Canada's Secret Weapon.

Look out Taliban, the troops have a secret weapon. It's called Double Double. An aircraft carrying a Tim Hortons trailer landed June 12.

I don't know if they realize the impact Tim will have on the peace keepers. Being an addict myself, I can't imagine going even one day without my Triple Triple. This could shorten the occupation considerably.

I would even consider applying for a job. Sounds interesting, but the best thing would be all the free coffee.

Beware the Goober.

I go up to see my sister at the QEII. You want to talk about a different world. We were sitting waiting for her IV to be changed and her doctors (plural) walk in to talk to her about her surgery.

There were five of them. They were explaining why she would not be having her surgery on Friday. Apparently, they are putting it off for another 2 weeks. They explained that they would keep her in Halifax instead of sending her home to wait because it was the best place to be if something went wrong. Whereas, if she were to go home to the local hospital it would be harder to get her back in an emergency.

I looked at my sister, "Holy shit, this right here is more doctors in one room than I have seen in my entire life. Back at home you would be lucky to find two standing next to each other in the cafeteria." More doctors is good. She was in the local hospital for 2 days before she saw a doctor. Now they are coming out of the woodwork.

They look at me like they know exactly what I mean. The head guy informs her that her 'surgeon' will be in to talk to her as well. Yes people, she has even more doctors.

My sister's surgeon walks in and starts to describe why he is not going to do the surgery on Friday. If she was sicker, they would rush but since they have time, they will pump her full of antibiotics and then cut her open. My sister is just nodding and smiling, so I take over the questioning.

"So, do you think that it could reverse itself to some degree?"

"Not reverse, but make the valve stronger to the point where we could possibly repair it instead of replace it. We want to make sure there is as little residual infection in there as possible before we go in. You know, there could be a little goober floating around that could get us in trouble." I kid you not. He used the word 'goober'.

"The only thing is," He says, "I will be gone from the sixth to the sixteenth. So when you are ready I may not be available. If you want you can wait for me or go with another member of the team, we will talk about that when the time comes."

"How many on your 'team'?" I was wondering how many we had to choose from.

"Five" he says.

"So, are you the best?"

Without even thinking he says, "No." Then he looks at me, smiles and wags a finger at me. "Your funny."

"Don't be shy, cuz if you are the best, we'll wait for ya."

Later when we were in the lobby getting coffee, I feel a hand on my elbow. I turn to see the surgeon. "I just wanted to clarify. Every person on our team is equally qualified to do this surgery. I am very good, but we don't keep score on which of us are the best."

"That's ok, I would be worried if you had said you were the best."

Nothing worse than a God complex.

Do you even know who you are calling?

In TR we were, for the most part, buffered from talking to the general public. The odd person would get through but it has been a while since I have spoken to a bonifide crayon.

But now I am back in Pro, where the idiots of this world need only smash their face down on the phone to reach me.

"Thank you for calling the Undisclosed Customer Service Center™ my name is blah blah blah..."

"Ya, I try and open my BrandName and it says no." She blathers on a mile a minute about how inconvenient this is that she can't open her BrandName.

I try and get clarification. "You try and open your BrandName what?" We have hundreds, if not thousands, of individual programs that have our BrandName on it. I need to narrow this shit down.

"MY BRANDNAME! MY BRANDNAME! AREN'T YOU LISTENING TO ME?" Are you listening to yourself?

"Mamme, Every single one of our thousands of software programs start with the words BRAND NAME, you need to tell me which product you are talking about."

"Oh, sorry, my BrandName Off.ice Wi.ndow.s version 6." What the hell is that? Two different products neither of which come as version 6. I have no idea what the hell she is talking about.

"Are you reading this off the box?"

"Oh, for Christ sakes. The box just says Word Perfect."

FUCK ME GENTLY!

The gift that keeps on giving.

Bacteria, that is. My sister is in hospital. They have penciled her in for valve replacement at the end of the week.

Want to know the bitch of it? She could have avoided it. Seems her particular condition is caused by an infection that was left to long and eventually made its way to her heart.

It may be an infection that she picked up in India. Although she was very careful while she was there and did not feel sick till these past 3 weeks. Unfortunately, she did not seek medical attention at the first sign of illness. She is one of those (like me) who avoids doctors like the plague. However, if I had been sick for as long as she was I think, even I, would have gone to the doctor.

But that is water under the bridge. She is now at the QEII awaiting surgery on her heart. She told me that she was given a choice on valves. A steel one or the one from a pig. She opted for steel. It could be the welder in her but I suspect that it had more to do with having a dead animal part flapping away in her chest. Just, eeeww. She is most freaked out (at least that is what she says) about the scar that she is bound to have.

"Hey, you should ask if, while they are in there, they can give you bigger boobs."

"Ya, or at least make them perkier."

The good news is that this particular surgery is pretty common at the QEII. They do it on a regular basis. I am told more often than a tonsillectomy.

Even so, I am still worried. All the doctors look like they just stepped out of a classroom. I would much rather they look like Marcus Welby than Doogie Howser.


Actually I would really rather Dr. Kovac but that's another fantasy.

Many other things.

I have been blogging since March 2002. At the time it never occurred to me to Google the potential name of my blog. I Really didn't anticipate anyone reading it. I just thought that a blog would be a good way to put all my stories down somewhere permanent, cuz I have no long term memory.

Today I was going through the blogs stats before I reset them and came across a search for "And another thing". I thought, this could be interesting.

I knew there was one other person, Al, with the same name as mine, I actually have him on my lists of reciprocating blogs. However, I was surprised that there were many more, so I thought I would list some of them here.

And another, and another, and another...

Tim Bailey - He's new, and Canadian, so it is like against the law to be mean to him.

Stefani, from New York.

John Connolly, a writer. I don't think I have ever read any of his books but I just might now.

Jack over at Richmond Magazine has a column called And another thing. Might put that on the daily read list. Just for shits and giggles.

Doug, a voice coach. Not sure what that is, but good on ya, Doug.

Mark Levin from the National Review, it's political so I probably won't read it.

Ted Reinstein, BostonChannel.com with yet another column of the same name. Guess he didn't google it either.

Oh well, as long as your mother is proud, who the hell cares if you are original.

Ever blog your blog name? Let me know what the wierdest one was.

What I have learned from the whole experience.

The boy has been a complete asshole about my shift change. I now work 2pm to 10pm Monday to Friday, as opposed to 5-1. The boy is not happy. He thinks I do these things just to inconvenience him.

Yes, Universe? Line up here please to revolve around him. Thanks, one at a time, please, single file, no pushing.

Of course I am the asshole for being here, cutting into his guitar time and his internet social life. All I do is pay for it, I shouldn't be allowed to use it.

What have I learned from all this?

Just this: God gives us children so that death doesn't come as such a disappointment.

Something is definitely 'up'.

Ever since that CAP conversation I had with my TM, I feel like something is up. He hasn't mentioned it again and I am feeling a bit uneasy. It's not just that I will be in another project today, so he could CAP me after that. It's not that he hasn't mentioned it and I think it might be a sneak attack.

It's this:
Ever since that day he and the bitch that ratted me out, have been sucking my dick. I don't know how else to describe it.

Both of them have been going the extra mile to be nice to me, compliment me. I ask for a schedule printed off and my TM snaps to attention, sprints to the printer and hand delivers it, generally .... sucking my dick. It's like they heard I was dying and want to make damn sure they are in the will.

My TM even offered to cover my shift if I was not approved for a vacation day on Saturday. But the Rat beat him to it, she was diligent in emailing scheduling department, bullying them into approving my vacation day. Not an easy task since there are only 4 people scheduled and they already approved another girl for Saturday off.

This sort of shit makes me uneasy. Maybe I am dying. Am I dying? What have you heard?

Happy Father's Day Dad.

My Dad always had a bottle of Pepsi for me. (That's me picking my nose.) I followed that man around like a puppy.



I think that is my brother Paul that my father is burying. He loved vacation, I think he was most disappointed once we were all too old to drag along.



Actually I think Paul still has this old truck, or one just like it.



The whole Famn Damily. Can't tell we were Catholic, eh? From right to left: David, Paul, Kevin, Dad, Adele, Me, and then my little brother Christopher in Dad's arms. My mother just loved to 'pose' us.



My father always had a ball at Christmas time. He usually went overboard, but he loved the whole 'Santa' thing. One year he filled our living room with gifts. There was only paths for each of us to get to a seat. And to keep the 'Santa' thing alive, every single gift was wrapped in the same paper. It was a sight, presents up to our wastes all wrapped the same. All from 'Santa'.


1927 - 1989

I miss you Santa.

I.O.U...six hours.

Just finished watching the Omen Trilogy with the boy.

It took me a week to download, all the while telling the boy that this was way scarier than any of that slasher shit he watches. We queue it up and sit back in the dark.

Do we lose our minds when we get older? I remember being scared out of my wits when I saw these movies. They gave me nightmares. Watching it again (thirty years later) I found myself wondering what I was thinking.

Are we all so desensitized now that the hairy eyeball and violin music does not scare us anymore? Or, in the case of the Omen, was it that it had religious references that today's kids don't get. Back then, I guess, we had it in the back of our mind that this was something that could happen. Not just could happen, but was foretold to us in Sunday school, and at mass.

Thirty years ago, the Omen scared me shitless, today, I had to apologize for wasting 6 hours of the boys life. I won't waste the bandwidth downloading the Exorcist.

Please give to the 'Run The Bitch Out Of Town' Fund

Hopefully this will help with the move.



I am going to miss that broad!

You wake up in the dark and hear the screaming of the lambs.

My friend, Donna, is leaving in a few weeks. Like every person with any ambition, she is packing up and heading west.

Recently another girl that works with us suggested a surprise party. Just a little get together to say bon-voyage.

"Are you sure you want to do that?" She looked at me funny, cuz I was looking at her like she forgot to wear pants.

"What?"

"You only know 'Work Donna'"

"What the hell does that mean?" I get an evil grin on my face, this could be quite entertaining for me if not down right traumatic for everyone else.

"Never mind."

Let's see, how to describe Donna? Donna is Archie Bunker in a skirt. Lovable, but far from even remotely being politically correct. When she drinks, she drinks herself silly and rarely if ever remembers a thing she says or does while under the influence. She is crude, rude and will say anything to anyone.

Picture it, Sicily... Donna and I are at a pub, we are sitting at a table with some other girls from work. She looks over at a table containing 5 guys.

"Well those fuckin' guys must be gay!", she says, too loudly for the volume of the music.

"Why is that?"

"A bunch of guys all sitting together at a bar."

"Um, we are all sitting together..." She misses it.

Then she spots a guy wearing a white belt with studs on it. She staggers up to him and says, "Holy shit, with a belt like that you must be taking it up the ass, right?" It is a question, and she expects an answer.

The table we are sitting at is very close to the low stage, where our friends from work are performing an acoustic set. Donna is sitting so close that the guitarist could literally bash her scull with the butt of the guitar without much effort. It surprises me when he doesn't. Remember they are playing acoustic. She yells to me like we are at an AC/DC concert, "Holy shit these guys suck!" and starts screaming "FREE BIRD!"

We decide to grace another bar with our presence. It is at the other end of town, we start walking. (when I say the other end of town, it is a small town, maybe 3 blocks) This is a ghost town after midnight. Donna decides she has to pee. At this hour there is only one place open, a pizza joint. Does she go inside? No. She doesn't even notice the place. She picks that spot on the sidewalk to haul her drawers down and piss on the sidewalk. I just shake my head.

We get to the other bar, she is sitting quietly. This makes me very nervous. She is staring at a black dude, he is wearing parachute pants, a muscle shirt and he has elastic bands on his biceps. Finally, she stands up, "Fuck it! I have to ask."

This is where I exit the establishment. To this day I have no idea what she so desperately needed to ask and neither does she. The real miracle is that she did not get her ass kicked. For some unfathomable reason, no one ever gets pissed off at her. They laugh. I don't know if it is how she says it, or if they think she is trying to be funny, but they think she is hilarious.

So, all this is running through my head as the girls start planning their little get together. Like it will be some sort of garden party. I hope they have a good plan to get her there, cuz it doesn't sound like anything she would be remotely interested in. They will have to come up with a pretty good lie about where they are taking her. Like maybe to a stip joint for some dwarf tossing. "Oh, Oh, I know, we should get some beer!" Like lambs ... Well, you know.

"Tell me, Clarice - have the lambs stopped screaming?"

I will keep you posted.

Those Kookie Kanadians!

This is embarassing as a Canadian, but don't you wish all bills were passed this way? Might save some time and a whole lot of bullshit.

Federal budget passes unopposed on mix-up

Amir and the laptop.

This cracked me up.

The story in a nut shell: This guy, Amir, sells a laptop on eBay. Turns out the laptop is not what he described and to add insult to injury, it is broken. He refuses to refund the buyer. Laughing all the way to the bank, right?

Wrong, the buyer gets some sort of revenge. He somehow gains access to the laptop and begins to post the contents of the hard drive on a blog.

This also spawns another blog to continue the saga. As well as some media coverage.

All the buyer wants now is an apology and he will shut the site down. Judging from some of the content, you would think that Amir would gladly comply, right? Wrong again.

Amir is not exactly the sharpest tool in the shed.

A classic!

Radmilla motivated me to dig up this classic from 1999. Enjoy.

You can't listen without moving, just try it. I dare ya!



You got any classics you want to share?

Get R and D on that immediately!

I woke up this morning with screaming back pain. I could barely move. I hobbled to the can and that is where I had an epiphany.

I have to either lose weight or grow longer arms.

I kid you not, this morning the length of my arms in proportion to the size of my butt became a real issue.

The diet and exercise thing does not appeal to me in the least. There has to be a better way, after all, they have pills to grow your penis longer, there has to be a solution for the fat chick.

I am looking into it.

The Joh.n How.ard Conspiracy.

The boy is in trouble again, for some stupid shit, a fight at the school. I know, imagine that, kids fighting at school. Call the national guard. It happened a month ago, the primaries in the dispute (which did not include the boy) had been dealt with, suspended and are back in school.

This week I get a call from the school, the boy has confessed to being involved so he is suspended. Interesting, a month later they decide to include the boy. He was there, he admits that, and at one point he laid hands on the kid. I asked the boy, he said that the kid was pushed towards him, and he pushed back. Sounds like a reaction. I picked up the boy, I asked him why he would confess to fighting if he wasn't. "She asked me if I laid hands on him, I said yes." He did not elaborate, he is the kind that just doesn't want to argue about it. "She wouldn't believe me if I told her, she would say I was lying, I didn't want to argue."

"Can't you deny?"

"What?" Who's kid is this?

"Good grief, what kind of a teenager are you. Deny, deny, deny!"

"Nice motherly advice, Mom."

"Well, Jesus, the way your going you'll end up in San Quentin for rubbing out Hoffa."

"Huh? Anyway, they said the police will be getting involved."

"Nice, well you say not another word about it. And you talk to no police without me present."

"She wants to talk to me when I come back after suspension."

"Tell her to talk to the hand, she was judge jury and executioner. You did your time, that's all she gets from you."

Fast forward to today. The police call. I'll just give you the highlights.

ME: Didn't this happen a month ago? Your just getting around to the boy?
FIVE OH: His name came up. He was there.
ME: What did the supervisor say?
FIVE OH: Huh?
ME: Oh I get it, there was no supervisor.
FIVE OH: No, we only talked to the kids.
ME: Nice, so we are taking the word of a bunch of kids, not mine of course, you can't believe a word he says right? (he gets the sarcasm)
FIVE OH: Well we have decided to allow them to go through Joh.n How.ard Soc.iety.
ME: I get it now.
FIVE OH: Excuse me?
ME: Never mind, tell me when to be there.

Let me explain about the Joh.n How.ard Soc.iety. It is an alternative to taking it to court. Sounds like a good thing for all us parents. Avoid a criminal record for the little demon spawns and we don't have to stand in front of a judge and be embarrassed by our ill mannered, unruly children. Right?

Here is the real reason for Joh.n How.ard Soc.iety. The kids are told if they confess, they go through this program, there is no criminal record, simple. Simple yes, for the Five-Oh. They don't have to actually investigate. They get to say they cracked the case without ever having to put down the doughnut. And the bonus? Since there was no investigation to speak of, they don't have to PROVE any of it in court. It's called cooking the books, boys. You didn't solve any crime, but you get points for it.

I have half a mind to just say fuck it. I will see you in court, forward your discovery documents to legal aide and clear your calendar for deposition. I will be asking you for your notes as well on how much actual time you spent on trying to get to the truth instead of taking the word of teenagers who just don't want to get in trouble with their Moms. And then I go after the school for setting him up for this little Joh.n How.ard Soc.iety bust. Don't think I didn't see the connection, asshole! That bitch principal is probably getting a kickback.

Fortunately for them, I, like most parents, are of the other half of the mind that says, "whatever dude". I will just have to speak to the boy about his tendency to confess to everything he is accused of.

I will make cards up for him that reads: "I'll TAKE THE FIFTH."

Ok, so this is Canada and it is actually Section 11 and Section 13, of the Charter of Rights and Freedoms. But that would be hard to fit on a business card. It would be so much cooler if it was Section 8, but this is Canada, we are not cool.

PSA.

I wanted to talk a little bit about the guy who's funeral I attended. Lets call him Dave and his although not technically, for all intents and purposes ex-wife, we shall call her Cunt, for that is what she is.

I met Dave and the Cunt, when they were still together at a friends cottage one summer 5 or more years ago. Five minutes after I met the Cunt I hated her, 10 minutes after that I just had to ask Dave. "What the hell are you doing with THAT?"

You see Dave was a quiet, sweet man. Soft spoken, a family man. Loved his kids, loved doing stuff with them, wouldn't say shit if he had a mouthful of it. The Cunt on the other hand, could make a long shoreman blush. She was loud, obnoxious crude and rude. She is what most would refer to as a pig. Not only a pig, but she was evil as well. I recently learned that during the receiving line at her wedding she turned to Dave's brother and said, "Now that he's married me, I can tell you to go fuck yourself." Classy, eh?

Fortunately at the time I met him, while the Cunt was cheating on him with random men in bars, he was conversing on the internet with who would later become his true wife. Let's call her Maggie (I don't know why, I just like that name). As luck would have it, I would later end up working with Maggie. She was exactly right for him. Quiet and kind, just what he needed.

Life should have been sweet, don't you think? Well think again. The Cunt did everything she could to make life miserable for Dave and Maggie. She refused to divorce him, and Dave not wanting to make trouble, never pushed her. He knew that she was the kind of person that would keep him from his children if she got pissed, which she seemed to do at the drop of a hat. She was greedy and sneaky. She was living rent free in a house her father owned (a fact she neglected to tell Dave) she told Dave that it was costing her $700 a month and he paid it, on top of providing for his kids. She would pocket the money and drink it away.

So sitting in the church drilling holes into the back of the Cunts head I had an un-Christian thought. Why isn't she the one who is dead? What the hell was God thinking? This woman (I kid you not) manipulated people at the hospital so she was left alone with Dave. The man is dying and she browbeats him into signing his life insurance over to her. It had originally been put in trust for his children. The Cunt has balls, stealing from her own children. And just to make sure his mother would not contest it, she told her, "Don't piss me off, or you will never have contact with your grandchildren."

It is true what they say, only the good die young. The Cunts of this world live on.

You would think that with the amount of psychopaths on the planet there should be some sort of service industry associated with them. Some sort of database we can all contribute to. A list of assholes and cunts with an accounting of all the evil things they did. Addresses to their homes so the psychos can find them easy enough. I mean if your going to be a serial killer, why not go on the internet and kill someone no one will miss? A public service instead of random acts of violence.

Who's with me? I have a wood lot in the middle of butt-fuck-nowhere, if they need a place to dispose of the bodies.

I am all about public service.

Is there such a thing as being too prepared?

Have you ever thought of what you would like in the way of a funeral? Have you thought about the hymns? What kind of flowers? Who do you want speaking for you after you are dead?

I went to a funeral for a friends husband today, he was only 37. The whole thing was very sad. Sad mostly because his kids are only 11 and 8. To lose your father that young would be tough, I was 23 when I lost mine and it wrecked me.

The saddest thing, however, was how pitiful the whole production was. It is all well and good to stick with your own perish at a time like this, but this is their business. Any church on the planet should have funerals, weddings and christening down to a science. It was like a dentist who just couldn't do a decent filling.

We walked into the church and I knew right away it wasn't Catholic. Oh, there were the obligatory stained glass windows, pews that were hard and uncomfortable, the smell of candle wax and hymn books on the seats. But that is where the similarities ended.

First of all, there was no altar, definitely not Catholic. I look up on the left of the pulpit and there is a huge picture. Not of any religious figure, that would be expected. It was a man in a top hat, what the hell was that about? And I am sorry, but there is something inherently wrong with a big-ass clock behind the pulpit. And when I say big, I mean you could see this thing from space.

Catholics are more traditional, we do weird things like put the Lord up there. Big cross, that sort of thing. Madness I know, when that space can be put to better use, like inform the congregation of the passage of time. But once the service started I saw the wisdom of this. It was a hope clock, hope that time is indeed passing and that there is an end in sight.

The minister, unfortunately, was about 12. I was worried about him the second I set eyes on him. He began the service and he made no sense at all. He was reading the scriptures like he had never heard them before. You know how that sounds? If you don't put inflection in the right place, everything sounds wrong. I think an older minister could have done it a bit more justice. There is no substitute for experience in situations like that.

The choir sounded like it was hastily put together. Even though most of them were in their late seventies I think maybe it was. As we were standing at the back of the church looking for a seat, one of the singers asked if we wanted to sit with them, all we had to do was sing.

I don't know about you, but I want a choir that has at least met each other before. A couple practices would have been nice. But once they realized how much they sucked, they should have done us all a favor and kept the hymns to one verse.

The personal stuff, from family members and the priests own personal reflections about the deceased was heart wrenching. The man knew for about 6 months that he was dying. He tried to do all those things that you put off thinking you have all the time in the world. He had family portraits done, bought gifts for the kids, memory boxes for their graduation presents, that sort of thing. He even got diamond earrings for his daughters wedding.

Perhaps he really didn't care how the funeral itself went but you only get one chance at a decent funeral, you have to make it count. I have been to some beautiful services, so I know it can be done.

Is it morbid to plan for your funeral now, in the event you have no say in the matter later?

After three, you get a free scarf.

All I had to do was avoid a CAP. Corrective Action Plan. Translation: you hurt my feelings pissed me off, this is your first warning. If you are on a CAP you cannot move to another project.

I was happily on my way to tech support. All the planets were in alignment, plans were made, appointments shuffled. "All you have to do is avoid a CAP." That's what MO said. I have been here 3 years and only ever had one. How hard could it be?

Well it is tough to do when you can't trust anyone. The other night I was irritated with my TM. Another TM was lurking around, you know the type, mixing with the underlings, pretending to be one of us.

Joking around I made a comment referring to my TM, "...he emailed me and he was sitting 2 feet away, the little weasel." To which she commented, "That's not what WE call him." Ha, Ha! Laughter, conversation over.

Next thing you know, my TM is calling me in the huddle room and telling me she spilled her guts, told him everything. Everything? I am pretty sure she left out her comment. He has been to HR, he says, they said he should CAP me. WTF? "Why wouldn't you just come and talk to me? It was not a malicious comment."

After speaking with him, I conveyed to him that as a manager, perhaps he should learn to take care of these things himself, before running to Mommy with his problems. Ok, not in so many words. But its hard to deal with superiors who are half your age. I think I got through to him. I explained to him that I can't go to tech support if I am on a CAP, and if I don't go, then he would be stuck with me.

He says he doesn't want to hold me back. He is going to give it some thought. Hope his head doesn't explode.

Stupidity, not just for American's anymore.

I was reminded of a conversation I had with my friend a few years ago.

She was shopping in the states and apparently was having car trouble. She decided to call me from the road, I think she was in Maine.

FRIEND: We hit a pothole and bent the rim on the tire, we gotta get it replaced before it totally fails on us.
ME: Ok, and your calling me why?
FRIEND: I need you to check the internet for the nearest Canadian Tire.
(I waited for her to correct herself, she did not just say Canadian Tire.)
ME: I don't have to check.
FRIEND: Don't fuck around, this is serious. We are in Buttfuck nowhere, Maine. Where is the nearest Canadian Tire.
ME: Uh, I would have to say ... Canada.

This is where her brain caught up to her mouth. After a stream of obscenities I found her a tire place in Maine.

I am sure she said something to the effect of 'let us never speak of this again'. But funny shit needs to be recorded for posterity. It's like a law or something.