Every day it mysteriously showed up.

Unwanted and unpaid for.

But there it was... just waiting for me to partake of its offerings.

In a new marketing ploy (I would venture to guess), The Pushers thought they could get me hooked if I just got used to having it at my fingertips.

But I wouldn't give in. I get my news off the internet, thankyouverymuch.

After about a week of freebies, it stopped just as mysteriously as it had begun. (Then again, I could have had a neighbor who was, at that very moment screaming at some poor Customer Support clerk complaining about their lack of daily home delivery... )

Ha! Nice try. The only part of the newspaper I want is the Saturday coloured comics, which are no longer a separate section, but now deviously hidden deep inside the pages, making the act of trying to find them akin to discovering the Fountain of Youth. The rest of the newspaper gets chucked straight into the recycle bin. I have no need for it at all.

Except for when I am painting. Oh crap! What the heck would I use if I had no paper to protect my carpet from the inevitable paint spills? Which, believe me, happens more often than I care to admit. I can bullseye that one square inch of unprotected carpet in-between the folds of Arts and Leisure and The Classifieds like William Tell.

So before I decide to stop purchasing even the Saturday edition, perhaps I should stock up on the Christmas flyers.

I've already had enough delivered this past week to last me, oh until 2012.

Now that I've implanted The Drifters into your head, I can tell you my story.

It's the story of a woman.

A woman to truly hates, with every fibre of her being, to nag.

But every year at this time, she found herself nagging.

"When are you going to put up the Christmas lights?" she would ask her hubby.

Then a week would pass without a response, and she would nag again.

"Are you going to put up the Christmas lights yet?"

Another week would pass as the neighbors colourfully lit up the street, but her home sadly remained a lone black hole.

Nag. Nag. Nag.

Well no more. This year she did it. She marched to Canadian Tire, purchased six sets of 25 light Cool White LEDs, six sets of white plastic clip thingys and while hubby was at work Saturday, screwed up her courage and went

Up On The Roof

Yep she did it!

At first she was nervous; but she pulled herself off the top of the ladder and onto the garage roof; scootching safely around on her butt, clamping the lights onto the eaves, trying her best not to look down.

And then it happened. She told herself "if others can do it, so can I".

So she stood up and walked around, fearless... it was wonderful! It was invigorating! As the unseasonably warm wind whipped her hair about, she even stopped to watch hundreds of geese in flight from her perch in the sky.

She was suddenly a pro... clamp, clamp, clamp. Twist the cord, lay them flat, encircle the chimmney. Up the ladder, down the ladder. Stomp around the roof, sidestep the goose poop, over the peak, down the other side.

What a fantastic feeling of accomplishment. Now she'll never have to nag again.

Well, at least about the Christmas lights that is.

What is it about Mondays? Even though I drive a titch over the speed limit, cars were passing me like I was standing still this morning. Well bravo White Compact. In and out you weaved, just to end up one stinkin' car ahead. Well done. You win.

What's the rush? It's MONDAY!

No I wasn't going to play that game. I plodded on to work knowing full well I was early, keeping calm and relaxed as another work week began.

After pulling into my usual spot on the first floor of the parkade, I began my short walk to the office. Yet even inside the garage I couldn't help but notice people were STILL rushing.

Rushing to get their usual parking spots too, I would venture to guess.

As I watched a silver Four Runner zoom in, I was startled when it stopped suddenly with a loud "Bam!" just in front of me.

He hit the concrete wall.

Ha! I couldn't believe it. He really did hit the concrete wall!

After a moment, the driver got out to inspect the damage. Holy crap... it was one of our surgeons.

Don't laugh... don't laugh... don't laugh...

Oh hell. I couldn't help myself.

I laughed.

I just hope his perception is far more acute in the OR than it is in the parkade.

It was a typical day at work; I was running errands around the hospital to break up the mind-numbing number-crunching that kept me chained to my desk all morning. However, little did this mild-mannered employee realize that Fate would soon disrupt her usual routine and test her SuperHuman Powers of intellect and strength.

As I stepped aboard the Emergency Room elevator to return to my office, I was joined by three patients headed for the second floor. Unfortunately, the nervous lady last in couldn't figure out where exactly she needed to go, for instead of just pressing "2", she proceeded to slam each and every &%^*#&'ing button on the panel. As the doors closed, I sensed trouble was afoot; I spyed the floor indicator display as it began to flash...

... and wasn't the least bit surprised that we were headed nowhere fast.

Blast! The Evil Elevator had us in it's clutches!

It wouldn't go up.

It wouldn't go down.

It wouldn't respond to the Open Door button!

Profanity spewed from Nervous Lady informing us that she would "freak out in about two seconds". Apparently, she was two seconds ahead of her freaking-out schedule. The other passengers - two elderly gentlemen, simply stared into space.

As the only employee, I sprang into action. Hitting the "Help" button, I got on the intercom and informed the Operator of our predicament. While she put me on hold waiting for a response from Security, I thought the soothing elevator music that was piping in through the speaker would, at the very least, calm Nervous Lady a tad.

It did not. After being informed that someone was on their way, a further stream of four letter words flew from her mouth.

It was then that I noticed the door had a crack of light showing through... so I stepped forward, squeezed my fingers in between the steel barrier and wall and pulled with all my SuperPower.

Success! Luckily we weren't between floors; I was able to pry open the door so that all the captives inside would enjoy the sweet, sweet taste of freedom once more.

And without a word of gratitude from any of them, the three patients exited, asking for directions to the nearest stairwell.

"No thanks are necessary, my good citizens!" I exclaimed.

(No I didn't have the guts to actually say that. Instead I pushed my mild-mannered glasses up on my nose and pointed them in the right direction).

As the rescue forces arrived (erm, two Security guards) I assured them we were all okay, but that the elevator was out of commission. Their casual grunt of acknowledgement was less than I expected.

Oh well.

At least my secret identity is still intact.

It happened four days ago.

I was uncharacteristically running ahead of schedule that morning; which allowed me the extreme pleasure of driving into work on nearly deserted roads.

As I turned from the highway into the suburbs, a flash at the corner of my right eye caught my attention. A golden-yellow blur was rushing from the grassy clearing and was on a direct course to cross my path. Believing it to be a Retriever or large Labrador leaping in great strides, I slowed to avoid a collision.

But as I approached, I gasped. It was a deer. A very large and majestic Doe.

Since there was no one else around, I honked in short bursts to gently warn her. She came to an abrupt halt right at the side of the road in front of me; with just meters separating us, we stared at each other as three yearling does appeared from nowhere to gallop up and stand behind her.

The blogger in me yearned to pull out my camera, but as it was pitch black outside I didn't want to scare the four beautiful creatures. Instead I sat and admired the pack as they blinked and padded the ground. Regretfully I slowly continued on to work.

So you'll just have to be satisfied with this "artist's interpretation" instead of a photo:

With a huge smile, I couldn't help but think it was going to be a good day.

Then about four hours later, I happened to win tickets to this weekend's very important Blue Bomber football game:

Yup, my lucky number just to happens to be 4.

How'd you guess?

Each year I do it.

I tell myself not to, but myself doesn't listen. Ever.

As soon as the Halloween candy appears on store shelves (sometime in July, I believe) I begin to stockpile for October 31st. To lessen the pain, I usually purchase one or two bags at a time, making sure that there is:

1) At least ONE extra bag of Rockets

2) At least ONE bag of good chocolate bars that we like (Peanut Butter Cups, Crispy Crunch and Oh Henry's).

and

3) Enough candy for oh, the entire city.

For you see, I seem to constantly be under the delusion this is still the 90's when we would be under seige by hundreds of Trick or Treaters. Nowadays we are lucky if we have a few dozen screaming at the door.

But do I adjust my shopping levels? Ha! Don't be silly! I live in a nightmarish fear of "running out".

BTW, we have NEVER "run out" of Halloween candy.
So I end up with bowls of candy left over and even unopened bags to be safely hoarded stowed in my desk drawer at work.

Which is a shame.

Really.