Day 59: The Beheading

Poor dude came back to his home in Lebanon to find out he was going to jail for Witchcraft. First of all, Witchcraft is bad? Someone should have let me know, because I was considering a trip to Beirut to see my pregnant friend/get a new stamp on the old passport (got to use it up before it expires next year, I thought that was a rule) and I don't think you can refund plane tickets because your worried about losing your head (I have some pretty firm opinions on freedom of thought and religion which might lead someone still living in the dark ages to believe that I am something of an anti-christ or an anti-mohammed. Which I'm not, I'm sure both JC and Mo were pretty cool dudes, maybe they even had dreads, who knows. I wouldn't have minded meeting them back in the day, I wouldn't have missed that concert, if that's your concern.). Valid concern the losing-your-head thing, but you know how the airlines are about refunds.

Yes, the dude is going to be beheaded for supposedly practising Witchcraft (maybe he just didn't feel like putting pants on when he got the munchies in the middle of the night going down to the kitchen. People really should mind their peeping, naked people always look strange in the middle of the night, like on Whyte Ave. Great example, I used to think my old cat looked like a monkey, sneaking around my room at night). By the way, isn't beheading a little old school? When Christianity adopted mason-like rituals into their services way back when, I guess some dudes lost their heads then, too? Only fair. Turn the clocks back to the days of Stonehenge, omigod, the heads MUST have been rolling then, right? Well, no doubt things were a little more tribal back in the day and the heads rolled for little more than a tree and a rock, but man, modern day Lebanon? I guess I just expected more out of them. Do you think Israel would behead one of their own for nighttime nakedness? We should ask Lebanon, see what they say. I really don't know, I'm just making stuff up now. Don't be pissed off, I love both countries equally. Except for the beheading a witch thing. I'm really not into that, I thought that ended a few years ago now. And what if the blade isn't sharpened properly? Like a butter knife?

So, I guess Beirut is crossed off my list of places to work or visit for the time being. It was a little easier not to chew gum in Singapore. But to keep my mouth shut, that is not possible. There is always a good chance that random stuff will leak out of my mouth. Just a few drinks, and I would have been talking up Wicca like it was the new Christianity. I would have been famous, though. But really dead 48 hours later.

Brings me to my thought of the day. Why can't people accept new or different? It blows me away that we are all living on the same earth but have this constant need to control the sheep and demonize the dogs with our ill-conceived notions of what is right. Metaphorically speaking, of course (I know, it's difficult to tell with me). You can't even walk into a prospective job without having to deal with their visual image of the "right" fit. No point in having credentials at all. You want to be a truck driver, grow a foot, mess up the hair, swear a little, get a few extra minutes at the tanning bed and grow your butt a couple of inches. You might want to slap a penis on while you're at it because they're not listening to a word you say after the door swings open. So, I tell stories, children's bible stories. I like to kill off Davie and Goliath in the end usually. And answer questions with numbers. Nobody is listening.

Is there ANYBODY out there listening?????

Day 58: Going Big or Going Home

You're probably well aware already that I change my mind like I change my underwear. I'm a pretty good smelling woman, so that's at least everyday for your information. I decided after waking up from my 11-hour unemployment slumber this morning that I'm going to go big or bust. And what is the biggest thing I can think of for Alberta? Trucks. Big ass, transport trailer trucks. You don't even have to know how to spell your name. That's my dream job. I'm telling you right now, my university degree and college diplomas are currently useless. I'm done. I'm not writing them off completely yet, but the thought of going back to work in an office, or inside a flight dispatching fish bowl, or even inside period, would be devastating to me. I spent my twenties working outdoors, nearly dying of pneumonia, warming up by the equipment exhaust, and freezing my tongue to anything I licked (I lick alot, it's a strange habit). And I loved every second of it. When your inside, you get closer to people, and people aren't really that interesting or even nice. And they certainly don't smell all that good. Outside, you put your headset on and tune the world out. Except when the engines are running, it's a good idea to look up then, poor little M. found that out the hard way one time (don't worry, I saved him).

Yeah, I'm going back to basics for now, but not without the big bucks. Truck driving in Alberta is the biggest money machine out there, and I'm going to the ATM to cash in. With a little help from UI. Finally figured out what they're good for. Yup, truck driving is going to pay for my real passions in life. Just wish I knew what those passions were...And if I'm going home, what better souvenir than a truck license?!

PS. Homeless dude in the laundramat - don't bring your lunch in with you next time, it freaking stinks. The smell reminded me of my living room last year during the Fringe Festival. That was not pretty.

Day 57: Beating a Horse. The Dead One.

Every six months or so I ceremoniously apply to Westjet for an apprenticeship position. I've been doing this for eight years now. I still do this for Air Canada as well, although Air Canada seems to always be in financial trouble so I never expect them to call me back. However, you would think that after eight years of nothing, absolute NOTHING, 1000+ resumes sent out for AME apprenticeship, that I would have stopped beating the horse by now. The dead one. At what moment are you supposed to realize there is no hope for you and your diploma? At what point do you stop going to school to upgrade with 2 or 3 degrees and decorate them with other various certificates? When do people start to realize that if your Uncle Father or Auntie Mom doesn't get you in, there's a good chance your resume went straight to the shredder? Two months after being fired and a mental breakdown later, that's when.

The mental breakdown happened this weekend. I am strangely okay. Nothing like going to Red Deer for a night to make you feel better about living in Edmonton. But now it's Monday, and jobhunting has never been more crucial (I think I'll go do my laundry first, I'm down to my Hello Kitty underwear again...) but what am I to do, throw away my past credentials and start fresh, whatever fresh is at 35? Or continue on down the path of insanity and start fighting for bottle collecting territory? What to do...

I'm going to do laundry, that's what I'm going to do. No more thinking. New resume, new direction tomorrow. I'm thinking Starbucks might not be such a bad job anymore.

Day 56: My Fire Exit is a Back Draft

There are some things in life you just can't change and then there are things that are everchanging. Number one, you can't change yourself. Life made you the way you are, you'd have to go back to your three-year-old self and then head out on the open road to a new life in order to be someone different. Skipping town as a three-year-old is a difficult thing to do, trust me, but bus fare is cheap. I must say, though, the things a three-year-old had to do for a dime way back when...Washing dishes at Mrs. S's house for two hours, isn't that like child slavery? Anyway, we adapt to some situations and even sometimes our personalities are affected by that adaptation, but we'll always be us. Take us, or leave us, but do not stand there and expect us to change.

When you first get hired on at a job or even first start dating someone, you'd think that they would know all this, or at least figure it out in the three-month probationary period. But they don't. They wait until you've got nothing else lined up and slam you with a, "You know, you're just not the right fit." or "You're just not up to our level." or "You're going to have to put your pants on if we're going out for dinner.". Those are some pretty high expectations, considering you were up to their level upon hiring and you've never considered pants an important part of your wardrobe before. The bar has just been set to the next level of mundane, expectations have changed, and nobody has bothered to let you know.

Changed expectations are never reasonable, either. What snapped in their head to make them decide that you're no longer good enough? Or were you just some oddity to begin with to shake things up and then get thrown away? Or are they too lazy and scared to deal with the innovations and excitement that come out of using a back draft as a fire exit? People say they want innovation and different, but what they really want in the end is a robot employee or cookie-cutter girlfriend/boyfriend. This is "safe". F***ing redundant and bland, but "safe" for them.

However, "Safe" doesn't allow a company or a person to adapt to a world and society that IS changing. How many times do our taxpaying dollars have to be used to save GM or Air Canada from bankruptcy protection? I'm figuring forever, because these corporations aren't going to change. Not everyone wants a F***ing truck, okay? And Air Canada, Airbuses suck ass, yet you keep buying them. What did Boeing ever do to you except offer good, affordable, WORKING planes? Ah, yes, that's right, Brain Mulroney and the corruption of the 80s happened.

The way I figure it, the golfers at the top won't let anyone in except for mini-mes; They're just to lazy and coddled to deal with different and channel it into a profit. It's the same with relationships. We are rewarded in society when we maintain a certain standard which has been dictated to us through the media. Capitalism is our world order, buy buy buy, buy baby clothes, buy family cars, buy a family house, we'll lend you the money at a premium, but just don't stop buying. An indebted society is also a controllable one for a government. Don't want any more social movements happening without government orchestration, screw the 60s and those damn hippies. Lets knock this country back into the 50s. Whatever. Something will snap. Nothing like a good revolution, couldn't be worse than Whyte's crack corner on a Saturday night.

In the end, everyone needs to start enjoying people for who they are and start taking some risks. Have some fun. Dive head first into something, the water is deeper than you think. And if you don't start accepting people for who they are and enjoying the idiosyncrasies and using those idiosyncrasies to your advantage instead of expecting them to morph into something they're not, then you've got nothing but divorce and bankruptcy and sadness in your future. Good luck with that.

Day 55: Need to Know Basis

There's information that needs be shared. And then there's information that should NOT be shared. Myself, I like to keep myself on a need to know basis; there's alot of information out there that I REALLY don't want to know. Like why some guy stopped calling me two months ago. I got the hint after a couple of weeks, thanks. No need to email me any explanations. You were already forgotten. On top of it, lame apologies are just that - lame. Your an a**hole. Move on. Get over yourself. Period. Your not redeeming yourself with statements like, "You'll find a guy who appreciates you someday.". Of course I will, I'm not the a**hole. I like people for who they are and even more for what makes them unique. I enjoy every moment of people I choose to be with. What leaves a bad taste in my mouth in the end (which to me was about two months ago) is someone trying to make a pie out of cake mix. I'm not a pie. I'm 100%, sweet delicious cake. You either like cake and the funky icing on top or you don't. I won't judge. And you shouldn't, either. One thing is for sure for me now, nobody is ever going to make me put my pants on for the pizza delivery guy again. And the icing is staying on, too.

Heyyyyyyyy. There. I'm done. I'm back. It's still a beautiful weekend and life is sweet. Because, well, I'm alive. Bunnies not even required. What does this have to do with unemployment? Hah, good question. I'll think about that... Okay. ALOT. I'm also a veteran of bad jobs. Breaking up (lack of a better phrase, we weren't even really together) is alot like getting fired. I think it's always decent of the company to let you know that they are firing you and let you know that showing up for work the next day wouldn't be such a great idea. Information you don't want to hear, though, is that the door codes have been changed and the premises are being monitored by security to make sure you stay away. That just stings, man. I don't even remember how to make it past the traffic circle to get there. People assume too much about me.

Lastly, after you've been fired or dumped (lack of a better phrase), you really don't need to be re-fired or re-dumped. I can just imagine my ex-boss calling me tomorrow and saying, "By the way, I'm just calling to remind you that you're fired. Do you want to do lunch?". Yeah, no, thanks dude, and I hope you still have security guarding the premises because that just makes me feel a little crazy. But then I'd have to remember how to get there. And I can't. Once again, I will forget everything that happened in the last 48 hours very shortly. It's my 48-hour rule. So if I don't set fire to anything tonight, it's definitely never going to happen. Sleep tight.

Day 54: Sacred Bunnies

Whenever I have a bad day, I think bunnies. A good bunny is almost as good as a quaalude. Better, actually. You can drink wine and watch bunnies. Quaaludes don't mix so well with alcohol. Although Roman Polanski might disagree. But bunnies are my sanity. Except that time when MW ran over the cute little white one at work. Really, MW, how fast were you driving in the parking lot? Karma, dude, that's such bad karma. Anyways, I'm thinking bunnies today. Not for me, I have no stress in my life, but for someone else a little more deserving. For other people a little more deserving of the sacred bunny remedy.

In Alberta, the bunnies are big enough to crush you and steal your car AND your purse all at the same time. But somehow still as soothing as the cute little white ones in Ontario. Just don't make eye contact, is all. Albertan bunnies are like the Albertan people out here, cute in the winter with their fluffy winter coats. But when the winter coats come off...things are missing. Body parts. Extremities. Eyeballs. And you realize about then that it wasn't the winter coats that made them look big. They ARE big. Not so cute. I guess the oil patch, -50C temperatures, and harmone injected cows kind of take that genetic band and stretches it to its limits and then lobs off a piece. However, looks are deceiving. I'm getting kind of attached to the gentle giantness of it all. I like my Albertan bunnies.

Anyway, trying to get to the point here, it's hard though. I was going to go out and chase bunnies last night at 2am. Normally I chase bunnies and take pictures of them when I'm stressed. But the roommate stopped me, said I didn't have a flash on my phone camera. He's right. I don't. So I had all my friends forward me bunny pictures from their cell phones this morning. Why? I forget now. There was supposed to have been a moral to this story...

Oh yeah, I remember now. I've recently discovered how easy I've had it all these years, hey, I'm no superhero. In fact, I'm the opposite. I'm like, super idiot. Most of my bad situations have been brought on by myself. Besides my dad's illnesses and passing away, the only scary super-stress moments in my life were 1. When I smoked all that weed in grade 9 and fell down the ravine into the golf course and got picked up by the cops (that wasn't the scary part. I almost missed curfew that night, facing my mom late and stoned would have been the end of life as I knew it), 2. Being arrested in Mexico (and then my Scottish father discovering bargaining at the worst moment ever, but it worked), 3. Nearly getting arrested in Taiwan (no scooter license, apparently I speak pretty good Russian when I need to though), 4. The run-in with the Mexican army (wrong beach, oops), 5. The little CJ I was on going to Mexico one year via Atlanta catching fire (you'd think they would have let us off the plane while they were putting out the fire, though, I was actually just pissed off at that one), 5. E-landing in YMX back in 1990 (nowhere to refuel over the Atlantic, I guess, but you'd think they would have brought enough fuel along for the ride in the first place), 6. Yellow cab dude (I won't get into details except that I refused to go to Madrid and that backpack was really heavy), 7. My dad taking the wrong pass in the alps with a standard transmission (afraid of Swiss people and heights to this day).

That's about it. The rest of the time, I hide my head in the sand or run away. I don't have the passion to go out there and save people's lives for a living. And if someone told me tomorrow that my dating life for the next two months was a committed relationship to an oncologist, I'd be really stupidly pissed off. Like, yelling at strangers from my window kind of pissed off-ness. I don't have passion. I don't have peace. But there are people out there with all of that. They enjoy their jobs helping people. They are at peace with the fact that they, not some other deserving bastard, got nailed with cancer. I think it's time I start finding passion and peace myself, but outside of Margueritaville this time. Then when I finally do get a good reason to be a little stressed out, I can deserve the sacred bunny remedy myself. In the meantime, I'm giving away my bunny remedy to the superheros out there. Thanks for making it real for me this week. I think I might actually have my life under control for once.

Day 53: To Eat or Not to Eat

Wow. Another 48-hour day. I really need to get a watch. And a calendar. A job would help, too. Well, I can't remember much from the past two days. I'm just going to call it "writer's block". By the way, the "stop drinking" initiative didn't work out too well after I decided to cook the other day. The end result was really quite gross/can't even describe so I decided to just stop eating instead. It would be easier that way. So, I still needed substance and I cracked open a beer. It was just all downhill from there.

I went to Costco today, got lost four times, bought nine boxes of Mac and Cheese, because that's what you do when you go to Costco. The Mac and Cheese thing, I mean. The getting lost thing is just my thing. Add a traffic circle into the mix, and I'm totally screwed. Highway construction, I'll never make it. Going to West Edmonton Mall area, I might as well just bring a sleeping bag because I'm sleeping on the side of the road. Wave to me if your driving by sometime. Anyhow, if I do end up eating again, it's Mac and Cheese all the way. I figure I've got enough Mac and Cheese to sustain life for a month.

Today I discovered that a Job Fair at the unemployment office actually means recruiting for slave labour at Tim Horton's. Not that there's anything wrong with working at Tim Horton's, I'd rather be working there than at my last place of work without a doubt. You don't have to worry whether or not the pilot's know where they're going and you get tipped for getting them their coffee instead of a long-winded description of their pulled groin muscle. However, I think I'd be taking a paycut from my unemployment check, which I got the other day. Yeay, I can pay rent!!! Good times.

Oh man, I'm eating again, I just had cake. Dammit. No beer for me tonight. My office fat is reforming into a beer belly, drastic measures have to be taken. Maybe I'll just switch to vodka. In fact, I think vodka is the answer to everyone's problems. We should all drink more vodka.

Day 52: Kung Fu Fighting

Yup. That song is still stuck in my head. I believe it has now been 72 hours and I'm still singing it. Singing it waking up in the morning. Singing it waking up in the afternoon. Singing it to the grocery store clerk. Singing it to the guys at the gym. I like to break out in song at the gym just as some beefcake is ready to pop that last blood vessel in their neck and their head explodes. Some of them are going to die of a heart attack, anuerism, or some steroid complication anyway (just because you're not jabbing it in your butt does not mean all those "supplements" being smuggled up from the USA are real vitamins). Wouldn't it just be nicer if it was death by singing? Maybe the gym junkies wouldn't be so angry all the time if they had someone singing to them.

For anyone else jobhunting out there, it looks like the hiring frenzy might be starting. Keep your head up because this week does look to be a good one. Spring is good for that. This week I'm writing some tests for a federal job and although I'll most definitely screw up that interview, I'm pretty excited at the job prospects again. I've decided that minimum commitment with a paycheck is more my style than becoming prime minister, too, and that's helping. I figure if I'm going to kill myself with stress and french fries, it's going to be because I'm running my own business. The big corporations have screwed up so badly the last 5 years and are hemorraging so much money, they're half dead. It's time to take a bite before they sprout a second head and bite back.

I'm running out of things to say lately. Well, this weekend was good. Was slightly blinded by my cousin's home-brewed maple wine last night. It was so good, though. And good times. Nothing like being slightly blotto on a Sunday night with good friends that have to work in the morning. Or friends that do run their own business and have to bake all night 1/2 out of their head. I want to see that cake in the morning. I want pictures. I also think I'm in love with a parrot. A parrot that skateboards. Who couldn't fall in love with a parrot that skateboards, even if he does eat the skateboard in the end. Oh, and the pigeons are back to their Zumanity Cirque de Pigeon outside my front window. Gotta love spring entertainment. Male pigeons are so dumb. The female pigeons are like, "Seriously? Didn't I already tell you I was interested? So what are you doing way over there wasting my time, dumbass?" And the male pigeons are like, "She likes me. She likes me. She doesn't like me. She doesn't like me." Even though the female pigeon has already given the universal symbol (the waving of the butt) of "come in, I've got beer in the fridge.". Eventually the female pigeon just walks away and the male pigeon has to now make up some pretty fancy moves to get even close to the waving butt and the Corona in the fridge.

So, there you have it. My life. Still jobhunting. Trying to figure out how my roommate found my pants on his computer chair. Eating peanut butter out of the jar, with pants on, because my pants have now reappeared. Trying to think of a way of solving world hunger and ending wars. Thinking of how many bottles I need to collect to fill up my gas tank. Typical Monday.

Day 51: Crunch Time

Ten days left before I decide - Alberta or Ontario. It's a daily argument I have going on in my head amongst other conversations (getting kind of noisy up there, and I really do think the peanut butter debate is long over, Kraft Smooth is a definite winner despite my conspiracy theory on Kraft. Another day...). Ontario has free rent, my mom, K's air hockey table, and friends that remember me for which My Little Pony was my favorite instead of which job I got fired from. But I like Alberta. Plus Alberta apparently has more job opportunities. Although I'm starting to wonder what I have to do for those "opportunities". Trust me, I'm not shy, I'm willing to do alot of things right now that I'm sure I won't be too proud of later on in life. Oh well. We all have our little secrets. Let bottle collecting be one of mine.

Crunch time, yes. That means apply for all jobs paying. Hundreds. That way, when I hit the highway May 1 to Ontario, I'll get the call just about when I reach the QEW Niagara and have to turnaround and come back again. Well, if that's what I have to do to get a job, so be it. Nothing like a good mother-daughter road trip with my mom, anyway. We won't talk to each other for a month after.

Yes, I miss Ontario. I miss the trees, juicy fruit (well, maybe not for much longer. The entire green belt is being plowed down for the little box revolution, paper houses for everyone...). I miss the lakes, the shopping, the people, and just the metro-ness of it all. But in Alberta there's simplicity. You blink and rush hour traffic is over. People generally make enough money to pay their rent. There is never a rush to do anything. Best of all, I blinked and somehow some pretty great people walked into my life out here. Awwwwwwwww, I know! So sentimental...

Day 50: Rosebuds and Monster Trucks

Oops. Missed a day. I was actually, er, jobhunting this time. Oh, and it was 2 for 1 movies at my video store so Thursdays are pretty much a write-off for me as it is. Can't think of anything good to write about either, even this morning. I've got writer's block and I'm not even a real writer!!! What does that say about my future...bleak, dark, blank...Oh well, at least I have the next 3 discs of My Name is Earl. I love that show!!! Kind of makes me want to have cable sometimes.

As for today, today is a busy busy day. I need to find parrot wear (a parrot friend wants to see Alice in Wonderland. The original plan was to disguise him as a bunny to get him into the theater). The only parrot wear I've found so far are capes that make them look like different birds. That's how birds cross-dress, I guess. Pretend they're a peacock when they're really a budgie. Great idea and very liberating for birds everywhere, but not quite what I was looking for. I need a serious bunny disguise.

In further regards to an earlier post/boring rant (oh, here it comes, another boring rant...kill me), check out the magazine Rosebuds if you want to know where the government buy-out for the car companies went to. Rosebuds is actually an ultra-lux growers lifestyle magazine and can be picked up for free at Shell Shock in Alberta and likely hydroponic stores in Ontario. My roommate and I have every edition to date in our washroom if you can't find one yourself. This magazine signifies the future of legalizing marijuana, and is evidence that major corporations have already invested in that market. Whether you like it or not, your taxpaying dollars are subsidizing the new corporate weed industry. Rosebud magazine is shiny proof of that. My Ontario friends might not understand the significance, it really is more of a western "alternative" lifestyle, but what you should understand is that throwing smokers and growers in jail and maintaining a circuit of organized crime to sell unregulated "drugs" is a political game that is frankly getting pretty old and costly. However, what is a real shame is the people who are going to have control of the growing and selling of marijuana in the near future. They will be your typical major corporation not caring about anything but their profit margin. So, if you smoke, smoke away while you can still get the good stuff. Once the big guys get in there, it will be an exact repeat of what happened to tobacco.

You know what the real kicker is, these car companies still don't get it. Like any other magazine subsidized by male-dominated corporations, it's got full page pull-outs of girls and cars. The day I see Antonio Banderas or Henrique Iglesias naked in a full page pull-out car advertisement is the day I know women have finally made it and is the day I buy a brand new car. And not a hybrid, either. I'm in Alberta now, I want a big, shiny, monster truck and I want car companies to try and sell it to me. In fact, I am a completely unpractical woman and would like to be treated as the non-floor washing, non-vacuuming, non-cooking, non-baby factory woman I am. If that means ME buying a hot dog stand to pay for MY dealership and someone finally standing up to giant arses like DW, so be it. GAME ON.

Day 49: Part German, Part Scottish, Part Irish, Part Mongolian rapist...

Part German, part Scottish, part Irish, part Mongolian rapist. But I'm 100% Irish today. My beer is green. Happy St. Patrick's Day. And like everyone else, I don't have a clue what I'm celebrating. I mean, was St. Patrick at least hot? Because if he wasn't, I don't see the point in my drunken belligerence tonight. I'll stay at home if he wasn't, because Willy Wonka was a good guy, too. A man of intellect. A man of prestige. A man of my dreams. I love you, Willy. You see, Willy brought us Laffy Taffy, Nerds, and all sorts of other great foods that are helping to put an end to anorexia everywhere. His contributions to society are STAGGERING.

Enough about Paddy and Willy, on to more important things, like me. I was discussing with a close friend of mine my chronological decent into "failure" just the other day. He listened. He hemmed. He hawed. He stared at me with complete disbelief (it could have been gas though, I don't know). He then flat out told me that there is no possible way I can successfully work for someone else unless I literally take over the entire company in less than a year. Normally I would have taken a little offense to that, wondering how I can "change my ways" and fit in and "do what's right". But he was dead-on, I'll never fit in. I've never fit in as far as I can remember. I've always done the "Joanne" thing, like that kid singing to themselves while building sand castles in the ditch on the side of the road or fishing for treasures in the sewer grates (that was super fun, the rest of the kids on the street later caught on to that one and then we would have competitions) or like having to be the lead astronaut and relocating the imaginary spaceship to my front steps. That was alot of work. But it had to be done. The other kids never knew where the f*** we were going, of course I'm going to be the lead astronaut!!! Idiots. Sorry S., I know you're reading this. You had a good grasp at being the co-astronaut. It was J., she just wasn't pretend astronaut material. She really wasn't. I had to replace her with her little brother, K. Of course, once we decided on using a catapult to get around a little faster, we really needed C.'s swingset and sandbox and it was J. that redeemed herself by negotiating for us.

What the hell am I talking about. Slightly losing my grasp on reality today, but I'm all good with that. I really do miss my pretend spaceship and candychocolateland (it later became fireman land when we turned 13, but that's another story). Anyways, I have a solid plan. Can't tell you about it, I'm going to keep that one to myself for a while. But I can tell you that I do have plans on being filthy stinking rich in a year or two. I think that's reasonable, don't you?

Day 48: Becoming the Hobo-Gladiator

Somedays I just don't feel like getting off the couch. Somedays I really can't get off the couch. The one good thing about being unemployed is you do get a little bit of time to yourself. You get to obsess about your weight and your clothes and your skin and your hair and everything else that separates you from a hobo. But you essentially feel like a hobo. Gone are the days of Lacome's $90 creme de la creme. You become that Dove girl you always said you would never be. Basically, you are a hobo in good shoes. Until the shoes aren't so good anymore. Than you really do start to become the hobo.

Hoboism is not all that bad, though. Are hobos worrying about what kind of car they're driving? Are they freaking out because Visa called and wanted this month's payment in full? How many hobos do you see eating comfort food and gaining 100lbs? No, they have to work for their meals, they're digging/negotiating/stabbing for that big dinner once a week. They're not sitting in front of the big screen eating pork rinds (remember those? soooooo good...). It's a full time physical job, being a hobo. No long hours of numbing data entry for them.

So I'm pretty convinced that hobos have some pretty good abs under all those decades of fashion accummulation. I'm thinking it's probably a good thing to lose everything, have nothing, and then maybe you can be a little more responsible when you finally do crawl back to the top. Kind of makes you appreciate the cashmere a little more. My slow decent into hoboism isn't really all that bad. I'm thinking it to be a little like fat camp myself. Years of school and working 3 jobs, one begins to appreciate the times when a few pounds are shed without complete starvation and waking up at 4am to get a work-out or bike ride in. See, when you've not got a job to go to, you really don't have an excuse to leave the gym early or skip a day. You've also got time to fight the ice and snow to get to the liquor store on your bike (it really is fun riding a bike while your a little into the bottle already. You see things along the way, so many things. It's just like a big adventure...).You see, when there is no boss nailing you for being three minutes late or asking you why your hair looks like a wet rats nest or why your not wearing any socks (you always forget something when going to the gym before work, I particularly enjoyed the days when I forgot my underwear. You get that rush, thinking while your being yelled at, "I've got no underwear on". Takes the edge off a little, and the words aren't so cutting.), the workout takes on new meaning. You start training to be a gladiator. Because you can.

So today, I can't get off the couch. I physically can't get off my couch. It makes me wonder how the gladiators made it through life. But I guess they didn't. ahaha. Poor bastards, I guess life could be worse. Will not being able to touch my face for the next 2 days help me find a job? How about my inability to use the brake pedal in my car? But hey, I'm sure I'll look good in that new dress I stole from the recycle while I pick up empty bottles. The things we do to try to be skinny...yeay, unemployment.

Day 47: Out of Control

I was watching Sarah Silverman last night. Omigod. She's out of control. She ended the piece by singing out her butt and one other place I won't mention. That's when I started asking myself, how do I get that bats**t crazy? How come I don't sing out my butt? I think butt singing is an excellent life skill, more people should be doing it. Dude busking on the street corner, singing out his butt. It would totally mix things up on Whyte Ave. And trust me, you need something different, something unique, to separate yourself from the rest when the Fringe Festival comes to town here. Butt singing is just a different flavour of candy during the summers in Edmonton.

I have a sneaking suspicion that Sarah Silverman hasn't gone through life without being fired at least once. The only difference between her and so many other people who wind up in the unemployment line is she just doesn't appear to be the type of person who cares she's there. Imagine sitting in an unemployment seminar with her, we could learn butt singing skills and racist jokes and job interview skills all at the same time. Although it's so much funnier when a Jew denies the holocaust. Not so funny when a German does it. I am half German, by the way, and Germans aren't necessarily the funniest people in the world. Unless you find nuclear physics funny. When I go to visit my cousins, they really don't get my rendition of the muppet show with raw chickens. I heard the word "Verrückt" (crazy?) alot. I thought they were talking about the chicken until we had pork one day. Then I got a little suspicious. Kind of like when I was in Mexico for a while, I just assumed chicken was called locita. I figured out which one was the locita when it was my turn to go to the meat counter to order the chicken for cooking that week.

I think what I like about Sarah Silverman the best is the fact she manages to offend every single race, culture, age, and religion. She doesn't discriminate. One of life's most important skills, more important than butt singing, is pissing off the entire world. You're never going to please anyone, so why not just make everything an entire disaster and write about it. So that's what I'm going to do. But first, to the bottle depot. There is nothing like a good argument with a hobo first thing in the morning.

Day 46: I Have a Dream...

I HAD a dream. It involved some really polite, cute little rats moving entire houses all over the city and high-fiving everyone once the job was done. Too bad I don't remember more, it was really quite good, it had a real community feel to it. Maybe that's what I'm missing, the community. Or the rats, who knows. Apparently we don't have rats in Alberta, they're really ratist out here. I mean, is it necessary to hate on the little brown dudes (are they brown? I've only ever seen them in the dark), they just need food like the rest of us. There's tonnes of grain for everyone, isn't there? I'm feeling pretty good about my intestinal tract myself, I could share mine.

Yeah, community. It can really help in the jobhunting world. My only community out here is Remedy, and nobody pays much attention to me there unless I've brushed my hair. Unfortunately, I've been forced to avoid Remedy this week because it has been extra stinky lately and I'm getting kind of tired of smelling like Indian food. Well, I did go last night but only because I figured by 10pm I wasn't going out with anyone that cared. If you do get a date after 10pm in Edmonton, the dude wreaks of weed anyway, he's not caring what you smell like. Or look like. But those dates never go to well, they never remember who you are and it's like a blind date every week for them. I get tired of introducing myself to the same guy 10 dates in a row. It gets old. But what I hate about Remedy is what I love about Remedy, showering and brushing your hair is not required.

Yes, I do have a dream. It's a simple dream, really. Part of that dream includes company career websites that weren't developed by small, possibly mentally challenged children (likely the offspring of management) so when I click the backbutton on their webpage,it doesn't take me back to page 1 every time even though I've finally made it to page 99 (16 hours later). Or how about a job that actually trains you for a few hours instead of putting in the job description 20 different certificate requirements on top of your degree/diploma/10 other certificates. I'm pretty sure WHIMIS can be completed in an hour or 2 of training, should we really have to spend $100 to go get something that will expire by the time they call us for an interview, anyway? How about we all just lie? Yeah, that's more likely what's going to happen. You see, when your unemployed and finally do get a job and jump through the hoops, your so freaking broke your eating throwaways out of the staff kitchen's garbage, grocery shopping in the staff kitchen's fridge, and stealing the recyclables for gas money until they finally decide to give you a paycheck 2 months later, minus deductions for a "social fund" (yeah, right, I want a refund for every social fund I've ever contributed to, Saturday picnics with clowns and hayrides don't do it for me, or anyone else with less than 5 kids and a LIFE), union, and other miscellaneous health "benefits" that cost YOU money. Or how about a job opportunity that doesn't require fluency in English, Dutch, Italian, AND Chinese? Talk about corporate down-sizing, cheap bastards.

If you get a chance, rent the movie "Fired" by Annabelle Gurwitch. She did an excellent piece on Lansing, Michigan after GM closed its doors there. I don't think she meant to do anything ground-breaking, after all she got fired by Woody Allen for being a "retard" (Woody's words, not mine). However, it showed a town that would do anything to keep their jobs, union and all. Something you don't read in the papers or hear on the news. Media selling advertisements to these companies or are even owned by these companies will always blame the person being shown the door. YOU wanted a union. YOU wanted benefits. YOU wanted to be able to send your children to school for a better life. Here's YOUR pink slip, you retard (Woody's words, not mine). The Lansing employees were ready to give all that up so GM could keep the doors open in their city. But, GM management all got bonuses, and the lines-people all got the unemployment line, something planned years before the employees even had a clue. What's new? And do the people of Lansing know that GM, the "family" company, has been furiously advertising in weed culture magazines? Strange how they moved operations to Mexico, got a huge government buyout, and began a full page ad campaign in major weed culture magazines all at the same time...hmmmmm....

So here is my dream, a company that doesn't profit off of little Juan's early grave, a company that hasn't adopted the "triangle" or "circle" or "square" (when I worked at a call center in Ontario, management always tried to explain their "concept" in a circle. Cute. But the only people who got it were the ones that spent their breaks smoking a joint or 3 in the parking lot. I was envious. Unfortunately, my coping skills only extend to the bottom of a bottle of vodka and I really get nothing when I'm drunk, they had to explain it 20 times before they finally realized they were talking to a deaf and possibly blind chimpanzee), a company where they hire for skill instead of geneology, a company that will more than just walk you to your desk on the first day - they will show you where the washrooms are too. A company that shares the wealth when they delve into an industry normally reserved for organized crime. And finally, a company that has a vending machine with beer in it. Too much to ask?

Day 45: Leaving Edmonton?

Yesterday was a complete write-off. Never felt so homesick for Ontario and trees, grass (not the grass you smoke), water, friends, family, etc in my life. It hit me like a sledgehammer, and it took everything I had in me to not hop in my car and keep driving. Except for the fact I'm penny-less. I would have been trapped in Red Deer, nothing short of a complete and utter tragedy.

I'm not really seeing the job possibilities out here. I've applied, trust me. Or maybe I'm purposely trying to derail my efforts in order to experience the smog of Toronto again. It's difficult to tell. I guess I really miss driving 2 hours to get 20km. I miss my singalongs on the 401. Nickleback was my favorite. I could never be more off-key than him. And trust me, I tried. 401 westbound at 5pm, I belted it out to every single passing car. Made some friends that way. And made some enemies. They called me Ashley Simpson. I think she's pretty.

Another downside to staying in Alberta is the men. The men out here are rather difficult to understand. Sometimes it's just better to force a fork through your skull than reason with an Albertan man. Or better yet, force a fork through their skull. A little lobotomy never killed anyone. Well, since the 70s anyway. Maybe it's just me, who knows. Please don't comment on that, I'm feeling rather sensitive this week. Suck it up, right? Done.

So the race is on. I'm applying equally to jobs in Toronto and jobs in Alberta. We'll see how things go the next couple of weeks. See, if I go back to Toronto, I get to play air hockey again at my friend Kam's house. Every weekend. Not everyone knows this, but everything revolves around air hockey. We're going to need new pucks, though. We BBQed the last ones. However I don't believe that was my fault, it did happen sometime between the time I passed out on the table and the time I woke up to the cracking of her morning beer. She really knows how to make an entrance. Anyways, apparently she's adapted her game to the melted pucks and nobody can win against her. She's goooood. So if I stay in Alberta, I'll have to get my own air hockey table, medical team (air hockey is dangerous, I've got some pretty ugly scars to prove it), and my own way of fixing the game. Then I can be the queen of air hockey. Life would be perfect...

Day 44: PMS or Bad Coffee?

PMS or bad coffee? Either way, nothing good can come out of today and anything I write will have to be deleted. I'll leave it at that.

Day 43: A Day At The Office

Going to the unemployment office today for one of their "career counselling" sessions was like going on a blind date with a carnie. You know you shouldn't be there, and you know it won't end well. But you sit through it anyway. And then the carnie tries to gum you. Should I go into further detail? Yup, I should. First, I really need to apologize to my roommate and my best friend who warned me right from the beginning. Yes, you were right, I was wrong. Thanks for trying to save me, but there is nothing like a good gumming to fix a non-believer.

I went to an information session for extended employment and training benefits, a program developed by the federal government in 2009 to get Canadians back to work via retraining. I was sent a letter inviting me, never being on unemployment before and obviously in a transitional point career-wise. I'm going to tell you right now, it sounds like candy, but it's really an extermination process. The philippino dude was taken out first. She attacked him like a drunken rabid ferret (dot com, that domain is for sale, according to my cousin). Hey, you don't want smart brown dudes running around, that would be against Albertan white supremist culture. The highly trained 40-something dude was next. He had a bad back, not good for her Home Depot recruitment efforts. She took him out harshly, can't even describe it, there was blood coming out of his ears. Then it was my turn, I felt like she was going to strap me to a chair and apply electricity (that's how you deal with people who get fired in Alberta, I guess) "I don't care what came in the mail for you, your not eligible for anything. You've got enough education. Go across the street and try Home Depot. Otherwise, you can get welfare at the end of your unemployment period for $563 a month for a single person.". What made her think I was single? Screw her. I can get a boyfriend. I can get married if I wanted to. BUT IT'S NOT 1950. I DON'T HAVE TO, even in Alberta. And just because someone is brown, it doesn't mean they don't speak English. It just means they are not your white supremist cousin. Trust me, it's better that way, less inbreeding = less gypsy skirts and haircuts using pinking sheers from a scrapbooking kit.

So, basically, her point was, the government is a pointless beaureaucratic mess, there's only an endless supply of funds going into the pockets of useless idiots like employment counsellors, and we should all work at Home Depot so the next time there is a war, the government has ready and willing participants who will work for food. And if we have the slightest accent, eastern Canada (newfies, Ontarians, and Quebecers are all foreigners, too) or Asian, we should go back home to our own country. Geography was not a prerequisite for the Albertan high school diploma, I'm quite sure of that.

I want a government job. I want to destroy people's dreams and hopes by telling them they have to go into debt and eat out of a dumpster. I want to hold information sessions to be able to tell people they're too stupid to counsel within the first 5 minutes and shatter any will to live. Or the ability to maintain a good head of hair. Do all government employees have bad hair? Is it mandatory to look like a Phylis Diller or Nick Nolte to work for the government? These "career counsellors" remind me exactly of my guidance counsellor in high school. And then you wonder why people are dying of drug overdose, ending up in jail for drug trafficking, or any other illegal idea I can't think of at the moment. It's all very tempting...as long as I don't end up with that hair...

Day 42: Peanut Butter Bacon Cheese Cake

Well, you won't be finding anymore ads on my blog. Gone are the advertisements for taxidermy, impotence, Russian girls, and borderline legal weight loss products. Why? Not too sure, but I do have an idea. I did get $26 in Google dollars for clicks, much of which was probably thanks to my avid clicking mom. I love my mom. However, she's been doing it for 2 months. Why pull my account now? Hmmmmm. I don't think it's a coincidence that the day I write about the new washing machine they have at the Vatican is the day my Adsense account gets disabled, "we found that your AdSense account has posed a significant risk to our AdWords advertisers". oooooooooooohhhhhhh. Don't want to rock the single most internationally powerful social institution's boat. Nooooooooo wayyyyyyyyy. You can have your Russian girls and borderline legal weight loss products, but freedom of speech, that's just not going to happen.

Coincidence or not, I do have to mention that media is controlled absolutely by the corporate world. This is not conspiracy theory, this is fact. The corporate world literally owns the media and can legally make any kind of news and advertisements they want as long as it does not impinge on human rights. Or the Catholic Church, which happens to have a pretty decent legal department and control over most western consumers. Monogamy for women, polygamy for men, and lots of babies for everyone. Not much different than any other religion minus the kickass Vatican lawyers. Got to sell those video games so when the world runs out of breathable air and drinkable water, the next generation won't even notice because they've reached level 10 in Warcraft. I don't even know, I lost interest in video games shortly after Atari came out.

My roommate gave me a good exercise once, check out some of the highlighted ads in a magazine, newspaper, on TV or online that are directed to consumers in your area. Then go to the grocery store or a major department store. See how much of this product is available on the shelves or what the stores are pushing that day/week. It will surprise you. Watch a major cooking show. Go to Walmart and see what they have in the frozen food section afterwards. It is usually there unless it's a repeat from the previous year. Even then, you'll probably still find it, with an expiration date of 3 years from the week of the show. Got to love frozen foods and all their salted chemicals and glory. And people think my cooking kills.

It is also not coincidence that, for example, cosmetic companies never have that new colour advertised in a magazine. They actually only have about a dozen or so in stock to begin with. These companies have chosen to hype their products, thinking you'll go back every week to check for that colour, giving them every opportunity to push all their other crap on you. Well, most people go back every week looking for it. I just threaten to streak through their store naked and drunk. They panic and the limited edition "baby baby pink" lipstick magically appears.

Hype advertising is especially true when it comes to video games at Christmas time. If you actually do find the PSP 3000 or Nintendo 360xxxxxxx for your kid, you're paying a week's wages for it. And you don't even care! Because your kid is happy and you can leave for work in the morning without the poor little bastard clinging on to your leg. The new era of childcare, "Little Timmy, it's time I tell you that I'm not your real mom/dad. I have to go to work now...". Reason #1 I shouldn't have kids. There's nothing like feeding their worst nightmares in order to keep them quiet. But if I do have kids, I want a boy and I want to name him Timmy. My dad was king at feeding my worst nightmares growing up, I believed in the boogeyman until I was 14. I faithfully ran home every night when the street lights came on. Although when I turned 14, death-by-boogeyman didn't seem so bad and then it just lost all effect on me.

The government loves it. They can control us with debt and consumerism. No unexpected social change will ever come out of a society waiting for the next Zelda or Mario Brothers. I do have to say though, it's better than being controlled by guns and famine. I really shouldn't complain too much, I don't have a gun to the back of my head and I can eat peanut butter, bacon, cheese, and cake anytime I want. Hell, I can eat it altogether, melt the cheese over the peanut butter and bacon and pour onto cheesecake. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.......I should go look for jobs now.

Day 41: Having My Cake. And Eating It, Too

I like cake. I like eating cake. Why can't we have the cake, and then eat the cake too? I don't understand. I have cake all the time, and I eat it all the time. Am I the only one that has cake and eats it? Is this some sort of freakishly difficult thing that only I can do? I guess I am THE cake-eater then. Can I put this on my resume? Will I finally get a job by putting this on my resume? "Name: Joanne, Location: Edmonton, Experience: Having cake and eating it". Yeah, I think that will work. I'll try it.

Things work out. Things will work out. I tend to over-analyze everything, starting the day off in lala land singing the scene songs for WKRP or Peewee's Playhouse but then spin out of control by early evening. It's good entertainment. Going to start selling tickets, "doors open to Insanity - Live at 5pm, only at Remedy Cafe". Ultimately, what you think and what I think and what is actual reality are all entirely different animals. It's just all a bad Britney Spears concert, nothing really syncs up. It makes for a little bit of insecurity. In fact, Jobhunting is alot like dating. Too much like dating, actually. The initial meeting is hell - "Do I smell good?" "Can I continuously form sentences in order to complete this conversation or do I have to get steaming drunk in the bathroom?" "Are my eyes diulated? Do I look high?" "Am I high? Were the cookies I ate for breakfast from the right cookie jar?". If you make it past the first meeting, the second meeting is a little better. However, your still running to the washroom to check your pupils and being somewhat concerned that your Karl Marx material didn't get the reception you were hoping for. By the third meeting, and this is the meeting we wait an eternity for, something happens that makes or breaks it for you. It's really not a good time to have alcohol on your breath on the third meeting, even though it's the time when you need that bottle in a paper bag the most. You will be judged on the third meeting without a doubt. It's the Academy Awards of your career or love life. The winners are already picked, but anything you do now will just reinforce any faint notions they already have about you. Fall down the stairs, break the chair, do whatever. They already either think your an idiot or think your a god at this point.

How does this all fit in with the cake-eating theme? I really don't know. Choose your cake carefully and avoid all the chaos? No, that's not it. The most random cake choices are the best. Stick to your usual cake choice so as to know what to expect? No, that's really bad advice, that's just boring and "I'm going to be a Walmart greeter and eat myself into a coma with Little Debbie cookies". No no no. The best advice is, eat lots of cake, and just enjoy it. In the end, we figure things out.

Day 40: Happy IWD

Okay. Employment Report in. So, today is International Women's Day, a celebration of women's achievements. Yes, I had to look that one up. Apparently March 8 has been Women's Day for a century or so, give or take a decade or five. I always thought the first Monday of March was a Wiccan celebration for spring and fertility. But International Women's Day it is. I did not know that. So when is International Men's Day? Apparently the remaining 364 days of the year are not all International Men's Days, although it seems that way. We celebrate sports almost daily that involve men puncturing spleens and incurring other internal injuries with blood spurting out various orifices. Oooooooohhhhh, so manly, you limping manly men with no teeth and a colostomy bag. Lots of pats on the backs for men in the workplace and politics as well. Women have to be ten times better than any man in order to get that same respect. Even then, women are still a novelty, a "piece of tail". The worst thing that could possibly happen to a woman is getting a hand-up through company or government initiative to even the playing field after thousands of years of inequality. A woman is downgraded to some "chick" after that. Or worse, a woman having a bad hair day, we've all seen the headlines when this happens to a female politician. Then, well, a woman is then considered a lesbian whether she is one or not. And there is nothing wrong with that, by the way. Men love it, the porno industry thrives on it. It's perfectly natural. Call us what you want, think what you want, that's what I say. I'm just waiting for the day for one of the female politicians to play that one up, men wouldn't know what to do. Turn some political debate into an excerpt from Playboy, women would have men on their knees.

The IWD theme does change from country to country. In North America, it's your boyfriend/husband's way of crawling out of the doghouse, "You know, your so pretty. I really didn't mean to sleep with your sister/mother/cousin/best friend. I was drunk, I swear, and it didn't mean anything." Any woman past the age of puberty has heard this line. And guys, remember this piece of advice forever, you can get away with almost anything if you tell us we're pretty. Just keep in mind if you sleep with our sister/mother/cousin/best friend, we're sleeping with your brother/father/cousin/best friend (all one person) at some point, too. We won't tell you when, it'll just happen when you least expect it, like the night before your wedding.

In other places around the world, it's like a celebration of women's liberation via the washing machine or some other sort of contraption that allows women to continue their work as slaves more efficiently. According to such publications like L'Osservatore Romano, the washing machine has done more for women's liberation than contraceptives and abortion. What is the Catholic church trying to tell us? They have a washing machine that prevents birth, performs abortions, and gets whites whiter than white? This IS cause for celebration!!! So happy IWD everyone, I'm going to go do my laundry now.

Day 39: Let There Be Cake...

I vaguely remember being out in public last night after 2 suicide martinis and 2 pints of Warthog. I'd like to apologize now for everyone affected. First of all, I'd like to apologize to my cousin's fiance for forgetting her name (it started with a T, T is so far down the alphabet...). I'd also like to apologize to the Saturday night Remedy guys for professing my love for cake through the open window upstairs. Lastly, I'd like to apologize to the little kids in Chuck E Cheese for my vile language and booziness. In my defense however, I'm sure they've seen it all before. We don't coddle kids here. Suck it up, little Stewie! Go cry to your stepmother. Hell, it's Edmonton, I probably smelled and sounded like their mother. So maybe they liked me and the familiar stench of vodka and beer. Or was that moment of what I thought was bonding was actually the beginning of our token war? I swear the little bastards were stealing my tokens. I blame them for me walking away with only one piece of Laffy Taffy. I could be so rich on Laffy Taffy right now. Life is so not fair. What am I going to eat now? Laffy Taffy is a diet staple. In fact, their mother is probably making breakfast for them right now at 7:30pm at night. But me, I have to make my own. How is that fair? Next time, they are going DOWN. It is war.

During my binge of inappropriateness, I also managed to place a standing cake order. For some reason, I felt it was the right time in my life to have cake for breakfast every morning. "Let there be cake!" I said. I have a feeling I might gain weight. Between the standing cake order and football/hockey season, I doubt I'm going to have another date again until June anyways and then it would be just my luck to get a job in some place like Saudi Arabia. My school-girl skirt hiked up to my butt is not as appreciated over there. Oh well, their loss. ANYWAYS, I did order raw, vegan, gluten-free cheesecake***. Even when I'm drunk, I try hard to maintain the delicate booze-food balance. The more I drink, the less I eat, and then the more I can drink. It's a diet I'm thinking of selling.

Well, enjoy your stupid hockey/football out there. I'm going to bed.

***Raw, vegan, gluten-free cheesecake. Yes, there is such an animal. Go to Remedy Cafe on 109th (Edmonton). The cakes are made by Jag, who is very annoying in his diligence and intensity with his creations. AND with his stubbornness towards his friends. He will NOT take "bacon" for an answer.

Day 38: TGIF, TGIDHTWOFOAODFTM

Thank god it's Friday, thank god I don't have to work on Fridays or any other day for that matter.

Ah, Friday night turned into Saturday morning. Those are the best nights. So today, Saturday, I am taking the day off. No jobhunting. No bottle collecting. Just looking at the stars. Star Party tonight on Elk Island. I'll be home by sundown making martinis. I want to see bison! But apparently your not supposed to provoke them. The fact that they have to warn people means someone, at sometime, somewhere, provoked the bison and it wasn't a good scene. I would have loved to have been there, "You idiot, do it again".

+10C and clear skies in Edmonton. I'm sure the polar icecaps have finished melting by now. Makes you want to hit the slopes, you know, the ones with the signs saying, "no skiing, avalanche warnings". That must be the single most perfect way of thinning the herd in Alberta/BC. Kind of like snowmobiling in northern Ontario. There's always some numbnut that thinks the lake ice will hold.

Not much else to say, except that I thought the only thing east of Edmonton was Saskatchewan, never mind an island with elk on it. I'm going to go pack the martini thermoses for Elk Island now. Let you know how it goes tomorrow. Or Monday. Might take Sunday off, too.

Day 37: I See The Light

First of all, I'd like to point out that my blog yesterday bored the crap out of me. Somedays I really have nothing so I'm going to apologize in advance now. Today, however, is a fantastic day. The perfect day. The sun is shining, the ice is melting. I'm just so happy that the earth moved a couple of inches this year. Edmonton was seemingly close to another ice age. I mean, -56C? Nunavut and NWT had better weather in December. So according to the news, the Chilean earthquake knocked the earth a couple of inches. I guess they are still using the Imperial measurement system. Strange, nobody uses Imperial anymore unless they're measuring out shots of vodka. So do you know what this could mean? I'm so excited - beach resorts in Tuktoyaktuk. After the floods, of course. The massively destructive floods. A tad worrisome that part but on the bright side, Australia is cheap right now...

Job-wise, the light is even brighter, "Your application has been referred to the hiring organization for a more in-depth review". Record time. I should write a book, "How to Take Over the World in 60 Days". Very suiting, I think. I can do it. Taking over the world would be much more fun holding a bottle of tequila, though. And yodeling. I've always wanted to learn how to yodel. AND MORE! I've got the UI office tentatively covering some writing courses at U of A for me which will ultimately make my writing better or worse. Hit or miss, really. Can't wait! The only downside of all this, this potential getting a federal job and going to school for something that won't make watching mould grow on bacon the most exciting part of my day, is I'm stuck in Edmonton for about another year. No Vancouver. No Toronto. No Calgary. No Mongolia. Just Edmonton. A year. A whole year or more. Bleh. HOWEVER, the sky is the limit after that, and I think I'm going to make the sky Amsterdam.

Long live unemployment insurance!

Day 36: The Flat Tire & Happy Birthday Jenn

Yes. I was gifted with a flat tire today. A nice big juicy nail smack in the middle of my tire. Since I do alot of construction work myself (couldn't hit a nail with a hammer to save my life), it was just a matter of time one of these nails should fall off my Ford Focus's tailgate and jam itself into my tire. Just a quick "cheers" to all you construction dudes with big trucks out there and miscellaneous hardware bouncing around in the back that you were either too lazy or too stoned to put back in your tool kit. And no, that prostitute you just picked up in the bar does not have STDs and you won't slowly rot from it. Go buy another truck and $500,000 home and have a few more babies with your third wife. She won't leave you. Honest.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Felt so good. I'm done now.

The day started off well. I had no plans of putting my pants on and that was working well for me until about 11am. Then I get the "we're going to Costco" call. I lost the will to live around 3pm today, about the time I realized 35 bottles of water is rediculously FREAKING HEAVY and were not going to all make it to my apartment. Add 20 lemons, 2 vats of guacamole (there really is no method to my shopping, please don't try to make sense of it. I just like guacamole. And lemons. And mushrooms), a pound of mushrooms (I like all mushrooms equally but today was portobello. I don't know what to do with them, and I'm sure they will go well with the eggplant in my fridge that will remain in the fridge for the rest of its natural life), and 6 liters of Soy Milk. It would have been easier giving piggy-back rides to rabid, hungry bears. This all happened after I discovered a flat tire. No doubt the ride was a bumpy one. Made things a little exciting, living on the edge, waiting for the blow-out. Never happened.

Nothing much to tell you. I'm going to go watch dvds and eat guacomole. I'd just like to give a "hey" to Jenn. Jenn, go get 'em girl. Get fired. Come to the dark side. You will make an excellent EMT and I'll call 911 every weekend so you can come over to my place and drink martinis when your working! Happy birthday, this is a gift, I hope you will begin to realize that soon. You've got so much potential and you don't even realize it. I've only met you once, but I've got all the faith in the world in you. I know it hurts, it's like being dumped by a really ugly guy. But do you really want to sleep with the really ugly guy? I don't think you can close your eyes tight enough. I really don't.

Day 35: The Day of Darkness

Q: "Why do you want to come and work for our company?"
A: "two plus two equals four"

No, I don't want to work for your company but society dictates what I do so therefore I'm applying for this job that is way underpaid and that I'm overqualified for. Sounds a little uppity, doesn't it? That is, however, the reality of my situation and countless others. I've suffered enough acetylene hair disasters, propane explosions, freon "accidents", and "lets warm up by the diesel exhaust" situations for this lifetime. Combine that with 5 years of office work, you either lose the will, or you lose the ability to live. If the environment doesn't kill you, the companies are so badly managed they're either going to fire you for exposing their small brains and penises or lay you off once all ability to make a profit has been lost.

So Monday was definitely my day of darkness. It is Tuesday, right? Ah, I don't really know anymore. Burned out. Hard. And then I drank tea. Talked to people who could form sentences without barking for punctuation, who knew me better than I knew me. Then somehow the missing piece of the puzzle appeared. Thus the missing day of my blog. But I'm unemployed, days can be 48 hours. It's all part of the downward spiral. But yes, another epiphany. This one is going to stick, though. Hell, I have time to tell you about it, so here goes...

7:00am: Woke up and thought, "what the hell am I doing?". Went back to sleep.
8:00am: Ditto
9:00am: Woke up and poured myself some Rice Krispies, turned on the computer, and cried. 3 job more job rejections. On top of it, I'd prefer eating out of dumpsters in India than working for those companies. I'm hitting rock bottom. Scraping the bottom of the barrel. Selling my soul to the goat god. Checking out. You get the picture.
9:30am: Showered, basked in the glory of my last piece of Lush soap (nah, just kidding you. Got s**tloads of that stuff. I'd starve before I'd go without Lush)
10:30am: Got an oil change and a haircut. All at the same place. And attention oil changing boy, I asked for an oil change, not a detailed description of everything that's falling off my car. I know my oil is the least of my problems - I AM UNEMPLOYED. Which means I have NO JOB. I have problems that far extend the STD you gave your girlfriend this weekend)
12:30pm: EPIPHANY. Of course, it usually happens around lunchtime after the 7th coffee of the day.
12:45pm: Ignored epiphany and went to the gym. I can't handle epiphanies with an expanding butt.
3:30pm: Revisited epiphany. I can't keep applying for jobs that are short-term and that will eventually force me to shoot everyone that pisses me off, has an over-sized head, or enormous feet that resemble sleeping dogs. I am going back to school. Uh huh. Yet again. This time, this time it's for something I think I can handle. Writinnnngggggggg. Your like, "oh F***. She's never going to get it, is she?" True. I'm never going to get it. But I'm going to do this because even if I'm writing technical manuals for the rest of my life, there's a good chance I A. will enjoy every sentence of "how to turn on your fax machine" and B. Can do it occasionally from a beach in Thailand. See where I'm going with this? It's all about the beaches and cheap beer...always thinking...

A friend did point out yesterday that I should find something that I like to do everyday and run with it. Therefore he's 100% responsible for anything I do from this day forward. I was originally thinking, I like eating pie. Can I eat pie everyday? I like running around without any pants on. Can I just do that? I suppose the answer is yes to all of the above because I'm collecting unemployment and who the hell cares. But the scary thing is, what happens when the unemployment runs out? I'm feeling the hobo look coming on now, what am I going to look like in a year when I'm still sitting in my living room thinking about how many M&Ms can fit into my mouth at once and I'm left with one pair of pants and a hole in the ass? Did you know an "executive assistant" is a secretary? I didn't. But that could be my future if I don't do something completely stupid now. There is never a better time to be completely stupid than right now. My day of darkness is over. I'm going to celebrate.