DrowseyMonkey

Did I Tell You This Already?

2011-02-18T19:12:00.000-05:00

Not being that active here has has left my mind kind of blurry about what I've blogged about before.

Every once in a while I'll think of something funny to blog about and then I stop myself and wonder, "Hey, didn't I blog about that already?"

Then I go searching through old posts, looking for anything similar, key works, etc. I only have a few spare hours each week to blog and lately I've been wasting that time searching through old posts frantically trying to find out if that hysterically funny thing I want to tell you, I already told you. (Okay, sometimes the things I tell you aren't necessarily hysterical, but ... whatever).

Gad.

I really would like to blame my memory lapses on my lack of blogging, or anything other than the obvious - I'm gettin' old. Yep, age has my brain cells seeping out my ears.

Yes. My ears. That's what I wanted to blog about. I almost forgot.

So ... something's seeping out. Is that a menopausal thing too? I asked my doctor about it ... my ears seem really itchy lately too, and more waxy. He looked in there and proclaimed it was normal (note he said "it" and not "I").

It doesn't help that I'm wearing my hair back behind my ears now either. Basically this is forcing me to get a new hairstyle.

Anyway, did I tell you this already?

6 Million Bottles of Beer on the Wall ... or Highway

2011-01-11T22:52:00.005-05:00

I don't think you can get more Canadian than this ... people leaving their homes in the wee hours of the morning to watch massive beer vats going down the highway. To be honest if it hadn't been snowing the past few nights I probably would have been one of those people. Would that make me a hoser? Do people call us that anymore?

Anyway, there are 6 humongous beer vats being transported from Hamilton to Toronto over the next few nights. Normally that journey would only take about 40 minutes or so, but in order to avoid traffic mayhem the vats are only being transported at night. Also, they can't take the most direct route due to overhead wires and overpasses - which they're too large to fit under. So it's going to take about eight days for this journey.

If the weather gets better and my insomnia kicks in I may head out one night to see the convoy for myself. Apparently they'll reach their destination on Saturday. I'll have to check their Twitter page for updates - yes, the beer vats have a twitter page.

Click here for a bit more detail and a few photos.

We Can All Stop Now

2011-01-03T20:59:00.001-05:00

Okay, we can all stop saying "Happy New Year" now. It's officially over and we're into 2011. I'm so over it the main reason I'm doing this post is to get rid of my previous one. Oh sure, I could just delete it but then I'd miss all your lovely comments.

I'll be much happier in a few weeks when everyone stops with all the well-wishing and questions. You know the ones, "How was your holidays?" or something like that. I know it's just people being nice and I always answer with the socially appropriate "Wonderful, how were yours?" (like I care), but it all seems rather nosy to me. Do people really care how my or any ones holidays were? I don't think I ever ask that question and I think the real reason people ask it is because they're dying to tell you how theirs were. They just want an invitation to talk about themselves.

I remember this woman I worked with years ago taking a moment to coach me on interacting with others. She was one of those people who loved to tell you how her weekend was (like I cared). Anyway, back then when someone would ask me how my weekend was (because it had been so long since I'd last seen them) I'd say, "Fine, thanks." and then go on with life. But apparently, according to this woman, I was suppose to follow-up that statement with, "And how was yours?"

Poor woman. She really thought she was doing me a favour.

The reality was, and I actually told her this, I didn't ask that questions because I didn't care. I went on to tell her that I used to ask that question but it was my experience when I did people considered it as some sort of invitation to go on and on in what seemed like a never-ending, mind-numbing, detailed account of their experiences over the past two days.

She pretty much stopped talking to me after that. Which was a bonus.

That was about 12 years ago and now I've given in to socially acceptable behaviour and I do ask those silly follow-up questions. And maybe I'm getting more tolerant in my old age but I've noticed that people now keep their responses brief. Or perhaps people's responses are brief due to social media - we now all have facebook and blogs where we can go on and on in what seems like a never ending, mind-numbing, detailed account of not only our weekends but every other day in our lives.

Just a thought.

Happy New Year.

No Year in Review

2010-12-31T19:22:00.004-05:00

I've noticed a lot of people are reviewing the past year ... don't remember people doing that in previous years, maybe I wasn't paying attention.

Anyhoo ... I've really enjoyed reading those posts, some of them were really good! But I'm not gonna do that here - mostly 'cause I'm a bit lazy and also 'cause it's done. 2010 is done. It was a great year and a lot of great and positive things happened in my life for which I'm very grateful. But now I'm moving on into 2011 ... and looking forward to it.

Wishing you all the best! Happy New Year!!

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I'm Never Peeing at my Sister's Again

2010-12-28T17:18:00.005-05:00

Well, that's a bit of an exaggeration ... the reality is I'll never pee in her downstairs washroom again unless I do it with my eyes closed, which I suppose isn't that complicated.

You see the men in the house installed this unforgiving lightbulb that recreates the "outside" on the "inside". Who the hell thought of this concept? Some man, I can assure you.

In outdoor lighting I am hideous! And what's worse is before this weekend I never knew that because there are no mirrors outside. Fair warning, if you run into a mirror outside - don't look. It's scary!

The first time I caught myself in this lighting I was shocked. Shocked, I tell you. I'm not a vain person it's just that after 48 years of looking at yourself in a mirror you get used to the face that looks back at you. And then one day, BAM! You're bro-in-law buys some newfangled lightbulb and this unflattering, ultra-highlighted version of yourself looks back at you. Yikes! And it didn't help that I had to pee a the time either.

And that's the other thing! The men also installed a new toilet, which is nice but a few inches taller than the other one ... so I kinda got a double shock ... and the mirror is right in front of the toilet so I had a glorious view of my extremely unflattering face being surprised as I made contact with the seat sooner than expected.

I've never given lighting much thought but apparently it's important. It reminded me of that Seinfeld episode where the woman was gorgeous in one light and then in another she was scary ugly. It's not just a comedy skit ... it's reality!

My sister, niece and I have been complaining about the light ever since its installation. My nephew keeps saying "that's how you look outside" like that helps! And bro-in-law keeps telling us to face reality and isn't it better to know how others see us when we're outside than to have a false sense of how we look?

Uhh ... NO!

And besides, that's not the point - the point is ... that lighting is not like the outside because we don't look like that outside! That prompted my nephew to dig out the packaging from the recycling bin and point out the word "daylight" on the packaging.

Whatever.

We want the old light back. This new light is so not reality. My niece says it makes her look all pale, with red eyes ... like a vampire. Sis says it makes her skin look old and you can see all her wrinkles, and I said it makes the bags under my eyes look huge and greenish. Basically we're ready to play the 3 witches in Hamlet or something.

In reality my niece and sister are very pretty, not old or vampirish looking at all! And I, of course, look way better than the mirror projects.

So last night the 3 of us went down the hall, rambling all the way about how it's not reality and we should look at each other to prove the point. So there the 3 of us stood staring at ourselves and complaining about how we don't really look like this and the lighting is awful and this isn't reality, etc.

Then we stopped looking at ourselves ... and looked at each other.

That's when it got really scary.

We all kinda said at the same time, "You look good", "You don't look as bad as you think you do", "You look the same".

And that's when it hit us.

Gad.

THIS IS HOW WE REALLY LOOK TO OTHERS!

My niece didn't look like a vampire, she looked like she always looks - very pretty. And Sis didn't look old at all - she too looked very pretty. According to them I looked good, like I always do. But seriously, when I looked at myself I saw an old racoonish looking woman.

Lordy.

This new reality sucks.

And I need new makeup.

Merry Christmas!

2010-12-24T13:06:00.002-05:00

Hey there! Yes, I'm still alive. I could make lots of excuses, like I'm really busy or my computer is really slow, etc., and they'd all be true ... but I do miss the blogging heydays!

Hope you all have a wonderful Christmas and many bright and happy things in the New Year!

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If She Only Knew

2010-11-14T22:10:00.002-05:00

So I'm at lunch with a friend today and next to us was a couple. Initially I didn't pay too much attention to them but I did think that maybe they were on a first date - it was just the vibe I got.

When I first sat down I noticed they were a bit formal with each other and there was a bit of distance between their chairs. The next time I looked over they were siting closer and laughing, leaning toward each other a lot. She'd put her hand on his forearm when talking and then flip her hair, tilting her head back for effect when she laughed.

Yeah ... definitely a first date. Probably met through some web service.

Not that my lunch companion wasn't interesting but once in a while I'd glance over. About an hour or so later what caught my eye had me aghast. It was subtle but it happened. He picked his nose. Yeah, that's right. Picked. His nose. In public. At lunch. With food around. On a first date. With a rather attractive woman, I might add.

Oh sure it wasn't like he was all, "let's get in there and dig around" ... it was more like "there's something bothering me so I'm just gonna stick my thumb up there and nab it." And there ya go ... that's how it happens people ... a perfectly normal clean-cut man picking in public.

I was transfixed. I wanted to look away but of course I didn't. I was curious ... what was he gonna do now and even more curious about whether or not she'd catch him ... and curiouser still ... would she care?

I'm guessing based on his facial expression he must have been thinking, "Oh crap, I'm out in public. I'm only suppose to do this at home when I'm alone."

It was like slow motion. She's talking, not looking directly at him. He's staring into her face. She says something funny, flips her hair back and lightly touches his right hand which is on the table. His thumb is departing the nostril. She turns toward him and just as they're about to make eye he contact subtly moves his offending left hand under the table and flips his treasure.

All very weird. I mean this was a pretty nice place we were at and they were a very nice looking couple. Both well dressed, probably professionals in their 40s. It just seemed like terribly odd public behaviour for such a well groomed dude. To be honest it's terribly odd private behaviour as well. I mean if he's that comfortable pokin' around in there in public he must be diggin' all the time in private. Not the kind of behaviour you want in a potential mate. I mean if she marries the guy she'll be finding little treasures all over the place. Egad.

The date continued. He didn't get caught. This is the man she might someday marry. If only she knew.

Seriously ... Explain This to Me

2010-10-26T19:04:00.000-04:00

So, y'all know how much I love my groovy 70s music ... or maybe you don't, but in any case, I do love it.

I often put it on at work when I have mindless stuff to do and for the most part I don't pay a whole lot of attention to it but once in a while I hear a song and it takes me back in time and I smile and it's all groovy.

But then at other times I hear a familiar song and I kind of stop and go, WTF? How come I never noticed how freaking werid that song was before? Was it because I was 14 or just not paying attention?

Case in point: Muskrat Love.

WTF?

Seriously!

The thing is, not only did America release it in 1973, Captain & Tennille re-releaed it in 1976. Like it was so profound we needed a remake? And as if that's not bad enough, the America video I've included here (if you dare to listen to either) was done in 2008?! So, not only did they record the song in the 70s they're still singing it during concerts now?! Wha??

I guess weirder still was the online 70s station I was listening to played both versions within about 10 minutes of one another. I don't think I even realized there was an earlier version from 73, or maybe I did and just subconsciously blocked it from memory.

Think about it.

Muskrat.

Love.

People ... you're some of the best commentors out there and I need you're help! Seriously ... explain this to me.

Whistle While You Breath

2010-10-17T20:58:00.000-04:00

Yeah, I'm still here, not dead. Old but not dead. Speaking of old ....

A couple of weeks ago I'm at a workshop. I'm kind of a workshop fanatic, if there is such a thing. I really love them. It's like taking a class but they're cheaper and there's no test. Brilliant!

So, I'm at this workshop and there's this older man sitting beside me - we're all sitting in a circle, as you do at workshops, and I hear a faint whistle. I get distracted, as I do at workshops (or almost anywhere) and start focusing on the whistle sound. It wasn't like someone whistling a song but it did have a definite rhythm, although it wasn't consistent. About every 5 seconds or so I'd hear it for a few seconds, then 5 more seconds and there it would be again. It went like this for a while then it would stop. Then start up again at what seemed like random intervals. It was faint but distracting. I noticed the person beside me fidgeting and looking about - maybe they could hear it too.

Eying the room like a highly-honed detective I began eliminating various suspects. It wasn't the heating system, not the window, not the fan, on and on it went until finally I looked at the old dude next to me and decided it was him. Yep, his nose was the culprit.

The whistling stopped. Then it started again. I looked over at him and smiled, you know the kind of smile that says, "Hey, it's nice they let you out of the home for the day but you're emanating old-man sounds that are distracting me." I felt it was the kindest thing I could do ... but just then something happened. I don't know if it was the turning of my head at the same time as the whistling but that's when it became clear that the whistling was much closer. It didn't seem to be coming from the old dude.

O lordy.

Wait a minute.

No it can be.

I turned my head back to face the front ... the sound traveled with me.

Oh gawd.

Could it?

Could ... my nose be the culprit?

No! That's crazy talk! I'm a young vibrant woman ... out and about enjoying life. I'm not some old dude with a big stuffy old nose. Besides, it's very unladylike to do such a thing. Making bodily noises at anytime is unladylike but while out in public? I think not. Not I!

Still ... I had to make sure.

I focused on my breathing. In (silent). Out (silent). In (whistle). Damnit! Out (silent). In (whistle). Damnit! Out (silent). In (whistle). Seriously .... Damnit!

It was me. What the hell? I'm like an old man now, and apparently my hearing and sense of the obvious are failing too.

Crap.

So I sat there as the workshop raged on and focused on how sometimes when I breathed in there was a whistle but not at other times. Odd. Well, odd in so many ways, like how random it was and how obsessed I was.

Odder still ... my nose was not stuffy. It is allergy time for me but I really wasn't stuffy. I hate to say my nose was clean as a whistle because of all the whistling, but it really was.

Thankfully the workshop was coming to an end. With all my breathing and whistling I was rather distracted anyway. I looked around to see if my behaviour was attracting attention but apparently not. Although clearly my detective skills were not as well-honed as originally thought so perhaps people were noticing.

The whistling and obsessing about it went on for days. Finally I decided that allergy season made my nose passages swollen, so even though I'm not stuffy I am noisy. Yes, I have a noisy nose.

Gawd.

Two more years until I'm 50. I can only imagine the blog material I'll get out of that decade.

Ohhh ... I Remember That Sound

2010-09-13T21:27:00.000-04:00

So the other night, about 1:45 in the morning actually, I was sitting on my couch watching TV. My cats were all snuggled in their respective beds on the floor in front of me. That's when I heard a tapping. A tap, tap, tapping. Kind of like someone was hammering something but trying to be quiet and sneaky about it.

I thought to myself, geeze, even I don't try to hammer together a bookcase at this hour. I did try to quietly hang a photo one time around midnight but after a few taps decided against it. As I was pondering all this the hammering went from a few polite taps to a torrid non-stop pounding. I sat up and took notice. So did the cats. Actually they were quite freaked-out which freaked me out 'cause there's nothing freakier than 3 freaked-out cats in the wee hours of the morning staring at the wall behind you like the boogy man is about to appear. Well, I guess 4 freaked-out cats would be freakier ... but I digress.

So just before I launched into an, "Oh my god, what the hell is that?" I stopped and looked at the wall behind me and from the deep recesses of my mind realized what the sound was. Sex. My neighbour was having sex.

Ha!

I was happy for him. I've seen him around a few times and he seems like a nice enough young guy. Good for him.

It was at this point I texted my sister "My neighbour is having sex and scaring the cats!". She phoned me right away. This kind of stuff is big news in my family. Anyway, she was at a party and read the text to everyone. They were delighted.

Then I heard a definite slap. Eww. Didn't need to know that kinda detail about the dude. And I should mention here that I only recognized that sound from the movies ... not my memory. Not that I watch a lot of slap-type of movies ... you know, you hear these things in your everyday violent movies, or the Sopranos or ... whatever.

By this time things were all quiet. It ended pretty quickly. Now that I do remember from my memory. I told Sis I didn't hear much talking which made me think he was flying solo. Of course chit chat isn't everyone's style so I decided to wait and check the peep-hole in my door if I heard someone leave his apartment ... you know, just to check him or her out. But after I said that out loud it all sounded kinda sad on my part so I decided against it. Besides I never did hear anyone walking around in the hallway ... I mean, not that I was paying that much attention or anything.

Chances are he was alone which is fine ... it all seemed a bit elaborate for a solo gig, you know with the slapping and all but hey ... you go for it dude.

Sometimes Spam is Just Funny

2010-08-15T15:14:00.001-04:00

One of my older posts keeps getting the strangest spam comments. Not sure why they're picking on that particular post, maybe if I understood what they were trying to sell it would make sense ... but I doubt it.

I decided to actually read the entire spam comment this time in order to get some insight. Unfortunately no insight was gained but I did get a good chuckle. The thing is ... if you live on the other side of the world (from me) and don't speak English then the universal translator you find online just isn't going to help get people to your website. Why? Because clearly a computerized translator misses something in translation. Basically you come out sounding like a crazy person. With all due respect to crazy people.

Here's the more spectacularly strange parts of the ad:

"years sometimes studies cellulose there talking pharmacies half headache side" ... Okay, that's just a bunch of words that mean nothing. Absolutely nothing.

"medicine secure powder are around to herein calabria ferrets" ... Ferrets? Not sure I want to know exactly how they fit into this.

"Buy not today drugs It's Buy active ingredient seizures you Not" ... Phew! So this drug will seizure you not. Attempting to read the ad may seizure you yes.

It's all like one big puzzle. Of course I could solve it by clicking on he link but no, I refuse. Hey, I'm a lot of things but an enabler of bad English and icky spam, I'm not. Okay - maybe I do do bad English sometimes, but spam - no. Well, unless it's that luncheon meat - but that was years ago.

I'm Gonna Rant ... Because I Can

2010-08-10T19:21:00.001-04:00

That's the joy of having a blog and not being responsible to anyone. Well, I am responsible to some people but not here in blogworld.

So ... I'm trying to get a new modem from Bell Canada and of course they only use Purolator to deliver packages. Not Canada Post. You know ... the government system that delivers items to people's HOMES! Or mailbox, whatever.

Purolator is great for business to business stuff, but try and get something delivered to an apartment building and FORGET ABOUT IT!

They don't leave those nice little stickers anymore letting you know they tried to deliver something to your home because apparently there was a rash of people stealing them and then going and picking up the items from the purolator offices. I say the real problem there is when they went to pick-up the items they weren't being asked for photo ID. If they had to produce photo ID there solves your problem of people stealing those little stickers.

So ... no more stickers. Now they call with an automated phone message. But! If the organization, like Bell Canada, doesn't provide your phone number (yes it is ironic) to Purolator then they can't call you. In which case you never know your item is sitting somewhere in town waiting for you to pick it up.

Then ... Bell Canada tries again to send me the modem and this time they do provide my phone number so this time I get a very long and kinda creepy automated voice message telling me my package is ready to be picked up. Did I mention it was a long message? And without warning at the end of the message they give you a very important piece of information - a very long tracking number. A number so special and so rare that if you didn't have the foresight to answer your phone with a piece of paper and workable pen in your hand then you will never, NEVER EVER, be able to pick-up your package. Ever!

Because ... when you call their office trying to get that precious number they can't give it to you for fear I'm an imposter trying to steal the FREE modem Bell Canada is trying to send me.

Anyhoo.

Until I get that modem I'll be scarce in blogworld. It's kinda essential for logging on.

Have You Ever ...

2010-08-01T21:02:00.001-04:00

... borrowed a cup of sugar from a neighbour? And no, I'm not talking sex, I mean actual sugar. Not sure how you could borrow sex anyway.

But I saw a commercial the other day for, of all things, hair colour for men and this woman comes to a man's door to borrow a cup of milk. He's on the inside with his grey hair looking through the peephole and instead of answering the door he jumps out the window and down the balcony to the local store then back up into his apartment, colours his hair (yes, it is absurd) and then he answers the door with his newly younger looking doo. And of course the blond chick in need of milk waiting in the hallway is intrigued. The caption of the commercial is that a man can be younger looking in just 5 minutes.

Well.

First of all, who actually borrows stuff from neighbours anyway? The man just jumped out the window for hair colouring and she couldn't go buy milk?

Secondly, how idiotic is she that she stood there for 5 minutes waiting?

And finally, this man obviously has a lot of stamina regardless of a few grey hairs - I say give him a try.

Anyhoo ... after watching the absurdity of the commercial it did get me wondering about the borrowing. I've never done that. Convenience stores are ... well, convenient so just go out an buy whatever you need.

I think if a neigbour of mine knocked on my door and asked to borrow sugar I'd be stunned. And they'd be disappointed as I don't have any. I don't have any milk either. I do have grey hair though.

It's 3:04 in the Morning ...

2010-07-17T17:20:00.002-04:00

... and I have the distinct feeling I'm been watched.

Usually when I get this feeling I open my eyes to find Moses, my cat, staring at me rather intently, so as I cautiously open my eyes that's who I expect to see watching me. The room is dark, I take a minute to adjust my eyes and yes, I do see Moses. But she's not staring at me, she's staring at the bookshelf. I sit up to get a better look. Well that's weird, she's actually staring at Drowsey (the doll, not me).

I'm transfixed. What's going on here? The room seems really silent and a freaky "Chucky" vibe washes over me. Damn me for loving horror movies. I sit up. Moses doesn't move. Which is weird because usually whenever I move it distracts her but not this time. I grab my glasses. She doesn't move. I turn on the lamp. No movement. I grab my cell phone to get a photo ... then she moves. Well of course then she moves.

It's now 3:14 ... that's just 1 minute before all the mayhem happened at that Amityville house. All evil commences at 3:15, everyone knows that. I'm not ashamed to say I was feeling a little freaked.

That's when my brain kicked in and convinces my freaked-out self that she probably sees a bug. Like that's better than Satan. Well, that's debatable. Those centipedes are pretty evil. My god if one of those creepy-crawlies my doll I really will freak out! On the other hand, if my doll is somehow communicating with my cat .... Oh yeah, that's way worse.

Moses starts rummaging around the bookshelf. She stands up on her hind legs to get closer, sniffing Drowsey's toes and looking all around. I'm right behind her on my hands and knees trying to see if I can see anything. And by "anything" I mean a bug or some sign of movement in Drowsey's facial features.

Nothing. No movement of any kind. Except for me and my cat moving around on the floor at 3:30 in the morning.

At this point I decide I'm being silly. What the hell am I doing down here on the floor? Besides 3:15 came and went and nothing evil happened. Clearly a sign the doll's not possessed. Neither is the cat, although again, that's debatable.

I go to the washroom, splash my face with water, freshen-up a bit. Head back to bed and get comfy. By this time Moses is all curled-up in her bed in front of the bookcase. Drowsey hasn't moved. She's still sitting there looking all sweet and innocent in her pink jammies.

I turn the lights off and close my eyes.

Open my eyes. Survey the room. Nothing has moved. It's 3:42. Close eyes. Open eyes. Still 3:42. I'm being ridiculous! Close eyes, damn it! Open. 3:44. 3:47. 3:51.

I woke up this morning feeling well rested. As usual Moses was sitting there staring at me. Drowsey was still on the bookshelf.

Not sure what happened after I finally fell asleep but I do have an uncontrollable desire today to go buy doll clothes and Whiskas.

Menopausal Brain

2010-07-14T00:00:00.002-04:00

As my dad used to say, "Getting older is better than the alternative." This is true. Old is better than dead. Having said that he was a man and didn't have to go through menopause with hot flashes and those dreaded brain farts where nouns elude you.

Just the other day I'm having a conversation with someone and mid-sentence I realize two things: One - I can't think of the name of a particular piece of furniture and Two - this inability to remember that word has made me lose my train of thought. With the purpose of my story now out the window I'm totally obsessed with trying to explain to the person what this elusive piece of furniture is.

I find when someone doesn't quite understand what I'm saying ... animated facial expressions and flamboyant arm gestures really help. So I'm air drawing the shape of a tall rectangular object and saying, "You know, where the books go" which is punctuated by me vigorously drawing lines with my hands through the rectangle.

And I stand there.

Staring.

How can they not understand me, I've made it perfectly clear. And why can't I remember what this thing is I'm so accurately describing? I own several of them, damn it.

Eyebrows raised. I'm staring. Stunned by their inability to grasp my language. I'm exhausted! I don't know if it's all the drawing or the racking of my brain, but I'm worn out.

Then, in a very dry tone, almost bored really, they say, "Bookshelf".

Ah Yes! I exclaim. Clapping hands. Bookshelf. Damn. Why couldn't I think of that? Ha!

Silence.

Whatever.

Is it hot in here?

Brush + Science = Crap

2010-07-12T15:21:00.004-04:00

I'm not much good for anything in the morning, well I'm not much good for anything most times of the day, but the morning is really bad. I kind of stumble out of bed and mindlessly make my way to the washroom - mostly out of habit more than any kind of eye/hand/body coordination.

I have a tiny, outdated washroom which fits nicely into my tiny, outdated apartment. But the size and style aren't really the problem, I mean it's not like I'm ballroom dancing in there or inviting Martha Stewart over for tea .. or a pee. The problem is I have to share the space with a litter box. I suppose I should qualify here that I have cats - the litter box is not for me, my washroom's not that outdated.

And when I say outdated I mean a lot of things, but most importantly to this story I mean I don't have any kind of shelf or cupboard. Just a sink sticking out from the wall. Hovering there. So the massive amounts of beauty product and hair equipment I so desperately need to use before venturing out into the world don't really have a secure place to sit.

Hence my recent trip to Walmart for a shelf. It looked snazzy on the packaging but the problem is someone had to assemble it. And by someone I mean me. Needless to say the shelving is a tad wobbly. The wobbliness kind of adds to the chaos in the mornings and also gives the vibe of riding the rails. Things are kind of bouncy, moving around, apt to fall.

Which brings me to this morning. I stand before the mirror (god) after my shower and think, "Why didn't I wash my hair?" This is a question women ask themselves when just 15 minutes prior as they're stepping into the shower a voice inside their head says, "Don't wash your hair, you just washed it yesterday, it looks fine. Besides you don't have time." Here's a tip - never listen to that voice. It's caffeine deprived and stupid. Always wash your hair. But I digress.

As I stand there looking at the mess atop my head I reach for my brush which sits precariously on the wobbly shelf. Just as I touch it - it tumbles down. Down right smack dab into the litter box. Bristle side down. Crap. Well, actually not real crap as I had cleaned it prior to not washing my hair. But still. Crap.

I pick it up, shake out the littler, smell it. Why'd I do that? Clean it. Wash it. Dry it. I could have done all that with my hair - but no.

At this point I'm a little reluctant to run it through my hair - but eventually I do and it's all okay. I now need to plug in my hair straightener so rather that put the brush back on the wobbly shelf I place it on the side of the sink. Yeah - that's a better idea. Drop. Down into the litter box. Crap! What are the chances? Twice in one morning when it's never happened before? The scientific odds must be astounding.

Pick it up. Shake out the litter bits. Now I'm really nervous about using it. I have visions of people at work asking me if I've done something different to my hair today and I answer, why yes - it's the clumping litter bits ... see it adds volume!

I manage to get my hair fixed, litter free. But the brush dropping has me off my routine. Usually I brush my teeth before I fix my hair. I pick up my toothbrush, the wobbly shelf shifts to the left then to the right - it's like the train is coming to an abrupt halt. I sense the shelf is about to lurch forward so I try to stop the mayhem and in the process my toothbrush falls. Bristles first - in the litter box. Crap. Seriously, what are the odds?!?

A Delicate Operation

2010-07-09T21:53:00.000-04:00

Modern technology eludes me. Oh sure I managed to get my laptop up and working again but only because of packing tape - as you can clearly see in this photo. I know it's not very Canadian of me not to have duct tape around ... but I don't.

The unfortunate part is I'm not even sure this plug is the reason the laptop keeps dying. Nevertheless it's all taped up and I'm typing very delicately. Heaven forbid it jiggles for even the slightest move may send it into hysterics, shutting down immediately thereby making me lose everything I've typed.

Actually the biggest incentive for my obsessively sitting here typing delicately, after spending an hour or so trying to get the laptop operational, is I don't want to use my old desk computer. It's a monster of a thing and has the teeniest, tiniest screen. I have to scroll just to read a sentence. Okay, that's not even the real reason - the real reason is I don't want to sit at a desk in an uncomfy chair. I do that all day at work. I want to surf, facebook and blog with my laptop right here on the arm of my comfy couch. Which is directly in front of my TV ... unlike the desk.

I have another laptop sitting here not working as well. But really I shouldn't complain as both of them were given to me for free by people who told me of their quirks ahead of time. It's just that now the quirks are getting worse. The other laptop won't even turn on anymore - so much for getting that novel I was writing back. And no I didn't make a back up ... and yes I know I should have.

There are 2 things I can learn from this: One - when someone offers you their old laptop for free it's not really a good deal; Two - even the computers in my household think I spend too much time online and are conspiring against me.

An Open Pore Policy

2010-07-06T23:43:00.004-04:00

I'm far-sighted so I have prescription glasses to help me see things close-up, like the computer screen, books ... my face, other people's faces.

It's weird but before I got the glasses everyone was a little blurry, although I didn't realize it. The reality is people just look better a little blurry. I think it's like when really super rich older movie stars have that special camera lens on them, where they look a bit dreamy and less wrinkly. So depending on who I'm talking to it's just better if I leave the glasses off.

The unfortunate thing is when I'm wearing the glasses and catch myself in the mirror. Everything is so vivid. I don't have wrinkles but I do have humongous pores. Especially when it's hot. And it's hot here. Not just hot but humid. Humidity is brutal with pores - it just opens them up like the mouths of sucker fish. Multiply that look by about 10 thousand and you have an idea of how I looked this evening as I headed out to a party.

We're in the middle of a heat wave at the moment, today the temperature was somewhere around 41 with the humidex (apparently that's 105 in fahrenheit). Whatever - it was stinking hot and my face looked like it belonged on an alien. If the pores were open any more my face would have disappeared inside them. And forget about makeup - my god that just adds to the weirdness.

Call me old fashioned but I just don't think it's lady like to sweat and trust me once those pores open it's a tsunami. A few days ago I overheard a man at work lamenting about how he doesn't sweat and he wished he did because then he wouldn't feel the heat as much. Huh? How does that even make sense? I didn't dare join in the conversation mostly because I feared dripping water down the hallway on my way to his perfectly dry self. Sweating doesn't cool my body down like some magical refrigeration unit - it just makes me look really oily. Anyway, the only reason that man is still alive is 'cause murder is illegal and I'm nothing if not law-abiding.

RIP Ruby - Welcome Nessie

2010-07-03T11:22:00.014-04:00

Yes, it's true ... my beloved car, Ruby, has gone to the scrap yard in the sky. Well, actually it's the scrap yard just down the road from here but I don't really want to think about that. I prefer to think of her in the sky ... running free. Free from over-heating thermostats, rumbly mufflers and cranky pistons.

I do miss her though and it was sad to watch her go. Even sadder living without wheels for 2 months. But now I have a new old car. She's a grand girl ... a big girl. Kinda like her owner. She's a bit tricky too ... depending on the lighting she can be green or blue, you can't really define her. I kind of admire that ... I mean, I can be happy & easy going but a quick change of lighting and I'm dark and moody. Hell, it's like we were made for each other.

The only problem, even after a month, I can't really drive her very well. She's just too much car for me. To be fair the driving part is fine, it's the parking that's causing the chaos. I usually have to park her at least 3 times before I'm done and I need lots of room, preferably an empty parking lot ... or at least 2 empty lanes. I pull in a spot, get out and realize her butt is hanging over into the spot behind. I get back in, pull ahead, get out and find her front jutting out into the spot ahead. Seriously - our similarities are stunning. Putting her into a parking spot is a lot like getting me dressed in the morning ... ass hanging out here, frontal parts hanging out there. Usually after about 3 outfit changes my parts are all nicely tucked inside leaving me somewhat presentable for the public.

The spooky part is trying to park her in my parking spot at home. I'm sure the people watching from the apartments above find it all very amusing. No matter how many times I drive in, back up, turn the wheel, drive in again ... I get out only to find her on a diagonal. Every time. No matter how many times I adjust then re-adjust ... there she sits - sideways. Even Sis, who is an excellent driver, backer-upper and parker, couldn't park her straight. It's like my parking spot is the Bermuda Triangle of straight parking. It's all making for some interesting neighbourhood discussions, well interesting is one way of putting it. I couldn't be more stereotypical if I tried and trust me, I'm not trying.

But it's early days and we're still getting to know each other ... so far I kinda like her. Not sure how she feels about me though. After being together only a few days she did overheat ... and now all the indicator arms on the dashboard are broken. Ah well, after another visit to the car doctor I'm sure she'll be fine. Hopefully we'll have many happy (and not too expensive) years together. As for a name - I call her Nessie. As in the Loch Ness Monster.

So ... I'm Thinking of Returning

2010-07-02T17:35:00.003-04:00

Anyone out there?

I'm seriously considering a return to blog world. I've been lurking around for a few days and see that some things have changed and others are exactly the same. Not sure which is worse.

I see Blogger has a new "design" section for blogs. I wasted about 4 hours in there and then finally decided to keep my blog looking as it does. Although I sense another couple of hours tooling around in there before I'm definitely sure. I mean I'd hate to cause a blog template fashion faux pas upon my return. Although it would be in keeping with my real life fashion sense.

I logged on to my Drowsey Monkey Facebook account. Took me 4 hours to remember my super-duper password. See ... clearly I have a lot of time to waste here in blog world, 4 hours here, 4 hours there. And why is everything taking me 4 hours? It's not like I'm exaggerating or anything. Well okay, maybe nothing took me 4 hours but it took a while! It all cut into my time living life out here off line ... where apparently I have a lot of time to kill.

All right. I'm off to look at the whole "design" thing again. I mean, I have a super busy life and will try to squeeze in some time to redesign and update my page. Or ... not.

My Laundry's Gettin' Lucky

2009-10-07T00:00:00.004-04:00

Yeah. Not me. My laundry.

Oh how I miss having my own washer & dryer ... having to use the community one in the building can be trying at times. It's definitely better than going out to a laundromat that's for sure. I really detest dragging my dirty laundry all around town to sit amongst others with dirty laundry for an hour or so.

Anyway, the laundry room in the basement of my building isn't too bad. It's kept very clean and was one of the deciding factors for me moving there. Well, that and the great location. But the clean laundry room was definitely a perk.

So the other day I decided to wash my windows. What does that have to do with my laundry? Well, with clean windows I could clearly see how messy everything was in my living space. That sent me into some weird Spring Cleaning mode in October.

I took my duvet cover and threw it in the washer then the dryer. I had to use the top dryer, which I don't like to do because it's too high for me to see inside. Basically one dryer is stacked on top of the other ... and I'm always afraid if I use the top one I'll leave something, like my undies, behind for the next person to find. But since I didn't have any undies in this load I figured what the heck - not a problem.

When I returned later I stretched up on my tippy toes and reached into the dryer. I grabbed a bunch of fabric and much to my surprise realized I had a handful of white socks and a pair of men's underwear. Of course at that time people started to gather in the laundry room. Any other time I never see a soul.

I was kind of perplexed. Having seen the undies I kind of stopped, thinking, "How embarrassing!" Then I thought "Who the hell are these?" Then I thought, "Hey, all these people think I have an underwear-less man in my apartment, that's cool." Then I thought, "Ewww...I have some strange man's underwear in my hand!" That's when I quickly dropped them onto the floor where upon I looked at all the people looking back at me and realized I had a "dear in the headlights" kind of look on my face so I quickly smiled at everyone and picked the items up off the floor.

This is why I don't like using the top dryer - it's hard to see if anything is left behind. When I do have to use it I always take everything out and then press the "on" button again so it spins around a few more times so I can see if I've left anything inside. That's a good tip for anyone using a laundry room. Obviously the guy who used the dryer before me didn't do that - hence he left his undies and socks behind which I didn't see when I threw my duvet cover in there.

Anyway, I ended up leaving the socks and underwear on the table - where all lost clothing ends up. It really is my fear that one day I'll walk in there and see my pink granny panties with the puppies strewn out on the table for all to see. Gawd. Like I'd actually own up to owning them, but still.

Anyway - my duvet cover was happy. It hadn't seen a pair of men's underwear in quite some time.

Why Is This Man Smoking a Tampon?

2009-10-05T23:03:00.007-04:00

I've never smoked but I know it's bad for you and hard to kick the habit, so I get why people would do pretty much anything to quit. But smoke a tampon?

This commercial has been running on Canadian TV lately. Only here it's with a Canadian voice-over and they call it an "inhaler". Whatever - dude, you're puffin' on a tampon.

Make Sense - Or Give Me a Bottle of Water

2009-09-28T17:42:00.008-04:00

So I was at a conference this weekend. On my way I stopped for some gum and meant to buy a bottle of water but forgot. Once I got back in the car and on my way I thought "darn" but then figured hey, it's a conference, surely they'll have lots of bottled water available.

Wrong.

The conference took place in a city building downtown Toronto where bottled water is considered contraband. And why is bottled water not sold or allowed on city property? Well, they'd like you to believe it's because they are so "green" and "environmentally conscious" but that's just BS.

The real reason is because some lobby group who had a pet peeve about bottled water made a lot of noise and got the idiots in charge to agree with them so now - no more bottled water.

And that's all well and good except for the fact that when people gather and do a lot of talking, they usually like a drink of water. So the conference organizers provided pitchers of water with ... wait for it ... Styrofoam cups.

That's right. Styrofoam. You know, that stuff that doesn't get recycled.

How does any of that makes sense?

Well, it doesn't.

They also had cans of pop and cartons of juice for us to drink and as you may know, cans and cartons can be recycled. So can the plastic bottles water comes in except for the fact that they're not allowed on city property.

Now, I'm all for doing my part to help the environment, blah, blah, blah. But it's got to make sense or it just pisses me off.

My TV Husband is Leaving :(

2009-09-25T13:38:00.009-04:00

Oh noes!

Vincent D'Onofrio is leaving Law & Order CI. I'm sad but not really. I haven't been too happy since he went part-time anyway.

I will be needing some support through this difficult time though. Of course I still have Christopher Meloni from SVU, he just signed on for 2 more years. But without Vincent, TV fantasy land just won't be the same.

I guess the up-side is I'll always have re-runs, 6 & 11 pm Monday to Friday ... and 5pm weekends. Sigh ... I should be alright.

Anyway - thanks to everyone sending well wishes to me this week - I've had a bad cold and been busy at work, not a good combination! Hopefully I'll be back to the blog world next week all fresh and ready to go.

First Time Friday - My First Mullet

2009-09-04T00:00:00.006-04:00

Yes, the title does imply I've had more than one mullet. Sue me. It was the 70s. Okay, I still kinda like the look and I'm waiting for it to come back in style. And for all you scoffers out there - yes it really was in style back then, you just refuse to accept it.

This photo was taken on our first day back to school, September 7th, 1976. I was 14 - that's me in the middle. And no I didn't blur the photo for anonymity, that's just the way my mother took photos.

Notice how my friends and I are carrying our books? No backpacks. Not sure why we never used bags. Seems kinda obvious - but we never did back in those days. It was completely unheard of. The 70s was a crazy time my friends.

As for the hair, earlier that year I simply had long hair - all one length. Then I decided I needed a change and something cutting-edge. Oh yeah, that was me ... all edgy. Okay, maybe not, but I wanted cool hair.

I got the full mullet. Meaning the entire top layer of my hair was cut short all the way around. We actually didn't call it a mullet back then - it was called "the shag". Not "shag" in the way the Brits use it ... I didn't to that at 14. Plus if I called this post "My First Shag" I'd probably get some undesirables visiting ... or more than I usually get.

Anyway ... my hairstyle was actually called "the long shag". (I'm sure my UK friends will agree that a long shag is better than a short one.) I'd never even heard the term "mullet" until many years later when people started mocking the style. It all sounds like a conspiracy by people with bad hair if you ask me ... but that's a whole other story.

Back to 1976. I had a crush on our paperboy. Can't remember his name but I usually made an effort to meet him at the door when he dropped off the paper. Sometimes I wasn't fast enough and would just get a glimpse, but on the days we had to pay our bill he lingered a bit longer. Mostly because my parents had to bicker over who was gonna pay him the 80 cents, or whatever it was, for a weeks worth of papers. It was always a big ta-do. They'd debate over who had the money, who paid it last time, who read the paper more, and should they throw in an extra dime for a tip. On and on. It was highly embarrassing. Whatever - I got to look at him a little longer.

He was one year older than I was and totally dreamy. Handsome face, dark hair, cool sunglasses. Unfortunately he rarely took notice of me but I was sure my new grown-up hairstyle would be the turning point in our relationship. So I was looking forward to paper delivery that day.

I answered the door with anticipation. I was impressed when he noticed I'd made a change in my hairstyle. I think he said something like, "What did you do with your hair?" I gave a little "twirl" and told him I had it cut. I was expecting a compliment because how could he resist me?

I don't remember his exact words, but it was something about how my hair looked like it had been caught up in a lawn mower or something like that. The details are fuzzy but it definitely had something to do with my hair and some sort of machinery and lots of questions about why would I do that?

Huh. Definitely not the reaction I was looking for. It was clear he did not like it. So much for our budding relationship. I was going to give him a second chance until he said something about how it looked like a chipmunk or squirrel chewed-up my hair! What? Whatever! Obviously he was a total idiot. What did he know anyway? Besides, he wasn't even that cute. What was I thinking ... everyone knew he was a dork. Delivering papers. Who does that anyway? Dorks ... that's who.

I quickly retreated to my room for several hours. I examined my edgy new hairstyle from every possible angle using several mirrors. I adjusted and re-adjusted every lock. Hmm ... it didn't look chomped. It did have a shaggy look ... hence the name of the style! That's what I paid for, after all. Or ... what my mom paid for.

I began flipping madly through piles of magazines. Lots of famous stars had their hair like this! What did he know!? He's just some stupid guy. Then again ... I wondered, did it look all chewed-up like it had been attacked by a tiller or sharp teeth ... or something?

I decided to gather a few girlfriends for their analysis. After careful consideration I finally got the truth (as I wanted to hear it). They loved it. I looked fantastic. Totally cool, man. Wished they could do the same thing. I was so lucky to have hair like that. And yes that paperboy guy was a total jerk and they couldn't believe I had a crush on him anyway, like ... every one knew he was like, a total nerd. Like, totally.

I immediately stopped going to the door for paper deliveries.

Of course in retrospect I think he liked me. But that took me, like ... 30 years to like, figure out.