Leftovers

 

Today’s post is the equivalent of leftovers night – I’m cleaning out my mental fridge, and you get what you get. Feel free to order takeout (i.e. look at a better blog, like Sulya’s, Kitty’s, Max’s…)

 

My mother in law visits – occasionally. I clean the bathroom – occasionally. No, the two are not mutually exclusive. I’d just like to say that a product that bills itself as “Scrub Free”, should not require copious amounts of scrubbing. That. Is. Bullshit. Someone should call the Better Business Bureau. (That’s an inside joke. Between me and….well, just me. I used to work for the BBB. In the Complaints Department. Man, there’s a BOOK in that experience.)

 

When you are walking to your car late at night, in a sketchy part of town, and 2 men whose work involves rehabilitating criminals offer to walk you to said car, you should maybe take them up on it. One of these days, my false bravado is going to kick me in the ass. I realized I should have taken the offer as soon as they turned the corner away from me. Not that anything happened. It’s just that I almost sprained something due to the combination of vigorously scanning the dark alleys, speed walking, and trying to keep my “mean but aloof” look on my face.

 

I’ve been ordering stuff online lately. Our suddenly strong Canadian dollar makes shopping at US stores highly economical. (Ah, the Canadian dollar. It’s like the kid who left school in June all short and nerdy, then comes back tall and cool. How you like us now?) The Americans rule at customer service. Asking things like, “How ARE you today, Ginny?”, then actually waiting to hear the answer. Sounding like they know what the hell they’re talking about. Apologizing for the “delay” (10 seconds spent looking up my information does not constitute a delay). Of course, I am HIGHLY susceptible to accents. This week I’ve talked to a lady with a Maine accent, who made every statement sound like a crisp question. And the Southerner whose exact provenance eluded me, but whose drawl/lilt made me all melty. But accent or not, they were both really nice.

 

This weekend, I’m going to my sister’s house for Thanksgiving. We Canadians apparently came to the realization that we had a lot to be thankful for approximately a month before our American friends. We’re quick like that….

 

 

 

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5 responses to “Leftovers

  1. “I’m cleaning out my mental fridge.” This conjures so many things I can’t keep up to all of it. The best temperature to preserve happy thoughts vs sad thoughts? Is there also a mental freezer? And, if so, what the HELL goes in there I wonder. Thoughts so fast they need to slow down? Or, perhaps, thoughts so dark they must be immobilized? And what would go “on the door” or “in the crisper”? I’m going to stop now. But this made my night.

  2. Aw, thanks for thinking that about my blog.
    Really, I don’t know what to say because I think your writing is so beautiful and provacative.

    I’m quite impressed with the leftovers. Oh, and next time I place a phone order here I’m going to have to fake a Canadian accent so they won’t put me on hold. Who knew?

  3. Link Love. Yay!

    Thanks, Gin Girl. Smooch!

    [ps : i think you guys have thanksgiving earlier because the natives just liked you better so fed you first, i could be wrong]

  4. Sulya – Clearly the hatred and petty jealousy would go in the door. They’ve already gone bad.
    Kitty – Accent? What accent? We have no accent. I don’t know what you’re talking aboot…
    Max – The natives cannot have liked us better. Type the words “Newfoundland” and “Beothucks” into a search engine. You’ll see what I mean.
    In honor of our Thanksgiving, I just want to say that I’m thankful I found this little niche. Very, very thankful.

  5. Oh I see you are not Familiar with the Trail of Tears. Trust me. We are more hated.

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