The Hazards of the Office

Andy is in hostage negotiation training all day today and tomorrow. While this is not a seminar on how to get the best price for your hostages, it is a bit scary when you consider that this stuff still happens in the world. It happened to me quite recently in fact.

People often say to me, “Karryn, you’re a professional, brilliant woman and much shorter than I thought. How would you amend international law regarding terrorist negotiations?” And I say to them, “Derrrrr…” .

The other day, my mug was hijacked from the executive kitchen. The hand-painted mug was successfully seized by a pro-ceramic revolutionary. I have not received a ransom note (ha ha), nor do I have any indication that Mug is being well-treated. It will, I know this from experience, passively cooperate. But be aware, that if there is a way to thwart the mug-jacker, it will find it.

Oh My God. I'm turning into Milton from Office Space.

The Latest...Cuz I Know You Care...(right?)

Hey ! This is me! The latest photo...which for some reason won't sit in the side bar like a bonafide portrait of the auteur...instead, it stretches out in on very long colum that shows my wall and half of a picture frame. I know I used to work as a background extra, but sheesh! Could I not just have a blog photo? Andy? Help?Help?

But then, Who needs Clive when you've got THIS?

This just in!

Eric Bana has been replaced with Clive Owen at the top of my list of Gorgeous People I Would Be Allowed to Sleep With Should They Ask.

Andy and I have this very specific list, see. IF Jessica Biel asks him to sleep with her, I'm okay with that. Mostly. And if Eric Bana asked me...Andy would be okay with that. Until now. Because Andy would know that Eric means nothing to me now that I am smitten with Clive Owen.

We can do this because we're almost sure it will never acutally happen. But Clive, man - if you're reading this....And Jessica, if you're reading, "Get your mitts off my man!"

Okay, here's why Clive Owen now tops my list and Eric Bana has become Eric Who?

My reputable news source, Star Pulse.Com, says:

"Clive Owen boasts a list of beautiful movie co-stars but insists he has never been tempted to cheat on his long-term partner. The father-of-two says, "I so value what I've got at home with my wife and kids that I've never f***ed with that. For me, that's what it's about. I've had some great times with actresses, but that's in a movie. It's a fun thing to do, but it's not love. So I never have a problem with that. My relationship is everything to me. I'm often doing incredibly exciting plays and films, but that would mean nothing if I were floating around and didn't have a solid family behind me. Sarah-Jane is an absolute diamond."

Simply the fact that Clive wouldn't sleep with me, makes me think he's the only Hollywood man worth dreaming about. Odd rationale, I realize, but since this isn't ever going to happen to me, I just thought I'd point it out.

Who's at the top of your list?

Wherein I become a dentist's wetdream/nightmare

I never really know if dentists love or hate people like me.

(Todd, you'll have to weigh in here!)

Given the time of year in which we now find ourselves, (toxic sugar season four), I made caramel apples with Nicola yesterday. I have posted before about my, um, creativity in the kitchen, but how hard could caramel apples be?

Hard enough to break your freaking teeth off, actually.

I'm just glad it was only me and Nic disgracing ourselves with our sticky snorting determination to get at the fruit fossilied within solid caramel. If you need to adhere something, like a small car, to say, a two by four, use caramel.

It's all part of the weirdness that is Halloween. It's fun trying to make sense of it all while explaining our tradition to Silvia. "So, you put on a costume, go to strangers houses and ask them to give you candy."

Yes.

"That's very strange."

I know. Ain't it great!

These are my favourite traditions - the inexplicably pointless ones. Thanksgiving? Well, we kind of stole that from the Americans because it just seemed like a good idea. Valentine's Day? A day to make half the people in the world feel like total shit - yep, sounds good! Yeah, it's all as bizarre as a giant rabbit laying eggs on the day a dead guy came alive...Isn't it great that most of these traditions were started by people on acid, and we just go along with it?

Yes. It is great.

Yer Not in Surrey Anymore...

Hell of a shakedown at The Company That Shall Not Be Named....

Fifteen people fired last week. And one quit.

When I found out there was massive corporate housekeeping going down, I thought, quite rationally, that my ass is so grass. Who's lower down on the Newbie Totem Pole than me? Uh...maybe the guys who were laying tiles in the "executive kitchen" on Thursday?

No really.

It was CRAZY! That was another wake-up call: while I may be able to reapply lipstick with more than is fully necessary frequency, and have all my bathroom visits fully sanctioned...I could also be unceremoniously turfed at any time. That WAS a benefit to being a teacher: the foaming-at-the-mouth union wouldn't stand for it! You only allegedly set that portable on fire, and until it is proven beyond the slightest suspicion (and there will always be some Neitzchish existential suspicion) you will be on full pay and benefits for the rest of your natural life. And maybe even after.

Dante's Inferno

When Virgil guided Dante through the nine circles of Hell, he came to the The Kids Zone on BC Ferries. He looked up and saw, “This is an unsupervised play area. Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.

‘Nuff said.

Wax on…. wax off.

As legend has it, the evolution of karate began over a thousand years ago, possibly as early as the fifth century BC when the first Very Serious Karate Person walked into a dojo and began the first of many bows.

Tonight, I went to my first, and last, karate class. I was introduced to a systematized set of exercises designed to expose my ignorance and lack of physical fitness. While the origins of karate appear to be somewhat obscure we know this much: it ain’t for me.

In fact, anything that requires coordination, ski poles, rackets, snow shoes or boot bindings is not for me. (There was a time during the moves that we did this quick spin around and I had the urge to throw in a little hip wiggle for good measure and sing, “Tah dah!”, but again, that would be Not Taking it Seriously. And besides, I can’t really dance either.)

I had good intentions. I really did. I like the jammies. I look good in white. It seemed like a natural progression…but…I think they look better broken up with a black belt as opposed to white all ‘round, you know? The black adds a little oomph, and well, they could be tailored a bit here and there, don’t you think? And absolutely no logos on the back thank you very much. Well, apparently you can’t just wear a black belt, you have earn one. I prefer to select my accessories based on aesthetics, not how many boards I can break with my head. (Which is still at a staggering count of zero.)

Back to tonight: I went to the dojo and made my first mistake by not bowing to the red line on the floor. There are many people there who Take This Seriously. And when I asked about the bowing, the 18 year old dojo leader explained to me that in Japan, bowing is like a handshake, and it’s a sign of respect. Thanks for that, Sensei Peach Fuzz, but I do understand the concept, I just don’t shake people’s hands every time I turn my back or go to the bathroom. (Oh come on! Would you be able to bow down to anyone who was born after Ghostbusters came out?)

Perhaps even more disconcerting than the feeling of near death, is the unexpected and sudden sound of random “ha!s” called out with such startling force that I was like the ADD karate kid (I’m trying to focus Mr. Miyagi…I’m trying!) It’s just that the colourful belts over there keep sounding like they’ve just won an argument with an indisputable piece of evidence or whipped your chair out from under you with such swiftness that you never saw it coming. Ha! Indeed. I don’t know, it just seems kind of mean.

My instructions are to ignore the erratic staccato Ha!s on the other side of the dojo and concentrate on our slow moves while breathing audibly as we shift positions. The guy beside me is one of the Serious Types whose breathing was so reminiscent of Darth Vader, it took all my breathing and restraint not to whisper, “Use the force!”

It all comes back to what Silvia said when I told her I was going to take a karate class. She seemed utterly bemused and asked, “Why?”, as if I was casually suggesting we do backflips off the top of the refrigerator and see if we can land in the fruit bowl on the counter.

And in the end, the refrigerator back-flips suit me more.

And another thing...

...in the excuse department is that my laptop is having a nervous breakdown.

It misses me.

Now that I work for the uber high tech Company That Shall Not Be Named, this laptop feels as slow as an elderly driver whose turn signal has been on since June. Should I be shovelling coal into the hardrive just to keep it going?

Come ON Bessie! You can DO it! Load Explorer....load!

Sigh.

Mind you - things are looking up because I returned that annoying audio book to the library and have discovered that I can tolerate the radio much louder than I ever thought possible. And boy can I belt it out! What? There's a fire engine blaring behind me? Pffft! There is NOT....it's the bass...it's....okay, it IS a fire engine.

I'll just turn it down a tad.

It Lives!

How pathetic is THIS!? How long since my last post? Is anyone actually still out there?

I don't deserve you....

Alright, brace yerself: here come The Excuses...

1. Andy's been in Switzerland so I've not had my usual co-pilot around. And boy have we had some turbulance! (But the Swiss trip did result in astonishing amounts of chocolate souvenirs!)

2. Working for a living. My God. It takes quite a bit of time doesn't it? I mean, what is with that? Don't these people understand that I have pointless drivel to write? I don't have time to write for them! Well, perhaps I do since I'm still largely useless around the place.

3. Um.

4. That's it.

How pathetic. Now you know with total certainty that I am not the impressive diva you thought I was. You did think that, right?

In fact, I've been in a rotten mood for about four days. (Okay, I know, Andy, I know! Stop screaming, "Damn straight ya have!") What's worse is that I don't actually know why. Usually I have someone to blame. Oh! Maybe it's traffic. I've started saying, "Bite me!" a lot more than I ever used to. And, "Pick a lane, Asshole!" In an effort to inject more pleasure in my erratic weaving to and from work, I've been listening to audio books. But why are the narrators more obnoxious than Mary Hart? Can't normally-voiced people read audio books? Why do they hire chain-smoking women who put the emPHAsis on the wrong syllABles and prounce foyer as foyerrrr? That bugs me.

Well, many things do.

But it's a sunny day in beautiful Vancouver and we are going to the Apple Festival with our friends.

And I think I'll let Andy drive.