Wednesday, October 28, 2009

The Bus Chronicles

Tuesday night, because I am a Good Person, I rode the bus. To be clear, I loathe the bus, that wretched, inefficient waste of my time. I hate the frequent stop-starting and the heavy footedness of the drivers. I despise the grimy, unwashed masses and the grimy, unwashed seats. And most of all, I abhor what a total time suck that is: Taking The Bus.

I like the idea of busses. And in theory, they work for me. But, much like communism, in practice: they suck icy, cold balls. And it’s not that I hate public transit. Trains are good. Trains I like. I can so get on board with trains (no pun intended) There is rarely unscheduled stopping and it generally arrives on time, every time. Trains also rarely depend on the movement and moods of traffic and drivers.

I appreciate that some people have long commutes and others are forced to take long, involved transit journeys every day of their working lives. I am not one of those people. I choose to live downtown, close to work, close to all the essentials like grocery stores, coffee shops, the good drug dealers, being close to a variety of fun and interesting things to do.

But, I digress, the journey, which you are, no doubt, oh-so-fucking-eager for this vitriolic rant to be finished with. Trust me, so am I. But if I were to write: I took the bus, hated it, returned on the bus and went to bed, it would be neither entertaining nor* cathartic.

*nor!! That just put me in a wonderful mood. Nor! Way to go grammar check, which I normally ignore, you’re my hero and looking smashing in your green sweater!

But back to (on?) the bus. My cousin T. called earlier in the day asking for a favor and a favor. Because I like her,and because she promised me dinner, I agreed, temporarily forgetting the chore that is riding Vancouver busses. I also forgot just how far out of town she lives.

I realized as I was walking to the bus stop exactly what I had done. I agreed to 1. take the bus, 2. in rush hour, 3. with a very large suitcase. It’s a great, big suitcase. So big, I’m confident that I could smuggle at least four children into the country with it, with room to spare for at least 8 pairs of socks. It’s great for traveling … except when on public transit which, ridiculously, has no under the bus storage for my shit.

For forty five awful minutes, I shuffled my bag back and forth, in and out, angered many commuters and shared a few sarcastic remarks with people trying to exit. (I was standing in the exit well because it was the only spot big enough to accommodate both me and my bag. But, I only took up one side of the exit and did the best I could not to impede anyone. I can be good like that, unless you're a complete douche and then I will do nothing to make life easier for you.)

I always, always get lost when trying to find T’s house. My mind self erases itself when I am out past the middle of nowhere (which is 40 something ave, maybe) So, I picked my way through what I though was the right street, feeling very conspicuous with my very large suitcase, which, ironically (or not) is the perfect size for filling with loot after breaking and entering. I tried.

And I got to what I thought was her house and I called her, just to be sure it was the right place. I certainly didn’t want to alarm a nice family happily eating their dinner by knocking on the wrong door, wearing all black with matching luggage. Uhhhh, Trick or Treat?

She wasn’t home.

You have to be mother-fucking kidding me.

Eventually she got home and to be fair, it wasn't really her fault. Just an unfortunate series of happenings that make me want to curl up in a ball and never leave my bed.

I only stayed 20 minutes so I could catch the bus back. The other thing about T’s place, aside from having difficulties locating it, is catching a return bus. I always seem to miss it and wind up waiting a looong time (occasionally suffering abuse from teenage boys grunting out of their parents Toyota's) for one to come by again. Fortunately, I was not tempted by taxis buzzing past like I usually am, and the bus was on time.

The ride back was more entertaining due to the crazy, dispossessed and not-quite-sober people that replaced the commuters. Oh how I enjoy being a casual observer of these fringe dwellers in their natural (?) habitat.

There was the man that growled (I shit you not) at anyone getting on the bus. He got on after I did, so I was not a recipient of said growls, but he did announce his presence with an eardrum shattering “rock and roll!” Yeah, dude, we’re gonna rock this bus tonight! Get down with your bad mullet...wait...all mullets are bad!

The woman that sat in front of me was missing all of her front teeth, which is unfortunate and I do genuinely feel bad for her. It’s got to suck not having front teeth. And, apparently, it causes you to suck at your phantom teeth. Because that is what the lady did. For 25 minutes, bless her. Feelings of sympathy aside, that really grossed me out in a train wreck way: where you want to look away, but you’re so fascinated and on the lookout for a severed head that you just can’t help yourself and stare at the upper half of a face being sucked into a mouth.

I also had this odd exchange with a tiny woman with the manliest man hands I’ve ever seen:

She: Buy me dinner!

Me: No.

She: Give me three dollars, then.

Me: No.

She: Buy me a coffee, then.

Me: No. I’m not bargaining with you.

She: mutters something about Indians and hits up the next person.

I then had a food dilemma. I have those regularly and cannot pin those on anyone but myself. The bus crossed Davie street, which happens to be the home of Fritz. Which happens to have the very best poutine in Western Canada. I resisted and I will definitely do a post about Fritz when it's fresh and gooey in my mind.

In the end, Campells garden something soup was the meal of the day, with toast and milk. And it was far too good for tinned soup, so I suspect they're adding crack rocks to the tins so I'll buy more (I did).

That was my soul crushing evening. I'm so glad I got that out of my system and I apologize for the tone. I tried to lighten it up, but it would appear that there is nothing funny about riding the bus, unless you find misery funny, in which case I accuse you of being a rock'n'roller.



Abort, Abort, Abort

I had planned this entry to be an interview with myself, a gift to you (!), complete with charming tidbits about me and my life, but, as I wrote and rewrote it, it seemed so affected and fake that I had to place it on the back burner for now. And I am nothing if not gen-u-wine, even if I have been accused of … embellishing (read: liar) … to improve upon … "The Facts" (read: pathological). Also, I don’t want to be That Girl! We all know at least one, and the world certainly doesn’t need another.

One day, one day soon, I will post an entry filled with all the minutiae of me, and, quite frankly internet, you’re going to enjoy it.

But until then, I’ll do what I do and ramble incoherently about nothing in particular.

See you shortly,


Tuesday, October 27, 2009

Some Things You Never Knew You Never Wanted To Know About Me:


The olbigatory self-involved post:

It occurred to me again on my walk home yesterday, where I have many profound thoughts - like how is pink lemonade made pink and I could so totally climb Everest, with no oxygen and how would I survive if zombies were real (I like to think I would find myself a cricket bat and mess those jerks up, Shaun of the Dead style) - and I decided I should introduce myself to the land of blog.

I’m 28 years old, which means that in 5 years, I will be 33.

I am roughly 5’8 and it says 172 cm on my driver’s license.

I have brown hair and big eyes that are bluey/greeney/greyish in color.

I very nearly (inadvertently) had my mother investigated for child abuse when I was a tot. I was so clumsy and all those hospital trips made the nurses suspicious. Sorry Mama. By the way, I’m still clumsy.

I wanted to marry Optimus Prime of Transformers fame when I was just a little thing. I have since realized the error of my lust…but what a man (er, truck)!

Anna isn't my real name. It's close-ish, but I don't know you well enough yet to give you the details to my bank account just yet.

My step-father was in the army, which makes me an army brat. I have spent a good portion of my life moving, living overseas and on bases (in PMQ's).

I have an older brother who I love, in spite of his inability to form cohesive sentences.

I once exposed my older brother’s junk in front of my mother, godmother and our mother’s best friend. The best friend has taken to calling him 'Magic' and he has since gotten the better Christmas presents.

Speaking of my brother, I got super duper drunk at his wedding and I don't remember much of it, but I do recall throwing up out of a moving car, which turned out to be my mama’s. I was not popular or proud for a time.

I sometimes go to the movies and just have popcorn for dinner. Healthy? Probably not. Happy? Absolutely!

I don’t like it when I get sucked into TV land. I feel very unproductive and it really bothers me.

I regularly start projects but rarely finish them. I’m more of an ideas person.

I enjoy coffee and probably drink more of it than is good for me. Or is coffee on the outs this week? I can't keep up. It doesn't matter. In my world, coffee is always in fashion.

I have an unnatural obsession with podcasts, of all description, and playing solitaire while listening to said podcasts. Seriously, I've lost days!

I like seeing people walking home on Fridays (why is it always Fridays?) with cut flowers. However, as proof that I am as contrary as I sound, I hate being the recipient of cut flowers. They're cool and all, but me thinks they would be better served being still on the bush/tree/stem where they belong, outside.

I enjoy long walks on the beach (Ha! Welcome to my cliché). I just enjoy walking, wherever I may be.

I don’t like taking the bus. I’d much rather walk/drive/ride a mule.

I like parentheses. No, I really like them. I want to marry them and carry their children.

I like, but am mostly compelled, to pick money off the street. The most I have gotten was $5 and a whole lotta luck from all those pennies. FYI: today is indeed a two penny day, and it's only 10.43! am! Woot!

I love to travel.

I love to travel places with no plans. That's just how I roll, baby. I'll usually sort out the first night and the rest is by the seat of my pants.

Denim. I love denim, but not in skirt, shirt or jacket form. So I should edit that to say Jeans. Please take this as my last will and testament and remember that I wish to be placed on my funeral pyre in my jeans.

To date, I own no less than three pairs of jeans that are ripped and mostly unwearable, but I wear them anyway.

My family. They should be closer to the top of the list, but they know how special they are to me, even if I don't tell them nearly enough. I luff youse guys!

My friends and neigbours. Again, they belong closer to the top of this inane list of narcissism. I do adore and enjoy you all. Even when you're being dickheads.

I don’t like tomatoes or strawberries. But I do like ketchup and strawberry pop tarts. Go figure.

I don’t like to cook and I don’t like to wash dishes. I do like to eat, though, so the solution: Take out!

I have always been, and probably will always be, a picky eater. I’m also a vegetarian.

You know what? It’s taken an hour to come up with this wonderful, if useless, list. It’s time for me to blow this popsicle stand and get on with my day and be, you know, a moderately productive member of society.

Monday, October 26, 2009

Words From My (Zombie) Mother

My Mum was waiting for her vaccination of the swine flu aka H1N1 aka (post innoculation) I ain't afraid of no flu. While she was waiting in line and I was working on my high scores in solitare, Mum was texting updates of her progress.

It would appear that everyone in Edmonton went to the same clinic as her, dazzled by the promise of not getting the dreaded leurgy, to which I applaud them for being proactive in the not-dying-today dept. The effect, however, was a crazy long line of people waiting to get a prick in the arm, for a change.

This is the end of the exchange (after 3.5 hours of waiting - and while Mum has told some whoppers before, she would say embellished - I would say LIE, I'm tempted to believe her in this case with all the hysteria surrounding this flu):

Mum: Good News. Shots done so in 15 min. I'm outta here!

Nice one. Are you feeling healthy or has your blood sugar level dropped far enough to make you unrecognisable as a human?

Mum: Totally unhuman ... almost zombie like and there are so many brains here!

Me: Me want brains!! And guts!

Mum: NICE......I think I'll settle for some good old fashioned fast food!

Me: I think brains might have a higher nutritional value than fast food.

Mum: Lunch good. Brain mushy. Arms sore.

Me: I didn't think that zombies could text. Spooky. But I'm glad the brains were good.

Mum (in what is, and will be, the coolest comment ever to leave her sweet [ha!] soul): Zombies are highly misunderstood sensitive beings with rather unfortunate fashion sense.

This, dear internet, is the woman that raised me. Show her a roomful of people and she wants to eat their braiiiiiins.

Still, it has to be better than McDonalds.

Thursday, October 22, 2009


"Birds have no sphincters."

True? possibly. Hilarious? definitely.


Wednesday, October 21, 2009

In Which My Snooze Button Gets a Workout

I have been editing this mother of a post for an hour and I can’t decide what is going on. Ack…posting crisis before midday? I have a finite amount of decision making abilities per day, as evidenced by yesterday, and I cannot figure out what I’ve used it up on this morning. Coffee order-same, number of snooze button hits-same (12, if you must know), route to work-same.

Challenge for today: Stop editing and being a general flip-flopper (or thong, if you will)* and do something productive (ha!) and constructive (ha!).

*I’m having a vision of a giant thong sitting at my desk, in the manner of bad SNL skit. I hope it’s in your head movie now, too.

Yesterday was mostly good with a pinch of bad.

The good:

I had lunch at The Greedy Pig on Cordova. It’s a stellar, slightly grimy pub that has ah-may-zing sandwiches. From me to you: order the grilled cheese and the soup of the day. That meal will never disappoint, ever. Word to the wise, though, drinks can be a bit pricey. BUT, if they have mojitos on special, eff the budget, they’re seriously worth the extra cash. So check these ladies out when you're in Van.

Last night I stayed in, which 72% of the time is one of my favoritest things to do. Hodge and I ordered pizza and coke and watched Ghostbusters on the air mattress that serves double duty as a guest bed and sofa.* Staying in was also good due to the disgusting amounts of Costco sized Toblerone that was consumed, and anything chocolate is a-ok in my world. I’d probably trade you a kidney for good chocolate.

*What, furniture for me? Pshaw, get away with your dirty mouth.

The bad:

I stayed at work late because our *big boss* is visiting and all of us are making the extra effort to look busy and indispensable. This required me to walk home in the dark which I find to be incredibly depressing and kind of tragic. Spending all your daylight hours in captivity is a major hazard of living in Canadialand, where we only get 4 hours of it a day. I’ll do it, but I’m not gonna like it. (oh hello, five year old self, I was wondering where you’d gone)

Oh the game of long distance lovers that has the power to crush your soul and spirit, or mine at least, attacked last night. I missed a call from KB. My phone was playing silly buggers and had dropped the network, and then wouldn’t make or receive any calls, mainly because it hates me and I had neglected it by leaving it in my coat pocket. By the time I got my phone working again, it was too late and KB was dreaming lovely things about me. Note to phone: Look, there’s only enough bad behaviour to go around, and I have the monopoly on it. If you continue to behave so gracelessly (which is my speciality) I will have to drown you. Both the phone and I know that this is an empty threat. We can’t live without each other, we're in love.

The Ugly:

Autumn has arrived in Vancouver and I’m a little (read: a lot) sad at the office while sitting in my wet pants. Rain water, not urine, of course. I only do that when I wear adult diapers. As always, when it’s raining and grey, I want to stay inside with cups of tea and crumpets, under my duvet with a good book. But it’s Wednesday, so I reluctantly woke up and with very little grace, swept the crusty bits out of my eyes and scowled at the world, while unclamping my teeth that I welded together mid sleep. I then dragged my grumpy ass to work.

This isn’t too ugly, this girl just likes symmetry so I tucked it in without you realising. I got you, I got you good, fucker!


Tuesday, October 20, 2009

I Like Your Brand of Crazy

I just found this written on a piece of paper on my desk:

1.Walk to Fridge
2.Open Fridge
3.Select a Can of Beer

And that's all she (I) wrote.

Welcome to work, lady! It's gonna be a good day!