What's Next?

"Items in the Mirror are Closer than they Appear"

And, this would be what I really wanted to say to the traffic cop in Washington last week.

What came out of my mouth was, "Thank you, Officer, I will be more careful."

Saying this hurt me more than childbirth.

The reason I had to say this and, thereby, graciously accept my first traffic violation in nine years was that apparently my insurance and registration expired in February!

What's with me and expiration dates lately?

I was pulled over for following too closely to the van in front of me which had slowed down to 47 mph in a 60 mph zone because he saw this police officer.  Idiot, he's the one who is the real risk out there.  Hardly my fault.

Even though the insignia on the officer's badge said "Expert" (seriously, it did) in no way can I believe that he could gage the distance between me and said van from his mobile position, in front of both of us, by looking in his rear view mirror.  Sorry, I don't buy it.

But, I couldn't tell him that because my plates were expired and had he known that, in British Columbia, our validation of insurance is directly reflected by the expiration date on our license plates, he could have had my vehicle impounded and then I would have been late for work, and broke.

I sat there and smiled and took his lecture.  He asked me what I would do if the car in front of me was involved in a collision; how would I react?

My normal response, of course, would be that my cat-like reflexes would kick in and, after safely coming to a stop, I would jump out and save lives because I'm a paramedic, you know, and that's what I do. And then he would smile knowingly and say to me, thanks for being out there, have a nice day.

So goes my fantasy.

Instead, I am now the first person in the history of the world to receive a traffic violation for tailgating without hitting anything.

About the insurance thing, I know that, in theory, it's my responsibility to know when my insurance expires but, there are people out there who have a better relationship with my Jeep than I have and therefore should have picked up on this.  For example, the insurance company.  I have been in to their office twice to insure other moving objects and they call up "my file" on a computer screen.  How hard would it have been to say something like, "So, what do you intend on using to pull this trailer because, according to our records, you don't have an car insured?"

Or what about the dude at the car dealership who has twice managed to find everything else old or not appropriately functioning on the Jeep.

Or, The Ex who has painfully pointed out absolutely everything that I have missed or neglected over the past 10 years.  Great time to slip, Bud.

Somebody owes me $124.

Hellhound

While I've been away from home with work this week, Luna has decided to reside at Chez Le Pound.

The timeline:  I left home Sunday, Hellhound bolted from the kids on Monday, the kids finally grew the balls to tell me she was missing on Thursday and we phoned the local SPCA to find her today (Friday).  I return home tomorrow with my flight landing roughly fifteen minutes before late check out at the Chez.  I'm thinking of rounding her stay out to a full week.

I'm not a bad pet owner, The Ex is.  This dog is his dog.  However, while he lives the glorious life a world traveler, I get to feed her, pick up her crap, brush her and, now, post her bail.  While The Ex is in the country, he takes Hellhound for visitations and treats her like her place is somewhere above The Thirteen Goddesses of Greek Mythology.  Nice for her; major behaviour problems for me when I get her back.

Naturally I have handled this in my usual reactive fashion and fired off an email to The Ex filled with reprisal and loathing.  Because that's worked so well for me in the past.

Soooo Not Ready

Translation....

I love dinner time conversation.  I have yet to be disappointed.

Taryn-the-16-year-old-girl was passionately sharing her interpretation of Stalin's rule.

Todd-the-Ex is here for a conjugal visit; for the purpose of maintaining family bonds, not sex.

Liam was scrutinizing the vegetable component of the meal.

Me?  I was drinking wine.

Taryn, "Stalin was a brilliant man who led his country to great industrial success despite his methods."

Todd, "He was responsible for the deaths of millions of people.  You can't possibly think he was a genius."

Liam, "What's this."

Me, "Parsnip, eat it."

Taryn, "He effectively gained leadership by eliminating all other members of the Bolshevik party!"

Liam, "Taryn, watch your language."

Taryn, "I said, Bolshevik."

Liam, "Says you."

Me, In a Casino

Holy Etiquette!!

I am attending a course over the next couple of days in a resort that has a casino and a golf course; neither of which I have any use for.  I car-pooled with a co-worker who was driving mach-f***ing-six through the video game that I like to call "Wildlife at Dusk" so that he could get to the casino to play poker.  His intention during this two day conference is to make $1000 playing poker while we are not in class and, being paid by the government.  Wow, I'll be so happy if I get my travel reimbursement before the spring thaw.

After checking-in, hanging up my clothes, looking around and realizing that, though this is a gorgeous resort, there is nothing to do here except work out in the fitness facility or go to the casino.

So, when I got to the casino, I looked for my co-worker, Chris, at the poker tables so I could vicariously live through the eyes of a future millionaire.  There were two tables, one sitting empty and the other with four players, including Chris, and two security guards standing within the cordoned-off area.  I gave him a little wave and tried to position myself so that I could watch what's going on without looking like I was counting cards, distracting players, giving signals or sending off bad karma.  Very tricky and a little nerve-wracking.  A security guard approached me and politely asked me if he could help me; read:  You are pacing like a hyena, what the hell are you trying to pull.

"My friend, over there, is playing Texas Something and I wanted to watch but I don't know the rules."

Guard, "Follow me.  You can sit in the vacant chair to his left.  No, don't pull in to the table, it will confuse the dealer, sit back further.  And, don't look at anyone's cards."

Me, stage whisper, "Got it, thanks.  Chris, hey, what've you got?"

Guard, "I said, you can't look at anyone's cards."

Me, "I know.  But, I'm kinda like on his team."

Guard, "There are no teams.  Can I show you to the slot machines?"

Me, "OK.  Chris, I think I'm being kicked out, see you tomorrow."

Postal Employees and My Safety

Living in a small town, I have no mailbox attached to the side of my house or at the end of my street or any of those other convenient places.  We take a key into a small Canada Post building on the main street, nestled amongst the other businesses:  a skateboard/kool dude shop (totally going out of business), a windshield replacement shop (thriving and most certainly giving kick-backs to the asshole who hand picks super-sharp pieces of gravel for our winter roads), the pharmacy/home decor/scrapbooking shop, the animal feed/more home decor shop and the video rental/cafe.  From Toronto to this, what the hell was I thinking?

The only home delivery items I receive from Canada Post are boxes that the senders have specified and paid for "all the way up the mountain and directly into her hands" delivery.  The delivery person is a little older than God, weighs about 84 pounds and drives some sort of very small hatchback; perhaps a Gremlin or a Pinto.

The point, yes, getting there.

One of my good friends from my Glory Days (grades 5-7) got me sucked in signed up with Mel****ca (notice that there is no link because I think it's a pyramid scheme and they won't let me quit).  If I don't place my minimum order each month, they send me stuff that they think I should have.  They think they know me.  If they knew me, I would not have accumulated nine months worth of vitamins, minerals and hand lotion.

The Tangent:

So, my first time trying to quit, she told me that she would change my monthly default order to whatever I wanted and send me a monthly reminder email in case I wanted to change my order.  Now that the company had effectively addressed my reason for quitting, I couldn't quit.  I ever so meekly said thank you, have a nice day and hung up the phone.

I waited a couple of weeks and called back, hoping to get someone else on the phone (nope) and tried to quit again.  Considering how many times I have phoned some company and begged unsuccessfully to speak to the same person that I had explained my problem to, fifteen minutes earlier, this should have been a no-brainer.  That is not the way of my world.  I was talking to the same chipper little harpie who was so excited to be able to help me again.  I told her that I felt that I had wasted soooo much money because I have all of these unused items taking up valuable space in my modest home.  She told me with the most pleasant smile in her voice that there was no problem.  She was happy to authorize a complete exchange of my unused items for any of their wonderful products that would be of more use to me.

I boxed up 18 bottles of vitamins and minerals at about 3 ounces each and exchanged each one for two bottles of liquid laundry detergent at around 10 pounds each.  Monetarily equivalent:  weight, not so much.

And this is how we come full circle back to our our very small postal lady, her under-sized car and my home on the side of a cliff.  Six boxes delivered over two days each weighing roughly 40 pounds.  After the first two deliveries, I told her, "Just honk, I'll come out and get them."  But, no, martyrdom is her way.  After the second two deliveries, she forced a smile and said, "So, how many more do you have coming?"  I squirmed and shrugged.

The final two deliveries, she didn't even knock.  I found them on the porch with holes kicked in the sides.

Christmas is going to suck this year.

Somebody Dropped This Off at My House

Taryn agreed to babysit this.  The planned rendezvous was at 1600 hours, my house.  The package was dropped prematurely; at 1550 hours.  Taryn was not yet home.  I asked Liam to stay and play with it.  He laughed at me and said he had to go meet a friend; he told me that "Dylan" (not Damian) was a good kid and that I would be fine.

You see, despite the fact that I have two offspring who have successfully made it to their teen years, I'm really not a "kid person".  I love the two that I have, don't get me wrong, but I have always thought of those two as people whereas all the others seem to be aliens that want things from me that I can't possibly give them because of a language barrier.  It's kind of like that nightmare where you are in the middle of a room, naked, and everyone around you is speaking Kazakh and waiting for you to respond brilliantly.  OK, my nightmare, all of you have your own demons to deal with.

In 1990, when the first offspring was put into my arms and the nurses thought my Demerol had worn off, I was sent home from the hospital.  Their parting words were, "You have a pediatrician appointment in two weeks."

My response, "What? .... If she lives that long?"

My so-called friends had a pool forecasting The Boy's first sutures and/or fracture.  FYI; eighteen months.  The CT scan that he had at nine months came back normal.

I was the parent doing cartwheels down the hallowed halls of their educational institutions on their first days, yelling, "WooHoo!  I'll be at Starbucks!"

I offered Gravol (Dramamine) to a parent at the airport terminal because I had left-overs after "calming" my kids.  Hell, she was getting on the same plane as me, why should I have to listen to her kid when I had mine sleeping?

Anyway, I could go on, probably shouldn't.  Children's Aid Watchdogs' search engines are going to be all over this.

This kid did fine.  I had Liam put on a cartoon before he abandoned me and, in the ten minutes that we were left alone together, his only demand was that he needed a toy.

I gave him tape, it was yellow.