BOOM / I hate cars

Well hello there.

It’s been a minute since I've been here; I hope all is well. What have I been up to?

I’ve been hitting bottom. BOOM is the sound that hitting rock bottom makes.

Now we have been back and forth about my vehicular transgressions; tickets, un-renewed registration, the wrong insurance documents, getting towed etc. Oh wait! That happened on Sunday.

I had every intention of re-registering my car on Monday morning. My last cheque from the magazine was coming to me and once and for all I was going to be done with this car bullshit; Sunday night, the motherfucking night before, I got pulled over.

And god said HA!

Not having up to date registration is a ticketed offense; but because my name is Bianca Osbourne and my organization skills rival that of a preschooler, I had outdated insurance pink sheets, which resulted in an immediate tow.

The ironic thing, aside from driving for 4 months with an expired registration and getting pulled over the day before I was to re-register, was that it was a beautiful day. I had just finished chilling with 2 of my girlfriends and I was feeling optimistic about the week ahead. On my way to dinner at my parent’s house, I decided to take the scenic route in an effort to enjoy these budding days of spring and BOOM; 2 tickets, a towed vehicle and a ruined evening.

So my Monday was spent being driven around by my grandmother going to several banks, picking up checks, standing in line at the registry, standing in line at the court house, being inappropriately patted down at the court house and fighting back tears.

Funny story, the cashier who rang me through was the same bitch judge who made me take my hat off the last time I was at the court house. Times must be tough if they’re making the judges moonlight as cashiers. She’s a bitch anyways, so I hope she hates it.

Another funny story, I get to the court house and, just because it’s a day in the life of moi, there were 2 more tickets on my file that also needed to be paid in order to register my vehicle and free it from the “Police Seizures Lot”.

Great! Awesome! Isn’t it great to be me?

So this week instead of travelling to the California desert and partying with all my friends at one of the best music festivals in North America, I am staying home.

Coachella for all; No’Chella for me.


I did the math and in total including tickets, tow fee, registration et all; I have paid $1072 dollars in fines and fees.

BOOM.

***************

I hate cars.

Disclaimer: So that my mother doesn’t comment about my having it relatively good. I am aware that my situation is ALL MY FAULT; but the anger is still fresh and I need a scapegoat.

A car is like a mechanical dog; it needs to be fed-gas. It needs tags- insurance and registration. And if that bitch is caught without a leash, the fines come raining down like hot fire- tickets.

It’s like when parents ask children “do you think you can handle a dog? It needs to be walked, fed and loved”; and every kid says enthusiastically “oh yes, I promise I will take care of everything!”; and the dogs bowl sits consistently empty and it shits inside because it hasn’t been walked since the night before.

I am that kid. And I don’t want this dog anymore; it is shitting on my life.

My dog doesn’t bite other people, it bites me and now I am bleeding like no man's business.

*******

BOOM goes the girl that hates her dog.

The Plague

When most people think of the plague, bubonic comes to mind. When I think of the Plague, I think tickets.

Superman had Kryptonite, I have tickets.

I did my taxes and to my great surprise the government thinks they owe me money and I thought, before they wise up and take this money away, I better pay those fucking tickets.

I had plans to go to the registry to pay the piper and renew my registration; and then to the carwash to celebrate my liberation from the shackles of tickets.

Turns out, I owe more than I thought...way more. I didn’t want to let them see me sweat, so I kept my cool; but if I was being real, my jaw would have been on the floor. I knew I was in for a “treat”, when I saw the look on the customer service agent’s face; the look was a mix of pity and utter bewilderment. I lied and told her I was out the country for months, in an attempt to explain the astronomical amount of ticket fines and their late charges.

So although I received a nice honorarium from the Canada Revenue Agency, the government of Alberta has taken their share and nothing remains. I hope you all are enjoying Edmonton’s economic growth; because I am singlehandedly paying for it.

However, since I am approaching life with optimism in mind, I have found a lesson in this stupid mess…organization is king.

If I would have been slightly more organized, I would not have misplaced 4 tickets; yes, you read right, 4 GOD DAMNED TICKETS! I would have had them filed nicely in a folder with labels or better yet I would have paid them on time.

Having to dodge the cops for 3 ½ months is no easy feat; key word here is exit strategy. If I see those bitches pull up behind me, I get the fuck out of there. I have been spending lots of time in the right hand lane; which wouldn’t be too bad, if the elderly would HURRY THE FUCK UP. It must be nice to be retired and have the ability to take your sweet fucking time getting where you need to be; but I’m not, so move it or lose it grandma. I have been pushed to the point where I have actually yelled that in the direction of a cotton top driving a Cadillac Deville; the quintessential old people car. I’m not trying to rude, really I’m not; but you all know where I’m coming from.

In any case, my days of being plagued by stupid government issued pieces of paper are over.

Good fucking riddance.

Aim Low

“Shoot for the moon. Even if you miss, you'll land among the stars.”

They say this to children in elementary schools, they use it to motivate young athletes before the championship game, they even put it on posters in gyms to jumpstart the lazy; but I think they should do away with this aim high bullshit.

Aiming high, for most people, only leads to failure; but if you aim low, I guarantee you will surprise and impress yourself. I used to buy into the aim high diatribe, and admittedly it does help with the initial motivation; but failure is surely on the horizon, because that’s life. And after this failure, quitting is usually the next step; don’t believe me, just look at the stalled gym enrollments in spring and the junior high dropout rate. It’s because we are aiming too high; it would certainly explain the rise in anti depressant use.

If I were a teacher, I would have posters all over my class that would say “aim low, you will probably succeed” or “shoot for the outer layer of the ozone, you might hit the stars”; that is realistic motivation. When I have children, their only goal will be to get up, get dressed on their own and get to school, anything beyond that is gravy.

I think I have been aiming too high people, I had it all backwards. If I had been aiming low, I would feel great right now, instead “they” had me believing this moon shoot bullshit; but like I said before...Times are a changing.


So my weekend nugget of wisdom for the world is:

“Aim Low, you will probably succeed’.


Scholastic should put that shit on a poster.

24

Life happens fast doesn’t it? I was talking to a friend and he says “everyone is so focused on growing up, but it’s all happening a little too fast”; and I couldn’t agree more.

I too can be blamed for trying to expedite this milieu that dominates my life, this limbo; but, I mean, I am only 24. 24 is on the front end of the “mid twenties”, I still have at least 2 years of questionable behavior in me.

Being the tender age of 24 years, allows me to get completely hammered on Friday, only to wake up Saturday and woo on the radio, damaged beyond belief; a 24 year old shell bounces back remarkably fast.

I love 24.

At 24, I can quit jobs, and follow my dreams with little (moderate) consequence; the phrase “you only live once” comes to mind. These are the days for foolish, shake my head in bewilderment decisions; and you better fucking believe I am going to live it up. I am really great at bad decisions and thankfully I am still of a certain age to make them.

Thank god for 24.

Valentine's Day

I personally feel that Valentine’s Day is one of the most ridiculous celebratory occasions; and not because I am single. It’s one of those “holidays” that the restaurants and card companies can’t wait to see come around. Stores become inundated with red hearts full of cheap chocolate and flower shops jack up their prices. This crimson observation is nothing more than money grab, a way to re energize the post holiday slump; they should call it Hallmark day.

All week my television was logged with Valentine’s Day propaganda, from Oprah to the women on the View; featuring ridiculous gifts to woo your loved one, like a lovers DNA kit; the only people who need those are those bitches on Maury. I know what would woo me, sex where I get to finish first, now that’s a Valentine’s Day!

God forbid singles want to go to a restaurant on Valentine’s Day; being a non coupled person in the room, is likened to being a leper; people stare with pity painted all over their faces. Not to mention the pressure that Valentine’s Day brings; the rules are often so blurred and undefined. If you start dating in January are you expected to go all out for Valentine’s Day? Or if you have been dating for years does it even matter anymore? In my opinion if there is a lapse in romance until February 14th then the relationship might need some review.

I can get behind the idea of Santa; a guy in a big red suit delivering gifts all across the land is not terribly believable, but during the holiday season I am known to get behind many a stupid farce; blame it on the eggnog. But cupid does NOT exist, a flying baby that strikes love with an arrow? Quite frankly if I saw a baby with a bow and arrow, I would call child services on the spot; what parent gives their baby a bow and arrow? And if the little fucker managed to get an arrow off into my ass, the last thing I would feel is love. Maybe I am jaded because it’s February and I don’t have a valentines or because my valentines days of past have consisted of no gift and no sex; or, even worse, shitty sex on belly full of shit wine and overpriced food; all of which makes for an unhappy Bianca.

This year I made myself a lovely valentine’s dessert and bought myself a card; and I planned on putting one finger in the air, all the while saying “take that cupid, you creepy flying baby”.

But then I spent the evening with my best girlfriend S.; we ate heart shaped pizza, listened to music, laughed, watched "Couples Retreat" and drank wine until we were good and jovial; and something happened.

I felt love.

And it dawned on me, in the non cheesiest way possible, that Valentine’s Day isn’t for lovers; it’s for love. Love in any way, shape or form; from man to woman or friend to friend. I had been so focused on the commercialization of this day, that I had forgotten that love is all around; and this is the day dedicated fully and completely to it. And through all the commercial bullshit, love reigns and LOVE IS BEAUTIFUL; and that is what Valentine’s Day is meant to represent.


Happy belated love day!




No… that wasn’t cheesy at all.

65

I am exhausted; more exhausted than usual. I am used to the typical Saturday and Sunday hangover lethargy; but Monday, was ridiculous.

I woke up at my usual 8 am and brewed myself the first green tea of the day; but after struggling to keep my eyes open during “The View”, I had no choice but to go back to bed for another 40 minutes. After what felt like a 2 minute nap, I managed to drag my sorry ass out of bed, for the second time and write a passable post. I then downed ANOTHER green tea and readied myself for a noon spin class, that I would have skipped entirely, if I hadn’t eaten 3000 extra calories at Sundays Super Bowl indulgence. Of the 50 minute class I managed to last 35 minutes, 1 minute longer and I would have passed out; I was the annoying loud breather in the back of the class that everyone wishes would just give up and leave. After several annoying glances from the riders around me, I could tell my welcome was worn out; so I took my ass to steam room, where I fell asleep for I don’t even know how long. I personally hate being that person snoring anywhere, but naked and sprawled in my gyms steam room is what I would call next level.

Not only did the class exhaust me, it also left me with a splitting headache, which was made worse by falling asleep in a sweltering steam room. Immediately after I returned home I went back to bed, AGAIN; if I was getting laid, by this point I would surely have thought that I was pregnant; pregnant women take 2 naps in a day, not 24 year olds. I simply couldn’t move; and since I’ve given up coffee there was nothing to do but go back to bed. I hoped that my second nap of the day would finally allow me to get my shit together; it didn’t. So I made myself my 3rd green tea of the day and got ready to start my new job; I didn’t even have the energy to be nervous, I was just too fucking tired. And although my new job is super easy, it essentially consists of me bullshitting/motivating women for 3 hours and thirty minutes; on any other day I would have been on my A game, but yesterday was more than forced. I had to pretend that I gave a shit, and normally I can bullshit with the best of them, but in the state I was in I was hardly in the mood. Introductions can be difficult; but I forgot how hard it is to be impossibly charming when coming off a weekend bender. I was pretending to guzzle water just to be able to excuse myself and sit on the toilet; at the rate I was “peeing” they probably thought “poor new girl with diabetes.”

It has been a very long time since I felt like a 65 year old in need of dialysis but the combination of 2 nights of boozing and the carbohydrate load of a Super Bowl champion aged me 4 decades. I haven’t been living the life of “health” for very long, but this weekend I didn’t just fall of the wagon, it fell on me and then I had to be taken to the hospital to have my punctured spleen removed.

I was really hoping that today I would wake up and be “normal” again; but I am still so exhausted; everything is depleted. My skin is dry, my head still hurts AND I am having a very hard time coming up with what I would deem great writing material.

So I am going back to bed.

Super Bowl

Partying makes it hard to write, it’s the key to busting up a creative groove. My social habits make it difficult to form a complete sentence, let alone write something worth reading. So what does any self respecting 24 year old do in a time of serious damaged-ness? I have no idea what self respecting people do, but I choose to party more.

Last night I went to a super bowl party; because my damaged mind said “I know what my body needs; 3000 calories of chips, dips, chili, dumplings, bread and booze!” I have never been to a Super bowl party, as I know nothing about football except those pants are tight and the majority of the men are tall drinks of smooth chocolate milk; but I now know that super bowl stands for super (huge) bowls of food.

I would definitely say that this would be considered a “starter” super bowl party; there were 2 men and 7 women, so there was lots of chick talk until something exciting happened; and lots of questions to the tune of “4 downs? Why four and not five?” and “so this is Eli Manning?" "No Bianca! This is PEYTON” (I heard that about 4 times). And lots of hair talk, 1 of the men and 6 of the women are hair stylists. In hindsight I wish there had been more cock at this party, I would have been little more demure with my food consumption. From the moment I stepped through the door I ate, and I did not stop; I couldn’t stop, I have a problem stopping when there is food in front me, no matter how full and distended my stomach happens to be. Not to mention that I was extremely hung-over and so long as something was going in, I could avoid anything coming out; teenagers puke, adults gorge to avoid the embarrassment, and I am a big girl now.

About the game, the saints won! Going into the game, I had no preference as to who I wanted to win. But as the game turned around after halftime and the Saints started to pull away; I instantly became the biggest Saints fan, I make no apologize for my fair weather fandom. Initially, I was disappointed as half time began, because I thought that Rihanna and Jay-Z were performing the half time show, turns out that they performed the pre game show, which I missed peeling my ass off the couch and getting my act together. The Who took the stage and to my surprise they were really really good; it was like one long CSI intro, I was waiting for Horatio Kane to jump out and say something obvious yet debonair ; he could say “I’m a less than handsome ginger” and make it look cool wearing those fucking glasses. I digress, the Who are old men, but those songs are legend; I found myself mouthing teenage wasteland wanting to reach for me lighter. I will most likely buy a greatest hit compilation in the near future.

4 hours later the game was over and I was too full to form complete sentences (the theme of the weekend) ;and, although my attention span is normally that of a 5 year old, I think I managed to stay relatively focused, thank god for food and hair talk.

Drunk Text

I have no idea what to write. Writing every day is proving to be very tough, sometimes the ideas run dry. I have found myself trying to drum up excitement, just so I have something to write about here. In reality I use this canvas as a place to talk about my feelings, but some days I am numb; operating on auto pilot and going through the day in a haze. The other day’s life hands me golden material.

The last few days I have been rather dreary and not humorous in the slightest. I tend to be very good at putting on a good show and making it appear as though everything is all good; but that’s the auto pilot at work.

I read some blogs out there and they are filled with sickeningly sweet optimism; “I am blessed” “life is tender” blah blah blah; life isn’t fucking like that. I have a hard time believing that people can always be that “optimistic”. Life can be so shitty and when it gets shitty, I don’t sit there and say “well, I am so blessed, sitting in awe” or whatever the fuck those people say; instead I cuss and kick the air like a 2 year old at chucky cheese because that is reality. In the last 6 months, on more occasions than I can count on two hands, I have cussed and kicked the air, screaming profanity at the imaginary manifestation of my distress. Am I a shitty blogger because I don’t look at life through those annoying rose colored glasses?

I have had to delete a few bloggers, who shall forever remain nameless, from my twitter account, as I couldn’t handle the, all too frequent, annoying and naively optimistic tweets; they were water logging my home page with bullshit. I mean, don’t tweet that you have a headache and cookies will fix it. Cookies won’t fix shit, taking an aspiring and telling your kids to shut the fuck up will fix it; but I can’t tweet that, I am new to blog community, so I have to play nice.

Keep in mind that I am low on material and I am being nitpicky but there is some shit that frustrates me beyond belief, like that rose colored glasses shit; especially when my mood is less than sunny. I think it's just fine to accept that sometimes life is just shitty and it’s rather endearing to be honest about it; instead of being sickeningly sweet and offensively optimistic. Like who really believes that bullshit anyways?




***This is the writers’ equivalent of a drunken text. I am posting this because I am either still drunk and eschewed the editing process or I read this over in the morning and thought the realness I felt while writing merited some publicity.

Slow

At my age saying that I wish life would slow down, sounds absolutely ludicrous. At 24 I should be buzzing around like bee (pun intended) and quipping whenever I have the chance “I’ll sleep when I am dead”. But all I want is to slow down and quiet the voices inside my head that say I am not doing enough . Those stupid fucking voices also happen to be my personal bankers and lately their voices have hit a fever pitch.

So yesterday I got another job, 2 days before my, self imposed, deadline of Friday; and my interview skills again shone like the northern star. Hired on the spot, in and out in 22 minutes (I checked the clock). And I have to say that I am excited to have a job that every 2 weeks I can be assured that there will be some money deposited into my bank account; at least now my bankers will shut the fuck up, or at least pipe down for a little bit.

But now there is another voice that is starting to speak up, and this one is getting louder, way faster than the others. It’s almost a scream. This voice is speaking, or rather screaming, to my sanity; 3 JOBS BIANCA, SOMETHING HAS GOT TO GIVE!!! I must be careful what I say, as I have learned the hard way that writing about work has the potential to bite me in the ass; and in fact it already has; but I will say that I feel change on the horizon.

My head is cloudy with voices pulling me in various directions; I know what I have to do, but doing it, is the tough part. In the past I would withdraw and do the asshole thing; but I am 24 now and that shit is not cute, nor is it as funny as it once was. You better believe pulling no shows at 20 is hilarious, but at 24 it’s just sad. If I had my way, I would sell all my belonging, all $100 dollars worth, pack my bags, hit the road and start anew. But that shit is cowardly and so unrealistic; and I am trying to shake my, hard earned, asshole persona.

Life is happening so fast, I am changing, people are changing around me and I am overwhelmed with feelings and voices, running rampant through my body and mind respectively. I know I promised I would be funny today, but the sun hasn’t been out in days and the voices love dreary days, that’s when they speak the loudest. Do I sound crazy? Yes and maybe I am, and that is my problem. Maybe I’m manic and this is a low; or maybe I have seasonal affected disorder? I looked on WebMD and my symptoms match. Perhaps I just need a drink to drown the voices in rouge. Or maybe, just maybe, I need to shut the fuck up; but truth be told, I have never been very good at shutting up. Maybe that where the voices get it from?

I envy people on meds; the voices in their heads are sedated.

Reconciliation

Sometimes reconciliation is a silent affair; devoid of the pageantry and the ceremony of “the apology”. That is the case here. I wanted the ceremonious apology for myself with all its sacrifice and grandeur and I was willing to hold out for it; I am legend at holding out for it. I like to pretend that I am some sort of toughie, able to hold a grudge for as long as need be; but alas I am not, I’m just a girl who wants, rather NEEDS her friend back. I longed for the status quo of what our friendship meant to me; text messages filled with useless shit talk NOT silence. I have no idea what so many things mean, in regards to life (oh to be 24); but I DO know how high I value my friendships.

I have always been rather adept at the art of fighting; I can hold off on the apology for days, months even, forcing my “adversary” to back down and admit defeat. In battle concession is not an option, but as I get older I realize how foolish it is to not speak to someone based on a petty disagreement. I suppose it is my age showing. I wish I had some sort of humorous quip wrought with profanity to reinforce my point but I don’t, it’s too early to be witty. All I have today is the lesson that a grudge against a friend is useless and life is way too fucking short. All these big lessons; WOW, I must be a big girl.

I have very little to say today, last night was spent catching up and quietly reconciling; a night of old friends reconnecting, and forgiveness taking its course. As sappy as that is, and so unlike me, it is my reality today. I promise to be funny again tomorrow...

Fuck I really am getting old.

Fuck

I am sure you have all noticed I have quite a fondness for the word “Fuck”; I simply love the word. Since I first uttered those words from my lips I was hooked. I was the kid who taught other kids how to swear; bitch was good one and so was shit but FUCK was the real deal. There was no other word to pretend you said, so if a teacher heard you say it, you were, for lack of a better word, fucked. Shit could be ship and a Bitch is a female dog; but, fuck was for the hardcore kids who just didn’t give a what? Fuck.

Fuck is perfect. It is like the chicken of vocabulary, it can be so many things. Fuck has become more than profanity, it’s an adjective for fuck sakes. When something is really amazing, it is FUCKING amazing; or when something really sucks, it FUCKING sucks. If something is green its green, but the most vibrant blinding green is FUCKING green. The word “Fuck” just drives it home.

I read the other day that saying or yelling “Fuck” in fact does help when something painful happens, it helps with pain management. It’s all in the mind of course, but it’s all about the mind; my new motto (as of right now, so as to prove my point) is if you can fuck my mind you can fuck my body. And you know it’s true, the first thing that happens when you stub your toe, you always, without fail, yell “fuck “(or fudge for the Mormons) as loud as you can; you can admit, we are all friends here. The more children around to hear the better; especially the “repeat everything that is said” age group, there is nothing cuter than someone else’s child running around saying fuck, fuck, fuck.

And let us not forget the best connotation of fuck there is; and, that is fucking itself. Life is made infinitely better by fucking; bad mood, get fucked and bad mood gone. Headache, get fucked, headache gone. Literally and figuratively, FUCK is perfect. Except of course when I get “fucked” over, I got seriously fucked over this summer and that shit sucked; but, I got laid shortly after it happened and you know what? Bad mood gone!

Now I am not saying this to be crass or controversial; this is simply my homage to a word that I hold so very dear; a word that has been there since I was a terrorist on the playgrounds, in times of pain and in times of extreme pleasure.

I love you so fucking much, Fuck; you are the best FUCKING word ever.

The Dream

Yesterday I was in a “woe is me” kind of mood; it was just one of those days. The usual things were getting me down; I have no money, this time I really have no money. Yes there is cash in my wallet but it is spoken for; and, I cannot get into my apartment without my mother physically letting me in. Did I mention that I am broke?

Still wallowing I made my way down to the parking garage, the elevator stopped at the floor after mine and the lovely janitor began to load all his cleaning gear in. I see him every now and again and he is always very friendly; I would even go as far as to describe him as smiley. This time he seemed especially happy to see me, as he had loads of shit and my help was a nice gesture. Truth be told I did it for my own karma, but that is beyond the point. We finally got everything loaded and the man wipes the sweat from his brow and looks me in the eye and says “life in Canada for a newcomer is hard”, the elevator “bings” and he smiled and got out. For some reason that really got to me. Here is this man, struggling to make ends meet and yet he is still smiling.

I felt sad for him and for every newcomer to Canada. My parents are immigrants; hell, my grandmother slept in a subway station in her first years in Canada. It’s hard grinding coming to a new country and attempting to “make it”. My grandparents left their homeland, their friends and their children (for the first few years), all so that we (my parents, cousins and I) could have this life; all for the dream. And here I am able bodied, living at home essentially rent free; and I am bitching about FOB’s when there are people who struggle tooth and nail just to live their dream, lugging brooms and vacuums in and out of elevators for $8 dollars an hour.

This man was probably looking at me thinking that I had it all, and all I manage to do is bitch. Yes some of my bitching is of the hilarious observational nature (and surely will not stop any time soon) but this man jolted me out of my shitty mood. How can I be in a shitty mood, when my biggest worry is putting gas in my vehicle and making sure I buy advance tickets to Avatar?...Which by the way is STILL showing sold out shows.

Today my mood is much better, because I really have nothing to be upset about.

Vent

Disclaimer…this is a venting post, so Mother, if you are reading, STOP, this IS NOT for you. This is a vent, and you are implicated. I will not be held responsible for your feelings after reading this…I love you, I am just frustrated…




Today I am thinking I DO NOT WANT TO LIVE AT HOME. Obviously I have to, as I am incapable of supporting myself at this point. And, as much as I love my mother and am eternally grateful to her for graciously allowing me to live here; this shit sucks. I am a 24, almost 25, year old woman and I am roommates with my mother, FUUUUCCCCCKKKKKK. Her choices (which changed everything, the whole course of my year 2009) and my poor choices (the result of her choices) made this situation come about; but, FUCK this sucks.

Last night I was forced to come home at 11 pm (earlier than I had planned) because my mother had to come down and let me in the building. See I lost my FOB (device that lets one into the building) and now she has to let me in EVERY SINGLE FUCKING TIME I come home; like, my lifestyle is NOT conducive to that. I have been known to stay out for a full 48 hours or stroll in at 6am. I know that I lost the FOB but I am still fucking pissed about this situation and maintain that I reserve that right. And the attitude I faced when I came home early (her mind thinks it’s late) makes this even more unbearable. I am at a loss. I CANNOT do this for another 3 months, I will lose my mind and my shit on her; and, judging by past experiences, it is not pretty.

I was on a roll this week, things were going great, I was feeling great, and then all this “get into the building” business, was sprung on me. I think I might live in my car; at least my car doesn’t have an unwritten curfew. I realize this is obviously a trivial grievance re HAITI, people dying in the street etc.; but it is my life and I have every right to be ruffled.

I have said this before and it has been a while since I have openly uttered it since; but, FML. I want to scream it from the rooftops FuckMyLife, FuckMyLife, FUCKMYLIFE.

This weekend should be very interesting.

note: I realize that my mother is likely frustrated with this situation too...but this is my blog...

Free Day

Every time I have woken up and uttered to myself “I have nothing to write about today”, something really crazy ends up going down. Either the cops are looking for me or I am pissing red. Today I woke up and said nothing of the sort.

Truth be told I was woken up by the tenants above me UFC fighting or something of that nature; whatever it was, it was loud. I wouldn’t call them repeat offenders but in the last week or so, they have been rowdy. I have wondered on a number of occasions, whether someone was getting abused up there. Lord knows I hope that isn’t the case, but it was loud.
This morning since I had nothing to write, I had time tolie there and dream of all the ways, I would go up there and make them wish they had never made a peep and woken me from my slumber. I’m like a bear, hibernation is when I sleep; nobody wants to wake a bear out of its hibernation…they get pissed. So this morning like a crazy woman, ornery and aged 85, I took the broom and began slamming it in the direction of the roof. My hair being the catchall that it tends to be caught all the lovely bits from the popcorn ceiling; which Americans seem to hate, judging by House Hunters, but its essential the name of the game in Canada. I haven’t been to a house without it. Anyways I digress; I had tons of shit in my hair.

Alas my bark is generally bigger than my bite and that’s as far as the dispute went. I needed to get up anyways.

So as you can see nothing to write about today.

Hematuria

Hematuria- Blood in urine

I have always been fairly laid back about my health, I know that I am young and time is still on my side. My partying lately, however, has made me wonder “what the hell am I doing to my insides”. Regardless I still do party, but I am slowly changing my ways- see here.

Despite my newfound attempts to love my body, inside and out, I saw red in my urine yesterday evening; I thought to myself “its fine, it’ll go away” and I moved on. This morning, however, it was still there. Now I will tell you, for months, years even, I’ve woken up with a side ache, that goes away after a stretch and some eats, so I have never worried (too much). But, today, there was a side ache AND red urine. Cue the panic.

I texted my mother “there is blood in my pee…I should book a docs appt ASAP right? She frighteningly replies “Call Dr. Stockburger right away and GET IN THERE”…yes in cap locks. I called my doctor and they are STILL off for the holiday season; I mean, come on, it’s January 19th.

I began to freak out, tears welling up, THE WORKS. So many things were running through my head, I started to feel nostalgic for the future I was about to miss, because I was dying of cancer. It was ludicrous. So my mother comes to her senses and sends me another text “call the health link before you go to emergency”. Wise words.

I spoke to a lovely nurse on the phone, whose ability to calm my nerves trumps her medical expertise; we went through a list of questions, as long as the entrance exam to Harvard. This is the cliff notes version:

Are you in severe pain? No
Any trauma to your insides? Say WHAT??
Have you been kicked or punched in the stomach or back? Nothing that I didn’t like!…she didn’t laugh
Exercising to the point of exhaustion? Well, funny you ask! I did bike 25 miles yesterday in Spin class
What have you eaten in the past 24 hours? Hmmm, I did ingest a dinner sized plate of beets last night after my 25 miles.

BINGO, she stops me right there. Apparently a young woman, of 24, in great health and in no pain whatsoever, isn’t dying of a cancer, which has reared its ugly head in the form of crimson pee. No, it’s my gluttony which has manifested itself in a dinner sized plate of beets. Beets are known to cause red pee, and the color should subside within the day, she says; but if it doesn’t, then there could be cause for concern.

I am still going to my doctor, just because. I might talk to them about a therapist referral; as I think I might have developed hypochondriac tendencies.

Patience

I feel like over the past few days, time has gotten away from me. For the first time, really ever, I feel like there just isn’t enough time in a day. I caught myself saying “where did the time go” on a number of occasions... It is January 2010, it’s the future; back in the day when people spoke of this scary thing off in the distance called “the future”, they were talking about today. Human beings couldn’t wait for the future to get here and lo and behold, here we are. Damn it I want a hovercraft, because that is what I was promised. I digress, time is flying, and as I said before it is already January 13, I feel like I just toasted to the New Year and it’s already the middle of the month. It’s incredible.


With that being said, I have grown very tired of the things that I want to happen, NOW, taking their sweet ass time. You may know them as the two M’s, money and man. I have bitched at length over the money issue, I am sure to your pleasure, as the situation reached the point of hilarity; but, the man thing I have been rather mum about. The money situation is looking way up, better fiscal choices are helping the matter quite nicely; the man thing, however, is taking much longer than I would care for it to. A snail’s pace if you will. Patience has never been a virtue that I possess; as I am an only child. I have had to wait for no one, so waiting really isn’t my strong suit.


I keep getting told “be patient” or “things happen in time” and the best one of all “if it is meant to be, it will be”, which are all very legitimate, hell, I have even uttered those words to someone; but, now I realize how useless it is. This time on the other end of that sage advice, is me, a spoiled brat, who wants what she wants, RIGHT NOW. So I really “hear” none of it. I never, ever, thought I would be THAT girl moaning about a man, but yesterday it dawned on me that I am she! I have caught myself rambling on to all my friends about this, said, man, repeating myself incessantly; being that FUCKING girl. I am doing my best to keep my brain occupied; I will admit I am not doing a very good job.


So even though time is flying and we are living in the future; when it comes to thing one thing that I really want, well, I wish it would just hurry the fuck up.

Perspective

I had one of those days yesterday. My car got stuck, again, TWICE; I was absolutely exhausted from hours of work; and, to boot, I went to a spin class with one of the worst instructors with the worst music I have ever heard. He was mean and a far less fit version of Billy Blanks. I had plans to go into great detail about my day, inciting great laughter I’m sure; but, nature had other plans.

In light of yesterday’s horrid earthquake in Haiti, it would seem ludicrous for me to moan and groan, at length about my day, when children are orphaned and families are homeless and this in a country that is already crippled by poverty. In a country of nearly nine million people, The Red Cross estimated that three million are going to be affected. 3 MILLION…

Looking at pictures and videos on all the morning news feed saddens me and I feel like I must do something, whatever I can. I have no money and I am sure that most of you don’t either, but as the privileged read: healthy and able, we must all be compelled to help. Any aid will go a long way in helping this country overwhelmed by catastrophe. Chris Sacca’s site has many ways in which we can help; some for as little as $5.oo. And if I can swing five bucks anyone can.

Today I am going to reflect about all the wonderful things that I have in my life, a warm bed, a car, food in my fridge, my health, my family and I am going to be grateful. I suggest that others do the same.

My heart goes out to Haiti.

Catch Up

This last week I was playing catch up at my ad sales job and catch up with bills; the shitty kind of catch up that makes me want to hole away, miraculously win the lottery and forget about life. But, yesterday I got to catch up the fun way.

It has been almost 9 months since I graduated and yesterday I attended the inaugural “NAIT Meet up” dinner, with all my classmates from school. It was great seeing everyone, talking about the good old days and finding out what people are up to. Some people are deeply entrenched in the monotony of hotel cookery, while others are getting the full on Jamie Oliver sensory experience, some aren't doing anything related to the field of cooking; and, just 1 is sleeping with her boss.

Since my high school graduation, one of my biggest fears is to attend my reunion (high school or college) fat, unsuccessful and subsequently broke; and, yes, I am fully aware of how vain that sounds. However, yesterday among all my old educational cohorts, I felt quite proud of myself. That isn’t to say that they aren’t achieving things in their own lives; but, I held my head high, being able to say, I started a catering company with my best friend AND that we are doing very well.

I mean, I was among the worst students when it came to truancy. I believed, and still (sort of) do, that since I was paying, I could customize my schedule; I viewed the attendance guidelines as just that, a guideline. So I am sure people assumed that once school wrapped that I would attack my career with the type of lackadaisical dedication with which I applied to my attendance. So, needless to say, I feel great about where I have taken myself, in the short amount of time since I have been launched into the real world.

Of course, that isn’t to say that I am not broke, we all know very well that I am and kveching my face off half the time about it; but, at least I am doing it! The" IT” that is, of forging ahead and creating the life that I see for myself; and, loving off my, 3 or 4 times a week, Spin classes, which is taking care of the fat part.


With that being said, Chris and I were up until 3 am last night and up again to start at 8 am this morning, catching up on work and putting together an order. Yesterdays late hour and today’s early morning combined with my excessive weekend, have left me very exhausted.

Now it is time to catch up on my sleep.

Stuck

This weekend was a very fun, yet extremely draining series of days. As promised I was useless from Saturday to Sunday night. I managed to sleep away the day on Saturday, only to wake up, ready myself and repeat the party process all over again. The weather all weekend was absolutely beautiful; we’re talking plus 5, minus 1, kind of beautiful, but I wouldn’t have known, as I was sleeping till 2 and reacquainting myself with the living room sofa. Last night, however, I went to Christopher’s to do a little bit of work and a lot of television watching.

Now I have had my parking problems at Chris’ place, but yesterday the perfect spot was available; right out front of the entrance. Due to the recent heat wave, the melting snow was little worrisome, but I like to think that I can handle anything the roads and the weather throw at me…alone with my trusty hatchback.

As midnight was striking I knew it was time to leave; and, the fact that I could barely keep my eyes open was also a dead giveaway. So as I am leaving Chris’ building, I walk by 2 rather unsavory ladies, hags if you will. Now I only describe them as hags, because they fit the bill; haggard, smelling of alcohol and a “rode hard and put away wet” sort of appearance. As I get into my car and begin to try and get out of the spot, I knew that I had a problem.

After about 5 minutes of futile attempts to get my car unstuck, nothing. I call Chris and get him to come down and try to push me out. Things weren’t going that well when he was pushing either. So as if on some sort of hag radar, the 2 (rather nice, yet) haggard ladies come rushing over to help Chris. They are also having some problems, the problem being, I’m still fucking stuck. A luxury sedan drives past and they pull over and get out to help. At this point I can’t help but laugh, here I am on a Sunday night, my brain is killing me from a weekend abuse and I am rocking my ass off, while 2 possible prostitutes, my gay best friend and an Ed hardy wearing, luxury sedan driving man and his woman , attempt to get me unstuck. Finally the woman yells to me “turn you wheels straight hun”, despite the fact that they have no clue how dress themselves RE: Ed Hardy, they were rather adept at getting my car unstuck; because, the wheel turn was the magic touch and I was out in a flash. We all rejoiced in the street; our Haggard friend cheers’ their booze filled ginger ale bottles, Ed Hardy and his lady gave a “woohoo” and Chris and I looked at each other like “we definitely have to talk about this tomorrow, wink”, and I went on my way.

This Sunday scene, although is a very amusing story, is also a metaphor for life; when you get stuck, sometimes you need help from others to help get moving; no matter what appearances might seem, their help could be exactly what is needeed. I know that seems a little cheesy but I am looking for meaning in everything these days.

It's Ugly Head

As expected, the weekend reared its ugly head. Last night was fun and also extremely out of control; which is why I am writing this at 6:17pm, when I have to be out of the house in 45 minutes. I have yet to shower, and I just recently woke up for the day (yes the night was that ridiculous).

This post is a short one. But, I will elaborate on the weekend’s antics on Monday. As I am sure that tomorrow will be the same situation as today.