What I Did Over My Summer Holidays - A recap of the last neglected weeks

No.More.Industry.

The last few hours of being shackled to my desk was such an exercise in patience. Pure and utter misery, leading to boredom tears and sighs of frustration. Like any other day, really.

Unofficially, Fridays are half days. Officially, we’re on call, but conveniently out of mobile range. However, my boss’ boss is in town, (for one whole miserable, terrible, angsty month) so we have to do the whole 8 – 5 thing and work, or pretend to work to justify our paycheques. This includes staying until 4pm on a long weekend Friday. This is nothing short of torture.

Today, my timesheet, if I had to record a daily timesheet, would look like this:

25 minutes preparing coffees, teas and opening cans of drink

90 minutes eating verrrry sloooowly. No one bothers you when they think you’re eating lunch

30 minutes on ‘business related industriousness’

45 minutes talking to boss about weekend plans

30 minutes hiding out in the ladies, attempting to pull back from the brink of frustration based hysteria

This means that I spent a hell of a lot of minutes G

oogling shit. And that loses it’s charm after the 325^th minute.

A recap

To potentially make up for the entirely unreasonable length of time since posting (I have located the source of fault to be the laptop. I don’t like the Mac version of word. Word.) I would like to present the following offering:

I went camping for the first time in 2+ years a few w

eekends ago. Only one of the five of us that went is a regular camper and he’s a bit of a princess, so I made fun of him and his 48 cubic metres of camping accoutrement until 12.32am the first night. That was when the heavens opened and I fell deeply in love with his kitchen tent.

The rest of the weekend reads: rain, rain, no sleep, rain, walk on the beach of death, rain, rain, no sleep, gunfire at 3am, rain, pack up, wait dejectedly for the ferry, collapse into bed, discover slug in the car, weep.

Notable moments include: Hodge getting soap on his contact lenses in an improbable and unlikely fashion, discovering that he didn’t pack his glasses and ferociously rinsing said contact lenses until he could get at least one in. This resulted in zero depth perception, which led to a fractured finger. For Realz.

I suffered a second degree burn on my finger as a result of my own stupidity involving a cigarette and a card game. Too zealous? Perhaps.

After two weeks of healing!

Sleeping (rather – not sleeping but laying awake listening for gunshots – to scare the bears away, I shit you not) in a tent designed for infants and not two adults as the label says, with a man who smelled pretty badly. I don’t know what it is about men and camping and the utter refusal to bathe. Next time, if there is a next time, I am sleeping in the car.

Walking on the beach of death. The only living beings on it were ourselves, the dogs and the carrion eaters that threatened to fly off with the miniature dachshund. Not so miraculous, Miracle Beach.

I did a City Chase last weekend. We didn’t finish, but we came close. Next year, that bitch is ours!

We are not great route planners, but what we lacked in foresight, we totally made up with misdirection and enthusiam.

Luch, my beloved mental doppelganger, is 8’10” and has a rather long gait, if you can imagine. Those long legs required his teammate, Hodge, to trot a bit to keep up with him. Seeing Hodge running, Rob would start to jog and then they would be stirring up the dust and leaving Pumpkin and I, in a murderous rage, in their wake. I did manage to jog quite a bit of it, but the effort left me with several stitches and shin splints.

Aside from broken bodies and not finishing, we loved it and can’t wait to punish ourselves next year. We have vowed to finish this time. Also, beer has never tasted so good as after a full day of running and doing odd tasks in the sun.

In other news

My alley, usually home to urination and suspiciously-like-human excrement, was witness to slurpee vomits today. So was I, in an aural sense. Fortunately I didn’t see it, rather heard it (and assumed that it was water being poured out until I looked up and saw a young man doubled over holding his half empty cup). It was enough to make me queasy, but not enough to dry heave, so…WIN! It was a red slurpee, in case you were wondering, so somewhat-but-not-really like the excorcist. The young man then washes his mouth out with slurpee and, presumably, carried on with his day.

Since I can’t really leave you on red vomit stories, I am taking another cooking class at the Dirty Apron. It is cocktails and canapés, and I intend on getting really, really, unreasonably legless and stay in bed all day Sunday.

Chin-chin, Anna xo

That Will Teach Me To Control The Vigour!

Broken Bones

It would appear that I have broken my back. Not in the terrifying never-going-to-walk-again kind of way, but in a fuck-fuck-fuck this hurts kind of way. Admittedly the latter is not nearly as inconvenient as the former, but, man, it really hurts.

I am unable to give a play by play about the incident, just that I was fine when I picked my pants up, but by the time they were over my thighs (before they were buttoned), I had an intense, intolerable, excruciating pain running from the base of my neck to my shoulder blades. Did you pick that up? I broke my back when putting on my jeans this morning. Right.

This would suggest that I was wrestling with skinny jeans that require a mammoth effort to put on, or in the manner of Monster, who simply cannot be restrained and is Just! So! Excited! To! Wear! Denim! And that would be wrong. They were in fact the jeans that I wore last night, so they were even broken in for me for this morning.

So I haven’t been to the office today and have had, what would otherwise have been a very pleasant day: watching movies with Hodge*, and cuddling as much as back spasms will allow, having emotional conversations with the mothership (her emotions, not mine) and eating fudge and chips and last nights veggie shepherds pie (amazing, if I do say so myself). But just when I get comfortable, a lightning bolt runs through my spine and I count down the hours until I can take the next dose of Robaxacet.

Speaking of, that special time, the time for more drugs, is right now. Which certainly trumps blogging, so…see you!

-Anna

*What is the young man doing home? He got himself a bit of gastro sometime yesterday, so he’s having a legit sick day, too. We’re so in sync! Though he did ask me earlier today “How’s the period going?” So, that’s weird. Thought you might like to know.

The Long Overdue...

ed note: I wrote this at work last week and didn't post it, due to requisite 'marination' time. However I took a super long weekend to recover from my two day work week, and, as much as I continue sharing the minutiae of my life with you, I was NOT going to pop into the office to post this. Here's to more responsible posting in the future.

Jolly Old England:

I loved London. There were the nasty bits, of course, that I didn’t appreciate – the crowds, the huge chunks of time that were spent in commute, the early closing of pubs – but overall, I really enjoyed myself. Certainly much more than the guy that was trying to fish his supa drunk girlfriend out of the gutter she’d passed out in on Friday night.* I bet that was a rough Saturday!

It helped that we were really central and everything was so accessible, if not walkable. I didn’t walk nearly as much as I do in Vancouver, which contributed to the roughly 12 kilos that somehow attached themselves to my midsection during the trip.

I have to gush about Hodge’s family, too. They were so lovely and welcoming (even if I was called by his ex-girlfriends name on more than one occasion [which would be three: cringe]) and generous with their time and space. They really made the trip incredible for me and I hope to return the favour when they’re in Vancouver next.

Re-Affirmations:

I don’t like talking in the morning. Or noise. I’m just not interested in chatting until I have drunk my requisite morning coffee(s) and I take offense to those who try and pull me into pre 10 am conversation. Some may say that I am cranky, I say, I’m simply accepting of my limitations.

I don’t enjoy mass transit. In theory, it works, much like communism, but in practice, it’s bound to fail (in my eyes). Also, public transportation in a new city causes so much anxiety, that I fail to see any of the merits of using the systems (like lower carbon emissions, cheaper [usually] than other modes of transport, faster [sometimes]) and I’ll have a panic attack and call a cab. Irresponsible? Definitely, but rest assured that my guilt and I have a terse discussion before, during and after the trip. Xanax, anyone?

I find it exceedingly difficult to sleep on airplanes. And, as an addendum, I burn with bitter resentment at those who do. If you are one of those people, like my mom and my boyfriend, then I am truly sorry, but we can’t be friends. In fact, if you could send me a lock of your hair, I will begin construction on your very own voodoo doll. Lucky you!!

Big, Big T*ttays

I have a love/hate relationship with shopping. I typically enjoy shopping for tops over pants, because, let’s face it, there isn’t anything that can destroy your self-esteem more than having to try on a larger size pant because your thighs are too big for the skinny jeans. Or having the outfit that you’ve envisioned for months dashed because it just looks … wrong on you, due to the unsightly bulges, tightness or sacklike nature of the item on your figure, etc ad nauseum.

Saying that, I was really looking forward to shopping in the UK because the media, at least, seems to be obsessed with ‘larger’ women and turning the screws of shopping outlets to stock larger sizes and have ‘realistic’ shaped mannequins on display in lieu of the size zero models designed to crush your spirit. I assumed that there would be shirts and pants to fit around my generous bust and hips.

I did find a shirt that I loved. Like, really loved. It fit really well, nicely swaddling my hips in creamy linen, flattering at the waist, but so tight in the bust that I feared I would bust open the seams if I breathed too deeply (read: at all). That, and they were squished together and propped up just south of my chin in a manner that was wholly unflattering and not particularly comfortable.

I know this seems counter-intuitive to mainstream society these days, but I would really, really appreciate smaller breasts. I find it really unfair that my boobs are an extra large while my waist is a medium. Not cool, genes, not cool at all (I’m looking at you, mother).

Tourist Time in LonDon

1. A bus tour of London. I went on a Friday afternoon with Hodge and his sister, Podge. We stopped over to get a live tour guide on the bus, and had to wait a bit, with much confusion over which bus we would be using. While the perspective was nice, getting to look around and up without feeling like an enormous tool in the crowds, the traffic was really bad and it took us two hours to navigate from Hyde Park to the London Eye (which I opted not to do – the Eye that is, the traffic I was stuck with). Our tour guide, Chris, was a relatively old guy, who seemed to be more interested in pointing out the pubs than the sights (in anticipation of a foamy drink post work?), and was slightly less than charming. Overall, I scored them a 4/10.

2. The London Dungeons. Also on a Friday afternoon. It was good fun, actually. They have actors that lead the tours around (you can’t proceed without them), and all of the parts are really well thought out and executed (HA!). The only criticism that I have of this trap is the waiting. There was a lot of standing, shuffling, rocking and waiting for the next part to proceed. If you’ve got good, supportive shoes, I heartily recommend a visit to the dungeons. They got a score of 8.5/10.

3. The Tower of London. We arrived just in time for a tour from one of the Beef Eaters, who happened to be one of the most charming people that I encountered in the UK, the family of Hodge and Podge excluded. A tip of the hat to you, sir, way to make history fun**! I didn’t check out all that there is to see in the tower, because it’s huge! I imagine that it would take a full day or two to really discover all that this place has to offer, and I have a limit on how much sight seeing I can do in a day. I would urge a visit to the vault to check out the 532 carat diamond that is in there, just because it is so ridiculous and covetous! The Tower scores 8.5/10.

Until the next, Anna

*true story...gutter troll!

*Nerd! Erm, that would be me, not him. He was lovely!

In Which I Sleep and Wonder About Dog

Sleep of the innocent?

I am a very deep sleeper. Once I am out, there isn’t much in this world that will wake me. Storms, parties, snoring (lucky for all those boyfriends present and past). It is a fear of mine that Ed Mundy will somehow find his way into my apartment and murder me in my sleep. Silver lining of that scenario*: I’ll never know since there isn’t much, aside from a bomb (not sure as this one is currently untested), that will rouse me from my slumber.

*uhhh, is there ever a silver lining to a homicide?

Hodge suggested that I try a sleep cycle alarm clock, and wouldn’t you know…there’s an app for that.

I downloaded it last night onto my iPhone and slept with it under my pillow, in spite of the warnings to not do that….but, I remain a rebel at heart and rules be damned – take that phone, you're not the boss of me! The idea behind the clock is that it monitors your sleep by movement, since we all (that is, you and I, internet) move differently at different phases of sleep, and purports to wake you up when you’re the least asleep so you’ll be more refreshed. Sounds good right?

I still woke up like a bag of ass this morning. It was rough and much the same as most mornings. Punishment for having slept on the phone despite manufacturers warnings?

No, this is the reason:



I have two issues with this situation:

1. That I was, in essence, in a coma for most of the night.

2. That this app provides daily (ahem, nightly) statistics so you can monitor your sleep. This in itself is not a problem, because I’m sure the designers of this wanted to prove that we were getting our $0.99 worth from the alarm clock, and super geeks can totally compare and contrast each others sleep patterns in the night**. The problem that I have, and I realise that this is specific to me and me alone, is that it’s so disheartening to know that I will wake up groggy for the rest of my working days.

**Dating compatibility by sleep cycles?? Next new thing? Yes? No?

And yet another that offends:

I did a career ‘test’ a couple of days ago and it’s still irritating me. My results were that I was an organiser and that my ideal profession was being an administrator/accountant/boring. Whaaat?

When I was in junior high school, my classmates and I all had to take one of these tests and it was meant to give you an idea of what you were meant to studying toward. It was pretty exciting, mainly because we were excused from an afternoon of regular classes and anything that I got out of regular classes for seemed illicit and exciting and dangerous.

That was true right up to the moment I got the results back… Holy mother of Sean! My would-be professional goal in life, my ideal career, the job that would make me the happiest: Director of a summer bible camp. Seriously. I couldn’t make that up, my imagination stretches only so far.

There were many things inherently wrong with this career path, the most obvious being that I did not attend any church, and I was moderately aware that I was well on my way to being a slightly agnostic, mostly atheistic person that is highly critical of any organised religion.

The second being that I was never baptised into any faith, because my mother had a fight with the pastor/minster/whoever was in charge of doling out G-D and walked out, tiny me in arms, before I could be baptised and surely no bible camp worth it’s salt would let someone doomed to purgatory*** run a bible camp.

There are many more reasons, that in the name of tact, I have decided to omit from this pious b-log.

The point, which has gotten away from me, is that these career tests can be so limiting. I’m still faced with the same dilemma at 29 as I was at 13: I don’t know what to do with my life. Or rather, I haven’t been able to find a job that will pay me to sleep, read and eat yet, but I’m looking. I’m in love with possibilities and think that most things (astrophysics, neurosurgery and dentistry excluded) can be attempted and attained by anyone, should they desire only to try.

***Though I am confident now that there have been reservations made in my name in all the circles of hell. It’s how I roll.

-Bedfordshire bound Anna

Quiz FAIL

As Rick can attest to, I heart quiz nights. They are cheese to my French bread, peanut butter to my jelly, lube to my…whatever. I only discovered them a few years ago in Australia, because we generally don’t have pub quiz nights in Canada. Canadians much prefer bingo, which I used to enjoy until a series terrifying experiences at a fundraiser put me off any bingo playing for the rest of my natural life (but what happens in the seventh circle of hell stays in the seventh circle of hell…mother fucking B13!!).

I went to a quiz night last Wednesday at, what appears to be, the only quiz night in Vancouver, British Columbia, and possibly even Canada. I’ve been attempting to get into this quiz night for a few weeks, but it’s impossible to get a table unless you:
a) put out,
b) know people that know people,
c) can give really, really good head,
d) show up approximately four hours before it starts because, natch, they don’t accept reservations.

Hodge, being a Grade A Champion, headed out verrrry early (almost boxing day shopping early…he camped out there the night before…true story) and sat by himself, quietly getting pissed in the corner and holding onto a table for our group with grit and determination usually only demonstrated by drag queens and their wigs.

Our group was small since we’d had so many false starts and hadn’t yet managed to, you know, be quizzed, so no one had the faith anymore and stayed in biting their nails, washing their hair and individually plucking out arm hairs because, obviously, that’s more fun than a night out with me. When I’m disappointed. Again.

But, our small group was solid. Me, who knows everything about anything, as long as it’s obscure and relates only to the reproductive habits of fruit flies. Hodge, who’s pretty damn clever for all his modesty, not to mention is musically sound for all those annoying music questions (as an aside, I have to say that hours of beer swilling did not improve his knowledge about, well, anything in general) and Bill Nye, the science geek, who holds no less than two masters degrees and one doctorate that are from actual and real universities, ::not:: from a college in the Caribbean.

I thought our group was pretty solid, knowledge wise. Bases covered…animal, mineral and vegetable, so to speak. Not to mention that I’d had a particularly trying day at the office and was just glad to be out, with people that I genuinely like*.

However, we very much came in last place. The first round was something to the tune of Us: 13, Everyone Else: 452. Yes, it was really that bad. And it didn’t get any better in the later rounds, in fact it got worse. The compere didn’t even read our final score because it was so unsettling to him. He didn’t think it was possible. We have undermined his faith in ::ahem:: intelligent people.

So, the only thing that we won that night was a two hundred dollar bill and a stab in the ol’ self esteem (located painfully below the right kidney).

That being said, I can't wait to get my ass handed back to me (again) this week. I've been studying up on random factoids, like, did you know that a piece of gum, when swallowed stays in your body for seven years?? Mmmhmm...And then I got distracted by this...which has been haunting me for the last two days. Why would you do that??

One of the (many) questions that unglued us:

What do kangaroos, anteaters and seahorses have in common? Answer me that smart people of the great unknown– and remember, there is no internet fact checking allowed, which leaves me a limp and quivering disaster. Apparently.

Good luck to ya,

-Anna Bananas for brains

*Right, have I got some tales for you. It has to do with a colleague of mine who I refer to as The Mumbler. He shall get his own post when I can stop rocking in the corner long enough to face the horror that is him.

'Afternoon

I was going to say Happy Monday, but I don’t want to fool you into thinking I’m Mary fucking Sunshine. Because I am not. Particularly on a Monday. An especially wet and gloomy Monday. So let me conclude by saying, since we’re all in this Monday business together: Hi. How’s your hangover?

My weekend with nuts, in a shell (like an M&M!):

I got hit on, repeatedly, by Hodge’s colleague when we were all out on Friday. We both repeatedly told Ralph, aka the octopus hands man, that I had a significant someone or other and that I wasn’t going to reciprocate his advances. Ever. Not even if I was single. You wee little man.

Aside from handsy man and hunter man*, I enjoyed my Friday, even if my neuroses came out in force after a few drinks. It would appear that I am a clean freak (some might say Nazi) after I’ve had a few and the venue happens to be my apartment; It took alot of restraint to not plastic wrap my place. I’m also slightly concerned that Ted Bundy lives in my bedroom closet, that I have to say to myself before every flight that I get on that the plane is going to crash** and earthquakes are a very scary thought for me***. (I had some serious problems in my last high rise apartment: I lived on the bottom floor and thought every night I stayes there that an earthquake would topple the whole building onto me and they would never recover my body) So, in the end, some near strangers know far too much about my secret persona (Bridget-Jones-meets-Woody-Allen-with-OCD) that I had so skilfully tried to hide.

*Hunter man was excitedly explaining that he was going to go hunting and shoot everything he saw, like, everything. Perhaps I took him too literally while he was being ‘cool, man’ because I fail to see the cool side of frivolously shooting animals that aren’t going to be used in a purposeful manner. Note to Hunter man: Pull your badly haircutted head out of your ass before opening your mouth again, because it keeps filling up with diarrhoetic shit and is spewing from all of your orifices. Douche.
***And that concludes Monday’s soapbox session. You are excused.***

**I do sincerely think that before I get on flights, and I would say that I fly a fair bit. I resign myself to the fact that if the plane does go down, there is nothing that I can do about it, and if it’s my time to go, I’ll give your regards to the man downstairs. However, this has become a double edged sword when I have caught myself not saying it and then realised, mid flight, that I had doomed my unlucky co-planers because by not saying it, the plane was going to crash. It’s complicated.

***Ha! I live in earthquake alley, where I had earthquake drills in junior high school. Hide under a desk, in a door way, hold a text book over your head and neck for protection!

Saturday was a bit of a write off. It was full of sick people (genuinely ill, not gutterminds, unlike Sunday), driving, getting lost, wanting to get lost and Ikea. I know that there are tons of people that really enjoy getting their grooves on at Ikea. I’m not one of them. I no longer find shopping fun and enjoyable, and shop like a man-woman (wanting to get in and get out, but needing to find the ‘perfect’ lamp/pillow/pair of jeans, etc). All in all, it was a very long day.

Sunday was Funday! I met my fellow apartment dwellers, Hodge and Hug, for brekkie at Theresa’s on Denman, which to date is my favourite cheap and cheerful breakfast joint. There were other destinations in the day, culminating with finding rocks at the beach and red velvet cupcakes for dessert.

It was like spending the day with two brothers, but better (since these guys can carry on a conversation which doesn’t include grunting in reply to queries)! I really am fond of my neighbours and think that I must have done something right to deserve their company, even in the meanwhile. They also buy me red velvet and chocolate cupcakes, and I’m not usually one to let a good thing go!

I also have a short week ahead of me. My boss and I have elected to work on Wednesday (though I will be going to the Remembrance Day services) and have Friday off instead. Inspired idea, Boss!

This entry has taken far too long, and I’m afraid that I have lost interest now. It’s also (conveniently) time for me to go home and de-mould my fridge*.

-Anna

*Ha! Who am I kidding? Like that’s going to happen!

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!

-Anna