Spread Sheetin'

I have been tasked with collecting inventory data (glamorous, I know) and compiling said data and inputting said data into a spreadsheet (you're jealous now, right?). I am generally "ok" with spreadsheets. I can figure out a formula. I can usually make things work out. The other week I even went so far as to say I "organized the shit out of a spreadsheet". So this task I have been given, while a little mind numbing, didn't really phase me.

Today I began to work on it. A few of the inventory sheets came in and I thought I'd be all proactive and get the data entered. I opened one sheet. Didn't look right. I opened another sheet. Already populated. Hmmm. This wasn't making sense. I fiddled. I toyed with the idea of clearing cells. I saved an alternate version of the same file in case my fiddling made things, oh I don't know, worse. I futskied around with that bullshit data for an hour trying to remember/figure out where it was to be stored and, like a man who does not ant to ask for directions but HAS to, I went and asked the question.

"Does the data go in THIS sheet or THAT one?"

"Neither", was the reply.

Oh. Now it all makes sense. I couldn't find where to enter the friggin numbers because I didn't have the new frigging sheet yet. Hey look! Turns out I'm not a moron after all.

Oh The Things I Learned Today

Sometimes, just because you have to wait fifteen minutes for your bill, does not mean that you magically have room for dessert and should order some.

Sometimes, when you ask a waitress what flavor the white cake is and she says "white", you maybe shouldn't order it.

Sometimes, its ok to be in a parking lot, out of your car, almost in the restaurant and decide to turn around and go somwhere else simply because you feel guilty that its fast food.

Sometimes, you'll end up eating stuff for lunch that's probably worse for you than the fast food but it doesn't seem as bad because its from an actual restaurant.

Sometimes, a three hour policy review meeting really DOES take three hours, regardless of how many times people say "oh it won't go THAT long".

Sometimes I don't read people as well as I think I do.

Sometimes I can go from being at the bottom of her list to the top when I save her day by going to buy a hat so she can be a part of hat day when we totally forgot to bring one from home.

Sometimes cake isn't all its cracked up to be.

Sometimes the best thing you can do is get out of the way.

Sometimes, all you have to do to get two kids to fall asleep is be there and be quiet.

Sometimes, talking about farts and poop with a pregnant woman will very nearly make her throw up.

Sometimes, even sunshine can't warm a room.

Sometimes, I feel out of the loop.

Sometimes, when you have a good laugh, you know the kind, three hour meetings just fly by.

Sometimes, seeing other peoples new tattos makes me think about the one I've been mulling over.

Sometimes, watching two little ones sleep, make everything good in my world.

Why Are You On The Road?

Was today National Bad Driver day and no one told me about it? Cuz if anyone had brought it to my attention I would have just stayed the hell home.

Dear Cyclist,
I know the whole deal about how cyclists have every right to be on the road and how technically we actually have the right to take up an entire lane if we want to. But newsflash dipshit. We DON'T actually do that. We try to overcome the car-bike love-hate relationship by taking up as little space as is safe. So when I see you pedaling your fat ass in the middle of a lane for no reason, I get a touch irritated. THAT is why people in cars hate us. Have some common sense. I'm happy to get out of your way when you're happy to get out of mine. Obnoxious fuck.

Dear Lady in Nissan,
You need to march right down to a BMW dealership and borrow one for a day because CLEARLY no one ever taught you how to merge and the pick up of a Beemer will make the worst merger a confident part of driving society. I get the lingering around the yeild sign when there's no real merge lane to speak of. But when the merge lane we had extends for a good two city blocks, start driving your goddamn car in it so that you can get to speed and merge in with the flow of traffic. That's why its called MERGING.

Dear Old Man with Hat,
I dig your caution, I really do. I like that you take the time to be aware of your surroundings. Its better than a 75 year old driving like a rally driver. But seriously dude, passing lane is for passing. Not for driving 60 in a 100 zone. You made me beat up my steering wheel. You made me curse out loud. Multiple times. You made me wish I was driving a shitbox car because I seriously contemplated ramming into you with no concern for your well being whatsoever.

Dear Punk Ass Bitch,
You and your souped up ball of tacky on wheels is not impressive to me. Gunning it beside me at lights just makes me want to turn my steering wheel to the right and tromp your little toy car with my Jeep. Your gangsta rap that's pouring out your windows with so much base that the ground moves and you can't understand a lick of the lyrics makes me want to lock you in a room with Kenny G and watch you through a window and point and laugh while your ears bleed.

Dear Mr. Middle Age,
Wearing a golf shirt and a baseball cap in your wee little sports car convertible doesn't make you look young. Its makes you look like you're having a midlife crisis and she's forgiven you for the affair. Oh and by the by, driving a convertible sports car doesn't automatically make one assume you're loaded. It oftentimes just makes one think you are a poor decision maker with bad judgement and if its a Corvette, bad taste in cars.

There. Road rage out, deep breath in.

Things Left Unsaid

I haven't done one of these posts for awhile. Normally after I do one I get all kinds of emails asking if number so-and-so was about them. Chances are, it just might be but I'm not gonna tell you. And for those of you who have not yet seen one of these on here, the gist is its all stuff I'd like to say but for whatever reason, can't.

1) I'd feel for you if you weren't so dramatic and annoying. But as it stands, I can't bring myself to care very much, even with such a huge thing going on in your life right now.

2) You deserve so much more than what you have. SO much more. Stop giving until you get SOMETHING in return.

3) I'm sorry my efforts have been so slack lately. I promise to improve dramatically because you're important to me.

4) Stop emailing me. I don't want to go for lunch. But I probably will because I'm bad at getting rid of annoying persistent people.

5) I'm so glad we met. I sometimes think about the flukiness of it all and often think that if we hadn't done that one thing together I probably wouldn't know you and that bums me out to no end. But we did so its all good.

6) You're a lot nicer than I thought you'd be. I'm glad I decided to find out on my own rather than let other peoples opinions cloud my judgement. And I'll even admit, sometimes you're actually funny.

7) Oh hey, FYI, you don't know everything. Just thought I'd let you know. And one more thing, no one cares about how you raised your kids.

8) Because you're too messed up to know or care, I just thought I'd let you know that we've all talked about how we need to start coming to grips with you not being here much longer. Get your shit together. Is that SERIOUSLY what you want people thinking.
9) Judging by all the evidence provided, maybe its YOU.

10) I avoid you because your stories go on and on and on. If you could just fix that I'm sure we'd probably be pretty good friends cuz other than that I have no problem with you.

Turns Out They're ALL Scary

I had an emergency phone call the other day. "I have a princess question and you're the only one who can help me!" And suddenly a pink tiara lit up the sky.

I called back today and the question was posed. "Out of all of the princess movies, which is the least scary?". Turns out my pal Jen has a princess-happy 3 year old thanks in part to the introduction from my princess-obsessed 6 year old, their time together, and Em's interest in whatever mck does or has that's pink and pretty. And so we got to discussing them all. And our verdict? They're all pretty freakin scary.

The breakdown:

Cinderella - at first I said somewhat harmless until Jen pointed out that the stepmother is a "mean mommy" and we remembered that the real mom dies and the cat is evil and tries to kill the mice. For a little girl who is in full on cling-to-mommy mode, a dead mom is as bad as an evil stepmom.

Snow White - that freakshow witch who becomes all gross-old-lady-like in the woods with the big wart on her nose and the spooky trees in the forest. Never mind the freakshow "little people" men all living together in a shack in the woods. What is UP with that?

Sleeping Beauty - I don't remember the witches name but not only is she scary looking but she "kills" the chick on her 16 birthday or something to that effect and then abducts her from her family. See above mentioned mommy-clingy-three-year-old. Not good.

Beauty and the Beast - while the Beast isn't inherently "evil", he flies into a rage or two of epic proportions. And those wolves? That forest? Yeah. Not just yet.

Little Mermaid - mean underwater gross looking octopus lady steals a beautiful girls voice. Add to that her two eel henchmen and you have a nightmare.

Alladin - while it was close to being a safe bet, I remembered the crazy old guy who tries to kill Alladin. I know he doesn't have a lot of screen time but Jafar is just a meany-pants. And considering this 3 year old was afraid of the old guy who was mean to Oscar in the movie Grouchland, Jafar probably isn't the best dude to have her start out with.

Pocahontas - does anyone even remember this movie? I don't.

Mulan - much like Pocahontas, its barely sneaks in to the princess movie category.

So as you see, disney has a bit of a nasty streak. And considering the meanest character this sweet little 3 year old has seen is Dora's nemesis Swiper, I think the authentic disney princess movies shall wait.

Swiper no swiping!

Good Things, Brought to You By Today

Walking through Dollarama with my 6 year old and watching her find exactly what she was looking for.

Watching her figure out getting from one end of the monkey bars to the other in her own unique way, of course.
Sitting in the seats at the horse races explaining to her how fancy and busy it used to be there.

Watching her fill out and sign her own card for Grandpa's birthday. Instead of his name on the front she drew a cat.

Realizing that her top three fave tunes right now are sung by Michael Buble, the Red Hot Chilli Peppers and Snow Patrol.

Watching her eat almost as much pizza as me (toppings scraped off, naturally, but STILL!)

Seeing her face as she realized, while we waded in the lake after dinner, that I didn't really care if she got her dress wet. She was up to her neck in record speed. Thank goodness for the hoodie I keep in the car.

Driving home in the dark after a lovely evening in the country, my head on her shoulder, her head resting on mine, both of us singing along to our CD.

Tucking her in to bed knowing she'd be asleep in minutes.

A snapshot of our day.

How Not to Make Money

Today I was out of the office on a road trip of sorts. It was work related but involved some of my favorite people so it was like a mini-holiday disguised as work.

Trips like this usually involve treats, like all good road trips do. So our plan of attack quickly became finding a milkshake on our drive back to the city. While I kept my eyes open for police cars, my colleague kept her eyes open for potential locales where we might perhaps find Manitoba's best milkshake (currently at the Capricorn in Notre Dame de Lourdes).

We decided that as we took Highway 1, our best option would be Headingly Grill. Nicks Inn was our first choice but they don't take plastic so HG became numero uno. We went in. We ordered. We waited. She presented us with the finished product. And we went to pay.

My colleague said it was her treat. Why thank you, I said. So she handed over her credit card. Swipe after swipe, nothing happened. Machine said the card had no track. Ok. Odd but fine. She offered up her debit card. Same deal. Old machine, the waitress said. Finicky. Hm. She went to ask the guys in the kitchen if they knew how to make it work. No, they said. Not at all. So she called someone. They told her to try her own card. It was about this time that my pal muttered under her breath, "don't offer to pay, don't offer to pay". We both came to the realization as we stood there sucking back the vanilla goodness, that these icy babies were gonna be on the house.

So turns out the waitresses own card worked. Well, not really our problem. We tried. I lied and said all I had was my work card and I couldn't use it. The woman looked incredibly confused. It was right about then that most people would just reverse it out of the till and call it a freebie. But instead, she asked if we came there often. Ummmmmm. We lied and told her every couple of weeks or so. Could we just remember to pay for it then, she asked? Ummmmmm. We lied and told her OF COURSE. She closed out our sale and handed my friend her reciept with a note on the back for the imaginary waitress that we would imaginarily give this to the next time we imagined we'd drop in that said "ask Gina about this". We both kind of thought that maybe it should have been Gina who kept the reciept but whatever. Gina then pulled out a piece of blank till tape and wrote "will drive by in this month to pay - Jaclyn". No last name. No phone number. No credit card digits. Just the promise of a girl named Jaclyn who would, one day this month, swing by for a bit to eat and cover the loss of two milkshakes.

By the time this was all over I had finished my milkshake. We walked out to the car and my friend looked at me and said, "Dammit". What, I asked her. "If I'd have known that was going to happen I would have ordered chicken fingers too!".

Today in the Alphabet

Ate lunch with an old pal who I need to be more in touch with.

Became focused when booking 8 flights and getting approval for 7 more so as not to screw them up.

Caught an error the travel agent made which would have sent two of my guys to the wrong city on the wrong day.

Dropped my phone, twice.

Entered data. Woo. Hoo.

Found the gift card I needed to send away three weeks ago.

Griped to a girlfriend about a grumpy gus.

Hounded a rep till he wrote with his choice.

Instilled confidence in my girl as she read me a bed time story.

Joked with my boss. Big step.

Kissed my girl repeatedly as she grew tired in the chair.

Laughed with a friend, one who always guarantees a smile.

Made perogies for supper. Oh my delicious.

Needed a milkshake. Had one. Best in Winnipeg.

Opened a document that I had no idea how to open. Turns out I did.

Perused a running website to find a race for me and my sister. No luck yet.

Quetly got ready for the day as my sleepy girl still dozed.
Read a couple of more articles in my new mag. Stretching it out to last all week.

Sang a rock and roll ballad upon request at the kids bedtime.

Thought about trying sushi. Just might do it. So far, just a thought.

Underestimated how tired I am.
Very tired.

Went the long way round on my way back from lunch. Such a pretty area.

Xtreme skater Ron Dyrdeks Fantasy Factory was on. Always a good time. (Yes, that was a cheat).

Yelled at only 3 other drivers today. They were all merge morons. They deserved it.

Zipped and then unzipped a new blog template for another blog. Worked but only partially. Looks amazing but there's no where to log in and actually post anything. Back at er again tomorrow.

Now I know my ABC's, next time won't you recount your day with me?

Missing

We are two weeks away from moving in to our new house. This is exciting on a bunch of levels. I will have my own bathroom (especially important in the mornings). I will have a closet with room to spare (until I fill it up). I will have a garage in which to park my car right beside the door, the door where I can bring ALL my groceries in in as many short and sweet little trips as I like. I will have a quiet deck with a quiet view and a quiet balcony on which to quietly read my books. All of my things will be where I am; my bike, my backpacking gear, my knick knacks, my books, my photos. All unpacked and with me. But while there is much to look forward to I recognize that there are things I will miss about this place, this sweet little apartment that has served us so well.

Hmmm. K. It'll come to me. Just let me think on it for a second.

Oh! I'll miss the heated underground parking that allowed me to not even put a jacket on in the winter until I got to work. And I'll miss the free swimming. And the proximity of the IGA and the Hallmark store. I will even miss all the old people who adore mck so much and just want someone to talk to.

So while I'm drinking my coffee in my rocking chair on my front porch watching my baby girl play with her new pal across the street, I'll think of this place with fondness and good memories. I'll probably block out the part where the overhead door crashed down on the brand new Jeep. Whatever. It was just the one time.

This is Where The Effort Goes In

A week or so ago I sold one of our old mountain bikes. A friend at work had just had his stolen and remembered my email from way back when trying to get rid of two. Were they still for sale he asked. Indeed. Would I take a gift certificate instead of cash he asked. Indeed.

Turns out the certificate was for the Running Room. Hmm. Perhaps this was the motivation I needed to get back to running, a past time that I left behind when the snow melted.

Today I went there, to that store full of polyester and lycra, sport beans and energy bars, wicking socks and wicked runners. I stood there, looking at the wall of shame, trying to remember why I stopped running, trying to rationalize my belief that 6am was too early to get up and run and 8pm was too late. And with all of those shoes staring at me I realized, it wasn't time stopping me. It was ME stopping me.

It was at THAT moment that I decided to throw away my lazy pants and put on the responsible-take-better-care-of-myself pants. I had a whipper snapper of a sales gal who sold me the first pair of sneaks she brought out. She was JUST THAT GOOD. They were lovely. They were comfortable. They were made just for me. And they were exactly the amount my gift certificate was for.

I told my sister about them and we renewed our commitment to kicking each others asses into gear when we got slack and decided to find a race we could meet up at. I'm excited again. I want to run again. I want to sweat and breathe hard and feel my chest burn again. I want to find trails that no one knows of and scout routes that no ones thought of. I want to hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears. Who knew a barter, a trade of two items neither person wanted any longer, would do that?

Tomorrow it begins. Just me, my well fitting shoes, and he ground beneath me keeping time. Off I go.