Fashion faux paw

This fashion nightmare was spotted shopping on Robson street earlier this month. Ignoring the fact that her relaxed perm clearly needs a brush-out, her warbrobe screams, "I'm trying to regain my puppy days" in a way that only highlights this bitch's (old) age. She's sporting hair clips and collar ornaments that only new-born pups or Harajuku dogs can pull off. She needs to trade those sneakers in for Aerosoles if she wants reality to throw her a bone...

Don't ruin a story for lack of embellishment

I've always thought of my dad as the answer man, the holder of all truths. When I was a kid I would inundate him with questions everywhere we went - and he always had an answer...and not just a canned or obviously fabricated answer, a legit one. He's a straight shooter, on whom you could count on for a no-nonsense anything. This was a sharp contrast to my mother, who, how do I say it, invented the hyperbole? I'm a pretty literal person, so I struggled sometimes not to call her out on her level of exaggeration, especially when I was around for the actual event that she was exaggerating about, and I would stand there thinking, "that wasn't what happened...." but somewhere along the way they seem to have rubbed off on one another, and I can no longer discern what is truth, and what is fabrication. And worse? They passed it on. I've found myself repeating stories or "facts" that they've told me and it is, quite frankly, whittling away my credibility.

My dad once told me that a bus-load of children on their way to a school event were buried in the Hope landslide. Years later, as my best friend and I were driving through Hope, BC, I shared this tidbit of information, passed on from the guru of information, my father. I even convinced her to stop at the landslide look-out point, so she could see the gravity of its devastation, as she had never heard of this slide. So there we are, standing at the look-out point, and I'm recounting the tearful story that my dad had told me as a child, and my friend is listening, but she's also concentrating on the info plaque that is in front of us.

"Bus-load of children, hey?" she says to me. "Because this plaque here says that four people were killed. And it doesn't sound like any of them were children."

In my dad's (and my own) defense, it was a devastating landslide, the biggest in Canada, in fact. This doesn't let him off the hook for giving me false information, though. Oh no, he ruined my random-fact-credibility factor, and I haven't let him live this down. We refer to the incident almost weekly in our household, using the phrase, "bus-load of children" as a sort of accusation to highlight any suspicion of exaggeration or inaccuracy.

I am now very careful to research any and all "facts" that my parents tell me before I pass them on.

First Class Mail and Shit my mom says pt 2

I came home last night to two very wonderful surprises: 1) a note from my mother, and 2) a summons for jury duty.

Now, I know that neither of these things may seem very "wonderful," but bear with me. Firstly, I must explain that I live at home, which has many downsides for a 27-yr old, but also many perks. Perks include: paying off the debt I accrued whilst obtaining two university degrees, allowing me to eke by on the poverty level wages that I earn from a job that required at least one of those degrees, having food in the fridge, living in a beautiful, nicely decorated home with a yard, having wicked parents that I call by their first names (makes 'em feel more like roommates), and getting notes like these from said parents/roommates:

(Okay, this probably needs some 'splaining. I had, ahem, a lady doctor appointment that day to talk about Mother Nature's lovely monthly gift to women. I had previously expressed strong concern and disappointment in being hurried through doctor's appointments, and being treated brisquely and with disinterest. This particular appointment had gone according to expectations, in that the doctor took the time to actually listen and answer questions...hence the note.)

Is it just me, or is this note particularly awesome? She could have said, "Glad the doctors appointment went well," or, she could have just left that part out altogether, but instead, regardless of who might see this note on the counter, she chose to use the words "gyno" and "attentive" in the same sentence. What a gem. This falls under the "shit my mom says" category for sure....

Secondly, next to the note, I had a stack of mail. Unless it's bills, mail is really exciting. The letter on top said,

"FIRST CLASS MAIL - OPEN IMMEDIATELY," and was from "Sheriff Services." So, my first thought was,

"we have sheriffs in Canada?"

I thought they only existed in America or on Halloween. Turns out, we do have sheriffs, and they dole out jury duty. Still failing to see how this is wonderful? Ya, me too actually. I was really only excited about it for the first ten minutes, because I hadn't really thought it through. I watch all kinds of crime dramas on tv and feel as if I'm an expert when it comes to the legal system now (ignoring the fact that most of those crime/courtroom dramas are American, and therefore irrelevant to the proceedings that I would be a part of as a juror, and also ignoring the fact that I didn't even know we had sheriffs. But seriously, don't you picture a western movie or the American midwest when you hear "sheriff"?) so naturally, I thought I would excel as a juror.

I have since smartened up, as I have done some light research and discovered that jurors are only provided $20/day for the first 10 days of their duty. Oh, and coffee and tea....those are provided.  Seriously?

So now I am on a quest to become an "undesirable candidate." My friend, Darla, suggested that it might actually be a great idea to talk about all the crime dramas I watch on tv:

"I've got this one in the bag. I watch Law and Order religiously and I can't wait to put him behind bars."

"Ms. Taylor, we haven't told you what the case is about yet."

"Doesn't matter, he's going down."

I like this idea. Accepting other escape-jury-duty ideas, so feel free to make suggestions.

Christmas Carols, you may now commence.

It is December 1st, and therefore a perfectly reasonable day to start listening to Christmas carols. 25 days of the same 20 or so songs in various arrangements by various artists is doable. 55 days (factoring in the entire month of November), however, is unreasonable. Imagine my surprise and disdain at the cheerful merriment of "Jingle Bell Rock" drifting into my unsuspecting ears while I was shopping  the week after Halloween. Before I fully realized what was happening, I was singing along; but, I had sense enough to nip that in the bud (where the hell does that phrase come from?) quickly, as I couldn't risk the possible insanity that might ensue if I was to keep that up for 55 days straight.
Jingle bells, jingle sells, jagged smells, farmer's dells..... blahblahblahblahblah
So I've been practicing selective hearing, and have switched my morning radio-alarm station from the soft faves of QM/FM, to my day-time favourite, The Peak, as the latter is much less likely to inundate me with The First, or Five Millionth Noel.

Neverthless, Christmas carols - I love 'em because I love to sing along and I know (basically) all the lyrics. So, carolers, you may begin.