DANGER! HIGH VOLTAGE!

VP Chicken Legs is married to VP Ugly Sweater. She loves her horse. She loves her horse so much that everyday she visits the CEO’s personal schlepper, Miss Cackler, to chat about the damn thing. Today’s issue was the $75 training fee for a 15-minute session in which her horse took all of two steps.

So if it's true that the higher you get on the corporate ladder, the easier it is to slack off, then I must be getting some of the best training. Granted I am not yet at VP Ugly Sweater’s level where I can blatantly take off for three hours to drive thirty miles away for a midday horse training session. But I sure am catching on fast. It’s my third day back from vacation and I can honestly say, my unproductive streak has now gone an unbroken 2 and a half weeks straight. It’s all the more gratifying since the CEO’s view out of her glass wall is my piece of the square pie at Cubedom. I wonder if she’d notice, were I to pull a George Kostanza and take a nap under my desk?

So what started this whole train of thought? Overhearing VP Ugly Sweater say the most hilarious thing at 2pm on a Wednesday afternoon. Once she was done chatting about the training session to fellow horseshit-shoveller Miss Cackler, she walks over to the CEO’s waiting area. Seated on the couch was the almighty, self-important, motormouth, ex used car salesman and now god of insurance sales, J. fucking C. The two strike up another conversation and are joined by the only southern man I know who must tan using a tanning bed, the suspender-wearing, training expert, GM.

VPUS: Look at you sitting quietly while waiting for D**** (aka the only CEO I know that only has a BA to her name).
JC: Yeah, I’ll just camp here till they’re done.
GM: Oh no, I’ve got me a 2pm audience with her.
JC: Well, I’m staying right here. Even if I fall asleep on this here couch.
VPUS: Miss Cackler will wake you up. She’s the gatekeeper.
GM: Or I’ll nudge ya when I’m done.
VPUS: You know what you need? You need a shocker! We could get you one of those shock collars.
GM: Zap you awake!

The Shark has a theory the VP Chicken Legs is the way he is because his brute of a wife is actually his dominatrix and forces the riding crop and gag on him nightly. Good God, I think he hit the nail right on the head.

For the noobs - SHOCKER Now go flash it proudly.

You mean it's still winter?

There’s no better reality check than coming back from four days of sand, sun, good food and great friends to work and home - where it is a wet, 37 degrees and chances of snow overnight. It was cold in Tofino, and the sun being out was an exception rather than the norm. We made sure to soak it up by going on hikes and seeing the quaintness of the little artsy town. Once that was done, I spent some time catching up on my reading and watching old movies while the rest of the group played football out on the beach. As much fun as it looked, I was so happy to switch to some downtime and was fully content being in the warm cottage in between hot tub soaks.

But now it is my second day back at work. I’ve got my scarf wrapped around my neck, my fingers are icicles and the frozen toe syndrome is starting to kick in despite the wool socks. It’s taking all the willpower not to get up, tell the Hag to go fuck herself, go back home and straight into the warmth of my goose-down. Incentives to staying? Hmmm.. 1.) Not quitting job assures future vacations. 2.) I really would like to stick around to watch her die at her desk and go undiscovered for days. 3.) Nanay’s squash soup for lunch. Mmmm…. A hot, creamy, puree of squash, onions, garlic, potatoes, herbs, with my own twist – a pat of melted butter, ricotta cheese and soy milk – and a dash of chili powder for some heat. I guess that settles it. I’ll stick around, if only to enjoy my lunch while hoping for the Hag to choke on hers.

Another reality check? There are only 28 shopping days until Christmas, even less for the ones that I have to mail out. ACK!

I swear I'm not medicated

More Mondays should be Tuesdays. I envy people who work 10 hours shifts for four days for their three day weekends. Naturally, I don't envy them for the 40 hours of work but who in their right mind would? A four day work week.. I think I'll put that on my Christmas wish list.

I'm back from a three day weekend celebrating the Tsu-man's birthday. We drove down to Seattle to play tourists. We hit the Seattle Aquarium, the Pacific Science Center, the Museum of Flight and went on a cruise of Elliott Bay. It was a fun weekend, made even more perfect by mother nature gracing us with some much needed sun. And so it is that I find myself in such a good mood that I've got nothing to bitch about.

Sitting in a Blackbird's cockpit.

"Ladies, please be careful of your language...there may be gentlemen present."

A windy day on Elliott Bay

Hey, it could be worse

Last night, I went to costco for spinach, mozzarella and juice. I left with lasagna ingredients and eight kinds of cheese. Not a big deal, right? Except that I live alone most of the week and well... is a weakness for good cheese reason enough? Be that as it may, my refrigerator has now been taken over by this stuff. Garlic White Cheddar, Roasted Cracked Black Pepper White Cheddar, Extra Sharp Cheddar, Smoked Sharp Cheddar, Creamy Havarti, Mozzarella, Cottage Cheese and Ricotta. Add that to the half eaten Smokey Bar and Roquefort that I've had around for salads and I'm only two short of a dozen. Fark! Please don't send me to cheesaholics anonymous just yet. I'm sure I can get this under control.

I Shall Never Again Make Fun Of Polka

Deep in the boonies of British Columbia, a little town on Bradner road holds an annual Oktoberfest in November. Bavarian food, music and fun are always on the menu. As is the most famous libation all throughout the month of October - Beer. We went not knowing what to expect, just that we were in for a night of hilarity with some good friends. After we'd had some bratwursts (the rest of the traditional Bavarian fare was present but I can't even begin to name them all) and a couple pints of dark beer later, we joined everyone on the dancefloor (sans lederhosen) for some traditional and modern Bavarian dances. Neil Diamond, Elvis and the Dire Straits remixed with a polka beat made for an interesting soundtrack. There was even an impromptu Ukranian Hopak dance circle. No, we did not dance to Boney M's Rasputin. That's where I draw the line.

Here are some of the pictures from the evening.

I can't make this shit up even if I tried!

I'm sitting here listening to the Hag and Certifiably Crazy Missy Kissy arguing about whether website is spelled with a capital W or not. Apparently CMS spells it with a capital W whereas MS Word doesn't - and that is enough to make them doubt themselves? Oh wait, they've now come to a stalemate and the Hag has decided to ask Goth Girl Jess instead. Hot, fried Christ on a stick, I work with first class morons, I tell you.

Remember, remember the fifth of November

Today is Guy Fawkes Day. I am well aware that a resolution will never come about of bombing the hell out of each party (Palestine v. Israel, need I say more?) But it hasn’t stopped me from imagining the two things that make my life harder being blown into smithereens.

The Hag – as the lone occupant in the Brown Building of Doom. What? Hasn't the organization been trying to test its disaster recovery plan for years now?

The Slow Lane at the Border on Friday afternoons – including the man in the orange vest who forced me onto it last Friday. After seven years of crossing the damn border, ofcourse I know the right lane is always the faster one. Forty five minutes and seventy pairs of tail lights later, I get another newbie in the booth asking me stupid questions.

“No, I have never been denied entry into Canada.”
“Yes, this is my car.”
“No, I have nothing to declare.”
“No, I don’t have weapons or tobacco on board.”
To this he says, "Carry on." (Yessiree, big military reject sir.)

Fuckin Eh. These newbie guards and their lack of confidence in decision making are the leading cause of people getting the two finger strip search special, I tell you. But I was up there to celebrate the Tsu-man’s upcoming birthday and the plan was for the whole family to go out for dinner. So once I passed the border, I did what I usually do - suppress my anger and save it for a blog post.

The Tsu-man was proven right, yet again, when he said that it would only take half an hour with the family for me to realize I didn’t miss them all that much – despite their three week absence while in China. The evening's festivities started with a fifteen minute parking spot hunt (going the wrong direction on a one way lane included) and loitering at the restaurant hallways (the Art of the Neverending Hello and Goodbye is as Brazillian as caipirinhas and thong bikinis, so I’ve been told time and time again.) while blocking out the rest of the other patrons. After much debate, the patriarch mandated we were to eat despite not having our full party present (well, they were more than 30 minutes late.) What started out as a giant comedy of errors, or an exercise in patience, turned out to be a wonderful evening. Crab galore, a chocolate fountain and I even got Cameron to sleep when everyone else struck out!

Now THIS is my kind of midweek party!

A costume party at the local rainbow bar - my kind of crowd, my kind of music and most certainly, my kind of party! (there were no ladies trying to sell me candles, that's for sure!)

The MAC goodies were put to use as I donned a kimono and put on my geisha face. Gleam coat mixed with bare canvas paint made for a very pale face. Pink Opal and Cranberry eyeshadow and black liquid eyeliner made for a stern mask.

A call from the satyr and her entourage confirmed they had left for the Cabaret room and would meet us there. My partner in crime Cece and I posed for a couple pictures at her house, since Rupinder would not be convinced to come out, and also made our way to freak central on Railroad Ave. Claudia was her usual bomb self (looking quite dapper in a three piece pinstripe suit) and let us in gratis.

Once the congregation was complete, we met the fabulous Betty Desire herself. Mac Daddy Jun and his personal muscle/cop on payroll Russell, were out for a little bit (and found the fembots real quick, it seems!) before moving on to the Fairhaven. We also met a couple of merrymakers who kept asking whether I had already had my mizuage (Can I plead the fifth?) and would I do a fan dance. HA! They moved on once they caught sight of the horned satyr. They loved her so much, they wanted to dance with her all night. (Exhibit A, horn licking.)

Guess who ended up in a freakshow fivesome sandwich on the dancefloor later that night? ha! My kimono was almost shed to reveal my back up costume (Madonna circa the 90's - bustier and booty shorts), because of the sweat it attracted. The downside of clubbing is definitely the second hand sweat you are bound to be slathered with. So although the kimono provided the necessary barrier while on the dancefloor, it made for a clammy ride home, and the motivation for beating the current world record for shortest time from the door to the tub!

All in all, it was a fantastic evening and,believe it or not, I was the designated driver too! Geisha girl loved her coke on the rocks all night.