Coping With the Economy

We're doing what we can to keep the cash flowing.

The Truth About Canada

the country with a logo!

Lovely as Canada is, there's probably some stuff you didn't know about this fair land... stuff you might want to know if you're considering moving to the Vancouver area.

#1 - No Trader Joe's. Anywhere. This blows so hard, I'm not sure there are words to describe how much this blows. Food is expensive. Regular, everyday grocery store fare - about twice as pricey. Every time I go to the store I spend at least $50 for about enough food for one meal with a few other things thrown in. The funny thing - there's a Whole Wallet here - just one, in West Vancouver - so if you enjoy paying four or five times more $$ for food, c'mon up & go crazy.

#2 - No good pizza - at least we haven't found any yet. Pizza is not a priority here, but poutine is. [hurl]

#3 - Nobody Yelps. No one cares which restaurants might give you food poisoning or which chiropractors will help you vs. put you in traction. Thanks. Thanks for all the helpful info.

#4 - You can't access most U.S. web content - no Hulu.com, no Pandora, etc. When looking for a fantastic Colbert Report clip, I'm redirected to ctv.ca, which broadcasts Comedy Network content, but the bitches don't post the content online like they do in the States. It's jankity. Bitches.

#5 - Importing a car - see previous posts - jacked, jacked, jacked, jacked, JACKED. Bitches.

#6 - People come to your door. In the past two months two people have come to the door to either give me mail improperly delivered down the street or to ask questions about something pertaining to the house (I couldn't understand the guy - he was mumbling with a very thick French accent.) In Alameda, maybe four people came to the door in seven years. I liked that.

#7 - If you want to update a billing address for a credit card, you have to close the account. Global economy? Hardly.

#8 - Tidy Cats cat litter - the regular stuff - it isn't here. No one carries it. I don't know why. It's what the cats like, but for some reason, the regular ol' Tidy Cats isn't sold here. Other TC products are, but not this. Bitches.

#9 - Tim Horton's - not very good. The coffee tastes like water they collected from the puddles in the parking lot. Tire water. Only the maple-dipped doughnut is tasty. Not sure why they merged with Wendy's, but you can get a cup of chili AND a doughnut in one stop. Blech.

#10 - Health Care - now, we've not yet ventured into this area [knock on wood], but political ads talk about difficulty with finding a doctor, like maybe there aren't enough doctors to go around. I guess we'll see.

#11- Insurance - we have the basic ICBC auto insurance, but people here have additional, private coverage. Is driving here so perilous that you should have insurance on top of insurance? Now I'm worried that even after all the work it's taken to get the basic insurance, it may not be enough.

#12 - Crime - definitely alive and well. Maybe not as *much* murder as in the States, but since we've been here, there have been a few nasty murders, a couple of rapes and lots of petty crime. You can't leave anything in your car of any value, even in the suburbs. And under any circumstances, ladies, you cannot, not ever, follow the sound of a man's voice claiming to need help into the woods of Stanley Park (or any park). It won't end well. You can be a good samaritan, just not in the parks, by yourself. You're better off running into a bear.

#13 - Friendliness - by and large, people are about as friendly as in the Bay Area. There's the occasional butt munch, but overall, people are mellow and congenial - not very different than folks in the Bay Area.

#14 - Cell phone charges - hold on to your f*cking hat. If you have a carrier with good international coverage, it may not be an issue. We had AT&T and when David was first up here using his iPhone, that month's bill was over $400. The roaming data transfer and long distance charges are redonkulous. Even the land-line bill was craptacularly high. You'll want to get the calling card and use that sucker. Then you'll want to ditch the American phone & carrier and get a local plan. I don't text my friends anymore - too spensy.

#15 - "In hospital" - it's weird and I don't like it. "The victim was taken to morgue to be identified." "The man went to restaurant to eat." "The woman went to gas station to fill up." Ass.

#16 - Traffic - it's a bitch. There are a lot of people in this area - it feels just like driving around the Bay Area, sometimes it's worse. They've built a lot of bridges, but they don't have enough lanes or they need more of them. There's only one highway in and out of North Vancouver. Just wait 'til 2010 and millions of people are trying to get to Whistler. Should be an Olympic-sized clusterfuck to end all clusterfucks.

#17 - Public transporation - seems to work OK. David takes a nice train called the West Coast Express. He says you can always get a seat, but the seats are small and close together. Not being a fan of people in general, I realize this is less than ideal for him, but at least he can sit. Coworkers report that SkyTrain is often smelly and cramped. Sounds a lot like Bart. But it's efficient and they're continuing to expand the line, so that's nice.

#18 - Homelessness - sadly, a fair amount of it. Lots of folks downtown and some out here in our suburb, somehow surviving on the streets in 30-degree weather, and it's only October. Christ. There appears to be larger numbers living in the woods/parks by Pitt River.

#19 - Drugs and drug addiction - a pretty serious problem. The laws and sentences are lax and public assistance is plentiful and there are huge grow ops all over the province. Pot isn't legal, but they don't get aggro should they see someone strolling down Robson smoking a joint. Lots of crack, heroin and meth use.

#20 - No Peet's - enough said. : ((

That said, no one here would ever dream of nominating someone like Palin for elected office.

Cats Amaze Me

carpey flapjack

Because obviously I'm easily amazed. And I like shiny things.

I've spent a lot of time with our cats this year. Despite being around cats all my life, I still expect them to be aloof and cold, not needing any human interaction beyond feeding times.

And there are days when, if they had thumbs, I know they'd trip me so my head would crack square into the corner of a table and they'd no longer have someone nagging them about getting down off the counters or to stop stealing my socks and hiding them around the house, or to please cover the goddamn giant crap in the box.

But most days, they surprise me with how social they are. While they have bonded together somewhat as a tiny pride of living room lions, they still seem to prefer being with humans, or since I'm the one home all the time, me.

Neo, always a street-tough bulldog of a cat in my eyes, follows me from room to room, curling up near wherever I am. He doesn't have to be right on my lap like Nikita, but he's gotta be in the same room. He's a total badass yet he purrs the moment you touch him - that amazes me.


neo & nikita

With so much more observation time, I've seen much more of their personalities. They're all very different from one another - their only commonalities are bad breath, crapping in a box and loving ground up fish mush.

Ninja is the soft-headed gentle giant, content to play with a tiny carpet fiber or chase his tail on the couch. He doesn't rub his cheek against your leg, but instead gently brushes by like a fish in a lagoon, earning him the nickname Carpey.

He has a surprising range of expressions for a cat so mentally challenged. When he's happy the top of his head becomes rounded and fluffy and a ridge in his fur appears down his back. He's so at ease with the world he's totally comfortable sleeping flat on his back with his belly fully exposed. It's amazingly soft.

Because we see him as so, well, retarded, I was astounded one day when I figured out he was trying to tell me to clean out his crap box.

Like most cats, Ninja is particular about where he craps. The other two are fine with any box and any type of litter, but Ninja's gotta have it exactly the way he wants it or there could be trouble. Like a puddle of urine on the kitchen floor trouble. Or a box of books soaked in cat urine trouble.

As I sat here one day typing on this here computer dealie, he kept carping my leg and meowing softly - something he never does during the day. Normally right after breakfast, he's down for his all-day nap-a-thon - never up before 3pm when it's time to start bullying me into feeding them.

I watched him closely and he didn't look unhappy or stressed - he looked intent. We have two cat boxes in the closet behind me - that's the only reason he comes up here, except for bullying time.

Figuring it couldn't hurt to take a look, I grabbed a plastic bag and took the top off one of the boxes. Sure enough, it was due for cleaning. I scooped all the boxes and as soon as I finished, in he went to pollute it once again. And then he went back to his nap. Amazing.

I could go on and on about them, but if you have cats you know all the funny, weird things they do that make you wonder what planet they came from.

The scary thing is trying to stay on this side of the crazy cat lady line where I'm not talking to them like I know what they're saying back to me, but I gotta tell you, that line is getting blurry.

Maple-Dipped Ass Reaming

Hello Nootsmaakians!

When we last left you, our fearless author had just endured the early stages of a comprehensive rectal exam in an effort to register and insure an automobile here in the fine province of British Columbia.

Let's find out what happened!
..............

After 12 man-hours and a few more spent driving around to obtain forms, repairs and inspections, I'm happy to report the anal reaming is complete.

And now it's confirmed - British Columbia really [REALLY] doesn't want you bringing your car with you when you move here. Why, hasn't been made clear.

If it were just about the economy & wanting people to buy here, they could impose the appropriate taxes to compensate for that - that I would expect.

What I didn't expect was 2+ hours at the insurance agency to get signed up and insurance fees that are double what we paid in California - and that's AFTER a 40% discount for a claim-free record.

In California we were near an area where cars are stolen or burglarized all the time. David's car has a bullet hole in the hood from a random bullet fired somewhere in Emeryville when he used to work there. The East Bay is not without risk factors that can cause higher rates, yet we still paid reasonable fees for two cars driven all over the Bay Area (and beyond).

But here, I'm paying double what I paid in California, with the discount, and the coverage is about the same, though I think ICBC (Idiotic Corrupted Bullshit Corporation), includes an increased amount of general liability coverage.

Still, for a 10-year old car being used for "pleasure" only (I guess we'll have to keep the back seats folded down ALL the time) it's astronomical. Without the discount, I'd be paying $2,400 a year for BASIC insurance.

If I get a job and need to drive my car to & from work, that will cost me more. Can you believe that shit? If you have to drive your car to work, your insurance rates go up. And they want to know the actual mileage you'll be driving to/from work.

So, if I decide to take a long lunch and drive somewhere outside that route to run an errand and something happens, will they deny the claim?

The whole process is intentionally maddening, complicated and time-consuming. Even the wonderfully helpful and friendly folks at the insurance agency, who do this every day, struggled through the forms and the endless questions in the ICBC system.

Now I understand why some people, if they can, skirt this system. It's a full-on racket, from the numerous, bullshit fees you have to pay to different agencies to import to the inspection and its fees and the ridiculously expensive insurance.

Why the residents don't revolt and demand the laws be changed is a mystery. Perhaps this is one of those times when being too polite means we all get to take it up the ass. I've had about all I can take.

I think we'll seriously consider driving David's car back to California and leaving it there. I'm not sure I want to do this again or pay British Columbia any more money to live here. They're making it difficult to consider staying here permanently, but we'll see how it goes from here.

I have to say, I'm disappointed that something that should be so simple has been made intentionally very difficult and painful - and almost punitive.

We're not trying to screw anyone (or the local economy) by bringing our cars with us, but BC is definitely screwing us and as a result, we may not feel so great about staying here.

Import Export Stupidport

(from despair.com)

You know that guy (or girl) you've dated who, when you first meet him, you feel an instant connection - he's really cool, has a hot body, makes you laugh and dresses in his own style that you actually like?

That guy who seems totally into you at the party, chatting you up, flirting his ass off because you know he'd love to get you home, and you're fine with that because he's the best thing to come along since that guy you dated last year who dropped into a old-married-couple-like rut after the third date.

That guy who once you get to his place and have a look around you're thinking OK, his place is clean and cozy and you actually feel comfortable there and start thinking, This could actually be something...

And then you have a few dates, and just when you think things are clicking along nicely, he stops calling as often, telling you he's "got a lot going on right now" or he's "going through some issues" or "has his head lodged in his rectum and thus can't come to the phone."

Yeah, Canada is that guy. And Canada, I don't want to pull the plug on this so soon, but you need to get your shit together with this car import/registration bullshit, because I don't have the time or patience to deal with your issues.

Everything was great until I tried to take care of the car, and sure as shit, you went all High Maintenance Asshole on me.

Oh, sure, come on up and bring your car - sure - it's no problem. Oh, you want to KEEP your car here, oh, well, you didn't say that, but OK, well, in that case, there's some stuff you're going to have to take care of.

First - FIRST - don't bring your car. That would be the first thing to do. Don't bring it. Leave it in the states and walk across the border and either steal a car registered in British Columbia or purchase an automobile in Canada.

But if you've already brought your car, you'll need to first EXPORT the car from the States. The one you just drove here, the one that's already here in Canada - yes, that one - you're going to have to export that sucker first. So go back to the border to the US Customs office and fill out all that stupid paperwork to get it exported.

Oh, wait, I forgot - to actually export your car, you have to first file some paperwork with US Customs and leave the car in the States for three business days AFTER that paperwork has been filed.

So, go ahead and file that paperwork, verify that US Customs has received it and is is, in fact, ON FILE, then drive your stupid car across the border back into the States, sleep in it for three BUSINESS days, then you can drive back to the US Customs office and obtain the official export paperwork.

Easy, right? Excellent!

Now, with that done, we can start the IMPORT proe-cess. But first, if you wanted to, and this is totally up to you - your call - if you didn't want to bother with the EXPORT thing, you could - COULD - do a temporary import, which you can do if you're only going to be in Canada for a year or two. This is straight from the boys at Uncle Sam's customs office, so, I'm not just saying that to sound accommodating.

That doesn't mean that at some point, if you decided to STAY in Canada, that you may not have to someday bother with the whole export pain in the ass. So, you've been warned.

OK, so back to IMporting. If, like me, you were able to get away with the Temporary Import, Form 1 from the Canadian Customs folks, you can then bypass the RIV - Registrar of Imported Vehicles - proe-cess. The RIV bullshit requires another form or five and a filing fee of $200. For what, is anyone's guess - perhaps to pay for additional web pages full of confusing information.

Canadian Customs will give you the Temporary Import, Form 1 along with a B-15 form that documents the declared value of the car. You'll pay 7% of that value in taxes when you go to register your car.

Oh, you'll also need a Recall Clearance letter from your car's manufacturer (which for some cars, must come from their Canadian office). And you need to have current insurance and a Claims Experience Letter from your insurer that shows a claim-free history for the past eight years. With that, you get a 40% discount off the top. Off the top of a mountain of bullshit paperwork and forms.

Sorry, where was I?

Right, so with your Temporary Import Form 1, a B15, current registration, title, proof of insurance, recall clearance letter, claims experience letter, you'll THEN need to head on over to your local Canadian Tire - For Days Like Today (Really? So where do I shop on a GOOD day?) - where they'll do both a Federal and Provincial Inspection - awesome!

And if you're like me, you actually drive your car to places like Target or the liquor store and sometimes even to Canada, where along the way things can happen, like a chip or crack in the windshield.

And if you have a windshield with a crack or a chip, you can walk right back out of that friendly, neighborhood Canadian Tire because you're going to have to get that fixed before they'll even do the inspection. Which will cost you, for the Provincial Inspection, by the way.

So, where are we? You're going to have to pay taxes on whatever your car is worth, you're going to have to pay standard license and registration fees, you're going to have to pay for any repairs or modifications your car might need to pass the inspection, and then you're going to have to pay for BC insurance - and if you did the full export/import, you'll have to also pay the RIV fees (and another $100 if your car has air conditioning, just FYI).

Do you have a good salve and a rectum-friendly cushion? You may also want to keep your favorite alcohol or pharmaceuticals on hand to supplement the soothing effects of the anal salve.

Oh, and just so you know, your US insurance agency won't want to continue coverage for you once you've moved here, because BC won't recognize foreign insurance policies. Isn't that neat? So if you're not able to negotiate all this bullshit within 30 days, you'll be cut off by your US insurance before you're covered by BC's bullshit insurance, so, you know, good times!

So, no matter how hot Canada might look at that party, just know, if you're thinking about spending any serious time with him, there are going to be issues. He's cool about most things, but this one thing is like some twisted mommy-issue shit that might be too much to stomach.

I'm hoping he gets this shit worked out soon so we can get back to having some fun.

The Slop Line

Went to a bakery yesterday to get bread to go with our soup and picked up what I *thought* was a package of chocolate croissants for today's breakfast.

Oftentimes when cooking/baking something it's a good idea to put a little something on top of the item to help indicate what's in it. For example, almond croissants usually have slivered almonds on top - easy enough, yes?

These croissants, much like many chocolate croissants I've seen, had nothing on top but you could see the appearance of a dark filling at the corners. Unfortunately, that dark filling was in no way chocolate-related, but instead a spinach or pesto-type substance.

It's upsetting to bite into something like spanikopita when your mouth is ready for a sweet, gooey chocolate-filled pastry. Would a single pinoli on top be too much to ask? Or a spinach leaf? Something?

Disappointed that we had no sweet gooey treats for a Sunday breakfast, we went to Tim Horton's. At 9:30 on a Sunday morning.

The drive-thru line snaked around and out of the parking lot so we went inside. The line inside was only slightly shorter, with people joining from doors on both sides of the building.

We walked in and made our way toward the end of the line that weaved back through the tables. We joined the end of the line as two guys that came in from the other door cut in front of us.

These fine boys were sportin long, stringy hair and clothes that were mostly clean and both had summer teeth. Summer over here, summer over there.

With a scowl on his face, Dirty Stringy Blond Guy said "fuck this - just like the slop line in jail." Dirty Stringy Native Guy mumbled something in return.

I micro-stepped back toward David and stayed glued to him as the line moved along. DSBG kept grumbling about one thing or another while DSNG mumbled inaudible replies. David and I talked about the idea of working the graveyard shift there - they're hiring, if you're interested.

When it was their turn to order, the tough ex-con act disappeared and they were polite and friendly to the cashier. Watching a scene like this unfold, it's difficult not to burst out laughing like it's a live Kids in the Hall sketch.

After just a short time here, I have a whole new appreciation for their show. KITH fans might remember numerous parodies of Ontario Provincial Police, like when they're lounging on the hood of the patrol car talking about doughnuts or hockey while an old woman gets mugged right in front of them.

A few weeks ago there was a terrible car accident at a strip mall - a pickup driver crashed into a sushi restaurant. The police had the parking lot closed down for three days while they worked that case. SFPD would have been done with that in 20 minutes.

Last week two people were found murdered in a home in Surrey. Someone had called 911 reporting that they heard gunshots, but the police decided not to check it out.

This place is weird and funny.

Endless ____lits

In the local paper there's an ad for Crapplebee's endless favourites - all-you-can-eat entrees, such as endless chicken fingers or endless crispy shrimp.

I told David we could go have endless riblets for only $11.99, to which he said Sure, and then we'll have the endless shitlets.

Losing My Shit

That's literally losing my belongings and coming unhinged about it, so maybe the title should be Totally Losing All My Shit. But I digress.

I turned into Sherilyn Fenn yesterday, the character she played briefly in Wild At Heart where she's wandering around the strewn car wreckage, flipping out about losing her wallet/bobby pins/scalp/brain matter.

I wandered through boxes of crap talking to myself and swearing all day long. Where the fuck did I put that fucking thing - it was just there goddamn it - fuck. Shit. That fucking thing should be with the other fucking thing but it's not, piece of shit. Fuck.

This went on all day, one outburst flowing into another, and I never did find the one fucking thing I was trying to find all fucking day; the one goddamn thing I need to work the other fucking thing that's now just sitting there, a useless fucking paperweight without the fucking thing that makes it go. Fuuuuuuuuuuck.

Fucking irritating.

Ready for Teleporting

Or if not teleportation, would it be too much to ask for a direct flight from my house to wherever I want to go?

I'm done with marathon road trips for a while. They can be fun when there's time to stop for bacon maple bars along the way, but it's still too much time in the car.

I'd wanted to shave the drive time down to 12 or 13 hours, but without wearing Depends and an 80-gallon gas tank (and a jet engine in my Volvo), that will be difficult to do.

At any rate, I learned something new about northern California - The State of Jefferson - never saw or heard of this before last week (I slept through school) - a small region of northern northern California/southern Oregon that would like to secede and be its own state.

If they ever get that accomplished, they're going to want to make sure they get Crescent City and Mt. Shasta in there, otherwise there won't be anything worth stopping to see in Jefferson.

This is a snapshot of Jefferson as seen from Highway 5:

Drink it in.

With this recent trip behind me, it's time to settle in for real. This morning I found a pair of flannel-lined khakis I've had for many years and now I actually need them. They're two sizes too big, but they'll do for now. I wonder how cold it's gonna be in February...

Heartsick

I have to admit that I might be hormonal at this moment, or it could be an accumulation of stress, but I can't believe how sad I am about being away from the animal kids.

When I rolled into town Sunday night, I realized I wasn't going "home." No one would be at this house - there's no home here anymore - just the house.

A house that now smells like it did before we moved in - like someone else's house, with someone else's things in it. Not my house. And no one in it.

That first night, every noise I heard made me expect a cat to be right behind it. No cats. When I made pasta and put it into a bowl, I automatically thought to find a small dish for Henry. No bird.

This year has been difficult with David away for most of it. I hadn't realized until now how much more attached I'd become to the fuzzy kids. It's killing me to be away from them. I want to leave right now to race home to them. Because home is wherever they are and they aren't here.

Road Trip Workout

A long drive can be difficult to get through, especially on a straight, boring highway and nothing but bad AM radio (forgot my iPod - whoops).

It was like getting through a long run - stay hydrated, eat healthy snacks and take it in phases. And talk to yourself. And make fun of Washington.

It gets old fast just sitting there. Just sitting there working your right calf, ever so slightly. You can feel your muscles turning to mush. And it also lets fatigue creep in so quietly you don't even realize it until you wake up five minutes down the road. See previous post about Washington.

To work other areas besides the right calf, try these mini-exercises and see if they don't help you stay alert (and help burn off the bacon maple bar - or five - that you inhaled before leaving Portland).

Leg Shakers
Either to your own count or to a song on the radio, shake your legs back & forth like you have to pee so bad you almost can't believe it. Count to 30 (seconds or so), rest for 5, then repeat as many sets as you like. Works the groin, upper quads & hamstrings. Makes you look anxious and disturbed to other drivers, resulting in a greater space barrier with other cars.

Leg Presses
Press your knees together for a 30 count - works the groin. Depending on your car, if you can press your knees against the door and center console, that will work the abductors and glutes. Can also help air out the crotch, and that's always a good thing.

Butt Crunches
Tense your butt muscles for a 30 count, rest for 5, then repeat two or three times. Can alternate or "super set" with Stomach Crunches for a more robust exercise.

Stomach Crunches
Tense all stomach muscles and use them to crunch your body forward slightly toward the steering wheel - hold for a 30 count, rest for 5 then repeat, or super set with Butt Crunches. Focus on the lower abdomen by "pulling" the pelvis up into the stomach. Believe me, do enough of these and you'll feel it the next day. The gentle rocking makes you appear possibly deranged, resulting in a greater space barrier with other cars.

Bicep Curls
Starting with your hand resting on your lap, make a fist and tense your entire arm as if you were holding a dumbbell in your lap, then slowly curl your imaginary dumbbell up to your chest. Do 30, rest for 5, then repeat. Switch arms and repeat. Do not - DO NOT - do both arms at the same time. You'll have to move to Washington.

Tricep Press
This one is a little difficult being that you can't get good enough extension above your head to do a traditional tricep press, but you can put both hands on the wheel at 9 and 3 and press against the wheel for a 30 count. You have to focus on tensing the triceps while pressing. Keep your hands relaxed so you can keep steering the car. Kindof important.

Shoulder Raises
Starting with a bent arm raised in front of you like you're holding your mic on American Idol, fist at chin level, raise your elbow to the side, keeping your fist at chin level - like doing the Funky Chicken, just in front of you instead of at your sides. Focus on tensing the deltoids while raising your elbow - do 30 raises, rest for 5, then repeat. See above note about switching arms and repeating.

Pectoral Press
With both hands on the wheel at 9 and 3, press your hands toward each other, squeezing your pecs. Do a 30 count, rest for 5, then repeat. See above note about keeping hands relaxed.

Kegels
Enough said.

Cardio
Turn up the music and dance in your seat. See above notes about appearing disturbed/deranged. When making pit stops, don't use the drive through - park as far away from wherever you're stopping as you feel comfortable (with all that crap in your car), and walk vigorously to/from your destination. If desired, do jumping jacks, plyometrics, or go for a run around the rest stop/gas station/starbucks/wendy's.

Nutrition/Supplements
Traditional road trip snacks tend to be Pringles, Gardetto's, Oreo's and such - lots of salt to ward off frequent pit stops and fat, well, because it's fat and it's good. But too much of that, and you'll be flagging by lunchtime. Some of that is good - you need the fat/calories for staying power, but too much sugar is the killer.

Keep a variety of snacks on hand - whole grain bagels, granola bars, protein bars, nuts or seeds, the bacon maple bar for extreme fat/calorie loading and the one sugar rush you shouldn't deny yourself, water and coffee.

I was surprised at how little coffee I wanted/needed for the drive. I usually have too much blood in my coffee stream, but staying hydrated with plain ol' water helped ward off fatigue better than caffeine.

It's a delicate balance - drinking just enough H2O to be hydrated but not so much that you're stopping every hour to pee behind the car. You'll have to figure out what's enough for you.

Soda can work, but I wouldn't recommend it. The sugared stuff is mostly poison and the diet stuff is all poison. It's fluid, but full of shit your body has to work to break down or use water to break down/process, negating the liquid it contains. And the acid eats your teeth.

Brain exercise is also important. Count the number of highway patrol you see by state and the overall total. Keep track of political bumper stickers. For example, 5 Obama to 2 McCain with 1 for Impeach Bush. Do the math of figuring out how long it will take to get from where you are to the next city based on your average speed. Then try to beat that. Safely, of course. Of COURSE!

Coming to America

Ever drive for 15 hours straight? I have! Yesterday I drove from Port Coquitlam to Alameda - 7am - 10pm. Whaaaahoowwww!

While I wouldn't jump up on a Sunday morning and say "Let's go driving until Monday!" it didn't totally suck. And it was pretty much stress free, thanks to constant tapping of simulated wood and quiet conversations with The Universe.

I wondered if driving through the state of Washington would be as stupid as the last time I suffered through that state, and it almost was.

There wasn't as much traffic this time, but there was a stupid amount of law enforcement all up everyone's ass. From the time I crossed the border 'til I rolled into Oregon, I counted 11 highway patrol, most of them handing out tickets.

Eleven. At 9am on a Sunday morning. What a bunch of shitty bitches.

The other stupid thing? Almost no road signs telling you which cities are coming up & how many miles to them. Because evidently no one in Washington is going anywhere, so what the fuck do they care if there are other towns somewhere and how long it might take to get to them?

You drive along and after a while you see a sign telling you "Entering [name of town]." Surprise!

And like always, Washingtonians are the worst drivers in the Pacific Northwest, possibly North America.

Just as slow and oblivious as Jenna Bush - camping in the fast lane going 50, yammering on a cell phone. See above about not going anywhere.

Even with all the signs that say "Slower traffic keep right" - they stay locked in the fast lane, holding up drivers from everywhere else in the world. It would seem they don't know how to read, either.

Oregon isn't much better when it comes to road signs, but the drivers are better, I saw only one highway patrol, and Portland has Voodoo Doughnuts - well worth the detour. It's just five minutes off Highway 5. Get the bacon maple bar - you'll thank me.

Ceramic Cooktops = Ass

To the inventor of the ceramic cooktop - you're an asshole. And you must love scrubbing things every day - sometimes twice a day if you're lucky. I hate your invention. You probably microwave everything.

Too afraid of a little gas-powered flame? Can't figure out how to control it with the big, controller knob? Think it's going to leap up and char your face off? It just might, if you get close enough. That's the fun factor.

More frightening to me than a big ol' gas burner on "high" is a cooktop glowing bright lava red like it's actually on fire.

But the thing that really irritates me is how EVERYTHING burns onto it, even water, requiring a vigorous scrubbing with a "safe" scrubbing thing, which is code for "it doesn't scrub for shit and you're going to work up a sweat trying to clean anything."

Every range should come with a personal scrubber monkey to keep the damn thing clean. Time to buy a grill.

Wifing is OK

That's pronounced "whyfe-ing." I'm doing a fair amount of wifing these days and I have to say, I'm starting to like it.

Wifing is different than being a Lady Who Lunches, which from what I hear is a fine way to pass the time, but I'll have to work up to that.

As we settle into our new Canadian lifestyle, my day is largely filled with wifey duties such as managing the household, thinking up things to make for dinner, shopping, cooking, cleaning, and taking care of the pets.

Now, you might remember an earlier post where I wigged out about the prospect of loading and unloading the dishwasher every day for the rest of my life. I pushed past that, realizing one doesn't have to load and unload the dishwasher at the same time every day, or even every day for that matter. It can be a flexible schedule. Whew! That was close.

With that situation resolved the stress disappeared and now I'm enjoying puttering around the house taking care of things, running to the store for supplies, organizing the house. I dare say, I like the wife thing.

Yesterday I realized we needed groceries so I happily went to the store and shopped. In the three weeks I've been here, I've already been to the grocery store more times than in all of last year in Alameda.

My new favorite store is spacious, very clean, has a great selection of stuff and it's never crowded (and has fantastic Muzak). Contrast that with Alameda's Trader Joe's which at anytime of any day is always loud, cramped, often out of the good stuff and crowded full of rude people. So I stopped going.

When people ask me how I lost 20lbs this year (now closer to 30), I tell them I just stopped going to the store, and it's partly true. When there's no food in the house, you don't eat very much.

There was no magic diet or silver bullet hoodia pill endorsed by Leslie Stahl of 60 Minutes. David went to work in the UK for four months and I didn't feel much like eating. When I did eat, it was whatever I could make from what was left in the cupboard, like tuna and crackers. Or tuna and spaghetti. Or tuna on a fork.

By the time my appetite returned, my stomach had shrunk and there wasn't much I could fit in there. Before I knew it, none of my pants fit. Susanna made fun of me, seeing me wearing pants two sizes too big held up by a big ol' belt. It's a fine hobo look.

Then we decided to move. Try working full time and packing an entire house for a month and see if you don't lose some weight. Best workout ever and no time to cram anything into your mouth.

But now things are finally settling down and I'm a happy housewife who last night when her husband got home, cheerfully made him a ginormous cocktail then cooked him a steak dinner with baked potato and tasty salad.

As he said last night, having a stay-at-home wife is expensive, but worth it.

Kickass Wednesday

I dunno, maybe because I'm getting old, or the world is getting old, or we're all getting old, great days are fewer and far betweener than they used to be - or seem to be - so when one comes along, I can't help but get all giddy and sickeningly cheerful about it and want to tell the whole world what a great day today was (and still is, technically).

Nothing momentous happened - I didn't even wake up feeling particularly refreshed - but the day was great, nonetheless. Beautiful day with perfect weather, good mood, nice people, no stress.

I won't bore you with the details, but the best part of the day was watching Ninja, or Carpey Flapjack*, watch a bee buzzing around just outside the window screen.

The way his head bobbed all around, tracking his new friend who sounds just like the noises in his head - I couldn't stop smiling. I think it was the sweetest thing I've ever seen.

*He'll silently "swim" through the house and very lightly brush up against your leg - sometimes you almost don't feel it - like a giant carp. Flapjack is for being just so big and dumb, like a big dumb flapjack in a giant skillet.

I Love Me Some Organics

Today I stopped into an organic market just up the road from us hoping to find more probiotics. It has *everything* I could ever want in an organic/healthy/healthful/whole foody sort of way.

There was an entire wall of organic flours in every variety you could imagine, organic and fair-trade coffee, high-quality supplements, probiotics, greens formulations, natural cosmetics - everything. Everything everything everything I like/want/need from a tree-hugger store.

As Helen Madden, a well-known joyologist says, "I LOVE IT I LOVE IT I LOVE IT!!!"

Doin' The Flagpole

(image from http://dylan.iamstillalive.net/notes/16-the-tallest-flagpole-in-calipatria)

Today was Flagpole Day! No, not run my panties up a flag pole or climb a flag pole. I got to drive to the border, cross into the U.S., get a form, then go back through Canadian Customs to get my Work Permit.

When I was told this procedure is called the "flagpole," I thought that was just a cute term used by the HR folks in David's office.

Turns out, "Flagpole" is an official immigrations term used by both the U.S. Customs and Border Patrol as well as Canadian Customs.

At the U.S. Customs station, I told the uniformed lady I needed to get the right paperwork from Canada, hesitant to tell her I was "doing the flagpole," but then I said, "I guess they call it 'the flagpole,'" and she said "Oh, sure - the flagpole!"

On her little orange official paper she wrote "Flagpole" and showed me where to park and go inside to get the form I'd need for Canadian Customs.

The U.S. Customs office is all business - very brightly lit with clear queues cordoned off and stony-faced officers giving off a very serious vibe, like they might have to draw down on everyone at any moment and defend the entire border on behalf of all Americans everywhere.

I waited patiently in line until a salty officer barked at me to come to the desk. I told him which form I needed and he went about hand-writing my information on it, including the word "Flagpole," underlined, next to the reasons why I was not being admitted back into the U.S.

With my official Flagpole form in-hand, I drove over to the Canadian Customs to complete this fascinating process.

Inside the Canadian office, the vibe is totally different. The lighting is subdued, there's one general area to queue up and all the officers are talking and joking with each other. They also offer public washrooms and have vending machines with snacks & sodas. There's none of that civility provided on the U.S. side.

An agent waved me over to the counter and as soon as he started talking, it was like working with Patton Oswalt. He sounded just like him and was about as funny. He reviewed my U.S. form and laughed at how they wouldn't allow me back into the country.

I had stacks of paper and forms to hand over, so I asked him which forms he might need - he said probably none of it. He just used David's paperwork to get mine in order, gave me a temporary import form for my car (that's a whole other process/story) and sent me on my way.

It was all supposed to be very official business, but it felt like I was amongst friends. I'd totally hang out with them anytime.

Now the next customs party we get to have is officially importing our cars, which means handing over some forms and leaving our cars in the U.S. for three business days prior to *exporting* them so they can be *imported* into Canada.

Trouble is, our cars are already HERE, so that means we have to drive them back THERE and leave them, one at a time, obviously, and then we can officially import them and get that paperwork taken care of.

It would seem the U.S. Customs folks are either totally stupid or totally stoned or both, because NONE of that shit makes any sense whatsoever.

As I overheard one U.S. Customs agent say while waiting in line, "I guess I have to do something today, or make it look like I'm doing something..." No shit.

Whose Crap is This?

I keep unpacking box after box of crap and stuff and junk. Even after getting rid of so much stuff before the move, it's obvious we had no idea just how much crap, stuff and junk we actually had.

Evidently I have a bag problem. And a bit of a shoe problem. And most likely a jacket/coat problem. I knew about the shoes, but the bags and jackets were sort-of a surprise.

We had a lot of hooks in our closets in Alameda. Things have a way of blending in when they're hanging up. Very different than when piled one on top of another in a large box.

And David has a book problem. A book and games problem, but I bet that's not a surprise to anyone who knows him.

The cats have a bit of a toy problem. Faux mice and tiny sparkly balls have been pulled out of the cat tree cubbies and littered all over the house. Countless more were found while unpacking and have been tossed.

All this crap seems to attract more crap - it's a friggin crap fest. I'm not even done unpacking and already I have a pile of stuff to take to Goodwill.

Housewife - Day One (Day Last?)

Today was my first official day as a housewife. After I stopped working late last month I became a full-time mover, which was way harder than any job I've ever had. That didn't feel at all like housewifing to me.

Plus, my husband was already "moved," so there wasn't much wifing going on - just being a full-time pet au pair. They'll run you ragged, those furry little bastards.

With the trailer finally unloaded last Saturday, resulting in more bruises, extreme fatigue and scuffed up limbs, now I don't feel like a mover anymore but more like a housewife. A housewife with bruises all over her inner arms, making her look like she moved to Canada to kick a nasty heroin habit.

This morning my husband got up early and went to work and I dozed for another hour before getting up to feed the cats.

With the cats fed, I scooped out all the cat boxes then cleaned and refilled Henry's water dish. As soon as I finished that task, Nikita barfed up her breakfast. After spot cleaning the carpet, it was time to make coffee. Had my coffee and checked email.

By the time I finished catching up on email it was late morning and I needed a shower. But first, the shower drain needed clearing. Drano-ed the shower, then after rinsing the poison away, got into the shower and proceeded to scrub the entire shower/tub.

With the shower finally clean and draining properly, I then showered myself, got dressed and got to work on the Boxhenge in my office, so tall it obscures the windows.

Unpacked several boxes, then took a fridge inventory to make sure dinner was covered. Thankfully we had enough on hand to not require another trip to the market. Restocking a pantry is a lot of work.

I kept unpacking boxes until David got home. That was my day. I know what you're thinking - I can see the gun barrel resting on my bottom teeth too. Because after the unpacking/nesting, what the hell am I going to do all damn day?

I emailed all my clients a message saying "HELLO! READY TO WORK - NOW!!!" Good lord please give me something to do other than load and unload the dishwasher or do laundry or scrub the toilet or vacuum or dust the blinds.

Like a scene from a corny TV show, the best part of my day was when David got home and we could talk about his job - something other than "you'll never guess what I pulled out of the tub drain today."

Even better than grown up work talk was the bike ride we took through the nearby wooded trails. Coming out the other side of a park onto a city street, we saw a guy on the corner who promptly warned us about a couple of black bears down the street.

Of course we had to ride over and check them out. We found a small gathering of neighbors chatting excitedly about the bears, though they were long gone by the time we got there.

Had a great time talking with the neighbors like we've lived here all our lives, then we finished our ride, on high alert for bears. Got home and had a nice dinner, refreshed and invigorated.

Now I just hope tomorrow's minutiae doesn't send me running for the Shelter of Her Mother's Little Helper. Can't wait 'til it's time to change the sheets!

Labour Day Canadia

We went to dinner a couple of nights ago and I got to order, with a straight face, "The Ribber."

A guy was killed in Vancouver the other night - the 14th homicide in British Columbia this year. There were at least that many in Oakland last month.

Wherever there are teenage girls hanging out together, they are *always* in groups of threes. Always.

The Save-On-Foods, my favorite new grocery store, plays the very best Muzac ever heard. From Duran Duran's Girls on Film to 10cc's Dreadlock Holiday, one of my all-time favorite songs.

The people really are nice. Checking out of the Save-On-Foods, the checker asked if I had my Save-On card with me - I said no & I needed to get one. Without missing a beat, the woman in line behind me offered hers so I could get the discount. Then the woman behind her pointed out the forms to sign up for a card. No one was bunged about the line or a brief delay.

Riding my bike around town yesterday, it really did feel like I'd gone back in time to my childhood. Kids out & about playing in neighborhoods, families working in the yard together and a totally relaxed vibe everywhere.