Taxing on the nerves

Oooooh a rant!

In writing a piece at work, I had one proofreader correct me to say "A & B" in my document.  The next proofreader then asked me to change it to "B & A" in my document.  A third hadn't noticed either way.  After a quick google search, I found it was customary to go with "B & A," but asked the first proofreader if she knew explicitly which way was the correct according to company standards. 

She could not give me a yes or no answer.  She danced around the question through IMs and emails and phone calls.  In the meanwhile, I phoned the third proofreader and together we decided to go with what was generally accepted as customary.  But when the first reader found out what I'd taken the initiative to do, I got shit on it regardless of my sources or reasons.  She basically patted herself on the back for "doing the legwork" to decide that her way was right and that the rest of us were wrong.  All I wanted was for her to tell me to either cite her source, or give evidence either way and she took hours to do so and then sulked when my research contradicted hers, but in the end I was forced to concede because her role as the proofreader trumped mine as the writer.   

This sounds like nothing, but it totally grated on my nerves today.  Shredded them.  And now I'm ranting. 

Tax sucks.

Water-log

By the time it was over, there was water on the floor, the tub ledge, the mats, the ceiling, the toilet--there were wet indentations in the toilet paper roll and huge wads of it in the toilet itself.

I had noticed a spider on the ceiling AFTER I'd started to shower.  He was a mobile sucker and was making his way over my head where the shower controls and shower head was.  I tried to discourage him at first by flicking water up at him (water on the ceiling), but while it paused him for a moment, it wasn't enough to deter him and he continued to mosey on over the taps of the shower.  I really tried my best to ignore that he was there at all--I could barely see him without my glasses--but when he started to DANGLE from the ceiling, that was enough.

Out of the shower I flew (water on the mats), leaving the water running because there was no way I was reaching DIRECTLY UNDER the spider to turn the taps.  I grabbed a huge wad of toilet paper (wet indentations on the tp roll) which proved to be harder than you'd think with sopping wet hands--the water kept melting the squares.  Once I had an adequately gimongous mass of tp, I climbed back onto the edge of the tub (water on the tub ledge), aimed, and smushed the spider where he stood--upside-down on the ceiling.

Success!

I tossed the wad of a coffin down to the toilet below (water on the toilet) but missed (fail) because the wad stuck to my still wet fingers and changed the trajectory completely. I had to get down to retrieve the carcass (water on the floor) finally tossed him to his final doom in the can.

It was then and only then that I was able to finally return to my shower in peace.

Of course afterwards was when I noticed there was a spider over the sink...

A "very good" posting

I'm a "savvy" person looking to "roll up my sleeves" and work with "real people" with "charm" and "charisma" at a "reputable" firm where I'll be "more than just a number"!

People have jobs where they can publish postings like this and I'm the one that's under-qualified?

Sadly, I might still apply for this.

The answer is no

The story today is about whether or not you would give a future (or current, I guess) employer the login and password for your Facebook account. In the article by the Toronto Star, one man had the luxury to refuse--the other didn't. Heads up now: I may not have the luxury, but I would also refuse. It's just a bit too "off" of a request for me. Why don't they just ask for the keys to my house, car, and the PIN to my credit and debit cards? I mean, get it all out and over with right at the start?

I think that's the point for me: if it starts, where does it stop?

Most people probably still don't even share their passwords with their friends or family--how can it be expected that they'll share it with an interviewer that they've never met before that moment?  I can ALMOST see the question being a trick one--one to test your integrity or ability to keep confidential information secret.  But that's tricky.  And it wasn't the case.

The whole point of Facebook is to keep in touch with your friends, not to give your personal information to strangers.  Sure, there are professionals (I'm thinking of teachers, first and foremost) who censor their content and accessibility to their pages on a regular basis, but I'm not one of them.  As Malcolm will tell you (sometimes to his dismay), I don't believe that I should have to censor the things that are mine.  If they're mine and I have chosen to share them with you, you're more than welcome to share.  If I don't know you and I haven't shared with you, butt out.

Unfriended and not liked

Apparently sleep and I are not friends again.  While last time it was a break up between skin, sleep and I, this time it's just sleep and I that are no longer connecting.  I climbed into bed hours ago, and while I admittedly did 2 crossword puzzles before turning off the light, I have since been lying here, not even tossing or turning, waiting for sleep to sneak up on me, but alas, no luck.  Hell, it's bad enough that I decided to give up on trying for a second to post about it.

I thought it was because perhaps I messed up my sleeping schedule a few nights ago by finding myself addicted to playing Scramble on the iTouch.  But it's been a few nights since then and it's been the same routine every night: go to bed, stare at the backs of my eyelids for hours (I can tell it's hours because I can hear my digital watch chime them as they go by), hate myself for not sleeping, fall asleep somewhere just before dawn.

I used to defy sleeping.  I still do sometimes, but not lately, and yet this is what I get anyway.  The worst is when I'm trying to sleep and then...the birds.  When I can hear the birds starting to wake, I know I'm f'ed.  Oop...there goes one now.  Eff.

I'll give you an experience

I got a rejection email from a recruiter that I applied to for an entry level position of a sort that I'd held for quite some time in the past.

Thank you for your resume. I did have a look and you do not process the skills or experience that my client is looking for.

I wanted to go to her office and punch her in the face.

She said "process" instead of "possess" and I think she was mad that I found out who she was and emailed and addressed her directly instead of the usual generic "to whom it may concern." She didn't have to be so condescending about it. A simple: "thank you for your application but we have decided to go with another more qualified candidate this time." A non-rejection rejection.

Great. Now I can't share this blog as a writing sample for potential jobs anymore.

Fine Finer print

***Author's note: I have nothing but respect for the late Ho Chi Minh and the edifice that is his mausoleum.  My visit into and through the mausoleum was a very respectful and solemn experience.  This story is about the people and procedures surrounding the mausoleum itself, and all that was lost in translation.***

Wanting to be able to cross the Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum off the list of things to see, we made a beeline for it after checking out of our Hanoi Hotel.  We were stopped outside of the gates and herded into a double file line.

   "I guess this is the line-up before the line-up?"

When the appropriate number of us had spend the appropriate amount of time waiting in the appropriate double file line, we were allowed to enter the grounds.  Having read up on the site in advance, I knew we were not allowed to take any belongings into the mausoleum and that there was a free baggage check to accommodate this, so as soon as I spotted the baggage check inside the gates, I headed straight for it and left others to wander towards the start of the next line-up to get in.

First at the baggage window, I could clearly see the sign that told me "NO CHARGE" to check my belongings.  So why was it that the lady behind the counter was demanding 5000 VND from me?  But at that moment, the rest of the crowd had caught on and were all pushing and shoving all around me.  I guess by then they had all taken note of the giant notice sign just inside the gate:

and they realized they had weapons and/or "germstones" to check in.  One lady in particular--holding onto the strap as a tether--THREW her purse over my shoulder so that it landed on the counter in front of my own bag.  Headache forming amid the chaos, I threw the attendant the 5000 VND just so I could escape, but loudly questioned to myself,

   "What part of 'NO CHARGE' exactly did I not understand?  5000 VND does not mean 'NO CHARGE.'"

Bags checked, we headed to the (real) line-up.  This was a covered pathway while rails on either side that guided us to the x-ray machines and metal detectors.  With the crowd rushing to catch-up behind us, we hurried down the pathway to secure our spot in the (again) double-file line.

Or so I thought.

Watching the line creep along ahead of us, I became aware of a person hovering close behind me to my right.  A discreet glance told me it was the woman who had thrown her purse.  I couldn't believe it. There was no way she'd managed to check her bag, pay her money, and beat the rest of the people to be in line right behind me.  So I watched her.  She was anxiously glancing over me to the front of the line, edging her way ever closer to me; I believed she was trying to edge her way past me.  Defensive of my spot in line, I shifted my weight and took a wider stance with my legs, while putting my hands on my hips in an attempt to spread myself out as widely as possible.  Now there was no way to get between me and the railing on my right, while my left side was protected by the presence of other people.

Satisfied with my efforts to block her, I turned to look directly at her.  She didn't make eye contact with me - she was too busy hopping over the railing and scurrying up to the metal detectors.  My hope that she would be caught and sent to the back of the line was dashed when the security guard who noticed her simply fed her back into the line-up--at the front of the line.

Incredulous, from then on I wouldn't shut up about how "no charge" wasn't "no charge" and a line-up wasn't a line-up.  Another tourist (also Canadian) heard me and joined in on the laughter--until we were shushed by one of the guards.  In a lower tone, she explained that she'd overheard my initial complaint about the 5000 VND back at the baggage window and had questioned it herself when it came to be her turn.  Apparently, baggage check was indeed free of charge, but the site map/brochure was 5000 VND.

   "But I didn't even get a brochure!"

We were promptly shushed again.

After we'd proceeded through the serious part of the reason we were there in the first place (though the other tourist had to be told three times to keep her hands out of her pockets), introductions were made and more laughs were had.

   "Canadians are really funny, aren't they?"

While I never saw the purse lady again (probably because there were no more line-up for her to skip), we managed to get our 5000 VND back for not having received the crappy brochure in the first place.  So NO CHARGE really does mean NO CHARGE afterall--we'd just failed to read the invisible print.

On the topic of TP

A while ago, I made a comment about the Travellerspoint icon shortening their name to just "TP" and it referring to toilet paper instead of their site name (I was in another rather goofy mood that night).  If I could access the website, I'd post the following there as a warning, but alas, I can't.  Be forewarned, it's VERY TMI.

So.  For the most part, I've been living quite the sheltered bathroom life here in Malaysia.  I knew since touchdown at KLIA that squat toilets existed here in the city, but was either fortunate enough to find a seated toilet or was able to hold it until I could use the facilities at home (if it meant not having to squat, I could definitely put up with wet feet in the potty).  Even in Japan I employed this same tactic and survived the entire trip without giving my quads a workout.

But then...

Taking TP for granted
One of the first nights we were in KL, we met up with some of Malcolm's friends for mamak (coffee) while I was still embarrassingly jetlagged.  So much so that I forgot to pee before going out for drinks and munchies.  For the first hour, it was fine.  We ate, drank and chatted (well, the boys chatted, I stared blankly as I valiantly fought off the Lag) the time away.  Then the Lag was put off a bit as my senses told me I had to wake to action.  I had to pee.

At first, I tried to hold it.  We were at a semi-decent establishment, but half of it was still open-air and that wasn't promising.  Finally, I couldn't wait any longer and got up to find the bathroom.  Malcolm offered me change and tissues, but I optimistically waved them off.  Following the signed directions, I found my way and opened the door.

Ugh.

For some reason, even without a shower in there, EVERYTHING was wet.  Toilet seat, floor, hose, sink, everything.  "That's okay," I thought, "I have shoes on, and I can hover over the seat."  But then I noticed: no TP.  Dammit.

Usually by then, I'd just give up and go back on my merry way to find the next or to wait it out, but there was no more room to wait.  I found my way back to the counter and asked, "tissue?"  A man disinterestedly pointed at the wall where I found a tissue dispenser there.  I pulled as many tissue tickets as I could without being distracting and headed back to the task.  It was after I finished and high-tailed it out of there that I grumbled to myself and wondered why there isn't any toilet paper in the restrooms to begin with?  What did they expect one to do?  Use their hands or something?

Then it dawned on me.  That's what the hoses were for..omg...  This whole time I'd ignored the hoses in the bathrooms, thinking they were in case anyone needed any emergency washing and in this case, they pretty much were.  Ew.

Note to self: bring TP with you always.


Pees are not always free
Breakfast, lunch, and a trip to KL Central Market and it was finally time for a pee break.  Being indoors in a fairly touristy location, I figured the toilets would be a little safer and more up to snuff for foreigners like me.  However, before I could even enter to discover their condition I was blocked by a turnstile.  50 sens, please.

My experiences with paid toilets were much the same with squat toilets - I avoided them as best I could.  But this time we were en masse so it would have been selfish to insist we move on so we had our bills broken into correct change, fed the turnstile, and headed on in.  While this time there was TP available (though you had to ask for it on your way in) and the floors were not wet, there were no seats on the toilet bowls.  Squatting ensued, but at least this time I wasn't afraid to touch anything.

Second note to self:  carrying loose change may facilitate use of facilities.


You can't always get what you want
Our most touristy excursion was one out to the Batu Caves to climb the steps and see the shrines and temples.  Having hydrated in anticipation for the hot day ahead, you can guess that it wasn't long before I had to go.  And it wasn't.  TP in one pocket, change in the other, I was ready to conquer the toilets...until I actually got inside.

Oh no.

They were ALL squats.  There was no escaping this time.  There were no other options and I'd already paid my 20 sens to enter.  It had to be done.  Saving most other details, I will just tell you that I set 2 goals for myself in those moments: don't fall over and don't pee on yourself.

Mission accomplished.

My quads burned but my dignity remained.  I'd never been prouder of myself for going potty since I'd been 3-years old.

Final note to self:  just suck it up, buttercup.  


Since then, I feel like I've graduated to a new class of world traveller; from prissy sitter to seasoned squatter.  However, I'd definitely take dry floors and clean seat ANY DAY.

I just want to CARE

In light of our travel blog not working, I thought that uploading photos to FB might be the easiest second choice method to share travel stories through pictures.  But alas, I have been foiled again.  I don't know why or how, but after uploading a mere 4 pictures, FB won't let me upload anymore.  It freezes after uploading about 95% of the first picture I chose (according to the status bar, anyway).  I've tried to simplify and just do a SINGLE picture at a time, but to no avail.  

WHY CAN'T I SHARE?!?!?!?

For those of you wondering why I'm not just posting pictures here...it's not that I don't want to, but I love my words here and formatting so that pictures look good but don't take up too much space is a pain in my arse.  However, compared to how much trouble I'm running into EVERYWHERE else, it might not be so bad...

I *heart* Blogger.

Band List

That title should actually read "Banned List," but I have to explain first.

A while ago, Malcolm was super sweet and started a travel blog for us to share our epic trip adventure with the world.  True to form, I started blogging even before we left.  But as we crawled through KL and I posted from there, one morning I woke to find that I couldn't access the site anymore.  I thought it was just a temporary glitch that would work itself out by the evening or the next day.

Not so.

Since last week, I haven't been able to access our blog nor the host site and have left my readers hanging in suspense!  (Okay, no one in suspense except for me.)   To my dismay, Malcolm was also unable to access the site from his laptop too.  No pictures, no posts, no travel advice to or from our fellow bloggers.  I then convinced myself it must have been a problem with the connection at the KL home and that as soon as I was able to steal some wifi from somewhere else, we'd be back in business.

Not so.

We've since arrived in Penang to Malcolm's Penang home and still no such luck.  And it's still the two of us both that can't access it.  He can't even access it from his iPhone.  :(  For the past hour or so, I've been faithfully Googling my way through to a possible explanation, if not a solution to this problem.  What I've found so far is telling me that my IP address has been banned by the site itself for accessing it too often and for too long at a time.  Since Malcolm and I were both accessing it through the same router, we were both banned--his phone probably as well.

It might not be the case, but it's the most plausible one I've come across so far.  One of the forum answers told me "your IP might be listed on the site's BAND LIST which will prevent you from accessing it."  If I was on the "Band List," wouldn't I have backstage access?  :p  The resolution?  Something too far out of reach of my own IT skills.  :(

However, Malcolm is still optimistic that we will be able to log on once we reach a Starbucks or other free wifi hotspot.  I will keep my fingers crossed.  If not, if you're reading this, this will be what you get - sorry about the other blog; if you didn't know about the other blog...well, you're the one with backstage access now.
...

Dear Travellerspoint:

Please unblock me from accessing my own blog...I really want to share!

melody

Rain, rain, go away

The rain was taking its time to roll in today.  The sky had been dark since noon and there had been grumbles of thunder for hours...but no rain.  Occasional flashes of lightning were glimpsed from time to time, reminding of the impending storm, but it continued to hold off, just taunting its authority.

The weather was just being a bully.

It was forcing the golfers on the courses to speed up their games; it was keeping the curious explorers indoors--trapped without bars.  If I were at home, it'd be boots and a raincoat and no cares in this world.  Boo.

The Bathroom

Here’s the confession: I’m weird about bathrooms.  Really I am.

We already know there’s no eating or drinking in there for me.  There’s no drinking water from the bathroom tap either – even if I’m outside of the bathroom.  But there’s more.

When I was little, I was afraid of the flush.  I was afraid of the flush because I was sure that monsters or Bloody Mary herself was set loose by that roaring sound so I always used to make sure that it was the last thing I did before tearing out of the bathroom (don’t worry, I’d wash my hands first—unless it was a public bathroom…but I’d still tear out of the stall to the sinks). 

If I had to pee before showering, I’d also wait until after my shower to flush the toilet.  Half of that was carry-over from being afraid of the flush while the other half was fear the pipes messing up.  What if the pipes got confused and my flush came out through the showerhead instead?!

Pool bathrooms grossed me out.  It was all the wet that was around if you had to go.  The floors were wet, the seats were wet, and then if you’d already been in for a dip, your bathing suit was wet when you took it off and put it back on.   Why was that gross?  How do you know it wasn’t PEE?!

While I’ve outgrown the weird flushing habits (kind of has to happen when you start to share your bathroom with someone else 24/7), the eating, drinking, and over-wetness weirdness has persisted.  Why does all of this matter, you wonder? 

THIS is why this matters.

I encountered this type of bathroom before in Japan but somehow never had to use them while there.  Now it’s my personal en suite here at Malcolm’s family home.  Now EVERYTHING is wet ALL THE TIME.

I seem to have made the adjustment just fine though.  I think the saving grace is that when everything is wet, I know that either Malcolm or I took a shower, and I know that I don’t pee on the floor…and I’m pretty sure that Malcolm doesn’t either.  And if I ever have any doubts, I just try not to think about it. 

Regardless…I always make sure I wipe my feet doubly well on the mat outside the door after I come out of there.

…

Totally unrelated:  I’m watching a kid’s songs CD with the resident 2-year old of the house.  It’s in English with karaoke style lyrics at the bottom for her to follow along.  It’s horrendous.  Absolutely horrendous.  The poor kid who’s doing the vocals is SO Chinese it hurts – he can’t do the Rs in the songs and I’m pretty sure he doesn’t know what he’s actually singing because while he’s not TOO out of tune, his timing is way off and he misses words.  Poor kid is NOT going to sing these songs right come kindergarten time.  

Redemption Rescinded

So I was going to write a post about how my Admin Assistant had partially redeemed herself with an amazingly cute belated birthday gift to me (I'm not materialistic, I swear).  It was just SO cute and SO neat, but I could not post words to do it justice so I was waiting to have the time to photograph it and share it that way.

Until just now.

  "What did you do this weekend?"
  "I went out a lot to see people that want to see Malcolm and I before we leave.  There was a lot of eating going on."
  "Oh.  Does that mean you've gained back all your weight?"  *innocent giggle because she thinks it's a cute comment*
  "No.  No it doesn't."

Un-redeemed.  And I hadn't even gotten around to her redemption yet.

More Gems

So a little while ago, I posted some Gems from Administration where my lovely administrative assistant would say things (I hope) she didn't really mean that sounded offensive.  I have a few more.

    "You wearing makeup today?  Look good!"
Why, because I look like shit every other day that I don't?

    "Oh, smaller lunch container--you on a diet?"
Do you think I need to be on a diet?

I know that she doesn't mean to be offensive, just like a delicious durian doesn't mean to reek, but of ALL the things she observes and decides to make comments on...
...

One more.

I make mistakes--I'm human.  I was supposed to create a spreadsheet to total a certain number, and instead, I typoed a couple of numbers and it was way less than I thought.  Nothing that can't be fixed right?

  "Wow.  This is not how much it is supposed to be."

And that was said indirectly to me as she reviewed the recalculation at the printer next to my desk.  Classy.

Dear traffic

I hate you.
3 cars through the intersection per light? Really?!
Argh.
...

Update:
As seen on a status update:  
  "The only way I can beat traffic is if I punch it in the face."
I like it.

Etiquette down (in) the crapper

I had just gotten into the ladies' bathroom at work and had settled into my stall when I heard another woman barrel on in. I listened as she closed herself into the stall next to mine (even though there were 2 other farther stalls) and settled herself in as well. Now, I don't know about you, but it's awkward enough having to go do your business (#1 or #2) in a public place, but it's a whole other level of awkward added on top when you know you've got an audience listening in.

However, I shouldn't have felt too awkward after all because I was quite sure of myself that she wasn't listening in. How could I be so sure? Oh, because I heard her speed-dial (good ol' BlackBerry sounds) and strike up a conversation with her daughter.

The extra time I spent in my stall wasn't out of stage-fright or modesty, it was out of disbelief. Not only did this woman not have a problem with carrying on a catching-up-conversation with her daughter in a public bathroom, she was relaxed enough to go full steam ahead and take a massively loud dump--splash sounds and all.

    "Hello dear...aren't you going out to Brampton?...but I thought your friend was having a bbq?...*KA-SPLOOSH*...just working until 4 today...*KA-SPLOMB*...that's good...yeah..."

I was totally grossed out and high-tailed it out of there, trying to flush and wash my hands as loudly as I could in protest.

On another occasion, I heard a woman strike up a conversation with the occupant of a stall once she realized it was her co-worker. Awk-ward. How she figured it was her friend in there was beyond me, but I know I get a little flushed (pardon the pun) even when I just run into a co-worker during my enter/exit of the bathroom--how would I feel if someone FIGURED it was me doing my thing in there?

At first I thought I was being picky--I mean, what business of mine is it to be bothered about what people do while doing their business? But then I did a little research and found that it is my business to be bothered. This site let me know that it was not okay for the public bathroom to be used so publicly.

So sixth floor ladies, please keep your shitty conversations to yourself, and keep yourself out of my business, please!