Maybe I'm skinny, mean and non-cuddly.

I read someone's mini-autobiography recently. Someone I knew personally that is, not some writer or politician or famous person I've never met. Someone who's life I knew. Or at least that's what I thought.

Because when I finished reading I realized....this thing sounds like a completely different person. Which made me start thinking - if everyone we knew wrote a biography leaving out family names and such, how many could we put names to? How many of them would we read and think "I haven't a clue who this person is. Not anyone I know, that's for sure".

That in turn made me wonder if I am actually a completely different person than I think I am. Maybe the way I see myself is totally non-recognizable to everyone else. Scary.

So if I ever write a mini-biography I'm putting in the multiple vacuum fire incidents. Just so people know for sure that it's about me.

Yes, even I

Yes, there are time when even I am speechless. I don't mean those times (those many many sad times) when I'm reduced to incoherent speach, I mean when there is a long silence in the conversation because I am just too gobsmacked to speak. Moments like the one I just had on the phone.



The conversation is about something I'm catering. They want a variety of breakfasty things. I'm ok with that, I know what they mean by breakfasty. They would like them to be related to a specific theme they have going. That too is fine - expecially as the theme is something I have a lot of access to, recipe-wise. I even found one recipe with a title that is almost identical to the title of the theme. I collected a number of recipes/ideas, things that fit the theme and also things that didn't require spoons or forks or plates. Also didn't include anything really messy or crumbly. Once I had several different things to choose from, I started making the ones that I'd never made before. Just to make sure they were worth serving.

Anyway, I tell the woman who is placing the order that one cake in particular is going to be particularly perfect for the theme. To which she says "yeah, ok...but will it taste good at all?"



Silence. For a good twenty seconds. Count that out, it's actually a long time. And in all that time all I could think of to say was "well, yes". I'm worried that the "duh" that I was keeping quietly in my head was audible in the tone of my voice.

Life is...well, it's a see-saw

So here's how things have shaken lately:

Last Thursday: Grocery Budget Tanked

Saturday: Friendly Angels emptied a freezer in my direction.

October 19th: I have to move to the down town office. No wait, I can stay where I am. No, not any longer, I am moving, in November, nope, make that Monday the 26th of October.

This Morning: Ok, we dont' know what to do with you. So we're going to wait for your supervisor to come back so you can stay where you are. For now.

Today, noon School call. "There's been a bit of an accident"

Today, two PM No stitches, lots of antibiotics and the souvenir of a large shard of wood, botttom 2 1/2 to 3 inches bloodied. Great story to tell friends, viewing of said souvenir included at no extra charge.

Today, 3:30 Message to call Saskenergy. No problem, equalized payments. Thank heaven they're not calling to collect on an unpaid bill.

Today, 3:40 Saskenergy says it's time to balance out what I paid for with what was actually used. So I owe a schwack of cash.

Today, right now: I'm going out for supper. Sans enfants. And I don't even have to drive.

Yes, the ride will go down again. But I'll worry about whatever it is when it happens, and not a minute sooner.

Don't like Cabbage soup, can't do Atkins Bacon happy.

So - if I channel hurt and anger and unassuaged libido into exercise, I figure I can lose fifty pounds before Christmas. I may still have moments of unhappiness, but they'd be moments of skinny unhappiness. Actually, if I lost fifty pounds they'd be moments of skeletal unhappiness. I still think it bears looking into, though.

This would be a good time to find something that works - I've had so many orders for fudge that nearly every night the whole house smells of chocolate. Makes resisting treats well nigh impossible.

I had a flash of inspiration on the fudge front this week. The Butter Pecan is now brilliant, instead of just wonderful. I think this may be the earliest I've ever had Christmas baking orders. Why one customer wants 10 pounds of chocolate fudge is somewhat mystifying, but orders is orders, and the more I have the more $ for Christmas. Hooray for the start of what a co-worker refers to as the eating season. Spring, summer, autumn and eating. Works for me!

The discovery of a new dish does more for human happiness than the discovery of a new star.
(Brillat-Savarin)

Not a real food

We're having a pot luck at work today. I made puff pastry last night (I needed some quiet contemplation time) and baked it up this morning. Normally I enjoy pot lucks. Who knows what people will bring to share?

Well, I know what one woman brought because she was putting it all together when I was upstairs making tea. She'd made meatballs the night before, which makes sense. Do what you can the day before. But when she was making the sauce, all I saw (before I blanked out in shock) was her putting hot water into a mainly empty cheese whiz jar, shaking it around and pouring it over the meatballs. Now perhaps, if I'd burned out tastebuds with a hot curry, this could be ok. It might even be ok if a) there were lots of other ingredients, which there may be or b) I didn't see the whole water+ whiz bit. But I saw what I saw. And there is no going back.

Yes, that's right, you are an idiot

I was in an elevator at a different office last week. The ususal elevator small talk being inevitable I decided to do my best to just a successfull small talker. Normally I either a) say something that makes no sense at all or b) say nothing, and just look akward and uncomfortable. So I did my best. Too bad I can't say the same for the other person:

OP: Pretty cold this morning. And snow - can't believe there's snow!
Me: I knew it was coming but now that it's here I don't know what to do about raking the leaves.
OP: Well, you should have raked earlier. Procrastion can catch up to you!
Me: The problem is that the leaves haven't fallen. Most of them are still green. So if it keeps snowing, we'll have leaves on a deep layer of snow.
OP: You still should have done them. Don't put off to tomorrow what you can do today.
Me: Silent. But giving my best raised-eyebrow look of incredulity.
OP: Gears running in his head. "Oh. Yeah".

But I Prefer the Whole Story

There is, or used to be, a website along the lines of "overheard in the office" or "overheard in the street". Because the truth is, hearing one bit of a conversation is occasionally sureal. Sufficiently sureal that sometimes it is hard to figure out what the conversation could possibly be about that would make sense of the one bit you overheard.

I used to read it, but I found that it wasn't fun when I didn't get to find out what on earth prompted someone to say that.

The worst scenario as far as I'm concerned, is when I overhear something and know that however curious I may be, it really isn't the done thing to intrude on the conversation. Which sucks, because I hate not knowing.

What promted this little post? Out for lunch with office people, at a buffet. Walking back to the table, I heard this line: "...been living in a facticious apartment". Now...giving a factitious address, ok, that makes sense. But how can you live in a facticious apartment, given that the word is defined as
1.
created, taken, or assumed for the sake of concealment; not genuine; false: fictitious names.
2.
of, pertaining to, or consisting of fiction; imaginatively produced or set forth; created by the imagination: a fictitious hero.

I suppose that if someone took an apartment in order to conceal something then the first definition works. Sort of. Still seems like an odd thing to say though.

Does this apartment not exist in the real world? Does this person have an invisible apartment as opposed to an invisible friend? I don't know. And I never will, because I didn't go and ask them. Because if I did, then they would be back at their office, talking or blogging about the crazy women at the restaurant. So I left them alone and ate my non-fictitious plate of food.

But she's an honest saborteur

There is a borrowed book on my coffee table: Why Mr. Right can't find you. Or something to that effect. There are also three cookbooks, two fantasy novels, three mysteries and a sci-fi anthology. So you can see where my priorties are - baking and reading.

Mr. Right? Eh, maybe. Depends on when you ask me. If I've been out as the third wheel for the fifth time in a row then yes, I'd be wondering where he was. If I've been busy with two kids, two dogs, two jobs, a crumbling house, mountains of laundry and no dryer and trying to find a minute or two to work on writing, well, not so much.

Anyway, The Girl saw the book. And wanted to know if I was dating someone. Because if I started dating someone, she'd sabotage it. I was a bit surprised (because she is old enough to have her own life) and asked her why. Why wouldn't she want me to be seeing someone?

"Because I like things how they are. I like it that you do everything. If you were dating it wouldn't be all about me".

For the record, I do not do everything. I don't even do a lot of things. And I do go out and do things on my own, so my life is NOT all about my children. I'm putting that in so that I don't get any lectures about getting a life of my own. However, I suppose that I am more around than a parent who dates. That's a guess, though. Haven't dated for ages.

To be fair to The Girl, if it came down to it she wouldn't really sabotage anything. And to be even more fair - I think most people would like it if things were all about them.