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

In Which I Contemplate, Extrapolate and Masturbate

Black Day in the Office

Henceforth to be referred to as the Den of Industriousness (Ha!). We’ve just had some new ‘improvements’ to our internet connection and technical stuff in the office that I frankly don’t understand. These ‘improvements’ to my gateway to the outside world has resulted in corporate blocking of sites such as Facebook (typical) and its ilk as well as blocking any photos that are remotely interesting.

In addition to this travesty, the connection has slowed to a sails pace. It’s almost faster for me to write letters longhand and post them now. Dealing with a slow connection, like back in the ol’ dial up days, is the equivalent of sitting in traffic. There is nowhere to go (because that whole regular paycheque thing is kinda boss), there is nothing to see (because the screen is stuck on white until it’s reached it’s intended destination), and nothing to do. Perhaps I’ll try working tomorrow.

For the Love of Orange

I don’t know exactly what it is about fruit, but I struggle to eat it. I am a champ at buying it, ace at letting it sit in the fridge for a week or two until the stench of rotting food causes me to do a full fridge purge which sends me into a tail spin of guilt for all those malnourished kids in the world who would have enjoyed that bag of apples I so callously waste on an alarmingly regular basis.

That being said, I awarded myself a gold star this afternoon when I chose the orange over the chocolate bar. Unprocessed food, for the win! And, I have to say, it was satisfying and incredibly delicious. When I have fruit that’s as tasty as it was today, I wonder at my reluctance to eat it. I have two more oranges and a bag of grapes that I will endeavour to eat before their respective use by dates.

What Is That?

Apparently, I got dressed in the dark this morning (on reflection, I think I did). And when I got to work in the morning, I noticed this:

I have no recollection of eating any blue food, nor did I use Windex this morning, so I can only surmise that it is Smurf spooge.

-Going to watch smurf porn, Anna

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!

Things I have learned today

Home Edition:

Reminding someone of their drunken obnoxious behaviour rarely has the outcome anticipated. Say it with me…anticlimactic and unsatisfying.

Wine is a cure all. And if it can’t be a cure all, it will be a can’t-be-assed all.

Dreams of obscure actors whilst sleeping lead to unnecessary internet stalking and imaginary celebrity boyfriends. Jonathan Rhys Meyers…I don’t even know if I find him attractive, but since I had a dream last night, I am obsessed.

Cleaning my house in anticipation of zombie mothership visits sucks old hairy balls. Additional lesson…don’t leave pancake batter to harden in bowl because washing that shit is on par with finding a cure for cancer.

BONUS:

Office Edition:

Subway sandwiches don’t age well. They become soggy, sticky and slimy in a mysterious and decidedly unnatural manner. I ate it anyway.

Meetings are for chumps. I, therefore, am a chump.

Washing coffee mug and leaving it to dry on the counter leads to mug theft. This results in mug/colleague stalking to retrieve it, and this is a travesty that is best avoided.

Ordering office supplies is more effort than its worth, as I discovered when I received the rolodex for fuller figured girls today. Seriously supersized rolodex.*

Yeah, that old saying that a messy desk means an organized mind…I disproved that theory today. If I’m being honest, I’ve been disproving it for years.

Forgetting what day it is and thinking you have no time leads to RESULTS! At least until I realised that I still had twenty four hours to complete the tasks at hand. Now I’m writing.

I can’t find everything on the internet. There are still some mysteries in the world. Shipping industry, I’m looking at you.

When in doubt, make it up!

*American Rolodex! Ha!

In Conclusion:

Thank you for all the wonderful lessons, life. I really appreciate you taking time out of your busy day to lovingly coach and guide me into being a better, if slightly demented and increasingly hysterical, person.

Now piss off.

-A