Why you should always lock the door

I usually keep the door locked at all times. Even when I'm at home, and particularly when I'm home alone. But this evening, I had unlocked the door because I was expecting Steve to be home at any time and I knew he didn't have his key on him.

So here I was sitting on the couch, watching the evening news when the door opened. It startled me a bit because it was a little early for Steve. I looked at the clock and indeed, it was too early for Steve.

Some woman had just opened up my door and was walking into my house when Quincy, greeted her. The woman looked at me and said, "hello!" And then she started giggling and talking and playing with Quincy while standing in my doorway smiling at me. It seemed that I should know her.

Deeply confused, I stared at her for a few seconds, trying to process what exactly was going on. I scanned through my mental Rolodex, hoping to find her face was that of someone I knew, or someone I was expecting. She was wearing a name tag and had a bag with her. Was Molly Maids coming to give me a free bee and I didn't get the message? Steve has been telling me to get a massage, had he hired a woman to give me a massage and sent her over to surprise me? I was considering ordering a pizza for dinner but I was pretty sure I hadn't done it yet, so she couldn't be delivering any food.

Finally after a few seconds of staring at her, I stood up and said (irritated), "Can I help you??" And she just stood there, looking at me, patting my dog and smiling. And then since I was getting no response from her - I started walking towards the door to physically remove her from my home and I asked, "What is going on here? Who are you???"

And she finally said, "Oh..." and looked at me for a second then looked around my house and started laughing and said, "Oh! ha ha ha... I thought my daughter lived here!"

Then she still stood there for a few seconds laughing and looking around before she finally left with a "sorry!" and more laughter as she walked across my lawn to the townhouse next to mine. All the while waving goodbye to Quincy!

Now, her daughter lives next door to me. And granted, I do live in a townhouse complex where most of the homes look very similar, and I have had many a friends walk past my house confused, trying to remember which place was ours... BUT.... this woman and her daughter are East Indian. I am a white girl with tattoos. I would also venture to say that her daughter probably doesn't have a Boston Terrier. I've also seen the inside of the neighbors house and it is stark white - walls, floors and furniture - my home has cherry laminate floors, dark painted walls and dark brown leather couches.

DING DING DING???? Shouldn't the alarms have gone off the second she busted in through our doorway? The white girl with tattoos, the dog, the non-white decor?! What the hell, woman?! She stood in my house for a good minute or two and still didn't realize that this wasn't her daughter's house until I confronted her at the door!

I heard her and her daughter giggling about it before she went in the house next door.

I am not giggling. I am locking the door.

Chocolate mystery

Steve has a friend that he visits occasionally whom always sends Steve home with a "gift for his wife". And it's always a delicious box of Purdy's chocolates... yum. Particular yum right now as my chocolate needs are at an all time high.

Now, I don't mean to sound unappreciative, but I'm finding it odd that the boxes of chocolates that this friend always sends home with Steve to give to me are always half eaten. How strange is that?! I don't understand why someone would give a gift of a half eaten box of chocolates! If the friend didn't want to eat the rest of his chocolates maybe he should just throw them out because it's kind of rude to give a box of half eaten chocolates as a gift. Don't you think?

Even more mysterious, is the fact that the chocolates that are missing from the box are the chocolates that were nutty, or contained caramel, or coconut which are the EXACT same flavours of chocolate that are Steve's favorite....

What a mystery....

"You park like an idiot"

I received these very handy little cards in the mail yesterday from a certain very thoughtful person and I had myself a good chuckle when I imagined them soon being stuck to the windshield of every car in Burnaby area... and beyond.

And then I wondered if this person had some sort of ESP. Because just last Sunday someone parked like an idiot. What he actually did was try to park his mini van INSIDE of my jeep.

Let me explain...

I was out touring houses (desperately trying to find a new place to live) and I was actually inside a house while my jeep was parked - LEGALLY - on the street outside the house. However, upon leaving the house, I found that my jeep had been moved across the lawn and onto the driveway. And there was a green minivan sticking out of the back of it!

It seems that the driver was not paying attention and just drove right into the back of my jeep. There were no corners, no obstacles obstructing his view of my jeep. It was not a tight squeeze, the street was plenty wide.

There was initially a bit of panic our precious Quincy was inside the jeep. No serious harm done to her though, except for a bit of a scare and I was concerned that her eyes might actually, finally burst out of her head.

There was also some very poor behavior that occurred in the days following the incident which Steve insists was due to her traumatic experience... *insert eye roll*

There was some decent damage to the jeep but, well, it's a jeep and jeeps are tough.

Apparently though, GMC Safaris.... not so tough. Turns out the van was a write off. I kind of suspected that as the passenger side of his engine was pushed into the interior of the van.

And because the van was so badly damaged and it's driver was acting all dazed and confused, the fire, police and ambulance attended the scene. Yes, it was quite the production. When a fireman asked if anyone was in our vehicle during impact, I pointed to Quincy and said, "This is the other victim here, sir." That was my attempt at being all cutesy, funny because well... firemen... you know... man in uniform and all that... He told me that he didn't think they had a neck brace small enough to fit her and then he kissed her and smooshed her. Man in uniform who loves dogs? MY dog? *sigh*

And so in the end, I guess it may have been a good thing that I didn't yet have my "You park like an idiot" cards yet because it probably would have been deemed cold or inappropriate for me to have tucked one into the gurney straps as the minivan driver was carted away in the ambulance.

Customer Service is Dead OR Reasons Why I Should Not Have Left The House Today

Today started out good. I felt good. For the first time in at least 3 months, I did not feel like puking, I did not feel like I needed 23 consecutive hours of sleep, I did not have a headache and I did not feel like my ass needed to be glued to the couch.

So, I thought I'd take advantage of it and get some errands run today.

I started by driving to this Harley store in search of a door mat that was apparently advertised in their flyer. It would be a fathers day gift and I would have bought it a whole week early which would make me feel very accomplished. But when I finally got to the store, parked and went inside, I couldn't find said door mat. I asked the saleswoman (whom I thought would be at least a tiny bit more friendly to me since her and I were both tattooed to the wrist) however she flatly told me that they don't sell door mats, and she hasn't even seen on in at least 5 years. And how fucking stupid of me to ask for one... Ok, she didn't say that but she could have.

So I left the store resolving to find something else for dad on another day.

I had decided that while I was out, I would stop at Papa Murphy's Pizza and pick something up for dinner. I like their pizza's and particularly like that you get to cook them yourself at home when you're ready and they are hot and delicious. So I drove through the busiest part of Burnaby, maneuvered around retarded drivers, LOTS of retarded drivers, took back streets and side streets just to get to the shopping complex where Papa Murphy's is located. And when I finally pulled into the large, overcrowded parking lot, I see that Papa Murphy's is no longer. They've apparently shut down. Now, I realize that this doesn't necessarily fall under the "Customer service is dead" category - because I really didn't expect Papa Murphy to give me a call and let me know that he was closing shop - but it is another dead end that I ran into today which does go under the "Reasons why I should not have left the house today" category.

And the grand finale was my trip to Safeway to pick up a prescription that I keep on file there. I first waited in a one man line-up while somebody went back and forth with the two twits working the pharmacy about his insurance coverage for his prescription and how his card didn't work yesterday but he was sure it would work today. And the twits behind the counter entertained this jerk off for a good 5-10 minutes, all the while looking at me out of the corner of their eyes while I was huffing, laser eyeing, and toe tapping behind him. I finally swore and walked away and picked a few things up to make my own damn pizza for dinner and then returned to the pharmacy counter - where I was subsequently ignored for another few minutes even though I was leaning half way over the counter with my deadly laser beam eyes fixed on the twits working behind the counter, and breathing fire.

When I finally got someone's attention I told them that I have a prescription on file that I would like filled and this is what twit #1 said to me:

Twit #1: Oh sorry. Our system is down right now so we can't help you.

Tarable: Blink. Blink. Laser stare

Twit #1: Did you need it today?

Tarable: (through gritted teeth) YES. I DID.

Twit #2: Oh. Well sorry, our system is down and we have to wait for them to call. We can't give you anything today at all.

Twit #1: Can we take your phone number??

Tarable: NO! YOU CANNOT! What good is giving you my phone number going to be if you can't give me my medication today when I need it??? BLOODY RIDICULOUS!!!

And then I stormed off - while Twit #2 says with smirk, "Sorry!"

What if I was fucking dying and NEEDED meds NOW! What then? And actually all I needed was a box of ridiculously expensive, stupid prenatal vitamins that are already in a box and sitting on their stupid shelf which I could have probably reached over and helped myself to anyways!!!

Maybe I do need more sleep after all.

Get your own damn beer!!!

Everyone who reads this blog, or who knows anything about me in real life knows how much I love beer. And in case you didn't know - I love it alot.

Steve loves it too. And so between us, it was pretty standard for us to visit a local establishment after work on Friday and down a few cold, frosty suds. And sometimes it didn't have to be at the local establishment, and sometimes it didn't even have to be Friday. On the odd (ok not so odd) occassion, I would stop by the cold beer store on the way home and surprise Steve with some cold ones when he got home from work. And we would sip beer, and make dinner, and maybe watch some hockey on tv or whatever.

Since I've been pregnant, obviously my portion of the beer consumption has had to come to a halt. *sigh* I will say that Steve's consumption has slowed considerably but he is still able to get his fix.

The problem is this - Steve has never forgotten the times that he has come home to icy, cold, delicious, frosty beer on ice, complete with frozen mugs to sip from. And so a few times now, he has asked me to do that for him. Today in fact, he has made such a request.

Now let's break it down here:

~I love beer.

~Frosty, icy-cold beer, with frosty glasses

~I currently cannot drink beer.

Therefore, it is not so fun to go to the beer store and spend MY money on beer, then LUG it all the way home, put it in a bucket of ice to get nice and cold - ONLY TO WATCH SOMEONE ELSE DRINK IT

I mean, I'm a good wife, and I'm all for Steve enjoying himself some delicious golden sudsy nectar, but this might be pushing the boundaries to the limit.

What kind of heartless beast am I married to??


It's all fun and games until somebody loses their mind

The real estate game is not all the fun and games that it masqueraded itself to be a few weeks ago when we first put our house up for sale and started looking for a new home.

Sure, we have a fantastic couple of real estate agents working for us. They are smart and fair and reassuring and they even have a good sense of humor. However, it seems the rest of the world isn't playing along.

I have changed my mind about a million times on location, maximum price, and requirements of my next home. Probably an agents worst nightmare, really. I just can't seem to get things my way - and I hate that.

I thought it would be totally fun to go house hunting and poke around in search of the "perfect" house. Looking at all the lovely homes with the fantastic extras... Well there's very few fantastic homes and even fewer extras.

And I thought it would be fun and exciting to have people come look at my townhouse with thoughts of buying it. But that's all worn off. I hate having to make sure my underwear are shoved far enough under my bed so that the looky-loo's don't see them.

Oh we did find the almost "perfect" house. Mansion, might be a better word to describe it. And it was in a good location. And it had a KILLER kitchen. And it was just a tiny little bit too expensive. So we put in an offer. The house had been sitting empty for months and had been on the market without selling for more months. But then the very same day that we take that huge step to try to buy it... somebody else comes along puts in a more appealing offer and the mansion is scooped right out from under us!

And we are back to square one.

Not that our place has sold yet. We have had an offer - a completely unacceptable offer that we could never accept. And so now, I'm now finding it frustrating to even look at potential new homes for us when our house hasn't sold yet. But then what if it sells and I haven't found anywhere to live yet? I would be rushed into finding something.

And the option of staying where we are? Not really an option. There is simply not enough room there. It's getting tight in there with just Steve and I, never mind adding a munchkin.

And so, I am getting frustrated with the whole thing. It's not all it's cracked up to be.

The only thing that's cracked up is me.