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.