I really could have used this advice yesterday:
i'm gonna be that person who dies hilariously because they were tweeting the disaster instead of getting the fuck out
I’d like to say that I’ll do this next time, but you know me. I’m just glad I managed to leave the house before I stopped to blog about my building burning down.
.. as long as it involves Frankenstein(s).
One of the things I checked off my list this weekend was the acquisition of more LEGO men. I know my dioramas are extremely basic, but I had a great deal of fun doing them – so much so that I’d like to be able to do more, covering things that happen to or around me. I figured that with more LEGO men, I’d be able to do more stuff. I like stuff. Do you like stuff? Let’s be friends!
The first toy store I hit was a bust, but I hit the tiny man jackpot at the second. I bought a metric assload of tiny men, and gleefully tore into the packages as soon as we were back in the car. The ones I buy are blind box bag, so you don’t know which figure you’re going to get – it almost fills the gaping hole in my heart where Voltage used to be (almost). Sadly, I received a bunch of duplicate figures .. but in the end it’s okay, because now I’m prepared for almost *anything*.
my legomans: let me show you them
Bring it on, Vancouver – whatever you can throw at me, I can make fun of using LEGO. It would truly help if we had an outbreak of Frankensteins, though – I have three of those. And a ballerina/Halo dude. No, I don’t know why. Let’s do this!
The fire alarm went off Monday afternoon around 3pm. I was elbow deep in House Stark when it happened (as well as very naked), and not really impressed at the interruption – this was my day off to READ, and I couldn’t very well do that with a 10,000 decibel beep going off in every room. I wandered around the house for a bit waiting for it to go away, figuring it was just a false alarm and would be over soon. When it wasn’t, I discovered that the alarm doesn’t go off in the bathroom and I could hide away in relative peace. I thought I’d grab the cats to take with me, because if the alarm was hurting ME it must have been excruciating for their sensitive ears. I knew they’d be hiding, so I left my Kindle on the toilet and went out on a mercy mission to gather the cats.
I passed the window on my way to to side of the bed where the cats could hide and glanced out. There were .. a lot of people out there for this time of the day. Curious. I leaned over the dresser to take a closer look, my heart thudding uncomfortably when I realized that the people downstairs were my neighbours – they had evacuated when the alarm went off instead of hanging around thinking about titties – and, more importantly, that they all had their pets with them. This was looking more and more like something serious and not just a mid-afternoon annoyance, but any confusion I felt immediately turned to panic when I realized I could see and smell smoke. Real smoke. The alarm was going off because my building was actually on fire, and I had wasted the last 20 minutes dicking around my house in the nude.
I sprang into action (which must have looked really funny) and grabbed the first clothes I could find – jeans, a bra and a dress. I didn’t have time to think about valuables or importants; I had to get the cats. I ran into the spare room closet and grabbed a cat carrier – I could only find the one. I knew we had more than one, but I couldn’t find it and the smell of smoke was getting stronger. Not wanting to waste any more time, I grabbed a duffel bag and emptied it of a bizarre assortment of winter gear and baseball equipment – this would do. Now, to get the cats.
As I had predicted, the cats were in full panic mode and hiding. Hobble and Lemon were cowering under the bed, and I was less than gentle in my attempt to get them out. It took a lot of swearing, pulling and also a boot, but they finally left the safety of the bedroom and tore out into the living room. This was good – I had more room to maneuver. I cornered an angry Lemon, scooped him up and tossed him into the first carrier – one down. Next, the fatty – he was busy trying to cram his giant head under the couch, and I had to be careful I didn’t break his neck in our collective panic. His claws did a number on my arm, but it wouldn’t be the first blood drawn today so I ignored it and zipped him into the duffel bag – two down. The last cat, Cheddar, is small and docile – I can carry her as long as the other two are safely zipped away, and we could leave. Where was Cheddar? The alarm made it hard to think, and the smell of smoke was getting stronger. I could have sworn it was getting warmer, and I was as close to freaking out as I ever get. Where the fuck was Cheddar?? I looked everywhere. Seconds were ticking by, and the smoke was so strong. Finally, I couldn’t wait any longer – I choked back a sob, picked up my two cat bags and my purse, and ran out the door and into the stairwell.
I left Cheddar behind.
The two cats and I crossed the street and collapsed onto a patch of grass. I saw that Ed had called twice – likely in response to my panicked tweets about this being an ACTUAL fire – so I called him back and told him to come home immediately. After that, there was nothing to do but wait. I was racked with guilt at leaving Cheddar behind and trying to calm down the others, wishing in retrospect that I had put Lemon in the duffel bag and Hobble in the cat carrier instead of vice versa. Lemon is pretty unflappable, and I could have held onto him while fatty fat flailed about in the zipped mesh carrier – instead, I had to deal with a huge cat freaking the fuck out and trying to escape the safety of the bag and my arms for the tires of a truck or worse. He managed to get a claw out and into my arm, tearing it out with a large chunk of flesh. It was difficult to keep him under control; he tried to bolt with every new noise in the air. It kept my mind off Cheddar though, and we wrestled on the grass and watched the fire trucks arrive. I think I may have tweeted incoherently about leaving Cheddar behind, but my hands were too full (and shaking too badly) to follow up with any information, not that I really had anything new to share. We waited for a long time as fire trucks and police arrived, and my neighbours took it all in stride – some of them went to to Tim Hortons for an Iced Capp and generally just enjoyed the break in the gorgeous afternoon.
It was hot in the sun, and Hobble started to hyperventilate. It’s a pitiful sight, and one that tears at my heart because I can’t make him understand what was going on and that I’m not trying to hurt him but keep him safe from harm. I picked up the cat bags and moved closer to the building, into the shade just as Ed pulled up in a cab. Technically I was still mad at him for his epic dickbaggery of Sunday afternoon, but I was glad to see him. He came over to check on us, and I crumbled into sobs as I told him I had to leave Cheddar behind. He held me as I bawled, and after I had myself somewhat under control I urged him to go ask the Building Lady what was going on. I didn’t hear everything she said, but I did catch her suggestion that he go check on our other cat. This made me dissolve into tears again, because it could only mean that the smoke had gotten worse and I had killed Cheddar, our sweet and stupid Cheddar who loves everyone and everything and never hurt a soul in her life, all because I didn’t move quickly enough. I sat in the shade and shook and cried, not caring about the people around me. I hugged a reluctant Hobble tightly to my chest and cried my heart out, knowing that I killed her and she was gone and I was the worst person in the entire universe. Nothing else mattered at that moment, and I sobbed into a very fat and confused cat for all I was worth.
Ed eventually came back downstairs and came to my side. I looked up and braced myself for the worst .. but it was unnecessary. Cheddar was completely fine and safe and fine – in fact, she had been sleeping soundly without a care in the world when Ed found her and woke her up. She was safe. I likely sobbed some more – I am very good at sobbing, apparently – and Ed told me what he knew: there’s been a rash of dumpster fires in East Van, and we were hit today. I didn’t know there had been other fires or that this was an epidemic, but some awesome person decided our garbage looked mighty cold and tried to make things right with fire. It spread quickly, setting off alarms and making a lot of smoke. I don’t know the state of the building – we were allowed back in and some police tape went up, keeping people out of the alley as the VPD CSI’d that shit up. I don’t know any more than that, and I don’t care. My cats are safe – even the one I had to leave behind – and our whole little family is okay. Shaken, but okay.
After we calmed down and I cried myself out, we made some changes to the Emergency Cat Hauling Situation. The second cat carrier was two layers deeper than I went, so both are now next to the litter boxes in case of future evacuations. We’ll get a third carrier this weekend (the duffel bag went back to winter/baseball gear duties), and next time we’ll be ready. We were lucky – I know that – but the next time someone decides our garbage is looking a little uncharred, I’ll get all three damn cats out when the alarm goes off, and not let my vacation day laziness get the better of me.
I need a do-over for my vacation day. Today sucked a great deal of ass, and I am worn the fuck out.
boom.
At some point during the past weekend, I began to second guess my decision to take Monday off. After all, I had no grand plans – and given that Friday was a holiday, it seemed kind of wasteful to take a whole vacation day for absolutely nothing at all.
The instant I opened my eyes in my sunny cat-filled bedroom, I remembered why I had taken the day off: because I COULD. I have a whole day ahead of me with no obligations to anyone or anything except perhaps my Kindle and the couch, and this pleases me. As strange as it may seem to those who have been here for a while, I’m actually too out of sorts to write words – there are a dozen things all up in my grill at the moment, and I don’t really feel like articulating anything (mostly because they all go against my personal tenet of “don’t be a dick”). Instead, I’ll just sit over here, read my Kindle, and try not to mull over this epic downward spiral currently making my life less than 100% enjoyable. Don’t cry for me, Argentina – I’ll bounce back. I always do. I’m just going to be .. a little distracted for a while, and trying not to give in to my natural tendency to bolt when stuff sucks.
Here is a pretty picture:
gastown at night
We replaced the cocaine with salmon, but Darren’s cocaine-fueled Canada Day BBQ and Fireworks Party was an excellent time. It was a fun way to cap off a random day of errands in the suburbs, and Darren is an awesome host who is generous with his BBQ and stellar cheesecake-making skills alike. The fireworks he arranged JUST FOR US were also fun:
the sideshow bob hair fireworks are my favourite
ooh ahh
.. and so on and so forth. We drove Gill home afterwards, which was interesting as she lives downtown. The streets were packed with leftover fireworks viewers, and we got to see the two coolest people in Vancouver hands down: a tall black guy dressed in white pants and a white vest, wearing white sunglasses, and carrying a Casio keyboard looking for all the world as though he stepped out of an 80’s synth video, and an old Native man walking with a cane with a portable amp around his waist, playing metal licks on an electric guitar on Granville Street. Both of these guys were completely fucking awesome, and I salute them. I wasn’t able to get a picture of 80’s guy, and here’s a really lousy picture of Metal Man:
rock on, metal man
I’m sure this stuff is perfectly normal in downtown Vancouver at midnight on a Friday, but I’m not a club kid or a douchebag so I’m never down there at this time. I want to go hang out some night and just people watch – maybe I’ll live blog Granville Street one night. It can only be an awesome idea to sit on a corner with an iPad watching everyone around me, right?
It looks like summer is here (likely for today only), and I have Secret Errands to run so I best be on my way. To the shower!
this building is so expensive they ran out of money for the final A
Well, now I’ve done it – I can’t wear pants. When I do, I just feel gross. I spent all of yesterday wearing Pants for Real (as opposed to Temporary Pants when the pizza is delivered or when I have to run downstairs for emergency Diet Coke), and I felt just awful all day – greasy and sloppy, like a gargantuan awknerd. I just wanted to go home and hide away all day and maybe take seven showers or so to get the non-existent greasy film off my person. I never feel like that when I’m not wearing pants, so the only logical – scientific, even – assumption to make here is that pants are evil and should never be worn.
It is good that I live in a temperate region – I can go the entire year without pants, if I choose. My legs might be occasionally cold, but it’s not like I’m in danger of vagina frostbite even in the depths of winter. If I had the patience to do a one-a-day style blog about my lack of pants, I would give it some serious thought. Alas, I just don’t care enough (and can’t imagine I’d find an audience of people willing to see the pants I’m not wearing each and every day) to put forth that kind of effort. Hell, I even skipped writing here yesterday. I am the WORST BLOGGER EVER.
Today was day three of our resumed mail service, and I have yet to receive any mail. I did get a package yesterday containing my new Docs but those were delivered by courier. The Delivery Challenge at work is tied 1-1, but that doesn’t do me any good this weekend – one of the packages contains part of Heather’s birthday present, which is this Sunday. I’m trying to feel empathy for Canada Post, but I deserve some kind of shiny medal for even trying to look past the “GIVE ME MY STUFF NOW” aspect to feel sorry for their $26/h salaries and horrible working conditions. I mean, really. I am so selfish sometimes.
I wish I wore t-shirts, because this is the greatest thing ever:
yes.
I am SEETHING with frustration and venereal disease – FUCKING INFOPATH! If I thought I hated SharePoint, it was NOTHING compared to the boiling rage and impotent disgust I have for this fucking program. I AM SO IMPOSSIBLY FRUSTRATED! It’s a good thing it’s International Caps Lock Day – I’m going to use that to my advantage.
Mail service resumed today, and I am HIGHLY (and irrationally) ANNOYED that I didn’t get any of the SEVEN MILLION things I am waiting for in the mail. I know there’s a huge backlog to work through and my stuff will get to me eventually, but patience and rationality are not my strong points – I want my STUFF. NOW. Waiting is making me EXTREMELY CRANKY.
There is a giant whiteboard in front of my desk that is covered in Things That Must Be Done Yesterday in very large letters and it is making me kind of nauseous.
TUESDAY WHINING!
The mail should resume tomorrow or later this week, and I am beyond glad – I can’t possibly win the More Things Delivered Than You contest at work if I’m not constantly getting mail. I have things to ship out, too, like porn and baby presents. I sure hope I don’t get those two packages mixed up. What a hilarious sitcom-esq scenario that would be!
I’m feeling kind of pithy today. I’ve mouthed off to famous people on Twitter, quoted Chumbawamba at another person’s deep thoughts, and am generally just prickly and full of brambles all over. I don’t think I got enough sleep last night, even though it seems I slept all weekend. Where is all my energy? I’m not just tired, I’m tired of everything. I think I need to make some sweeping changes in my lineup and other sports analogies.
I have a 4-day weekend coming up. This cannot get here soon enough.
I’ve earned the right to be this boring, damnit!
pretty little piece of lead
This will likely only be relevant to three people, but it amuses me greatly. I’ve always wanted to be a star!
It’s a screenshot of my account information in Game Center (add me, by the way – as you can see I don’t have very many friends), and it kind of looks like a really crappy movie poster. The thought of starring as Drunk Bettie in a movie about her life tickles me a great deal. It could be an art house classic!
Okay, time to go drink away my anger at the demo I just sat through.
delicious juice dot com 