Christmastime in the Emerald City











{January 22, 2008}   I Don’t Know Who This “Murphy” Guy Is, But He’s In For An ASS-KICKING!!!

Okay, you know that whole “Murphy’s Law” business? Whatever can go wrong will? I used to think that was retarded. My mother would work herself into hysterics with the whole “I’m running fucking late, why do I have to get EVERY SINGLE RED LIGHT!?!?!?” schpiel. And I used to think “Well, chances are that you’re only noticing it more because you’re running late.” So smug in my seven year old ways.

Well, I’ve unfortunately reached that point in my life where I’m starting to realize that my mother was right about an awful lot of things. Having kids ruins your life, getting married is a pointless and expensive waste of time, once you get to work you forget to make any of the personal ‘my kid is at home sick today’ phone calls because your brain just fries, the smell of cat piss will never come off those antique pearl christmas decorations, and most importantly THE WORLD CAN FUCK YOU UP AT RANDOM INTERVALS. (I love you mom!)

Now really, none of this story is horrific. Nobody is dead, I’m still employed, and I’ve managed to laugh most of this off. Because really, it’s gotten to the point of hilarity. I’d say it started with the addition of a second computer at my reception. I’m supposed to use the phone-answering program on one computer, and do everything else on the second computer so the powers that be can watch everything I do. Right guys, sure thing. So I give the new computer a try – ordering up and printing a Purolator waybill for a client.

The tech dude didn’t install my fucking printer. Fuck me! Alright, fine, cancel the order, sign out, log in on my old computer, redo the order, print. My printer runs out of ink. Right then. And I had JUST placed a Grand and Toy order. Fuck! Okay, save the waybill, email it to my boss so she can print it. That doesn’t work. Running out of time. Purolator has this retarded thing where shit has to be in the box by 5pm for pickup. Hello??!! What person in an office gets off before five? Ugh. Okay, boss sits at my desk while I run to hers to redo the order again. HER FUCKING COMPUTER FREEZES ON ME!!! GAHHHH!!!! I make an attempt to run downstairs with a manual hand-written thingy, but of course I don’t know our account number so it’s pointless. We miss Purolator. Not my fault at all, nobody is pissed. Except me. Ugh.

Alright. Survived that day. Yesterday, have to do a bank run for work. No biggie except it means taking the subway. Normally I have my head phones to drown out the idiocy, but more on that later. I run into a client along the way, one of my favourites, and we get to talking about our mutually shitty weekends. (His involved bowling and a pissed wife, so he has my sympathy.) Get to the subway, I need to buy a weekly pass. And of course, the little ‘swipe your debit card and skip the line’ thing was broken. UGH!!! They’ve got a debit swiper at the booth itself, but the line….and I need to buy lunch, so let’s just head back to the lobby and hit the ATM. Not very far.

The ATM has disappeard for construction. DAMMIT!!! Alright, go back up to the mezzanine level, hit the ATM inside the real bank, go outside, back down the stairs, into the subway to hit the line up. I hate lines, this is why I have a metropass! When I get to the window the following conversation ensues:

Me: “Weekly pass please.”

Her: “I don’t have any at this window. You need to go the other window.”

Me: “He’s not there!”

Her: “He’ll be back in just a minute.”

Right. So more than a minute later this retard comes back. With a bag of potato chips. I don’t take fucking lunch when it gets busy here. But of course, IIIIIIIII don’t work for a UUUUUNNNNNNIIIIIIOOOONNNNN!!!!!!!!! Grrrrrr. I give him my money, he starts talking like I can hear him through the glass, and is still talking when I go through the turnstile. Idiot. Go down to the subway, and everybody is confused because there is a train there but it’s got the doors closed and is obviously not going anywhere any time soon. Of course, a good portion of these people don’t realize that we are at the end of the line and that the train pulling into the other side of the platform is just as good and going in the same direction. Stop standing there like confused cattle!!! I’m actually getting pretty damned hungry, and I have to hit the bank before I even think about lunch. It’s 3pm.

Issue at the next stop as some crazy old lady who just missed the train decides to start whacking on the doors as though the person who opens them can hear her from his little cubby at the other end of the train. Crazies now, awesome! Ugh. Get to the bank, the lineup is retarded and the person in front of me has struck up a conversation with the person in front of him. The laugh. This….laugh. I can’t describe it in words. It’s an onomatopoeia, and an ugly one at that. Try to make a gurgling hissing sound in the back of your throat. Now imagine that for about ten minutes. Then he turns his head over his shoulder and COUGHS INTO MIDAIR!!!!!!!!! What?!? What the hell does that do to prevent me from getting your damned herpes or whatever is making you sound like that??! You all know I’m not a germaphobe, but seriously, enough is enough.

Well, I survive the day and manage to make it home in one piece to my fabulous apartment. My apartment is tiny, inexpensive, not quite up to code, but in an awesome area, and I love it to pieces. I love it enough to renovate it so I can live in a pretty place for the next decade until I can buy a house. I don’t love my neighbours. At first it was just Jane, in number one. She has filed noise complaints because I play music at 10:30 pm. She goes to bed early. Too fucking bad, the law says quiet hours start at 11pm. Not my fault the walls are thin. By the by, playing your obnoxious jazz at 6:30am does not comply with said law, so BITE ME!!! Number four apparently has 23 different immigrants living in his tiny one-bedroom, at least according to his mail. Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight, is there a number I can call about that? Anyways, the girl in number two is actually quite nice. She’s the only one who says hello in the stairwell. However, she also leaves her door wide open, with her disgusting mess of an apartment on display. She has one cat. I have two cats and five rabbits. How the hell can you smell HER apartment even when the door is closed, and not mine? GROSS!!!

On top of not knowing the magical powers of bleaching your floors, she apparently does not know how to cook. For the second night in a row, she has burnt the shit out of something and set of the fire alarm. Incidentally, it’s right outside my door. Ugh. Well, last night, she set it off again. But remember, my place is not up to code. So am I surprised when the craptacular safety system REFUSES TO TURN ITSELF OFF AND BLARES FOR OVER HALF AN HOUR?!?!??!! No. I’m pissed, but not surprised.

It’s at this point that I figure I better rant away about it today and make a joke out of it. I don’t want to make any rash door-pounding phone-calling letter-writing decisions and get my ass thrown out for being a psychotic ranting nutjob.

Now the iPod thing. Backing up a bit. Anyone remember Awesome Dude Guy? The birthday monkey thing? Anyways, he’s hellof busy as usual, which is no biggie since we talk fairly often. But he’s also in a band. And on Saturday, he had a gig just a few blocks from me. So what the hell, it’s about time I see him play. I coerce Sassy Friend Talea into going with me. We get there, the place is packed, and it’s someone’s 40th birthday. Joy. Everyone knows each other and is elbowing me in the head. NOT GOOD!!! I can’t shove or be rude because he knows most of these people! (Plus, he’s super sweet and kind of makes me want to be a nicer person…I know!!! WTF?!?!?) So we don’t stay long, just long enough for him to take a break so I can actually say HI to the dude, then take off for Prailine Cheesecake and red wine and the bakery around the corner. Too much red wine = slept through Sunday Brunch with the Ladies the next day 😦

On top of that, it was FREEZING that night. How freezing? I had a can of mousse in my purse that someone at work gave to me. It exploded. In my purse. All over my stuff. Hence, my iPod being fucked. It’s better than it was…at least it plays now. I just can’t turn it off. At all.

So yeah….Murphy? Bite me.

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Man if I see that Murphy jerk…I’ll give him a swift kick in the ass for ya. As for the horrible happinings, the mousse was just the last straw. I’m thinking of all the things in my bag that would be trash after that.



Dude, fuck the iPod, you have no idea how worried I was about my headphones. My dad being a roadie (sorry, “audio technician”) knows that I can’t live without music to drown out the idiocy of life, and that iPods have crap earphones. He got me these supersweet in-ears that block out noise and have crazy ass bass, and well, they’re used by professional musicians so they obviously rock the cazbah (impressed noises here). He got them at cost value because of what he does and where he works but those suckers normally retail for over $250!!! How the hell would I have explained that to him? At least today was better and Awesome Dude Guy commended me on sticking around as long as I did. Sweeeeeeeeeeeeet.



And yeah, seriously, you never realize how much you rely on your purse…



talea says:

Okay, first of all, you forgot to mention how AMAZING it is that I came with you to that horrible thing. And those people SUCKED.
When you opened your bag and it was covered in mousse, it was fucking HI-larious due to the red wine consumption earlier.
Murphy’s an asshole.



Murphy is indeed an asshole, and is continuing to kick my ass. The subway nightmare, the crap cream cheese as a half-assed substitute for the usual nicely whipped stuff, the lack of my drink at Starbucks, Sean being the elusive worker bee (because I’m not neurotic enough, seriously!) and the bazillion and one calls expected in today from unemployed people who speak not even a lick of english. Ugh. I want to go home.



Josh says:

I think we all have days like that. I can’t even describe my bad days without getting really upset. Sorry about all the bull shit. I’ll go eat some cookie dough and hope you feel better. I’m not sure that’s how it works, but what the hell.



I appreciate it Josh. See, I can’t eat the cookie dough, because then I’ll get fat. But if you eat it for me, the sentiment is there without the calories. And it hasn’t been just a bad day. It’s been a bad fucking week! What goes hand in hand with all our glorious snow is a complete lack of sunlight which sends the entire city into a gloomy downward spiral. I get seasonal affective shit like nobodies business. WANT MY SUN GODDAMMIT!!!



Josh says:

There’s nothing wrong with fat chicks. I personally don’t like skinny girls, so eat away. You can always go fight people to burn calories. And as for seasonal affective shit, move to North Carolina. We’ve got eight months of warm weather. At least. You’ll be up to your ass in sunshine.



David says:

I was Murphy’s lawyer. Unfortunately he was guilty of everything so my work did not save him from prison. And his influence on all our lives is not the least bit hindered by incarceration. Fuck!

Cookie dough- eeeewwwww! Ben & Jerry’s Coffee Heathbar Crunch. YEAH.



@ Josh: That’s it! I’m coming to North Carolina and eating my way through a strawberry pie festival and warming my ass in sunshine. I think this is actually the first time I’ve looked down at my waist, noticed a drop of quite a few pounds (not on purpose!) and thought DAMMIT! Ooh, and hey, what is the North Carolina accent like? Is it anything like Brett Michaels of Poison? Cause if it is, heart!

@ David: No kidding, huh? I mean, he’s probably long dead by now, but he’s still kicking ass from beyond the grave. Now that’s a lifetime accomplishment. All I can say is that if I can aspire to kick people’s asses from beyond the grave, I will have reached self-actualization (thank you Manslow’s Grumble Theory)



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