At Which Time My Head Explodes

I have been a very bad blogger . Not posting for two whole days. I do have valid excuses and can even provide a note from my mom if necessary.

Tuesday night we had a strange power surge in our area, which knocked out my cable. For me that means both my TV and Internet went down AT THE SAME TIME!!! Fortunately I was saved from certain spontaneous combustion by the fact that I had a very good book to read. Yesterday I had three doctor appointments in three different parts of town and I also went to visit my parents since they are missing me now that they no longer have to come over to help me out everyday as they did during the chemo months. They fed me and I got home very late.

So that is why I have not posted for a while. Rest assured, I missed you all.

I had a highly productive day, today, as far as kicking ass. It started early this morning as I was driving to my radiation appointment. I should preface this by saying that this week has been particularly heinous as far as traffic infractions are concerned. I don’t know what is going on but I have had so many near misses where either somebody has nearly hit me or done something really dangerous near me. I am lucky to be in one piece. Along with threats of actual bodily harm I have also had to suffer with some serious annoying behaviour. Specifically really slow old people.

This morning was the third day this week I was trapped behind an old person driving in the Cancer Clinic parking building. This structure is six level floors joined by very steep access ramps. This morning I once again found myself behind an old lady in a big gas-guzzling car that was going ½ MPH through the parkade. I have to admit I am usually in a chronic hurry at the clinic as I try to get there right on the dot to avoid waiting in the waiting room which I hate as well as excessive parking costs. So being behind a fogy can really fuck up my day.

I cannot begin to explain, although I will try, how excruciating it is for me. I bet I could saunter in stilettos faster than this lady was driving. The worst part was when I was attempting to ascend the steep ramps, fighting the effects of gravity while trying not to rear end her car. I could hear my clutch weeping over my bellows of, “GGGOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! GGGGGOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!”

I then had a “discussion” with the parkade attendant over the fact that he was charging me for a full hour of parking even though I waited about 10 minutes in line waiting to pay which made me go over the half hour cut-off by 3 minutes. I changed his mind. I also had Henry Rollins raging on my car stereo, which might have added to the pressure.

I returned home to witness the ongoing battle of wills and garbage between the house next door and the house where I live. There is a bizarre history of recycling box theft that strangely coincides with my downstairs neighbour’s parties. We have “lost” two other recycling boxes in the last 4 months alone. I guess they could have been stolen by some needy passer-by however our neighbours have had the same recycling box since Jesus walked this earth. How come their blue box never goes missing? Hmmmm?

What happens is Dude Downstairs has a get-together usually culminating on the front porch, which disturbs the whole neighbourhood. Instead of the cops being called or a complaint made directly to the disturbee or landlord what occurs is that our recycling box goes missing the following garbage day. It is uncanny. Dude Downstairs had another gathering this Sunday so I suspected that our boxes would disappear today and I was not wrong. I came home and saw one of our two boxes in our neighbour’s yard. I ran upstairs to get my camera so I could take evidential photos and to my glee when I returned downstairs the next-door neighbour, Boris, was just pulling up in his car. With new adrenaline refreshing my parkade jolt I approached the thief.

“Why is our recycling box in your yard?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did you know that our boxes go missing all the time? Do you know anything about that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Have you seen the other recycling box? There is another one still missing.”

“I don’t know.”

“Are you sure you have no idea why our boxes go missing all the time?”

“I don’t know”


Scintillating conversation. I marched into his yard and collected our bin. Total fucker.

Right after, my crackling rage motivated me to get out and take a walk. Even better, a walk to the sushi restaurant for a nice lunch. I had kicked ass after all and stood up to The Man. Sashimi was required if not mandatory.

Approaching me and my continuing hatred on the street was a rather large burly guy walking his dog. Not just any dog but a little tiny Yorkie. This little tiny Yorkie had a rather short haircut, which necessitated the use of a coat. But not just any doggy coat but an eeensy teensy shearling coat. Double breasted. With eensy teensy WEEENSY patch pockets.

My heart shattered into goo. My rage, hatred and loathing were no match for the brilliance of patch pockets on a double-breasted shearling doggy coat.