FINALLY! *

So I’ve been a little sick the last few days. It started out like strep throat which, of course, hit me during our Canadian long weekend. By the time my doc’s office was open again the lurgy had morphed into a cold where antibiotics were useless. It was a weird and wonderful sniffle where I’d suddenly cough until I gagged and I’d sweat until drenched. My voice warbled, my tummy grumbled and I was very out of sorts. One of those kinds of viruses that make you feel like ass but don’t quite knock you on it. Being upright felt terrible but lying in bed was worse; really boring.

While I missed a much needed haircut and a consultation for laser hair removal (what a sexy theme) I did manage to go an ‘Emergency Preparedness’ seminar at my local community centre. I was asked to attend as I am on-call for a week every month or so for emergency situations in my apartment building. We don’t have an on-site manager after business hours so some tenants, including me, were hired to be available if the shit hits the fan. Figuratively. If any real shit hits any actual fan and causes a big mess then that is the tenant’s problem and isn’t considered a real emergency and, therefore, not my responsibility. However, if the fecal collision causes fire, flood or injury then I’m the one who calls the authorities and lets them into the building.

So what I thought was an informal chat about general emergency situations turned out to be an emotional plea from a uniformed fireman to get it into our thick heads that an earthquake, THE BIG ONE, was imminent and we should all GET PREPARED!

Now if you live on the West Coast you have heard your whole life that there is going to be a HUGE earthquake; sometime between the next minute and 600 years. This sort of time-frame doesn’t really light a Boy Scout fire under my butt to ‘Be Prepared’ with any kind of urgency.

Well sisters and brothers, after 4 hours in gory detail of what to expect when (not IF, dammit, but whennnnnnn…) The Big One hits I have been converted. I am now a card carrying fear monger. I’ve been spreading the anxiety to others and, to practice what I preach, spending the last few days compiling my emergency kit and making list of what I need to know to survive in the urban wilderness sans water, food and a toilet.

In the past, when thinking about what I would do in event of an actual earthquake I have to admit to assuming that, yeah, there will be a jiggle or two and I could just wander down to the local community centre, my nearest emergency resource location, and get water, food and medical assistance as I needed. Even seeing all the terrible news footage of the big California quake in the 90’s and what happened after Katrina I still managed to blame that on crappy building codes and stupid government policy. I rationalized that the Canadian government actually took care of its citizens and that we (the grand yet ambiguous we) had our shit together and would be taken care of.

Oh ho! Soooooo not the case. Denial was my bedmate but now I sleep alone. Afraid and alone. All sorts of acronyms were thrown at me but the one that sticks in my mind the most is YOYO. That, my friends, translates to You’re On Your Own. I learned that it will be at least 72 hours, if not several days, before anybody can expect any kind of assistance from authorities and aide workers. OMG! That means unless you provide the basics for yourself you are SOL. And if that is the case nobody will be there to hear your whining so STFU. Also BYOB. I packed water but vodka would work too.

So many interesting points were brought up, yet the one foremost in my mind was the suggestion to pack garbage bags into your emergency kit as it is likely your toilets will no longer work and you basically have to poop somewhere. Fabulous. The Bag of Shame.

* Um, actually this post is about a week old and I still have to catch you all up on even more recent news. Also my Bloglines isn't working right so I have to catch up on all your blogs as well. Bear with me. I'll be around, I promise.

Can You Fear Me Now?

My mom, at the age of 74, just got her first cell phone on Monday.

Me-I guess this means you'll be calling me a million times a day.
Mom- NO! Why would I do that?
Me-Because you can.
Mom- *evil giggle*

Kalki wrote a while back about things that make her feel like an adult. I asked my mom and she said using her new phone made her feel that way. I guess this means you are never too old to feel like a grown-up.

Nasty! Don't Mean a Thing!

In the two years I’ve been writing my blog I’ve never received an icky comment or shitty email. Everybody has been nothing but lovely, supportive and kind. So YAY! and Thank You! and all that because I think that kind of bad stuff, in large enough doses, could really get to a person after a while.

So imagine my surprise when a rather nasty email arrived in my inbox today. Not from a fellow blogger or internet troll but from the person who had been chosen to adopt Lulu.

I have spent the last week and an half fielding several emails per day from people who were eager and excited about the prospect of bringing Lulu into their homes. The rescue shelter where I adopted her from had very strict criteria to meet so most of these applicants were rejected. Friends of my friend who is fostering Lulu at the moment expressed interest and we encouraged them to apply to adopt Lulu. They did and the rescue shelter lady wasn’t sure they were the right match but my friend and I raved about them and promised that they’d be perfect. Against her better judgment she agreed to the adoption saying she trusted us.

And then the slow decline into hell began. The husband of the couple who seemed to be the spokesperson of the two was not the slightest bit excited when I called to let them know they had been accepted to adopt Lulu. In fact he brushed me off saying he’d call later and then didn’t. I emailed him asking for a date/timeline/ball-park estimate as to when they wanted to take Lulu with no reply. I asked for any kind of information at all about their intentions and got no reply. He did venture to say he wanted to take Lulu for the day to introduce her to their cat and then didn’t make arrangements to pick her up or even contact me to let me know what was happening. A complete no-show.

Well…I sent a very nice email expressing my concerns that there seemed to be some sort of disconnect and that I was not getting the information I needed to get them and Lulu together. I explained my obligations towards the rescue shelter and my responsibilities towards Lulu. I outlined how the payment of the adoption fee would work depending on how the adoption was arranged; immediate pick up or slow introduction into their home. I asked them to give me their thoughts and wishes so we could work together to get Lulu happy and settled.

I got no reply.

So I cancelled the adoption.

And when I emailed to tell them so I wasn’t so nice anymore. I certainly wasn’t rude but I made VERY clear the reasons why I was not going to adopt Lulu to them and nothing was sugar coated. I questioned why they had applied for Lulu in the first place. I explained what they should have done and what they didn’t do. I outlined the circumstances of their application and how my friend and I had stuck our necks out to get them accepted. I told them what an embarrassing and awkward situation they had put us in with the shelter. I said they owed my friend an apology as she had advocated for them very strongly and they let her down. I said they had let Lulu down as well.

Ok-maybe not the kind of email one wants to get but there were no profanities. No personal attacks. Just the irrefutable facts of the matter, my side of the situation and the predicament I was now in. Hell, I have the whole adoption exchange on email and words don’t lie! They totally blew me off.

And that is when the husband sent me the nasty email. It was personal, it was low, it was petty and it contained a very blatant lie. A horrible ass covering desperate lie. A lie that one shouldn’t commit to paper and send out into the world because it is gonna come back and bite you on that ass you are trying to protect.

Remember, I have all the emails...

The best part was that this nasty email was also really funny. I laughed out loud when I read it.

A couple years ago this email would have devastated me. I would have been agonizing that they didn’t liiiike meeee or that it was unnnnfaaaiiiirr. Not now. All those happy pills and hours of therapy have done the trick. And the best part is that a year of picking apart all my idiosyncrasies and issues with a therapist has given me the knowledge and insight to be able to pick apart the mental freakiness of others. And let me tell you this email was filled with all sorts of very interesting and telling things to pick apart. Veeeeery interesting. And that made it all the funnier.

Growing up so rocks.