How Gold Digger became our song: Facts about me

Last night, my sister in law married a wonderful man. We had an awesome party, ate great food, danced our butts off to many requested songs, and everyone had a great time. When the DJ announced our song, our friends were incredibly confused. I thought I would explain.  That led to me answering some of the questions others have had for me this week. ** Amendment: by "others" of course, I mean Janet from Ordinary Mom! **

Our dancing shoes for the night!

How did Gold Digger become your song?
Four years ago, there were a slew of weddings at my office. We were at one reception dance and the song came on. I had heard it on Glee and loved it. However, because I only knew the song from Glee, I had no idea how raunchy it was. I dragged The Guy out onto the dance floor. It was the first song we ever danced to. The most ridiculously inappropriate song ever. It's been a running joke ever since.

What did you want to be when you grew up?
Here is what I listed each year when I was asked that question by my mom: Teacher, cowboy (not cowgirl?), police officer, ballerina (hilarious, being I have no dancing skills), and sniper. Thankfully, I went for police officer and got side tracked into human services.

How many languages do you speak? If you could learn one new language, which would it be?
I speak one. It's pathetic really and I wish I spoke more. I can speak some French and less Spanish. I would like to learn Russian, but so far (despite the Rosetta Stone, which I'm not great at using) I know how to tell you that your green dog is very big.

What age did you enjoy the best so far?
So far, my 30s have been the best part of my life. I was terrified of turning 30, but my entire life changed for the better and keeps getting that way. I bought a house, had many dogs, met The Guy, got married, started our life, started a house build, etc. It's been a ride. I'm more confident in myself, I'm more relaxed, and I know where I want to go - even if I don't know how we're getting there yet.

If I gave you $5 to spend on yourself RIGHT now, what would you buy?
I really want a peanut buster parfait. I considered going to get one, but it's not good for me. I considered walking to get one to negate the bad factor, but my legs/feet still hurt from dancing last night. Lazy is the only thing stopping me from putting on weight. Ironic, no?

Hope's Journal: Fiction Friday

The story of the Spinster house: The House, The Couple, Another meeting, The Shop, Anna's last year and The Disastrous Betrayal. 


Chapter 6: Hope's Journal

Anna shook herself out of her revelry as the kettle whistled. She realized her heart was beating rapidly and her hand ached from clutching the journal she held in her hand. Trouble was scratching at the back door to be let back inside and Anna knew she had been standing there, lost in painful thought for who knows how long.

Letting the dog back into the house and setting the tea to steep, Anna took a better look at the journal that belonged her aunt. Fitting easily into her hands, the leather was soft and supple, like a well loved book should be. It was simple, brown and gold, with no writing or embellishment on the cover.

Anna couldn't resist.

Pouring herself a cup of tea, Anna wandered into the sitting room and made herself comfortable on the older style love seat that had been left behind. She tucked her bare feet underneath herself, arranged the pillows behind her, and settled in. Trouble jumped up, made room for himself on top of one of her well-placed pillows and contentedly began chewing a rawhide.  Anna smiled, shifted to make more room, and steeled herself.

Slowly, as though knowing it was a moment she should savour, Anna opened the journal.  There was no pomp or circumstance, the words just began.


August 23, 1979
I turned 28 today. It's official, I'm no longer a young woman. I suppose that is truer than I would like to admit as I feel much older than 28. I have already lived so much more than my years. I have taken over as the adult in our home, finished raising my siblings, and put my youth on hold. I should have realized it would not wait for me to claim it again.

Martin has graduated high school now. Nineteen and full of bravery and knowledge. I am all at once proud of him and chortling at his assurances that he has learned everything. He is so amusing in his sincerity. I cannot wait for him to mature into the man he has shown glimpses of becoming. He has left for college now, the last one to leave the house, and I find I am alone for the first time in 10 years.

I did not realize how quiet and loud this house could be.

It has been 10 years next month since our parents died. 10 years since I came home from my first week of college to both mourn and move on. I find this year has been as sad as the first year. I find myself thinking "It has been a decade since my mother played the violin. A decade since..." Melancholy ridiculous, I need to smarten up about.

I have had a remarkable 10 years. I have watched my siblings grow. I have seen them all enter college and begin their lives. I have played and laughed, sang and cried, worked and loved. My sisters! How proud I am of them. The first women in our family to graduate, get degrees, and become real career women. The first women to prove what women have been saying all along - we are strong and capable! Francie with her poetry and love of literature - a teacher now. Cynthia and her love of order and sharing knowledge with everyone doing just that as a librarian. 

Then there is me. I am here. I'm at a moment in my life where everything I do can (could?) be something spectacular. Something important. 

I wish I knew what to do with that potential. It's quite paralyzing, really.

Next: Zoe is Persistant

Our relationship: A tale of sarcasm and wit

I thought I would do a little compilation post. Over the years, I have collected quite a lot of material from conversations between The Guy and I. They amuse me to no end, so I thought you might enjoy them. 

Sept 1, 2007
Tonight, The Guy and I went to watch his friends paddle at the Dragon Boat races. As we were walking from the car to the lake, I suddenly gasped in excitement.

Without turning to look at what I had seen, The Guy says "Yes, they have mini donuts".

Nov 17, 2007

The Guy and I went out with my family for supper. As we are sitting at the table enjoying our food, I looked up to see a bizarre couple at a table across the room. Both were in their late 50s. She had high teased hair, copious neck wrinkles, and a tiny tank top which barely held her in. He had a black silk shirt open midway down his chest, a long pony tail and a handle-bar mustache.

I gasped and turned to The Guy. Without looking up, he said, "I saw them. I'm going to start growing a mustache tomorrow."

May 1, 2008

The other night, The Guy and I were hanging out at his place watching a movie. I was fiddling with a tag on the couch and accidentally ripped it off. I held it in my hand for awhile, playing with the material worn soft by time and many butts and contemplated what I would do with it. I pondered it and rolled it in my fingers and got an idea. A devious idea.

Without turning to look at me, The Guy said, "You're going to put that up my nose, aren't you?"

Dec 7, 2008

The Guy: He was probably just legit-ing. He legit-ed all over the place.
Me: Legit is used as a verb in this case?
The Guy: Sure, legit can be a verb or a noun. Really, it's a state of mind.


Feb 12, 2009

I got an email from The Guy.
The subject read: I got your wedding ring today
I got very excited. Then I opened the email and it read:
But I pawned it for blow.


Aug 11, 2009

My new health card came in the mail. Along with it came a new organ donor card. I filled it out and left it on the counter for The Guy to sign as a witness. He came home and I told him there it was there to sign.

The Guy: What is it?
Me: My new organ donor card. You know that when I die, I want my organs donated.
The Guy: No way.
Me: What?
The Guy: I was planning on harvesting them myself and selling to the highest bidder.




Oct 14, 2010

I turned to The Guy and said "Can we have a Tea Cup pig?"
He grinned and replied "Mmmm. Tea Cup bacon. So tiny, yet so delicious."

Loving your political opposite

I try to be subtly political. It means, I have opinions (and pretty intense ones at that) but I try not to shove them down your throat. I figure it's a lot like religion and penises. You know, it's fine to have one, but don't bring it out and put it in my face.

That said, I was raised in a very socialist family. I'm not sure where it came from, but our family mantra was taking care of each other and people who had less than us. Mom and Dad made it clear helping others was important. One of the most important things - this meant helping people move, giving to charities, volunteering, giving something to someone who needed it, and not worrying about trying to be better or have more than others.

I think it was easy because we didn't have a lot more than others!

This translated to politics as we got older. If we have something and someone else doesn't (because they can't get it or they have obstacles in the way) we were taught it was important to share. Better for everyone to be equal than for there to be someone suffering. Now, our political climate has gotten less and less friendly to these ideas (in all parties, not any specific) so while I have these beliefs, I don't have any party that I am affiliated with. Until a Sask socialist party comes back, I'm just hanging out trying to figure out what will actually benefit all of us.

The Guy and I are pretty good team. We have a great rapport and a ton of fun together. He has been my saving grace during some rough times and my joy during the great times.

However, on the political spectrum... we are not on the same page. We aren't necessarily that far apart on the issues, but where I tend to be more left, he tends to be more right. Friends and family often cannot figure out how we can co-exist knowing the other is opposed to the things we support.  More than once we have voted entirely opposite of each other in major elections. In fact, in our 6 years together, we have only voted the same thing once.

We figure at least we cancel each other out. No harm, no foul.

We talk about the issues, can see each other's points of view, often agree on the issue concerns and (for the most part) how to deal with them. But, I tend to be more socially responsible and he tends to be more fiscally minded. However, both of us are aware the current systems are damaged (both socially and fiscally) and need to be repaired to be helpful in any way.

Recently, we had a big vote in our city. It made everyone lose their minds and both sides were not entirely honest nor reliable. His "side" won, though it was a close vote.

He texted me afterwards and, with a smile, asked if I saw who won.

I did. Then I warned him that was his one and only chance for triumphant gloating.

Now I can love him again until the next election.

Squirrels and Sunshine: Things about me

This week has been exceptional for my little site here. Two other talented bloggers have decided they think I'm awesome and nominated me for an award.  Two in fact!

The first is the Squirrely Blogger Award - which makes me feel as though I should be storing blogs for the winter - sent to me by Becky at My Sweet Moose.  Becky has a super adorable little girl and amuses me to no end. She tells the truth about things with a great sense of humour. I like her.

Second, I received the Sunshine Award from Raine at Spuddy Buddies. She (and her sister Skye) write about things like art, music, girly movies, and fashion. I'm sure I'm much cooler just having contact with Raine. At least, that's what she tells me.

True, the awards don't come with money or chocolate, but the fact someone liked me enough to tell me is pretty fantastic.  Of course, like with everything in life, they do come with a catch. I am also tagged to share things about me and then pass the award along to other people I like. Can do.

Despite the fact I'm sure most my readership is somehow related to me (hi Dad) there might be things people don't know. Here are some things about me:

I take terrible selfies

1. I like terrible movies. Girly, rom-com, bad writing, worse acting, pathetic plot girly movies. I will cry when I watch them every time. I don't cry as often in real life as I do watching a movie about boy meets girl.
2. I am more like my father than I like to admit, but at least I'm funny. I will spew forth a one liner to knock someone to the floor and then realize it was the same joke my dad would have made. I am incredibly embarrassed by this.
3. I take anti-depressants and have for over 10 years. I will likely never stop. I know mental illness is still not talked about for the most part and even I don't like to consider myself part of that. I was diagnosed with depression a long time ago. Now I have "occasional days of sadness" and sometimes some anxiety that goes with whatever is happening in my life. I found the meds take my migraines down a notch, so I keep them up regardless. 
4. I share everything. With anyone. I might embellish the story to make myself look better, smarter, funnier, or all three, but I will tell you. I have no real secrets. And the ones I do have, are pretty pathetic.



I'm super stylish

5. I have no self-motivation. If I don't have a list, I don't do what I'm supposed to do in my personal life. I have no problem being incredibly productive at work and can fly through tasks in no time. Get me home? It might take 3 days for me to do the dishes. With a list I might do things, but without one there is no chance.
6. I'm thankful I am tall. I can reach stuff and I always look way skinnier than I am. ("You're lucky you're so tall, no one will notice how much you weigh") Also, height is power. It has the ability to portray confindence and assurance even if you don't feel it. It has the ability to make people be quiet just by standing up. Although, I still wish I had hit 6 feet. Dang that elusive inch and a quarter.
7. I love to read. I'm not like most of my siblings and my father - meaning I don't read stuff where I might learn things or where I have to analyze (that's what school was for... I'm done now). I like books where the characters amuse me, the plot is pretty lax and there's some good romance to it. Something where I can take my brain out, set it on the counter and just read. I usually read a book every day and a half. Sometimes more, sometimes less, but that's my average.
8. I sleep on my stomach. Face down, right leg sticking straight out, left bent slightly to the side. I then tuck my arms underneath me. I look ridiculous or so I'm told. I also grind my teeth. I wake up with a killer headache and my jaw hurts. I have actually woken people up. To top it off, I only sleep a few hours at a time. Then I wake up, turn over or whatever and go back to sleep if I'm lucky. I don't know of any time I have slept through the night. My mother swore I never did.

And, like the show, 8 is enough.

I nominate: Tara @ Suburble, Wynn Anne @ Wynn Anne's Meanderings, and Zoe @ Pixie Dust. 

Customer service: How to do it right.

I posted this originally on April 12, 2011. I would say it is still very true. However, now I also want to write a sequel: How not to be a jerk of a customer.

There is something about working in customer service that makes you notice when other people are doing it wrong.  It's maddening.

Now, I know, you're thinking I don't work in customer service; I work in a crisis centre.  However, being a crisis worker is all about customer service -- in the worst way.  People who come to see me (or who have me show up on their doorstep) are either: 1) embarrassed to be there, or 2) furious and full of hatred.  But I have a service that I am there to provide and that is that.

I have been in some form of customer service for all of my life: a cashier at Zellers, a waitress, a front desk clerk, an advocate, a crisis worker.  This being said, I have developed some rules for good customer service.  And, in all honesty, most people suck at them.

Add caption

1. Greet the person first.  I'm talking about saying hello when the person walks in the door.  If they are coming into your office, it is your turf -- your responsibility to welcome them.  Do not allow them to stand there like a deer in headlights as you stare at them.  Say hello.
2. If you are busy, say so.  I/Someone will be right with you.  It's not that hard.  Do not ignore them.  I don't care how busy you are.  Unless you are making a life saving cut in heart surgery, you have time to tell them you are busy.  Don't let someone stand there waiting for you (who are not as important as you think) to acknowledge them.
3. Stop your conversation.  I have been in more places than I care to think of where the service person has continued a conversation about something personal while I waited for him/her to assist me.  I've heard about people's dates, their marital problems, the meeting they were called into for being a bad worker (shocking), plans for tonight, and just idle gossip.  I've even had a few people look at me with disgust and say I'm on the phone.  Yes, you are.  With your mom.  STOP IT.
4. Offer to help them.  Think they are lost?  Think you aren't the person they should be talking to?  Offer to find the person they need.  A young woman at the car dealership where I had my last vehicle (and will never go again) left me standing there for over 15 minutes because she knew I was at the wrong desk.  Did I know that?  NO.  That is why I stood there for 15 minutes.  I wanted to punch her in the throat by the time someone came to me and that is bad for everyone.
5. Be polite.  I don't care if they are the biggest asshats in the history of asshats.  I deal with jerks on a daily basis.  It is not uncommon to be spit at, threatened, sworn at, called ugly names, and yelled at.  I tell new people that if someone hasn't said you are a racially insensitive piece of the female anatomy while you calmly stand there, you are not doing your job.  
6. Consider if you were in their position.  You may deal with the same issue every day, but to this person it is a new experience.  It is the most important experience.  It is the only experience.  Be patient.  Be understanding.  Be firm, sure, but don't be a dick about it.
7. Don't take flack.  If someone is talking in four letter words and is spiraling quickly out of control, it's okay to tell them they need to cool it.  Sir, I do not want to hear that sort of language.  Sir, I will not listen to you speak that way.  Ma'am, put your clothes back on.  Depending on the workplace, someone who is aggressive can be asked to leave.  If not, stay calm and explain that you will help them to the best of your ability, but they need to tone down the language.
8. The customer is rarely right; it's your job to make them think they are.  Stating that you can imagine how difficult/frustrating they find the situation is perfectly acceptable.  Like cops in TV dramas, you can pretend to agree to anything if it gets what you need.  There is a way to make most people feel like they are getting their way without them getting their way.  Find a way to do that.  It's preparation for married life.

All I can say is -- almost every job is about customer service.  If you see people in your day, you are providing services to people.  You may think you're above it, but smarten up.  

Some day, someone, somewhere might serve you.  Wouldn't it be nice if they were good at it?

Liar, Liar: my experience with polygraph

As I mentioned last week, I had a do a polygraph. I still haven't heard the results, but I can only guess how they went.  The instructor assured me that I would decide the outcome of the polygraph, but there are many problems with that theory so I'm just happy no one has arrested me.  Yet.

Not that I have done anything really wrong.  Well, REALLY wrong. You don't know what kind of a horrible person you are until you have to really think about it and then spill it all for a stranger.  Then you are surprised with yourself that you haven't done hard time before.

I went into the building expecting the worst. Surprisingly enough, it was worse than that. I was coming down with a cold (and then pink eye!) but I hadn't slept well that night.  This is not surprising. I spent over a decade making sure I could stay up all night. When I have to be somewhere before noon, my body makes sure it is NOT TIRED AT ALL. But, I knew it was my only chance and I wouldn't sleep any better if we rescheduled.  In I went.

This has nothing to do with anything. Isn't it pretty?

The procedure for this test is to fill in a 31 page questionnaire prior to attending. It questions everything you have ever done that is wrong, illegal, immoral, or a mix of all three.  Then, you stew about and remember even more. When you enter the polygraph area, you then sit down with the administrator and go over it all again.

In detail. With examples. And you spill.  EVERY. LITTLE. THING.  All those things you wanted to keep secret? You don't.  All those things you are embarrassed about? You tell.  All those things you didn't realize were actually crimes? You admit to doing all the time.  You talk and talk and talk. AND TALK.

This part was 6 hours. Every time I answered a question, he would ask "What else?" which made me think he knew something that I didn't, so I would rack my brain trying to think of something else I had done. Usually he moved us on, realizing that despite some of my escapades, I am essentially boring. But I told everything. EVERYTHING. And you know? It wasn't that hard.

The guy was very likeable though intense. He admitted to hearing so many confessions as part of his job that nothing surprised him or embarrassed him. He also admitted he would not likely remember anything I said for very long, so should we meet in the hallway I don't have to duck behind a potted plant. This I took as a good sign.

These leaves represent every thing I told.

Finally, the hook up. It took about 5 minutes to get the contraption settled on my body and ready to read my every movement. It measured heart rate, breath rate, blood pressure, etc. My hand was numb before we even started, but that was normal. And then, the questions.

Other than what I had admitted to [in this area] did I do anything else?

That and a handful of test questions repeated over and over and over again. By this time, I was tired. Hungry. Annoyed. Exhausted. And honestly? BORED. I have never had to talk about myself that long before. Honestly, I love to talk about myself. Just ask me!! But I felt like, if I had to answer another damn question again, I would go mental.  But I did it. And the longer I did it, the more paranoid I became that I was forgetting something or that it would read my nervousness and boredom and exhaustion.

Half an hour later, he asks if I neglected to tell him something. Nope. Not at all. Was I thinking about anything during the questions on [insert topic]? NO!!! Of course not! I mean, had it been about homicide, I might have wondered if thinking actually DID count for something, but that? No.

Well, I "blipped" on one part. The one part I know I had nothing more to share.  The one part I know I had nothing to admit to. And that was the one I blipped on. We left it there, him telling me he would send my results to HR. That was it.

I left the room and was escorted to finger printing. The wonderful man who took my prints (and also was like the Jolly Giant) asked if I was okay. I said I wasn't really sure. He let me in on a secret - most the women burst into tears as soon as the polygraphist left the room. I admitted, I was waiting for when I got to my car. I was a nervous wreck, but it was that gentle, HUGE man who made me centre again. I owe him a drink for that.

So, I haven't heard anything yet. I expect I will eventually. Unless they have decided I'm a hardened criminal. And then, I might hear the slamming of metal doors.