April 29, 2007

I have about one minute on this contraption and then have a few last minute things to finish up at the old house before my arms fall off and my brain explodes and I die from sheer exhaustion. I will give you all of the juicy ‘moving’ details tomorrow and by juicy, I mean yawnsville and by tomorrow, I mean when I fucking well feel like it. Ha. Naaaa, I’m just yankin’ yer chain, I will tell you tomorrow because I’m such a giving person and I wouldn’t want you all to be dying to know how much fun it was to move and then make you wait and wait and wait. That’d make me evil. And I’m clearly too sexy to be evil. Ya. Peace out.

April 25, 2007

I’m warning you up front, that this will bore you tremendously. I wouldn’t want to be responsible for you falling asleep while you’re on your laptop, reading this, while driving to work. I’m sweet like that.

Oh by the way, I move tomorrow. Can you say stressful? I’ve packed everything myself. Hubby’s been working long hours and then coming home to work at the new house and unloading the boxes that I’ve packed. This is not fun. I’m not moving again. Like ever. I will grow old in the new house. I think. I mean I say that now because I’m crabby and sore and tired but I think I mean it. Let’s move on shall we?

Tomorrow is my daughter’s field trip that I was told I was not allowed to attend.

Mom the sheet for my field trip is in my agenda, make sure you fill it out by Tuesday okay?

Okay! Hey this will be your first official field trip (she’d gotten sick last year and couldn’t attend her field trip in Kindergarten) so I can’t wait!

What do you mean you can’t wait?

Ah, well I’m going to go with you.

Ummmm.

Ummmm what?

Weeeelll, I don’t want you to go with me.

Ah why not?

Well mom, because this is like my first real field trip, except for that silly one that we went on in preschool but all we did was walk to the grocery store and that was totally dumb. So since this is my first real field trip, I want to go alone.

Well you won’t be alone, there will be other adults there. Duh.

Yes but that’s okay, ummm you just won’t be there. I want to go alone.

What? Why?

Well I just feel that I want to go alone. I’m mature enough to handle this myself.

Oh.

Listen, I’m gonna have another field trip in grade 2, so maybe you can come on that one. Okay? Isn’t it nice when a small child comforts the adult? Love that.

Ah okay.

All righty then, I’ve been dissed by my own 6 year old daughter, who is like totally mature enough to handle going on like her first field trip, like this is totally not fair. Why is my baby, my last child so freakin’ independant? Why isn’t she clinging to my leg, begging me to go? Pffftttt. Whatever, I’ll just stay home and eat chocolate clean.

Remember that migraine I’ve talked about alot? Ya, it won’t go away. It eases off some days, enough that I don’t barf or hurl myself off of a very tall building but it never truly goes away. I’m thinking I may have a rebound headache that I had experienced back in 1995. At least it’s not a rebound boyfriend. They’re the worst. Or maybe they’re fun. I can’t remember since I’ve been taken for 48 years. Okay not 48 but heading towards 20. Good Lord. How can that be when I’m only 25? I guess my husband was a cradle robber. But who can blame him, when I’m so fabulous? Not me.

I went out for breakfast yesterday with this bitch and this bitch. They’re mah bitches. Ya. We went to this trucker’s truck stop/buffet breakfast thing. It was great, except the cinnamon bun that I had was too crunchy and although I did eat the inside of it, I didn’t enjoy it. But the rest of the breakfast was good. We were total oinkers ladies and did not go up for seconds. Oh also, we kept hearing this, “shower 256 is now ready”. I’m like, what the hell is that? Why does some lady keep announcing that the shower is ready? What shower? Aren’t we at a restaurant? Both Ang and Penny look at me, then each other and then burst out laughing. I’m still in the dark, apparently my blonde highlights, making me dumber than usual. They explained that, hello, truckers usually want to get clean at some point since they don’t have showers IN THEIR TRUCKS. Oh. Right. And we are at a truck stop restaurant. Got it. Doh. They had a fabulous laugh at expense and then I karate chopped them and said don’t mess with me ’cause I’ll cut you wenches and then they laughed some more and I started crying. All and all it was a nice morning.

On that note, I must go and finish packing. And by finish, I mean start. And by start, I mean, who’s moving? Not me, that’s too much work. Clearly the packing tape and permanant marker fumes are too much for me and my brain. Wish me luck. And send me cash. Nothing lower than a twenty please.

*On a very serious note, a close family member has been given some potentially horrible health news and if anyone out there prays, we’d like a few prayers for our family,if you wouldn’t mind. I’m not going to say who it is as they may not feel comfortable with having their situation on the internet. We, of course, are saying our own prayers. Thank you.*

April 23, 2007

I don’t touch our barbeque ever. I think I did turn it on one time last year but I broke out in a nervous sweat and had major heart palpitations, so that was the one and only time. And it’s for good reason I should be afraid, very afraid.

I just had to have a barbequed steak, cooked by none other than my husband, who really does know how to cook a piece of cow. I trotted off to the grocery store and decided to get us decent steaks. I picked out a nice t-bone for him and a ribeye for myself. They even looked yummy in the package. Well except for the rawness and the blood. But hell, if you can look past that and not listen to the moo-ing, then you’re all set.

I arrive home with my proud purchases, my mouth practically watering at the thought of eating my steak. Hubby fires up the Q (no pun intended or maybe it was totally intended…anyhoo….) and as it’s heating up, I make some side dishes and salad and can hear my stomach growling. I beat it and tell it to be patient, that you will get your steak bizatch, but honestly, enough of the roaring.

Mr Man throws the steaks on the barbeque and takes a call that has come in. He leaves the room for a few minutes and I don’t question him about ignoring the steaks, as he’s cooked alot of them over the years and always does a great job. He comes back upstairs a few minutes later to check the steak and the flames coming out of the barbeque don’t look quite normal. And neither do our steaks. Mine was okay, not quite ruined but his t-bone was charred on one side. Wow, I’m thinking, that’s never happened before, that he ruined a steak. We sit down to eat our charcoal steaks and as we’re sitting there, I glance out at the deck and wonder why the barbeque is still smoking? Hubby assures me it’s just because it’s still hot and the wind had picked up a bit. Okay. I’ll believe that.

Hubby gets up to get more water and as he’s coming back to the table, he looks out the patio door and says, ‘hmmm I think the barbeque is on fire’. He’s so frigging matter of fact about it. Oh no problem, it’s a barbeque, it’s supposed to be on fire right? No. Not really. He goes out onto the deck and lifts up the barbeque cover and sure enough, there are huge flames flaring up. This can’t be good.

OMG what are we going to do? Should I call the fire department?

Ummm no, it’ll burn out eventually.

What? And in the meantime, we should just sit here and eat while our barbeque is on fire? Shit,what if it blows up? Panic is setting in. I’m actually afraid of barbeque’s blowing up, ’cause that happens all the time’.

It’s not going to blow up. Do you think I’d be standing this close to it if I thought it was going to blow up?

I don’t know. Maybe you’re a barbeque daredevil. I really think I should call the fire department.

Ah no, that would be silly. It will go out.

I don’t think so, look at the flames. Did you turn the gas off? OMG are you sure it’s not going to blow up? It’s so on fire that you can’t even reach down to turn off the gas! What if it blows up? I’m not sitting here any longer. I inch my way away from the table, head towards the bedrooms.

Where are you going? You’re not going to eat? Come on, the barbeque isn’t going to blow up.

Yes it is. I can just tell. Look at those flames. And that tank has propane in it. Propane blows up, I know it. Panic is making my voice high pitched and totally annoying.

Get a grip. It’s not going to blow up. Oh look at that, 2 of the knobs have melted right off.

OMG see?????????????? Melting knobs, flames, then BOOM. I can feel it. I’m calling 911.

No you’re not calling 911. Be reasonable. You’re getting freaky now, it’s not going to blow up.

Okay, sure and when we’re all laying here in a pile of dust and debris, I’m going to kick you right in the balls for letting us blow up.

Okay, you do that.

We watched as our $650 barbeque (that I got for a fabulous deal and paid only $399! Okay I digress…….) got nice and black on one side and as the flames died down a bit, hubby got some water to throw on it, which we both knew was not the right thing to do but at that point, I wanted the flames out. I was near hysterics and was practically packing the kids up and heading out the front door because I was so afraid. I think I was being totally fucking slightly irrational but I couldn’t help it. I’m a freak like that. Things blowing up seem like a real possibility to me especially when, you know, THEY’RE ON FIRE. So much for having a nice steak in the near future.

April 17, 2007

Oh that’s what you’re gonna be when you read this. You just wait and see.

Last week, I decided to get ambitious and finish painting my son’s room at the new house. He’d requested his room be done in a ‘Scooby Doo’ green, so basically it’s a bright, you need to wear sunglasses type of color. It’s definately cheery.

I had started painting a couple of weeks ago, had put a coat of primer on and thought, well, I’d better get my butt in gear and get the top coat on. So I walked my daughter to school and then went across the street to the new house. I was full of piss and vinegar, set to get that room done by the time the bell rang and she was out for the day.

Everything started off pretty well. It was a gorgeous day, warm and sunny, so I went around and opened all the windows in the house, including the window in my son’s room. I went downstairs and grabbed our kitchen chair (not one of the new ones we purchased but one we’d brought from our current house) and took it up to son’s room because being 5′2″, there’s no way I’m going to reach the top of the wall to paint around the ceiling. Well I guess if I had Gumby arms or I was Inspector Gadget, then maybe. But God didn’t make me that way, he gave me standard length arms, so I’m shit outta luck on that I guess. Anyway, moving on now…….

I get the paint opened and stirred, my brush set out, paint roller and tray and am pleased that I’m so organized. I plug in the radio and crank some tunes, spring breeze is blowing in through the window and although I do not like painting one bit, I felt joyed that I was going to surprise my son later that day with a completed room.

However, before I could start painting with the top coat, I had to cut in around the ceiling with the primer, as I had not done that previously. Hubby was going to do it for me since I am a loser painter not the best painter in the world. He, however, didn’t get around to it since he’s working 15 hour days. So, I figured, I would just go ahead and get it done. I mean how hard is it to cut in at the top of the wall? Piece of cake.

I poured some of the primer into the paint tray. Did I mention the primer is tinted too? It’s even brighter than the actual paint, more like a dayglow, you will be blinded kinda green. I pick up the paint tray and my brush and get up onto the chair. I’m starting at the wall that the door is on. Across from the window. Why am I telling you that the window is across from where I am? You’ll see.

As I’m painting, cutting in, I’m thinking to myself, wow, you’re doing a damn fine job. I thought for sure I’d have green paint smeared all over the white ceiling but nope, I was hot. On fire with that paint brush! After about 5 minutes or so, feeling very proud of myself that, indeed, I was doing a damn fine job cutting in, I felt something. I had on a short sleeved top, a very pretty one I might add. And my arm felt wet. I looked down to my left arm and didn’t see anything. I go back to painting and again, felt something wet. I look up at the ceiling. Why? Apparently I’m retarded and thought, wow, is the roof leaking? You know because often, when it’s warm and sunny out and blue skies, your roof leaks and then you get wet under your arm. I hate when that happens. Gah. Again I look down at my arm and still see nothing but I can feel wetness under my arm, near my elbow. Then I realized something. While I was busy painting, dragging that brush back and forth, cutting in at the ceiling, I forgot that I was also holding a big paint tray. With green primer in it. My brain apparently, can’t do too many things at once and while I was singing and painting, I was also pouring the entire paint tray of primer onto my clothes. Green primer. Ya, that pretty top, wasn’t so pretty any more. Oh and my fav jeans, well, let’s just say, they are not at the top of the list anymore.

So there I was, holding a now near empty paint tray, a brush and standing in a big pool of green, that was now smeared all over my feet and the chair and dripping onto the floor. Thank the holy mother of all that is good, that I had put a drop cloth down. Can you imagine the look on my husband’s face had I had to tell him we really should replace the carpet in Ryan’s room? Why honey? Oh, well you know, because. Because it’s kinda ugly now with that giant sea of green paint smeared in it. Whew that was close.

Okay, let’s breath a sigh of relief, the bitch didn’t ruin the carpet. However, I still have the issue of wearing the paint. And my feet and left arm are not their normal pasty white anymore. I’m glowing. And not from happiness. I swear I stood on that chair for at least 10 minutes, wondering what the hell I’m going to do?

I set the brush into the tray and bend down as far as I can and drop it onto the covered floor. I look down and assess the mess. It ain’t pretty. My left foot is completely green and since I’d been stepping in the paint on the chair, under my foot was coated too. The whole left side of my shirt and pants were covered and dripping. The chair was ruined. What to do, what to do? I realized I had no choice but to strip right there and hopefully limit the mess to the area I was in. I gingerly look off my top, careful not to get green paint in my hair. I balled up my shirt and tossed it on the drop sheet. I then took off my pants, getting green paint all through them with my covered left foot. Nice. Very classy. So there I stood, with a totally green foot, green arm, partially covered green right hand and foot, in my bra and panties, on a wet, paint covered cloth chair. Then it hit me. I’m standing directly across the window. The open window. The one with the blinds pulled completely UP. And staring at me are the houses of my future neighbours. Good Lord. I panicked and jumped off the chair, realizing, damn, what if I don’t land on the drop cloth? Oh no need to worry about that, since I landed in the paint tray. Great, now both feet were equally green. I rubbed them as much as I could with a big bulky paint cloth and crawled on my hands and knees across to the bathroom, where I proceeded to wash my feet in the tub. Panick was about to set in, thinking, what in hell was I going to wear home? I didn’t drive, so I can’t even sneak out to my van and drive home half naked. Then I realized, I had brought some clothes over and they were hanging in my closet like a best friend, waiting to wrap me in her embrace. I had nothing that was springy so I had to opt for a big thick winter sweater and a pair of wool dress pants. Great my friend was making me sweaty and itchy.

I went back to the bedroom and grabbed my clothes and proceeded to wash them out in the tub and did succeed in getting most of the paint out of my top. My jeans, well, may they rest in green peace. They will never be the same. I know what you’re all thinking. Why would someone wear something NICE to paint in? My husband asked me that very question. I don’t have a very good answer. I said to him, ‘well I never thought I’d be pouring a litre of paint on myself’. Because that just doesn’t make sense. I mean come on, who’s ever heard of that? The room did get finished though and it does look great. I will post a picture of it soon, and be sure to wear sunglasses when you look, I don’t want to be responsible for your blindness. Oh and here’s a tip: When painting your son’s room, hire a professional.

April 11, 2007

Tonight my 6 year old daughter wanted to know ‘if I think any of the products we have in our house have been stolen from other countries and brought here by pirates’. Ah, no, I’m pretty sure that’s not the case. She said she’s ‘going to investigate it’. Okay Nancy Drew.

I received a phone call from some independent firm, who wanted to do a short survey with me, about the company who provides our electricity. Ha! Oh, you mean the same people who were heartless and totally not understanding at all? Ya, I’m going to give you the time of day. I said, it was not a good time to do the survey and I was probably NOT the best person to discuss said power company’s customer service. You won’t like me very much if you listen to my opinions. I was asked what would be a better time to call back. Oh, let’s see. How about 3034. I will probably be dead by then and not give a shit either way.

My husband was teasing our 11 year old son, saying how could he let it snow again last night and son’s reply was, ‘what do I look like, the weatherman’? I guess not. Those damn weathermen, always giving us crappy weather when we just don’t want it. Bastards.

I did some more clearing out in the storage room. God it’s creepy in there. And why do I we hang on to so much stuff? Shameless really. I’ve now lost count of how many boxes/bags of stuff I’ve gotten rid of. I have boxes of school work from Sean and Matt, that I’ve been saving since they were in elementary. I mean sure, keep a few things here and there but honestly, their entire decade plus of school things? Just plain crazy loving. That’s me though. I can’t let go of all the math sheets and spelling tests. I did find a funny gift that Matt had made me when he was about 8, for mother’s day. It was a thingy (not sure what it’s actually supposed to be) made out of toilet paper rolls, tissue paper and part of a cereal box. I’ve not any earthly idea what it is but it’s very creative. I’ll give him that.

Hey did you know I’m totally hooked on HGTV? I’m so into all the real estate shows and all the home reno programs. Very weird, because I’ve never had much interest in that kind of stuff previously. Maybe it’s because I’m a new home owner and it’s put me in some kind of house trance. I guess that’s possible. Or maybe it’s all the alcohol sit ups I do.

Aren’t you glad you came here tonight to read? You’re all comfy in your jammies or naked, whatever floats your boat, and settled in your chair or couch if you have a laptop and can, you know, put your computer in your lap and were entertained beyond belief by my story telling? I know, I amaze you and honestly, it’s my pleasure to be so fasinating to you. I live the fast life and although you often get heart palpatations from reading about my exciting life, that you’ve actually had to go to your doctor to get pills to control that, I thank you for risking your safety to continue to read me. Now go take your pill before you have a stroke or somethin’. I’ll try not to do anything too exciting for the rest of the evening but if I do, you’ll be the first to know.

April 10, 2007

Raise your hand if you’ve eaten way too much of your children’s chocolate from Easter? Your shirts are probably stained from it too right? And you forgot to go pee in the toilet and just did it in your pants because you were too busy gorging yourself on chocolate? Am I right or am I right? Oh. Anyhooo, moving right along…..

I think the Easter bunny was a little tipsy this year. She ended up putting a bottle of bubbles in her son’s Easter basket. And what’s the big deal about that? Well the bottle was a duck. Yes, a duck filled with bubbles. You’re thinking to yourself, what’s the big deal? Well, the retarded Easter bunny forgot that the 11 year old boy that lives in this house is terrified of ducks. Although we don’t know why, he just is. So great job Easter bunny. You suck rock.

We had such an exciting Easter lemme just tell you. I am probably a bitch for telling you all about our excitement because then you’re going to be jealous and then end up throwing food at me but that’s okay, my shirt’s already stained from the chocolate remember?

I was awoken at 7am by my daughter. She apparently didn’t get the memo, that Easter isn’t like Christmas and mommy doesn’t give a rat’s ass about baskets and candy and that we do not need to wake at the ass crack of dawn to do an egg hunt. It’s really just not necessary. So she pestered me for 2 AND A HALF HOURS while we waited for hubby and her brother to wake up. They decided to sleep in. Just my luck. She just couldn’t believe that we had to wait for them to get up. I told her that, sure, you go wake them up and see what happens, I dare ya. She decided that maybe she should listen to her mother and instead of waking them, she tortured me with reasons why we should wake them up and how life isn’t fair when you wake up super early because you’re excited it’s Easter and everyone else just wants to sleep. Oh the injustice of it all. She made me do a questionaire. She asked me things like ‘do you think the Easter bunny is just some dude dressed in a giant rabbit costume or do you think it’s just a giant bunny’? And ‘if you were allowed to rob a bank, would you’? And ‘what’s your opinion on parents who are snoopy, you know, parents who go through all your stuff’? What is she 17? Am I on trial here? Geez. All I wanted was to be able to sleep until 8am. Is that asking too much? I think not.

Once hubby and Ryan got up, the kids rifled through their goody baskets and then did the chocolate egg hunt. They told me the Easter bunny was kinda lame in his/her hiding of the eggs and that he/she should make it harder next year. Like they aren’t 2. Soooorrrrry. *Note to self* Don’t hide eggs while drinking eating.

After all that fun, we got dressed and went to the new house to work. We spent all day there. All day. I was envisioning a barbequed steak and a baked potato and thought for sure we’d go home and make it a dream come true. Instead daughter begged her father to take us to McDonald’s. Yum. I love eating there so I can feel nausous and bloated and become delusional from the toxins in their food. It was the best Easter dinner ever. Ever. I know, I know, you’re so freakin’ green with envy right now that you almost want to beat me up. I know I shouldn’t have said anything but I’m evil like that. I just have to make you all drool over my daredevil, livin’ on the edge of my seat lifestyle. It’s a habit that I just can’t break.

I’m off to do more packing. How can one person have that much stuff in her closet? I mean really, who has that many trophies for being cool and sexy in their room? Sheesh, it’s embarrassing for me. It’s just not fair to you how awesome I am. But you’ll get through it and love me just the same.

April 7, 2007

My daughter decided to put on her pj’s, a pair of green socks and some shiny black patent shoes. She then plugged in her father’s microphone into the cd player and did some karaoke. And dancing. And more karaoke. That is alot of work and of course would tire one out. And the proof is in the picture:

I guess all that diva-ness played her out. I wish I could just fall asleep on the floor with my shiny black shoes on. Wanna hear about my day? Of course you do. You can’t get enough of me.

I woke at exactly 6:30am and I know it was exactly 6:30am because I forgot to turn off my cell phone alarm and it was right beside my head. My big dumb head. It’s Saturday. Why would I have to get up at the butt crack of dawn? I wouldn’t. Except that I forgot to turn off my alarm. Who’s fault is that? Oh. Mine. I already admitted that. Onward we go:

I decided I should get an early start on the day and that’s why I went back to sleep until 7:15am when my husband woke me. He went to work and I looked around at all the stuff that is still sitting here, waiting to be packed. Why can’t we just toss everything and start fresh? Get all new furniture, dishes, books, pictures, children, socks, bath mats, all of it. Noooo, we have to keep it and pack it all up in boxes and plastic containers. I thought some of you beeyotches were coming to help me? Huh. I was sure that you all emailed me, promising you’d be here for me. Oh, sure, I was dreaming that? What, do I look like I’m nuts?

I went through boxes of stuff. All day long. Boxes of clothes that belonged to my daughter. How can one child have that much? Who’s fault is that? Oh. Mine again. Geez, you people are relentless. I donated 2 boxes to Freecycle, am going to sell some and put aside a box for my wench girlfriend. Well, she’s not going to wear the clothes but her youngest daughter will. Oh and a bag of shoes and boots. My girl is 6. How does a six year old have 40 pairs of shoes? Oh. I see where this is going. Gah.

I managed to get some work done in the storage room. You should really be cheering for me on that one. I rarely go in there, it’s really scary and I put my fear aside and braved it all by my lonesome. I’m figuring that if we’ve not used anything that’s been stored in boxes for almost 3 years, then chances are it’s not worth keeping. Wanna come to my house for a bonfire?

After I did all of that, it was about 5:30pm and I was starving. So I had some yogurt with granola. That is really quite yummy. Mind you it’s not a steak, but it’s close. Okay, not close but still, it’s tasty. I did get a steak too but that was later on. It was cooked very well. My husband knows how to barbeque a piece of meat lemme tell ya. I’ve tried barbequing, once or twice. I’m sure you all know how that went. Let’s just say I didn’t know a t-bone could be deadly weapon if it’s cooked too long.

That about sums up my day. Ooo, gosh, I thought it would play out way more exciting than it’s reading. I was sure I would have had you on the edge of your seat, baited breath, waiting for each pulse pounding sentence, dying to know what’s going to happen next. Not really the case though is it? Most of you are probably wiping drool from your keyboad because you nodded off after the first paragraph. Hey, I’m not a miracle worker you know. I’m tired and my back is sore and I still have to go clean my kitchen. Ya, is anyone gonna come and help me do that? Nooooo, I didn’t think so. Oh well, I hope you all sleep well and I’m going to my mailbox on Monday and I’m expecting some cold hard cash for my house warming because you said you’d send me some. Don’t tell me your gorilla ate it. Your dog maybe, but your gorilla? Nope not buying that.

April 4, 2007

Well my payment to the power company has finally been received. I guess it must have been going by horse and buggy, seeing this is only 2007 and no way do we have enough technology to transport a payment from my bank account directly to the place I want to pay my bill. Maybe in the year 2045 that will be a reality. Maybe I should invent that. Where oh where is my mad scientist hat?

Now we just have to wait and see how long it takes for someone to come and hook us back up. The nice (not being sarcastic) lady I spoke with this evening said it can take up to 24 to 48 hours. I’m hoping for an hour. Although she didn’t give me that option, I’m crossing my fingers and wishing on my genie that it comes true. I mean that bitch lives in a gold bottle and wears a bikini, so surely she can grant me that much.

It would be nice if you not only dreamed about me tonight (just because I’m cool), but crossed all of your crossable body parts, you know, if you’re not using them right now. Thanks.

Well it’s now been over 48 hours with no heat and no way to cook meals, no lights, with the exception of our diningroom light and livingroom light. It’s so fun peeing in the dark. I guess I’ll have to clean out my closet now. Oops.

My kids are going to have a great time telling all of their friends about their spring break. ‘Hey what did you guys do on your spring break’? ‘Well, we played pin the icicle on the doorframe, skating rink in the bathroom and ring around the frostbitten toes’. It was a blast! Beat that bitches!

I went to the bank yesterday to get help from the teller who took my payment to the power company and it would have been much more fruitful had I just stayed home and punched myself in the face. That’s how helpful she was. I can see why she’s a valuable employee to that bank. Absolutely. And it was nice of her to blame me for her not stamping the other portion of my bill. I guess I forgot that I DON’T get a pay cheque from the bank and didn’t do my job properly. You know, reach over the counter, grab the bank stamp from the teller and stamp my receipt. Stupid me.

It’s Good Friday on Friday. And while that might be ‘good’ any other time, it gives me no pleasure this year. If our payment doesn’t reach said power company tonight or tomorrow, then we’ll be in the dark and cold until Monday or Tuesday. Now that warms my heart. Oh wait, my heart is a frozen piece of tundra right now because it’s 40 fucking degrees in my house.

The thing that kills me, is everyone (power company people and helpful teller at the bank) keeps saying things like, ‘well we don’t know that you paid that amount on your account. You may have paid someone else’s account’. I mean does that even make sense? Who pays their neighbours’ power bills? Or the guy you met on the bus? Or your mail person? Or your liquor provider? Let’s be reasonable. And if I did indeed pay my neighbours bill, why would I call the power company 5 thousand times a day to find out if my payment got there? It’s all asinine in my opinion. It would be one thing for me to whine if we’d not paid our bill. I’d have no reason to even open my cakehole. But we’ve paid it. FIVE DAYS AGO. In FULL. Up to date. Like come on, is there noone that can give us a break? I guess not.

Time to go and stick my hands in the snow to thaw them outside because that’s way warmer than my house right now. Happy Hump Day. Ya baby, ya.

April 3, 2007

I hate power companies. I want to name the particular power company I hate but I won’t because maybe they’re like a certain ridiculous combed over billionaire loser, who like to sue people.

I paid our bill in full on Friday but guess what? We got cut off on Monday anyway. I must be retarded, because I was certain if one paid one’s bill, then you were entitled to that service? Hmmm. I guess not. So we’ve been without heat since yesterday at noon. Almost 24 hours ago. Oh and lucky for us, we’re in below normal temps for this time of year and we’re getting SNOW. I’m not 100% sure how cold it is in my house but I’m guessing it’s around 40 F. I’m not even kidding.

How am I using my computer you ask if I have no power? Well they give you a partial load limit which runs a few things. We have 2 lights, the phone, tv and computer. And our fridge and furnace are supposed to run as they are considered essentials. The fridge works but the furnace doesn’t. And having the fridge work is great an’ all, since who wants their food to rot but I can’t cook any of that food, so who cares right? At this point I want heat. I’ve made several phone calls but it’s like talking to a brick wall. The bitch sweet lady I talked to today, yelled at me and said for all she knows I paid our neighbour’s bill or my brother’s. That’s because the stupid bank teller (I don’t like banks either) neglected to put the power company’s account number on the receipt, so they see, yes we did pay $x amount but it doesn’t show to what account. We only have one account but like nice lady yelled today, maybe we were paying the neighbours account. Because we all know how much I love my neighbours. I mean honestly, a little common sense might go a long way people. Would I really call 8 million times a day, upset, complaining that I’m fucking cold if I paid the neighbours account off? Get real.

So I should probably go and treat my frostbite before my digits start falling off. I was going to suggest I make myself some bacon and eggs but oh, I can’t because I have NO POWER. Even though our account is paid in full. Isn’t that just dandy? I love how things work. You pay, you get nothing. You get to freeze your ass off in your own house. I love that. And by love, I mean I want to chew nails with my teeth and then spit them like daggers at certain people who sit behind their stupid desks and act all holy-er than thou. If anyone has some sunshine or a heater, could ya’ll send it to me? Thanks.