Um... Still Sick. And More Stuff.

Fan f_cking-tastic post again.

It's October 12, and I have posted once this month. Awesome.

I've become an insomniac. With my continued mouth breathing (though improving), and my fatigue and rapid heart rate, I just lay and look at the alarm clocks, wondering which light in the dark is more annoying - the Hubs' red display, or my green display.

The answer?

Both. 


Because I am f_cking tired and cranky.

(Yes, this is the part where you feel a pang of pity for my Hubs)

I keep thinking of things to write about when I am desperately counting down from 500. I think "I should blog about that tomorrow"... then I eat some cheese and make some lemonade and then proceed to do exactly not that.

I usually resort to counting down from 800, only to get distracted repeatedly by useless thoughts and guilt for not completing anything off my to-do list. I have lost important papers I need. I seem to only remember the significance of that to-do list when I am lying in bed, yet I don't seem to reference it at ANY point in the day, when I can actually act on the items.

I feel betrayed by Blogger. The new layout confuses my feeble mind, and it feels like I have to learn all the new bells and whistles before I can adequately post.

I use the term "adequately" quite loosely there, obviously.

Kind of feels like since we moved away, we have fallen off everyone's radars. And then, if I remember the damn 3-hour time difference, I hesitate calling people because I don't want to interrupt them or put them in the awkward situation of having to take my call so they don't come across as rude.

I know it's a distorted way to think, but nonetheless that is how it goes.

The rain has finally begun in BC, and the grey skies are impacting my mood already. Obviously.

My mom came to visit, and that was nice, but now it's gloomy and quiet and lonely. I had lots of plans to do social things, but then falling ill sort of threw everything off. I get winded going up stairs. I can play with the dogs for about 30 seconds before my legs go all shaky. And I keep coughing up lung chunks (I assume), so not the best position to be out socializing. It's been 9 days since I have driven.

My computer mouse stopped working, so I've been retraining myself, perhaps significantly less successfully than a monkey, to use only the trackpad on my laptop. I suck at it. I like me some mouse-y double-clicked-ness.

So... not much new to report with me.

What's new with you guys? Those of you who still come 'round these parts to read my ramblings?


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I iz sick. (⊙_◎)

I iz fevered and sinus pressure is ready to kersplode all over the remnants of my neck.

I will write more about the last days Cross-Canada, as well as some crazy shit I've been seeing around here.

Also? What the hell, BC?!??! Every container of juice I buy comes with a $0.26 environmental/recycling fee. That I can't get back. Even though I recycle. It makes the smaller juice containers so not worth it!

How do I know this?

I have been drinking juice like a fiend, in between my mouth-breathing.

God, I am SUCH a sexy bitch.

Stay well!

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Quick, irrelevant post

Does anyone want to hear about the last half of the trip across Canada?

I don't want to be a spoiler, but we MIGHT have made it back here alive. It's hard to know, though.

I should be writing funny things and being consistent and stuff, but I have been too busy drooling over shoes I will never, ever, ever own... and laughing at dogs who have been shamed.

See? Irrelevant and random.

Exhibit A:

Aaaaah mah gaaaaaaahd. This photo doesn't do them justice. Jimmy Choo, I love you.

These shoes made me wet my pants a little. I saw them, in person, in my size, in Vancouver. I had to resist like hell to not try them on. I knew it would result in me having a 4-year-old-esque temper tantrum in the middle of Holt Renfrew, stomping my feet (carefully, mind you, in these babies), and crying and whining until my mother-in-law could convince my husband over the phone that these would be a sound purchase at $2,195.

Meeeeeeep:

Jimmy Choo's Kani heels from the back. GOOOOOORgeous.

Now, before you think I've gone all Fashion Blog on you (hahaha, okay, we all know that's just silly, you have SEEN me before, right?), please note that I WISH I would be paid to pimp this shizz out. In my DREAMS. I've been searching online trying to find a knock off pair of Kani's. No luck so far. C'mon eBay sellers, make a girl's day, wouldja?

These shoes are one of 12 pairs available in Canada. They were runway. They are at Holt Renfrew, and I would cut a bitch for these babies.

Finally, if you haven't seen the best website ever in my sidebar over there ---->, you need to go to Dog-shaming.com.

Exhibit B, a sampling:

Oh. Hai. Lovez my head wrinkles. Ok. IMAGE FROM dog-shaming.com

Yeah, that's right. Dogs looking guilty as hell, or cocky as hell, after destroying and/or eating something. It is hilarious. I check it every single day, and I always laugh. It makes our crazy dogs seem so much better behaved. (SEEM... seem).

That's it for today. If you find those shoes as a knock-off, let me know!!!

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Who Wants To Eat Off The Floor?

Goddamn Blogger finally got wise to me and switched me over to the new layout/scheme.

I hate it.


Anyway, yeah, so who here wants to eat off the floor?

It is so sparkling clean that we totally can.

Totally.


We are renting a house.
The owners decided that a house that had been owned/occupied by an ill elderly lady for YEARS, until her passing, and then left empty for another year didn't need to be cleaned.

At all.

Before we moved in.

I never actually saw the place before we paid for it. My father in law took a gander and knew that the size of the house, and the fact they would accept dogs, was enough to make it work.

And we were damn lucky to find a place that would allow two big, stinkers. And the dogs, too... nyuck nyuck. (I searched for months and months trying to find a rental house that would accept dogs, and all but one other owner said no. So we had no real choice. The yard is great for the dogs, and we need the space in a house, but DAY-UM).

But I knew my feet felt icky on the floor.

I busted out the Swiffer wetjet, bought new solution, and swiped an area of floor downstairs about 2 feet wide by about 8 feet long.

I think swiffer pads now come in an assortment of colours. I unknowingly picked out "filth".

All I could think of was:

"Holy hell this place is so disgusting, I can't live here even temporarily, dear lord I feel dirty and this place is creepy and there are spiders and ewwww and it's so nasty, and I hate cleaning and ahhhhhhhhh"

along with:

"I have to take a photo and blog this shit".

So, there ya have it.
My mouth is watering already. Pull up a cushion and a fork, we're having mud-spider carcass for dinnah!

Now, to take nice, long, hot bath.

You know, after I spend an hour scrubbing the SHIT out of it with bleach...


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Holy Shit, BC spiders. #iwantmymommy

Holy hell, Batman.

I want to take you back in time for a moment. Imagine a young, lethargic, hopeful, bedwetting me.

I was young (once), and I wanted to hang out with my sister and her boyfriend. Said boyfriend (who may or may not have been a car thief, who am I to judge?) brought over a movie to watch.


ME: Neato Bandito!


And I was invited to watch with them.


ME: Wowzers! Totes cool!


And so I watched. And I regret that shit to this day. The movie?

SOMEONE GRAB THE RAID!!!! Don't let the pretty pastels fool you. This movie has scarred me for life. (Image via)

I checked every ceiling corner of every room that I entered for at least the next decade. No word of a f_cking lie. I would get goose bumps and freeze if there was even one small spider in a corner.

Eventually, I grew to be able to squash the smaller ones with a shoe or kleenex box. Go ahead and snicker at the overkill, but I am NOT taking any risks with bites or rogue spiders skittering across my shaking hands!

Then we moved to BC. To a house with a lot of cracks and nooks and crannies.

And this:

"Good morning!

How are we doing today?

Gonna have some cereal are you? Yes?

Let me scare the shit out of you and reduce your appetite!"

Holy hell, Batman.


My mind's immediate interpretation of the scenario:

"Grrrrrrr RARRRR! THTHSSSS! Rawr, Rassum, Frassum, RALARRAGHSHFGHG!  Heeey... nice toaster."

Screaming ensued.

My dogs are TERRIFIED of me right now.



I don't know how I am gonna do this... and once the rain comes...

*shudder*

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Day 3 Cross Canada: Thunder Bay, Ontario to Winnipeg, Manitoba

The next morning after the stair incident (and subsequent damn luckiness that no dog or person sustained any broken bones), we had to get Schultz back down the stairs.

We both showered that morning in overwhelming anxiety, and loaded our continental breakfast plates up with dread and a serving of intense fear. (Okay, okay, that might have been me. I think the Hubs might have actually had muffins and yogurt).

By the grace of Northern Ontario's angry Moose Gods, we somehow managed to get him down and out of the stairwell, safely to the boulevard to pee, and into the SUV.  A group of bikers made many comments/references about making sure we had control of him. Another man wanted to approach our Dane (fully decked out in a cage muzzle, remember), but mentioned something about the smaller dogs around us being Schultz' breakfast.

We headed out for the long, loooong, loooooong boring drive to Winnipeg.

I think this was to indicate we crossed a time zone in Winnipeg. Either that, or I am passed out at the wheel. The latter is the more likely scenario.

We hit so much construction - a Provincial highway improvement initiative translated into more areas than I can count that were reduced to one lane. One lane in total. So one side of the road would be given a green light, and we got to sit, idle and enjoy all the fumes surrounding us in the beauty of nature.

The sign holder wouldn't make eye contact, but would carelessly swing the sign back and forth, sometimes flipping it to slow, simply because she wasn't paying attention. Pretty dangerous/confusing, dumbass.

No, we're not in England, we're in the only open lane on Hwy #1 in Northern Ontario during the season between spring and fall: construction.

Just when I thought we had reached the end of the long day, it turned out that we got to sit through EVEN MORE construction along the city streets in the 'Peg. I was ready to snap. People cutting in, cutting me off, sitting. Waiting. Seething.

I've had enough of these motherf_cking cars, on this motherf_cking road: my summation of my emotions of having to drive an additional, unplanned hour after a full and tiring day.

We headed to the home of some of Hubs' relatives who were kind enough to offer their yard and home for a pit stop/run/stretch/dinner/hotel break for a few hours for the evening. They ordered vegetarian gluten-free pizza!! They even played with the dogs outside and let us do laundry there, which was so appreciated. (Trust me - when I am stressed, I "stress sweat", and it's an ENTIRELY different universe of stink. Potent enough to kill vampires.)

Sharing a drink, or using this bowl as a chin rest. Hard to tell.

The dogs were once again fairly well behaved, until the mosquitoes started to swarm us. From there we moved inside, where Ella tried to steal all the toys of the resident dog, and Schultz bumped into furniture and seemed generally out of sorts and stressed.

Background: We knew that Schultz' vision was getting poor. We knew he had trouble seeing some things, usually in low light. But as stuff was moved out of the house (before the drive), he started walking into light coloured walls (occasionally, not constantly) where large, dark pieces of furniture used to sit. Again, I thought it was worse because of the low light in the room at the time, but I knew it wasn't a good thing.

Then add in to the equation his stair terror. Add in falling off a low deck because he didn't know where the stairs were. Him stressed out in a strange house... not because of the noise or the people... but because we realized that he couldn't see most of it, if not all of it.

As he hunkered down once again, terrified to go over two small wooden stairs to the exterior door in an unfamiliar building, the gravity hit us that he must actually be blind. Really and truly blind.

I know there are bigger issues out in the world. I know there is unbelievable human and animal suffering around the globe. I most certainly get caught up and overwhelmed in my own life, but I do realize that major, awful things are happening right now in the world.

That being said, in that moment, we realized just how scared and how fragile our little fur baby was. His memorization of our old house hid how bad his vision was. Our vet explained a few months earlier that he had cataracts and that his pupils were fairly dilated, trying to allow as much light in as possible.

The blue-green sheen in his eyes was showing us the truth all along.

But when he trembled and pulled back when four of us tried to coax him down the stairs, it really became real. I know I have a flair for the dramatic, but it felt like my heart was breaking right then and there in Winnipeg. A part of me knew it was inevitable, but I really didn't think it had progressed as badly as it had.

With the help of the Hubs' family, area rugs were moved to provide traction for him (Schultz, not the Hubs), peanut butter was brought out, and kindness was showered on him as we tried to lift his 140 pounds over those two stairs.

S & S - If you are reading this, thank you for your patience and kindness.

We made it back to our Winnipeg hotel in good time, as traffic had cleared and we avoided construction en route. I was able to keep the tears at bay until we were in our SUV.

I cried for him, for his fear, for not being able to fix it or console him enough. I cried for my Hubs, who has such a bond with Schultz, because I could tell his heart was breaking, too. I cried remembering how hard it was in Scooby's senior years. I cried remembering the difficulties our blind cat (Mr. Grey) had when he was with us. I cried with fatigue, with hope, with sadness, with helplessness.

We got to the hotel, and I unloaded while the Hubs watched the dogs. I snapped at Ella. I snapped at the Hubs. I was mad at myself. And then the angry turned into what it really was - sadness and fear/anxiety, masquerading as outward anger. I cried on the hotel room floor beside Schultz, with Hubs sandwiched between us.

Everything is darkest before the dawn.


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Day 2 Cross Canada: Sault Sainte Marie, Ontario to Thunder Bay, Ontario

 Some stressful stuff with the dogs closed out Day 2 of our drive across Canada.

Arrival at the hotel. You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.

On day 2, after the roach motel stay, we were in Thunder Bay, Ontario. We were staying at a pet-friendly hotel, in a room on the second floor. We were near an exit door, which is good for us with the dogs, as we need to spend as little time in common spaces/stairwells/corridors as possible.



If you are not familiar, we have a 2 year old yellow Lab cross Ella, and an aging Great Dane, Schultz (he's about 7-9 years old). Both are rescue dogs. Schultz was abused badly before we adopted him and he has certain extreme behaviours and aggression triggers that we can't seem to help or overcome with him. If anything, I think he feeds off of my anxiety and that I have made it worse for him. If only Cesar Milan knew I am simply not capable of "calm, assertive".

Now he wears a wire basket muzzle that he can pant, drink and bark safely out of. It's the best way to keep everyone from trouble, though we regularly get dirty and/or terrified looks from people. I understand that it must be intimidating to see him coming towards you...

Schultz got the cargo area and Ella had to share the back seat with our clothes. She consistently moved the bars on the barrier to always end up nose first in the centre arm console between us.

When we tried to get him down the stairwell at the hotel for a bathroom break in the evening, he was absolutely terrified to traverse down the tile stairs, and he resisted and splayed his legs out to hold steady.

There was no elevator, so we knew we had to get him down. We assumed this would happen with a little reassurance and cooing. He was not having it. We had to move him ourselves, as gently and kindly as possible.

Somehow, we made it to the landing. Half way there.

We had to move quickly to get him out of the stairwell before others could come in and have the shit scared out of them. Plus, Ella was waiting for me in the room and you're not supposed to leave the dogs alone in the room at any time. I was high strung and my heart rate was up.

Following the landing on the landing, he braced himself with all his might. And his paws slid. And as we moved to the first stair, something went wrong.

He wouldn't move any more.

He couldn't move any more.

And he was in full panic mode. It took a minute for us to realize that his foot wouldn't move because it was stuck in the steel stairway framework. Somehow, he pushed his foot hard enough, and just awkwardly enough, that it somehow got stuck below his back ankle.

He was full out shuddering and we couldn't figure out what to do. My normal panic reaction is to  forget where I am and piss my pants  cry, but I knew I didn't have the luxury this time. We needed to free him, and fast. "Man, I wanna cry, holy shit what do we do? I really need to cry. What do we do?" : A brief glimpse into my brain functioning during panic.

Then a man came charging through the main floor stairwell door. Me and the hubs both shouted out. I  begged  asked the stranger to please give us a minute. If Schultz even started to bark or jump in the position he was in, he would break his leg. The man waited for a moment, cursed us, then went another way. Thank you strange man at the hotel in Thunder Bay. We owe you one, for real.

What could we do? We tried pulling on his leg. The stair depth was too deep and his leg was at such an awkward angle, it wouldn't come out. We both tried various angles. I was in full fledged panic, and feeling so bad for him because he had no idea what was going on.

If we broke his leg, not only would it be horrific, but where the hell were 24 hour vet clinics in Thunder Bay? What do we do with Ella? How can we ensure he doesn't get hurt?

So I actually thought under pressure. It may have been a first for me. Nothing short of a miracle.

I climbed under the stairwell on the right side. The stair was sealed off, so we were screwed. I tried climbing under the left side. Lo and behold, there was his foot pad and all his Great Dane toes. I tried to be as careful as possible as I pushed one shaky toe up and out, along with the others. There was still a risk of his leg twisting or breaking, but we had to try.

We were fortunate. His toes came out eventually, with the Hubs engineering the front, while I pushed below the stairs. That sounded really dirty... sometimes you really shock me with the way you think, people...

He was free... but he still had several more stairs to get down. It was f_cking terrible. When a 140 pound dog is terrified and shaking, and you can't soothe him, it's pretty easy to feel like a shitty owner.

I had to basically push his bum down, while trying to keep his paws going forward. The Hubs was so good at staying calm-sounding and reassuring Schultz, while he led him down the front of the stairs.

I ran ahead to check just outside the door, then cleared them to exit, and ran back upstairs to get Ella.

And now for something completely different: The moose look REALLY angry in Northern Ontario.

Outside, with Ella on leash around my waist, she darted to the right. The leash slipped up over my hips onto my stomach and back. Without warning, she darted left, as if the flower bed had the opposite magnet to her within it. Maybe she saw nail clippers... Who knows? I flew after her, totally unprepared, and she did something painful to my lower back. I ended up bawling my eyes out right there on the boulevard. 

Not five minutes later, as we tried to get to the grass behind the hotel, she saw something else interesting, and as I tried to run her forward, she went full stop, and ran the other direction, making direct contact with my shin bone via her skull.

I dropped and was in a LOT of pain. I was bawling as the Hubs tried to calm Schultz down (a lady had come out of the hotel with two small yapping poodles), offer to take Ella, and make sure I was KO  ok. I imagine he was pretty stressed then, too.

I'd like to think that my getting hurt was the trade-off to the Universe for Schultz not breaking his leg.

After several minutes of being unable to get up, I couldn't take the mass of grasshoppers jumping on and around me. The pain was intense. Between my back and my leg, I couldn't breathe quite right.

Fast forward to sleeping in one position all night in my clothes, and I was much better the next day. My shin still hurts, and that was over a week ago.

So pretty in Northern Ontario. But it really smelled like dogs.

We still had to get Schultz up the stairs, and back down the next morning. The dread hung between us like one of Schultz' massive drools...

Anyone have a towel? And an appetite still? No? Okay.

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Day One Cross Country Canada

So we started our trip cross country on Saturday.

I took a video log/vlog/video blog on day one to share with you guys, as I sat in the Bel-Air Motel in Sault Sainte Marie, Ontario.

Then, on days 2 and 3, shit got REAL.

So, here is day 1. [Better late than never edit, video contains some swears].



You may get a day 3.5 post, but probably not.



Yeah.

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The Cheapest Homeowner Ever

So I had an amusing conversation with my husband the other night.

No, he isn't the cheapest homeowner.

As I've been pulling my hair out, rocking in the fetal position, and packing the odd box or so, it seems like I am being forced to make decision after decision about whether or not everything I've ever owned is worth packing.

As a frame of reference, the reputable moving companies are quoting us around $1.52/lb to move our shit. Yes, PER REMOTHERBLOODYFRIKKENDICULOUS POUND.

That 30lb ceramic slow cooker from 1972 that doesn't even have one of those one-prong-bigger-than-the-other-electrical-cord-safety-plugs? GONZO.

That sweet stereo from 1995 that took me forever to save up for? You know the one... with the real, ADJUSTABLE equalizer on the front? With the double cassette deck? The one I was listening to when I heard Kurt Cobain killed himself? That doesn't even have a CD player, just an auxillary plug where you've housed your sister's ancient 6-carousel CD player? YOU KNOW, for those DISC things that us old people use to play music?

(Jeez, kids these days, what with their minuscule iPods and lack of interest in hulking stereos and obscenely huge CD storage cases that outweigh the car's spare tire) . GONZO.                                                                                                     (._.)   (<- That's me looking all sad at it, while I grieve the loss)

QUALITY = Goldstar. Although, in all fairness, it HAS lasted me almost 20 years... Christ I'm old. (Image = my own, yo).

That six thousand pound ORANGE wall unit from IKEA that cost a whopping $780 about 8 years ago? You know the one that took up the entire dining room wall? The one that took a day to assemble with your handyman father? That had a GAJILLION pieces, screws, shelves and was dearly beloved by your husband?  / sarcasm font. Yeah. GONE. For a huge loss.

I only bought it for the 649 free Allen keys. And so I could get the 99 cent ice cream cone. (Image = my own, yo).

Lather, rinse, repeat.

House in shambles? CHECK.
Giving shit away for free online? CHECK.
Donations through the wazoo (again - is it good enough to donate? should it just be thrown out?) CHECK. Then second guess. Then change your mind. Repeat.

So I dismantled the lamps in the house as best as possible. We'll see if they make it to the end destination in usable condition. It's a crap shoot, really, when you throw something with a lamp shade into a wardrobe box.

Yeah, I live on the edge, motherf_cker.

After said dismantling, I have a pile of energy efficient CFL bulbs, full of trace amounts of harmful chemicals. Not supposed to throw them out, you know. Don't want to pack them poorly, have them break, and end up with shattered glass and MERCURY on, or in, our shit.

So I am on the phone and I ask the hubs what I should do with the light bulbs. He pauses. Then he says:

"Aren't we supposed to leave them there?"

Careful, there, photographer person. You rattle that change too much and you're lookin' at mercury poisoning.

Okay, not really.  (Image VIA)

I ponder this. I'm pretty sure that lamp contents were not signed over in the deal. So I sass him about it.

He still seems unsure of what to say to me.

It is at this point that we realize that I am talking about loose lamp bulbs, and he thinks I am contemplating removing every single light bulb from every single overhead light fixture in the house.

In the midst of my stress, I had to laugh. Could you imagine moving in to a house and some bastard taking all the light bulbs? Moving in the dark?

In some ways I am surprised the people we bought this house from didn't do the same. They took all the toilet paper and even window coverings that were supposed to stay with the house.

Ah well.

MOVING F_CKING SUCKS, Y'ALL.


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5am Cookies? Nom Nom Nzzzzzzz

Surprisingly, throughout my process of packing, bubble wrapping, sorting, taping, folding and sobbing  cleaning, I found something really effective to distract myself while still doing work.

I decided that rather than pack, I'd bake my mom cookies.

Starting at 4 in the morning.

And not because I was "rising and shining" early, but because my bedtime has been falling around 6am for the past several nights.

Now, this happens to be one thing I didn't research about moving or packing, but I can only ASSUME that my baking cookies TOTALLY helps my cause, and somehow helps me pack.

Right?

Maybe?

Also... I totally need to blog about the award bestowed upon me by Keith in my next post, because it's late and I have to check on my cookies.

I also want to write a few Olympic posts... As in, I made some serious self discoveries while watching sports, and I think Oliver Pistorius in one amazing athlete, and genuine gentleman.

Please tell me you saw him run? He really is an icon on and off the track.

Oliver Pistorius just blew my mind today. I hope he is proud. You know, of his accomplishment, not about blowing my mind. [image VIA]

I'm in the most respectful kind of awe, ever. (Because talking to your mom on the phone for 12 minutes straight about Pistorius' awesomeness is apparently ALSO helpful when it comes to not packing).

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Classy Blogging

You know your blog is classic, classy and well written when people are arriving via Google Images after searching for "the+ass+band+will+play+a+song+of+farts+to+celebrate+your+failure".

Yep.

I've made it. Big Time. Obviously.


Also? Cleaning your back yard of dog poop in the dark of night with a gardening shovel, plastic bag and flashlight is never a good idea, kids. NEVER.

Three items and two hands.


Keepin' it classy...

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Whoever said "change is good" clearly doesn't have an anxiety disorder...

So.

Yeah.

"Change Is Good".

Whoever made that line up was entirely misquoted. They incorrectly spell the word "terrifying" with the letters G - O - O - D.

An obvious oversight.

Want me to sob heartily but silently, alone, in the bathroom stall at a strange airport?
Introduce change. (And perhaps allow me to grab the REAL large yogurt container from the fridge, instead of the OLD large yogurt container that is holding my leftover quinoa bean salad [intended to be my gluten-free meal on the flight back to Toronto]. And let me get stopped at security. And let the words "quinoa" and "beans" escape my mind, so I look extremely suspect and unable to explain to the agent why I was honestly not trying to smuggle 475mL of liquid-yogurt through airport security. Let the agent warn me, give me a once over, and shake his head in disgust as he throws out the real yogurt intended for my husband. Perhaps also be added to the no-fly list).

Want me to hold my body more rigid with tension than a CSI corpse while holding my breath, for hours at a time?
Introduce change. (And throw in driving someone else's car with super soft brakes into the mix, just to heighten the fear factor.)

Want me to re-assess everything I have ever owned, forcing emotionally-charged decision after decision, donating, tossing and packing things?
Introduce change. (And then get the hell outta Dodge, because someone is going to get hurt).

Want me to drive like a 90-year old woman with cataracts on strange, new roads?
Introduce change. (You know, maybe this one isn't such a bad idea. The slow part, not the cataracts part).

 
Stephanie, I'd like you to meet fetal position.
Fetal Position? Here, please let me introduce you to Stephanie.
I think you two will get along swimmingly.


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Long Distance Movers: Scams, Bullshi* & What You Should Know

Yeah, that's right. I said it.

I have been forced to delve into the world of long distance movers. Not because I want to. Hell naw. I am being forced into it. You know, if I ever want to see my stuff again on the other side of the country.

From initial review, it appears that a LARGE MAJORITY of movers are scammers, rip-off artists, and downright criminal. More than a small percentage of reports and complaints discuss a scam that is quite frequent in the Toronto, Ontario area: load up the truck with your shizz, probably not actually code and inventory the stuff, and then lock the truck door and force the paying customer to go directly to an ATM to withdraw more money for some lame/bogus "extra" that the drivers claim was never accounted for the in quote. (Just read the comments section here).

If you pay, you may see your items again. You also might not. They drive your stuff either to their own local storage, sometimes selling off the most expensive items, and then decide whether or not they will ultimately deliver your goods to you.

That F_CKING TERRIFIES ME.

Being the anxiety-laden, perfectionist-type person that I am, I always like to research the SHIT out of something before making a purchase or service decision. Not because I believe that, in doing so, I will make the 'perfect' decision. No, not at all.

[Sidenote - I find it both amusing and incredibly sad that my perfectionist streak just makes me feel insanely skeptical and causes me to second guess just about every decision I ever make. Because I fear making the WRONG choice, and suffering catastrophic worst-case-scenario type consequences. In reality, all it does is cause immense stress and worry when in reality I can't control anything beyond the brand or company. But that won't stop me from worrying and forever second guessing my decisions**.]

But in looking up all the movers that have quoted us, I am at an impasse. All of them have reviews that indicate this has happened to at least a few customers. A few others showed up on the Canadian government's consumer "beware" list. The BBB (Better Business Bureau) either shows a TON of filed complaints, or no information at all.

Pretty much.

Another problem? If you are moving long distance, you get a subcontractor to unload your stuff at your final destination. Sometimes these are guys hired from homeless shelters and the like. Anyone willing to put in a little time for some under-the-table money.

NOT experienced movers
NOT regular employees who might care
NOT someone who is looking out for your best interests.

Some just employ regular shitty workers. And the moving companies tell you that you have nothing to worry about, and that they don't subcontract their work. BUT THEY DO. Especially for long distance. I highly doubt the one truck driver acts as the delivery man AS WELL AS the mover, all by his lonesome.


So if your stuff gets put into storage, either on your departure end or arrival end, you may never see it again. Or, you may have to pay such exorbitant fees to recover your items (of which, a reasonable percentage is likely broken/damaged or unusable), that getting your items back becomes not at all financially feasible.

Long distance movers charge you by the distance travelled, and the weight of your shipment. They claim to use government scales and provide you with a waybill, but how do you know they aren't weighing your stuff with someone else who is shipping a smaller load? That they don't get Larry, Jim and Bob in the truck, along with some cinder blocks and a bag of bricks? You don't get to watch them or see what's being weighed.

Also? The quotes ranged from $0.45/lb, up to $1.00/lb. A significant difference. One quote? $4700 inclusive. Another quote? $11,200. None of these quotes include packing anything beyond some of the breakable kitchen stuff.

They want to pack my department store Corelle dishes and discontinued wine glasses for $200. That shit isn't WORTH that much to start with. To "crate" our flat screen TV that mom and dad gave us would cost $150. WTF? Do they wrap it in a moving blanket made from the tears of unicorns?

Am I guaranteed that the more expensive one won't pull the scams? No.


But the best part? Any moving company is NOT RESPONSIBLE for damaged items IF YOU PACKED THE BOX. While I can see why this would apply if someone is a shitty packer, it also applies to things that you don't pay them to crate. The basic coverage provided allows for reimbursement of $0.60/lb, industry standard, along with a $300+ deductible if your load gets lost or you can prove an item is missing from the shipment. (And, apparently, know the weight of said item). You can purchase more insurance on your own... but how do I know the total value of all my stuff?

I've been reading (and consequently losing sleep) at Homestars.com, to see what people are saying about the movers. But you can tell so many reviews are bogus, with glowing 10.0 and remarks like "they made me feel 'LIKE A QUEEN!' "... uh... ok. Yeah, I expect that from a mover. Some of the moving company replies to customers who had bad experiences show the moving companies are jerks about stuff. Which makes me even more concerned.

Has anyone used a long-distance mover across Canada that they could recommend? If so, tell me what went wrong, too. I need context and honesty.

It's hard enough to try and accept that I am leaving my family and friends behind in this move...  to imagine losing all of my belongings on top of that is just too much to try to process.

I will hope for the best, but I really don't have a good feeling about this at all.


________


** I do not, for a moment, second guess marrying my husband. That's the one thing I feel solid about. Though I torment myself wondering what I could have done differently to make our wedding better, more fun, kept more people dancing, should have changed about my dress, blah blah blah.

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Oh. Hai.

So... yeah, I've been here.

Oh, shit, looks like Blogger ate my last two month's worth of every-other-day posting.

Geesh, how could that happen?

Didn't you guys notice? It's totally not that I have been actually NOT writing anything on the blog. No, that's just crazy talk. Crazy talk.

I mean, normally auto-draft comes in and saves everything, but... uh... Blogger totally ate the posts. Posts, I must say, that were the highest caliber of writing you could ever hope to see on these pages. Brilliance. Wit. You would have laughed. Cried. Stopped for a moment, holding yourself in the fetal position on the floor.

Also? I know this is shocking, but I am a super anxious person.
I know, I know. I bet you're floored.

Anyway, just been spending the last week researching cars and SUVs and flying dogs as cargo and generally not sleeping or eating... but most certainly losing my mind. You know, the usual.

After all the discussions, it came down to logistics:

Meet our new Great Dane-approved SUV. Also, please stop judging me, the other dog is just peeing. I thought I would refrain from adding dog poop to this post. But just this one.

So, yeah, I'm pretty sure my dogs are the most expensive dogs in the world. I hope they enjoy the tour of the Canadian countryside. They had damn well better, because I am guessing that me and the hubs won't be speaking to each other by day two.

We've got a wee drive ahead of us.

Thank goodness for satellite radio.

________

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Top 13 Ways to Ruin Your Vacation

I'm not one to brag, but... I f_cking know HOW to ruin a vacation.

Like a champ.

Like a motherf_ cking champ, you guys.

Like, I can hear the throngs of readers gasping at my mad skills. Practically.

Here, in no particular order, are the top 13 (lucky, right?) ways to ruin your vacation:

1. Spend the 15 preceding days putting in 17-hour days with little-to-no sleep, eating one meal a day, living with severe nausea.
2. Be absolutely too fatigued to be excited/sleep properly/eat/enjoy yourself on the way or once you arrive at your vacation destination.
3. Bring a laptop and Wifi (wireless internet) device.
4. Discover that from ANYWHERE in the resort, you can and DO access internet for free (in your typical-at-home-unhealthy-addiction-to-the-internet fashion). Get sand in your Wifi device.
5. Decide to wash your only pair of pants and hang them outside to dry. See #6. 
6. Leave your hometown when it is experiencing a sunny heat wave. While gone, experience constant cloudy skies and thundershowers at your destination. Ensure you pay too much for the trip AND experience the full rain and humidity.
7. Discover that the 5-star (hahahah! FIVE stars?!? In your dreams, Breezes Grand Negril!) resort is incapable of meeting your allergy/food dietary restriction needs. Discover they expected you to bring your own gluten-free pasta/food. Commence 6 days of hunger pangs between bouts of crippling nausea.
8. Realize that a working telephone is necessary. Then realize your room phone is 97% static, and 3% sassy Jamaican attitude. Refer back to #4, and Skype the shit out of people.
9. Be too sick to your stomach to drink alcohol. At an all inclusive resort. That you paid too much for. While it's raining and you can't lay on the beach. And you are pissed at your travelling companion because they crushed your ego and spirit in a disastrous game of Scrabble a few hours before.
10. Be wholly and completely constipated. I mean 100%. Until the day of departure. Then go to the opposite extreme. EXTREME.
11. Discover far too late that you actually despise rum.
12. Have a long, relaxing, hot shower and unknowingly flood the entire hallway and part of the bedroom floor of your room. Try to call housekeeping, then refer to #8. Following this realization, spend 85 minutes trying to flush out the water into the outdoor hallway with your feet, your travelling companion's feet, one semi-dry towel and one small plastic cup. Fail at this.
13. Oh, and have your house up for sale the whole time. While you are in another country. (Does wonders for the nerves/soul/general feeling of helplessness and detachment). Also replace "people" in #8 with "Realtor".

If you need any additional tips on how to ruin your vacation, ruining a vacation to Jamaica, how to waste a lot of money on vacation, or general stupidity when planning something that should be relaxing and fun - you know who to talk to.

And if you want an even MORE painful version, talk to my husband.

Yup.

___________

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I haven't abandoned the blog

Life has just thrown me a speedball.

Not the illicit substance kind, but the "holy shit I have to deal with something really huge in a really short period of time, no exceptions" kind of speed. And ball. Or balls.

Not a curve ball, since I knew this was a possibility, but more of a speed issue.

I haven't seen my friends, I haven't done anything fun (except for my birthday last weekend, that was a blast), I haven't blogged, I've read a few emails and sent a few quick messages on Facebook.

I've missed baby showers, concerts, enjoying the summer days.
But I am hoping it will all pay off in the end.

I shall return, sooner rather than later, so don't be nixing me from your blog rolls just yet.

And don't forget to tip a stripper. You know you want to.

_______

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The grossest potato chips ever

I may have posted this before.

I can't remember.

But... YUCK.

Found in London's Heathrow Airport - a peculiar combination that made my stomach flip.
Not in a good way.

Prawn image via Chronus on Deviant Art. Also? Lol and Eeeew.

Seriously.

No, REALLY.

The result?

I'm pretty sure sour cream and onion trumps "prawn" any day.
*shudder*

Grossest.Potato Chips.Ever.


_______

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I ate Mozart's balls

It was my HUSBAND's idea! He's freaky like that, yo.

They were gluten-free. That was a nice surprise.

They smelled pretty good, too, which is quite a feat for the balls of a man who has been dead for 221 years.

How could I resist? Look at this face:

How seductive. Who knew that Mozzie had such bedroom eyes?

They came direct from Austria. I think. I didn't really listen to what was being said, I just started eating them with reckless abandon.

I can only imagine the number of folks who will be disappointed in this post.

Here, to make you feel better, I've included something shiny. (What?!? It always works for me!)

Come taste my balls. They have a subtle cherry flavour. No, really.

Not as amusing as Pete Schweddy balls, but it'll do, pig. It'll do. Happy Sunday.




My mouth is watering, just thinking about it.... BWAHAHAHA...
_____________

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So apparently I can make coffee even WORSE

Yeah, remember when I forgot the filter a week or two ago when attempting to make my usual morning coffee?

Well...

Today I remembered the water.

I remembered the filter.

I even used filtered water. (Did I just blow your mind?)


I was oh-so-proud of myself, despite my foggy head, raging allergies and general disdain for the morning.

The one thing I forgot?

The damned coffee.

Yep.

I made coffee without coffee grounds. And I can't even use "Monday" as an excuse. Let's just say that the colour and taste were a bit off.


_________

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Google is making me think I am funny.

But I'm not really that funny.

My blog traffic has spiked the last few months, but it's mainly from Google Images where people are searching for sexy socks, spandex asses, and a few other search terms that shockingly (okay, maybe not so shockingly) bring them to this little ol' blog.

It's disappointing because it means that they won't stick around. They just take my photo and go.

*sigh*

Also? I decided that over the last two weeks I want to get really fit. (Stop laughing). So I've been exercising in various forms like a   madwoman  myself   myself, but with more determination and less pajamas.

*I CAN HARDLY MOVE*
I am so sore it actually hurts to type. My forearms are screaming "What the f_ck are you doing to us?!!?"

True story.

And I think my right hamstring just called in sick. 

That's all for today.

What I really want to know is if you all planted a tree on Saturday, or tipped a stripper. Inquiring minds need to know.

__________

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You know your day is going to suck when...

You place your ground coffee filters, with eyes half-opened, into the coffee maker... only to realize a few minutes into "brewing" that you forgot the coffee filter.

F_ck.

Hey, when the stores are closed and I need caffeine, a used filter is better than no filter at all. Which I just learned today, unfortunately.

Do you know how hard it is to clean out that thing? I'm still tasting grounds.



Okay, Happy Saturday. Go plant a tree.

Or tip a stripper. Your call.

____

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Trifecta - Enigma

My entry into the Trifecta: Week Twenty-Six writing challenge.

Enigma

As the sun rises, the question is ever-placed but never-answered.

Will the strength come today to propel her feet out of bed and stop the tears long enough to function? Will there be a smile upon her face, will a joke or two be uttered throughout her waking hours, or will she feel trapped in her world, turning her back on self-care and self-love? Will the house be a scattered, cluttered mess when he comes home, or will the shutters be open and the carpets cleaned?

He never knows what to expect. She never knows what will change her mood, her mind, her ways. Ever an enigma, to him, but even moreso to her. Unpredictable, desperate, content, striving, failing. 

As the sun sets, and her head hits the pillow, she hopes the strength will be within reach tomorrow.

__________

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The Finished Madlib!!

Because I'm sick of watching NHL hockey playoffs, here is a madlib about foooooootbaaaaaaaaaaaaall!

__

Football is a favored taxidermied skunk for many cans. November is prime time for football whistles. People travel long ways to wash their favourite teams compete. Local bananas play, too. Many thongs enjoy a pre-game BBQ, and most 'Seriously? Really?!? Seriously?' blog followers get loudly drunk on gin and sex on the beaches or Coors 'Slow'. Hot dogs and deformed sheep are often slept on a portable grill. The average person usually eats 86 hot dogs over the duration of the cat. I usually pick a team based on how soft the logo is, or how thin the team colours are.

Often, quarterbacks rely on Mother Teresa to help them krunk the game. Obviously, that means that Mother Teresa likes one team better than the other. That's probably because the other team is hungry.

What? You didn't know she was a fan?!?

Every team wants to win the SuperPedophile. It's the final shallow play-off game at the end of the season. The winning team gets long earrings if they win the final phone. A lot of nachos, beer and junk food are consumed at fabulous parties as everyone watches. Some quarterbacks even manage to date super beautiful supermodels with big legs.

Thanks go to Fearless Fibro Warrior, Bridgitt, CarrieMarie, Althea, Maggi Shelbourn, blissflower1969 and Hey Monkey Butt for their wordy contributions!!

________________

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Madlib for fun...

I did this on another message board and thought I would try it here for fun.

You start with a story with blanks in it. From there, you fill the blanks with random words (nouns, adjectives, etc.)

Post your response in the comments with the corresponding number, and I will edit the post with the final Madlib when we're done. Don't forget you can post a comment anonymously.

Tee hee.

1. noun
2. plural noun
3. plural noun
4. verb
5. plural noun
6. plural noun
7. adverb
8. beverage
9. adjective
10. plural noun
11. past time verb
12. number
13. noun
14. adjective
15. adjective
16. religious person/religious God
17. verb
18. adjective
19. noun
20. adjective
21. adjective
22. pieces of jewelry
23. noun
24. type of food
25. adjective
26. adjective
27. body part

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Mirrors = Love & Hate

So, I was thinking last night...

I have a love-hate relationship with mirrors.

Why do I hate mirrors, you ask? (Okay, you didn't ask, but play along, okay?)

I hate seeing my reflection. I know you are supposed to look in the mirror before you leave the house to ensure your look is only mildly hobo-esque instead of full on hobo. It's either that, or something to do with accessories, which I rarely add. I find it throws off my hobo style. No, not Soho style. Not bohemian style. My hobo style.

I prefer to just assume things fit and that all is well, then look in a full length mirror (likely after the point of no return, because I am already way late, OBVS) and discover that I actually look super shitty.

Mirrors also let me see all the great stuff I can pick at or pluck at on my face. That's a bad thing, my friends, especially if I am anxious. Snap. Yank. Crackle. Pop.

Why do I love mirrors?

Driving, thankGAWD.

And in the gym. Not to look at my slowly-bloating self over time, realizing I should be AT the gym IN FRONT of those mirrors more often. No, not at all.

THE MIRRORS CHANGE MY YOGA PRACTICE. You know, when I actually do it once a month. Yoga I mean. The teacher mentions that the left shoulder should be stacked over the left hip in warrior. A subtle change and DAMN! I can FEEL that! And it looks so much better, so CORRECT, so easy to see how my wonky ass is different from the instructor.

Approximation of me in tree pose. I need that tutu. (Via)

So there you go.

You probably thought I was going to mention nudity or something fun. But c'mon now. We all know I'm no fun.

You know, unless there is tutu involved.



_____

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Holy Shit, It's May!

When did that happen?

How did that happen?

And why did I have 5 ice cream cookie sandwiches today? Hmmm? I need an answer for that one, most importantly.

I feel like life has been on hold for 3 years. Time to unpause, just not sure how to do it (though pretty sure eating my way into plus-sized clothing isn't a successful game plan...)

What are your plans for May? 

What do you tell yourself when you feel exhausted, unwell, but determined to change?

And how do you NOT buy and consume a multi-pack of ice cream treats?

Damn, this world is just so confusing.


____________

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I Need To Trim My Bush

It's getting all hairy and out of control.

For real.

It could probably scratch out the eye of a child or dog in its current state. Not that children are typically near my bush.

See for yourself:

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You should see it post-butchering... I mean... post-trim. I think it looked better here.

What?

Get your mind out of the gutter and stop thinking about my bush.

Pervert.

___________

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Dear Dundas

Dear Dundas, Ontario,

Why are there no motherf_cking mailboxes anywhere?!
Anywhere!?

Seriously?

I drove in circles and couldn't find a one. (Not the same circle, that would just be stupid.)

Oh mailboxes, mailboxes wherefore art thou? 

Dammit.

Sincerely,

My mail-sendingly-challenged self.


_____

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Disappointment: Now Less Fattening

I love me some avocados.

Like, to the point of mashing them on my gluten free toast every morning, even though they pack about 25grams of fat into one little bastard. And even if they are not even remotely ripe. I just rip the sh*t out of the bread and still try to mash away.

Anyway.

They keep getting more and more expensive at the grocery store, but I needed my fix, so I bought a bunch at full price.

I opened one of those babies up... to see this:

Perhaps it's the universe telling me to STOP EATING SO MANY GODDAMNED AVOCADOS?

Now, I know you probably don't give a rat's ass, but that is a pretty crappy pit-to-actual-edible-avocado ratio.

Seriously.

Really.

I feel so ripped off. I guess I should be glad there was less fat in my belly?


_____________

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