When the cat's away

I work in an office with a bunch of VERY hard working creative people. We have all had extremely stressful weeks, what with crazy clients, unrealistic deadlines and impossible dreams.

Today...for whatever reason...we were a bit slow. And our two biggest practical jokers were out of the office...

Here is what happened...Needless to say...I am never going on vacation...

Happy anniversary to me

A year ago (almost) I started this blog with the intention of writing more, expressing myself, doing something creative and bringing light to the world.

pause for the chorous of angels.

As of late, I have been EXTREMELY lax in my blogging. I could come up with a variety of exciting excuses...but alas, it just comes down to being VERY VERY LAZY!

yes, its sad.

But NO MORE!

I will be better now that the year has started and I am newly motivated!

I will blog about the adventures I have on BC Transit like this morning when I was hit on by a REALLY cute 21 year old med student on the bus on the way to work. Did I mention he was REALLY cute? However, I became SO distracted by the fact that I "still have it" (YAY ME) that I missed my stop and had to walk an extra 10 blocks to work in the rain.

pause as my husband falls over in hysterical laughter at what a dork his wife is.

I will blog about my love for my job. Seriously. I LOVE MY JOB!

I will blog about new exciting shows like the RETURN OF AMERICAN GLADIATORS which has me embarrassingly excited.

I will NOT blog about the fact that I am doing a cleanse again. And that I am REALLY craving cheese and I am only on day three.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

I WILL blog about the fact that I am in a show! YAY ME! I am doing the Vagina Monologues at the Red Robinson Show Theatre in Coquitlam on March 1! SNAP!

I will blog about the rehearsal process of the aforementioned show including my experience with the "make your own vagina" craft project that I will be participating in this coming Sunday.

no, I did not make that up.

And SO MUCH MORE!

The spirit has moved me...and has me moving FAST baby!

A whole new world

I am the goddess of transit.

I can now tell you in no uncertain terms the 7 different reliable ways that will get you from the Edmonds area in Burnaby 4th and Burrard. I can tell you which routes have the best bus drivers (the 84 UBC all the way) and what routes will have the most angry people (the 7 Powell at 5:00 pm is alarming).

I can also tell you what classes where all the med students live (Robson and Burrard), where the rude people live (near Granville Island) and the music choices of the transit travelller on which route (the 44 UBC appeals to the Christian Rock listener while the 84 UBC has a fair amount of emo).

Its a whole new adventure for me! A world of new people to watch!

HOORAY!

Miss Manner's Guide to Tranist Chapter 3

A letter to the beer drinking troglodyte on the 5:35 pm skytrain on September 26, 2007. (The teenage girls got away with being obnoxious this time because this guy was SIMPLY UNBELIEVABLE! But be warned girls-I am on this train for 3 more weeks and I will be watching you)
Dear sir,

I appreciate that the New Westminster Skytrain station is connected to a bar called Scruffy McGuire's (no, I am not making this up. I wish I was). I appreciate that sometimes after a hard day of...well...whatever it is you do, you sometimes need a beer to wash the cares away. I will be honest with you sir. As of late, as the end of my hated job approaches and my employers mutate further into assholeness, I have been known to have a snort of rum with my diet coke. I am not above that in the slightest. Sometimes it just needs to be done.

I do, however, understand that there are certain things that are not done in public due to COMMON DECENCY. Like belching SO LOUDLY that your fellow commuters think there is an earthquake or the construction site next door is collapsing.

Note: At this point my husband is yelling and pointing at the computer because I once inadvertently burped loudly when we were in a store and blamed him. It only happened once though. And it was in Gibson's Landing, home of the Beachcombers so how bad could it be. And it wasn't THAT loud. But I digress.

Now sir, if you ARE going to belch that loudly, you must do two things:

1. Say excuse me FOR GOD'S SAKE! Were you born in a BARN?
2. When a blonde girl wearing a FIERCE white leather jacket with great new hair (I got a new haircut that I LOVE LOVE LOVE! Victor-you are a genius) looks your way inquisitively, DON'T yell at her and say "What the fuck are YOU looking at bitch". You KNOW what she is looking at. SHE IS LOOKING AT YOUR UGLY BELCHING FACE!!!!

Sorry about that...that was a bit violent.

Now sir, one belch could be almost forgivable. Even if it was the loudest thing ever. In the history of belching. And believe me, I have heard some loud ones. I play football. I know of what I speak.

However, if you follow that belch up with one that is EVEN LOUDER and LONGER than EVER THOUGHT POSSIBLE, you MUST expect a reaction from your fellow commuters.

Like the little old lady that shrieked and ran toward me. In a panic. I don't know what she thought I was going to do to protect her from the angry gas man, but I was ready.

And if you RESPOND to that reaction by CHASING HER and belching AGAIN, you must expect people to respond negatively. Like moving away from you rapidly and contacting the skytrain police. (Who of course never got there because they were rousting tourists who didn't pay enough train fare. Because cheap tourists are a scourge...as opposed to angry gassy psychopaths. Come on people...get your priorities straight.)

AND THEN when the train arrives, and you BELCH on to your train car of choice, do not be surprised when your fellow commuters flee out of the train.

AND FINALLY...please do not be encouraged by the reaction you got from the one, fellow beer drinking commuter on your train. Which was...of course...

"Dude! That was AWESOME!"

Sigh...

Signed,

Blonde in fierce white leather jacket on behalf of...well...the world

There is a part of me that is going to miss these daily interactions with my fellow commuters as I will be working near Granville Island as opposed to near the dead pigeon on the corner (I am not making this up-a pigeon expired as I was walking by it a few weeks ago. It fell over and blood oozed out of its head. I cannot get out of here fast enough).

The part of me that will miss these interactions is very small however. Very very small.

RIP pigeon-we hardly knew you.

Emotion of the day-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

I have been reticent to complain about my job on this blog, but at this moment, I can think of nothing else than how frustrated I am every day when I come to work.

I love my job. I am good at it. I know I am doing great things for a group of people who really need it. I have successfully secured hundreds of thousands of dollars of funding this year and increased our profile tenfold.

But my board president fills me with a pure unadulterated rage like I have never felt before.

I hate her.

Hate.

Hate like flaming hot knives through the base of my scull...hate.

She is forcing me out of my job due to her evilness. She is a giant useless tit.

Seriously...

I give you an eerily accurate representation of the boss from hell...

I work for Mimi.

She smells like Llama poop because she owns a ranch, she NEVER says please or thank you and she just informed my co-worker that I needed to start booking travel because...really...what else was I paid to do.

She treats me like I am her indentured servant and a complete moron. She is totally condescending and from what I can tell...stupid.

gnnnnnr.

I am OFFICIALLY on a job hunt.

Then...I am on a Mimi hunt....mwa ha ha ha ha.

Clothing optional

Yesterday when I was heading to my car, I noticed that someone had placed their socks lovingly in front of my passenger door.

I always get concerned about abandoned clothing, particularly abandoned shoes. It offends my sensibilities. Who would DO that to poor innocent clothing-especially shoes? I know many shoes that I see flung cruelly over electrical wires are from evil bullies who rip them from the feet of poor little geeks. Bullies like Tricia Johnson who threatened to beat me up in grade 8. Tricia was a foot shorter than me. Needless to say, it didn't go well for her. But I digress.

I just don't get the abandoned clothing thing. I am suspicious that these socks were a token of affection from the toothless man who was lurking near my car telling me I was looking "FIIIINE". Or at least I think thats what he said. He had no teeth. And I think he had just drunk his weight in JD judging by the empty bottles in the area. His buddy also said something to me, but I didn't catch it as he was too busy talking on his cell phone.

Yah, I was confused by that one too.

But if they WEREN'T a token of affection, how did they get there. Do people just randomly stroll down the street then say to themselves, "You know, I would be much happier if I wasn't wearing socks (or pants, or a shirt). I think I will take them off right now and put them in front of this lovely little yellow Protege 5 with fuzzy dice in the window. Ah yes, I feel so much better."

I can't think of a situation in which I have EVER felt the need to abandon my clothing. I will admit, I took my nylons off at work the other day and threw them out because they had a run in them, but THAT is a different story. Clothing abandonment is just downright irresponsible. And a bit weird.

So socks remain a mystery.

A mystery never to be solved I am assuming, until the next piece of errant clothing makes its way to my vehicle.

Ah New Westminster...how I love you...

Smell travels East to West

For the next three days I am doing a wee acting gig thanks to Cultural Cruise (thanks babycakes). This gig causes me to take the skytrain a different route than I am used to. Instead of traveling from the picturesque City of Burnaby to the now violence ridden armpit of New Westminster, I am traveling from the perfumed Township of Burnaby to the apparently WET CROTCH SOCK SMELL ridden downtown Vancouver. Evidently people in the Lower Mainland begin to smell as they head towards the big city.

Instead of sitting reasonably solo at the back of the train for a quick 3 minute jaunt, I am spending 30 minutes with my closest (and I do mean close. In some countries, I would be married 8 times over for the amount of familiarity fellow commuters now have with my nether regions thanks to roaming hands and...well...umbrellas. But really...lets not go there) friends and ALL of them. I repeat ALL of them smell like REALLY BAD B.O.

Every time I get on the train, I do the Secret check. No, not THE SECRET check (and seriously, if you KNOW "the Secret", you also know...well, its not really a secret. Our mothers have been telling us this for years! Its so silly, I can't even say it.) You've all seen it on the Secret commercials. Women everywhere "nonchalantly" checking their pits for the slightest soupcon of odour. I am embarrassed to say I have become one of those women.

I am fastidious when it comes to body odour (over sharing, I know, but live with it). I shower BEFORE I go work out, play football, go run, just in case I may incur extra smell. I KNOW its not me that smells, but I check every time.

I don't get this. WHY does it smell so much? I know what you are saying "Sasskitty you BOOB, its because there are so many people on the train".

No...this is not so, for on my RETURN trip with JUST AS MANY of my close groping neighbours, there is no smell.

No B.O. No crotch waft. No feet sweat. Just the sweet smell of...well...nothing.

Can you explain this phenomenon to me oh faithful reader? Why is this? You would think people would smell worse as they reach the end of the day, not better.

I have no solution. I have no pithy words of wisdom. I am merely putting the question out to the universe in the hopes that the stinkys will...well...WASH!

In the meantime, I think I am going to invest in some nose plugs. And a jock.

Random thoughts from Skytrain commute

• If I say "No thank you" to your free copy of 24 Hours or Metro it is NOT a personal slag. Please don't give me the look of death or glare at me.
• Deodorant...its a good thing
• No matter how cool you THINK you are, once you wear a fanny pack, all that coolness goes right out the window
• Volume knob-use it
• Stop staring at my boobs. Yes, they are real and they are spectacular. They are also spoken for. And you smell.
• I can see you picking your nose. We all can. It ain't pretty.
  

I AM A PARIAH!

I have caught "the cold". You know the one. Its been profiled on CBC, people are wearing facemasks, and Tylenol cold is rushing off the shelves.

Gnnnnnr.

My fiance's cousin is the epicentre of this bastard. He gave it to the affianced, who kindly passed it on to me.

We have become the worlds most pathetic couple. I sound like Harvey Fierstein, and he is making sounds like a birthing cow.

Yuck.

I'm not complaining. Really, I'm not. Getting colds is part of life, and I actually feel okay-I just sound like a 55 year old gay Jewish New Yorker. And I just coughed up something that looked like Eggs Benedict. ew.

I am complaining about other people's reaction to my cold.

I am not asking for your sympathy. I am not asking for your kleenex. I am not really asking for much.

I do not, however, want to hear "ew! Get away! EW! Don't give it to me! Are you contagious? EW!"

This makes me want to lick the person. Spit on their phone. Sneeze on their keyboard. Its all I can do to not wait until they leave the room and then run in and breathe on their lunch. I know that's a petty reaction for me to have but COME ON now...how is that supposed to make me feel? I wash my hands, I try not to stand too close! Jerkheads...

My ex boss at the PR firm which shall not be named used to spray antibacterial lotion at people whenever they got sick. That only made the sick person wet and eventually caused him to have no antibodies to speak of, so he would get sick. He was the person most infected by colds in our office, probably because he bathed in antibacterial stuff...yuck.

I must go now...i think i just coughed up a lung.

ew again...

Miss Manner's guide to tranist Chapter 2

A further letter to the girls on the skytrain,


Dear dancing fools,

I understand that you are young and exuberant. Good on you. Get it out of your system now, because trust me, when you creep into your thirties, you will decide that morning calisthenics are a colossal waste of time that can be better spent mainlining coffee. Or sleeping.

While I appreciate your exuberance, I DO NOT under any circumstances appreciate your dance routines with accompanying singing performed in the middle of the skytrain at 8:15 am.

Especially when it is line dancing.

I was quite confused by your choice of dancing. And singing. If you can call it singing. None of you are Beyonce, let me tell you. Your singing was alarming-even for country music. No matter how loud I turned up my "ican'tbelieveitssosmall" player and the kick ass tones of Serena Ryder, I could STILL hear you all screeching Kenny Chesney. I think it was Kenny Chesney. At least, that's what you all kept yelling.

You just don't LOOK like country music fans. From the 2 foot high mohawk to the endless belly button exposure, none of you were overly "country". Or wholesome. Or clean. But I digress.

My point, through all this rambling, is that your fellow commuters, and there were many of us and we ALL looked unhappy about the scene you were creating, don't need or want to see or hear you. You suck at dancing, you suck at singing, and you all have the fashion sense of...well...I don't know. I was just too freaking tired to come up with an appropriate metaphor for your fashion sense because it was EIGHT FIFTEEN AM! Not early by most standards, but early by mine. Lets just say it sucked too and be done with it.

I understand that you are teenagers and come with a predisposed "dude, I SO don't care what you think about me...well really I do, but I don't want YOU to know that" attitude and you feel that that attitude gives you the right to inflict your horrid performance on the rest of us. Twerps.

I place a curse on you, you acne ladened little beasties. One day, one fateful day, you too will be old like me and you will be on some form of rapid transit and an offensive little trog of a teenager will do something loud, heinous and obnoxious infront of you and suddenly, you will be overwhelmed with embarrassment because you will realize that you were once one of them. One of those odious, obnoxious, LOUD scourges of humanity. That embarrassment will haunt you the rest of your days, causing you endless grief and torment.

mwa ha ha ha ha...

Signed,
The angry blonde in the back seat, on behalf of the 8:15 Edmonds to New West skytrain.

perhaps I should drink more coffee in the mornings. maybe that would prevent outbursts like these...

Miss Manner's guide to tranist

A letter to the girls on transit with me this morning...


Dear nubile nitwits,

I understand that you are only 19 years old and have not yet evolved to the point where you realize that you are not the only people that matter on the planet, but your fellow commuters have something to say.

We do not care about your Saturday night.

We do not care about the conversations that you had with Biff, Charla, Stevie and Rezzo at the Plaza.

We do not care that you were "Like so pissed off".

We do, however, want you to learn proper English grammar, because it is evident through the myriad of "likes, beeayches, yaaaaaaaaaaaahs and dudes" that you couldn't put together a coherent sentence if you were forced to at gunpoint. It concerns all of us that both of you are heading to Douglas College (we know this because of the Douglas college emblem on the ass of your sweatpants) to pursue higher education when you sound like Moon Unit Zappa. "Like" is not a word that can be used as a verb, adverb, noun, adjective and expletive depending on your mood.

We do not need to over hear THIS at 188 decibels (which for your edification, is the same decibel level as the launch of a Space Shuttle), which was the level at which you were speaking,

"Oh...my...god! And then, like, yah, he was like "I like you" and I was like "dude! I totally don't like you like that. You're like...well...like....yah. Like come on. Don't get like in my face!" And then he was like "Beeyach" and I was like "whatever" and he was like"you!" and I was so like angry and like sad that I was totally like "wah" and like crying, like you know?"

We, your fellow commuters, appreciate that you have not seen each other in a whole 2 days and have not MSN'd in over an hour. ROTFLMAO. We know that you miss each other and just MUCH catch up because SO MUCH has happened!!! We do wish to remind you that the skytrain is quite small and if you yell at each other like you are on opposite shores we all will hear your inanely annoying conversation. Through our headphones. Our headphones that have really loud music playing through them. Really loud music that doesn't seem to block out your voices because of the extremely high pitch. Like a dog whistle. Or nails on a chalkboard.

So, dear sweet ladies, we have one thing to say to you. And we mean this from the bottom of our hearts.

Shut the f*&k up!!!!

Thank you,

The commuters on the 8:05 am skytrain from Edmonds to New Westminster Station.

Emotion of the day-EWWWWWWWWWWWW

Picture this.

February 14, 2007.

New Westminster.

A tall fluffy blonde girl running up the street to plug her parking meter.

Its raining, but she usually doesn't mind the rain, but she is wearing red fuzzy heart antlers on her head as it is valentines day and she doesn't want them to wilt.

So, she runs.

She is not wearing appropriate shoes for running uphill. This fact alone is not surprising. She is wearing her fantastic new boots from Hush Puppy that she just LOVES thank you very much, but they are certainly not appropriate for running up hill.

But she runs anyhow.

As she approaches the car, she slips and almost takes a header down the hill on her tuckus. She looks down to see what she has slipped on and discovers...

A discarded used condom.

Next to another discarded used condom.

And an unused condom.

In the middle of the sidewalk.

On Begbie St in New Westminster.

Completely in the middle of the sidewalk at 11:00 am on a Wednesday. AND THEY WEREN'T THERE AT 9:00 am EITHER BECAUSE I WOULD HAVE SLIPPED ON THEM THEN!

So they were fresh.

EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!

If I didn't love these boots so much, I would SO burn them!

I used to say that New Westminster is the armpit of British Columbia. I may be wrong with that judgement however. Apparently it may be another body part.

Working girl blues-Oh that wacky skytrain

Let me start off by saying I love the skytrain. It's speedy (when there isn't snow or wind), it usually doesn't smell (unless someone barfs), and it gets me where I need to go. I also do my commute in the opposite direction of rush hour traffic, so I always get a seat! What's not to love?
I enjoy my moments of relaxation as I plug into my portable music player of choice (sorry, they get enough press on their own. I view it as one small poke in the eye of corporate America), open up my book, escaping to the world of whichever book I am reading (which right now is Stark by Ben Elton) and pretend that I am NOT heading off to work.

Sadly, my little imaginary world is destroyed as soon as I get to my destination stop-the New Westminster Skytrain station.

The New Westminster Skytrain station is a very unique station amongst the myriad of them in the Lower Mainland. All walks of life lurk its oderous halls, most of them drunk, for you see the New Westminster Skytrain station is attached to a bar. Seriously. When you walk off the train and down the escalator, to your left is a bar. Scruffy McGuires. I am not making this up.

On an average day when I walk the gauntlet off the train through the station I can count on the following things to occur:

1. I will receive at least 3 indecent proposals from men who are drunk with no teeth, one eyebrow, questionable hygiene skills and, on one occasion, carrying a long stick with a hook on it...A HOOK!
2. I will witness at least one drug deal
3. Someone will be talking about porn loud enough for most of BC to hear
4. At least one woman dressed in skin tight leather, lace or satin will look disdainfully at me and snort.

Today, in order to mix things up, the indecent proposal included an offer of drugs. At least they are getting more creative.

In an odd way, however, I have grown fond of the New Westminster skytrain station. I get my morning ego boost, I see interesting people, and I get to hear about all the newest porn titles out there. WOO HOO!

Again I say...what's not to love?