If you’ve been following my Tweets this morning you’d see that I’ve been freaking over the loss of my 2GB flash drive. I admit that I haven’t been entirely careful with it considering it holds a bunch of valuable information for my work’s new websites - yes, WEBSITES. Stupid me hadn’t backed it up to a computer, just kept everything on the flash drive. The flash drive that has been MIA over the past week I’ve been avoiding my boss’ requests for visual updates. I may have even used the excuse that my toddler hid it on me because what good are children if you can’t implicate them for missing items. But being that it’s a new week and *should* of had the opportunity to find it over th weekend, I can no longer avoid his requests. Hence me - freaking the shit out.

Blurred by despair, I agreed giving a blow job should Mike be able to locate the flash drive (since he’s home for the day), and won’t you know, the bugger found the damn thing in less that 15 minutes.

Shit.

I don’t know that I can use the syphilis line again.

Got any ideas to get me out of this one?

Or do I just admit defeat and take on for the team?

[Changing topic - NOW]

I now LOVE San Pellegrino and even Perrier now too.

The reason I’m sharing is because I took pictures of the bottles that I really like. And how else can I prove to you that I am insane but blog about head and soda water at the same time?

See:

Nice, right?

Still fun?

Yeah, it’s a bottle of fuckin’ water you loon.

Not to mention, a couple of Criss Angel’s motorcycles:

He was away for Christmas holidays or avoiding The Crazy Canadian Stalker while we were there, but I did get to see his store, production office for Mindfreak, as well as some of his bikes and cars.

Not to mention, lose my bag full of lens and camera gear near his store!

That sucked.

But! Thanks to some great person, it was dropped off at Luxor security and I got it ALL back.

I like to think that Criss was looking out for me.

[blank stare]

Mike thinks I shouldn’t put off the fitting for my straight jacket any longer.

Quit nodding. I thought we were friends!

Sometimes my job requires that we work night shifts in the subway tunnels after the trains finish running for the day. Last night was one of those nights.
I actually really like them because I get the next day off work (which, like today? Day before the long weekend? Fabulous!), but the hardest part is getting my bubble butt outta bed. I hate getting up as it is, so waking from my peaceful slumber at 1:00am to go to work? Meh. I could pass in a heartbeat.

Uneventful night really, except for the subway workers telling freaky ghost stories about working nights in the tunnels. As they sat off in the distance, trying to one-up each other with a freakier story (because men need to have even the best and scariest ghost stories), the lights flickered and the entire tunnel went pitch black. I nearly jumped outta my damn skin! They came back fast though, thank Jeebus.

I tend to have a very graphic and relentless imagination. I think up the worst, most horrific things sometimes. I don’t know why, but I’ve aways been that way. Anyway, this morning driving home, at 5-freakin’-A.M. I has an episode of gruesome thoughts. Drunk drivers hitting me, me falling asleep… you name it, I thought it. That, I can handle. But it only got worse once I began to feel sleep creeping up on my. My eyelids became increasingly heavier, I was not really paying that much attention to my actions. I just wanted to get home, get off the road and crawl back into bed.
I came upon a car going incredibly slow on the highway and erratically weaving into different lanes. As I came up beside him, he appeared to be falling asleep behind the wheel. Unsure if it was alcohol induced, or just exhaustion like me.

As I passed the car, I watched in my rear view mirror as he slowly crept into the fast lane in front of a speeding car. Thankfully the other driver reacted promptly and was able avoid the car, but I watched in horror, wondering what the hell I should do.

As I drove along, I periodically looked in the mirror trying to keep an eye on the car, failing to keep up, he was drifting further and further behind. I made the decision to pull over and wait to see him pass and then judge what to do from there.

I knew I wanted to get home. I wanted to get myself off the road since I was so tired. But what about him? Do I sacrifice myself (or someone else) by making a dangerous decision to follow him? Do I call and wait for police and stay even longer to explain what happened? Do I forget it and go home?

The driver never passed me as I waited on the shoulder.

I went home. Back to bed.

I have been unable to shake this feeling that I made a bad decision. I feel as though I should have stayed. I should have followed. Just in case.

But where do I draw the line? I made a decision based on my needs. Selfish? Maybe. What if he was drunk? What if he hit and killed someone? Would me staying out there, watching over this person be just as bad as having him driving erratically all over the highway, since I was deliriously tired?

In my eyes a person deliriously tired is just as bad as a person drinking and driving. Though it’s not as severely punishable; driving tired is also impaired. It’s also dangerous, deliberate and deadly.

What do you think?

:::

Mike’s my two year old today. I’ve sent my toddler off to daycare so I can care for another - his father.
Mike had emergency dental surgery this morning for an abscessed wisdom tooth. Ironic no? Wisdom.. yet he waited so long and let it deteriorate to the point where it’s caused minor gum damage and a horrible infection? *gag* No wisdom in that if I do say so myself. (Now, me? There’s some wisdom!)

As much as I love him, he’s ridiculously annoying when he’s drugged up. He’s reverts back to an over dramatic preteen. Picture a teenager drunk for the first time. Yup, that’s my 30 year old (soon!) husband.

Makes me so hot for him. *swoon* *cough, cough* *gag*

Thank Jeebus he’s in a drug induced slumber at the moment.

Hopefully it lasts until Monday.

:::

This post is FAR too long, but I have some GREAT news!! (I think it’s great so, it’s great.)

I’ll share it Sinday (Or Sunday, depends on who you are) since I have a wedding of two dear friends to attend tomorrow. Now flying solo, by the way. Dick (read: Mike) did this on purpose. Stupid teeth.

There are things in my life I’ve done that I’m not proud of. At times, I wish I could them expunge from memory; but for action there is a lesson learned and maybe erasing some memories would cause me to forget the subsequent lesson. Maybe erasing said items would result in me becoming a shit flinging delinquent in a tree cursing those who cross my path, so I digress; not really the best laid plan.

But what about erasing evidence of said memories? Throwing out journals, pictures, erasing emails? Is there a point where it’s expected that you throw out past reminders? When you’re in a serious relationship? Marriage? Would one be considered unloving or immersed in the past, that should be long forgotten, should they opt to keep such items that remind them of a certain period or person in their life?

When Mike and I got married, and moved to our new house, that’s when I decided to throw out the trinkets of my past. Letters, some photo, memorabilia of my prior life. The life before marriage, family and stability. I thought that it was excepted of me to let it go. I thought I had a moral obligation to rid our new life of such reminders. I knew that if he found certain letters from past boyfriends or pictures kept, he would begin questioning my dedication to our marriage and my family. That’s just his personality. So, for me, the choice was an easy one. At the time. I knew I had to make the decision I had made, but a part sometimes longs for those reminders I opted to rid my life of. (Seems I’ve been rather nostalgic this week wouldn’t you say?)

What have you done with your love letters, trinkets and memorabilia from before you were with your significant other - or if you’re not with someone now, do you have stuff from previous loves? Has someone found them before and questioned your commitment based on what they had found? Have you kept it a secret from them? Is there a reason it’s secret? But if you’re hiding something, does that mean you should be guilty of something? Why else would it be hidden?

Some thoughts for you to ponder while I spend the next two days trying to recover lost items from my laptop that I desperately need for work. Damn recycling bins should ask: Are you triple sure you double checked and re-checked that you didn’t dump something in here that you really need? Because when I dump this, it’s truly a bitch to try and get it back.

Fuckity-fuck!

Wish me luck!

(Hey! That rhymed!)

At eight years old, my dad and his then girlfriend (now my step-mom) left the hustle and bustle of the suburban city life for a more relaxed country atmosphere. A dusty dirt road, gravel drive and 100 year old farmhouse about 15 minutes from the nearest town. Still commuting a good 90 minutes everyday to the heart of Toronto’s financial district, they craved the peace and quite away from the ever-growing urban environment, and my dad had a dream. He wanted a farm.

Living with my mom, 3 hours from their new abode, my brother and I took the three hour trek every second week for my dad’s joint custody visitation (sounds so criminal, but it was far from that). I dreaded that drive. Three hours on a Friday evening after school, we’d arrive at my dad’s house in time for bed. Then again, the three hour venture back to mom’s house. Those weekends seemed never-ending and tiring because of such horrendous car rides with limited activities. I mean, you can only play I spy for so long, then what!?

The farm was a fun escape though, and they had a pool! What kid doesn’t love a pool!? We’d run and play all day in the fields as well as the back wooded area. Though we didn’t have other children around to play with, it was a change of pace; refreshing. The house was an ancient farmhouse which had been refinished, but still had the old hitching area for the horses at the front of the house, as well as the ring in the cement step for another. Gorgeous wooden planks throughout, gently worn and weathered from the number of families and their pets who proceeded us.

One thing that will forever stick with me was the night I saw him.

My room was on the ground level by the front door while the other two bedrooms were upstairs. I was always afraid to go in there at night before the blinds had been pulled. I would race to the other side of the room and whip the blind down with one foul swoop, then jump into my bed and under the cover. I was always worried of people peering in through the window and see me sleeping.

I was nine years old. Fast asleep. I felt the weight of someone sit on my bed. I was terrified to open my eyes. I just lay there pretending to sleep, I tried swooshing my leg across the spot, thinking that it may be the cat, but I couldn’t move my leg! It wouldn’t budge. My heart began to pound as I could sense that someone was there.
As I gathered up my courage, I opened my eyes; facing towards my closet, I could see the figure of a boy. Too short to be my brother, not tall enough to be dad. He adorned long shorts with suspenders and a wide brimmed hat, I remember it clear as day.

He just stood there.

I closed me eyes. When I opened them again his back was to me.

I closed them again. He was gone.

I forced myself to believe that it didn’t happen. I forced myself back to sleep, thinking it was only a dream. My dad and step-mom moved from that house about 8 years ago.

I hadn’t even thought about that night until three years ago when my step-mom mentioned that weird things had occurred at that farmhouse. She had similar happenings a few times over the course of time they lived there.

Jump to today.

I was inside an old warehouse in downtown Toronto assessing its condition as they are building a(nother!) condo to the east. Constructed in the early 1920’s, the building has been abandoned for a number of years. It’s in poor, dilapidated condition with majority of it being gutted in previous years. Over the past 20+ years, only the main level has been occupied other then the odd movie shoot. On past days we had been through the entire building, which had given me goosebumps throughout, particularly in the basement.
Today, my co-worker was on the second floor while I worked on the third; as I made me notes I could sense that someone was there. As I glanced around, not a person in sight. I continued on my way, every now and again sensing that someone had either brushed past me, or walked by in another part of the room.
It got to the point where I was about to walk downstairs to meet up with my co-worker as it was getting really freaky. but decided against it since I didn’t want to be the ‘fraidy cat girl that can’t be alone in a big bad ol’ abandoned warehouse .

We met up once he’d finished. As he came into the last room I was surveying, I made a comment about seeing things every time I looked down to write.

Guess what?

He. Did. Too!

OMG.

So freaky!!

He saw shadows and creaks and moans throughout the second floor. (Luckily for me I was on the third floor because there were also spent shell casings from guns on the second floor used in a previous filming there — soooo freaky!)

Got any ghost stories? Share them, please! I love stories!

Oh, and the shit part?

Yeah, I was shit on by a dirty devil bird pigeon today. Asshat. I hate pigeons.