Monday through Friday is starting to become a bit more routine. But, while things change daily as to the work load, etc. one thing I can bet on is the daily phone call of one of my cube farm mates that's made loudly enough to be heard, every work day she's there, between 3:55-4:15 pm. It goes something like this:
'Hi Honey, how are you? How was track and field today? Well you tried your best! How's Zachary? How are you feeling? How are your allergies? Okay, well daddy's gonna be picking you up around 6:30, okay? Okay, I love you. Bye bye'
EVERY DAY. I can barely keep my cool on the other side of the fabric wall.
Showing posts with label raging. Show all posts
Showing posts with label raging. Show all posts
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Friday, June 4, 2010
Going to the bathroom is an adventure
Yes, I know, a bit of a 'is this gonna be TMI of a blog post' title but meh, you'll get over it.
I've been daily amazed at the culture shock I'm experiencing as a public servant. One of the thing that surprisingly affects me daily are my trips to the washroom.
Like any public washroom, there's nothing special about these ones. Save for the handy hanging file holder where you can put your folders and notebooks if you're making a pit stop on the way to a meeting so they don't have to go on the wet counter.
What my trips leave me jarred with most days are actually the automatic flushing toilets. Yes, the toilets. I admit to being a hoverer. I don't sit on any toilet seats anywhere, save for my own and my brother's (yes, you do clean your toilet before I come for a reason SIL...and I thank you). Well, that's not to say that if I'm travelling in a hotel I don't but I won't if I visit your house, go to a public restroom, etc. It's not a germaphobe kinda thing, it's a 'hey, I can build leg muscles if I am forced to hold them in a semi-squat for a period of time'. Yes, I started doing it several years ago to build leg muscles. Hey, every bit counts! And my rowing is all the better for it.
But I digress. What this means though is that with these new automatic flushing toilets that I just finish going and within a few inches of starting to pull up my pants, the toilet is hyper-flushing. I say hyper-flushing because those puppies have a LOT of sucking...no need for 'courtesy flushing' here! Back to my earlier confession of suffering from ligyrophobia, needless to say, peeing at work is not a good experience for me. Which sucks, to put it simply, because I do some of my best thinking while taking a sanity break from work and end up back at my desk inspired and full of promise. It's that break my brain needs and now, it's getting the equivalent of a shock.
And do you know how I know it's affecting me that much?
I leave the bathroom with my fly down ALL. THE. TIME.
Yeah, that's right, it's like my brain freaks out and wants the hell out of that small space with that loud hyper-flushing toilet and I go so quickly I forget to do up the fly on my pants. I typically do this 1-2 times A WEEK! I don't remember the last time I forgot to zip up EVER, never mind doing it 1-2 times a WEEK!
Beyond that, wearing my geek pass on a clip on my pants has also lead to a bizarre event. While frantically pulling up my pants the other day, the clip came loose and it, pass attached bounced off the toilet seat (that I had just hovered over) and miraculously fell to the floor. I had a few deep breaths to regain my composure at 1) the loud noise and 2) the fact that I almost had to go fishing where I had just pissed. Pleasant thought, I know.
But to top all of this off, what I can't get over is the laziness/germaphobia of my colleagues. To enter the bathroom, we must go through two doors. These, like most public washrooms, have those physically impaired (see, I'm already PC-ified after being a public servant for 5 weeks) buttons so the doors open for you if you just patiently wait a second or two. I'll admit, I've used these before when both of my arms aren't free or I need someone to hold a door for me as I travel with a dolly. But I'll be DAMNED if a gov't slave has to open one of those doors for themselves and touch one of those icky door handles. Almost everyone uses these buttons which in effect slows down their walking speed so it takes them more time to go to the washroom with these delays (more of your tax payers' - and mine, might I add - dollars wasted) not to mention the additional electrical costs and maintenance costs to have these buttons working that are only expected to get a certain number of pushes before requiring maintenance which, with the frequency they are now being used, are not meant to handle that kind of use.
But wait, there's still the kicker.
If that's not bad enough, I have witnessed several people wash their hands and leave the taps RUNNING. No, they do NOT use a towel to turn off the taps - that would be too close to touching them with their freshly washed hands. So they leave it running and punch, hip check or elbow the handicap button to get out of the washroom. And one of the offenders sits on the other side of a fabric wall from me. It takes all my energy not to go over and lick her keyboard and her phone when I see her get up to go. What burns me most is that we work for an aid agency. AN AID FUCKING AGENCY. We dedicate Monday-Friday, 10-2 (what? we need coffee breaks and to leave early and come in late), to helping the poorest and most underdeveloped nations of the world bring themselves up to par with our fair nation. Yet our smug superiority stops at the desks we leave behind so we can waste electricity and water when the people we should be thanking our livelihoods on can't even have that. BLOWS MY MIND.
While I'm not the type to go postal and rage on someone, I have been tempted to post this to the inside of each bathroom stall door above the lock.
To all those who use the handicap button to exit and enter the washrooms and leave the taps running so as to avoid bacteria and germs.
I just soiled on my hands and touched this lock. I'm at your desk right now touching everything as you read this.
I've been daily amazed at the culture shock I'm experiencing as a public servant. One of the thing that surprisingly affects me daily are my trips to the washroom.
Like any public washroom, there's nothing special about these ones. Save for the handy hanging file holder where you can put your folders and notebooks if you're making a pit stop on the way to a meeting so they don't have to go on the wet counter.
What my trips leave me jarred with most days are actually the automatic flushing toilets. Yes, the toilets. I admit to being a hoverer. I don't sit on any toilet seats anywhere, save for my own and my brother's (yes, you do clean your toilet before I come for a reason SIL...and I thank you). Well, that's not to say that if I'm travelling in a hotel I don't but I won't if I visit your house, go to a public restroom, etc. It's not a germaphobe kinda thing, it's a 'hey, I can build leg muscles if I am forced to hold them in a semi-squat for a period of time'. Yes, I started doing it several years ago to build leg muscles. Hey, every bit counts! And my rowing is all the better for it.
But I digress. What this means though is that with these new automatic flushing toilets that I just finish going and within a few inches of starting to pull up my pants, the toilet is hyper-flushing. I say hyper-flushing because those puppies have a LOT of sucking...no need for 'courtesy flushing' here! Back to my earlier confession of suffering from ligyrophobia, needless to say, peeing at work is not a good experience for me. Which sucks, to put it simply, because I do some of my best thinking while taking a sanity break from work and end up back at my desk inspired and full of promise. It's that break my brain needs and now, it's getting the equivalent of a shock.
And do you know how I know it's affecting me that much?
I leave the bathroom with my fly down ALL. THE. TIME.
Yeah, that's right, it's like my brain freaks out and wants the hell out of that small space with that loud hyper-flushing toilet and I go so quickly I forget to do up the fly on my pants. I typically do this 1-2 times A WEEK! I don't remember the last time I forgot to zip up EVER, never mind doing it 1-2 times a WEEK!
Beyond that, wearing my geek pass on a clip on my pants has also lead to a bizarre event. While frantically pulling up my pants the other day, the clip came loose and it, pass attached bounced off the toilet seat (that I had just hovered over) and miraculously fell to the floor. I had a few deep breaths to regain my composure at 1) the loud noise and 2) the fact that I almost had to go fishing where I had just pissed. Pleasant thought, I know.
But to top all of this off, what I can't get over is the laziness/germaphobia of my colleagues. To enter the bathroom, we must go through two doors. These, like most public washrooms, have those physically impaired (see, I'm already PC-ified after being a public servant for 5 weeks) buttons so the doors open for you if you just patiently wait a second or two. I'll admit, I've used these before when both of my arms aren't free or I need someone to hold a door for me as I travel with a dolly. But I'll be DAMNED if a gov't slave has to open one of those doors for themselves and touch one of those icky door handles. Almost everyone uses these buttons which in effect slows down their walking speed so it takes them more time to go to the washroom with these delays (more of your tax payers' - and mine, might I add - dollars wasted) not to mention the additional electrical costs and maintenance costs to have these buttons working that are only expected to get a certain number of pushes before requiring maintenance which, with the frequency they are now being used, are not meant to handle that kind of use.
But wait, there's still the kicker.
If that's not bad enough, I have witnessed several people wash their hands and leave the taps RUNNING. No, they do NOT use a towel to turn off the taps - that would be too close to touching them with their freshly washed hands. So they leave it running and punch, hip check or elbow the handicap button to get out of the washroom. And one of the offenders sits on the other side of a fabric wall from me. It takes all my energy not to go over and lick her keyboard and her phone when I see her get up to go. What burns me most is that we work for an aid agency. AN AID FUCKING AGENCY. We dedicate Monday-Friday, 10-2 (what? we need coffee breaks and to leave early and come in late), to helping the poorest and most underdeveloped nations of the world bring themselves up to par with our fair nation. Yet our smug superiority stops at the desks we leave behind so we can waste electricity and water when the people we should be thanking our livelihoods on can't even have that. BLOWS MY MIND.
While I'm not the type to go postal and rage on someone, I have been tempted to post this to the inside of each bathroom stall door above the lock.
To all those who use the handicap button to exit and enter the washrooms and leave the taps running so as to avoid bacteria and germs.
I just soiled on my hands and touched this lock. I'm at your desk right now touching everything as you read this.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Damn you, Hollywood
I went and saw a chick flick yesterday, on Holiday Monday, at the theatre with ShellBell, Baby Yu and Gback. Okay, Gback's not a chick but he's a sucker for anything outta Hollywood it would seem so I can see why he was there.
Anyways, as I did my best to patiently watch...
Wait. First let me publicly go on the record for apologizing to le Ex. I know, you're probably wondering what the hell an apology is stuck here for but I have to apologize. He always bitched and moaned about the fact that I talk too much in a movie. And I probably do. I make maybe 2 comments during a movie. But it is NO WHERE NEAR the ongoing play-by-play I was getting at the theatre yesterday from the row above, behind or even to the side of me not to mention the squeals and ohs and ahs when Taylor Lautner came on the screen (gag). It's like women NEVER SHUT THE FUCK UP. No wonder men don't say much. THEY DON'T NEED TO. So, for the simple fact that I know I'm no where even close to as chatty in a theatre (let's be realistic, people, I said theatre for a reason) as the gaggle of women who were there yesterday, I now know how fucking annoying that is. So, le Ex, whatever special place in purgatory you're at, I apologize. ;o)
But I digress...
Anyhoot, I'm sitting there listening to awwwwws and sniffles as women tear up at the sad bits and literally cheers and claps when the boy kisses the girl (Wtf? As if we didn't see THAT coming a mile away so you feel the need to get all worked up about it?) and it got me thinking. Hollywood is screwing us over. Men and women alike. They build up these fantasies of how love should be and how men should act and how women should look and then we're all inevitably disappointed in each other when it doesn't work out that way. And then we just become bitter and jaded and turn on each other. For once, just once, can the guy NOT get the girl? Like in 500 Days of Summer, which, by the way, I just ruined the ending for you if you've not seen it. And for once, just once, can the girl look normal? Like she had the fries instead of the salad at one point. And that perhaps not all of the best qualities of her parents genetic makeup were passed on but that's okay because she fell in love too cause women like that fall in love too? You know, a la My Big Fat Greek Wedding?
Damn you, Hollywood. Damn you.
Anyways, as I did my best to patiently watch...
Wait. First let me publicly go on the record for apologizing to le Ex. I know, you're probably wondering what the hell an apology is stuck here for but I have to apologize. He always bitched and moaned about the fact that I talk too much in a movie. And I probably do. I make maybe 2 comments during a movie. But it is NO WHERE NEAR the ongoing play-by-play I was getting at the theatre yesterday from the row above, behind or even to the side of me not to mention the squeals and ohs and ahs when Taylor Lautner came on the screen (gag). It's like women NEVER SHUT THE FUCK UP. No wonder men don't say much. THEY DON'T NEED TO. So, for the simple fact that I know I'm no where even close to as chatty in a theatre (let's be realistic, people, I said theatre for a reason) as the gaggle of women who were there yesterday, I now know how fucking annoying that is. So, le Ex, whatever special place in purgatory you're at, I apologize. ;o)
But I digress...
Anyhoot, I'm sitting there listening to awwwwws and sniffles as women tear up at the sad bits and literally cheers and claps when the boy kisses the girl (Wtf? As if we didn't see THAT coming a mile away so you feel the need to get all worked up about it?) and it got me thinking. Hollywood is screwing us over. Men and women alike. They build up these fantasies of how love should be and how men should act and how women should look and then we're all inevitably disappointed in each other when it doesn't work out that way. And then we just become bitter and jaded and turn on each other. For once, just once, can the guy NOT get the girl? Like in 500 Days of Summer, which, by the way, I just ruined the ending for you if you've not seen it. And for once, just once, can the girl look normal? Like she had the fries instead of the salad at one point. And that perhaps not all of the best qualities of her parents genetic makeup were passed on but that's okay because she fell in love too cause women like that fall in love too? You know, a la My Big Fat Greek Wedding?
Damn you, Hollywood. Damn you.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
The Buried Life
It was a rough day at work. I almost lost my shit. I'm tired. I'm stressed and I'm sick of seemingly being the only one doing all the work or even stopping to think of how to get all the work done as a team, not just the stuff that is in (or as it may be, not in) my job description.
I need a holiday.
But that won't happen for a while. So instead, it's time to regroup. And when I need to do that, it's time to get a coffee and write. So here I sit in Sbucks collecting my wits about me and hoping for the best.
There is one thing that has put life into perspective a bit today. I had seen commercials a while back for The Buried Life, a show on MTV about 4 dudes aged early 20ish that travel around in a big purple bus doing the 100 things they want to do before they die. Tonight I watched the first two episodes. And it struck a cord in me for some reason. Watch them. I think they're only about a half hour each and they're really entertaining.
Maybe it's the fact that I'm starting to question, after everything that's been happening at work lately, just what is and isn't important, ya know? I feel like everything seems to be in limbo. The pseudo 5 year plan is long done and I'm not sure what's next. But I know this isn't it. I just haven't figured out what is.
In the mean time, I need to go back to dodgeball. I need to kick some ass.
I need a holiday.
But that won't happen for a while. So instead, it's time to regroup. And when I need to do that, it's time to get a coffee and write. So here I sit in Sbucks collecting my wits about me and hoping for the best.
There is one thing that has put life into perspective a bit today. I had seen commercials a while back for The Buried Life, a show on MTV about 4 dudes aged early 20ish that travel around in a big purple bus doing the 100 things they want to do before they die. Tonight I watched the first two episodes. And it struck a cord in me for some reason. Watch them. I think they're only about a half hour each and they're really entertaining.
Maybe it's the fact that I'm starting to question, after everything that's been happening at work lately, just what is and isn't important, ya know? I feel like everything seems to be in limbo. The pseudo 5 year plan is long done and I'm not sure what's next. But I know this isn't it. I just haven't figured out what is.
In the mean time, I need to go back to dodgeball. I need to kick some ass.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Okay, I need another rant
So I was thinking about this situation at work yesterday in the shower this am and knew I had to share. It's crap like this that makes me want to pull my hair out because it's the little things that kill my day - like this.
Yesterday I went to my mailbox to get my mail. In my pigeon hole was an envelope that hadn't been opened, hadn't been date stamped, nada. I looked at the return address and didn't recognize some institute of higher learning. I getcrap mail like this all the time so I don't really even pay much attention now. But then I looked at the addressee which should have been...ME....
It was....
Professor John Doe (who is not one of our office staff)
Adjunct Research Professor
Administrative office down the hall from us but not our office
123 X Building (our office's room and building number)
Blah, blah, blah
So I went to the person who sorts our mail and answers our phones and inquired as to why it was in my mailbox. The response?
'Oh, well I didn't know where it should go so I thought I'd give it to you and you'd figure it out.'
I had soooo many catty comments floating around in my head and 'waste of payroll' was the nicest of them but instead I just walked it down the hall to the other administrative office it was addressed to because it was literally on my way to the staircase. Their response was 'oh yeah, we have a lot of projects with him so he has mail sent here all the time. In fact, he's coming in today so we'll give it to him. Thanks!'
Shoot.
Me.
Now.
Yesterday I went to my mailbox to get my mail. In my pigeon hole was an envelope that hadn't been opened, hadn't been date stamped, nada. I looked at the return address and didn't recognize some institute of higher learning. I get
It was....
Professor John Doe (who is not one of our office staff)
Adjunct Research Professor
Administrative office down the hall from us but not our office
123 X Building (our office's room and building number)
Blah, blah, blah
So I went to the person who sorts our mail and answers our phones and inquired as to why it was in my mailbox. The response?
'Oh, well I didn't know where it should go so I thought I'd give it to you and you'd figure it out.'
I had soooo many catty comments floating around in my head and 'waste of payroll' was the nicest of them but instead I just walked it down the hall to the other administrative office it was addressed to because it was literally on my way to the staircase. Their response was 'oh yeah, we have a lot of projects with him so he has mail sent here all the time. In fact, he's coming in today so we'll give it to him. Thanks!'
Shoot.
Me.
Now.
Monday, October 12, 2009
How to be cheeky and get your point across
So, I promised myself I wouldn't blog about this until AFTER my birthday and seeing as how it's now 12:06, it's fair game.
I found out this weekend, courtesy of the smallest grapevine in the world (aka Ottawa), that le ex is engaged.
My first reaction was....
nothing.
Yes, nothing. I didn't feel anything. No sadness, no remorse, no jealousy. Nothing. This, to me, is truly a sign that I'm over him. However, this chased an exceptionally bad date on Saturday night (more WHMPC to follow) so there was a little 'oh, 'eff me. I can't even get a good date and he's already getting remarried?' but then I realized that it's a good thing I'm out dating and not settling. Not saying that he is or anything but you know, I'm sure my time will come.
Then about two hours later, it hit me.
What name is this new wife going to have? Her own? Zrudlo (which as far as I know he's still not using)? Or....ALBERTA?!?!?!?!?
While so many things were not great about the divorce, the only thing that ever really fired me up was the fact that he refused to change his name back because apparently 'he's worked hard to build his *ahem* professionalretail store manager reputation on it'. I hope, truly hope, someone is the voice of reason and perhaps tries to talk him out of the merits of keeping my name given this new development.
But if not, I think the followingevilly crafted and so wish I was less of a lady to actually have the cojones to send it email would to him may get the point across:
Subject: Congratulations
Dear le ex (I'd actually use his name but still like to maintain some anonymity on this blog),
I know it's been quite some time since we last spoke and I hope all is well with you. I just wanted to send you a quick congratulatory note on your upcoming nuptials. While I have yet to meet the lucky lady, I can't wait to have her join the Alberta family and am sure she will carry our name proudly. In fact, I don't think we even have anyone of her name within the family so she may be the first of that name as well - unfortunately not something you too can attest to as the first SA was actually born into our family, not married into it.
Anyways, congratulations and again, I look forward to welcoming her to the family!
L
Yeah, I know...I shouldn't. And I won't. But it would feel soooo good.
I found out this weekend, courtesy of the smallest grapevine in the world (aka Ottawa), that le ex is engaged.
My first reaction was....
nothing.
Yes, nothing. I didn't feel anything. No sadness, no remorse, no jealousy. Nothing. This, to me, is truly a sign that I'm over him. However, this chased an exceptionally bad date on Saturday night (more WHMPC to follow) so there was a little 'oh, 'eff me. I can't even get a good date and he's already getting remarried?' but then I realized that it's a good thing I'm out dating and not settling. Not saying that he is or anything but you know, I'm sure my time will come.
Then about two hours later, it hit me.
What name is this new wife going to have? Her own? Zrudlo (which as far as I know he's still not using)? Or....ALBERTA?!?!?!?!?
While so many things were not great about the divorce, the only thing that ever really fired me up was the fact that he refused to change his name back because apparently 'he's worked hard to build his *ahem* professional
But if not, I think the following
Subject: Congratulations
Dear le ex (I'd actually use his name but still like to maintain some anonymity on this blog),
I know it's been quite some time since we last spoke and I hope all is well with you. I just wanted to send you a quick congratulatory note on your upcoming nuptials. While I have yet to meet the lucky lady, I can't wait to have her join the Alberta family and am sure she will carry our name proudly. In fact, I don't think we even have anyone of her name within the family so she may be the first of that name as well - unfortunately not something you too can attest to as the first SA was actually born into our family, not married into it.
Anyways, congratulations and again, I look forward to welcoming her to the family!
L
Yeah, I know...I shouldn't. And I won't. But it would feel soooo good.
WHMPC - Uni-basher
So it's been quite some time since I blogged. I have been busy at work, out travelling a little bit, sick, nurturing first date relationships, going on first dates. You know, it's not easy being me ;o)
A few weeks ago, I got a message on the dreaded online dating website from a faceless suitor. I call him faceless because his profile didn't have a picture. Still a little on the charming side, he and I exchanged a few messages on the site (like emails) before he sent a pic. And surprisingly, he wasn't bad looking.
We began texting, MSNing and even talking on the phone. After about 5-6 days of doing so, we met up on a Saturday night for a walk. He was relaxed and not overly dressed (he'd been out at a pub with friends for drinks just before our impromptu meeting). We went for a walk down by the Rowing Club and sat and talked. Over the course of the half hour we were there, he was rather touchy but you know, nothing inappropriate. Then, somehow we got onto the conversation of universities and colleges and he says...
'Universities don't do a good job of preparing students for real life afterwards. They're definitely not as good as colleges'
(insert record scratch)
Um, say what? Do you know who you're talking to? So we had the debate of the purpose of a university versus the purpose of a college and finally I ended the conversation but I could tell that he wasn't convinced and I was less than impressed. However, he seemed like a nice enough guy and I continued to talk to him over the course of the following week with date plans for that Friday to go see the 67's play.
Come Friday, he picks me up at my house and we head to the game. But it's raining. And, besides driving slower than my GRANDMOTHER, he also seemed allergic to using his windshield wipers. I'm a bit of a passenger seat driver (le ex couldn't find his way out of a wet paper bag and his driving observations of other motorists were also lacking at times) so I can't handle when I can't see out of the windshield and if for only the simple reason as the wipers aren't being used, forget working, well that just annoys the crap outta me.
We get to the game and while sitting at the game, he tells me stories of his life to try and show me how popular he is with his friends ('I'm the good guy everyone likes!'), how smart he is ('I'm someone people turn to when they need advice on things') etc. Now, granted, none of these stories were overly showoffy, just by then, I was starting toget annoyed but only because he kept touching me.
Now, I'm a very affectionate person with my mate and with my nephews. After that, I sort of get a little uncomfortable if my friends and family are overly touchy, the French try and kiss my cheeks, or people are just touchy with me. I'm an awkward anglo, I get and accept that.
Throughout the game, when there was a lull in the action or the conversation, he was constantly shoulder checking me. Like bumping in to me. It got to the point where I started to get really angry about it. As the game was finishing, we ran into a group of his friends. By this point, I know he's not getting a 3rd chance but all I can say is AWK-WARD as his friends sit there and scope me out and give him those knowing smiles. Uggghhhhhh.
So we drive for an eternity to Preston street where he pokes me in the side ribs as we're walking into the restaurant. I'm sorry but my love handles don't like poking. Even if I didn't have them to protect my ribs, my ribs wouldn't like them. We have a somewhat awkward dinner (by that point I was REALLY just hungry and didn't even care who I was eating with) and he at several points grabbed my knee and gave it a squeeze under the table and also rubbed my forearm. I sat, when not eating, with my arms crossed. Did he know NOTHING about body language?
The second to final straw came at the end of the evening when he, I kid you not, body checked me as I was doing up my zipper when coming out of the restaurant. WTF? Is he 5?
He slowly drove me home and I don't remember much about the trip as I frantically tried to see out the windshield between every 10 minute concessional wipe. In the driveway, as my hand pulled on the lever to open the door, he says, 'what, I'm not even going to get a hug good-bye?'
Dude, if she hasn't been returning ANY of your physical touches throughout the course of the evening, GET. THE. HINT.
So I gave him his damn hug and got out of the car. 10 minutes later I had a text from him that was a :o(. I sent a ? back and he said 'nothing, just being a brat'. WTF, are you really 5? So then he texted me 'so, how did I do tonight on my do or die date?' (Earlier in the week I had told him that the 2nd date is do or die because you've had your chance to be nervous, etc. and now you really have to step up your a game.) Not wanting to crush him on the drive home - god knows how that would have affected hisinability to drive - I texted back 'what, the jury doesn't even get a chance to deliberate overnight?' He left it at that and the next day texted me. I told him the truth, that we were just better off as friends and I didn't feel the chemistry to which he said he was thinking the same thing.
Ugh....right.....
And that was Friday night. Which was followed by Saturday....
PS - while I know as a Fit driver I really shouldn't, and I don't know a LOT about cars but I can't help but think that what you drive and the colour say a lot about your personality. And sorry, but I can't take someone seriously who drives a slate blue Sunfire. Well, any colour Sunfire for that matter...
A few weeks ago, I got a message on the dreaded online dating website from a faceless suitor. I call him faceless because his profile didn't have a picture. Still a little on the charming side, he and I exchanged a few messages on the site (like emails) before he sent a pic. And surprisingly, he wasn't bad looking.
We began texting, MSNing and even talking on the phone. After about 5-6 days of doing so, we met up on a Saturday night for a walk. He was relaxed and not overly dressed (he'd been out at a pub with friends for drinks just before our impromptu meeting). We went for a walk down by the Rowing Club and sat and talked. Over the course of the half hour we were there, he was rather touchy but you know, nothing inappropriate. Then, somehow we got onto the conversation of universities and colleges and he says...
'Universities don't do a good job of preparing students for real life afterwards. They're definitely not as good as colleges'
(insert record scratch)
Um, say what? Do you know who you're talking to? So we had the debate of the purpose of a university versus the purpose of a college and finally I ended the conversation but I could tell that he wasn't convinced and I was less than impressed. However, he seemed like a nice enough guy and I continued to talk to him over the course of the following week with date plans for that Friday to go see the 67's play.
Come Friday, he picks me up at my house and we head to the game. But it's raining. And, besides driving slower than my GRANDMOTHER, he also seemed allergic to using his windshield wipers. I'm a bit of a passenger seat driver (le ex couldn't find his way out of a wet paper bag and his driving observations of other motorists were also lacking at times) so I can't handle when I can't see out of the windshield and if for only the simple reason as the wipers aren't being used, forget working, well that just annoys the crap outta me.
We get to the game and while sitting at the game, he tells me stories of his life to try and show me how popular he is with his friends ('I'm the good guy everyone likes!'), how smart he is ('I'm someone people turn to when they need advice on things') etc. Now, granted, none of these stories were overly showoffy, just by then, I was starting toget annoyed but only because he kept touching me.
Now, I'm a very affectionate person with my mate and with my nephews. After that, I sort of get a little uncomfortable if my friends and family are overly touchy, the French try and kiss my cheeks, or people are just touchy with me. I'm an awkward anglo, I get and accept that.
Throughout the game, when there was a lull in the action or the conversation, he was constantly shoulder checking me. Like bumping in to me. It got to the point where I started to get really angry about it. As the game was finishing, we ran into a group of his friends. By this point, I know he's not getting a 3rd chance but all I can say is AWK-WARD as his friends sit there and scope me out and give him those knowing smiles. Uggghhhhhh.
So we drive for an eternity to Preston street where he pokes me in the side ribs as we're walking into the restaurant. I'm sorry but my love handles don't like poking. Even if I didn't have them to protect my ribs, my ribs wouldn't like them. We have a somewhat awkward dinner (by that point I was REALLY just hungry and didn't even care who I was eating with) and he at several points grabbed my knee and gave it a squeeze under the table and also rubbed my forearm. I sat, when not eating, with my arms crossed. Did he know NOTHING about body language?
The second to final straw came at the end of the evening when he, I kid you not, body checked me as I was doing up my zipper when coming out of the restaurant. WTF? Is he 5?
He slowly drove me home and I don't remember much about the trip as I frantically tried to see out the windshield between every 10 minute concessional wipe. In the driveway, as my hand pulled on the lever to open the door, he says, 'what, I'm not even going to get a hug good-bye?'
Dude, if she hasn't been returning ANY of your physical touches throughout the course of the evening, GET. THE. HINT.
So I gave him his damn hug and got out of the car. 10 minutes later I had a text from him that was a :o(. I sent a ? back and he said 'nothing, just being a brat'. WTF, are you really 5? So then he texted me 'so, how did I do tonight on my do or die date?' (Earlier in the week I had told him that the 2nd date is do or die because you've had your chance to be nervous, etc. and now you really have to step up your a game.) Not wanting to crush him on the drive home - god knows how that would have affected his
Ugh....right.....
And that was Friday night. Which was followed by Saturday....
PS - while I know as a Fit driver I really shouldn't, and I don't know a LOT about cars but I can't help but think that what you drive and the colour say a lot about your personality. And sorry, but I can't take someone seriously who drives a slate blue Sunfire. Well, any colour Sunfire for that matter...
Monday, September 21, 2009
WOP - it's like the voicemail gods are taunting me
Okay, so a few weeks ago I bemoaned the ineptitude of the idiots over at voice services because apparently my phone whose light wasn't flashing wasn't a phone that they thought they should support anymore.
And magically, the light started working again.
Well guess what...now the light won't STOP flashing, even when I don't have a message.
I know, I'm howling with laughter over it too.
Too rich. Too rich not to share...
And magically, the light started working again.
Well guess what...now the light won't STOP flashing, even when I don't have a message.
I know, I'm howling with laughter over it too.
Too rich. Too rich not to share...
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Good GOD that's tacky
Okay, so most of you know that I hate, hate, HATE those stupid ribbon magnets that people put on their car for supporting troops, breast cancer, whatever. Not sure what it is about it but I hate them as much as I hate those bracelets that everyone was into a few years ago because of Lance Armstrong and then it took off to every cause - or profit making organization - got into having a coloured bracelet. I guess it's that whole affiliation issue I have...
ANYWAYS, I've seen a max of like 2-3 of these magnets on cars and am driven batty by them and one day just wanna go on a stealing rampage in a Walmart parking lot and then decorate one car with all of them (I won't mention *whose* car I'd like to do that to ;o) ). So when I pulled up behind this truck on the Bronson off ramp at Hunt Club, I thought I'd hit the mecca for that prank...and had to take a pic. God I love my phone...
ANYWAYS, I've seen a max of like 2-3 of these magnets on cars and am driven batty by them and one day just wanna go on a stealing rampage in a Walmart parking lot and then decorate one car with all of them (I won't mention *whose* car I'd like to do that to ;o) ). So when I pulled up behind this truck on the Bronson off ramp at Hunt Club, I thought I'd hit the mecca for that prank...and had to take a pic. God I love my phone...
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
I'd ask for my money back
If I was a paying customer of the institution I work at, and I knew there were such wastes of payroll employed here, I'd ask for my money back.
We all know I rant about the parking office and my ongoing battles with them over parking tickets, parking passes and well, anything customer service oriented.
Today though, their reign as most inept customer service on campus has been toppled...by voice services. And I quote:
L: Hi, I'm having a problem with my phone. I'm having messages left but the flashing light on my phone isn't working to tell me there are messages. Apparently this has been going on for two days.
Most Unhelpful Customer Service Agent Ever (MUCSAE): Oh, that's a known problem with the 470's. You should get a VOIP phone.
L: Okayyyyyyyy....oh, you're referring to the model number....
MUCSAE: (insert exasperated tone) well, yes, you do have a 470, right?
L: Yes.
MUCSAE: well, you should get a VOIP. We don't have those kinds of problems with that phone. But if you want, you can try scrolling through the user options until you get to something in the menu that talks about indicator lights.
L: Ugh, okay, but this problem just started this week. It was working fine before that.
MUCSAE: Yeah, you should get a VOIP phone. It's only 90cents extra a month.
L: But I was told I couldn't get a VOIP phone. When I moved down to this office a few months ago, they installed this other phone that I'd had in my old office and said they'd look into it and never got back to me.
MUCSAE: Oh, you're in which building?
L: Tory
MUCSAE: There are tons of VOIP phones in Tory so I don't think that's an issue but I'll check to see if there's an issue with your area. You're in 1146 Tory.
L: No, 421. 1146 is my phone extension.
MUCSAE: Oh. Right....
*silence*
MUCSAE: Okay, I'll look into that. In the mean time, you should get a VOIP phone. And you should check your voicemail often to make sure you don't miss any messages.
*silence*
(inside voice: *speechless* um. Wow. Okay. WASTE OF PAYROLL!!!)
L: Okay, thanks.
MUCSAE: No problem!
You know, I don't even think I need to comment on this. I think, my dear readers, that you are all smart enough to just grapple with the ineptitude that is voice services. So, again - wow...what a waste of payroll.
We all know I rant about the parking office and my ongoing battles with them over parking tickets, parking passes and well, anything customer service oriented.
Today though, their reign as most inept customer service on campus has been toppled...by voice services. And I quote:
L: Hi, I'm having a problem with my phone. I'm having messages left but the flashing light on my phone isn't working to tell me there are messages. Apparently this has been going on for two days.
Most Unhelpful Customer Service Agent Ever (MUCSAE): Oh, that's a known problem with the 470's. You should get a VOIP phone.
L: Okayyyyyyyy....oh, you're referring to the model number....
MUCSAE: (insert exasperated tone) well, yes, you do have a 470, right?
L: Yes.
MUCSAE: well, you should get a VOIP. We don't have those kinds of problems with that phone. But if you want, you can try scrolling through the user options until you get to something in the menu that talks about indicator lights.
L: Ugh, okay, but this problem just started this week. It was working fine before that.
MUCSAE: Yeah, you should get a VOIP phone. It's only 90cents extra a month.
L: But I was told I couldn't get a VOIP phone. When I moved down to this office a few months ago, they installed this other phone that I'd had in my old office and said they'd look into it and never got back to me.
MUCSAE: Oh, you're in which building?
L: Tory
MUCSAE: There are tons of VOIP phones in Tory so I don't think that's an issue but I'll check to see if there's an issue with your area. You're in 1146 Tory.
L: No, 421. 1146 is my phone extension.
MUCSAE: Oh. Right....
*silence*
MUCSAE: Okay, I'll look into that. In the mean time, you should get a VOIP phone. And you should check your voicemail often to make sure you don't miss any messages.
*silence*
(inside voice: *speechless* um. Wow. Okay. WASTE OF PAYROLL!!!)
L: Okay, thanks.
MUCSAE: No problem!
You know, I don't even think I need to comment on this. I think, my dear readers, that you are all smart enough to just grapple with the ineptitude that is voice services. So, again - wow...what a waste of payroll.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Let the WoP continue
It's no secret that I have a smidgen of disdain for the parking office at work. They have, routinely, proven to me that the simplest of tasks are quite cumbersome to accomplish and to add insult to injury, their rudeness and lack of professionalism just shows where they place priority in their 'customer service', if you can call it that...
The latest run in with them resulted in a parking ticket being issued to me on yet another Friday. I had one back in May, my first in over 2 years might I add when, like this recent one, I forgot to put my pass in my window. Why did I forget? Well, I put up my pass when I'm in the left turning lane on Bronson every am and then take it down as I pull out of my spot. While it is a driving hazard, I also know that I can be a bit of an aggressive driver at times so I fully admit, bashfully, that I don't necessarily want my employer associated with my driving. It's a PR thing - saving them from a bad rap. Silly but I do it nonetheless.
So, when I got the turning light on that Friday and didn't need to stop, I forgot to put it up. My habit was broken. Now, if, in theory, the parking barriers were down and I was forced to swipe my pass to gain access to my lot, I would most definitely have remembered to put it up. But, as they always are these days, the barriers were not down and so I could just drive right in and park. I came out to a ticket on Friday afternoon, after a rather stressful day so it was my cherry on my sundae, and promptly had an email reminder from the parking office on the Saturday am in my inbox. Love the efficiency.
When I got my ticket back in May, I was a little upset. I did, at the time, in my appeal inquire as to the reason that the barriers were not in use - ugh, haaaalllooooo! They're there for a REASON! What I got back for response to that appeal was an overturn in the fee and a 'it's your responsibility chastisement'. No acknowledgement as to my issue with the barriers. So, when this ticket occurred, they got me fired up on the wrong day.
To start off, I went to put in an appeal using the link that was supplied in the Saturday morning email. The link was broken. (Insert fuel on fire.) Oh, you did NOT just send me, Communications Officer, a broken link to the payment and appeal website in an automated email! So when I did go to the parking site and find it, I inputted my appeal. I admitted to knowing better but gave my rationale.
But that wasn't enough. I was mad. So I sent an email to their inquiry box. It read:
$5 if you can guess what I got.
Nothing.
For a full week and a day, I had no response. Nada. Nothing. Niet.
Then Tuesday, I come out to my car and low and behold, there's a security officer milling about near it. It was after 6 and the lot was fairly cleaned out. Sure enough, he was waiting for me. But not because I had violated parking regulations, but because there was a mystery duffle bag under my car. He was waiting for backup before removing it. This was only made better because I was walking out with M who, a few months back, was subjected to my 'you don't know what's in that bag - we're across from the US embassy - it could be a bomb' rant while in the Earl of Sussex one evening when she wanted to move to a table where someone had forgotten their backpack. Anyways, he wasn't there re. my parking ticket but it was just funny.
Fast forward to yesterday, I got this in my inbox:
Truth be told, I didn't expect even a reduction after the email I sent - really, would you do something nice for someone who slams you like that? I wouldn't. But that wasn't why I did it. I did it because I'm sick of nothing being done and my concern not being directly addressed.
The latest run in with them resulted in a parking ticket being issued to me on yet another Friday. I had one back in May, my first in over 2 years might I add when, like this recent one, I forgot to put my pass in my window. Why did I forget? Well, I put up my pass when I'm in the left turning lane on Bronson every am and then take it down as I pull out of my spot. While it is a driving hazard, I also know that I can be a bit of an aggressive driver at times so I fully admit, bashfully, that I don't necessarily want my employer associated with my driving. It's a PR thing - saving them from a bad rap. Silly but I do it nonetheless.
So, when I got the turning light on that Friday and didn't need to stop, I forgot to put it up. My habit was broken. Now, if, in theory, the parking barriers were down and I was forced to swipe my pass to gain access to my lot, I would most definitely have remembered to put it up. But, as they always are these days, the barriers were not down and so I could just drive right in and park. I came out to a ticket on Friday afternoon, after a rather stressful day so it was my cherry on my sundae, and promptly had an email reminder from the parking office on the Saturday am in my inbox. Love the efficiency.
When I got my ticket back in May, I was a little upset. I did, at the time, in my appeal inquire as to the reason that the barriers were not in use - ugh, haaaalllooooo! They're there for a REASON! What I got back for response to that appeal was an overturn in the fee and a 'it's your responsibility chastisement'. No acknowledgement as to my issue with the barriers. So, when this ticket occurred, they got me fired up on the wrong day.
To start off, I went to put in an appeal using the link that was supplied in the Saturday morning email. The link was broken. (Insert fuel on fire.) Oh, you did NOT just send me, Communications Officer, a broken link to the payment and appeal website in an automated email! So when I did go to the parking site and find it, I inputted my appeal. I admitted to knowing better but gave my rationale.
But that wasn't enough. I was mad. So I sent an email to their inquiry box. It read:
Hello,
I recently received a parking violation for Lot 5 as I did not have my permit displayed.
While I fully admit to simply having forgotten to take it out of my cup holder and put it on display that day, I do not leave my permit on my dash nor hanging from my rear view mirror at all times as it is a visual obstruction and driving hazard. Therefore, I have to remember to put it up daily as I enter the parking lot. While I do my best to remember to put it up, and have only received 2 violations in as many years for forgetting to do so, this leads me to inquire as to another issue with the lots that I have provided feedback on before but have seen no resolution.
As a user of lot 5, I would also like to inquire as to why the barriers to enter this lot are not in use. When they are, I am forced to use my pass to enter the lot and it is an automatic reminder to display my pass which in turn results in a decreased chance that I will incur an infraction. Notably, the two infractions I have received in the past two years were this summer at times when the barriers have not be in use to enforce permit-holder-only access to the lot.
If users of the lot are required to use a pass to enter the lot, I believe we could save parking officers a great deal of time in checking cars for permits should access to the lots be limited, as it appears was originally intended when the barriers were put in place. Considering that parking is an ancillary service to the university, this would in turn be a cost saving and in fact, increased revenue generating action.
Finally, it should be noted that the email reminder I promptly received regarding my infraction contained an out of date URL by which I could appeal/pay my fine.
Best regards,
$5 if you can guess what I got.
Nothing.
For a full week and a day, I had no response. Nada. Nothing. Niet.
Then Tuesday, I come out to my car and low and behold, there's a security officer milling about near it. It was after 6 and the lot was fairly cleaned out. Sure enough, he was waiting for me. But not because I had violated parking regulations, but because there was a mystery duffle bag under my car. He was waiting for backup before removing it. This was only made better because I was walking out with M who, a few months back, was subjected to my 'you don't know what's in that bag - we're across from the US embassy - it could be a bomb' rant while in the Earl of Sussex one evening when she wanted to move to a table where someone had forgotten their backpack. Anyways, he wasn't there re. my parking ticket but it was just funny.
Fast forward to yesterday, I got this in my inbox:
Dear L,
Your violation (ticket# 30700306) has been: REDUCED Original value: $35.00 Current value: $15.00
Administrator Comments:
Miss Alberta It is your responsibility to visibly display your parking permit while in your assigned location on campus. This is indicated on the back of your parking permit. The violation has been reduced to $15.00. S/Cst K. Gallinger Shift Manager University Safety
Truth be told, I didn't expect even a reduction after the email I sent - really, would you do something nice for someone who slams you like that? I wouldn't. But that wasn't why I did it. I did it because I'm sick of nothing being done and my concern not being directly addressed.
Friday, August 14, 2009
Friday, August 7, 2009
WHMPC - The Gum Guy
I have a tendency to talk to strangers. I know, bizarre as that may seem, considering my aversion to my neighbours. It's no secret that I avoid them like the plague and would be that person who would chastise them for not knowing that the local Loeb is open 24 hours so 'why the hell are you standing on my doorstep asking if you can borrow some sugar?!??'
ANYWAYS, I tend to talk to random strangers. I ask for other women's opinions in the change room. Not the sales staff nor my friends if I'm shopping with them but random women - they give the best, unbiased advice. I chat up cashiers at grocery stores. I give my opinion on decorating decisions at Ikea - unsolicited but so far, every person has said thanks when I've shut my trap. Er, when I finished my advice? You know what I mean.
My other guilty pleasure is reading CraigsList. If you don't know what it is, Wikipedia (one of my fav's) describes it as 'a centralized network of online communities, featuring free online classified advertisements – with sections devoted to jobs, housing, personals, for sale, services, community, gigs, résumés, and discussion forums.' I go in to read the personal ads and am always amused at the nakedness that shows up in the 'casual encounters' section (who replies to those anyways?) and the hopeless romantic section for 'missed connections' where, for the most part, people post comments about a shared smile or 'hi' where they wished they'd had the cojones to just say more or talk more. This section inevitably makes me take life firmly by the balls more often than not because I don't want to live it with regret.
However, I ventured into the 'rants and raves' a while back and came across a posting by someone who was ranting about their online dating experience in the site I've been lurking. He seemed genuinely befuddled and I wanted to pat him on the head and say 'there, there, fellow singleton, cheer up!' so I decided to respond to his post. I used one of my *ahem* 7 email addresses to send him that kinda (anonymous) message and to do a little of my own commissurating re. lack of manners and bizareness that is online dating. I expected to send it out into the cosmic void without a hope of return messages.
Instead, we started exchanging emails, progressed to chatting on MSN and finally decided to meet. I met The Gum Guy and we went for ice cream and conversation at Hog's Back Park. We got to talking and while, the seemingly the nice guy he said he was, there were a few things about him that set off the warning bells.
For starters, one of his only hobbies was to supe up some car he had specially imported with crazy audio equipment so that he could go to competitions all over Canada and the US for loud car stereos. Okay, to each their own. Not really MY definition of fun but hell, I go out and bruise myself regularly and have screaming british midgets tell me to row like a slut so who am I to judge?
Secondly, he seemed to still be a little in the bitter mode since his last breakup. While we did not discuss ex's, his status was separated on the dating site and there was just something a little bitter and jaded in his expression of things and slightly 'woe is me' self-depricating sense of humour that grated on my nerves. But hey, we've all had our moments of pity partiness so okay, he just maybe needed a reminder that he, and life and women for that matter, weren't all that bad.
But then he put the nail in the coffin.
If you've known me for a while, you'll know that I have a little quirk about me that I don't eat gum out of a blister pack. In fact, I think I've had about 2-3 pieces in the last 7 years or so and those were 'desperate times call for desperate measures' moments. 'It's bad packaging' is what I tell people because, well it is. Paper, plastic and metal all for what, 12 pieces? And who ever recycles that? So while I chew gum that comes in sticks, collectively, even if I don't recycle the packaging - which admittedly I don't unless it's one of those faux cigarette like boxes with the sticks inside - it's still less waste in the landfill than the blister packs. You'll only get the rant out of me once or twice before you just stop asking if I want gum, as I'm sure most of you have realized.
So, low and behold, he offers me a piece of gum from a blister pack. I politely say 'no thanks, bad packaging.' This is my way of saying, 'you know that you're confused and you're going to ask me what that means and if you ask, well then, you asked for that rant or you can let it go and just ignore it'. I'll give you two guesses as to what he did.
He said 'what?!?!"
So I gave him the rant. He did the usual comebacks of 'the gum's already bought, I'm just going to eat it, blah blah blah' to which, after 7 years, you know I have a response to each one of those. It was then that he let his true argumentative side show although something in our conversations had lead me to believe he was the type that had to always be right or always have the last argument or at least have you take his side seriously and as a 'possibility' if you weren't going to believe it. I guess, seeing as how I was resolute in my decision and not about to budge on my opinion, he had to win somehow. What he did next baffled me.
He took the pack of gum out of his pocket and popped out another piece. While I know you're thinking that he was going to put it in his mouth and chew it, as a point of, well, now two pieces have been eaten even if you're not eating one of them, I was shocked and horrified when....
He threw it in the bushes. Yup, just off to the side of the bench we were sitting on. He didn't say a word but smugly pushed the blister pack back in the paper casing and put it in his pocket in an 'oh yeah, fuck you' look to me.
For the first time ever on a date, I couldn't control my expression. Open mouthed horror. What was worse is that it only made him MORE smug.
Needless to say the date didn't last much longer after that. If bitter and jaded and have to always be right are his MO, no wonder he is single.
ANYWAYS, I tend to talk to random strangers. I ask for other women's opinions in the change room. Not the sales staff nor my friends if I'm shopping with them but random women - they give the best, unbiased advice. I chat up cashiers at grocery stores. I give my opinion on decorating decisions at Ikea - unsolicited but so far, every person has said thanks when I've shut my trap. Er, when I finished my advice? You know what I mean.
My other guilty pleasure is reading CraigsList. If you don't know what it is, Wikipedia (one of my fav's) describes it as 'a centralized network of online communities, featuring free online classified advertisements – with sections devoted to jobs, housing, personals, for sale, services, community, gigs, résumés, and discussion forums.' I go in to read the personal ads and am always amused at the nakedness that shows up in the 'casual encounters' section (who replies to those anyways?) and the hopeless romantic section for 'missed connections' where, for the most part, people post comments about a shared smile or 'hi' where they wished they'd had the cojones to just say more or talk more. This section inevitably makes me take life firmly by the balls more often than not because I don't want to live it with regret.
However, I ventured into the 'rants and raves' a while back and came across a posting by someone who was ranting about their online dating experience in the site I've been lurking. He seemed genuinely befuddled and I wanted to pat him on the head and say 'there, there, fellow singleton, cheer up!' so I decided to respond to his post. I used one of my *ahem* 7 email addresses to send him that kinda (anonymous) message and to do a little of my own commissurating re. lack of manners and bizareness that is online dating. I expected to send it out into the cosmic void without a hope of return messages.
Instead, we started exchanging emails, progressed to chatting on MSN and finally decided to meet. I met The Gum Guy and we went for ice cream and conversation at Hog's Back Park. We got to talking and while, the seemingly the nice guy he said he was, there were a few things about him that set off the warning bells.
For starters, one of his only hobbies was to supe up some car he had specially imported with crazy audio equipment so that he could go to competitions all over Canada and the US for loud car stereos. Okay, to each their own. Not really MY definition of fun but hell, I go out and bruise myself regularly and have screaming british midgets tell me to row like a slut so who am I to judge?
Secondly, he seemed to still be a little in the bitter mode since his last breakup. While we did not discuss ex's, his status was separated on the dating site and there was just something a little bitter and jaded in his expression of things and slightly 'woe is me' self-depricating sense of humour that grated on my nerves. But hey, we've all had our moments of pity partiness so okay, he just maybe needed a reminder that he, and life and women for that matter, weren't all that bad.
But then he put the nail in the coffin.
If you've known me for a while, you'll know that I have a little quirk about me that I don't eat gum out of a blister pack. In fact, I think I've had about 2-3 pieces in the last 7 years or so and those were 'desperate times call for desperate measures' moments. 'It's bad packaging' is what I tell people because, well it is. Paper, plastic and metal all for what, 12 pieces? And who ever recycles that? So while I chew gum that comes in sticks, collectively, even if I don't recycle the packaging - which admittedly I don't unless it's one of those faux cigarette like boxes with the sticks inside - it's still less waste in the landfill than the blister packs. You'll only get the rant out of me once or twice before you just stop asking if I want gum, as I'm sure most of you have realized.
So, low and behold, he offers me a piece of gum from a blister pack. I politely say 'no thanks, bad packaging.' This is my way of saying, 'you know that you're confused and you're going to ask me what that means and if you ask, well then, you asked for that rant or you can let it go and just ignore it'. I'll give you two guesses as to what he did.
He said 'what?!?!"
So I gave him the rant. He did the usual comebacks of 'the gum's already bought, I'm just going to eat it, blah blah blah' to which, after 7 years, you know I have a response to each one of those. It was then that he let his true argumentative side show although something in our conversations had lead me to believe he was the type that had to always be right or always have the last argument or at least have you take his side seriously and as a 'possibility' if you weren't going to believe it. I guess, seeing as how I was resolute in my decision and not about to budge on my opinion, he had to win somehow. What he did next baffled me.
He took the pack of gum out of his pocket and popped out another piece. While I know you're thinking that he was going to put it in his mouth and chew it, as a point of, well, now two pieces have been eaten even if you're not eating one of them, I was shocked and horrified when....
He threw it in the bushes. Yup, just off to the side of the bench we were sitting on. He didn't say a word but smugly pushed the blister pack back in the paper casing and put it in his pocket in an 'oh yeah, fuck you' look to me.
For the first time ever on a date, I couldn't control my expression. Open mouthed horror. What was worse is that it only made him MORE smug.
Needless to say the date didn't last much longer after that. If bitter and jaded and have to always be right are his MO, no wonder he is single.
Friday, May 15, 2009
WHMPC - The Leaky Faucet
Preface: it's a long post - make some popcorn and sit back and enjoy...
A few weeks back I got the gumption up to message a guy whose profile I'd been eyeing for a few months. He wasn't unattractive, liked baseball and seemed pretty down to earth with a good sense of humour. And he wasn't a gym rat - those guys drive me nuts.
So I did and he replied and we messaged back and forth for a while and then our relationship moved to 'the next level'.
We started chatting on MSN.
We chatted on Wednesday night for a few hours and then the following night for a few more. Towards the end of our Thursday night chat, Big Oil got on MSN so I had two chats going - one with LF and then the play by play going with Big Oil. Towards the end of the convo I typed toBO Big Oil (probably better I don't refer to her as BO) that I didn't think he was very interested. While we had managed to keep conversations going for several hours on two occasions, I had noticed that he wasn't really asking ME a lot of questions.
I need to learn to listen to my gut.
And then to my surprise, he suggested we go out for drinks the next night. Of course I said yes and then realized I had nothing to wear. I know - such a 'chick' dilemma. So Friday after work I raced to get a new shirt and found a pair of semi-clean jeans (they passed the 'sniff test') and off I went to meet him at Pub Italia.
He was recognizable enough outside PI when I got there and on our way in, I was all of a sudden grabbed by the face, given a huge kiss on the cheek and a big hug. Knowing it wasn't him, I was completely gobsmacked - only to see it was R, friend and husband of good friend MH. He started chatting me up for a few seconds before he realized I wasn't there alone. LF didn't look overly impressed but not overly unimpressed either. Awesome - looks like I've invited the friends to check him out. Great. Inside was yet another reunion with MH who was waiting for the table and we decided to go to another restaurant with a lesser wait time.
We ended up at some fairly fancy italian place across from the Heart and Crown. He held the door open for me. Note: one of the few gentlemanly things he did that night. Yeah, that's not saying much if that's all he did... ANYWAYS, we were seated at the edge of the dining room and he took the chair facing the dining room so I had a view of the lobby and him. Not necessarily a bad thing as I can be easily distracted by people watching.
So he ordered a beer and I a glass of wine and then we started to look at the menu. It was a substantial menu and I had never been there before so I was browsing through. I then heard 'snap' to look up and see he'd closed his menu and placed it in front of him. Surprised, I said 'decided?' 'yup...so, like I was saying....' and he continued on with the conversation we had been having prior to looking at the menus.
Um, wouldn't edicate say you should shut your pie hole and let me decided and THEN continue talking?!? Guess not. Strike #1.
After quickly deciding, I got back into the conversation. I asked questions, picked up on things, made connections, blah blah blah. I can be very engaging ifI want to be. Too bad he wasn't. While he enjoyed our conversations, I think, I then started to notice, within the first 15 minutes, that while I was asking questions he could reciprocate on for me in turn, he wasn't. Humpf. About 10 more minutes go by and he's still not asking me anything. It's at this point that I realize he's just like a leaky faucet (did I mention he's a faucet and doorknob salesman! LOL!), keeps running at the mouth and doesn't care about the damage he causes around him! So I decided to just let this go and see how long he'll go without any reciprocating information. Strike #2.
And then the comments started coming out - the homophobic, the racist, the sexist, the arrogant - you name it, he's got one. How my a$$hole radar didn't go off before then? I don't know. To give you an example, there was another patron at the restaurant that broke into song. You know how that happens at some restaurants in movies, right? Or like in Sex and the City when Big takes Carrie to that restaurant and proceeds to sing to her? So anyways, he pretty much had to stop talking (remember I was just listening so at least it was something to drown him out for a few minutes - thank you, drunk man, for that reprive). When the drunken mess finished his 'aria', LF says, in an audible enough voice that should there been people at tables around us they would have heard, ''effing WOP'. 'Effing WOP?!?! In an ITALIAN restaurant on PRESTON where I'm sure half the patrons were mafia (if that actually exists in Ottawa). I wanted to crawl under the table and die. After that, he pretty much, for the last 20 minutes of the 'date', watched the rest of the room and only grunted out monosyllabic answers to my questions. I had one final effort to get him to talk where I asked him what his brother's girlfriend (they'd been dating 6.5-7 years) taught before she was a principal le al whatever-you know what I mean. It went something like this:
L: So, what did your brother's girlfriend teach before she was a principle/al?
(insert WTF? face) LF: Pffft, I don't know. I'm not dating her.
L: Yeah, but she's been your brother's girlfriend for like 7 years. It's never come up in conversation?
LF: (insert incredulous tone) LIKE I SAID, I'm not dating her. Fuck, I don't even know what the teachers I'VE dated taught.
L: How many teachers have you dated?
LF: 2 or 3
It's at this point I realize that it doesn't matter what I say, he's never going to listen to me. Awesome.
We get the bill, he insists on paying (yeah that's right, the least you could do is pay for my meal seeing as how the company was such crap) and we leave. As we walk back to Pub Italia, he says 'so where did you park?' I motion down the street and say 'oh, on a street or two past Pub Italia' to which he responds 'well, I'm down here' and stops walking. Goes to give me a hand shake and then pulls me in for the weird man hug thing and says 'I'll call you' and we both know, and probably pray, he won't.
This is where Strike 3 comes in....
He yells after me as I walk away 'have a nice walk to your car' reminiscent of the tone you'd use on someone if you were to say 'and don't let the doorknob hit your ass on the way out!'.
I went home, picked up S and went out drinking.
Total waste of hair and makeup products....
A few weeks back I got the gumption up to message a guy whose profile I'd been eyeing for a few months. He wasn't unattractive, liked baseball and seemed pretty down to earth with a good sense of humour. And he wasn't a gym rat - those guys drive me nuts.
So I did and he replied and we messaged back and forth for a while and then our relationship moved to 'the next level'.
We started chatting on MSN.
We chatted on Wednesday night for a few hours and then the following night for a few more. Towards the end of our Thursday night chat, Big Oil got on MSN so I had two chats going - one with LF and then the play by play going with Big Oil. Towards the end of the convo I typed to
I need to learn to listen to my gut.
And then to my surprise, he suggested we go out for drinks the next night. Of course I said yes and then realized I had nothing to wear. I know - such a 'chick' dilemma. So Friday after work I raced to get a new shirt and found a pair of semi-clean jeans (they passed the 'sniff test') and off I went to meet him at Pub Italia.
He was recognizable enough outside PI when I got there and on our way in, I was all of a sudden grabbed by the face, given a huge kiss on the cheek and a big hug. Knowing it wasn't him, I was completely gobsmacked - only to see it was R, friend and husband of good friend MH. He started chatting me up for a few seconds before he realized I wasn't there alone. LF didn't look overly impressed but not overly unimpressed either. Awesome - looks like I've invited the friends to check him out. Great. Inside was yet another reunion with MH who was waiting for the table and we decided to go to another restaurant with a lesser wait time.
We ended up at some fairly fancy italian place across from the Heart and Crown. He held the door open for me. Note: one of the few gentlemanly things he did that night. Yeah, that's not saying much if that's all he did... ANYWAYS, we were seated at the edge of the dining room and he took the chair facing the dining room so I had a view of the lobby and him. Not necessarily a bad thing as I can be easily distracted by people watching.
So he ordered a beer and I a glass of wine and then we started to look at the menu. It was a substantial menu and I had never been there before so I was browsing through. I then heard 'snap' to look up and see he'd closed his menu and placed it in front of him. Surprised, I said 'decided?' 'yup...so, like I was saying....' and he continued on with the conversation we had been having prior to looking at the menus.
Um, wouldn't edicate say you should shut your pie hole and let me decided and THEN continue talking?!? Guess not. Strike #1.
After quickly deciding, I got back into the conversation. I asked questions, picked up on things, made connections, blah blah blah. I can be very engaging ifI want to be. Too bad he wasn't. While he enjoyed our conversations, I think, I then started to notice, within the first 15 minutes, that while I was asking questions he could reciprocate on for me in turn, he wasn't. Humpf. About 10 more minutes go by and he's still not asking me anything. It's at this point that I realize he's just like a leaky faucet (did I mention he's a faucet and doorknob salesman! LOL!), keeps running at the mouth and doesn't care about the damage he causes around him! So I decided to just let this go and see how long he'll go without any reciprocating information. Strike #2.
And then the comments started coming out - the homophobic, the racist, the sexist, the arrogant - you name it, he's got one. How my a$$hole radar didn't go off before then? I don't know. To give you an example, there was another patron at the restaurant that broke into song. You know how that happens at some restaurants in movies, right? Or like in Sex and the City when Big takes Carrie to that restaurant and proceeds to sing to her? So anyways, he pretty much had to stop talking (remember I was just listening so at least it was something to drown him out for a few minutes - thank you, drunk man, for that reprive). When the drunken mess finished his 'aria', LF says, in an audible enough voice that should there been people at tables around us they would have heard, ''effing WOP'. 'Effing WOP?!?! In an ITALIAN restaurant on PRESTON where I'm sure half the patrons were mafia (if that actually exists in Ottawa). I wanted to crawl under the table and die. After that, he pretty much, for the last 20 minutes of the 'date', watched the rest of the room and only grunted out monosyllabic answers to my questions. I had one final effort to get him to talk where I asked him what his brother's girlfriend (they'd been dating 6.5-7 years) taught before she was a princip
L: So, what did your brother's girlfriend teach before she was a principle/al?
(insert WTF? face) LF: Pffft, I don't know. I'm not dating her.
L: Yeah, but she's been your brother's girlfriend for like 7 years. It's never come up in conversation?
LF: (insert incredulous tone) LIKE I SAID, I'm not dating her. Fuck, I don't even know what the teachers I'VE dated taught.
L: How many teachers have you dated?
LF: 2 or 3
It's at this point I realize that it doesn't matter what I say, he's never going to listen to me. Awesome.
We get the bill, he insists on paying (yeah that's right, the least you could do is pay for my meal seeing as how the company was such crap) and we leave. As we walk back to Pub Italia, he says 'so where did you park?' I motion down the street and say 'oh, on a street or two past Pub Italia' to which he responds 'well, I'm down here' and stops walking. Goes to give me a hand shake and then pulls me in for the weird man hug thing and says 'I'll call you' and we both know, and probably pray, he won't.
This is where Strike 3 comes in....
He yells after me as I walk away 'have a nice walk to your car' reminiscent of the tone you'd use on someone if you were to say 'and don't let the doorknob hit your ass on the way out!'.
I went home, picked up S and went out drinking.
Total waste of hair and makeup products....
Monday, April 27, 2009
Men and their drills
What is it with men and their drills?
No, that isn't a euphemism for their *ahem* goods. Really, I'm talking about drills. Plain old cordless or corded drills.
They're adding a door from the meeting room into the hallway today so that people coming to a meeting don't 'present' themselves at my desk expecting some kind of check in. Great. So banging and crashing and sawing and hammering and oh, you guessed it...drilling.
So because I've built up a fortress around me in my 'cube' I can't actually see these guys - I can only hear them. But this one guy - or maybe it's all of them - seem to walk around incessantly zing-zing-zinging the drill. And no, it's not connected to a screw or a bit that's in the wall making a hole. I know what that sounds like, I've drilled before. No, this drill is in his hand and he's just randomly pushing the trigger to hear it go.
Zing-zing-zing. Zing-zing-zing. ZINNNNNGGGGGG!
BAH! RAGE!
No, that isn't a euphemism for their *ahem* goods. Really, I'm talking about drills. Plain old cordless or corded drills.
They're adding a door from the meeting room into the hallway today so that people coming to a meeting don't 'present' themselves at my desk expecting some kind of check in. Great. So banging and crashing and sawing and hammering and oh, you guessed it...drilling.
So because I've built up a fortress around me in my 'cube' I can't actually see these guys - I can only hear them. But this one guy - or maybe it's all of them - seem to walk around incessantly zing-zing-zinging the drill. And no, it's not connected to a screw or a bit that's in the wall making a hole. I know what that sounds like, I've drilled before. No, this drill is in his hand and he's just randomly pushing the trigger to hear it go.
Zing-zing-zing. Zing-zing-zing. ZINNNNNGGGGGG!
BAH! RAGE!
Sunday, April 12, 2009
I'm on to you, you parents out there, I'm on to you
This morning I drove out of my driveway and nearly took out more neighbourhood kids than I knew existed on my street.
WTF?
Sure it's spring, sure it's a nice sunny morning out but 10 to 9 am and the street's alive like I've never seen it before?
WTF?
Ahhh, wait a minute, I see what's happened. You parents out there have jacked 'em full of chocolate and then sent them out to play in the street. Let 'em run around out there. Drive the DINKS and singletons crazy with their whoop calls, riding their bikes all over their lawns, drawing all over the sidewalk with chalk, the works. SHARE THE EASTER LOVE.
Well I'm on to you. Haven't figured out what my punishment will be but you keep your eyes on your garden gnomes and Mary's in a tub. 'Cause payback's a bitch.
WTF?
Sure it's spring, sure it's a nice sunny morning out but 10 to 9 am and the street's alive like I've never seen it before?
WTF?
Ahhh, wait a minute, I see what's happened. You parents out there have jacked 'em full of chocolate and then sent them out to play in the street. Let 'em run around out there. Drive the DINKS and singletons crazy with their whoop calls, riding their bikes all over their lawns, drawing all over the sidewalk with chalk, the works. SHARE THE EASTER LOVE.
Well I'm on to you. Haven't figured out what my punishment will be but you keep your eyes on your garden gnomes and Mary's in a tub. 'Cause payback's a bitch.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Take a hint already
Back in August, a friend came to stay with me for a few days. I like this gal, she's nice and all and we get along well for the first 48 hours or so and then I want to beat her. It's that fish and house guest theory, right? The both stinking after a few days?
Anyways, while she was visiting, I had a random friend request on Facebook from a friend of hers who is two years older than me so 3 years older than my friend. Now, the only thing that ties that girl and I together is that she dated my highschool sweetheart right before I did. That's it. We didn't have classes together, she wasn't a classmate of my older brother, nothing. In fact, I talked to her little brother who was 3 years younger than me more than I did her. Don't get me wrong, if we were alone and passed each other in the hall, we'd say hello but we weren't exactly friends and I wouldn't choose to have a conversation with her.
So, I said to our mutual, about-to-turn-putrid-like-rotting-fish, house-guest friend that I found it odd she was requesting me to be friends. She said that this gal routinely goes through her friends list and asks people to be friends with her. Given our mutual friend has like 8 million fakebook friends, there's quite the list to choose from. Mutual friend went on to say that because she was staying at my house and she speaks of me, that's the reason this gal is probably requesting me.
(insert record scratch)
What? She creeps mutual friend's friends list to add people to her list that she's not really friends with?
What? She wants to be my friend because you're staying at my house?
It was the first *ahem* "differing of opinions" (read: tense discussion that felt like it was about to lead to an all out war) that fishy house-guest and I had (that visit, might I add) and for some reason, she saw no issue with the fact that this gal does this. To me, what a shallow, impersonal act! As if I'm about to accept your offer offriendship fakeship on Facebook now. *insert tisk of disgust* So I did the only logical thing...
IG-NORE!
Well, mutual friend recently moved and sent photos of her new place in another city to an email distribution list that, unlike most emails she sends out of this nature, didn't have BCC on everyone's email addresses. That email came in this morning. And guess who I have a friend request from before noon today?
Ughhhh....take a hint already. I think I'm going to revert to a tried, tested and true response:
IG-NORE!
Anyways, while she was visiting, I had a random friend request on Facebook from a friend of hers who is two years older than me so 3 years older than my friend. Now, the only thing that ties that girl and I together is that she dated my highschool sweetheart right before I did. That's it. We didn't have classes together, she wasn't a classmate of my older brother, nothing. In fact, I talked to her little brother who was 3 years younger than me more than I did her. Don't get me wrong, if we were alone and passed each other in the hall, we'd say hello but we weren't exactly friends and I wouldn't choose to have a conversation with her.
So, I said to our mutual, about-to-turn-putrid-like-rotting-fish, house-guest friend that I found it odd she was requesting me to be friends. She said that this gal routinely goes through her friends list and asks people to be friends with her. Given our mutual friend has like 8 million fakebook friends, there's quite the list to choose from. Mutual friend went on to say that because she was staying at my house and she speaks of me, that's the reason this gal is probably requesting me.
(insert record scratch)
What? She creeps mutual friend's friends list to add people to her list that she's not really friends with?
What? She wants to be my friend because you're staying at my house?
It was the first *ahem* "differing of opinions" (read: tense discussion that felt like it was about to lead to an all out war) that fishy house-guest and I had (that visit, might I add) and for some reason, she saw no issue with the fact that this gal does this. To me, what a shallow, impersonal act! As if I'm about to accept your offer of
IG-NORE!
Well, mutual friend recently moved and sent photos of her new place in another city to an email distribution list that, unlike most emails she sends out of this nature, didn't have BCC on everyone's email addresses. That email came in this morning. And guess who I have a friend request from before noon today?
Ughhhh....take a hint already. I think I'm going to revert to a tried, tested and true response:
IG-NORE!
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Professionalism Gods, please save me!
Dear Professionalism Gods,
Please help. I am trapped in an office and work place that seems to have forgotten what it means to be a professional. While my visual senses are accosted by velour track suits on Fridays and daily reminders that my colleagues don't know professional cubicle decor and my auditory senses are bombarded with complaints of constant disrespect from the big bad "E"mployer, I fear I have finally met my whits end.
Today I received the following email:
While I think that employee morale is at its highest point since I started, I cannot attribute it to all the random cake gatherings, "coffee time" get-togethers, potlucks for any old reason including "it's Tuesday", I worry that it's come at the cost at the expense of the professionalism in our office.
So, dear Professionalism Gods, give me the strength to take the right course of action which doesn't alienate my coworkers and ensures my professional integrity is maintained.
Your faithful follower,
L
(Epilogue: this was all written during my 15 minute afternoon break. I have a right to my break. CUPE says so. ;o) )
Please help. I am trapped in an office and work place that seems to have forgotten what it means to be a professional. While my visual senses are accosted by velour track suits on Fridays and daily reminders that my colleagues don't know professional cubicle decor and my auditory senses are bombarded with complaints of constant disrespect from the big bad "E"mployer, I fear I have finally met my whits end.
Today I received the following email:
This Friday has been declared Sundae Day. We will be gathering to make our sundaes at 2:00.
The sign up sheet is on the closet door.
While I think that employee morale is at its highest point since I started, I cannot attribute it to all the random cake gatherings, "coffee time" get-togethers, potlucks for any old reason including "it's Tuesday", I worry that it's come at the cost at the expense of the professionalism in our office.
So, dear Professionalism Gods, give me the strength to take the right course of action which doesn't alienate my coworkers and ensures my professional integrity is maintained.
Your faithful follower,
L
(Epilogue: this was all written during my 15 minute afternoon break. I have a right to my break. CUPE says so. ;o) )
Friday, February 6, 2009
I try not to rant about work
Because I'm thankful to have the job that I do have but sometimes it's just not that easy.
Two bones of contention from today:
1) *Warning: this rant contains dialogue which may be TMI - Too Much Information - for all readers. You've been warned. Read at your own discretion* Why is it too hard to do a "courtesy flush"? Sure, we've all had those moments when we have flushed and not all of 'whatever' goes down and we have to flush again. It's kinda embarrassing but so is crapping in a public washroom so really, is it not less embarrassing to flush it all away rather than leave some as a welcoming present for the next person to come? It's just common courtesy.
2) What is it with people and their signatures on emails? Must they truly be a reflection of ourselves? In our daily lives, are we not afforded enough freedom in our society to chose our clothing, our hair colour, our food, our speech, etc. that we don't need to personalize EVERYTHING we come in contact with just to prove that we are unique from the person who sits in the next fabric box beside us? Case in point - I just got an email with this "quote" at the end of it:
Two bones of contention from today:
1) *Warning: this rant contains dialogue which may be TMI - Too Much Information - for all readers. You've been warned. Read at your own discretion* Why is it too hard to do a "courtesy flush"? Sure, we've all had those moments when we have flushed and not all of 'whatever' goes down and we have to flush again. It's kinda embarrassing but so is crapping in a public washroom so really, is it not less embarrassing to flush it all away rather than leave some as a welcoming present for the next person to come? It's just common courtesy.
2) What is it with people and their signatures on emails? Must they truly be a reflection of ourselves? In our daily lives, are we not afforded enough freedom in our society to chose our clothing, our hair colour, our food, our speech, etc. that we don't need to personalize EVERYTHING we come in contact with just to prove that we are unique from the person who sits in the next fabric box beside us? Case in point - I just got an email with this "quote" at the end of it:
Life should NOT be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, chocolate in one hand, martini in the other, body thoroughly used up, totally worn out and screaming "WOO HOO what a ride!"
Monday, February 2, 2009
They deserve to be fired
So, with being in a Mexicoma for the last 16 days, and well, to be frank, not giving a rat's ass about much going on in the world during that time, I forgot that yesterday was Superbowl Sunday.
While doing laundry and not having energy to do much other than channel surf last night, I came across the half time show. In all honesty, it's the first time I've ever watched it and had to get stills of the JT/Janet controversy after the fact. Knowing all about the scandal though, I was super pumped to watch whatever could possibly follow that performance from 4 years ago.
I'm watching and for a second (remember I was REALLY tired and beginning a cold) I didn't know who they were talking about as the performer. And then I clued in.
Bruce Springsteen? Are you serious? WTF?!? Whoever made that decision needs to be fired. How...boring! And panning to the audience of scary cougars belting their hearts out with him while holding mock candles? Oye.
But it was like a train wreck you can't help but look at. And if I tried to change the channel, the only other things on were Wipeout (which was funny only the first time I saw it even if it does send the nephews into peels of laughter) or Extreme Makeover Home Edition which are both just worse. Speaking of, anyone else think that Ty Pennington isn't aging well? And when did he turn into a blubbering, bad-punning idiot? He has always been eye candy but once upon a time I used to be okay hearing him speak - now I just want to slap him across the face whenever he opens his mouth. Well, now that's an interesting visual, isn't it...
But I digress. Seriously, Bruce Springsteen???? I'm speechless in disgust. That's it. No witty come back, no scathing insults. Just "ugghhhh". It seems like it's just not even worth my brain power to do so.
*insert disgusted face here*
While doing laundry and not having energy to do much other than channel surf last night, I came across the half time show. In all honesty, it's the first time I've ever watched it and had to get stills of the JT/Janet controversy after the fact. Knowing all about the scandal though, I was super pumped to watch whatever could possibly follow that performance from 4 years ago.
I'm watching and for a second (remember I was REALLY tired and beginning a cold) I didn't know who they were talking about as the performer. And then I clued in.
Bruce Springsteen? Are you serious? WTF?!? Whoever made that decision needs to be fired. How...boring! And panning to the audience of scary cougars belting their hearts out with him while holding mock candles? Oye.
But it was like a train wreck you can't help but look at. And if I tried to change the channel, the only other things on were Wipeout (which was funny only the first time I saw it even if it does send the nephews into peels of laughter) or Extreme Makeover Home Edition which are both just worse. Speaking of, anyone else think that Ty Pennington isn't aging well? And when did he turn into a blubbering, bad-punning idiot? He has always been eye candy but once upon a time I used to be okay hearing him speak - now I just want to slap him across the face whenever he opens his mouth. Well, now that's an interesting visual, isn't it...
But I digress. Seriously, Bruce Springsteen???? I'm speechless in disgust. That's it. No witty come back, no scathing insults. Just "ugghhhh". It seems like it's just not even worth my brain power to do so.
*insert disgusted face here*
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