"I hope you get hit by a car and get killed..."

... is what was yelled at me this morning by a passing truck.  And by passing I mean followed me for two blocks yelling at me out the window.  In my neighbourhood. At 8am.

You must be wondering what I possibly could have done to illicit such an extreme reaction.  Well, I'll admit it I was breaking the rules, and he called in on it.  But was it really so horrendous?  Did it really warrant chasing me down for two blocks, screaming death wishes at me?  Maybe...

What did I do? Let me tell you... I did the equivalent of a rolling stop through a four-way.  On my bike. Had a police officer ticketed me, I would have politely taken my ticket and paid it.  I'm pretty sure they wouldn't have chased me down...

Such is life in the SSR...

The Joys Of Online Dating

The title grabs you, eh?  Makes you think I'm going to spill the details about recent dating adventures.  I wish that was the case.  The last guy I went on a date with turned out to be on morphine, and was just starting to reduce his doses.  Yeah, after I discovered that there might be a case of withdrawal, I felt there was no need to stay in touch.

That being said, my comment to the online dating world out there is simply this:  if you say in your profile that you are not a pervert, you probably are a pervert.  End of story.

Sorry guys I can guarantee that 100% of women who do online dating will agree.

You're welcome.

House Arrest

Tornade is not impressed

That is a cat on a leash.  I have become that person.  You know the one, the crazy old lady who lives by herself and walks her cat on a leash.

Well, I'm not quite there yet.  But I have put Tornade under house arrest.  His days of free roaming is over.

So what's the dealio?  He stays inside when I'm not home, and I tie him up outside when he is.

Apparently I'm an enabler

So how do I manage to keep him happy?

I drug him.  Seriously.  He's jonesing for some catnip as I type this. 

Please note the rhinestone collar.... he f'ing hates me.

Classy...

So I've spent the past few days trying to find a picture online of what I drove (I drive my bike, not ride it) by on my way home from the work the other day.  You know it's bad when google images can't find what you are looking for.

SO.  Driving home on my bike the other day I passed an obese man in a motorized wheelchair, with an oxygen tank, wearing a wife beater, SMOKING.  Really?  Oxygen and fire.  Really sensible folks.

This is what I'm dealing with here in the SSR.

On top of that, he was passing cars.  I don't know how he souped up his engine to be a speed demon but I witnessed it with my own eyes.

Sadly my camera was at the very bottom of my bag or you would be able to witness it too!

Sweet Home Ala-Vanier...

So, I'm learning to play the guitar.  At 36.  Kind of late in the game to get started, but, why the hell not. I have a few goal songs for the "hootenany" I'll be holding closer to the end of the year, but this being the SSR, I think I need to work on some "classics".  I figure if I can strum out something along the lines of Sweet Home Alabama, perhaps my neighbours will be less likely to call the cops?

Or maybe I can poll the cops I know to see what they want to hear.  Let's be honest, this is SSR. At any given moment there is a minimum of 4-6 police cars within a 500m radius.  Maybe they'll have some requests?

Why stop there.  Any requests from the dealers and working ladies nearby?  You aren't invited but you are more than welcome to listen in...

Who said recycling never hurt anyone?

I suppose a more local way to say this would have been "recycling never hurt no one". It has been in hibernation mode for a while, but yesterday the klutz inside me made a grand appearance. I tripped and quite hilariously fell three steps, landing with quite a crack on my ankle. Sprained ankles are no big deal to me; the poor ligaments holding my ankle in place have been stretched to the breaking point so many times I sometimes find it hard to believe I can walk without falling down. But that's not why this qualifies for posting on Dispatches, nope it is more likely the fact that as a direct result of this injury I have left the confines of my property not once but twice wearing, gasp, pink crocs. It's true. I guess I am a local now...

Fashion

So, since I've moved to the wrong side of the tracks, I take the bus to and from work most days. I've seen some crazy things; my first day "busin'" it I watched a girl masterfully apply her Amy Winehouse inspired eyeshadow, and witnessed a not-so-lucid man use the bus as a change room. Yeah, that's right he changed right down to his skivvies on public transit. The joys of affordable housing in this city.

Today i left work a bit early; I wasn't feeling well, and little did I know that a monster migraine was on the loose. But that's a story for another day. I took my favourite public transit, the #12, home. I had my earphones on and was quite content to mind my own business. Until he sot on the bus. A fully grown man, in a city, headed towards the lower income part of town, dressed head to toe in camo polar fleece! I shit you not!

I was mesmerized. First of all, who wears head to toe camo micro fleece? Second, who in the hell made that outfit? I really wanted to take a picture, immortalize the moment forever. But, fear won out. After all, this is my neighbourhood. The last thing i want to do is have a dust up with a man who thinks that this is appropriate day wear: