Freak Magnet Dave

Seems like ages since I've been here to write anything. It has been such a busy week, and now I've got a few minutes while I do laundry.

The craziness began (or continued) last weekend on Saturday night. The squeeze and I were invited for dinner and a few episodes of the last season of Six Feet Under. We're all hooked. I was asked to bring an appetizer, so I opted to do the stuffed mushrooms I did for my birthday party since they were a hit. Unfortunately, the man of the house doesn't eat mushrooms...or almost any other vegetable or fruit for that matter. I decided to also bring along my cream cheese tortilla wraps with some guacamole I whipped up, some salsa and sour cream.

We had some wine and the mushrooms (damn, they ARE good!), and then we sat down to a huge Italian feast. Soup, lasagne, chicken, grilled vegetables, salad, fruit, and a couple of desserts. My kingdom for their metabolism! Apparently they eat like this all the time, and none of them are overweight. In fact their 20-ish son is so thin you could rub his arms together to make fire. Pure envy here. The Squeeze and I are "husky" folk. What kills me is that we were pretty much full from the first two courses. Soup and pasta is more than we'd usually eat for one meal. It's just not fair, I tells ya!

We watched a few episodes of SFU before we had to drag our tired butts home to bed. We're such old fogies. But it was after 11:00, and we really needed to get to sleep, especially considering The Squeeze had to work yet another Sunday.

I called the lady of the house early the next week to thank her again for an amazing dinner. She told me that they had a few people pop in Sunday afternoon for a visit. She said she was in a bit of a panic as they hadn't been shopping yet and didn't have anything to serve them as a snack. Her husband said "What about those wraps the guys brought last night?" Luckily, since we were so full, we forgot all about them. So they sliced them up, got the guacamole, salsa and sour cream out and she said everyone devoured them. The funny part is that she said she went ahead and took credit for them when the compliments came pouring in until someone said "What is this filling made of?" And the gig was up. We just howled on the phone. That just cracked me up. Nothing like getting caught in a fib.

The day after that feast I was to attend a baby shower for Weezie's baby Zoe. I searched for the gift I had in mind. I wanted to get one of those big round pink piggy banks and stuff it with what we in Canada call Twonies. It's a two dollar coin...you know, our one dollar coin is called a Loonie, because there is a loon on the reverse side of it, so they nicknamed the two dollar coin the Twonie...or is it Toonie? I thought Doubloonie would be cool, but who asked me? But I digress. On the Saturday (before that big feast I mentioned), I searched high and low for this piggy bank. I finally found one, but it had a chipped nose. Of course, it was the only one they had. Luckily, they are a chain store, so they told me to check out their other locations in the neighbouring city. Unfortunately, time was ticking and I wasn't able to pick it up on Saturday. I figured I'd pick it up on the way to the shower.

So Sunday came, and the shower was due to start at 11:00 am. I hustled to the mall around 10:00 to get this bank, but the sign on the mall door said they open at 11:00. I drove over to the other mall across town, and the sign said they don't open until 12:00! Aaaahh!!! So I drove to the coffee shop for some relaxation on my way back to the first mall. I finally got let in, found the bank and was on my way. But wait! I needed to buy a bunch of twonies! The shop where I got the bank didn't have any to spare that they could sell me, so I tried a couple of other places. Still no go. I then remembered I needed some wrapping paper, a bow, and some tape to wrap this bank up since I didn't have time to go home to do it. I finally drove to my grocery store, and they were able to sell me the coins I needed. I then sat in their parking lot stuffing twonies in this bank and trying to wrap this thing. You know what I could have used? Scissors! So there I was tearing and taping and wrapping. Finally got it done, drove like a lunatic to this party and made it there only about an hour late. Not too shabby.

Weezie loved the piggy bank. Hopefully we're on our way to a college fund.

I got home from the party and The Squeeze got home from work shortly after that. We decided that since we were both exhausted that we would go out for dinner and use a gift certificate that I received for my birthday. It was a very nice place where we have eaten before. We split a calamari and a scallop and shrimp appetizers. For the main course I had a four cheese gnochi, and The Squeeze had a spaghetti carbonarra. When the main courses arrived, it looked like there was maybe one cup of food max. Amazingly, half way through it we were feeling quite full. We finished our dinners (no dessert, thank you) and rolled out of there.

We got home and figured out our grocery list for the week that I needed to pick up Monday as it is my day off. The Squeeze had meetings on Monday night, Tuesday night, Thursday night, and Friday night. He said "I can't wait for Wednesday night. I want to come home, have dinner, take a soak in the tub and get to bed early." It sounded like a plan to me until Monday when I remembered that we had tickets to see Dame Edna in Toronto. The poor guy. He's going to have a hell of a long week.

So we did Dame Edna Wednesday night, and had a great time at the show, and last night we had a play to attend as well. There are just not enough days in the week. Today The Squeeze is at work again for a few hours. I feel guilty, but right now I'm planning on taking that relaxing soak in the tub when I'm done here. Then I'm off to do some shopping. Groceries, pumpkin...stuff like that. Maybe I'll even get some yard work done.

Let's hope next month is a bit less busy and demanding.

For the past few weeks I've had what I've been referring to as a sinus infection. I don't think it really is, but my other theory just sounds too weird. Here it is. I have had many years of experience eating, but for some reason I find that when I eat something cake-like (ie cake, doughnuts, etc.) invariably, a piece somehow manages to lodge itself in the back of my throat...right where my sinus connects. Not even sure if this is all biologically accurate, but that's pretty much the way I see it. Anyway, one morning a few weeks back I had a doughnut and I've been paying for it ever since.

I've offended myself with a terrible taste that I get when I do that disgusting snort/inhale thing, and try as I might to dislodge this thing, it seems to move, but I just can't get rid of it. OK, now I'm starting to sound like Roseanne Roseannadanna. So sorry.

I mentioned this to my mother at our family Thanksgiving gathering last weekend, and she told me that my brother had taken Ny-Quil, and after two days his throat was fine. The Squeeze had suggested I take an antihistamine. Everyone seems to give me advice on getting over a cold or flu, but damnit, it's a doughnut I tells ya!!!

This weekend, I broke down and decided to get some Ny-Quil. I've never used the stuff before, so I was a bit unsure about how it would work. I rarely get a full night's sleep and I really didn't expect it to help. I took the recommended dose around 10:00pm Sunday night and began reading and answering some e-mail. Well, about 15 minutes later I felt like a drooling idiot. I lost my train of thought halfway through a sentence and just ended my e-mail and sent it off. I'm sure my friend will be thoroughly confused trying to read it and make any sense of it at all.

I went to bed and had to be woken up by The Squeeze around 8:00am. Thank God I was off Monday because I felt absolutely stupid. I got showered and dressed and made my way to my chiropractor's appointment, and after that I had to take my car in for some routine service work. It was one of the more involved services, so they told me it would take about 3 hrs. I took advantage of the time to have a coffee and walk to the local mall to do a bit of shopping.

After about 2 hours I walked back to the dealership and had a seat in the service lobby. While I waited there, I had to fight to keep my eyes open and stay awake. I finally got out of there and went home to snooze for a bit on the sofa.

The rest didn't last too long because my folks came over to drop off a card and cake for The Squeeze's birthday (which was Sunday). I tried to stay awake with the help of some coffee, but I still felt wiped out. When the parental units left I crashed in the living room again. Barely stayed awake long enough to eat dinner, and shortly after that I went to bed.

This morning I got up around 7:00am, and was amazed that I had yet another full night's sleep. I got up, got dressed, took a walk along the lake, had a bite for breakfast and headed to work.

Here I sit. Still feeling tired beyond belief. I've got so much work to do, but I just have no energy to stand and do what I have to do. Anyone else ever experience this before?

Maybe I'm coming down with something....

Just as I was finishing my last post, my buddy Weezie called.
(if you haven't already read it, check out "Baby Daddy" below)

"Hey Baby Daddy"
"What's up?"
"You better get to bed early tonight."
"Whyyyyyy?"
"Cuz you have to take a sample to the doctor's office tomorrow morning at 6:00"
"am?"
"Yes"

Figures....just when I was looking forward to sleeping in one day. Oh well.
"Hey, think how I feel," she said. "I have to be there at 7:30 to get it put in."
"That means you get another hour and a half sleep...must be nice," I joke.

Of course, she'll probably be up much earlier as she picks up Zoe tonight. She gets full custody of the little girl on the 17th. Guess that means she takes her back to the foster home Sunday night, and picks her up for good on Monday. Kind of odd, but if that's the way it's done, so be it.

So apparently there are two eggs they found that are ripe for the fertilizing, so keep your fingers crossed everyone!

Thanks to my blog & e-mail buddy Kathleen, I have been inspired to write a story about something that happened to me back in the late 80's. It was probably '87 or '88 to be semi-precise.

There was a dance club in a nearby city that had some amazing music on Thursday nights. It was hosted by DJ Chris Sheppard who, at the time, worked for CFNY in Toronto and was a god on the radio and in the clubs. At the time, in addition to my regular full-time retail gig, I did some writing for a now defunct arts & entertainment magazine. One of my missions was to interview Chris Sheppard for this magazine, and in the process, hang out with someone whom I pretty much idolized (God, I was young!).

After a couple of nights of small-talk at the club, Chris agreed to be interviewed for the magazine. We set it up for the following week an hour or so before he was to start spinning. I arrived with tape recorder in hand, we did the interview, it went to print and was published.

A couple of weeks later, I went to see Chris at the club and brought him a copy of the magazine. I brought my friend Jen, and Corey, a young guy who worked in the auto service centre of the store I worked at, along with me. Jen was the ex girlfriend of a good friend of mine who I wasn't really seeing too much of at the time. Corey was a young guy I worked with and he was a bit of a party animal. He had connections, if you know what I mean. So we hopped in my little Chevy Sprint and headed to the club. That car was a blast. Little 3 cylinder sewing machine of a car. It was great on gas though...even with 7 people crammed into it. But that's another story.

We arrived at the club, chatted with Chris, hung out with some of his friends and danced the night away. The bar closed at 1:00 am, and as Jen, Corey and I were about to leave, Chris asked "Hey, what are you guys up to now?"
"Well, I was thinking of heading home."
"Why don't you guys join us across the border at The Continental?"
"Umm....ok."

For those who don't know, and I didn't, The Continental is a goth/industrial nightclub in Buffalo that attracts a rather colourful crowd. I doubt that Corey was even of legal drinking age at the time, but he was walking around with double shots in both hands for most of the night. Did I mention he's probably about 95 pounds soaking wet? Being the responsible driver, I didn't drink much if anything that night. OK, maybe a couple. I'm not a saint.

At one point in the night, I decided it was time to visit the men's room. OH MY GOD! That had to be the most frightening bathroom on the face of the planet. All I can remember is that there was a toilet without a seat, full of cigarette butts, urine and liquified feces, and it was overflowing onto the floor. Needless to say, I decided to hold it until later. How a place gets to that condition is beyond me. GAK!!

When Jen, Corey and I were preparing to leave the club, Chris asked if we would mind dropping his cousin Andy off on our way home. It wasn't too far out of our way, so we agreed. We arrived at the car after Jen, in her rush to get to there way ahead of us, got propositioned by some guy in a Cadillac. She should have listened when I told her to stay with us. It wasn't the most upscale of neighbourhoods. Andy and Corey squeezed into the back seat and Jen rode shotgun. About five minutes into our drive home, I hear Corey gagging behind Jen.

"Oh my god. Jen open the window!"
"What?"
"Open the window!"
"Why?"
"Just open the fucking window!!!!"

But it was too late. Corey had thrown up all over the back of the passenger seat and the floor mats. Jen slowly turned her head toward me and said "That better not be in my hair." I could have killed her. Had she opened the window when I asked the first time, Corey could have puked outside and not all over my car.

Needless to say, it stunk like hell. It was at that time of the year when it was hot in the day but very cold at night. So we drove with the windows down to get rid of the smell, and froze our asses off. If we turned on the heat, it just seemed to intensify the smell, so that wasn't an option.

We dropped Andy off, and I drove on to Corey's apartment. Jen and I carried him in, layed him down on his bed, face down with his head over the edge of the bed. Now that I think about it, we probably should have stayed with him, but hey, it was around 5 am, we were young, stupid, tired, and I had a car full of vomit.

The next stop was Jen's place. Jen still lived with her parents, and as we approached the house she saw her father standing inside the front door with the lights on.
"Oh my god, keep driving" she said.
"What?"
"My dad's gonna kill me."
"Ya, that's a shame." Hey, I was tired and wanted to get to bed.

I let her off at the end of her driveway, and apparently her parents gave her nine kinds of hell for being out so late and not calling. Her father used to jokingly (I think) give me a hard time for quite a while after that, but deep down I think he knew I wouldn't let anything happen to Jen.

I made it home and got to bed around 5:30 and slept for about and hour and a half before getting up for work. I drove the barfmobile to work and locked it up with the windows down a crack and allowed the hot sun to do its work. When Corey arrived at work after his day at school, he tracked me down and told me he was buying me new seat covers and mats, and he was going to steam clean the car for me that night. What a guy. I'm sure he felt sick as hell all day long, and to have to come to work and then clean your vomit out of someone's car...well, that's just admirable.

Later that week, I realized I could still smell the faint stench of vomit in the car, and traded it in. It was either that or torch it for the insurance money.

We've been going through some gloomy weather up here this past week or so. In fact, our window cleaner here at work just asked "this isn't England, is it?"

The other morning, I'm on the computer in the spare room playing poker or some such other important task, and I hear The Squeeze in the kitchen say in dismay "Oh fuck!". Ya, I figured something was wrong.
"What's going on?"
"We've got a leak."

So I walk out to the kitchen, and sure enough water is leaking through our light fixture. I was not amused. Well, I guess I kind of was, because I've never seen an electrical fixture pouring water, and it was coming out pretty impressively. Luckily it was the light directly over the sink and not any of the other ones in the room. I grabbed a little post-it note and wrote "do not turn on" and placed in over the switch. What really ticks me off is that we just gutted and rebuilt the kitchen about 4 years ago, so I'm really not thrilled with the idea that our ceiling might just cave in. Drywalling, taping, mudding and sanding are the worst! Hopefully it won't come to that.

Of course, The Squeeze decides that we should get up in the attic and find where it's leaking so we can fix the problem. Unfortunately, The Squeeze and I are both pretty big and the access panel isn't. Not only is the panel very narrow, I've got it half blocked by our stove vent as a result of the renovations. Our options as I see it are to either send the cat up there on a rope with a camera mounted to her head to take a look around, or to cut an access panel at the end of the hallway. The latter sounds like the option that would work best and result in less personal injury. I've been on the business end of Cali's claws before, and it isn't pretty.

The added bonus of being able to get up there is the fact that we can re-insulate and perhaps cut our energy costs. On the downside, it looks like I'll be doing a bit of finish carpentry. Cutting, nailing, sanding, painting....and we need to figure out what kind of panel type thing to put in the new hole in our ceiling. I'm sure The Squeeze will come up with something. He's like MacGyver. He could make a bomb out of a paper clip.

I guess I know what I'll be doing this weekend. *sigh*

OK, so you might be wondering why I called this site "Freak Magnet Dave". So far I haven't written of any dealings with some of the freaky folk out there, but believe me, I've had my share.

Just this week, The Squeeze and I were at a going-away party for some friends who are moving away (makes sense, n'est pas?). We felt just slightly out of place since we knew NOBODY there except the couple leaving, their kids and a friend of my departing friend I had previously met. We did a little bit of mingling, but since we were only staying a short time we didn't want to make any commitments or promises of extended conversations with these unknown people.

At one point we were standing near a grouping of chairs and this woman strikes up a conversation with The Squeeze and I. I should have known something was up when she asked "are you related to (the departing), or are you family?" Umm....where I come from, being related pretty much makes you family. So I said "neither, we're just friends". I used to work with "The Mrs." a few years back, and we've become good friends.

I took the opportunity to abandon The Squeeze and cross the room to sign the little guest book they had set up. I finished writing my note in the book and headed back across. The Squeeze was giving me this "GOD, HELP ME!" look. When I got to him he said, "well, we should get going".

After saying our good-byes we headed for the car and The Squeeze said "holy bible thumpers!" As it turned out, as soon as I walked toward the book, the woman asked The Squeeze what he did for a living. The Squeeze told her that he worked in pest control. She asked what he meant by that, so to dumb it down a bit he said "I'm an exterminator".
"Well, we're exterminators of sorts too," she said motioning to her husband. "We exterminate demons."
"Check, please!"
ok...he didn't say that, but I think I might have.

So this woman goes on to tell him all about the souls she has saved in the name of the Lord, blah, blah, blah. She went on to state that soon we will be destroyed by a natural disaster that is headed right for our area. Uhhh...right.
There was a whole lot of "Those who serve the Lord will be persecuted." Leads me to ask...so then why set yourself up?
She asked The Squeeze if he was a Christian, so to avoid a serious in-your-face conversion, he just said "ya, sure".
When he told me this I just laughed.
"Why didn't you just tell her that you find it completely inappropriate and offensive to discuss religion with strangers?"
"I like your boundaries" he said.
"Ya, you could call it that...I just think it's a nicer way to say 'hey, shut your pie-hole'"
The Squeeze is still a bit freaked out by it all. I just kind of chuckle. I guess in this case, it's The Squeeze who is the Freak Magnet.

My buddy Xena sent me this today. I just love playing with words, so this is right up my alley.

The Washington Post's Mensa Invitational once again asked readers to take any word from the dictionary, alter it by adding, subtracting, or changing one letter, and supply a new definition.
Here are the 2005 winners:

1. Cashtration (n.): The act of buying a house, which renders the subject financially impotent for an indefinite period.

2. Ignoranus: A person who's both stupid and an asshole.

3. Intaxication: Euphoria at getting a tax refund, which lasts until you realize it was your money to start with.

4. Reintarnation: Coming back to life as a hillbilly.

5. Bozone (n.): The substance, surrounding stupid people, that stops bright ideas from penetrating. The bozone layer, unfortunately, shows little sign of breaking down in the near future.

6. Foreploy: Any misrepresentation about yourself for the purpose of getting laid.

7. Giraffiti: Vandalism spray-painted very, very high.

8. Sarchasm: The gulf between the author of sarcastic wit and the person who doesn't get it.

9. Inoculatte: To take coffee intravenously when you are running late.

10. Hipatitis: Terminal coolness.

11. Osteopornosis: A degenerate disease. (This one got extra credit.)

12. Karmageddon: It's like, when everybody is sending off all these really bad vibes, right? And then, like, the Earth explodes and it's like, a serious bummer.

13. Decafalon (n.): The gruelling event of getting through the day consuming only things that are good for you.

14. Glibido: All talk and no action.

15. Dopeler effect: The tendency of stupid ideas to seem smarter when they come at you rapidly.

16. Arachnoleptic fit (n.): The frantic dance performed just after you've accidentally walked through a spider web.

17. Beelzebug (n.): Satan in the form of a mosquito, that gets into your bedroom at three in the morning and cannot be cast out.

18. Caterpallor (n.): The color you turn after finding half a worm in the fruit you're eating.

Anyone have any others to add?

One of the disadvantages of running your own small business is the constant bombardment of people looking for a bit of your money which you can ill afford. I am constantly receiving phone calls from different publications wanting me to advertise, or some charity or another looking for a donation. A technique that seems to limit the amount of money we give away is to explain that we are run by a board of directors (my business partner, our accountant and myself) and that any decision must be done by the board and I ask them to fax any information to us. Nine times out of ten, nothing is faxed to us, making me wonder how many of these organizations are even legit.

Perhaps the most annoying group would have to be the door-to-door salespeople who pull up in the mall parking lot and hit each of the businesses with their cardboard boxes of crap. Normally they arrive with about 5 or 6 late teen or 20-something people in the car or van, and they go either individually or in pairs to each store. They try to sell anything from knife sets to vibrating stuffed animals, children's books, watches and so on. Sometimes they will show up two or three times a week. I mean come on, enough is enough. They have even taken to harassing customers and pedestrians walking down the sidewalk. It really annoys me when they try to sell something to one of my clients in my shop. I tell them that as soon as they pay part of my lease and utilities and taxes, they can sell their things to my clients.

One day, we had three groups come in one after the other, and when the third guy came in with his box o' crap, my business partner just looked at him with this incredulous look. He said "you are the THIRD person in the last few minutes who has come in here with that stuff!" The vendor said "sorry, man, I didn't know" in a rather rude tone. So my BP tells him, "You all came from the same car, you should decide who's going where instead of everyone bothering the same store." So this guy starts bitching at my BP, saying "You don't have to give me attitude", and as he turned to leave muttered "dumbass" and "fucking jerk". So of course, not willing to let this punk get the last word, BP yells out "This is my fucking store, get the fuck out and don't come back!"

It would appear that the pressures of the job got to the guy because we never did see him come back. Not to say none of them ever came back, because they certainly have. I guess I shouldn't have bought that poker set off one guy, but it really was a good price. Unfortunately, once you buy something they keep coming back. Sort of like feeding a stray cat.

The girls in the office next door got so pissed off they put a "No Solicitors" sign on their door. It hasn't worked so far. In fact, one day a vendor came by and went into their office. The girl closest to the door said "Didn't you see the sign?"
"What sign?"
"The one that you walked right past on the door."
He turned to look at the sign, looked back at her and with a look of confusion on his face said "I'm not Sicilian".
"It says 'No Solicitors', not 'No Sicilians', and that means you. Out!"

I couldn't believe it when she told me that.
Sicilains. Too much.