Saturday, December 05, 2009

7-Eleven Zero

When I work the evening shift I like to make a trip to the nearby 7-11 at around supper time. I usually just get a diet coke, but sometimes I make the unfortunate decision to buy food as well. Tonight was just such an occasion.

I pulled up to 7-Eleven this evening to see the usual scenario. Two staff members were outside smoking, leaving only one inside to deal with a line of customers. I held my breath through the cloud of smoke and made my way inside. I got my diet coke and decided I was a little bit hungry. I peeked inside their display case of various deep-fried foods. For some reason the onion rings looked good to me, but I wasn’t willing to eat many of them. I hoped that they had a small size I could order.

The line was moving slowly, since the other two clerks were still outside. They appeared to be done smoking, so I assumed they were talking about how unique they were for having eyebrow and lip rings. Once I finally got to the front I asked the clerk, “What sizes do your onion rings come in?”

According to his nametag, his name was Myles. Myles looked at me like I had just asked the stupidest question he had ever heard. He shrugged, frowned, scowled, shook his head, and in his best Napoleon Dynamite voice he said, “Uuuh… they come in assorted sizes?” His statement-spoken-as-a-question had that tone of teenage superiority that indicated he felt he just answered something that was plainly obvious.

Not yet knowing why he thought I was so stupid, I ignored the tone and all of his theatrical facial expression and asked, “Ok… so do they come in small?”

With audible disdain Myles sighed loudly and said, “…j-sa-sec.” He turned and plodded with Frankenstein-like enthusiasm to the display case. He picked up a pair of tongs, opened the display case door, then started to do something in there. The display case was on the opposite side of the counter and his back was to me, so I didn’t know what he was doing, but he appeared to be sorting the onion rings. He paused and turned around and said, “How small do you want them?” Then he held up the tongs and pinched between them was a wee tiny onion ring. “This size?”

Realizing the weird way he misinterpreted my request I tried to explain away the confusion. I said, “I wanted a small order of onion rings, not an order of small onion rings.” Myles looked very confused and after a few seconds of frowning he tried to say ‘What?’ but it came out as “Wut?”

I didn’t know how to explain this so that he’d understand, so I just backed off entirely.
“Nevermind what I said before. Just give me a regular order of onion rings.”

I ended up getting my onion rings and was even able to return to my office within my break. I did get way more than I wanted to eat. There were well over a dozen in that bag, and I ate them all.
At least they were small.

Friday, October 02, 2009

Big Hairy Deal

When you go for treatment, they say that laser hair removal is permanent, but they give you a quiet disclaimer. Back in 2004, after ten painful sessions I was proud to say that my face had permanent hair loss, but just to spoil my happiness I had that disclaimer nagging away at me - “in the hair loss industry ‘permanent’ means ‘up to three years’”.

It had been over four years since my last round of lasers, so around Christmas time when I noticed some re-growth I wasn’t too surprised. It wasn’t bad at all, and it just took a couple swipes of a pink razor and I was good to go.

As the months progressed, more re-growth showed up. I noticed it took a few more swipes and a layer of foundation before I felt comfortable. Finally in recent weeks, even with full-on shaving and a generous portion of foundation I felt as though I looked like ‘Road Trip’ Sylar from season 3 of Heroes.

sylar Picture of Sarah: Sept 2009.

Last week I was driving home from work and heard a commercial for Nirvana Laser Hair and Skin. At about the exact same moment I noticed I was driving past the clinic, their phone number in huge letters on the sign. I picked up my phone and called to make an appointment. The woman on the other end of the call wouldn’t let me make an appointment without my credit card number though. It seems they are worried that people will not show up for their appointments and therefore won’t make them without a credit card number.

When I got home I called back, credit card in hand. I asked for their earliest appointment. I’ve been working nights, so an 8:00 appointment would be ideal, but it was unlikely they’d be open. I was hoping to get in right at 9:00. The woman said she had one available for 11:30. I asked her to check if there was anything earlier and she replied, “The doctor doesn’t come in until 11:30.” I took the 11:30.


Later that evening I decided I wanted to colour my hair something dark. When I was all done with the dye I noticed that my bangs were really long. I decided it was time to get someone professional to look at them.

It was already 7:00pm, so instead of waiting until morning so my wonderful friend Joanne* could cut my bangs, I drove down to Ultracuts. I asked the girl there to cut them to the level of my eyebrows. I also told her that they usually leave them longer at the sides, and a little bit shorter as you come in because I sweep my bangs to both sides. I showed her in the mirror what I was talking about. It shouldn't have been hard to visualize what I wanted because my bangs were already cut that way, I just wanted them a wee bit shorter.

She nodded as if she knew exactly what I meant, then squirted down my hair and stood in front of me for a while. After a couple of minutes she stood back to reveal my bangs. “Is this a good length?” she said.

My bangs were cut straight across in a perfect line across my forehead. I said the length was perfect. She then stood in front of me again and started snipping away. Looking back on that moment I wonder why she even bothered to ask about the length if she wasn’t going to pay attention to the answer. At the time though I just assumed she was cutting them the way I had asked.

When she moved out from between me and the mirror my bangs were brushed to either side, but they looked awfully short, and just plain weird. My heart sunk a little bit, but I just told myself that once I got home I could do my hair the way I do it and it would look fine. I was wrong.

When I got home I washed my hair and then blow dried it and I got to see the extent of the damage. Not only were my bangs now about 2 cm ABOVE my eyebrows, but she cut them a uniform length across my forehead. Even worse was that she had cut my bangs way to far back. My bangs started at my temples!!! Given my new dark hair, and the semi-circle of short, ruler-edged bangs, I was now sporting a Spock-mullet!

Picture of Sarah: Sept 2009.

To add even more insult to this awful haircut experience, when I was paying the bill the debit machine asked me for a tip amount. I actually typed in a tip**! Now the girl is going to think she did a good job, and also that I *wanted* to look like a space alien.


The next morning I went to Nirvana. I arrived about ten minutes early. I hoped the place would be dead, but it had quite a few people in there. I was very self-conscious of my Spock-mullet and Sylar-stubble so after I checked in, I picked a spot next to the window where I could sit alone and fill out the stack of forms the receptionist gave me.

While most of the forms were explaining possible side-effects, the entirety of page five was for explaining that they will take $50 off your credit card should you be a no-show for your appointment. I thought it was weird that they spend fewer words on side-effects than on their no-show policy. Even though I really don’t agree with it, I signed the form anyway. I handed my forms back in and looked at the time. 11:30 on the nose, perfect timing.

Half an hour later my name still hadn’t been called. Nobody had been called actually. I was getting really impatient, and really hot. The sun was beating down on me through that window, but now I had no place to move to unless I wanted to sit right next to someone else. I just sat there baking in the sun and stewing in my own impatience. A few minutes more in that heat and I wouldn’t need lasers to cook my follicles.

There was another woman waiting nearby. She looked very grandmotherly and pleasant. I imagined that her name was Betsy and in her spare time she bakes cupcakes and wears a bonnet. Betsy went up to the counter and said “How much longer?? I’ve been here 40 minutes!” She didn’t sound nearly as grandmotherly as she looked, but I still got the sense that despite her annoyed tone she was still just a fraction of a second away from handing out cookies from a hidden stash in that suitcase of a purse she was carrying. The receptionist said, “Literally just one more minute. The doctor just arrived.”

The doctor just arrived?? Her day doesn’t start until 11:30 and she still doesn’t roll in until after 12:00?? I was worried that since it was already noon she might break for lunch and keep me waiting another hour. I couldn’t believe that a business that charges its customers $50 if they don’t show up could possibly be run by someone who doesn’t show up herself.

We all sat there about ten more minutes, and I am sure we were all thinking the same thing when finally the doctor emerged from the back and called Betsy into a room. A few minutes after that, the receptionist interrupted my sun bathing and took me into a different treatment room.

I only waited in the room for about 30 seconds when the doctor came in. She was an older lady with curly poodle hair and an amazingly smooth face. There wasn’t a blemish or crease and I couldn’t tell if she was 50 or 70, but I also couldn’t tell if she hadn’t just been stung by bees. She seemed pleasant enough, and when her plumped-up lips parted she said, “Good morning!”. It was actually afternoon by this time, but I didn’t correct her. She continued speaking. “My name is Dr. Genesis.”

Dr. Genesis??! This just could not be her original name. I have no problem when people change their name – I’ve done it myself - but she named herself after her profession? She clearly wanted to associate her name with feelings of “coming into being” caused by the rejuvenation of appearance that she provides by injecting you with Botox. It was like when centuries ago people found last names in what they did for a living, like Smith, Carpenter or Farmer, except in an extremely corny way. It is just a hard name to take seriously. When I think of the name ‘Dr. Genesis’ I imagine that is what Phil Collins’ character would be named in World of Warcraft.***

Anyway, Dr Genesis asked, “So are you ready for this?”

I wasn’t all that annoyed at this point to be honest. When I got called into the treatment room my feelings of anxiety and frustration over the long wait slipped away and were replaced by feelings anxiety and fear over the pain this treatment was going to cause me. Still, I didn’t like that she was so late for our appointment considering that my punctuality is enforced by a monetary penalty.

I said, “Yes, actually I was ready forty-five minutes ago.” I smiled to lessen the effect of the words, but it probably just made me look more antagonistic. Sometimes my smiles do that.

She immediately said, “Feel free to leave then if you’re in such a hurry.” Dr Genesis was annoyed so quickly that I wondered if maybe Betsy had mentioned something too.

I said, “I don’t want to leave, I just thought it was worth mentioning that my appointment was for 45 minutes ago.”

“Go then. If you don’t want treatment you can just go. We’re not making you stay.”

I said, “Well you kind of are making me stay because you’d charge me $50 if I left. Actually if *I* showed up 45 minutes late you’d probably have already charged my credit card by the time I showed up.”

“Well you can just leave them. It’s fine, you can leave if you think this is taking too long.”

“I’ve waited this long, I clearly want the treatment, I just think there is a double-standard going on here that needed to be acknowledged.”

I really just thought she would have acknowledged her lateness and said sorry, I didn’t expect her to react in this way. She had just told me to leave several times in the past minute and I was growing tired of it. I said, “I’m not leaving let’s just get on with it!” And we did. Dr. Genesis and I got down to business and she spent a full 4 or 5 minutes with me explaining the procedure before handing me off to a laser technician.

When the technician began the pain was quite incredible. The last time I had this done it was very painful, but I didn’t think it was anyhere near as bad. Last time it felt like red hot needles were poked into my face. This time it also felt like that, but in addition I felt every follicle explode and sizzle and the inner layers of my skin felt baked. It hurt so much worse than normal I asked the technician to stop after about 30 seconds.

I got up and looked in the mirror and saw that the affected areas were strewn with burnt black hairs that were literally exploded out of my pores. My skin didn’t look like it was worse for wear except for a blotchy purply redness. The technician also assured me this was all very normal, but conceded to turn down the power at my request. I got back on the table and let her continue.

The session was still very painful. I had to ask her to stop several times for a break from the pain. It was worth it to me though because it felt like it was going to be so much more effective than last time. Last time I went for ten treatments. With any luck this time I’ll only need to go five or so.


When I got home I looked at myself in the mirror. My bangs were ridiculously short. My face was red and purple and blotchy all over. My chin was speckled with the occasional corpses of dead burnt hairs that were somehow reminiscent of Michael Jackson’s beard. I looked terrible. I was very glad that I was working nights so that nobody would see me looking like this.

By this point I had been awake close to 24 hours, so I was very ready for bed. Before drifting off I paused for a moment for a short prayer. I am not a religious woman at all, I think it is all ridiculous and utter nonsense. Still, every once in a while I find myself throwing a silent plea out there according to the outlandish premise that there is someone listening to my thoughts who might be able to magically affect events in my life. Despite the futility of it all, my silent plea was that the hair on my chin would stop growing, and that the hair on the top of my head would grow faster.

* Joanne is the owner of Hush salon, downtown Saskatoon. Go get her to cut your hair right now!

** I think it is funny that I can’t even snub a machine when it asks for a tip.

*** I obviously changed my name to Sarah, but I really did consider spelling it Saraa – which is how I spelled my character’s name in World of Warcraft.

Saturday, May 09, 2009

Star Trek

When I was a kid I used to stand in the basement and just look at the shelves. They were filled with book after book after book covering a lot of the available wall space. My dad loved science fiction, and he loved science fiction novels. Sometimes he bought two or three books at a time, and many of them he didn't even get a chance to read. He told me once that he'd read them when he retired. Well, he didn't make it that far. He died several years ago, and those books were left unopened. I couldn't help but feel sad and wonder which books he had on his retirement-to-do list. I was pretty sure that high on that list, if not already read, were his Star Trek novels. My dad was a fan.

When VCRs became somewhat reasonably priced in the late 70s or early 80s my dad bought one. It was absolutely huge compared to VCRs these days, but that was OK because so were TVs. That first VCR we owned was part silver and part fake-wood, but all plastic. It was a spring powered top-loader that made you think you'd lose a finger if you were too close when the 'eject' button was pressed. With all this advanced technology, I think the feature Dad used most was the remote. It had only one function - it let you pause while playing or recording. Best of all it was connected to the VCR with a 12 foot wire. With that VCR and the high-tech remote, Dad was no longer collecting Star Trek books - he was collecting Star Trek episodes.

I must have been around 10 or 11 years old when Dad started recording Star Trek off the CBC every weekend. We'd watch it as he recorded it, careful to pause recording during the commercials. I remember a few times he'd entrust me to man the remote, and more than once or twice he'd try to hide his disappointment when he realized I had paused it for the commercials, but forgot to unpause it when they were over. He was never upset about it though, because he knew it would be on again in the future.

As the time went by and we got more cable channels Star Trek seemed to be on more frequently until eventually Dad had every episode, mostly in order, with commericals edited out. During that time, my sister and I (and even my mom - although probably reluctantly) watched a lot of Star Trek.

When the newer Star Trek series came out like The Next Generation or Deep Space Nine, and Voyager, Dad recorded them too. Soon he had to put up more shelves in the basement to hold all the VHS tapes.

He told me that despite the newer special effects in the new episodes, he still preferred the original series. He said that the characters of Kirk, Spock, and Bones made the show for him. He loved their personalities, interactions and relationships. I always preferred that series as well, in no small part due to the fact that I saw most of them with my dad.

When I found out they were making a new Star Trek movie, I was excited. I was even more excited to hear that they were bringing back the original crew, my dad's favorites. Some people were upset that they were using younger actors to play these iconic roles , but I didn't care. Afterall, my dad said it was the characters that made the show great, and I think he was right. My excitement over the new movie was tempered though. I couldn't help thinking that Dad would have loved to have been around to see it, and I would have gone with him.

That got me thinking. I still remember the day he took me to the first Star Trek movie, and I still remember the solemn look on his face when Spock died in The Wrath of Khan (I cried, by the way). It just didn't feel right to me, to go see this movie without him. It just seemed like something I should be doing with my dad, so I had an idea.

I asked my family; Mom, Jenn and her husband Nick, and of course Heather to save May 8th for me so that we could all go see this movie together. I picked up the tickets last week, and I got one extra. When we chose our seats in the theatre, we left an empty one in the middle of our group. I like to think that is where Dad would have sat if he could have made it. Dad would have loved that movie if he had been there, I know I did. Even better, it just felt special to me, having bought him a seat and surrounding it with his loved ones.

I wish you had been there Dad, it was a good time. We all thought about you and missed you.

Dad's ticket

P.S. Thanks to Heather, Mom, Nick and Jenn for adhering to my strict timetable, seat preferences and seating plan. It was perfect.

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

Plenty of Fish

I was very angry at for a while, but I've decided to look past our differences because it is free. It was extremely frustrating to have my profile deleted on a consistent basis, but so far I've been online with them for over a year without any trouble. Normally I'd probably want to take a stand and refuse to use a service who would delete profiles just because they are transgendered but, like I said, it is free. For those interested, I did find out from an administrator that it isn't PoF policy to delete transsexuals on sight, but it is their policy to delete all profiles that generate even one complaint. So, even though I have been enjoying the site for a while now without incident, all it takes is one complaint from one devout christian, and my "offensive" profile will be deleted. Until then, I'll just continue checking my mail each week.

Do you drink? Socially
Marital Status: Single
Profession: Programmer
Smarts: Some college
Hi there, thanks for checking out my profile but before you read any further, I'd like to make sure you know that I am a transgender woman (if you have any questions about that please ask). Other than that though, I'm just your average woman that likes to drink slurpees too fast and sleep too late in the mornings. I love to spend an evening in a coffee shop or out for dinner, (occasionally I like to go out for some drinks too) but mostly I'm a homebody. I am a smart, funny 35 year old who is looking for a smart local guy who likes to hang out, likes computers and the outdoors, and can make me laugh me with jokes containing 80's pop culture references.

My offensive profile on
(clearly it hasnt been updated recently.
I wish I was still 35).

I don't go on PoF frequently, maybe once a week. It is fun to peruse the letters I am sent while I eat some lunch. Normally it is all the same old thing. I think I've mentioned before that I should keep a record of my responses so I can just paste them into new conversations instead of retyping it each time. For the most part I'd only need to keep a master list of 5 or 6 responses because I'd say 95% of people ask the same things with very little variation. The remaining 5% is a bit more unpredictable.

Usually the remaining 5% send me messages of an extreme vulgar nature that leave me speechless. For example, last week a guy named Mike said, "I am tired of trying to ask you out nicely that hasnt seemed to work, so _________" He said a number of rude and vulgr things about what he wants to do to me, then followed it with ,"Interested?"
Messages like this don't even deserve a response.

Today though I received a message from someone named Jamshid. It was nothing like any message I have received on before. It made me LOL IRL.

Hello Sarah,I is me again, I have read your progfile and wonder if you can help me?
1.I receive the message: error on page, what should I do?
2.I have 7Mbps internet, but practically,the speed of my internet is too low. I am using router. Is the problem from router? or somthing wrong in my PC?
IF you don't like to communicate with me it is fine and accpetable. But I hope you can find answer to my PC problems.

Monday, February 16, 2009

Sarah is a Momma Again!

As you know, a while back I got a pet. I remember being very unsure if I should or not, and then Megan and Jenn W talked me into it. What started off as a nice lunch turned into them taking me to the pet store where I bought little Babies. I was surprised at how smart he was, and even more surprised at how much personality a bird has. I would spend hours watching his antics and laughing at the weird, random, things he does. It wasn't long before we became best friends. Probably the best thing I have ever done is get a pet bird, so several months later I decided that it just made sense to get another one.

I was cautious about getting another bird though because I live in an apartment, and noise is a concern. I've heard how Babies will reply loudly to other birds he hears outside (or on TV), so I was a little worried that two cockatiels in the same apartment might play off of each other and turn out to be infinitely louder than just one.

Despite my fears about noise, I always thought that Babies' life would be enriched by having another cockatiel around. They are social animals, and although I try to be around as much as I can, it isn't always possible. Even if I am home, I cannot always pay him attention because of work. I decided that I was reluctant to get my first bird and it turned out great, so I should just get over my reluctance to get a second. I found I began checking out pet stores for another little feathery companion.

The pet store I bougt Babies from is Petcetera. I do not like the condition of the cockatiels they have. They have ratty tails, and the birds are antisocial. Their water looks disgusting and the cages are dirty. Some people might think that you should buy your pet from a place that takes better care of them, but whenever I am in that store I find I want to rescue those birds. It was no exception when I was there on the weekend. I visited them on Thursday night, and again on Saturday afternoon.

Saturday afternoon I saw they had the same three birds as on Thursday. They had two friendly looking pearl cockatiels in a cage together, and above them was a small little grey cockatiel sitting on a perch all alone in his cage. The pearls had very frayed and short tails, but otherwise they looked beautiful. They both seemed to be very happy, and they were grooming each other. The grey cockatiel looked angry.

I asked the girl at the cash register how much the pearls were, and she told me. They were $109 each. I told her I wanted to get one. She said she'd be with me in a moment.

I walked back over to the birds and I watched the two pearls grooming each other. I couldn't tell which one was cuter, but I started to feel guilty about splitting up the pair. When the girl showed up she asked which one I wanted, so I picked the bigger one hoping he was male. (I love cockatiels, but I don't want little baby ones running around).

She had a flattened box in her hands and was trying to open it back up and tape it so it could hold a bird. To break the silence I pointed to the grey one in the top cage and said, "Last time I was here there was a sign up saying this guy was already sold."

She incorrectly called him a female and said, "Yeah, she was sold, and then they returned her. She's had it rough. She had a cage buddy for months and then we sold him and she was all alone. Then we sold her and they took her home, got her wings clipped, then brought her back because they didn't want a female. She's been depressed ever since." Then she opened up the bottom cage and said, "Which of these two do you want?"

I just felt bad for this poor grey bird. I found myself saying, "I changed my mind. I want this guy instead." Before I knew it I was at home with my new bird. I named him "Buddies".

I opened the box and tried to release him into the big cage, but he was refusing to leave. Babies looked very interested and came right over. When Buddies finally came out Babies went over and stood next to him, it seemed like they were already best friends.

The first picture of Buddies

Babies (left) and Buddies (right) eating lunch

Buddies (left) and Babies (right) goofing around

Buddies enjoying his first shower

Monday, February 02, 2009

Find the Smell

A few days ago I made a mistake. I didn't even discover my mistake for 3 or 4 days, and when I finally did, I felt sickened by it. It was the kind of mistake that makes me seem airheaded and lazy and slobby all at the same time.

What makes me feel airheaded is that I couldn't even remember what I had bought from the grocery store. When I shop, I just get a few items at a time. I usually only get enough food to last a half a week and I rarely walk out of the store with any more than 2-3 bags of food. A few days ago was no exception, yet I couldn't seem to remember what I had bought.

It normally wouldn't matter if I could remember or not, but in this case it sure did. While I was shopping I remember considering buying some pork chops. I had been craving pork chops a few days earlier, but once they were in my hands I no longer did. I remember assessing my future pork-cravings potential before moving on. When I got home with the groceries I was putting everything away, and I didn't notice any pork chops. I paused over it, but despite that I could remember my internal debate over them, I really couldn't remember what I had decided - so I assumed I just didn't buy them. That was my mistake.

The problem was further complicated because I was lazy. When I was unpacking I put the fridge stuff in the fridge, and the freezer stuff in the freezer. I had cupboard stuff too but I was too lazy to put them in the cupboard. Instead I just dropped the bag onto the floor near the microwave, somewhat near the cupboard - and that is where it stayed for a few days.

A couple days later I came home and smelled an odd smell. It was sort of sweet, yet sour. I sniffed around for a bit, but could not determine the source. I decided that it must be from a neighbouring apartment. Before long I became accustomed to the smell and didn't give it another thought. I often smell things that nobody else can smell (except my sister), so I wasn't too concerned.

The next day when I came home the odd smell was back. It was less sweet, and more sour. Again I tried to find the origin, but it was just too faint to pin it down. I figured it was maybe coming from the dishes in the sink or the garbage underneath. I sniffed them and while it certainly wasn't a good smell, it didn't seem like the same smell. I did the dishes and took out the garbage, and I hoped I had removed the source. Still, despite cleaning the kitchen, I opted not to put that bag of cupboard stuff into the cupboard. Oh I saw it there, but like I said, I'm lazy. So I left it there.

The next day was Saturday, and I was out most of the day. I didn't get home until around 2:30am. I opened the door to discover the smell was still sticking around, and it was worse. It was still far from a stench. If I had to guess, I would say that this was the first day anyone with normal smelling ability could have detected it. Still, for a smell-o-phobe like me, it was a little distressing. Not only was it offensive, but I just couldn't think of what was causing it. It was late though, and I was too tired and too hungry to search for the source again. I just wanted a snack and my bed. I put a couple pizza pops on a plate and stuck them in the microwave.

Being as tired as I was, I didn't stand while I waited for the pizza pops to cook. I knelt next to the counter in front of the microwave such that the bag of cupboard stuff was right at my knees. I realized the smell was stronger in that position. I looked inside the bag and among the cans of tuna and boxes of macaroni was another bag. It was wrapped around itself and around its contents. Without thinking I picked that bag up by the handles so that gravity unwrapped it, then I held it to my nose. It was a good thing I was already kneeling because had I been standing I might have fallen over. That bag contained only 1 item - a package of gray, slimy-looking, rancid pork chops!

It was like opening a Pandora's Box of stink. That bag had done a good job of containing everything, but once I opened it and jostled everything about, my apartment smelled like a slaughterhouse. I quickly ran that bag straight out to the garbage. Even outside in the cold air I could still smell it, like it had attached itself to the insides of my nose.

As I was trying to recover from the olfactory assault I got mad at myself. If I wasn't so airheaded that I couldn't remember what I had bought 15 minutes earlier then I would have looked specifically for the pork chops and put them in the freezer. If I hadn't been so lazy that I couldn't put everything away I would have found them by accident and put them in the freezer. If I hadn't been such a slob that I thought it reasonable that dirty dishes were responsible for the smell, I might have at least searched harder and taken the chops out before they got so completely rotten. It was a good lesson I thought. I learned something over this all.

Of course a couple days later, sitting here at the computer writing this, if I look over at the microwave I will see that the bag of cupboard stuff is still sitting there on the floor below it...

Friday, January 09, 2009

7-11 in Progress

I work at home on a computer all day. It has it's conveniences for sure. I can put in a load of laundry to wash while I am working. I can listen to loud 80s music. Some days I even work in my pyjamas. Still, it is boring and sometimes maddening to be cooped up in here all day long. For that reason I like to head out at some point to buy a diet coke from 7-11.

Today at about noon I headed out for a little break. I drove to 7-11 and pulled into the parking lot right behind a police car. I walked into the store with the two police officers right behind me. The policewoman poured herself a coffee and the policeman got a diet coke right after I did.

When I took my place in line the woman was already there, and a moment later the man stood behind me. While we were waiting there we heard a loud, solid, 'Beep Beep Beep'. The police woman quickly put her coffee down and pulled out her walkie-talkie. Instead of talking into it, she looked at the display on the front. I tried to read it, but it was at a bad angle. She then turned around and frowned at her partner. Her expression indicated that she was surprised at what she saw. I assumed there must be a '419 in progress' somewhere, or something.

In response to her expression the policeman pulled out his walkie-talkie and looked at the display too, and then he shrugged and said, "Wasn't me."

The policewoman said, "Wasn't me either. That's weird."

At this point I pulled my phone from my purse. After looking at the front I said, "It was me."

Apparently the default ring tone for text messages on an LG Voyager phone is the same tone that the Saskatoon Police Department uses on their walkie-talkies.