People Suck And Here’s Why.

Disclaimer…not ALL people suck, but a lot of them do.

I was working from the office yesterday and noticed my note pad was on its last leg, there were only a couple pages left. So, I sent the receptionist an email asking for a new one.

Here was her oh so pleasant reply. “They are in the second drawer where the paper is located. Get up and walk there!”.

Well, how rude. I thought stationary was kept under lock and key, whack-job.

Which begs the question….what the fuck is wrong with people? What good came of that response?

Let’s be clear, I NEVER expect anyone to serve me hand and foot. I also very seldom ask for anything. That’s the part that I found most insulting.

I wrote back “Wow….sorry! I thought stationary was under lock and key”.

She tried to back pedal but it was too late. I’m not going to hold a grudge, but I’ve always been hyper sensitive to rudeness. It’s uncalled for and it makes for an uncomfortable exchange moving forward. Is it so hard to be nice?

As a rule, I think I’m just going to keep more to myself when it comes to the office environment. I’m tired of dealing with egos and rudeness. The game is getting old and I’m starting to dream of the day I can retire.

Have a good Friday y’all!

Happy Thanksgiving

Hello peeps and peepettes! For those of you who don’t live in the great white north, it is Thanksgiving weekend here in Canuk land a.k.a. Canada.

This year will look very different than usual due to Covid-19. We usually gather at my home and I prepare a big meal for my family. Unfortunately, our premiere, Francois Legault, has banned social gatherings in an attempt to crush the second wave we are currently going through.

In all honestly, I did not mind so much. It’s been years since I’ve actually gotten to just relax on a long weekend. I’m always the one who is the tradition keeper in my family.

My son did come over, though, without his live in girlfriend. We ordered pizza and binge watched episodes of Ink Master. We didn’t chat much, but it was nice to be in each other’s company. It reminded me of when he was little and still living at home. We loved our Sunday nights. Our regular routine was to order take out and just watch T.V.

It was especially comforting for me to have another person in the house. Since this pandemic hit, I’ve been feeling lonely and having one existential crisis after another. I count my blessings that neither my immediate family nor I have contracted this virus but this needs to be over. I want my life back and my joie de vivre.

If you’re celebrating, hope you have a great weekend and stay safe!

It’s Not Going To Work Out Between Us And Here’s Why. Scenario #3.

I nearly forgot about this one. That’s how dull and predictable he was. I honestly don’t remember his name, but we will just call him the Accountant. At least I think that’s what he was. Gosh, I just don’t recall.

I think we met through the FB dating app. He had ONE picture. Ugh..never a good sign. He was of Moroccan descent. Another strike. Nothing against them personally, but it’s a culture I just can’t seem to jibe with.

He seemed nice enough, but was so terrified of leaving his house due to the Covid-19 pandemic. He wanted to wait until it was over before we meet. Dude, this could take a while. What the heck, I went along with it. I could probably have gone along with the waiting except that he was boring me to tears. He never really had anything to say. He would just do his check in call every couple of days, at the same time, and say the same things. Oh and he doesn’t like spending a lot of time on the phone.

Seriously why bother, you’re a freaking snooze fest anyway. The last time I spoke to him, I had a migraine and said I had to let him go. He was all too happy to get off the phone. “Get some rest, feel better soon, I’ll call you another day”. Ugh. Please don’t.

So he did call “another day”. Same day, same time. I didn’t answer. At the risk of sounding like a total jerk, I ghosted him. To all the men who I have criticized for doing this; I get it. You just don’t have anything emotionally invested and feel it’s probably kinder to do so. It’s not, but I just wanted to say I get it.

It’s Not Going To Work Out Between Us And Here’s Why. Scenario #2.

Hola! Let’s continue the dating saga, shall we?

Bachelor #2 had contacted me through FB dating app.  His profile pic had caught my eye;  he was wearing a nice suit, shaved head and neatly trimmed beard.  He looked like a baller. He lived close-ish in his own condo.  He seemed to have it all together.  I was intrigued and wanted to meet him.  He was familiar with the area I had just move to and had offered to show me around and give me pointers to the best spots for drinks and dinner.

We had a great phone conversation, but I was still was trying to figure out if Bachelor #1 (aka the jailbird was worth the time it takes to bake a cake with a file in it from scratch or go for store bought. So, I was honest with him and told him I wanted to see it would yield any results.  He was super cool with it. Wished me luck, have fun, and if it doesn’t work out, to reach out to him again. Wow.  How nice!

When I realized that the jailbird was a hot mess, I called back Bachelor #2. I’m going to call him Sammy. Not because that’s his name, but because he had the sex appeal of a ham sandwich.  Not that I’m dissing ham sandwiches.  If you get that nice Black Forest ham, with some dijon mustard and maybe a poppyseed bun, you’ve got my attention with a side of…oh..erhm, sorry.  I digress.

We set up a time and place to meet and I was pleasantly surprised.  He looked as nice in person as in his pics.  We went for a walk and then sat on a park bench and chatted. 

I felt there was some potential there, but there wasn’t that big spark I’m constantly looking for. What the heck, I’ll give it a try anyway and see what happens.

The thing about Sammy is that he called and texted me….a lot.  I don’t know about you, but I just don’t have all that much to say that warrants two phone calls a day for up to an hour at a time. 

He also would end his requests with “if you want”, or open with “Do you think we can…”. Ugh.  Wimpy.  It would go something like this “Do you think you would have time to go for a walk and chat?” , or “I’m totally free all week, we can do something….if you want”.  

Ok, so I knew that men of Indian descent are not know for their game, but this guy was so not game-ish that it felt like I was doing him a favor by merely acknowledging his presence. It was a turn-off. 

Flash forward a couple day and I was having really bad back pain.  I’m not sure what I did, but I was out of commission to go on walks anywhere.  I could barely sit up.  Lying down was the only thing that gave me relief.  

Sammy kept texting and giving me advice about going to the doctor, take a warm bath, get a heating pad…..try this or that.  I felt like I was talking to my mother.  

Then he changed his tactic.  When he wasn’t hearing back from me, he offered to come over and give me a massage….

Wow, how subtle.  Think I’ll pass.  Do women really fall for this?  Why would I want a total stranger put his mitts all over me.  Ugh.

Aaaand that’s when I ghosted him.  I fully acknowledge it was a dirtbag move on my part.  That last text was just too awkward and creepy.  Besides, I took massage therapy courses years ago.  It has made me highly critical of what constitutes a good massage and a shoddy one. 


It’s Not Going To Work Out Between Us And Here’s Why. Scenario 1.

So, as if 2020 hasn’t been enough of a shit show, yours truly has been pretty much actively dating her way through this cluster-fuck pandemic.

I haven’t had this many outdoor play dates since the 3rd grade.  Yes, I’m being careful-ish. Except for the time I was not….

Geez, Where do I begin? More importantly, why on earth would I date during a pandemic. Because why the hell not.  I figured this is a time when I will see people for who they really are.

You know that old saying “careful what you wish for”…..hooboy…

Let’s start with the first one.  We’ll call him “jailbird”, partly for shits ‘n giggles, but mostly because it’s the freaking truth.

We met online and were texting and IM’ing back and for for about 2 weeks. He was a blue collar type, well, not really.  More like a work horse in a shit job with a matching salary.  What the heck, at least he is working, right?

When I got there, I parked my car in a lot and as my fingers were hovering over the parking pay station, I was trying to decide…hmm…15 minutes….30 minutes.  I know the drill by now, these meet and greets are usually a reminder that I could be sitting at home on my deck sipping a cold one and reading a good book. This time though, I figured, Meh, what the hell.  I hit “max” and thought whomever shows up here after I leave just got freebie parking.  You’re welcome,

Surprisingly, things went really well.  He was charming, good conversationalist, interesting chemistry.  It was the best first date I’ve had in a while.

He said he was in the military when he was younger.  He also said that he had been “inside”.  Oh.  Apparently he found out the son of a former girlfriend had abused his then six year old son.  Long story short, he was arrested for beating the tar out of the guy.  Not ideal, but as a parent, I can totally understand.  God help anyone who would have dared touch my child inappropriately.

He had biked to our meeting spot straight from work and had a backpack with him.  He pulled an extra t-shirt out of it, sprayed it with his cologne and gave it to me so that I could hang on to it until I see him next.  Kinda corny but cute, right?

So the next time I saw him, I had to go pick him up because….well….his bike is his only means of transportation.  Uhm…what?  I can understand living in the city, but we’re in the ‘burbs, folks.  Crap, looks like I’m doing all the driving.  What a drag.

He gave me some story about having an operation on his arm when overseas and now the Canadian version of the DMV will not issue him a driver’s license unless he has a specialized steering wheel in his non-existent car.  Sorry, what was that?  I was distracted by the red flags that were starting to pop up in my peripheral vision.

I digress.  When I got to the address he gave me, it took him forever to come out.  I was about to drive back home when I see him walking towards my car from down the street. WTF?  He saw the look on my face and explained it away by saying he was at a friend’s house down the street.

As we were pulling away, he says, and I quote “Oh, did I tell you I’m still on probation?”


I pulled the car over to the side of the road and just stared at him.  He had a shit eating grin on his face and gestured for me to keep driving.  Woah woah woah.

Apparently he still has one year to go and then he’s free!

How the fuck did this slip his mind when we met earlier this week?  I assumed this arrest was from many many many years ago.  After all, his son is 24 now and this happened when he was six years of age.

Oh boy.  I had a sinking feeling that I was getting a very watered down version of what the deal really was.

So what did I do?  I acted like nothing happened.  Why?  I have no idea.  I was paralyzed with fear.  He asked me to stop at the drugstore on our way.  I waited for him in the parking lot, catatonic.  My gut was screaming “Drive like the wind, asshole, and get out of there!”  Instead, the polite Canadian in me stayed, because he was so sweet and gentle when we met.

I know, I’m an idiot, no need to remind me.  All that was racing through my head was “so this is how I’m going to die”.

I also learned that at one point he went “off the grid”and was living in a container.  Oh, is that what we are calling running from the law now? These are assumptions on my part, but I’m pretty sure I’m not far off the mark.  I know of a friend’s daughter and her boyfriend did that for a while, so it did not scare me off.

I called things off.  Probably not as quickly as I should have, but I called them off nevertheless.   I did my best to be open minded, but with each passing day, he would serve up another little nugget of his train wreck of a life.

How can it get worse?  In the span of two weeks;

  • he got fired.
  • he got notice that his “bitch” parole officer falsely claimed he missing a meeting and he is now in violation. He might have to finish his sentence on the inside.
  • he can’t use his friend as witness that he did not miss his meeting because surprise surprise, he has a criminal record too.
  • he all of a sudden had to move, actually rent a room because he can’t sign a lease. No I did not ask why because I’m really not sure how much more I can handle hearing before someone has to call the medics to resuscitate me.

What the living hell was I thinking?  I am chalking it up to pandemic isolation brain.  Have I gotten so desperate for company that I would seriously entertain having this clown in my life?  I guess I was.  Thank God, I listened to my gut, which would churn and I would start physically gagging each time I received a text from him.

Besides, I don’t know how to bake a cake with a file in it, and conjugal visits just aren’t my thing.



Hey Shawty It’s Your Birthday

Hola Peeps and Peep-ettes! This week I celebrated my 55th year on this earth. Wow, 55…where has the time gone?  I can hardly believe that number. I had to double check on my driver’s license to make sure I got it right.

On my birthday, I like to steal away and carve out some me-centered, selfish, indulgent time all to myself.  I don’t need to be surrounded by tons of people.  Even if I needed that, I highly doubt that many people would turn up.

I went shopping for a little birthday bling and then spent a couple days at the day spa.  When I told the receptionist at what my plans were, she felt sorry for me.  I was like….huh? Why?  She said that it’s not right to spend it alone.  Au contraire, my friend. I choose to celebrate me all on my own.  It feels amazing!

The way I look at it is this way; I have a couple of really good close friends who always send me birthday greetings or take me out for a meal.  I appreciate it but never take it as a given that people will spend their time with me just because my mother popped me out on this day 55 years ago.

So this is me, 55 years young.  This year will not soon be forgotten.  2020….bizarre, heartbreaking, depressing, frightening.  So much has happened.  I’ve lost a childhood friendship over a man she barely knows. My prodigal has been giving me a hard time. My mother has bailed on me to spend time with my half sister on my birthday. Don’t ask…

I’m still standing, a little battered, but I’m still here.  These are crazy times and I’m all of a sudden more sensitive than usual, I feel vulnerable for the first time in my life.  This all sucks, this 2020 year of the pandemic, doesn’t it?

So, this is what 55 looks like.  I’m ok with it so far.  Will I still be ok with what I see in the mirror on my 65th birthday?  Some days I wonder what the future holds for me. Am I ever going to meet someone or will I end my days alone?  What will I do when I finally retire?


I have to admit, getting older scares me.  There are days when I feel exhausted from the smallest effort.  Is it age?  Or is it just mental fatigue caused by this never ending pandemic?  I just want my life back.  I mean, I’m grateful for all I have and that I am still working, but I miss people.  I miss the freedom we all took for granted not too long ago.

Apparently the second wave is a sure thing.  I cannot imagine what that will look like this Winter.

All I can do is take it one day at a time and make the best of each day, right?

Victim Much?

Hola Peeps and Peepettes.  OMG will we ever get back to a normal life?  I’m so very very done with this pandemic. I have officially reached the I-Just-Want-To-Punch-Everyone-In- The-Throat phase and watch all my bridges burn to the ground.

2020 has been one fucked up year so far, one I won’t soon forget.  Maneuvering through the stress of housing shortage whilst buying my very first home, job uncertainty, working from home in complete isolation, attempting dating and keeping social distancing (oh I have posts on this one coming soon) and if all that weren’t enough, I had a falling out with my best friend of over 45 years.

Karen and I had not really spoken much in the past 14 years.  Just a little word here and there on Facebook.  It was always cordial.  Ours was the kind of friendship where years could pass and we could pick up right where we left off. We shared so many laughs and a quirky sense of humor that nobody else understood.

We’ve had our share of ups and downs, arguments and mending fences over the years.  This time though, I think we’re done.   She went rogue on the golden rule of friendships: Sisters Before Misters.  Yup, at our age, she is still doing that.

Once upon a time, I grudgingly let that stuff slide. Now though, I feel very strongly about how friends should not take one another for granted.  Long story short, we were supposed to meet in Ottawa this month.  She kept stalling on committing to a date.

I can understand finances being a little tight, weekend with shared custody daughter, time with family.  All good, right?

How about not locking down a date with your childhood bestie because the guy you JUST met is going away at the end of July and will be persona non grata for three months?  For you romantics out there, let me add, this charmer also stood her up on their first date.  Not cancelled, just flat out stood her up. She also started whining from the get go that he was kind of “dull”, never complimented her (Oh don’t get me started on this. She needs to be put on a pedestal at all times, regardless of it being warranted or not).

Still not lighting a fire under you butt?  How about this…

“Listen, I love you This may or may not be my last hurrah. How flexible are you if he and I part ways?  We can just pick up and go, right?”

Gee whiz Skippy, if I had zero self respect and you were boinking Denzel Washington, I might be ok with this half hearted attempt at friendship you’re throwing my way.  Ooooh, the chance to be your last option if your flavor of the week doesn’t pan out is oh so tempting, but I think I will pass.

So, I did what I do.  I stonewall until I am ready to come back to the table and discuss.  She knows I do this, yet never gives me the space I need.  She nags and nags until I blow up. Which of course, happened.

Cue the two hour drama fest of texting back and forth.  She wailed about me not speaking to her directly, then when I hit the little camera to face time, she didn’t answer. Well, that is mature.

So she went on and on about how she likes herself, and feels she would have to change who she is and bla bla bla bla. She is the poor victim and I’m the big bad wolf. As usual.

The next day she came back and wrote this

I’m sorry you are hurt. Not sure today what the future looks like, but I am not going to dwell on the past. Have a good day!!

And then she blocked me.  Typical Karen.  She’s not dwelling on the past because that would entail being accountable and actually offering up a sincere apology.

So, this pandemic has been especially brutal in my world.  It has allowed me to be very direct about what I will and will not accept from other people. The response to that has been met with hostility.  That’s fine.  We all need to know where we stand with people. If our friendship can’t handle honesty, then it is on shaky foundations to begin with. I forgive her, but I don’t feel the need to continue a semblance of friendship with her because she lacks depth.

Am I hurt? Of course.  Even though I am very direct and speak my mind, I am still sensitive.  That’s the part people forget.  Strong people aren’t unbreakable. We can weather many storms, but also have feelings and are not immune to the careless gestures of someone we call friend.

I’ve got a lot to catch you up on.  One post at a time, though. I’m feeling especially drained when retelling these things.

Stay safe, dear readers, and I appreciate you taking the time to read my post.






but she came out and said that this new guy she met is leaving for three months


First Night In The New Condo

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…it was the night I realized my cat is a master at war time sleep deprivation techniques. Where he learned this, I have no idea. He’s sneaky that way.

As mentioned in my previous post, moving during a pandemic sucks big time.  I had finally walked in for the night at around 11:30 p.m.  The kitties were in hiding in the bedroom closet and I was able to slowly coax them out by laying the box spring and the mattress on the floor.  Assembling the headboard and foot-board would have to wait until the morning.

I found the sheets and pillows and was ready to settle in for the night.  In the dark, I heard movement from the closet.  My little furballs were starting to feel safe enough to come out.   Angus McKitten quickly claimed his spot at the foot of the bed.  Pacino, though, made my life a living hell from midnight to 4:00 a.m.

How so? How can one little cat have such a profound effect on my sense of sanity?  Glad you asked.  It went something like this, and I quote; “meow? meow? meow. MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW…….MEEEEOOOOOOWWWW MEOW MEOW.”

All. Fucking. Night.

I got out of bed, picked him up and walked around the condo with him in my arms as one would an inconsolable infant. He wanted to be picked up, then he wanted to be put down. Make your mind up, you bi-polar fuzzball.

Each time I was on the brink of falling asleep, it would start again.  MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW. At one point I yelled “Pacino! Shut the fuck up!” Seriously? Yelling at a cat. Nice.  Here’s how exhausted and desperate I was for some sleep…..the thought of choking my beloved little booper actually sounded like a viable option. My brain on no sleep is a dark, dark place my friends.

I think even he got fed up of his antics and finally conceded to knock it off.  He usually sleeps at the foot of the bed with Angus. Not tonight.  He instead crawled right under the covers and I basically spooned the freaking cat all night. He was trembling, poor thing.

We all finally fell asleep and in the morning, I woke up, startled.  Where is he? Then I remembered he was right there, next to me.  He wasn’t moving and i thought…oh crap. Did he die? Maybe his little kitty heart gave out.  This is all my fault. I’m a cat killer. I never should have moved.  Look at what I did to these poor animals. I hate this place. The cats hate it. I should have stayed in renter’s hell, where I belong.  Who am  I fooling?  I’m no home owner.  What have I done?  I want my mommy! Waaaahhhh…!

My mom had called at about 8:00 a.m. to see how the move went. I was still in bed, hiding under the covers. That’s when the buyer’s remorse made its grand entrance. If it could talk, it would have said something like this; “Here ye, here ye. I have an announcement, people. I hereby proclaim that Chrissie B has made a monumental faux pas.  I speak on behalf of her feline companions when I say that it would have been a far better choice for all involved to have stayed in aforementioned renter’s hell and have her throw her money away until the day she retires…nay! until the day she dies, rather than make a sound investment choice.  Clearly her cats are miserable with the extra square footage and overall better quality of life!  I sentence her to public flogging in the town square!”

My mom’s reaction was….”uhm, dear, I really think you’re just over tired and stressed.  This has been a lot to do, all by yourself. Get some rest and I’ll call you later.”

She was right.  Best. Decision. Ever.  Oh, and the kitties are happy too, little shits that they are.


This guy…..good thing he’s cute.

Home Ownership During A Pandemic

Hey Peeps and Peep-ettes! I hope all of you are safe and sound at home during these crazy times we are living.

I have been away much longer than intended. The reason is….I just purchased my very first home ever. Yep, I finally did it!

Moving during a pandemic is a GREAT idea. Said nobody. Ever.   As a general rule, I don’t move well.  I always underestimate the amount of boxes needed, stay up way too late the week leading up to the actual move, don’t eat much and don’t drink near enough water during the whole process.   Throw in self isolation due to a global pandemic that is wreaking havoc around the world and you’ve got yourself the perfect storm.

To say this move was stressful is the understatement of a lifetime.  Deadlines to the notary’s office was pushed up, pushed back, rescheduled on a dime.  Moving companies flip flopped back and forth…yes they can move me, no they can’t, yes they can but nobody but me is allowed in my own home during my move. Okay….

Then of course, there’s the furniture stores.  Luckily  I had prepaid my new appliances before this crazy virus hit the scene.  They flip flopped back and forth as well. Yes we will deliver. No we won’t. Yes we will, but we can’t come in to your house.  Uhm…what the hell?  Am I supposed to carry a fridge on my back up two flights of stairs?

They confirmed that they will bring it up to my floor, but can’t come in.  That was a relief.  Or was it? Yes, they showed up. Yes they came up to the 2nd floor. They also left all the appliances directly in front of the other 3 units.  The would not budge to at least push the darned things across the threshold.

Rational behavior exit left. Once they vamoosed, I sat on the floor and cried a little. I can handle a lot, but enough was enough.  I had officially hit the wall due to exhaustion (I will write about how WONDERFUL my first night was due to a freaked out kitty cat), thirst, hunger, adrenaline, uncertainty, buyer’s remorse.

I had no choice but to call my son to make the drive over the bridge and come help me get these blasted appliances in.  We did it, but at the expense of his already sprained back.

My two weeks’ vacation was meant to be spent poking around in the furniture stores, taking my time to buy new living room and dining room furniture.  So much for that.

Big picture….the move is done, I still have my job, I live in a nice area, I have friends close by, my family is healthy and so am I (as far as I know).  This too shall pass.

I will do my best to be patient and remind myself that this is not a sprint.  I have all the time in the world to shop and decorate and paint.  I just have to enjoy the process at the pace it allows.

Last Saturday night I was out on the deck, assembling my patio furniture, drill in hand, when I looked up and realized…this is mine. No landlords. I finally own property. I never thought this would happen. The best part? I did it all by myself.


Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home.