down with democracy!!

I can't believe how hard the government makes everything. I just want to vote. I know I'm a foreigner from Québec in this province but I do deserve to vote. When have I ever needed to prove where I lived? I need proof now. "A hydro bill...something like that with your address on it."

Is it me or has that never been the case up until a few years ago? Apparently they even require that information when you ARE registered to vote. Is there some bandit stealing people's identities for the sole pupose of voting in their place? Why has the government made it more difficult? Is it just the inevitable stranglehold of beaurocracy befuddling the volunteer workers for Elections Canada or has there been a decision made at some meeting in some boardroom that this is somehow advanced security. In the information age should it be this goddamned difficult for me to vote? Why the fuck has Bill Gates or some other techno hotshot come up with some computer-programmy-thingy to faciiltate the process for all of us?


Obviously it won't be ME at the helm of any technological conferences anytime soon, but why shouldn't it be easier to vote if that's what democracy truly means?


Or is it in the government's best interest to keep us in the trance of the mundane, fill our bellies full of TV and commerce and fast food.

Little too Bolshevik for ya? Just wanna go back to smoking your joint in front of your 800th viewing of a Family Guy episode or is there maybe room for you in this country's voting public?

Even though they will make it hard, I am still going to register and vote. I know this time, I am voting strategically because I'm not a huge fan of the leader of the party. And no, it's not Stéphane Dion, but his awkardness will go down,unparraleled, in Canadian history.

And it goes without saying that someone who supports the CBC, the arts and working families will never vote for Stephen "Children of the Corn eyes" Harper.


SIGH.


I wish you'd hit the road Jack, but you are the only horse I would bet against Harper in this thing.

Play ball.

Strangers in the Night...

I am very conscious of how the weather affects me. When I heard "overcast and 12 degrees" this morning, I knew it would be a bummer of a day. I came in to work to find everyone in a similar mood. It's like a funeral in here today. But there are other reasons I feel out of sorts.

The new beau's homecoming last night from a weekend gig in Ottawa was an absolute disaster. He knew he would be late and said to leave the door open, which I did, so that he could crawl into bed with me at 3am. This was supposed to be romantic.

What ACTUALLY happened, was he crawled into bed in his skivvies to find that the goddamned cat I am taking care of (for some wayward musician studying in Australia) had taken a piss on the blow-up matress I sleep on and the pee had pooled in one of the plastic pockets like a cheap swimming pool raft. I hadn't noticed it because the pee pool didn't overflow to where I was sleeping. It just waited there, ready to pounce on the unsuspecting, like one of Robert Munsch's mud puddles. So when he sat down on the bed...wet ass.

Charming.

So cut to me, 3 am, in a black negligee mopping up cat pee and swearing that I'm going to skin the cat alive. Makes for a warm welcoming atmosphere when you've been staying awake on a Greyhound bus for four hours so you don't get beheaded, dontcha think?

I was so looking forward to him crawling in beside me I was beside MYSELF and now the night was ruined. More than anything, I was embarassed that I hadn't even noticed I was sleeping next to kitty pee. On top of it, he's a bit of OCD when it comes to things dirty, with particular attention to feet and washing one's hands after using the restroom. So I'm thinking, 'Great! He's never going to touch me again! Great! Just when I thought things could not be more perfect..."

Then I had to stop myself. If this story hadn't happened to me, would I maybe have found it funny? Shit, ya! Maybe I could have laughed it off. Maybe if he hadn't waited in the dining room for me to clean up the mess, carefully avoiding my gaze, I woulda seen the humour. But 3am and reeking of cat piss while he's ignoring me is not my idea of a good time.

And then I asked him to leave I was so upset. He gave me his requisite "okay, bye", which is his way of not getting involved when I'm acting like a cat-skinning lunatic. Who could blame him?

However, I still would have liked him to say, "Hey it's no big deal". It would have been nice to know that I (or my feline foe) hadn't turned him off jumping into bed with me for life.

Sigh. All I could do was apologise today and tell him I'd like to make him a meal sometime this week to make up for it.

Hopefully the cat won't piss in my food.

A Crisis Line Compromised Weekend

I am working today. It's Sunday. Most of the people on the streetcar this morning (REALLY goddamned early in the morning)were old ladies and well dressed european men on their way to church. It was certainly a different crowd than the one during the week in the afternoon. There is a decided lack of crack users on the Sunday streetcar along Queen Street at 6am. Maybe they're at church, too. Although, driving through Parkdale, I did see two guys try and light up as the streetcar passed. I'm not saying they were crack users, but it's pretty obvious what two guys in hoodies hanging out in a doorway, shakily passing back and forth a glass pipe are up to. I'm just saying.

Anyway, this is not my regular shift. I prefer late afternoon to night. This 7 am until 3pm shit is like being on acid. I have no idea what day it is and although I should be tired at this hour, I couldn't sleep even if I wanted to. Or it's not right to sleep on the job. Or something.

The vibe here on a Sunday is more than relaxed. When you are doing absolutely nothing but reading and surfing the internet the calls that come in really feel like they are interrupting you. How dare they have a personal crisis at 7 am on a Sunday? Don't they know I have newspapers to read and emails to send? Shouldn't you be at church? THAT'S your problem. Go to church. Ask God to care, I'm busy. (See? Mornings don't agree with me...)

I didn't work Friday. I got this shift at this ridiculous hour because I traded shifts with someone who had a Jewish holiday thingy. I thought it would be good for the karma, even though I avoid morning like it was an infectious disease. Fine and dandy, except, I was supposed to be here yesterday. I fucked up the dates and they were sans bilingual coverage on the phones yesterday. OOps. So I show up this morning ready to reap the benefits of a little good karmasation, ready to work, full of piss and vinegar...only to come in and read several emails of people panicking yesterday because there is one bilingual person and french people are waitng for over 20 minutes on hold. Double oops.

Anyway I'm here now and apparently another bilingual called in sick so I am actually here, by chance, to help this poor dude who worked all night and was going to stay until 3pm. Trooper. So he got to go home. And I'm here. Yep. Here.


It was just suggested to me by one of my co-workers that I get another chair for my feet so I can kick back and have a nap. THAT'S how busy it is. My kinda paycheque. Now if only we could smoke in here...

Might...fall...asleep

I used to like the library

Since my move away from ye oldey chap, I have virtually no money.

My paycheque is divided as such:

1.Toronto rent? Check. And ouch. 2. Massive Rogers bill because I decided to pay a few months longer than necessary for services I wasn't using, at an apartment I wasn't in because I was trying to prove to my ex that me leaving with NONE of the stuff we bought together didn't bother me? Check. 3. Food and not such an amount of it that the grocery bags (reusable ones, yes, my enviro crazed friends)are so heavy I can't walk home without permanent back damage? Check. 4. Toiletries?...aka, soap all kinds. Dishes, clothes, house, me. All those things need cleaning products. I can't live without cleaning products. Windex is my friend. 5. Cosmetic enhancements? Makeup for end of month acne and poor self image? Check. Birth control pill because I know babies are "in " this year but I look better in jeans without an elastic waistband? Check.

And there, you pretty much have it. Not much left over. Fuck all left over, really. I am sleeping on an air bed from Canadian Tire, people. My couch is left over from the last broad that lived there, and once, when I dropped my remote control between the cushions I pulled out...yes...a gasp is appropropriate..a syringe. I love Toronto. So warm, so cuddly. (pssst! somebody call the police...)

I also have no computer and am writing this from a library in my lakeshore neighborhood. I have a library card for the first time in over 10 years. It's neat. Everything's free.

I got my head out of my ass about the paying his bills and soon I will have enough to save. I will save and buy a computer, a proper bed and all of the tummy rumblings because I am rationing food will be gone. I'll probably look back and envy the freedom I have now. I'll be able to look back and see where the wave crested and I finally felt like me.

I have never been happier.

Oh Lord Won't You Buy Me A Fuel Efficient SUV?

I'm glad I don't drive. Not only because my drinking past would have made it an extreme sport but, jesus, have you seen the price of gas?

I'm totally fucking kidding. People who complain about the price of gas are starting to get on my last nerve. Take the subway and please get your head out of your own ass. We are such a bunch of freaking automatons in North America. The price of gas goes up and we flounder like they turned the power off in the entire country.

I made the move to Toronto over a year ago now, to be with my science lovin' boyfriend and although that didn't work out I still harbour a deep and thundering passion for questioning why so many massive wankers drive hulking, gas-drunk, family-of-twelve-mobiles in this traffic crammed metropolis? What the fuck do you do for a living that you need a car that big? Are you doing freelance snow removal to supplement your income as an inveestment banker?

And I hate all these people who say it's because they "have a family". I was in a family once. Three kids. We made the 16 hour drive to Nova Scotia every year from Montreal with no seatbelts in our Ford. My brother would draw imaginary lines on the back seat between us and swear if I crossed the line with a even a toe I'd get a beating. I remember the hours of adult nerve grating enjoyment we got out of "I spy with my little eye, something that is....."

These spoiled damn kids now with their DVD players and lounge seating...where is the fun in that? How is mom supposed to make that awkward reach-around to smack her kids bare legs if they are soothed out watching Finding Nemo? I think something of rudimentary importance to the family unit is being tampered with all this distraction and comfortable plush seating.


Jesus, I've just managed another Andy Rooney blog rant. Somebody please send money quick. Poverty is speeding up the aging process at an alarming rate.

Seriously, get the fuck off my lawn!

I have strangers who hang around, they loiter, spit, launch obsencities at me and trip me up when I get too close to them. They have been bothering me for years, but I have never known how the hell to get rid of them. I tried begging them once, telling them I'd do anything if they would just give me a little peace and quiet. I've tried bribery, giving them what they want, expensive clothes, booze, drugs. I've even considered sex (don't think I'm above that because I'm not). They'd kinda calm down for a bit, but then it would just get worse. They start to expect stuff. They start to ask me for things when I am trying to write, when I'm trying to sing. They have even a few times woken me up out of a deep sleep to try and get whatever they need out of me.

I'm really bad at setting boundaries. I always have been. I suppose I was of the opinion that it's rude to ask for what you want. I wonder where I got that feeling from. Aren't these the kinds of things you blame on mother?

I learned to just ignore what I wanted. "That's okay, we'll just do what you want. Yes, of course I want to hang out with your stoner friends in an abandoned castle in the middle of nowhere. Sure, I'd rather watch My So Called Life. But I'm making friends here."

It takes a lot of practice to realise what you do and do not want after being such a doormat. Maybe not a doormat, that's the wrong word. Because I didn't take shit from anyone, really. This was more of a subtle compromise I made with myself. "Dammit, self, it doesn't matter what you want. Don't you know they'll find out about you unless you play the game right? They'll know you're up to something."

So the same strangers have been loitering in my head for almost 20 years and I have learned a little bit about boundaries in the past couple of months, namely that if you don't make any yours will constantly be crossed and pushed. People will take advantage especially if you are terrified they won't like you.

This girl I know who writes a pretty fabulous online magazine called She Does The City , has a section referencing a new book called What I Know Now, Letters to my Younger Self wherein several powerful women from a number of backgrounds write letters...to themselves as young women to give the younger woman advice on life, love and happiness.

I would tell my younger self to forge her own path instead of being paralysed by other people's interests. I would tell her "You know what you are good at, young lady. Now go do it."

I would also tell those strangers to get the fuck off my lawn.

American Bile Duct

I'm a rage-a-thon today. You wouldn't think that water cooler discussions about American Idol would send someone into hot sweats and swears but alas, that seems to be how my day is shaping up. Now I don't remember her damn name for the simple fact that in a few months nobody else will, but the sweeter than a sugar shack blonde chick who sang Let it Be on piano last night on the show drove me totally out of mind. Clearly Randy and Simon have been pilfering from Paula's medicine cabinet because they didn't seem to notice that the girl hit like 6 or 7 flat notes during her number. DAWGS...SHE realised it, so why didn't you? It was clear that in the last part of the song she started to lose it and this look passed across her mug that said, 'oh fuck...' and her fingers started shaking over the keys because she knew she messed up. So when the judges asked her about her getting all emotional she slap dashedly came up with this...'Oh it's just so wonderful, the piano, the stage, the AUDIENCE.." sob, sob. Nice catch chiquita, well played. But I saw you sweetheart. I saw the recognition and fear. I am amazed that nobody else did.

I have been taking singing lessons for the first time with this crazy dramatic teacher with 25 years of teaching experience in New York City and Europe and I'm really loving it. I never thought I needed lessons and loathed the idea of becoming one of those "performance" people who throw their arms out and sing to the heavens all the while smiling and keeping perfect posture. But frankly, the lessons have been wonderful and I've started to notice a lovely change in my voice.

Last night however I arrived on time and sat in her dining room where I normally wait for her to finish her previous lesson with one of the preteens who will no doubt be trying out for Canadian Idol this year. I waited. And waited. At 10 after 6, 10 minutes after my lesson was supposed to start, the chick previous was still yammering through some show tune that grated on my last nerve. Finally because I think they heard me on the phone complaining to my boyfriend, I heard Deborah say "Is that you?" I came into the lesson room and she does what she normally does, tries to distract from anything she may have done wrong and tries to get me into this showcase that she puts on every summer and like normal, I declined. Maybe I'm just feelilng ultra sensitive, but it really pissed me off. I'm paying this lady 50 bucks for a half an hour and she didn't even extend my time by ten minutes because there was someone else waiting for 6:30. GRRRRRRRRRRRRRR. I need to relax.

Going home to Montreal next week and SO-O looking forward to getting out of this city for a long weekend. Toronto is wearing on me.