I Will Finish The SNAFU Honeymoon Story...

I think a part of me just doesn't want to concede that by telling the last of the story, the entire wedding/honeymoon process is officially over and I have to go back to real life.

For those not in the know or in the loop, please find the previous (horrific by my oh-so-pathetic,  middle-class standards) here:

Part One
Part Two
Part Three

The final installment will be here shortly. I promise. I'll even provide real photos of the Maldives. You know, pre-uprising and presidential dethroning.

The New Husband, dining on a chocolate bar as we waited during the final hours at Heathrow Airport. ROMANTIC!

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DO NOT, I REPEAT, DO NOT...

Drink half a 1.5 Litre bottle of Riesling wine all by yourself while your better half goes and plays Ultimate Frisbee. (Dad, I blame you for the leftover wine. Next time, it goes home with you!!)

Then challenge him to a trash-talking board game, upon his return.

Good things can never come of such events.

Consider yourself warned, and no, you get no photographic evidence.

Though, I may have pissed a few friends off on Facebook.

Sorry 'bout  that.
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The Perfect Outfit

Ever wearing a perfectly comfortable sports bra and pair of  Great Dane drool-covered   knock off Lulu Lemon   likely should have been washed two days ago  yoga pants and think to yourself:

SELF: "You know what self? I feel too... I dunno... free in these pants. I feel as if something is missing."

You ponder this for a moment and then eventually come to the realization that what you are lacking is skin tight razor denim thrashing its own path through your ladybits.

How you missed it all along is beyond me, but facts are facts.

You need some seriously skin tight denim in order to feel complete.

SELF: "But, self, even with that, I feel almost claustraphobic. Like my torso just needs to shout to the world  'Look at me, bitches! Look at me in all my glory! Take me in! Desire me!' You understand, right self?"

So you come up with a solution there.

One that requires fishnet. And not JUST fishnet, but MORE fishnet. (imagine Christopher Walken saying it like "cow bell"...)

BUT,

In order to remain out of prison for indecent exposure, you realize you have to subject your torso to a little boob coverage. Just a little. I mean, those ARE AMPLE breasts you have there, Self.

SELF: "At least I can make that shit RAINBOW."

So you're almost there. Your yoga pants be damned. Your properly fitted sports bra? Well now, those are for  pussies   athletes  people with taste  pansies.

SELF: "I just... I just need something to really stand out. Like REALLY stand out. Some bling or some such flair! Ooooh... twinkle, twinkle, bitches."

And the shoes? Ah f_ck it, I'll just throw on my flip flops.

Do my toes look big in these sandals? (Image via "People of Walmart")

Thaaaaaaaaaaaat's the ticket.

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Oh Shit.

Do you ever do that thing?

You know, that thing where you're kind of unaware and then that thing starts happening?

For me it started innocently enough. I traded my old impala in for a nice, compact, fuel-efficient car. (points for better gas mileage and environmental consideration).

Fast forward about 3.5 years and I'm in the new (okay, 2006) compact car.
After running to various flower shops, quite inefficiently, all the while failing to find purple roses for my niece's birthday.
Rush, rush, rush.
After having poorly planned the day and getting on the treadmill late, and being chubby and stinky, and showering late and.... (less points for poor time management and stupidity).

You know, that thing where you remind your husband to check his windshield washer fluid as he's driving, because you're terrified you'll get stuck behind a transport on the highway in slushy weather with no wiper fluid to save your ass from filthy, sandy mush, flung high speed at your windshield. Like it did to you two years ago in your compact car and you nearly drove off the highway because you couldn't see. You know, right? (less points for being an annoyingly nagging wife).

That thing where you ensured he checked his, BUT DIDN'T CHECK YOUR OWN. Because you keep forgetting that it was the OLD IMPALA that had the courtesy to let you know that you were getting LOW on fluid, whereas the new compact car just says;

"Hey you stupid motherf_cker, looks like you're outta washer fluid!!"
"Have a nice    day   death!"

You know, that thing. Where you are on the highway, doing 125 km/hr, trying to arrive with non-purple roses in time in another city, in the fast lane, in rainy/slushy weather.

And that damn OH-SHIT light comes on.

Oh well, I lived to make it to the next town and thank goodness had the paranoia and foresight to pack extra washer fluid in the trunk (I ABHOR paying $6 at the gas station for it when you can get it for $2 at the grocery store).

Lived to tell the tale. (bonus points for surviving an untimely death).

Damn I hate this compact minimalist-bells-and-whistles business.

I need a Hummer. Or, rather, maybe my husband does (tee hee).

After all, his washer fluid WAS topped up and I ran out...
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Crying over?

Just to clarify - I can still cry if I spill soy milk, right?

I mean, it easily makes just as much a mess as dairy milk.

And I think it costs more.

And the soy milk totally got into someone else's smartphone wall charger cord.

*Proceeds to cry over spilled milk and lack of hand-eye coordination*

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I had Mike Weir for Valentine's Day

Yup, that's right.

I got to TASTE HIM. He was surprisingly dry. But I drank him all in.


Oh, you guys are disgusting. I meant his sparkling wine,  jizz  jeez.

He fizzed all in my mouth. Also? The dim lighting made me look better to the New Husband. Probably.

When we saw the sign for this Italian restaurant (highly recommended by a fellow in the Williams Sonoma store), we expected shag carpeting and beads onto the doors in the washroom.

Surprisingly swanky. You didn't make the table cut if you were forced to sit at the bar or pizza bar. Just FYI.

It was surprisingly elegant, and we managed to score a table at 6pm on a Friday night with no reservations.

We must have looked mistakenly classy.

Also, holyshitandallthingsnotaffordable, have you people ever been in Williams Sonoma? The New Husband spent $36 on a whisk. A WHISK!

We spent $20 on PEPPERCORNS, people.

PK, you have got some mighty classy taste. I felt so out of place in that store.

So here's to tasting Canadian golfers like Mike Weir, while your husband watches, on Valentine's Day!!

*clinks glass in right hand to glass in left hand*

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Things that piss me off

For no good reason, in no particular order, my list.

The antithesis of 1,000 awesome things (both shorter AND completely negative):

• My propensity for injury in ANY given situation
• Fashion magazines and/or Photoshopping women's bodies to completely unrealistic or unhealthy standards
• Wet, heavy snow that causes a full body sweat to shovel
• Constipation
• Diarrhea (you know - wet, heavy poo that causes a full body sweat)
• Your mother (just kidding, she's probably a very nice woman who bakes things)
• Your mother (because she causes a full body sweat, too)
• Gluten (that shit is in EVERYTHING)
• Cool air humidifiers (scented or unscented)
• Pretentious, obscenely expensive weddings
• Wearing sleeveless pajamas and waking up all night because my shoulders are cold
• Polyester pants (you know - the whole half body sweat thing)
• Half-visible, half frozen boogers that you have no idea are taking up real estate in your nose, while walking your dog outside

That's it for now.

How truly uninspiring.

You are welcome.

If you leave me a comment, tell me THREE RANDOM THINGS that piss you off.


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I Have Nothing To Say

Just so we're clear.

Nothing to say.

Nothing at all to say *shifts eyes left to right*.




So we're good then?

Okay.

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Rock Band Is My Bitch

Like any youthful, popular, savvy, connected young married woman in her 30s, I am:

• sitting home alone
• on a Saturday night
• in my pajamas
• playing Rock Band 3 in the freezing cold basement (while the puppy tries to sleep and block out my voice in her head)
• all by myself (besides the dogs)
• with a laundry room full of clean cloth items
• an upstairs hallway filled with piles of give away blankets and pillows to sort through
• a linen closet to re-organize and re-stock
• a major buzz from a bottle of Dr. Pepper

That's what all the cool kids are doing these days, right?


On a Saturday night?

RIGHT?  RIGHT???


In need of a decent shower, seriously. Like, seriously, really.

Whatever... behold the magic of boredom and loneliness!!!

Check this shit out:

Of ALLLLL the people that play Rock Band, (mind you, some songs I had to buy, but still), I've placed in the top 6, beyotches.

ON EXPERT VOCALS.

Suck my smelly pits, competitors!!



I submit the following into evidence (I am Stephaniescooby):

Booyah!

Aw yeeeeeeeeeah booooy.

Ditto

And you may have remembered long ago when I held the #1 spot for the Canadian Band, The Tragically Hip on Rock Band 3 in this post back here. But, since then, I had been knocked off my thrown down to second place.

Well not tonight folks. Tonight *I* was so hip it was tragic. (Wow. That was truly awful. Even for me.)

THE CROWN IS MINE ONCE AGAIN!!!

It feels so gooood to be Queen.

Shania Twain, Third Eye Blind, Alanis Morissette and The Tragically Hip are all own-able. For now. I wish I could remember the other ones I did well on, but my memory is shot.
Okay, that's all. I just had to share this with someone since the Hubs is out playing poker.

If anyone out there plays RockBand, you should add me as an online friend in your system, because clearly I need some friends, people!!

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Letter to my then-Feyoncé™, now The New Husband AKA the Former Feyoncé™

As a start to our wedding ceremony, the wedding officiant asked me and The New Husband AKA the Former Feyoncé™ to secretly write letters to each other, and not share them, and she would read them aloud.

I want everyone to know how I feel about him, so dammit, I'm posting it on the blog.

I need some love and positivity right now, so here it is:

~~~~~~~~

Dearest [Name Redacted to Protect The Innocent], aka “[Redacted Variation on Previously Redacted Name]”, aka “Babe”, aka “My husband-to-be”,

I don’t even know how to start this letter. How can I express the love and appreciation I have for you in words? I simply cannot do it justice with words. I can look into your eyes, and smile, and know that you will know how I am feeling or what I may be thinking by the tilt of my head or the look in my eyes.

I love that understanding, and the connection we have. I love our mutual sense of humour, and ability to laugh at things. I love our “fit”. I love YOU, and I love us.

But how do I tell you how important you are in my life? How very fortunate I feel to have met you, and to have the honour of being the woman you are choosing to spend the rest of your life with?

From the very moment we met, I felt you exuded honesty and sincerity. I was charmed by your laugh and your sense of humour. And you were handsome (YOWSA! AND STILL ARE! Look at you!). And the more I got to know you, the more incredible you became to me. You amaze me every day with your intelligence, kindness, patience, understanding, and determination. Our bond has grown, deepened and strengthened as time has moved on. Each day I love you more.

You have let me see that what I thought, or can think, is a broken, flawed, embarrassment, is actually the woman you love with all your heart, and believe in more often than I believe in myself.

You’ve shown me that I am a lovable partner (unless it’s time to do the dishes or walk the dogs). You give me purpose (in explaining song lyrics), keep me on my toes (always seeking out the cutlery that doesn’t hurt your hands), and we work together with our strange quirks (like needing the car window cleaned, or never turning left into a gas station).

We have traveled together, and I have had opportunities to see things I never would have had the courage to try without you in my life. Like seeing the gorillas in Rwanda. And seeing the huge rhinoceros in front of our vehicle… in that crazy trek we took to the far-reaching African Lion Safari!

[Redacted], you ARE my life. You have given me courage, strength and comfort when I thought there was no strength left. You have cheered me on, and encouraged me to fight for the things that are worth fighting for. We have stood together through the rough waters and the playful waves and the calm stillness. And your support means more than any vows, or words, could say.

You mean everything to me. I can’t truly articulate how much love my heart holds for you. You are brightness, sunshine, warmth, and safety. You are wonderful.

I promise to do my best to be a good wife, and eventually a good mother to our not-yet-conceived children.

I am the luckiest girl in the world to be standing here, with you, the man who holds my heart, who makes me whole, who loves me unconditionally, who works alongside me, who challenges me, who makes me smile, whose hugs can make the world seem kinder, who can turn my mood and my day around. I love you so much, Babe, and I am so happy we are standing here today. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me, and I love you more than any words could ever say.

I hope I keep making you as happy as you make me.

Stephanie

Oh, YES I DID!!!

p.s. To the people who didn't like the centrepieces: Really? Seriously?  I liked 'em, and we made a decent donation to an organization in my home town with the money we saved.

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He's Home!!!

After 36 hours of doggy hospitalization, our baby is home!

Our wallets are much lighter, but then again, so are our hearts.

"I iz so teyered and sad. Mum n Dad left me at the noizy, smelly playce for 36 ourz. I iz gonna nap nao."

So happy to see him joyfully eating snow off the side patio table, without a care in the world.

Now I just have to medicate and monitor him for the next 6 days, transition him back to his normal food, and hope that he doesn't barf or poo himself into dehydration again.

Although, in all honesty, as he is napping I can hear his stomach gurgling. Probably not a good sign. He feels really warm, too.

And, a side effect of one of the medications is vomiting and nausea. Eeeeek.

I hope this continues to get better and not the other way...

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Canadian? Wanna play a game?

In light of some bad news at home here, I am distracting myself by playing an online spin to win game.

Surprisingly, it has nothing to do with my last post, but will appear to be shilling out Shopper's Drug Mart when, in fact, they've done nothing but take my money hand over fist for the last 30 years.

Anyway, here's the link:

PLAY THE GAME HERE, YO!

Contest closes tomorrow. You basically spin to win entries to win things.

Okay, now I have to do responsible things and stop numbing myself with the internet.

Think good thoughts for my doggy.


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Hair Washing 101

I just read an article in "Glow" Magazine (the magazine that Shoppers Drug Mart puts out with the odd article, essentially just showcasing all the shit they want you to buy at Shoppers Drug Mart) saying in winter it is best to wash your hair twice a week.

Twice a week?

First of all, not gonna sell a lot of shampoo that way, Shoppers!

Then I got thinking.... I just had to blow a good chunk of change to fix my horrible hair.

It was a deal for    leopard spotting bleach 2" from my roots   highlights and a  butchering  cut from one of those "deal sites" where they oversold themselves and in turn hired some random people who "may" or "may not" be ACTUAL hairdressers.

I have no doubt in my mind that Polished & Pampered Wellness hired  Coulda just been random people armed with damaging bleach and determination. One never really knows these things.

I can't be certain, but it's possible that the girl that did my hair was related to the Travelocity Travelling gnome, was sprinting through Hamilton, and was given a job opportunity she SHOULD have refused.

I digress.

The orange/spotted/leopard/hack job that resulted was pretty awesome.

Just...  tear-inducingly horrific   awesome.

I'd post a picture, but I was too vain to have that shit documented.

The hair I wanted. (Via)

Essentially, what I got. (Various Sources).

So, after getting my money back (because the "salon" was a joke and ended up COSTING me 6 times the cost of the voucher to get my "hair did" properly), my hair is now totally fried.


Back to the hairwashing... maybe if I wear enough perfume AND hats, I can salvage the white-blonde-straw that I am currently fashioning as hair, via less damage by jumping on this minimalist hair washing bandwagon.

I almost feel deceived. Even at the NEW, qualified salon, the stylist cut SO MUCH HAIR OFF, then thinned it for good measure. You know, ensuring a mullet-like-style with regrowth.... trying to fix it.

But she flat ironed it all purrrdy, and it looked reasonable.
Then I went to a wedding.
And drank far too much.
And acted like a drunkard.
And broke my toe.
And came home.
And cleaned up puppy shit for 3 hours (another day, another blog post).
And then showered and washed my hair.

Dear god, it's like a dehydrated lion. A dehydrated lion with zebra stripes.


No V-O-5 hot oil can even begin to smooth this hot, or rather, dry, mess. (You know what else is a hot mess? My comma use. Another day, another blog post).

So... perhaps in an effort to keep the over-dyed, unhealthy, over-bleached, under appreciated hair that is left on my head, I may reduce hair washing.

Lord have mercy on my pillow.
And the complexion at my hairline.


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My feet are menstruating. More details to follow...

Trust me, there is a story here.

Just can't tell it now... tune in tomorrow!!

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The Smartest F_cking Squirrel - EVER.

On many an evening walk, I noticed this small skunk that hangs around a nearby school.

He always lurks in the darkness, and me and the dog always beeline it to the other side of the boulevard/street/parking lot/postal code to avoid the stinkrafuge that his angry butt could potentially unleash upon my dog's face.

Then, one miraculous day, I walked the dog in the daylight.

And damned if I didn't come face to face with the smartest f_cking squirrel EVER. The little dark brown/black bugger has... wait for it... (are you waiting?




I hope so...




I like to build suspense...




While forcing you further down the page and closer to my advertisements...







I digress).




He's got a white tipped tail.

My eyesight + usual darkness = SKUNK.

I've never seen anything like it, and today I finally caught that shit on digital imagery! I was so happy! Then I was all worried someone would come raging and screaming out of the school to tell me to delete my harmless photos, lest a child's face be caught in the image. (I made that mistake one day at work when I was at a daycare site. Holy shit. Privacy laws are intense, yo).


Again, I digress.


So I got thinking... he's got to be the world's smartest squirrel for deceiving all who approach him into thinking he's a skunk.

Then I remembered that most dogs are pretty dumb when it comes to caution and skunks, and most dogs I know pummel themselves face-first directly into skunk ass. They wouldn't really avoid something that appeared to be a skunk, anyway.

So that left me feeling more like it wasn't the smartest squirrel ever, but that, perhaps, I was just a relatively dumb dog-walker/blogger.

Either way, that shit is epic.

It's almost like a Sasquatch sighting, but fuzzier and slightly less reliable.

I can feel your judge-y eyes. But I tell you, smartest.squirrel.EVER.


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Luggage Carousel Gold Mine

I was so desperately wishing that:

• This would have been tagged with a fluorescent orange Air Canada "priority baggage" tag, stuck somewhere. Anywhere.
• Someone came running back to the luggage carousel, out of breath, exclaiming "THERE they are!!"
• That I could have temporarily ignored my disdain for germs and run to the carousel, shouting back at The New Husband AKA the Former Feyoncé™, "Honey, honey! I got them! Don't worry, the carousel didn't put a hole in 'em!"
• People wouldn't hear my non-smart-phone's EXTRA LOUD shutter sound whenever I take a photo, thereby completely revealing that I took a shot of this rarely-seen luggage carousel gold mine:

There, in the centre, lies a balled-up pair of men's underwear. So lovely.

Everyone had several snickers at the undies, as they toured around the carousel about 20 times before Air Canada finally started spitting out baggage. I pity the fool whose luggage landed on those underwear, and can only hope they were a CLEAN balled up pair of orphaned underwear.

Once the couple beside me realized I had taken a photo, (you know, and after they accepted the fact that I was very odd), we all made cracked some solid one-liners to each other. I think it is the first and only time another traveller has ever spoken to me at the baggage carousel.

The moral of the story?

ORPHANED UNDERPANTS UNITE.

Also?

The New Husband AKA the Former Feyoncé™ is the zipper king.

Bow down before him. Or whatever.

Also?

I was still totally buzzed upon arrival after those 3 triples in the departure lounge. But at least this wasn't an I-remember-seeing-random-underwear-in-the-airport-while-drunk stories with no photographic evidence. I took those photos to share with YOU, dear reader.

Once again, you're welcome.

Or whatever.
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Goddammit, orange juice, people!

Just for the record, orange juice should be sipped and savoured.

Not gulped. Not chugged.

If it has pulp (which it should), you should be chewing that shit, making the beverage last even longer.

Don't even try to deny it.

If you buy pulp-free, I don't think we can be internet friends any more (subject to review).

I almost broke up with the then-BF when he happily returned from the store with PULP FREE OJ.

Oh, the horror!

When a beverage has that many calories and tastes that good, anything other than slow enjoyment is not an option.


What's that you say?

Why yes, yes I do enjoy blogging about orange juice on a Friday night.
And yes, I do find myself very social, normal and hip.

BWHAHAHAH.

Whatever, I'll blame it on the horrendous sinus infection/sneezing/head cold/cough.


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Honeymoon Travel From Hell - Part 3

So... if you are new to the blog, or need a refresher, you can find Post #1 here, and then Post #2 here.

The way it was supposed to be:
- Plane #1 Toronto - Heathrow, London, England (Day 1)
- Plane #2 Heathrow - Columbo, Sri Lanka (Day 1-2)
- Plane #3 Columbo, Sri Lanka - Male, Maldives (Day 2)
- Plane #4 Male, Maldives - Maldivian Resort (sea plane ride) (Day 2)

We arrived at Heathrow in London on AC848 (Plane #1, but not actually the plane we were supposed to be on), hungry and having slept a few hours of that light-annoying-I-can-still-hear-the-people-around-me kind of way. I think it was 8:25am in London, but who are we kidding? My body knew it was really 3:25am REALITY (Ontario) TIME.

I was exhausted, and we had yet to figure out what, if any connections we had ahead of us, and which flights we had to try to book then and there in Heathrow.

We took the very, very long walk to the train to get from Terminal 3 to Terminal 4 (where the Sri Lankan air desk was located). After a 13 minute wait for the train to arrive, we trained it for 11 minutes to Terminal 3, where, at the Sri Lankan desk, there was not a soul to be found.

We had never considered that flights with a hub in Columbo, Sri Lanka, might not typically depart around 8am. F_ck. So, no help there.

We tried calling Canadian 800 numbers for assistance. Those bitches were sleeping at 3am, yo.
We tried calling some effed up numbers in Sri Lanka, and we couldn't get any of the calls to work, no matter the country code options.

When we got one to work, the person couldn't understand a goddamn word we said.

We tried the useless as f_ck airport information desk, who also tried dialling the same calls, with the same results. She then advised us to come back about an hour before the next Sri Lankan Air flight was set to depart.

"When would that be?" we asked, trying to be polite, feeling cranky as hell, and hoping the response would be in the range of "now" to "soon".

"Well, I don't know, check the boards" she grunted.

If any of you have ever been in an airport, you might notice they have a shit-ton of flights coming and going. And due to that fact, they only show outbound flights over the course of the next few hours on the monitors.

There was not a single Sri Lankan flight.

We took the long, long trek back down to the train, and returned (via an 11 minute train ride, while hauling our luggage) to Terminal 3. Why? Because there was a Star Alliance "arrivals" lounge, thank the gods, so we could access the bloody internet and attempt to figure out what was going on.

In the Star Alliance Arrivals Lounge:

In all fairness, the British women at the Air Canada Arrivals Lounge were absolutely kind and helpful. They helped us find alternate contact numbers for Sri Lankan Air, and were patient with us when The New Husband AKA the Former Feyoncé™ had to use their phone for TWO HOURS to try to get us on Sri Lankan air flights that would get us into Male, Maldives, you know, IDEALLY BEFORE THE END of our honeymoon.

They told us that our entire itinerary was visible on screen to Air Canada agents, including the flights that never connected. Turns out the assholes back in Toronto, Ontario, Canada at Pearson airport just didn't want to take the time to help us out, explain there was a problem, and prevent the mass confusion we endured over the next 20+ hours while trying to rebook.

I ate some wheat and some dairy out of desperation. I had a can of coke. It was about 6am Canada time.

We tried calling our insurance policy, purchased through Expedia.ca, to find out if they would reimburse costs to us for the rebookings. Their response?

"NONE OF IT IS COVERED."

What about the night we are missing at our non-refundable, pre-paid, expensive fancy-pants honeymoon resort in the Maldives?

"NOTHING PRE-PAID IS INCLUDED. See the limitations and exclusion clause at the end of your policy."

WHAT THE F_CK!?!??! We had both reviewed the travel insurance policy, purchased through Expedia.ca and provided by Mondial Assistance, but lo and behold we had missed this imperative clause below:

Um, kind of defeats the point, doesn't it?

So then The New Husband AKA the Former Feyoncé™ tried calling his out of country travel insurance through his work to ask for help.Guess what the person's response was on the phone?

"Didn't you just call me about this? I already told you it's not covered".

NO.WORD.OF.A.F_CKING.LIE.
SAME.FREAKIN'.GUY

Turns out his work coverage is completely identical to the shitty Expedia travel insurance plan, right down to the ONE GUY who answers the phone in the early morn, somewhere in Waterloo, Ontario, Canada.

Unless your travelling companion dies, or some crazy-ass weird shit goes down, or one of you loses a limb under certain conditions only, expect nothing from MONDIAL ASSISTANCE.

It gets confusing here, and I have probably already lost most of you, but the bottom line is that after the The New Husband AKA the Former Feyoncé™ spent hours on the phone in the lounge, and after Sri Lankan hung up on him twice, we were put on a flight departing Heathrow to go to Columbo (Sri Lanka) 3.5 hours later than planned.  This was NOT our final stop, remember, and we had two more connecting flights.

With this new set-up, we were set to take plane #2 and ARRIVE in Sri Lanka at 1:00pm the following day.

The problem?

Despite all our calls and efforts, the next leg of our journey, AKA plane #3, AKA our "connecting" flight, DEPARTED the following day at 11:20am for Male.

See the problem there?

Seems that Sri Lankan Air has not yet grasped the definition of "connecting flight".

We were booked on an impossible connection, unless of course someone had purchased us those time-travelling spacesuits from our wedding registry last minute.

Turns out no one did.

Sadly, the arrivals lounge had to close at 1:00pm, and kick our tired, sorry asses out.
Remember now, we've been awake for about 24 hours at this point. We couldn't check our luggage because there was no one at the counter of our next, uncertain flight.

So we began the 4 hour wait before the Sri Lankan air counter opened up, to find out if the idiots on the phone had actually at least booked us some way to get to destination #2 out of 4.

And there's more....

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I'M STILL ALIVE

I'm just really non creative and have tried to be productive offline.

(Productivity includes eating. Lots. Just FYI).

In light of my last post, we are considering buying a treadmill, spinning bike, and cancelling my gym membership...

It's funny how sometimes I have a ton of post ideas, then a complete and utter dry spell.

Plus, I have no working camera, which slows me down. And I am too lazy to find the adapter piece to transfer pictures from my crappy dumb-phone.

Whatever.

Just letting you know I'll be back to regularly scheduled programming soon...


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New Year Bullshit Begins

Listen.

Closely.

Can you hear it?

Everywhere, in bathrooms all over the globe, people are studiously picking up and plucking dental floss from it's dust-covered station in the bathroom, last touched when it was handed free to you at your dentist's office.

Resolve to floss!

Can you smell it?

Just flare your nostrils ever so slightly.

Yoga classes from here to every uptight yoga studio, from cheap to pricey, as the masses align their newly received yoga mats side by side. Placed so tightly together in the room, the body odour is enough to resolve to never return again.

Resolve to be zen! Be fit! Be healthy!

Because THIS YEAR is different. In that it ends in a 2. Or some stupid reason. Therefore your lame ass resolutions will stick this year.

Right?

Yeah, me neither.

I give it two weeks. Or whatever. It's hard for me to type this as I shovel my face full of chocolates, gluten-free brownies, Turtles, salted cashews, Lindors, and   self-respect   this healthy apple  the reality check that my clothes don't fit me anymore  straight spoonfuls of granulated sugar.

Happy 2012, Y'all.

I'm off to go let out a few seams on my jeans. (Yeah right, we all know I can't sew. You got me).


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Awesome things to come home to after holiday travelling

In no particular order:

- A 15 degree C house
- Not a single voicemail message, and ONLY ONE MISSED CALL
- Aforementioned call being from a telemarketer
- An extreme terror of touching any and all surfaces following a full viewing of the movie "Contagion" on the airplane ride home
- A hangover/raging headache from nine shots of vodka in the Air Canada Maple Leaf Lounge to calm your pre-flight nerves
- A toboggan-esque drive home from the airport
- Discovering your new boots have absolutely no tread and/or grip, and faceplanting in your driveway/the airport parking lot/the sidewalk
-Your Wii Fit officially proclaiming you "obese"
- Finding your Christmas chocolates frozen
- Realizing your pre-holiday baking was left out on the counter and not, in fact, frozen as intended, thereby becoming ruined and inedible

Happy f_cking new year.

I hope those damn Mayans are spot on with their predictions.



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Laugh for the day (Stolen from Dry Humor Daily)

The original post is back here at Dry Humor Daily (you should add him to your list, he always has funny stuff up).

Cole always makes me laugh. His Chuck Norris calling and Poor T Rex posts also had my laughing hysterically last night.

Here ya go, a reason to smile today:

I will NOT make a joke about fisting, people. This is a MUPPET, for Jebus' sake!

Happy December 23rd!

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When did hot Gavin Rossdale turn into Coach from Survivor?!?!

In light of a recent BUSH music video, I was both stunned and horrified to learn that my original first boyfriend (and likely first Husband, if Gwen Stefani hadn't gotten in the way) Gavin Rossdale has somehow morphed into a replica Coach from the reality television show "Survivor".

WTF? Seriously?

Reeeally??

This is what he used to look like, back in his hotness heyday (I don't want to do the math, because that will likely explain this entire situation):

Hot face, sexy biceps, angsty rocker, hot time-appropriate necklace.

And now, Coach's long lost, rich brother.

Gavin is on the left. Coach is on the right. The fact I have to clarify that is horrifying.

Gross.

I'm pretty sure that the Sound of Winter is actually the sound of my sobbing.

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"Roast Drippings" = Turkey Bath Water

I just saw a commercial for Turkey gravy additive.

All you do is use the Club House mix and "add in roast drippings".

BLECH.

All the fat and hunks of fatty flesh just plop out of the turkey pan into the gravy boat.

All I can imagine is the dirty bath water after the turkey's been in there for a while. It's leg hairs from shaving. The remnants of it's bath fizz. A few errant feathers (you know how they always clog up the drain).

A vegetarian mind works so much differently than a "normal" brain.

Roast drippings is just a nice way to say "grossness left in the pan.... possibly fecal matter. EAT UP!"



Having said that, I'm off to drink a Dr. Pepper for breakfast, and think about possibly eating real food. But food that doesn't contain roast drippings, just so we're clear.

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Grocery Tips From A Loser

I learned a few things tonight, regarding grocery shopping. None of them have to do with the fact that I think I used that comma incorrectly, but I just figured I'd mention it.

When shopping for groceries, follow these handy tips to help you on your journey:

1.  If you are the type to become mildly weepy for no apparent reason, or become weepy at the sound of Christmas music, bring an MP3 player and sunglasses. It's like playing poker on TV (without the coolness) while hiding your "tell". You know, with less poker chips and more tears.

2.  If you (literally) run into the store 10 minutes before closing on a Friday night, be prepared to receive the stink eye from every single employee you pass, every time you pass them. Accept this, and continue to run in a panic around the store. It's very relaxing.

No, seriously. via

3.  If you can normally only find one of the two gluten-free "fresh" bread options in your grocery store no matter when you go, even on the days they claim to get new shipments, ignore that shit. Apparently, as I discovered tonight, you can find and hoard all THREE loaves of BOTH GF breads if you go right before store closing Friday night. F_ck you, Saturday shoppers! I just scored huge and saved myself $30 in shipping fees if I had been forced to order and buy that godforsaken heavy-ass dense bread through the bakery itself.

No word of a lie, one gluten-free  brick  loaf weighs 800 grams and can be used as a car-jack, when required. via

4.  Always, always open your eggs before purchasing to make sure:

a) All dozen are there. (However, you are forewarned that if you pick up a 6-pack of eggs, you may find that there are only six eggs in the package.)
b) The eggs that ARE there are not already pre-cracked and congealed. For your convenience.
c) That suspect, yellow yolk-like staining across the entire egg display didn't come from the pack of eggs you've selected. (I swear to Jebus the employees must have had an egg fight, or had someone as clumsy as me stock those shelves because I had to look through at least 7 containers to find one that had all 12 eggs that weren't oozing shit.)
d) There is not a dead chick inside. Trust me on this one.

5.  If you really really like the store's generic brand of inexpensive hair mousse because it's the ONLY brand that will tame your crazy-ass hair, stock that shit up. Ignore your significant other. Like your gut feeling told you last time, you will come to discover that they no longer carry it.  Mousse named "Exact" that costs $1.57 and works can save you a SHIT TON of money and frizz head in the long run. I miss you Exact.

This shit was magical. *tear*

6.  You will never, ever, ever have any luck asking your spouse/significant other to use a coupon if it requires too many conditions. For example, the Kraft cheese is apparently only free IF you buy ANOTHER Old El Paso Fajita** Kit at the same time (I think they're wrong) AND only the smaller size cheese, however the coupon is also good towards $6 off the 380 gram-sized cheese.... AAAAAAAAAAAND then  my  his head explodes.

7.  Nervous cashiers who believe you are using coupons improperly will fail to bring this to your attention, will fail to apply the discount, and will covertly place the coupon in your packed, re-useable bag while you aren't looking. F_ckers. I didn't have to buy an old El Paso kit last time.

8.  If you are ANYTHING like me, and you think you are being "really fast", during your maniacal sprint throughout the grocery store, rest assured you are not. You will leave there at 20 minutes past closing time and the cart collection boy will spit in your general direction as you climb into your car.
He will care not that you returned the cart to the cart "corral". P.S. Honda, I want a bigger trunk, goddammit, do you know how hard it is to pack groceries and 6  bricks  loaves of gluten free bread into the trunk of a Civic? I mean, seriously. Really.

** Pronounced: FAH- J- EYE- TAH. 
You're welcome.


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Embarrassing Admission - Dec. 12, 2011

I have a complete and utter irrational fear of running out of tomatoes at our house.

We use them on pizza, in sandwiches, and I sometimes cook them in my eggs.
I'm not some Italian chef who requires them to sustain my livelihood.

But as soon as we get down to, like, only TWO tomatoes, I start to panic that I WILL NOT HAVE A TOMATO IN MY TIME OF TOMATO NEED. Whenever that will be.

Oh - we also live about 5 minutes away from two different grocery stores.

The New Husband (AKA the Former Feyoncé™) reminds me that I can... uh... you know, go to the store and buy more at any time. And I know it.

So there you go.

Reason #2,489 why I am a f_cking nutjob: my irrational fear of being tomatoeless at home. (No, not toeless. Totally different fear).

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Do you want to hear the rest of the honeymoon travel bullshizz?

The thought of writing it out is already making me feel tired and rage-y.

In one sentence, our honeymoon travel was hell.

You can read about PART ONE here, and, if you haven't yet fallen asleep, PART TWO is here.

Just wondering if anyone gives a shit if I finish the story. If you do, I'll write it, if no one comments, I won't bother.

:)


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How Many Days Is Too Many Without Showering?

What's that you say?

Half a day? Especially if you go to the gym?

What if you curl up in the fetal position in bed for three days with the puppy?

So three then?

No?

1.5 days?

Does taking the garbage bin in, during wet snow, sort of count as a shower?

Oh no, you seriously don't want to stick your tongue out around me. But in all seriousness... it is a wet snow shower, right? RIGHT??!!?

Hmmmm...

I might need to rethink this "self care" business...



(This post brought to you by my self restraint to go on a tirade about Keurigs and how hard it isn't to brew a regular cup of coffee? Really? Wait... I think... I think I just ranted anyway. F_ck.)


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Top 10 Things I Can Stop Worrying About, Post-Wedding

Besides the crippling anxiety, endless list of to do's, and second-guessing every decision ever made, here is a list of the Top 10 Things I Can Stop Worrying About, now that the wedding is over:

1. Backne/clogged pores anywhere/not showering fast enough after hot yoga, thereby compromising my ability to stay clogged-pore-free as my body mutates to destroy my complexion.
2. Moisturizing the SHIT out of my face.
3. Doing hot yoga to the point of so-exhausted-I-can-barely-turn-the-car-key-in-the-ignition-and-will-be-too-exhausted-to-shower-when-I-get-home. (See #1).
4. Tooth whitening. All that damn tooth whitening.
5. The weather. (It turned out to be a gorgeous, hot, sunny day. The New Husband's luck is wearing off on me! Wooot Woooot!)
6. Vomiting during the ceremony/photos/reception (no, seriously, I have major nausea issues all the time, non-pregnancy related).
7. Registering for stuff without feedback from The New Husband. (I should have recognized back then that the only two items he really cared about were the toaster and the luggage. Who knew. Well... I guess he did. Suppose I should have asked him....)
8. If the seamstress was going to f_ck up my dress alterations again, and ruin the only lace I had to be sewn on the front of the dress.
9. When to write my speech and what to say. Since I left it until 3:30am the morning of the wedding, now I just get to regret all that I forgot to include and wish I could say so much more to The New Husband. Well played, Stephanie. Well played.
10. Worrying if I would sound like a drunken sailor, when I surprised The New Husband by singing to him. Did I? Doesn't matter now, too late, it's been done. (James Morrison would possibly be rolling in his grave, you know, if he were dead).

LAaaaaaaaaaaaaa la laaaaaaaaaaaa laaaa la la...



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My Message To The World, via Cee Lo

NOT SUITABLE FOR WORK OR IN FRONT OF KIDS.

Well, I suppose it is fine for kids that have gutter mouths.

This pretty much sums up how I feel right now, for a multitude of reason. I'm lookin' at you Air Canada, Sri Lankan Air, Hotels.com, and Lufthansa.



SO CHIPPER, yet so bitter.

Like November.

Happy Tuesday, Y'all.


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Black Friday In Canada...

Figured you all needed a break from my honeymoon travel exploits.

Just wanted to share with my American readers the kind of shit we get for Black Friday in Canada. The sales here are just mind boggling.

You can get an iPad2 in the U.S. for $12.78 if you are first in line, cut a bitch, and stalk the store like a maniac.

Here in chilly Canada, we just sit back at our computers and await our wicked tech deals from stores like Futureshop.ca at the stroke of midnight (or 4am if you awake due to horrific nightmares and decide that a glass of cranberry juice and some internet surfing will make it all better, like me).


 I found this, early this morning. Instead of sleeping, I started searching the live sales.

Try to control your jealousy:

Sweet.Ass.Deal

The best part?

The damn thing was sold out!! For real.

*sigh*


Back to more honeymoon chaos in the next post...


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Honeymoon Travel From Hell - Part 2

Continued from Part One...


So, we arrived at Pearson airport with just enough time for me to find the parking lot washroom. Thank the gods that we got a spot so close or the honeymoon would have started out really shitty. I mean... like, REALLY SHITTY.

We ran through the airport trying to find our check in location. The New Husband had Air Canada "Elite" status, which allowed us into the slightly faster line-up, but behind other "Elite" people. Then, if a "Super Elite" person comes along, they jump the entire line. And they kept coming.

I couldn't hold back the silent tears any more and started to sob in the airport, against my better judgement.

The guy in front of us asked if we were in a hurry, and he let us pass. Thank you Nice Guy.

We then spent another 15-20 minutes trying to check in at the desk, unsure if we were really ON the flight or on stand-by... The Toronto Air Canada employee knew something was amiss in our file, but said we would have to sort it out once we arrived in London.

She somehow cancelled something and then had to place us BACK on the outbound flight. A very stressful 5 minute period of potentially losing seats to other people with higher status on stand-by. (She could have saved us SO MUCH HEADACHE, had she just told us that our new flights didn't connect, but she evidently couldn't be bothered  to take the time to help us...)

We made it through security, with tears streaming down my face (probably looking guilty of something, simply because my anxiety level was so high).

We cleared security and ran towards the gate.

But, we stopped in briefly to the Air Canada Lounge (The New Husband always has access with his Air Canada Elite status), to see if THOSE employees could tell us what our ticket showed, if we still had connecting flights, and what flight we were booked on for the way home, in case that was changed and no one bothered to tell us.

The employees at the desk all made strange faces and pointed to the monitor (that we couldn't see), yet wouldn't take a minute to tell us that part of our flight HAD INDEED been cancelled, and that our connecting flights were scheduled in such a way that they NEVER F_CKING connected.

Thanks Air Canada.

The guy's advice at the desk? "Just try checking in online for your Sri Lankan air flights" with a smirk.

The New Husband tried quickly in the business centre there, but alas, our reservation was not found.

Just fan-f_cking-tastic.

At least we were on the flight to London, right? Yes, that part was good.
Before boarding, I called my mom in tears, not sure if we had connecting flights once we arrived in London.

Extra-super-awesome bonus? Because we were slapped onto this flight last minute, I was screwed for my special meal requirements, AKA, I had nothing to eat. The Air Canada flight attendant said, and I quote:

"I can't afford to just give you it, but you can buy the bean salad I brought with me."

Ummm. No thanks. (I also wondered if she accepted a credit card swipe down her butt for said salad... or if she knew my mom's old saying to "never take bean salad from a stranger??!?").

And longer flights like these don't offer food for sale, so I was royally screwed. And not in the fun honeymoon kind of way. Screwed, stressed and hungry.

So off we went in the skies, not knowing what would await us at Heathrow Airport...



More to follow...

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Honeymoon SNAFU FUBAR Travel From Hell

In April, I purchased two tickets for a round trip from YYZ (Toronto, ON) to Male, Maldives (MLE) for our honeymoon in October.

The first leg of the flight was scheduled on Lufthansa (LH5337) which was a codeshare actually operated by Air Canada (AC858).

The round trip flight booked was:

• YYZ to London LHR on Tuesday (LH5337 / AC858) Departing 11:20pm, arriving Wednesday morning.
• LHR to Colombo, Sri Lanka CMB on Wednesday (UL512) Departing 6:15pm & Arriving 9:30am Thursday.
• CMB to Male, Maldives Thursday (UL509) Departing 11:20am & Arriving 12:15pm Thursday.
• Seaplane transfer by Maldivian Air Taxi on Thursday afternoon (departing no later than 4:30pm due to daylight/safety reasons).

I called Air Canada in mid-July to confirm that there were no issues with our booking, and everything was confirmed.

On the day of departure, The New Husband checked the online status of AC858, which showed it was delayed. No biggie.

We went about our errands, picked up some wedding gift stuff from the Bay, and made dinner. We knew my parents were coming to take us to the airport for around 8:30pm.

Around 5:00pm, as we started to scarf down dinner, The New Husband re-checked the flight.

He got this strange look on his face, and said the following words:

"I think we might be f_cked."

Please note, he hardly EVER swears, and he knows I go from "my normal" to
ohmygodfreakingoutpanic13onascaleof1to10
in about 5 seconds, so I knew this was, to quote a sheep, "baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa"d.

The flight disappeared, and he asked me to get on the horn with Lufthansa, while he called Air Canada on his cell.

We needed to find out what the f_ck had happened, because the airport stops flying out at a certain time, and if we lost a day and had to catch the same flight the next night, not only would it screw up all our connecting flights, BUT, there was an impending Air Canada flight attendant strike set to begin 40 minutes after the departure time the next night.

If that flight was even 40 minutes late, we could potentially be ROYALLY F_CKED and lose our entire honeymoon.

Lufthansa said they had no idea why the flight was cancelled, and to call Air Canada. Thanks, Lufthansa. Not sure how to say "screw you" in German, but wish I could.

Air Canada had a MAJORhuge call wait time (due to their impending flight attendant strike). The Air Canada employee couldn't figure out why AC858 had seemingly disappeared. (Hmm, I wondered, had they accidentally crossed into the Bermuda triangle?... Oh who am I kidding... I was so upset at that point I was in no position to be joking and/or have a sense of humour and/or maintain control of my bowels and/or... you get the idea. I was barely holding back tears as I started to thrash about the closet in desperate search of a bathing suit.)

The Air Canada employee eventually discovered that AC858 had been removed from the schedule some time ago for that day. However, we were never informed of this and never booked on another Air Canada flight to London.

Ours was to be the last flight of the day, so we couldn't get a later flight, as taking a flight the next day would mean missing our UL512 connection. The only option was to get on AC848,
which left at 8:40pm.

At this point, after the clusterf_ck of all things Lufthansa and Air Canada, and waiting on hold,
it was about 6:00pm.

Now... factor in:
- Packing
- Driving to the airport (no time for my parents to get to our house in time, obviously)
- Finding parking
- Getting through Pearson airport security (which had intentionally "slowed down", I believe, to show support to the impending Air Canada flight attendant strike.)

Cue:
- Stephanie's tears
- Stephanie's irritable bowels
- Oh, shit... um... packing a suitcase in 15 minutes or less. (Good luck with that)

We had not packed yet, and had a 40 minute drive to the airport ahead of us, basically giving 15 minutes to pack for our honeymoon in order to get to the airport in time.

And so our honeymoon began... and this was only the beginning.

It.Got.Worse.

57.5 hours worse.



To Be Continued...



*SNAFU = situation normal all fucked up.
*FUBAR = fucked up beyond all recognition.

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I Just Ironically Ripped Off Content Unrelated

So...



Yeah.

I just ironically ripped off Jeff at Content Unrelated with COMPLETELY RELATED (read: near identical, odd) CONTENT.

Back Story:
I have been less active because my computer crashed on me after some updates, and I have been maniacally trying to save my data from the dead computer.

I`ve been using the New Husband`s Molasses 1.0 speed computer to keep getting my hits of internet (so as not to go into complete shock from withdrawal).

Anyway, I found that stupid picture below of my melted chocolate bar (from JUNE) when I was recovering data, and forgot about how much I wanted to bitch about it... so I did.

NOW:
I went over to Content Unrelated tonight to read his most recent post about contaminated lolly pops. Then read his older post below... about chocolate... with bubbles... and what a rip off it is (or brilliant marketing??).

Seriously? I mean who thinks of that at the same fucking time and blogs about it?
Really? And then I write a post?

How often does that happen?
If I were Jeff, I would think I was a lying bitch (with a much less witty post). Damn you once again, Aero bar.

I did this once before with Inspiration strikes. In the Kneecaps... a related post only discovered after I had posted my own. It may have been Tragically Hip related, I can`t remember. (Oh don`t judge... I also can`t remember my sister`s birthday or my middle name).

What a douche.

Me, I mean.

Who does that? Seriously?

Also? My stupid apostrophies are not working correctly, and I have to copy and paste my question marks. I also think I pluralized that incorrectly. I think I should just give this shit up all together.


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Aero is BULLSHIZZ!

I had the recent pleasure of buying a... wait for it... KING-SIZED Aero chocolate bar (you know, "candy bar" for my American friends).

I then had the displeasure of having said Aero chocolate bar melt in my car.

Not to be deterred by a little melty-ness, I tried to open the package, but the high quality  pure milk chocolate    pure chocolate   chocolate-like-chocolate   modified milk ingredients had deteriorated into a tube of liquid poo-like contents, reminiscent of the soggy-poop-yard-waste-clean-up of days past.

So I refrigerated that shit as fast as I could, planning to  healthfully  obviously eat the "chocolate" bar for dinner.

Once solidified, I intended to eat it as fast as I could, with no witnesses, so the calories wouldn't count as much. (That's how it works, right?)

Fresh out of the fridge, utter disappointment = half a chocolate bar.

Anyway, Aero is bullshit. There's a reason there are air bubbles inside. Check the grams (or ounces) on the bar, peoples! You are eating AIR!

You pay the same as you do for other types of bars, but you're a sucker because you're paying for nothingness!!

Once it melts you are left with half a freakin' chocolate bar. All air and little chocolate bar makes Stephanie a dull boy. No wait. REDRUM, REDRUM, REDRUM.

Oh, forget it.



At least it explains all that flatulence....


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An Open Letter To Canadian Tire:

Dear Canadian Tire,

I realize that you are a Canadian company. Based on my 30+ years of experience in Ontario, my frequent trips to your rubber-scented store with my father over the years, and the implications of your name, I assumed that you would be a wise choice for me to purchase tires from.

I was wrong.

I am not quite sure how a store named CANADIAN mothereffing TIRE could suck so damn much at the entire process of selecting, purchasing, receiving and installing tires, explaining warranty, and recording info like my odometer reading.

My personal experience was PAINFUL when purchasing tires at Canadian Tire. I called to ask what the best option would be for my wee car. I had it narrowed to 3 choices (What?! The New Husband refused me to research this shit for weeks on end like I normally do, so I had to act fast), all of which your tire rep insisted were "fine tah-ers".

Could he comment on the all season-ness? No. Would any be better in wet conditions? Not sure.

Okay, fine, I'll take the Michelins.

You have 4 in the store? Perfect, can you please hold them and I'll bring my car in?

No, you won't hold them? Ok. What if I give you my credit card info? No?
Can I just come into the store now? No? Because you are busy?
WTF?

So I called back later to schedule an appointment. The new gent explained that the system wasn't working right and that he didn't know what to do, but I "could just come in when we open tomorrow first thing, and if you get here first you hopefully shouldn't have a problem".

Reassuring.

Gee, sounds swell. I really hope I can get up early, head to your shop, HOPE you have the 4 tires I want, and ASSUME you will install them then for me.

Screw it. If in-store wasn't reliable, I'd order online.

Despite the name, they suck when it comes to tire purchases.

Dear God. If any store has ABSOLUTELY no communication between online tire transactions and the store, Canadian Tire takes the prize when ordering tires online.

Be advised, dear Canadian Tire customer, that your online confirmation is NOT a receipt, but that you will get a receipt in store. HOWEVER, once you get to the store, the store will tell you there is no record of purchase and no receipt to give you, because "you didn't buy the tires from us. You bought them online."

Uhh... but...?

Canadian Tire online emailed me at least three times to tell me to CALL MY MOTHEREFFING SELECTED STORE to schedule my installation.

Said local store had no record of my tires.
For days.
And days.
And a few more days, while assuring they would call me once my tires were delivered to the store.

They did not call. Ever.

Online emailed me AGAIN.

So, dear Canadian Tire customer, after you walk in to the store with your online confirmation and wait 15 minutes for them to locate the tires that they do, in fact, have in store with your name on...

- You will get to hear the guys at the desk takes bets on what one employee decides to "sell" someone that day (Niiiiiice).
- You will be temporarily talked into an additional $7/tire warranty to replace your tire because (and I quote) "the included warranty isn't really a warranty and you're screwed if damage happens near your sidewall."
- Your husband will tell you the extra warranty is bullshit and you will save yourself $60.
- You will have to call the store 3 more times, and make another return trip because they have 'accidentally' recorded your odometer reading 8,000 km LOWER than your odometer reading, which impacts your not-very-comprehensive "comprehensive" warranty. (Be sure they correct this in their system with a new work order, even if they protest, tell you there is nothing they can do if you've already "cashed out", and offer to correct it in pen, in their own hand writing).

- Don't give them the business or the satisfaction of forcing you into an overpriced alignment "check" for $50, or an alignment for $90. Take your shit elsewhere. It will NOT void your warranty if you don't get it done then and there. I'm going to get it done at Active Green & Ross.

Even your main customer service line wouldn't confirm if not getting an alignment would void my warranty.

In truth, it would seem that uneven wear due to misalignment is not covered in your warranty, but by the sounds of it, not much is covered in your warranty... so... as a Canadian Tire customer, why would you want to spend another $100 at Crappy Tire?

Anyway Canadian Tire, if you are truly looking to get back to being a leader in tire sales once more, you have a hell of a lot of work to do. PATHETIC, after spending nearly $1,000 in goods and services, along with much too long on the phone and in store.

Apathetically furiously yours,
Stephanie

p.s. The more I hear that damn whistle on your commercials, the more rage-y I get. Just sayin'.

p.p.s. I look forward to your cease and desist letter.

[Edit:] p.p.p.s. Yandie had it right... I forgot that my father has referred to your company as Crappy Tire for as long as I can remember. How... relevant.
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