Immigration to Canada

I'm having a hell of a time writing this morning. Haven't written since my birthday when I turned 47. Something about odd number ending years stresses me out. I am sure it is some phobia that I don't know about. Or it could be that 47 sounds a lot closer to 50 then 46. 46 sounded kinda of young but 47, that sounds like I really should have my shit together and be asking my daughter when she is going to have a grand child and stuff. This part won't happen since I don't have any children that I know of. The 80's was really hard on me. I think anyone who survived the 80's would want to say they too blacked out during that decade, cause it wasn't pretty. Green house effects started showing up in the 80's due to the amount of hair spray being consumed by the women in New Jersey.

So I am supposed to be grown up. Know what I want to do with my life and have a job. Well fuck off, cause I don't. First of all I have to start the immigration process to stay up here. You would think it would be easier since I am now married and all. Nope it is in no way easier. It is a marathon information, plus a 550.00 filing fee just to get the process started. With the marriage they ask personal questions, like did you go on a honeymoon, they want pictures of the wedding and my partner has to commit to taking care of me financially for 7 years I think. Plus I have to get a physical and a chest x-ray, so I can prove that I am up to par with the standards of health in this country. How healthy can a group of people be that are constantly eating perogies with sour cream and cabbage rolls?

So now as I sit here I ponder, do I really want to move up here? Oh it isn't the paper work or money that is bothering me so much. What I am upset about is do I really want to move to a country that has welcomed Tori Spelling into their fold with open arms?

Not that I am comparing myself to her, that would be foolish. How could I even compete against someone like her. Our differences are so vast that it wouldn't be fair to either of us. I mean look at the differences:

1. My boobs real
2. My nose real
3. My lips non injected
4. My fat - all mine
5. I have job skills (don't you even pretend to think that she can act)

So there you have it. Don't come whining to me when you have a Tori Spelling movie of the week on CTV. Hell there has been one already. That is just the beginning. The only blessing we have living in Regina is the chances of her coming to visit are pretty low.

So I have to get back to my immigration paper work. Hey Tori good luck on that chest x-ray thing.