Blug Enteree

I can't think of anything to write about. I believe the professionals have a name for it. The creative writing professionals, not the psychological.

Oh! I read something funny today. One of the guys at work has injured his hamstring. Instead of going to a doctor it was agreed by a unanimous vote ( from a bunch of people that have trouble telling aspirin and gaviscon apart), that the internet would obviously provide all the treatment options he would ever need. It was quickly decided that perhaps the Internet was not the right route to take when we came across a page that directed the injured to avail of painkillers and ice packs and see how they felt after their leg fell off. That, funnily enough, wasn't the disturbing part, instead it was the assumption that the reader was an idiot. The author of the piece decided to list the phonetic pronuniation of the medications, always a help. They read like this-

You may use ibuprofen (i-bew-pro-fin) and acetaminophen (uh-c-tuh-min-o-fin)

The above is helpful. We learn to pronounce the words correctly.

The next one is an insult to anyone with an ounce of literacy-

Your caregiver may want you to go to physical (fiz-ih-kull) therapy

I am very happy to have been made aware of the correct pronunciation of 'physical'. I was absent the day we learned our 'phy-' words in 4th Class...age 10.

Today-

*I spilled coffee over my boss
*Lost my security pass
*Lost some of my subway tokens
*Yelled at people on the subway escalator..they deserved it
*Got home 2 hours late as someone was killed east of Toronto by one of the commuter trains, resulting in my line being shut down, bringing rush hour commuters to their knees. Not the first time this summer. Quite a number of people take the 'leaping in front of a train' option when deciding to end it all.

Delightful.

I should just change the name of this blog to "Eileen's Commuting Adventures"

To make myself feel better I decided to go to McDonalds. I now feel worse. Bleurgh.

Toronto Tightens Trousers....maybe

I am mystified as to how Toronto city is verging on broke. It's the financial capital of Canada. It controls Canada's money. The streets are teeming with merchant bankers. Bay Street is literally made of money. Taxes are high. Housing is expensive. Blowing your nose is probably taxed, yet, the city does not have any money. Various services have been cut, the subway faces line closures and increased prices and there is increasing pressure to increase home and vehicle taxes.

Someone needs to get hold of the city accounting books and have a good read of them. Are they getting 5th Graders to do their accounting? Obviously, not the kids on the show 'Are you Smarter Than a 5th Grader?', as they have proven themselves time and time again that they are indeed smarter than the American adult population.

So I got the video up after a lifetime of trying and never bothered to comment on it. This is what technology does to me. It takes so long to 'work things out' that I am too bored/tired/apathetic to act on the result when it FINALLY appears. I have been trying to load videos for the last 3 weeks and each time they failed. I understand "videoing" is still at the experimental level with Blogger but they did nothing but tease me for three whole weeks. I even purposely left the house looking for things to record and that was when I discovered there wasn't all that much going on and that there was no way the camera had enough space for me to do the artsy "American Beauty' plastic bag in the air thing. So I captured part of my commuter trip from Toronto to Whitby. Every morning and evening the train runs along the banks and beaches of Lake Ontario and each time it never fails to take my breath away. Early in the morning I watch the sun start to peak over the surface while on the way home the blue of the water seems to stretch forever. On sunny days, the water is a cornflower blue whereas on stormy days it is an angry swirling mass of grey. My moment of Zen is always welcome on my trip home seeing as I usually sharing the carriage with the extras from 'Grease". There are three ladies that take the same train as me each working day and they do not know the meaning of 'inside voices'. They roar at the tops of their voices about how great their kids are. Such oral treats range from, 'I just had to buy this book for little Emily. She's only 1 but has such a grasp of English and loves monkeys and communicates with her big words and hasn't signed in months and might join Mensa and is a genius and is sprinting not walking and will definitely start ballet tomorrow and we will so tell the Bolshoi about her and she will obviously be top of her class and she pooed solids today' to 'Jack learned French in two days'. Well, maybe not quite, but the basic premise of their conversations is to bash the other Mom's kids and operate as one woman advertising billboards for their little darlings. I am quite sure that little Emily and Little Jack are still lying horizontal and a long way from vertical stances. Therefore, I do not care about the antics of their offspring and don't wish to be unwillingly exposed to them. Ah yes, I mentioned that they look like they are all 'Grease' extras. I shall explain. Remember Rizzo? Yeah? Well these three ladies look like they are modeling themselves on her. Same giant hair, same make up, same walk, same voice same everything and it drives me mental. Anyday now I am expecting the three of them to launch into the Grease Megamix.

Quebec!

I indulged in some extreme cottaging this Labour Day weekend. Those of you that know me are only too aware of my penchant for comfortable living. Therefore the notion of camping/ staying in a cottage for a whole weekend without running water is enough to send me running to the Ritz Carlton just to make sure all is right with the world. (Reading back over that sentence would make one think I was dripping Cartier and Gucci whereas I am more commonly draped in Accessorize and H&M). Anyway, the love of my life had signed me up for a weekend of outhouses and lake water and I was none too happy about that situation and regularly vocalised my disdain for such a trip over the course of the week. I think my moaning went along the lines of, "I work my backside off so don't want to waste my weekend off searching for water" and "What do you think I am? A Neanderthal?". All wonderful points, but nothing was deterring Ian. We were going and that was the end of it. The cottage belongs to the parents of a friend of Ian and is located in Quebec. The thought of getting to hear and blabber some French for a few days certainly played an important role in convincing me to go. So, on Friday evening after work, with my work colleagues wishing me God speed, Ian and I took off to Ottawa, full throttle ahead. And then we came to a stop as traffic was so ridiculous. This is something that fascinates me about Canadians. They must be the only people in the world that will willingly sit in their cars for hours and hours on end just to drive from one of the major Canadian cities to the middle of nowhere to spend two days cleaning, painting and restocking their cottage only to get back into their cars and resume the same ridiculous journey home. It's not like their cities are heavily polluted, overcrowded or filthy. It just seems to be the done thing to have a cottage on the side of a lake to visit of a weekend while risking a coronary from going mental with traffic. Each to their own I guess. The Irish either do a summer house on the West coast ( complete with gale force winds that will rip the paint of the front wall for free) or in the South of Spain along with all your neighbours from the estate back home. At least the Irish get to fly....even if it is with Ryanair.

Anyway back to the cottage. Once we got to Ottawa we stayed overnight with Ian's friend and his girlfriend and the next morning set off for Quebec. It was quite exciting to drive to the province and see all signs in French and noticing that driving skills travel well from one continent to another. The French in France appear to have taught the French in Quebec that driving like a madman, shaking your fist, yelling out the window and disregarding every single traffic law ever slapped on paper is the only way to drive. However, we got there alive. Instead of droning on and on and on and... I will post some pictures of the weekend and comment.

GODDAMMIT!! The pictures are REFUSING to appear in chronological order. Stupid technology. I shall persevere.

Below we have the outhouse. The only negative aspect of the loo with the view was the rather disconcerting breeze up my bum each time I sat on it. Still though, how pretty a walk is it to the outhouse. Perfection...of some odd sort.


The interior of aforementioned outhouse complete with double ply toilet paper. Always nice to have a little hint of luxury to distract you from thinking about all the spiders crawling up your bottom.


Ryan was CONVINCED that he had shards of glass stuck between his teeth. However, after careful inspecting by his wife, Helen, it was determined that he had a chipped tooth as a result of drinking his beer from the bottle without using his hands. Deeerrr.



I was in bed when the trolls were brought out. Apparently there was an impromptu photo session. This is the cleanest photo I could find. The other pictures are not suitable for public viewing.



Seeing as we were cooking outside ( of course when I say 'we' you know that doesn't include me... I am to cooking what Posh Spice is to Mensa), and would need to light a fire each night ( dropping temperatures) it was necessary to cut some firewood. The men present had quite the fun time hacking wood to pieces. They all made sterling efforts, even Ryan, who made a swing at a log with the blunt end. The picture below shows Ian prepping for a chop with the cabin in the background. It's not finished yet, hence the lack of siding. It was also amusing to watch them throw the smaller axe at tree trunks, tomahawk style. At least they had fun.......................

Cooking, for the most part, was done outdoors by Marty and Karina. Note me sitting at a safe distance. I can burn food just by looking at it.



Mental picture. Apparently the cobweb effect thingies contain tent caterpillars that soon will plop to earth from the trees and clear Quebec of its vegetation. Aren't they adorable.

If you can get around the image of Marty on a rock with the beer you can see where we went swimming. I have regained feeling in my limbs again. It was ever so cold. I insisted I was fine with roars of, "Shur aren't I Irish! We wash in wathhher like this".


Artsy fartsy fire shot by not so artsy fartsy Ian


Despite all my moaning I had a very enjoyable weekend. It was incredible to sit out in the silence of the day on the wing bench reading my book while simultaneously stuffing my face with junk food making it all the more difficult to remove myself from the swing bench. I even got to grips with the outhouse and the lack of a shower. That said I was rather pleased to have a wash on Monday- the hypothermic conditions of the lake didn't do a lot for me. However, the most fin was had from all of us playing Cranium. If there is one board game to get this year, this is it. It is the best game I have played in years.

I went clothes shopping on Saturday. N.I.G.H.T.M.A.R.E Sometimes I think I really am a man as I detest clothes shopping. How on earth can trying on clothes be considered fun or therapy. You spend half an hour picking out something to try on, another 15 minutes trying to work out your size, give up and bring in all sizes with you only for the Power Hound at the changing room door inform you that you can only bring in 4 items to which you throw an almighty strop, bring in the 4 items, try them on, realise you have vastly underestimated what size you are, force the items on anyway, penguin waddle your way out to the Hound with vast quantities of flesh on show to get the other 4, waddle back in fearing death by lack of oxygen if you don't get the tighties off soon, try on the other 4 and almost drown in the sea of material, consider the fact that no one makes clothes in your size, give up, leave the store, get a coffee and sit staring with hatred at anyone that has correctly fitted clothing on themselves.

However, the Gap came up trumps for me. The changing room goon was rather ungoon like, more gay like and took great joy in dressing me, flitting from changing room to floor in quite the bouncy fashion. I think he was a little disappointed that I only purchased one item. I didn't have the heart to tell him that I only wanted one pair of pants not the entire Fall collection.

I ventured to the swanky Yorkville area of Toronto. The closest I got to Versace jeans was leaving my breath mark on their very clean window. Not anymore it ain't.

Commuter Observations

If you are going to stand on the left side of the subway escalator get the hell out of my way when I come torpedoing behind you trying to catch my train.

If the door says "pull" it is highly unlikely that it will "push".

Please have your subway tokens or passes ready before you reach the machine so I can actually make it to my train some time this decade.

Stop bringing toddlers and push chairs on crammed subways during rush hours. No one appreciates it and you only give yourselves high blood pressure making sure little Jimmy doesn't get the wrong end of a briefcase across the face.

The door that says "Entry" does not become "Exit" simply because you are in a rush.

Coffee guy at the commuter train station- you rock. At 6.30am you always have a smile for me and that I appreciate.

Ian's Niece's Christening


Ian's little niece was christened a few weeks ago and here is the photographic evidence. Her squished up little face hides the fact that she is quite the adorable rugrat and enjoys posing for pictures. It was one hell of a hot summer day so Ian was out of his shirt and trousers combo as soon as the pastor ended the prayer marathon. I, however, chose to remain in christening chic.

Urgh

Our apartment building is full of drunk old men. It adds that certain je ne sais quoi to an evening sitting on the balcony hearing the thump thump of drunken stumbles, uncouth belching and inane yelling at the main door security system.

And..............

And the mail people also returned the geographically challenged package to the wrong address.

Geography Ralph Wiggum Style

So I sent a package to England last week. On the package I addressed it to "England" and on the custom declaration form I wrote "United Kingdom"

The package was returned to me with a note saying that I needed to specify a country in order to facilitate international delivery.

What in the name of all that is good and holy are people taught in schools here. I have repeatedly explained to so called well educated Canadians that I am NOT British or English, that I am in fact Irish with many of them failing to notice the difference. Even more horrifying is that a substantial number are unaware of a sea separating Ireland and the United Kingdom.

Calling Blog Care Services

Were this blog a child it would be extracted from my care by social services on the grounds of abandonment and I would be slapped with jail time, no doubt. However, like the well prepared accused I do have an excuse- Moving. It took a lot out of Ian and I, probably more so me seeing as I would rather give over a limb than actually indulge in the insanity that is shipping ones life from one outpost to another. Nevertheless it has been done- furniture is in place, only a few bits and pieces are lacking and some boxes are still lying unwanted on the floor with ne'er a sign of ever being unpacked. I have, however, discovered that I am residing with Martha Stewart. My wonderful Ian has become chef extraordinaire and is hell bent on creating a 'cosy home' whether I want one or not. There has been talk of wall hangings, accent walls and other such nonsense. I am from the school of simplicity or, or in chic fashion lingo, "minimalism" and so am not too pushed about the placement of various pictures on the walls. The only area of decorating that I will wield my fist of iron in will be that to do with the hanging of my black and white pictures from Vietnam. They shall be placed with the precision of an art gallery wannabe.

Moving might have been a little smoother had the mattress delivery men been able to tell the difference between queen and double. The mattress fits but the box spring might be able to sleep one of Snow White's dwarfs at a push. I have no idea how such people manage to get jobs. Before anyone asks why I didn't complain at the initial moment of delivery I must add that Ian and I were not here and that it was Mrs. King who had the 'joy' of dealing with Canada's Worst Delivery Ma. She questioned the size to which the mattress cretin said "Well I can't do anything about it". It seems we would have to magic up the mattress delivery fairies. Mind you it did feel good yelling down the phone at a store representative. Deeeelightful. I like yelling.

Hear Ye, Hear Ye

I have been a busy little bee over the last few days and have failed miserably to get the jumbled events in my head onto ye olde bloge. There are lots of things for me to get around to such as Sienna's christening, mattress shopping, stereotyping, packing, moving, work and so much more. However, lazyitis has gotten the better of me and so I shall put finger to key upon the morrow and give this blog a kickstart.

Bleurgh

Eileen is not feeling well. Churning stomach. Nausea. The works. Praying I don't have the nasty stomach flu doing the rounds. I cannot get sick. Tomorrow sees lunch with my team at Milestones.

Mr. T


Tim Horton's Coffee

The Canadian eau de vie. A rather cheap lifeline when compared to its competitors.

Kawffee

I noticed today that under the name of my blog there is the suggestion that I can offer invaluable Canadian tips. I haven't yet mastered the art of catching a moose. That is still a work in progress. So part of the tagline is redundant. Possibly false advertising, but when I catch my moose and wow you with my tales of entrapment, then who'll be laughing? Eh?

Instead I shall offer Canadian tip #534.

Canadians cannot function without at least one Tim Hortons a day. It's the other food group. The other white meat. The other giver of life. The other main vein. The preferred alternative to illegal substances. The obliteration of Tim Hortons would bring about the rather prompt fall of Canadian society.

Oh you can laugh.

But it's true.

The Shame.

This morning I fell asleep on the commuter train. Not just any ol' attempt at sleeping- it was full on snoring and drooling sleeping. Normally, I reserve such a display for the assembled duvet and pillow audience, but not this time. Canadians are such a polite bunch, at least the people sitting around me, that no-one gave me a nudge to wake me up or to shut me up. I cut quite the stylish figure what with my face pressed against the window of the carriage, giving my snores, what I can only imagine to be, a beautiful echoing quality. I awoke with a start when the annoucer yelled, (he must have known I was perfecting my Sleeping Beauty impersonation), over the intercom that we had arrived in Union Station. I shot up in my seat, hair akimbo, make up successfully transferred to window, mouth wide open, with strand of saliva connecting my tongue to said window. And people wonder what Ian sees in me.

My trip home was much more successful. I was aware that I did not stand a chance against the might of sleep so I cleverly set my alarm to ring at 5.25pm, leaving me a full 5 minutes to arrange myself before arrival at Whitby. However, I had forgotten that I had set my alarm to nerve shattering loud so when the offensive little thing went off in my hand, I threw it from my fist in shock right onto the lap of the gentleman sitting opposite me.

My Go Train image is in tatters

It fell off the back of a lorry

Today I acquired "Chanel" sunglasses, (think wearing saucers over your eyes rather than actual glasses) for $13 from a Flea Market. They may or may not be lifted goods. To be honest I would not be surprised if they aren't "Chanel" and more "Channel". I have come across a number of items in the last week that have unknown origins. Take for example the brand name cosmetics I found at a store that suddenly appeared in the mall near work- 70% off without any explanation. Packaging was still intact, cosmetics didn't burn the skin off my face so what was wrong with them? I am on a misson.

Saw Parry Hotter last night. I nearly fell asleep. Nothing really happened. What's with this new broodier Parry? I understand the book is darker and choc full of activity but the movie failed to brew even the smallest hint of interest. Also, the fact that there was so much Coca Cola on the floor from the previous person meant that I had little to no grip on the floor and kept sliding off my seat. In a final act of desperation I used cinema literature to glue my shoes to the floor. That'll learn the cinema staff to keep their auditoriums clean- you try scraping up a combination of the world's sugariest (sp?) drink, paper, cinema tile and a fascinating blend of dirt.

We may be going to see We Will Rock You this coming weekend. And for all the smartasses out there, yes it will have the Best of Queen (minus Mr. Mercury..unless it's been a hoax all these years), raising the roof. I hope I can sing along. I love to sing. Ask Ian. I am never in tune, but imagine all the singing along I could do at a Queen themed musical. It would be neverending.

I was very disappointed not to find any fleas at the Flea Market. Although judging the state of some of the vendors I would imagine the arrival of said fleas to be rather imminent.

Robots in Disguise

I went to see Transformers this week. People, ( by people I mean 30 year old men who played with Transformers when they were 6 and should know a lot better by now), started clapping and cheering when Optimus Prime appeared on screen and could barely contain their squeaks of joy whenever original Transformer power lines were uttered.

That said, it's not half bad.

Toronto, boring?

Eventful day. I saw the burnt out remains of the SUV that tore into a large truck on the 401 Expressway causing all Eastbound lanes to be shut down for a number of hours. I narrowly missed chaos on the subway when someone fell onto the tracks causing the system to be shut down for half an hour. I watched a girl in front of me get mugged at my subway stop and stared in shock as the mugger ran off with her possessions.

Toronto. It's great!