Missing and Almost Dead

Missing: the month of July.

Last seen 3 weeks ago, pushing June out the door.

July was last seen wearing sandals with white socks, baggy bermuda shorts, and a wife-beater, with a baseball cap on backwards and zinc oxide on the nose.

July is supposed to hang around for 31 days and deliver one long weekend, but instead was only here for what I swear was 8.3 FUCKING SECONDS before taking off.

August, who is next in the batting lineup, has been seen squealing "I'm not ready!" while hastily shoving herself into a tube top, denim shorts, and Birkenstocks.

All the noise has woken up September, busily napping on the couch.

If you've seen any sign of July, or can accurately pinpoint its whereabouts, please call me.

Save me ... I'm melting ...

As one of my co-workers astutely pointed out yesterday, normally we pay thousands of dollars to travel to exotic locations in order to sweat the way we're sweating right now. I then more astutely pointed out that those exotic locations also include all you can drink swim-up pool bars, all you can eat buffets, and air-conditioned rooms. Along with no kids, no pets, no laundry, and no housecleaning. Not that I do the laundry and housecleaning, but still.

It has been deathy, ridiculously, fantastically hot the last few days. When temperatures are in the mid 30's here, it feels like 40 thanks to the humidity. I break a sweat reaching into the fridge to grab a bottle of water. Making toast heats up the kitchen too much. The cats need to take a nap walking from the living room to the dining room. I can't shower with the bathroom light on. It's a relief to be at work, where the temperature can be best described as "balmy meatlocker."

Not that I'm complaining. When it's November and it NEVER. STOPS. RAINING. I'll look back on these lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer and sigh wistfully. I'll remember being able to go to the gym in just my workout clothes, and still need the air conditioner on in the car on the way home. Sitting out on the back deck on a Friday night with a cool beverage and my book, able to read until 9:00 at night because it's still light out.

I love summer, but 10 degrees cooler would make me fall in love all over again.

Just Call Me Cranky Crankerson

Sometimes I honestly just want to take this little side business of mine and toss it in the trash.

I've worked for HOURS on the second edition of a newsletter for a client, finally have it ready, and sent it to her last night. That's after sending it to myself a few times to make sure it works. Well, of course, it doesn't work for her. Instead of seeing a beautiful newsletter, she sees broken graphics and text in the wrong place.

This is after having a serious mental meltdown with the first edition. I did that one in Word and sent it to her, but she couldn't get it converted to HTML so it became my problem. She ended up sending it out as a PDF file which looked RIDICULOUS. So this time I created a whole new format in Publisher, and it looks fantastic if I do say so myself. Now to figure out how to get it to her whole.

I am so sick of dealing with this.

The worst thing - I told her I'd charge her $150 for everything, which is peanuts in the world of e-publishing and media. That's 3 hours worth, and I've probably spent three times that amount of time so far, with more to come.

What a great way to ruin my Friday.

I'm Fine, Thanks ... And I don't Care How You Are.

It is seriously the most dreaded question in the English language to ask.

I'm fine thanks - how are you?

I hate it. Hatehatehatehatehate it.

Why?

Because most people don't know how to answer it.

Don't get me wrong. When I ask good friends and family, I mean it. I really want to know how they are, because I have an investment in their health and well-being and care about the answer.

Strangers or aquaintances? Could give a rat's ass how they are. But you ask to be polite, right? How else do you answer the question "How are you?" You can't just say "I'm fine, thanks" because it sounds rude. You're expected to ask the follow up "how are you?" That's how it's done, it's how it's always been done. People get ticked off and think you're a snob if you don't.

Unfortunately, you're then subjected to the answer.

You know you're going to get a doozy by the signs. You know the ones. Like the person who starts out with a big sigh and "well ..." Then you get an indepth analysis of their assorted medical conditions, marital problems, issues with the job. It's endless. And you have to sit there and listen to it all, right? After all, you asked. You moron.

The other one I love is the "oh, well, you know ..." and then nothing. Prompting you to ask the follow up "oh, what's wrong?" Hah! I don't fall for that trap anymore. An almost stranger? Forget it! You want to be passive-aggressive with someone, go home and take it out on your family. Not me. Not interested in the slightest.

So I think from now on, when a co-worker or mere aquaintance asks me "how are you today?" I'll answer "I am absolutely fabulous! Couldn't be better! Thank you SO MUCH for asking!" and leave it at that. I'll just breezily walk away, leaving the next poor sap to be asked "how are you" holding the smelly bag of the response.

Does that make me a cold-hearted, anti-social bitch? Probably. Don't care. Rat's ass, remember? What it will gain me is some relief from the way-too-personal glances into someone else's life, and a few precious minutes of my day.

I swear to God, they're buffalo

So, here is a typical half hour period with Zack and Zipper, the two kittens from hell.

7:30pm - run over to kitchen table yelling "Zack! Get down! GET DOWN!" He gets down.

7:35pm - see above. Detour into kitchen to get Zipper off the counter.

7:38pm - see above

7:40pm - see above

7:42pm - put slippers on as Zipper is biting my toes. Put newspaper down as Zack is trying to claw his way through it.

7:45pm - comfort crying daughter, who has been scratched for the zillionth time after trying to "cuddle" with one of the kittens. Cuddle. These two would as soon eat your nose as look at you. I discourage her from trying to cuddle with them.

7:48pm - do kitchen table dance again. Put B's dinner in the toaster oven - not to warm it up, but to keep it safe from the ravenous beasts. Who were just fed their dinner.

7:49pm - take my one chance to open patio screen door and go outside. Why now? Because it's the perfect opportunity - Zack is currently chasing his tail, and Zipper is in the best place to ensure he doesn't try to escape outside. He's hanging by his claws halfway up said screen door.

7:51pm - make it back inside without the escape artists getting out. Much to their disgust. They ignore me. For a millisecond.

7:55pm - back to the kitchen table. Feeling murderous at this point. Zack would make a nice muff.

8:00pm - two kittens finally settle down in my lap, purring contentedly. I, of course, have to get up.

Fuck.

Yes, I am a rock star!

Isn't it bizarre how the littlest thing can make you so happy? I got total fucking ROCK STAR parking twice this weekend! Once at the movie theatre on Saturday night for "Pirates of the Carribean," and once at Costco Sunday morning. It was the zen parking experience, I have to say. It's also kind of sad how excited I am about this, but hey. Little things, etc etc.

Traffic court - well, don't get me started. I've already vented about this to anyone who will listen. I'm sure some people are now hoping I'm arrested because that will finally shut me up. The condensed version - the cop didn't show up, the case was dismissed, I was royally pissed off, I complained to the RCMP, they followed up with me and were appropriately humble, the officer involved (who apparently FORGOT about the court appearace ... yah, whatever, I call bullshit) now has a note in his file, and I am mollified. Somewhat.

Also had a good lesson in how NOT to run a kid's birthday party this weekend. Totally unorganized, and the little birthday girl was quite the brat, actually. As she was opening her presents, she'd just rip the paper off, take a disinterested look at the gift for a nanosecond, then toss it to her mother and tear into the next one. Watching the gifts being opened is K's very favourite part of the party - other than the lootbags, of course. My heart was breaking for all those little girls - my own included - who spent more than a nanosecond picking it out. At K's party this year I am determined to make sure every gift-giver feels appreciated for the time and effort it took to bring a gift. It's just common courtesy, after all - something the entire planet seems to be sorely lacking these days.

No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

So, I have to go to traffic court today. How white trash does that sound? No, not for something I did - they haven't caught me yet. For something I saw last summer. A girl doing Mach-10 on a rainy highway rolled her car right in front of me and my daughter. I stayed behind like a good citizen to give the cop my statement - and this is how I'm rewarded. I have to testify at the stupid girl's hearing. They have you dead to rights, sweetheart. How 'bout you do us all a favour and plead guilty? That way I can go home and have a nap. It's all about me, after all.

I do, however, have to take a big chunk out of my car insurance thanks to a run-in I had with a log on the girls' Weekend Of Debauchery. Scraped my car up but good. Luckily I'm a good little driver - see above - and have an exemplary insurance rating. The repairs will cost me $200 for the deductible, then an $80 increase in my coverage for the year, but then it starts going down again as I build my rating back up. So it'll probably cost me about $500 all told, still totally worth it for what will likely amount to a repair job that's worth at least $1500. Fucking car companies. Long gone are the days you could pound out a dent and repaint it yourself.

And, against my better judgement, I will become a Girl Guide leader this fall. Crazy, you say? Possibly. I'm getting K involved in Sparks (pre-Brownies), and they desperately need leaders, so I foolishly put up my hand. Let's see - full-time job that has me working atrocious hours, a consulting business, a husband, a daughter who's starting kindergarten, and joining the school's Parent Advisory Council. I'll be lucky to have enough time in the day to pee. What's wrong with me??

You Will Be Assimilated

More "convergence" - the polite word for monopoly formation - happening in the Canadian media industry. It looks like Bell GlobeMedia is buying CHUM. Bell already owns CTV and The Globe and Mail along with Bell ExpressVue and all the cellphone stuff. Now it will own a bunch of TV and radio stations, if the CRTC approves. Not sure what the nazi Canadian regulators will say about it, though. Not that this is anything new. In the US, GE owns NBC and Disney owns ABC. Freedom of the press? Yeah, right.

Exceptionally tired today. Can't seem to get to bed until 10:00 these days. Bad news when you get up at 3:00am. Only two more days to go until the weekend. After two weekends in a row of go-go-go, it will be nice to be at home. It looks like MIL is all teed up to watch the girl for Saturday night so the man and I can get out and see a movie. Johnny Depp, here I come!

1 Down, 4 To Go

Tuesday. Terrorists blow up train stations in India. Yadda Yadda.

Founder of Pink Floyd dead - turns out he died a few days ago, only the band waits to say something until today - the day its DVD "Pulse" comes out. That's pretty fucking cold, considering Syd Barrett lived in obscurity for years after being kicked out of the band for "erratic behaviour." Yep, acid will do that to you, man. See you on the dark side of the moon.

Not much else is going on. I feel like a single mother. My husband is working like a dog and looks frustrated and distracted most of the time. This has been going on for YEARS. I've talked to him about it, but he doesn't want to leave his job, so what can I do? I'm not his mother. I'm hoping to get MIL to babysit this Saturday night so we can go out. Maybe we can talk then.

Monday. Fucken' A.

Back at work after a whirlwind trip with the homegirls to a little house on a not-so-little lake. A little too much drinking and chemical debauchery on the Friday night led to a mostly subdued Saturday. But it was a nice bonding weekend and I thoroughly enjoyed myself.

Feeling gross, though. Gotta love my sensitive digestive system. Any kind of change throws it off entirely. It's like a cranky old woman in there. Jesus.

I did a big thing a couple of weeks ago. I went through my entire spring/summer wardrobe and disposed of all the things that don't fit me anymore. Very liberating. I felt very pressured by those clothes in there, which all fit fine about 15 pounds ago. I felt like they were mocking me. There's nothing worse than a pair of slim-fit black capri pants smirking at you. So they're outta here. Of course, the upside is that I need new clothes. What a shame. So I've done a bit of retail damage lately, but now I'm done. I can't afford to do more.

The first two days of the new workout regime went great. Manoman was I sore after - which must mean it's working. Wahoo!

Might as well make the most of my time

So, I've finally figured out a good time to post in this thing. That's been my biggest issue - no time. Gee, with a full time job, a casual small business, a husband, a kid, a home, and a nice social life, you'd think I'd have all the time in the world, right?

So I'm going to start posting from work! They pay me to write, right? So I'll write. Just not for them. What they don't know and all that.

So, Kenneth Lay died today. You know, the chairman of Enron. Lied about profits, lived a champagne lifestyle on a Fresca budget. He supposedly died of a heart attack. I figure he's faking his death. I would. The guy was facing a kajillion years in prison and would likely be lynched if he ever got out. So he pulls a Bre-X, except without the helicopter in the jungle this time. Need more proof of my theory? The announcement came from his LAWYER'S office. Yeah, right. You want to know how to tell if a lawyer is lying? Their lips are moving.

Work is kicking my ass. I'm so tired these days. Can't seem to get enough sleep. Napping is going well, although I feel like a 2 year old most days.

Changing my diet and workout routine slightly. Not dieting, since I've sworn off all dieting. Just adding more protein, changing some of my choices. And ramping up the workouts - less time, more intensity. This all comes from my new diet and fitness guru - Lawrence at GNC. Stopped in yesterday in a moment of weakness - asking about weight loss aids. I know I can't take anything really, because I'm so sensitive to stimulants. So Lawrence suggested upping my protein and my workouts, and taking something called CLA, which is supposed to help build lean muscle mass and get rid of fat. We'll see. My body likes its fat, and is pretty cranky when asked to give it up.