undereli's Blog

Note:  this was originally a response to a blog by an old friend of mine, whom I hadn't heard from in a long time.  When I finished I realized I shouldn't keep it to myself.  Some editing has occurred, and specific names have been removed to protect all guilty parties: 

I thought I felt something was awry when I woke up.  At first I assumed it was just turbulence between the magnetic poles of the earth and the sun, threatening to short out half the transformers and leaving us in darkness.  Then I logged on here discovered the real reason.  

In answer to your question, and to help alleviate your boredom, the last 48 hours haven't been good.  I ran out of meds and discovered, when I went to pick up my refill, that my doctor hadn't faxed the form needed to cover my prescription costs.  So, Merry Christmas your arse, indeed.  I've already sent a letter to Santa, complaining about this.  Since the North Pole is "technically" Canadian, however, I anticipate the letter being intercepted by Canada Post, who will redirect to Canada's Federal Health Minister, who will read the contents to the Prime Minister, who will contact Satan to put in a kind word for me.  Ass holes!  

The last two days I've been using an older prescription to keep myself from getting depressed while I get this coverage b.s. sorted out -- during the weekend, no less.  Well, I can see why I stopped taking these old meds, as they've left me feeling so hazy and groggy it's all I can do to get up and do anything at all.  

And if that's not enough for you, National Geographic Channel is now airing "It's The End of The World" weekend special, and the Cartoon Channel -- which I assume is for kids -- is showing the (late 1990s) cult movie "Fight Club," -- which isn't for kids.  WTF is going on?!!!  This is bound to get us all in the Christmas spirit, right?  Sometimes I don't have to wonder why I feel like I'm going crazy.  I can pick up my regular meds in the morning, thank God.

My mood: very cynical

Remember what it used to be like, when you could sleep through the entire night?  Instead of waking up at four or five in the bloody morning, and logging on just to see if someone left something for you here?  Like a lump of coal?

Didn't think so.  I can't either.  Oh, well!

Lately my attention has been cleverly diverted every time I log on here.  Why?  The upper right hand corner is dedicated to advertising, and so often the ad I see is for compressionsale.com.  It isn't the advertiser that grabs my attention, though.  The accompanying image is for the sale of stockings and hose.  It isn't a fetish of mine, but -- darnit! -- I do have a weak spot there.  Stockings and pantyhose, in my opinion, do nothing but enhance a woman's appearance, and I always notice that extra touch (figuratively speaking) when I notice someone wearing them.  To boot, what healthy man isn't distracted by six pairs of shapely female legs in a row, decked out in their various shades of nylon?  Man, oh man!  Makes me think of Christmas.  I know all female members on this site have those same shapely legs too, right?  And I thought I've kept coming back to this site so I can write?

I'd better stop while I'm ahead, before I get tossed into the "perv" bin, which is worse than a mosh pit, and where I don't belong. 

I saw the movie "Lincoln" yesterday. Without giving any of it away, I thought it was an excellent film, and highly recommend it to people who enjoy intense emotional drama in their movie.

 

This, too, shall pass, I know.  Right now I simply feel like a shmuck.  So soon after it all started it's all over.  i wanted to believe we had something special and lasting, but that wasn't the case.  I'm not going to talk about the reasons that mighty spark fizzled.  Blame is silly.  It's true I didn't want to see what was in front of my eyes, of the obstacles that stood in the way of my making what was there long-lasting.  I will say the fact I cope (successfully) with depression, and an unfortunate personal lapse in my own routine dealing with it, played a hand in our very short romance ending.

And so . . .  Life continues . . .

I'm very thankful to my E.P. friends for one special reason.  Without their profiles I wouldn't have joined so many experiences here.  I never set out to belong to so many.  Sometimes my joining a group these days is more of a joke played on myself.  I do not mean to belittle any experiences here, but I like joining groups now that portray a high degree of irony and humour, like "I think my heart has stopped beating now."  Well, obviously my heart hasn't stopped . . . at least not yet.  Knock on wood.  Whether I actually write a story there, or just squat in that space 'til the cows come home is something I may or may not consider.

However, back to what I was saying.  Even when my friends have put their accounts in vacation status, I can still browse their profile and find a swath of groups I haven't heard about yet.  Some are so ingenious and original I can't help but dive into the shallow end, amoung the large rocks and strong tide.  It's how I really took off after joining E.P., by raiding my E.P. friends' experience bureaus, and how I keep my intrigue up around here, amoung other things.

If we want to get technical, I really don't have two full days off.  My weekend begins at 7:30 a.m. Monday, when my shift ends, and finishes at 11:30 p.m. Wednesday night.  So I have one full day off, and nearly two full days, although a good portion of Monday and Wednesday are spent sleeping.  One good thing is that my days never change.  I work the same schedule day-in and day-out, week after week, so there's no guess-work about when I get to be myself again.

Monday afternoons and early evenings are devoted to my daughter.  I only see her once per week, and our get-togethers that are very important to both of us.  I asked if I could have a Sundays off instead of Tuesday, but it couldn't be worked out.  Every front-desk agent gets two consecutive days off – which is very nice of our employer – and if I took Sunday off instead, it would have screwed up someone else’s weekend.  For now I'm lucky to have two consecutive days off, and a fixed schedule, so I'm not complaining.  That leaves Tuesday to try to get some chores and housework done.  If I absolutely have to, I'll do the laundry Wednesday morning, before trying to sleep during the day.

Today, Tuesday, I was determined to take my bottles into the depot as well.  I'd been collecting them for some time, and they'd really piled up.  I had four medium-sized, 30" x 38" plastic bags full of cans and plastic bottles, and three boxes full of glass liquor and Snapple bottles.  I used to have six bags of bottles and cans, but one day after work I motivated myself to take two down to the depot.  I got back about $8.70 or so for those. 
The thing is, I live in a studio apartment, and nearly all of my shelf space is already being used, so the bottles end up sitting in my living room.  Yeah, I know it's unsightly.  I'm the only one who has to look at them, though, and it's my choice to let them linger.

Well, I woke up early this morning, and then went back to bed around 8:30.  I wasn’t sure what time the depot opened, but I hadn't got myself ready anyway.  I slept for a couple hours, I think, and then was up again for a couple more hours.  This time I remembered to take my anti-depressant (which is important).  That wiped me out, though, and around twelve-something-or-other I laid down again. 

I awoke around 3:00 and knew if I was going to return my bottles I had to get my ass in gear.  I’d put them all my car the night before, but they weren’t going to drive down and cash themselves in on their own, were they?  I threw on a t-shirt, shorts, socks and shoes (it’s September, and still warm), grabbed my keys, wallet and shopping bags, and off I went. 

Before doing anything I drove four blocks to Burger King, and used a buy-one-get-one-free coupon for two Whoppers.  No way was I going to get anything done without sustenance.  Of course, no matter how carefully I handled them while I drove, both burgers dutifully dripped and partially collapsed onto my white t-shirt.  What can I say?  It’s a bachelor’s life.

I took my bottles to the Metrotown return-it centre, which is six-and-a-half kilometers (just over four miles) from my place.  There’s another depot about a dozen blocks from my place, but I don’t like it as much.  I’ve gone to the Metrotown depot for years.  It’s spacious, indoors(!!), and I’ve always got good service there.  After sorting everything and cashing them in, I was $25.00 richer.  So all those bottles, together, netted me just under $34.00!  Not spectacular, but not shabby either.

After that I drove the short distance to Superstore at Metrotown Shopping Mall to buy groceries.  I’d checked my shelves before I left to get some idea of what I needed, since I hadn’t made a list.  I usually do better with lists, but I wasn’t going to trust my tired mind to get one done quickly before leaving.  Anyway, I controlled my impulses pretty well, skipping all the ice cream (there was still half of a container left in my freezer) and self-serve bins of caramel popcorn, jelly-beans, and chocolate-covered goodies.  I got two bags of cookies, though, since they were on sale, and I can use them for my lunches at work.  And I skipped the large ready-made pies, but caved over an 8” pie for $3.47 (this is in Canada, folks – where things are more expensive – and in B.C., too, where they’re more expensive again).  Needless to say, I bought Coke, which is my one big indulgence.  But instead of overloading on other sweets (like that isn’t enough), I bought oranges, strawberries, and kiwi.  One-hundred and sixty-some-odd dollars later, my groceries and I were heading back home. 

After putting away the frozen and refrigerated items I took it upon myself to get one more thing accomplished:  my laundry.  I’ve been blogging and drinking the obligatory Coke as it’s gone through both the washers (two separate loads) and dryers.  I’ve even folded my work shirts.  The rest gets pulled out of my basket on an as-needed basis.  I belong to a group here in E.P. about that experience, too. 

Now I’m contemplating a very late dinner, but somehow doubt it’ll materialize.

I don’t really dread doing chores.  It’s just a matter of turning off my entertainment distractions and making me do them.  Once I get going I’m all right.  Thing is – and everyone else knows this, too – if I don’t do them they don’t get done.  Like taking the bottles in?  It’s something ingrained in me by my parents, who always saved their bottles for the depot.  As they sit in my living space it looks like a hassle, but it’s one of those things that has to get done.  Besides, the money goes towards paying for some of my daughter’s school activities. 

So I’m giving myself a pat on the back for spending the time to get (some) of my chores accomplished.  I’ve you’re still with me, I thank you for reading.

It's my depression again.  I was doing fine at work tonight, then something as simple as my routine getting mixed up and not being able to accomplish my tasks the way I'm used to had left me doubting everything about myself.  I'm suddenly very hard on myself for all of the things I'm not accomplishing rather than remembering all of the good things I'm doing, like holding down a steady job, finding work at a hotel, which I'd longed for for so long, and being a good father to my daughter.  Then depression starts to creep in, the feeling like -- despite everything I am doing and living the life I've chosen and upholding my convictions and values -- I'm simply not a good enough man or person.  Why am I not working harder at fixing all the other things that are wrong in my life?  How long can I stand myself like this?

After these four or so years of coming around here I've wound up where i didn't think I would.  That is, with 900 E.P. categories on my luggage dolly.  Nine-hundred!!    

S I G H ! !  

I've only myself to blame.  I was away for a while, and since returning I've met some interesting new friends with cool experiences that I wanted to join, too.  Even those in my circle, who've been there through thick and thin, belong to cool experiences I thought I belonged to, or at least wanted to be a part of.  Seems each time I turn around I'm looking through another member's profile and thinking "Hey, I never thought of it like that before.  Cool."  Perhaps you know what I'm talking about?  I could give examples, but you only have to glimpse through my profile to get the picture, right?

I'm in the process of making a legible list of all of them, because I know for a fact there's a lot of overlap.  For example, I know I belong to the group "I am a kind and caring person," but there's probably half-a-dozen other groups with similar sentiments, and where the idea is clearly the same my intention is to sweep 'em out.

I'm not saying there should be a llimit on how many groups one should belong to.  That would be rude and just plain wrong of me.  If someone wants to define themselves here with fiteen hundred or fifteen thousand categories I say the more power to you.  What I'm doing is for me and me alone. 

I'm not setting a target as to how many I think I should clear out, only that the amount I have now is, for me, too many.  When people look through my profile I hope they come away with -- oh, I don't know.  Is it really important?  People will take away whatever they will, and hopefully be happy with the time they spent.  What I don't want is for my profile to seem too massive and daunting.  When they open my door, I don't want a mountain of experiences to come spilling over them like a tidal wave.  I'm a little tidier than that. My mood: pretty content

Last Sunday at work (August 4, 2012), we had the wedding party from hell at my hotel.  The guests and their friends returned from the reception already drunk and with about 30 kilo-litres of booze still to be consumed.  Our hotel shuttle accomodates seven, and it required three trips to get everyone who didn't already have a car. 

These people wouldn't let up.  They kept up the noise for a couple hours, at least.  Well into the night.  This lead to half-a-dozen complaints from other hotel guests trying to sleep and evicting guests' friends from their room.  Finally we had to call the police to get people to leave.  In the middle of the night, it was only myself and one other desk agent to cull everyone, which made me a little uneasy.  Things could have gotten way out of hand, after all.

I'm thinking about this, one week after the fact, as there's a group of hockey parents in our breakfast room whooping it up.  They're kids in adult bodies.  Thankfully they're keeping the partying to the breakfast room and not all over the hotel.  But it still makes me feel uneasy.  Maybe I've just gotten too old?

I had a start as I reviewed the titles of categories I belong to.  Although original, when had I joined "I love the smell of things in a relationship?"  After a second I realized it was actually 'the small things,' and not 'the smell of things.' 

Here it is, December 27.  We've been relieved of the Christmas advertising now, but, just in case we forgot, I saw my first commercial for filing taxes.  Sheesh!  Advertisers are ruthless.  There is absolutely no relief.

I've had worse colds.  I caught this one last week, a couple days before I got four days off work at Christmas.  This one's mostly been in my chest, although it's sure left my throat feeling raw.  Tonight when I woke up it had made the journey to my head, stuffing up the right nasal cavity.  (My head is like that when I get colds.  It tends to congest just one half at a time, like there's a water-tight compartment in the middle of my head)  When I blew my nose most of the phlem came loose, which is actually nice, considering the alternative is to feel like my face is stuffed with heavy glue. 

I know a cold has to run its course.  I have decongestant, pain killers, and good ol' Neo Citran to help ease my way back to health.  I've been lucky, too, for having had four days off to cope with this.  Usually a cold grabs hold of me at the beginning of my work week, ensuring I'll be just as miserable as possible.  But I'm going back to work tonight with this freakin' thing in tow, reminding me I'm not at 100%.  It's bad enough having to slog through the graveyard shift -- the last thing I needed for my transition back to work was a cold!

Oh, well!  I've been really lucky with my health.  I can't even remember the last time a cold took hold of me for one week.  It had to have been over one year ago, which says a lot.  I'm not the best at taking care of my health either.  All things considered, though, I must be doing something right!

It’s 9:17 a.m. on December 14.  I finished a ten-hour shift at 8:25 a.m., got a few groceries, and did some budgeting.  At this point I should really lay down.  I’d fall asleep in no time at all.  Instead, I’ll blog a little about my morning thus far, meaning what happened after 6:00 a.m., when droves of customers showed up.  I work graveyard shift at a gas station convenience store.
 
Man, was I weary.  I kept up my positive, cordial customer service persona, though.  At some point my system just switched into auto-pilot, which kept me going.  Not that my last two hours didn’t have its foibles.  One customer bought a lottery ticket, coffee, and a pack of smokes.  I rang in the first two, then gave him the cigarettes without charging him for it.  He was good enough to point out my mistake, though, and I finished the transaction properly.  Another customer, a regular of mine (who is pretty-good humoured, although he has low tolerance for mistakes), won a free $5.00 scratch ticket.  Befuddled by the message my lottery terminal gave me (customer wins 14 corner $5.00 Bingo), I printed him a $2.00 Crazy Corners Keno ticket instead.  He pointed out my mistake, bought the extra ticket, and I gave him the $5.00 scratch ticket he won in the first place.  Win-win.  The only other thing my weary mind let me do was dump the remains of one old pot of coffee in the garbage rather than the sink.  Good grief!
 
I’m not the biggest fan of these 10 hour shifts.  Working graveyards is fine (one doesn't complain too loudly these days for having a job), but the transition from the middle of the night, to early morning, to morning, is like going from 20 km/h, to 80, to 180, in the pretty short span of time.  Being the consummate professional that I am (yeah, right!), I can handle it – just about . . . pretty much . . . for the most part.  I have a co-worker helping me from 6:00 a.m. on.  But he has his own responsibilities to handle before I leave, so I’m pretty much on my own, at the till, and making pot after pot of fresh coffee, until the shift ends.  I can smile, though, because when I closed my till, after handling hundreds of dollars worth of sales, I was only 34 cents short.
 
Anyway, now I’m home.  I have dishes soaking in the sink, and have a list of ‘shoulds’ running through my head, including making lunch for work tonight, taking a shower, and phoning a friend who will be leaving for China any day now for Christmas holidays.  Heaven knows how much I’ll actually get done before collapsing in a great heap.  Oh, well.  I have all day to do these, and to get lots of sleep, too.  One more night left this week, then it’s the weekend.

Yesterday I was at a second-hand record store.  I was tempted by so much, but with Christmas coming up figured I'd be better off saving my money and making a wish instead. 

As I was leaving, outside I passed the $1.00 bargain bin.  Even here, I discovered a compilation of disco themed tunes, like Superman, 2001, and Close Encounters of the Third Kind.  It was only $1.00!!  Before I bought it, though, I figured I'd better buy a tuner and new needle for my record player first. 

My mood: pretty accomplished

Good morning everyone,

When I opened up my yahoo account this morning, I found something I thought was worth sharing.  A man in Moncton, NB advertised a snowblower on kajiji, and it was so good the ad went viral.  As I look at the ad right now, it has 407388 visits.  Wow!  I'll provide the address, but as the item has been sold I don't reckon it'll be up much longer.  So I've copied the ad below, too, for your reading pleasure:

11HP/29" Snowblower
Date Listed
23-Nov-11
Last Edited
27-Nov-11
Price
$900.00
Address
Moncton, NB, Canada


Do you like shoveling snow? Then stop reading this and go back to your pushups and granola because you are not someone that I want to talk to.

Let’s face it, we live in a place that attracts snow like Magnetic Hill attracts cars, only that ain’t an illusion out there. That’s 12 inches of snow piling up and, oh, what’s that sound? Why it’s the snow plow and it’s here to let you know that it hates you and all the time you spent to shovel your driveway. Did you want to get out of your house today? Were you expecting to get to work on time? Or even this week?

You gave it your best shot. You tried to shovel by yourself and I respect you for that. I did it, my parents did it, some of my best friends did it. But deep down inside, we all wanted to murder that neighbour with the snowblower who was finished and on his second beer while you were still trying to throw snow over a snowbank taller than you are.

So, here we are. You could murder your neighbour, which could ensure that you won’t need to shovel a driveway for 25 to life, but there are downsides to that too. What to do?

Here’s the deal. I have a snow blower and I want you to own it. I can tell you’re serious about this. It’s like I can almost see you: sitting there, your legs are probably crossed and your left hand is on your chin. Am I right? How’d I do that? The same way that I know that YOU ARE GOING TO BUY THIS SNOWBLOWER.

I want you to experience the rush that comes with smashing through a snowdrift and blowing that mother trucker out of the way. The elation of seeing the snow plow come back down your street and watching the look of despair as your OTHER neighbour gets his shovel out once more while you kick back with a hot cup of joe (you don’t have a drinking problem like that other guy).

Here’s what you do. You go to the bank. You collect $900. You get your buddy with a truck and you drive over here. You give me some cold hard cash and I give you a machine that will mess up a snowbank sumthin’ fierce. I’ve even got the manual for it, on account of I bought it brand new and I don’t throw that kind of thing away. Don't want to pay me $900? Convince me. Send me an offer and I'll either laugh at you and you'll never hear back from me or I'll counter.

You want a snow blower. You need a snow blower.

This isn’t some entry level snow blower that is just gonna move the snow two feet away. This is an 11 HP Briggs and Stratton machine of snow doom that will cut a 29 inch path of pure ecstasy. And it’s only 4 years old. I dare you to find a harder working 4 year old. My niece is five and she gets tired and cranky after just a few minutes of shoveling. This guy just goes and goes and goes.

You know what else? I greased it every year to help keep the water off it and the body in as good as shape as possible. It's greasier than me when I was 13, and that's saying something.

You know how many speeds it has? Six forward and two in reverse. It goes from “leisurely” slow up to “light speed”. Seriously, I’ve never gone further than five because it terrifies me. I kid you not, you could probably commute to work with it dragging you.

You know what else is crappy about clearing snow in the morning? That you have to do it in the dark. Well, not anymore! It has a halogen headlight that will light your way like some kind of moveable lighthouse (only better, because lighthouses won’t clear your driveway).

Oh, and since it’s the 21st century, this snow blower comes with an electric starter. Just plug that sucker in, push the button, and get ready to punch snow in the throat. If you want to experience what life was like in olden days, it comes with a back-up cord you could pull to start it, but forget that. The reason you’re getting this fearsome warrior was for the convenience, so why make it harder on yourself?

By this point, you’re probably wondering why I would sell my snowblower since the first snowpocalypse is upon us today. I’ll tell you why: because I heard it was time for you to man up and harness some mighty teeth and claws and chew your way to freedom, that’s why.

This is my snow blower. Make it your snow blower.

UPDATE - I assure you that the snowblower is real, and it is still available. Do not despair if you have made an offer on this glorious tribute to man's triumph over nature and I have not responded yet, your time has yet to come.

UPDATE 2 - It appears someone feels they have the courage to harness this snow siege weapon and blaze a divine path for all to follow this winter. Snowblower is sold, pending pick up, etc, etc.

Visits: 407388