Oh, hai again! Been awhile, hasn't it?

So March is nearly here. Bout frickin time...

For someone who doesn't possess a wardrobe, it shouldn't come as any surprise that I can't wait for Spring.

Especially when I get dragged taken on Winter excursions. Like the outing to the Zoo when it was a balmy -30 C, for example.

Oh sure, everyone had on thick coats, mitts and hats.

But me? Oh, gee, thanks for the teensie tiny scarf. At least my neck kept warm. Well, barely.

Fine. Take the damn photo quick. I'm frozen to this metal....
whaddya mean, "Don't look behind me?"

'Scuse me.... yeah you. Bandit-guy. Where's the Indoor Exhibits at?
Hmmmm. Won't squeal, eh? Oh, well, can't trust someone in a mask anyway.

Yo! Reindeer! Isn't ANYONE inside today???

Aw Crap.

Oh, sure, YOU like the snow. But this measly scarf, however stylish, is not doing anything heat-wise. My butt has turned into an icicle. For the love of fuzzy cats, won't you please point me in the direction of somewhere warm?

Hoo-rah! A tropical paradise!

Helloooo bats. Bats?????? Gah!!!!

Mwah, goat-thingy! Gotta go.... but don't worry. I'll be back.

As I was hunting down a stall this morning, I was pleased to discover one last opening on the first floor of the parkade.

Whoo Hoo!

The only problem - some jackass in the space to my right had pulled in as far left as He/She/It could possibly manage. Positioned right ON the yellow line.

And of course, He/She/It drives a honkin' E-normous black SUV. He/She/It had also had their front wheels turned at a nearly 90 degree angle, further demonstrating their lack of parking prowess.

But I pulled into the free spot anyway, perfectly (if I do say so myself; and had I had the foresight, would have taken a picture to document it) aligned between my two yellow lines.

So I guess I shouldn't have been too surprised when I returned to my car this afternoon to discover this on my windshield:



Ha!!! I laugh at you Parkade Bully!

I hope He/She/It had to climb into their "tank" from their stupid huge back hatch.

And I only wish I had been there to have witnessed it.


ETA: Note photo added!

I looked down just in time.

"Oh, come on!" I screamed to the heavens above. "This is getting ridiculous!"

Okay, so I am not the nimblest of people; I have acquired a reputation for slipping, stumbling, tripping and tumbling.

I still have bruises from falling down stairs and on icy sidewalks.

But the Cosmos obviously possesses a twisted sense of humour, for after I parked at work the other morning, I nearly stepped on this age-old slapstick symbol strategically placed in my path:

If I didn't know better, I'd swear the Cosmos is blatently ensuring further pratfalls a la Wile E. Coyote for its own sick entertainment.

Stupid Cosmos.

I swear I couldn't make up things that pepper my life with irony if I tried.

The other night we decided to have tacos for dinner. Easy peasy, no? Just fry up the ground beef in my new extra-deep electric skillet, add water and taco mix. Get out some cheese, tomatoes, lettuce, sour cream and salsa.

Heat up the shells in the toaster oven to make them all crispy-licious.

Voila! A great weeknight meal. One I can make with my eyes closed, I have served it so often.

Well, until *this* time that is.

Cooking with my eyes closed might not have been the best technique to use on this particular evening.

First, the damn oh-yes-I-am-new-so-I'll-work electric skillet had other plans. Obviously GE's QA Inspector Number 14 was asleep at the post when this item slipped by, because whilst cooking up the taco filling it begins to sputter and spark from it's underside.

Hmmm, I think to myself, it's not supposed to do that.

I am assuming it's not supposed to emit blue flames out the side of the pan either.

But it did. And with a last gasp, it sputtered, sparked and died.

Crap!!!

Being the eternal optimist that I am, I was pleased that at least dinner was cooked enough to eat. And *I* hadn't got cooked by blue flames either.

Which was a plus.

So I unplugged the now un-electric pan, continued with dinner preparations and pre-heated the toaster oven to crisp up the shells, when I spotted something more than the usual glowing orange element inside.

A small fire had broken out.

In the toaster oven.

Crap again!!!

Quick-thinking hubby carried the inferno into the garage whilst I dipped into my vast reservoir of blogger and firefighter knowledge; I ran for my camera, took a photo and THEN poured a cup of water on the still burning, albeit smaller flaming appliance.


Whoo Hoo! Dinner is served!

Yep, those sure were some hot tacos that night. But I was thankful the real Fire Department wasn't called.

I only had enough tacos for the three of us.

WHUMP!

"Are you okay?" the lady walking in front of me turned and enquired.

"Um, I think so."

Yup. I confirmed it. I was in fact on the ground.

I looked about the icy sidewalk and swore under my breath.

I couldn't believe it. This morning I had survived the worst ice conditions our city had seen in decades. Buses were canceled. Highways and rural schools closed. Traffic lights malfunctioned. But I had driven, albeit slowly, into work that morning unscathed save for an uncontrolled slide straight through a stop sign at the top of our street.

While the radio DJ reported tales of cars and even gravel trucks plunging into ditches, I sat safely in my office sipping hot coffee, proud I had made the journey many had decided simply not to undertake.

Until I LEFT work that is. My guard down now that the freezing rain had turned into regular rain, I was stunned and embarassed to find myself laying on the sidewalk outside the ER.


And as I winced at my battered knee, all I could think of was

"Crap! I better not have to go back inside Emerg... I haven't shaven my legs in a long, long time."

... it's not a pretty picture.

Yes, I fully admit I am Obsessive.

And Compulsive.

And Disorder-ly.

No, check that. I am quite Orderly. Too Orderly. So Orderly that I have to have everything neatly arranged at all times.

Especially at work.

For nearly 30 years, I've enjoyed the privacy of my own office. My very own haven to sort, priorize and file. And not only does the paperwork need to be put in it's place, so does my desk. I always position it so that I face the door.

Until I moved two years ago to a new building that is. With smaller offices and HUGE desks. Desks that were set up already... and gah! Facing The Wall!

And ever since, it has irritated me to no end that my back is to the door. Every day I deviously scheme on how the heck I can move it without anyone noticing. Or caring.

So yesterday I got it into my head that dammit I had enough. I was going to turn it around.

But in order to do THAT, I had to move my four-drawer file cabinet out of the way. And my shelving units. And take all my binders and toys off the shelves of the desk. And extract the desk drawers, remove everything from the desktop, unplug my computers (yes, two), printer, scanner, speakers, aquarium, yadda, yadda, yadda.

So no one could watch (and laugh), I did all this during lunch behind my locked door, manuevering everything inside my office like some kind of huge slider puzzle. I'm excellent at slider puzzles.

I was finally ready to move the desk.

So I grabbed one end to push. And failed.

Epic Fail.

I heaved. I yanked. I swore.

And that monolith moved a total of two inches.

Crap!!!!!

I had to resign myself to the fact that before I:

1) Somehow broke the desk

or

2) Somehow broke me,

I gave up and spent the rest of the quickly-dwindling lunch hour putting everything back.... cursing to myself.

And I returned to work, sweaty and still facing that damn wall.

Nope. It wasn't a pretty picture at all.