Papasan Turns 72

Today my dad (whom I call Papasan - and yes, I realize it's a type of wicker chair like thing you get from Pier 1 - stop judging!) is 72 years old.  I know we're not supposed to have favourites, but he's mine.  My mother and I have always had a rocky relationship, and my father was the calm in the storm.  Not that he was around much when I was growing up - he worked 7 days a week to keep a roof over our heads,  food on the table and clothes on our back.  It was my mother who shuttled me (and my sister before me) to practices and lessons.

And yet, my father, the quiet man that he is, the enigma that he was, always had a presence in the house.  Even if he was just sleeping on the couch after getting home from a 15 hour day.  Over the years, our relationship grew and I pried at the layers of privacy that he wrapped around himself.  We would talk about politics, about my school work (I went back to school at 25 and stayed with my parents for two years), about family history, my mom's hormonal craziness, about how I'm the favourite daughter.  It's totally true, you know.  I am the favourite.

I saw my father smile more, and when I moved an hour away and would call (though not as often as I should) he stayed on the phone longer, telling me about his day, and what he'd seen in the newspaper that might interest me.  And I like being the type of daughter that doesn't just call when she needs something, or to complain about her own life.  I want to know more about my father, to create memories of him that I will be able to take out and look at and smile when he's no longer here.

My father is the man I measured all prospective partners to - not in the Daddy's Girl kind of way.   I wanted to find someone who was compassionate, worked hard, was knowlegeable and loved me.  My husband is not like my father in most ways - but he does have all of those traits.   One of these days I'll remember to thank him for showing me what I deserved in a partner.  Although, with his gruff nature, he'll probably just shoo me away, and tell me to stop being so foolish.  But I'll see the thank you in his eyes, and I'll know that he appreciates it.

So, to my Papasan... Happy Birthday to You!  May you have many more, and may I still continue to be your favourite daughter. ♥

My Sweetpea's Pretty New Blog

My favourite Texan Sweetpea, Missie, has had a blog make-over - and it's beautiful! Not that her other blog wasn't, but now it's all shiney and new. I find myself over at her blog checking out her book reviews for recs on some great finds. Although, I usually skip the review because I don't want the surprise of the story to be ruined and just check to see her rating. But then I always go back and see if our impressions are the same. And they generally are - but that's because great minds think alike, dontcha know.

Anyhooo... Missie's blog is called The Unread Reader - although I think she should change the name because she's read a whole heck of alota books! If you're looking for some great reads, head on over and tell her I sent ya!

P.S. She's also got a contest going on right now in celebration of her blog's makeover. The New Me Giveaway! Win a custom blog design from Blogging Bella Designs or a New Book release!

 

Bossy Boots

Today I was chatting with the lovely Shannon, whom I absolutely adore, and in the course of a couple of emails I mentioned that I wear bossy boots and as such I sometimes don’t get along with others. This is because I am a take charge kind of girl. I have learned to restrain my bossy side and let others play, but often that side of me comes out, especially when people are being ridiculous and need to be set straight.

Shannon asked my what my bossy boots looked like and I found the perfect picture to illustrate them. They're Fluevog's and they're divine. Although, I probably wouldn't be able to get me feet into them, let alone walk in them. But that doesn't matter because they are the epitome of Bossy Boots, and whenever I'm in that kickin' ass and takin' names frame of mind, that's what I'll picture on my feet...even if I'm wearing Birkenstocks.

The Slutty Superhero

So... it gets hot in Toronto. Hot and really humid. And we don’t have air conditioning, but even if we did, I would put it on as a last resort because we’re not rich, and the provincial gov’t decided it would be cool (get it?) if they hiked up hydro prices during the day - when everyone uses it. I have a whole other rant about that clusterfuck.

Anyway. It was hot and it was humid, and I had the curtains drawn to help keep the heat out. And I was wearing a cute pair of boy-short underwear with a tank top. It was hot, people. And no one could see me.

So... I was making dinner, because I’m nice like that and Stuart came home and the first thing out of his mouth was, “You look like a slutty superhero.” And then he laughed. Not in a mean way. More like he was laughing at his perceived cleverness.

I, however, was not amused.

“What do you mean I look like a slutty superhero? What exactly does that mean? That I fuck my way out of bad situations?”

He had the sense to realize that he was treading on very thin ice, choosing to mumble something that sounded vaguely like he needed a drink and went to change out of his work clothes. Well, Stuart... you can bet you won’t be experiencing any of my superpowers for the next week.

OMFG I Hate Rogers

Now, before you get all crazy and think that I'm being racist because I've just declared that I hate Rogers, I don't mean people named Roger. I mean Rogers Communications. In case you live somewhere that doesn't have Rogers screwing up your life, it's one of the big cable/phone/internet providers in Canada. They own half of our country. Okay, maybe not half. But they own a lot.

Now, I have had a love/hate relationship with them for quite some time. But, there's only two companies I can get my phone and internet from - the other being Bell Canada, and I hate them even more. I can rant about them another time. Today, it's all about R.C.

So, we got new neighbours and the Rogers technician came to hook them up with all their stuff on Saturday. I know, who cares, right? Well, the incompetent idiot who came to hook the stuff up left all these plastic and metal bits on our lawn in the backyard, trampled our veggie garden and then knocked out the sattelite wires to the television in the living room. (It's because of my loathing for all things Bell and mostly Rogers that we have a sattelite with another company, that unfortunately does not provide the other two services.)

After spending an hour with our sattelite provider, we put two and two together that the reject from Rogers was responsible for our lack of tv. For whatever reason, my husband hates calling companies and telling them that they suck, so he leaves it to me. I think it's because he'd rather me be on the phone for hours. Fairplay. If I thought of it first, I'd do it to him.

After hours (literally, like 2 hours) on the phone, being transferred to five different departments, I was informed that a complaint would be lodged and someone would look at it. Really? That's the best you can do, Rogers?

Apparently, it is. We've been without sattelite for 3 days now (not such a big deal, we only watch a few shows in the evening, but still!) and we're not sure if the technician from our company is going to show up or not tomorrow. We had to clean up the mess in the backyard. Not incompetent douchebag. And we got nothing.

This evening a representative from Rogers called to follow up with my complaint. I asked them if they were going to give me anything for my time that I wasted on the phone with them, the inconvenience of having to wait around for some other guy to fix my sattelite, and cleaning up after the loser that left stuff all over the lawn. Nope. They just wanted to let me know that they got the complaint.

Seriously? What. The. Fuck. I had totally been over this whole episode, but Rogers managed to make me angry all over again. And they wasted another 20 minutes of my time. If I had Rogers cable, then they could make an adjustment on my television bill, but because I only have their other two services, then I'm ineligible to receive any sort of compensation.

I totally hung up on the woman. I just couldn't talk to her anymore. I didn't want to hear her apologies, or her empathisizing. Because, really? She doesn't care. And all I want to know, is what happened to customer service? Is this really an acceptable way to treat customers? Is Jerry the messy douche really going to be reprimanded for his bad behaviour? I doubt it. And the thing of it is, is that I just have to suck it up.

Oh. And blog about it.

At the end of the day, these big corporations are all about the bottom line, and when there are only 2 major players, they really don't care about the individual. Because they know that no matter how bad they treat you, your options are limited.

If I wasn't so addicted to "Community", "Coronation Street", "How I Met Your Mother" and "Chuck" I'd totally go off the grid. Totally.