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Archive for July, 2008

So here I am again…and not totally ‘back’ yet from my trip. Not mentally, not even physically, really. But I’ll spare you all of the whineyness, since the only one that really understands it is me. One thing I find whenever I come back from Barbados in particular, is that my irritation-level rises like, seven-hundred-milllion percent. Mainly because I never want to leave that place. Never ever ever.

Right. So keeping that in mind, back to my usual transit stories…

I guess being away for 2 weeks, I somehow forgot about the huge amount of niceness that just oozes from my fellow transit riders. Surprisingly, today there was quite a bit of standing space and I was definitely excited about that. So there I am, sort of swaying back and forth with the pole (seriously there was that much room today), listening to my ipod and daydreaming contently with my personal space. At the next stop a seat opened up just to the left of me.

Sweeeeet. Today is definitely going to be a good day.

Somewhere in between those two thoughts, a troll/hobbit-like man managed to slither half way across the train and plopped himself into the my seat before I had time to register what was happening. Therefore, I ended up perched on his knee, which, you know, was not my choice seating arrangement. Eww. His knee was boney and he smelled like dirt, which led me to throw up in my mouth a little. I sprung off so quickly in disgust, I practically threw myself on top of the people sitting across the aisle. They were okay with it though, because I could tell they were experienced with transit seat etiquette and shot Troll Man dirty looks along with me. But like many other things, to some people I imagine it’s a bit like rocket science, otherwise jerks like Troll Man would get it too.

If I’m in a bending position ready to squish myself in that little red seat, don’t slide in under me like some kind of bushy eyebrowed David Copperfield wannabe and snatch my score. Especially in the a.m. Ya know? I mean, come on. Thems fightin’ words…..er….actions. One of these days, Hobbit Man, the wrong person is going to sit on your knee and that will be the end of it. All I ask is that you save me a front row seat.

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*Sigh*

I arrived home early Friday morning from beautiful Barbados. All I can say at this moment is that the trip was everything I wanted and more, and I am sooooo incredibly sad to be back. But such as everything else in my life, I’ll get over it. So when I am ready, stories will follow.

Although I didn’t get in until 2am and was somehow puttering along on 1.5 hours sleep from the night before, I had to work in the morning. I have no idea how I managed to drag my sunkissed butt there, but I did it. Go me, go. I didn’t accomplish much, other than a skim through the 75 emails that were waiting for me to get back. Boooo. Then I dragged myself back to the clinic re: the funky neck thang. So once again I waited and waited, and eventually passed out in the doc’s room. No energy for a tongue suppressor popsicle stick house with a garage add-on this time. So the doc told me my iron is incredibly low bla bla bla, which I already knew, but at least that eases my mind. I went home after that and threw some jeans on (because yes, even though it’s nice here, I’m freezing my island bum off). So I’m strolling to the store, bouncing to some reggae, and I noticed some smiles and weird looks from the people I passed. I thought,

‘Hrmmm… Maybe Toronto is turning a new leaf? Niceness and smiles? Maybe this won’t be so bad.’

Nope. Wrong again. Turns out my fly was all the way down and the bright pink underwear I was sporting stood out nicely against my dark jeans. Yep. Go figure. It never fails. I’m back in full swing, Toronto.

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The other day I experienced the oh, so wonderful joys of the walk-in clinic. I resorted to the fabulous experience because I found some crazy ass stuff on my neck that I’d rather not discuss until I get some results because the more I think about it, the more freaked out I become. Anyhoo, so I called my doc’s office, and the entire place is on vacation. Which is fine, except it’s supposed to be one of those offices where you can see any of the other docs if yours isn’t there – and the receptionist’s message to everyone went a little something like this,

‘Ya, so we are all on vacation, and you know, I’ll be, like, checking the messages every now and then, so like, if it’s an emergency, you should probably call 911, Telehealth or go to the hospital or something like that.’

Grrrreat. I wanted to get this junk checked out quickly since I am leaving for Barbados (YAY) on Thursday, and there’s no way want health mumbo jumbo weighing on my mind. So, when all else fails, off to the clinic I go. I went to one that was super close to my work, thinking that even if the wait was long, I could bust it back to work pretty quickly. I got there at 10:15am and after I signed in at the desk, the receptionist gave me a number. Thirty-nine.

Okay, I thought. Thirty-nine. They called out the numbers like in a bakery, except the current number wasn’t up anywhere, so you sort of had to guess which one they were on if you missed it. I looked around the room and could see about 10 people sitting amongst me. The nurse told me the wait would be about an hour. I was cool with that. She came out to call the next number…… Sixteen. Jesus. Sixteen? There’s twenty-three people ahead of me. Shit.

So I sat, and sat, and sat, and sat some more.

I finished the cross word and read some of my book. After about 2 hours boredom really started to hit, and the room constantly filled with more and more sickos. I always feel like someone’s germs are going to waft over my way and infect me when I’m in a doctor’s waiting room. There’s no escaping it really. It’s like those stupid Lysol commercials where they show all the little germ dudes on every thing you touch. I imagine them all having a party and deciding which sucker to cling on to.

I got bored with that too, and started making up stories of all the people waiting. There was the family with the small child who kept screaming – I really felt bad for them, I mean, I could barely entertain myself for four hours in a waiting room, let alone a sick little kid. There was the lady who kept getting yelled at for using her cell phone. Another woman would go and ask the receptionist which number they were on, every five minutes, even though no new numbers were called. There was the dude in the back that was eating with his mouth open so loud that the nurse scolded him for eating where he’s not supposed to. At one point I was convinced that the guy beside me was a brother of someone I know. I decided this from his profile alone. Bored much?

Two more hours later….

Scary nurse-lady (let’s call her Scnurse) popped her head out and shouted the next 4 numbers, ending in…. that’s right… thirty-nine.

Yessssss.

I strolled past all of the jealous onlookers with a little smirk on my face, only to be seated in another small waiting room. Jesus.

So I sat, and sat and sat some more.

Scnurse finally pulled me into one of the rooms and I plopped myself down on the chair.

I sat and I sat and I sat some more….wow, is this a Dr. Seuss rhyme, or what?

I was in there quite a while before the doctor came in, so naturally, I scuffled through all of the stuff in the office. That’s what it’s there for, right? I mean, come on. Don’t leave me in a room for an extreme amount of time and expect me not to touch everything. Not my fault. Not at all. I noticed a sign on the bulletin board advertising a medical clinic taking new patients in my neighbourhood. I made a mental note to make an appointment. I started to drift off, so I glanced around for something to keep me occupied. Would it kill these people to put a damn magazine, paper, poster, painting…anything in the room?

Then it caught my eye. Ah ha! Tongue suppressors are always fun….

As I was concentrating hard on the garage addition of my tongue suppressor popsicle stick house, the doc stormed in and practically blew my little house down. Boooo. All of that hard work and nothing to show for it. He said bla, bla and bla and sent me to get blood tests with Scnurse.

I’ve never had issues with anyone taking my blood or finding my veins as I’m so damn pale, my skin is pretty much see-through. She poked the needle around my arm for a bit and told me that she can’t find any blood. She asked me when the last time I ate or drank anything. I told her,

Well, obviously it was over four hours ago since that’s how long I sat in the waiting room. There are tons of signs in there saying I can’t eat or drink in the waiting room.’

Scnurse told me that I will have to go eat something and get hydrated and then come back.

Ya right. Sure thing, honey, because I don’t have a job or anything to get back to, why not wait another four hours?

I responded,

I am not leaving this chair until you take some blood. Take it from the other arm, my foot, my leg, my ass, whatever, just do it already.’

She hummed and hawed and thought really, really hard about it. I shoved my other arm in her face and yelled at her to just do it. Seriously. I mean, it’s not rocket science. And, her little story about being dehydrated is a load of bull, because I can’t even count the amount of times I’ve had to fast for a blood test. Idiot. Needless to say, she finally managed to figure it out, but I walked out of there with band aids all over both arms.

So now I will wait and wait and wait some more for results – but have already scheduled an appointment for a second opinion because really, I trust no one.

In the meantime, off I go to my most favourite place on earth. Seriously. I can barely contain my excitement. Why Barbados in the summer, you ask? Need I repeat: most. favourite. place. on. earth…. and honestly, it’s better than here, any time of the year.

YAY! Get ready for me Barbados, here I come again….

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Randomness, if you will:

I stole, and still have the last basketball uniform I wore in high school. It’s still as comfy and shiny as it was back then. One of the last games of my last year, the buzzer went off while the ball was in my hands. We only needed 2 points. I choked and didn’t shoot. Even though I did quite well that game, I was so angry at myself that I whipped the ball over my shoulder without looking. It hit a girl from the winning team in the face. I apologized, but secretly it made me feel better.

I often dream of living somewhere else, no matter where I’m living.

I love the water and all water related activities, except for diving. I get anxious just thinking about an oxygen tank.

I over analyze everything, sometimes to the point where I analyze my analysis. It’s annoying, and I don’t know how to stop.

I’m always listening to music, everywhere. When there’s no music, I feel like something is missing.

Michael Jordan was my idol growing up. I had all of the paraphernalia – shoes, hats, jackets, hoodies. I still question if he’s human.

I’ve learned the hard way that there’s not always a next time.

Today is Canada Day. I love being Canadian.

I always wished for a sister. Now that I sort of have one (yay for blended families), I wish we lived closer.

I give great advice to others, but have a hard time following it myself.

I used to call the operator at 5am when I was a kid. Seriously. It got to the point where they spoke to my parents and asked what was wrong with me. Before I would call, I would climb the counters and eat all the goodies I could find. In my house, that was fruit flavoured Tums and Flinstone vitamins. That could explain the stomach issues I had later.

I can make a meal out of anything, literally.

I wasn’t allowed to chew gum until I was 11 or 12. Instead, I would sift through my mom’s purse, and chew her nicorettes.

I used to be terrified of butterflies. I thought that since they had wings, they also had stingers. I would literally run inside the house screaming if I saw one. To this day, I still flinch when I see one. Years later, I got a job at the Butterfly Conservatory (sort of). They royally screwed me over, so I wrote a very professional, but harsh letter. This caused much chaos and a file on me as thick as a novel. They banned me from the butterflies.

I can still remember the way the air smells in Barbados.

I get angry when I don’t get what’s owed to me. Specifically when it concerns money. Years ago, one place I worked for made a major mistake and told me to just wait until my next pay, which was impossible. I refused to leave the office without them giving me the entire amount in petty cash. They did.

I feel like my clock is tick, tick, ticking away, faster than I can handle.

I find politics interesting and annoying at the same time.

My unmentionables have been scattered across Grantley Adams airport parking lot in Barbados. My suitcase came out of the luggage claim, flattened like a pancake and saran wrapped together. It fell apart in the parking lot and random people had to bring me my bras and underwear.

I’m not confrontational and let things slide too often.

I’m awkward, most of the time.

My grandparents used to have a cupboard full of goodies for the grandchildren. Mostly cookies, candies, chocolate and the like. I was the only weird one whose goodies included dill pickles and beets.

I’m always the ‘cool’ girl, but never the girl who gets the guy.

When I was a kid, I woke up a lot to my dad and cousin laughing, singing and banging on the piano at 3am.

I don’t know where I’m going.

I remember a good majority of my dreams. I still remember dreams I had when I was young, just as vividly. Whenever I dream about being in a building, no matter what the situation, the building ends up being my elementary school gym. Always. Once and only once, I was able to concentrate hard enough to continue a dream I had from the night before.

I can’t guess someone’s age correctly to save my life.

I’m told there’s still a plaque of me in my old elementary school from when I drew the Niagara Transit Mascot, Floppy the Transit Hound. I wanted to call him Flippy, but they thought it sounded like the dog was losing his mind. I felt bad when I won because I thought I didn’t try as hard as everyone else. I won a bike, a pizza party, and got to be on the cover of ‘Transit Topics’. He’s still kickin’ to this day:

I daydream too much for my own good.

Painting, drawing, writing and playing piano are the only things that I feel completely comfortable and relaxed doing.

I spent a lot of time at my Nana and Papa’s growing up. There was a park across the street that I was allowed to play in, but I was never allowed to go around the rest of the neighbourhood. I had nightmares about what it was like ‘on the other side.’

I still haven’t fixed my toilet.

When I was young, I would get up super early on Christmas morning, unwrap all of my presents, and neatly wrap them back up again before anyone woke up.

I obviously think a lot about the past and my childhood, and still can’t figure out why.

Children continually amaze me. I want my own someday, but am scared of the thought of mini me’s.

Sometimes I wish my dreams were reality, and reality was just a dream.

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