My scarf, or how hawky ruined Christmas.

So, the weather here in my corner of Canuckistan has turned cold again, so of course I bundle up for work, because well...it's cold.  And I hate the cold.  I told you there'd be at least one post about me bitching about the cold, and this is partially it.

When I bundle up for the trip to work, I wear a jacket I've named Gargantucoat.  Gargantucoat weighs a lot, and is normally issued to northern offshore rig workers.  It's rated for something like -50C, is fireproof, waterproof, and probably bulletproof.   Lord knows it's thick enough.  I inherited Gargantucoat from my father, who no longer works in the field but is now a paper pusher.  I also have a pair of black fleece mittens, and a green striped toque (pronounced "tuke", rhyming with "nuke" for you Americans) with ear flaps, tassels, and a pom pom on top.  I bought this hat a couple winters ago, my friend T had a matching one, but lost it.  Lame-sauce, T.  I also wear a scarf made of variegated green wool that, when hanging loose around my neck, reaches to my knees.  This is the scarf this post is about.

My trip home, depending which way I take, involves either two buses, or a bus, a train, then another bus.  Today was a train day, suiting me fine, because at least the train station is underground and somewhat out of the weather.  I settled myself in my seat when the train came and was looking out the window, thinking of nothing in particular other than what I needed to do when I got to the mall station, when a woman sat down across from me. (The seats on the train are in pairs facing each other.)  She said hello to me, and since I'm Canadian and politeness is deeply ingrained in my being, I said hello back, even though I honestly have no interest in speaking to strangers on the train. 

After a few minutes of semi-awkward silence, she said, "I like your hat."  So I replied, "Thanks.  I got it at Zellers a couple winters ago."  "Oh, that's nice," she replied brightly.  "Where did you get your scarf?  I LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOVE it!  I want one just like that for my daughter.  She'd loooooooooooove it too!"  Yes, she actually drew out the word "love" like that.  Oh lord.  Here we go.  They need to have crazy-people detectors at the train station entrances, if you ask me.  Nothing like being trapped on a train with a scarf-obsessed loon.

"Sorry," I replied.  "It's one of a kind."  She pounced on that immediately, her tone suggesting I was deliberately withholding information from her because there was no possible way I could tolerate some other being on the planet having a scarf anything like as nice as mine.  "How do you KNOW it's one of a kind?" she demanded.  "Maybe it was just the last one in the store!"  I sighed.  I'd already had a long day and now somehow I was roped into this insane conversation about my scarf, of all things.  "I know it's one of a kind because I made it," I replied, which is true.  It may surprise many people to know that I'm actually an avid wool-worker, I love to knit and crochet.  This particular scarf I crocheted two years ago, and it's served me very well. I've actually grown quite fond of it.  Maybe someday I'll post a picture of it or something.

"But my daughter would LOOOOOVE it!  Can I have it?  You could just give it to me!  You can always make another one, right?  Right??" 
"Lady," I replied, pretty much at the end of my patience, "I made this for myself.  I've been wearing it two years.  I got the yarn at Wal-Mart, if you're really that interested.  I'm sure they still carry it.  Learn to knit, scarves are easy to make.  Then your daughter can have one just like mine."

Okay, that was totally the wrong thing to say.  I realised it a split-second too late.  This woman went from whiny to hosebeast in about half a second, and I am still trapped on the train with her, two stations away from my stop.  She flips out at my suggestion and starts YELLING IN ALL CAPS!!!

"I DON'T HAVE TIME FOR THAT, JUST GIVE ME YOURS!! YOU CAN MAKE ANOTHER ONE!  I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU WON'T GIVE ME A STUPID SCARF, I HOPE YOU'RE HAPPY, YOU'VE RUINED MY DAUGHTER'S CHRISTMAS!!"

Uhh...did your daughter have hear heart set on my scarf?  Has she been following me around all winter, watching and waiting for an opportunity to steal it?  Do you realise I need it to stop my face from freezing off?  Does your daughter know that her mother goes around shaking people down on the train in order to complete her Christmas shopping?

I wrapped my scarf around my neck and stuffed it down the neck of Gargantucoat, zipping it up in case she got desperate and made a grab for it.  Thankfully by then it was my stop and I got off the train and just about ran to the exit.

On the plus side, I ruined someone's Christmas!  A complete stranger!  Over a scarf that cost me about $7 in wool and one afternoon to make!  Woo!

The Shower

Well.  It's been an interesting couple of weeks.  Getting into the swing of things at my new job, which, though it pays well enough, is boring as fuck.  Making some improvements around the apartment, and trying to get myself together for Christmas, which I hate.  I'm sure there will be at least one angry post about Christmas, Christmas shopping, fad toys, my bitchy sister, or all of the above.  But today, I'm talking about my shower.


Everyone has to shower.  If we don't, we smell bad, and repulse people.  While repulsing people isn't necessarily a BAD thing, being smelly, grubby and itchy is.  I shower typically daily, when I get home from work, because I have a dirty job, and I also have masses of very long thick hair that takes a billion zillion years to dry.  I could speed up the process with a hair dryer, I guess, which I may or may not still own.  I honestly don't know.  I can tell you that I never DID own one until I got a longhaired dog, though.  But I digress.  The shower.


I like my showers to be a relaxing experience.  I love the warm water pouring over me, the white noise from the fan, the steaminess, everything.  I even have speakers in my bathroom that I can hook my Zune up to so I can sing and not take a break from actively annoying my upstairs neighbours while I attend to the necessary task of showering.  I also have a wall-mounted candle holder in the shape of a tree that holds 8 tea lights, so I can even have a nice candle-lit bath or shower if I want.  However, I also live in an apartment building, which means I cannot be in complete control of the water temperature.

I'm pretty sure everyone has had this experience.  You're in the shower, rinsing your hair, using the back brush, jerking off, whatever your shower routine is, when all of a sudden your nice warm shower betrays you.  Everything's fine, then all of a sudden someone's washing machine or dishwasher kicks in, and the spray goes from comfortably warm and steamy to JESUS CHRIST ICICLES!!  Once you recover from that unpleasantness, which may or may not involve slipping, hitting your head on the wall or faucet and/or possibly ripping down your shower curtain to escape the arctic blast, you manage to get back into your shower groove and are just starting to trust the water again when some jackass in the building has the nerve to flush his toilet.  Then once again, suddenly the water temperature has a major mood swing.  Only instead of Jesus Christ Icicles, you get MOTHERFUCKER MOLTEN LAVA!!  This is usually the point where I pull out the serious cuss words and as long as I don't have a head full of shampoo or conditioner, at this point my shower is officially over. 

Sometimes, just out of spite, I like to flush my toilet or run my dishwasher or washing machine when I know my upstairs neighbour is in the shower.  It's my bitchy, passive-aggressive way of getting revenge for having to listen to him and his wife having boring, mechanical, practically SCHEDULED sex every Wednesday and Sunday nights, as well as that one time he tried to pull off some DIY plumbing one summer evening when I had a friend over, the end result of which was a rain storm coming through my bathroom ceiling and culminated in one of the most surreal moments in my entire life.  Maybe some day I'll get around to telling that story.