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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