Monday, March 06, 2006

Whoa, it's been a while

Dear Gym Bunny,

News bulletin for your information

It is 7:00 a.m and it is a total waste of time for you to preen in front of the loocker room mirror, touching up makeup and fixing your t-shirt so it shows off your cleavage just so. I can guarantee you’re the best looking female in there now. I promise.

But at this hour, well, it's basically the equivalent of the "Early Bird Special" in restaurants. Nary a youngster to be seen. The only looks you’ll attract are those of forty and fifty something civil servants, several of whom probably need viagra to get it up. Believe me, that’s not the attention you want. And if you’re here for the trainers, all the eye candy trainers on on the late afternoon shift. At this hour the trainers are highly ordinary. They're the trainers who aren't around to pick up gym bunnies.

Do yourself a favour, come at 5:00.




Obviously some people are sick of winter. Seen at the bus stop: a woman wearing leather clogs, black pantyhose and a flirty little white cotton skirt printed with flowers.

Um, Hello! It's March 6! IT’S 10 BELOW THIS MORNING!!! What were you thinking when you got up? You’re in Montreal. It won’t be spring until mid-April. And then probably only in your dreams.

And even if it were spring, black leather clogs, black stockings and a white cotton skirt? I’m no fashionista, not by a long shot, but even I can tell you that that’s wrong on just SO many levels….


Seen at the magazine stand: The Family Circle cover for this week: A huger picture of amazing looking brownies and a headline: How Four Women lost 250 pounds. Is it me or is that just bizarre? A magazine with multiple personality disorder. It can't decide whether to promote the scrumptous dessert or the weight loss. Family Circle and Women's Day do this all the time. "The amazing walking diet" with a picture of pecan pie. The paradox of modern life in North America. Go figure.


I called the taxman last week to get my code so my mum in law, who is doing my taxes god bless her, can phone them in. Now, generally, I would have had the code, it would have been included with the tax return I never got…

When I finally got through to a true and real human being (seriously, a live person!!!) I was asked for my social security number. Makes sense. Then my name, address birth date and who I was working fort three years ago (why three? good thing I'm not a job hopper). Am I married? His name? His birth date? I was just about to tell the lady that no, I had no idea whether he was wearing boxers or a g-string today (actually I did – nary a g-string has ever nestled between his cheeks, thank god. G-strings on men are wrong, just so wrong, I don’t care how perfect looking the guy is, but I digress), when the interrogation ended and my "numeric code" was duly handed out to me.

I know they have to do the security thing, but I can think of any number of people who know all those details, so what exactly is the point here? If identity thieves are so honest that they’re gonna pay my taxes for me, more power to them.