Family is awesome (but not necessarily mine)

Actually it's my Poopie's. I just listened to a voicemail from his sister who lives in California. She's back in town to visit with her brothers and sister. As I listened to her message hoping to arrange a date for us all to get together, I found myself grinning from ear to ear and so looking forward to seeing her again after about a year. I really love his sisters (and brother). I'm so lucky to have them in my family. I don't know what it's like to have a sister but I think these women come pretty close. They rock my socks.

kxx

I'm not the most up on current local events

Most things that happen in the world are outside of Planet Karen jurisdiction and are therefore nothing more than a little spot on my periphery but this news story gets to me.

http://network.nationalpost.com/np/blogs/posted/archive/2009/07/23/four-women-gone-forever-kingston-canal-car-deaths-timeline.aspx

These were not "honour killings". Where is the honour in this? Domestic violence by any other name still smells like shit.

kxx

Get OOT!

TTYL. PMPL. ROFLMAO. BRB. KWIM. IMHO. JK. AFK. POS. These are all internet abbreviations that pepper text and emails the world around. I use them myself (except for POS since I am the P) and I learn new ones every couple of months. Like the latest: OOT.

Here's the context: I'd love to go but I'll be OOT this weekend. I stared at that sentence for ages before I realised that she wasn't using the American "comedian" version of out (which, BTW, in my nearly 42 years in this country I've never heard pronounced that way). She was saying she'd be "out of town". I'd never heard that one before... you?

I'm telling you right now that as a Canadian I'd be perpetuating a stereotype and opening the door to all kinds of stupid comments since most of my friends are south of the 49th. So it looks like that particular internet shorthand is oot for me.

kxx

Begging, borrowing or stealing?

I was at Cupcake Camp in February resting my weary red heel clad feet when a stranger came up to me. "Can I steal this chair?" she asked. I knew what she meant and said "Sure".

The other day someone came up to my desk and asked if she could "borrow" a kleenex. I knew what she meant and said "Sure".

But really... stealing chairs? That's not on. Borrowing kleenex? Ew, I don't think so. Keep your swine flu infested cooties to yourself please and thankyou. Isn't it funny how launguage has evolved? What happened to "Is there anyone sitting here? May I move this chair?" or "do you mind if I take one of your kleenexes?"

I'd love to play dummy one day and say no when someone asks to steal or borrow something they (within reason) have every right to have. But I'm too polite (outwardly). I'm outgoing but I rarely can pull off the art of the sass-back. Can you imagine?

Hapless Victim: Hey, Karen, can I steal this pen from you?

Evil Self: No, and I'm calling the cops. Back away from my desk slowly or I'm bringing out the pepper spray.

Whee! What fun. Nothing like the threat of an assault and arrest to make the day go by faster.

kxx

Dream analysis time

I had such vivid dreams the other night. I've mentioned before that I rarely remember my dreams and when I do they're studies in boredom and inanity. Usually just losing my keys or running around late for something. Yawn. When I do have a cool or interesting dream, I usually post it. The other night I had 2. One was truly icky and because so many people in my real life now read my blogs, I'm not going to describe it. Suffice it to say it involved urine and lots of it. Brrrrr...

The other one was strange. I was in a corporate office interviewing for some kind of a scientific research job. I can't articulate what it was because I have no idea what scientific researchers actually do. I sat on one of those crappy school chairs rocking back and forth all during the interview. I kept telling the guy behind the desk that I had no idea what I was doing there, that I had no idea about science and that I didn't even have a clue what they did at this company. Then I promptly fell backwards onto the floor. I picked myself up and sat down again but I wasn't even embarrassed. Then everytime he'd ask me a question I'd fall out of my chair.

After the interview was over, he told me that the company and I wouldn't be a "good fit" the we shook hands. I promptly fainted. When I came to, we were walking in the same direction in the parking lot and he was telling me he had a meeting to go to. You could tell he was trying to get rid of me but our cars were parked side by side in the lot so we were forced to walk together in awkward silence until we got to them.

How weird was that? I can't even begin to think what that kind of crazy means. But this is why I like dreams so much. You can do and see complete nonsense but it seems to fit.

So any takers on trying to read my warped mind?

kxx

More on names...

I was at my desk inputting someone's name into the database named "Luc". It's French for Luke and to my Quebec-born ears (and most french speakers) it's pronounced very differently. So I said the names out loud (softly of course... I'm not a complete kook) and added "look" and "luck" for good measure and marvelled about how they all could sound the same but don't. Then I grabbed a pen and wrote the 4 words down and stuck them in my pocket to remind me to write a blog about it later. See how the brilliant ideas flow? They burst out like Alien out of that guy's chest. Sigh. Listen, they all can't be gold, okay? You try writing one of these here blogs every day for nearly 3 years. Have a great weekend

kxx

BTW: In French, Luc is pronounced "l-eu-k"... check out the scene in "French Kiss" where Kevin Kline tries to explain how to pronounce it to Meg Ryan. It's just like that.

What's in a name?

In case you didn't know, my name is Karen. It's plain and I'm sure you count one or more of us as friends or colleagues. I asked my parents once what other names they'd considered for me. Tara was one and Errol (my brother's name) was the other. Had I been a boy, I would have been named after my dad.

I love that I don't look like a Karen. And in case you are blind or one of those people who "don't see colour", I'm Black. I don't want to be stereotypical but my parents, coming from the West Indies, could have gone the other way namewise. Instead of blending in with the Canadian populace and naming me the most popular name of the day, they could have named me Bernice or Jemima (2 of my aunts) which were popular names in Dominica in the 60s . Ugh.

I didn't like my name growing up. I hated being one of at least 3 Karens in every class. I was always "Karen A". And because I was an A, I was always first for projects or presentations which I hated even more. Imagine my delight when I married a Kaye! Middle of the alphabet for my kids. They're so lucky!

I've grown into loving my name. I love how when you read my name on a piece of paper you can't tell how old I am or what nationality I belong to. Actually, even when you hear my voice you can't tell I'm Black. It messes with people's heads when they see me for the first time and I like that. I guess it's part of the attention-seeking behaviour I've become known for. That's Karen for you.

kxx