It’s Cold, Duh!

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So apparently, I brought the warm weather with me from Cayman. I have comedians for friends I guess because it’s currently a balmy -24. Time to bust out the bikini. I could totally rock a bikini right now. Underneath a full exposure suit of course.

What does one do for fun in this weather, aside from sacrificing a lamb to the sun god? I don’t ski. You remember the scene in Bambi when he takes his first awkward steps? That’s award winning compared to the grace and balance that I display on the hill. May as well throw snow boarding in there too. I used to skate, not well mind you. I was the girl that took the walker (is that what they’re called?) from the little kids just so I could stay upright for longer than my usual 30 seconds. My winter electives in school were usually arts and crafts or line dancing. I kill the boot scooting boogy. And cutting and pasting.

Sadly, I’m an adult and have to come up with my own ways to pass the time and apparently, sipping whiskey by the fire all day isn’t acceptable. I’ve done countless crosswords, slayed solitaire and crushed far too much candy. If it weren’t for work, I would build a fort in my bedroom, fill it with Reece peanut butter cups, Alexander Keith’s, and all the Harry Potter books/movies. Visitors welcome, just bring Kraft dinner. I wouldn’t come out until the snow was gone and I didn’t need to wear ten layers just to check the mail.

I’m told, however, that this behavior borders insanity and have therefore decided to suck it up. Or Canuck up, if I may. This doesn’t mean that I plan on becoming some sort of snow bunny, because it’s still ridiculously cold outside. But, you may catch me out there one of these days building a snow man, or making a snow angel…Ah who am I kidding? Crank up the fire and pass the whiskey!

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Paper or Plastic?

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Being a cashier is not a glorifying job. I wear a horribly bright orange smock with a name tag and my new life sound track is beep beep beep. It’s a pay check and at the end of a shift that’s all that really matters. It’s also, as I’m quickly finding out, a thankless job, and how I’m treated during a shift does matter. So for the people out there who have seemingly forgotten how to treat people with respect, I have selflessly prepared this guide to grocery shopping:

1. Hi, how are you?

I’m sorry if me exercising basic common courtesy is putting you out, but as I’m about to man handle your Sunday dinner, you may want to look up and acknowledge that a human being is ringing you through, not a heartless robot.

2. Would you like to donate?

This isn’t a personal interest of mine. This is a question that I, along with my coworkers, have been instructed and are getting paid to ask you. I don’t need an excuse as to why you don’t want to donate anything, and I certainly don’t want to hear you rant from your soap box about how times are tough for you and how dare we expect you to give away what little you have (your total btw is 300 dollars, enjoy your gourmet cheese). A simple yes or no will suffice.

3. You’re not helping

Sadly yes, I have been trained how to properly bag your groceries. While I appreciate your enthusiasm, throwing things willy nilly in the bag only makes my job and your life more difficult. Kindly lift your hand bag off my belt and let me do what I get paid minimum wage to do.

4 . Your kids aren’t helping either

No, it’s not cute when your kid tries to ring through the half gummed chocolate bar he’s been mangling while you shop. Nor is it so adorable when he raises and lowers my conveyor belt. I don’t want the sticky, warm collection of coins he has and I’ll bet my tiny paycheck that the person behind you isn’t enthralled by how well little Johnny can put your credit card in the machine. Control your kid. Do your job, so I can do mine.

4. Sorry, not sorry.

I can only help you, if you let me help you. So if you decide to complain to me that you couldn’t find something but refuse to let me have someone find it for you, save your breath and us both the trouble and don’t bother.

5. Thank you, have a good day!

Again, just practicing basic politeness here. Something that even my 2 year old nephew can manage. If you can’t muster up a thanks, I’ll be happy with a smile. Anything that lets me know that the last 5 minutes weren’t spent with a machine.

Oops, I said Me##y C&#!$tm@$

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That’s right, I admit it. I said the M and the C words. A lot. Like, to pretty much everyone who helped me last night while I went beep-mas shopping. I was on a rampage, and I didn’t care who heard me!

You can’t calm this storm! I won’t mind my M’s and C’s. You’re going to have to wash my mouth out with eggnog by the time this season is over.

Sure, I’m just a silly girl living in a politically “correct” world, but when does it end? “Have a good weekend” sounds pretty daunting doesn’t it? Week END? Yikes. Nope, don’t want to scare anyone with that…”have a good Saturday and Sunday”, yes that’s better isn’t it? Or what about “good morning!”? Oh no, that sounds too sad. I don’t want to make people sad. “Have a good before noon”? That won’t do because noon rhymes with moon and oh what a mess!!

I guess I can feel better knowing that there are people out there figuring these serious problems out for me. They’re taking time out of their busy schedules to solve what could be disastrous if not tended to immediately! People that want me to decorate a holiday tree, wear my ugly holiday sweater, and wish everyone a, what is it again? Right, Merry Holiday!!

Well I say fa la la la la to that! It’s MERRY CHRISTMAS! Not because I’m an ignorant little girl who is going out of her way to insult the person in front of me, but because I’m going out of my way to be nice! That’s what this season is about! I don’t care if you throw me a Happy Channukah or Kwanzaa, or yah even a Happy Holiday! You’re still sending me out positive vibes in your own way and that’s cool by me.

We’re so worried about being politically incorrect that we’re becoming publicly rude. So everyone, remove the Christmas stocking gag that has been shoved down your throat over the years and shout with all you’ve got, MERRY CHRISTMAS IT IS, HOLIDAY IT IS NOT!!

For Blip’s Sake!

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Nope. My writer’s block is now officially a wall. A solid barricade between my brain, and my fingers on the key board. You don’t want to know how long I’ve been staring at this screen (2 hours), watching the l-bar blip, and blip. It doesn’t blip to my heart beat of course. Nothing cool like that. It just blips. A gentle reminder that I haven’t written anything. Blip. Blip. Blip. I try and forget about it, distract myself with a book, bad tv, or yes, even Candy Crush, but when I come back it’s still there. My energizer l-bar, the little l-bar that could-not-stop taunting me with it’s endless blipping.

It’s relentless. Unlike my brain, it won’t stop working. It won’t stop until I start and even then it’s only a brief interlude before I begin to hem and haw again over what to write. And then it’s blipping dance begins once more. Write. Write. Write.

And so I write, just to make it stop, if only for a minute. First it’s just gibberish. Random letters thrown together simply for the sake of getting something down. Get a little crazy and toss some numbers in there. And the blipping stops. Only for as long as my little fingers can keep typing. The gibberish hurts my eyes and my ego so I begin to type words. I can see my writer’s wall. My l-bar blipping along the top of it, keeping vigil. Blip. Blip. Blip. But then my words come, and with every word there is a chip. Chip. Chip. Chip. The wall begins to break away. The l-bar drops with every chip. Words form sentences, and my wall is only a few feet high. Sentences form paragraphs and my wall is a pile of rubble. I am walking over my wall and not looking back. ‘Cuz I don’t give a blip.

OxyMORONS

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We live in a world where it is now politically incorrect to wish someone a Merry Christmas. Instead, we are strongly encouraged to say Happy Holidays. I’m still going to say Merry Christmas, it’s what I do, how I roll. I don’t say it to offend anyone. I’m being nice, not ignorant.

A perfume company however, is marketing their holiday perfume, the Flowerbomb in a bottle shaped as a hand grenade. They went through the trouble of saying Happy Holidays in the ad, but missed the fact that they ran this ad specifically for the week in which we recognize Remembrance Day. Not to mention that we are currently in a time of war.

Why bother with the Happy Holidays? Why cover your ass in one move and then shoot yourself in the foot with another?

Throwback Thursday

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When I was little, after a cold day like the one we’re having today, Mum would call my sister and I back inside the house. Slush pants soaked, boots soggy, cheeks red. We would climb the stairs to our rooms, toes still numb from the weather, and change into warm, comfy clothes. When we came back downstairs, Mum would have a hot mug of ribena waiting for us. I don’t know what it was about that stuff, but I swear it was magic! It warmed me up so fast, from the inside out. I think of my child hood, and I remember ribena. So weird.

Now, sitting in my Mum’s living room after running errands in the cold November rain (thank you G&R), I rest by the fire, she brings me a mug of ribena, and all of a sudden I’m six again.

It always has been, and always will be, the little things.

C’mon!

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Ok, I wasn’t planning on this being my first post, but I must share. I have just spent more time untangling my hair from my Halloween-do, then I honestly care to admit. It was bad. If I wanted to, I could have had a family of squirrels nest there for the winter. I used about a quarter bottle of conditioner, de-tangler, a lot of tears, and so much precious time to undo the do I did. Eventually, (and I mean 45 minutes later eventually) I could once again run my fingers through my 2 feet of hair. It was beautiful, glossy and more importantly – manageable.

And then I brushed my teeth. It was a good brush. I got a good froth on, if you know what I mean. Unfortunately, I wasn’t paying enough attention and ended up drooling all of the toothpaste, spit and water that was in my mouth, onto my hair. My newly washed, meticulously brushed and untangled hair! I’ve never cursed so much while brushing my teeth before. I suppose I should have prefaced with the fact that it’s been a long day, and I’m tired, so I’m probably being a little sensitive about the whole thing. But it still sucked. It crossed my mind to wash it, begin the whole process again. Instead, I’m going to bed smelling like shampoo, de-tangler, and just a little too much toothpaste. Sigh.