You know, life would be so much easier if certain things were just standardized. In fact, here are the three things that I think should be standardized first:

3. Microwave control panels: I can’t tell you how many times I’ve tried to reheat a slice of pizza and ended up, after a dozen useless button pushes defrosting 11 lbs of ground beef instead.

2. Parking ticket dispensers: There is nothing worse than standing in the middle of a rainy, unsheltered parking lot trying to figure out how to buy a ‘place face-up on the dashboard’ ticket. Some are straight forward, there is a set price and you pay it to get your ticket. Others require you to punch in the anticipated length of your stay before it will let you know what combination of nickels and dimes need to be poured into the machine. Others are as complicated as American voting machines; I swear that one day in a parking lot in Virginia I accidentally donated $20 to the IRA.

1. Bra sizes: Seriously, why do I have to take three different sizes of five different bras into those cheesy pink curtained changing rooms in order to find one that fits? Can’t there be an industry standard with a little bit of lycra built in to provide just a tad of personalization?

I decided over lunch time to take a short walk to get out of the office and enjoy the sunshine. Now the weather here is really hot so the second I stepped outside I was enveloped in a tide of warm air which is a feeling I just love. Two minutes later the same heat was stifling and uncomfortable leading me to contemplate all those things in the world that are great to begin with and horrible five minutes later.

Poutine: a traditional Quebec dish poutine is a delightfully gloopy mixture of French fries, melted cheese curds and gravy. The first bite of poutine is fantastic in that real-food kind of way but after five minutes accumulated poutine weighs the stomach down with a heavy ‘ugg’ feeling that dissipates as slowly as a peach schnapps hangover.

Chair lifts: I love the whole procedure of getting on a chair lift, the way it gently (or not) whips you up off your feet in one crisp coordinated marriage of movement (or not) between body and chair. Five minutes later, huddling in winter clothes, trying to direct exhaled breath in whatever direction will have the most warming effect, yep then it’s not fun any more.

Peddle boats: Ok in terms of initial enjoyment these have got to top the list… peddle powered water vehicles, I don’t know which genius came up with the idea but the thrill of acceleration accompanied by wildly splashing water is second to none. Until you reach top speed and realize that it’s actually going to take you half an hour to get to the other side of the duck-crap pond. And until the wildly splashing water collects in the plastic bucket seat ensuring complete sloshing ass soaking. Then it’s not so fun.

Any other suggestions?

Ok, so my Dad and I haven’t spoken in four years (long story short, his girlfriend – now wife – told him absolutely horrible lies about me which he believed so four years ago, after forbidding me to attend my grandfathers funeral, he wrote me a letter telling me to never contact him again).

When I do run into him when I’m back in Vancouver he ignores me completely. Never the less, I did try to contact my Dad (on four occasions) after I got engaged to let him know that his only daughter was going to get married but he sent a message through my brother that he wanted me to go away and leave him alone…which I did.

I don’t really understand what horrible crime I committed against him but at my wedding recently none of his side of the family showed up because he told all of them that he would consider them traitors if they did. My brother walked me down the aisle, which was fantastic, and my Dad sent a letter wishing me all the best (I would have rather he let his brother attend, since he had actually flown all the way from England to Vancouver before my Dad threatened to never speak to him again if he actually showed up).

I know that my uncle wanted to come but my grandmother, well she wrote me a letter saying ‘I know you didn’t really expect me to accept your invitation’. What? Of course I did, I wouldn’t have sent it unless I truly wanted her to be there. It’s one thing to lose a father (I truly believe I’m better off without that poison in my life) but quite another to lose all connections with an entire side of the family. I mean I had been keeping in touch via email but my grandmother has now stopped responding to those as well.

Every conversation I have had with my grandmother involves her asking me to reach out to my Dad, and every time she asks, I oblige and he never responds in kind. I am trying to decide if I should call her to see what’s going on or if I would just be setting myself up for her to hurt me again. If my grandfather was still alive I know that he would refuse to put up with this nonsense; he would say that whatever happens between my Dad and I is between the two of us but he would still have a relationship with each of us individually. That is what I desperately want…I don’t blame my grandmother for by Dad’s betrayal so why does she blame me?

What should I do oh wise wanderers of blog-land?

Ok apologies for being a very erratic poster this week (I said erratic Dan, not erotic). Anywho I feel a list coming on: the 5 things I won’t miss about my job…

5. The incredibly slow boiling kettle. I swear that the whole conservation of energy thing does not apply to this kettle. Somehow when you plug it in only 10% of the energy goes to the heating coil, the rest is sucked into the invisible black hole in the counter top. Um, would a miniature black hole really be invisible or would it be black? Well that’s beside the point, my point is that it takes 7 minutes to boil enough water for one cup of tea.

4. The flickering light in my office. Every morning I come into my office, turn the light on, and am subjected to three minutes of attempted epilepsyism. To make matters worse, the first time it happened I went to the office manager to tell her about my flickering light but, by the time we came back to my office to check it out it had stopped. She gave me one of those ‘who’s flickering now’ looks before retreating back to her normal office…conspiracy…I think so.

3. My answering machine that has someone else’s name on it. Oh, the actual message has my name in it but when I enter my mailbox password I am proudly told that I am entering the voice mailbox of Lucy…who the hell is Lucy and how did she get into my answering machine?

2. The constant re-emergence of the paper from hell. Just when you thought it was safe to go back to your computer, just when it seemed that victory was nigh, it’s back. One more footnote please, one more reference, I’ve changed my mind, no you’ve changed yours…ahhhhhh.

1. My messy desk. I don’t know what it is about me, I mean I’ve never been very organized but it seems like my desk is the outlet through which I let all of my chaos flow. I try to justify it by telling myself that a messy desk just demonstrates how busy I am but, realistically, I’m not that busy at all. I am always losing things on my desk, when it’s a pen or a stapler that’s ok, but when it’s my lip balm, now that’s a five alarm emergency (in case you missed my earlier post, I am desperately addicted to lip balm).

Hello all,

Sorry for the delay, I was down in DC signing the final papers to sell our apartment (or lying at home with a terrible headache if you ask anyone from work). The whole process was quite and adventure which, yes I must capture in verse.

The buyer

With a saggy chest and a giant butt
What is she wearing, it’s so low cut?
A light is broken, that is too bad
You want how much? Are you quite mad?

No we haven’t stolen the kitchen light
And why, oh why, are your pants so tight
The gas does work if you turn it on
Sure we’ll come and show you, you stupid moron.

Their realtor

A handshake like a soppy rag
A double chin and a belly sag
A voice which shouts so as to say
I had six cups of coffee today

He talks about his psychic way
He predicted we’d all be meeting today
I ask him for a cup of tea
Just to get him far away from me

Our realtor

I will read this note before you sign
No eyes are quite as keen as mine
Wait pardon me what is this note
We must go over what he wrote

It might well be a trick you see
But don’t you worry, you have me
I will not let them spring the trap
Oh wait, it’s for them you drew them a map