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Oh my God Iím sore!
My legs, my feet, my backÖ hell even my ass hurts. Modern woman was not meant to walk thirteen hours in one day.
Comfortable shoes be dammed!
But on the plus side the weather was gorgeous, and I was able to take in many sights that otherwise would have been missed.
And I did stumble across the coolest little art shoppe, and picked up a couple of prints.
Then of course there was the Lantern Festival of which Iíve never seen the likes before.
All in all I shouldnít complain, it was totally worth it.
Yes, I know youíre here.
I imagine you find your way here much for the same reason I find myself there.
To glean insight and understanding.
To find solace perhaps.
To feel connected.
So long as youíre aware that besides a couple entries, and one specific acrostic, that Iíve been concentrating on myself. Which is really where I need to be right now.
I tried the split attention thing, and ultimately ended up splitting myself.
Perhaps a needed wake-up call to propel me to where I needed to be.
Clarity, though not romantic, is a necessity.
The art form of letter writing seems to have fallen by the wayside, as email, instant and text messaging have permeated our daily lives.
People forward chain letters and jokes as a means of communicating, or punch in emoticons in their messaging client or cell.
This has brought me to try something different lately when I approach my daily writings. It is not an assignment in grammar, punctuation or formality.
I just want to get back to basics, conveying a personal message, addressed to someone specific.
(The cathartic purge is sure to be wondrously uplifting, which Iím looking forward to.)
Why do you feel a need to talk to me throughout the day? Do I not listen to enough in the evenings?
I donít care that your colleagues are slackers or that you applied to jobs in Victoria today.
Unless of course one of them pans out, then Iíll be all ears. Hell Iíll be your own personal cheering section.
ďYes, Good job.Ē
ďIím sure youíll do great.Ē
ďWhat an exciting opportunityĒÖ
But of course Iíll be required to divulge
ďNo, Iím not comingĒ
ďWhat do you want to do with the house?Ē
and finally ďGood-byeĒ
Iíve been asked by a few people what Iím scribbling, and why. Usually my answer is the same, ďIím journalingĒ which discourages further more prying.
The truth is, that although the thoughts and opinions expressed here are of a personal nature, I am not concerned whether someone I know reads them or not.
It just might do some good.
Thereís more than a spattering of personal information that offers a revealing glimpse.
I may apologize for the manner in which information is conveyed; however I will not apologize for the content found here.
Sometimes things just need to be said.
I need a new car.
The Neon is worn out, and needs too much work to keep her running safe.
She (why are cars always female?) was my very first car, and was nearly new when I got her.
Six months old and a dealer loaner, I thought sheíd be a perfect first vehicle.
And before all you Neon haters start up, let me just profess that ĎRedí has been very reliable.
Eight years and 300000 kilometres later she hasnít given me any major problems.
I figured she has served me well so now itís time to let her retire.
I really donít like to be judgemental (even in my own head) butÖ
Dear fat blonde girl sitting at the table with two couples:
Wearing a tank top that looks like it was painted on, and a white MINI skirt (with no underwear) is NOT attractive, sexy, provocative or becoming whatsoever!
Do you not have self respect?
From my vantage point it looks as though your hungry ass ate what might have been left of it.
Take the hint would ya?
Both the women and the men youíre sitting with canít even look at you!
I canít anymore either.
Dear blonde girl sitting in the green Ford Explorer in the parking lot at the doctorís office:
Why on earth did you just spent fifteen minutes fixing your hair, curling your lashes and applying more war paint than Miss Piggy?
You are beautiful enough without making yourself look like a two bit whore, although your pencilled in eyebrows are quite disturbing.
Itís a Fucking Doctorís office!
Even if (pardon me Greyís Anatomy) Dr. OíDreamy (our version of Patrick Dempsey) were working (which heís not), Iím sure that pap-smears donít require facial attention.
Did you douche?
Dear overweight guy wearing the leather jacket invading my personal space:
Could you stand ANY closer to me?
Youíre practically rubbing your middle-aged dick on my ass.
Not that I have a problem with middle age, or with dicks, but the counter at a coffee shop during the morning rush is not where I want to be bent over and dry humped.
Least of all by your greasy hobit-esque self, (in case you hadnít noticed the way I was melding myself to the counter).
Get a clue asshole, back the fuck up! I ainít your blow up doll.
Dear would be father, grandfathers, grandmothers, aunts and uncles of my inconceivable unborn children:
I know that you have been waiting a long time for the opportunity to play these roles; however it is my duty as the would be childís mother, to inform you that I do not even conceive the notion of procreating.
I can rattle off any number of global responsibilities as valid reasons, but the real fact is much less selfless and much more important.
I donít want children, period.
No I donít think itís selfish and no I wonít change my mind.
I have to admit that the last time we met I only heard half of what you said.
That streak of dark blue in your otherwise very black hair was distracting me.
It is new, isnít it?
At first I was sure I was seeing things, but no, it kept peeking out from behind your ear.
Then I started thinking about how some people refer to elderly women as little blue haired ladies, so I found myself searching for this hue in the rest of your locks.
Itís just the one quasi-hidden streak, you wild woman!
Dear lazy bitch of a sister-in-law,
Get the fuck out of bed and DO something!
Your house is a fucking pigsty and makes me feel dirty just walking through the door.
Your four year old canít talk, probably because you segregate her in her bedroom. She doesnít have interaction with people including her parents!
Sheís not even potty trained.
And your plan is to traipse off to California for four months and dump your kids on your parents?!
How useless ARE you?
I beg you PLEASE donít have anymore kids!
You sure as hell donít deserve them.
Well, youíre the last of the pink-slip waving lucky bastards left in the office.
Though I should be more sensitive to your position, I canít help but feel pangs of jealousy.
Why the HELL didnít they lay me off?!?
And thatís not survivorís guilt eitherÖ thatís good old fashioned covetousness.
Guess we both have ruts to pull ourselves out of.
Iíd be willing to accommodate a switch with you. You come to this hellhole everyday and do what I do, and Iíll sit at home and do what you normally did here.
You wonít be missed.
I just wanted to drop a few lines your way to see how youíre doing.
I hope all is going well. I know youíve been through a lot recently, so donít worry that we havenít had much time to catch up. You need to focus on you!
Oh and donít worry about writing a letter to yourself from yourself or referring to yourself in the third person.
It doesnít make you look the least bit crazy
Ėer than you are already. (Grin)
Just remember, only You can take care of You, and You are incredibly capable!
Dear three department managerial women met at the potential new site:
I appreciate the positions that you hold, and that youíre ďjust doing (your) jobĒ, but your comments were not appreciated.
YOU try driving an hour and a half one way to ďworkĒÖ.
BITE ME! I ainít doing it!
Donít assume that because Iím a chick that works WITH a bunch of computer geeks, that my function is to serve administratively just because yours is.
Working by myself in an office is no different than working from home, dumbass!
Yours technically, physically, independently,
Dear Outlook calendar,
Thank you for remembering my appointment tomorrow, and reminding me about it this evening, fore I surely would have forgotten all about it.
Youíve made having to exercise memory a thing of the past. Remembering meetings, appointments, birthdays are now all your responsibility. The weight of the business world (or at least the schedules) rests squarely on your shoulders. You handle it with such professionalism and donít complainÖ much.
How did I ever manage before you?
Despite your inability to synchronize properly with the ubiquitous Blackberry (canít you be friends?), I still think youíre great.
Dear new girl working in the Suds,
What is UP with the music? Iím about to pull out my mp3 player and crank it!
Whereís Jen, Hailey, Sue, Ashley, Trevor?
None of them play this tear in my beer shit. Nobody does!
I feel like going to get Jessie and have him do open mic tonight instead of tomorrow.
Seriously, thereís nothing but young people sitting here, and Iíve heard them complaining.
Terry wonít be impressed if you lose customers.
Iíve finally found a couple hours to myself this evening, and itís delicious in the extreme.
Itís been too long since I had a couple hours just to myself to do whatever, whenever.
So delicious in fact I donít know what to do first (todayís entry excepted since itís a requirement).
What indulgence will get top priority?
It doesnít really matter, Iím just happy to have time to myself.
Time to reflect, time to putz around, time that could be spent on something else but instead enjoyed by being completely selfish.
Everybody needs to take this kind of time occasionally.
I know that you told me your oldest was a big lad, and itís not that I didnít believe you, but did you really have to parade his muscular, tanned, 20-something ass in front of me?
(Did my eyes bug outta my head?)
I know youíre just being the proud papa, but DAMN! You make beautiful babies.
Anytime he makes you dinner after work and you donít feel like eating straight away, Iíd be more than happy to take your spot. (GRIN)
You said you wonít eat re-heated steak anyway, so why waste it?! (ducks)
How you move me, let me count the ways. Forward.
Ok so itís only one way, but you challenge me with all your ups and downs and variable speed.
You make my breathe heavily, my heart race, and get me all hot.
Youíll even blow on me if I ask you too.
Some may spurn you in favour of fancy elliptical or stair climbing equipment, but for me there is no other choice.
And with winter coming youíll be seeing a lot more of me while assisting me to see less of myself.
Youíre the best!
Iíve stumbled across a few guitarists albums recently that Iím really enjoying.
Two in particular I used to listen to often when I was in my teens, and not only is it reminiscent of my youth, but I really like the music.
Steve Vaiís Passion and Warfare, and Joe Satrianiís Flying in a Blue Dream.
But a new artist, or should I say duo has popped up on my radar... Rodrigo Y Gabriela.
From a heavy metal beginning to their current flamenco genre, their story is definitely an interesting one, and their talent completely undeniable. Give them a listen sometime.
Went out with a few current, and ex colleagues last night for dinner (and beverages). One of which I hadnít seen in at least three years was there and it was nice to catch up.
We sat outside (how nice of Mother Nature to cooperate) in the comfortable evening air and chatted easily as if we were all old friends. Laughing and joking about the times we had shared together in the office.
As I sat at the table looking at everyone I was struck with sadness as the reality of what we all worked for was no longer ours.
Happy Birthday cutie.
The big two three huh? Enjoy it kid, and make it last.
After 25 they start coming quicker and you tend to lose track.
(Yes thatís why Iím still 29!)
Oh by the wayÖ you can thank (blame) me for the doubles. I wouldnít have done it if I didnít think you could handle it.
BesidesÖ I think itís funny when you try to shoot pool after having a few!
(Yet you still give me a run for my money)
Anyway, I really hope you have a great day, and a great year!
You can tell by the look on her face that she is completely smitten with him.
He however, is more difficult to read.
Perhaps that alone is a sign that the feeling is not mutual. But that may just be my female take on thingsÖ or the pessimist rearing her head.
Women in general tend to wear their heart on their sleeve, while men are more reserved. (This is my polite way of saying most are severely emotionally stunted.)
In any case, I hope this young thing is cognisant and not blinded by his good looks and silver forked tongue.
I need therapy.
Writing therapy, retail therapy, liquid therapyÖ something strong.
I wish there was a chemical bank (like a sperm bank) where I could withdraw endorphins when needed.
Sex and chocolate arenít going to cut it.
Thereís no light at the end of this tunnel either. The medical advances only serve as baby asprin for open heart surgery without anaesthetic.
Stop the train, I want OFF!
Incurable doesnít mean fatal, but I donít want to ďsurviveĒ like this!
Itís such a struggle some days. I step out of myself and watch from afar.
Itís not prettyÖ not at all.
The office has taken on a strange ominous aura.
Currently there are only 6 of us left, but by the middle of next week weíll be down to 5.
The office used to accommodate over 25 people once upon a hay day.
But over the years as people moved on to other jobs they never bothered to hire replacements.
Before the VP of engineering and the HR rep showed up to hand out the pink slips we were down to 14, so I donít think anyone was terribly surprised.
The office is so empty and completely foreign to me now.
The Cirque du Soleil show last night was fantastic.
That was the third time Iíve seen them and Iíve never been disappointed.
The first time was in a big top tent, and it was predominantly about the acrobatics. It was amazing!
The big top is a small show, and there isnít a bad seat in the place.
The second show was in an arena, and it was predominantly about the music (which is live in every show), and it too was amazing.
This time was in the big top again, and every bit as impressive (even the $65 souvenir shirt).
Went and picked a half bushel of apples today from a (semi) local organic farm.
When I got there, the lady that owns the place warned me that theyíd sustained some hail damage, and not to pick any fruit with holes that pierced the flesh. So off I went thinking how bad could ďsome hail damageĒ be?
I was lucky to find a half bushel, and at that I had to pick a variety of Macintosh and Courtland, because I couldnít find enough decent fruit from either variety.
Theyíre pretty good eats, but I think I need to make pies.
I think Iím getting sick.
I could feel the weight settling into my chest last night.
Damned cold germs are setting up shop and inviting all their buddies along for the party.
Pretty soon theyíll be running amok in my sinuses, wreaking havoc with my mucus membranes, inflaming muscles and smoking my joint tissue. (Didnít they know I was saving it for myself?)
By tomorrow Iíll be dizzy, feverish and feel genuinely unwell.
I found a few Riccola in the bathroom cabinet, but Iím thinking a trip to the pharmacy for Neo-citron et-al is going to be in the cards.
Dear New York quality assurance engineer II,
You are a dumb shit.
ďEngineerĒ would assume you are educated to a particular degree.
And ďquality assuranceĒ would assume you have some clue and direction.
Why then do you call me at every turn and ask questions that you of all people should know?
(And I donít have enough experience to do YOUR job.... not enough experience being a moron I guess)
Thatís just fineÖ Iíll save your ass (yet again), and catch hell for it (yet again), all in the name of trying to fix this unrelentingawdamned mess.
The Tip Jar