Yet, we continu…

Yet, we continue to trust the same old tired gang of financial media darlings who espouse these doctrines of wealth. Yes sir, get a job, work 50 years, save, live frugal, invest in the stock market, and soon, your day of freedom will arrive at age 70 . . . and if the stock market is kind and you’re lucky, 60! Gee, doesn’t this “wealth in a wheelchair” financial plan sound exciting?

MJ DeMarco


Screw you, Ghandi

Not really. Geez take it easy lady.

All kinds of insanity being expressed around me today.

It’s probably best if I just listen to some Teen Mom 2 episodes or watch my Twitter account. Insanity from others is much preferable to thinking too hard or too long about my own issues.

Valentine’s day is coming up. So many people feel stupid for liking the holiday, or proud for eschewing it. The holiday is cute. You get to act like you’re in high school again and make a special date with your partner. Even if that date is after the midgets have gone to bed or maybe in the morning after they have left for school. Just schedule some time with your mate to have a coffee or a drink, and talk about yourselves. Many say we don’t need a special day to indicate when we should buy a token of affection or make time for your special someone, but the truth is a lot of partners forget to do this.

Even with all the navel-gazing that happens on Twitter and elsewhere, parents rarely talk about themselves. They talk A LOT about their offspring, houses, partners, jobs, and coffee, but not usually about themselves. I wager at least 50% of parents don’t even know what they like to do in their spare time nor guard their private time from midget-issue-creep the way they should.

I feel a lot less guilty the older I get. I think that’s because I am finally allowed to be myself. Moody, opinionated, easily hurt, goofy, loving, and optimistic. Thank you husband, for being a man that lets me maintain my individuality. Thank you midgets, for getting to know me as a person and not just as your Mom/Stepmom.

Girl midget is moving into training bra territory. She insists she needs protection for her developing chest (I don’t see much happening there btw). I had no idea training bras were so damn expensive. What a racket. She is also learning that building your outfit for the day starts with the colour of your underwear. There are some days she emerges from her bedroom dressed in what I can only describe as “Really? That’s what you decided to put together?” with my eyes. I never say anything because as long as she is weather appropriate, they are just clothes. I feel the same about hair. You want to dye it and/or cut it? Go ahead. Tattoos and piercings another story because what my midgets think are their bodies are actually owned by moi. That leg/ankle/nose? Yeah all mine, not yours. So far the little ones seem to understand this, but they have not yet been affected by a torrent of teen hormones or a mountain of peer pressure or a tidal wave of pop culture influence.

This week I put my writing to another good use: I helped boy midget write an application to be a leader at Scout camp this summer. One thing the midgets will never have to worry about is layout editing. Their fonts, margins, and title pages will be the very definition of perfection.

City, why do you make it so hard to love you?

Just yesterday I was talking to boy midget about how lucky we are to live in a city. There is an ethnic diversity here that we wouldn’t have in a small town, various museums and restaurants, a variety of languages spoken, among other things. I also mentioned that outside the city there would be no subway, streetcar, and maybe not even a bus system. He of course was shocked by this last bit. He has grown up always having a mass transit system and figured everyone else has too.

So after alllllllll of that jerking off about how great city life is, I got smacked in the face this morning. Today I stayed home from work purposely so that the city could install a water meter. There were due to arrive between 8 am and noon. I carefully warned our downstairs tenant a full 24 hours ahead of time that we would need basement access during that time span. I told my manager I would need to work from home for this. I stayed home during those hours instead of running errands or doing anything else useful. I didn’t start up the washing machine because I figured we would be without water for some time.

OF COURSE what ensued was not that simple. Or maybe it was? Because the 2 city employees arrived, carefully examined the water shut off valve, and determined they could not do their work due to one of the incoming pipes possibly being constructed of lead. This process took 10 minutes max. They put in a call to their supervisor and let me know they would have to come back at another time. Oh really?

All of this hassle is to install a Smart Meter ™ for water consumption at my home. This is being done city-wide and I have successfully avoided it for months. However last week I received a letter threatening me with fines up to $100k for non-compliance so I broke down and made the appt. I had avoided doing so because I am an optimist and knew the process would certainly be more complicated than the literature made it seem. Also? Water prices are about to sky rocket here due to these meters. Just like everything else in this city, using water will be very expensive starting very soon.

There are plenty more expenses I can complain about wrt living in a city. I’ll save those rants for another time.



How to get ahead

Forget about it, you can’t.

NOTHING makes me feel more grateful for having a boring-ass job than reading the regular Gawker column of stories from unemployed people. It’s true that having a job gives me a sense of purpose. Everyone needs to do something with their weekdays. Kids go to school, adults go to work. Dogs go to sleep.

For example:

I’m getting tested for allergies in mid-February. I suspect I’m allergic to dogs, same as boy midget. I have eczema that will not go away, on the back of my hands and my lower legs. After I have been petting and cuddling with Pickle or Ellie, my hands feel tingly. I don’t want to think about what will happen if I need to get rid of both dogs. I can definitely live without having dogs in my house but who will take my dogs for me and love them like I do? How will I cope with never knowing what happens to them in their lives? I sort of see now why some owners have their pets put down instead of finding them new homes. Yes I’m sure that sounds morbid to my gentle reader but there it is. This here is my blog and Imma going to express m’self.

My Twitter posts have taken a decidedly hostile, sarcastic turn. I am not going to censor myself there.

Take a pill

You don’t feel good? Sad all the time? No energy? Preparing dinner for your family is an overwhelming task? Leaving the house is an impossibility? Take this pill.

You have trouble focussing on text? You feel like everyone is against you and at the same time everyone needs something from you? Take this pill.

Human interaction is exhausting? Take this pill.

Never stop taking these pills. Your brain needs them to feel ‘normal’. Because most normal people get up in the morning to get everyone ready for the day, work all day, then work all evening for the greater good. Without the aid of pills.

Just 20 more years of beige cubicle walls, then I can really start living.

I quit taking the pills once, gradually weaning myself off them over a period of months. After being pill-free for about 2 months I started crying/balling for no reason at all. Sometimes it happened while I was driving. Tears would start rolling down. Not just a few tears, either. Many many many tears.  Then I would arrive at my home and crawl into bed for a couple of days.

When well-meaning stupid heads suggest I get off these evil pills, I smile and say thanks for your input. And then I keep taking them. Because exercise, vitamin D and stiff-upper-lip are not the answers to fixing my brain chemistry. This imbalance requires 2 pills per day. It’s serious and no amount of sucking it up is going to work in place of hardcore pills.

So to all of those people who suggest I’m perfectly normal and don’t need pills to keep me balanced, Fuck Off and Die.


Mark Walberg!

Not Marky Mark. I am referring to the host of the Antiques Roadshow. I love history and finding out the historical and cultural significance of old stuff.

What is the big deal about lithographs? I don’t get it.

The most memorable episode for me was the one where the woman has 3 jade pieces of art from her father, all together worth more than $1 million. Boy midget and I always like to shout ‘Sell It!’ when an item is worth a lot of money.

Some items have sentimental value I know. I have things like that in my house too. One of the minimalism blogs I read suggests to take a picture of the item and then get rid of the item. I’m not sure that would satisfy me enough, even though most of these items are hidden away in boxes 95% of the time.

Oooh a pair of guns is worth $10,000. Sell them!

My relationship with curling

I am watching a curling tournament on tv right now, it’s at the quarter final stage. Most of the players’ names are familiar to me, although I haven’t been an avid fan for some years now. That’s the longevity of a curling career though- typically old people are better at the game than young are. This is because it takes throwing thousands of rocks to finally be consistent with draws, guards, taps, and hack weight. The power comes from the leg you use to push off from the hack. Speed and strength are not always the answer in curling. More often success is the result of strategy and finesse rather than blasting 3 rocks out of the house at once.

I started curling when I was 11 years old at my parents’ urging. They had begun the sport and figured my sister and I should take it up too. There was a junior league that was well-attended on Sunday afternoons. And so began my Sundays at the curling rink every winter, until I reached age 17 or 18, when I was then working in a restaurant. However, before that happened I played every weekend and also competed in various bonspiels. Some were 1-day spiels and others were intense 2-day competitions. My family curled in family spiels too. At the end of Saturday there would always be a dance at the host curling club. That was pretty fun for a skinny awkward geek like me.

All of the other curlers were children of farmers just like me. The boys were shy and strong. The girls all had the same feathered hair with tight coloured jeans and colourful sweaters. I remember the women’s locker room after the game was a flurry of makeup, hair styling, and putting on our street clothes.

There was always a meal on the Saturday night of a bonspiel too. The ladies of the club typically cooked and served the players. There was even a bartender although all we ever purchased was coke or ginger ale. On the bar was a huge jar of pickled eggs. I’m pretty sure that was just for decoration.

After I had to stop going to Sunday curling I still belonged to the high school curling team. I really enjoyed the sport, since it was social and I turned out to be pretty good at it. I kept curling with the recreation league all through university too. Curling was my ‘thing’, the one sport I was good at.

After I graduated from university I joined a club in the city where I lived. I still enjoyed playing but I felt less and less like I fit in with the other curlers, socially speaking. I was no longer a farmer’s daughter accustomed to moving in social circles of blue collars. Add to that my innate shyness and you have an image of being a stuck up bitch. Whatever dudes, I’m just here to play.

Watching curling now reminds me of my glory days when I was curling 2 nights a week and practising an additional night. I was in the zone then. Sure I could take it up again as a serious hobby, but I can’t dedicate much time to it. Unless I can improve my game (which means at least 2 nights per week) I don’t want to do it at all. Even my mother understands this. I talked to her some time ago about liking curling but having no time for it. I still enjoy watching the pros and thinking back on the Sun Parlour Curling Club, remembering I was really good at something.

P.S. has some very expensive, vintage, horribly-ugly curling sweaters for sale. Ick.

Big plans today

No not really. Possibly cooking, cleaning, laundry, dog stuff. No midgets today and husband goes to work so the house will be quiet.

Yesterday was a PA day for midgets, but they had social plans and so were gone for most of the day. As I was dropping off boy midget at his friend’s birthday party he asked me what is my version of a ‘fun’ day. I told him the truth– rearranging furniture, shopping on kijiji, and doing some crochet. Yesterday I finished a hat for girl midget. Her winter jacket this year is white and lime green, and she wanted something to match. That’s pretty damn satisfying.

How to make husband laugh

Get dressed for work. Go downstairs to get coat, boots, scarf, hat and mitts, and get dog’s leashes attached to dogs. Start sweating. Suddenly remember I forgot to put on deodorant before I got dressed. Run upstairs in full gear, unzip coat just enough to get the deodorant under my arms, then run back downstairs to walk dogs and midgets to school.



Mission Impossible

It is impossible for me to avoid boredom during a monthly IT Service Management best practice meeting. I wonder what the other people in the meeting are thinking about? Are they passionate about Transformation, Transition and other aspects of organizational structure?