The end is near

The end of living like this is very near:




I could not take it for much longer.

And if you look deep into the picture, you'll see a lonesome little figure, dreaming out the window of the days when she'll have a big fenced-in yard to rip around in and will no longer be trapped in this chaos with no room to move.

(And if you looked even closer, you'd see a big lug of man taking a cat nap on the couch. Rest now, my darling...)

Am I rubbing off on him?

We are in the verge of moving... finally. Next week we will be residents of another city and we cannot wait.

At present, we are in the middle of doing all the preliminary work that goes along with selling/buying a home. Bank appointments, lawyer appointments, real estate agent appointments - not to mention emails and phone calls flying fast and furious.

A month ago we had chosen a lawyer's office to do all the lawyer'ey stuff. Steve and I have both had conversations with a lovely lady from this office who was preparing all the paperwork and had scheduled us an appointment for this coming Monday morning to sign and finalize everything. And that was all just fine and dandy... until yesterday.

I spoke with our mortgage rep yesterday, who said she wasn't going to have everything ready for the lawyer by Monday morning but instead it would be ready for Monday afternoon. No problem with us.

Until a demon woman from our lawyer's office phoned shortly afterwards to bitch and complain and just be generally nasty to me because this few hour delay was clearly going to make her life so miserable that it might not be worth living anymore. She very reluctantly rescheduled my appointment for late Monday afternoon - but not until she bitched about our bank being late with the paperwork (not my problem), about the lawyer on the other side of the deal not being able to file electronically so she would have to send a courier (gasp!), and then telling me that if things weren't to her on time then we would just have to cancel the whole thing.

After hanging up the phone I called Steve to give him the lowdown. He said he would deal with it and would call me back.

Now... I would have expected Steve to deal with this in is his typical laid back manner in which he deals with most things - which would be either by doing generally nothing, or by smoothing things over with anyone and everyone involved. I thought maybe he'd phone the mortgage broker and ask her ever so politely if she could pretty-please-with-a-cherry-on-top maybe put a rush on our mortgage papers so that the lawyers office would have them in time and everyone could be happy and live in harmony in world full of butterflies and rainbows.

Instead.... he fired our lawyer.

I was stunned silent (yeah, I know. That doesn't happen very often).

He then found us another lawyer who is more than happy to close the deal for us on Monday afternoon. No bitching. No whining. No complaining about our bank or about having to use a courier.

I asked him what the hell provoked him? Steve... to do something so "Tarable-like"? And what I heard could have come straight out of my own mouth, "These people work for US. We are paying them a lot of money to do this job and if they are not interested in our money, and working for us, then we will take our business elsewhere!" And then he ranted on... "We have enough stress right now with all this moving shit that's going on and we do not need to deal with people who are going to be assholes and treat us poorly."

What the hell happened? Where did my mild mannered, do-not-rock-the-boat husband go? Has he spent too much time around me and my saucy take-no-shit attitude?


Or is he perhaps making up for the fact that we now drive a station wagon and he feels the need to assert himself more strongly to make up for our new mild, non-aggressive, family-like appearance...?

Road Warrior No More

It was with a heavy heart that I said good-bye to my jeep today... and to what was left of my youth and my former days of being wild and carefree.

The jeep was not overly safe in the best of times and it would have been very irresponsible to drive it with a baby in the back. Not to mention the difficulties of getting a carseat in and out of the two-door jeep - especially when the seats don't go forward like they once did.

And what did I get in return, you ask? A four door, Ford Focus... wagon.

Yes, a station wagon. A mom-mobile.


The first person to make fun of me gets a punch in the nose. I may not be driving the gritty, tough vehicle on the road anymore but I am still gritty and tough on the inside.


And so in the future days I will be working on keeping my middle finger below the dash, and trying to keep my fist from hitting the horn as often. Because I just don't think the Ford Focus could withstand the gutsy confrontations that the jeep was known for. And so for now, my Road Warrior days have come to an end...








And the days of me being a responsible, mom-mobile driving, less road raging member of society are now upon us...

Hey, at least I didn't go for the mini-van...

Reason I can't wait to move #378

I got up at 6:30am this morning to let Quincy out for a pee. Immediately upon opening my back door to my little patio and backyard, I noticed that something was amiss.

My stone piggy was no longer sitting on my patio table but was laying on the ground in the middle of the grass, along with the shovel that had been propped up next to my back door.

I was still half asleep as I stood there and tried to process why my things would be moved in such a way. In the back of my mind I could also smell propane but I couldn't quite get the brain in gear to know why.

Just then a neighbor calls out to me and says, "There was a guy in your yard about a half hour ago. You might want to check your BBQ because he was trying to turn it on."

What??!

I turn to look at the BBQ and indeed, the propane had been cranked on full blast - but there is no flame! So propane had been flooding out of my BBQ for over a half an hour. Yes, I realized then that the smell of propane was overwhelming (I'm awake now!!) So I rush over to shut it off and to my great disgust, I find.... a big chunk of dog shit - YES, DOG SHIT sitting on the side of the BBQ.

I called out to the neighbor and told her that the gas has been on full blast and that there is dog shit on the BBQ. She was horrified (not as horrified as me, having to find it). I asked her what the guy looked like (had Steve been sleep walking?) and she said he was in his early 20's and was and told me he was "cracked out" (Ok, definitely not Steve). She told me she tried to call the cops but he suddenly ran away.

Fucking crack heads!!!

We've had problems with crackheads before - Steve chased a couple out of the townhouse complex a couple years ago when he caught them smoking crack and putting on makeup (hooker?) at the bottom of our parking garage stairs just outside of our yard. And every once in a while we see them roaming around the street outside the complex. And of course, our vehicles have both been broken into.

I called Steve to tell him. He said that when he was getting ready for work he thought he heard something in the back yard but didn't think anything of it - we get plenty of stray cats and raccoons coming through the yard all the time. And of course our blinds were closed so he couldn't see out.

I told him about the dog shit on the BBQ and he says, "Wow. That's what happens when you're a crackhead, you get really hungry. You'll eat anything."

Steve apparently thinks that the cracker was going to BBQ the dog shit and eat it?

Oh Steve....

How badly I wish that Steve had opened that back door when he heard the noise out there. Maybe the neighbor would have been making a call to the ambulance for the crackhead and not the police.

Seriously, get me the fuck out of here.


(Police showed up about a half hour later. Apparently another neighbor called the cops. Perhaps he visited someone else's yard as well as mine? They're still outside, an hour and a half later - sitting in the cruiser on the street. Sadly, I don't see anyone in the back seat.)

Is it wrong?

The people who bought our townhouse have requested that they come over this Sunday to "inspect" that the repairs that we agreed to do - (bathroom fan repair, dryer switch repair) have indeed, been done.

Apparently in a weak moment in time, when I was obviously fed up with the whole process of selling my townhouse and sick of contracts and questions and the such - I agreed to allow this "inspection". It's in our contract - although I don't remember it.

I personally think it's stupid and ignorant and typical of these people.

I plan on making sure the house is totally messy and maybe a little bit (or maybe a lot) dirty, just to freak them out. (It will be spotless when they get the keys).



Is that wrong?

Who DOES this?

When a woman is driving in traffic and making a (legal) right hand turn onto a particular city street and a man is driving from the opposite direction and making an (illegal) left hand turn onto the very same city street, and the man completely cuts off the woman - almost causing an accident - and this makes the woman irritated and she honks her horn at the man to show her displeasure... WHAT KIND OF MAN would stop his MIATA on a busy street and get out and come after the woman in the car???

I'll tell you what kind of man... maybe a man that's something like this. Probably a man like this. And most definitly a man like this.

However, the woman chose to take the high road and simply drive around the crazy man who was charging at her vehicle with his mouth flopping and his fists flailing around in the air. The woman felt this was probably her best option since she was driving a small courtesy car while her tank-like Jeep is in the shop getting repaired after this driving pro smashed it up.

Although chances are pretty good that if the woman was driving her tank-like Jeep, that after the incident with the loser in the Miata her Jeep may now need some front end repair.

Why I HATE going to the dentist

I knew it was going to be a shitty appointment from the minute I walked up to the reception desk and told the three ESL receptionists that I was there for my 3:30pm appointment and one of them looked at me blankly and said, "Your husband said you couldn't make it so we cancelled your appointment."

I said... "pardon?"

I had just spent the afternoon with Steve and he was barely aware of my dentist appointment. I was fairly sure that he didn't sneak into the other room and secretly cancel my dentist appointment.

Receptionist #1 says, "Yes, he said you couldn't make it."

*sigh* I lock my laser eyes on her and say through clenched teeth, "No... He didn't."

Receptionist #2 looks at Receptionist #1 and said, "Well her appointment is still open..."

So Receptionist #1 patronisingly says to me, "Well, it's ok then. Go have a seat."

Like Steve really did cancel my dentist appointment and I was crazy but they would be nice and let me have my appointment anyways....

I stood at the receptionist desk and laser-eyed her for a good 20 seconds before I slowly turned around and shaking my head, took a seat. When I sat down and refocused my laser eyes on her, she smiled again and said, "Don't worry, it's ok."

Seriously. Lady, I will punch you.

(In the meantime somebody's husband probably did cancel his wife's appointment and the receptionists were probably writing up the bill for $50 because she didn't show up and they didn't get any notice...)

The fun continued when the 18 year old dental hygienist came to get me for my cleaning. I was terribly frustrated that she was yet another NEW hygienist whom I've never seen before. In the two years I've been going to this dental office I've not seen the same hygienist twice. And so, as I do every time I go for a cleaning, I had to re-explain my dental history to this bimbette.

I proceeded to tell her that I have VERY sensitive teeth. That my mouth grows more plaque/tartar than the average person (sexy, I know) but that thankfully, my teeth don't get cavities. (I think I might have one filling). I tell her that my gums bleed very easily. I also tell her that I am pregnant and that right now they bleed easier than ever before. I tell her that I currently have a very weak stomach so flossing has been difficult for me, although I still do it.

And like she didn't hear a word I said, she replies with "Well, since you're pregnant, your gums are going to be more tender and bleed more than usual."

"Which is what I just..."

"And just because you are pregnant and have a weak stomach isn't an excuse to not clean your teeth properly. In fact it's more important than ever."

I snarl, "I DIDN'T SAY that I don't clean or floss my teeth anymore. I just said that my stomach is weak and flossing has been difficult."

Continuing to ignore me because she has been a hygienist for probably all of six months and clearly knows everything that there is to know about teeth says, "MmHm... well let's have a look."

And so the scraping begins. And as I predicted, I bleed. And she lets the blood pool in the back of my throat without suctioning it out until I think that I just might drown in my own blood and saliva. So when I start to make choking sounds, she finally picks up the mouth vacuum and starts sucking out the fluid. Then she proceeds to squirt ice cold water across my teeth - to which I react by jerking my teeth out of the torturous little bitch's reach because when you have sensitive teeth - that fucking hurts!!!

And she says, "Did you do that because your teeth are sensitive??"

"YES!!"

Was that not the first bloody thing I mentioned to her??? For the love of god!!!!

This continues until she is finished scaling my teeth, at which point she launches into this little speech: "So yeah, your gums bleed quite easily. So it's really important that you brush your teeth twice a day for at least two minutes. And you need to floss every day - even if it makes you sick."

Right, because the stomach acid from my barf is probably really good for my teeth, right???

She didn't listen to a damn word I said in the beginning. And fuck you very much for insinuating that I don't brush my teeth twice a day! I take very good care of my teeth. And I TOLD her that. I cannot help that my teeth grow more plaque/tartar than most people, but it's not because I don't care for my teeth. Christ! That pisses me off!

She then said that she recommends that I come in every 4 months instead of every 6 months to get my teeth scaled....

*sigh*

I had requested this two years ago when I first started going to this dental office but the ESL receptionists had called me and told me that my insurance wouldn't cover that many cleanings in one year.

I told the bimbette hygienist this but she said she would talk to the receptionists and make the request anyways. Which she did. And the receptionists said they would put the request through to my insurance company.

When I asked why this should be any different from the last time I made this request the ESL receptionists looked at me like I was the crazy lady again, and said that this request had never been made before because there was nothing in my file....

At this point I'm looking around the office and trying to decide what I could use as a weapon. To my dismay there is nothing blunt or sharp in the reception area.


I am moving at the end of this month so I have the perfect excuse to never go back to this office again. My phone number and address will be changing so these idiots will never find me.


When the ESL receptionist handed me a pen and a card to fill out, to book my next appointment I declined, although I did consider stabbing her in the eye with the pen.


Incidentally - if anyone knows of a spectacular dentist in the North Delta / Surrey area - PLEASE let me know. (Email address on profile page)

Four in the bed and the little one said...

Roll over! Roll over!
So they all rolled over and one fell out,

Three in the bed and the little one said....



(brushing up on my nursery rhymes lately??)


At one time, there were just two in the bed. Me and Steve - and it was quite cozy. Then along came Quincy. She was so tiny and small and adorable when she was a puppy that right from day one, we let her sleep in our bed.


First we thought we'd "train her" to sleep at the foot of the bed on a blanket. Well that didn't work out at all as she preferred to be under the covers. And to be honest, we didn't really mind because she was so cute and cuddly and adorable. We decided that "eventually" we would start making her sleep in her own bed...


And then it was 7 years later and she was still sleeping in our bed. Actually it was more like she was letting us sleep in our bed - with her. Over the years she has managed to commandeer our queen sized bed and we just work around her - often times trying not to disturb her. And it's not like she'd curl up in a little ball at the foot of the bed and stay there for the night. No. She would go under the covers if she was cold, she would crawl out from under the covers when she got too warm, she would lay cross-wise in the middle of the bed - separating Steve and I, she would take up valuable foot space at the bottom of the bed.


Try to move her to get more comfortable, and you would get a snarly, bitchy, bad-breath facefull of bad attitude Boston Terrier.


Since Steve is pretty much a solid, through-the-night sleeper, and because he would do just about ANYTHING for his precious Quincy - I put up with this for far longer than I ever should have. But a couple of months ago I started to break it gently to Steve that the days of Quincy sleeping in/on our bed, are numbered. I simply cannot imagine trying to survive the sleepless nights of dealing with a new baby, while also trying to work around Quincy's sleeping habits - in my bed. He begrudgingly agreed that it was time for Quincy to graduate to her own sleeping quarters. And we agreed that when we moved into our new house (at the end of August) that Quincy would start sleeping in her own bed...


Until one night last week when I was uncomfortable and in a bit of a cranky mood - and Quincy was particularly restless and annoying. I made the decision then and there, that there is no longer room in our bed for Steve, Tarable, Tarable's 5-Month Pregnant Belly, and Quincy.


One of us had to go.


Quincy's bed (which she's more than happy to sleep in during the day) was brought into our room and put on floor on my side of the bed. She was instructed, firmly by me, that she was to lay in her bed and STAY there. The guilt trip started immediately - the pathetic, sad, buggy eyes bore into me all night. I could even feel them when I was sleeping. I'm not sure that she closed them, or laid down all night.

She did attempt to sneak into our bed sometime in the middle of the night when she was sure I was asleep - but I am a light sleeper and she was immediately sent back to her own bed.



And now - a week later, she is fully trained to sleep in her own little bed. Yes, she will occasionally get to her bed by walking across, pausing, and sometimes sitting down on my bed - looking longingly at me, hoping I will give in. It's pitiful, really...



But in the end, I really do think she's content to sleep in her own bed anyways - once she settles in.