Day 34: Top Signs a Guy Isn't Into You

Trying to jobhunt here (okay, not really, but I'm going to) and I come across yet another article on "Top Signs a Guy Isn't Into You". Really? Ladies, do we even care? And even if we did, is this where we now get our dating advice? How about this, take my advice. I'm somewhat of an expert on the subject. Someone recently told me, "dating you is like watching a trainwreck. You can't pull yourself away until it's one big pile of fiery carnage." I was flattered. But I don't really know what he meant by it.

Yahoo Article Debunked "8 Signs He's Not Interested in You"

1. What Yahoo says - He Never Calls You First
He never calls you AT ALL or when he does, he's drunk, it's midnight, and he needs you to bail him out of jail.

2. What Yahoo says - He Won't Plan Ahead
Yes, he does plan ahead. He plans ahead to make sure he can avoid you.

3. Yahoo says - He Won't Come Up For a Nightcap
This never happens! But if it does, you have to assume he's gay, you've got a second head growing out of your neck, and your speaking in a strange tongue and doing that thrashy thing. But even then, he'll still come up.

4. Yahoo says - He Doesn't Ask You Questions
Guys DO NOT ASK QUESTIONS ANYWAY except, "where's your bathroom?" and "can you watch my beer for me?" and "where's your remote control?" "what do you mean you don't have cable?" The last one is kind of rhetoric.

5. Yahoo says - He Doesn't Call When He Says He Will
I think we already covered that with #1, guys don't call on purpose, anyway. Your just naive if you think he's going to call before midnight.

6. Yahoo says - He Hasn't Introduced You To His Family
He can't, they have a restraining order out against you.

7. Yahoo says - His Friends Don't Know You Exist
Yes, they do. You dated his best friend.

8. Yahoo says - He's Vague About Getting Together Again
That's over-analyzing things. You've really got too much time on your hands if your sticking around waiting by a phone.

The Real 8 Signs That He's Not Interested in You

1. He Can't Remember What You Look Like

2. He Gives You a Fake Name

3. Everytime You Go On A Date There Seems To Be Another Woman Lurking In The Shadows

4. He Said He Was Bringing The Car Around Front. That Was 4 Days Ago.

5. After You Pump His Gas, He Hands You $20 and Drives Away

6. When You Talk About A Vacation Together, He Insists On Paying Your Airline Ticket. One-Way.

7. You Have A Garage Sale Together But It's Only Your Stuff For Sale.

8. 2 Strangers Show Up At The Door Speaking Broken English And Inform You That You've Been Sold For 2 Cartons of Marlboros

Day 33: Good Morning

Mornings can be good, honestly. Saturdays mornings are usually the best mornings in my opinion. Even if you have to work on Saturdays, it's still not a normal workday. You can show up for work hungover with spaghetti hanging off your chin, but your boss won't notice or care. It's Saturday. That's at least what I thought once. I guess I may want to take a look at my old habits and redefine my Saturday mornings. I might start today by putting some pants on. But not now, let me enjoy the freedom a little bit longer.

What made this morning so good? So far today I managed to get a pickle jar open that I've been trying to open for 2 weeks and I escaped a possible major hangover. Nothing like a good binge drinking session on a Friday night to clear your head of any possible thoughts or emotions. To not have a hangover in the morning is the cherry on top. The only risk on Saturdays is leaving the apartment to discover what kind of damage you did the night before so I've consciously made an effort lately to not climb trees, buildings, or build road blocks. It's working for me so far.

Today is the day I try new things. I think I will even cook. Something. Possibly in the microwave. I'm not really good with the microwave so microwave popcorn is out of the question. Maybe do a little jobhunting in Asia. I miss the 6 day/60 hour work weeks. Nothing like staring out the window for hours on end and dating little, tiny men. Well, at least I'll get my tea eggs. And no, the TNT Mart didn't have them. They had the stinky goose and quail eggs in the cello packs, but not the tea eggs. Not knowing who she was talking to, the TNT Mart lady gave me instructions and spices on how to make the tea eggs myself. I've got the spices but pretty much forgot everything she said. Forgot to buy the eggs, too.

I see Starbucks in my near future. I think I should now use this time to go look for my pants.

Day 32: 'Tis Better to Have Loved and Lost...

"'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all." No freaking way. Uh uh. Alfred Tennyson, dude, I think we need to have a talk. Think about it. But I know your dead, so take your time. Wouldn't it be bliss to have a little more honesty flowing out there? Don't you agree if someone were to tell you tomorrow, "hey, you know, nobody is really going to love you all THAT much so just have some fun, okay?" WELL, I'd be having a party! Firefighters and police departments everywhere would be having a party. BUT, there's just some little things that hold me back. Little tiny things. I fall in love with everything. Squirrels, cats, dogs, ferrets, grasshoppers. They don't love me back. My friend whom I'm house-sitting for has cats that love me when I feed them, but would eat a chunk of my flesh the minute my eyes closed. I read newspapers, I know what cats are all about. And squirrels. Love the squirrels but would they really bring me some peanuts in the dead of winter when there's nothing else? Or even a little bag of microwave popcorn? I doubt it. Ferrets and grasshoppers just stare at you like you've just stopped by from outerspace. They really have no use for you.

It's the same with job-hunting and jobs. When your job-hunting, I think it would be really nice if someone said, "we only hire brothers/sisters/daughters/sons/cats/dogs so don't bother with this one as we'll just fire you in a year to cover up the fact that Mr. Whiskers can't form a sentence" or "you know, you're really just wasting your time. just throw on a backpack and eat rice and join Greenpeace for the rest of your life because there's nothing else out there for you." I'd eat that s*** up, never having to spend 3 hours again filling out an application and saying things that should never come out of anyone's self-respecting mouth. And if you actually do end up with a job that you love, how does it feel when you get fired or laid off? Pretty crappy, hey? Like time was stolen from you. Time that we really don't have a lot of.

I don't have alot of regrets in my life because I typically deny or forget everything. The few regrets that I do have includes loving someone that didn't love me back (at least they're all happily married now, congratulations, and no, your wives are all beautiful and your children will not come out looking like a team of rats), because it's really time or a shitload of money that I won't get back. The other thing that I regret that is equally as time consuming is working at a job that I thought I loved but chewed me up and spit me out. So no Alfred, I'd prefer to have never of loved. I would be a fine oiled machine by now and know exactly where my life was taking me if I did not cry over my Rice Krispies in the mornings.

Day 31: Shooting for the Moon, Stars, and Pizza

Before I go off another deep-end here, I have to tell you that my little rants the past 2 days were somewhat in theory. I'm thankful for all of my friends and family and know how fortunate I am to have them. I didn't realize they were all actually reading this, I figured everyone would fall off after about day 10 or not even bother like my brother (? Are you out there, too?). I was basically exaggerating little perceived annoyances. I wish the stalkers weren't so real, though. The blue truck lady hunting me down and trying to run me off the road really scared me on Sunday.

A close friend of mine seemed utterly surprised when she found out I was still unemployed. I didn't tell her that I was on vacation for 2 weeks and that the rest of the time has been a huge celebration for me. The celebration of getting my life back and alleviating the dull thud in my head called stress. And just celebrating the invention of the 8-pack (you drink 2 and you still have a 6-pack left, I wish I came up with that idea). Life is good. And there is no way in hell that I'm going back to 9-5 or even shiftwork. I can't do it. I think that is for aliens and half of my friends are aliens. I need this time to shoot for the stars because I'm telling you, this might be my last chance. I feel like time is getting away from me. My only anxiety right now is having this backfire on me and end up working as a secretary or grocery store clerk. That will end me. I will get fat, bored, and have cats. Lots and lots of cats. But here's to unrealistic goals...

So yes, I'm shooting for the moon, stars, and the little pizza place on the corner. I will die trying to get something spectacular and travel to the ends of the earth to find my place in this boring world. I will eat pizza everyday. I'm in love with this part of my life, even if I don't have money for the pizza. The good times are rolling and I just have to figure it out from there. One of my epiphanies will pan out. I'm just hoping my tragedies (including another possible photo radar ticket on Whitemud Dr. last night in the construction zone before you get to the WEM. But it was worth it...) will help you guys move past some trivial moments as well. I say, what doesn't kill you will just piss you off. Now I have to go argue with one of my friends on Facebook because I really have nothing better to do. I swear to god she likes my ex-boyfriend better than me. I don't remember him going to kindergarten with her or telling her she looked great in those corduroy pants even though they made her ass look like a house. And I hate corduroy.

Day 30: The Black Hole Matter People

The dynamics are sure to change when your unemployed. The "freakier" people (I don't subscribe to social norms so I really don't know what that means) start to gravitate toward you, the more boring working stiffs gravitate away from you like your going to poison their food if you go out to dinner together (not going to poison them, but probably expect them to pick up the tab because that's what I did for them when they popped out their 3rd kid and didn't know where their next meal was coming from. I guess good condoms ARE expensive...). The people you used to work with act like you've contracted some highly contagious disease and will kill them via text message or email. Well, so it seems that way anyway. Is it because you no longer know what day it is? Is it because you constantly express your believe in an utopia-like society and have commie mints in your purse? Is it because you put peanut butter on everything including your bacon cheeseburger? It's hard to tell.

I think some people are afraid. Afraid of the unemployed person around them spiraling out of control and emitting this black hole-type phenomenon that sucks everything in around them. Then there are others that are like the matter supporting the black hole (ha, real friends, if you like your black hole being supported). I'm obviously no astro-physicist-rocket-scientist so shhhh. I just want to say I like these black hole matter people.

Ask yourself who your friends are. Who are your black hole matter people because in the end, they will be the ones that save you/make you. Facade is just that; a facade. There is no point keeping one up when your unemployed. They are useless and you likely don't have a nice car to show off, anyway. EDITED

BHMPs don't tell you to stop shooting shredded lettuce out your nose. They don't tell you to stop yelling out the car window while you profess your love for squirrels. Or traffic lights. They tell you that you look hot even when you've just stuck your head in a blender. They tell you your ass is tiny even if it no longer fits in your pants. They tell you that you can be a rocket scientist even if you can't figure out a simple grade 1 math problem. Most of all, BHMPs tell you your epiphanies and dreams are realistic and that you have every chance at that brain surgeon position. Thanks BHMPs. And my mom. I love my mom.

Day 29: The Epiphany

Thank the spell checking gods for this one. Epiphany.

So I had an Epiphany last night, before I dreamt of worm larvae in my coffee. That was gross, I'm telling you. It was all in the coffee grounds when I opened up the bag. But after the dream with the dancing firemen. Although the dancing firemen might have NOT been a dream...we'll just leave it at that. I had an epiphany somewhere between the hours of 10pm and 2am. And it was a good one. but I'm not going to tell you about it. The chances of me actually getting what I want are slim to nothing. And I'm okay with that. That's life. But the less you know, the better. Than I don't have to kill you later if I get one of those highly-classified jobs. You know, like a Russian spy. My fake Russian accent is excellent so no doubt Moscow is reading my resume right now. By the way, if you don't have a fake accent, you should get yourself one. They're very useful when you're pulled over for speeding.

I used to have epiphanies everyday. Waking up in the morning was fun, it used to involve lots of yelling, a flurry of showering activities, and then a complete blur of empty chocolate bar wrappers. But somehow by the end of the day someone managed to pop my proverbial bubble, "No, Joanne, you really can't become a Mexican national and live in a hut on the beach." Really, why the hell not? Is it so wrong? People do it all the time. Or, "No Joanne, you really need your pilot's license before becoming a fighter jet pilot." How hard can it be? Honestly... "Joanne, you need to pass a psychological evaluation before becoming a submarine captain." True. You should be mentally ill before going on a submarine for months on end...

The epiphanies began to stop about 5 years back. I had a good run overseas with one(quit my job on a decision I made overnight. I was in Taiwan within 2 weeks, fake degree in hand and teaching little kiddies English. Never thought of myself as a kid person, ever, but they're really quite entertaining at times) but my fake degree could only get me so far. I needed a real one this time. Back into the land of "We know what you did in kindergarten..." EDITED I did need a real degree so I stuck it out, gained 20lbs, and lost the will to live.

The epiphanies started again about a year ago when I was in Charleston, SC. We met this girl at the car rental agency (by the time we got the car, it was time to return it but there was a lot of politeness going on. Creepy. Very creepy...would have loved to yell FU at the top of my lungs just to to see if they gave me the electric chair for it). Anyhow, this girl, wow, certifiable, driving through the mountains in winter to New York City on a mission with her dog - she was going to write a kick-ass book and everyone is going to read it and love it. She did not know what she was going to write about or where she was going to get her next meal (Daddy, probably). But wow. I thought, I used to be certifiable like that. What happened to me?

Since Day 1 of my unemployment, it's been everyday again. At first, it was just a, "I'm going to learn to bake" (ahahahahahaha. never.). Now I wake up with chocolate in my hair every morning and I know. I'm back to being certifiable. Life is good. Pop this proverbial bubble and I'll cut you.

Day 28: You Never Forget Your First...

Stalker that is. You never forget your first stalker. It began so innocently. I was 16. He was 40. We were in love. And then I woke up. In the morning. With the worst hangover ever. After that, he called me twice a year for the next 18 years. I answered the last time he called. And then he mysteriously died. I'll never forget him. And his death had NOTHING to do with me. It's a tough world out there for stalkers, my heart goes out to them. After that, it was a yellow cab driver and later some Italian dude. THEY didn't die. Although I haven't heard from the yellow cab driver in a while. He was intending on a pilgrimage to Madrid... I hope he had a safe train ride. I couldn't go, I was working at the time and I really wasn't into the vests like he was. I don't find them to be a real fashion statement like he did, even if Madrid is one of the fashion capitals of the world. And the backpack was too heavy. I didn't understand why I couldn't pack my own.

My latest stalker really really freaks me out. A gray-haired woman in a blue truck. She could have been a man, but the middle finger was too slender in my opinion. There were no other gender indicators. Anyways, she lives on the west side of 101 street 2 blocks north of Whyte. This is more of a mental note for me so I can take my neighbors on tours of all the crazy stalkers in our beautiful capital city. I could make it into a business. Because really, I know ALL the crazies. They love me. They watch me through my windows at night and then when I go on vacation, they break in to my apartment and squat in my living room. The hobo milkshake (lard and protein powder) was a peach to get out of the carpets. I appreciate the fact they didn't want to use my fridge and really put me out. Or use my toilet paper and proceed to flush their boxers down the crapper. Thanks! It gave me the chance to get to know the toilets of the city a little better. Hey, I can do a stalker AND a crapper tour. I'm going to go run that by the unemployment office today and see if I can get a grant. Or how about conducting classes on how to avoid being T-boned by your stalker and their blue truck in Edmonton? That's a viable business. Nobody drives anything smaller than an F150 truck here or looks out their windshield unless they need to chase down and ram someone. Those little things on the sides of the truck? They're just for holding the block heater cord. Wouldn't want to look out one of those and see that, "Oh, sweet girl, she's just patiently waiting and letting me out of my driveway. I don't need to hunt her down and try to kill her with my vehicle.".

Just in case someone already has that idea, I'm going to check the job postings this morning.

Day 27: Another Night of "Looking for Work"

I am never going to "look for work" ever again as long as I live. I'm so done with "looking for work". It was a train wreck last night, as per usual. Lots of bad dancing, possibly doing "the robot" (I was trying to compete with someone slightly more crazy than me but apparently I still won the prize for best spectacle), getting the waitress to take my mugshot (I was apparently expecting to get arrested and thought it would be nice to have everything ready for the cops), lots of hugging(it started with me hugging the giant bottle of vodka and it just got out of control from there), proclaiming my love for traffic lights on the 109th street bridge (there are no traffic lights on the 109th street bridge). The night ended with me trapped in a washroom with a sliding door. All in the name of art (Latitude 53). My favorite piece was the cupid with an automatic, it's timeless.

Sooooooooo, what to do today. Definitely not the flea market. Nothing worse on a weak stomach than shopping for old dvds and books amongst displays of crack pipes. Don't get me wrong, the flea market is an excellent learning experience and I appreciate that. For example, I did not know the difference between a marijuana pipe and a crack pipe before coming out to Edmonton. And I've been smoking crack for years...

Just in case my nieces or nephew are reading this - I am joking and I do not smoke crack. Only babies smoke crack. You know, crack babies. Crack is wrong. Really really wrong. People who smoke crack grow a second head. It's great really, you need the backup brain after the first one is fried. Then your feet become webbed and you grow a sixth toe so your body can support 2 heads. Then you get goiters. Lots and lots of goiters on your nose (ha, nosES, you've got a second head). Until your noses falls off, of course. After that, bacon just doesn't smell the same anymore.

All this "looking for work" has made me tired and I still have to start writing my cookbook, "Cooking with GI Jane". Since I don't know any recipes, I'm hoping you guys can help out a little and we can try out yours. Just remember GI Jane is very angry, does not know how to cook very well (not with a stove or oven, anyway), prefers recipes that are limited to 2 ingredients but understands that great meals don't always come in vacuum packs, and does not like stirring or shaking or raw eggs. Hates the raw eggs. And forks make her really angry. Flashbacks from the war. You know the war - the war of the worlds. Send me your recipes, anyway, and maybe we can make something work in between pushups and situps. GI Jane is a good multi-tasker.

Please send your recipes to jmh234@yahoo.ca.

Day 26: Code Name: Looking For Work

Oops. Missed yesterday. I was busy "looking for work". So today, slightly hungover with little sleep and shaking uncontrollably with my good friend from Ontario who, surprisingly since I threatened her with little children holding machetes, hasn't been officially following my blog (don't see your face on my list, R), are going to the shooting range today. Yup. And not only are we going to the shooting range. We are going to the shooting range in the mall. You have to love Edmonton. But not until after another extra strong Starbucks and possibly a couple of muscle relaxants. I'm not so good with the loud noises, I jump when I turn the tv on. Well, I'm not used to having cable so unless I press play, it's all new to me.

So, I'm putting off the inevitable, looking for work, the kind of looking for work not in parenthesis. The real jobhunting without vodka shooters. Why? I have a problem with committing to a job that will either eventually kill me mentally or physically. I can say with certainty that I will eat nothing but cheesecake everyday for a month (and I did once) but I cannot say, or even bring myself to submit a resume, to a company that smells like 9-5 or cancer-at-the-age-of-50. I have no problem putting chemicals into my body myself, that's my choice. But in order for me to do the same amount of damage as say, working at a steel factory for 20 years, I'd have to seriously start drinking more bleach and smoking cigarettes rolled in fiberglass. As for 9-5, you have to be some freaking robot to do that for the rest of your life. Seriously. People are either brainwashed or there are aliens out there. Which I don't doubt, but I don't believe I've met one yet. I don't take public transportation often enough.

So, I'm cutting this short because I think I can now hold a gun without shaking and shoot a target instead of an innocent bystander or mall cop. Should be fun. Maybe I'll meet an alien, too, anything can happen at West Edmonton Mall. Love the mall...

Day 25: The Diet

Yes. The Diet. When 15 hours a week of working out at the gym just isn't enough. I want to kill the person who came up with the idea of calorie counting. Was it the Kellogg dude? So now I have to count calories AND get my colon cleansed? But he's already dead or they've cryogenically frozen his head so I might just have to kill his offspring instead. Anyone know which drug rehab the new Kellogg generation is staying at? KIDDING, I'm not going to kill anyone. I'm sure rich and/or famous people are perfectly capable of doing that to themselves. There's enough cocaine and eating disorders for everyone.

I wonder what types of ads are going on my blog today (kill, kill, kill...ninja assassin...)? CDs on how to become a ninja assassin while you sleep. I'd buy it. Then get unemployment to pay for it as "retraining". Try to casually put that one in a cover letter, too. "To Whom it May Concern, I am a trained ninja assassin and look forward to meeting with you regarding the position of... Customer Service Specialist."

What depresses me the most about the whole calorie counting thing is the fact that beer, cheese, bacon, and peanut butter all have calories. What's the point of living if you can't go to a buffet and have 100 slices of bacon for breakfast? Lunch? And dinner? Then there's good and bad calories. Good and bad cholesterol. But I have to say, aren't good and bad subjective terms? I think bacon is good, why can't it be good calories? I enjoyed every calorie, I would consider them good calories. As for cholesterol, should your doctor really be that concerned about your cholesterol when your going in to get your leg removed? Did bad cholesterol really have anything to do with your car accident? And has anyone read the side effects for these pills that doctors dispense like Pez? My mom did when her liver, heart, and lungs started shutting down. Good catch, mom. "You have a 5% less chance of dying of a heart attack but now you have to be placed on this breathing machine for the rest of your life and come in for dialysis every week." Nah. She's better now, off the breathing machine. And on steroids. That's a whole other blog, "My Mom on Steroids".

So basically, beer, cheese, bacon, and peanut butter all have "bad" calories and "bad" cholesterol according to the scientific community. Now take a look at the scientific community. I see alot of bad hair, skin, and teeth. I even had a dentist once that could bring down entire armies with one breath. So if I start cutting my chicken or fish in half, add fiber to my rice, eat my salad without dressing (or worse, without bacon and cheese!), spend precious time out of my busy day of busy meetings and other busy things that all unemployed people are busy with to make a spreadsheet of calorie counting torture? Then I too, can look like I'm 65 instead of 35 and breath fire on innocent people? Screw you, Kellogg. I'm now going to find myself a job that pays me in cheese and will help me keep my "Buddha belly" because it's soft and it's pretty. You, on the other hand Mr. Kellogg, I don't think you were so pretty.

Day 24: The Reckoning

A lady to be reckoned with. I liked that comment (Day 23). It might of not been meant as a compliment, but I took it as one, anyways. Thank-you. Not getting alot of compliments these days so I have to kind of make nothing into something. I've been getting comments the past week like, "I think people might actually be laughing at you, not with you". Not so much a compliment, is it? Okay, one comment. Just one! But one that sits in your brain and explodes days later when the person is nowhere to be found. It meant nothing to me at the time but now I'm like, "oh yeah, well, your mother is UGLY!!!!!!!!! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH". Kaboom. It's really an aneurysm just waiting to happen. I just sit on my front steps now in the mornings and yell this at the kids going to school and the homeless dudes. Makes me feel a little better. I can't very well go yell at the person that said it to me. There was a traffic circle involved and I'll never find the house. It's not the same doing it over the telephone, either because they can hang up and you can't throw stuff at them. I like to throw stuff even when I talk, makes people pay attention and follow the conversation more closely. They never know when that chicken wing is coming straight for them, and I aim for the eyes.

For the record, I'd prefer to be the one that people laughed at because laughing with me means I'm likely laughing at someone else. Kind of cruel. Don't get me wrong, I'm not totally against laughing at others, it really does makes me feel good to make someone else look like an idiot. And I especially like to hang out with ugly people who dress badly, too. That always makes me feel like a rock star. But sometimes it's good to give back to the world and make other people feel better about themselves.

As for the lingerie issue, no, prostitutes aren't the only ones that spend that much time and effort before leaving the house. On top of the cost of lingerie, there's also a mandatory 2+ hour bath, hair, and makeup session. So if you call me and be like, "Hey, lets go out for dinner", dinner better be 3 hours from the time you called or I'm not going to even attempt to give up my real estate on the couch. So now your thinking I'm crazy and obsessive and not all women do that. Yes, they do, and if they don't, then your going out with a crazy haired, red-faced girl with half a sandwich stuck to the side of her face. The sandwich is somewhat obvious, but just in case you miss it because you haven't had a date in a while, look for the crazy hair and red face as well. It'll be there.

I "reckon" I'd better do some jobhunting. I noticed a whole bunch of ads on my blog here for jobs in Calgary/etc. The ads are kind of like the sandwich stuck on the side of the girl's face. Pretty obvious for some people, not for all...

Day 23: The Budget

Never is there a better time to budget then when your unemployed. I guess. Normally I wouldn’t care, except that the $37 in my bank account may not go very far this week. Really, I’ve survived on $37 before….in Mexico. It's just, if you add $37 to my debt, I actually have -$4963 in my bank account. On top of it, I broke my rule of only opening up mail on the first of every month. I foolishly thought one of the envelopes contained an unemployment check. Hahahahaha. Boy was I wrong. Just bills. Bills I pay 2 months late on a good month. So I taped all the envelopes shut again and I'll reopen them on March 1.

This no money thing may become a problem in a few months so I'm preparing. I've switched to Beer beer (I've also reduced my alcohol intake as I had a dream last night I had liver failure. I think my organs might be screaming for help). I'm cutting down on my $500 a month lingerie bill(You haven't a clue, guys. $500 only gets us the basics. And buying bras and undies in Walmart is like buying condoms in Walmart, things aren’t so comfortable and fitting coming out of a family size-box of one-size-fits-all made in China, the land of no breasts and modest male endowment. So yes, pay for the drinks, we've likely already spent $200 before even leaving the house). I stopped paying my speeding fines (really Hinton, FU). I'm going to avoid areas of the city with traffic circles to save on gas (it really shouldn't take me an hour to go get a cup of coffee). I'm going to reconsider the full body tattoo (at least until a later date). I'm going to learn to sew buttons back on to my clothes when they pop off instead of throwing them out. Omigod. This one is huge - I'm going to cook. I just don't know what. That's going to take so much effort but what a bonus, this will also be the perfect dating service. Fire trucks are sure to show up at my apartment almost daily.

I think that's enough budgeting for today. I don't want to get too carried away. Although my driving off into the sunset idea might be on hold for a little longer, I have a feeling I might be working again soon. I've recently realized that in order to get a job, you just have to lie. Lie like nothing else. Lie Lie Lie. Because really, does the computer program reading your resume care? I doubt it. Does the 20-year-old HR assistant making $10/hour know how to read? I doubt it. Do they check your resume? Sometimes. If they do, you just lie some more. But the trick is to make up such big lies that they won't even know where to start. I'll let you know how that strategy works in the job interview. Not so good at job interviews...

Day 22: Spring is in the Air

Spring is in the air. How do I know? Well, here in Edmonton, there is some unique telling factors that characterize springtime. If you don't know where Edmonton is, look at a map. It is damn sure not the temperatures. Temperature-wise, springtime does not exist past, what, the 52nd parallel? (flight school, yet another unfinished project of mine. Direction means nothing to me, I get stuck in traffic circles for hours, can't see how that would be any different in the air). 9 months of winter and 3 months of summer is enough to send a good portion of the population into a mental institute. There is a good chance if you know someone from Edmonton, they checked themselves in at one time or another (some of us just do it for the heat though, so don't judge).

Okay. So your thinking, well, the snow melts, right? Wouldn't that make it obvious when the temperatures are rising ever so slightly? No. There is not much difference between -50C (January) and -10C (April). Both are f***ing cold. And the snow does not melt until June. Which is about the same time the sun stops setting for a few weeks. Furthermore, the sun shines 90% of the time, so if you never leave your house (and if you have a reliable heat source, you try not to) you wouldn't know when April hits. No. Here in Alberta, and I think I speak for northern BC as well, you know it's spring when: people stop showing up for work, PHD dissertations are abandoned, pickled herring flavoured potato chips start showing up on the shelves at grocery stores, people are being kicked out of restaurants on 35cent wing nights, and the traffic (okay, all 20 cars) on the stretch of road between Edmonton and Calgary dubbed the Alberta Auto Bahn goes from 160km/hour to 40km/hour. I call it, "The Weed That Stopped Time".

See, we have nothing else up here. We don't have apple orchards or...water. We get the odd rainstorm that escapes the mountains that fill up the silt lakes. That's an all day event to watch one of those coming in, by the way. Nothing really blocking our view. The first weed shipment of the season basically means that the 1000km stretch of road between us and the growers in BC is no longer 100% covered in black ice. So if you smoke weed or not, the feeling is mutual. Spring is in the air. Lets go skiing.

Day 21: The True Meaning of Valentine's Day

Valentine's Day is not the best day for the single and unemployed. All of you couple people are like, "what are you doing for Valentine's Day?" "Oh, really? Oh, that's too bad...". Single people basically get a single day of social punishment on this day for not falling under the spell of capitalism to reproduce and buy stuff. Believe me, that is the true meaning of Valentine's Day. But then Valentine's Day passes and, well, us single people don't have to eat pickles and chocolate and then change diapers in the end, do we? I'm sure the C-Section was a party, too. The unemployed get totally screwed because there is no diamond coming out of that pocket anytime soon. And trust me guys, most women are unreasonable. If they were reasonable, you would not have her sleeping in your bed every night. That costs you. Big time. And if your stupid enough to expect her to suffer through childbirth and motherhood, you've given up all rights to have sex ever again. She might come back to you, but I guarantee you that she's subconsciously pissed off at you for the pain and suffering and it's just all out war thereafter. Moral of the story? Stick with the box of chocolates and flowers and hope to get lucky once a month.

Today for me, being both single and unemployed, I'm happy to say that I still managed to score some roses and an open-mouth kiss. The latter wasn't from a human. You'll just have to guess. I'm pretty sure I'm not getting dinner out of it, though. It appears that I'm the food source in that relationship so I'm not going to test the grounds. But if he changes his mind, I want the venison and fish flavour.

Jobhunting looks like a very real possibility today. I think I might give it a try...

Day 20: Nothing Says I Love You Like "we'll extend your unemployment benefits"

Ah, the day before Valentine's Day, what better day to reflect on all the things that you love. And for me, nothing says I love you like "we'll extend your unemployment benefits". That has to be the best love letter I've ever received in my entire life (Hallmark should pick up on this one). Wiping a single tear of joy from my face, I vowed that I will be a student for the rest of my life to keep my beloved unemployment. There is no place like home. Or the university campus coffee shop and gym.

I've always been good with the big stuff, major change seems to be like a drug for me. I just get frustrated tying my shoes everyday. Do we even need shoelaces? Can't we just replace all things that tie with zippers? A world without laces, that would be a perfect world. I've probably already mentioned this, but bootlaces were one of the major reasons I had to quit the reserves. OCD hell, I tell you. We had 5 minutes to get ready in the mornings on training weekends, but I just never had enough time to do up my laces. It could be raining bombs and bullets outside, but I am NOT giving up my shower for ANYTHING or ANYBODY. I'm not going to leave it to chance that I could be resuscitated by some army dude while unshowered or unshaved. Or some hot army doctor having to amputate my unshaven leg. So the bootlaces were neglected and tucked and whatever you do to make them look like they're tied in 5 seconds. And of course, I'm marching and my bootlaces started flying around and I just couldn't take it. Looking back, I'm surprised I even made it past the psychological evaluation. It was probably the last passing psychological evaluation that I'll ever have. I dream of toilet paper most nights. But I'm good with all that. Life is always more exciting when your certifiably nuts.

So change is good. Shake it up, dump that boyfriend or husband or girlfriend or wife, put the kids up for adoption, quit that job or get fired, tell your boss his head looks like a tennis racket, be nice to the gas station dude (you need him), fill up, and just go. I say if it's broken, don't even bother to fix it. There is nothing like driving off into the sunset with your broken windshield and barely functioning brakes. Until you hit, what is it, Crows Nest pass or Revelstoke pass? Yeah, I'd probably stop for the night before hitting either of those. And maybe wait until spring. Change is always better in April.

Day 19: Not Feeling the Love...

Yeah. Not feeling it. Got some hate mail yesterday and I'm particularly sensitive when I'm lucid (between the hours of 1pm and 4pm). There are some things that are best unsaid. If your frustrated with where I advertised my blog and what I'm advertising on my blog, keep that to yourself, okay? Hate mail just gets you blocked from using these sites yourself. I'm not going to respond to, "you are a retard". I wouldn't have a nice response for that and that would get me blocked from these sites, as well. And make me as mature as a 5-year-old, "yeah, and your mother is a prostitute". So, if you like me, support me and become an official follower. If you don't, than don't and shhh. Let a girl try to market her skills. This blog was originally meant for me to blow off some steam. But I like writing, and I've totally got plans of being unemployed long-term, so stick with me, maybe I can sell myself to a newspaper one day and you can say you read me first. Or just sell myself. Then you can say...uh, no, you can't. That's just rude. Whatever it comes down to, life is a journey, right?

So today is all about me. Well, everyday is about me but I'm going to start making some demands here. I know there's about a 100 of you out there reading my blog. Please sign up as an official follower. This way, I can prove that people are reading me and help me sell a year of work written online and sitting in boxes for $300. You got it. $300, my future does not look too good. Also, on my blog page you'll see ads everywhere. That's on purpose. I make money on those when you click on them. If you see something you like, click on it, your supporting my cause. The ads are selected by Google and are computer generated by key words, it seems when I mention Brie cheese there is an ad placement for "counting calories" by the next day. It's a new game for me. That's why I'm trying to say "prostitute" as many times as possible in today's blog. I want to see what they come up with. It's like a word association game gone bad. I like it.

As for the jobhunt, I find it difficult answering some questions by the $10/hour, 20-year-old HR assistants calling at 9am in the morning, "Why do you want to work for our company?". The only answer I can come up with is, "I don't. I just thought I was doing you a favour by applying.". Or "Why did you leave your last job?". I'm like, "Well, I didn't. They let me go. But they really didn't give me a reason why. I just assumed it was because of the fire." Or "What type of wage are you expecting to make?". Oh, come on!!! It's not like we're buying a shark tooth necklace on the beaches of Mexico, "How much money are you willing to give me?" Or, "Are you working now?" Do you really want an answer to that? "If you don't see it on my resume, there's a good chance whatever I'm doing is illegal and I don't want you to know about it.". My favorite is, "What type of experience do you think you have that is similar to this position?" How about, "I'm used to working in small cubicles, answering phones to irate customers, and covering up for managers who don't bother showing up for work. I also believe my defensive driving skills will allow me to show up for work everyday nearly on-time, even when I'm completely hungover in the mornings." Read my resume! I know your computer program already has or it wouldn't have told you that I was a suitable candidate (wouldn't expect an actual human to make that decision, that would be crazy), but maybe you should just read it over before calling me to make sure I'm not a small furry animal knawing on a tree stump. Anyways, I haven't made it past the phone interviews yet.

So dudes, Happy Friday, Happy long weekend. Whether your employed or unemployed, Fridays and long weekends are still the best. It's an extra day for the unemployed to justify their (deserved) alcoholism and for the employed to get let out of their cells for an extra day. Keep your pants on, it's cold out there.

Day 18: You Weren't Any Good at Your Job, Anyway

That's it. I'm going to make greeting cards. If someone loses their job, a greeting card is in order, am I not right? You don't see Hallmark out there with sympathy cards for the unemployed and homeless. Hallmark is just cold. Something like, "I'm Sorry You Lost Your Job....but you weren't any good at it anyway" or "I'm Always Here For You....I'm fighting for bottle territory for you right now". Hallmark isn't interested in real life. Like cards for graduation. Every parent in California runs out and buys a bumper sticker when their kid gets honours at some snooty high school or college (I'm so dead serious, I seen them with my own eyes, smack on the back of Mercedes and BMWs in Santa Monica, kill yourself now...). How about when your kid gets kicked out of school for smoking pot? "I'm Sorry You Got Kicked Out of School...but that pot you smoked was probably laced with heroin so you'll be dead in no time.". Or how about dropping out of school? Lots of kids do that nowadays, "I'm Sorry You Didn't Make It...but you'll have so much time to figure out that deep fryer at work now.".

Reality bites I guess. And we all end up leaving the same way we came in - naked, broke, and crying. I'm not dead yet, I'm only naked and broke. Onward with the jobhunt...

Day 17: Cookies and Cheese

I like cookies. I really do. Buttery goodness and whatever else that ends up in there. And cheese. I don't even slice it anymore. I just rip chunks off with my teeth. And yes, if my roommate is reading this and asking, I did it to the Brie. Arghhhhh. And I think West Edmonton Mall should have a bigger sign on it. Like one that you can see from outerspace. Or Saskatchewan. I don't see how people get there any other way. They must have a heli pad of something. Just go to the hospital, tell them that you have to return to your mothership at the WEM. Maybe they'll fly you there. I just know I circled 12 times coming and going tonight and it wasn't fun. It looks like every other box in the area. Just a big, stupid box. With a shooting range.

Just random crap tonight. Nothing really going on in my head except for circus music. There's actually a freak show going on in my frontal lobe. People are still lining up to see it so I can't go to bed just yet. It was a good day of nothing. Pure nothing. I squatted in my friend's condo for 6 hours to watch animal planet. I mean, I don't even like cable. What's going on with me? I consider doing 2 loads of laundry a full day? Washing the dishes is my idea of cleaning the apartment. Especially when a certain someone/roommate had cornflakes for breakfast and leaves the bowl with all the cornflakey goodness hardening and crustulating on the sides. I mean, that's double time. I should get unemployment overtime for that. The day is going to come when I need to clean my car, too. That's going to take FOREVER because it's really, really bad. When will I have time to look for meaningful work? Sigh...

So, I guess a little jobhunting is in order tomorrow. And no, I've decided not to be a spy. I read the job requirements, one of them being a pyschological evaluation, something I'll never pass. It would be fun to try, though. Freak out in the interview, and be like, "did you see those bats? They're huge. Big bats, behind the fridge...". Ah, a new day. Got to go get my 12 hours of sleep now. You all have fun at work tomorrow...

Day 16: Bacon Nation

After 7 days on a cruise ship and taking part in the hot activities (buffet, shuffleboard...Friends of Bill not so popular, I don't think Bill was giving out bacon), I've come to the realization that the world can be negotiated with bacon. Everyone loves bacon, even when they say they don't. crumbled over salad. Slipped into a sandwich. Heaved onto a plate of eggs and toast. Wrapped around beef and seafood. Breakfast lunch and dinner. Bacon bacon bacon. It is the single most important reason people don't live on deserted islands. No bacon. Hunting down a wild boar is not the same as the prepackaged kind loaded with salt and chemicals. It's the chemicals that taste so good. I say load on the chemicals. Yum. Places like the stock exchange would be happy places if everyone had bacon, "I lost alot of bacon today but, well, hey, it's only bacon." or "I made alot of bacon today, I'm going to open up a sandwich shop." The pigs not so happy. They prefer cheese. I forget what my point was. I don't think I had one. I just wanted to talk about bacon.

As for the jobhunt, I've decided that I'm going to be a truck driver. I hear they are hiring in the Congo. Oh, and Kabul. I'd take Kabul over the Congo, though. Kabul apparently has a Tim Hortons. That's if CSIS turns me down. There is a good chance that they will, checking a door 20 times to make sure it's locked is not such a handy skill in, say, a time sensitive extraction in Columbia. However, I'm certain it is a marketable skill, I'm just not sure how yet. As for Ballerina idea, NIXED, I ate at a buffet all week, and, well, I liked it.

People are like, "Joanne, are you really being reasonable with your jobhunting?" and I'm like, "Do I have to be?". I mean, I'm unemployed. According to society, there is something WRONG with me. And I'm okay with that. People have no expectations of me and they are just happy I can feed myself and that I don't set things on fire. I've recently stopped talking to myself (this morning), but I don't plan on being "normal" (according to North American social norms "I've got a Mercedes" and a "cappucino maker" and I "drive 3 hours to work everyday" and "I max out my Visa on plastic surgery to make up for the fact I'm stressed out 24 hours a day and squint to flush the toilet") anytime soon. There are too many side effects for the drugs. I find it hard to walk with blood clots in my legs. If I were back in Mexico, I'd sit on the side of the road drinking excessively next to a speed bump and collect car parts. That was actually quite profitable on the right stretch of highway. I had fun with that. If I went back to Taiwan, I'd go to kareoke (how do you spell that? Argh...) every night and become a kareoke star and wear pink dresses with mint green polkadots. So yes, being a truck driver in Kabul would be shooting for the stars for me.

But really though, are people even honest in our culture? We are brainwashed into thinking we have to keep up with the Jones'. I'm unemployed, I have no chance in hell. Might as well make a party out of it. I am unemployed. Everyone, stand up with me and say, "I spent Sunday night scooping recyclables and fighting with the homeless dude for bottle territory" and "I washed my car so the new duct tape installation would hold" and "I refuse to change my shirt because it's the only one left without holes" and "I refuse to put pants on when the pizza delivery person shows up" and "My wife has bad hair" and "My husband eats too many french fries" and "my girlfriend is a lush and she scares me" and "my boyfriend might have a drug problem but I can't prove anything and he's weird". There, was that so bad? Oh, and "I like bacon."

Day 15: My Vacation

Yes. It rained. It rained in Las Vegas. There was flooding. It rained in Mexico. There were landslides. It rained on the ocean coming back from Mexico. Ships sunk. It rained in Los Angeles. There were mudslides. I ate little. I drank alot. These are just the highlights. It was fun.

My mom, my little mom who never drinks, drank about 7 or 8 Singapore Slings in Las Vegas. I found her winning at the Playboy slots, oblivious to the naked shadow dancing girls. Waving to Bobby Darin and Frank Sinatra as they walked by. Telling the cute Irish dudes to bet on red at the roulette table(the colour of her underwear, I'm sure of it). We never slept. I was okay with that until we left Vegas for Los Angeles. Something about flying over the Sierra Madres on a small excuse for an aircraft full of hungover passengers, explaining every noise to them so that they would stop hugging their knees, and promising that we weren't going to die. It was touch and go for a while, I wasn't really sure myself. It was good to land, even with the cabin depressurization screaming like a cat in heat. I figured we didn't need the oxygen anymore, anyway. Sleep is good.

Los Angeles. Santa Monica and Venice beach. Omigod. The medicinal marijuana does wonders for Californians. I have to tell you about the UFO cafe. I thought it was going to be some trendy art cafe. Turned out it was an actual departure lounge. For space. We were the only ones without tagged luggage. And a passport. An earth's passport. Or an intergalactic multi-pass. Good cappucino, though.

Mexico. Well. I'm done with Mexico. The candy. The men. Not so hot anymore. My condolensces to those who got stuck in the mudslide. Not so much to the blonde girl who fell off her bike on the offroad biking adventure. HAHAHA. She was really quite nice, just don't know why I found that moment of the vacation funny and her to pick on. Maybe because the brakes on my bike snapped and flew off at that point and it was between her or me. I'm glad it was her. My mom had already fell in donkey shit twice at that point. I'm not sure what kind of shit I fell in. But it was someone else's turn.

Going back to sleep. Because I can. Because I'm unemployed and I can. And I've just discovered that I can pay my bar tab with my Visa.

Day 14: Donkey Shit

Okay. I've lost a few days. Or 13. I don't remember much from my vacation so far, but it's coming back to me. First of all, since I've been unemployed, I don't check things like flight times anymore. I mean, I'm unemployed, time means nothing to me. Lets just say my mom missed her flight to Las Vegas and it could possibly be in a minute sort of obscure way, that it was my fault. Anyways, I lied to her and she took it out on the shuttle bus driver. I'm sure he deserved it, anyway.

While in Vegas, I taught my mom how to get drunk (she's trying out new things) and I explored some new "job" opportunities. Not sure if that will all work out as there is a possibility I won't be allowed back into to the USA. Or out of Canada. It's not clear to me at this point. The customs documents are really quite confusing, I mean, there is no question on there asking me if a donkey was lowered onto my lap or if I had fell into a pile of horse shit. Or was it donkey shit? I'm sure there's a difference, and I'm sensitive to that difference, so excuse me for my ignorance.

Anyways, good luck mom, I know you missed your flight home, too, and your still in Los Angeles, and I swear it wasn't my fault this time, but you might want to flush the medicinal marijuana from Venice Beach and LIE on the customs form. And please don't yell at me.