Friday, October 28, 2005

Oktoberfish!

Well, it's been a fairly miserable week, work-wise. I keep thinking that I am in desperate need of a vacation only to realize that I just had one. *mutter*

On the plus side:
  • I'll be in Toronto for Halloween, which should be good times
  • I'm giving away more than $25,000 worth of stuff tomorrow morning, which should also be good times
  • Tomorrow afternoon is...get ready for it...OKTOBERFISH!!!, which should be unbelievably good times. Wheee!!!

Liberated at 7:07 p.m.

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Monday, October 24, 2005

*groan*

In the past week, I have:
  • slept less than three hours on three different nights
  • worked every day
  • drank too much
  • not eaten a single meal involving fresh fruits or vegetables of any kind.
I think I am now dying. Or, at the very least, I am uncomfortably sick. Apparently my body is trying to tell me something.

Now please excuse me while I slink back into bed.

Liberated at 5:58 p.m.

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Friday, October 21, 2005

Um. What?

There are some people in this world who should not be allowed to procreate, lest they pass on their extreme idiocy on to their poor, unsuspecting children. One such person is the delivery man that I dealt with today.

We get a lot of deliveries to our office here in town. Mostly, the office administrator deals with them, but when she's on lunch they fall to me, largely because my desk is the next closest one to the front door. So, usually when someone pulls up in a delivery truck and grumbles "sign", I think nothing of it.

Today, a truck pulls up into the parking lot and the driver jumps out. I should have known that he would be a problem as soon as he walked into the office, saw I was on the phone, and started talking to me anyway. So he goes back to his truck to unload his cargo, and then comes back to me for a signature. Since I cannot see the front area from my desk, I make the assumption that "delivery" includes bringing said cargo *inside* the office.

Boy was I wrong.

When I hear the customary "have a nice weekend!" shouted through the front door, I return it from my desk, however my usual curiousity gets the better of me and I go to see what we got.




It seems that the delivery has been left in the parking lot. "That's odd," I think. Now I know that the boxes are on a skid (palette) which means they were on a dolly, and there is a curb in the way, but at each end of the strip mall - and in plain sight, I might add - the sidewalk is wheelchair/stroller/delivery dolly accessible.

Since this guy has long since gone, I figure that I'll have to bring the boxes in myself...the guys in the office are on a conference call, and I figure they can't be too heavy. Besides, I'm tough...

Just in case you can't read that, here is a close-up:


That's right. The delivery driver left a 722 lb. box in the parking lot for us to deal with, because he couldn't find his way up the ramp at the end of the sidewalk.

Long story short, there was much yelling and swearing at the delivery company by our Project Manager, but we ended up (and by "we" I mean, 5 of us) managing to get the boxes inside.

But seriously, who does that?!? If the office wasn't chock full of burly construction men at the time, somebody would have been spending the weekend baby-sitting the several thousand dollars worth of transmission equipment sitting in the parking lot of a strip mall until a forklift had shown up.

Idiot!




Liberated at 4:54 p.m.

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Wednesday, October 19, 2005

uncharted's October *heart* list

I *heart*:
  • my amazing friends, without whom I'd probably be lying in a gutter somewhere cradling a bottle of cheap vodka;
  • the coffee smell that invades your car after you leave the drive-through window at Timmy's, even though you never order coffee;
  • the fact that I can actually count, in days, how soon I'll be home;
  • the Y, and all of the slightly crazy people there;
  • London, in its entirety - even the slums had charm;
  • that G-town may be the best thing that has ever happened to me, as odd as it seems;
  • driving. Everywhere.
  • that I have finally gotten my perspective back. It took a conspicious leave of absence about 2.5 years ago, and has finally clawed its way back into my head.
  • the fact that I'm actually looking forward to returning to classes;
  • that I don't let the little things bother me nearly as much as I used to;
  • the deer who live in my yard;
  • that I've finally started remember to post on this blog, having spent far too much time posting elsewhere.


Liberated at 8:16 a.m.

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Can I sell the movie rights?

Blog, have I ever told you about the house I'm living in? No? (And yes, I realize that "blog" can't reply. "Blog" isn't something that can make up responses on its own).

So, I live in a big old house in the woods. Literally. The couple who owns it (and apparently half of town, while they're at it) lives on the main floor, and there are five separate apartments on the second and third floors. This house, as you can probably tell, is *huge*...each apartment is at least 800 square feet, never mind the space that the owners live in. The grounds are surrounded by woods, and contain a barn and stables, some walking paths, about a billion squirrels, a family of deer and no light whatsoever after dark.

My house should be in some sort of horror movie plot. The owners are, shall we say, eccentric and I only hear their Doberman barking very late at night. There are supposedly people in all of the other apartments, but I *never* hear them. Occasionally, there are other cars parked on the grounds...but mostly my poor Jeep sits all by itself. There used to be a guy about my age living in the apartment next to me who drove a ridiculous looking little Saturn complete with flames...but he disappeared without a word.

The current guy in ol' FlameBoy's apartment has developed a very creepy habit of staring at me as I get out of my car after work. Try to picture this: as I walk towards the apartment doors from my car, I can look up to find a tuft of hair and pair of eyes peering through the shutters at me daily. I'm pretty sure that he knows that I can see him, and yet he still keeps on staring. Then I rush past his apartment, into my apartment, and quickly lock and chain my door.

The place is also teeming with insects, especially spiders. Now I realize that it's just the reality in a big, old house in the middle of the woods...but this house is *really* starting to push it. I have to do a daily bug patrol with my vacuum, and have become a bug removal pro - yes, those of you who know me should be extremely impressed that I can now actually dispose of these guys on my own. The particularly disturbing part is the window-spiders, however. I have to keep every single curtain in my apartment closed because of the window-spiders - the scenery is beautiful, but the window-spiders are not. Luckily, they're on the outside...but they're still more than creepy. I once looked out my bedroom window and counted 34 spiders busily making webs around my window frame.

Giant, old house in the middle of the woods
+
Crazy owners w/ Doberman
+
Creepy pair of eyes and tuft of hair
+
Tenants that no one ever sees or hears
+
Thousands of window-spiders
+
Moth invasions (that story will have to be for another post)
=
Very awesome horror movie

Anyone? Anyone at all? No? Alright, then...


Liberated at 2:03 a.m.

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Tuesday, October 18, 2005

"It's no exaggeration to say that the undecided could go one way or another."
-- Dubya


Someone emailed me this quote today, and I just couldn't help but post it in honour of my upcoming trip across the border. Thank you, Mr. President, for such an insightful statement. But enough of making fun of ol' Dubya for now...

I have a problem. I over-analyze *everything* - I spend far too long letting lists of pros and cons rattle around in my brain, doubting everything that I've previously thought, and then starting all over. This is certainly not uncommon behaviour, but that's not where it ends.

My real problem is that I actually make split-second decisions on pretty much everything. My first thought on something is generally my final decision, with *very* few exceptions. I'd like to tell you that it's because I over-analyze so quickly and efficiently, that I make a well-informed and logical decision in that split-second. In reality, the agonizing over a particular decision occurs *after* the decision has already been made - in essence, I drive myself crazy for no reason at all.

Now, for those who know me, you'll know that I'm a relatively intelligent and sensible person. Someone asked me last night why I do this...and I had absolutely no good answer for him. I wonder if it's because I lack confidence in the decisions I make...but I don't think that's the case. I wonder if it's because my brain likes the extra work...but that doesn't sound right. So...I still have no good answer.

From those that I petitioned today, the two most common answers were:
  • Because you're a girl; and
  • Because you're crazy.

Point taken.

Liberated at 3:25 a.m.

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Sunday, October 16, 2005

Cookie rival...

It seems that ol' Ralphie (or, more accurately, Mustafa) can read my mind. Who would have thought that I'd miss Alberta so much...

(And please excuse the post-it notes covering my info...I'm not so much about posting all of my personal details online these days)



And thanks to Mustafa for the best piece of mail (well, paper mail - I just got a giant box full of yummy holiday treats from my family) that I've gotten in ages!

Liberated at 11:59 p.m.

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Tuesday, October 11, 2005

Back.

*sniffle*

While I was gone all the leaves turned, the two baby deer who live in my yard seem to have turned into grown-up deer, and the two-year construction fiasco on the bridge into town actually seems to have neared the end.

Liberated at 5:14 p.m.

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This blog originates in Edmonton, in the wasteland that is Alberta, in the Great White North.

uncharted@gmail.com


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