My Brand New Blue Jeans

On October 16th I purchased new jeans from a store in Inglewood. It isn't often I splurge on myself, but once in a while I can justify passing up the day-old sale rack for the clothes that are still warm from runway models. And if there ever was one, this was the store to do it in.

espy - is a trendy new store with tons of cool items and knowledgeable stylists - one of which I paid over a hundred dollars to wrap my ass in brandname denim!

Yup. Over one hundred dollars for one pair of pants and I walked out of the store with nothing more than a receipt. The jeans I just invested in were added to the pile for the resident seamstress to hem. I was told it would take about 3-4 business days and that they'd call me when they were ready.

So, I planned my life around picking up these jeans the following Saturday. But Saturday came and went and no one called. I gave it a couple more days, but by then I was getting a little ticked off. What was the hold up? It was now October 25th - 6 and a HALF business days had passed. Hadn't she said "3 TO 4 days", not 3 AND THEN 4 business days???

Seriously? So what? Had some local billionaire walked in and they moved all his stuff to the front of the queue while my jeans got buried in a pile of the 'just doing my best to make it on my own' working people? What? Was I not good enough?? The nerve! I wanted an explanation, I wanted names, I wanted action!

So, I pulled up their website to get their contact information so I could call them and give them a piece of my mind! Unbelievable! I paid a pretty penny for those jeans and I wanted them. And I wanted them NOW damn it!

Alright. Enough is enough. That's it. I'm going to call and I'm going to tell them that I will be by to pick up my jeans today after work and by golly - they better be ready!!! And if not today, then tomorrow, or the next day, I would be there the MOMENT they were ready.

And then their website popped up in front of my eager eyeballs, my hand already on the phone... On the home page of their website was a photo of a line of naked men - well, naked save boots, briefs and touques - in front of their store. The caption read 'nakedespy'.

It was a fundraiser for prostate cancer. The first one hundred naked men to line up got free clothes for charity. Well, almost naked. ...underwear and touques.

Hmmm, I have a touque fetish - just like some women are interested in a man in uniform, I'm more of a, pull on a touque and it's 'HEL-LO Prince Charming!!' kinda gal.

The date read Saturday, November 5, 2011. Always interested in supporting a good cause, I clicked around a bit. There was a link to last year's online photo album, so I clicked on it...for the articles of course...

Just then my phone rang.

"Hello, Tanya? This is espy. We apologize for the delay, our seamstress ended up staying a few extra days in China, but she is back and you're jeans are ready!"

"Oh uh, ok. I can't pick them up tonight, or tomorrow anyway. Huh, look at that, I can't pick them up on the weekend either...or next week. Oh, darn it...looks like I'm booked solid until...oh will you look at that, I won't be able to make it until the 5th of November..."


.

Eyes on the Road, Hands on the Wheel

We have followed suit and introduced distracted driver laws in Alberta - no texting, talking on the phone, or playing angry birds while driving.

We have to make laws because we can make smart phones, but we can't make smart people.

Who Moved My Cheese, Part Four

I requested a list of the people who purchased cheese from the fundraiser.

I then cross-referenced it with the list of people who were in the office on the day of the heist because it makes sense that the cheese thief was both (a) present and (b) fond of cheese.

With my list of suspects neatly narrowed down, I said to someone who wasn't on the list - "I noticed that you didn't purchase any cheese?"

He said, 'I didn't purchase any cheese cause I knew you would...so I don't have to!'

Damn it.

He is right - that IS suspicious behavior, cause if you have your own cheese, why would you take mine??!

So now I'm watching closely the lot that didn't purchase cheese.


If only I could get my hands on a list of lactose-intolerant people in the office to cross-reference with the list of people who feel they don't have to purchase their own cheese, I would be well on my way to solving this crime once and for all.....

Who Moved My Cheese, Part Three

One of the women in my office has a child who is doing a fundraising drive. They are selling CHEESE! No kidding. It is called the 2011 Fine Cheese Fundraising Program.

She went around with forms selling cheese.

I went around behind her selling anti-theft devices.

Warning!

Don't turn on the Discovery Channel

Trust me there are things out there that no one should discover!

The other night, I made the mistake of flicking on the Discovery channel to watch a program - discover something new about the world.

When I first sat down on the couch with my little bowl of soup, I was a pretty content person. I was pretty comfortable with my space in life and the world around me. But during that program, everything changed.

Some of you might not know this about me, but when I was in my early years - somewhere between 10 and 13 - I was sent out to the garden to gather potatoes for supper. I didn't mind, in fact I quite liked the garden - the pea section in particular was my favourite spot because one could just sit down and feast there - then blame "those damn geese!" when there were no peas in the garden.

So I go out to dig some potatoes. No big deal. I'd done it many times before. Stick in the pitchfork, pull out potatoes. Easy.

Until.

Until I stuck the pitchfork in for the last time that day, stepped on it to get it as deep into the earth as I could muster and then pulled it up - upturning moist dark dirt and revealing...NOT big round potatoes, but a sticky squirming SALAMANDER on the end of my fork!!!

OMG.

There he was, desperately flinging his little appendages this way and that! Trying to run...twist...anything away from the giant metal spear through his belly.

Yup, I had stuck the thing right through the middle.

Now here is where I'd like to tell you I pulled him gently off his skewer, patted his head, gave him a little band-aid, named him Sally Mander and nursed him back to health...

I'd LIKE to tell you that, but I can't...instead...

I called out a lot of names (none of them Sally or Mander) and I threw that pitchfork as far as I could launch it! I ran out of that garden as fast as my feet could carry me!! I sped across the lawn - my feet barely making contact with the ground - no telling where those little monsters might be hiding! FINALLY I reached the safety of the steps...the door...the kitchen...the kitchen window...

I frantically searched through the window to see if his angry family and salamander friends had chased me with their mouths frothing and tails in the air. I looked at the front door - no salamanders! I let out a breath in relief. LUCKY! I had just rubbed elbows with the Grim Reaper and WON!

Mom said, 'Where are the potatoes?"

WHAT? WHO CARES 'Where are the potatoes?'! I almost died out there!



There in the garden sat my nearly-full-of-potatoes-for-supper bucket. Surely surrounded by an evil army of salamanders.


Let them rot out there. There was NO WAY I was ever stepping back into that dark, infested soil and risking my life again. I'd eat rice. Rice purchased from the well-lit-salamander-free grocery store ailes.




So, you can understand I've had a very reasonable fear of salamanders ever since. I actually quite like reptiles - rough dry things like iguanas or tortoises, crocodiles, turtles or lizards are fine by me - but put so much as a moist, smooth salamander picture anywhere in my vincinity and you won't see me back in that vicinity, ever.


So here I am on my couch the other night, thinking I'd learn a little something I can pull out at a party to impress people, like my 'why starfish can't flip themselves over' bit, and what happens???

I 'Discover' I'm living in a world home to giant 5 foot long Japanese salamanders!!!

5 FEET?????!!!!!!

I AM FIVE FEET.

Imagine five feet of slimy salamander on your pitchfork!

FIVE FEET!

OF SALAMANDER.

I am no longer safe in this world.

An Actual Conversation at Beer Club

TOPIC - my sophisticated beer rating system.

NOT ME: "What is that?"

ME: "It's a pitcher, instead of a rating on a strictly numerical system, like say 12.4/17.5, I will colour in the pitcher depending on how good the beer is out of seventeen-point-five. The fuller the better. See. This beer good = full pitcher. That beer bad = empty."

NOT ME: "You're a woman, shouldn't you use a vacuum bag illustration so you can relate? But then, would a full vacuum bag be good? Means your floor is clean but now you have to change the bag. So maybe an empty bag is better? I don't know - you're the woman - is it better to have a full or empty vacuum bag?"

An Actual Conversation at Thanksgiving Dinner

TOPIC: RETIREMENT

"The only think I miss about not working, is lunch."

"What?"

"Can't you still have lunch?"

"It's not the same. I miss the sandwiches. I LIKE sandwiches"

"Since I retired, I don't miss work lunches. I still have sandwiches, but I TOAST them now!"

Who Moved My Cheese, Part Two

Yesterday someone stole my cheese.


Today there was a new addition to our fridge...

I can't say with certainty who stole my first cheese, but the next person who steals my cheese will be easily identified when he walks away with his nine remaining fingers (evil laugh)...

Who Moved My Cheese?!

I know there is a book by the same name, but this is not about a book. Someone stole my cheese!

For real!

I put a lot of time and effort into planning my day's menu, including breakfast smoothie, lunch, dinner and all the snacks inbetween. On Mondays, I take a bunch of stuff to work that fits my chosen menu. This week, I treated myself to an afternoon snack of a fine aged white cheddar cheese stick and a cup of V8.

It may not be everyone's idea of a treat. But it's mine. And apparently someone else's also.

Today, I had my lunch, then I went to defeat a worthy opponent at a good-hearted game of squash. Then I returned to my desk. Sent a couple emails. And went to the fridge for my snack.

I opened the fridge, grabbed my V8 but alas, the cheese was gone?!? Had vanished like a fart in the wind. Gone, no trace.

I was pissed. Who would take my cheese??

No one. Come on, really, I work with adults, not drunken fraternity boys ready to raid a fridge at a well-weeded-tray-of-brownies notice.

So I pushed my fears of a cheese-thief-in-the-midst aside and searched high and low. But my fears were to be realized. There was most definitely a cheese thief (or a very large mouse adept in opening fridge doors and drawers) in my midst.

So, I went on a secret mission to discover the culprit. I looked around for empty wine glasses, cracker crumbs and empty cheese wrappers.

To no avail.

So I sent the following email to all those adorning our halls and offices.

One day a little mouse was sent out by his mother to gather his own food. About two hours later the mother was standing in her little mouse house when the door burst open and he came running in holding a big piece of cheese in his tiny paws. His proud mother beamed and said, “Good job little mouse. And what do you have there?”

“CHEESE!’ replied the mouse

“And what kind of cheese do you have?” asked the mother.

“NACHO CHEESE” replied the young mouse.

The mother looked confused and asked, “Uh, how do you know that’s Nacho Cheese son?”

“Because when I took it, a little boy came running after me waving his arms and yelling ‘hey little mouse, that’s NACH--CHO CHEESE’.”



Yup. That's NACH-CHO-CHEESE!!!!!


It's mine.

And I will find you.


...to be continued....

Let's call a beer a beer, a spade a spade, and a fruit a fruit.

Hello.


I am not a fan of all these fancy new fan-dangled fruity flavoured beers. If I want to drink fruit I will have a smoothie thank you very much. If I want a beer I will drink a pint of gold placed in front of me by the gods (or the crazy waitress at Bill's). And never, never the two shall meet.


The Barley Mill has placed on their menu a watermelon infused beer-y beverage.


Yuck.


I'm from Saskatchewan. The only watermelon flavouring in my beer shall be what drips off my watermelon hat into my stadium beer at a Riders game.