There was a big lineup to get gas today for some reason. It's not like
they're giving it away for free--it's still at eighty cents a liter here.
The only thing longer than the lineup to get gas was the lineup
to pay for it. It's a good thing I didn't leave the car running,
because by the time I finished paying for it I would have had to fill up
It didn't help that there was some old lady in front of me who couldn't
decide which variety of lottery ticket she wanted to purchase, and then
screwed up entering her code into the ATM and had to do the entire transaction
over again. Then, just as she's about to walk away, she realizes she forgot
to purchase a ticket for the car wash, and spent another five minutes debating
whether to buy the Winter Wash or the Ultimate Wash. I felt like telling
her she should go with the Ultimate, because as soon as I was done here
I was going to go outside and spit on her car.
So we were following a van home yesterday that had a painted logo on it
advertising Valhalla Manor. I could be wrong (doubtful) but isn't Valhalla
the Norse idea of heaven? As I understand it, only the greatest heroes
slain in battle made it to Valhalla, where they could fight all day, be
healed of their wounds, and party all night. Not most people's idea of
heaven, grant you. (Well, okay, mine--and maybe three or four other people
I know, but that's it, tops.)
And I'm pretty sure that you actually had to be slain in battle to qualify.
You could have been the greatest warrior of your age, but if you died of
old age in bed it's no heaven for you. Personally I would have had
a surefire plan for getting into heaven. When I hit seventy or eighty years
old, I'd run naked into every battle with nothing but a spatula, and whack
every berserker I found on the ass. If that's not bravery, I donít know
what is, and odds are I'd get killed doing it, too. Unless I found some
gay berserker, then...well, I don't want to think about that.
Anyway...where was I again.... oh, yeah, Valhalla Manor. To top it off
I'm pretty sure it was a retirement home. I don't even want to think about
what sick game of shuffleboard they're playing over there.
I had my annual dental cleaning today. I swear she cleaned my teeth right
down to the roots. She had me rinse with fluoride afterwards, but she should
have offered me orange juice to help with the blood loss. Either that or
a transfusion. But hey, my teeth are clean.
I haven't had a chance to do any writing in the last few days, but I did
send off a couple of short stories, and booked my room for Ad Astra. And
I read the first two books in Robert Sawyer's Neanderthal Trilogy. That's
writing related, so it counts, right?
Oh, and I moved into my new office at Design and Development yesterday.
That's three moves in eight months. The good news is that nobody knows
where to look for me when they need me, half the people aren't sure who
I work for so they don't know who to complain to about me, and my new boss
doesn't know he's my new boss, so he can't task me. And I still get paid.
The daughter managed to break her left wrist just before exams, and of
course, she's left-handed. To make matters worse, she did it clowning around
with her boyfriend. To make matters worse-worse, she was fool enough to
tell Pen about it.
Of course now Pen wants me to kill him. I'm rather loathe to do so, though,
because I figure we've saved a fortune on gas what with him driving her
back and forth to school and home. See, women just aren't that practical--or
maybe they're more so. Pen figures if we kill him now, Chantel can have
So we put together the cubicles for our new office, and I, of course, built
mine in the corner, with high walls all around it for privacy don't ya
know. Apparently everyone else decided I was a bit of a loner, so to make
them happy I took out one of the panels and installed a Venetian blind.
The Master Warrant Officer saw it and said, "You're really not much of
a team player, are you?"
So I closed the blind on him.
We were talking about serial killers at work the other day, and someone
mentioned how when people who knew one describes them, they always comment
about how they were such a quiet person. To which I responded, "Well of
course they're quiet. Chatty murderers usually get caught after the first
one, thereby negating the 'serial' part of the equation." Well, it made
sense to me.
As a matter of fact, I think the gov't should give me a grant to study
the hypothesis. After all, they just gave someone $200,000 to study any
truth to the idea the being drunk makes you stupid. (Something I'm sure
could have been done a lot more cheaply with one of those opinion polls.)
Oh, yeah, happy first day of spring. Don't let the freak snow storm fool
I read somewhere the other day (from a source that should know, I suppose)
that to be considered truly wealthy in Canada you had to be worth at least
five million dollars. It's pretty bad when you realize that even after
winning the new and improved lottery, you'd still not be rich. Especially
after you shared with family (and gave ten percent to charity like you
promised God or Vishnu or Yoda if they'd only let you win).
Oh, well, if I can't be rich, at least I can act rich. To
that end Pen and I went to a dinner theatre Friday night, and saw Joseph
and the Amazing Technicolor Dream Coat. (I had at first written Jason,
but that would be a whole different show--kinda like Joseph and the Argonauts.)
It was surprisingly good considering I'd never heard of any of the actors
in it. I'm pretty sure they were all local Toronto talent, but Pen says
they gave the big Andrew Lloyd Weber production a run for its money. And
Pen is Picky. (Note the capital P.)
yeah, note the word count. Not bad, eh? I'm on Chapter 25, which is three
chapters longer than the original already, and still no end in sight. (Well,
maybe through the Hubble, before they fixed the lens.)
It's been a busy few days. Being gov't workers, I was off both for Good
Friday and Easter Monday, which makes it a nice four-day weekend. But wait,
there's more. Since we've been working so hard lately, our CO stood us
down Thursday at noon (hat means we get to go home) and since it's Pen's
birthday today, I took Tuesday off, too. So....
On Friday Pen dragged me...er...I accompanied Pen to the One of a Kind
Craft Show in Toronto. Don't let the name fool you--there were three, four,
even five of a kind on display. The only thing Pen seemed really interested
in was the Hyacinths most of the vendors had on display--she tried to convince
me to steal some for her, but I made a vow only to use my powers for good.
Mostly we bought food: the best chocolate chip shortbread cookies in the
world, fudge, and caramel. Oh, and a monogrammed towel for Chantel, because
apparently she needed one. Who knew?
Saturday Pen worked, so I went for a run and went shopping for Pen's birthday.
I got her a Spa Day, and a card, and bought her some Easter Hyacinths.
(See Friday.) On Sunday Pen went to her mom's for Easter, while I did laundry
and other assorted household labors of Hercules. I also caught up on my
reading. Well, I didnít actually catch up, but I did forge ahead.
Monday I went to the gym--my typical two hours, and then baked a
turkey complete with stuffing, mashed potatoes and gravy, because Pen had
a craving. Today we're going into Toronto to one of Pen's favorite restaurants,
and to see a movie. Pen's at the spa, while I bake her a birthday cake.
You know, if I were a doll right about now, I'd be Suzy Homemaker. Suzy
Homemaker with a Kung Fu grip, mind you.
Btw, Conga Rats to Ebear and Ben on their Hugo nominations, and of course:
P P Y B I R T H D A Y P O O K I E !!!
I just know the other Mad Dog Killer Types are going to make fun of me
now. Maybe I'll have them over for cookies--you know, as a pre-emptive