Either I’ve taken up sleepwalking, or….

I have a friendly, if not untidy, ghost living with me.

Never once have I felt that ‘someone’s here with me’ feeling in this apartment, so I’m not too concerned.

What I have noticed is things being messy, out of place and just plain weird. I live alone, I don’t have so much as a goldfish sharing my space with me.

For a while I was seeing just white splotches on random surfaces. It looked like somebody had just thrown some flour onto the counter or floor. I pretty much went ‘meh’ and wiped them up. They had no texture, but did go away with a damp cloth.

I also randomly get puddles on the floor of my kitchen. Just in the middle of the floor, with no trail of water coming from under the sink or the fridge, or near any pipes. I don’t live on the ground floor, so it isn’t seeping up from the ground. And it isn’t chronic, or in the same spot all the time, so it isn’t that pipes are leaking under there. Just random small puddles, that I didn’t put there and that didn’t travel there from some type of water source.

I still went ‘meh’ and carried on. After swearing when I stepped in them with my bare feet, of course.

Then two days ago, I found my keys. On the floor. That made me stop and think. I do know that I don’t put my keys on the floor ever. The first thing I do when I get into my apartment is lock the door and then place the keys on top of a bookshelf. Not on the edge of the bookshelf, nice and well-situated up there. When I sit on the couch all night long, I can see the bookshelf. When I sleep at night, I can’t see the bookshelf, but I can hear everything in here. It’s echo-y. Plus, the keys would have fallen over 5 feet, making a loud bang just outside my bedroom door………a deep sleeper, I am not.

But I didn’t hear the keys fall. Not that they could have, they were too far onto the shelf.

I shook my head and thought that maybe I’m just stupid and have no depth perception and thought I’d put them on the shelf, but didn’t, and also coincidentally had no memory of them crashing to the floor. Right, Talea. Whatever.

And this morning was one more thing. I woke up, took myself into the washroom and found my toilet completely clogged with toilet paper. Admittedly, I do sometimes subscribe to the ‘if it’s yellow, let it mellow’ philosophy when it comes to flushing. I live alone, so there’s nobody to offend and I don’t feel like wasting litres and litres of water just for one flush. But that’s beside the point.

The point is that my toilet was clogged with toilet paper that I didn’t put there. There was no ‘excrement’ in the bowl, so I know I didn’t get up and go to the bathroom unknowingly. I also know that I don’t, nor have I ever, had a penchant for jamming toilet paper into the can for kicks. That shit costs me money and I’m not going to literally flush it away for no reason.

So.

Where does this leave me?

In a strange spot. With things randomly moving, flooding and filling themselves up. Strange.

So I’ve either begun sleepwalking unknowingly, or I have a ghost. I suppose the other explanation is that my landlady is hanging out here for kicks. But I’m pretty sure I’d wake up and try to kill her rather than sleep through her intrusions.

Thoughts? Explanations? Confessions?? Money for more damned toilet paper?

I mean, come ON!

So for work in a few weeks, I have to travel to the States.

And not just any state…..Texas. Now, the furthest south I have ever been in my life is Chicago, so this is slightly exciting, but frankly, I don’t want to go. It is a week away from my lovely Toronto and my lovely life and hanging out with 20 of my newest friends who will undoubtedly think I’m a snobby bitch, cuz hey, that’s how I come off.

Now, there’s been a few pics of me on this blog and a few more on Emerald’s blog and there’s been comments about how I don’t ‘really look that mad’.

Well, that’s cuz the pics are well chosen and the video’s from Emerald’s site are when I was so pumped full of adrenaline I’m surprised I remained upright.

I don’t want you all to start thinking that I no longer deserve the title of my own blog.

Case in point:

I had to go get my passport photo taken (stupid States, won’t let me in without one…..yeah? well, I don’t want to be there anyways!). So I found some Mom ‘n Pop shop that takes passport photos and spits them out promptly thereafter. Mr. Photo Taker directs me to the wooden stool where I will sit in all of my Canadian Citizen glory, framed by a plain white background.

The new rule for passport photos is no smiling. So? I didn’t smile. Photo Taker Man snaps a pic, reviews it in his camera screen and says to me, “Um, you look too serious. No smiling, but you don’t have to look angry! Ha ha ha!”

I think I shot him the look of death. The fucking passport guy tells me I look angry. It’s a passport photo for crying out loud! I’m not allowed to smile! Grar!!!

I think this experience is second only to the homeless guy who screamed, ‘Cheer up sweetie! It can’t be that bad! Smiiiiiiiile!’ Homeless. The man had no teeth and no home and apparently pitied ME due to the expression on my face as I walked by.

I dont know. I give up.

Sometimes, I ashame myself.

I am strangely and shockingly (and ashamedly) obsessed with the new Britney Spear’s video.

Observe:

I want the redhead Britney’s haircut. Seriously. I could rock that.

What the hell is wrong with me? I’m not 12. I’m not 16. I’m not even 21. Why am I so obsessed with this song? Meh. I care not. I just am. Historically, I DO have terrible taste in music. Good to see some things never change.

*I just realized that the video has embedding disabled on youtube. Arg. Anyways, it’s good. To me at least. I know it’s crap, but it’s like a car crash, I can’t not look.

I seem to have misplaced my self control….

If you’ve read this blog for any period of time, you know that I can be a bit of a….well…..I have my opinions, and I don’t keep them hidden. Yeah, that’s how I’ll put it.

I post about them a lot, cuz frankly, I think they’re funny and they seem to be well received by people who read this. They’re all true. I have a big mouth and I’m not afraid to use it.

Have I bitched out complete and utter strangers? Yes.

Have I bitched out close friends and family? Yes.

Have I kicked people on the subway? Yes.

Have I ‘accidentally’ swung my purse in a way so that it made contact with that moron beside me who can’t realize that a crowded bus is NOT a free pass to gropeville? Yes.

Have I thrown a shit fit in nearly any public place you can think of? Yes.

Do I judge absolutely everyone I meet in a matter of minutes after meeting them? Yes.

I realize that I see the world in a very black and white manner. Very few things in my mind fall into a grey area. I know that this is bad in some cases, and don’t go deluding yourself into thinking I escape from my temper tantrums unscathed. My black and white views have gotten me into trouble a few times. Nothing big, cuz I won’t actually ever throw a punch or anything like that (I might be able to beat you in a battle of wits, but I will lose in a physical fight, cuz I’ll just throw myself onto the ground, curl up and start crying……not that effective).

Having such polar opinions on things has cost me at times though. If it bothered me, I would change it, but it doesn’t, so I don’t. I have lost friends due to it. I don’t speak to my mom because of it. I’ve been placed on a few blacklists because of it. I’ve pretty much banned myself from certain venues because of it. I miss out on things because of it.

In short, I am a stubborn ass. This isn’t news to me or anyone who knows me.

Now. Allllll of that pretty much gets checked at the door as far as work is concerned. Because I am not dumb and realize I am not irreplaceable, but rather, a dime a dozen in the great scheme of things, I bite my tongue (mostly) between the hours of 8:30 and 5:00.

Am I a sweet as pie, smiley, giggly happy-go-lucky gal when there? Far from it. But I set myself up for the greatest chance of success while there. Emerald is literally my shield at work. If anybody at work wants to come talk to me to complain about something, they must physically get past her first, due to the placement of our desks. There is a good reason for this (see above). When new people enter the situation, she is very clear to point out to them that she is ‘the face’ (and yes, in that term). If they have questions, they are to speak to her. She will field the question to the appropriate person and get back to them.

She also encourages people to come back to talk to me AFTER 11 AM, for I am a multi-faceted woman, but I am not a morning person. Not. A. Morning. Person.

The general rule at work, so that we don’t have me spewing forth insults all day to clients is, ‘Don’t speak to the Talea. Speak to Emerald, who will speak to Talea for you. Kthanxbai’ (a little lolcat humour for those in the know).

Now, this setup isn’t perfect. It’s biggest downfall is that Emerald is a mobile human being. This means that she leaves her desk from time to time, leaving me open to the questions. The second flaw is that she isn’t actually my bodyguard or rule enforcer. When the shit hits the fan, it gets escalated to me. This usually involves money, a very touchy subject for all. Generally, I want their money. Generally, they don’t want to give it to me. It becomes a power struggle and we both have leverage and we both have a need for the other person to be there, so the dynamic is interesting.

I remain relatively calm during these showdowns. Usually, I am in the right and just have to wait for them to tire themselves out. Sorry dude, you signed the contract, I’ll take your money now, thanks for playing. I’m not pleasant about it, I’m strict and I don’t pussyfoot around the facts. But I’m not a cow about it either.

Until Thursday.

Thursday was a great day until about 4:00. Then. THEN. Then it alllllll fell apart. After months and months of dealing with a particular individual who is just a constant aggravation, I lost it.

It’s a long, complicated and tricky story that won’t be posted here, for the sake of me continuing to receive a paycheque every two weeks. However, suffice it to say that the situation had me very agitated.

I. Lost. My. Shit.

At work.

It was bad. Was it funny? To me it was, but I can still see that it was bad. In my black and white viewpoint, I was right and I had had it. He had crossed the line one too many times and was going to fucking hear about it. No love lost. His argument was completely irrational and entirely infuriating. It was not something that I can get away with. But I did. It was a yelling match, filled with sarcasm from me (which I ALWAYS keep hidden at work when dealing with clients), but I let it fucking fly.

Emerald sat there the whole time, doing that whole, “I’m not paying attention to this awkward argument, oh look, my fingernails are endlessly fascinating!” After the showdown ended, she informed me that she was about two seconds away from turning around and using The Mom Voice. As in, “Talea……………” Her second plan was going to be, “Talea, I love you, but you’re about to lose your job.” Either one would have jolted me back into reality and caused me to shut up. Luckily, it didn’t get to that point.

I won’t go into it further, but I will say that it drove me to drink. Em and I hit up The Red Room here in Toronto and had ourselves a jolly, drunken time. It involved wine, sangria, tons of food, lots of stumbling, a drunken shopping spree in 7-11 where we can’t remember if we actually paid for one item or not, an inappropriate and very loud discussion in the magazine aisle of said convenience store, me kicking out Emerald when she decided to get chatty in the cab while the meter was still running and then me TOTALLY stiffing the cab driver on a tip. In my head, I was giving him a monster tip. When I woke up on Friday (still hammered), I realized I had totally screwed him over but he didn’t argue because it was obvious I was wasted and arguing with drunks is always an unpredictable thing at best.

Emerald came to work on Friday and flung a very phallic shaped bottle in my face and demanded, ‘What the hell is this?’ which only threw me into a fit of laughter since I was still drunk. It was an ‘energy bullet’ drink that seemed like a phenomenal purchase about 8 hours earlier. She had no recollection of it. It was awesome.

Emerald, thank you for being ready to stop me from getting fired and thank you for allowing me to get shit faced on a work night. The last half litre of wine you ordered was totally unnecessary, but probably the best idea you’ve had in a while. I lub you.

Client, you may suck my balls. However, I will give you an iota of credit in my awesome Thursday night debauchery. But from now on, as I told you on Thursday, do not speak to me. I am done dealing with you. You have fallen onto the wrong side of the line, and unfortunately, there ain’t no way back. Thanks for playing.

As for me, I may need to take up yoga or meditation or something. Or drink gallons of ‘calm the fuck down’ tea. But whoever sells it to me better try to screw me over. Maybe the best plan would be to bring Emerald with me. Ahem.

And furthermore! I’m in a ranty mood today…

So yes, I apparently fell off the blog wagon recently. I know, I know. I have no idea why, but my life is too boring to write about and I’ve not had any amazing ideas or anything lately.

I still have no amazing ideas, but I do have some rants that are always good for a post. So here we go:

– It is Thanksgiving here in Canadaland. I should be testing the limits of my stomach and intestinal system with turkey, stuffing, pumpkin pie and assorted mandatory vegetables. In reality though, I’m sitting here with a half-eaten bowl of macaroni and cheese, plus too much ketchup. I wanted to go home for Thanksgiving. I fucking love turkey! Ha. I’m really homesick, I wanted to go. But I can’t. Because for me to fly two provinces over, would have cost me $800-$1000.
Yeah. Fuck you too, Canadian Airline Industry. Why is it that I could fly to fucking Europe 2 or 3 times before I can go two damned provinces over? I know, I know, nobody goes to Saskatchewan, so it’s expensive. Well pardon me all to hell for not being from one of our three damned ‘big’ cities. Why does nobody do something about this? We subsidize the fuck out of everything else in this country, but we can’t travel within it? It’s FAR too big a country to just drive around in (hello, 3 day drive to go home), and I for one am sick and fucking tired of paying a month’s rent to go home for one weekend. Someone fix this! And where the hell is my turkey?!

– Could we all just GET OVER Sarah Palin? For the love of Pete, what is up with America’s fascination with that woman? Okay, so she’s a chick in politics. Le gasp. She’s kind of hot in that naughty librarian way. Le gasp. She has a baby with Down’s Syndrome. Le gasp. She sounds like an inbred Minnesotan and is probably banging McCain. Le gasp. She’s sort of stupid, but does all of this warrant her 24/7 media coverage? Correct me if I’m wrong, but doesn’t America have more important stuff to be focusing on right about now? Like your shit-ass economy? Your billion dollar a week war? The fact that the rest of the world wants to beat you up for talking about Palin all the time? I would rather watch paint dry than listen to more speculation on her. Seriously.

– Stephane Dion. For all you non-Canucks, you’re all asking ‘who?’ Stephane Dion is the latest douchebag to top my ‘If I Ever Meet Them I Will Kick Them In The Groin and Laugh at Their Immense Pain’ list. Canada is having a federal election on Tuesday (unlike some countries, we don’t campaign for two damned years ahead of time, it’s a nice month-long ordeal, very polite, very unobtrusive, simple and sweet, just like Canadians like to do things). Mr. Dion (yes, as in Celine) is running as the leader of the Liberals.
If Canadians are retarded enough to vote the Liberals into power, and he ends up representing me to the world, mark my words, I will throw myself off of a tall building, wearing a shirt that says ‘Dion made me do it.’ Monsieur Dion, je te deteste.

– I love my old fashioned radiators. I’ve never had radiators, always central heat. I was scared of them, but they are fantastic die-hard workers. Though I fear they are trying to kill me. After they’ve been on for a while, my whole apartment is hazy….as though there is something being emitted from them. It is my paranoid delusion that someone has put something in them. But I hate being cold, so I guess I’ll take my chances.

– There is something stinky in my fridge. I don’t know what. I don’t feel like finding out, so so far today I’ve eaten out exclusively. Ha! Take that, smelly fridge! I don’t need you, the corner store can fulfill all my needs. I don’t need to open you.

– Dudes, seriously…….where’s my turkey? Ou est ma dinde? I think that’s the french translation….I’m feeling bilingual today.

– I really hate musicals. Really.

– So they’ve started comparing this economic downturn to the Great Depression. Super idea, media moguls. Because we’ve all never heard of a self-fulfilling prophecy. One way to create an economic recession? Tell people there’s an economic recession. People are like lemmings…one jumps, we all jump. Soon you’ve got the whole world raking their money back into their accounts, away from the stock market cuz you’ve spooked them all and now, would you look at that, the stock markets suck.
And here’s the real kicker…….Canada’s not even in a recession yet. But when they interview Suzy Soccer Mom on the news at 6, she’s petrified. Why? Because she is a dumb lemming. She heard something somewhere about money and her husband’s been too busy sleeping with the secretary to come home and explain it to her, so she’s crying now cuz her little Johnny is going to grow up in the Depression, v 2.0.
Canada……have you not heard about the IMF’s little study about how we’re doing alright? I know, we’re just America’s Hat and all that, but we do actually have a seperate economy…….pay attention to it.

Look, she’s not worried. She’s so damned carefree she didn’t even bother putting pants on!

– Ha. Sometimes I’m such a bitch.

– I only have one channel now, cuz I can’t afford cable (no, nothing to do with the economy, more to do with my sad salary). This one channel shows me a plethora of dancing shows. I am now addicted. I’m so ashamed. Damn you CTV!

– Second Cup needs to train their coffee making people (I refuse to use the term barista) more carefully. Some listening skills chapter needs to be added to their training manual. Every time I go there and ask for a WHITE mocca, I get a mocca. Notice the lack of white. Every time, I repeat it at the cash register, and every time, they present me with a ‘medium, skim, mocca’. I question, ‘White mocca?’ and then they give me the look of death, dump the coffee and go to work making what I actually ordered. If you don’t want to make it, kindly remove it from your menu and I will stop ordering it.

– Dear Bank: When I went to you this week to close out our petty cash account, I was appalled that you made me roll my own fucking pennies. Um, were you shitting me? I felt like the kid who had to stand in the corner when you set me up at an abandoned wicket and made me count them out in multiples of 50’s and then fight with the stupid coin roller wrapper thingies and then get back into line afterwards. You’re a bank. Aren’t you supposed to roll my pennies for me?? Douchebags. Why don’t you have those stupid coin counter thingies? Ugh.

Okay. I think I’m done now. Hopefully that will get me back into blogging. I miss my blog, because I think I’m funny and when I’m bored, I totally re-read my own posts. I also really love comments.

Conceited? Pft. I know not of what you speak of.

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