How old does one need to be to lose ones mind? I am in serious need of a real holiday - the kind that comes with room service and a massage. The kind where once on the airplane, you are lifted off to another world where even the Stewardess's are kinder and gentler and the food tastes better (Ok, that might be pushing it but you get my drift).
I have not been on holiday since April 2009 when Kris and I took that fantastical South American Cruise. My brain is mush and I can feel leaking out of my ear and running down the left side of my neck into my collar.
We are heading into the home stretch of an RRSP season where stupidity rules the roost. If I am asked one more time - When is the deadline and what is the limit this year (this is by staff), I will push someone under the nearest bus.
I am forgetful of late. I am short on good temper. I am cranky. I am tired. Did I mention forgetful?
Back to my original question. If anyone knows where I left my car, I will be grateful. I have a feeling I drove to the grocery store last evening and then walked home. If this is the case, this is goona cost me big time. It is $6.00 an hour to park. You get the 1st hour free if you shop but after that they kill you.
As for cranky, this morning I wanted to bite through the arm of a small child on the bus. At the second stop after I got on, three classes of grade schoolers got on for a ride downtown. One sat next to me and kept climbing over me in his effort to beat his friend at pulling the bell for his stop. His teacher kept trying to slap his arm down and tell him to sit still but he ignored her and in her effort to "assist" me, she slapped me in the face. Always a pleasant way to start the day. I normally quite like kids. I have changed my opinion.
Since I have obviously lost my mind, I have removed myself from all dating websites until the end of RSP season. I am afraid I snapped on Saturday when some young kid wanted to be the one who "could show me the moon and stars". Turns out this past weekend was a full moon so the looney's were out in full force. They must be re-running The Graduate or the Summer of 42 a lot lately. Why does every 20 something think that every 40 something wants to be a teacher to a stupid kid who has the attention span of gnat? I think I blame Demi Moore. Ever since she married that kid, it has been tough for the rest of us. However, it seems my child thinks it would be cool to have a new Daddy who is younger than she is. I find this oddly disturbing.
I will get some new pics taken this weekend with my new "do" and start fresh. Maybe the new hair will stop some of these kids from pestering me. I have been told this should do wonders for my ego. It actually does nothing of the kind. It just kinda grosses me out. Maybe if I drank........
I will keep you posted next week after my new profile is up and running. My sister-in-law suggested I put up someone else's picture and lie about myself and then only when I have one on the hook tell them the truth. I might actually run two ads - one with my picture and the truth and one with a picture of someone else and full of lies and see what happens. That could actually be a pretty fun experiment. Anyone want to volunteer their picture?
I will let you know what happens.
Stay tuned
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Saturday, February 19, 2011
I must have been sleeping
I got old while I slept. This was pointed out to me recently by a group of younger work associates. I made some comment about some music I had heard where the english language had been altered. Apparently, the word "with" is much too difficult to say so the new word is "wich". As in "I want to get wich you." I thought the song was about the girl making the fella a sandwich. I found the exact sentance reads "Alls I kin say to ya, is I wan git wich you"
I have misunderstood lyrics in the past but it seems that I am actually hearing the words correctly but the singers are now too lazy to say the word properly. This also goes for the "S" sound. It seems it is easier to make is sound like the softer "SH".
I no longer think I need my meds adjusted as I am pretty sure my hearing is not affected - its just my age.
While the news goes on about making sure our children get enough excersize so they don't get fat and lazy, no one is doing anything about this new epedemic - kids so lazy, they cannot be bothered to say a whole word - or say it properly. Brother has become Bro - Hello is Yo - Want is Wan - Out is Ow. I head even Dude has become Du. And in cases of extreme disbelief, it becomes Duuuuuu. So, in the rush rush world of our youth where even speaking properly takes too much time, Imagine the following sentence being heard and having to pick up an english to english transalation dictionary to figure out what it means: "Sos, I linked up wich my bro and I tagged "Yo, Du, ya wan hit the shtreets ta check ow tha new place on Robson?" I think you get the gist.
On to another topic, walking down Granville street this past week I saw some interesting sights. For instance the man, obviously in a great hurry, hurrying down the street while shaving. The man had guts - he was using a razor blade NOT an electric razor. One false step, one curb not seen and an ambulance would have to be called. Then there was the woman with the tambourines. She danced as she walked. These people put a smile on my face. Then there was the woman I wanted to push under a bus. The stupid broad was throwing handfuls of bird seed and bread crumbs out by the pound on the sidewalk beside the train station thereby attracting what seemed like thousands of sqawking, flapping, flying rats that are also known as pigeons. Does she not know that some people might actually have very real phobias against flapping, flying rats and that some people could not actually get near the train station to go home thereby taking the bus and having to sit next to a nose picker? Some people might get cranky because of this.
For those of you wondering how my first visit to a gay bar went - you will have to keep wondering. The friend who was to take me got sick so we will have to make it another time. This might be a good thing as I have a feeling I am going to need to go shopping for new clothes first. I want to make sure I fit in.
I will keep you posted.
I have misunderstood lyrics in the past but it seems that I am actually hearing the words correctly but the singers are now too lazy to say the word properly. This also goes for the "S" sound. It seems it is easier to make is sound like the softer "SH".
I no longer think I need my meds adjusted as I am pretty sure my hearing is not affected - its just my age.
While the news goes on about making sure our children get enough excersize so they don't get fat and lazy, no one is doing anything about this new epedemic - kids so lazy, they cannot be bothered to say a whole word - or say it properly. Brother has become Bro - Hello is Yo - Want is Wan - Out is Ow. I head even Dude has become Du. And in cases of extreme disbelief, it becomes Duuuuuu. So, in the rush rush world of our youth where even speaking properly takes too much time, Imagine the following sentence being heard and having to pick up an english to english transalation dictionary to figure out what it means: "Sos, I linked up wich my bro and I tagged "Yo, Du, ya wan hit the shtreets ta check ow tha new place on Robson?" I think you get the gist.
On to another topic, walking down Granville street this past week I saw some interesting sights. For instance the man, obviously in a great hurry, hurrying down the street while shaving. The man had guts - he was using a razor blade NOT an electric razor. One false step, one curb not seen and an ambulance would have to be called. Then there was the woman with the tambourines. She danced as she walked. These people put a smile on my face. Then there was the woman I wanted to push under a bus. The stupid broad was throwing handfuls of bird seed and bread crumbs out by the pound on the sidewalk beside the train station thereby attracting what seemed like thousands of sqawking, flapping, flying rats that are also known as pigeons. Does she not know that some people might actually have very real phobias against flapping, flying rats and that some people could not actually get near the train station to go home thereby taking the bus and having to sit next to a nose picker? Some people might get cranky because of this.
For those of you wondering how my first visit to a gay bar went - you will have to keep wondering. The friend who was to take me got sick so we will have to make it another time. This might be a good thing as I have a feeling I am going to need to go shopping for new clothes first. I want to make sure I fit in.
I will keep you posted.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
More positive and uplifting
So it seems my daughter likes my blog postings but thinks they might be a tad depressing. She wants me to write more uplifting articles.
So my darling, this one is for you. It is enought to make an old lady proud and put a smile on a nannagramma's lips. However, children of said old lady might be a tad uncomfortable.
I recieved a message from a delightful man (barely) last week. He thinks I am beautiful with a wonderful smile and gorgeous eyes. During our many email exchanges, he has discovered not only am I all those other things but I am smart, funny and articulate with a great 'sense of self''.
I will describe this man as not only incredibly intelligent (see above for confirmation) but funny, sweet and OMG!!!!!!!!!!!! talk about gorgeous! He is like dessert on a stick. Like that extra piece of cheesecake that you discover contains no calories at all.
He is 31 years old. But I don't care. He lives in Arizona. I don't care. I have an Aunt who is currently in Palm Springs - just a short hop away. This fella is so yummy, I think I will have to ask her to pop on over a State and check him out. If he checks out for her, and she doesn't keep him for herself, I will ask her to shove him in the trunk of her car and head for the border.
I have a feeling my child will not be quite so happy when my "uplifting" story ends with me introducing her to her new daddy - who is a year younger than she is. On the upside, he will most likely outlive me which will alliviate her from having to care for me in my old age. The issue of inheritance will also be moot. Chances are really good that I will have to spend everything I have on upkeep to try to keep up with a hubby almost 20 years younger. This will be the start of annual facelifts, tummy tucks, butt lifts and the like. I guess I will even have to address that pesky COOPERS DROOP. Wonder how much that costs.
I also wonder how I will be as someones 'Mrs. Robinson'. I am not really comfortable in the teaching position. I tend to just want to get the job done and not waste time explaining things. I have a feeling I might get bored - after a year or two. I imagine that once we stop talking about how gorgeous he is and how wonderful I am, we might not have a whole lot left to discuss.
So, how is that for uplifiting? He has been a boost to a sagging ego during a week when I have been contacted by 1) a man who finally conceeded that he and his wife are more like roommates and therefore its ok for him to have a girlfriend and 2) a pervert who just wants an 'intimate encounter' with a gorgeous blonde and 3) an idiot - no more need be said.
A friend of mine is taking me out to a gay bar on Saturday night - first time ever. She says we can dance and have fun without having to worry about being annoyed. I have no idea what one wears to a gay bar but I have a feeling that no matter what I chose, they will be better dressed than me. Oh well, I am looking forward to it and will of course, keep you updated on my experience.
Stay tuned
So my darling, this one is for you. It is enought to make an old lady proud and put a smile on a nannagramma's lips. However, children of said old lady might be a tad uncomfortable.
I recieved a message from a delightful man (barely) last week. He thinks I am beautiful with a wonderful smile and gorgeous eyes. During our many email exchanges, he has discovered not only am I all those other things but I am smart, funny and articulate with a great 'sense of self''.
I will describe this man as not only incredibly intelligent (see above for confirmation) but funny, sweet and OMG!!!!!!!!!!!! talk about gorgeous! He is like dessert on a stick. Like that extra piece of cheesecake that you discover contains no calories at all.
He is 31 years old. But I don't care. He lives in Arizona. I don't care. I have an Aunt who is currently in Palm Springs - just a short hop away. This fella is so yummy, I think I will have to ask her to pop on over a State and check him out. If he checks out for her, and she doesn't keep him for herself, I will ask her to shove him in the trunk of her car and head for the border.
I have a feeling my child will not be quite so happy when my "uplifting" story ends with me introducing her to her new daddy - who is a year younger than she is. On the upside, he will most likely outlive me which will alliviate her from having to care for me in my old age. The issue of inheritance will also be moot. Chances are really good that I will have to spend everything I have on upkeep to try to keep up with a hubby almost 20 years younger. This will be the start of annual facelifts, tummy tucks, butt lifts and the like. I guess I will even have to address that pesky COOPERS DROOP. Wonder how much that costs.
I also wonder how I will be as someones 'Mrs. Robinson'. I am not really comfortable in the teaching position. I tend to just want to get the job done and not waste time explaining things. I have a feeling I might get bored - after a year or two. I imagine that once we stop talking about how gorgeous he is and how wonderful I am, we might not have a whole lot left to discuss.
So, how is that for uplifiting? He has been a boost to a sagging ego during a week when I have been contacted by 1) a man who finally conceeded that he and his wife are more like roommates and therefore its ok for him to have a girlfriend and 2) a pervert who just wants an 'intimate encounter' with a gorgeous blonde and 3) an idiot - no more need be said.
A friend of mine is taking me out to a gay bar on Saturday night - first time ever. She says we can dance and have fun without having to worry about being annoyed. I have no idea what one wears to a gay bar but I have a feeling that no matter what I chose, they will be better dressed than me. Oh well, I am looking forward to it and will of course, keep you updated on my experience.
Stay tuned
Thursday, February 3, 2011
I am Traumatized
I got a haircut yesterday. A deep and disturbing haircut. I am now traumatized.
Those of you who knew me in my childhood will have fond memories of the many pixi and bowl cuts that my Mother was fond of giving me. By virtue of her having a couple of brothers who were hair stylists, the talent to cut her own children's hair was inherent. Until I reached the age of about 10 or so, this was common practise in our kitchen at least once every couple of months. I would like to say I remember those days with fondness. I would LIKE to say that but I cannot.
You should know, my Mother was not the only one to inflict traumatization upon my young head. I was either 10 or 11 when I was taken to my Uncle's hair salon for a new cut. I told him very clearly " I want to look like a girl." He promised me that when he was done, I would look like a pretty little girl. At the end of the cut, he spun me around in the chair and told me how pretty I was. (You should know, I had no other cousins who were girls at this point so his point of reference might be called into question). I was happy. Then in happened. His first client in after my cut took a look at me and said " Oh D (name protected), is this your nephew?" It cost him an ice cream cone and a toy to shut me up. However, you may notice, neither really worked as 40 years later I am still traumatized.
I told you the above in order to set in context the understand that I hold dear with respect to my hair. Back to yesterday's haircut. I might actually have to take some blame here. I might have been a little wishy washy without giving clear direction when I said "I need some shape, with a trim. You can take an inch or so off at the back as I still need to be able to put it in a ponytail." After a night to sleep on it, I understand that this could have been taken as "please cut it all off so that I may relive my childhood pixi cuts."
People were kind today. They either said nothing at all or a I got a polite smile coupled with "you look cute - and besides, its only hair. It will grow back."
I am going to start keeping a bottle of booze in my bottom desk drawer with a bendy straw for sipping.
On the upside, I feel that now with this haircut coupled with my newly discovered mustache - many of my dating issues will be moot. Since I will conceivably be confused for a male, chances are pretty good I will be off the market for a while - at least until this grows out.
As soon as I get out hair-therapy, I will catch you up on things
Those of you who knew me in my childhood will have fond memories of the many pixi and bowl cuts that my Mother was fond of giving me. By virtue of her having a couple of brothers who were hair stylists, the talent to cut her own children's hair was inherent. Until I reached the age of about 10 or so, this was common practise in our kitchen at least once every couple of months. I would like to say I remember those days with fondness. I would LIKE to say that but I cannot.
You should know, my Mother was not the only one to inflict traumatization upon my young head. I was either 10 or 11 when I was taken to my Uncle's hair salon for a new cut. I told him very clearly " I want to look like a girl." He promised me that when he was done, I would look like a pretty little girl. At the end of the cut, he spun me around in the chair and told me how pretty I was. (You should know, I had no other cousins who were girls at this point so his point of reference might be called into question). I was happy. Then in happened. His first client in after my cut took a look at me and said " Oh D (name protected), is this your nephew?" It cost him an ice cream cone and a toy to shut me up. However, you may notice, neither really worked as 40 years later I am still traumatized.
I told you the above in order to set in context the understand that I hold dear with respect to my hair. Back to yesterday's haircut. I might actually have to take some blame here. I might have been a little wishy washy without giving clear direction when I said "I need some shape, with a trim. You can take an inch or so off at the back as I still need to be able to put it in a ponytail." After a night to sleep on it, I understand that this could have been taken as "please cut it all off so that I may relive my childhood pixi cuts."
People were kind today. They either said nothing at all or a I got a polite smile coupled with "you look cute - and besides, its only hair. It will grow back."
I am going to start keeping a bottle of booze in my bottom desk drawer with a bendy straw for sipping.
On the upside, I feel that now with this haircut coupled with my newly discovered mustache - many of my dating issues will be moot. Since I will conceivably be confused for a male, chances are pretty good I will be off the market for a while - at least until this grows out.
As soon as I get out hair-therapy, I will catch you up on things
Monday, January 31, 2011
What is wrong with this picture????
I can't decide whether or not this new "catch" is the victim of a horrid woman who treated him badly or just another fool who requires an idiot vaccination before he is let loose in the dating pond.
So, let me set this up. We connected on line about 3 weeks ago. After numerous emails and instant messaging, I agreed to call him. It seems he hid his idiocy well online - OR, I am still learning - and not very fast I might add - what questions to ask and I am not asking the right ones.
The conversation started off in the usual way - what do you do for fun, where do you like to go, where have you travelled, yada, yada, yada. After about 15 minutes of pretty inoccuous chatter, he comes out with what he wants in finding a partner. Ya'll better sit down for this part (I had to sit before I fell over).
"Well, Holly, I am looking for a girlfriend who will eventually become my wife because I am lonely. This is the 3rd time I have been on this site and I want you to be my last. The first one didn't work out because she wouldn't check in with me and I never knew where she was (is he kidding me?). The 2nd one didn't like me very much. Not sure why since its not like I asked for sex every night-just everytime we met (jeez...idiot o'meter on high alert). I expect my girlfriend to always stay in touch and plan to meet me at least once per week. I need to know where you are at all times or I will wonder if you are being faithful. Everyone knows that the only way to maintain faithfulness is to ensure the man can keep tabs on his woman. So, when can we meet? I would like it to be this weekend so if you would please make arrangements to be in Coquitlam on Saturday, that would be best."
Obviously, he has not taken advantage of our excellent mental health programs. When I replied that he was looking for something different than what I am, he seemed to get quite agitated. It seems I didn't understand him properly and am already betraying him. Holy crap- can I pick em or what?
You know - I am really beginning to think that I am really the one with the problem. I don't seem to be able to pinpoint the idiots at first glance or even the 3rd glance. While I am a freak magnet, I think I actually make things worse because I am not even close to understanding what I am doing. What do I want in a partner? I thought it was really quite simple. I just want someone to share things with who won't want to hang around 24/7. Someone who buys dinner once in a while would be nice too. If he is a good travel companion, that would be a bonus. But if some guy expects me to check in and let him know where I am at all times then he is obviously low on his Prozac. I don't take direction very well. If someone tells me I cannot order a cocktail before 5pm, I find the need to order a Screwdriver at noon - even though I don't really drink. Spite, you might say. Tell me to do something and I feel a ridiculous need to do the opposite - including cutting off my nose to spite my face.
I think I need to set up a dating partner. More perhaps like a dating coach. Someone to tell me what to type online, say on the phone and go with me on those first meetings. This coach would be expected to draw out the 'stupid' before I get hit with it. Considering my record to date, some of the stupid must be rubbing off on me. It's probably in all my clothes and hair by now. Washing stupid out of your hair can't be easy. I need this person to tell me what I am doing wrong. I thought I was being up front, clear and concise. Maybe I am speaking the wrong language. Anyone who is willing to take this task on, please let me know.
On another note, I am meeting up with my ideal date on Saturday. Once he finishes his soccer game, he has agreed to come to my place and help me fix my living room. He wants to pick out furniture for him to have when he gets his own place. The boy thinks ahead. He is 8 years old but understands he needs to plan ahead and why not go shopping at Nannagramma's house? His mother and aunt did.
will keep you posted.
So, let me set this up. We connected on line about 3 weeks ago. After numerous emails and instant messaging, I agreed to call him. It seems he hid his idiocy well online - OR, I am still learning - and not very fast I might add - what questions to ask and I am not asking the right ones.
The conversation started off in the usual way - what do you do for fun, where do you like to go, where have you travelled, yada, yada, yada. After about 15 minutes of pretty inoccuous chatter, he comes out with what he wants in finding a partner. Ya'll better sit down for this part (I had to sit before I fell over).
"Well, Holly, I am looking for a girlfriend who will eventually become my wife because I am lonely. This is the 3rd time I have been on this site and I want you to be my last. The first one didn't work out because she wouldn't check in with me and I never knew where she was (is he kidding me?). The 2nd one didn't like me very much. Not sure why since its not like I asked for sex every night-just everytime we met (jeez...idiot o'meter on high alert). I expect my girlfriend to always stay in touch and plan to meet me at least once per week. I need to know where you are at all times or I will wonder if you are being faithful. Everyone knows that the only way to maintain faithfulness is to ensure the man can keep tabs on his woman. So, when can we meet? I would like it to be this weekend so if you would please make arrangements to be in Coquitlam on Saturday, that would be best."
Obviously, he has not taken advantage of our excellent mental health programs. When I replied that he was looking for something different than what I am, he seemed to get quite agitated. It seems I didn't understand him properly and am already betraying him. Holy crap- can I pick em or what?
You know - I am really beginning to think that I am really the one with the problem. I don't seem to be able to pinpoint the idiots at first glance or even the 3rd glance. While I am a freak magnet, I think I actually make things worse because I am not even close to understanding what I am doing. What do I want in a partner? I thought it was really quite simple. I just want someone to share things with who won't want to hang around 24/7. Someone who buys dinner once in a while would be nice too. If he is a good travel companion, that would be a bonus. But if some guy expects me to check in and let him know where I am at all times then he is obviously low on his Prozac. I don't take direction very well. If someone tells me I cannot order a cocktail before 5pm, I find the need to order a Screwdriver at noon - even though I don't really drink. Spite, you might say. Tell me to do something and I feel a ridiculous need to do the opposite - including cutting off my nose to spite my face.
I think I need to set up a dating partner. More perhaps like a dating coach. Someone to tell me what to type online, say on the phone and go with me on those first meetings. This coach would be expected to draw out the 'stupid' before I get hit with it. Considering my record to date, some of the stupid must be rubbing off on me. It's probably in all my clothes and hair by now. Washing stupid out of your hair can't be easy. I need this person to tell me what I am doing wrong. I thought I was being up front, clear and concise. Maybe I am speaking the wrong language. Anyone who is willing to take this task on, please let me know.
On another note, I am meeting up with my ideal date on Saturday. Once he finishes his soccer game, he has agreed to come to my place and help me fix my living room. He wants to pick out furniture for him to have when he gets his own place. The boy thinks ahead. He is 8 years old but understands he needs to plan ahead and why not go shopping at Nannagramma's house? His mother and aunt did.
will keep you posted.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
I have an affliction
And it is called "Coopers Droop". Personally I think my doctor just made it up as he has no sense of humour and he tends to hold a grduge.
A few years ago it seems I embarrassed him and he has been holding it against me ever since. His nurse said I was the only one who succeeded in making him blush.
Dad, if you are reading this, cover your eyes for the next little bit.
So, as all my women friends are familiar with, when we go for a physical we are subjected to some embarrassing and compromising situations. It was a cold, winter afternoon and I was tired and a little jittery as I was shown to my paper gown and the metal impersonal stirrups. Since I had been going through this procedure for 27 years with this man I felt that we had developed a special relationship. The worse part of the whole ordeal is that you lay there while this man is intimately examining you and no one is speaking. You don't have anywhere to look but the ceiling as he has his headlight on and he is intent on some exporation in your nether regions. It is very clinical indeed. I decided I had had enough of this. So, when the inevitable question came up " when was the last time you had sexual intercourse?" I answered honestly "I'm having it now. Is it good for you because I sure could use a smoke." Well, his headlight snapped off and he stood up told me I could get dressed and left the room. I could hear Mary (his nurse) laughing outside the door.
Ever since that incident, he seems to go out of his way trying to get back at me. He came up with the best so far during my exam this week.
After the usual breast exam he told me he found a problem. He asked if I was dating anyone. When I asked why he said I should be aware of what age has done to me and that I need to be careful. He had my full attention. He said I needed to make sure I invested in a really good support bra. I was now sitting on the edge of my seat thinking the worse. "I am sure given your personality that you won't be terribly embarrassed by this but if you ever get intimate again with a new man, you will want to explain your affliction with clarity. I hate to tell you this Holly, but you have a condition called Coopers Droop." OMG!!!!! Was he kidding? What is that? What's wrong with me? "As you have aged Holly, the ligiments in your breasts have pulled (in other words gravity has taken over) in a downward position. It is known as Coopers Droop." Great - there is a name for it. I swear he had a huge smile on his face as he was telling me. AND THEN - he caps it with "So, I see you are turning 50 this year. You are actually a little young for Coopers. Oh well, too bad since it only getrs worse with age. Enjoy the rest of your night and see you in 2 weeks." NICE. See what I mean? He holds a grudge over one little incident and has no sense of humour. I am going to have to think about this. Lets see how the next visit goes. We'll see whose laughing then.
Sadly, this was the highlght of my week. I have a date tomorrow but I may cancel in order to go buy a bra.
Sunday will find me picking up the wee grandkids and taking them with the toys they have saved to Children's hospital. Afterwards we will hit a movie theatre and stuff oursevles with popcorn before returning them home. They are my new best friends. They don't care that I have this horrible affliction.
I need a new hobby.
Stay tuned.
A few years ago it seems I embarrassed him and he has been holding it against me ever since. His nurse said I was the only one who succeeded in making him blush.
Dad, if you are reading this, cover your eyes for the next little bit.
So, as all my women friends are familiar with, when we go for a physical we are subjected to some embarrassing and compromising situations. It was a cold, winter afternoon and I was tired and a little jittery as I was shown to my paper gown and the metal impersonal stirrups. Since I had been going through this procedure for 27 years with this man I felt that we had developed a special relationship. The worse part of the whole ordeal is that you lay there while this man is intimately examining you and no one is speaking. You don't have anywhere to look but the ceiling as he has his headlight on and he is intent on some exporation in your nether regions. It is very clinical indeed. I decided I had had enough of this. So, when the inevitable question came up " when was the last time you had sexual intercourse?" I answered honestly "I'm having it now. Is it good for you because I sure could use a smoke." Well, his headlight snapped off and he stood up told me I could get dressed and left the room. I could hear Mary (his nurse) laughing outside the door.
Ever since that incident, he seems to go out of his way trying to get back at me. He came up with the best so far during my exam this week.
After the usual breast exam he told me he found a problem. He asked if I was dating anyone. When I asked why he said I should be aware of what age has done to me and that I need to be careful. He had my full attention. He said I needed to make sure I invested in a really good support bra. I was now sitting on the edge of my seat thinking the worse. "I am sure given your personality that you won't be terribly embarrassed by this but if you ever get intimate again with a new man, you will want to explain your affliction with clarity. I hate to tell you this Holly, but you have a condition called Coopers Droop." OMG!!!!! Was he kidding? What is that? What's wrong with me? "As you have aged Holly, the ligiments in your breasts have pulled (in other words gravity has taken over) in a downward position. It is known as Coopers Droop." Great - there is a name for it. I swear he had a huge smile on his face as he was telling me. AND THEN - he caps it with "So, I see you are turning 50 this year. You are actually a little young for Coopers. Oh well, too bad since it only getrs worse with age. Enjoy the rest of your night and see you in 2 weeks." NICE. See what I mean? He holds a grudge over one little incident and has no sense of humour. I am going to have to think about this. Lets see how the next visit goes. We'll see whose laughing then.
Sadly, this was the highlght of my week. I have a date tomorrow but I may cancel in order to go buy a bra.
Sunday will find me picking up the wee grandkids and taking them with the toys they have saved to Children's hospital. Afterwards we will hit a movie theatre and stuff oursevles with popcorn before returning them home. They are my new best friends. They don't care that I have this horrible affliction.
I need a new hobby.
Stay tuned.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Happy New Year
I was very excited for the beginning of a brand new decade. However, I must learn to accept my limitations and understand that I must never get overly excited about anything - it will only hurt me.
So far, in the first 2 weeks of the year:
2 broken nails
1 pair of rubber boots destroyed
1 bus accident
1 small oven fire
1 forged bank card
1 rug burn (not what you think)
1 fall down the stairs
1 wee car accident involving a cement post
1 dust-up with repeat offender
1 incident of stuck on broken train with garlic bather
1 butt ugly living room
1 search for slippers - not mine
Broken nails speak for themselves. However, my new 'trendy' rubber boots made me very angry. So, I purchased these really cute rubber boots and was making my way to work the day after the holidays ended when I feel my feet getting kinda wet. I thought perhaps my mind was playing tricks and because these boots are meant to keep out the wet but not the cold that my feet were just cold. When I got to the office to change into one of the 8 pairs of pumps I keep under my desk, I pulled them off and imagine my surprise when two puddles of water came out. Thankfully no one was expected to appear in my office that day otherwise they might of been confused as to where they actually were. It looked like my laundry room with my wet socks thrown over my heating vent in an effort to dry before I had to make my way home.
I sat down to check out my boots and discovered that they had cracks in the soles - too many to count. Of course I no longer had the receipt but thought I would try to make a deal with the store where I bought them anyway. They were not very cooperative. They pointed out they are called "the shoe wearhouse" for a reason. I asked what they meant by that and the response I got was "I should understand by the name that they sell discount shoes and you get what you pay for." Well, I said "I PAID for shoes to do the job of keeping my feet of the ground and out of the muck and mire of the street". They did not get the irony of the statement.
A day or so later I was riding my bus home - minding my own business and working on a crossword puzzle when all of the sudden there was a loud bang and flying glass. It seems that one bus tried to pull out while my bus was passing and smashed into the side door of my bus. I must say, I have seen many of us common folks yell at bus drivers (I may have been one of them) but this was the first time I have seen two of them go at each other. It was very entertaining to say the least to hear them 'discuss' each others driving abilities. They too did not see the irony of the situation.
Ok, so no one ever told me that if you place the broiler pan on the top rack, whatever is placed on it may be too close to the top burner and stands a good chance of catching fire. Something good came out of it though - the smoke detector that I took down in order to prepare holiday dinners (too embarrassing when it goes off in front of company) won't work when it is placed on a book case in the hallway. What a mess. The next time Kris used the oven he wanted to know what the hell stunk up the house. I was able to tell him his cooking stinks.
After 3 attempts to get access to my banking info online, I thought I was losing my mind. I checked that I had the correct information and promptly called my credit union ready to yell. Turns out they shut my account and card down as they said I had been compromised (sounds better than it is). Someone had made a duplicate of my card and attempts were made to access my account. Crappity crap crap. I thought I had been so careful since the theft of my identity and card fraud again last year. I use Point of Sale only at outlets that I know (grocery store, Sears etc), cover the pin pad and such. When I spoke the fraud department he stated that while they do not know exactly how it was done this time, he suggested that I find a metal wallet or card container and keep all cards with data on them in there. It seems that your information can be stolen by someone just walking past you with a small electronic devise. Oy vey. I think from now on I am going to deal in cash only and keep it in my bra. That jingling noise you hear will be my chest and if you find any quarters on the ground most likely they are mine and they just fell out of my bra. Perhaps I will get a raise this year and can upgrade to paper money. I am thinking it will be less noisy when I walk.
As I was cleaning up the aftermath of holiday excitement and hauling 2 tons of decorations and such down three flights of stairs, the cat decided it was a good time to stretch out on stair #5 of the second flight. This caused me to fall the last 6 steps. However, I landed on the Christmas tree at the bottom so no broken bones to start the new year. But can someone remind me let the cat out of the closet before we move? I also need a new tree but the good news is - nothing broke on me this time! Maybe it will be a good year after all.
No one saw me so I am not sure it counts as an accident. Some bonehead parked all wonky beside me in our underground parking lot. I tried first to push it out of the way but having missed my Weaties that morning, did not have the strength so instead I tried - valiantly I might add - to maneuver around it. I swear, that cement post moved three inches to the left. As I heard that sickly crunch down the side of car all I could think about was "how do I make this not my fault?" Actually, if the bonehead in the other parking spot learned how to park properly none of this would have happened. So, another sign of a possible good year - found fault - not mine.
Remember the bozo who came up and asked me for spare change before the holidays and then said he would wait while I went to the bank machine? He made a repeat appearance last week begging for change. What a knob. I said "what a surprise to see you again. It's been a couple of weeks - how you doin?" I stated again that I would not be making a trip to my bank machine so that I could have the pleasure of giving him my change and to shove off. He stood there not 2 inches from my face. I put my earplugs back in and returned to my book. He obviously had no idea who he was messing with. He continued to stand there - right in my personal space and started to make comments on my gene pool affiliations. I guess he thought he could embarrass me or something. Imagine the surprise on his face when I told him to F&%^& off or I would take my pen and shove it deeply into his scrotum through his baggy pants and twist his manhood until he begged me to just kill him instead. The three other people on the bus bench applauded. Might be a good year - maybe he will tell his friends and they will all leave me alone.
One of my worse fears were also realized. I got on the train to return from Burnaby when it broke down. For 45 minutes I was stuck on a train beside someone who obviously bathed in garlic that morning. Breathing through my mouth made me thirsty however I was reluctant to drink any of my water for fear I would have to pee. That is the fear. It happens on elevators as well. Anywhere I could be stuck my first fear is 'OMG, now I have to pee'. What should have been a 30 minute ride turned into 90 minute fiasco. Not a good year so far for public transit.
My living room is ugly. In an effort to start off with a new look for the new year, after putting all the decorations away, I tried to rearrange the living room. It didn't work. Now I remember why I put the couch where it was. This is where I got the rug burn. After unloading both of my china cabinets, I had to push and pull one of them across the room - on a carpeted floor. It took me an hour and because I had no leverage up top, I had to push and pull from my knees at the bottom. 4 hours later when it had been done I decided it is easier to get new furniture than to try to put this back to the way it was. Right after tax time, I am going to IKEA and starting fresh.
The search for slippers brings me to today. On my way in this morning there was a woman on my bus who was wearing blue slippers when I got on. When I was getting off, she had lost one. She said she could not recall what happened but lo and behold there she was with only one blue fuzzy slipper on her foot. She asked if I could help her locate the other. I spent about 5 minutes with her but then the bus drove off. Never saw the other slipper. I wonder what happened. She stayed on the bus so perhaps I will see her on my trip home.
New Year - New Dates. My friend has offered to take new pictures of me and help me set up new web posting. I think this time I will be a 39 year old flight attendant (stop laughing - it could be true).
Stay tuned, I will keep you posted.
Cheers
So far, in the first 2 weeks of the year:
2 broken nails
1 pair of rubber boots destroyed
1 bus accident
1 small oven fire
1 forged bank card
1 rug burn (not what you think)
1 fall down the stairs
1 wee car accident involving a cement post
1 dust-up with repeat offender
1 incident of stuck on broken train with garlic bather
1 butt ugly living room
1 search for slippers - not mine
Broken nails speak for themselves. However, my new 'trendy' rubber boots made me very angry. So, I purchased these really cute rubber boots and was making my way to work the day after the holidays ended when I feel my feet getting kinda wet. I thought perhaps my mind was playing tricks and because these boots are meant to keep out the wet but not the cold that my feet were just cold. When I got to the office to change into one of the 8 pairs of pumps I keep under my desk, I pulled them off and imagine my surprise when two puddles of water came out. Thankfully no one was expected to appear in my office that day otherwise they might of been confused as to where they actually were. It looked like my laundry room with my wet socks thrown over my heating vent in an effort to dry before I had to make my way home.
I sat down to check out my boots and discovered that they had cracks in the soles - too many to count. Of course I no longer had the receipt but thought I would try to make a deal with the store where I bought them anyway. They were not very cooperative. They pointed out they are called "the shoe wearhouse" for a reason. I asked what they meant by that and the response I got was "I should understand by the name that they sell discount shoes and you get what you pay for." Well, I said "I PAID for shoes to do the job of keeping my feet of the ground and out of the muck and mire of the street". They did not get the irony of the statement.
A day or so later I was riding my bus home - minding my own business and working on a crossword puzzle when all of the sudden there was a loud bang and flying glass. It seems that one bus tried to pull out while my bus was passing and smashed into the side door of my bus. I must say, I have seen many of us common folks yell at bus drivers (I may have been one of them) but this was the first time I have seen two of them go at each other. It was very entertaining to say the least to hear them 'discuss' each others driving abilities. They too did not see the irony of the situation.
Ok, so no one ever told me that if you place the broiler pan on the top rack, whatever is placed on it may be too close to the top burner and stands a good chance of catching fire. Something good came out of it though - the smoke detector that I took down in order to prepare holiday dinners (too embarrassing when it goes off in front of company) won't work when it is placed on a book case in the hallway. What a mess. The next time Kris used the oven he wanted to know what the hell stunk up the house. I was able to tell him his cooking stinks.
After 3 attempts to get access to my banking info online, I thought I was losing my mind. I checked that I had the correct information and promptly called my credit union ready to yell. Turns out they shut my account and card down as they said I had been compromised (sounds better than it is). Someone had made a duplicate of my card and attempts were made to access my account. Crappity crap crap. I thought I had been so careful since the theft of my identity and card fraud again last year. I use Point of Sale only at outlets that I know (grocery store, Sears etc), cover the pin pad and such. When I spoke the fraud department he stated that while they do not know exactly how it was done this time, he suggested that I find a metal wallet or card container and keep all cards with data on them in there. It seems that your information can be stolen by someone just walking past you with a small electronic devise. Oy vey. I think from now on I am going to deal in cash only and keep it in my bra. That jingling noise you hear will be my chest and if you find any quarters on the ground most likely they are mine and they just fell out of my bra. Perhaps I will get a raise this year and can upgrade to paper money. I am thinking it will be less noisy when I walk.
As I was cleaning up the aftermath of holiday excitement and hauling 2 tons of decorations and such down three flights of stairs, the cat decided it was a good time to stretch out on stair #5 of the second flight. This caused me to fall the last 6 steps. However, I landed on the Christmas tree at the bottom so no broken bones to start the new year. But can someone remind me let the cat out of the closet before we move? I also need a new tree but the good news is - nothing broke on me this time! Maybe it will be a good year after all.
No one saw me so I am not sure it counts as an accident. Some bonehead parked all wonky beside me in our underground parking lot. I tried first to push it out of the way but having missed my Weaties that morning, did not have the strength so instead I tried - valiantly I might add - to maneuver around it. I swear, that cement post moved three inches to the left. As I heard that sickly crunch down the side of car all I could think about was "how do I make this not my fault?" Actually, if the bonehead in the other parking spot learned how to park properly none of this would have happened. So, another sign of a possible good year - found fault - not mine.
Remember the bozo who came up and asked me for spare change before the holidays and then said he would wait while I went to the bank machine? He made a repeat appearance last week begging for change. What a knob. I said "what a surprise to see you again. It's been a couple of weeks - how you doin?" I stated again that I would not be making a trip to my bank machine so that I could have the pleasure of giving him my change and to shove off. He stood there not 2 inches from my face. I put my earplugs back in and returned to my book. He obviously had no idea who he was messing with. He continued to stand there - right in my personal space and started to make comments on my gene pool affiliations. I guess he thought he could embarrass me or something. Imagine the surprise on his face when I told him to F&%^& off or I would take my pen and shove it deeply into his scrotum through his baggy pants and twist his manhood until he begged me to just kill him instead. The three other people on the bus bench applauded. Might be a good year - maybe he will tell his friends and they will all leave me alone.
One of my worse fears were also realized. I got on the train to return from Burnaby when it broke down. For 45 minutes I was stuck on a train beside someone who obviously bathed in garlic that morning. Breathing through my mouth made me thirsty however I was reluctant to drink any of my water for fear I would have to pee. That is the fear. It happens on elevators as well. Anywhere I could be stuck my first fear is 'OMG, now I have to pee'. What should have been a 30 minute ride turned into 90 minute fiasco. Not a good year so far for public transit.
My living room is ugly. In an effort to start off with a new look for the new year, after putting all the decorations away, I tried to rearrange the living room. It didn't work. Now I remember why I put the couch where it was. This is where I got the rug burn. After unloading both of my china cabinets, I had to push and pull one of them across the room - on a carpeted floor. It took me an hour and because I had no leverage up top, I had to push and pull from my knees at the bottom. 4 hours later when it had been done I decided it is easier to get new furniture than to try to put this back to the way it was. Right after tax time, I am going to IKEA and starting fresh.
The search for slippers brings me to today. On my way in this morning there was a woman on my bus who was wearing blue slippers when I got on. When I was getting off, she had lost one. She said she could not recall what happened but lo and behold there she was with only one blue fuzzy slipper on her foot. She asked if I could help her locate the other. I spent about 5 minutes with her but then the bus drove off. Never saw the other slipper. I wonder what happened. She stayed on the bus so perhaps I will see her on my trip home.
New Year - New Dates. My friend has offered to take new pictures of me and help me set up new web posting. I think this time I will be a 39 year old flight attendant (stop laughing - it could be true).
Stay tuned, I will keep you posted.
Cheers
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