SarahJM.com

Roller Derby Face

2010-07-19T23:11:00.004-06:00

As I mentioned in my last blog article, I recently joined a roller derby league. About a month ago I was trying to hit a jammer who was just a little bit faster than I was. I was trying to hit low, but missed entirely and ended up hitting the ground instead - with my face.

A Sign of Intelligence

2010-07-19T21:09:00.002-06:00

I haven't written in my blog in a long time, but that is probably good news for any readers I might still have because if I had been blogging, chances are good that every single blog article would be about roller derby. Yep, in February I joined the Saskatoon Roller Derby League and since then derby is always on my mind. We practice three times a week, I skate on my own most evenings, and it seems like every weekend we have a fundraiser so that we can afford to rent places to practice. This past weekend was an event called "Dirty Dogs and Derby Girls" where we washed dogs to raise money. Since dogs give me asthma something fierce I let the other girls wash the dogs, while I kept well away. In fact I was several blocks away at a busy corner holding a sign advertising the dog wash. To me, skating around at a busy intersection makes a hell of a lot more sense than being near those evil deadly poisonous dogs.

I was out there for two hours at the corner of 8th and McKercher on a little triangle of concrete. The goal was to get people to see my sign, so I wore my skates and my jersey and tried to skate around a bit to catch the eye of drivers. It was pretty windy out, and my sign was acting like a sail, but I think the skates were still a good idea because I actually seemed to get a lot of attention. As cars stopped at the red lights I looked at all the drivers and almost all of them were looking at me. A few people even shouted things at me, like asking to see my sign better, or asking how much it cost to get a dog washed. One woman actually got out of her car at the red light, walked over to me and asked where the dog wash was.

Not everyone who said something to me was interested in the dog wash though. Some people were more interested in my derby outfit. A guy who looked a lot like Big Moose from Archie comics yelled "ROLLERGIRLS ROCK!" as he sped by in an over-sized truck. One woman yelled "I LOVE YOUR SKATES!" A while later a younger woman passenger leaned her head out of her window and shouted "WHAT'S YOUR DERBY NAME?"* I turned around so she could read the back of my jersey. It was a boring job, but I have to admit - I was enjoying the attention.

Over an hour of sign-holding later, the dust and the wind were getting to me so I took a short break. I skated into the 7-11** for a slurpee. I also took this time to put down my sign and pull out my headphones. After I had some 80s music playing I picked up my sign and headed back out to my windy concrete triangle.

I wasn't out there for more than a few seconds before some guy yelled something at me. I couldn't determine what he was saying, but I smiled and waved and spun around on my skates. To my surprise it was only about a minute later that some other guy was yelling something at me. I thought the wind must have blown my hair into something cute for once, and I waved and smiled at him before his light turned green and he drove away. Then mere seconds later someone else was shouting something at me! I didn't know what was going on. I was getting so much attention! What fun! I pointed my sign at her and waved happily.

The woman obviously didn't want to see the sign because even after I showed it to her she was shouting at me again. I thought maybe she wanted to see my derby name too or something like that, so I pulled my headphones off so I could hear her. Once I had them off she repeated herself, "YOUR SIGN IS UPSIDE-DOWN!"

* My derby name is Mega BiteMe. It is part computer reference, part taunt.

** I skate a lot these days, and I've adopted the policy that if any business does not have a sign prohibiting rollerskates on their door, then they must be allowed, and I will skate into them (but very slowly and mindful of other customers of course). So far businesses that seem to be rollerskate friendly are McDonald's, Starbucks, Sobey's, 7-11, two different Sasktel stores, and Shopper's Drug mart.

A Couple of Pictures

2010-03-06T21:03:00.000-06:00

7-Eleven Zero

2009-12-05T04:55:00.005-06:00

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.

Big Hairy Deal

2009-10-02T09:08:00.011-06:00

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.

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.

Star Trek

2009-05-09T01:25:00.019-06:00

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.

Plenty of Fish

2009-03-18T11:45:00.008-06:00

I was very angry at plentyoffish.com 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 PlentyofFish.com

(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 PoF.com 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.
Thanks,
Jamshid

Sarah is a Momma Again!

2009-02-16T20:00:00.007-06:00

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

Find the Smell

2009-02-02T16:46:00.004-06:00

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...

7-11 in Progress

2009-01-09T12:22:00.003-06:00

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.

"Knowledgeable Sales Assistance" *

2008-12-19T14:39:00.013-06:00

Several weeks ago my mobile phone contract reached two years of age. I immediately received an email from Jump.ca declaring that my account was eligible for an upgrade. The email was frantically urging me to buy a new phone at a reduced price and to return my old phone for a paltry sum. I was pretty excited over the idea of a new phone, but not too eager to pay any money for it. I spent my days daydreaming about a fancy new phone, and I spent my nights nightmaring about paying for it.

I decided that my phone was good enough, and that I didn't need a new one. My phone *is* pretty good. It works perfectly, it keeps a good charge, and it does everything I want and even a bunch of stuff I couldn't care less about and never use. Still, it was hard to fight the urge to buy a new phone because the call of new gadgets notwithstanding, Jump.ca called me twice and emailed me twice more, and sent me a letter all within a three week period. It was hard not to think about new phones. Eventually I put the idea of a new phone so far out of my mind that I made it two weeks without thinking about it even once.... and then my internet went out.

I called Sasktel, and they said they thought my modem had died. They gave me a choice of waiting all day for a repairman or driving 5 blocks to a Jump.ca store to pick up a new router on my own. I opted to pick up my own router and within minutes I was in line at the Jump.ca store.

While I was waiting I looked at their phone demos and I saw a beautiful phone, the LG Reveal. Not only does the outside look great, but it opens up to a qwerty keyboard and a big screen on the inside. It was pretty and geeky at the same time - just like me. Suddenly I wanted a new phone again. I asked the girl at the counter and she apologized and said the demo had just arrived, and they really didn't know anything about it yet, including when they were coming in.

The LG Reveal: pretty and geeky
at the same time, just like Sarah.

I went straight home so I could look up information about it. Unfortunately the new router did not fix my internet so I had to wait a couple days before everything was working again. When I could, I looked up the specs. Except for the silly 2.5mm headphone jack I liked everything about the phone. I called Jump.ca to see if anyone knew yet when would be in. Nobody did. I asked what price it would be. Nobody knew.

A week or so later I checked the Jump.ca website to see if the phone was listed. It was! There was also a banner ad saying that it was on sale for $0 if purchased before December 31st. I drove down to the store only to find out that it wasn't in yet, and still nobody knew when.

This morning I checked the website again. This time it was there and it even said it was "available now". I didn't want to waste another trip, so I called to make sure it really was there before heading down. The woman on the phone said that they had some of the black model in stock. I don't want black though, I want purple. I asked her a series of questions, and received terrible answers in return.

I said, "Do you know when the purple one is coming in?"
The woman said, "Oh, we don't know."

I said, "Do you think it will be in before Christmas?"
The woman said, "Very doubtful."

"By the end of the month though for sure right?"
"Cannot predict now."

"If it comes in after the sale is over, can I still get the sale price?"
"Ask again later."

"...Ok, is there anyone else I can speak to who might know something?"
"My sources say no."

"I feel like I'd get better information from a Magic 8 Ball."
"Signs point to yes."

Ok, I admit it, I re-worded some of her answers to make a joke, but I didn't strip them of any information. She was exactly that vague and non-committal. One thing that she said didn't need to be converted to a joke was right at the end of the conversation. I asked if they even knew if they are even going to carry the purple model. She replied, "Yes, we are going to carry it, but I doubt they'd be in within one or two weeks. Probably more like the end of December."

Sorry lady, but two weeks from now is January 2nd.

Maybe she means next December.

* From the Jump.ca website: "Our service strategy is to provide our customers with prompt, knowledgeable sales assistance and enthusiastic service"

Prop 8: The Musical

2008-12-04T14:17:00.001-06:00

Honesty

2008-11-16T14:58:00.004-06:00

I have mentioned before that I am on a couple dating sites. I like to spend some time chatting with new people who may be interested in me romantically. Sometimes the conversations are quite fun. A few rare times they are very offensive. Most of the time though they are repeats of the same conversation I've already had many times. On dating sites people tend to greet you the same way, make the same comments, ask the same questions. I feel like I should keep a record of my responses so I can just paste them in, instead of having to always type them out for each successive person. Today I received a message from a man who said something that is not unusual for people to say. He, and others who say it, mean it to be complimentary, but for some reason I don't take it that way. I'm probably going to sound awful here, but believe it or not I get offended when people thank me for my honesty.

My dating site profile is titled "Saskatoon Transgender Woman". In the 'About me' section I again specifically state that I am a transgender woman. I do it that way because many men are not willing to date a transsexual, and I know this. I believe my profile will weed out those men who may otherwise contact me, and reduce the chance of having a great conversation with a nice man turn sour when he discovers I am a transsexual. In short, I announce that I am a transsexual for two reasons: 1) So I don't have to waste time talking to men who are not interested in transsexuals, and 2) So I don't have to feel the rejection I'd feel when someone almost invariably refuses to reply after discovering I am not 100% female.

It is this declaration of transsexuality that people commend me for. Many times people have messaged me with good intentions, but not romantic intentions. They simply want to want to thank me for my honesty in stating that I am a transsexual on my profile. I don't think they realize that their good intentions are actually hurtful to me. I feel like they are thanking me for not wasting their time. Maybe one or two times it isn't so bad, but after many people have thanked me in this way and then never spoken to me again I feel like I've actually been thanked for saving them from me. Quite honestly, their messages feel like they are saying, "Whew, thanks! I almost asked you out!!"

"I commend your honesty in revealing that you are a Canadian."

If I could give any advice to anyone it would be to consider transsexuality just another attribute alongside such dating site staples as nationality, hair colour, or religion. If you think the message, 'I commend your honesty in revealing you are a transsexual' sounds like a perfectly acceptable sentiment, then try replacing 'transsexual' with any of my other attributes: 'Canadian', 'blonde', or 'radical atheist'. If someone did say 'I commend your honesty in revealing you are a Canadian' then how would a Canadian feel hearing it? Clearly the speaker perceives something is undesirable about Canadians, and the Canadian would not appreciate the comment at all. Hopefully this comparison shows how condescending and upsetting the sentiment becomes.

In addition, whenever I am thanked for my honesty in this way I am also left with the question of what it makes me if I do not reveal my transsexuality. If it is commendable to tell people I am a transsexual, then is it deplorable if I do not? Would this same person commending my honesty feel that I have become dishonest should I edit the word transsexual off my profile? Does it make me a liar to wait until I know someone a bit more before I tell him?
If so, then I've been a liar many times over.

I haven't always had such an open profile. I once thought it best to tell people after I've had some time to get to know them. As a result I've actually been told many times that because it is a dating site, I OWE it to people to tell them. These people believe that transsexuals must adhere to a strict policy of full disclosure, and believe that we are being deceitful if we do not tell them right away. I think that is ridiculous because the intent isn't to protect the transsexual woman from potentially angry reactions, it is to spare some men from embarrassment over his attraction to her.

The notion that I owe it to people to tell them upsets me. Should I not still have the option to reveal private parts of my life when and to whom I see fit? What should I do in real-life situations? Believe it or not I have been asked out by regular men thinking I'm a regular woman. Would such a man be within his rights to be upset with me for not somehow having advertised my genital status ahead of time? Even if he isn't one to be upset over transsexuals, do I owe it to him to tell him before he asks me out for coffee?

It reminds me of one time I was at Diva's (a gay bar) hanging out with some transsexual friends. Some guy had spent the night lingering in the background staring at me, and when I went to buy a drink he was quick to offer to pay for it. As it turned out the bartender didn't give me the choice to turn him down. The bartender, too busy to worry about it, took the man's money and moved on to the next customer. As I walked back to my table the man asked me what I was doing with the 'fucking trannies'. When I told him that I was one of them he was disgusted with me and didn't come near me again all night. So he saw a woman hanging out with transsexual women in a gay bar, and was still upset that he didn't know I was a transsexual too. Short of wearing a placard or taking off my skirt I don't know how else to have conveyed to him my transsexual status.

As a transsexual woman I think it is a good idea to make sure any man I go out with knows ahead of time that I am a transsexual. It is a decision based on preserving my safety and to protect my self-esteem, not to preserve the black and white sexuality that some men believe in. My profile says I am a transsexual not to spare men from being exposed to me, but to weed out those men who would not be interested, and to avoid negative reactions that hurt my feelings. I advertise this fact about me only because I have chosen to, only because it serves my purposes. In no way do I owe this information to anyone I don't wish to have it. If you want to thank me, don't thank me for 'being honest' about a highly private detail of my life, thank me for gracing you with it.

S T A R T R E K

2008-11-16T02:19:00.003-06:00

I saw the trailer last night.
I am EXCITED!

PS. Sorry I forgot the website I borrowed these pictures from.

Proposition 8 Wins...

2008-11-05T15:17:00.004-06:00

Well, they took that step backward afterall. Did nobody down there read my blog? Sheesh. You always hear that California is the most liberal state but just over half of that place is in favour of discrimination, so I guess California is now just as backward as the rest of that country. Way to legalize discrimination California!!!

Proposition 8: Backwards Progress

2008-11-04T13:03:00.006-06:00

Earlier this year the California Supreme Court narrowly voted in favour of legalizing same-sex marriages. I applaud the California Supreme Court both for this decision, and by not allowing the issue to be settled by public opinion. Two weeks after the decision, public opinion reared it's ugly head and with over half a million petition signatures, Proposition 8 was added to the next general election ballot. Despite the title of this blog article, the actual title of Proposition 8 is "Eliminates Right of Same-Sex Couples to Marry". Today is the day the Californian public decides.

I've been reading about advance polls of how people will vote, and the results are scaring me. In all of the polls the results have been very close. In fact in some polls the difference in the percentages of For and Against were less than the margin of error in calculating those numbers - meaning it could go either way. This is what upsets me. It might seem like a great idea to let democracy rule, but it is not okay to potentially vote away fairness and equality.

There are many voters who disagree with homosexuality based on their various personal bias and ignorance, and/or their religion inspired narrow mindedness and bigotry. These people will likely see a vote in favour of maintaining the right of same-sex couples to marry as a vote in favour of homosexuality. Such people will read the ballot as if they are literally voting on homosexuality.

In California homosexuality is not the issue on the ballot. The matter at hand is a matter of equality. It is about whether it is legal to restrict the right to marry for a subset of the population, while allowing everyone else to freely exercise that same right. The issue is simply about potentially making it legal to discriminate against a minority group.

Democracy is a great thing, but this is just not a matter that should be up to the lowest common denominator philosophy of the democratic treatment. People are often too biased to be relied upon to vote in the best interests of society. People are often too set-in-their-ways to vote towards progress. For issues of equality and human rights, democracy must be served by putting decisions in the hands of elected officials. This is what elected governments are for, to serve the public trust, to put the rights of all citizens first and foremost, and make the right decision for society - now and future.

In Canada we've gone through all this already, and I am proud to say we did the right thing. There were people at the time who wanted to use the "notwithstanding clause" of the Charter of Rights and Freedoms to simply say that the rights of same-sex couples do not matter, but thankfully this did not come about. I give a lot of credit to Prime Minister Martin, who took a stand in favour of same-sex marriages. In a speech regarding Bill C-38 (The Civil Marriage Act) he said:

"We cannot exalt the Charter as a fundamental aspect of our national character and then use the notwithstanding clause to reject the protections that it would extend. Our rights must be eternal, not subject to political whim.

"To those who value the Charter yet oppose the protection of rights for same-sex couples, I ask you If a prime minister and a national government are willing to take away the rights of one group, what is to say they will stop at that? If the Charter is not there today to protect the rights of one minority, then how can we as a nation of minorities ever hope, ever believe, ever trust that it will be there to protect us tomorrow?

"My responsibility as Prime Minister, my duty to Canada and to Canadians, is to defend the Charter in its entirety. Not to pick and choose the rights that our laws shall protect and those that are to be ignored. Not to decree those who shall be equal and those who shall not.
...

"If we do not step forward, then we step back. If we do not protect a right, then we deny it. Mr. Speaker, together as a nation, together as Canadians Let us step forward."

I'm hoping that today the state of California doesn't take a huge step backward today.

Baby Update!

2008-09-10T11:23:00.000-06:00

It's only been a few posts since I last uploaded pictures of Baby, but it's actually been months already. He's looking a lot more like an adult bird than he did, so I thought I'd post a couple pictures of him from the first week, and some of him from now.

The first picture:May 1st.

Broccoli Face: May 3rd.

On swing eating miller: June 8th

Looking out the window: July 10th

Posing on his perch: July 10th

Sideways: Sept 3rd

Shaking off the water: Sept 3rd

Ketchup and Seed Feet: Sept 3rd

The 'she' in Yesheva

2008-09-10T10:42:00.005-06:00

I believe that the trouble some transsexuals have being accepted by society has to do with people's (mis)conceptions about who we are. It seems that while most of us live an otherwise typical and average life, we are not the examples of transsexuality that people remember. There are some transsexuals out there that put forth a very different portrayal about what it means to be transgendered, a very over-the-top, absurd, Jerry-Springerlike portrayal. Unfortunately this is what people seem to think of when they hear the word transsexual. I think it makes it hard for transsexuals as a whole to gain mainstream societal acceptance.

For this reason I am usually very happy when I read a news story that involves a transsexual woman portraying us with some level of normality, especially when she is immersed in a traditional, conservative environment. It leaves me thinking that while at first her associates may be horrified, eventually her normality and humanity will win them over.

My friend Levin works at a Jewish university in New York where a male professor has just come back to work as a woman. Levin sent me an article in the New York Post that tells the story. You can go read it at the link above, but the basic outline goes like this:

A male professor named Jay gets tenure at conservative Jewish university
Jay takes a couple years off
Jay comes back as a female professor named Joy
Faculty is horrified, students don't care
Joy mentions unfinished memior with a convoluted and completely stereotypical transgender-oriented title. 'Inside Out: Confessions of a Woman Caught in the Act of Becoming'. Oh please.

Normally if I am reading an article about a transsexual, this is exactly the news story I would prefer to read. It has everything that I think is required for North Americans to better understand and accept transsexuals. It talks about a transsexual living an average lifestyle within a conservative environment. It seems to describe the perfect scenario where frightened conservative people will be exposed to the normality of transgendered people. It isn't that hard to project ahead and imagine that this currently horrified faculty will eventually think of Joy as nothing other than an average woman. All we transsexuals need to become fully accepted in society is for everyone to know/work with/heard of transsexuals that are just normal every day people and not at all how we are portrayed in sensationalist media.

"...massive violation of Torah law, Torah ethics and Torah morality."
- Rabbi Moshe Tendler

Still, this article didn't really make me feel good. It left me trying to be hopeful, but feeling like it is a tainted hope. I don't want to be pessimistic, but I can't help it. The problem is that while I believe people are capable of overcoming the insignificance of what it means to be transgendered, in this case we are not just dealing with people - we are also dealing with religion.

The article above quotes Rabbi Moshe Tendler talking about Joy: "[S]he's a person who represents a kind of amorality which runs counter to everything Yeshiva University stands for. There is just no leeway in Jewish law for a transsexual. There is no niche where [s]he can hide out as a female without being in massive violation of Torah law, Torah ethics and Torah morality." Please note I have corrected Moshe's incorrect pronoun use.

I am sure his comment is, pronoun use notwithstanding, correct. Even if he wasn't a rabbi at a rabbinical school, I've been informed via comments to this blog (all of which were unceremoniously deleted) of my own immorality based on religious standards many times over and I am sure that some of the commenters must have been Jewish. Even if none were, it doesn't really matter because those so zealous in any particular religion all have something in common, and that is either an outright inability to rationally think, or an overabundance of ability to suspend thought while indulging delusion (what they call faith).

I suppose what I just said can be hurtful to some, but that doesn't really bother me. I think what is more hurtful is to think about poor Joy who did nothing wrong, but will be subtly punished anyway during her time at a religious institution. Even if she is by all appearances treated with respect, she'll likely sense the disgust exuded by, and hear the words muttered by, at least some of her co-workers who will fervently believe she is immoral and unethical despite how well she lives her life.

I fully believe that the average conservative individual can overcome his or her misconceptions about transsexuals, and I fully believe that individual people can realize and admit when they are wrong, but religion never will.

Untitled Part II

2008-09-01T10:42:00.005-06:00

This article describes the events of the last Saturday.
I've hesitated to post this blog article in case it makes me look like an ogre.
When I think back to it all, I sort of feel like I was an ogre, but then I remember how scared I was at the time.

You're probably wondering why I couldn't come up with a clever title to my last blog article. Untitled Part I is a rather boring title. The reason is that I only posted that story as a prologue to this one, and so it is the first part in a story that I just could not think of a name for. The problem is that there are so many titles that run through my head right now. All of them fit, all of them introduce the story, but none of them are complete. If I had to pick though, I suppose two of the best titles are "Why You Should Always Call the Police", or "I Should Have Just Stayed Inside".

Saturday morning I was rushing to get ready to meet my sister. We were going to do our grocery shopping together. She showed up on schedule at the front door. I said I'd be right out, but I left through the back so I could toss out a bag of garbage. After tossing it, I walked up through the parking lot between the two buildings and I saw some maintenance people repairing the door at the main entrance to the building next door.

Later on when I got home I asked the maintenance guy what had happened. His name is Cliff and he has worked on a few things for me and I know him to be a man of few words. He didn't say anything at all, he just pointed down to apartment #1's window.

The view of apartment #1's window through my bedroom window

I said, "Those kids broke it?"

Cliff didn't say anything, he just smiled and nodded, then he raised his eyebrows, sighed, and shook his head. He had a helper that I recognized as one of the tenants in the building next door. Helper was thankfully a bit more vocal and said, "You didn't hear it?" He seemed like he didn't believe I couldn't hear it. "They had a party and sometime around 4am they were out here goofing around and shattered the door." I truly didn't hear it. It takes me a while to fall asleep, but when I do I am out like a light. I ended up talking with Helper and nodding with Cliff for a few minutes more and then I left them and forgot all about it until later that night.

At about ten o'clock I was in a marathon Warcraft session with Jenna, Caspers, Stubb, Nighel, Wynch, Boud and Chino when I realized how hot it was in my apartment. I opened the window and soon afterwards I realized there were more voices coming in my window than there were coming out of my computer speakers. I took a look outside and saw a small group of young adults standing outside my bedroom window.

After an hour they were still there. They were laughing and talking. It was only 11:00 and I was still playing the game, so I didn't mind.

After an hour they were still there. They were laughing and talking and smoking pot. I was still playing the game, so the voices didn't bother me... but I am a smell-o-phobe and the smell was getting on my nerves.

After an hour they were still there. They were laughing more and talking louder. They were still smoking pot and they started playing music. I was getting ready for bed, and so I stood at the window for a while so they could all see me. I hoped this would make them realize they were being too loud for 1:00am. If they did, they didn't care. I put my fan in the window and turned it on. It didn't do much to help me from the smoke, but it did cool off my room and partially drown out their voices. Then I laid down to go to sleep.

After another hour they were still there. I was in bed, but not yet asleep. I went to the window and said "Can you guys be quiet?" They thought I made funny joke. Despite my bedroom still being hot, and even though I didn't want them to think they had won, I closed my window.

After another hour they were still there. Even though my window was closed I could still hear them laughing and I could still hear their music. I was more than upset. I was very tired and very fed up. I opened the window and yelled "SHUT UP!" and then I slammed it shut again. I heard them all laugh.

It was a little before 4am when I decided I needed to make a larger imprint on their minds. I thought if I went outside and actually spoke to them it would do more good than yelling out my window. As it turned out this was not a good idea.

I went out the front door. Unlike my previous blog article where the sun was already coming up at 4am, this time it was still completely dark out. I walked around the side of the building and saw a dozen or so people standing in a loose circle in front of the entrance to the building. A couple of them were smoking. I saw a beer bottle or two. The music was coming from the Apartment #1's open window. All of the people in front of me were talking at the same time.

At first nobody noticed me. I wasn't trying to sneak up on them, I was just between two angle-parked cars, and I guess not easily seen. When I came out from between the cars I was seen immediately. I suspected a lull in their conversation where I could interject with my calm voice of reason and logic and perhaps some slightly veiled threats of calling the police. That isn't what happened.

I thought I must have been recognized as the woman in the window because as soon as I was visible one of the girls yelled at me. It took me by surprise how she skipped speaking and went straight to yelling. She told me to 'get the fuck back inside, fuckin white bitch'. Halfway through her question another girl yelled at me. I think she asked what the fuck I wanted, 'fuckin white bitch'. After this second question everyone was yelling at me so it was hard to determine what anyone was saying to me, other than they all ended their questions and comments with the words 'fuckin', 'white' and 'bitch'. I had managed to go almost 37 years without being called a fuckin white bitch at all, and here in just a few seconds I had been called one about thirty times.

From where I was I couldn't really see them except to say they were short or tall, skinny or fat. It scared me that I couldn't actually see their facial expressions, or what any of them were doing with their hands. I could see that the loose circle of once laughing, pot-smoking party-goers quickly changed to a perfect semi circle of angry young-toughs with me in the middle. Every muscle in my body tensed up and I felt both paralyzed and ready-to-spring at the same time.

As I look back on it all, time didn't seem to progress at a constant rate. At this point time felt like it was moving very slowly. I am sure the entire incident had only taken seconds up until this point, but standing there it felt like a very long time. A pretty, skinny girl with a pony tail stepped forward and stood right in front of me. The defiance in her body language and the anger in her verbal language made her seem extremely fierce despite her size. With her face close to mine she yelled, "What the fuck are you gonna do white bitch?" I heard some girl off to my side say, "Yeah, what're you gonna do white bitch?" I didn't answer either question. In fact I hadn't even said a word yet. I was completely speechless.

I don't think my posture was indicating how scared I was. I think I looked like I was ready to fight someone because the fierce skinny girl said, "I fuckin' dare you white bitch." Her backup singer friend to the side said, "Yeah, fuckin' dare you, white bitch."

I took a step back and suddenly the fierce skinny girl said, "That's right step BACK BITCH!" and then I think she thought it would be funny to make me flinch or jump or simply run because she abruptly lunged towards me. Time up until this point had been progressing so slowly, but when she lunged towards me everything sped up to the point I barely remember what happened. What I do know is that when she jumped forward, I didn't recoil from her. I grabbed her shirt at the shoulder and the collar and pulled her around in a circle leaving her flat on her ass in the middle of the semi-circle.

I must admit that even while the words 'what have I just done?' were running though my head, I felt some sort of satisfaction among the guilt. I don't mean to say I believe this was a good outcome though. The entire situation had become something very different than what I first imagined. Everything just seemed to have turned so sour and gone so bad. I turned around to go back inside. As I rounded the corner towards the entrance of the building I couldn't even hear what they were yelling anymore because all I could hear was the sound of my blood pounding through my head.

By the time I got inside my apartment I realized none of them were outside my window anymore. I stepped out onto my balcony to take a look around. Nobody. I had no idea where they went. I could still hear music from apartment #1's window, but no voices except for the sudden and unexpected voice to my right that said, "Are you OK?"

I looked to my right and to my surprise I saw Helper standing in the parking lot. I assumed he had seen the entire incident. I said I was ok and asked where they had gone. He took a cue from Cliff and said nothing and shrugged. Then he said "I was going to call the police there." I didn't know if he meant he was going to call the police on me or on the group of kids, but then he said "Those kids have no boundaries."

I didn't have a chance to comment because we heard the voices returning. The entire group was coming around the building and I heard someone say "That's not her, that's not her!" I took a step back inside my apartment, out of sight.

They were all talking at once again, this time yelling at Helper. I heard another voice say "fuckin' beat up my sister???" and among the yelling I heard 'white bitch' a couple times. It seemed half of them thought Helper was me, and the other half was saying "that's not her".

Helper put up his arms as if to ask what they wanted with him. Once they all realized that he was not me, the group settled back into their old spot and seemed to behave as if nothing happened. I covertly peeked out at them and saw the fierce skinny girl laughing and talking just a little bit louder than everyone else, letting everyone know that her bruises from hitting the asphalt didn't hurt.

I didn't sleep at all that night. The kids continued making noise until well after six in the morning at which point some of them went inside, and the rest walked en masse down the alley away from the morning sun.

If this ever happens again I'll know I will not be able to convince a group of kids to be quiet. If it is anything at all like this time, I won't even get a chance to say anything at all, so I shouldn't even try. Even though I'm the one that first and only one that laid hands on another, I still feel like I was pushed into it. I know that if this ever does happen again, I won't put myself into that situation again. I will not be going outside at all, I'll just stay inside and call the police.

Untitled Part I

2008-08-29T10:49:00.011-06:00

This article describes the events of the first night I spent in my new apartment.

I didn't think much of this apartment when I moved here. I didn't really look around because after finding out from my landlady that Warren gave his notice without telling me, to having issues with him during the move-out, to finding a new roommate only to have him give notice because of evil spirits, to finding out my apartment was for sale, I was really sick of apartment related drama. When my landlady mentioned a place nearby that was available, I took it on the spot. It just seemed best to sign the papers and get on with life. Now that I've been here for a few months the place has grown on me, but at first I was beginning to regret not spending more time looking for a better place to live.

Perhaps if I did spend more time on the decision I wouldn't have overlooked a few problems with the layout of the building in relation to the building next door. The two buildings are oriented perpendicular to each other, and the entrance to the building nextdoor is directly opposite my bedroom window. The space between buildings isn't even large. There is enough room for a narrow roadway, and line of angled parking stalls. I don't know how many feet that amounts to, but it certainly isn't enough to prevent me from hearing every sound as people come and go through that entrance. I know now that this isn't usually a problem, but that first night my proximity to that door stressed me right out.

It was pretty late at night when she woke me up. It was a girl named Angela who appeared to be extremely drunk. I didn't know her name was Angela yet though. She was stumbling around and crying and yelling "LET ME IN!" over and over again. Every second or so she'd interrupt her mantra with a few sobs, so overall she was repeating, "Boo LET hoo ME hoo IN hoo hoo hoo!!!" When she'd pause to take a breather from all the sobbing she would grab the handle and rattle the door, as if in her drunken state she thought she could pull apart the locking mechanism.

This new bedroom window was twice as big as my old bedroom window and my curtains were far too small. All I had to do was sit up in bed and I could look through the window and see her stumbling around, barely able to walk. I didn't feel comfortable in my own bedroom. I felt exposed, and I felt like I didn't belong here yet. I just wished someone would do something, and suddenly someone yelled "Shut the fuck up!" I peeked out the window and saw Sobbing/Yelling Girl give up on getting inside the building and she walked away.

I fell asleep, so I don't know how long she was gone, but some time later I woke with a start to a resounding round of sobs plus a deafening cry of "LET ME IN!!!" Sobbing/Yelling Girl was back and she seemed just as drunk and just as upset as before. I looked out the window at her and this time she was dragging a bike behind her. It looked like it would have fit a ten year old. I assumed she stole it. Sobbing/Yelling/Thief Girl walked up to the door and I heard something new: I heard her actually buzz the apartment. It struck me as incredible that the entire time she was trying to get in before she hadn't buzzed the door even once. I guess she figured the sobs, door-rattling, and yelling would have been loud enough. I am really surprised it wasn't.

The buzzing clearly did the trick because I saw a light turn on in the window of that building's apartment #1. That window is a lot closer to all the sobbing and crying than my window is, yet it didn't seem to wake any of them up. The door-buzzer sounded, indicating to me that the occupants were now buzzing her in. I sat up to see Sobbing/Yelling/Thief Girl pull the door open and try to pull the bike inside with her. Try as she might, that darn bike was just not fitting, and after a minute or so of banging it around a guy with a mohawk-braided-ponytail came out to help her bring it in.

You are probably wondering what a mohawk-braided-ponytail is. Well, imagine someone with a hairstyle that is a cross between this:

and this:

I watched them through the glass of the entrance door. They went down the stairs and made a right turn into apartment #1. Then I switched my view to the window. It has blinds on it, and they were closed, so I couldn't see anything. The window was open though, so I could sort of hear what was going on. I heard quiet, calm, concerned sounding murmurings followed by hysterical sobs. It appeared to me that the occupants of #1 were trying to ascertain what had happened to the Sobbing/Yelling/Thief Girl. I decided the show was over. I checked the clock to see it was 3am, and so I went laid back down and tried to fall asleep.

Shortly afterwards I heard the entrance door to the next building slam open. Yes, it was opened with such force that it made a huge bang when it could open no further. It startled me so much I sat upright in bed, not because I wanted to see what was happening through the window, but because in my half-asleep state I was ready to fight off attackers. I quickly realized what was going on though and I looked out the window to see a shirtless Mohawk-Braided-Ponytail Guy running full force down the parking lot in his bare feet. He got to the end of the lot and veered left.

Suddenly Sobbing/Yelling/Thief Girl came out of the apartment and was now yelling "Come BACK!!" and "NOOO!!!" as she staggered off down the parking lot and to the left. I was left with the impression that Mohawk-Braided-Ponytail Guy was off to get revenge on whoever made Sobbing/Yelling/Thief Girl sob so much, and that she didn't want him to.

Where Mohawk-Braided-Ponytail Guy was running at top barefoot speed, Sobbing/Yelling/Thief Girl was barely managing a stagger. It took her a good ten minutes to cover the distance he covered in one. After she was long gone two more girls came out of the apartment. Unlike Mohawk-Braided-Ponytail Guy they were not shirtless. I assumed they must have wanted to stop Sobbing/Yelling/Thief Girl from leaving, but decided to do their hair and makeup first.

When they came out they started yelling "ANGELA!! WHERE ARE YOU?!?!" from the entrance door. They continued to yell for a few more minutes, and then they formulated a plan. I heard one of them say "You go that way, I'll go this way." Then I watched them both head off in the same direction yelling "AANNGGEELLAA! WHERE ARE YOU!?!?". Unfortunately Angela had staggered off in the opposite direction fifteen minutes earlier.

I don't know what happened next. I fell asleep. When I woke up later it was a little after 4am and the sun was coming up. I didn't wake up because of the sun though. I woke up because of Mohawk-Braided-Ponytail Guy. Now he was outside staggering around, but not because he was drunk. It looked like he had the shit beat out of him.

You are probably wondering how a guy staggering around outside could possibly have woken me up. The answer is simple. If you run off to get revenge and don't take the time to put on a shirt or your shoes... well, you probably don't bother to grab your keys either. BeatenUp-Mohawk-Braided-Ponytail Guy was now rattling the door handle and yelling "LET ME IN!!!! GIRLS!!! WHERE ARE YOU??!?"

Baby Hood

2008-06-20T17:58:00.005-06:00

When I was a kid I used to have the soundtrack for Disney's Robin Hood. Most of the songs featured Roger Miller whistling the melody. My dad was a whistler, and whistled that tune enough that it still reminds me of him. Not only that but it has apparently rubbed off on me and even now, decades later, I find myself whistling that tune almost on a daily basis. It seems as though I am now passing the song on to my bird.

Unlike my dad, my bird Baby isn't much of a whistler. She is more of a chirper, clucker or a screecher. In fact it is her morning ritual that she gets on her perch near the window and screeches for what seems like ages, talking to birds blocks away. After she settles down she is content to cluck away - unless I leave the room, at which point she screeches again to ask where I had gone. She rarely makes a true whistling sound though.

Today she was sitting on her perch looking out the window and from out of nowhere she whistled the first bar of the Robin Hood song. It blew my mind. She only got the first three notes right, but the rest of the notes seemed to me to be in time with the music.

I went to congratulate her awesome singing. I was hoping she'd appreciate the praise and sing some more, but instead she just flew to a lamp above my desk and started making a weird sustained gargling noise as she pecked at the lamp.

I decided to see what she'd do if she actually heard the song, so I loaded it up on YouTube. As the short introduction played she continued to gargle and peck - until Roger Miller started whistling. At this point she started listening intently. After a few seconds it seemed to me that she decided to whistle along, and she tried her best until the whistling ended on the song. Then she went back to the pecking.

We listened to the entire song and althought she wasn't whistling the melody, she was whistling loud and proud so I thought I'd give her another chance. I restarted the video and she gave me a few good notes, but then decided to leave while she was still on top.

SNAKE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

2008-06-19T09:16:00.003-06:00

This is an email that Chino sent me this morning. I thought it was funny.

Yesterday Chino and I went to the River Trail after work for a walk. When we returned, I pulled into the garage and we both hopped out of the car like I do everyday. There is a single brick step that leads up to the back door to my house that is in the garage. So, Chino and I are walking to the step, I am about two feet from the step when something on the step moves and hisses. IT WAS A GOD DAMN FUCKING SNAKE! The snake was 25 feet long, black, slimy and fangy. It was a Anacondacobramoccasinboaconstrictor.

I flipped the fuck out. I started screaming at the top of my lungs and ran out into the back yard. It needs to be noted that my traitor of dog ran away in fear to the backyard instead of protecting me from the Anacondacobramoccasinboaconstrictor. Shannon, who heard me screaming, comes barreling out of the house--thank God he came out the front door because if he would have opened the back door the snake would have went into my house (which was obviously it's objective). I say "IT'S A ANACONDACOBRAMOCCASINBOACONSTRICTOR!!! KILL IT!" Well the sneaky 45 foot long bastard slithers behind some shelves in the garage and Shannon can't get to it. By then I have ran into the middle of the street (I needed distance from the snake infested house) and am screaming at my husband that either he locate and dispose of the Anacondacobramoccasinboaconstrictor or else I am never stepping foot in that house ever again! I was completely prepared to go live in a hotel---a snake free one that is.

So Shannon moves the shelves and finds the 50 foot snake, takes the shovel and slays the beast. He then proceeds to pick it up and inspect it to prove to me that is was dead.I determined (from the middle of the street) that is was dead, but all night long I expected to find a snake somewhere in my house.

Shannon "claims" that the snake was only 18 inches long, non-venomous black runner. Well he is just deluded! He was a fucking 60 foot long poisonous Anacondacobramoccasinboaconstrictor!

I will never be able to go in my garage again. I honestly couldn’t sleep last night because I was worried that one of its family members and made it inside my house! I can't live there any longer. I am calling a realtor today.

- Kara C.

P.S. Don't be confused. In her story she refers to 'Chino'. Chino is actually her dog's name, but I call her Chino too.
P.P.S. Don't worry. There wasn't a 90 foot long Anacondacobramoccasinboafuckingconstrictor loose in Saskatchewan. Chino lives in North Carolina.
P.P.P.S. I like how she combined all the different snake names into one, but she must have more snake knowledge than me because to me a moccasin is a shoe.

Holy Fuckin Shit I Hate Censorship!

2008-06-18T22:47:00.005-06:00

Why do people get so upset over words? What is so wrong with swears? I am talking about words like fuck and shit and piss. Hell, I learned those words from my mother.

What are swear words really? Aren't they are just words that represent places or things or actions? We almost always have a non-swear to mean the same thing, but if it is the same meaning, what is the difference?

Is there really any difference between the word shit and the word poop? Both words describe the same thing, yet one is said repeatedly to kids of any age, and one isn't allowed for them to hear until they are fourteen. Why does a different set of letters make such a difference?

There is a TV show called Battlestar Galactica. The writers wanted their characters to be able to swear, but it is a TV show so they couldn't. They decided that since it was a science fiction show, and the characters are all from a different planet, they could feasibly substitute the fake word 'frak' for the real word 'fuck' and the viewers would buy it. On this show it isn't uncommon to hear frak used as an expletive, or to hear that someone is frakking someone else. I am not completely sure, but I think they have even said "frak off!" They use it in an exact one to one replacement. Everyone watching the show understands the sentiment or action behind frak is exactly the same sentiment or action conveyed by the word fuck - yet it clears the censors. Once again, it isn't the meaning of the word... it is just the arbitrary letters that make up the word that are offensive.

Speaking of offensive, you may recall that I swore off the dating site www.plentyoffish.com (abbreviated from here on as PoF). I had been on the site for at least a year and I enjoyed using it. The only problem is that nobody knew what 'transgender' meant and I was getting sick of explaining it all the time. I decided it might clear things up for people if I changed it to read 'transsexual' instead. The next day my profile was gone.

I had no idea what had happened, so I just created a new profile. The next day that profile was gone too! Over the next few days every profile I made containing 'transsexual' was automatically deleted within minutes after creation. I could only imagine that the owners of the PoF website considered the word transsexual so vulgar and so offensive that any profile containing the word would be removed without warning (even though I had been using 'transgender' for a year and the definition of transgender includes the definition of transsexual).

At first I decided to forget the site and never return, but the injustice of it pissed me off so much I wasn't content to walk away for longer than an hour. As a test I made a new profile without the word and it was allowed to persist more than a day. I started sending messages to the moderators of the site. Nobody I spoke to could tell me why I was removed once, let alone multiple times. I presented my theory that the word transsexual was somehow deemed too vulgar and any profile with that word was auto-deleted. I was assured this was not the case. They said they had no explanation for why dozens of 'transsexual' profiles were removed when an otherwise identical profile was allowed to stay.

After a month or so my profile was still there, and I changed it to include 'transsexual'. Whatever the reason was, apparently transsexual is not a foul word to them anymore, but after using the site for a while I've discovered that many words still are.

Tonight I was on PoF chatting with a guy who said he was a big animal lover. We sent several messages back and forth and he mentioned having a dog, a cat and a bird. I mentioned that I had a cockatiel and suddenly he stopped replying. After a few minutes I made a joke, "I guess you are not a cockatiel lover!" No reply again.

About five minutes later he sent a message, "Hey where did you go?" I thought it odd since I had sent him two messages since his last one. I decided to check out what messages actually went through, and it looked like both messages containing the word cockatiel had been blocked. I decided to resend the first message, substituting c0ckatiel (note the zero instead of the 'o') for cockatiel and it went through.

Cockatiel is a fowl word, but not a foul word (oh that was a terrible, terrible joke). I don't think the problem was the entire word, but with it's constituent parts. It looked to me that the owners of PoF are upset by the letters 'c', 'o', 'c', and 'k'. They them so offensive that they won't even let any part of a message through if it contains that simple combination of three little letters in that specific sequence.

I couldn't help but notice that the word wasn't bleeped out. I would have thought the message would carry through, but 'cock' would have been turned into 'c**k', or something similar, but it wasn't. Instead though, the entire message was just blocked and deleted. This says to me that at some point a decision must have been made that no amount of information can redeem a message that contains a couple 'c's and an 'o' and a 'k' in some particular sequence. I now know the policy, but I just can't wrap my head around it. If indeed I wanted to say cock in the vernacular definition of the word, now that I know it is blocked there are other terms I could use instead that mean the exact same thing (I tried as many as I could think of*, and they all got through). Once again they are not concerned about blocking meaning, just those particular letters are censored.

I wonder how many broken hearts there have been after a shy man gathers up the courage to ask a woman out for cocktails only to have her never reply - because the PoF blocked the message for containing an arbitrary set of letters that they find offensive.

Right about now I find the letters PoF offensive.

* When I said I tried as many as I could think of, I meant it. I picked someone who had emailed me previously and I replied to him several times. Each reply contained one word that can mean the same as cock. Luckily I could only think of three alternative words, but even so... next time he logs in he will have three messages from me: "Penis", "Dick" and "Schlong".

P.S. Something shocking happened on PoF a couple weeks ago. I wish it had been censored so I wouldn't have had to see it. I logged in to see a picture of my ex-friend Rob smack in the middle of the screen. It was really upsetting to see his picture there... I mean come on, that picture is five years old! BTW, best line ever from a dating site profile: "first date? well that would probably be after a while of e-mailing, maybe talking on the phone eventually." Oh don't aim too high Rob!

P.P.S. I know why I don't often go on dates. I just got a message from a guy who said "I like to try different things, if you are interested." I replied with "As in food? I've always wanted to try ostrich burgers." It was a glib answer, but I just hate it when a first-time message cuts to the chase like that. I can't help but read his message like so "Hey, I am only talking to you because you are different and I want to try having sex with you." Am I wrong on that?

P.P.P.S. I still have a lot of resentment towards Rob. I am trying to get over it. Granted today's comments aren't exactly going to rekindle a friendship, but I've extended the olive branch at least a dozen times over the years. I do it by sending an email every so often after a particularly good episode of Doctor Who or Battlestar Galactica. I just want to discuss the program, but he has never replied. I guess where I harbour resentment Rob harbours something much stronger. Am I wrong on that?

Baby Wonder

2008-06-03T22:14:00.005-06:00

Is it my imagination, or is she singing along? There is one part where it sounds like she is improvising on the melody and it fits in perfectly.

I like the end where she seems to notice I am watching her and then says hi with a couple clucks.

Rusty

2008-06-01T22:17:00.003-06:00

It was seven years ago. It was a Friday. I had just finished the last of my finals at SIAST and I was looking forward to the summer. That evening my dad needed a ride home from work. He was a lawyer and had an office in a building downtown. I went to pick him up. I pulled into the alley behind his office building and he was waiting there for me. He had on a dark suit and was carrying a heavy looking briefcase. I don't remember if it was overcast, if it was just dark from the shadow of the tall building, or if it is just my memory making the scene seem so bleak. I can honestly say that he wearily got into my car. I mentioned I was all done school for the year and he tried to look happy, but his eyes still told me he was very tired. I was so absorbed in school I didn't even know this was the last day before his vacation too. He too was looking forward to the summer, and looking forward to a well-deserved rest.

That weekend Dad asked me to help him out. He was going to build a patio using paving stones. I said I couldn't. I had already committed myself to helping a friend move. I didn't see him much that weekend. If I had only known it would have been his last.

On Tuesday morning I was laying half-asleep in my parent's basement when my mom burst into the room. She was extremely upset and said that dad had suffered a heart attack while out picking up more paving stones.

We rushed to the hospital. To be honest I don't know how or when my sister arrived, I just know we were all at the emergency room at the same time. We gave our name at the desk and the nurse said to follow her and she'd get the doctor. Someone, I don't know who, asked if he was alright. The nurse said she'd get the doctor to speak to us right away. My mom said "Is my husband dead?". The nurse said "Yes he is."

~~~

There is nothing worse than thinking about the 'what ifs'. What if I had helped him? Maybe he wouldn't have been so strained. If I was involved maybe I'd have been with him to help load more paving stones. What if I had been there to tell him to take a break? What if I had just taken that last chance to spend time with him?

I thought about things like this for years. I thought about it so much that every time I was reminded of my dad, my heart would sink. I'd think of what I might have had if he lived longer - what I should have had. He was only in his 50s, he should have had more time. I'd think about what I was missing. I'd think of the what ifs instead of thinking about him.

Over the years thinking about dad became easier. I was better able to think about the happy memories with my dad instead of dwelling on his death, but it was still really hard to get past that sinking feeling.

~~~

Quite a while ago now I was on Facebook and saw a person who I hadn't spoken to since elementary school. His name is Glen N. I actually met him sometime in the 70's when we were both in 'Beavers'. This is when he met my dad too, as my dad was a Beaver leader. (Beavers is the group that comes before 'Cub Scouts' which is the group that comes before 'Boy Scouts'.) After Beavers Glen and I went to different elementary schools for years. When his school closed he came to my school (and we may have even gone to highschool together).

When he came to my school we were not exactly friends. We not only hung out in different groups, but the only time I remember spending time with him was one afternoon when he was repeatedly hitting me over the head until his hand hurt and he had to quit.

That being the case I was apprehensive about saying hi to him, but I realized this isn't the playground anymore. He wrote back and he didn't realize who I was at first. He said he went to school with my brother Andrew. I explained that I am actually that same person with a new name.

He didn't react poorly at all to either my transsexuality or to the fact that we didn't part on good company years ago. In fact the only thing he said was that he had heard about my dad's death. He said that my dad helped him out through a lot of tough times when he was younger and in trouble. He said he owed my dad a lot. Glen's words seemed so real and heartfelt, they really affected me.

I haven't seen him on Facebook since. It was like he came on just briefly enough to say something great about my dad and then he disappeared.

~~~

I think about dad a lot. The day we lost him was the worst day of my life. It is taking me a long time to get over that day. It has taken a long time for me to think about that day without crying. Lately happy memories of 30 years of life with my dad have replaced the sad memories involving his death. I know I'm his kid so I am biased, but my dad was a great guy. I've always been proud of him, the things he did when he was around, and I'm proud of what he has left in me. I have a lot of qualities in myself that came directly from him and I am better for them all. Being proud of my dad is nothing new, but thanks to Glen I was given a chance to hear something new about him that I didn't know, and another reason to be proud.

~~~

I remember my very first day of Beavers. I didn't know what Beavers was but I knew there'd be a bunch of kids there and I was very excited that *my* dad was going to be a leader. He said he was probably going to be called 'Rusty' because of his hair colour. I didn't know yet that they gave the leaders special names. I couldn't figure out why anyone'd call him Rusty at all, but sure enough he was introduced to everyone as Rusty, and that is what all the kids called him - except me.

I called him Dad.

~~~

I miss you Dad!

Perch Baby Perch

2008-06-01T20:09:00.007-06:00

Today I went over to my mom's house to help her, Old Bob, Jenn and Nick build a fence. I didn't make it that far though because I was distracted by a huge pile of chopped-down crab apple tree branches. I had already been thinking about making a big perch for Baby, and this was the perfect place to start.

I picked out a good chunk of tree and trimmed down it's branches. It was about four and a half feet tall and the branches I left had good angles for perching on and landing on. Mom and I went to Home Depot and picked up a big flower pot and a bag of rocks. All I had to do was put the branch in the pot and anchor it with the rocks.

Baby watched me as I was putting it together, and as I dragged it into place. As soon as it was done she flew straight to it and just hung out for about an hour. Here are a couple pictures of her on it.

Playing with the twist-tie hilding up the toy
(instead of the toy)

Preening

Checking out the bark

Looking out the window
(from her angle she can see out)

Finally playing with the toy
(I had to re-hang it, she untied the twist-tie shortly after the first picture)

Coming to find out what all these flashes were coming from.

Wasn't What I Thought.

2008-06-01T18:46:00.003-06:00

I used to think that Warren was uncommunicative. I'd speak to him and he'd silently stare off into whatever world he could see in mind's eye. It would take a few seconds of verbal prodding before he'd jolt back to life. He'd actually physically jolt too, as if the last verbal prod came with a slap in the face. Sometimes I found it amusing. Most often it was irritating. All the time though I considered it to uncommunicative and rude. Then along came Aaron. I had no idea how wrong I was. Aaron showed me what uncommunicative and rude really means.

Aaron wouldn't pretend to be lost in thought when I spoke. He wouldn't pretend to not hear me either. He'd just ignore me. I found it odd that'd he'd ignore me since I am not much of a talker to begin with. Not only that but we so rarely saw each other that even if I spoke to him everytime I saw him it would be three days since we last spoke.

At first our conversations went like this:
Sarah would be in the kitchen making supper and Aaron'd walk in the door.
Sarah: "Hi, how are you?"
Aaron would take off his shoes.
Sarah: "How was work?
Aaron would walk into the hallway into his bedroom. Sarah would hear the door close.
Sarah: "...oookay."

After he got to know me better our conversations went like this:
Sarah would be in the living room on the laptop and Aaron would walk in.
Sarah: "Hey, how's it going?"
Aaron would sit down on the chair and turn on the TV
Sarah: "Anything good on right now?"
Aaron: "Fuck! Enough questions."
Sarah: "...oookay."

Fuck was actually Aaron's most oft-used word. It was applied to every scenario where he felt words were unnecessary - which was every scenario. I don't know why it annoyed him so. Granted, sometimes I'd speak to him while he was watching TV and he'd say "Fuck, I'm watching TV" Unfortunately by this time I had limited my questions to matters of money, and I guess he didn't think that the question "Can I get the bill money on Friday?" trumped his movie. I certainly did.

I guess he thought that I didn't need to ask. He did always pay me on the day he said he would, but apparently I didn't trust him to pay without reminding him and perhaps he sensed that distrust. I didn't give him an opportunity to pay me without having asked him first. I didn't give him a chance to reap the benefit of the doubt. Maybe always having to confirm his unspoken intentions like that got under his skin. He probably felt he was nonverbally conveying his intentions well enough and felt insulted when I asked him.

In the short periods of time I did see him, if he was conveying anything nonverbally I was completely incapable of reading it. It seemed to me that I knew nothing about him and nothing about his intentions toward anything. Still, I was aware that every time I spoke to him now it was about money or some sort of chore. I forgot that he got just as annoyed when I'd say "Wow it's nice out today" as he did when I'd say "Can I get that $30?" and I began to think I should go a little easier on him.

When we were down to four days left in the apartment I braved pissing him off by speaking to him. He was watching an anime DVD in the living room. I said, "Well, we almost have to leave here soon." He didn't take his eyes off the TV. "What are your plans?"

Aaron looked annoyed and still keeping his eyes on the TV said, "Plans about what?"

"About the apartment" I said.

"I aint got no plans about the apartment." Aaron was not well-spoken.

"Well you should, we have to leave here in a few days. Like my plans are that I am going to pack over the next couple days, the movers are coming on Wednesday, and I'll do clean up Thursday and Friday. Friday will be my last day here."

Aaron said, eyes still on the TV, "Friday will be my last day here too." If it was possible his eyes seem to become more focused on the TV and in some subliminal way ended the conversation.

That answer didn't satisfy me. Conspicuously absent to me was the mention of when he was going to do clean up. I knew the 'fuck' was coming soon if I kept talking, but I had to ask... "So do you think you are going to do any clean up?"

And then it came. "Fuck! What do you think?" I decided this was it. Nearing the end of our relationship I'd finally give him the benefit of the doubt right here right now. My instinct was screaming at me to nail him down on a yes or no, but I decided to ignore it. I concluded that his answer meant that he would do some clean up. I then nodded, said ok, and walked away.

Well, I thought wrong. Aaron not only didn't clean, he left garbage in his room for my sister and I to take out for him. That'll teach me for giving someone like him the benefit of the doubt.

~~~

P.S. You may wonder why I chose him to be a roommate in the first place. The answer is: He initially showed up with his older sister. In her presence he was completely polite and well-mannered. On his own though he was a nightmare.

P.P.S. I actually had to clean spit off his walls. Spit.

P.P.P.S. On Wednesday he texted me, "Did u find a roommate yet". On Thursday I asked him if he was asking to be my roommate in my new place. He said he was. I was dying to laugh at his face... but at this point I didn't know yet he wasn't going to clean, and he also owed me $64 so I didn't. If you ever get a chance to read my blog Aaron, then know that my thoughts at the time were "Hahahahaha AS IF! You're the WORST!"

The Final Roommate

2008-06-01T00:00:00.005-06:00

- Ok, I know I said this article was going to be called "The Big Move", but in the interests of civility, I just didn't want to call it by it's real title or post it until after my roommate and I parted ways - just in case. So now that he has gone, let's read "The Final Roommate".
I hope you like it.

As I round out my last few weeks living in this apartment I have a lot of mixed feelings. On one hand I absolutely love this place, and I will be extremely sad to move on. I will miss that huge balcony and all the naps I had out there on my balcony futon. I'll miss my cozy living room, and I will miss my neighbourhood. I can't imagine ever choosing to move away under any different circumstances. On the other hand I think maybe my feelings of happiness probably come from inside me and not from my apartment. I am still very reluctant to move, but very excited at the same time because I think that it is very possible that it won't matter where I live, I'll end up being just as happy anywhere. On the third hand, I am anticipating having a wonderful time living someplace without a roommate.

If you are familiar with my blog you may know that I have had troubles with my last three roommates. My most recent roommate Warren, well... he was just too 'Warren' for me (see previous blog article). The guy before that, Mark, didn't have a job, never cleaned himself, watched Lord of the Rings several times a day, and faked a suicide attempt one night for attention. Before that was Curtis. Curtis was my best 'guy friend'. We got along great. We had similar interests, we hung out, we fixed cars*, went camping and fishing, and played video games together. I miss him a lot... but he hated transsexuals, so he had to leave.

I believe the way to go, when choosing a roommate, is to move in with a stranger or semi-stranger. It worked out great for me when I agreed to be Michelle's roommate. She and I went from being casual work friends to being lifelong friends**. Living with someone really puts a strain on the relationship. Even though I knew both Mark and Warren before they moved in, it was only as acquaintances, so now that I've parted company with them I have no regrets. If I ever moved in with a good friend again, like Curtis was, it is scary to think that something might happen that causes us to never talk again. So despite my lack of success living with strangers, when it came to finding a new roommate last month I didn't think twice about putting an ad in the paper.

Aaron was one of the first people to respond to the ad and he was the first person to show interest in living here. He is a 20 year old native man who, prior to moving in here, lived on a reserve. I was sure he wouldn't have much in common with an ethnically unremarkable 36 year old transsexual woman, but at the same time his situation and mine complimented each other. He needed a room, and I had one. He didn't have any furniture and I do. He didn't need the parking spot, and I did. Best of all, he worked nights and I worked days.

I would spend my days quietly working, and he'd spend his days quietly sleeping. Shortly before I was off work he would leave for his. By the time he arrived home I'd already be in bed. I was a bit sad not to have the social aspect of having a roommate, but after a few weeks I realized this was probably the best arrangement ever. I had no complaints, and as far as I knew, neither did he.

As it turns out he did have a complaint, and it was a big one.

Aaron and I do have periods of interaction on weekends and on his days off. He would still sleep all day and stay awake all night, but we'd usually both be around in the evenings. It was during this time that I began to learn about some of his eccentricities. It started off one day last week when Aaron was telling me about how he had just spent four hours reading the bible. I'm sure you all know by now that I can't imagine any reason for reading the bible, but even I will admit that there are reasons out there that are way better than Aaron's.

Aaron sat down at the computer that day to check his Facebook page. For those not familiar with Facebook, you can add 'applications' to it that give your page added functionality. One of these is called Funwall, and it allows anyone on your friend list to post items to your wall. These items are mostly funny pictures or videos. What happened on this day was that someone posted a video about a Britney Spears' song that when played backwards reveals a hidden message. The video is intentionally quiet so that the viewer has to turn up the sound. The video plays legitimately for 20 seconds or so longer, then suddenly a scary face appears and you hear a very loud (because you just turned your sound all the way up) and terrifying shriek. This demonic face is supposed to scare the viewer and give him or her a good laugh, but in Aaron's case it scared him so much he had to retreat to the safety of his room and read the bible for a few hours.

When he told me a demon appeared to him on Facebook I didn't know what to say. Even if I did know what to say, I didn't get a chance to say it because he started talking about how he had to talk to his sister's exboyfriend, the drug-dealer psychic. I don't know his name, but let's call him Larry. Aaron explained to me that although Larry calls himself a psychic, he can't actually see into the future. What he can do is talk to animals, Dr-Doolittle-Style. According to Larry, the animals of course, can see the future. These animals then relay the future back to him and that is how Larry is able to counsel people in matters of the future.

I just want to pause here from the main story to talk about something very interesting and possibly scary about the animal kingdom. Aaron tells me that Larry is a very successful drug-dealer because he can never get caught. Oh sure, the police try to catch him, but the animals are always on the lookout and send warning with plenty of time for Larry to escape. Clearly these animals like Larry a lot, but why not just predict him up a winning lottery number? I think the animals want man to spread drugs around to bring about mankind's downfall that much sooner. Once we are out of the way, then they can take over. I can't imagine fighting a cocker spaniel as it is, but imagine fighting one when you're high and the cocker spaniel is precognizant! That'd be impossible!!

I just want to take another pause here to say that I am very disappointed with my lot in life. Not only was I burdened with being a transsexual, but my only super-power is being able to smell things from far away, and that is a really sucky super-power. I'd way rather be able to talk to animals than smell them.

Anyway, after Aaron spoke to Larry for a while he came out of his room with a worried look. The animals told Larry to warn Aaron to be on the lookout for danger. It appears they have spotted The Devil here in Saskatoon. It reminds me of a few years ago when Bill Cosby was scheduled to do a show in town, and a couple days earlier someone purportedly spotted him buying a pair of shoes from a store on Broadway. Was it really 'The Cos', or just some random black guy? Did those animals really see Satan, or maybe it was just a guy with a sunburn? I can't say for sure, but I imagine those animals are not all that smart. Whatever they saw though, it had Aaron on edge. (I should point out that the animals also saw God, but Aaron didn't seem concerned about that. Probably because who has God ever hurt eh?)

If things were not already bad enough Aaron had more troubles. I have two lamps in my living room that were putting Aaron on Spiritual-Def-Con 4. Yes, my lamps were stressing him out. I have one weirdly shaped lamp that doesn't really shed light, it just has a pinky-reddish glow about it. Aaron feels the glow is just too reminscent of Hell for his tastes. I figure Hell, being fiery and all, is probably more of a flickery-yellow-orange, but I don't read the bible, so what do I know?

The other lamp is one of my favorite possessions. It is an iron sculpture of a woman with stained glass butterfly wings that my mom gave me after I told her I was a transsexual. This lamp also casts a reddish glow, but the problem with this lamp isn't the glow so much as the wings. Aaron feels they look a little too much like wings of a demon. Personally, I feel that demons are probably less colourful and butterfly-y, but again, what do I know?

(I took a picture of both lamps, but I couldn't figure out how to turn off the flash, so everything looks bright and the glow is washed out. In reality the room is dark except for the reddish glow from both of these lamps. Note the evil spikes on the bottom of the demon wings. I've totally pretty much never poked myself with them)

Anyway, that night Aaron was distressed. He made a pot of coffee and started writing notes into a notebook. (Oh what I wouldn't give to read that notebook!) I left him to his zealous writings and came to my room to play with my cockatiel. (That sentence has a really unfortunate ring to it doesn't it?)

A few minutes later Aaron knocked on my door and hurriedly mumbled something at me. I had to ask him several times because he was not only using his patented mumble, but he was speaking really fast. Finally I understood that he was asking if I had any sleeping pills. He said his mind was racing and he just drank a pot of coffee, but all he wanted to do is go to sleep. I said I had some benadryl that would do the trick and I handed him the bottle. He asked how many he should take and I said one or two. He asked how long it takes and I said to give it an hour.

Ten minutes later he came back to my room and said that nothing was happening. He asked if he could take some more. I know that every now and then when I wanted to be particularly mindless for a night I have taken up to four of them at once, so I said, "I guess, but no more than four."

I guess he misunderstood me because in one lucky flick of the bottle four pills landed in the palm of his hand. I expected to see him put two of them back, but instead he swung his arm up and tossed all four pills into his mouth at once. I had time to say '... uh' and then I saw him swallow. About half an hour after that I heard him stumble into his room.

The next day I waited and waited for him to wake up. Aaron told me he hadn't paid his rent yet because pay day is Friday, and rent was due on Thursday. I wanted to make sure he paid before the weekend. Sixteen hours after Aaron went to bed he groggily came out of his room. He said, "There's something in here..."

I started sniffing the air. I thought he meant that he could also smell that empty can of tuna in the garbage. I was about to tell him that we should take out the garbage, but then he said, "... something evil... I can feel it... I felt its presence all night. I dreamed about it."

I am a smellophobe, so I would argue that the smell of a old tuna can is evil, but after last night's conversation about demonic lamps and facebook videos I knew that isn't what he meant. I told him there is nothing evil here, and that perhaps the six sleeping pills had something to do with his trippy dreams, but then he said, "No. That Facebook Demon came back last night. ... there's something here alright... I've got to get out of here. How much do you want for one day's rent? Ten bucks?"

I said "What??"

He explained that it was the second of the month, so he has only been here for one day, and he had to leave immediately to get away from whatever the evil thing was in the apartment. I was told him that he owed for the entire month and that he needed to give one month's notice before he could move out. He went into negotiation mode at this point and repeatedly gave me a firm counter-offer of "I'll pay half, not full" but eventually after an hour or so I managed to convince him that this wasn't a negotiation, and that there are legalities to consider. I got the entire month's rent out of him, but he was firm that no matter what, he wants to leave and get away from the demonic presence so he gave his one month's notice to me.

I didn't know when the place would be sold, but I understand I get several months notice if the new owners need me to move out. There is a chance they may have wanted to rent out the place too, but I didn't want to live with the uncertainty of it all. I called the owners of this place and gave my notice as well. It was a day late, and the owners grudgingly accepted it, as if somehow that one day was a huge deal to them but they are willing to throw me a bone***. Giving notice was a sad thing to do, but at this point I had to do it. The owners are selling this place, and I just don't want to sit around waiting for that to happen, and I certainly don't want to find a new roommate only to find out the place is sold a month or two later. I really have no choice but to leave now.

I've had a lot of good times here. This place just gives me a happy feeling all over. From the huge balcony to the cozy red glow in the living room, and even, believe it or not, to the experiences I've had with roommates, this place means a lot to me. There is nothing about living here the last five years that I won't miss. I know I should look at the bright side, but right now I'm having trouble finding it. My new place is bigger inside, but it costs almost twice as much to rent. It does have a balcony, but it is tiny with a crappy view of the parking lot. About the only thing I can definitely say is positive is that my new place is a one bedroom and has no room for any roommates.
Aaron is the last one.
I'm so relieved.

* When I say Curtis and I fixed cars together, it was more like Curtis would ask for a tool, and I'd hand it to him. If ever the engine needed to be turned over I'd do that too.

** I think that we are closing in on 14 years since I lived with Michelle, and I still talk to her every week. Thanks for sticking around Shelly!

*** Yes it is true. Rent must be given on the first of the month. He is within his rights to our notice was too late and force us to stay another month. I just have to say it was almost sickening to hear him use that tone with me, as if he is doing me a huge favour. He bought the place three years ago for $75,000 and is selling it for $190,000, and in the process making me leave my home of the last five years. I'm sure not being a stickler on a technicality isn't going to be a problem financially, in my opinion it is the least he could do.

Scratches!

2008-05-22T00:39:00.001-06:00

On day 1 Baby wasn't most tame bird I've ever seen, but I think after knocking her out of the air and pulling out some of her tail feathers on day 2, I became the scariest thing in her world. We've been working on it though, and it has been paying off.

A couple of weeks ago she decided it was safe to eat out of my hand and to accept treats directly from my fingers to her mouth. This is something I do a little bit of every day to strengthen our bond, and it seems to be working. Unfortunately if food isn't involved, I usually don't have a hope of getting my finger within touching distance. It seems she likes to maintain a personal space of about five centimeters, any closer and she gets mad - unless she is curious about what I am doing.

She always needs to be included, especially when I am working. She would love to stand directly on my keyboard, but I seldom let her. All I need to do is put my hand within that five centimeters and she will retreat. At first she'd retreat up to the curtain rod, but now if she can't stand on the keyboard she will land on my head or stand between the keyboard and the edge of the desk and try to reach my necklace. She likes the shiny things. Sometimes she will land on my shoulder and play with my earrings.

As the days go by she has certainly become more and more brave about getting near me, but she still just refuses to let me get near her. A couple days ago I snuck through her defenses when she wasn't looking.

Her cage was on the table beside me as I was working. The door was wide open and she was inside playing with a toy. She was very occupied with it and didn't notice as I reached in behind her and scratched the back of her head. She immediately hung her head and turned it sideways so that she got scratched in the perfect place. I was elated that she was letting me touch her and she seemed to be absolutely loving the scratch... until she realized what was going on.

Baby looking cautiously at an approaching finger

She caught a glimpse of my finger and got very angry. In an instant she turned around, slicked back her crest, outstretched her neck and bit me several times until I pulled my finger out of the cage.

A few minutes later she was playing again and all seemed forgotten so I started to put my finger in the cage again. She hadn't forgotten though and as soon as the finger breached the threshold she stopped what she was doing and assumed a cautious pose. I said "Scratch?" and for a few seconds it seemed like she was considering what I was offering against the possible threat. Apparently she decided that the scratch was worth the risk and she stretched out her neck towards me again, but this time she also hung her head and turned it sideways so I could scratch the good spot again.

We did this a few times over the afternoon and it was great. Unfortunately she had a long nap that afternoon and when she woke up she seemed to have forgotten all about trusting the scratching-finger. I can still manage to scratch her from time to time, but I always have to sneak it in when she is really busy playing with something. I don't mind though, it's only been a few days, we have a lot of time left to become best friends.

Baby enjoying a good scratch

Way to Go California!

2008-05-15T12:38:00.003-06:00

A couple years ago I went to the CNN website and told it to send me an email alert whenever a story about same-sex marriages or transsexuals is published. Normally they make me frustrated, angry and upset. Every once in a while they have some good news, and today was one of those times. Here is the article:

California ban on same-sex marriage struck down

"limiting the designation of marriage to a 'union between a man and a woman' is unconstitutional, and that the remaining statutory language must be understood as making the designation of marriage available to both opposite-sex and same-sex couples."

Canadian Ire

2008-05-14T09:50:00.012-06:00

Last year a mechanic guy said I had one more year of life in my tires. He wasn't kidding. As of a couple days ago they were very bald. This is the story of getting new tires.

I went to Goodyear and said I needed new tires. The guy asked me the standard questions, year, model, make of car. He asked if it was a 4 door or hatchback, he asked if I had air conditioning. When the questions were done he said my car has two sizes of tires, and he asked if I knew what size I had on my car. Well, I certainly didn't know, so he walked outside and took a look. He said to me, "195/60/15". I didn't really pay attention to the number, and we went back to the computer and he gave me a quote on new tires.

I went to a few more places and everytime it was the same conversation. They would look up my car in the computer and ask which of two sizes of tires I had. I would just produce the quote from Goodyear and they'd read it off. They'd all say "195/60/15" in an informative way, as if I might want to know. I really had no reason to think I'd ever want to know, so I would just smile and nod without giving the tire size much thought.

Next I went to Canadian Tire. There were at least 10 people in line ahead of me, and they didn't have many staff on to help us. I was ready to leave several times, but they had a poster on the wall for buy a tire, get the second half price - and that seemed like a good deal to me.

When I finally got to the counter I was greeted by Leo, who seemed like an older version of Jm J. Bullock. I told Leo I needed some tires, and instead of guiding me through that set of questions he just asked what tires I wanted. I told him I didn't know anything about tires and that I needed his help. He listed off names of tires and their qualities and ratings. He was quite keen to sell me the tires rated for speeds of up to 220kph with the warranty and the extended coverage, the chrome air valves, etc etc. He was especially happy to tell me that for only 8 bucks per tire, instead of filling them with crumby old air, I could have them filled with nitrogen! He was getting quite excited but I had to interrupt to say that I just wanted average tires for an average car, and that if it saved me money I wanted to get the buy-one get-one-half-off tires. I basically told him to go cheap. Well, that totally took the nitrogen out of his sails. He sighed and moved to the computer and asked what size my tires were.

Well, I had left the quotes in my car, but I had heard the size a number of times already, so I said "hmm... I think they are 195/60/15." I should have paid more attention to those other guys who kept telling me.

He said "You think?" and started shaking his head for wasting his time. I started to explain that I was pretty sure that was correct, and if we could just look up my car I am sure we'd see that 195/60/15 was one of the ones listed and we could move on from there. He shook his head again and handed me a pen and a turned-over business card to write on. "No honey, we need to know exactly what tire. Go find out and come back."

On one hand I like being called 'honey', on the other hand it sounds quite condescending. It is safe to say I didn't like being called 'honey' by a geriatric version of the neighbour on 'Too Close for Comfort'. I looked behind me at the ten people in line and realized I really didn't want to leave my spot at the front. I said "I am 95% certain he said 195/60/15, can't we just look up my car and..."

He interrupted with "No, we need to be 100% certain..." and he was already looking past me to make eye contact with the person behind me. I got angry, picked up the pen and the business card and turned around. As I was leaving he was saying "...otherwise I'll end up selling you the wrong tires." If he said anything else, I didn't hear it. I was already out the door.

I went to my car and got the Goodyear quote that said 195/60/15 and I headed back in. Leo was still helping the woman who was behind me in line. Luckily he was just finishing up with her, so as she stepped out of line, I slid into her place. I could feel angry glares on my back, but I didn't mind because it beat having to wait another half hour in line.

Leo started to ask if I found out the tire size, but I interrupted with "195/60/15." I am sure Leo could tell I was irritated, yet he pressed the subject a bit further by explaining that it was possible that I might have mistakenly remembered the tire size with a set of dimensions that exactly matched a different size of tire available for my car, making us think we had the right number when actually we didn't. I said "There are only two sizes of tire though, what are the odds of picking the wrong number?"

He said "Stranger things have happened". I was dying to say "You're a stranger thing", but I didn't.

In no less than fifteen minutes we had picked out some tires and he quoted me a price that was over $100 less than the lowest quote I had so far. I asked him to print me out a copy of the quote and he said that wouldn't be a problem. He took another business card, flipped it over and wrote the price on the back and handed it to me. I said "No, can you print out that whole quote?"

He said "Sure. This is it."

I said "No, I want the entire quote, specifically listing the tires I want and the price you quoted me including labour and installation so when I bring the car in we don't have to spend forever picking out tires again"

"This is the price right here though. I mean I can print this out if you like, but won't this do?"

"I just want to come back in, hand them the quote and my keys and say 'I want this' and then go."

Leo reluctantly gave up on the business card idea and started the print procedure. From what I could tell, printing seemed really difficult. He was typing and typing and typing. He walked to the printer twice and came back empty-handed. He wiped some sweat off his brow and started typing some more. I finally said "Is there a problem?"

I guess I said it at the perfect moment because someone walking behind Leo heard me and stopped. "Is there a problem?" he echoed. Leo explained he was trying to print a quote and the guy said "Press 'Print Screen'." The next few moments I hesitate to include because they were excrutiating to witness and are no doubt worse to read, but it went a little something like this:

Leo said "I thought it was F11."
The guy said "No, print screen."
Leo said "I was told it was F11."
The guy said "No just press print screen."
Leo said "I am sure they said F11."
The guy said "No, not for a quote. Just press print screen."

I could tell Leo considered mentioning the F11 thing one more time, but reconsidered and pressed 'print screen'. To Leo's surprise it printed, and to my surprise I finally had my quote in my hands and was leaving.

The next morning I went in at 8:00 and nobody was manning the service center. All sorts of employees were there, but none were helping the people at the desk. After fifteen minutes my mom came in. She was there to pick me up and got impatient waiting for me. I asked her to stand in line for me and I went to find somebody. I found a manager of some type and asked him where his service guys were.

The manager eventually came to the service desk and brought along the shuttle driver to help out. When it was my turn I showed the quote to the shuttle driver and he kept asking questions about what kind of tires I wanted, and I said it was all on the quote. The shuttle driver read the quote and spent about 1 minute on the computer. Then he said he was done and took my keys and the quote. It seemed getting that quote yesterday paid off today.

Two hours later I got a call from Canadian Tire. I was expecting to hear my car was done, and I was excited to see the new tires, but I was disappointed. The guy on the phone was just calling to find out what kind of tires I wanted. I said that I gave a quote that said it all with my keys, but he said he didn't have it. I can only guess the shuttle driver didn't write down anything that quote said, or give it to the mechanic.

The guy on the phone asked me the standard questions, year, model, make of car. He asked if it was a 4 door or hatchback, he asked if I had air conditioning. When the questions were done he said my car has two sizes of tires, and he asked if I knew what size I had on my car. Without hesitation I said "195/60/15" and I must say the guy on the phone sounded quite impressed with me. He typed for a bit and said they had some buy-one-get-one-half-off tires in that size. I said "Really? I'll take those."

Who’s doing the bullying?

2008-05-06T21:22:00.010-06:00

A while back I wrote a blog article called "Shame on You". It was in response to the opinion commonly shared by religious people that transgender people are abnormal deviant sinners. I quoted one religious guy in particular, a guy named Robert Gagnon who is the Associate Professor of New Testament at Pittsburgh Theological Seminary. Strangely, a few times per month someone does a Google search for this guy and ends up on my blog. This week it happened twice, and it made me curious. I was surprised that my little site would rank anywhere near the top search results for this guy, so I did a search of my own.

I never did find my page in the search. I gave up after reading ten pages of the results, but I did find a quote that looked interesting so I checked it out. I ended up jumping from site to site skimming article after article. After quite a few site hops I ended up at this poorly named site: http://79.99.42.50/ where I saw something that made me sad.

It is about some Day of Silence in some school where students in support of gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender people can choose to stay silent for 24 hours to show that support. The author of the article wrote this:

Consider that during DOS, many kids who hold time-honored traditional values relative to sexual morality (i.e., that human sexuality is a gift from God to be shared between husband and wife within the bonds of marriage) are frequently and ironically tagged as "hateful," "bigoted," and "homophobic." (Who’s doing the bullying?)

"Who’s doing the bullying?"
- Matt Barber, Anglicans United & Latimer Press

Yeah he really said that. He really asked who was doing the bullying. I have to say from firsthand experience that the level of negativity from the religious side of the fence compared to the transsexual side is like comparing an erupting volcano to a pimple. It's true. On one side we have an unstoppable torrent of deadly material flowing over us with affects that last a lifetime, and on the other side we have a slightly irritating little red bump that goes away in a couple days.

There are some religious people out there who don't seem to get that when someone grows up different like I did, we spend so much thought about what others think. We are so very scared. We don't want to be different. Life would be so much easier if we were 'normal'. I can't tell you how many times I prayed to be normal as a kid. While all this is going on we have to listen to people of faith standing on every corner telling us that we have no morals and no values, that we are sinners, and that we deserve to go to hell.

In our hearts and minds we know we have done nothing wrong. If there is a god* then we know that we are just as god made us. We eventually begin to realize that this is who we are and there is nothing wrong with it, but we have nothing to base this on but our own feelings and experiences, so convincing others is difficult.

Not only that, but people who believe it is their faith to condemn us will not accept our feelings as the truth. These people somehow believe they are able to trump the reality of our words with the fiction of their faith. Say I am talking to a man who subscribes to a faith-based opinion that I, as a transsexual, have no morals and deserve to go to hell. I can tell him it has nothing to do with morals, that I was born transgendered. I can tell him I spent years as a child wishing I wasn't transgendered. I can tell him I fought it for thirty years until I couldn't take it anymore. I can tell him that finally confronting my feelings of being transgendered was the hardest thing I have ever done, and I only did so when I was at the absolute end of my rope. This person will turn around and tell me that none of what I said is true and that I've actually just chosen an immoral lifestyle of sin and I am lying to cover that up.

Unfortunately the believers of this fiction are united. Most of them have been banded together for all their lives into their various Christian and Catholic religions and offshoots. I know that for every person who speaks out against transsexuals based on religious reasons that there are many many more who share that same belief. Suddenly I don't have just one guy telling me that I'm an immoral waste of skin, I have millions of them. Even when they don't say that I am awful they are quick to say things like they are people "who hold time-honored traditional values relative to sexual morality (i.e., that human sexuality is a gift from God to be shared between husband and wife within the bonds of marriage)" Yeah that isn't condescending. Way to steal words like 'moral' and 'values' and make them only belong to the religious.

For a transsexual growing up in this world it is hard. We feel that we can't trust anyone with our secret. We go through life alone. We don't go through life deaf though, we silently digest the words we hear about us, and trust me, we hear everything said. We hear it over and over again all throughout our lives, and it hurts. It weighs down on us, and it depletes our sense of worth and our self-esteem. It kills us inside because there is nothing we can do about it. We are scared of ridicule if we open our mouths in defense. In our private existance we are but one person listening to the cruel comments believed by millions of people. It is like David and Goliath, only there are a million Goliaths. We'd never survive a fight, so we don't fight. We just take the cruelty over and over all our lives.

Consider millions of religious people who year after year have no reservations about airing their negative opinions of transsexuals and compare that to one lone scared transsexual who silently takes it. This is the reality of what happens. We are helpless against religion, and religion won't let up. Since there is strength in numbers, this is clearly a case of the strong repeatedly oppressing the weak and defenseless. Wait... isn't that the definition of bullying?
It certainly is.

Now I guess we can answer Matt Barber's question as to who is does the bullying. Organized religion is doing the fucking bullying, Matt. To suggest that it is possible for gays, lesbians and transsexuals to bully a religion simply means that you don't know the definition of the word. Bullying is long term, repeated, habitual, cruelty from the strong towards the weak, and that is what religion does to people like me all our lives. Organized religion is the biggest bully there is and ever has been.

"Organized religion is the biggest bully there is and ever has been."
- Sarah JM, Sarahs Adventures

* There isn't

Star Trek Countdown

2008-05-04T14:07:00.004-06:00

I know that a while back I put a Star Trek Movie Countdown timer on my site. Since then the movie has been pushed back four months making that countdown incorrect.

I wouldn't normally care, but I noticed people have arrived at my site by searching for Star Trek Countdown. For some weird reason Sarah's Adventures is listed on the first page of results in Google when you search for "Star Trek Countdown", and the people that get here will have the wrong timer, so here is the new version:

Get this widget!

Blog Teaser: The Big Move

2008-05-03T22:20:00.007-06:00

The blog article "The Big Move" will be posted on June 1st.
Until then, here is a preview:

...be on the lookout for danger...

...The Devil and Bill Cosby in Saskatoon...

...The animals of course, can see the future....

...Once we are out of the way, then they can take over.

"...There is something in here... something evil... I can feel it..."

"...How much do you want for one day's rent? Ten bucks?"

Baby Trauma and Update

2008-05-03T17:17:00.001-06:00

On Sunday I got a cockatiel. On Monday I almost killed him.

It is true that I saved his life on Monday too, but I don't think that made either of us feel any better. Joey was over and we were in my bedroom watching a show about ghosts. I actually think both of us were sleeping for the most part. Behind us on the dresser Baby was in his cage.

Baby's cage has a big front door that is secured by a metal rod. You drop it down through a couple of eyelets and the door can't open. I had been leaving the door unlocked though because I liked to open the door to see him better. I wasn't too worried about it because the door is stiff, and I didn't think Baby could open it. It turns out I was wrong.

It scared the shit out of me when I heard the sound of Baby flying around my bedroom. Not only was he was squawking but his wings make a surprising amount of noise. He didn't fly far. He landed on the curtain rod and hung out up there for a while. In the meantime I closed the bedroom door so he couldn't escape further into the apartment.

Baby stayed up there for like three hours. Joanne had gone home and it was just Baby and I in the apartment. Over all these hours, between the closed door, my body heat, and my computer, my room was getting quite warm. I decided that I really needed to open that door and get some circulation going. I didn't think it would hurt if Baby flew around the apartment either, but before I left the door open, I turned on all the lights in the apartment so he could see where he might be flying.

About half an hour later Baby took flight. He made three or four tentative flights at the door, each time turning around and retreating to the curtain rod. Finally he got the courage to go exploring.

I followed him out. He flew down the hallway and landed on a bookshelf. I sat down on the couch and read my cockatiel book. Baby didn't explore any further though, he was just content to hang out on the bookshelf. After forty-five minutes I decided it was bedtime and I tried to pick him up.

I had been trying to get him used to my hand earlier that day by putting my hand in his cage for a while. He was scared of it, and never let it get closer than 10 centimetres, so needless to say I had never tried to pick Baby up before. When my hands closed in on him to pick him up, he panicked. He took off and started shrieking and flew around me in circles. He landed on a different bookshelf, then he landed on the top of the blinds, then back to the second bookshelf again. I was getting worried because I had no idea how to catch this bird. I was afraid to try a fast grab, because I was scared of hurting him. The same goes for when he was flapping his fragile little wings all over. It was apparent that he wasn't going to sit still for me to carefully pick him up.

I tried the slow-as-can-be technique. My hands inched closer and closer in slo-mo, but with each second you could see Baby getting more and more worried. Suddenly he took flight and started flying towards a lamp in the corner.

I have one of those older halogen floor lamps. You know the ones that are considered a fire hazard? The ones that have an 8000 watt bulb in it that burns at just under the temperature of the sun? This is the lamp I call The Moth Killer because in the summer when a moth gets inside the apartment I freak out. I hate trying to kill them, so I just turn on the lamp. The moth is invariably attracted to the brightness and when it flies over top, it is so hot the moth drops dead instantly. This is the lamp Baby was flying towards.

I could tell by his posture that he was going to perch on this lamp. In the split second I made this realization I imagined him getting horribly burned feet at best, and actually catching fire at worst. I've seen a moth erupt into flame before, I didn't think Baby's fine feathers had much chance. I didn't know what else to do, so I grabbed at him in mid-flight.

I ended up pulling several of his tail feathers right out, and Baby fell to the ground. It looked awful because he was still flapping when he crashed, and I just imagined broken bones. I felt so ill over what just happened I felt like I could throw up right then, but I still had to get Baby to safety.

I managed to pick him up and he bit me SO HARD I had blood dripping off my finger from where both the top and bottom part of his beak had me. I couldn't take it, so I put him on the ground temporarily, pulled my finger from his mouth and repositioned my hands. He ended up biting me in a different place and drawing blood there too, all the while despite clamping down on my fingers he was shrieking incredibly loud.

I got him back into his cage and I was relieved to see him climbing around without seeming to have any injuries, but he was not the same. He wasn't playing, it seemed like he was sulking. If I even got near his cage he'd hiss at me and extend his head as far as he could towards me while holding his beak open, ready to strike.

I felt so terrible that almost let my new little friend get burned up that saving him from it was no consolation at all. As I write this five days later and he seems to be getting better, but he still wants to bite me if I get too close. It is a good thing I've got 20 more years to get him used to me again, but I sure hope it takes less time than that. All I know is that when I moved at the end of the month I'm 'giving' that lamp to my roommate.

Baby Update:

After a nice supper of peas (you may notice them all over his face) I let Baby fly around my room today. I don't even try to put him back in his cage, he takes care of that all on his own. I think he had a great day with me tonight, and he even got adventurous and stood right on my keyboard as I was writing blogs. So if there are any typos... blame him.

Quid Pro Quo, Sarah

2008-04-29T22:42:00.006-06:00

A couple weeks ago I was playing Warcraft with my friend Bri. When Bri was talking, I could hear her bird squawking in the background. The wierd thing was that the bird was also talking. It seemed like this bird could carry on a conversation with his owner, and that really intrigued me. Over the next week or so I couldn't stop thinking about it. I did some reading about birds on the internet and found out that every day budgies are 'champion talkers'. Suddenly found I couldn't stop thinking about budgies. Early Friday morning I decided I should get one.

I couldn't wait to go to every pet store in town and pick out the perfect budgie. I called my mom and made plans to go bird shopping after work. Then I called my sister and made additional plans to go bird shopping. I was so excited I didn't know if I was going to go with both of them at the same time, or just do it all twice. As it turned out I was so excited I couldn't even wait until I was done work. At lunch time I went to the pet store nearby instead of eating lunch.

The budgies were not exactly what I had built them up in my mind to be. They just sat there squeaking. They were not even moving. Certainly none of them were talking to me. It was strange, but everything I had been feeling all week seemed to collapse into nothing when my mental image met reality. I was about to leave when this weird gray bird with yellow feathers on his head started making eyes at me. He came right over to the front corner of his cage and was looking right at me. He wasn't at all like those boring budgies. This guy seemed inquisitive, he seemed interested in what I was doing. I found myself spending the rest of my lunch break staring at him. Before I left I checked the label and saw that he was a cockatiel. I realized that a smart, inquisitive cockatiel was probably way better than even the most talkative boring old budgie.

I decided that before I did anything about buying a bird I had better check my rental agreement. I was pretty sure it was going to say something like maybe no dogs or cats, but I was also sure that there must be different rules regarding birds. I was wrong. There it was. Point number 6. It was the only one in bold font: no animals of any kind are allowed on the premises. When I read that, it really bummed me out.

I moped around all that evening and the next day. On Sunday I went to meet Megan and Jenn for lunch at a nearby restaurant. It was nice out, and I decided to walk. Along the way was that pet store where I met the grey cockatiel. I knew I wasn't allowed to buy a bird, and I knew didn't have much time, but I really wanted to see him. When he saw me he came right up to check me out and it felt like we were connecting. My heart was melting.

I left the pet store and from the middle of the parking lot I called my land lady. I knew I should wait until Monday because she hates Sunday phone calls, but I ~~sometimes~~ often lack patience. I asked her point blank if I could have a bird. She paused and said, "... yeah, you can have a bird. Can you come over and fix my computer?"

My spirits were high again, knowing I could buy a bird but I wasn't sure that I should. These birds live up to 20 years. I didn't know if I wanted that responsibility. After lunch Megan and Jenn and I went to see the cockatiel, and Jenn simply told me I should get him and give him a good home. That was all the nudge I needed. That afternoon I brought home my new baby.

Chino suggested that I name him 'Baby' and I decided that was a good name. So far he is great. I love him a lot. The only bad thing about getting him is that now I have to fix my land lady's computer.
I hate fixing computers.

Good day, eh

2008-04-29T12:54:00.001-06:00

Life Lessons

2008-04-17T13:36:00.032-06:00

I am mostly nice, but sometimes I write things that are mean...

I am one of those people that is scared to speak up without knowing what I am talking about. I think it goes back to elementary school when I once responded to a question and some of the other kids laughed at my answer. In their defense, they were 8. Also in their defense, I said pianos were percussion instruments, so I guess I deserved it, but it still affected me deeply. Even now decades later, to avoid people laughing at my responses (and the possible crying that followed the elementary school incident), I just don't speak unless I know what I am talking about. It isn't easy, but this means that in order to talk at all I have to try to remember as many tidbits of information from as many sources as possible.

I am 36 years old now, and as such I feel like I have at least a good enough knowledge base to talk about many subjects. I keep on learning though, mostly from my friends. A few years ago I was grateful to have them to rely on to inform me about a whole new world of female specific information. I am thankful ladies, it was much appreciated. Now I can talk about fingernails.

I also pick up information from other people I associate with. Sometimes I meet someone who just has an incredible amount of knowledge about many and varied things. Over the last year I spent a lot of time with one such person. He was my roommate, and all I can say is that his set of ideas was very foreign to my collected experiences. Some of what he had to say was surprising. Pretty much all of it blew my mind and made my head shake. Somehow my inner censor has gone on vacation and I suddenly feel that it is appropriate to share these ideas on the internet for everyone else to see.

Please, dear readers, I invite you to expand your worlds with the top fifteen ideas and notions of my former roommate:

If you want to brush your teeth and watch TV at the same time then do so. Take off your shirt, fill a glass half full of water. Take that glass, your toothpaste, and toothbrush into the living room. Have a seat on the couch and start brushing. When your mouth is full of frothy toothpaste, just hork it out into that glass and continue watching TV.
All human behaviour can be predicted by having someone answer a 15 question test, then assigning one of four colours to that person based on his or her answers.
i) Believe this system to be the ultimate tool for interpersonal relations, assume it is completely infallible, and never bother to critically analyze the process. *
ii) At random intervals remind your roommate that she is a green. If your roommate looks puzzled and says "agreeing to what?", just get agitated and loudly repeat "You're a green!" until she understands.
It is ok to ignore your roommate when she says hello, as long as you feel she does not show enough variation in how she says hello.
i) Tell her that repeatedly greeting you with the same old word 'hello' everyday is boring.
ii) It is also ok to ignore your roommate if she says "Afta'noon Guv'na".
Phone calls are the most important part of the day.
i) If your story cannot achieve a four hour run time, then call multiple people and tell them all the same story until four hours has elapsed. Example. if you just got a job as a "Food Services Worker" at a hospital, and you want to tell people you just got a job at the hospital organizing diets for patients. Since that only takes 8 minutes to relate you must call thirty people.
ii) 70 long distance phone calls per month is not out of the ordinary.
iii) When talking on the phone, do so in the living room, but make sure your vibrating bed in the bedroom is constantly vibrating.
iv) The louder you talk into the phone, the better people can hear you. Speak so loud that anyone can hear you in any room of the apartment. Immediately after getting off the phone, knock on your roommate's door and tell her to turn down her TV because you can hear the voices through the wall. Never realize that she just listened to four hours of your voice coming through the wall and didn't complain.
Seminars solve every problem.
i) It is not weird to spend lots of money in order to attend a seminar on debt management.
ii) If a seminar urges you to find a job that makes you happy, and also tells you that you should wait 90 days before making any major life decisions, then immediately quit your job and give them 90 days notice.
If your roommate cleans up after you, do not try to be more tidy. Instead act insulted and belittled.
i) If you put your phonebook on the couch every day, and every day your roommate moves it from the couch to the end table, then this is to be taken as an insult.
ii) If your roommate moves your pen from the couch onto the end table, this is also an insult.
iii) If you put your newly purchased percussion practice pads, drum sticks, the box from said pad and sticks, your music books, a pad of paper, and the bag in which you carried everything home on the couch, and your roommate moves them all to the end table, then get very angry over this incident and confront her.
Anything to do with alcohol is awful.
i) Anything to do with alcohol is to be considered a sign of 'classic alcoholic behaviour'. Mention this term often.
ii) When it comes to alcohol, try to behave as if you are the president of the dry grad committee in grade 12. In other words, act like you (and everyone else) is still in highschool.
iii) If necessary, inform your 36 year old roommate that drinking doesn't make her cool. Then say the following phrase softly and slowly to drive in the point, "Drinking is not cool."
Sex is gross. So is kissing.
i) Noises of disgust should always be made at the mention of sex or kissing, even if it is mentioned by characters on a TV show.
ii) Disgust must also be displayed if there is no mention of sex or kissing, but you have made a leap of reasoning that a certain situation has lead to sex. Example: If your roommate's best friend comes over and spends the night, then the next morning you must look disgusted and ask your roommate which of you slept on the floor.
If you are accustomed to putting your dirty dishes on the counter top, it is impossible to learn to put them in the dishwasher. If questioned about why you put dishes all over the counter just say "because I lived by myself for too long I can't change now." This answer works for lots of things, like learning not to put all your belongings on the couch. Or like wanting to keep a giant record player where it blocks an entire hallway.
Never EVER take your clothes out of the dryer or washing machine because this is your roommate's duty.
i) Once your roommate has taken your clothes out for you, please feel free to get mad at her for putting them on your bed. Tell her that beds have a lot of germs that you really don't want on your clean clothes.
ii) Once your roommate has learned to put your clothes on the top of the dryer, make sure to immediately fill both washer and dryer with a new batch of clothes. Leave the clothes in there for her to take out and put with the other clothes already on top of the dryer. The ultimate goal is a mountain of clothes on top of that dryer.
Plastic, paper and cardboard recycling must be a top priority. If your roommate throws out some cardboard, please make sure to retrieve it and put it in the huge 127 litre garbage bag in the laundry room. The recycling must occupy more space in the laundry room than do the washer and dryer.
i) Despite being your personal cause, you must store your recycling in the apartment, and never ever take it to the recycling bin unless your roommate offers to drive you because the cardboard sitting in the small laundry room has taken on a musty, damp smell.
ii) You must often tell your roommate how important recycling is, yet never even buy a cloth shopping bag. Always get the little white plastic shopping bags. Don't buy proper garbage bags that conveniently fit your kitchen garbage container. Insist on using the tiny plastic shopping bags instead, so that they don't go to waste.
If a piece of furniture can fit into a room (or hallway), then placing it there is fine - even if there is no place left to walk through that area (or hallway). Example: a two foot wide, 5 foot long console record player clearly fits perfectly in the three foot wide, seven foot long hallway. The presence of such a console record player looks awesome to you and in no way looks congested, cramped, cluttered, out of place, or ugly.
Old couches can be worth $1300 if you put $1300 worth of reupholstering and wood refinishing into them, therefore they should be heralded as valuable antiques even before a single dime has been spent.
Anything older than the 1977 is an antique and must be kept in the apartment even if there is no room. Even if made of particle board covered in a faux-wood plastic veneer. Even if it says "Sears" on it. Even if it is a five foot long console record player and you do not own any records. Even if it is really really ugly and blocks the entire hallway.
Sudden loud grunting and violent jerk spasms are fine as long as you say they are caused by a mild case of Tourette Syndrome coupled with a form of Restless Leg Syndrome (even if you only do them during commercial breaks on whatever TV show you are watching, or during pauses in conversations). Loud burps are also acceptable due to your inability to prevent them (I assume from the Tourette Syndrome again).
All behaviour except yours is rude.
It is your job to point out rude behaviour. It is never ever rude to tell someone that they are being rude. Tell them as often as possible. Include an exaggerated, exasperated sigh and an eye-roll when telling someone they are rude.

That is it, the top 15(+1) things I learned from my former roommate. I'd like to say I hope you learned something from him, but I am pretty sure you didn't. I'm even more sure that you just learned that I am a vindictive bitch for writing this. You are completely right. I have done no good whatsoever by posting this potentially hurtful article. ... Still, it was a rough year for me. I am still decompressing. Besides, this is my blog, and writing about things that upset me makes me feel better. Perhaps if we hadn't had two fights on his last day here, I wouldn't feel the need to write about his impact on my life.

BONUS MOVE-OUT SPECIAL #1: When cleaning it is not necessary to make things clean so long as the actions are carried out.
i) When washing your bedroom walls, don't bother doing a good job. Just run some water over a dishrag from the drawer near the sink. Don't even consider using cleaner either, unless your roommate makes you use some.
ii) When steam cleaning the carpet, if you run out of water then do not stop. Believe in your heart that the action of pushing the machine across the carpet is still good enough, even if the carpet doesn't get wet. If confronted by someone claiming the carpet isn't clean, then just say the carpet is just that dirty, that you pushed the thing around already and shrug it off as being done. Then put on your jacket and get ready to leave.
BONUS MOVE-OUT SPECIAL #2: If you have an item that you do not wish to take with you when you move, simply 'give' it to your roommate before leaving. If your roommate says "Warren, I don't want it." then say, "Throw it out then. It's yours. I don't care what you do with it." This logic is infallible to you, and to argue with it deserves an angry response. If your roommate absolutely insists that you are responsible for this item, then yell "FINE!" and storm off with it.

* This colours test is funny. Once you have identified your colour you look up the description in a book and it is shocking how much that description will sound like you. Just for fun I looked up the other colours too and holy shit they all sounded just like me! I am sorry but sometimes you are confident, sometimes you are funny, sometimes you are emotional, sometimes you are organized... any one person is all the colours of the rainbow. Those colour description paragraphs are just specific enough to be different from each other, yet general enough to allow us to see ourselves in each one. I wonder why people don't realize this.

Everyone's a Thief

2008-04-03T16:36:00.007-06:00

I have been driving with the low fuel light on for a few days, so today after work I decided I should fill up before I strand myself somewhere. I drove to the 7-11 about two blocks away. I pulled up to the pump and saw a brand new professionally printed sign stuck to it. I've seen signs with similar messages on these pumps recently, but previous versions were always written in ballpoint pen on a piece of loose leaf and taped to the pump. The first sign I saw said 'Please pre-pay after 10'. I thought that made sense. I imagine there are people out there who take advantage of the fewer staff on and the dark of night and simply drive away without paying. A month later the sign changed to 'Please pre-pay between 7:00 pm and 7:00am'. Ok, I guess this one make sense too, for all I know there is only one staff member on between those hours. Today it just simply said 'Please Pre-pay'. I thought this was ridiculously restrictive.

I was actually ticked off when I read that sign, but when I thought about it a moment it seemed to work out to the same amount of time in total. The only difference is I have to pay before I fill up. It shouldn't be much of a change at all. Still, I was annoyed, so I walked inside and asked the clerk why we have to pre-pay 24/7 now. She looked around like she was about to tell me a secret, she lowered her voice and said "It's because of all the drive-offs..." she glanced behind her, then back at me, "... I have one or two a week." I guess that adds up over time, but I still felt that forcing everyone to pre-pay just means that 7-11 is treating everyone like a thief.

I went to use the bank machine and I grabbed a couple bottles of diet coke. I also picked up a container of raw veggies to have for supper. I headed back to the counter and my cashier friend had her back to me and was counting stuff. I waited and waited for her to turn around and ring in my stuff, but she was engrossed in her counting. I cleared my throat a couple times, but that didn't work. After a couple minutes I reluctantly began tapping my keys on the counter and she finally turned around. With a level of awareness like that I am surprised she doesn't have every car drive off on her.

She punched it all in and said it was $8.27, so I added that I also wanted to get $31.73 in gas. She asked what car was mine. I said "Pump 8".

I realized it wasn't what she asked, but I wanted to make sure she enabled Regular, and not Premium. She then asked "The red car?", so I said yes. "Or the blue car?"

"The red one." I confirmed. "Pump 8 though right?" I asked. She looked out the window for quite a few seconds and then meakly said yes. She looked really confused. I didn't think it was that hard to figure out. I should have paid attention to what she was looking at out there.

She bagged up my stuff and I walked out to my car. On the way I noticed a woman beginning to pump gas into the blue car, but to be honest I was looking at her bum, not what pump she had in her hand. I put my stuff in the car, then walked around to the passenger side. I took off the gas cap, then reached over to grab pump 8's nozzle and - you guessed it - it wasn't there. The woman with the bum was pumping the gas I paid for into her blue car.

You know that thing on gas pumps you have to flip up after pulling out the nozzle? I reached over and pulled it down and said "Whoa!". The pump immediately cut off and the woman using it gave me a look that said 'what the fuck are you doing?' Before she could say anything I said "I already pre-paid for this gas..." and I pointed at the sign.

She said "Yeah I saw the sign... I guess I just didn't think it meant this time of day."

She had already put $16 something of my gas into her tank, so she pulled a twenty out of her wallet and gave it to me. She filled up the rest and handed me the pump. I tried to pump the rest of my $31.73, only to discover the cashier had only authorized $31.00. I looked inside and saw a line at the counter. I decided it wasn't worth the hassle to get the seventy-three cents, so I left.

Luckily there is a gas station directly across the street from 7-11, so I got the rest of my gas there.

To My Blog Fan:

2008-03-11T15:02:00.007-06:00

Thanks for the flowers!
I don't really know what else to say, but this is what they look like.

** Update:

I thought about it and I do know what else to say:

You've made my day again.

They smell terrific, they look great,
and they are an excellent surprise.

Thank you very much and thanks for liking my blog!

PS. I made an adjustment to the "Things I Like" section of the sidebar ------>

Shame on You

2008-03-05T22:03:00.021-06:00

I feel bad that my first blog article after such a long absence is one where I rant about religion again, but here it is anyway:

I often feel separated from the transgender community. I don't attend transgender support groups, I don't socialize with other transgendered people, and to be honest I don't have many transgender friends either. I learned a long time ago that simply sharing the experience of being transgendered with someone is a very far cry from even liking him or her, let along being friends with that person. Still, from time to time I feel the urge to find out what is going on in the transgender world. At times like these I usually just do a quick Google search and look up articles concerning transsexuals or transsexualism. I have to say that almost every time I do this, the lack of reason in the opinions I read depresses me. Then it makes me angry.

I came across an article called "Media Bias on Transgenders Raising Concerns" and I gave it a click. When I saw this article was from The Christian Post I should have stopped reading right there, but I trucked on.

The article initially centers quite positively on Rebecca Romijn, who plays a transgender character on TV. She is quoted saying that her show "helps people understand this community of people that still has yet to find a voice really."

The next quote is from Dr. Robert Gagnon, associate professor of New Testament at Pittsburgh Theological Seminary. "They're (media) trying to normalize transgender existence. There's no question about that. "

I wasn't sure if this statement was in support of presenting transgender people as 'normal', or if it was against it. Next Gagnon said the media is "trying to present a case where they are able to demonstrate that these persons cannot help themselves, [that] this is not something they asked for. [And] if you don't allow them to become transgender, they'll probably kill themselves."

Again at this point he could be going either way on the subject. Certainly people have killed themselves over not being able to express their transsexualism. Even I thought about it a couple times. Perhaps Gagnon is sympathetic to our feelings and mindful of the pressures this condition places on us.

My hopeful outlook on Gagnon's humanity was dashed however when the article says that Gagnon began quoting 1 Corinthians 6:9-10. According to his preferred translation 'effeminate' or 'soft men' will not inherit the kingdom of god. Apparently Gagnon goes on to add that transwomen are the closest thing you can get to effeminate soft men.

The article goes on to voice some of Gagnon's embarrassingly uninformed opinions on biology and psychology, but I don't want to talk about them. Instead, let's take a quick look at this passage that Gagnon referred to.

9 Do you not know that unjust persons will not inherit the kingdom
of God? Do not be deceived. Neither pornoi, nor idolaters,
nor adulterers, nor malakoi, nor arsenokoitai,


10 nor thieves, nor the greedy, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor
robbers will inherit the kingdom of God.

I have said it before, and I will say it again. Passages like this are fascinating to me because while so many Christians stand firm in their bible-based opinion of transsexuals, you may note that in the passage that condemns us, the words that are used to condemn us are not even in English!

The words in question are written in ancient Greek. Many bibles have translated them into 'effeminate' and 'soft men', or into 'homosexuals'. I think some bibles even say 'homosexual perverts', (for that truly disdainful flock). If you look up alternative translations though, you are given many other options for what these words could be referring to, such as wishy washy men who don't stick up for their beliefs, rich men who lead soft lives and wear soft clothing, or men who have let themselves go in terms of physical condition. The fact is that the words causing all the trouble have no distinct translation and therefore, according to one big article I skimmed, "determining what Paul might have meant by the terms in 1 Corinthians is especially problematic."

I know nothing about the bible, so it is hard for me to say what it means. I don't even know what a Corinthian is. All I do know is that Gagnon and millions of others steadfastly hold to a belief that transsexuals are somehow living an improper life. These people believe that we don't deserve a voice or fair treatment. They believe this because they are told to believe it... but they were not told by the bible. They were told by human beings who assume they know what this Paul guy meant (when he allegedly wrote it two thousand years ago, in ancient Greek).

The funny thing about the bible though, is that it says a lot of things that don't make sense in today's world. Things like selling our daughters to slavery, killing common thieves, stoning adulterers, the list goes on. If you want to believe the words in the bible are the absolute truth and must be absolutely followed, then you really have no choice but to start stoning people. It is as simple as that.

People don't follow the bible word for word though because some of it is impractical, parts of it are illegal, and other parts are just plain ridiculous. I want to ask a question of people like Gagnon who, based on the bible, feel that I am somehow wrong for living my life.

I ask you, "If you don't follow everything in bible, then how can you hold so strongly to some of it, especially when some of those parts crush the feelings, destroy the self-esteem, and cause torment in the lives of those you oppress?"

You don't have to answer.
I know why you do it.
It's because you're assholes.

Read the entire Christian Post article here.
Read that big article I referred to here.

P.S. Calling you guys assholes technically makes me a reviler, so no kingdom for me (or anyone else who has ever used abusive language either. Too bad you didn't follow that part of 1 Corinthians eh?)

P.P.S. For something really funny, scroll down. (Those Corinthians are down on everybody!)

1 Corinthians 11:14
Doth not even nature itself teach you, that, if a man have long hair, it is a shame unto him?

"Shame on you Jesus!"

Sarah's got Mail!

2008-03-05T21:07:00.002-06:00

Addictive in more than one way!

I was late for work, 2h 15m, so I
bought hamburgers on my way home to eat
but never did. I have been reading
online for 8 hours straight plus some 3
hours prior to work on Friday...

I do not read blogs. I read about the
sun and universe, about home theaters
and other techie stuff. I do not read
blogs, not interested in moms cleavage
or bikes or parking on the other side
to save money, friends dancing on
speakers or panties being spoken of,
flat tires in -30 degrees or
jacks on icy roads, roommates not
reading messages... but yet I did!?!

At first I selected the entries
randomly but when I got home on Friday
at 9pm I started to read them in
chronological order, about 1.5 litres
of coca cola and a couple of headache
pills later the sun came up and about
3 years of your life had passed, felt like
some years had passed for me too.
I needed sleep badly.

So okay I read slow and I do not
understand all of the words and I am
lousy at spelling, but it is not bad
for a blog from the second biggest
country in the world with some 30
million people who got their flag done
in 1963 or so and which capital city is
not Toronto to reach Sweden!

Yes sitting here in Sweden and is
deciding whether to type this or go
watch StarGate SG1, do not worry I
have it recorded so I will watch Teal'c
kick some Goaould ass later tonight.
How can your life be so interesting?
What made me stay and read
for so long? You write about things
that have happened in your life both now
and a long time ago. It feels like I
know you but I do not. It feels like your
life concerns me too but it does not.
Damn blog :-)

Please do not stop writing I want to
know how it goes for Sarah in the
future, whether it be stolen trash or
duct tape :-O or even pee on the floor
2x:-O you write it in such a way it
becomes interesting, you are a good
storyteller, well written blog, thank
you, but please no more pictures I do
not want it to be more addictive than
it is.

Mr B

Thanks for the letter Mr. B, and thanks for letting me post it in here. It made my day. Actually it may have made my month. I will try to write more than I have been, starting right now...

2008-01-16T16:42:00.001-06:00

Santa Claus is Coming to Town!

2007-12-24T22:20:00.000-06:00

I had to cheat this year. Either I had bad luck or some people who decide the songs to play at Christmas think we'd rather hear the same crazy warbling of Christine Aguilera's Christmas songs than to hear Bruce Springsteen's Santa Claus is Coming to Town. I waited for that song every day this month, but it never came. Finally tonight I had planned to head over to my mom's for a Christmas Eve dinner and a couple of presents so I had to put in the CD and play it myself first. It felt like cheating, but as song as I heard the opening notes it was suddenly Christmas!

This year the Christmas season began at 4:26pm December 24th.

Robert Who?

2007-12-14T21:00:00.000-06:00

A couple of weeks ago my friend Robert got laid off from his job. The business has been in trouble for a long time. I used to work there myself, and more than a few times I had a cheque bounce, or a phone call from the big boss Mark asking me to wait a few days to deposit my cheque. Still, I was surprised and saddened to hear they had to let him go right before Christmas. I'd been thinking of him in the last few days and so when I saw "Robert has just signed in" pop up in the bottom right corner of my monitor I had to write to see how he was doing. What I didn't realize is that Robert wasn't the only Robert on my contact list. What is even worse is that it took me about 25 minutes to realize I wasn't talking to the right Robert.

I'm on a couple of dating sites, and sometimes I decide to let people chat with me on MSN even though frequently that turns into a nightmare. For whatever reason, maybe I am at work and can't chat, or maybe I just don't feel like it at the moment, sometimes I don't talk to these guys right away and I forget about them. Whatever the reason was, I had no idea this Robert was not the Robert I thought it was. I noticed his status message said he was moving to Edmonton.

I started the conversation with "You're moving?" He replied that he was. "Is it to find a job?" He replied that it was.

I asked if he had found anything yet and he said he was starting at a meat store soon. I said, "but you probably want to find another computer job eh?" He agreed that he would prefer another computer job.

We chatted for a bit longer about Christmas shopping and then the subject of computer jobs came up again. I asked if he missed the work and he said something like "not really, but it is what I do. I miss the guys more than I miss the job." So then I said, "I bet you don't miss Mark though." Robert replied with "??? lol no I don't how did you know???"

I totally thought it was just a sarcastic answer from a guy who I knew wasn't fond of his former boss Mark, but in reality it was just some stranger with the same name who couldn't figure out how on earth I knew about his former co-worker Mark. He was the only person in the conversation who knew who he was talking to, but I bet at this point he was very confused while I was oblivious that anything was out of the ordinary.

He changed the subject to computers and said he took some time to reinstall Windows and that is why he didn't have a picture on his MSN. I didn't even notice because I usually have pictures hidden unless I don't know what the person looks like. Thinking back, this would have been a bit weird for Robert to say to me, and it would make a lot more sense coming from a stranger off a dating site, but after all we had spoken about over the last half an hour, I still had no idea I wasn't speaking to my friend Robert. Then suddenly he said "I love you hair in your MSN picture."

I didn't reply. I was taken aback. It just wasn't a comment I would have expected from Robert at all. Robert is married with three kids, and that seemed just a bit flirty to me. Then he wrote, "It's sexy."

Although I agree my hair is super sexy in that picture*, I know Robert would never have said that. This was the first time that I realized I was talking to the wrong guy! I have to offer an apology to both Roberts! I'm sorry!

I sent this story to my friend Robert and he wrote "That is hilarious... stop hitting on my dopplegangers."

* The picture in question is the same as my current blogger profile picture. It is sexy hair eh?

Blog Comment Moderation

2007-12-14T01:59:00.000-06:00

In case anyone decides to leave a comment on this blog, please note that it will not show up right away. I had to add comment moderation today so that no unwanted comment will ever get on this blog again. This means that there may be some lag between posting a comment and actually seeing it show up on the blog.

It is irritating actually how the spam has to make everyone do things just a little differently to get away from it all. Dear spam companies, we all hate you.

Ava Ann

2007-12-10T10:54:00.000-06:00

I met Heather 14 years ago when we both worked at A&W. Since then we've lived together in four different places (including her mom's basement). Over the years I've spent a lot of time with her and got to see her do many things that just left me in awe. From being a Hilltop cheerleader, to having 4 jobs at the same time, to starting a fight with another girl in a bowling alley parking lot, Heather has always stood out just a little bit more than everyone else, but last night she topped it all. Last night at 6:26, Heather had a 9 pound, 13 ounce baby girl!!

I don't even know what to write right now. Every time I look at this picture I just tear up. I just feel so happy for Heather, and extremely proud of her. I think she'll be a great mom.

Congratulations Little Nuckers!!!

P.S. I'm an aunt!!!!

Star Trek Countdown

2007-12-07T14:01:00.000-06:00

Get this widget!

Now Serving 71

2007-11-14T09:59:00.000-06:00

This morning I went for a blood test. The procedure at the lab is to walk in, take a number, and sit down. Eventually they will call your number and then you bring them your health card and the doctor's blood test orders. Then you take your seat again until they call you into the back to actually have your blood taken. It is a pretty simple procedure. Most people make it in and out within half an hour. Probably the only time the system breaks down is when you forget to take a number.

I arrived at 7:30 in the morning and saw a lot of cars in the parking lot. I wasn't too surprised. I think it is standard to fast for 10-12 hours before a blood test, so it makes sense that most people prefer to fast overnight, and have their blood tested before breakfast. As I parked my car I saw a man just getting out of his. I had to shake my head. I am not sure how, but at some point I must have been given a curse that no matter where I am going, I am always a few seconds behind someone else. When you consider all the lineups at banks, drive-thrus, grocery stores, etc, I am sure that throughout my life I have spent months waiting for that one person who always manages to get places 2 seconds ahead of me. I got out of my car and I followed this guy up to the entrance.

He arrived just ahead of me, but instead of going straight in, he opened the door for me. I walked right in and now I was ahead of him. I immediately felt guilty over making him wait for me just because he is polite, so I stood to the side for a few seconds. I pretended to be looking for something in my purse because I wanted to give him a chance to get his number first, but he didn't take one. He went straight to a chair in the waiting area and sat down next to the table in the corner with all the magazines. I grabbed my number and took a seat on the other side of the table.

The waiting room was about half full of people, most were over the age of 65. Generally I like to people-watch the elderly, but this morning I couldn't do it because I kept wondering about that guy ahead of me. Why didn't he take a ticket? I glanced at him. He just sat there reading In Touch magazine. At first I thought he must be waiting for someone, but after a few minutes he pulled out his purple blood test orders and put them on his lap. I thought I should ask if he had a number, but I didn't. Surely he could hear them calling out the numbers one by one. I decided he must have been there well ahead of me, and I had only just witnessed him come in after running out to his car for something. I considered the matter settled, and I picked up a six-month-old magazine that promised to describe what Paris could expect in prison.

Pretty soon they called out '54' and I went up to hand in my stuff. I sat back down and realized that man hadn't been called up yet. There is no way he had a number prior to my arrival. If so he would have handed in his purple sheet by now, but it was still on his lap. He caught me looking at him, and at that moment I think he realized it too. His expression became one of intense irritation and suddenly he stood up. He was clearly angry as he stormed up to the counter and ripped a number from the dispenser. He looked at the display on the wall that still said "Now Serving 54". Then he looked at his ticket and shook his head slightly and sighed with disgust (at himself I hope). Then he walked back to his chair, his face was red and his jaw looked clenched.

About a minute later a woman walked in. I noticed that she didn't take a number either. She took a seat on the other side of the man with the clenched jaw. He was staring straight ahead and still scowling. She took a few seconds to get comfy and then she tucked her hand behind Scowly-man's arm. Despite the absence of a greeting and the fact that his expression didn't soften in the slightest, it seemed evident that she was his wife. Right then a nurse said "55?" and an old lady with a cane got up and walked to the counter. This prompted the man's wife to lean over and ask, "What number did you get?"

With a touch of irritation he said "71."

She looked surprised and said, "71?! They are slow this morning. They must be really busy eh?"

The man didn't respond.

Dear Blog Readers

2007-10-29T22:34:00.000-06:00

For some reason I can't think of anything to blog about.

This Blog Is About me

2007-10-23T11:15:00.001-06:00

I must seem awfully vain posting pictures of myself all the time.

Catch-22

2007-10-23T09:26:00.000-06:00

Yesterday was yet another Monday. On one hand I look forward to them because I usually go to Jenna's house to watch Heroes. On the other hand I dread Mondays - I have to go back to work, and I am always tired. I usually stay up too late on the weekend, so by the time Sunday night arrives I can't sleep until around 2 or 3:00am, making Monday a very long day. I normally go to bed quite early in order to make up some sleep, but last night I fought off sleepiness and watched The Bourne Ultimatum instead.

This morning my alarm went off as usual, but I slept right through it. When my Backup Alarm rang I woke up, but I assumed it was my first alarm, so I shut it off. When the Last Chance Alarm finally woke me up I couldn't believe how late it was. I struggled out of bed and into the shower. I was so tired I pretty much stood there under the water with my eyes closed. In terms of washing up, one could say I did the bare minimum. (get it?)

If there was ever a morning I needed coffee, it was this morning. There was a time when my favorite part of drinking coffee was drinking out of a fantastic travel mug, but nowadays I have a deep appreciation for the drink as well. I don't know if it is all due to caffeine or if it is part psychological, but it really does wake me up in the morning. Some mornings if I don't drink coffee I find it very difficult to work. Without coffee this morning I'd be asleep at my desk in no time.

I walked like a zombie to the kitchen and I pulled out the coffee press and my favorite mug. I took the coffee grounds and the coffee-mate from the cupboard and put the appropriate amounts in each vessel. I boiled water and added it to the carafe and 5 minutes later I filled my mug and sat down at the computer to work.

I let the coffee sit for a few minutes to cool down, and then I picked up the mug, closed my eyes and took a healthy sip. Imagine my shock when I realized my mouth was full of grit. It is amazing how quickly coffee turns into 'water with coffee grounds floating in it'. In that instant I couldn't even recognize what had happened, and I messily tried to quickly spit the coffee back through the little sip-hole in the travel mug. I went back to the kitchen to wash some spilled grounds off my thumb and I realized what the problem was. Normally I put coffee grounds in the press, then I put coffee-mate in the mug. Apparently this morning I was so sleepy that I put coffee grounds in BOTH. Yeah, there's a catch-22 when you need coffee in order to make coffee.

Thanks to Debbie for the ending!

Hi

2007-10-22T22:40:00.000-06:00

I just wanted to let everyone know I'm still alive and kicking.
I've been neglecting this blog and I feel guilty. I'll be back soon.

P.S. Thanks for everyone who has mentioned that they miss reading it.

"Where is he now?" / "There he is!"

2007-08-31T23:39:00.000-06:00

My mom has been away for a few days, so I've been taking care of her house. It isn't hard, I just bring in the mail and water the plants. The hardest part is getting there. I would just rather be going somewhere else I guess. This evening though I decided to make the trip to mom's house my entire evening's activity. I grabbed a book, my mp3 player and I started walking. Along the way I read, I sat on the grass in a couple parks, I bought a cold drink to sip along the way, and I chatted on the phone with some friends. Basically I just enjoyed the evening over the course of a 15 kilometre walk.

A block from mom's I had to pass by my ex-friend Rob's parent's house - this is where Rob currently lives. As I walked by I had a few minutes to wonder what he was up to these days. I wondered where he was in life, if he has a girlfriend, if he is working, if he is happy... It seems weird that as a kid I wasn't supposed to knock when I visited, I was told to walk right in, but now as adults I'm completely shut out. He hasn't spoken to me in a civil tone in almost three years.

I gave up on wondering what he was up to because my attention shifted to some of the things we used to do as kids. It was probably about 22 years ago that we used to play a game called "Slingshot vs Pellet Gun". It was a game a lot like hide and seek, but once you found the person... well, the goal of the game was pretty simple: the first one to shoot the other player wins.

We weren't that dumb though. We didn't actually shoot each other, we'd just shoot near each other. Still... more than once I heard the sound of a pellet as it whizzed too too close past my ear. This particular night though we called the game without a winner because we had some unexpected players show up.

It was snowing that night, probably the first snow of the year. I gave Rob a head start and shortly after I went looking for him. According to our rules, you could go anywhere you wanted on the block I lived on, and I mean anywhere. It is only a city block, but when you consider the back alley, the front yards, back yards, up trees and on top of buildings, this is a pretty big area. Luckily it was proving easy to follow Rob's tracks in the freshly fallen snow.

I followed cautiously. Rob was crafty and it would have been just like him to backtrack down his own tracks, jump off in some other direction, and wait behind a garbage can until I walked by. When I saw his tracks stop at a fence, it took me a minute or two to determine it was safe for me to approach. I looked over the top of the fence and saw that Rob had climbed it, and then walked balance-beam style down the length of it between two yards.

I did my best to walk on top the fence too, and I saw his tracks move to the roof of a shed, and from the shed on to a garage. I went where they led, up over the crest of the garage roof. When I looked over I saw the tracks went halfway down the other side, then it looked like he sat down and creeped towards the edge so that he didn't slip and fall off.

I again followed until I was sitting on the edge of the garage with my feet dangling down. I saw tracks 10 feet below indicating Rob had jumped off and ran down the block. I guess I didn't notice there were several sets of tracks going off in the same direction because I was too busy making sure Rob wasn't waiting in ambush. Suddenly I heard people coming out the front door of the house that was attached to the garage I was sitting on.

I looked over and saw three men standing on the doorstep looking up at me. One of them pointed and said, "There he is again!!" One of the others said, "Get him!"

I jumped off and ran like the wind. They came after me, but thankfully my Slingshot vs Pellet Gun experience meant I had the home-field advantage and it didn't take long to lose them. I went a round-a-bout way back to my house and found Rob there waiting for me. We decided we should just stay in and play video games rather than end up in another foot chase with angry neighbours.

I didn't win our game that night, but I ended up with a pretty good memory. I'm glad. Rob doesn't talk to me anymore, so memories like that are all I've got.

Peas and Carrots

2007-08-29T01:34:00.000-06:00

Kara: You and me Sarah are just like Forrest Gump and Jenny: We are Peas and Carrots!

Sarah: I guess that means I have to be Forrest because I am the only one of us that has a carrot.

Kara: PMG Sarah! So that makes me the drug abusing slut that dies from aids? Thanks a lot!! And you call yourself my friend...pfft!

Sarah: So what if she was a slut, she was hot. If you don't like it you can be Bubba.

Kara: Good point. She was really skinny too. I think I will stick to being a drug abusing slut who dies of aids. I don't want to be Bubba.

He has a carrot.

Pictures

2007-08-24T22:24:00.000-06:00

"Sarah Jana?!?"

2007-08-22T22:40:00.000-06:00

It was pointed out to me that in all the blog articles I have written about switching genders I didn't ever mention how I chose my new names. I guess I didn't bother to write about it because I've explained to practically everyone I know how I arrived at them - mostly because I think people agree that Sarah Jane would have been a better choice. They aren't wrong. I'll be the first to admit that my first and middle names are kind of awkward together. Too many a's I guess. I sometimes wish that I did pick names with better flow, but then I remember that I didn't pick my names to sound good together. I picked them because they are just both me.

I couldn't even tell you how I picked the name Sarah. I picked it maybe 25 years ago. Even back then I knew I was a girl inside, and at some point I picked out a name for myself. I remember I tossed around a dozen or so possibilites before I settled on 'Sarah', but I just don't recall how I came up with it. Whenever I've often tried to remember, the TV show "Little House on the Prairie" always comes to mind. I've checked though, and there were no actors or regular characters named Sarah. I really have no idea. I think it was just a popular name that I thought was pretty.

My middle name originates in computers and computer games. Back when I was a kid there was a role-playing game called Ultima IV. In the game you play a character travelling in a fantasy land. Along the way you meet several characters that will join you and help you in your quest. One of them was named Jaana, which I always read as "Jan, ah". I didn't think much about it at the time, but I played the game so much that I didn't forget the name even years later.
Jaana from Ultima

In university I took a first year Astronomy class and was paired up with a woman named Jana-Dee. She was very pretty and smart in her own right, but my favorite part about her was her first name. Well... I liked the first half of her first name anyway, I didn't care much for the -Dee part.

A couple more years go by until I bought Ultima Online - a massively multiplayer online game. When I had to pick a name for my character I remembered the name Jaana from the previous game, and I remembered the name Jana-Dee from university, and before I knew it, my character was Jana the thief. Since then I have used the name Jana in most games that I play. After a while I began to consider it an alternate first name.

When it was time to change my name I had been calling myself Sarah in my head for 20-some years, and I had been calling myself Jana in computer games for maybe 8 years. I decided that both names were me, and there was no reason I needed to choose between them, so I picked them both. The world sees them as first and middle names, but really they are just two first names that I couldn't decide between.

P.S. Shortly before I changed my name I began playing World of Warcraft where I made two characters: Saraa the mage, and Janaa the priest. Sometimes when people asked how I picked my names I've just taken the short route and said I named myself after my warcraft characters.

P.P.S. I didn't even consider this at all when I was choosing my names, but afterwards I thought it was cool -my mom's name is Sharon Jean. I think Sarah Jana is a good name for the daughter of a Sharon Jean.

The Bizarro Sarah

2007-08-22T20:15:00.000-06:00

As you know, I have been parking across the river to save money on parking. I am glad for the exercise, but I hate crossing the bridge because I always feel so self-conscious. I don't know what it is, maybe it has something to do with temperature, or the fact there are no obstructions, but as soon as you get over water the wind seems to increase exponentially. As a result, as soon as I step on to the bridge, my hair blows back revealing my tragically male skull shape.

I shouldn't complain because given the age I began my transition, I haven't been too cursed with overly masculine features, but let's face it - most of my transition success is due to women's clothing, jewelery, makeup and a feminine hair style. If you get me out of my clothes, the illusion quickly fades - and that is one of the reasons why I am always clothed in the presence of others (the other reason is that I can't seem to get a date these days.)

Hair is like clothes for the skull. As a transsexual I use hair in exactly the same two very important ways that I use clothes. The first way is that I keep it feminine to help present a feminine appearance, and the second way is that I use it to hide my non-feminine features. The problem with hair that I don't have with clothes, is that it doesn't take much of a wind to blow my hair into a position where it stops hiding my flaws.

Unfortunately for me, our species has significant amount of what is called sexual dimorphism. This means that males and females, although the same species, have differences in form and appearance. If men and women were only roughly the same shape and size, life would be a lot easier for us transsexuals, but clearly there are substantial differences.

Sexual dimorphism in pheasants

The easiest differences to spot of course, include the fact that women have pronounced breasts and hips, and that typically women are smaller than men. Some differences that are harder to notice on anything but a subconscious level involve the skull. Men have a pronounced brow ridge - similar but not as emphasized as the kind you see in gorillas or cavemen (female readers: you can probably extend further comparisons along these lines if you like). Further, a male skull is somewhat dome-shaped above this ridge, where a female skull is typically a continuous curve from the eyes to the top of the skull.

Differences between male and female skulls

Compared to a woman's skull, men also have a broader chin, as well as a more defined angle where the chin approaches the ear. We may not notice these differences, but we use them all the time to differentiate between male and female. It is exactly these differences that make me feel self-conscious when I don't have hair hiding the sharply-angled and misshapenly-masculine bits of my skull.

Again, I don't want to be a whiner. I think I am pretty lucky facially in the pass-for-female department. On cursory examination I seem to have somewhat soft, feminine facial features, but when my hair is blown back, it reveals the true male nature of my boy-skull. Any appearance of feminine softness is replaced with craggy, hard looking angles along my forehead, and along the sides of my chin and any illusion of femaleness disappears as surely as if I had just taken off all my clothes and let my wiener hang out.

I will illustrate this using... illustrations. You can see in the first image below how I look with hair framing my face (and sunlight reflecting off my pudgy cheeks). Considering I'm male I think I pass alright as a woman. In the second picture though you see what I look like when my hair is blown back. It is hardly feminine, in fact, it is down-right scary.

Sarah with her hair allowed to frame her face

Sarah with her hair blowing back in the wind

Parking Spot with a View

2007-08-21T22:25:00.000-06:00

I have been working at home a lot this year. It gets lonely, and quite honestly I think I would work harder in an office, but when my employers found an office for me I was only half-looking forward to it. I was excited to be around people, happy to have a reason to dress nice, and I love having an office to make my own. The down sides are that I'd have to spend money on gas and parking.

In May when I reported to work downtown for the first time I began parking in the lot next to the building. The monthly spots were all taken and I was told there is a one-year waiting list for reserved spots, but they don't reserve out the entire lot. They leave several spots open so that other people can still find a spot. They call this meter-rate parking. This means you go to the meter out front, put in money and put your ticket on the dashboard indicating how long you paid for. As a meter-parker I could park for the entire business day for $5.

As time went on, I found it difficult to work in the office. Mostly this was because I didn't actually have an office of my own. I don't even mean I shared an office, I mean I had a corner in a well worn pathway between the offices and the reception area. I had an L-shaped wall that was about 5 feet tall and partially enclosed my desk, but did nothing to prevent me from hearing all and seeing everything but the front door. I am quite sure this nook was built with one of those large photocopiers in mind, maybe a water-cooler. No matter what it was designed for, it didn't suit a person at all. I eventually decided I'd get more work done from home and by the end of June I just stopped going. When I quit working downtown, parking was $6 per day.

Some time has passed and now I have to work on a project with other people, so I am working in the office again. This time I just set up shop in the meeting room and it works out much better for me. I didn't ask if I could work in there though... so I just hope people don't arrive for a meeting one day while I am sitting at the table working and rocking out to the 80's. Earlier that morning on my first day I pulled in to the lot and found a spot. I was surprised how many were empty. I had my six bucks in coins ready but when I got to the meter I noticed that parking is now $7 per day. Between May and August parking fees had gone up twice and it was now 40% more than it was three and a half months ago!

I'm not saying the increase to $7 made it suddenly too much to park. Even when it was $5 I thought it was too much for me. To combat parking prices I always just parked across the river and then walked across to my building. It was only a ten minute walk, and at the time it saved me $25 a week in parking. Now it would save me $35, so it is very worth it. This morning I pulled on to where I had normally parked a couple months ago and saw that the entire area was now called the "Varsity View Bullshit Residential Parking Permit Zone". The sign said that if you want to park there between 8am and 5pm you need a pass proving you are a resident. This means that I have to park even further away. I tell ya, parking is just getting more and more annoying.

Actual, unaltered picture of the street sign. I'm serious.
I wouldn't lie.

It isn't the inconvenience of walking further that is annoying. It really only adds a minute to my walk. The annoying part is because I am cynical and the I couldn't help wonder about the reason this area was suddenly full of no parking signs. The houses in the area are very nice, very expensive houses and most have completely unobstructed views of the river from any of their three storeys. I couldn't help but imagine that these rich people rallied together to prevent City Hall from allowing us commoners-who-can't-afford-parking from polluting their streets with cars during business-hours-when-they-aren't-home-anyway. Those poor rich people have it so rough.

The expense of parking is actually quite ridiculous. If you think about it, my apartment is $700 a month. That is for an entire apartment - shelter, comfort, space, security, privacy, facilities, applicances - 24 hours a day, every day. If I carried that time frame through to a metered parking spot it would be $21 per day over 30 days a month. You'd be paying $630 a month for a 10 by 6 plot of pavement. At the current rate of increase, it will soon cost $700 a month to park. At that point you might as well rent an apartment downtown and drive your car into it. At least that way your car would be behind a couple of locked doors, it would be out of the elements, and maybe it would even have access to a nice view.

If I waited long enough I could certainly save money by getting a monthly parking pass. I think it is like $100. The funny thing though is that ALL the lots close to my building are full. I'd likely have to park several blocks away and walk for five minutes anyway. The most attractive option I guess is to park for free and walk ten minutes, so that is what I will do. It is the healthy choice too, so I don't really mind... but I am not looking forward to that walk in the middle of winter. By then my lot will probably be $10 per day because what the parking lot managers know is that most people would rather pay than be inconvenienced or placed in discomfort. I'm sure their mouths are just watering as they wait for -25 degree temperatures... the perfect weather for hosing their customers.

Parking lot executives in mid-January.

The Front Fell Off

2007-08-21T12:03:00.000-06:00

She's Back!

2007-08-20T21:51:00.000-06:00

I am a downloader. I like to grab TV shows off the internet. I do it because if I download shows, I can watch them according to my schedule. I like to download something every day or so, so when I am bored I just need to check my computer for a few hundred episodes from any of the series I like to watch. I also like that when I am browsing lists of shows available for download that I come across shows from networks I don't get, shows I haven't seen in a while, shows I have never heard of, and brand new shows that haven't been on TV yet. On Friday I found a show that had not been on TV yet, but only in this current incarnation. A show of the same name and premise was on thirty years ago, and back then it was the TV show that captured my imagination. I knew it was supposed to premiere this September, so when I saw it on the internet a month and a half early I wasn't sure it was going to be the real thing, but I had to try. As luck would have it, it was real, and a day or so later I was watching The Bionic Woman.

I one-hundred-percent believe that transsexualism is purely biological. There is no choice in the matter at all, you are either born this way or you are not. Many people think this is untrue, they think it is a choice. If you ever hear this, don't believe it. The people who say it are not transsexuals, so don't listen to them. Believe someone with experience in the matter, like me. The truth is we are born like this, and just as kids discover their own individuality, this is just another thing we discover about ourselves - usually at an early age. I can't say for sure when I realized I was transgendered, but I definitely knew by the time the original Bionic Woman came on TV. I remember I used to go out and play and pretend I was her all the time. As much fun as I had playing, the sad part is that I felt I should hide it from everyone. I think I was somewhere between five and seven years old when I developed my first 'cover story'. All the while I was playing 'bionic woman', I would just tell people I was playing 'six million dollar man'.

I think the reason I was so interested in this show was because as a kid I was very interested in heroes and science fiction. Through my dad and my uncle I had hundreds, maybe even thousands of comic books. I had Spider-man, Superman, Batman... I had all the "man" comics, but the closest thing to a female hero that I was exposed to was Betty Cooper. Jamie Sommers became my first, and long-time favorite, fictional role model.

I think I am not alone in remembering the Bionic Woman in this way. There is a scene in the new show where Jamie escapes from a government hospital and runs away as fast as she can through a forest - and with her bionic legs that is pretty fast. Meanwhile, a minivan carrying a woman and her young daughter is travelling on the highway, parallel to the forest. The daughter looks out the window and says, "Mommy! There's a lady out there running really fast, like as fast as a car!"

The mother says, "Sweety, what did I tell you about making things up?"

The girl has a look of admiration on her face and says, "I just think it's cool that a girl could do that."

That is exactly what I thought when I was her age!

The Invisi-bra Bowling Mishap

2007-08-01T15:57:00.000-06:00

My last post mentioned that I had sworn off using bust enhancing devices like lifts, and this is the story explaining why.

In 2005 I went to our work Christmas party that involved a little bit of bowling and a whole lot of booze. Up until this night I had been wearing an Invisi-bra nearly every day. An Invisi-bra is essentially a pair of silicone lifts, but they are connected together with a hook and are coated with a sticky substance that adheres amazingly well to skin. The packaging asserted they were good for any occasion, and to this point I didn't think that maybe drunken bowling wouldn't be an exception.

Despite what happened during bowling night, the Invisi-Bra is something I'd recommend to any new transsexual just beginning to transition. I initially got it for two reasons: 1) because I thought it might be a comfortable way of appearing to have a bustline and 2) because back then I couldn't even fill out an A cup bra, and size 38 training bras are hard to come by. I wore it by unhooking the cups from each other and I'd just stick it to whatever I had in that department already.

I liked the Invisi-bra so much I had two pairs of them. I thought this was best because the sticky part grabbed on to lint as well as it did skin, so if you didn't wear it brand new clean and dry every day then it wouldn't be snug, and since you are not supposed to wear a bra over them, I was very interested in having them stick snuggly to my skin.

The night of the bowling party I decided I would wear a pair of jeans and a long sleeved shirt that I'd leave unbuttoned so you could see the satiny black camisole underneath. After so many months of the Invisi-bra performing flawlessly during day after day of office work I had cultivated a false sense of security regarding it's abilities. As a result I didn't even consider that I should wear a bra over them that night. I just stuck the cups on and went to the party otherwise unsupported. That was my big mistake.

The problem is that the bowling alley was crammed packed with other offices have similar drunken bowling parties. Afterall, what better way to celebrate the birth of Jesus* than to go bowling right? The place was hot as it was, and the activity coupled with several bottles of whatever alcohol was placed in front of me made me feel even hotter. My breasts were feeling uncomfortable as they sat under the unbreathing insulation of the Invisi-bra, and they retaliated by becoming sweaty.

It was the seventh frame of the second game when I walked up to take my turn. I don't know how much I had to drink by then, but Patrick had counted for me. When he told me the grand total I was sure he was lying. Whatever the number, I knew I was drunk from the simple reason that my bowling performance had been progressively worse with every frame. When I grabbed a ball from the ball-return and walked on to the lane my mind was not on my Invisi-bra cups, it was completely focused on trying to bowl in a straight line.

My first two balls were not very successful. I was determined to make my last ball count. I took a few steps down the lane and I let my arm arc backwards. As my arm moved, the skin along my chest must have stretched a little and just as I reach the apogee of my swing, the left invisi-cup fell off.

It all seemed to happen in slow motion. I had just begun swinging the ball forward, and could feel the cup making it's way down my side. I had a choice at this moment. I could continue with my shot and follow-through with a natural motion and perhaps knock down some pins, OR I could let go of the ball prematurely and grab my fake boob before it hit the ground. Naturally I chose the second option. I let go of the ball and squeezed my arm against my side to catch the lift before it fell. I remember watching the ball hit the gutter about a metre from the foul line. I took advantage of having my back to everyone and grabbed the cup in my hand and held it at my side and under my shirt, so I could walk off the lane without anyone seeing it.

When I got back to my bench I sat down, grabbed my purse, and discreetly deposited the cup. Suddenly Tara sat down with me to chat. With one boob in place, and the other in my purse I was feeling very lop-sided. I was nervous, but I managed to chat casually for a few minutes even though I knew my next turn was approaching. I was quietly stressing out, I had to do something fast. Luckily Tara was a little drunk too, and I don't think she noticed as I put my purse under my shirt camisole. Then I reached up inside, pulled the other cup free, and let it fall into the purse with it's sister - just in time for me to take my next turn.

That was the day that I vowed bust enhancers like that just were not worth it. An extra cup size is nice, but definately not worth dropping a boob or two in the middle of lane 11.

* I can never remember if Jesus was born on Christmas, or if he died on Christmas. I personally think neither actually happened, so that's probably why I can never remember which made-up event is fake-true.

Retroactively Mortifying Reflection

2007-08-01T12:15:00.000-06:00

Remember when I used to blog frequently? Lately I have been spending a lot of time on the computer, both at work and at play. When I have some time to kill these days I read books and take long baths (usually at the same time). I had to blog something today though and I couldn't even wait until I was done work. It is something that at best is retroactively mortifying, but at worst could have been one of those memories that fill you with shame and stomach-sinking embarassment for your entire life.

Remember when I mentioned the 'lifts' in my last story? I bought them to help fill out the bustier I wore under my bridesmaid dress. I think everyone has an idea of what a lift might be, but just in case you are not sure; it is an insert that fits inside your bra that helps you fill it out properly. They are funny things because they are meant to be clothes-fitting-aids, but have the potential to be vanity-boosters as well.

When I last wore them the only purpose was to make my clothes fit. It was a happy side-benefit that it made it look like I had larger breasts. Today though... my clothes already fit. I don't know why I pulled them out of the drawer at all, but I am pretty sure I felt that I needed a vanity boost. More accurately I think I just wanted a boob-boost.

I was going to meet Jenna for lunch. Before I left I took a look in the mirror and decided I should throw on a necklace. The one I wanted to wear was nowhere to be seen, so I opened up my dresser drawer that usually contains such missing items. I didn't find the necklace, but I noticed the lifts. I continued my search and found the necklace and put it on. I looked at myself in the mirror and I was satisfied... but then I heard a little voice that said, "C'mon, just put 'em on for a sec..." I knew what the voice was referring to.

I went back to the drawer, pulled out the lifts and slid them into my bra. The word lift makes it sound like it just lifts your breast up, but really the part that sits under your breast is the thinnest. The padding is significantly thicker around the outside curve. When I put them in my bra I noticed a dramatic improvement in size. Suddenly my A cupped bra was containing enough material better suited to a B. My once innocent looking v-neck t-shirt looked a lot more daring than it did a moment earlier, so I grabbed a thin white shirt and wore it unbuttoned over top. Everything felt tight and deceptively secure, but I liked how it looked.

Despite liking how it looked, I had years ago sworn off any sort of bust enhancement like this*. After checking myself out in the mirror for a second or two I went to take the lifts out, but then I heard a voice say, "Just leav'em in. What's it gonna hurt?" My inner voice has a lazy way of speaking, but for some reason I keep listening to it. A moment later my lifts and I went to meet Jenna for lunch.

~~~

Before I met Jenn I needed to get some money. I pulled in to a drive-thru ATM behind a Windstar minivan being driven by a woman. The van was stopped ten feet back from the machine leaving a big vehicle-sized empty spot at the ATM. I assumed the driver was digging her card out of her purse or something so I spent the next 60 seconds waiting patiently. I still had several minutes before I had to meet Jenn so I wasn't going to be late, but after only another 30 seconds I started to get perturbed.

I began to wonder if I had time to drive around the building and back up to the ATM before this lady found her card, but then suddenly her vehicle began to move in a slow, deliberate manner (emphasis on slow). She was clearly a drive-thru-noob and she made constant course corrections to find a spot between crashing into the building and swinging out beyond arm's length of the buttons. When she stopped moving you could see she opted for maximum safety through maximum distance. I was hoping she had really long arms because she had over a metre between the ATM and her van. She ended up leaning out so far of her window that I could see her husband holding her by the belt so she didn't fall out.

After they got their cash and drove away, it was my turn at the ATM. I don't think this is where it happened, but I can't be sure. I know that I was leaning against the door when I punched in my requests on the ATM, but I think Jenn might have mentioned it if something was wrong, and all throughout lunch she didn't mention my boobs once.

~~~

After lunch I stopped at 7-11 to get some gas. I could have knocked something loose there I suppose. I distinctly remember the clerk looking from the cash register to my chest and then to my eyes before he handed me my change. I liked it, it made me feel good. For some reason I felt proud even though I was artificially enhanced. I certainly didn't think that he was checking out my chest for any reason other than normal male behavior, perhaps encouraged by my now larger rack. Thinking back on it though, maybe there was a different reason altogether.

~~~

My final stop was downtown to pay my rent. I found a good parking spot just down the block from the property management office and I walked the rest of the way. It was a beautiful day and I felt pretty as I walked down the street. A guy who resembled a leprechaun looked up at me and gave me a twinkly smile. I smiled back. I was in high spirits when I walked into the office building.

The counter top at the accounting desk is quite high, and I usually find myself with my arms folded on the counter, and then I lean on my arms as I look down at the woman counting my money. That too could have pushed a lift out of whack, but if it did I didn't notice it. I chatted for a moment about the weather finally being nice, but from her responses I got the impression that the woman wanted to get rid of me quickly. I just thought she was busy and had work to do, but in hindsight, maybe she just felt uncomfortable because of something she noticed.

About fifteen minutes later I was home. I had enjoyed my time out with the extra volume, but I was eager to get those lifts out because they made my bra too tight. Up until the moment I looked in the mirror I was oblivious to anything being wrong with my appearance. The moment I looked at my reflection my heart sunk into my stomach. I immediately saw what I now imagine both the 7-11 clerk and the woman at the desk had seen as well. One of my lifts had lifted itself right out of my bra and was clearly visible to anyone who cared to look.

The above is the reason why Sarah's lifts will forever stay in her drawer.

* Later this week I will post the story of why I originally swore off using bust enhancers like lifts

Bridesmaid's Mess...er Dress

2007-07-09T11:48:00.000-06:00

This weekend, on 7/7/07 my little Joey got married to her man Chris*. I'll talk more about the wedding later, but let me just say that I think it was a great wedding. The men were all handsome, the women were all pretty. The food was amazing, the drinks were flowing, and the weather was sunny and warm. It was a perfect day. I just wish that the days leading up to it were as perfect. I am referring of course, to the creation of my bridesmaid dress.

It all started months ago. Joanne picked out some dresses from a store. I went down to buy one, but this particular store doesn't sell anything larger than a size 11 so I was out of luck. It turned out to be impossible to get this dress from any other source in any larger sizes, so I had to get one made. It seemed it was also impossible for anyone at this store to help me get a dress made too. They couldn't help me identify the fabric, or even the manufacturer. Apparently all they have it this store to identify the dress is some internal inventory number. It was all very frustrating, and even more frustrating was that even though it meant not having any information about the actual dress to make, I had to go elsewhere to get it made.

I went to another bridal shop and I was put in touch with a seamstress who makes dresses in her spare time, in the interests of privacy, let's just call her Helga. She said she could make me a dress no problem. She said it would cost $90 for the dress plus materials plus whatever time she spent shopping for materials. I liked how this would work. It meant that a woman who actually makes dresses for a living was going to take care of everything involved with the creation of hte dress.

I borrowed the dress from Camille - another bridesmaid - and I took it to Helga so she can make a pattern from it and buy appropriate fabric. Helga called me a week or two later and said she was all done with Camille's dress. She had some fabric that was a close match and everything seemed good to go and we still had two months until the wedding. I felt confident that everything was going to fall into place.

I called Helga a couple times to see how the dress was coming. She told me it was coming together nicely, but that she had a lot of dresses to make before mine. Since I didn't need the dress until July 7th she suggested that I come to see her on July 1st for a fitting. She said that then she'd do the alterations that day and I'd have it soon after.

Next, I need to get something to wear underneath the dress. Joanne and I head to a lingerie store and pick out a bustier. The woman helping me asks me for my size. I shyly tell her that I don't know my size and that I don't often wear a bra. She says, "Why not?" and she sounds almost angry. I explained that it is hard to find something to fit me because I am big around the chest, but I have small breasts. I tell her that whenever I find a bra that fits around the chest it is made on the assumption that I've got much bigger boobs. Since I don't like walking around with wrinkly looking twins, I just wear a sports bra instead.

The woman puts me in a change room and goes to get a bra for me to try on. Her plan is to find one that fits so she knows my size... instead of just measuring me. She comes back a moment later and hands a bra in the door. I check out the tag - 34B. I think it is funny that this woman thinks I couldn't ever find a 34B. I handed it back right away.

I don't know what she went to do, but I waited in that chilly room with my shirt off for the next five or six minutes. By the time she showed up with another bra to try my boobs were actually a little larger because I was getting so nipply. Not big enough though... she handed me a 36C.

I thought it was ridiculous that we were playing this guessing game. I already told her I too was wide in the chest and small in the boobs for the average bra to fit me, and she hands me to the most common sizes ever. I put on my shirt and went back out to explain the situation better. She finally understood and she said we had to order something. I said that was fine.

A couple weeks later she calls and my bustier is in. I go to try it on, and it was a struggle. It was hot outside, and this time the change room was very warm and the bustier was tight and clinging to my damp skin. After I got it on (with some help) the sales lady came in and said that it didn't look like it quite fit. She told me to wait a moment and she came back with another one that fit much better. I wish I knew why they just didn't give that one to me in the first place, but at least I had something that would fit around me properly, so I was happy. Neither bustier fit me in the bust though, as both were too large. To fix this I had to get "lifts" as well. This meant that for Joey's wedding I'd have big boobs, and that also made me happy.

Finally the July 1st long weekend arrives. I call Helga on Saturday June 30th and she asks me to come see her at 7:30pm the evening of the 1st. Part of me is thinking that she won't be doing the alterations right afterwards, but I assume she knows what she is doing. For all I know it only takes an hour to alter a dress.

The next day I am pretty excited. I was about to own my very first dress. I'm never going to wear it again of course, but it will sure look pretty in my closet, and it will always remind me of Joey. I put on my bustier and lifts on under my shirt and headed to Helga's house.

I walked in and she tells me the dress is in her living room. I walk around the corner and saw a dress hanging on a rack. "... is this my dress?" I said. I knew it couldn't be my dress, but it was the only one I could see. She told me it was.

"... but it is white." I said.

"Oh there wasn't enough fabric, so I used this."

I said, "... this dress is white... I can't wear a white dress to a wedding." To me it was absurd that she, a seamstress as a bridal shop, would even consider for a moment to make a white dress to wear at a wedding for a woman who wasn't the bride. She not only considered it, she made the whole dress!

"Oh it isn't white, it is sort of ivory." She tells me. "See, this fabric is pure white." and she places a bolt of white fabric next to the white dress. I couldn't tell the difference. She explained that it only looks the same in the dim light of her apartment, and that in the sun it will be different. "I can't rely on bright light to make my dress appear not-white. Why didn't you just buy more fabric??! I can't wear this dress. " I was pissed off.

"There is no fabric in the city to match what you need. I looked everywhere." She seemed defensive. People often sound defensive when they are lying. She simply waited until the previous evening to put the dress together and by the time she realized she didn't have enough fabric, all the stores were closed for the Canada Day long weekend. She used the white fabric because it is the closest match that she already had on hand.

The next day I went to Wal-mart and picked up the fabric. I was nervous picking fabric because I hadn't seen the dress in months. I was scared the colour was going to be way off once it was side-by-side with another dress. I didn't have time to worry about it much. I was too worried that I'd have no dress for Joanne's wedding at all, and have to show up wearing just the bustier - Madonna style.

Helga told me she'd have it ready for a fitting the next day. Thankfully she was right. I went in for the fitting and she mentioned she still needed the tulle. You have to understand that to me this word was "tool". I had never heard of tulle before, so I just thought she needed some sort of sewing implement. I must have looked confused because she explained that it is the meshy net-like stuff that fills out the skirt portion of the dress. She said she needed to get some that is a shade or two darker than the fabric of the dress. She told me that Unique Textiles is close to where she works and that they might even have some where she works.

The next evening all is quiet. Helga should be using the time to put the final touches on my dress. To my surprise the following morning she calls and asks if I had bought the tulle yet. I guess I was dumb not to have verified that she was getting the tulle. I angrily said I'd go get it. I drove to Unique Textiles and picked up some tulle and dropped it off for her. When I was at the fabric store I noted that I saw another bolt of fabric that matches the fabric of the dress. It seemed funny that she, an experienced seasmstress, couldn't find the fabric anywhere in the city, and yet I found it in the only two fabric stores I have been in in my entire life.

On Friday, the day before the wedding, I called Helga as soon as I was done work. She wasn't home yet so I left a message asking when I can come pick it up. When she called back she said the dress wasn't ready yet. "It will be ready tomorrow evening." she tells me. She sounded very firm and confident of this deadline. Under normal circumstances this would have inspired me with a little bit of confidence, but instead it just made me nervous. "Ok, Helga. I need the dress tomorrow *MORNING*."

"It is a morning wedding?" She asks. You could tell that her unspoken words were, "You didn't tell me it was morning wedding", as if that would have made her finish it faster. She sounded frustrated and I know that I was very frustrated. I asked why she hadn't finished it the day before and she said she was too busy. Too busy watching TV I bet. She said she would get straight to work and the dress would be ready by 8:30 or 9:00.

At 8:45 I was at Joey's lingerie party, but I called Helga. I asked how the dress was coming. She said it was done, she was just finishing up. I said "Great! I'll see you soon." and I left the party to go get the dress. On the way there I called Helga again to find out how much it will cost and she said $90. I was thankful a fight was avoided when she didn't charge me for the other materials or her shopping time, or even for making an entire dress out of white fabric. I said I was going to go get the bustier and stop at a bank machine and I'd be there in 15 minutes. She said, "..... oh..... ok."
"Is that a problem?"
"Well, I still have to finish the tulle, it is being finicky... and I have to iron it as well. It won't be ready until 10:00."

I went back to the party until 10:00. At 10:15 I was at Helga's house and she said it still wasn't ready. I waited. At 11:15 the dress was finally ready, less than 11 hours before I needed to put it on. As far as dress-making goes, I am pretty sure that is about as last-minute as you can get.

The wedding went great. The dress turned out to be a great match. It was a little long in the skirt, but otherwise it was nearly perfect. As it happens I am an awesome fabric-picker-outter. This entire dress-making ordeal taught me a lot though. Next time things will be much different. Soon, depending on the style of wedding Megan is having, I will be a bridesmaid again. When that time comes I will know better and I will avoid having a dress made in this fashion.

Megan, I'm telling you now: for your wedding I am wearing a jean skirt and a t-shirt.

* 7/7/07 was also the wedding date for my friends Deanne and Tara. I hope you guys had a great time! I wish I was there to see it! Oops! I just re-read that sentence and it looks like Deanne and Tara got married to each other. That isn't the case at all. Hopefully this clarifies:

Congratulations Deanne and Darrin!
and
Congratulations Tara and Leo!
and of course
Congratulations Joanne and Chris!

Phone Salesman Wows Crowd

2007-06-13T03:38:00.000-06:00

Phone Salesman Amazes Crowd - Watch more free videos

Small Town Saskatchewan

2007-06-05T10:13:00.000-06:00

I drove out to the farm this weekend. Sometimes I feel nostalgic going out there because so much about the area has changed since I was a kid. Buildings have deteriorated and have been abandoned or replaced. People have either moved away or passed away. Even some of the trees have changed to a dramatic extent from the tornado 20 years ago. Some of the towns themselves are disappearing. You can still find Waitville, SK on Google Maps, but the population of that town is zero. I like to imagine what it was like when more people were around, when towns like this were bustling with activity. I try to put myself in the place of the people that lived in one of these towns during it's prime, having to watch it slowly dry up year after year. I would have thought they feel very melancholy at times. After driving through Crystal Springs I realized that not everyone feels the same gloomy, lonely, nostalgic feelings as me.

The speed limit abruptly dropped to 50 km/h from 90, but I wasn't going that fast as it was. The road was so poor that even 90 would have been dangerous. The slower speed allowed me to take a closer look at the town. The first building was the grey colour of wood that has long had the paint eroded from it. I imagined it was a store of some kind, as it had a facade front. It was tilting slightly, and one window was boarded up. The other window was just a hole, with obvious damage around it. One could walk right inside, but I didn't think anyone had been in ages.

A few more buildings looked to be in similar states. I noted some had cars parked next to them that didn't look as if they had moved in a decade or two either. Then I came across The Crystal Springs hotel, but it no longer had a sign up anymore identifying it as a hotel. I was wondering if it too was closed. I remember as a kid my grandpa would go there to play pool and have a few beers with his friends. This time though, no cars were parked in front. Right next door was what looked to be a garage, but it too was vacant and had been for years. The two places that would probably be the busiest in a small town were both looking very dead. I guess there just isn't enough customers anymore.

The church was the next building I noted. I figure god still had a few customers, but not today. It looked better kept than that other buildings, but again no cars were parked in front. My window was down and the only sounds were the birds, the breeze, and my car. It was kind of creepy. It only takes a minute to drive down the main road, so it isn't a big place but in that minute I didn't see anyone at all. No current signs of life, just evidence that people had been there once. Granted I didn't see it all. The town extended beyond the road I was on, but from what I could see, this was a ghost town. I smiled to myself that the church was empty because there wasn't a soul left in town.

I found myself feeling sad again, for this town that seems to lose life with each passing year. The town is literally losing lives. Like my grandpa who died recently, the inhabitants of this town likely have already passed on, or it won't be long. My heart went out again, not just for the people who see their town disappearing, but also because the town itself, their home, is a reminder of all the people that are no longer with them.

I came to the last house in town. At first glance I would have guessed it was also unoccupied. The paint was flaking off all over, the grass wasn't mowed, and the front step was being taken over by the tree behind it. This house was a little different from the others. It had curtains, and little knick-knacks in the window. There was a big antenna on the roof, and I could see there was some kind of backyard. I imagined this house was occupied, just that most of the traffic in and out and other signs of life took place on the side I could not see. I didn't feel bad for this person, living in this dried up town, because no matter how many people were already gone, it wasn't enough. In a town that seemed devoid of life, this guy still felt the need to give everyone an extra incentive to go away, for his door was clearly labelled with a 'No Trespassing' sign.

Jenna: Emergency Apology!

2007-06-05T09:16:00.001-06:00

So, unbeknownst to me, the term "Muffin Top" is used by a lot of people. Apparently it is pretty much exclusively used to describe the look where a person is wearing pants that are too tight and their skin flops over their waist-line. I just found this out yesterday and I was mortified because I have been calling my friend Jenna by that 'nickname' for months, but I had no idea of it's usage!

Jenna I am so sorry!! I can't believe you were letting me call you that all this time! I feel so bad. You already know why I call you that, but for anyone who was thinking I was being mean...
As we all know, the top of the muffin is the best part, and Jenn is totally the best!

See-Through Laptop!

2007-05-30T09:57:00.000-06:00

I saw something similar on a website, and I was bored last night so I did it myself.

Power Nap

2007-05-27T23:25:00.000-06:00

Ever find yourself extremely tired so you fall asleep for the smallest amount of time but you wake up feeling great? Well something like that happened to me on Friday evening.

I just finished two weeks of getting up very early. The first week I was covering Heather's (Nuckers) paper route. The second week Joanne (Joey) and I spent getting up early to exercise. Not only that but this week Eric (No Nickname) was in town, so he was coming over in the evenings. Not long ago I was getting up to 10 hours sleep a night, but lately I was dropping down to about half that. By the end of last week I was really starting to feel the effects.

Friday after work I was all set for a relaxing evening. I got some take-out and stopped to rent a movie. I decided to get 'Deja Vu' - because I hadn't already seen it.... (get it?) I thought I would watch a little of the movie while I ate, then go grocery shopping, then come home to play World of Warcraft. By the time I was done eating I was too tired to shop and too wiped to play Warcraft. I just wanted to get horizontal. At around 6:30ish I hopped into bed to finish watching my movie but within minutes I pressed pause and rolled over for a nap.

I woke up later on because I really had to pee. I rolled out of bed and saw the movie was still paused at the same moment. The light coming in the window was a little bit darker outside, but not much. Days are getting long now, so I thought it must be around 8:00 or 8:30. I felt bad because I had asked Jenna (Muffin Top) if she wanted to play Warcraft, but by now she had probably been online for over an hour with no sign of me yet.

I logged in and I was prepared for an all-nighter. That power-nap revitalized me completely and I was ready to kill a shit-ton of monsters and to brave at least a couple dungeons. I was a little surprised that nobody I knew was online. I normally go to Jenna's house on Friday nights, but I had always assumed that Friday was the biggest night for the rest of my friends to play together. I decided they must all come online later than I thought, so I did a few things by myself while I waited.

After I had completed a couple quests none of my friends had come on yet. I decided I should give Jenna a call in case she was on earlier and left because I didn't show up. I took my eyes off the monitor to pick up my phone and noticed that it was brighter outside than it was when I woke up. I checked the time on my phone and I realized it was 6:00 in the morning! Much to my surprise my power-nap wasn't a nap at all. It was a full-length sleep.

Jam 2007

2007-05-18T12:02:00.001-06:00

This whole entry is about the season finale of The Office last night.
If you don't care for the show or haven't seen the episode yet, do not read this!

Last year during the season finale of The Office, a forkful of cake fell out of my mouth right after Jim told Pam he loved her. Pam was getting married and couldn't be with him though and told him so.

The next season began with Pam having reconsidered her upcoming marriage, but by then Jim had already left the branch and moved to one in another city.

While he was away, Jim started to date a woman named Karen from the new branch. True to the UK version of the show, the second branch soon closed the doors and some of the employees, including Jim and Karen ended up at the Scranton branch. Also true to the UK version the Jim and Pam relationship saw itself reverse. Now that Pam was available, Jim was not.

For most of the season we were only treated to 2 or 3 minutes per episode of Jim and Pam time, and for some reason none of it involved Jim and Pam actually getting together... until last night.

Last night's season finale saw Jim interviewing for a job at 'Corporate' in New York. Pam seemed to have resigned herself to the idea that she and Jim were just not going to happen. It seemed like the two of them might end up even further apart, but then we got to see Jim interview for the new job.

Jim was his normal self at first. He was smart and funny and few more minutes of that probably would have landed him the job, but then the interviewer asked "What did you like most about that place?" Jim paused for a few seconds so all us viewers could imagine his only thought was 'Pam'. With a sad look on his face he answered, "The friendships." Next he was asked, "Where do you see yourself in ten years?" Again as Jim paused we all knew his answer was 'with Pam', but before he answered there was a flashback to the events of last week's episode. In it Jim and Pam were talking about the reason he left in the first place. He said that even though he was back now, he never really allowed himself to fully come back. Pam said that she wished he would. We never got to see Jim's answer to the question, but we all knew that he didn't finish his interview anyway.

The next scene has Pam in the conference room speaking to the camera. It appears as though she was answering a question about Jim's new job.

Pam: I haven’t heard anything, but I bet Jim got the job. I mean, why wouldn’t he? He’s totally qualified and smart, everyone loves him. And if he never comes back again, that’s ok. We’re friends, and I’m sure we’ll stay friends. We, we just never got the timing right. You know, I shot him down and then he did the same to me. But you know what? It’s ok. I am totally fine. Everything is going to be totally..(Jim quickly opens the conference room door)

Jim: Pam. (to the camera) Oh sorry. Are you free for dinner tonight?

Pam: Yes.

Jim: All right…then it’s a date

Pam: (with tears in her eyes and smiling, says to the camera) I’m sorry. What was your question?

After that scene Pam wasn't the only one with tears in her eyes! I did too!

(Rethinking) Gender - Newsweek

2007-05-15T10:08:00.000-06:00

I haven't read this yet, but it looks like there is going to be a pretty big article on transgender people in next week's Newsweek. It is called "(Rethinking) Gender" and is available online.

My Definition

2007-05-14T15:56:00.000-06:00

Sarah Ma*****on

[noun]:

A master of storytelling

'How will you be defined in the dictionary?' at QuizGalaxy.com

Goodbye Grandpa

2007-05-13T18:09:00.000-06:00

My grandpa died last week. He would have been 93 soon and he had been deteriorating for some time. It is sad to say that the last few times I saw him, it didn't really feel the same because of the limits his age placed on his behaviour and reactions. For years one couldn't help but know that soon he'd go, but though it wasn't a shock he had passed on, it was pretty sad to realize it. It turned out I wasn't as prepared as I had thought to say goodbye to Grandpa. When I heard he was gone I regretted not seeing him more when I had the chance.

Something my grandpa rode around on decades ago.
I was looking forward to getting back out to the farm, even if the trip's purpose was for a funeral. The farm has a lot of memories for me. We went out there a lot when I was a kid, and of course back then it was my grandpa who personified the place. I wanted to get back there and wander around and just remember what I could. I didn't really see him much in the past few years, so I wanted to pay him some respect by admiring the place he built.

The old farm house. It had no plumbing but was home to my
grandpa's family for years and years until abandoned after a
tornado removed the roof and put it down in the wrong place.

The old bathroom. (The house had no plumbing remember?)

When it was time to go to the funeral I was nervous. My grandma and dad have both died leaving my Grandpa, uncle Verne, and aunt Helen and her family on my dad's side of the family. I saw Grandpa and Verne a lot, but I haven't seen Helen's family in years and years. As a kid I saw them a lot. I loved playing with my cousins and I have fond memories of catching frogs and shooting Bryon in the ear with a bow and arrow. Knowing I was seeing them again soon made me feel nervous on two fronts; because I had changed genders since the last time, and also because I was a bad cousin having let nearly a decade go by without a visit.

The main road through the middle of the farm.
My cousins were there with their kids. Everyone was very pleasant to me, and I was glad for a chance to talk to them all again. Brenda's eulogy made me cry, and when I glanced over and saw that Carolyn was crying too and I was reminded that these are not just people I have lost contact with, they are my family. After the funeral we had a lunch and I was able to sit down and chat with Bryon for quite a while. When all the attendees were leaving I was happy to hear that all of Grandpa's children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren were all heading back to the farm for supper. I was looking forward to catching up some more, but it turns out that I didn't get that chance.

When we got back I was going to help Brenda and Carolyn make supper but then I was invited to play tag with Brenda's son Wesley and Carolyn's kids Ryan and Taylor. We went outside and had a game of girls vs boys tag and I have to admit we lost. Bryon jumped in a couple times and help the girl's team out, but otherwise Ryan was just too fast to catch. About 7 minutes into the game I had to sit down on the ground and catch my breath. I apologized that I had to rest a while and Taylor said, "That's OK. I do this two hours a day!" Taylor sat down next to me on the grass for a while and then asked if I could take them to catch frogs. I said sure.

An extreme close-up of me on the road with all the frogs.
The four of us went down the road through the bushes and the frogs started jumping out of the way. With every footstep we'd see several frogs jumping for dear life, hoping to avoid getting accidentally stepped on. I reached down to grab a few for the kids to hold. After I handed one to Wesley, Taylor said, "Susan?"

"Sarah." I corrected.

"Sarah, Are you a tomboy?"

I said, "Yeah I guess I am sometimes." I didn't know if girls got teased for being tomboys these days, so I added, "There's nothing wrong with that though."

She paused a moment and said, "I'm a tomboy too, I'll take a frog please!" After I handed her one she said, "You're fun." and I felt great.

Our walk took us through the middle of the farm and I got to tell them about things I did as a kid there and they all listened. Taylor and Ryan told me about their farm, and in return I told them about my apartment. Taylor was a shocked to learn that I had no backyard. "Where do you play?" She asked. Kids are cute.

We heard people yelling that supper was ready so we started back to the house. On the way we had a rock throwing contest, and Wesley won it on his first throw. While I was eating Taylor asked me to come sit with her, so I did. I was feeling guilty that I hadn't spent much time with Bryon, Brenda or Carolyn yet, but I was having fun hanging out with the kids.

After supper I went inside to wash my dishes and Taylor came with me. We ended up looking around the house for a while. She talked about Grandpa a lot. She said that he never came to see them, and they only saw him when they visited him. I said that he was just too old to move around too much and it was just easier on him to wait for visitors. She agreed that was probably true and she saw one of his caps laying around. She picked it up and said "This should have gone down with him." I had to stop and marvel about how smart some kids are.

Before we left to go back outside she said, "Sarah?" and then she stopped for a minute looking like she was thinking really hard. "Are you my auntie? or my grandma?"

I said, "Well, I am cousins with your mom, so I think that makes us cousins too."

She looked as if she finally figured something out and said, "We're cousins!" She smiled really big and I could tell this was good news to her. Then I figured something out too. Maybe I didn't get a chance to catch up with my first cousins, but I did a pretty good job of getting to know my second cousins, especially Taylor.

It is funny to say, but I had a great time at the funeral and the supper afterwards. I had a chance to say goodbye to Grandpa, to talk with my cousins, relive some memories and to meet some new relatives for the very first time. I don't think Grandpa would mind one bit that I smiled a lot more than I cried.

Wesley Austin Ma*****on
1914 - 2007

Fishing Bloopers

2007-05-08T10:45:00.000-06:00

I almost peed my pants watching this video. I love the last clip, you're just waiting for and waiting for it, then it happens.

"I'm blind in one eye."
-Bill Dance

Spy Coins

2007-05-08T09:55:00.000-06:00

Jenna sent me a link this morning to an article posted at cbc.ca. I'll post the first few paragraphs here. I'll highlight my favorite parts... that last paragraph is awesome.
Canada's poppy quarters caused sensation warnings of 'spy coins' in U.S.
Published: Monday, May 7, 2007 4:49 PM ET
Canadian Press: TED BRIDIS

WASHINGTON (AP) - An odd-looking Canadian quarter with a bright red flower was the culprit behind a false espionage warning from the U.S. Defense Department about mysterious coins with radio frequency transmitters, The Associated Press has learned.

The harmless "poppy quarter" was so unfamiliar to suspicious U.S. army contractors travelling in Canada that they filed confidential espionage accounts about them. The worried contractors described the coins as "filled with something man-made that looked like nano-technology," according to once-classified U.S. government reports and e-mails obtained by the AP.

An odd-looking Canadian quarter with a bright red flower was the culprit behind a false espionage warning from the U.S. Defense Department about mysterious coins with radio frequency transmitters. An odd-looking Canadian quarter with a bright red flower was the culprit behind a false espionage warning from the U.S. Defense Department about mysterious coins with radio frequency transmitters.

The silver-coloured 25-cent piece features the red image of a poppy, Canada's flower of remembrance, inlaid over a maple leaf. The unorthodox quarter is identical to the coins pictured and described as suspicious in the contractors' accounts.

The supposed nano-technology on the coin actually was a protective coating the Royal Canadian Mint applied to prevent the poppy's red colour from rubbing off. The mint produced nearly 30 million such quarters in 2004 commemorating Canada's 117,000 war dead.

"It did not appear to be electronic (analog) in nature or have a power source," wrote one U.S. contractor, who discovered the coin in the cup holder of a rental car. "Under high power microscope, it appeared to be complex consisting of several layers of clear, but different material, with a wire-like mesh suspended on top."

An odd-looking Canadian quarter with a bright red flower was the
culprit behind a false espionage warning from the U.S. Defense
Department about mysterious coins with radio frequency transmitters.
(AP Photo/J. Scott Applewhite)

I just love the part where he puts the quarter under a high power microscope.

Mistaken Identity

2007-05-07T12:17:00.000-06:00

Last week I went to Canadian Blood Services to donate blood, but I didn't get very far. I ended up leaving less than ten minutes after I arrived. I realized when I was a couple blocks away that I still had a wet-nap they had given me in my hand. I put this in my pocket and didn't think of it again.

On the weekend I pulled some clothes out of the dryer and that wet-nap fell out. I picked it up and saw that the package was completely intact and I decide it might be useful so I dropped it in my purse.

Today I went out for lunch at the Red Pepper. I had a noodle bowl (yum!) and as always I put several spoons of that spicy oil on it. I ended up transferring some of the oil to my chopsticks and from there onto my fingers. I wiped it off with a napkin, but on the walk back to the office I noticed that I could still smell the oil on my fingers. Suddenly I remembered the wet-nap.

I was walking along 21st St and there were a lot of people walking near me, so instead of stopping to open my purse up and find the wet-nap, I just fished around with my fingers. I was 'she-boppin' to Cyndi Lauper on my phone when I found it. I tore open the package and folded back the wrapper. I grabbed the wet-nap with my thumb and fore-finger, but to my surprise it wasn't a wet-nap at all. It was a disgustingly mooshy, completely melted, near liquid, piece of chocolate. So I walked back to work with spicy oil and melted chocolate on my fingers.

The World of Warcraft that You Play

2007-05-04T13:14:00.001-06:00

Canadian Dud Services

2007-05-03T11:09:00.000-06:00

Yesterday was my first day in a brand new office. I showed up at 8:20 and I waited until 8:57 before someone arrived to let me in. It wasn't really a big deal because I'd rather be early than late on my first day. Today I was all set for a 9:00 am arrival. I left home the same time as yesterday, but I parked on the other side of the river and walked the rest of the way so I could save money on parking. I walked off the elevator at 8:55 - perfect timing... except the office door was locked and I don't have a key.

After nobody had arrived fifteen minutes later I pulled out my laptop and did some work right there in the hallway. After nobody had arrived an hour later I decided this situation was ridiculous. Not only did I feel silly sitting on the floor, but I was getting a sore neck. Laptops are very uncomfortable when you actually use them on your lap. I decided I'd be better off to leave and work from home.

I started the long walk back to my car and to pass the time I called my mom. I was waiting to cross the street and I noticed I was in front of the Canadian Blood Services building. Their sign caught my eye and suddenly I was inspired to do something good. I decided I would not go home, and instead I would donate blood. I figured it would be socially responsible... and I get a free donut. I also thought that maybe by the time I was done, I'd be able to get in the office.

Mom she said that they might not let me donate because I have diabetes. When got in I made sure to ask. The woman volunteer behind the counter didn't know, so she called a nurse to come out. She said that I could still donate as long as I wasn't on insulin. Perfect.

After the nurse left, the volunteer began entering my information into the system. I asked her if I could have a Kleenex and she said sure. I said I was so glad that it rained last night because hopefully it has washed away a lot of the stuff making me feel so allergic lately. The volunteer stopped dead in her tracks and she looked at me with the same look Indiana Jones had right before he said he hated snakes. She called over another nurse and asked if allergies will prevent me from donating. The new nurse said it'd be OK as long as I wasn't currently under the effects of any medication. Perfect again.

Next the volunteer took me into another area and sat me down with a pamphlet. She said I had to read it before I could move on. I opened it up and skimmed through it. I stopped at the section on determining if you should or should not donate blood. The first sentence said that you should not donate if you are at risk for HIV. So then I referred to the section on determining if you are at risk for HIV. The first point on the list said that one should not donate blood if they are male and have had sex with another male since 1977. Not so perfect.

I knew that when I last gave blood there was a questionnaire that asked a similar question, but I haven't given blood in 17 years. I honestly didn't expect to see anything like that today because things have changed since then. Back then it was the Red Cross, and since then blood donations have been managed by Canadian Blood Services. Back then AIDS was predominantly considered a 'homosexual disease', and since then we've all learned better.

My mom said that is just one of the ways they determine if you are at risk for HIV, but it isn't even right. Public awareness efforts have been teaching us for years that anyone is vulnerable to contracting HIV, and that anyone can be a carrier. I find it upsetting that Canadian Blood Services doesn't seem to realize that if anyone has had sex with anyone since 1977, that they could be at risk.

The list goes on to include other risk factors, such as intravenous drug use and living in Africa. It even says that 48 hours in jail puts you in the at-risk category. Strangely, the most important consideration is not listed at all. I remember a while back there was an effort to inform the public that AIDS is not a homosexual disease. Article after article, public service announcements in magazines and television, and all sorts of tv shows concerning HIV told us that having sex with many and varied partners - especially strangers - is the best way to contract HIV.

I understand that they are just being cautious. They can't just exclude people if they have had sex, so by excluding any male that has had sex with another male they believe they are just being safe. In truth they aren't being safe at all. Monogamous sex between any two gay men is far safer than sex between any man and woman where one or both has had casual sex with multiple partners. The concern should not be what the genders of the participants are - it should be on how many participants there have been.

Maybe someday they'll change their pamphlet. Until then Canadian Blood Services is rejecting people that are perfectly healthy and at the same time they are allowing people to donate who may be unsafe. For now I just did what the pamphlet said. I didn't donate blood. It's too bad because I have perfectly good blood. I bet someone could have used it.

Shifters and Derailleurs

2007-04-30T12:28:00.000-06:00

Someone asked what kind of shifters and derailleurs I got for my bike.
I got Deore.
They look awesome and work as good as they look.

15,000

2007-04-30T08:45:00.000-06:00

Hey, even though I know these hits don't really mean anything (half the people that visit only stay on the site for 1 second before moving on), I just wanted to write that this week I'll hit 15,000. Tell your friends to come visit!

I subscribe to two different stat tracking services, but I pay for neither. That means that depending on the service I am either limited to the most recent week of data, or the last 100 visits. Still, that is enough to have some fun. I love looking at my stats, but not because I want to know how many people visit. I like to see if I can discover why they visited. One of the features is a 'World Map' indicating the location of the visitor's ISP. Here is the map for my last few visitors:

I like to think of who could have visited that I might know. You don't see this, but if I mouse over each point it tells me the name of the ISP and location. It looks like maybe Michelle was there, maybe Eric or Jeff too. Victoria could be Chris, and I think the Oregon hit might be Sue or Andy. Of course the North Carolina hit from army.mil was either Kara or Shannon... but probably Kara.

I also like the visitor length pie chart. It tells me if anyone has stayed to read anything, or if they immediately leave.

You can see that roughly half the people left after reading the title, but nearly a third stayed for over an hour. This chart is based on a calendar week, and it just reset, so we are only seeing today's numbers but I am happy to say that this ratio seems to hold true over the course of an entire week.

Like I said though, my favorite part of keeping statistics is trying to discover why a person visited. My first step is to review the 'Came From', or 'Referrals' section. It tells me the exact URL that a person was on BEFORE browsing to my site. This usually tells me when they arrived by clicking the 'Next Blog' button in the top of any Blogspot blog, or through a search engine, or links from other sites. For example, this blog is listed on a site that lists blogs by women, and it is also linked to on my Yahoo and MSN accounts. A couple of my friends even have a link to my blog on their blogs. (By the way, thanks Sarah and Jenn for the links!) This page also lets me know when Gwen or Devin have visited because they both use webpages to keep track of stuff for them, like the urls of their friends' blogs.

My favorite feature though has got to be the 'Keyword Analysis'. This is where I get to see what people were looking up in a search engine that eventually led to me. Sometimes people look me up by name, sometimes they are looking for transgender, and I've had my fair share of same-sex marriages hits. The fun ones though are when someone is looking up something completely unrelated and just sort of stumble on my site. Realistically, I think they are likely one of the visits that is less than 5 seconds long, but I like to imagine that every once in a while someone who unintentionally stopped at my site might stay and read some of my articles and come out with a positive feeling. Who knows, maybe someone reading one of my entries might change their mind about what a transsexual really is, and won't feel so bad if someone they know comes out as one.

~ ~ ~ ~

So, it is Wednesday now, a few days after I posted the top part of this post. Remember how I said I like to try to discover how and why a person got to my site? Below is a breakdown of all the search terms a person has used to get here in the last few days. They all made sense except for that last one...

As it turns out, I have made one partridge joke in my entire life, and it is in this post.

My Rocky Mountain Blizzard

2007-04-30T00:29:00.000-06:00

My bike is an old friend. I bought it on Feb 19th, 1991 for almost $2000. Back then this was a stupid amount to spend on a bike, and several people expressed to me their opinions on overspending but I have to say that 16 years later I still have no intention of getting a new one. A few years ago though I almost had to. I noticed a crack in the frame. I thought it might not last one solid bump in the road so I stopped riding it and eventually I reluctantly went to the bike store to order a new bike.

In 1985 I got my first mountain bike - a Rocky Mountain Fat City Flyer. A few years after that both Eric and I each rode around on a Rocky Mountain Fusion and then, like I said, in 1991 I got the Rocky Mountain Blizzard. So when it came to deciding on a new bike I knew what company it would be from. I went to the website and I decided my new bike should be a Hammer. Both the Hammer and Blizzard are steel frames with similar geometry(fig 1), but not only was the Hammer much more affordable, but for some reason they only sell Blizzard frames - without components(fig 2). The site told me that the new Hammers came in exactly the same size as my Blizzard, but instead of white I'd have to settle for black.

Figure 1: Similar frame geometry between Hammer (left) and Blizzard (right)

Figure 2: No components on new Blizzards!

Having picked my new bike I went down to Doug's Spoke-n-Sport to buy it. I was greeted by an overly happy man who seemed overly pleased to meet me. I told him that I was looking for a black Rocky Mountain Hammer with an 18.5 inch frame. The guy paused and nodded and said that he had a red Hammer with a 21 inch frame in the store and asked if I wanted to see it. I said sure.

It looked nice enough, but it wasn't exactly what I wanted. I reiterated that I wanted it in black and with a smaller frame. Instead of going to the counter and ordering it for me, he just kept pushing the one in the showroom. I explained to him that for $1200, I wanted exactly what I wanted - not something kinda close. He didn't seem to hear me and he walked the bike outside for me to test ride it.

Well, even though I knew I wasn't buying this bike, I wanted to try out the shifters so I rode it around the parking lot. When I brought it back in he was ready to write up the bill of sale. His ever-present smile was constant as ever, but his expression did droop a little when I said I needed to think about it and I said goodbye. I didn't really need to think at all, I was just hoping to come back on the weekend and hopefully get a different salesman.

I wasn't feeling satisfied with my trip to the bike shop, so I went to The Bike Doctor on Main St. They didn't sell Rocky Mountain bikes, so when some guy asked if he could help me I asked him about the possibility of getting my old bike fixed. By the end of the day my bike was in the shop scheduled to have the frame welded and painted and all components and cabling replaced. It turned out that all this would only cost $900 and I'd not only save $300, but I'd not have to struggle with the salesman.

It didn't take long. Two weeks later my bike was finished and it was perfect(fig 3). There was only one thing that I couldn't do at The Bike Doctor. Since they were not a Rocky Mountain dealer, they could not order new decals or sell me any official handlebar grips. I had already called to order the decals, but I had seen the grips for sale in Spoke-n-Sport so I just popped in to pick them up myself. The eager salesman was there again and his face lit up with delight when I walked in. He greeted me with some comment about me not being able to stay away and asked if he should wheel out the bike for me. I said, "actually I went to The Bike Doctor, they're helping me out. I just need some handlebar grips." His smile disappeared completely, telling me that he finally heard what I was saying.

Figure 3: My Rocky Mountain Blizzard!