I went to see my gyno the other day, routine stuff. What I like about him is that he pays so little attention to me as a person and really only cares about my vag, which is like, his job. But I often think he disconnects me from the equation a little too much. This first time I went to see him and after getting into those sexy, shapely gowns, hopping up onto the table and getting my feet into the stirrups, fully exposed, he wheeled over on a little wheelie stool. I could only see the top of his head. He was fully in my lady space when I heard a cell phone ring. And then I heard him answer it. It seemed he was booking flights for an upcoming trip…in my vagina. I patiently waited until he got the right flight info and then returned to my lady parts. Classy. When I went to go see him recently, I was up on the table, fully exposed and all I could see was the back of him, at a desk, trying desperately to get his computer to work. He called 3 people to try and get help. I couldn’t help but think, if he had been face timing these people, I would just be jamming out with my clam out in the background. After almost 10 minutes of this, he finally called his admin assistant, complained about his computer and then just asked her what my file said. Which was basically nothing. And THEN he graced my vagina with his presence. Thanks for stopping by.

You know the people that ask for money at the Queensway exits? I am always perplexed about their situation. One time I was sitting in traffic and one of them had a beautiful dog and was holding a huge bag of expensive dog food. I’m like wow, I can’t afford a dog. I can barely pay for my cat’s high maintenance vet paté?! The next time I took the exit, the guy asking for money was sipping on Perrier. I’m like, this guy doesn’t have a job but he prefers his water sparkling? Amazing. My people. Knows what he wants.

My work life has changed rather drastically over the last few months. A major hurdle to my new job was trying to look professional. I have been living in jeggings for the past 10 years and had no idea what looking like a professional adult was. At my previous job I had nice jeggings and kind of old jeggings, several different colours of hoodies and I lived in sneakers or Blunnies. It was an ordeal to get myself looking like I belonged in an office. After many painstaking shopping trips and realizing my body is a weird shape and doesn’t generally fit normal clothes (anything button up). I managed to put a few adult outfits together. The best part about all of this, is that I am now far more overdressed than most of my colleagues. All of a sudden civil servants have started wearing jeans! While I have a variety of dress pants and fancy boots. Anyways, I am ok with feeling overdressed to sit in a cubicle all day with my face glued to a computer and occasional walks to the cafeteria. Got to look goooood for the bus ride home;) 

I go to a fairly low key gym on Carling. For quite awhile, there was a Maserati SUV at the same time I was there. After a few trips, I managed to see who owned this billion dollar car. I figured out who it was while I was on the elliptical facing the window overlooking the parking lot. The gentlemen took out, what looked like a Swiffer and proceeded to dust every inch of the car inside and out. This took quite awhile. I looked around and wondered if anyone else could see this ridiculousness. He meticulously went over every nook and cranny of the luxury automobile. My rusting, old, very scratched orange Yaris was parked next to his. I thought I should go grab some paper towels and buff the marks where the car had been keyed brutally. Or dust the places that where starting to have leprosy and lovingly rip off the parts of the wheel well that had turned into rust carcass. All to show how weird it was that this guy was doing a full car jerk off in the middle of a parking lot. Yes you drive a fancy car, well done you. Hope my bumper doesn’t fall off while you are driving behind me, man.

The man has been learning to drive. I know, most of us do this the second we are old enough, but I guess if you are a city kid, you can avoid it for longer. I kept joking, saying he would soon feel the freedom most 16 years olds feel. We decided to drive out to Franktown, where he spent a small portion of his childhood before returning to the city. We were in the valley when a squirrel ran out and he ran over it. He looked a tiny bit shaken. I told him it was ok. But we now had to find a tattoo parlour in order for him to get a tear drop put on his face since he was now a killer.