Sticky Beak
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The Skinny
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...life in small Northern towns, working for assholes, boys who refuse to become men, synthetic personalities, anorexic models and their link to emotional scarring, bad marijuana trips, crazies on BC Transit, beer, piece of shit cars, living out of a suitcase paycheck to paycheck, unrequited love, Seinfeld, minimum-wage jobs, broken New Year�s resolutions, and over-limit Visa accounts.
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The Greatest Sin I hate hockey. I'm pretty sure that automatically disqualifies me from being a true Canadian, but that's something I'm willing to sacrifice, I think. Here's something to put it into perspective... I prefer my period. Yes, yes. I prefer bleeding, cramping and general discomfort for one week of every four over having to be in the general vicinity of blaring televisions in every corner of every restaurant, livingroom or public space for the duration of the hockey season. Insult to injury is that this year they had to start even earlier in order to accomodate the Olympics. More hockey. Oh, goody. And here I sit in the corner of my couch, approximately 5 feet away from the 50" television that blares hockey announcers and screaming fans as my husband unwittingly shows his metamorphasis into a Canadian by osmosis. Poor bastard. Wait... what? What am I saying? Why is HE the poor bastard? I'm the one sitting in my 10x10 livingroom with pieces of foam stuck in my ears to help muffle the constant roar of that goddamned television. I'm also a failed Canadian for not owning a pair of red knit gloves or growing a beard in support of Canadian atheletes. I think that I'm supposed to be more excited about hosting the Olympics. I find it hard to get excited about something that I fear will cost me my non-existant pension... or more imminent and probable - my job, and ultimately result in an impoverished health care system that will eventually spiral into critcal failure. Yup. Go Canada Go. I'm still trying to swallow the embarassment of the opening ceremonies. The defunct torch (how many millions did THAT cost??), the dancing, fiddle-playing bad-ass tattooed leprechauns (hired aussie dancers, apparently), and the bored indians doing the white-man shuffle for 90% of the atheletes... As a general rule I try to avoid agreeing with my husband whenever possible, but this time I think I may have to concede to his pure hatred of the Canadian govenrment's policy of over-taxation and poor spending. And that is probably the most political statement I will ever utter in this lifetime. Whew! That was weird. Like an out-of-body experience... On another very different note, I am firmly convinced that my family could easily be the next big hit reality television series. I'm pretty sure that the drama would qualify as entertainment for the masses, and that there is a bountiful supply... enough to last at least 2 or 3 seasons. And in the words of Forrest Gump: "That's about all I have to say 'bout that." But the drama of that part of my life is definitely seeping over and infecting the rest of me. I am growing very tired of this overwhelming anxiety that seems to have built a permanent residence in my shoulders. I find myself growing more & more irritable every day. Irritable? Or irritated? I am totally willing to admit my flaws and am the first to recognize that I'm an asshole of a being, leaving much to be desired, but at the same time am feeling incredibly let-down by a large percentage of the people in my life. No, not you. Don't worry... those of whom I speak most certainly wouldn't be arsed enough to find the blog... For some reason, it appears to be my responsibility to reach out to everyone else right now. I'm not really sure how that works. I've always been under the impression that our telephone - cheap as it was - is capable of receiving inbound calls as well as dialing them out. Huh. Well, live & learn. Maybe Telus has an upgrade for that. annnnyyyywaaayyyy.... I think that's enough bitching for one blog entry... I do try to keep my sinister, brooding self under wraps for the most part. Try to bury the anxiety, the disappointment, the hurt, the frustration, the anger... Keep it buried deep enough that it doesn't show - or atleast isn't so obvious to everyone. But I'm getting lazy at this late stage in the game and am letting it seep through on occasion. Apologies... I see by my good, reliable friend Facebook that today marks the point of entry to this world for many people. If you're one of them, I wish you many happy returns. If you're not a year older today, then happy UNbirthday to you, too. Celebrate anyway --- life's too short. |