Ok, make it two or three days...

Turns out the scooter wasn't as far along as I presumed.
Turns out the crankshaft wasn't there yet. Obviously I misunderstood the conversation on Saturday.
Turns out the crankshaft is being picked up "tonight" from Fedex's depot, or the post office or where ever else things go when they can't be delivered because no-one's home or the place isn't open yet... (Been there, done that! I've had to travel all the way out to Mississauga to pick up Christmas presents I'd ordered from BestBuy. Irony? The FedEx depot is right behind the BestBuy in Mississauga. Good thing I had those gifts shipped!)

Ok, close enough. The mechanic working on my scooter told me what he'd done so far, and described the new bench seat they're installing. No lock on it at the moment, so I'll have to get that put in later. With gas going up to a zillion dollars a litre, people might just get desperate and start syphoning out my 4 litres of gas. Hm. May not be worth the cost of the lock!

If the crankshaft gets to the shop tomorrow, and it really does take 2 days to build? Great. Otherwise, I'm probably looking at next week, not this week.

I don't mind. I just wish I hadn't been told otherwise. Hate getting my hopes up.

Whatever, the part is here. That's all that matters. Misunderstandings happen. We're one step closer, and that's all it takes.

What's one more day...?

No mechanic today. No biggie. I'll check in again tomorrow, hurricane allowing.

At this point, with solid rain forcast from now till Friday?

Well, you just gotta laugh.

Meanwhile, poor Scooter the dog is super itchy. He's got seasonal allergies which make him itchy, itchy, itchy! My dad (an awesome vet) had me try giving him Benadryl. Seemed to work ok yesterday, but tonight he's either putting on a show, or his face really itches. He's doing that thing where his butt is up in the air and he's rubbing his face and neck all over the carpet, moaning like a seal. Sort of the opposite of a dog scooting his butt across the carpet. It's pretty funny. Well, until you take into consideration that he's really uncomfortable... So my reaction goes like this; "Ha ha ha... ohhhh poor guy... ha haha...awwww".

Poor itchy monkey. If they Benadryl doesn't help, I'll have to run him to the vet and see if this Pet Insurance is worth the $30/month it's been costing me!

Yes. I have pet insurance for my dog. You try looking at a $3000 vet bill after your dog gets hit by a car, and not learning something from it. Damn itchy, bionic dog.

Episode 4: A New Hope

Honestly, I'm incredibly happy today. Happier than I've been in a while. Happier than I have a right to be on a Monday, at work, facing a writing deadline with a blank slate.

What can I say, I had a good weekend. Good things happened this weekend. Some of them I can talk about, some I can't.

I was walking to the streetcar this morning, and noticed how pretty the clouds were. Yeah. Goofy.

So why so happy? I think knowing this scooter thing is finally coming to an end has really made a big difference. The longer it went on, the more it wore on me. I'll be very happy to write the final chapter, the "happily ever after", and put the whole thing behind me.

Why else? Saw a really good performance by the current Bad Dog Mainstage cast. I haven't been to or done any shows with that cast in a while, so it was really great to sit back and watch, and marvel at how far they've come. There's some strong talent there, that would give most other improv theatre companies a run for their money. I anticipate great things ahead. And it was amazing to sit in a full house! I've done shows there to 8 people. Who am I kidding, there are times we would have killed for 8 people. But both the Starz Wars show AND the BD sessions were heavily attended. Really encouraging.

Why else? I'm currently taking the lead on planning our trip to visit my parents in December, at Disney World! Yes I was just there in February with Greg, but I felt guilty about leaving my sister behind, and not having my parents come visit while we were there. (Ok, only a little guilty. We had an awesome time!) So here I am using my newly developed expertise to try and score us as many money saving tricks as possible, without sacrificing any of the stuff we want to experience. (Could a Dolphins in Depth tour be in our future?)
I'm a nerd for vacation planning. I can't help it, I get so excited. Like a nerd.

But a happy nerd, so that's got to count for something.

Now I'll just need to channel some of that energy into getting my play off the ground. I've changed gears abruptly, and that means I'm starting from scratch. Which isn't so bad since that's where I anticipated starting from in the first place. But it does mean that I've got to get my ass in gear, and start thinking about casting while I write.

Argh.

This is going to be a very stressful fall.

Wait, I was happy a minute ago, right?

Holding my breath

Stopped in at the shop yesterday afternoon to check on my scooter. I was nervous about going in. I didn't know what I was going to do if things were at a standstill. It wasn't even an eventuality that I wanted to prepare for.

The shop looked closed, but Greg tried the door anyway. As he did, the owner came down and unlocked the door and let us in. I ask how things are going, an he says that the mechanic working on my bike will be in on Tuesday and I should come in then.

Well, last time I was told to stop by on Tuesday, I got my ass handed to me. More info, please? Any idea how things are progressing?

"Well, talk to the mechanic, but it looks like we'll have you riding next week."

I ask for the VIN number so I can get my insurance switched over. We go in the garage and get that taken care of. In the meantime, Greg wanders around the shop and when we come out of the garage, he's standing next to a shiny silver small frame scooter.

"This one looks familiar". I go over, and see that it's a PK, they had at least one other kicking around so it doesn't hit me right away. Greg says, "This is your old one, isn't it?".

The owner says yes. It's been painted, new front fender, looks lovely with the exception of a long scratch along the top of the headlight casing. Ouch. I chuckle to myself, remembering that I'd just seen the old beat up version of my scooter about two weeks ago, and here it was shiny and clean. And I'd been told at the start of the spring that if I wanted to get my scooter painted it'd be out for the whole season. They managed to get it done in two weeks, and I still was out a ride for pretty well the whole season.

Doesn't matter, my new scooter is going to kick ass. I can't wait to hear it running for the first time.

No more shit

Well, the hurricane missed my dad. As you can see, it's hooked south again, and may work it's way up the gulf coast. Hold on tight, Tampa!

I've been putting off going to check on my scooter this week, because I keep hoping to hear from them. Again, for a cynic, I've been pretty optimistic. I've handed out so much benefit of the doubt, I could be persuaded that OJ is a really nice guy who loved his wife. Honestly, I keep expecting a phone call saying "We're done!", since the last visit was "Everything's clean and ready to go together, we're just waiting on the crankshaft. Once that arrives, we're looking at 1-2 days to build."
I'm trusting that. I'm trusting that the crankshaft they ordered over three weeks ago is going to be there "any day now". I'm trusting that if it's not there by now, they've checked on it and have an answer about why it's taking so long, AND a plan B if the crankshaft looks like it's MIA. These are good business practises. Since I've been assured that what I've experienced in the past is NOT how they normally do business, I'm trusting that my experience will change. I mean, I'm already ecstatic that they've worked on the scooter to the point they have. So I've got that going for me.

401 days.

Aw shit, shit.

Hurricane's heading right for where my Dad lives in West Palm Beach. Mom's gypsy ways are looking pretty smart right about now.

Aw shit

I've got a spot in the Bad Dog Short Play Festival.

I'm going to take the evening to accept the fear, and wallow in uncertainty.

Tomorrow, I write!

Eureka

I've figured it out. My journey of 399 days and counting towards a scooter that is now waiting for an errant crankshaft from Atlanta is a blessing.

If I'd had that scooter a lot of things could have happened this summer.

I would have been caught in awful traffic snarls thanks to the endless construction on Bathurst and Queen Street.
And while being caught in that brutal traffic, wearing stifling helmet, gloves and jacket, like the safe rider that I am, I could have suffered from heat stroke thanks to our soaring temperatures this summer.
Or perhaps, in clear blue skies the glaring bright sun could have blinded me, causing me to run into something hard and dangerous -not unlike my header into the pavement last fall, but maybe this time the driver directly behind me would have been blinded by the sun as well. Squish!
Or maybe while driving myself home from work, or a show, or a night out with friends, I could have succumbed to exhaustion, and closed my eyes for a little speed nap, at a high velocity.
And without the need to walk so much, my ass could have extended to asssstronomical proportions.

Yes, it's probably better this way. And the close to $700 I've spent this summer on insurance, transit and cabs is probably money well invested in my own safety and well being.

I know, I sound snarky again. But I can tell you that I'd love to hear from the shop, even if all they have to say is "we don't have the part yet, but we've checked on it, and here's the deal...". I'm not asking for them to call me daily, but the odd check in would be welcome. I'm understandably nervous about just letting it slide and assuming things are moving forward... That's how I got here. But I promised myself that I'd give the new regime a reasonable amount of time to get things straightened out. I'm trying hard to be patient - something I'm not necessarily good at, as any of my family members will tell you.

Again, friends think I'm kooky for it. But it's the way I work. Yes, it's been over a year that I've been waiting, but it's only been a couple of months for the "second chance" crew.

Holy crap.

It's already been a couple of months.

I am kooky.

If I have to start chasing again, I'm going to be pretty disappointed... Why? Why do I trust?

The Aristocrats

I saw the Aristocrats this weekend (I'll write about the improv festival a little later, when I've had time to gather my thoughts), and I can't remember the last time I laughed so hard at a movie theatre. Wait, yes I can. Anchorman.

But when I was watching Anchorman, I didn't see three people walk out. Aristocrats, yes. I'm not sure what those people thought they were going to see, but I can't really fault them too much. I expected raunchy, I expected offensive material - I've spent enough time in the comedy world to know that things can get a little blue after the audience goes home.

This was a whole other stratosphere.

So if I were a civilian, and was sitting there watching some of my favourite sitcom comedians, or Late Night Couch kings waxing poetic on scatological references and incest... I think my head would explode too.

Most people, though, went along for the ridiculous ride, accepting it for what it was. Damn funny. Unapologetically so.

So on an improv bulletin board, someone suggested writing how we think various people would tell this joke - and mentioned the cleanest comic in the biz. Bob Newhart.

Give me a moment to turn around, muss up my hair, tug at my collar. Here is my impression.

The Aristocrats, as I think Bob Newhart would perform it:

(telephone rings)

He... hello, uh, Bannerman Talent Agency...

Um. Ye-yes. This is Mr. Bannerman.

Oh, you have an act you'd, you'd like me to.. to represent? Oh-ok.
Can you describe it to me?

Ah, I see. A family act.

Uh-huh.

Uh-huh.

I'm sorry, they what? Oh. So the clothes come right off...

Uh huh.

Uh huh.

Well I'm not sure the stage manager would want... want you to smear that everywh...

Ok. I see.

I'm sorry, you said three donkeys? Ok.

Uh huh.

Uh huh.

Oh dear. Uh, how... how old is your daughter?

Uh huh. And she already knows how... how to...

That's not the best part? Ok. What... what is the best part?

Oh dear. Are you sure that's... um... physically possible?

You... you do it all the time. Sometimes with fire.

Well. Well that is ah... um... a very, a very interesting act. Out of curiosity, what do you call yourselves?

The... the Aristocrats. I see. Well, thanks for calling, but I specialize in entertainment for children's parties.

Uh huh.

Oh, you have another act?

Uh huh.

Uh huh.

I'm... I'm going to stop you right there. You're describing the same act.

Ye... Yes you are.

Ok then. What makes it diff... you were just getting to it... ok.

Uh huh. Balloon animals. I see.

Well, I still don't... don't think your act is right for us, but thanks for your time. It's been very... uh... very interesting, and good luck with... with your careers.

What? You... you are willing to change the act if I, if I have a suggestion...

Um... I think maybe if you didn't um... have relations with your... with your daughter... while she was... um... servicing the donkeys....

Uh huh... Oh. I didn't, I didn't realize that was... that was the heart of the piece...

No, I didn't mean to, I didn't mean to question your artistic in-integrity.

You... you're right. It's probably better if... if I see it myself...

Ok, see you tomorrow at 3.

What? Wear a raincoat? Alright, thanks for the... for the tip.

See you tomorrow. Buh bye.

The terrorists have won

They made me late for work today.

Streetcars on King Street West were diverted between Spadina and Shaw because of an apparent pipe bomb lying in the middle of the road at King and Niagara.

News at 11.

(If I'd had my scooter... grumble...)

Check out my package!

That's what Canada Customs did. Maybe they're reading my blog, and got mad at me for calling them "duty pimps". I refuse to apologize. They are dirty. They are dirty, and they opened my package and inspected it. They had their grubby, duty pimp hands all over my stuff, evaluating it. Judging it's terrorist capabilities. Determining if they could get away with charging me more money for the privilege of receiving it. Dirty.

But, on the upside, my Palm Pilot finally arrived! 4 weeks after it was shipped from San Diego. Works great, looks good. Now I just have to find out what software to install in my computer so I can be cool, and HotSync it. My Palm is an m505, so I'll have to find some older software, I'm assuming. What do I know. I just like shiny things.

Did two shows at the improv festival last night. The Slap Happy show at the mainstage was just me and Dave. Kerry and Sandy are both on vacation now, so we were on our own. It was a lot of fun. And a lot of work. I forgot how much work a two hander can be. But really, really fun. We chatted in the dressing room about how we wanted to handle our transitions and edits. We decided that we didn't want to any of our usual stuff, nor did we want to be all crazy and run around. So we decided to try and make small shifts. I think it worked out pretty well. A couple of edits in, we easily recognized the shifts the other was initiating. Fun.
I think it worked well, because I have a tendancy to edit earlier than Dave (want to leave some meat on the bones of a story so we have the option of returning to it), and Dave has a tendency to identify and explain more than I do. So between the two of us, it balanced out.

Whatever. It was just FUN.

I played a dancer in a couple of scenes, and lived out my childhood ballet dreams. Knew those lessons would come in handy someday!

Then I zipped up to the Bad Dog to catch up with the Short Weird crew. I kind of forced my way into this show, needling Marcel about not inviting me to do the set. Needle, needle! I had a blast playing with Sean Fisher, Scott McCrickard, Jamillah Ross and Marcel. I don't know if I've ever done much improvising with any of them, but we had retarded fun. Our warm up consisted of grabbing a drink across the street at the Old Nick, and cracking wise.

Marcel thought it would be funny to order a pizza at the start of the show and see if it could be delivered by the end of the set to end our show. Sadly, the pizza dude showed up a couple of minutes after the lights were pulled, so we missed the mark. The audience was happy to grab a slice of sausage and pineapple pizza (they chose the toppings! Freaks.) on the way out the door, though.

Tonight is Bass Happy and friends. Joe and Mark, me, and Christy and Paul. I can't wait.

Hell turns down it's thermostat

Is it wrong to enjoy a visit to the dentist? Cause I think I just did. I'd had a miserable visit to my regular dentist back in November, and was dreading my upcoming cleaning.

The hygenist at my old dentist's office was a nice lady, but she had lead hands. I think she was probably one of those people who talks with her hands, gesturing and gesticulating to punctuate every story, and she probably should have shut up while poking my gums with sharp metal objects. Again, nice lady. But I'd never let her near my mouth again. So much blood. So much pain. And then the salt water sandblasting? I almost vomitted. This is not an experience I cared to repeat. I mean, it wasn't surgery. All she had to do was scale a little tartar off without making me cry.

And I'm tough in the chair, too. It takes a lot to make me flinch. This woman about broke me. When I had to tap out because I thought I was going to throw up, I knew she'd won. As a reminder, my mouth throbbed for hours afterwards.

I was beginning to think that's just what cleanings were supposed to be like.

Turns out, not so much.

I was lured away from my former dentist with the promise of sonic cleaning, and a really nice dentist who I'd met socially and really liked. Well, she didn't actively lure me to her office. It's not like she was outside with a van and candy. But I was curious about the idea of not having my gums ripped to shreds, and this "sonic cleaning" sounded cool.

Turns out, I think my old dentist did sonic cleaning too. Because the procedure was the same, but damn if the hygenist wasn't a million times better at the new clinic. For example. When flossing my teeth, he applied enough pressure on the floss to get it between my teeth, but managed to stop it from crashing into and cutting my gums. While scraping, he didn't miss my teeth altogether and just go right for the throbbing gums. This was a huge moment!

Everyone was friendly, I got to listen to Mary J Blige in the chair, we all had a good laugh.

This is dentistry I can get behind! We consulted on a few dental concerns of mine, and I didn't feel like I was getting the used car salesmen pitch. I hate being "upsold" by health care professionals, I really do.

I honestly had a good time, and I'm not in pain. And the cherry on top? When I went over the bill and my insurance printout, they charge exactly the allowable amount by my insurance provider. My old dentist charged a good 15 - 20 % over the allowable amount, which really dinged me when we did big procedures. Now I'm all for people setting their own prices, and charging what they think they're worth, but they're just not the dentist I can afford to go to.

To quote Annie's song as she arrived at Daddy Warbuck's mansion for the first time; "I think I'm gonna like it here".

Did I really just quote Annie?

No, I didn't have any nitrous oxide.

The end is in view

I stopped by the shop tonight on my way home from work to check on the status of my scooter. I hadn't heard anything, so I assumed there wasn't much news, but I'm a sucker for follow up.

Well, I assumed wrong, and I couldn't be more thrilled. They were closing up as we arrived, but I managed to catch the mechanics on the way out the door. Things are looking good. The scooter's cleaned up and ready, parts are laid out and set to be re-assembled. They're just still waiting for the crankshaft. The order was placed quite a while ago, so this isn't normal as far as the supplier goes. I dig that. I'm waiting for that damn palm pilot still, and a supposedly "2 day delivery" gift from my aunt that we were supposed to be give to my mom last weekend. Something is obviously up with the border. I'm sure that if it doesn't arrive soon, they've got a plan B.

I thanked the guys, and told them that I wasn't in a rush this week. The improv festival is taking up a lot of my focus, so if things don't fall into place this week, it won't be the end of the world. I'm really happy with the turn things have taken. Takes a bit of the bite out of my insurance conundrum. This is me. Happy.

Speaking of the improv festival, I caught the SNL writers tonight. Holy. It was a great set. I don't know how they ended up together performing improv, but it's lovely to see. The listening, the space they gave each other to dismantle their beats, the trust... I can't remember the last time I've seen such funny out of guys who weren't trying to be funny. It was a treat to watch. There are sets sometimes that refresh the cynic and the lazy improvisor in you. True Fiction Magazine in San Francisco was one of those sets. BassProv deliver those sets. Adrianne Frost delivers those sets. And tonight, the SNL writers delivered. Not to gush, or anything. But, it was a really fun night.

We had a maid come in and clean this week. Two maids, actually. I recommend it highly. I think they started running out of things to do, because somehow our can opener is shiny, and the holder for the toilet bowl brush is sparkling. I love maids. And I love that they came with a bag of cookies for Scooter Bing Bong, the bingiest bong of them all.

I just thought I'd throw in a photo of Mr. Scooter Bing Bong for the kids at home.

The price is higher than I thought

My insurance situation is fucked.

I had insurance on the scooter that expired in July - meaning that I was paying insurance on my old PK for the end of May, June and into July.

Based on my positive conversation with the owner in July promising me the new scooter, I took the VIN number of the scooter we thought I was getting, and renewed my insurance in July. I didn't want to let it lapse, and I wanted to be ready for delivery, which I understood would be forthcoming shortly.

Over a month later, and still no scooter, I call my insurance people. If I cancel my policy, I lose either 15% or $100, whichever is more. The best case scenario is if I keep the insurance for the scooter I don't have, and swallow the loss, and switch the insurance to a new scooter when I get it.
The worst case scenario is that I swallow the loss and end up with nothing to ride.

Too much swallowing. This delay is costing me more than I expected.

Fuck.

This has to end.

What if...

I get funny, nervous questions these days.

Questions like "What if the scooter guys thought you were going to take down your whole blog', won't they be mad?".

Meh, I dunno.

I've already said that I'm sure that the goal was not to quash my freedom of speech, and asking that I stop writing does exactly that. So, no. I didn't say I'd take down the whole thing, and I really didn't get the impression that they expected it. For example, I couldn't very well print an apology if I took my blog down, and considering that the scooter saga only comprised a fraction of my writings, it doesn't make sense to remove the whole thing.

But what also doesn't make sense to expect that I drop the matter completely. I'm still living it. It's still causing me to lose sleep. It's still giving me anxiety. Maybe I'll get a nice black ulcer to match my black scooter.
I'm only writing what I have been told at this point, and assuming the follow through is there, it can only reflect well on them. I'm not sure how to express it without sounding glib or disingenuous, but I'm really looking forward to writing the happy ending.

Hopefully we'll make some progress tomorrow.

I'm still waiting for a palm pilot shipped from the states on July 21st. We're not sure if it's lost or if it's just backlogged at the border. The eBay seller is going to check with the place where he shipped it to see what he can find out. If he shipped it with insurance (like I paid for), then we should be good. Assuming of course, he can find the receipt. Which he can't. Ouch.

Waiting... waiting... waiting...

Holding pattern

No new information on the scooter, the shop was closed yesterday and again today. I didn't get a call back with my VIN number, but I'm not going to sweat it. Sometimes phone calls don't get returned.
I sent an email today, to remind them about the VIN, putting the full seat on as agreed, and that since I've returned the rear rack I bought last season, I'll either need a refund or an exchange. If it's in writing, there can't be any confusion.

For the record, it's been 390 days since this started.

Soldiering on

I've left a message at the shop, asking for the VIN number for the new scooter. Hopefully I'll get a call back today so I can be prepared from my end for an easy handover. I'm sure they want me out of their hair, their shop and their lives almost as much as I want my scooter.

This has been a really strange experience, something I've never gone through. I've never been called into the principal's office and had a finger waggled in my face, I've never rocked the boat or had people this mad at me before.

Well, except a landlord who ended up losing to us in a Housing Tribunal hearing, and who eventually lost the house to his creditors after purgering himself in another trial. He was pretty mad, but he caused his own undoing by breaking the law. His creditors kept leaning on us to move out, and sent strangers into our apartment to look around (for repairs, I guess) without warning us. The judge in that hearing really laid into them. Giant finacial institution being assholes to three young women, didn't look too good for them. We lived rent free for a couple of months as a result. But in that case my room-mate was the driving force behind our fight. I probably would have just shrugged it off and moved out, but I was glad we didn't. I'd never been strong enough to stand up for myself like that, and it was a real life lesson. I'm trying to decide what I've learned from my scooter saga.

I think most important is to be sure you're understood, and taken seriously when you're unhappy with something.

I feel like I wasn't taken very seriously early on because I was too willing to accept what I was told. If I was told, "You're next", I believed it. If I was told, "We're really sorry, we're going to get to you as soon as we can", I believed it. If I was told, "I can't make the mechanic do it, it's up to him when he wants to start", I was astounded, but I believed it. If I was told, "We're starting on it tomorrow", I believed that too. I had daily conversations to the effect of:

Concerned Friend: "Hey, do you have your scooter back yet?"

Me: "No, they're going supposed to get started on it this week."

Concerned Friend: "Are you kidding? How long have you been waiting?"

Me: "Mumble."

Concerned Friend: "Seriously, just get your money back while you still can. They're jerking you around."

Me: "No, they're not, they're not bad guys. They're just busy. But they said they really appreciate my patience and that I've been so cool about having to wait, and that they're going to make this right. And I believe them. They're going to do the right thing."

Very worried now Concerned Friend: "Well, good luck with that."

Every time. What is it Bush said? "Fool me once...Shame... Shame on... you. Fool, fool can't get fooled again". Yes. Well spoken. But then, as Bush will tell you, actions speak louder than words.

I really wanted to trust them. It was an unfortunate cycle. Every time I went to the shop, I fully believed and expected to see my scooter's guts all over the garage. And it was crushing to never see it come to fruition. I was increasingly demoralized.

And I want to give credit where due. When I started dealing with the owner directly, he definitely took me seriously (Hell, it's his shop. Of course he wants things done right!), by then I was back to square one. Square one is a good place to be, if not a little discouraging to be there so late in the game.

And I feel like my blog was taken too seriously. Although I can understand the defensiveness when people read an accumulated account about something that built up frustration two months ago, but which I've since moved past, personally, because we were finally getting somewhere. And again, comedy and satire is what I do. I know my snarkometer is set pretty high, but that's my gig.

It's a journey. Life is a highway. One small step for man. Knock three times on the ceiling.

Thanks to all who have supported me and shown an interest in my experience. I will definitely keep you posted. More to come!

Interesting article in NOW this week...

http://www.nowtoronto.com/issues/2005-08-11/news_feature.php

Just the facts

No funny business.

Bates and I stopped in at the shop as requested to get my timeline.
Was told they are waiting for the crankshaft that they ordered to arrive. Expecting it any day. Once they get it, it's one to two days for the build.

Got my stuff out of the glove box of my old scooter, mechanic offered to put my plates on the new one. He picked out a different frame for me, didn't think the one I picked was so great. I'm grateful for that, because obviously I'm not so hot at picking out scooters!

Mentioned that the owner said they'd be sure to put a full seat on the new scooter (right now the rear seat is missing), mechanic said ok.

Said I would be happy to take on getting the ownership switched over to myself, I just need the paperwork.

Remembered this morning that I gave my insurance company the VIN for the scooter I thought I was getting. Crap. Need new VIN so insurance papers will show right information. Should probably also ask the insurance people if there's any way to prorate the insurance since I haven't had something to ride since May. I can't wrap my head around paying for something I'm not actually using - can't hurt to ask, right?

So. Canada Post? Your move.

Actually, I'm also waiting for delivery of a Palm Pilot I bought on ebay. It's been over two weeks, and both the seller (100% positive feedback) and I are starting to wonder what happened to it. My confidence is Canada Post was shaken a bit last week, when I got a "final notice, and then we're sending the package back" card in my mailbox. I went to claim my package, and asked how long it had been there. Something like a week and a half. Oh. Is that all? I guess I shouldn't complain. At least I got my Final Notice.
But now I'm wondering if something similar happened with my Palm Pilot... and it got sent back.

I'll never get organized!

Serves me right for trying to save a couple hundred dollars.

Big internet, small world

I stopped in to see what was up with the scooter today, and I walked into a bad scene. Now, I don't pretend to be a journalist, and I never would have assumed that people beyond a handful of friends would bother to read my blog, but apparently I was wrong.

Make that WRONG. On a lot of levels.

In my jackassery, I never considered that my flippant remarks would be taken personally by anyone, and that was wrong of me.

And while I can't retract what I've actually experienced this last year in my purchase and subsequent waiting period, and the frustration that it's caused me, what I can do is apologize to the people who were affected, offended, and disgusted by my not-so-nice remarks.

They're right. It was shitty of me to express my frustration in a way that they felt reflected on them personally, and I'm sorry for that. That was certainly not my intent. I was trying to make light of a crazy situation. I'm sure, were the tables reversed I wouldn't like it. Hell, if I'd been a fly on the wall when this blog was first discovered by the people I've upset, I wouldn't love what they had to say about me. I'm sure "bitch" was the nicest thing I'd have heard. Fair enough. Malign away, you get a free pass.

And I certainly never meant to imply that the mechanics were not capable, if I ever thought for a moment that they'd do a bad job of course I'd never have accepted the offer of another scooter from them. That'd just be stupid on my part. But the fact that I trusted them to use their judgement and build a new engine should speak volumes. I mean, I'm not retarded. Ok, that's debatable at this point.

And so, while I wasn't asked directly to take down the posts about my experiences over the past year, I offered to do so in the spirit of moving forward.

I've grown up and taken into consideration the fact that not everyone finds me funny. As in REALLY not funny. As in "don't quit your day job, as a matter of fact, get another day job and take some lessons in what funny really is" unfunny. I've also learned the painful difference between what you write for yourself in your mopey old "dear diary", and what you allow to be published online.

I have to mention that despite all this, the guys were professional and fair. They didn't have to be that way. They could have just shoved a refund at me and picked me up by my collar and belt a la Andy Capp, and hoofed me out the door. They didn't. I genuinely respect that (for what it's worth) despite this experience, they're still committed to getting my scooter done, and getting me out the door happy.

And again, that's what I want. I know they're all decent guys - I've always maintained that to friends - hell, I've even recommended the shop because I liked them. We're just all trying to make the best of a not-so-great situation that got out of hand. I'm sure that in the future, I'll have nothing but glowing remarks.

And hey, I'm still just as happy to take a refund. I certainly don't want to be seen as an opportunist who's trying to get something for nothing. They've got two choices to make me happy - they can't lose!

There is an unusual side effect to having a blog. It shortens your conversations. I've had several situations lately where I've started talking to someone about something, and they've stopped me short. "Oh yeah, I read about that on your blog."

Huh. I'm repeating myself without even saying anything. Now I have to consider what I've written about, and who may have read the entry before striking up a chat. It's a lot to think about, although it is a shorthandy-time saver in situations where I'm tired of a topic.

"You can read about it on my blog".

Is this what we've become? We just put our thoughts and feelings out there for public consumption, but never have to actually connect with another human being?
Its antisocial open-ness. How weird.

There's something great, though, about the opportunity to edit your revelations. I've made admissions that have become the permanent victim of the backspace key, for better or for worse. You can't do that in face to face discussions. There is no "undo" key in life.

Oh man. There's a lot I would like to undo.

People have asked for an update in the scooter saga.

I called the shop yesterday to see if there was any news, and the owner said for me to "stop by on Tuesday" - the next day they'd be open. I'm hoping I'm going in there to good news, and I'll see some real progress on my scooter. I mean, why say I should "stop by" if there's nothing going on, right? I've said it before, I'll say it again. It's exhausting.

My dream is to have the scooter in time for the improv festival. Oh, sweet optimism. Close your eyes, and hope for me, will ya?

Sweet.

Challenging my own Stangnancy

You know how sometimes you can look forward to something to lift you out of a rut, and dread it at the same time?

My rut is nice and comfy. I get to do the occasional show with Slap Happy or Bad Dog shows, I get to go to work and complain about how much I dislike my job, all while enjoying the benefits of... well... benefits and paid vacation. I get to mentally mope about how "if only I had the time, I'd be writing more".

This darn Day Job! Keeping my from my Destiny.

Yeah, I'm actually a lazy fuck.

The truth is, and I think this is true of a lot of creative types, I'm making excuses because there's the very real possibility that whatever I put on paper might suckity suckarooni. And I'd have worked to create something suck-tastic. At least with improv, if something sucks, you can just shrug and excuse it as something that "just happened". You didn't spend months at a computer to generate ass-a-riffic theatre.

I'm retarded. I've written things that don't suck. I'm not stupid (again, mildly retarded, but not stupid). So you may ask why I am letting laziness and fear keep me from pursuing things?

Back off, jack. You don't know.

Ok, sorry.

It's baby steps. I kept on 25 lbs that I didn't need to give me an excuse why I wasn't being seen or cast in anything. (No-one will cast a chubby girl, its not reflective of my talent.) Well, I came to the conclusion that that was a stupid thing to do, career-wise, health-wise, and self esteem-wise. I decided not to give people excuses to count me out anymore. Cue the Oprah music.

So where am I going with this unusually revealing entry?

Well, I think I'm gonna put an entry in for this:



Bad Dog Theatre Short Play Festival

It's at the end of October, so if I get in, I've got to write something pretty damn fast. Then cast it. Then rehearse it. Then promote it. Then fight the panic while I wait for the review. All I need now is a title to get the entry in.

Just need to write a few words down as a title. Or a single word. Or exciting punctuation.

uhhhhh....

Crap. This is going to be a long couple of months.

To the guy who sits a desk away...

Stop humming!

Seriously. You're killing me.

I don't mind people's quirks, and personal habits...

Ok, that's a lie. Yes I do.

But you're humming! YOU ARE HUMMING!

And it's not a nice, Bing Crosby "bah-bah-bah-booooo". No. It's a toneless, random, fucking annoying sound.

And it is killing me. I have nothing to mask the noise. I've tried plugging my ears, but it makes it hard to type. ARGH!!! STOP IT!!

Our department moved locations last year, and we merged our space with the "Discount brokerage" department of the same function. Well, in that merge, we saw the differences between the two platforms. The Discount Brokerage people are younger, more talkative, more sociable, and some of them even have radios at their desk!

We were never allowed radios. I remember trying to listen to a CBC.com news broadcast about something important at my desk on day, and getting a wrist slapped. No music. No news. No distractions!

It struck me as a retarded rule. I work faster when I'm listening to music. I'm happier when I'm listening to music. I don't want to always listen to music, but I resent being told that I can NEVER listen to music. Yeah, I'm petulant. You wanna make something of it?

So when I heard the music from the other side of the half-wall of my cubicle, I was happy and nervous. Happy to hear music, but nervous... waiting for the inevitable clamp down. Ohhhh, those discount brokerage folks are going to get TOLD.

Except that they didn't.

I looked beyond another partition, and saw another guy working in another department, wearing big ol' headphones! Wait - we can even bring accessories? What?

I started looking around for other differences.

Hey, some co-workers in the next building over get to wear jeans ALL THE TIME. Not just on specified, special Fridays. And I bet they don't have to pay a dollar for the privilege. Jerks!

And so while we're being told that we may have to start signing out a washroom key because we're not keeping the bathrooms clean enough, they're over there wearing jeans and playing music. Jerks, jerks, jerks!

I take a day off because of a migrane, and I have to provide a doctor's note stating that I suffer from migranes. Hell, while I'm at it, why don't I just get my mom to write a note that I need a nap at three?

See how cranky some guy's humming makes me?

This is how I know I need to find a new job. Someplace where the only rule is against humming.

The Dilemma Inducing Cottage

So I spent the weekend at a friend's cottage, and as a result, I have a dilemma. I created this blog to force myself to write more, and to spin interesting yarns, not to be a public forum for personal angst or gossippy drama.

And yet, the weekend I have just survived at this cottage was chock full of both. And so I'm simmering with pithy jabs at my own personal troubles, and bubbling over with stories of other people's hijinks and dramas. I'm a little teapot.

But my own sense of privacy, and my respect for others leaves me with little to say about the weekend.

Here is what I can say:

1) 24 hour exposure to an ex is ouchy.

2) You cannot cook corn on the fire without first wrapping it in tin foil.

3) Strip poker or strip "anything" will always, always lead to trouble.

4) My dog had an awesome time and ate virtually none of the food I brought for him. And yet, every time I saw him, he was munching on something. Not the least of which was the last third of a big "s'more making" chocolate bar and half an ice cream sandwich I set down. I imagine that his ass exploded at some point, but if a dog's ass explodes in the forest, and no-one's there to see... then everybody wins. And his snacking continued all the way home. We stopped for gas, the pump jockey gave him a cookie. We stopped for coffee at Tim Hortons, he was given a Timbit. He's such a whore.

There. No names, no details. Just good, fair, generalizations. Just the way God intended.

Despite all this (or perhaps because of it) I would not have missed the cottage weekend for the world, it's an annual journey that has been a staple of my summers since 1999. The thing you learn quickly is that there will always be a little weirdness with that much booze and pot going around, and there will always be a few flashes of drama. Those of us who have weathered many trips take them for what they are.

What happens at the cottage, stays at the cottage.

But seriously. It makes for a difficult blog.