Yeah, yeah

Listen. I spend all day saying the exact same thing over and over and over again.

"Thank you. Have a nice day" Monday thru Thursday

"Merci. Bon journee" Friday thru Sunday

I am both bored and boring. I can't wait for school to start so I can quit talking to people and sit mutely in an anonymous class and doodle my brains out. Loan money well spent. Stick figures coming along nicely.

I will post pictures of the apartment just as soon as my cats die and I can remove the tinfoil from the couch. It's a hideous and effective way to keep them from mauling the furniture, and it means there's only about 8 years of this left. Until the next damn cat. The only room that is remotely decorated is the bathroom, because all it takes is a shower curtain and a bathmat. Everything else is done in 'abandoned unpacking effort chic'.

The kitchen still has a pervasive funk about it that we have decided is maybe the stench of bad paint - is that possible? That or our roaches need a bath. We've washed the cupboards down with bleach three frigging times already, and it won't go away. So I'm going to try repainting them, and worst case scenario is that our kitchen will then smell like funk and fresh paint. Yummy! Who's eating out?

We were thinking of going to the Heroes of Woodstock concert until we got some details - $70 tickets, $5 rented lawn chairs, no photography, kids arts and crafts, keep off the grass, oh yeah, and all the good acts are dead - so we're going camping that weekend instead. I'll make a Woodstock playlist and keep my ipod charged. Hopefully after 3 days of outside, no forced kindness to strangers and a lot of Janis Joplin, I'll feel more human and more like communicating with you all again.

Until then, I'm afraid the best I can do is:

Thank you. Have a nice day!

beep beep

Saturday I was lazy. I decided to drive to the metro and go to work from there. This was supposed to knock 40 minutes off my trip home, since I wouldn't have to wait for the bus. The best laid plans...

It rained almost all day Saturday. I was soaked right through by the time I got to work, and worked the whole 10 hours in wet shoes. It was the most fun ever. Until I got off the metro, and the fun really started.

I walked to my car and realized that the remote starter for my car had got wet and wasn't working. The beautiful thing about my car starter & alarm system is that you have to use the remote starter to open the car, or it sets off the batshit insane alarm for 10 minutes. Putting the key in the door doesn't shut it off, nor does putting the key in the ignition. You have to 'beep beep' the door unlock button, or you will not be moving the car. I know. Best system ever! I've encountered this before when the remote starter crapped out on me and it took 5 weeks to get a new one ordered because it's an old alarm system. At that time, the guy at Visions told me there was a magic 'kill switch' and I swear to god I tried that 15 times on Saturday night, and then, maybe got a bit aggressive and pissed off at standing in the rain with my car alarm blaring, and the kill switch cord got unplugged. I don't know how that happened. At that point, I said fuck it, caught the bus and went home.

Sunday, thinking it may have dried out, Gord tried the key fob starter thingy and it played its little jingle bell song that implies it's working. So I went out before work to try to beep the car open. All lies. The little jingle is a ruse. It didn't work, and I ended up just setting the alarm off for no reason other than to piss off the neighborhood. Bus home, change clothes, bus to metro to work, etc.

Today, I resolved to find a car fixing place that would uninstall that piece of shit alarm system that doesn't shut off and won't let me drive my car, and to make good use of my CAA membership. I found a place 3.4 KM from where the car was parked that would lobotomize my car. I called CAA for a tow. I explained the 'car not moving' issue, and asked for a tow. I took the bus to the car and waited for one hour. A roadside assistance truck with no towing capacity showed up and a very helpful man got out. I tried to explain the situation, but my french and his english were incompatible, and I couldn't seem to mime 'tow' with any success. That, or he decided I was a complete idiot and just hadn't thought to try using the key to open the door. He turned the key in the lock, and the alarm went off. More button pushing, more alarm. He took the battery out and shook it. When the stupid little jingle went off, he smiled triumphantly and tried the buttons again. Tried the key in the lock again, lather rinse repeat.

5 alarms later, he tells me I need a tow.

The fuck, you say. Gosh, if I'd a known that I'd have FUCKING CALLED FOR A TOW.

90 minutes and a short burst of rain later, tow truck shows up, car alarm will be lobotomized tomorrow and I feel perfectly justified in getting that Quarter Pounder meal on the way home. I knew living this close to a MacDonalds would be helpful. And now, if you'll excuse me, I think a very long hot bubble bath is in order.

Cockroach count = none today or yesterday, dead or alive. Silver roachy linings. And if they're just getting better at hiding, I'm fine with that.

The War on Bugs

The consensus seems to be that the roaches will win this war, which is disheartening. But thanks to PK, I can at least be grateful that these buggers don't fly, and aren't big enough to 'thud'.

Thanks Kel. The posters will help keep up morale in the trenches.

Besides the bug problem, the apartment is...well, who cares. It could be the fucking Plaza, and I'd still only think about the bugs. The tasty but expensive news is that I really don't feel like cooking, lest some stray crumb tempt more damn bugs into the house, so we eat out a lot and there's a fabulous Greek place just down the road.

It's my first day off in 9 days, so I slept in til noon, watched some tv in bed and caught up on all the entertainment news. Really uninspiring day, and I'm relishing it. For anyone thinking of working in the food service industry - just don't. Low pay, crap hours that get doubled on a moments notice, dealing with that most hideous of beasts 'the public' - now I know why Gordon Ramsay is so foul mouthed and short tempered. Thank god for the bookstore job and greek take out, or I would be the most miserable girl in town.

Honorable mentions in the fight to save my sanity go to:

The Fripe-Prix and it's $2 books. I discovered James Herriot last week, and spent many blissful hours on Yorkshire farms instead of in a roach infested Montreal apartment.

The Wire - we're always late catching good tv, but that's ok, because we can download entire seasons and there are no inconvenient week or month long breaks between episodes.

Glee - I can't wait for this show to start. It's the Dorito's of TV, cheesy delicious.

Fat, purry cats snoozing in the sunlight.

Fuck karma

Wondering where I've been the last 2 weeks? Our new place has roaches. I've been cleaning and killing, cleaning and killing, cleaning and killing, every day after work. The problem is I don't know where they're coming from. We really only see them in the kitchen, but every damn thing in there has been moved, cleaned, bleached, scrubbed, roach sprayed, bleached and cleaned again, Gord caulked all the cracks around the kitchen on the weekend, and there are still one or two of those damn things every night.

Because of the cats, we're using pet friendly roach spray and chinese chalk and I'm about to go to the hardware store for some powder to put in corners and under appliances. I am losing my mind. I can hardly stand to eat in the apartment, even though we've put all our food in tupperware containers. Normally, Gord and I are pretty bug tolerant. Spiders and beetles are scooped up and set gently on the grass outside, moths are left to flutter themselves to death against lightbulbs, and none of these tiny creatures bother me. But there's something repulsive about roaches, and we have become ruthless killers. There's a sick sort of triumph when I spray one and watch it die. But killing them individually isn't fast enough. I need a roach genocide, and I need it now.

Stay classy, Edmonton

Times like this, I'm so very relieved I no longer call Alberta home. Are the cops in your town a little blue these days? No problem. Gather ye porn stars while ye may, and have them flash their tits at the officers. It's bound to raise their....spirits.

Sheesh.

And what with July 1st being moving day for most of Montreal, we're going to be sans internet until Saturday. This way, we will have no distractions when we should be organizing the new place. I'll see you next week with pictures of the new apartment!

Anger, Canadian style

There's a kind of tradition in Canada where political protesters arm themselves like clowns and throw pies at the reining jackass mayor, premier or prime minister. And there's a tradition of police officers, politicians and courts getting all super fucking serious about it, and prosecuting these pie throwers to the fullest extent of some ridiculous sentiment that says a politician shouldn't have to suffer the pain and torment of momentary embarrassment.
Seriously? Remember the bullet proof glass surrounding Obama when he was inagurated? You think that was there for pies? A little bullet proof sneeze guard on the salad bar of political figures? Uh huh. And I love that the Alberta stance is that it doesn't matter how much it costs -

Robertson said Alberta Justice takes these types of cases seriously and the cost of prosecution, which is not calculated, is never a factor.

God knows it's not like they could take that pie prosecuting money and spend it hiring nursing staff for hospitals, or throw it at any of the other problems in that backwards province. Nope. Best that money goes to making sure Dave Bronconnier, Ed Stelmach, Ralph Klein and the devils other minions never again know the sweet fluffy kiss of a pie thrown in protest.

Ralph Klein, Inglorious Bastard.
No permanent damage done.

And as for claiming that there's nothing funny about it - YES. Yes, there bloody well is something funny. 1 - seeing Stephen Harper with gobs of Boston Cream Pie falling off his doucheface..why, I think that would be the BEST DAY EVER. And 2 - how delightful! When a Canadian gets really, really mad, steaming mad, I'm not going to take it anymore mad, it's the definition of funny that our weapon of choice is a pie. Shouldn't they know this? Don't all politicians go to clown college?

To dance again

Busy little bee lately, what with the packing and the cleaning that is too boring to talk about. I had a super fun time in the pit of despair this morning. Good old Wal-Mart and their post apocalyptic looking shelves. I've never been in a Wal-Mart that wasn't a complete mess, and it shouldn't surprise me that it took 3 trips around the store to find a fan. Had to do it, though. It was so hot last night that Gord and I took ice packs to bed. And I can't believe they're selling humidifiers in Montreal. Cause it's not humid enough here? By mid-afternoon, it's like breathing soup. Can't wait for that basement apartment. It's got to be cooler...

Other than that, nothing new. Jobs are good, they pay the bills. Haven't cut myself again, found a really good place for Vietnamese, a kind of meh place for Korean, and the Flames have a new head coach who might actually make them work out their power play issues. Read my first Robertson Davies, Tempest-Tost, quite enjoyed it, although the ending seemed a bit abrupt after just reading David Copperfield. I love that Dickens winds up the story by telling what happened with every single character, nice and tidy like. And no matter how bad things are in the middle, there's always a happy ending. It's not true to life, but trust me, I'm not looking for a dose of reality when I reach for a book. I just want to be entertained, and forget for a minute that I work a crappy job which requires a uniform and a name tag, or that it's a billion degrees outside and everyone stinks of armpit, or that Perez Hilton is a giant whining douche who should just take his lumps and shut the hell up.

Know what else helps you forget your troubles? Tap dancing Voldemort.



If you're impatient, skip to the three minute mark and enjoy.
You can watch the entire musical on youtube, it's long but oh so funny. I love this Draco Malfoy.

Addiction

I am an addict. That's how you start at one of these meetings, right? State your name and your shame? So I have an addiction. There are a lot of mornings I can barely drag myself out of bed when the alarm goes because I was feeding my addiction all night. When I'm red eyed and out of it at work, I mumble something about "not sleeping very well", but that's a lie. The only reason I'm not sleeping is because of this damn addiction.

So here goes. All those times I don't call you back, or even come to the phone when you call, all those excuses for not going out with friends, all those bloodshot mornings..it's because I'm reading. Half the time it's not even a new book, so I don't have old 'have to know what happens' as an excuse for blowing you off, or showing up late. I'm addicted and would rather be home with a book than pretty much anywhere.

Oh, I slay me. But I was thinking about this today, because one of my coworkers is a smoker, and god love him, I don't begrudge him a smoke break, but why the special consideration for that particular addiction, while my plight goes unnoticed? Do you know how much happier I'd be at work if I could take a 10 minute read break whenever I needed to chill? I might never come home bitching again. Ok, that's a stretch, but there'd be fewer 'quit fantasies', that's for damn skippy.

I am a computer genius.

What I mean is, I successfully unscrewed one screw, removed my old video card, slid a new one in the slot and replaced the screw. The computer did not blow up, although it did beep to let me know I hadn't pushed the new video card in far enough the first time. Tough job, but I was equal to the task, and I am ridiculously proud of myself. I look at computers and cars as though they are likely to blow up in my face if I do anything out of the ordinary, so this was a big step for me. And I attempted it only because my brother still lives 3,000 miles away instead of down the street where he belongs.

And I got a 2nd job today, didn't even apply for this one, at the university bookstore. It's 10 - 3, Monday to Thursday, and I'll be able to walk to work once we move. The only way life could get better is if those 25 hours a week were enough to pay the bills and save some for school. As it is, I'll most likely be working weekends at the finger cutting job, but it will pay off if we can fly home for Christmas. And if the stars align, maybe I can pick up an old film Hasselblad cheap...people are practically giving them away in favour of digital madness. Suck it Blogger, I'm spelling 'favour' the Canadian way.

Auspicious beginning

First shift at actual place of work today - the last three weeks, I've been in 'super incompetence training'.

First task = Fail. Cut my finger, bled on sandwich. Just a little, but blood is not an acceptable condiment. Sterilize, and try again.

Mission details = I understood about 30% of what people said to me in french, which is also a fail, even in Delburne.

First level completed with help of super nice coworker.

Tomorrow's mission, should I choose to accept it, is to sleep in and enjoy my day off with Margaret Laurence, The Fire-Dwellers and an iced capp. Top off with So You Think You Can Dance, and it's back into the fray on Thursday with a new sense of where the edge of the blade is, and how not to touch it. As for language, I have decided that this is the Summer of Mime. I'm stuck in a box. And would you like a drink with that? How's your sandwich? Oh, it's windy here.

G'night, and dog bless.

This is not a mime.