So, this was a first:
Last Friday, on a whim, I replied to an employment ad on kijiji (Mistake #1) looking for a "leader, not a manager" and promising a salary of $50,000 - $70,000. What the ad failed to mention was the name of the company I possibly might be employed by (Mistake #2).
On Monday I got a phone call from the mystery employer, saying they were interested in setting up an interview with me and would I be available Tuesday at 10am? Since I was in the doctors office at the time, and was having a hard time understanding the person I was speaking to, I failed to catch the name of the company, but I did get the address and the name of the person who would be interviewing me. The closing remark by the person on the phone was "This is a professional environment, so dress sharp".
That night I Google mapped the address I had been given, and based on the google street view of the building, narrowed down the names of the companies listed on the sign to the company that I thought sounded most like the name of the company I had been told on the phone. Then I found their website and read a bit about the company, and otherwise prepared for my interview.
The next morning I got up early, did some more reading about the company, and managed to find an entire forum, which, to sum it up, basically told me not to bother, this company is a joke (!!!!). I decided to ignore the forum (Mistake #3) and that even though this job might not be for me, the interview would be good practice.
I dressed "sharp", and arrived at the office which was less than profession in appearance. Dirty carpet, cheap interior decoration etc. Then I noticed that the employees, the people that would be performing my interview, looked less like professionals and more like fraternity boys in suits. (This entire paragraph is Mistake #4)
I got invited into the office for my interview by one of the frat boys, and was told that another frat boy would be sitting in on the interview. The first frat boy asked me questions, while the second frat boy sat in the corner and played on his phone. I aced the interview, and was told that I could now move onto another part of the interview process where I would learn more about the company.
This is what I learned:
I would not move directly into a "leadership" position, instead I would start at the bottom of the company, and work my way up....and be paid by commission. Oh, and I would be selling life insurance. Yeah, that sounds exactly like the position I had applied for. Not.
At this point I realized what a joke this was, and decided I would just see how far I could get....after all, it would be good practice for future interviews. I sat through an hour of promotional videos (that looked like they had been made in PowerPoint) and then I was told that I would receive a phone call that night to let me know if the rest of the "management team" wanted me to move onto the next set of interviews.
That night I got my phone call, and was asked how I felt about the company and if I would be interested in working there. I decided to put the nail in the coffin (or so I thought) and said "I dont feel that this company is a good fit for me", to which Mr. So-and-so replied "Well, the management team didn't feel like you were a good fit either". End of conversation. Wrong.
About 20 minutes later, while I was driving to my yoga class, I got another phone call from the same Mr. What's-his-name, saying that he actually wanted to talk with me some more about my cover-letter, and see if he could talk me into taking the position. Wait, I thought the "management team" didn't think I was a good fit?! I told him I was currently driving and that I would have to call him back tomorrow (playing hard to get is fun, but Mistake #5).
The next day I called him back. He wanted to know why I wasn't interested in the job. I told him that the job ad completely misrepresented the job I was actually being offered, and that I had no interest in this job.
Him: "Oh, ok, I completely understand. So, do you spent most of your time in Ottawa, or do you spent more of it in Winnipeg."
Me: (Thinking this is weird, why is this conversation still happening?) "Blah blah blah, I travel back and forth, blah blah"
Him: "Well, since it wouldn't be a conflict of interest -"
Me: (Thinking he is going to offer to give my resume to someone else he might know...)
Him: " - I was wondering if I could be so bold as to ask you out for dinner"
Me: "Im actually engaged"
Him: "...."
Him: "Well he is a lucky guy. I guess this wouldnt work then."
Me: "Yes, I think my fiance might find it a little odd"
Him: "Oh, well I wish you the best in the future. I know you will be successful in whatever you do"
Me: "Thanks, you too"
Him: "Bye...."
Me: "Bye."
CLICK.
[Insert manic laughing here]
Priceless. I cant wait to see what my next job interview ends up like!
Thursday, January 23, 2014
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
The One Liner...
For those of you that rely on my blog to know what is going on in my life, this post probably won't make much sense, so let me update you quickly before going on to what I actually wanted to write about. Here is what is new (in order of relevance, not importance):
1. I got a puppy! ( This is relevant to this post) His name is Sir Ichabod Crane (Icky for short) and here he is:
2. I got engaged (to Charles, you may remember him from previous posts such as "Urine? Im Out.") (This is not relevant to this post, but will be the subject of a later one)
Now that you are up to date...
Charles and I were both home the other day. As I walked into the living room I caught Icky in mid-poop-crouch on the rug near his play pen.
It should go without saying that that is NOT where he was supposed to be going poop, and so I scooped him up and plunked him on his potty pads so he could finish his business.
At this point in the story it is critical to add that Icky has this cute, but somewhat unusual, habit of preferring to eat his kibble when it has been spread around on the ground. Food that has been sitting in his dish undisturbed for half a day suddenly becomes especially irresistible if it is removed from the dish and scattered across the floor. That being said, it isn't unusual to see fairly sizable quantities of kibble strewn across our living room floor at any given time.
I am not sure if anyone else has noticed this, but when you're looking for MIA (Missing In Action) poops without your glasses on, suddenly EVERYTHING on the floor, from raw-hide chews to remote controls, begins to look suspiciously like doo-doo, and kibble on the ground in small groupings is no exception.
To be sure what I was looking at wasn't just some rouge kibble, I took a step forward to get a closer look. As I did so I managed to place the middle of my right foot directly on top of a piece of dog dooty, strategically camouflaged by the dark rug it was on.
The sound that spew forth from my lips probably sounded a little like this:
AAaaaAAaaaRRRRrrrRRRGGGGGGHHHHHHEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!
Using the toilet paper that was supposed to be used for picking up poop, not wiping it off the bottom of my foot, I tried to remove the doo-doo the best I could and in the process managed to rip the TP and get some on my fingers. I requested that Charles, instead of laughing at me, go and get a baby wipe so I could cleaning off my hand/foot.
Instead of getting a baby wipe, Charles went into the kitchen to get me a wet nap that he had taken from Montana's (the restaurant).
He handed it to me and said:
1. I got a puppy! ( This is relevant to this post) His name is Sir Ichabod Crane (Icky for short) and here he is:
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| I have no idea what a dog this spoiled has to look so disgruntled about... |
2. I got engaged (to Charles, you may remember him from previous posts such as "Urine? Im Out.") (This is not relevant to this post, but will be the subject of a later one)
Now that you are up to date...
Charles and I were both home the other day. As I walked into the living room I caught Icky in mid-poop-crouch on the rug near his play pen.
 |
| "Mid-poop-crouch" |
At this point in the story it is critical to add that Icky has this cute, but somewhat unusual, habit of preferring to eat his kibble when it has been spread around on the ground. Food that has been sitting in his dish undisturbed for half a day suddenly becomes especially irresistible if it is removed from the dish and scattered across the floor. That being said, it isn't unusual to see fairly sizable quantities of kibble strewn across our living room floor at any given time.
I am not sure if anyone else has noticed this, but when you're looking for MIA (Missing In Action) poops without your glasses on, suddenly EVERYTHING on the floor, from raw-hide chews to remote controls, begins to look suspiciously like doo-doo, and kibble on the ground in small groupings is no exception.
To be sure what I was looking at wasn't just some rouge kibble, I took a step forward to get a closer look. As I did so I managed to place the middle of my right foot directly on top of a piece of dog dooty, strategically camouflaged by the dark rug it was on.
The sound that spew forth from my lips probably sounded a little like this:
AAaaaAAaaaRRRRrrrRRRGGGGGGHHHHHHEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!
Using the toilet paper that was supposed to be used for picking up poop, not wiping it off the bottom of my foot, I tried to remove the doo-doo the best I could and in the process managed to rip the TP and get some on my fingers. I requested that Charles, instead of laughing at me, go and get a baby wipe so I could cleaning off my hand/foot.
Instead of getting a baby wipe, Charles went into the kitchen to get me a wet nap that he had taken from Montana's (the restaurant).
He handed it to me and said:
Monday, September 17, 2012
How to Capture A "Rat Creature"
Something had been keeping me up at night. What is was, I didnt know.
All that I knew was that I had to discover what the creature scratching
and clawing its way around in the attic from 10pm-3am every night was,
and then evict it.
Since I am currently staying at my parents place, I informed them of our unwelcome guest. My mom called an exterminator who told us it would be about $600 to "get the job done". Maybe it is just me, but I have seen enough episodes of Billy the Exterminator to know that catching a random Rat Creature (the name that I decided to give the mystery beast.) isnt exactly rocket science, and so, I volunteered my dad and myself for the job.
Our mission? Find Rat Creature, capture him/her and remove him/her from the attic.
Since Billy the Exterminator wears ridiculous costumes to do his job, I figured that must be a key component in the fine art of exterminating.
Unfortunately since I shower regularly I was already at somewhat of a
disadvantage. Undiscouraged, I put together the best outfit I could find
for the job.
Rubber gloves, plastic bags to prevent insulation from getting into my shoes, some kind of scarf thing to help reduce the amount of junk I was breathing in....I know I look like a pro, but I swear this was my first time!
My dad also dressed up. He looks less like an exterminator and more like a cowboy-bandit-terrorist (they are the worst kind).
We got our tools ready: peanut butter, crackers and then set up the traps. (Ignore the hammer, it was only there in case something attacked me first.)
Then we left the traps and waited until morning to see if we had captured anything.
That night, as I lay in bed I heard the familiar scuffle of Rat Creature above me. I silently willed him to investigate the traps filled with delicious goodies. After about 5 minutes of shuffling sounds from above, all was quiet, and I fell into a restful nights sleep.
The next morning when I woke up, I immediately wanted to see if Rat Creature had been caught. I figured that if he had in fact been lured into the trap and been caught he would be thirsty from all that peanut butter and crackers (this is the kind of nice person I am)...
Up into the attic my dad went....
"Did we catch anything?!"
"Yep, we got something..."
Now, part of me really did want this thing to be a vicious, ugly, red eyed, sewer rat- it would have made the story that much better. Then we could have dropped some F-bombs and said things like "AAAAHHHH! IT GOTS ME!"...that didnt happen. Why? Because this is what we found.
I swear this guy was so adorable it took all my will power not to stick my fingers in there, scoop him out, and snuggle him to death- that and the fact that it is a Deer Mouse (Peromyscus maniculatus)- and they can carry wonderful things like Hantavirus and Lyme Disease.
Anyways, since I am not a fan of killing adorable mice (even if they keep me up for nights on end, and can be vectors for diseases like Hantavirus (which, by-the-way, I am now paranoid that we may have contracted...), my mom and I took him to a nicely wooded area not far from our house and released him next to a stream :) Part of me still cant help but feel like a big meanie though for pulling him out of his nice warm attic and throwing him out into the big, mean, cold world! Now that we are rid of him, and we filled up the cracks that he could have snuck into the attic through, hopefully my nights will continued to be filled with silence and not the sound of Rat Creatures from above.
Since I am currently staying at my parents place, I informed them of our unwelcome guest. My mom called an exterminator who told us it would be about $600 to "get the job done". Maybe it is just me, but I have seen enough episodes of Billy the Exterminator to know that catching a random Rat Creature (the name that I decided to give the mystery beast.) isnt exactly rocket science, and so, I volunteered my dad and myself for the job.
Our mission? Find Rat Creature, capture him/her and remove him/her from the attic.
Since Billy the Exterminator wears ridiculous costumes to do his job, I figured that must be a key component in the fine art of exterminating.
 | |
| Just so there is no confusion, THIS is Billy the Exterminator. |
 |
| And THIS is me. |
Rubber gloves, plastic bags to prevent insulation from getting into my shoes, some kind of scarf thing to help reduce the amount of junk I was breathing in....I know I look like a pro, but I swear this was my first time!
My dad also dressed up. He looks less like an exterminator and more like a cowboy-bandit-terrorist (they are the worst kind).
We got our tools ready: peanut butter, crackers and then set up the traps. (Ignore the hammer, it was only there in case something attacked me first.)
That night, as I lay in bed I heard the familiar scuffle of Rat Creature above me. I silently willed him to investigate the traps filled with delicious goodies. After about 5 minutes of shuffling sounds from above, all was quiet, and I fell into a restful nights sleep.
The next morning when I woke up, I immediately wanted to see if Rat Creature had been caught. I figured that if he had in fact been lured into the trap and been caught he would be thirsty from all that peanut butter and crackers (this is the kind of nice person I am)...
Up into the attic my dad went....
"Did we catch anything?!"
"Yep, we got something..."
Now, part of me really did want this thing to be a vicious, ugly, red eyed, sewer rat- it would have made the story that much better. Then we could have dropped some F-bombs and said things like "AAAAHHHH! IT GOTS ME!"...that didnt happen. Why? Because this is what we found.
 |
| Look how cute and potentially deadly I am! |
I swear this guy was so adorable it took all my will power not to stick my fingers in there, scoop him out, and snuggle him to death- that and the fact that it is a Deer Mouse (Peromyscus maniculatus)- and they can carry wonderful things like Hantavirus and Lyme Disease.
Anyways, since I am not a fan of killing adorable mice (even if they keep me up for nights on end, and can be vectors for diseases like Hantavirus (which, by-the-way, I am now paranoid that we may have contracted...), my mom and I took him to a nicely wooded area not far from our house and released him next to a stream :) Part of me still cant help but feel like a big meanie though for pulling him out of his nice warm attic and throwing him out into the big, mean, cold world! Now that we are rid of him, and we filled up the cracks that he could have snuck into the attic through, hopefully my nights will continued to be filled with silence and not the sound of Rat Creatures from above.
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Absolutely No Bumping
This is how your employer shows he really cares (or wants you back at work ASAP): a bubble wrap "helmet" and a delicious Edible Arrangement :)
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| Yes, it says "ABSOLUTELY NO BUMPING". None. Not even a little. |
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Helicopters, Fuel Trucks and Prairie Chickens! Oh My! AND "The Mom Vs. Bicycle" Incident
So it seems as though my new job has some pretty awesome perks to it. Things like actually being paid for the number of hours you work, not having pay deducted for time that you take to go to the bathroom, not having to work on Easter Sunday, and getting to go on impromptu helicopter rides followed by being allowed to drive a fuel truck (when, in fact, you were hired to be an office manager), AND STILL GET PAID!
To make a short story shorter, yesterday I flew up to Gypsumville (approx 250km Northwest of Winnipeg...with a big ol population of 285) with Jeff (our pilot) and Walter (the guy who does everything from ordering coffee to designing new camera systems for the helicopter).
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| C-FJPL our Bell 206 Long Ranger Helicopter |
The purpose of this trip? Jeff had some work to do with Water Stewardship (or maybe it was Manitoba Infrastructure and Transportation), and I wanted to drive the fuel truck back to Winnipeg for no reason other than to say I have done it!
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| I named her "Big Bertha". She is old (1987), rusty, noisy, has a wimpy horn, and her seats are really bouncy. I like her :) |
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| Like any good trucker I wore plaid for the occasion (unlike any good trucker, I showered that morning) |
Walter and I stopped for lunch in some little town called Ashern, evidently known for nothing besides its giant prairie chicken (even though the website claims it is an ideal place to raise a family, settle in for retirement or start a business).
We then continued on, eventually stopping to fill up with gas (Charles, I finally found a truck that gets worse mileage than yours did! It averages out at 5 miles per gallon!). It was at that time that Walter decided to change the view of the CHASE camera (which was recently bought to use for aerial filming with the helicopter and Walter brought along to test out) to this:
Had I known I was being filmed I would have something more interesting than just sitting there, bouncing along and giggling to myself. I would have definitely honked the horn, because for the size of truck the horn sounds extremely wimpy (very similar to the Road Runners "meep meep!"), and maybe even made a clever joke or two. Unfortunately, I didnt do either of those things... and instead got caught saying something about how the muddy gas station window water (that Walter had just finished "washing" our front window with) probably didnt even contain water, just mud...but then realized that if it didnt contain water and just mud, it would be a solid....ah damn.
If you overlook the fact that that afternoon, while I was happily bouncing along saying unintelligent things about muddy water, my mom had been run over by a bicyclist on Fort St. and ended up in the emergency room at Health Sciences Center (but she is OK now, aside from what we assume is a mild concussion, some bruising, and general soreness (so I wont say more about it than that because she is embarrassed that weird happenings always have a way of finding her...)), it was a great day!
On that note, I shall end this blog and go wait by the phone for everyone to start calling and demanding further explanation of what shall forever be known as "The Mom vs. Bicycle" incident.
Thursday, February 2, 2012
More Laughs (Brought to you by Veteran Affairs Assistance Service)
It has been a while since I have poked fun at the military. Trust me, it isn't for lack of things to poke fun at, it's just that sometimes there there are other, more pressing, issues on your mind (like your partner going away for the better part of a year, or impending world doom). Truth be told, Ive been feeling a little less than "good" lately, and it almost might be worth while calling the Deployment Support Center, but wouldn't you know it, I have no idea where I placed their number (if that remark wasn't funny then you should read THIS post).
Luckily, I was recently put back on some (prescribed) mood altering medication (the stuff my deployment support package should have come with in the first place). This means that my depressed mood has been replaced with a slightly more cheerful, albeit still sarcastic and cynical, mood. That said, here is my random, sarcastic, and cynical, thought/rant for the day:
I find it ironic that a card with a 1-800 support line that is open 24/7 feels the need to place a "mood reader" on their business card. It is almost as if there the instructions should be edited to read "Hold thumb on square for a count of ten to indicate how stressed/troubled/worried/sorrowful/depressed you are. To avoid high call volumes, and longer than usual wait times, please only call us when square remains black."
Now dont get me wrong, there definitely needs to be a support service, such as Veteran Affairs, available to Veterans and their families. However, is it really necessary to put a device that apparently reads you mood on the back of the card? Can't a business card just be a business card and nothing else? Must every support group available to me couple their support with novelty items? If so, leave out the practical, boring things (IE: sticker, plastic bookmark, magnetic ruler) and the weird mixed meaning things (IE: Big Grip jar opener, band-aide dispenser, mood calculating contraption) and put something in there that I can at least have some real fun with (IE: multicolored plastic monster finger puppets).
Luckily, I was recently put back on some (prescribed) mood altering medication (the stuff my deployment support package should have come with in the first place). This means that my depressed mood has been replaced with a slightly more cheerful, albeit still sarcastic and cynical, mood. That said, here is my random, sarcastic, and cynical, thought/rant for the day:
The Veteran Affairs Assistance Service is in cahoots with the Deployment Support Center when it comes to giving people useless junk.
I find it ironic that a card with a 1-800 support line that is open 24/7 feels the need to place a "mood reader" on their business card. It is almost as if there the instructions should be edited to read "Hold thumb on square for a count of ten to indicate how stressed/troubled/worried/sorrowful/depressed you are. To avoid high call volumes, and longer than usual wait times, please only call us when square remains black."
Now dont get me wrong, there definitely needs to be a support service, such as Veteran Affairs, available to Veterans and their families. However, is it really necessary to put a device that apparently reads you mood on the back of the card? Can't a business card just be a business card and nothing else? Must every support group available to me couple their support with novelty items? If so, leave out the practical, boring things (IE: sticker, plastic bookmark, magnetic ruler) and the weird mixed meaning things (IE: Big Grip jar opener, band-aide dispenser, mood calculating contraption) and put something in there that I can at least have some real fun with (IE: multicolored plastic monster finger puppets).
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Saturday, November 5, 2011
Good Things Come in Small Packages...
And when you order something from Stapes.ca, small things come in big packages.
Part of me wants to give the packer of this box the benefit of the doubt and assume that they were out of smaller boxes at the warehouse. But you know what? I really doubt it.. Thank goodness shipping was free.
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| That is a 12" ruler... |
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| ...a whole lot of protective cushioning... |
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| ...and a Micro SD card. |
Monday, October 31, 2011
Happy Halloween!
This year I made the most of Halloween by decorating the apartment, making candy apples, carving a pumpkin with Charles and roasting pumpkin seeds. Of course we (and by "we" I mean Charles...) had to take a couple pictures of our pumpkin to share. Charles named him Milbert.
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Like last year I feel the need to share another one of my favorite Halloween cartoons. Enjoy!
Happy Halloween from all of us!
Sunday, October 30, 2011
The Deployment Support Centre
An unknown author once said that when someone you love is deployed half of your heart is deployed right along with them. Since the Military is responsible for taking the someone away in the first place, they have tried to soften the blow by establishing the Deployment Support Centre that enables " all families and partners of deployed Canadian Forces Members [to] receive a consistent level of support from their home bases through contact with their chain of command."
Apparently part of this offer of "support" comes to you through the mail in what I like to call the Pre-deployment Goodie Bag.
Much like any other goodie bag, this one stocked full of things to help lessen the stress, anxiety and sadness that comes with a deployment. Prozac? No. Paxil? No. Zoloft? No. Brochure with sad looking cartoon characters on the front to remind you how saying Good-Bye to him as he leaves is going to be one of the single hardest things you've ever had to do? Yes.
Band-aid dispenser (complete with Band-aids) to help patch up what is going to feel like a gaping hole in your heart once he is gone? Yes.
"The Big Grip" for use as a jar opener, non-slip coaster, light bulb remover, screw driver gripper, sink stop, garlic peeler (?!) and constant reminder that you no longer have a man around to do all of that for you? Of course, how practical.
Magnetic ruler, book mark and sticker? Yep, got them too. As to how these are going to make me feel better about Charles being gone for nine months...well, your guess is as good as mine.
Jokes aside, while I understand and appreciate the sentiment behind my "goodie bag", I must say that I am also slightly offended. To me, as I am sure to anyone else that has had to go through the deployment of a spouse or family member, deployment is not something that is taken lightly. It is a serious and potentially life changing experience that affects not only the person being deployed, but also the people they leave behind. As such, I feel that it should be treated in a respectful and mature way. I do not for one second think that a booklet depicting various depressing farewell scenarios, a jar opener, and a band-aid dispenser are anywhere near appropriate.
Bottom line? Deployment stinks. Even if you are one of the guys (or girls) that is sincerely looking forward to being deployed, there simply is no way for loved ones to be separated for any length of time without it being difficult for everyone involved. Giving someone a bunch of free junk doesn't make things any easier, or better. As my mom says, you can put glitter on shit, but it is still shit.
So what would make it better? A simple, clean package with no bells, whistles or big grips. Let me know the support is there should I need it, provide me with any information that I may find useful in preparing for the deployment and, as a final touch, a simple yellow ribbon so that I too may show my support.
Apparently part of this offer of "support" comes to you through the mail in what I like to call the Pre-deployment Goodie Bag.
Much like any other goodie bag, this one stocked full of things to help lessen the stress, anxiety and sadness that comes with a deployment. Prozac? No. Paxil? No. Zoloft? No. Brochure with sad looking cartoon characters on the front to remind you how saying Good-Bye to him as he leaves is going to be one of the single hardest things you've ever had to do? Yes.
Band-aid dispenser (complete with Band-aids) to help patch up what is going to feel like a gaping hole in your heart once he is gone? Yes.
"The Big Grip" for use as a jar opener, non-slip coaster, light bulb remover, screw driver gripper, sink stop, garlic peeler (?!) and constant reminder that you no longer have a man around to do all of that for you? Of course, how practical.
Magnetic ruler, book mark and sticker? Yep, got them too. As to how these are going to make me feel better about Charles being gone for nine months...well, your guess is as good as mine.
Jokes aside, while I understand and appreciate the sentiment behind my "goodie bag", I must say that I am also slightly offended. To me, as I am sure to anyone else that has had to go through the deployment of a spouse or family member, deployment is not something that is taken lightly. It is a serious and potentially life changing experience that affects not only the person being deployed, but also the people they leave behind. As such, I feel that it should be treated in a respectful and mature way. I do not for one second think that a booklet depicting various depressing farewell scenarios, a jar opener, and a band-aid dispenser are anywhere near appropriate.
Bottom line? Deployment stinks. Even if you are one of the guys (or girls) that is sincerely looking forward to being deployed, there simply is no way for loved ones to be separated for any length of time without it being difficult for everyone involved. Giving someone a bunch of free junk doesn't make things any easier, or better. As my mom says, you can put glitter on shit, but it is still shit.
So what would make it better? A simple, clean package with no bells, whistles or big grips. Let me know the support is there should I need it, provide me with any information that I may find useful in preparing for the deployment and, as a final touch, a simple yellow ribbon so that I too may show my support.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Boobie and The Beast
This is a story about a bird and a breast. My bird, and my right breast, to be exact. There really isn't too much to tell, although I am certain that I will somehow be able to draw this story out much longer than the actual event that took place.
It had been a particularly rough week with Cleo. She, for reasons only known to her, had decided to turn completely demonic. She didn't seem to know what the heck she wanted. When she was in her cage she would scream to be out, when she was out she would make a mad dash back to the cage only to scream to be let out once again as soon as you closed it and left the room. If you managed to extract her from the cage by using a hand towel (dubbed "the extraction rag by Charles"), and make it far enough away so she couldn't make her way back to the cage, you'd most likely be bitten only minute later.
I decided that since she was being such a holy terror I would try and snap her out of her funk by removing everything and anything from her cage that she would try and nest with and be possessive over. Her beloved cardboard box was removed and hidden in the closet, her tent suffered a similar fate, and all paper products from the bottom of the cage were confiscated.. I couldn't help but feel slightly guilty as she ran around the bottom of her cage looking for her belongings. My feelings of guilt didnt last for long however, because as I walked out of the room Cleo (with the small amount of Bird Brain she possesses) was already planning on how she could exact her revenge.
If you over look the fact that both Charles and I had been up since 4:30am, the next day started out much like any other. Convinced that there was no way we were going to fall back asleep, and that it was a waste of time just laying there, both of us got out of bed at 5:30am. I, in an attempt to be productive, started doing accounting homework at 6am (you can imagine how well that went) and continued working away until 8:30am or so.
Since I only had 30 minutes left before I was scheduled to work, and the accounting was going less than well, I decided that I would take a break and spend some quality time with Cleo. Roughly 15 seconds after "extracting" Cleo from her cage, Charles received this email on his Blackberry..
And for those of you that scoff at my war wounds, I DARE you, come, have a yellow bird run down your shirt and see how well you fare!
This post is dedicated to Leanne who knows that that wrath of a lovebird is no laughing matter...
It had been a particularly rough week with Cleo. She, for reasons only known to her, had decided to turn completely demonic. She didn't seem to know what the heck she wanted. When she was in her cage she would scream to be out, when she was out she would make a mad dash back to the cage only to scream to be let out once again as soon as you closed it and left the room. If you managed to extract her from the cage by using a hand towel (dubbed "the extraction rag by Charles"), and make it far enough away so she couldn't make her way back to the cage, you'd most likely be bitten only minute later.
I decided that since she was being such a holy terror I would try and snap her out of her funk by removing everything and anything from her cage that she would try and nest with and be possessive over. Her beloved cardboard box was removed and hidden in the closet, her tent suffered a similar fate, and all paper products from the bottom of the cage were confiscated.. I couldn't help but feel slightly guilty as she ran around the bottom of her cage looking for her belongings. My feelings of guilt didnt last for long however, because as I walked out of the room Cleo (with the small amount of Bird Brain she possesses) was already planning on how she could exact her revenge.
If you over look the fact that both Charles and I had been up since 4:30am, the next day started out much like any other. Convinced that there was no way we were going to fall back asleep, and that it was a waste of time just laying there, both of us got out of bed at 5:30am. I, in an attempt to be productive, started doing accounting homework at 6am (you can imagine how well that went) and continued working away until 8:30am or so.
Since I only had 30 minutes left before I was scheduled to work, and the accounting was going less than well, I decided that I would take a break and spend some quality time with Cleo. Roughly 15 seconds after "extracting" Cleo from her cage, Charles received this email on his Blackberry..
I just took Cleo out to spend some time with her before work and when I bent over partially to get something she ran right down my shirt and into my bra and started to bite me. Then I tried to get her out and she latched onto my finger and wouldn't let go. She bit me really deep. And now I am crying. And I hope if someone reads this email they laugh because of how pathetic it is. I know I would.Some people dont believe what they are told, they only believe what they see...and so for those people (and for the rest of you who are curious about the havoc that a yellow beast wreak upon one's bosom) here is photographic proof to back up my tale of woe.
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| Bite marks and bruising |
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| Chunk missing from my middle finger |
This post is dedicated to Leanne who knows that that wrath of a lovebird is no laughing matter...
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Return of The Dave
I guess not responding to his last email wasn't a big enough hint....Needless to say, this one won't be getting a reply either.
Oh Dave. It has been just over three weeks since our encounter and up until this point there really hasn't been anything weird enough to write about. I was beginning to fear that my life might actually be turning into a somewhat normal and boring one....thank you thank you for for showing me that I have nothing to worry about, and that my life will continue to be filled with odd circumstance after odd circumstance and will never be boring!
Subject: When_You're_Smiling
Hey LauraThanks for the inspirational art of Louie, and the short encounter we had. You left me smiling.When are you Winnipeg bound again?
Oh Dave. It has been just over three weeks since our encounter and up until this point there really hasn't been anything weird enough to write about. I was beginning to fear that my life might actually be turning into a somewhat normal and boring one....thank you thank you for for showing me that I have nothing to worry about, and that my life will continue to be filled with odd circumstance after odd circumstance and will never be boring!
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
The Jerk Store Called...
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| As seen at Chapters in the Regent Mall, Fredericton |
GEORGE: Oh yeah, Reilly? Well, the jerkstore called. They're running outta you.
REILLY: What's the difference? You're their all-time best seller!
This one is dedicated to my dad and Jordan (and anyone else who knows where this quote is from :) )
Saturday, March 12, 2011
These are the Daves I know I know....These are the Daves I know....
Every once in a while something happens that it just too weird to be anything but the truth. And, as seems to be a growing trend when I travel anywhere by airplane, this story involves a man (a real 40 year old man, not some youngster posing as a man by donning a blackberry and a suitcase), Google, and lack of common sense. Perhaps some of you see where this is heading...
After the fiasco at the airport the day prior, I was more than ready to be on my way back to Fredericton. The trip with Cleo through airport security was uneventful at best, with the security guards seemingly perplexed at the fact that I was traveling with a small yellow demon who, for the occasion, had put away her devil horns and instead wore her "look how cute I am, don't I make you want to have a lovebird too?" face.
We boarded the plane on time and I sat at my usual seat by the window (would you believe that for all the times I have flown I have never had an isle seat? or used the bathroom on the plane for that matter...) and "the man" sat down in the isle seat (leaving the seat between us empty). "How nice," I thought to myself, "with no one sitting beside me I have plenty of room to kick out my legs and enjoy this flight. I sure hope this guy isnt a big talk---" "Hey, how's it going?" he asked. And so it began.
Now I am really not one for talking to people on the plane. Usually they are seated right next to you and so your faces are awkwardly close to one another. Plus, since it is a complete stranger, the conversation is mere pleasantries and filled with lots of awkward gaps during which one person gazes down the isle wondering when the drinks are going to come so they can fidget with their cup and eat their "bits and bites" (I really hate that name for a snack...but I will save that for another post) and the other person stares out the window thinking "get me the heck out of here...." but, I digress...
So he began to talk, opening up the conversation with "it sure is nice that we have this extra room.."
Me: "Yeah, it is. Normally I get stuck next to some big burly man who is spilling over into my seat."
Him: "Well I am neither big or hairy..." (and it is true, he wasn't...)
Me (Thinking I would cut him off at the pass): "That's two points for you then!"
Him: "Oh?" (big creepy grin) "Do you work on a points system?"
Me (Thinking this is going to be one LONG flight): "Depends."
And so, we continued to "talk". The conversation went all over the place and eventually somehow lead to him asking me if I had seen the "Bodies" exhibit that was in Winnipeg this past January. I said that I hadn't and that there had been some controversy about the maker of such exhibits using the bodies of executed Chinese prisoners for their displays, and that the other display "Body Worlds", by a different maker ( Gunther von Hagens...that is such a wicked German name), had a section at the end of the display where you could actually sign up and donate your body to be used for such a purpose.
And because I had nothing else to really say to this guy and I was fearing the awkward gap in conversation, and it was dark outside so I couldn't even pretend to be looking at the scenery below, I did what I often do when I have nothing to say: I said whatever popped into my head. I can be a pretty random person, but I would like to think that the conversation about Bodies, Body Worlds, and donating ones body for such a purpose is a natural segue for me to bring up ways that I don't want to die. And so, thinking that at worst it would creep him out so much he would shut up and leave me alone, that is what I did.
"I want to be cremated when I die..." I began, "the thought of having all my blood drained and being pumped full of embalming fluid creeps me out..." And on I went..."I don't want to die in a fire...or suffocate...or drown...or really anything where you know you are going to die, and soon, and there is nothing you can do about it....but I also don't to slowly waste away in a hospital...."
Then, realizing I was hopelessly babbling about death to a complete stranger I giggled nervously, suddenly self conscious because he was looking at me weird, and added "This sure is a weird conversation to be having with someone I don't even know. Kinna morbid."
Him (extending his hand): "My name is Dave. Now I am not a stranger."
Dammit Dave, that totally didn't end how I wanted it to!
And so, the conversation continued. On and on and on....eventually somehow leading to me showing him some of my drawings (once again in an attempt to avoid the awkward pauses) and then to him asking me the meaning of my wrist tattoo "Becoming" (to which I once again went on a hopeless rant about life changes, how I am Becoming a different and (hopefully) better person because of these changes...how I am learning to deal with change better than I used to etc. All the while he stared rather intently at me, every once in a while throwing something out there like "You certainly seem like a strong girl" or "Well you certainly have the good looks for that..." Just for the record I didnt know I needed good looks in order to get my CMA designation...hey! you learn something new every day!
FINALLY the plane started its decent into Toronto. Thank goodness- by this time I REALLY had to use the washroom, and was running out of random trivia to share. The plane hit the ground and The Dave decided it was now or never. "So...you ever going to be coming back into Toronto?" To which I (probably much to quickly) replied, "NO!! I really don't like Toronto at all blah blah blah ramble ramble ramble ramble..."
The plane finally lands, and everyone starts getting off, and The Dave and I go our separate ways. Free of The Dave at last! Or so I thought...
Thursday night comes along (All this other stuff happened Monday night btw) and Charles and I are at a movie. My phone goes off (I didn't even realize that I had brought it with me) and I look down at it and see that I have an email from "Dave Dyck"- "odd," I think to myself "I dont know anyone by that name." And so I ignored it till the movie got out.
Once out of the movie I checked my phone and found this:
Dave got my last name by looking at my signature on the drawings I had shown him. He already knew my first name and so (in what I assume was a lonely drunken state) decided on Thursday night that it would be a super awesome idea to Google my name and see what came up. Luckily for him, my dads website popped up, which just so happened to have a copy of my drawing "When You're Smiling"- the very same drawing he had seen on the plane. Conveniently enough, there was also an email link...and so, in a moment of sheer stupidity, this Dave fired off an email that (in his mind perhaps) was sure to....well actually I have no idea what he wanted to get out of sending this email. Needless to say I have no intentions of replying to this guy and adding fuel to the fire...
And so, that is the story of The Dave I Know (check out the link!)
This post is dedicated to Auntie Mary-Ann who truly understands what a gong show life can be!
After the fiasco at the airport the day prior, I was more than ready to be on my way back to Fredericton. The trip with Cleo through airport security was uneventful at best, with the security guards seemingly perplexed at the fact that I was traveling with a small yellow demon who, for the occasion, had put away her devil horns and instead wore her "look how cute I am, don't I make you want to have a lovebird too?" face.
We boarded the plane on time and I sat at my usual seat by the window (would you believe that for all the times I have flown I have never had an isle seat? or used the bathroom on the plane for that matter...) and "the man" sat down in the isle seat (leaving the seat between us empty). "How nice," I thought to myself, "with no one sitting beside me I have plenty of room to kick out my legs and enjoy this flight. I sure hope this guy isnt a big talk---" "Hey, how's it going?" he asked. And so it began.
Now I am really not one for talking to people on the plane. Usually they are seated right next to you and so your faces are awkwardly close to one another. Plus, since it is a complete stranger, the conversation is mere pleasantries and filled with lots of awkward gaps during which one person gazes down the isle wondering when the drinks are going to come so they can fidget with their cup and eat their "bits and bites" (I really hate that name for a snack...but I will save that for another post) and the other person stares out the window thinking "get me the heck out of here...." but, I digress...
So he began to talk, opening up the conversation with "it sure is nice that we have this extra room.."
Me: "Yeah, it is. Normally I get stuck next to some big burly man who is spilling over into my seat."
Him: "Well I am neither big or hairy..." (and it is true, he wasn't...)
Me (Thinking I would cut him off at the pass): "That's two points for you then!"
Him: "Oh?" (big creepy grin) "Do you work on a points system?"
Me (Thinking this is going to be one LONG flight): "Depends."
And so, we continued to "talk". The conversation went all over the place and eventually somehow lead to him asking me if I had seen the "Bodies" exhibit that was in Winnipeg this past January. I said that I hadn't and that there had been some controversy about the maker of such exhibits using the bodies of executed Chinese prisoners for their displays, and that the other display "Body Worlds", by a different maker ( Gunther von Hagens...that is such a wicked German name), had a section at the end of the display where you could actually sign up and donate your body to be used for such a purpose.
And because I had nothing else to really say to this guy and I was fearing the awkward gap in conversation, and it was dark outside so I couldn't even pretend to be looking at the scenery below, I did what I often do when I have nothing to say: I said whatever popped into my head. I can be a pretty random person, but I would like to think that the conversation about Bodies, Body Worlds, and donating ones body for such a purpose is a natural segue for me to bring up ways that I don't want to die. And so, thinking that at worst it would creep him out so much he would shut up and leave me alone, that is what I did.
"I want to be cremated when I die..." I began, "the thought of having all my blood drained and being pumped full of embalming fluid creeps me out..." And on I went..."I don't want to die in a fire...or suffocate...or drown...or really anything where you know you are going to die, and soon, and there is nothing you can do about it....but I also don't to slowly waste away in a hospital...."
Then, realizing I was hopelessly babbling about death to a complete stranger I giggled nervously, suddenly self conscious because he was looking at me weird, and added "This sure is a weird conversation to be having with someone I don't even know. Kinna morbid."
Him (extending his hand): "My name is Dave. Now I am not a stranger."
Dammit Dave, that totally didn't end how I wanted it to!
And so, the conversation continued. On and on and on....eventually somehow leading to me showing him some of my drawings (once again in an attempt to avoid the awkward pauses) and then to him asking me the meaning of my wrist tattoo "Becoming" (to which I once again went on a hopeless rant about life changes, how I am Becoming a different and (hopefully) better person because of these changes...how I am learning to deal with change better than I used to etc. All the while he stared rather intently at me, every once in a while throwing something out there like "You certainly seem like a strong girl" or "Well you certainly have the good looks for that..." Just for the record I didnt know I needed good looks in order to get my CMA designation...hey! you learn something new every day!
FINALLY the plane started its decent into Toronto. Thank goodness- by this time I REALLY had to use the washroom, and was running out of random trivia to share. The plane hit the ground and The Dave decided it was now or never. "So...you ever going to be coming back into Toronto?" To which I (probably much to quickly) replied, "NO!! I really don't like Toronto at all blah blah blah ramble ramble ramble ramble..."
The plane finally lands, and everyone starts getting off, and The Dave and I go our separate ways. Free of The Dave at last! Or so I thought...
Thursday night comes along (All this other stuff happened Monday night btw) and Charles and I are at a movie. My phone goes off (I didn't even realize that I had brought it with me) and I look down at it and see that I have an email from "Dave Dyck"- "odd," I think to myself "I dont know anyone by that name." And so I ignored it till the movie got out.
Once out of the movie I checked my phone and found this:
Subject: Keep Smiling
After the first line I pretty much went into shock mode. HOW DID HE FIND ME?!?! I hadn't given The Dave ANY of my information...no phone number, no email address....nothing but my first name, and somehow he found me! It took me a while, but I finally figured out what he did.Hi LauraI just wanted to say Hi and thanks for a great trip the other day. You were a 10 when I first saw you and it only went up from there.I made it to three maybe four on your count by not being big, harry, scary, and fourth wierd, but thats questionable.Your drawings were extremely impressive and hope to see more of them.I found this quote here that I thought was fitting.Enjoy and take care"A good performance, like a human life, is a temporal affair—a process in time. It is good as a whole through being good in its parts, and through their good order to one another. It cannot be called good as a whole until it is finished. During the process all we can say of it, if we speak precisely, is that it is becoming good. The same is true of a whole human life. Just as the whole performance never exists at any one time, but is a process of becoming, so a human life is also a performance in time and a process of becoming. And just as the goodness that attaches to the performance as a whole does not attach to any of its parts, so the goodness of a human life as a whole belongs to it alone, and not to any of its parts or phases".Dave
Dave got my last name by looking at my signature on the drawings I had shown him. He already knew my first name and so (in what I assume was a lonely drunken state) decided on Thursday night that it would be a super awesome idea to Google my name and see what came up. Luckily for him, my dads website popped up, which just so happened to have a copy of my drawing "When You're Smiling"- the very same drawing he had seen on the plane. Conveniently enough, there was also an email link...and so, in a moment of sheer stupidity, this Dave fired off an email that (in his mind perhaps) was sure to....well actually I have no idea what he wanted to get out of sending this email. Needless to say I have no intentions of replying to this guy and adding fuel to the fire...
And so, that is the story of The Dave I Know (check out the link!)
This post is dedicated to Auntie Mary-Ann who truly understands what a gong show life can be!
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Twenty-twenty-twenty four hours to go I wanna be sedated...
If everything was going as planned today I would currently be writing this blog to you from the Winnipeg Airport , or maybe even the Toronto Airport
I woke up this morning to the smell of bacon (a wonderful smell for us meat eaters). My mom decided that as a parting gesture she would make a delicious waffle breakfast complete with bacon. About halfway through cooking an entire package of bacon in the oven it became apparent that something (suprise suprise) was going slightly askew. Somehow, instead of dripping into the catch pan as it should, the bacon grease was leaking its way out of the bottom of the oven door, down the outside of the drawer under the oven, and pooling on the floor, where it was then walked through and spread across the kitchen floor. Upon discovery, the pool of grease was mopped up the best it could be, and tea towels were laid out over the now very greasy area in front of the stove, the other half of the package of bacon was cooked up, and my mom swore that never again would she buy uncooked bacon. A total clean up, however, would have to wait- there were waffles that had to be made!
Making waffles from scratch is one of those things that very rarely goes off without a hitch, and today was no exception. Usually the waffles will end up sticking the waffle press, or something about the batter won’t be quite right, or your mother will decide to burn her fingers on the waffle press handle. Today it was the later.
Fast forward a bit and it is time to take me to the airport. I must say (and I am quite proud of this) that thus far I have not cried about leaving. I managed to avoid a complete break down while saying good-bye to my Grandma yesturday. Today Lisa and I say our quick good-byes before she took off into the basement to have a melt down. I however, did not cry. The drop off at the airport also goes uneventfully, with my parents making a hasty retreat so as not to start a chain reaction of crying at the airport.
After waiting in line for what seemed like forever, it is finally my turn to check in. The lady asks me where I am headed, and then informs me that my flight has been delayed. "Not a problem," I think to myself "that just means a shorter layover time inToronto Toronto to Moncton Moncton Toronto to Moncton isn’t till Monday (tomorrow) at 6:51pm Toronto
"Well," she says "you have two options. Number 1: you stay here for 3 and a half hours, get on the flight toToronto and then we will put you up in a hotel and you can get on the flight to Moncton Winnipeg tonight and then get on the 3:30 flight to Toronto Moncton
Well the choice seemed clear enough. Stay in aToronto
I woke up this morning to the smell of bacon (a wonderful smell for us meat eaters). My mom decided that as a parting gesture she would make a delicious waffle breakfast complete with bacon. About halfway through cooking an entire package of bacon in the oven it became apparent that something (suprise suprise) was going slightly askew. Somehow, instead of dripping into the catch pan as it should, the bacon grease was leaking its way out of the bottom of the oven door, down the outside of the drawer under the oven, and pooling on the floor, where it was then walked through and spread across the kitchen floor. Upon discovery, the pool of grease was mopped up the best it could be, and tea towels were laid out over the now very greasy area in front of the stove, the other half of the package of bacon was cooked up, and my mom swore that never again would she buy uncooked bacon. A total clean up, however, would have to wait- there were waffles that had to be made!
Making waffles from scratch is one of those things that very rarely goes off without a hitch, and today was no exception. Usually the waffles will end up sticking the waffle press, or something about the batter won’t be quite right, or your mother will decide to burn her fingers on the waffle press handle. Today it was the later.
Fast forward a bit and it is time to take me to the airport. I must say (and I am quite proud of this) that thus far I have not cried about leaving. I managed to avoid a complete break down while saying good-bye to my Grandma yesturday. Today Lisa and I say our quick good-byes before she took off into the basement to have a melt down. I however, did not cry. The drop off at the airport also goes uneventfully, with my parents making a hasty retreat so as not to start a chain reaction of crying at the airport.
After waiting in line for what seemed like forever, it is finally my turn to check in. The lady asks me where I am headed, and then informs me that my flight has been delayed. "Not a problem," I think to myself "that just means a shorter layover time in
"Well," she says "you have two options. Number 1: you stay here for 3 and a half hours, get on the flight to
Well the choice seemed clear enough. Stay in a
"We were in such a hurry to leave and not be the first to cry we forgot to take the towel [the one that I had been using to cover Cleo's travel bag so that she wouldnt catch a draft] throw it out if it is too much to carry around"I couldn't help but laugh out loud. And so, an hour and a half after dropping me off at the airport, my parents picked me and Cleo (and the towel) back up. I walked out to the van with a $100 travel voucher ("For any inconvenience this may have caused...") and The Ramones' "I wanna be sedated" running through my head...
"Twenty-twenty-twenty four hours to go I wanna be sedated
Nothin' to do and no where to go-o-oh I wanna be sedated
Just get me to the airport put me on a plane
Hurry hurry hurry before I go insane
Just get me to the airport put me on a plane
Hurry hurry hurry before I go insane
I can't control my fingers I can't control my brain
Oh no no no no no..."
Oh no no no no no..."
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Sunday, January 23, 2011
For those of you who dont believe that truth is stranger than fiction...
The other night I complained loudly to myself as my phone alerted me of an incoming email at 3:09am. "Hey Laura" it said, "We've got exciting news: Your $20 Amazon.com Gift Card* is ready to be used!". Go away SPAM, I thought. Get yourself out of my inbox and into my junk folder where you belong. Quit bugging me with your tomfoolery, I am trying to sleep. I made a promise to myself that first thing in the morning I would unsubscribe to whatever I had acidently signed myself up for, and be done with it.
You can imagine how annoyed I felt then when I woke up only to find two more emails from the same company (Livingsocial.com) telling me about more great stuff that I had signed up for that was now ready. What the heck? I went down to the bottom of the email, clicked the unsubscribe link, and was redirected to some other page that asked me for my city, email address, the name I had planned for my first born and other rather personal information. Yeah, that seems like stuff that I should give out if I dont want more SPAM sent to me- so I closed the window, alerted Gmail of the SPAM that somehow snuck its way into my inbox, and left the computer feeling rather proud of myself. Take that SPAM, my superior human brain outsmarted you!
Fast forward to that evening when I am on the computer getting ready to register as a student at the University of Athabasca- and my phone goes off, once again alerting me that I have an email. I glanced over at it quickly and noticed that the email was from "Laura Hasiuk". OK. WHAT. THE. HECK?!. Not only did I not send myself an email, but the subject of the email was "One-day deal", something that sounded suspiciously like the other stupid emails I had been getting from Livingsocial.com. First SPAM. Now SPAM trying to steal my identity...
Frustrated, I opened my gmail account on the computer and found this (and this is where it gets just plain weird:
1. There is another Laura Hasiuk out there, which I find odd because Hasiuk isnt that common of a last name (or so I thought?!).
2. This Laura Hasiuk is living in PHILLY which is where Charles currently is!!
What are the odds? Seriously? I quickly fired off an email to my doppelganger (I love this word. Check out the definition here: Wikipedia We Love You!).
Honestly, I thought stuff like this would only happen in Fredericton.
You can imagine how annoyed I felt then when I woke up only to find two more emails from the same company (Livingsocial.com) telling me about more great stuff that I had signed up for that was now ready. What the heck? I went down to the bottom of the email, clicked the unsubscribe link, and was redirected to some other page that asked me for my city, email address, the name I had planned for my first born and other rather personal information. Yeah, that seems like stuff that I should give out if I dont want more SPAM sent to me- so I closed the window, alerted Gmail of the SPAM that somehow snuck its way into my inbox, and left the computer feeling rather proud of myself. Take that SPAM, my superior human brain outsmarted you!
Fast forward to that evening when I am on the computer getting ready to register as a student at the University of Athabasca- and my phone goes off, once again alerting me that I have an email. I glanced over at it quickly and noticed that the email was from "Laura Hasiuk". OK. WHAT. THE. HECK?!. Not only did I not send myself an email, but the subject of the email was "One-day deal", something that sounded suspiciously like the other stupid emails I had been getting from Livingsocial.com. First SPAM. Now SPAM trying to steal my identity...
Frustrated, I opened my gmail account on the computer and found this (and this is where it gets just plain weird:
Laura,
Now, there are two really weird things about this email.I think that I accidentally had a Philly One Day Deal for an Amazon.com gift card sent to your email by mistake. If you received this, would you be able to forward it to me? So sorry for the confusion.
Thank you!!
- Laura Hasiuk
1. There is another Laura Hasiuk out there, which I find odd because Hasiuk isnt that common of a last name (or so I thought?!).
2. This Laura Hasiuk is living in PHILLY which is where Charles currently is!!
What are the odds? Seriously? I quickly fired off an email to my doppelganger (I love this word. Check out the definition here: Wikipedia We Love You!).
Laura,
I was wondering why I was getting that stuff sent to my account- I was getting so mad because they kept sending me emails at 3am! Odd that you are in Philly...my boyfriend is currently out there. Weird/creepy that we have the same name and you are in Philly (stay away from my boyfriend! haha j/k). Will check my trash for that coupon.
LauraSwear on my scuba diving text book that I am not making this one up. Here is a screen shot of my double (from my email account) as proof:
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| The first "Laura Hasiuk" is me (the one with the red dot beside my name". The other one is my double. |
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
"An artist never really finishes [their] work, [they] merely abandon it." -Paul Valery
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| Charles' Christmas Present: Military Police coat of arms done in pen and ink. |
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| My Moms Christmas Present. The Dalai Lama "Religion is Kindness" done in 2B pencil |
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| A commissioned piece. "Brian R. "Buzz" Massie S.J. 1943-2009" done in 2B pencil |
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