Wednesday

Finally I have more than five minutes to get my sorry ass posting again. Captain Sexy Pants is most likely peeing himself with excitement. So I bought this bra the other day - no this is not the intro to a joke and sorry boys, I know the previous line has instantly bored some of your wee sophomoric minds but the lives of the Maxim women are facetious and this is real life; however, as I was saying, this rudimentary torture device feels like a black spandex gun holster. By the end of the day, not only do my shoulders feel like I've been packing around a couple of AK-47s, but every time I put it on or take if off I feel like some gangster or cop or some facsimile thereof. Fucked up!

Being a reasonable feminist, I've decided the only logical result is, of course, to rename my breasts Glock and Beretta. I considered Remington and Winchester but the previous sounds too much like that lame-ass razor company and the latter reminds me of some uptight, British shire name. So much for my 'shelf' - from now on I too can mimic the all-to-blatant penile compensatory line "welcome to the gun show"...followed by my bodily preening of my breastesses- except for the obvious - I do not have a penis nor any desire to ever have one. However, those of you reading this post are all witnesses to the historic event of the Renaming of the Breasts (I swear it will be an olympic event someday).

Back to the bra though, I mean come on, bras were invented how many hundreds of years ago??? Why does the action of finding a comfortable bra cease to exist even after all of these years? More importantly, why are there so many lame ass words for breasts? Boobs, melons, jugs, tits, etc. there is such a lack of imagination in the naming of these fatty, mammary gland filled skin sacks (appealing isn't it). Ludicrous projections of sexuality run rampant when one considers the breast; yet, considering their numerous abilities, they should have a mysteriously powerful name whose mystery is only succeeded by its power. Just a thought. Me and my funbags are now going to contemplate the ancient, existential dilemma – what is a breast, really?

That picture of me is so hot!

Damn I look good. This is a response to the wee comment captain sexy pants decided to leave me.

Fuck does dial-up suck ass. What if I was dying and desperately needed to search google for a cure for my death? What is up with people continuing to use this archaic method of internet???

I have to go listen to the sweet sounds of Perry Como on my 8-track before watching episodes of The Andy Griffin Show on my betamax now. I will post further when I get home...impatient bitch aren't you? As Nelson would say: "ha ha!"

Tuesday

the ridiculous art of parking

So I was driving into town yesterday and dreading those materialistic parking meters - I think there are only in it for the money- because suddenly not only do I have to have change in my pocket but only quarters and loonies will suffice. I realized I had made the dreaded mistake of using my change a few days prior to tip my server and a frantic quest for quarters resulted. While this appears to be an average, ordinary, and daily behaviour, I assure you it led to something much more disturbing. While I was digging through every crevice in my vehicle and simultaneously cursing the lurking meter persons (I am convinced they are all agents of the antichrist), I began to wonder: who the fuck becomes a meter person? Is there some inner drive in certain people to not only be ridiculed and dreaded but generally just despised? Or is it one of those underappreciated jobs that are necessary for the society to function properly, such as: being a garbage collector, working as a dish pig in the restaurant industry, cleaning public restrooms, or high school guidance counsellors?

Are meter people the result of a failed attempt to becoming a cop? I know working as a security guard (yes that was the high point of my employment history) that the security field is riddled with wannabe police - maybe a secret need to manipulate, power trip, and legally bully random members of society lies in the hearts of most parking people. Do parking people believe they are a respected member of society? Did they ever, prior to their illustrious careers as parking people, curse other parking people?

Upon realizing I did not have the appropriate change, I dreaded going into the store across the street to request change for a toonie. I've realized this is a lingering dread that is a direct result of living in Vancouver and having paranoid, irrational store owners that believe when requesting change I actually had the intention of: a) robbing them while get change, b) scamming them with counterfeit money (likely to happen one measly dollar at a time), or c) the five dollar bill I'm holding is invisible and I'm actually panhandling for change. I find the provoked response varies between one or all of the above in a direct correlation with how many of my tattoos / piercings are visible. This had led to an inner cringing at the innocent request for change. After defeating myself in an inner battle (and receiving a few odd looks for standing on the sidewalk vacantly staring at my truck's hood), I was determined to get my quarters.

As fate would have it, the store owner amiably obliged in providing change for my toonie (1 loonie, three quarters, two dimes, and a nickel - thus proving the guy has never parked at a parking meter in the past decade or else he would have known dimes and nickels, in the realm of parking, are comparable to the one dollar bills in Monopoly - completely useless and makes one wonder why they even exist...but that is another rant altogether. On this fateful day, however, he not only made change but happened to be an inside man in the mysteriously crappy realm of parking. He informed me that there was only one parking person patrolling (I had to stifle a laugh at that particular term but it did, in an offhand way, answer the wannabe cop question) because...your not going to believe this one....the other parking person was DRAGGING THE LAKE FOR A BODY! Can you believe that? Is that what all parking people do in their off time or is that one of the pre-requisites of the job? Must be able to handle criticism and verbal abuse, be obsessed with appropriate change, oh, and not vomit at the idea of pulling a corpse out of the lake. Unfucking believable. Nelson is a small town (roughly 35 000) but not only are there city police but there is also an RCMP detachment here...its not like there is a shortage of cops to go looking for dead bodies. Why was it necessary for one of the parking people to do it? Did he volunteer? If he did, didn't the police see that action as kind of creepy?

I will certainly never, ever think of parking people in the same light, ever again. And if you haven't seen it yet, I recommend watching the mocumentary (which must have been filmed in Vancouver) that delves into the phenomenon of the parking people entitled "The Delicate Art of Parking." The humour is subtle as it presents itself as an actual documentary and it drags a little at times but it does aim to answer many of the questions I have presented here.

Monday

and so it begins...

I've been avoiding the blog scene like the plague but now, thanks Jason!, it appears I'm left with little alternative but to send the meagre details of my life out into cyberspace and hope it remains hidden in the depths of the web to be drudged up only by my doing. What a world, what a world. I feel as if this is a test and I was too hung over to study. I'm sure with time it gets easier and more natural to publish the insignificance of my values, beliefs, thoughts, and feelings but at the moment I am a marionette with a silenced voice.
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