Foiled Assassination #1

This past week was a little rough. I've certainly had worse, but one annoyance after another seemed to sprout out at me like moths to a flame, and the only thing I could do was sigh and wonder "is it over?". Wednesday morning was particularly irritating, but by the end of the workday there was a light at the end of the tunnel. The sweet taste of a victory was consuming my senses which for one reason or another, made me feel a little parched. I had already shut down my computer and had my purse and lunch bag thrown over my shoulder when I decided that one last swig of my water bottle would be satisfying. I pick up the aluminum bottle, brought the small opening to my lips and threw my head back, guiding the water bottle along the same path so that water could flow freely into my mouth. Hmmm. What is this solid I feel amidst the cool, refreshing water? I quickly reviewed the last five minutes of my life to see if I had eaten something, anything that would have maybe left a little piece of itself in a tooth. Nothing. Knowing that I wasn't going to be swallowing anything in my mouth until I knew what that solid was, I cupped my hand infront of my face and spat everything I had into it, to discover this:

Which, at the time of course, looked like this:

This thing was IN MY MOUTH you guys.  For real.

 

 

So of course my initial reaction was to scream - this high-pitched short-lived scream which was mistaken for a sneeze by one of my coworkers.  I corrected her while continuously horking and spitting into the garbage, trying to rid myself of the fly's vomit which I was sure was infecting my mouth as we spoke.  When I felt like anymore spitting would result in the release of my own bile, I called it quits and moved on to tactic #2 - gum.  Piece after piece after piece of gum was devoured until I had a wad of it so big it put a jawbreaker to shame.  I figured this would tide me over until I could get home and brush my teeth, but even then, I was sure that unless I used a strong bleach mixture, my mouth was never going to feel clean again. 
Unfortunately, I was right.  This fly has scarred me from water which I think was it's master-plan all along.  The fly must've been perched somewhere around my workspace, plotting how he was going to take me out.  He knew that even if he were to vomit and defecate his little heart out all over my taste-buds, he alone may not be enough to make me violently ill and ultimately cause my demise.  On his own little kamikaze mission he plunged himself into the shadows of my water bottle, knowing that as soon as I discovered a fly in my water, I would never want to drink water again and would die of dehydration.  Either that or he was hoping to survive and lay eggs in my stomach for his little maggoty larvae to eat me from the inside out.  Either way, he has successfully managed to alter my drinking habits, and I'm sure that if he were alive today, he would tell you that this pleases him.  (Now would be the time that I would point out that he's not alive today because I drank the little fucker!).  Was it worth it Mr. Fly?

Toto, We're Not In Kansas Anymore

The Setting: Our golf course, last Sunday.
The Players: Myself, Ryan, and my Father-in-Law.

We were making a weak attempt at a round of golf the day after Ryan and I had spent a family-fun day at the zoo. The zoo-day was hot, sunny and also included embarrassing rounds of tether-ball and several games of volley-ball (in which yours-truly was an undefeated volleyball champion. Naturally.). Translation? Exhausting. (*Note: no Tapir's. Too bad.)
So the next morning we're out on the course - it's mostly sunny with a few non-threatening clouds appearing here and there to block the sun. Initially, these were a wonderful reprieve from the UV rays that were just screaming "Skin Cancer for everyone!" as they beat down on us. Around the 8th fairway I hear the guys a couple holes ahead say "I'm getting the hell out of here!". My first assumption was that they saw my exhausted awesome skills and thought "Man, that chick is making me feel bad about my game"- and so they were going to high-tail it out of there to salvage their 'manly dignity'. That was when I realized the sun-overdose from the day before had officially made me delusional and when I checked back into reality I noticed they were looking up. I followed their gaze to find this:


I realize for some people, the funnel cloud is just part in parcel with your everyday storm. These are a considered a rarity 'round these parts, and thus, camera worthy.

Now, the funnel didn't get much bigger than you see in this photo here, and so it certainly didn't make it to the ground. Not so exciting, right? So why post it you ask? I found it interesting that the potential for a tornado above our heads didn't cause any sort of physiological or emotional reaction for me. I didn't feel afraid or panicked, and I didn't envision us being scooped up by a twister and violently thrown down on the spikes of a white picket fence 3km away (honest.). I do however start sweating instantly when I know I have to go down the stairs (since I seem to fall down them. A lot.), I panic when I'm in the elevator and keep a finger hovered over the stop button. I also refuse to stand and strongly discourage Ryan from standing under the fan in the ceiling of the elevator. I've been on that ride "Tower of Terror" - and so I know that the second the elevator starts to plummet, the 'inhabitants' of said elevator are instantly going up due to the absence of gravity. Would you want to be standing under a fan when that happens? If you would have otherwise survived the fall, your head going through a rotating fan would be pretty disappointing. Finally, a new fear that has recently sprouted that I realize seems completely unwarranted is air conditioners. I am horrified walking to the back door of my building or driving under the balconies for fear of having an air conditioner fall out of a window just to land on me or on my car and come crashing through the roof, killing whoever happens to be underneath it. These are the things I worry about. A twister? Seems like small beans to me in comparison.

Also? I'm pretty sure the KGB is after me - or rather, trying to communicate with me under the guise of spam-mail. I've received several e-mails to my work address that resemble the following:

kgbkoockdiphicedeikgbhiincnlld@email.travelalerts.ca

This is what I get from this e-mail: (Note: I never actually open the e-mail. I mean this is the KGB people, they're not going to send an everyday e-mail. Everything I need to know is coded in the e-mail address. This is why I'm the chosen one, y'all.)

"KGB" = is not what you think it is - it is how they address me, and it stands for "Kind, Gentle Beauty" (those Russians may seem hardcore, but they're romantics at heart ya know).
"Koock" - I assume "Koock" to be the codename of one of the KGB enemies located in my area.
"Diphiced" = Since these Russians are technically ESL students, this is kind of their dyslexic way of writing "deciphered". So they're starting to tell me that this "Koock" character is onto the correspondence method of choice. Oh shit.
"KGB" = "KGB". Duh.
"hiincnlld" = "Hi! Intel cancelled." Basically, this means they wanted to drop me a line to let me know they're still interested (hence the "Hi!"), but that because of this "Koock" guy's antics, they're going to have to withhold communications from me for a while.
To be honest with you? This is fine by me.
Loony Out.

When getting dressed for work this morning, I could not have foreseen the following conversation taking place between myself and my friend K via text message this afternoon:

(BACK STORY: I discovered a shirt in my closet that I forgot I had and decided that today would be the day I'd take it out for a spin to see if we still agreed with each other. While at work I happened to look down once and noticed that there was an exceptional amount of cleavage/boobage showing, but desperately needed a second opinion. Hence the following...)

I apologize for the poor quality photo, but it was taken with the camera on my phone, and given the fact that I was trying to take a picture of my scantily clad chest while in the middle of the office, I wasn't going for quality. I was looking simply to get the photo before some of my co-workers came by and saw what I was doing. I'm technically still on probation you know.

So I send her the picture asking her opinion on the professionalism (or lack thereof) of the wardrobe selection for the day.

K: OMG no you did not?!?! It's kinda hard to tell...might be on the cusp.

ME: 'No I didn't' what?

K: Take a pic of your cleave and send it to me...but obviously you did.

Me: Yes I did..you can share it with friends around the office if you'd like. (Don't judge - those people have no idea who I am. I was kidding, but I mean c'mon...if I'm posting the picture on the internet, then I'm pretty sure that already qualifies me for amateur cyber-pornstar status.)

K: I'm sure Jared* would love me to send this to him! (*Some names have been changed to protect identities and sexual conquests)

Me: Well you don't want to show the boobs of another girl to the guy you were just with last night. C'mon K!

K: I know...especially because they're nice ones!

Me: Awww...thanks! I'm flattered that you like my boobies!

K: Although when I look at that pic quickly it kinda looks like something else...

Me: Don't say a butt....

K: Nope....vajayjay.

Me: (horrified!) MY BOOBS LOOK LIKE A CROTCH TO YOU?! No one thinks a crotch looks good! Oh, this is horrible!

K: (scrambling to cram her foot in her mouth) Just when I looked at it fast!!! They don't normally look like that!

Me: OMG, what if people around the office think the same thing?! What if I'm known as the girl with the "Crotch chest" and don't even know it? People might be calling me "Vagina Boobs" and lord help me if I ever grow an errant hair in the area! Oh my god this is terrible!

K: Hahaha omg you're making me laugh out loud!!!!
(Ed Note: can I please mention how even though at this moment I'm wanting to beat this girl senseless, I'm secretly loving her because she actually wrote out "laugh out loud" in a text instead of the ever-so-popular "Lol"?)

Me: This is no laughing matter! Did you set this all up so you could laugh at your crotchy-chested friend?

K: Yup!! It's been planned for a while now. 'Cause I knew you were going to send me that pic...
(I think I detected a hint of sarcasm behind that text...)

Me: You're a twisted individual K...no wonder we're friends. But hey - silver lining? At least it's my chest that looks like a cooch and not my face, right?

Me: Right??....??

I'll Huff and I'll Puff and I'll just watch your house fall down because it's a piece of crap...

As our frustrations about apartment living continue to build momentum, we've been spending our weekends for the last month or two looking at houses. Overall, we haven't been having much success (obviously, since we're still here). There have been three houses that have caught our attention (okay, I lied - there have been more than that, but only three that counted because the rest were the 'fun' open houses we went to of houses well beyond our price range).

House 1 of 3: We eventually ruled out because of the following (today is all about the listing apparently...)
1. Lack of a front closet. This sounds so stupid, but in our place in Toronto we didn't have a front closet and it got pretty annoying - especially in a Canadian winter.
2. The fact that there's no door leading directly to the backyard. This will prove to be an issue when it comes to Toby. While it's not a far walk, it would be an ongoing pain in the ass to have to walk him out to the backyard everytime he needed to do some business. Most humans with pups tend to have a door that goes right into the backyard which they use to let the pooch out and in. This is the kind of convenience we're looking for here.
3. It's kind of an illegal duplex. There's a full apartment in the basement, but it's not zoned as a property that is legal to have such a thing. The current owners rent to some pot-smoking college students. So to live there we'd either continue with the trend of the illegal tenants or look into getting the house all up-to-legal-standard - and I looked into it? It's a pain in the ass. I'd rather carry on with the illegal activity and be all super-badass.

House 2 of 3: Is awesome - so awesome that it sold right out from under us. So sad.

House 3 of 3: Is one of those houses that we knew would not be with us for too long. It's not an exceptionally large place, but it had just been flipped and was located halfway between the university and the college - meaning we'd live there for 3 or 4 years and then use it as a rental property for students. So we went back to look at this place for a second time. It was at this point we got a copy of the prelisting home inspection arranged for by the seller. The realtor who was showing us the house decided to be helpful and show us the two small things that the inspection references. I took a copy of this inspection for myself so that I could comb it through, and these are the alarming things I found, no thanks to the realtor. - (Yay! Another list!)
1. The first page does a lot of talking about how "the water and runoff drain should be aimed away from the foundation to reduce the risk of water infiltration".
Off to a good start....
2. "The finishing trim on several of the windows are poor". This is one of the things the realtor decided to point out to us. This? Is an understatement. In some spots there was about an inch of space between the trim and the window. The realtor was trying to justify it by explaining that there was plenty of materials under the siding to have the water just slick right down to the base of the house (where, apparently it's aimed INTO the foundation and likely to result in water filtration). He was also helpful in pointing out that the house next door was close enough that we'd need some pretty vicious wind and rain to affect these windows at all. Nice try, Mark.
3. The level of insulation in the attic is substandard - get an insulation contractor in to quote you asap. It's always a good sign when by page two of the half-assed inspection they advise you to start consulting contractors.
4. Under the heading for the foundation wall - "Mortar joints are deteriorating". This is another thing that realtor Mark decided to show us - Ryan went along for the trek to the back part of the basement where as he put it "The wall was crumbing". Can we say $$$??
5. My personal favourite: (also? one that Mark was not inclined to point out to us upon our visit) "Basement floor joists and beams are not standard style of construction...repairs have been undertaken by different owners over the years and workmanship appears substandard...reinstall proper posts or bearing walls on some of the stress points." While it's typical to form for me to have some smartass comment in response to this, I truly have no words this time. All I can say is good luck selling this house.

There were other smaller things identified in the prelisting inspection, but the inspector had identified right in the start that it was only a 2-3hr inspection and was not inclusive of building code standards - so I can only imagine what else would come up with a proper inspection. It's unfortunate that the real estate world is now inundated with people who are looking to make a quick buck by flipping houses without having the expertise to do it properly. Window trim we would've been able to deal with - and the fact that the furnace is likely to die out in the next 2-5 years we could handle as well...but mortar and joists are a little more than we're looking to handle at this point in time.

Back to the MLS listings.....