Mixed Up Crazy Whirld
So, we were walking the dog the day before yesterday (yesterday’s walk oozed ennui provoked by life) and as he rooted in piled snow for bits of stray garbage, with me pulling him away, I realized, “he must think I’m ridiculously extravagant, paying for dog food when there’s so much of it to be found on the walk.”
I think in quotation marks, by the way. It helps me organize my thoughts for blogging later.
Full disclosure, we are currently risking our lives and his by not having any batteries in our carbon monoxide detector. That’s because no matter what we did with batteries yesterday, including praying to them, the detector would send out random beeps. Then we realized the whole unit can go because, like everything, carbon monoxide detectors are disposable pieces of crap that we’ve come to depend on to save our lives.
Do you ever just wish for the crabby hand of death to swat you dead, to mercifully release you from this bureaucratic coil of mortality with one big “<erk!>… <thud.>”?
Forms were my Beau’s undoing the other day. He’s come undone. I felt sorry for him, but also relieved it wasn’t me having to fill out forms. Omigawd I hate forms. And now they’re everywhere online, too, aren’t they. You can’t do anything online it seems without a password, too.
I’m starting to hate online. Some man I don’t know asked to be my friend on Facebook recently (I don’t know lots of my friends on Facebook, actually) but he direct messaged me so I didn’t see it for a long time because I’m not in the habit of checking my messages. So I clicked on something and it turned out I asked him to be my friend on Facebook instead. So he accepted and now I have another strange man being my friend on Facebook.
But he’s from the University of Alberta, not Calgary, so I assume he’s not one of those nutty Conservative professors trying to infiltrate my network.
The other day I read through a lecture explaining that “settlers” should listen, not speak, if we want to show our support for IdleNoMore. Hey man, I get it, if I was Aboriginal I’d be raging. Heck, I’m not and I’m raging. But anger is too easy, it’s a distraction (such a popular word in these attention deficit disorder times, eh?) and tribalism is what got us into this mess.
I don’t have any answers, anyway – I live in Ottawa, ferchrissakes. Who the hell with answers lives in Ottawa?
Is it me? Or have we turned cyber space into the same bureaucratic nightmare that is our lives offline?
Last night, I made fried egg and cheese sandwiches for supper. Oh, and frozen fruit shakes (just water added, no milk of either the soy/rice/almond/real variety). Oh, and avocado that one buys in bulk for the same price as one avocado from a bin that we then have to eat like candy or it goes rotten.
But the fried egg and cheese sandwiches were a step forward into a less bureaucratic existence, which my grocery shopping has become on account of an offspring bounced back (he’s not old enough to be boomerang) for a few months.
Speaking of boomerang kids, I bet if parents took to nudity at home it would get rid of them plenty quick. Although, what would we do if it didn’t?
The other day, a hilarious Facebook friend I also don’t know, posted an onion article about a braindead eye-rolling texting teen (girl) being euthanized. The accompanying visual was very funny because she’s just lying on her bed in her hoodie (that’s gangsta for sweatshirt) and it took me back. Of course, my mother was a crazy bitch so only my crazy bitch older sister ever let her see her rolling her eyes.
Once, my mother was nattering away at me about something, her back to me. I had a slipper in my hand that I was pretending to let fly at her head while my younger sister watched silently from the couch. Horror of horrors my grip released and in the time it took me to race upstairs to the bathroom, the only room in the house with a lock on the door, it bounced off her head and landed in the plant on the coffee table (according to my sister).
Another time I had to retreat up the stairs backwards while holding her wrists so I could get to the bathroom intact. I forget what triggered that assault.
Cripes, I should phone Children’s Aid. I was a good girl, too. My older sister actually told my mother to “fuck off” once. It was about 1971, so you can imagine. I think she lived in the bathroom for about a year.
The other day, my oldest, home from universitot, asked me, “Why don’t you have a job?” She was genuinely curious, I think, and instead of saying, “Oh, haven’t you heard? Stephen Harper is Prime Minister.” I got all defensive and evasive as if I laid myself off because I just didn’t feel like making money anymore.
Why are our times so stupid?
I noticed on The National last night that someone has made a tv that a bear can urinate on and it still works.
Someone should tell the polar bears.
Anyway, this is my new style of blog entry. I hope you like it. It’ll be different tomorrow, though, so I hope you don’t like it too much.
Hey, what about those knock off computer chips from China that may or may not work in our military aircraft, eh? Wow, that’s some governing. Orders of Canada all ’round. Good job, quality control.
You know, maybe Stephen Harper should just lay off everybody and start over.