I was sick a couple of weeks ago (a cold, not Swine flu) and had the opportunity to do nothing but lie around and watch tv. A real treat, but it provided me with some valuable insights.
- The Palm Pre girl looks like a giant embryo.
- I don't get One Tree Hill. Maybe it's a generation thing, but The kids in it are so middle-aged. All they want to do is get married and have kids. I'm cooler than they are! Guys in their teens don't want to get married and have kids. They want to have sex. While it's admirable that they don't depict kids as dropouts and dope fiends, isn't there a middle ground between that and being 21 year old parents? Or giving up your dreams and career to get married, have kids and live in an ugly suburb?
-Vampires aren't any more interesting than anyone else, especially if they're living in suburbs like One Tree Hill.
- I get the feeling that the writers of shows like "Criminal Minds" jerk off while writing their scripts, which seem to deal with more and more kinky methods of killing, slicing, dicing and torturing women.
- I've become addicted to Psychic Detectives, on Global at 2 am.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Monday, September 14, 2009
workers of the world
I recently returned to the bagel shop where I came to the aid of a clerk who was being berated by a nitpicking harridan. The same clerk was working that day and when I asked about the mean lady, told me she had not returned.
In the spirit of labor day, I recall my own subterfuge against time wasters and the idle rich, whom I had to face on a daily basis at a fitness centre where I worked a couple of years ago. Worst of all the over privileged members were the Women with Nothing to Do. One of them, described as a Prominent Member of the Community, was someone I knew from the neighborhood; usually I would see her at the grocery store with her three homely, spoiled kids.
She probably didn't receive enough attention from them, and so insisted on instant attention from everyone else: "You're helping him before ME?" Uh, yes, since he was in front of you. Another time, she asked me if I could get someone to move the basketball net before a class in the gym.
I told her I'd get right on it. "Can you do it NOW?" Uh, what's the magic word? I picked up the phone. "Sure, right away." When she disappeared into the gym, I put the phone down. When she came back a few minutes later to inquire, my response: "They're on their way!"
There was another woman we called CatWoman. She lived with about 200 cats and would regale whoever was working at the Spa with endless monologues about them. Then she would talk about anything else that came to mind, usually without drawing breath, while the receptionist pretended to listen.
One of the girls who worked there told me how CatWoman drove her nuts with her monologues. At that age, you haven't developed those skills for getting rid of people who annoy you.
Me: Tell her 'hey, you'll miss your workout'.
Receptionist: That doesn't work!
Me: tell her you have to do the vacuuming, then start doing it.
Receptionist: But we already did the vacuuming.
Me: Yeah, but she doesn't know that.
Receptionist: Oh yeah.
Of course, the members' happiness and satisfaction were ALWAYS paramount.
In the spirit of labor day, I recall my own subterfuge against time wasters and the idle rich, whom I had to face on a daily basis at a fitness centre where I worked a couple of years ago. Worst of all the over privileged members were the Women with Nothing to Do. One of them, described as a Prominent Member of the Community, was someone I knew from the neighborhood; usually I would see her at the grocery store with her three homely, spoiled kids.
She probably didn't receive enough attention from them, and so insisted on instant attention from everyone else: "You're helping him before ME?" Uh, yes, since he was in front of you. Another time, she asked me if I could get someone to move the basketball net before a class in the gym.
I told her I'd get right on it. "Can you do it NOW?" Uh, what's the magic word? I picked up the phone. "Sure, right away." When she disappeared into the gym, I put the phone down. When she came back a few minutes later to inquire, my response: "They're on their way!"
There was another woman we called CatWoman. She lived with about 200 cats and would regale whoever was working at the Spa with endless monologues about them. Then she would talk about anything else that came to mind, usually without drawing breath, while the receptionist pretended to listen.
One of the girls who worked there told me how CatWoman drove her nuts with her monologues. At that age, you haven't developed those skills for getting rid of people who annoy you.
Me: Tell her 'hey, you'll miss your workout'.
Receptionist: That doesn't work!
Me: tell her you have to do the vacuuming, then start doing it.
Receptionist: But we already did the vacuuming.
Me: Yeah, but she doesn't know that.
Receptionist: Oh yeah.
Of course, the members' happiness and satisfaction were ALWAYS paramount.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Up the down staircase
This time, it's my sister's turn. She was not thrilled to find out that the new neighbors downstairs from her would be a woman and her two young kids, who would be outside yelling in the yard and screaming in the driveway.
It's the opposite. The two kids (who she describes as very cute) are in the house ALL DAY, watching TV and playing video games or just running up and down. In the middle of summer. They apparently have rotten teeth as well. I see diabetes and obesity in their future.
However, I told her she was lucky that they aren't upstairs from her, which was my case a few years ago, when a woman moved in upstairs from us with her boyfriend and young son. It was obvious what her life plan was: find a guy, live off him and sit outside all summer getting a tan. While her poor kid was in the house all day,in the middle of summer, bouncing off the walls. I felt sorry for the kid, who seemed to have no friends, never saw his father and had nowhere to go or nothing to do, and had a mother with the IQ of a houseplant.
I felt equally sorry for her boyfriend, who seemed to have gotten hornswoggled. I think she told him the same story she told our landlord: that the little boy came to visit her but lived with the father. Uhh...no. I don't think he ever saw the father. The Dingbat left right after, presumably for a new apartment and to find a new boyfriend to support her lifestyle.
Some people, when I've related this anecdote, asked, "Why didn't you do something? it sounds like that kid was neglected." Do what- an intervention? "Pardon me but your kid is being neglected." Or "why didn't you offer to spend time with the kid." People think life is a TV show like Judging Amy. Duh... maybe the MOTHER should spend time with the kid- or try to put some effort into finding him something to do?
Of course, if there was serious trouble, I'd call social services in a minute. Otherwise, there is little you can do for the shitty parents of the world. Just pray they don't move in upstairs from you.
It's the opposite. The two kids (who she describes as very cute) are in the house ALL DAY, watching TV and playing video games or just running up and down. In the middle of summer. They apparently have rotten teeth as well. I see diabetes and obesity in their future.
However, I told her she was lucky that they aren't upstairs from her, which was my case a few years ago, when a woman moved in upstairs from us with her boyfriend and young son. It was obvious what her life plan was: find a guy, live off him and sit outside all summer getting a tan. While her poor kid was in the house all day,in the middle of summer, bouncing off the walls. I felt sorry for the kid, who seemed to have no friends, never saw his father and had nowhere to go or nothing to do, and had a mother with the IQ of a houseplant.
I felt equally sorry for her boyfriend, who seemed to have gotten hornswoggled. I think she told him the same story she told our landlord: that the little boy came to visit her but lived with the father. Uhh...no. I don't think he ever saw the father. The Dingbat left right after, presumably for a new apartment and to find a new boyfriend to support her lifestyle.
Some people, when I've related this anecdote, asked, "Why didn't you do something? it sounds like that kid was neglected." Do what- an intervention? "Pardon me but your kid is being neglected." Or "why didn't you offer to spend time with the kid." People think life is a TV show like Judging Amy. Duh... maybe the MOTHER should spend time with the kid- or try to put some effort into finding him something to do?
Of course, if there was serious trouble, I'd call social services in a minute. Otherwise, there is little you can do for the shitty parents of the world. Just pray they don't move in upstairs from you.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
New Additions to the Marlexicon
Saffy Friends: Inspired by Saffy, the sarcastic daughter of Edina in AbFab who had numerous nerdy, multi-cultural friends. Refers to like persons or people, male or female. Example: "I saw her walking down the street with her SaffyFriends."
Brookhaven: The Westmount Y, or any place frequented by depressed, emaciated anorexics. From Brookhaven, the famous eating disorder clinic.
Schindler's Mother: A specific type of mother that seems to inhabit the Westmount area, grim, anal retentive, relentlessly chewing out their kids for some petty infraction. I recently saw one of them grimly tutoring her poor son ( in the women's locker room, which he was way too old for) then dragging him out by one arm like he was a sack of potatoes. I saw another ragging her teenage daughter for taking the wrong shopping cart at Metro.
Brookhaven: The Westmount Y, or any place frequented by depressed, emaciated anorexics. From Brookhaven, the famous eating disorder clinic.
Schindler's Mother: A specific type of mother that seems to inhabit the Westmount area, grim, anal retentive, relentlessly chewing out their kids for some petty infraction. I recently saw one of them grimly tutoring her poor son ( in the women's locker room, which he was way too old for) then dragging him out by one arm like he was a sack of potatoes. I saw another ragging her teenage daughter for taking the wrong shopping cart at Metro.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
When someone has nothing to do....
A couple of days ago I stopped by a local bakery to pick up some bagels. There was only one other customer, an irate woman who was haranguing the clerk. It seemed the woman wasn't happy with the service she had received. "You're not answering my question! I asked you a question!!" The young lady was flustered and said, "Well, maybe you could use a different tone." The woman was obviously unhinged and irrational and I knew she wouldn't stop unless I stopped her. Without preamble, I asked, "May I get some bagels?" At that, Irate Woman turned on her heel and was out the door, where she seated herself at one of the tables outside.
"I knew she wouldn't shut up unless I said something," I told the young woman, who seemed to be almost on the verge of tears. I asked her what the woman's complaint had been. Apparently, there had been a rush of customers and she hadn't gotten the attentive service she felt she deserved. Here was something I was familiar with. "I am sure that woman has never had a job in her life," I told the clerk. She agreed. "I thought so too." I looked at the woman seated outside. Why had she been in such a hurry? She obviously had nothing else to do but sit and read a cheesy bestseller.
I had the pleasure of dealing with women (and it was mostly women) like these when I worked at a health club a few years ago. If you have never had a job, you don't know what it means to have to tend to someone else's needs and expect the same individualized service you get from your pedicurist.
One woman accused me of being RUDE to her and went to the manager. When she'd asked about a class, I'd pointed out the schedule and suggested she look at it. Apparently, I was to go over it with her line by line. When the Manager came down to see me, I told her that I had not been rude. However, I had possibly alienated someone who could potentially be a new member and may have ten friends who could be members. I didn't say so aloud, but I was certain I had done my co-workers a huge favour by alienating this woman and frankly, doubted she had ANY friends at all, let alone ten. But I kept silent, except to say that I was sorry she thought I had been rude, but I was not going to admit to something I hadn't done.
Not for what I was paid which was not enough to bear it all with the passive, cheery smile we were constantly told would attract new customers. Being accused of rudeness seemed to be de rigeur. It had happened to everyone I worked with, most of whom I had never seen exhibit anything remotely resembling rudeness. The reasons for the complaints were no more substantial: I didn't get them a towel; I told her she had to sign up to use a machine; I told him the class was full; I asked her to wait while I served someone else.
Too much spare time and too much spare money- a bad combination.
I gave the clerk some advice on how to deal with the Woman With Nothing to Do. Say, "If you feel you weren't given optimal service, I am sorry, but we do the best we can." Just leave it at that. Don't engage, don't argue. I struck up one for the workers of the world against the Idle Rich.
"I knew she wouldn't shut up unless I said something," I told the young woman, who seemed to be almost on the verge of tears. I asked her what the woman's complaint had been. Apparently, there had been a rush of customers and she hadn't gotten the attentive service she felt she deserved. Here was something I was familiar with. "I am sure that woman has never had a job in her life," I told the clerk. She agreed. "I thought so too." I looked at the woman seated outside. Why had she been in such a hurry? She obviously had nothing else to do but sit and read a cheesy bestseller.
I had the pleasure of dealing with women (and it was mostly women) like these when I worked at a health club a few years ago. If you have never had a job, you don't know what it means to have to tend to someone else's needs and expect the same individualized service you get from your pedicurist.
One woman accused me of being RUDE to her and went to the manager. When she'd asked about a class, I'd pointed out the schedule and suggested she look at it. Apparently, I was to go over it with her line by line. When the Manager came down to see me, I told her that I had not been rude. However, I had possibly alienated someone who could potentially be a new member and may have ten friends who could be members. I didn't say so aloud, but I was certain I had done my co-workers a huge favour by alienating this woman and frankly, doubted she had ANY friends at all, let alone ten. But I kept silent, except to say that I was sorry she thought I had been rude, but I was not going to admit to something I hadn't done.
Not for what I was paid which was not enough to bear it all with the passive, cheery smile we were constantly told would attract new customers. Being accused of rudeness seemed to be de rigeur. It had happened to everyone I worked with, most of whom I had never seen exhibit anything remotely resembling rudeness. The reasons for the complaints were no more substantial: I didn't get them a towel; I told her she had to sign up to use a machine; I told him the class was full; I asked her to wait while I served someone else.
Too much spare time and too much spare money- a bad combination.
I gave the clerk some advice on how to deal with the Woman With Nothing to Do. Say, "If you feel you weren't given optimal service, I am sorry, but we do the best we can." Just leave it at that. Don't engage, don't argue. I struck up one for the workers of the world against the Idle Rich.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Horrors on the road....
A few years ago, my ex and I headed out on a bike ride and, parked in front of the Courcelle bar (a desperate saloon in St Henri) was a car with a moosehead on its roof. We had to stop at the red light and I averted my eyes from the grisly sight until the light turned green. When we returned a few hours later, I'd forgotten about poor Mr Moose, but the car was still parked there.
There are definitely less than pleasant sights out there. Yesterday, I celebrated the fact that it wasn't raining by riding out to Beaconsfield. On Lakeshore road in Pointe Claire, I passed Stewart Hall, a cultural center that also hosts wedding receptions. On the way back I noticed they were having yet another wedding reception and had to avert my eyes. Not from a moose head or squished squirrel, but a nightmare inducing wedding party.
A few weeks ago, I stopped at Stewart Hall to use their water fountain and saw a wedding couple having their photo taken. The bride's dress was actually quite pretty. On the way home, I passed by and saw the wedding party outside for photos. And there they were: magenta-fuchsia bridesmaid dresses with pleats, similar in color to the Ciclamena jersey or the carpets in a movie theatre.
Last year I saw bridesmaids in Millenium park with maroon dresses that Catherine the Great would have worn. And this time, the poor girls were in fuchsia-cyclamen magenta with pleats that resembled a giant upside down parasol.
How on earth to brides do this to their friends? What are these girls eating before they go to bed that they dream up these colours?
Frankly, the sight of a squished squirrel is less painful.
There are definitely less than pleasant sights out there. Yesterday, I celebrated the fact that it wasn't raining by riding out to Beaconsfield. On Lakeshore road in Pointe Claire, I passed Stewart Hall, a cultural center that also hosts wedding receptions. On the way back I noticed they were having yet another wedding reception and had to avert my eyes. Not from a moose head or squished squirrel, but a nightmare inducing wedding party.
A few weeks ago, I stopped at Stewart Hall to use their water fountain and saw a wedding couple having their photo taken. The bride's dress was actually quite pretty. On the way home, I passed by and saw the wedding party outside for photos. And there they were: magenta-fuchsia bridesmaid dresses with pleats, similar in color to the Ciclamena jersey or the carpets in a movie theatre.
Last year I saw bridesmaids in Millenium park with maroon dresses that Catherine the Great would have worn. And this time, the poor girls were in fuchsia-cyclamen magenta with pleats that resembled a giant upside down parasol.
How on earth to brides do this to their friends? What are these girls eating before they go to bed that they dream up these colours?
Frankly, the sight of a squished squirrel is less painful.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
SPLAT!
The weather has been less than ideal for cycling, but I've managed to get out when it stops raining. Last week on the bikepath to Lachine, I had the great good fortune to see the bloody aftermath of an accident. A young woman was lying on the path, bleeding from the head- not dead or unconscious, fortunately. She was not wearing rollerblades and had not been riding a bike-the likely scenario: she stepped onto the path without looking and was knocked down, probably by the rollerblader who was tending to her.
In spite of the endless invective about evil roadies who want to go more than 3 miles an hour on the bikepath (amids all the rollerbladers, dog walkers, kids, pedestrians and strollers), every accident i've seen on the path has involved a rollerblader: two (at different times) crashing into the wall of the underpass in St Henri; another collision between two bladers and a guy on a beat-up old bike (he was unconscious, wearing an ancient styrofoam helmet), and I had a minor collision with one who was showing off for his girlfriend. Neither of us was hurt.
The number of near misses is too many to count. Right after the Sunday incident, I had to yell someone out of my way-he was dazedly looking at the scenery and was wobbling int the opposite lane- my path. I yelled BEEP!!!! and he righted himself. In Lachine, near the water fountain, an 11 year old kid came charging out of the bushes on his bike and nearly smashed into me- until I yelled HEY! Watch it!
If we had collided, both of us would have been messed up, but he was unhelmeted.
That's why, as soon as I get to Lachine, I get off the path and onto the road. Cars are infinitely safer than most oblivious, Ipod wearing rollerbladers and there are no kids. Yell at me from your car all you want- the bike path on weekends is not an option.
In spite of the endless invective about evil roadies who want to go more than 3 miles an hour on the bikepath (amids all the rollerbladers, dog walkers, kids, pedestrians and strollers), every accident i've seen on the path has involved a rollerblader: two (at different times) crashing into the wall of the underpass in St Henri; another collision between two bladers and a guy on a beat-up old bike (he was unconscious, wearing an ancient styrofoam helmet), and I had a minor collision with one who was showing off for his girlfriend. Neither of us was hurt.
The number of near misses is too many to count. Right after the Sunday incident, I had to yell someone out of my way-he was dazedly looking at the scenery and was wobbling int the opposite lane- my path. I yelled BEEP!!!! and he righted himself. In Lachine, near the water fountain, an 11 year old kid came charging out of the bushes on his bike and nearly smashed into me- until I yelled HEY! Watch it!
If we had collided, both of us would have been messed up, but he was unhelmeted.
That's why, as soon as I get to Lachine, I get off the path and onto the road. Cars are infinitely safer than most oblivious, Ipod wearing rollerbladers and there are no kids. Yell at me from your car all you want- the bike path on weekends is not an option.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Notes from the Continuum
Many people have asked me, "What is this Male Space time Continuum that you refer to?
This article, which appeared on a dating website, has another name for it: Predictable male Withdrawal:
This article, which appeared on a dating website, has another name for it: Predictable male Withdrawal:
Why a Man Won’t Emotionally Commit
One of the most common situations women ask me about is what I call Predictable Male Withdrawal. If you’ve had any experience with men and dating, then you already know what this is. I’ll take a second to explain exactly what this is and why it’s important…
Regarding emotional commitment, I am not terribly interested in that, not at this juncture anyway. However, we all want to know: when men (and women) withdraw (read: vanish), where do they go?
Where do they go when they vanish, never to be seen or heard from again? You had a great date and talked of meeting again. You made plans to meet but he never showed up, called or emailed. You call his cell and get no answer. He's vanished without a trace, someplace where cell phones, email or Blackberry cannot reach. Obviously, your feelings are hurt and you feel insulted- perhaps you send an email saying something like "blow me, you dickwad". He went somewhere, but where?
The Male Space Time Continuum. Like the Wizard of Oz, it's very good, but very mysterious.
This usually happens AFTER:
-they have satisfying sex and an orgasm with you
-you tell them you love them
-you tell them you like them
-you tell them you want to go out sometime
Of course, it must be a pleasant environment, if so many men go there. More pleasant than being with you. And it is. The Continuum is a giant basement with a huge bar, populated by men who walk around in boxers and t-shirts (the latter if it's winter or they want to dress up), complete with wide screen TV that receives sports channels, porn and Man TV, and booze is served 24/7 by deaf-mute, topless Hooters girls.
I dated a really nice guy who described a previous girlfriend's escape to the continuum. She vanished when SHE thought that she was getting too attached to HIM. Yes, women do vanish into the continuum- it's not sex-segregated. In fact, it's tempting for me, as I'd love the widescreen TV and sports channels. I can see myself vanishing if I were faced with a guy who, say, told me how beautiful I would look pregnant or suggested that I stop using my laundry basket as extra storage space. But the Continuum is mainly populated by those Predictable Withdrawers, alas…and women who aren't deaf mute beer servers are outnumbered and outshouted.
And scattered throughout the continuum are huge pile of those mismatched socks, sent there by dryers all over the world. So you know they aren't going to waste, as the men who live there make good use of them so they don’t' go barefoot.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Let's start on a happy note...
I just saw my upstairs neighbor's mother and pimply friend moving a bunch of stuff from the house. This after a whole year of:
-Movies in surroundsound (Registered trademark) with lots of explosions, screaming and booming.
-Videogames in surroundsound: WOW, Grand Theft Auto, Guitar Hero, and others involving lots of explosions.
- screaming girlfriend who wants the world to know she's having sex.
- jam sessions
-piano playing of the same half dozen songs including The Charlie Brown Theme, and selections from the Beatles songbook.
And all of this right over my head, with very low ceilings.
Do I sound like a bitch? try living in what sounds like a Cineplex or a giant Stomach...
Actually, last year at this time I was surrounded by 20somethings, mostly men it seemed. On the top floor lived an endless stream of changing tenants. The last group were nice enough, but made a dreadful mess. On the top floor next door was another group of 20something guys...also nice and friendly but, like a lot of young men their age, completely disgusting. Cigarette butts, beer caps and junk littered the driveway. Then they got two dogs- pitbulls of course. One was a puppy and very sweet; the other rescued from a fire. After they left, the landlord saw that they had disposed of the dog crap by putting it in plastic bags and tossing it out the window. Where it snagged in the trees. I had wondered what that stuff was.
In the basement apartment opposite mine lived another 20something guy named Matthew who looked a bit like Silent Bob but was very nice- even he couldn't stand the noise, dog crap and cigarette butts and moved out in May. A man in his 30s lives there now but I haven't seen much of him.
The Pitbull guys followed shortly after. The Perpetually Stoned tenants upstairs have been replaced by three young women. The driveway was cleaned up and all the junk disposed of. My landlady has sworn off 20something men as tenants.
-Movies in surroundsound (Registered trademark) with lots of explosions, screaming and booming.
-Videogames in surroundsound: WOW, Grand Theft Auto, Guitar Hero, and others involving lots of explosions.
- screaming girlfriend who wants the world to know she's having sex.
- jam sessions
-piano playing of the same half dozen songs including The Charlie Brown Theme, and selections from the Beatles songbook.
And all of this right over my head, with very low ceilings.
Do I sound like a bitch? try living in what sounds like a Cineplex or a giant Stomach...
Actually, last year at this time I was surrounded by 20somethings, mostly men it seemed. On the top floor lived an endless stream of changing tenants. The last group were nice enough, but made a dreadful mess. On the top floor next door was another group of 20something guys...also nice and friendly but, like a lot of young men their age, completely disgusting. Cigarette butts, beer caps and junk littered the driveway. Then they got two dogs- pitbulls of course. One was a puppy and very sweet; the other rescued from a fire. After they left, the landlord saw that they had disposed of the dog crap by putting it in plastic bags and tossing it out the window. Where it snagged in the trees. I had wondered what that stuff was.
In the basement apartment opposite mine lived another 20something guy named Matthew who looked a bit like Silent Bob but was very nice- even he couldn't stand the noise, dog crap and cigarette butts and moved out in May. A man in his 30s lives there now but I haven't seen much of him.
The Pitbull guys followed shortly after. The Perpetually Stoned tenants upstairs have been replaced by three young women. The driveway was cleaned up and all the junk disposed of. My landlady has sworn off 20something men as tenants.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)