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. 

Fuck. 

So I did. 

Christ. 

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. 

Maybe don’t assume strangers are crazy. Maybe.

This week has not been ideal.

There’s something about the week after the holidays in which “getting back to normal” is a bit of an asshole.  Trying to return oneself to a normal sleep schedule, a consistent work schedule, and a regular bowel schedule is tricky.  Not to mention all those pesky new year’s resolutions getting in the way. It’s tiring, frustrating, and a general pain in my recently fatter ass.

Click here to read more of this post at A Nervous Tic Motion. 


I write at this wicked-ass site once every few weeks and you should totally read, follow, and comment.  Try not to be lazy, people.  Nervous Tic covers a cornucopia of topics - nothing is off limits.  Which is why I like it. 

Plus, I write for them, which means everyone should trust my damn opinion because I totally wouldn't associate with losers.  At least not voluntarily. 

So go forth and enjoy...

It may be Thanksgiving, but I can do whatever I want AS MUCH AS I WANT

Yes, I'm still alive and kickin.  I just haven't felt all that inspired lately.  Sorry.  Don't leave me!

That said, I did write a little something for my lovely friend Elle at her new group site A Nervous Tic Motion.  I'm so proud to be associated with this great group of writers.  You simply must go check it out.  They cover every possible topic under the sun, and they do it well.  Elle is even looking for a few more semi-regular contributors, so you should totally contact her. 

This is my Nervous Tic for today. 

*****

I recently bought myself a kickass new iPhone.

Actually, I didn’t buy it myself as much as I took the money from Hubby when he sold some random power tool or something. I happen to have a hard time treating myself to fun new things, but that may be a story for another day.

The point is, I GOT A KICKASS NEW iPHONE. Go me.

Now. I’m Canadian and we already had our Thanksgiving (although it’s not nearly as fun as yours with all the shopping, and the sugar-covered meals, and Mayflower plays, but still).

So in honoUr of my many wicked-ass American pals, I’ve decided to list the things I am grateful for. Regarding my kickass new iPhone.

1) I can pitter patter my butt all over twitter AS MUCH AS I WANT.

2) I can take random pictures of my cats AS MUCH AS I WANT.

3) I can send texts to everyone I know AS MUCH AS I WANT

4) Autocorrect.

5) I can text pictures of my cats to Hubby AS MUCH AS I WANT.

6) I can tweet pictures of my cats AS MUCH AS I WANT.

7) I can play Diamond Dash as much as I want. Or as often as my lives get renewed, which is stupid because it should just let me play it all the time, but the effing thing only gives me 5 lives every half hour or whatever so I have to wait between games and so I lose my rhythm and get pissed off.

8 ) I can find a map as often as I need to, which is ALWAYS because I’ve only lived in this city for three years a short time and I never know where I am.

In conclusion, I am thankful for my kickass new iPhone. And my cats.

"Yeah. I'm sitting on the vent.  So what?"

"Really? More pictures? Seriously?"

Thank god for autocorrect.

My new bugga-boo

My dear friends over at Motherhood Uncovered just launched their new website and I'm lucky enough  to take part. (Yes, I know I'm not a mother, but they say it doesn't matter.) My first Motherhood Uncovered post is republished here, for you to enjoy.

Please hop over there and check it out - it's really remarkable how well they've done.  This is one of my fav posts so far.

BUT BEFORE YOU DO! Please read my post about World Mental Health Day. 

*******

You may or may not know that I’ve been waging an angry war against nasty-ass Depression.

It’s been ugly, but my friend Mr. Drugs and I are holding our own. Even when we can’t rally against our enemies we just bunker down and avoid the weapons being hurled at our heads.

In a manner of speaking.

In another manner of speaking, my A-hole enemies haunt me every day. I’m constantly on guard. I walk around with one of those medieval shields and a giant lance just waiting for something to pummel me.

Full disclosure? Protecting myself all day is effing exhausting. And on top of it, I spend most of my time feeling ashamed, thinking about how I feel less and less like “myself” with every passing moment – more like a weaker me; a failure, an embarrassment.

I know damn well that I’m not supposed to think that. It’s silly. Laughable even. I’m supposed to tell that little jerk inside my head to shut his dirty mouth. But full, FULL disclosure? It’s remarkably difficult to dig UP out of that hole. Which, in turn, makes me feel like I’m failing at fixing myself – an even heavier hit to the gut.

So this is my new bugga-boo. My new pet peeve.

I am going to take everything I have and WIN this war. And then, THEN, I am going to bust through that tall, dark and ugly wall of Stigma that holds me back and throw every busted brick at every douchey person who gets in my way. I do not want to feel like a pathetic loser anymore.

And I’m asking for your help. Help me break the silence around mental illness. Help me kick Stigma’s rotten ass.

Maybe start with a joke.

“I start volunteering as a mentor soon.   Just don’t tell them I was recently suicidal.”

“I told Hubby I could either help him with the dishes or I could go pick up my crazy pills.  It was his decision to make… very. carefully.”

Maybe start mentioning it in conversation. Not with the random guy on the bus, necessarily, but with a friend or a coworker.

“I was late for work this morning (not because I had a headache but) because I’m facing some Depression and it was hard to get going.”

“Sometimes I feel like I can’t deal, but then I [fill in life-saving mantra here] and it gets a little better.”

Finally, talk to loved ones. Even if they don’t get it, they’ll at least listen, and maybe even offer you a book or a meditation CD (which will be infinitely unhelpful, but the sentiment is there).

And the best part? Most everyone you talk to will be able to relate.

“Oh yeah, I took a year off from school because I couldn’t handle it.”

“Oh yeah, my mom took a leave of absence from work when her parents died.”

“Oh yeah, my sister used to cut herself/binge and purge/cry herself to sleep every night.”

This is out there, guys. It’s out there, and the more we’re silent about it the greater chance it has of winning. And I simply cannot live with that.

So today, on World Mental Health Day, tell someone how you’re feeling. Or ask someone how they’re feeling. Or tweet something heartfelt. Or wear a shirt that says “I’m with Crazy -->;” for Christ sakes. 

But whatever you do, please speak up.