I'm too sexy

I thought I had done particularly well this morning for a Monday: walked the puppies, made lunches, woke up kids, sorted some laundry, put away some laundry, made breakfast, hung sheets out to dry. I even managed to wear a matching outfit to work today. Unfortuantely I completely forgot shoes. Oh I've got something on my feet, alright. Just not the shoesI set out for work. Slippers. Or to be more accurate, the sandals that I use for slippers. Hot pink rubbery sandals. Hurray for Monday!

Law of Attraction

I have created a law of attraction, and I'm calling it Zoë’s Law.

Zoë’s Law states that hot guys appear when you’re looking worse than a rabid raccoon that has been dragged through mud and pine needles, and anti-hot guys appear when you look the closest you’ll ever get to looking hot.

For example…personal example, that is:

Break a foot when you’re looking all swish and stuff and the doctor that comes to provide care and comfort will be a cranky grey-haired jerk with all the sympathy of a blob of spit. Go to the clinic when you’re in sweats, hair unwashed and bedraggled, Petechiae around the eyes from puking and migraine coloured skin (a delightful mix of pea green, waxy yellow and dead-for-a-week white) and the doctor will be a smokin’hot Mediterranean guy.

Have to get a child to school in four minutes or less (starting from a sound sleep) or they miss a field trip? Go swathed in a pink and gold cloud of nightwear – I had four minutes, no time to dress, ok? – and instead of dropping off said child and zooming home the trip leader will HAVE to come to the car and speak to you. And that leader will be a mustached, six foot tall woman with the shoulders of an ox. Guaranteed. On the other hand, take a kid to school when you’ve had the flu and you figure you can get them there and yourself home in time for the next round of puking and I can promise that the cop that finds you parked on the side of the road, out of your car, wearing flannels and puking on someone’s grass will be the only cute cop that exists in the entire city.

Thursday Classes

I swear, every Thursday I learn something new. Something big. Last week's Lesson?
Don't make your decision re: painkiller presription or no painkiller prescription while the anesthetic is still working. Wait until it wears off and then decide if you're hurting or not. Saying no to drugs while you're frozen is not always going to work out.

Can't wait to see what tonight has to teach me.

Deciduous or Coniferous?

I walked off the elevator (which I was taking because I had a cart of boxes to take downstairs) as two of the smokers walked in. And the doors opened in time for me to hear the following:

"I'd rather have sex with a tree than see him again".

A tree? That is the first thing that pops into her head when she'd thinking of things she would prefer over whomever? Does she have tree-sex experience? Why not choose some really awful tv or movie person. Ann Coulter, maybe, or George Bush. Senior.

Maybe the guy she was talking about is deadwood, and at least a tree is living. I don't know, but it was too much for such an early morning.

A New Step Every Day

So, Friday night dance class will indeed work better than Thursday nights but it sure plays havoc with sleeping when your Saturday starts at four-thirty.

The class was worth it though, even though the first half hour was the two step. Not something I really want to learn, but excellent exercise nevertheless. The second half hour was jive, so again a really good work out. The only down side to the class - well, apart from the mirrors. I can't decide if the mirrors are good, because they strengthen your resolve to get fit, or terrible because until you get fit they're as depressing as all get out. Maybe neither - I avoid mirrors at home, so it is easy to avoid them in class. Which is bloody brilliant given that one entire wall it mirrored.

Anyway, back to whatever point it was that I thought I was making. Ah yes, not a point but a remark. I get that it would be nice for couples to have a minute at the end of class to dance with their partners (during the class partners change all the time), but I wasn't expecting to hear "ok, for this last minute or two go back to your partners. Single guys raise your hands. Ok, LEFTOVER LADIES, partner up with someone whose hand is up".

Woohoo. I'm no longer a homely, pudgy, middle-aged white woman. No, I've moved up. I'm now a leftover lady. And yes, I am glad he didn't say "pudgy homely white women go partner up with the single guys". And he could of, believe me.

Bio-fuel

Anger as fuel. Deadly in the long run, without equal in the short.

I suspect I'm not enough of a girlie girl.

Because there is no way on earth I could run from a murderer with these stupid shoes. I can only just manage to walk in them. Why, you may ask, am I wearing stupid shoes? (At least the guys are, the women probably not). Because I couldn't find my regular work shoes for wearing with clothes in the green/brown/beige spectrum. Black shoes, yes. For the blue/black part of the wardrobe. But not brown ones. And no boots to be found either. What I could find was one beige shoe that is sort of a dome shoe, and a pair of totally cool but totally dome shoes. So I put 'em on. And I don't even work in the building with the shoe fetishist guy*. So all I have is footwear that guarantees that I'd be the first person caught if there was like, a bear or something roaming the building. Bugger.

* Yes, he was. I felt a little bit sorry for him, actually. Until he blurted out that he likes looking and holding women's shoes. He didn't say anything about wearing them, but maybe he does that too. The whole confession was a little bit creepy, but it did explain why he never ever looked at anything but people's feet. Made for interesting elevator rides. He would have loved these shoes.

Killer Cutlery

I meant to post this last week, but things have been hectic.

Last Wednesday was my first day on reference at work. One of the things I had to find was for a woman who was looking for someone hung (aren't we all?) If you're executed for something - back when we did that - all the relevant paperwork is in Ottawa, but we do have a book that has at least the basic information: who did the killing, whom they killed - or robbed, that was a punishable by death crime too - what they killed with, where they were executed. that kind of all stuff. So flipping through the book looking for the name she was looking for, I come across someone who killed his wife and then tried to commit suicide. A suicide which I guess was a success, as he was hung for her murder. His method? A fork. He killed her with a fork. How angry do you think one has to be to successfully kill with a fork?

Line 'em up, Baby!

Boy, do I know how to live it up. This Thursday? Working, baking, gaming, dancing and, oh yeah, part one of a root canal, thanks to the oft-mentioned not forgotten bone infection.

Easy Come, Easy Go

We have officially been told how they’re working out the pay stuff for the new contract. The first pay cheque in May will have the retroactive deductions for the CPP back to October 1st. But we won’t see the retroactive back pay itself until the second pay cheque in May. Why? I don’t know, they don’t say. Maybe because the signing bonus is on the first cheque, so we won’t mind the extra money going off then, and then the extra money in the second cheque will seem better? All I know is I have two dead and one dying appliances waiting on this to go down. (I love spell check. It was insisting that what I REALLY wanted to say there was “all I know am I have”.) And maybe paying for some plumbing, because I have almost given up on one project for sheer lack of muscle. Almost, but not quite. Never give in, never surrender!

It's a Brand New Year

Beginning of April and the work year starts anew: new sick leave, new vacation leave (which I accidentally wrote down on my work schedule as vocation leave), new pay. Whenever that happens to appear, that is. I had thought the second pay cheque in April but methinks that was a bit of wishful thinking. First pay in May? We'll see. Although if the fridge dies altogether I won't be able to wait for the back pay, I'll have to go to plan B which involves banks and Mayb driving a getaway car.

This was also going to be the first morning that kids came for a morning walk with me. M. did, and I was quite pleased with her. She hasn't been happy over the new get fit regime food wise, but the exercise part seems to be working. Still, I didn't expect her to get up in time this morning, but she did. Dogs and mom were thrilled. And A, you ask? I did turn his light on and ask if he was planning on coming for a walk. He said "urgh". I translated that to "thought I would last night but I really hate getting up in the morning go away and leave me in peace". So we went without him. But we went!