moose jaw is in the middle

I'm going on a road trip. I haven't decided when, but I have decided where. Mapquests suggested route tells me it will take 6 hours and 35 minutes to get there. That's 426 miles. Well since I'm Canadian, that's actually 686.39 kilometers. And also because I'm Canadian, I'll be making regular stops at Tim Hortons along the way. Then obviously, a bunch of bathroom stops. That will add another hour on to my drive. But I probably do drive faster than mapquest suggests, so let's just take that hour back. So six and a half hours for me to get to Moose Jaw. Seven hours for him to get to Moose Jaw. That's pretty even. And from what I just discovered this past week, well worth the drive even if it is to just turn around and come home almost right away. What's in Moose Jaw you ask?

This! Obviously!

....... aaand lets not forget Mac the Moose

I'm leaving you with that because I have to go deal with this text I just got from Sydnerella:

"Mom, okaay so, the schools gunna be calling after school to confirm a doctors app. Pleease tell then i have one, this will be the last dt i skipp, i promise"

oh. shit.

Playing with Rachel and Mr Daddy today ... I have an older story I forgot to add the past few Tuesdays, but this story came up last night at soccer (don't ask) that reminded me to link up today ... So here it is ...



When I study for exams at home, I tend to just hold my binder and pen on my lap while sitting on the couch watching TV. With my midterm being tomorrow, I'm at the office late today so I can get some hard core studying done. At my desk. Without distractions. That's part A of today's story. Part B takes a little longer to explain and has to do with my routine for pooping at work. For the full story, click HERE. If you don't have time, I'll put it simple. I am anal when it comes to doing the deed. Pun absolutely intended. I am superwoman and am able to hold it until I can manage my way to a comfortable time and place. Often, this time is about 5pm before I leave the office for class or when I am staying late. Like today. I waited until 5pm as usual to head into the washroom because of the 60 people that work on this floor, a majority are women and up until 5pm, there are sometimes line ups to get into one of the four stalls. If someone is in there, I'll leave, walk around the floor, then head back in. Serious. Today, the floor was exceptionally quiet, so when I walked passed the counter and grabbed the air freshener on my way to the end stall, I figured I'd be comfortably alone while I played Klondike on my blackberry and performed my duties. And if not, it doesn't matter anymore. I am still comfortable with my routine. Poop. Flush. Spray. After today however, I will be reconsidering that order of events. Another part of importance to my story is that I spray under the door as opposed to upwards because the freshener just settles back into my stall, all over my legs and blackberry, which I do not enjoy. Also, I am a considerate pooper and want the entire washroom to stink pretty. My sequence of events failed me today as I sprayed. A second after I flushed. Right at the loudest moment of the flushing water. Compromising my ability to hear someone enter the washroom .... everything happened so fast. What I distinctly remember is seeing the legs of the person walk right through my misting stream of air freshener. And what they would have seen was a hand sticking out from under the stall holding and spraying a can of air freshener. There was a pause and a misstep, then some breathing very distinctly with a plugged nose. She peed, wiped, and washed faster than any other woman I've known as I sat in the stall mortified, laughing in my head, hurrying to my blackberry messenger to tell Silly Sally the story. When the bathroom was empty, I let 'er rip ... Laughing. Not the other. And I stayed in the washroom a lot longer than I normally do and exited through the opposite door that poor soul had used. At least she will smell nice during her commute home I suppose. And now, I have to add another 30 minutes on to my studying since I asbolutely had to take a break to tell this story.

T.G.I (love Edward Cullen).F.

I was listening to the radio today when a Tom Cochrane song came on. I don't care who you are, you tap your feet and crave a cold beer when Tom Cochrane comes on. Life is a Highway?? Then, I thought of Jim Brown, my blog crush from Red Shoes Chronicles. So I e-mailed him yesterday to say Hello. In telling him that I was up to so little lately that I couldn't even type up a crappy blog, I figured that there must be something I can pull out of all this nothing. And there is. Which is a really good thing since I'm sure I'm pretty close to losing my followers. Especially my newer followers who I tricked. I reeled them in with some post or another they thought was worth reading, then I vanished. I'm magic like that.

So I got my crotch hair ripped out two nights ago. This has become a fairly regular event. I don't know if it has to do with needing at least someone down there paying such close attention or what, but I honestly can't figure out why I am still paying so much money for this brutality to be inflicted on my lady-bits when I'm not even showing it off. I mean ... I want to show it off, I just can't really think of anyone that wants to reap the rewards of my hairless cooch off the top of my head (contrary to what my previous blog post said, I'm not like a real whore, just kinda act like one sometimes ....)

Next on my agenda, I fucking hate being sick. Shakes, fever, snot, the shits, all of it. As much as I love my couch, my real happy place in life, there's not much worse than being that goddam sick for that goddam long - even considering my crotch waxing. I would have gladly traded my couch for my office. It ruined my chubby busting, pushed me even further behind in procrastinating all the stuff I need to do around the house (like take my Christmas boxes down to the basement), and made me miss a night of roller skating and drinking with my friends (not at the same time). I did, however, get through the rest of the Twilight Saga, which was literally the best friggin thing I've done in a really long time and made me happier than my fat-ass cat drinking tuna juice soaked ham. Don't feel sorry for me, I LOVED IT. I'd wear this all the time if it fit a little better (fucking failed chubby busting) >>>>

(please excuse the spots on the mirror ... I've even procrastinated calling my cleaners)

But judging by the way my Pirates of the Caribbean shirt was received a few years ago in the office on a day that wasn't casual Friday, it's probably not appropriate for a 31 year old woman wearing a teeny t-shirt with a teenage heart throb vampire on it. And my kid would literally gouge my eyes out in my sleep if I wore it out in public around her (mental note: Wear teeny-tiny Edward shirt in public with daughter next time she's being an asshole ... then lock my bedroom door)

Speaking of assholes ... my baby-daddy hasn't drunk dialed me in a long time. And only due to the lack of action in my life right now, I'm a little offended.

Over and out!



even when I win, authority always wins

Is this thing on? Is anyone still out there? Let’s test this bitch out …. I was ecstatic last night to get an e-mail notification on my blackberry that I had been given an award from a reader to my blog. I was initially shocked that I hadn’t lost most of my followers since the diagnosis of my writers constipation. And then, even more shocked that I was given this award by someone whose blog I’ve never read. Someone likes me and not cuz they’re obligated! Thank you so much Rachel of Life and Me, I’ll be spending the next few lunches getting myself acquainted with you, I love discovering new blogs and people. But I must warn you, I am still in couch mode, and since my company released this:

I haven't spent much time blogger. And since my daughters laptop is the only computer at home, I’m also worried about getting on from there, because that’s the last thing I need - My 13 year old daughter who just pinky swore to me that I wouldn’t become a gramma before I turn 45 to find my blog and learn that her momma has the tendency to be a slutty drunkard. Thank you again Rachel for the warm fuzzies. And now for the award.

I can't pass it out to 15 newly discovered blogs though because I haven't discovered any. Most of them are from Aunt Crazy's blogroll, so I am giving her the award for doing all the work for me. It's a 3rd Party Award. I'm in joint venture accounting so I found that thought amusing. I do feel obligated to do some work for it though, so I took some laxatives and unleashed the fury. I have just spewed the longest story I have in a long time and here it is. My first real and full blog post of 2011. Maybe more suited for bathroom reading material. I won’t be offended.

(To follow the Award rules of listing 7 things about me, I'll highlight them throughout my story)

When John Cougar says that he fights authority, but authority always wins, I completely understand what he’s talking about.

I have a lot of fight in me. Actually, I wouldn’t call it “fight” so much an unreasonable desire to have things my way. And as recently realized, at very high costs. I don’t follow the rules too often. In some cases, I fly under the radar and get my way. In other cases, I lose. Miserably. The city parking company has officially defeated me. Every time I ripped a parking ticket off my car and threw it away, I was inching closer to my loss. And on January 5 when I went to renew my car registration and was forced completely against my will (much like rape) to pay $532 for my 2011 sticker, I knew the end was near.

I work down town, along with around 150,000 people also trying to strike it rich in oil and gas. Obviously, it’s not ALL oil and gas companies down here, but it’s close. And really, everyone should get into oil and gas. It pays well. I started working down here in 1999. Being 7 miles from home and a transit rider since age 13, I did what was most logical and convenient … I took the train in. Actually, convenient is really the wrong word all together. I had a two block walk to the bus stop, where I fought with a stroller filled with a sleeping toddler to get up the steps of the bus. After that 10 minute bus ride, I boarded a second bus, for another five minutes, which took me outside the daycare centre where I’d leave my daughter to be raised by women who didn’t speak English. Which explains her Punjabi accent even though I am as white as snow. THEN, then, I’d get on the train. And for 25 minutes, I was alone with my thoughts, with a chance for extra sleep, but most commonly … books. Eventually, when I scraped enough money together to buy a car, I got to skip the two bus rides and instead left my car at the train station by the daycare. So really, a ridiculous pain in the ass. I had a lot more strength and motivation than I do now. Built character I guess. But even then, I wasn’t playing by the rules. I didn’t pay for the train rides like everyone else, and after about 18 months, I was caught by the transit cops and made to pay a $250 fine. But over the course of those 18 months, I would have paid close to $1300 in transit passes, so really, I saved about $1100. Win. In 2004, I left my first job where I was getting pimped out to the oil and gas industry and making so little money that it hurts to think about. I ended up in a small friendly public company that was 9 months away from selling and making it’s employees rich. Well, I didn’t get rich, but from where I started out, it sure felt like it. Good-bye bologna, hello chicken breasts. And after one year in the real world, my company offered me a parking space. In the parkade. Attached to the building our offices were. For free. That was class. And absolutely preferred to what I was faced with daily. in rush hour. to my end of the city.

Unfortunately, in 2006 when my second company was taken over with much hostility by the company I'm currently with, they robbed me of my parking spot. With 150 employees compared to the 60 that we once had, they decided a transportation allowance was better for them than allowing us to keep our parking spots. Which made no sense since monthly transit was about $20 more than the allowance, and monthly parking was about $400 more. Yeah, good trade, fuckers. But the parking-seed was already planted, and I decided that I was never getting on another train again in my life. I spent the next few years paying for public parking out of my pocket. Or when I was feeling rebellious, I simply didn’t pay. Even when my car was finally towed and I had to pay a hefty fine to get it out of the towing yard, even when karma beat the piss outta me and my car was stolen from that same lot, I continued to tell the parking company to kiss my royal ass and only paid when I felt like paying. It wasn’t until I paid attention to a credit card bill one month that my parking addiction was just about leading to bankruptcy and probably rehab. I sucked it up, and in 2008, I bought some damn bus tickets. The problem since then has been finding a spot to park my car that gives me good access to the express buses so that I’m not standing on a crowded bus for too long that stops every damn block. My solution for almost a year was a grocery store parking lot. That seemed to be the solution for a few other rebel transit users and eventually, the grocery store hired a security guard that stopped us from using their lot. Fuckers. I even resorted to leaving my car at Sydnerellas dads house when he still lived in the city because he lived a block from that transit-hating grocery store. But he eventually moved out of town, abandoning his daughter and costing me a parking spot. Fucker. I was on a search for a street or lot nearby that didn’t require a permit. One day, I found it. The street with the free parking. I was complete. Nine others shared my happiness, if we got there early enough. Our happiness was cut short last month when business owners, or residents, or whoever the hell it was that ratted us out complained to the city. And eventually put up shiny new signs that read PERMIT PARKING ONLY, that I didn’t seem to notice for three fucking days, earning me THREE new parking tickets that I got in the mail after I paid the $532 worth of last years fines. And Monday morning, with the damn blizzard that rolled in, not knowing if I’d be able to find free parking on a street that might not have been plowed anyway, and with not enough fight left in me, I did what I said five years ago I would never do again. I grabbed a book and hopped on the train. They won. Those sneaky, ruthless parking dicks won. But I must admit (since I don’t want to be miserable forever) that it isn’t so bad. I go in an hour earlier, and leave an hour earlier so I'm just beating rush hour. Take that. As a matter of fact, I felt rested when I got home. I hadn’t been sitting in traffic berating every stupid ass on the road who doesn’t know how to drive for 30 minutes. I simply walked less than two blocks from my fabulous downtown office, waited less than a minute for a train that I actually got a seat on, and got down to business (started reading New Moon since I got through all of Twilight on the weekend). All of a sudden I was at the station where my car was parked. Close and free and legal. Then drove the six blocks home. This is my new routine; I can embrace it or hate it. For now, I am choosing to embrace it. I missed having time to read anyway, and my New Years resolution really was to stop calling all drivers bitches and whores, so this will help. And I do feel relaxed. This was really a win for me, even if it was for them too.

(a few blocks from my house .. nothing I really care to be driving long distances in anyway)