Monday, March 12, 2018

Light, Authentic and Funny

I've been thinking a lot about writing again.

I sometimes think I might have insights that could help someone else navigate the waters of their crazy.

Seriously ... I have got to be some sort of expert by now.

It would be too wordy, so I would need a good editor... but I think there is a story in here somewhere. 

Where on earth would I begin? 

How could I properly present my story without sounding like a complaints department?

Ugh ... can you imagine? That book would suck!

No, it needs to be funny and make light of heavy topics. 

It needs to be authentic, but from a positive perspective. 

Funny ... but not 'making fun'. Not heavily sarcastic, either. Light.

I want my book review comments to include those words ... and maybe warm.

Those words would mean more to me than "Great Writing" ... although that would be lovely. I do have my doubts I'll ever manage getting something published. 

Today after work, I came home and began my transition from work Dani to home Dani, aka; Mom. This inevitably involves a great deal of puttering through mundane tasks. Empty dishwasher, deal with recyclables, vacuum, scoop litter ... think of something for dinner ... because that would be when I would be reminded of the impending feeding time. Sometimes, it's laundry or garbage or whatever. I seem to need to unwind myself with chores. It soothes the beast.

Speaking of beasts ...I find I am awful bloody cranky after I leave work lately. I don't understand that at all. I really like my job. I am never twisted about anything there ... really. I find it oddly unsettling. I've never worked for someone that didn't have some sort of narcissism disorder that got its jollies from torturing me.

Back to my original point, my mind was particularly fertile and I had a million ideas skitter through ... but in the time it has taken me to find a charger for my lap top (because someone else left theirs at some work site or hotel room) *sighs* ... let the cat in, got my wi fi working again (because said lap top had died, due to no charging cord) got my blog signed in ...  let the cat out ... got up to check on dinner ... opened my composing section, let the cat in, started by trying to think of a title, let the cat out ... then I realized I had completely forgotten all the little pearls of wisdom I felt so entirely compelled to share. 

Fek!

This may take a while.

...and here, I sit.

Unable to remember so much as a shred of what was effervescing in my bean earlier today. 

D - out












Tuesday, February 27, 2018

Occasionally, I Forget Just How Tightly Wound I Am...


It's gotta be some sort of crime how much I enjoy organizing things.

I'm not even kidding.

I mean, I hate paper with every fibre of my being, and if I never saw another piece, it would still be too soon ... but I am planted firmly in my happiest of places.

Like a sow in her slop.

I'm going to wind up with likely 20 bankers boxes of paper to take for recycling... that's not including the 8 large bags of shredded material from old financials and such. (And yes, I said recycled ... so every paper clip and any plastic fasteners have been manually removed...) I'm not sure of the total yet, because I still have a wall of filing cabinet to do. I'm not sure what to expect from that ... could be another 10 or more... which would put me closer to 30. 

My back is not looking forward to that.

There is also a pile of cardboard and two full boxes of expired promotional material ... and there have been many bags of garbage that have gone over the past two weeks. The cleaners have been good enough to take that much.

I've been taking pictures ... I can back up my statements:







Is it so wrong that this physically excites me? I know ... I am so super weird. 

Could be worse, I suppose ... at least this is useful. 

I should have this done likely by Thursday. I'd say tomorrow, but I have an appointment and will be leaving the office... oh, and I also have to go BACK to the DMV! 

Lawd help us all ...

Until next time, 

D-out




Sunday, February 25, 2018

Let's Play A Game...

I'm calling it: Can you name the creature that crawled up Dani's arse and died last week?

For reelz, man. I was not a happy camper this past week. 

I do not know what the hell my problem was... but a problem, I certainly had.

Work was fine, although there was a strange energy afoot with my boss this week. She couldn't figure it out, either. We were fine - we really do get along very well. 

It scares me a little how well we get along... how great things are going and how much I am enjoying going there every day. I'm sitting here now on a Sunday afternoon, and instead of feeling the nausea creeping up my chest at the thought of Monday morning, I'm totally happy with the concept. 

I'm seriously so head-shy at this point, I keep looking around for the thing that's going to clobber me. I super need to beat that out of my own head.

We are slowly getting things caught up ... Stretch has a school trip coming up that is costing $1500 and although she started out strong with the fund raising, it's been mostly us that have been contributing to the fund. So ... we maybe could be doing this a little more quickly, if not for the $300 deposits required every month. 

I owe my father $2K... plus whatever interest and fees he may have encountered over the last year. I was supposed to have it paid off in 4 months ... but ... as we know, the rug was pulled out from under us a couple of times. 

I can not express in words how much I want this money paid back to him. It makes me physically ill to know that debt is there. 

Anyway ... digressing again.

My original point was, we are just about at the point where I can start making good on that debt - and once that is paid back, I can breathe again.

Then life will open up for me ... but right now, just the possibility existing, that it's gonna happen soon, is enough to keep me from growing a second head ... right?

No.

Image result for anger GIF

This was me last week.

I'm not even kidding. I had to go to the Dept. of Motor Vehicles on Tuesday. It was my third attempt at getting my errand there completed. THIRD.

Anyhoo ... in the interest of not putting myself to sleep, the shortish version is as follows:

Bought a piece of shit car for $400 in November. It needed all new brake lines and it took quite a bit of time with Hubs' schedule to get the work done ... so it was in January that I finally went in to transfer the ownership.

It was a 13 year old LaSabre (yes, an old man car) with like 360K kms on it.

It was a piece of shit, but it drove like a tank through the snow ... and my pride is pretty much pulp right now anyway, so I didn't care... until

The DMV (yes, I know I am dating myself by calling it that) told me my car was worth $2850 and that would be $433.09 please. I'm like uh ... no. Give me back the slip, please. She was very nice and explained I could have an appraisal done ... blah blah blah... and I left.

Then we decided to just buy another car. See about financing and just do it already. I honestly didn't expect it to work out ... given our last 5 or so years of credit woes ... but it did, and we traded said piece of shit and badda boom, badda bing - NO PROBLEMO.

Except ... problemo. 

The dealership made a boo boo in accepting the car as a trade and when they sent it to the auction they realized they would need the registration transferred to them.

I'm gonna yadda yadda yadda over the next bit and say that after two more trips in, a mother fucking appraisal of the stupid thing, they then, attempted to tell me they wouldn't accept it - because the dealership had emailed it to me ....

Let's just say this: with the deadly combination of my mood and circumstance, it was a 50/50 call, whether I was getting escorted out by police. 

I managed to keep the beast caged, but I have to tell you ... when I am pushed that far and my mood is this wonky, it's a bit of a perfect storm - I am scary. It really doesn't happen very often anymore ... but I get the kind of mad people around me can smell... even if they don't see me. They sense it ... like looming death.

I was not rude to the woman that served me, but as calmly as I could muster, I requested the presence of her supervisor. She started questioning me and I simply said to her that I was not leaving of my own free will, without that vehicle being transferred, and that I needed to impress that upon someone who could affect my circumstance.

We came to an arrangement, but that chicken shit supervisor refused to face me. Fucking pussy! I have no use for cowards. 

So ... the process was begun and then she informed me of the cost ... it was $15 higher than it should have been. Well, she explained, they charged the tax based on the certificate, not the appraisal they forced me to get ... on a 13 year old, piece of shit, old man car, that has 300K+ kms on it, which has very likely been sold 5 other times in its life - on which, our government has made tax dollars each and every time ... and they are screwing me with another $15.

Un. Fucking. Believable.

...and yes, I am ashamed to admit that she heard me say that under my breath. 

She was a little rattled by the time I left ... but I swear to you, I showed unbelievable restraint.

I was seething.

That was the second sign of my week to come... I bled through my pants at work earlier in the day. 

I guess I was due for a crap week.

Honestly, I kept pretty good control. I didn't blow up at the kids ... I was cool at work. I didn't say anything to my husband that was offside ... but then, I don't really have to with him. He feels my vibes immediately ... so he was kinda tiptoeing around me ... which I found irritating - of course.

It feels like I've been engaged in physical battle, honestly. 

By the time Friday afternoon came, my head was splitting in half... I'm talking 'maybe I have a Pac-Man eating my grey matter' kinda splitting. I was useless ... I came home and tried to get rid of it. I had a bath, took a handful of pills, put a cold bag on my neck, rubbed menthol into my temples, had some herbal tea... didn't touch it. In fact, the bath actually made me nauseated... and the heartburn. OH.MY.GOD!! I wouldn't have wanted to sneeze. I'd have burned the house down. 

It was rough.

Then I decided to pull out the big guns. I had a puff and poured a glass of wine. 

That didn't help either... although at least I cared a little less about it at that point ... so there's that.

By Saturday, the headache had subsided, Mrs. Hyde had disappeared and all seemed right with the world again. I hope that means I have finally shaken off the beast.

I'm alone all next week, as my board is gone to their AGM in Mexico. In fact, I imagine they are not long before they land right about now. I'm a little jealous. I can't imagine leaving my family for 7 days to go and hang out in Mexico. I might have died from the guilt... but, still.

My boss was bummed that I wouldn't be going with her. (I mean I was never going - it's a $4K trip and the Board wasn't going to cough that up for a brand new staffer.) It's just that we really do get along quite swimmingly and where she's going single, it would have been good to have a buddy to hang with. It was nice of her to say that to me. Made me feel pretty good... even in the absence of unlimited alcohol and sand in my toes.

So ... my task for this week is to finish the file room. I've been mining through it for the past week and have made lots of progress. It is a big job. Nobody has ever thrown anything away in their 52 years as an Association. It's wild, the stuff I've been finding. It's actually turned into quite a training tool. I have been essentially teaching myself the job and this exercise has proven the best method so far. 

Not to mention ... how awesome am I gonna look when they see what I can do? 

Seriously.

This is my super power.

And with that, I will say that I am still sitting in jammy pants and a sweatshirt and it is late Sunday afternoon. My house is mostly clean, my kids are at a movie, my husband is cleaning out his work van and the smell of roasting turkey is filling my senses with dinner time anticipation. 

Tomorrow, I will spend my day doing something that soothes my weirdo personality like a fine cognac. I'll be lonely, but it will be a good week.

Here's hoping crazy bitch-face is dead and gone. Ugh 





Sunday, February 4, 2018

Why I Don't Follow News...



I have to say that the teeny tid-bits of news that filter through my force-field of late have me feeling rather sick to death of this society.

I'm not even exaggerating that. I'm sick of us, as a whole.

Between the politicians that dropped off over the past two weeks due to undisclosed 'sexual misconduct' and the news release from the RCMP that the number of women coming forward with complaints about the physician they were forced to see in order to have their job, is growing daily.

A doctor who referred to himself as "Dr. Fingers", according to multiple accounts. I know that we mustn't assume ... and that he hasn't been 'proven' a sadistic, power-hungry piece of prehistoric excrement... but can I be frank in saying the following: I am so mother-fucking sick to death of a society that allows this kind of bullshit to happen every day, I could scream!

Sick of it.

I can't tell you that I have been a victim of sexual harassment. Mainly because I'm sincerely too stupid to recognize it. I think I worked with a manager at a Trust Company when I was 18 that might have given that a go, had he not been transferred out to another branch. 

Somebody else had to explain to me why that was good news for me. 

Then when I was older, I was fat and therefore, unattractive. I didn't experience any advances ... but I had a boss that called me "Mimi" to the male agents with whom, I had to work. 

You know Mimi ...

Image result for mimi bobeck pictures

Yeah ... that's what my boss used to call me to my co-workers behind my back.

I've experienced lots of other kinds of abuse in the workplace ... but to be forced to attend a doctor, in order to keep or get your job ... who raped you? And then to be so afraid to say anything, because you would lose your job. I mean, you're already an hysterical woman, for god's sake! You can't let them be right ... feed into their stereotype.

Nope! Nobody wanted to be labeled a whistle-blower ... or shit disturber ...


...and so, this blatant abuse of power continued for more than THREE DECADES!!! 

Three decade, people!

This story makes me throw up in my mouth a little.

I have two daughters. 

Two future women. 

Two freedom fighters.

I look at the world we are leaving for them and wonder if anyone is ever going to tip the balance between the sexes.

I suppose if this generation gets its way, everyone will refuse to identify with any one gender ... maybe that is the answer. 

Evolve into androgynous beings. 

Problem solved.

I don't know if that is preferable to me. I like our differences. What I want is to see both sides of the equation equal each other using entirely different methods. 

Why in hell is that so bloody hard?

GAH! People!!

Rant over.



Friday, February 2, 2018

Ouchy...



Have you ever had what you thought was meaningful contact with someone over a period of time, and then suddenly - like a cold, clammy hand landed on your throat - wondered if they even ever actually liked you?

Even people I don't like can't 'not like me'. It drives my obsessive little mind absolutely mad.

I've recently had an experience that has left me with a bit of a welt. It's a metaphorical welt ... I mean I wasn't back-handed or anything ... but there is a mark, for sure. I suspect it won't leave permanent scar tissue, but anticipate a lengthy recovery, none the less.

Even by-standers are shocked by this turn of events. By-standers that have a stake in my having no  such association. 

Shocked.

I'm very honestly replaying scenes in my mind ... looking for clues. 

Proof.

Of what, you ask? 

That an experience meant something?

I have a terrible habit of looking for meaning in everything... I really wish I would outgrow that particular naivete already.

It makes me ashamed... every time I am duped.

Not sure if you knew this about me, but I am super good at shame. I don't need any further experience with it. I've long since filled my quota of a lifetime.

This behavior leaves my soft little under-bits exposed to molestation.

... how can you not even like me?

... and why do I let it matter to me so much?

... and why don't you like me?

*sighs*

I will say this much and then with any luck, nothing more: 

Nobody will ever make me feel this paltry again.






Wednesday, January 24, 2018

Killy! Killy! Stab! Stab!


I need to complain.

I know the consensus around here is that Hubs is good people, but even good people need a smack up the side of the head now and then. 

I need to be petty and snarky and the type of woman that carries her handy list of infractions around in her back pocket for just such an occasion.

I need to do it here so I don't do it out loud. 

I hate that woman. I don't want to be her in the world. I want to be the kind of partner that is level headed and calm and patient ... and can talk it through and resolve the bad feelings. Problem being, of course, is that I'm not typically any of those things.

It's about this whole pink job vs. blue job disparity. 

I'm not gonna lie here, people ... I am a good wife and partner. 

I know I just flipped my lid for the past few years, but in that time I still maintained a house, raised our children almost entirely alone and I was never not contributing financially. Even when off work, I still had a small pension income. (defensive, I know - but you'll see why)

...and this man is treated to the 'Hero's Welcome' when he comes home from working away all week. I clean the house from top to bottom the day before he gets back, mopping all floors and ensuring all laundry is finished and put in its place. On Friday, when he actually gets home, after I leave work (which I do nearly full time now) I go do the weekly grocery shopping, hit the liquor store and make sure we have ample wood and kindling for the evening (and this past weekend, I also spent an hour at the DMV trying to get plates transferred). Then when I get home, I put it all away, make supper, fix myself up for him, have a bath, fix my make-up, put on some perfume and something that looks nice - maybe jeans and a sweater, or shirt if it's warm ... and then I wait for his arrival.

I almost wish I was kidding as I'm reading it on this page.

Then when we can break away from the kids ... let's just say there are a great many jobs at which I am a black belt. 

He's got it pretty good.

I truly never nag. Never bitch at him about anything to do with him. I really don't bad mouth the man other than in a joking or playful way. Some women trash their husbands everywhere ... not really sure why. Not my gig at all. I gather up and do his laundry, usually make him sandwiches and pack up serving sized meals and snacks for his next week on the road. (Although, admittedly I'm not as good about that right this minute. I'm feeling this resentment toward him and just like I love with food, I punish that way, too.) Even when there are pressing issues ... like I was driving a vehicle back and forth to work that had an expired inspection on it ... and we had bought a winter beater instead of fixing said vehicle because it was less money. But the new car needed brake work and although I will say it has been rather cold to be working on brakes ... we've had the bloody thing since November. It just got on the road last week ... I never uttered a single word to nag him to do that. 

It feels like for every blue job that actually exists - and believe me, there are not many things I expect him to do: keep up on the cars, drag the recyclables/cable/whatever to the depot and shoveling in winter and the lawn in the summer - there a couple of hundred pink ones. 

The inequity is seriously plinking my nerves just now.

The worst of it is that he fucking well knows it! I can't even give him a pass on any of it for being a dumb man... noooooo ... he makes these little passive aggressive comments under his breath (in front of me - on the phone - sometimes even in text conversations), although conveniently loud enough for me to hear, that he needs to try harder and do special things for me or ... and here it comes folks, the kill shot ... I'll leave him for another man. Ah ... let's bring that up again and remind her she's flawed.

(Fuck that shit, man ... I'll be looking for another pink if I get outta this one.)

So ... what he actually wants is for me to give him a pass... and he wants it to seem like my idea. Fucking Geminis! 

I'm really irritated.

I do not want to spend time on arguing. It isn't worth it to me. I just need to find a way to impress upon him the kind of damage this is doing. I'm resentful ... and I'm not getting right with it. He needs to do something.

I mean JESUS! He left on Monday and when I got home from work, the dishwasher hadn't been emptied, there were a couple of empty coolers sitting in the middle of my kitchen floor, dishes all over the counter, stinky and overflowing garbage and recyclables... upstairs, there were clothes all over the place in our room and dirty laundry on the floor of our bathroom (there's the list).

He didn't leave until like 2:00! I mean COME ON! I imagine I sound petty, but I get to come home from work and clean up after him before I get to make his children dinner, clean up after it and then fight with the oldest for two hours to do her damned homework already! Oh and I was signed up for some seminar at the school to be a career coach for my kid. It was two and a half hours long! 

It isn't fair that I am revered so little by the man who used to prioritize me over everything else. Used to be thoughtful. Left little notes. Sent flowers (not that we have money for that crap right now), staged mini scavenger hunts that led me to a bathtub with a glass of wine.

I miss that guy.

I feel like I have three kids for whom I am an indentured servant.

Okay ... I'm done. I'm gonna go now ... and do more fucking laundry!

I'm not sure if I feel better or not. 

I guess we'll see how stabby I am this Friday when he arrives.

D - out.








Monday, January 22, 2018

The Pubening 2.0 ... Not Shorty, Too!



My newly fifteen year old decided to cut off her long blonde hair in favour of a 'faux hawk' type style. She has the sides of her head buzzed right off and everything!

I have to say, it is really cute. 

It's happening ... she's maturing into a young woman. Developing her own 'style'.

It would seem said style is that of a hipster. A style of which, I am truly not a fan ... alas, she is entitled to her own opinion in this case. It really doesn't matter what I think. But, it is actually nice to see her taking an interest in her appearance ... not that I want to see her obsessing about it, but she has had ZERO interest up to now.

It is a positive, but it sends hot little tendrils of fear through my lymphatic system. 

So, my increasingly mature Stretch found herself in a conundrum last week. She had been invited to a sleep-over that included a trip to the pool, but she was on her period. I gave her a few options ... I could take her up after they went swimming or she could go and just not swim, or ... and then I was explaining the necessitation of tampon installation edu-ma-cation.

After a great deal of embarrassed laughter and a small temper tantrum, she decided on the tampon.

I coached her from the outside of the door and she did it no problem! I have to say, I was pretty shocked. This kid is wound pretty tight, folks. I figured I was going to have a highly emotional, tampon-less crank ass that was refusing to go anywhere at all... ever!

...and, so I  was wrong and really very happy to be.

Not to be outdone, Shorty waited until I was away for work and taught her own damned self the art of tamponing. Little shit! She couldn't even give me that, could she? Man! That kid is as stubborn as a mule! I feel like I got flipped off by my baby girl.

*sighs*

They're growing up so fast now. It sometimes makes my breath catch in my throat. I'm headed to their school tonight to attend a 2.5 hour long training session with regard to prepping them for college or whatever they go into after high school. 
  
My fledglings are getting ready to fly away. I haven't a clue what I will ever do with myself once they don't need me anymore. It nearly stops my heart, to be entirely honest.

Signing off, a tearful D.