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.

Hope in All Corners

With all of the negative stories that bombard us from all corners of the media - the time spent on telling us what's wrong with the world, it's hard to imagine that there's anything right with the world. It becomes difficult to believe that there is something beside the downfall of humanity lurking around every corner. Too easily, we can become caught up in the murders, the wars, the riots, the pain. And then, with little fanfare, and if we look hard enough, we can find hope.

I struggle every day to not become disillusioned with humanity when all I see is pain. But, I hold on to one moment, one tiny moment in time, that reminds me of the good in this world. Let me tell you a story.

It was September of 2001, shortly after the 9/11 attacks and I had been working in a tiny village in the north of Scotland. I had just left to go and visit some friends in Manchester before returning to collect my stuff and moving to Belfast. It was a beautiful day, I was reading and writing in St. Anne's Square, waiting for my friend to get off work, looking forward to catching up and drinking more than my fair share of pints.

And then my phone beeped, alerting me to an incoming text message. It was from my friend Beth* asking me if I had heard about my two bosses who were also part of my surrogate family. I thought she was joking around, so I sent a cheeky text back. The one I received in return said, "Call me."

My world came crashing down. Liam and Marcus had been in a car accident, and Liam was dead. It had been a head-on collision and the family in the other car was also dead. Marcus was in the hospital, they weren't sure of the extent of his injuries.

I don't remember the rest of our conversation.

I called my mother in Canada, desperate to hear her comforting words and asked if it was okay to come home- I just needed her to hug me, to make me feel safe. She offered to pay for the ticket, a one-way ticket. I thanked her, but I couldn't come home permanently yet. The next person I called was my flatmate - a sweet guy who alternately acted as my father and my brother as the situation called for. He was just coming down the mountain and had seen a wreck from where he'd been, but hadn't known anything. He asked me what he could do, and said that I could stay at the flat as long as I wanted even though he already had a new flatmate.

My visit was cut short, but I stayed the night and went to the train station the next day. I was barely keeping it together. The attendant waived the fees for switching my ticket early, but I think he just didn't want to get the counter wet from my tears.

I headed into the bathroom, hoping to make myself look a little more presentable, and to stem the rivers that were leaking from my eyes. Women gave me a range of looks from curiosity, to pity to disgust. But not one asked me what was wrong. I sat slumped against the wall beside my backpack, feeling utterly alone.

And then a girl not much younger than my 24 years crouched down beside me.

"Please tell me you're not crying over a bloke, because he's not worth it," she said, a kind smile upon her face.

"No," I managed to choke out. "My mate's just been killed in a car crash and I need to get back to Scotland."

She reached out and touched my arm, before going to get some tissue. She thrust them at me and I mopped up my face and smiled gratefully at her for the small kindness.

The girl studied me for a moment. "Do you mind if I hug you? I think you could use a hug."

I shook my head. Right then I desperately needed a hug, to feel connected to something real. She hugged me for what seemed an eternity and I felt myself calming down, breathing, and could pick up traces of unscrambled thoughts. I felt anchored. It felt like it lasted for hours, and I really don't know how long it did.

She pulled away, a look of regret on her face. "I'm so sorry I have to go, but my train is leaving in a couple of minutes. You'll be okay, I promise."

And she disappeared.

In that quiet moment between two strangers, there was love. Not love borne of knowing someone all your life, or familial, or romantic. Just the love that lives in your heart every day, that you put into the little things you do--the smiles you give out to the check-out girl, holding the door open for the person behind you, picking up something that the person in front of you dropped.

Little things that make us human.

And so, what have we learned? That there is hope in the corners. Whether it be a community of writers rallying support and money for one of their own who needs help paying for chemo and prescriptions at the SupportStacie Auctions, the thousands of people from around the world who were touched by a secret at PostSecret and urged someone not to jump, or whether it's a post about a red dress that inspires the people who read to not be afraid, to make their own moments.

It's the little things that count. It is the small moments that we remember. So when you find them, hold on to them.


*not real names.