Saturday, June 25, 2016

I Wail And I Gnash and Still the Dogs Howl.

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THIS is a really sad day for me and not just because one of those crazy adult colouring ladies escaped with her felt pens and doodled all over Blissy … but with awesome technique … I would like to point out.  I  mean, if she were to post it in on one of those Facebook colouring groups, she would get soooo many "likes" and "loves" and maybe even some weeping.  IF they have added that emotion yet.  You know, the Italian mother kind of weeping when they child decides to become a priest or a nun or something.

It is a sad day because of the dogs next door which are howling in sorrow and sadness.  Don't argue with me.  I have recently found out I speak animal . ..  and I don't even whisper when I do it.  I figure those whisperers are just a bunch of fakes, afraid to speak out loud, because it is easier to smudge over a mistake in whisper talk than it is in real, loud talk.

You can shout out "chicken shits" right here if you like.  It will probably help you get through the rest of this post if you release some of the tension.

Sunday, June 19, 2016

It Could Be Bigger Than "Old Yeller."


There were abandoned farms and businesses all over the prairies.  City kids had playgrounds and community centres and sports complexes … we had old barns and abandoned buildings.

The first thing you did when you found an old building, was move in and stake your claim on the new club house.  Someone should do some serious investigative study on the correlation between farms kids and their old abandoned buildings and bike gangs and their club houses.  A lot of the same dynamics were definitely at play.  The places were dark, there were tables and chairs made out of old boxes and equipment, there were club insignia on the wall and the members sat around and drank.  In our case it was pretty much Fanta pop when we could get it, the occasional coke, and a lot of Kool-aide.  Someone was the leader and the rest of us were followers.  We weren't happy about it, but we were there none the less.  It beat talking to the cows.

Also we did not have hookers even though Donna Peterson did grow up to be a hooker.  In Grade 4 she had not yet chosen a career path and still hoped to one day grow up and work the french fry station at the famous Peter's Drive-In.  Even if she had identified herself as a hooker at that age, trust me, none of the boys would have known what to do with her anyway.

Monday, June 13, 2016

It's A Desert Out There.


I feel my sanity slipping away.  It is either that or I have become more objective in my self-observations.  I have no idea why, when I turn on the light and it does not work, I flick the switch off and on several times as if there is a possibility that I have done it wrong or that maybe if I do it in a certain way, the light will come on.  I like to think I am an enthusiastic optimist and refuse to surrender to "no can do" in any form.

Ya, let's go with that.

The most annoying thing though, is that the voice inside my head that is laughing at me, is that of my mother's.   When did I record that, to carry with me through the rest of my life?  When I packed my things to leave home, who put the tape recorder in??

Sunday, June 5, 2016

We Aim To Serve and Protect.


I did a drive along with some cops once as part of a community awareness.

I can't help it if the cop's perspective of the incident was all caught up in the legal documents that said it was court ordered, in the hopes of helping me change my ways before it was too late.  I have my own perspective and it is my story and I am choosing happier meanings and outcomes so that I will not be all bogged down with negativity that makes me have cancer because I hold negative energy in my body.

Neither do I want to be the butt of those feel good posters that say get rid of the people who always bring you down with their sad stories.  So I just close my eyes tight and click my heels and imagine unicorns and rainbows and sparkles and you would be amazed what an awesome life I now have.