Lies my brothers told me
Was watching that credit card commercial, the one where they're talking about beachwear, and the ad finishes with the family making snow/sand angels. So, I remembered back to my kidhood (long-term memory: yay. short-term: not so much), and recalled that that was something that my brothers taught me to do.
The joys of being the youngest, offsetting the fact that I was a free punching bag for my bros. So, I asked the milliner how she learned of such things, being that she's the eldest. Most likely from friends, she said.
I never really thought of that, that being the oldest or a single child, your learning curve is a bit behind others, because you have to wait that extra time to learn the tricks of childhood. I mean, I must have been 4 or 5, I was running around with my brother, when he mentioned "hey, don't forget your shadow." So, imagine the awe that a tot can experience when he learns that he has an imaginary friend who follows him around on sunny days.
Group hug!
Doing my part to save the planet
The bathrooms here have urinals of the "automatic flush" kind. Which? If you're obsessive-compulsive you'll only wash your hands 49 times instead of 50 after taking a tinkle, since you wouldn't have touched that icky flush handle. The thing is, while at work I suck back a few litres of water, and it passes through me like, well, water, so I'm getting up close and personal with aforementioned urinals several times a day.
Now, the urinal is a 3.8-liter (1 gallon) flush, which means that I'm using up about 4 gallons daily on what amounts to almost pure water. Being of the "if it's yellow, let it mellow" school, I'm always walking away feeling guilty, but figured there wasn't much I can, since the damned thing will flush.
But, ah, I discovered that I can sneak up on the thing, stand off to the side, and let loose, and not have that infernal thing sense my presence. Hee, saving water and getting to re-enact my childhood spy games. Good times.
Mad CatFrances, our feline, has breath that could fell a horse, and it's only getting worse with time. So, on Sunday, I decided to try a little experiment. Applied a small--and I mean small--dab of toothpaste to a tip of my finger, and started to rub her teeth with the paste.
After struggling and digging her claws into my hands, she ran off, trying to get away from the taste in her mouth. We glanced over at her, realising that she was slobbering like a mastif or a dogue.
It was both horrifying and hilarious. She wasn't amused.
Revelling in some Shagginfreude*So, the office moved over the weekend, and we now find ourselves even further along the west island. At the Nortel campus. (I had written down the directions to get here but, being me, had packed those directions along with the rest of my stuff, so ended up driving about an hour this morning, looking for the building.) When assigning seating arrangements, being the tech-writer I was naturally given the holiest-hole-that-was-ever-a-hole cubie, the farthest away from any natural light. Oh, but imagine my delight, my droogies when, what with the setting sun, almost everyone else in the office can no longer see their computer screens, what with the white spots bouncing off the walls of their corneas.
Hee.
Hee hee.
*Taking pleasure in others getting screwed.
Who knew?That, although a passport isn't entirely essential, you still need proof of citizenship when flying to the US? And that a driver's license isn't it?
It wasn't really a problem when flying
within the States, but wow, the Canadian ticket agents and customs' guards sure looked at me differently when I explained that, um, no, in fact, I have never flown anywhere before.
Into the Wild
Anything for a buckGoing through a week's worth of mail last night, I came across a letter from "Les Cardiologues Associés," which I guess is the cardiologists' association from the Heart Institute. Looking at the envelope, I'm figuring it's a letter of congrats for being such a studmuffin (hey, I can dream, can't I?), or, you know, a letter of thanks for volunteering for experimental drug tests that might help others live longer lives.
I was wrong.
Inside the envelope is a bill. For $25. That I owe to a certain
cardiologist. For whom I volunteered as a guinea pig.
And why do I owe this $25? Because the Régie de l'assurance automobile required that he give his signature on a form for my driver's license.
Twenty-five lousy fucking dollars. I'm thinking of paying it in rolls of pennies. Because if it's that important to him, I'm sure he'll take it any way he can.
Working on my absWell, okay, more like my stomach muscles. We got into San Francisco this morning, happy to finally get away from Las Vegas. (Although, admittedly, the Cirque shows were amazing.) The milliner and I are staying in Berkeley, and we found this free internet at UC-Berkeley. It's about 30C outside; everything is green or in bloom.
Heading to Napa tomorrow. My credit card is taking a huge hit.
Fear and lovingYa know what I lurve about this week's snow and cold? I'm leaving it behind for until next Sunday, heading back to Vegas and then San Francisco for some sun. And some Cirque shows. And
eating. And
this. Oh, and
this.
Don't much care for Vegas as a city; being there is akin to witnessing one huge boulevard of broken dreams set to a soundtrack of a pinball arcade. Curious, however, about all the hoopla of San Fran.
We are on a quest for the Holy GrailSo, I've been reading the illustrated version of
The Da Vinci Code--I was hoping for the pop-up version but, alas, the book didn't have any, nor did it inspire me to have one--and I must say, it's not a book that I could put down gently. No, in fact, I would much prefer to throw it forcibly across the room. This is the literary event of the past couple years? Honest, what a giant stinky pile of dog poo.
Let's take a simple internet conspiracy and expand it for a few hundred pages. Need to explain something? Easy, have a couple have a conversation, where the expert answers in exposition to any simple four-word question from the attractive detective. If I wanted crap like this, I'd read Kathy Reichs or, even worse, watch
Law and Order: SVU, where I can listen to such deep conversations as:
Vern, um, I mean George Huang: He's obviously suffering from Asperger's syndrome.
Olivia: Asperger's Syndrome, what's that?
George: An inability to function in a social environment. The child often displays repetitive facial tics. They are often preoccupied with one or a few interests. Like a teenaged boy and breasts.
Olivia: Breasts, what are those?
George: Um...
