Friday, 15 June 2012

I caught a fever

I caught a fever.  I woke up this morning feeling pretty normal, but then, when I was watching the Today Show, something funny started to happen inside me.  I felt kinda tingly and giddy... off kilter. 

And that's when I realized. 

I caught it. 

I caught Bieber Fever


I was minding my own business!  I wasn't exposing myself to dangerous contagions!  I was clean!

But then Matt Lauer was interviewing The Biebs and everything got a bit goofy.  It turns out that Matt just joined the twitter, and he made the mistake of asking The Biebs to help him with his first tweet. 

True to form, the little dude genius took Matt's phone, and tweeted this:


What a sucker.  He totally handed over his phone - and his first ever tweet - to an 18 year old pop star with 25 million twitter followers.  GOOD IDEA MATT. 

And then I laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed. 

But afterward, I began to get sucked in...  Not only is he an 18 year old genius, but that Boyfriend song is actually really catchy.  And he's a good little dancer, isn't he?  And Canadian.  We can't forget Canadian.  Be still my heart. 

There's no hope for me.  I'm lost.  This fever will consume me and I will forever be wandering the wasteland of what was once my adult life, wondering where all my responsible friends and family members have gone...

Sure, Hubby may stick by me for a while, but for how long?  How long can he deal with a tragically and hopelessly ill Wifey?  Not long.  He may have stood by me through Asshole Depression and Bastard Anxiety, but not this.  This is too much.  Now he knows I've truly gone insane. 

There's no going back. Farewell, cruel world.  Farewell. 

Baby, baby, baby, Ohhhhhhh...

Tuesday, 12 June 2012

Good thing I'm not a vampire. I don't like blood.

Who likes needles?

Nobody.  Nobody likes needles. 

Unless you like heroin.  Maybe then.  But otherwise?  Needles are sharp scary weapons that should be eliminated from medical necessity altogether.  In my opinion. 

Now.  I am NOT a "Needle Nancy".  Needles don't bother me.  I'm not a fan, but I don't get lightheaded like some people (ahem-Hubby-ahem).  ...Which is weird, given the whole anxiety problem. 

Despite my tolerance, I'm certainly not pleased when a needle is required in my forearm, rather than my shoulder.  THIS, my friends, is disturbing.  A forearm needle is an entirely new level of discomfort beyond one's natural fear of being stabbed with a small metal stick.  

So this morning, when the blood clinic awaited, I wasn't exactly rushing out the door.  No.  I took my time.  I putsed around and nodded off and played with my cats.  As any good procrastinator does. 

Once I finally arrived at the clinic (soaked from rain and starving from the required 12 hour food fast), I wasn't aware of how irritating this whole process would actually be. 

First, I had to take a number. 

Then I had to sit in a chair and watch Regis and Kelly with a room full of strangers like like a pack of lobotomy victims. 

They called my number and I gave them my forms. 

The girl looked at my sheet and asked "Are you pregnant?"

"Um, no.  Not yet."

She sent me to sit back down. 


Stomach growling. 

Anxiety rising. 

They called my name. 

"This way.  The nurse will be here in a minute."


She arrived, a nice lady with cool hair.  "Hi Marianna.  Oh, are you pregnant?"

Apparently I look fat today.  "No..."

"Did you eat today?"

Yep, clearly looking really fat.  "No.  Can't you hear my stomach?"

This is when the hell began.  You see, I happen to have a reasonable fear of needles (unlike irrational people out there).  I have teeny tiny veins.  Narrow little baby veins that have no interest in sharing their contents. 

So of course Nursey spent several minutes tying a tourniquet on my arm, smacking me, pinching me, and generally cursing at my uselessness. 

She eventually stabbed me ("Ouch!") and went on to explain how she had to shove it in there further than normal and pull it back out in order to get any blood. 


She proceeded to complain about the government and the health care system while I looked in the opposite direction listening to the sound of my life's liquid flowing from my body at the mercy of some crazy woman with cool hair.   

When she was done, I looked over and gasped.  There were eight - yes EIGHT - vials of my hot red blood on the desk next to me.  EIGHT.

What the hell?  Is she gonna sell it on the black market? Christ. 

I left, back into the rain, wolfing down two granola bars and complaining to myself about the pain in my arm.  When I arrived at work with cotton taped to my arm, someone asked if I just gave blood. 

GAVE IT?  Fuck no.  They TOOK it.  Thieving bastards. 

Wednesday, 6 June 2012

Some people are so awkward

I have one of those photo security passes to get into my office.  Like I work for the CIA or something. (Or the equally renowned and distinguished Canadian version, CSIS.  Pronounced See-Sis.  Because it's cool.)

My security pass is a plastic card with a very attractive convict photo on the front and a magical probably carcinogenic magnetic insert that somehow allows me to pass through the automated sliding glass partitions without setting off a series of alarms/sirens/flashing lights.   

And although I could, in theory, just hop over said glass partitions, it is highly frowned upon. 

Now.  I have, in some rare instances, been known to lose my security pass.  It's possible that I may have - once or twice - walked into the office, and unceremoniously crashed into the plexiglass before I knew what hit me.  Maybe.

Well, on Monday when I tried to swipe my card it failed.  Cue the sirens. 

Turns out, the fucking thing was totally split in half.  How I didn't notice this is entirely unclear, but whatever. 

The security guard let me in (I basically could've been a bomber for all he knew) and told me to go to the Security Office to get a new card. 

Problem is, I work in an office.  A big office.  With a very large and oppressive bureaucracy.  Like 1984.  So I knew I wouldn't just be able to show up at the Security Office for a new card.  That would be too easy.

No.  I'd have to ask Admin Support to contact Security, so Security could contact me, and then (and only then) could I go to the Security Office. 

When I went to Admin Support, she said it should be fine.  I should just go straight to the Security Office. 

So I did. 

And they of course told me to go talk to Admin Support. 


So I did. 


Once I finally received the coveted invitation to the secret Security Office, I travelled down to get  my new card. 

And then I sat.  And waited.  In a tiny, smelly, dark office dungeon.  For more minutes than I care to admit.  And I watched the security video on tv that was kind enough to inform me that "passwords are like socks."  I don't know why.  I stopped watching. 

Because that's when it happened.

The tall dorky guy in line ahead of me was called up to take his photo. 

He stood in front of the camera screen, and smiled. 

And the camera attendant (aka Security Officer) told him to look into the lower camera. 

I kid you not.  That poor tall dorky guy looked at the camera, looked at the attendant, and then CROUCHED DOWN. 

He very awkwardly bent his knees and lowered his face to be level with the camera.  And then he smiled. 

The attendant snorted, told him to stand up straight, and then took the picture. 

Meanwhile, I stifled outbursts of laughter. 

And then the whole ordeal was worth it. 

Sunday, 3 June 2012

Fact: I am PLAYFUL.

In honour of Miss Sarcasm's Operation Play More, here is a list of things I've done recently that I consider "playing" ...

1) I BOOKED A TRIP TO CHICAGO.  With other bloggers.  Yeah.  To drink beer and eat pizza. And to be ridiculous.  Because that's my specialty. 

2) I smeared yellow dandelion goop on my friend Phil's arm.  And then I ran away.

3) I made s'mores on the fire.  Yes, the fire.  That Hubby made.  This weekend.  In our house.  In June. 

4) I took off from work and bought popsicles for my colleagues.  And then I ate them.  K, not all of them, but at least two. 

5) I went to see Snow White and the Huntsman with the girls.  And I squealed childishly when the trailer for the final Twilight movie played.  And then I squealed even more when almost every scene in Snow White was the same as those in Twilight.  Like, THE SAME.  (Except for the ones with Charlese Theron.  Charlese Theron is a beautiful genius.)  Oh, and I also spent $4.51 on the smallest bag of peanut M&Ms known to humanity, simply to avoid eating the GREEN BEANS my friends were snacking on.  Losers. 

6) I became a #gooseabductor.  Rather, I tried to.  Not really geese.  More like goslings.  I've not yet been successful, but I haven't given up.  Hint for other potential goose abductors: mother geeses don't like when you try to abduct their babies.