So I lost my sense of humour, so sue me

I don't know what happened. One day I was the funniest, most clever woman on the planet then I turned 48 years old and it seemed to all go to shit. Ok I'm not saying that was the reason why I haven't been writing. I believe I started boring myself with what I wrote. Then the pressure of waiting to become a permanent resident started pressing down on my heart leaving me with an impending sense of doom. Well if I was any kind of writer I would be sharing those dark moments with you too, but I didn't want to discuss them. Then well my hair went to shit and we all know what happens when your hair turns against you.

The clincher was the Corner Gas show on writing blogs and how no one reads them. Fuckers. I then started looking at other people's blogs and realized that they had a point to their blogs whereas I really didn't. So I am going to change my perspective on my blog. Being that I just recently got my permanent residency (Thank you immigration and a special blessing goes out to Jared, Jocelyn's brother who has special powers in Ottawa and made one phone call and within a week I was getting my residency).

Man I feel all rusty, still don't think I got my mojo back when it comes to writing. This I hope improves with time.

Big things happening where I live though -
the Loonie is on parity with the American Dollar - which means I want magazines and books to cut that shit out about different pricing. People Magazine should never ever be over 4.oo.

Living in the Alpha-Ghetto, big stuff happening. What is the Alpha-Ghetto? It is the area on the west side of Saskatoon (also known as the hood) where the Avenues go by the alphabet. Therefore the name. Last night at about midnight 5 cop cars go racing down the street. What proceeded was either an extended gun fight that lasted a long time or the cops and neighbors were trading fire crackers with each other.

Turn on the news this morning and did they talk about it? Nope they talked about the guy whose truck was hit by a train because he was on the train track in traffic waiting for the light to change. Though he wouldn't talk to the reporter, other people stated that when he saw the train coming he jumped out of his truck to wave the train to stop. People, a train a 1/2 a mile long does not usually stop on a dime even if it could. I doubt that the engineer of the train purposely took out his truck because he was sick to death of assholes parking their vehicles on the train tracks.

Other news, looking for a job. I am officially done with being an illegal immigrant and painting fences, mowing lawns and stuff. I am appreciative of everyone who paid me under the table, but to tell you the truth with winter coming on, these jobs usually dry up pretty quickly. You try and paint a fence with a frozen paint brush.

So the grand news is, I get to go home to see my mother who I haven't been able to see for two years and I can take some time to come to grips that my father really is gone.

So no, I have to admit this wasn't the funniest post but maybe this will make you laugh.

While being interviewed by immigration, they immigration officer asked me how I liked Canada. I said I loved it, but that I was first confused when I was asked to play Shinny. I asked why would women get on the ice and do the shimmy (at this point I proceeded to shake my tits at him without thinking. I was trying explain what I meant). He stared at me for a moment and then smiled and said, well that could be an interesting thing to see.

Immediately after that I was approved.

For those of you who are confused by what I did, watch this video from the VonFoxies from Seattle and at probably 2:19 you will see what I did for Mr. Immigration.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ilc6ff2mLqQ

I have the look

Oh you know what I'm talking about. The, standing on the front porch with your arms crossed staring at the 20 something young men who think it is totally cool to ride down our street on those dumb ass, little itty bitty motorcycles that sound like a mosquito hyped up on steroids. What? You don't have the look?

Well you can have it easily. It is more of an attitude. It goes something like this. Our neighborhood for the past 3 days has sounded a bit nosier then Baghdad during a Muslim holiday. Friday night we had a massively big, I mean big thunderstorm. One of those storms where everyone believes they are sinners and God is a coming for them by the 4 am.

Then Saturday was the pre party, letting off fire crackers for Canada Day. Which isn't as big a deal as the Fourth of July. Up here on Canada Day we eat, look fondly at our Maple Leaf and start counting the days until Hockey begins again, so we can get the damn Stanley Cup from those fucked up Ducks. We are blessed that we live on a street that I call the street of screams. Every weekend and I am sure all summer long we have young teenagers migrating down our street drunk off their ass laughing and saying things like, "No, fuck no, he really said that? That is like really fucked man. What a Fuck head." You might say, that sounds like you Claudia, well fuck no it doesn't cause I don't do it at 11pm or 12 am or 1am at night. Come 4am we have the same group migrating back to wherever. But now they are usually saying, Fuck you. No you fuck off. Where were you I waited for you all night, who were you with...

Yes we are blessed with a beginning and end of the evening. 3 nights of thunderstorms, fire crackers and drunks makes someone like me not too keen for the first night after the long weekend and now we have dip shits riding like they are something cool, when really they look like a bad acid trip to me when I watch them weeeeeeeeeeeee down the street.

That is why I had to do the stare. Now in my neighborhood, it isn't usually a good idea to give a stare at anyone. But I had too. So I went outside twice while they drove by just so they could see me. The third time as they drove by I stood on the porch, arms folded and gave them my death ray look. No blinking, no talking, no moving. The guy took one look at me and picked up his dorko toy and went home.

Yep I have the look.

Next post 3oth reunions and how out of control I am about it. I mean I even signed up and PAID for classmates.com. I need to be able to leave the country soon, I really do.

Since I don't want to Suck So Bad

I am writing again this month. April was bad and I can't say that writing twice in the month of May is a huge step away from being sucky it is more like being lazy.

There has been exciting things happening in my life. There really has, honestly. Like what? Well just last Friday they came to sweep the streets of our neighborhood, oh yeah I can see your blood rushing. The city sent out fliers informing us of this event, because it really is trust me. You see I stepped out my door and I heard the whooshing sound of the sweepers. SWEEPERS I screamed inside my head, which gave me a headache. I then dropped everything, ran and got a broom and started sweeping the sidewalks in front of my house. Why you ask did I become so frantic. I have no damn idea, all I know is on the flyer the city suggest moving your car off the street (the neighbor across the street didn't so his place is going to look really tacky.) The flyer also suggests that this might be a good time to sweep your driveway and the sidewalk. Well I do try and do what the Canadians do, so I trotted out with an old broom and started to furiously sweep the driveway and sidewalk that I never use like crazy. I feared for my sanity when I looked down the street and saw the only other person who was doing the same thing that I was, was an 8900 year old man who not only sweeps his sidewalk but street weekly. This was the point at which I came to the conclusion that I really need to get a job and those people that I will not name need to understand I really want to work. When a woman gets excited about street sweepers there are some serious emotional issues ahappening.

On a brighter note I have started up a website that you can check out on the side bar. I am designing dragons and other creatures out of clay and writing stories about them that you can buy if you are so inclined. I want you to the know that not only are the dragons and other creatures totally cool but the stories are exciting, funny and will keep your interest.

They are almost as exciting as street sweepers, yes they are.

I suck so damn Bad

I mean really, it has been a month and I haven't written anything. How fucking unblogger like is that. Am I saying that my life is so full of meaning that I don't have time to write? Or that I have a job and am so busy working with Al Gore (we are so tight I just call him "A" for short), no that isn't true either.

So since I don't have a job, cause I am still waiting for those lovely immigration chaps to open up the envelope I sent on March 1st and pull out the paper work and throw it on the floor and stomp on it. Oh sorry I was told in no uncertain terms not to say anything rude or disrespectful...

Please excuse the brief intermission while I wrote then deleted things I would really like to say but can't.

So I have tons of free time, no job, American Idol is down to the final four and Amazing Race is over, so why Claudia, why have I been so fucking lame?

Hey want to see a picture of me when I was doing Burlesque?

This is what they call in the "business", not sure what business as a distraction. Like pointing up in the sky and saying look look global warming while stealing some-one's SUV.

But here is my lame excuse.

Fucking Hockey Playoffs. Now I don't watch Hockey, don't particularly like the game, I mean if you took all the teams added up all the scores they wouldn't add up to one Football game, which means they should either give more points to each goal or that football is a sissy sport. Yeah well so for some reason the playoffs come every year, you pick players with the most teeth and brain cells and then you get up every morning and go to bed every night to see how these brain injured creatures did. Cause nothing pisses me off then picking someone I have no idea about and then they have the gall to not only not make points but the entire team loses and so now we are stuck with about 6 players while everyone else has a zillion. They take our 25 bucks - the hockey shark friend of ours, say it's for a good cause and then here they sit in the top 3 spaces.

Totally I mean totally how sucky is that?

And what is worse is that I have now watched a couple games and even know what hooking means, well I always knew what it meant but it means something completely different when you are on the ice with a stick.

So that is my feeble excuse

Oh yeah and I am starting a website and internet business, but I will give you more information as I get this puppy off and running.

Later

Fuck You Bank of America - warning there are ALOT OF SWEAR WORDS IN THIS POST

You would think I am living in Uzbekistan or some small country under a dictatorship with two long distance phone lines for the entire population to use.

All I want to fucking do is talk to a HUMAN FUCKING BEING. But I use their fucked up 1 800.900.9000 stupid fucking number and by the fucking way just because a number is easy to fucking remember doesn't mean it does you any fucking good if you CAN'T GET THROUGH. Because the motherfucking dog shit eating, fucktards, loser DNA pieces of shit have a phone system AND an email system that will not let me get through. I mean I go though the pushing numbers and feeling like an ass when the fuckhead guy's voices keeps asking if he needs to repeat the choices like I can't remember 4 fucking options. Then when the condescending piece of mutant mass of arrogance voice discovers that somehow in the move I don't have my account number for my loan he says with a sigh (I just know he does) wait while we put you through to an associate who can direct your call to a person who talks really really slow for assholes like me. So ok I will be a really really slow stupid asshole if they want me to as long as I can talk to someone, but wait then they say we have picked YOU to do a survey after talking to the associate. Hell by now I will pay you pin dick bug fuckers to do the survey if I COULD TALK TO YOU. So I wait, they transfer me and damn if I am not cut off 3 fucking times.

So then I use the email. First I put in my old address in Washington with my phone number up here. No that's a no go. Then I try to use my address up here because well the fucking email system lets you put in different countries, but you can only pick from the 50 fucking states, so that kicks back to you.

Then I put in my parents address and phone number and they think I am full of shit and am lying because they say that is incorrect information. My parents have had the phone number and address for 50 fucking years, how can it be incorrect you assfucks.

So then I think Ah ha, I will call the other number for banking. Get the call center, get a human, she says she will stay with me on the line until I get someone. We get someone, but wait, they can't help me so where do they transfer us (now also by the way, no offense to people from the south but just because you have a lovely voice and sound really kind it doesn't mean you are going to calm my raging brain) to the same fucking system that I just got booted off of 3 times. So the woman who is trying to help me, gets me to the point of talking to an associate but now I am on hold and of course my phone is now starting to snap, crackle and pop more then a fresh bowl of Rice Krispies and she says well do you think you can handle it from here? I say yes and she hangs up and I GET FUCKING DISCONNECTED.

So at the moment I am feeling a bit perturbed.

Rue Chaton (Street Kitty)

If you live in Canada you must learn some french, cause it makes you sound way fucking smart.

I'm tired and stressed right now. Last Tuesday I took the garbage out to the Alley behind our house and we have these really big garbage cans. I could see 3 cans down the alley and as I drug my bag of garbage to my can, out of a all the cans popped a cat. They all scampered off except for the one in our garbage can. I love animals. I hate when people treat innocent creatures so cruelly. The combo makes me a soft touch. As well as Barb.



Here is the our rescued kitty the day after we rescued him, he looks much cleaner then he was and he was and is still skin and bones.

There is a massively cool organization called SCAT (Street Cats) made up of massively cool people. I called, they came over the next day to check the little guy out. I had to call and place ads in case anyone lost them. Which they didn't fucker, people have to leave apartments at the end of the month and dump cats all the time. Like to shove a box of clumping kitty litter up their asses.

So this organization paid to have him go to the vet and pay for tests and shots. He doesn't have any of the FVI or the other bad stuff. But he has a really hard time breathing. This makes me very nervous. I sit and stare and pray that he will feel better. The vet said he might have been kicked and injured but won't take x-rays for another 10 days. So we feed the little guy and fall in love and worry and fret. We didn't want another cat, but sometimes it isn't up to us you know?

What I worry about is I have no power over him healing. All I can do is love him and give it up to my higher power to take care of. But what is such a drag is I realize I don't trust that my higher power will fix him. And maybe I want a miracle and maybe that isn't what this is all about. Maybe it is just about loving the animal one day at a time and not worrying about the future. I don't know, all I do know that it isn't up to me but I want it to be.

That really is hard on my heart, I don't need more death. I want to do right by another. I really do.

Tomorrow I will give you a new picture and maybe he will look better to you.

Yep this is how I feel today

This is my salute to the mini blizzard we had in the middle of March up here. Three days before we had plus temps, melting snow, singing birds, the sun warm on my back, dog turds that had been left since October showing themselves. Yes I felt that spring was on the way. Then this shit.

It put me in a bit of a tailspin so to speak. Oh and the phone call from my mother. Love my mother really do, she misses me, I her. But even from the coast she is able to throw her umbilical cord at me with a lasso on it and pull me in. Fuck I hate that. My mother wants to know how my writing is going. I say some days better then others. She says, well you will have lots of time since it takes about 7 years in the States to become a citizen. I tell her it doesn't take that long up here and anyway I am just trying to become a landed immigrant. She says well you should do more writing why not write a story about some of the wonderful hiking experiences you had with your father. I said well I might mix up some the places we went hiking because when you start hiking when you are 3 years old, your ability to discern the difference from one hellish hike isn't easy. You are told to pack for a week, so you pack your backpack (don't forget your sleeping bag like I did one time, I never want to be that close to my mother again thank you). You are tossed into the volkswagen Micro-bus that goes 55 down hill with a tail wind. Can't open any windows so as soon as we hit the dusty dirt roads I was usually on the floor of the bus, trying not to puke along with with Sheltie Calin who was always able to puke 5 minutes before we reached our destination.

I tried to explain this to mother and she said, well there you go being negative before you even start. Also she continues on, it is too bad that none of the children (ours or our family friends) hike anymore. She said that is just sad. I said, well I love to river raft. She said that isn't the same thing. Duh, no it isn't. Think about (I didn't say this) we spent every summer from the time we were 5 let's say and there are 4 of us kids. Every summer was spent backpacking. Backpacking means you carry everything on your back. Sure great exercise. Beautiful mountains, great adventures. But it is the part of "carrying everything on your back". See maybe, just maybe it got old for us. So if I decide to raft down a fucking river and let nature do work, well what the fuck, I'm still out there aren't I? Hell Fucking Yes.

So NO my mother does not push any of my buttons, not at all. She does say things like, "I hope to see you some day" (what is implied is before she dies). I said, well as soon as the paper work comes through I will come out there, she says, well you can't afford it, I said yes I can. So we disagree on this, at this point I have taken one of the swords I own out and am checking to see if it is sharp enough to stab myself without too much pain.

I get off the phone feeling oh so chipper. Watching the fucking spring blizzard and wondering to myself, hell I don't even know what I wondered to myself other then eating a 1/2 bag of Easter M&M's doesn't make you feel anymore Christ like just because the colours of the candies are in a pastel colour.

Bette Davis Eyes to Andy Ronney Eyebrows

It creeped up on me, maybe I'm not as observant as I used to be, could be that I have reached a higher level of awareness and no longer care for these matters but I doubt it. Though I do meditate every morning, yesterday's meditation was on patience, I did it for about 1 minute. The attention span of a pollywog of late.



Back in the 80's where shoulder pads were king, Dynasty was the best trash we available to us and Cocaine was still considered psychologically addictive not physically addictive, I was living the life of a restless youth. My sister always stated that when her generation took drugs (she is 5 years older then me) it was for a reason, to reach a higher level of awareness, for us it was to just get high. I can't disagree with her on that point, but I must point out that I did on at least two different occasions go out on in field on Acid and try to get in become one with God. Unfortunately it took me over 2 hours to get over a fence, well in fact it took about an hour to find the fence then an hour to climb over it. See when I was on Acid I was spacially fucked. So I kept climbing over the fence only to realize that the fence was about 200 feet in front of me.



What does this have to do with the title of the post? As the old proverb says; a watched pot never boils and I might add neither does a 4 foot snow drift ever melt. See it is spring time here up north. This means when it snows it is a lighter, more liquid kind of snow. You know cabin fever has set in when I am running round about ready to pee my pants because I have found dog shit that was shat before the first big snow. That my friends is a sign that we only have a month of waiting for this brown mucky shit called snow melt to disappear and then watch as the grass struggles to recover from having it's head shoved between its roots for the past 6 months.



I am coming to terms with aging. Not in the usual sense, sure I realize that I will never look as sexy clean shaven as Britney Spears or as brain dead and insipid (that is my favourite word) as Paris Hilton. But is it really fair that while my hair is losing it's bouncy youthful appearance that my eye brows have to start curling up in an alarming manner?



Becoming older is when you try and use spit to control unruly eye brows and find that they now are reaching for the sky. Mouse has no affect and neither would a moose. I pluck then realize what will I do if one morning I wake up and all my eye brow hairs have decided to turn into dreadlocks? What then? Do I pluck them all out and then have to paint on my eye brows every morning so I have that constantly surprised look for the next 3o years, or do I give up and let nature take it's course.


I do say I am grateful that I didn't live in the 1800's. This is what was suggested for hair removal back then:

There were many alternative methods of hair removal, ranging from pulverized egg shells to a mixture of cat's dung and vinegar. In the early 18th century (1700-1737) Lemery's Curiosa Arcana, published in 1711, gives a recipe for the complexion: To remove hair, one was instructed to 'Take the shells of 52 eggs, beat them small and distill them with a good fire.' Then, with the water, 'Anoint yourself where you would have the Hair off.' For ladies with more cats than chickens, Lemery recommended beating 'hard, dry Cats-dung...to a powder' and tempering it with strong vinegar for the same effect. Other homemade depilatories contained quick-lime.



So if anyone who reads this is too young to remember the song Bette Davis Eyes - well I would like to feel some sympathy, but that means you are way young and I might tend to snarl at you. Don't worry though I think the snarling comes with the bushy eyebrow thing.

F is for Farmer

So you are thinking to yourself, what does this crazed chick now think we are so dense that we need to be taught the alphabet? Come on people that is silly, other then you all not knowing how to say the letter "Z" correctly I know you know the alphabet.

No today's discussion is on driving in Saskatchewan on a weekend. Yesterday we were driving to a mall that had a Walmart in it. This is not unusual since every mall in either Regina or Saskatoon has a Walmart, the ones that don't have a Walmart are of no worth and people usually drive by these malls with utter contempt and spit on them while driving by. Or maybe they have too much chew in their mouths and their wife is tired of cleaning that slimy shit out travel mugs.

As I was saying we were driving to a mall on a Saturday and we were on Circle Drive. Suddenly out of no where Barb puts her hand on the dashboard to brace herself and says in a very tense tone, "watch out that mini van has an "F" on it. Being used to her bracing herself while I was driving I wasn't too concerned but I am still learning the vernacular of the language up here and I just couldn't figure out what in the hell was she talking about.

I looked around feeling somewhat frantic that I missed something and she said "F means Farmer up here" My brain beginning to hurt said but thinking this is some driving game said, "G is for Gnome?" "No she said, the F on his license plate means they are from the farm". I wanted argue that what was wrong with G for Gnome instead deciding this was neither the time nor the place to argue my point.

Then watching the road again I saw what she meant. Here traveling down the middle of the road, slamming on their brakes suddenly, turning quickly in front of another car to get in the correct lane (ok part of that I did but I refuse to tell you which part ) was a blue mini van full of a family of farmers trying to get to their destination of the weekend, a day at Walmart.

Now why would the province label these hard working people with a scarlet F so to speak for the world to see. I thought it seemed demeaning to them. Like watch out here comes those "F"ing Farmers. But there a method to their madness. I think that these salt of the earth people who are forced to drive mini vans get a discount on their insurance or something for being a farmer. In Alberta I know the driving age for a farm kid is something like 14, but I dislike discussing Alberta so I am sorry I even brought it up.

Now watching the driver of the van I didn't notice anything out of the ordinary. They weren't driving their vehicle like it was a combine and taking up the entire highway. That I'm afraid was me, because damned if in the winter time I can figure out some times which is a lane and which is me driving like a total idiot.

I had hoped that this post was going to go somewhere quite witty. I fear it isn't because once I looked deep inside my driving patterns up here, I would have to admit that I need a designation of "F" on my license plate that would stand for Watch the fuck out it's a fucking foreigner.

Are Pig Spleens in your future?

Through out the ages various cultures have used different means in which to predict the future. The Chinese still use the reading of tea leaves to tell one's future, many people rely on Astrology to plan their day and some go so far as to pick a mate who is compatible to their sign. I being a Leo don't care much as long as I am the center of attention. We up here in Saskatoon have a unique and special way of telling our future. Well I wouldn't say that everyone is into this but I was told there is one man who has a special talent of predicting the future. We will call him the Spleen Man, since I don't know his name. From what I was told this man takes spleens from pigs and has been able to successfully predict that we who live in the prairies of the north with nothing between us and the North Pole were going to have storms in January, February and March.



I know pretty overwhelming to think that there is someone out there that has the talent to look at this organ and tell us that we would have storms that involved snow and wind. Wow is all I can say. Where does this man find these spleens? That is the great mystery. I have checked out the meat markets and you don't find them for sale. He might work at one of the processing plants in the area. Or he just maybe he raises one pig a year, butchers it just so that he can provide us with knowledge that can help us prepare for a storm this far north. Hell if I would be able to say with any conviction to people that hey you guys look at this frigging spleen; Can't you see from the grey spots and red spots and black spots that we are going to have snow and yes wind and hold on to your seats, it might even get really cold up here.

It is a god given talent is all I can say. What I am grateful for is that I don't have to drink spleen tea to find out what to look forward to in my future.

And that my friends is the latest news from Saskatoon.

Gym Etiquette

For those of you who go to the gym I am providing this information to you so you don't make the same mistakes as I have in the past. Or so that you don't piss me off when I am at the gym.

By following these simple instructions you too will be well liked and even admired by everyone.

So you are riding one of the exercise bikes, been on it for 30 minutes or so and your time is up. What do you do:

1. Leave and lift weights
2. Get the disinfectant and wipe off the handle bars then the seat
3. Get the disinfectant and wipe off the seat where you had your stinky ass and then the handle bars with the paper towel.
   

The answer is number 2. We all sweat people and to just get up and think that someone is going to follow behind you and wipe up after you is tacky. And number 3? I suggest that if you have unresolved passive aggressive behaviours that you should talk to your therapist. This behaviour could be caused because of the lady who taps you on the shoulder and says, "excuse me but I signed up for this bike on the board and you are on it." So you are embarrassed, have to get off and feel really stupid and maybe think she is an anal retentive shit since there are 4 other bikes that aren't quite as new as the one you are on that she could ride on. She then has the nerve to ride it for only 10 minutes.

When finding a locker in an empty locker room.

1. Find one that is at least 4 lockers down from the nearest locker being used
2. Choose the one right next to the only locker being used.

If you picked number 2 you are also the person that I have met several times that will walk into an empty theater with only me and one other person and sit your lazy ass right in front of me and then check your cell phone for any highly important text messages. I forgive you since I believe your brain has been fried by the cell phone you have stuck to your ear up to 18 hours a day.

When changing your clothes in the locker room with another person in there

1. Strike up a conversation to make it all feel more relaxed
2. Pretend the other person doesn't exist, change into your clothes and leave.

If you picked number 2, you might be anti social but you also might enjoy talking to people better in a bar or at home when they are fully dressed.

If you picked number 1, you most likely are uncomfortable with silence. Then sing a song. While I am trying to pull up my pants over legs that are a bit damp and fighting a battle to the death, the last thing I need is someone asking me what book am I reading. You either belong to a nudist colony and enjoy frolicking in the nude while playing volley ball or you enjoy making other people suffer.

I am not anti social and after I have my unmentionables covered up, bring on the conversation. Let's discuss politics, the weather or what book I am reading. But please not when I have my ass to the wall and am trying to pretend I am invisible.

Da Blizzard of 2007

For those of you who weren't here for the worst blizzard in 50 years here is some-one's video of it. Makes you cold just watching it.http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DugSbG2i8NQ

I have been waiting almost two years for one, it happened and it was the most terrifying day of my life. Actually it wasn't. I stayed home and watched it from inside, but I believe I was the only person outside who was taking pictures of it to show everyone.I have no good story about it. Absolutely nothing thrilling happened. I didn't get caught in Costco because I couldn't get home (probably a good reason why I hadn't renewed my Costco membership yet, most likely it saved my life).

So here is me so you can see me in the blizzard. I am the one with the frozen glasses
This doesn't give you the true scope of what a blizzard is all about, but it does show you that I know how to dress for winter up here. Kinda like a burka for the north.

Though it might be hard to tell, but see all that white stuff on the ground and how white and blurry it is in the sky? That my friends is called shitloads of snow. And it is everywhere. So this was the morning of the blizzard.

Now this is the front of our house. You see a cyclone fence in the front yard. This fence is 3 feet high. At the far corner you see that the snow has reached the top. This ladies and gentleman is where all the "blowing" snow landed.

In our front yard. Looking out the window it looked pretty enough. Realizing we wouldn't get any mail unless I shoveled the walkway left me with some resentment. I would show you pictures of the shoveled walkway but the morning I went outside in my moccasins I soon found that traction is not why people where them. After picking myself up off the ground finding that fine patch of ice and digging for the camera in the snow. I found myself with a bruised ass and a broken camera and a small lecture on going outside in the winter in moccasins.

I never asked him was he proud of me?

My Dad: Harvey Manning, climber, writer, environmentalist and father.

A little over two months since my father passed away, seems like forever then again I can't believe it has even happened. It is all true what others have said and gone through before me. There are all those first, you have to make it through. Even when you make through those there are time when I think, oh he would like that book or he would find this interesting. And he would, even though he is gone, his spirit still is within me and he is still my dad and I still miss him. He didn't talk a lot, hated the phone, would only pick it up if no one else was around and that was to stop the ringing. We never talked about deep things. We talked about the birds we had seen, how the animals were doing, good shows on TV. Before I left to move up here on his 80th birthday it was mother, him and I and we actually sat out on the deck and talked. About their trips, our trips, about how we were both drunks but didn't drink anymore. It was the last time I saw him and the best conversation I had had with him in years.

Was he proud of me? I am sure he was, I wish I had finished this novel and was able to send it too him for him to read. I did give him one chapter to read and his praise of it was a lasting gift to me. Did I do anything tremendous for him to be proud. I visited him. I talked to him. I forgave him and asked him for forgiveness. So did I accomplish anything while he was alive to make him proud. I suppose, because I loved him and he me.

Anyway if you have someone's loves that is always enough, don't you think?



Here are a couple of pictures when he and my mother were climbing in the Canadian Rockies. What amazing parents I have.

Here they are in a hut above Lake Louise in 1950. They were freezing because there was no wood or heat.

Here he is on top of some peak, man I know so little about his climbing days

Why they don't play Shinny in the States

Pretty obvious if you don't have nationalist health care, you wouldn't dare put your ass on the ice in boots a tennis ball and a hockey stick. Ya just don't. That is why the sport isn't big in the states. Well that and the states are a bit warmer then most of Canada. Remember we are the country that has Polar Bears going down the main streets of some towns.

Shinny last week I was called a cherry picker. This week I wish they would have called an ambulance. This sport is not a sport for the weak of heart but if you watch you might think we are all weak of brain.

So there we are with a few more added players then last week - 3, but one was a lawyer do I need to say more? With the added players the game picked up it's pace. Well not its pace but its injury factor. It started off pretty basic, a slip and fall and a slam down on their knees in the ice. This happened several times, sometimes with others involved other times more of a oh shit I'm on ice and bam, down they go. Like all good Canadian born and bred women, they would get up, brush themselves off and we would ask, are you ok and the response was, oh yeah, I'm fine. Then came the brain concussion. The individual got up we were concerned and asked, you ok and of course she replied, oh yeah fine I'm. She then shook her head twice and decided to play goalie for a bit. There was of course the attack of the killer attorney who took out one of our players. The attorney couldn't feel her fingers, but she hell she still had her other hand, so let's keep playing. I not having any health insurance had a sense that I was in a bizarre version of Monty Python and the Holy Grail done on ice (sort of like the IceCapades but with hockey sticks) Every time someone slammed down on the ice they got back up with the same fucking response. I was expecting at some point they were going to say, oh it's nothing but a flesh wound.

I could see this insanity was going to go on because these were strong like bull Canadian Women with National Health Insurance. I knew that death was the only thing that would stop this game if not that then a woman with no insurance.

So being the fabulous player I was moving gingerly down toward the opposing teams goal, waiting for my chance to mostly stay standing on the ice when it happened. The world turned, the feet moved quite wrong quite suddenly and without as much as a howdy doo gravity took over and I landed right on my tail bone. I rolled over on my stomach, did not shed a tear but with absolutely no grace or class said to one and all. I'm done. And hobbled away to lick my wounds I say this figuratively cause if you think after a fall like that or even if I hadn't fallen like that that I could reach around and lick my own back you must be crazy.

I sit here gingerly today telling you this story for your own good. If someone suggests a fun game of shinny, wait for a blizzard and walk off into the prairie, it won't hurt as much.

Well fuck

I so hate those New Year Resolutions. They are way, like way fucking stupid. I should of made a new year resolution not recognize New Years since it is part of the fascist society that we are part of (except in Saskatchewan) where we are forced to at least acknowledge these holidays probably created by white rich men who belong to the Masons or some such cult.

So promised to write in my blog every few days - fucking blew that off after what 10 days. That is pitiful.

I have been working on my novel - but if I put it on the web then those rich white men who are part of cults will steal my creative genius and use it to control the masses, so fuck that shit if anyone is going to control the masses, I want to do it.

I was going to cut down on swearing - oh fuck I never promised anything of the motherfucking sort. OK least I have some of my integrity still standing.

Diet. Cock sucking evil word created by once again the cult Male Chauvinist Society that wants to keep women down by keeping them thin, writing a zillion books on how to lose weight, thereby keeping them obsessed by food and their bodies because if they weren't obsessing about food and their bodies, they would see what a fucked up job the evil Male empire was doing and would gain a bit of weight and kick some major fucking ass. Are you with me ladies?

Yeah well so OK, we bought Potato Chips because some friends were coming over on Tuesday. They didn't eat it. Potato Chips are like Cocaine to me. I waited (remember that was Tuesday this is now FRIDAY) and kept eating my nuts, buying good stuff from the Health food store and then it happened. Those greasy little shits started Calling my name. Clauuuuuudia, oh Clauidiaaaaaaaa (fuckers can't spell either) crunch, crunch, oh how yummy. Well you realize if I ate a few then Barb would find out and I would be busted. If I ate the entire bag then I would feel like puke, but since I am not a bulimic I would just feel like it not do it. So then... I would have to buy another bag and never admit to the massive munching of the first bag. And that my friends is like drinking and then not saying anything and going around pretending I'm sober.

So ain't fucking going to do it.

I ate the potato chip, but I did not kill the deputy. (for those of you who are too young it is from an old song probably written and sung by the white male fascist cultist society).

I also refuse to feel bad about it. I worked out today. I did dishes and wrote in my book. And I let you all know the truth.

Cherry Picking is not a term of endearment

In Shinny that is. That is the game where you stupidly and intentionally go on an ice rink in tennis shoes and hockey sticks and run around trying to hit a tennis ball. After about 10 minutes of going back and forth I figured, hell by the time I got to the other end of the rink the ball will be coming back my way so I stayed near the opposing teams goal. Barb kept calling me a cherry picker, I thought it was a compliment for some frigging reason, but no it is when you stand there and wait for someone to hit you the ball and you get a goal. I was in no way a cherry picker, I was happy if I kept upright which I didn't- fell 4 times. I also was told you can't run into the people who have the ball while screaming this I believe is called checking. For some reason they don't approve of you sticking your stick out and tripping the other players feet who have the ball especially if they are your spouse - this is called hooking and is frowned upon greatly. Oh yeah and if you hit someone elses stick as you go by and it accidently goes into their ribs rather sharply it is called spearing and for some fucking reason is considered in bad taste, once again especially if you do it to your spouse. I told them that since I was from America and since I was ignorant of their culture but wanted what they had (the ball most of the time) it was perfectly alright for me to bully, attack and abuse the opposing players

One down

Well thank you to everyone who knows how to use the refresh button, because I have now hit the grand and glorious over the 5,000 mark and I swear I had little to do with it. As they say in the Internet world I haven't gone viral yet and I doubt that I will, but hitting the 5,000 mark is rather exciting.

I need to read over my resolutions for the new year to see how I am doing. Working on my memory would have been a good one. But I am finished with my paper work and will be sending it in to Immigration this week. Then it will sit there, gather dust and from what I have heard, if you call them to find out what is up with your status, these people and I can just imagine this, they are all wrinkled and about a billion years old, with 33 inches of dust on every surface including their head. And if you do call them and bug them, they will take your file and put it at the bottom of these files that are stacked from floor to ceiling. That is what I picture.

Both sets of fingerprints came back with no arrests on them and that was a big relief to me because the 80's were a pretty big blur to me for all I know I had a child and didn't know about it.

As to my other resolutions. I am reading this book calledYou on a Diet which is a great book and gives information on how a body works and what foods to eat, so I am eating lots of omega 3 foods and feeling quite proud of myself. This is only week one so we will see. One thing I suggest if you are going to do this diet - as a snack you can eat some dry whole grain cereal with dried fruit as a snack. DO NOT eat uncooked steel cut oatmeal. Not only is it very dry in your mouth, think of eating sawdust, but with less flavour, but see it expands like a lot. Like that is a lot of fiber to have in one's stomach in an evening. I remember seeing this movie from the 70's called the Immigrants with Liv Ulmann. The story was about these poor Swedish people who were coming to America because they were starving. Make a long blog short, the little girl, hungrier then all get out got into the storage shed and ate raw oats, they expanded and her stomach exploded and she died.

This of course didn't happen to me or else I would be doing this blog from the other side and well then it would be a blog that would be read a lot I'm sure.

But just don't do it. Makes for an uncomfortable Swedish depressing movie kind of evening.

New Years Resolutions

Well there went one down the shit hole. Trying to get 5,000 hits by New Years Day without me logging on like a pitiful bloggerert who is so desperately in need of attention that I would try to up the number of hits on my blog. Anyway I realized after watching 20/20 on Friday night and seeing where one woman got 300,000 hits a month on her blog that I was doomed to be a baby blogger in the big scheme of blogland. I could do what she did which is share every personal detail of my life on the blog like she did, but if I did that, my therapist could once a week log on read what I wrote and then send me an email without ever seeing me. So unless I plan on doing live sex scenes on my blog I shall have to strive for quality then going for the utter exploited quantity of titillating trash about my life.

So I know New Years Resolutions are so lame and most people have that loser statement is " my new years resolution is to not make any new years resolution". I can say that because I have said that in the past. What I believe today and it could change is since I am not working, if I don't make some goals to achieve this year I will end up in a quagmire of mucky nothingness and by not forcing myself into a routine depression and despair are waiting in the wings to sweep me away to Dr. Phil Land. So here are my goals.

1. Write in the blog at least once a week.
2. I am writing a novel and my goal is to write a chapter a week - plus put it on the web, so if you are at all interested you can read it and if you find it at all interesting or have comment you can help me shape the storyline. This I will have done by the end of next week.
3. Ok, I know this is lame, but this past year I have been under a bit of stress - new country, no job, getting married, moving to a new city and the big one have both parents sick and my father dying. Due to this and not having structure or goals I have gained weight and feel just like shit about myself. So of course I went out and bought the book called YOU ON A DIET. Which explains how your body works and why diets suck, fail and why we all become raving, snarling bitches with the personality of Nicole Richie. I just want to eat better, work on my emotional eating and exercise because I like to do it not because if I don't I will beat myself up about it. Plus the dogs really need to see the outside world occasionally.
4. Big one - get landed immigrant status
5. Get me a frigging job.

So those are my commitments to myself for this year. None of that quit smoking since I already have, no commitments to quit drinking or not drink so much that I sleep with my best friends lab - since I already have - quit drinking that is, not sleeping with other people's pets, shit dude I gave that up like in 1999 or I think after that incident with my neighbors chow that was unfortunately picked up by the Humane Society Newspaper. See you can be an animal lover, just not a fucking animal lover.

Anyway those are my goals. And congratulations to myself and anyone who reads this cause, like I have been doing this for one year now. I would seriously like to thank my Netherlands friend Anja who clued me into blogging. She is one smart Netherlands type chick.