almost got in trouble by my non-dad! I could've pulled out the "I din't doo nuthin!" card, see if that would've been accepted or if I would've been grounded....... I might try this next year for real!