Tonight was my first ballroom class - what a frickin' fiasco ('scuse my language). I expected the ratio of men to women to be somewhat pathetic - but 1:6? Good grief. Anyways, that can't be helped - sigh. The instructors inform us that seeing as we don't have enough men for couples dancing, instead we are going to perform the steps as a line dance and later couple up together taking turns to lead. (This should have been my cue to leave).
I assumed that we would start with something simple, like the waltz and move up. Our instructors however decided that given the popularity of Latin dancing in the last few years, we would start with the merengue.
If I have never mentioned this before I should at this point make mention of the fact that I have 2 left feet at the best of times, can't remember steps to save my life - and this dance has 46 separate steps.
I need not have worried however about not remembering the steps, because our lead instructor couldn't remember them either! LOL His assistant stood at the back of the class prompting him with what came next from her "cheat sheet" - and even then every time he "took it from the top" he'd forget a complete sequence...the whole class would go left...he'd go right. It was laughable. We had all started exchanging looks amongst ourselves, rolling our eyes. At one point one of our more outspoken classmates actually stopped him and asked him what his training and qualifications were. Hysterical! After messing up repeatedly he finally walked out saying that he needed a break and a drink of water (it's only a 90 minute class) - leaving his assistant to take over. She was better at least, but her steps were slightly different again. By the end of the evening I was so confused, I doubt if I could even manage the macarena or the birdy dance properly.
I read my confirmation letter over, I can only get a cancellation refund if I can provide a medical note. Grrrr...it's worse than trying to get out of a cross country run in school. I could just swallow the fees and chalk it up to bad experience - but the sado-masochist in me can't tear my eyes away from the comedy of errors on the dance floor that this whole experience is turning out to be. I must still be suffering from the remnants of my flu from last week - surely I am delirious.
We'll see what class holds for me next week...in the meantime I am off to soak my feet.
September 18, 2006
September 17, 2006
Finally...a chief of Police to be proud of
A colleague from work sent me the following link for a press conference attended by the Chief of the San Francisco Police Dept.
Finally here is someone in authority who isn't afraid to say what we all have been thinking of what we laughingly call the justice system. Finally here is someone who isn't a tree hugging liberal too busy kissing up to City Hall to actually do us any real good.
When I heard this I seriously wanted to stand up and cheer. I would work for this man in a heart beat.
http://mfile.akamai.com/12948/wmv/vod.ibsys.com/2006/0728/9591734.300k.asx
Finally here is someone in authority who isn't afraid to say what we all have been thinking of what we laughingly call the justice system. Finally here is someone who isn't a tree hugging liberal too busy kissing up to City Hall to actually do us any real good.
When I heard this I seriously wanted to stand up and cheer. I would work for this man in a heart beat.
http://mfile.akamai.com/12948/wmv/vod.ibsys.com/2006/0728/9591734.300k.asx
September 16, 2006
Just when you think no-one is listening...
Overheard on the operational floor today:
Male colleague on the phone: Madam, just because he plays 'pocket pool' does not make him a suspicious or shady character. I play 'pocket pool' myself all the time!
I swear you could hear a pin drop in the room as we all turned to look at him.
Male colleague on the phone: Madam, just because he plays 'pocket pool' does not make him a suspicious or shady character. I play 'pocket pool' myself all the time!
I swear you could hear a pin drop in the room as we all turned to look at him.
September 13, 2006
In twenty-five words or less...
I watched a cable-tv movie this evening called The Prize Winner of Defiance, Ohio. I was struck how we don't have contests anymore that actually use skill. I remember being a horse-mad 9 year old, back home in England, and entering the WH Smith "Win a Pony" contest (numerous times). For one whole summer my spare time was filled with schoolgirl dreams of my very own pony...and trying to find the words to complete a catchy phrase "in twenty-five words or less". Something to attract the attention of the judges, something that would say "This little girl deserves to win the pony, with a year's supply of feed..."
I remind myself of Ralphie and his desire for a Red Ryder BB Gun (the one with the real sights and a compass in the stock).
Needless to say I didn't win - my hat is off to my mother who was suitably disappointed to my face, although no doubt privately rejoicing. Well, c'mon - I was 9 years old, she knew who would have been the one "mucking out" but didn't stand in the way of my daydreams.
I entered again the following year, and this time my entry won one of the runner-up prizes. It was a one of first ever television game consoles that played such classics as "Pong" and a half dozen other games. I was thrilled! I never did learn which of my entries was the actual winning slogan - but it was a prize I had actually worked for...and earned at least. By comparison today's contests seem to be merely ballots filled in with name, address and telephone number (oh how the telemarketing companies love them!) - occasionally there is a "skill testing" mathematical question - but other than that, the only skill needed is knowing which side of the stamp to lick...and even those are self-adhesive these days.
I remind myself of Ralphie and his desire for a Red Ryder BB Gun (the one with the real sights and a compass in the stock).
Needless to say I didn't win - my hat is off to my mother who was suitably disappointed to my face, although no doubt privately rejoicing. Well, c'mon - I was 9 years old, she knew who would have been the one "mucking out" but didn't stand in the way of my daydreams.
I entered again the following year, and this time my entry won one of the runner-up prizes. It was a one of first ever television game consoles that played such classics as "Pong" and a half dozen other games. I was thrilled! I never did learn which of my entries was the actual winning slogan - but it was a prize I had actually worked for...and earned at least. By comparison today's contests seem to be merely ballots filled in with name, address and telephone number (oh how the telemarketing companies love them!) - occasionally there is a "skill testing" mathematical question - but other than that, the only skill needed is knowing which side of the stamp to lick...and even those are self-adhesive these days.
September 12, 2006
I need a maid
Night shift is finally over - thank heavens - my cold appears to have dried up - double thank heavens and now life can hopefully get somewhat back to normal.
I have a couple of days off before I have to start day shift, but as of right now, I haven't decided what to do with my day. There is laundry to put through the washer, carpets to hoover and toilets to scrub - but I am still summoning the enthusiasm.
Alternatively my new contacts are ready for pick-up at the optician's, and I still have yet to pick out frames for a new pair of glasses. I have papers to drop off at the lawyer's office, and hopefully set up an appointment to draw up my will. And if I am out at the lawyer's office that means driving by the building site (unavoidable I am afraid) to see if there is any sign of work starting yet.
H'mmm decisions, decisions.
I am definitely in the mood to be outdoors today, not cooped up inside pushing a vacuum cleaner around that's for sure. (surprise, surprise) The final few days of summer have intermingled with the first few days of autumn. The nights are much cooler with temperatures dropping into single digits - for the first time in months I have turned off the fan in the bedroom. The days are still warm with watery sunshine; definitely time to start pulling out the old cardigan. My garden is in a final blaze of glory, but if you look closely the signs of autumn decay are already starting to show.
Screw the housework. Decision made.
I have a couple of days off before I have to start day shift, but as of right now, I haven't decided what to do with my day. There is laundry to put through the washer, carpets to hoover and toilets to scrub - but I am still summoning the enthusiasm.
Alternatively my new contacts are ready for pick-up at the optician's, and I still have yet to pick out frames for a new pair of glasses. I have papers to drop off at the lawyer's office, and hopefully set up an appointment to draw up my will. And if I am out at the lawyer's office that means driving by the building site (unavoidable I am afraid) to see if there is any sign of work starting yet.
H'mmm decisions, decisions.
I am definitely in the mood to be outdoors today, not cooped up inside pushing a vacuum cleaner around that's for sure. (surprise, surprise) The final few days of summer have intermingled with the first few days of autumn. The nights are much cooler with temperatures dropping into single digits - for the first time in months I have turned off the fan in the bedroom. The days are still warm with watery sunshine; definitely time to start pulling out the old cardigan. My garden is in a final blaze of glory, but if you look closely the signs of autumn decay are already starting to show.
Screw the housework. Decision made.
September 4, 2006
Confessions of a slack- jawed mouth-breather
Tuesday I had the startings of a sore throat. Wednesday the sore throat invited a very, very mild grade fever to move in. By Saturday tickly cough had dropped by and decided to join the party. Sunday sneezing evolved into runny nose and yours truly playing the trumpet at 4am with le monster box of Kleenex.
Now I am no medical doctor, but I think I have a cold.
Invariably this time of year I come down with my annual hum-dinger of a cold. Normally it waits to appear until around Canadian Thanksgiving (first week of October) - but this year it's decided an early surprise visit is called for. Typically it lingers, goes to my chest and becomes bronchitis. I end up literally coughing and barking like a seal, ribs in agony and in my doctor's waiting room by the end of week 2 - where he prescribes his usual steroid inhalers and I am back to normal generally by week 3.
At the moment however it's just a cold, with all the wonderful symptoms that go along with it. I ache, I am tired, I am breathing through my mouth (which I hate), I have no sense of smell, no tastebuds left to speak of, my eyes are dry and my sinuses ache. Normally I would take to my bed (or the couch), consume endless cups of tea, watch bad cable-tv movies, and wallow for at least 24 hours...
...Unfortunately I am scheduled to work tonight. The start of a 7 day stint of midnight shift. If I call in sick I am sure there will be many raised eyebrows and snide comments. How I was "well enough" to do overtime on the weekend, but not well enough for my regular shift. Or how I have perhaps run myself down from working too many hours. That comment in itself raises my ire. Since when did doing a sedentary job bring on the cold virus? I have still managed to get plenty of sleep (7 hours/night) over the past two weeks and have been eating regularly. The only things that have suffered as a result of my working extra hours are my housework and my couch time watching tv. (I totally missed Canadian Idol this week). So I don't see how the "working myself sick" argument works. I would put more stock in my grandmother's warnings about leaving the house with my hair wet and catching my death, than I would with the overwork argument. And we all know Grandma was talking a load of tosh about the wet hair issue.
So now I am sitting having the internal debate. Do I call in sick, risk the gossip of the platoon and hopefully nip this baby in the bud before it becomes a full fledged case of bronchitis. Or do I drag my ass in, feeling like crap and work. Either way my monster sized box of Kleenex will be my closest friend over the next few days.
Now I am no medical doctor, but I think I have a cold.
Invariably this time of year I come down with my annual hum-dinger of a cold. Normally it waits to appear until around Canadian Thanksgiving (first week of October) - but this year it's decided an early surprise visit is called for. Typically it lingers, goes to my chest and becomes bronchitis. I end up literally coughing and barking like a seal, ribs in agony and in my doctor's waiting room by the end of week 2 - where he prescribes his usual steroid inhalers and I am back to normal generally by week 3.
At the moment however it's just a cold, with all the wonderful symptoms that go along with it. I ache, I am tired, I am breathing through my mouth (which I hate), I have no sense of smell, no tastebuds left to speak of, my eyes are dry and my sinuses ache. Normally I would take to my bed (or the couch), consume endless cups of tea, watch bad cable-tv movies, and wallow for at least 24 hours...
...Unfortunately I am scheduled to work tonight. The start of a 7 day stint of midnight shift. If I call in sick I am sure there will be many raised eyebrows and snide comments. How I was "well enough" to do overtime on the weekend, but not well enough for my regular shift. Or how I have perhaps run myself down from working too many hours. That comment in itself raises my ire. Since when did doing a sedentary job bring on the cold virus? I have still managed to get plenty of sleep (7 hours/night) over the past two weeks and have been eating regularly. The only things that have suffered as a result of my working extra hours are my housework and my couch time watching tv. (I totally missed Canadian Idol this week). So I don't see how the "working myself sick" argument works. I would put more stock in my grandmother's warnings about leaving the house with my hair wet and catching my death, than I would with the overwork argument. And we all know Grandma was talking a load of tosh about the wet hair issue.
So now I am sitting having the internal debate. Do I call in sick, risk the gossip of the platoon and hopefully nip this baby in the bud before it becomes a full fledged case of bronchitis. Or do I drag my ass in, feeling like crap and work. Either way my monster sized box of Kleenex will be my closest friend over the next few days.
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