Emergency contact

She lived on my street. But she didn’t just live on my street. She was a neighbour, but she wasn’t just a neighbour.

She was a wife. She was a mom.

She was a breath of fresh air every time I saw her. She never had anything but positive, supportive things to say. She was a terrific mother. A great mother, the kind who unintentionally would make me feel like I didn’t do enough or well enough by my own children, by not being able to spend as much meaningful time with them, by having to rush through everything with them because there was too much to go through in too little time. Though she would have been horrified to know that I had this feeling, and it must be noted that I have this guilt regardless, somehow she may have realized my fears.

She would call to thank me for having her son to my house. My house long ago began an open door policy for any of the neighbourhood kids who wanted to come hang out with my kids. I don’t expect thank yous, but she was the only mom who ever did. She would stop by and mention how great it was for my son to have been over, and what a polite boy he is and what a “great job” I am doing. She talked about my daughter’s sense of humour and how proud I must be of her. She asked if on school forms she could put me down as the emergency contact for her son. How she would just feel better knowing it was me.

The affliction of the single working mom is the fear of always being considered a second-class parent by the “true” moms. She never knew what it meant that she, the kind of mother I want to be when I grow up, would embrace me as a fellow parent in that way.

Actually, I think perhaps she did.

I didn’t actually know her as well as I wanted to. I wish I had known her better. I wish that the last time I saw her I knew it would be the last time I would see her.

I would have expressed this immense gratitude I have for her. This tremendous respect I have for her. This tremendous admiration I had for her positive attitude, her warming welcome, and for raising lovely, lovely children.

There’s a loose screen door off my dining room balcony. Last week I was sitting here reading when I thought I heard a knocking; we’re a split-level so the balcony is one storey up. I jumped to my feet thinking our neighbour’s cat must have vaulted over, and I’d have to grab him and take him back next door again. But there was no cat on the balcony. The screen door was just knocking back and forth with the wind, which also was blowing the curtains into the house. Obviously, no one was out there knocking on the door. As I went to grab the sliding door to close it, I realized that the wind has never actually blown in that direction through this house before, either. I stood there for a minute, the warm, unusual wind rushing past me.

I think in a way it was her; she was stopping by, or maybe just passing through. It was such an honour for the visit. She may have now become aware of the unforgettable impact she had, even for something that to her was simply natural. Being a good human, generous of spirit.

I want to pay tribute to her, and let her know, I hope she knows, that I will always be her emergency contact, and what a special honour it is.


Game day superstition

It’s nearly time for Game 2 of the Montreal Canadiens/Boston Bruins second round matchup. “Nearly time” is 8:32 AM in Vancouver this fine morning, and the boys are playing at 9:30 AM our time, because NBC rules the NHL and there’s some stupid horse race later today which is a whole can of worms that makes me crazy, but it is what it is, and I am ready.

“Ready” means matching everything I did for the Habs’ first playoff game against Tampa:

  • I’m listening to TSN690’s pre game show.
  • I am about to put on my Carey Price jersey – it doesn’t come on until just before the anthems.
  • My Forum chair sits empty – I don’t transfer to it until the anthems. For now, I still get to enjoy my comfy couch.
  • Even though I’m obviously going to be watching the game, I’ve set it to record on the PVR, and scheduled it to end at 30 minutes after the scheduled recording time.
  • Even though during the regular season I always watch games blaring through the surround sound speakers, for whatever reason in the first round against the Lighting, I didn’t switch on the surround sound. And we swept. So I listen through the crappy canny TV speakers.

This is the formula. I’ve done my thing, now Habs: do yours.


I know, I haven’t blogged in forever, don’t even check my last post date because it was forever ago, just trust me. I’ve been BUSY. I am ruminating one, but this isn’t it. But now, I need your help.

Before you read on, just know that if you are from the United States or a fan of team USA in the Olympics in any way, shape or form, please don’t help me*. You’ll see why.

I have a quandary, and I need you to help me out with resolving it.

You know how when your team plays a big game, you believe that all your actions have an effect on the outcome, the sequence of things you do and how you do them, and if your team wins or loses, the responsibility is solely on you? … No? What?

Team Canada plays the USA tomorrow in the men’s hockey semi-final game of the Olympics. Loser gets to play for loser bronze. So here’s my thing:

Do I wear my Team Canada jersey during the game? I know what you’re saying, “Of course you do! Why wouldn’t you?”

Listen to me, there are so many factors that go into this decision that I’ve been driving myself crazy trying to make the right decision, and being the mitigating factor in whether or not Canada gets the gold, because whoever wins tomorrow WILL get the gold.

Here are my variables and circumstances and then you’ll know why this is agonizing for me, so I’m putting the decision to you by vote. Let’s see if by the time I finish this post I can figure out who to include a poll:

  • (Oh my god, I just saw the “Add Poll” button at the top of this window. Problem one: solved! Wicked.)
  • For the first game Canada played I was at work and Carey Price played: no jersey. We won. But we let a goal in.
  • For the second game, I was at work again, but Roberto Luongo played: no jersey. We won, and got a shutout.
  • For the third game, I was at home. Carey Price played, and I wore my Carey Price/Team Canada jersey combo. Canada jersey on top of the Canadiens jersey.
  • We won. BUT it was in OT. And we let in a goal.
  • For the fourth game, I was at work again, and Carey Price was in goal: no jersey. We won. But we let in a goal.
  • Goddammit, it looks like the odds are in favour of no jersey.
  • I really want to wear my jersey.
  • I really want to wear my jersey. Correction, both jerseys.
  • The jersey is dirty. I don’t really care, but I think there’s … tomato juice? on it at the bottom and probably I really should wash it if I’m going to wear it, you know, in public.
  • I hate laundry.
  • I love my country more than I hate laundry.
  • Also, remember: we have a perfect record of when I wore my jerseys that one time.
  • The fate of Team Canada rests on my decision.

So you see. Quandary. Variables. Factors and math and all that stuff I hate!

So internet, tell me what to do. I am totally leaving this decision to social media. Vote below. And Go Canada Go! Go Canada Go!

*Obviously now you know why I respectfully reject your input if you’re our neighbour south of the border. You’re like the liar at the gates of Heaven and Hell in that riddle, you know which one I’m talking about? Where you have to have the perfect question to ask about avoiding the door to Hell, but you don’t know which guy is the liar and which one’s the guy who can’t lie and you have to pick the perfect question? I’m obviously a terrible question asker (see above) and I am truly grateful for your readership; but you may not participate in this poll, thanks, good luck tomorrow, not really.

I’m getting excited

This will probably be 100 words or less, for once. Two quick thoughts for the day:

  • OMG we got our tickets for the Habs game in Vancouver October 12. We’ll be sort of near the goal where the Habs shoot twice, so watch for us on your teevees. On account of the Habs will be scoring there.
  • The bf is here for the weekend, and just took the dogs out. I’m still trying to watch the Habs preseason game against Ottawa from last Thursday, and Marc Bergevin is being interviewed on RDS in the second intermission. Lime-green tie and all. I just said, “Mm, mm, mm,” at my T.V. , the kind that hits three different octaves, you know what I’m taking ’bout, ladies.
  • Don’t tell the bf.

126 words, three points. It’s all good.

Laughter & Lists

This one’s self-indulgent… oh wait, they all are. Anyway, I have to do this for me. Me, me, me.

A couple of weeks ago, I was driving in to work listening to the TSN690 morning show in Montreal, which I have my handy iPhone app set up to record every morning starting at 3:00 AM my time. I get to listen to it after I get up, and after zipping through all the commercials and baseball and soccer talk, I’m through listening pretty much by the time I get to work. The guys were having fun as usual – but on this particular day they were laughing at something so silly, that they kept laughing and couldn’t even speak. It was infectious – I was laughing too, just from hearing them laugh. I can’t even remember at what.

Someone that I like and respect very much described himself once as taking his job very seriously – but not taking himself very seriously. I thought it was an excellent description, and see myself the same way, I just didn’t know it until he encapsulated it. I don’t take myself very seriously, and find it very important to have a good laugh, hopefully at something completely silly or even something that isn’t funny but becomes funny, at least once a day. I’m lucky enough that I can usually get much more than one a day, thanks to having similarly silly, and wonderful, people in my life. For whom I am undyingly grateful.

And do you know what? It struck me – that’s my official measuring stick for people. As I was listening to the radio guys cracking up at something utterly silly, I thought: this is really it. If you are incapable of having an uncontrollable giggling fit, you will definitely not get me. I’m not hilarious or anything, well, I am to me, and I’m usually the one laughing hardest at myself and I’m a very good audience to me. A sense of humour is what’s gotten me through lots of crappy things. Even when I allow myself to be miserable, I can find a way to laugh. I read it somewhere, how important it is to laugh, but it’s not like you need to read a study on it to know it.

Another person that I care about and respect very much recently asked me to make a list of what I’m grateful for, and another list of my concerns. I have a lot of concerns… but my good fortune list is much longer. It was a good exercise at a very opportune time. And I highly recommend doing one for yourself. My list begins with people, and goes on that way for a while. It’s kinda long. And when I have a bad day, I can look at my lists. And feel great. And grateful.

My children, family, friends and the sweetest and funniest boyfriend in the world make my world go around.

Make your lists, thank me later.

Dog Days of Summer

It’s Canada Day and July 1, so maybe this post will be my only one this month if I stay true-to-form, and the procrastinator in me is very proud of me for getting it out of the way at the earliest possibility.

  • I love Canada! I wasn’t born here, and haven’t lived my entire life here, but it’s my favourite country in the whole wide world. If you haven’t lived here, you should live here. We have looooots of room.
  • In the country. Not in my house.
  • We have an extra occupant this weekend, as the bf is off on a boys weekend, so we’re dog-sitting for Rose the black dog. A couple of observations:
  1. Two biggish dogs wrestling on a hardwood floor is noisy.
  2. This is the smell of two sweaty dogs in my brand-new crossover SUV in Crystal Pearl Mica: Not wonderful. Not wonderful, readers.
  3. I’m going to train the bf to train Miss Rose to WALK ON THE LEASH. She’s a rescue, so we don’t really know where she came from, but the first time I put her on the leash I almost tripped on my face because she immediately wrapped it around my legs as she walked around and around and around, and my own dog was stupefied.
  4. Housebreaking is a wee issue. Thank god for hardwood. I take both animals out first thing in the morning, and my dog knows it’s time for business. Rose however, seems to be waiting to get back inside to make a puddle. I sit there going, “Rose, time for a pee-pee! Go pee-pee now, Miss Rose! You haven’t peed all night, you must need to do a pee-pee! Do your pee-pee please! Now! We’re not going back inside until you’ve done your pee-pee!” and she’s like, “Lady. You talk a lot.”
  • I know a couple is only two, relax. There are more but I’ll spare you. I should point out that I love this dog, the kids love her, and my dog loves her.
  • There’s this whole thing that’s supposed to be some kind of revelation, that the so-called Mediterranean diet is really good for you. I looked it up. It’s all the only kind of food I eat. I was raised on it, and have never lived in the Mediterranean. I don’t go a day without eating avocado. Or tomato.
  • I’m taking courses for an editing certification. You know what drives me crazy? The plural of avocado is avocados. The plural of tomato is tomatoes. Stop the world, I want off.
  • Subway has introduced avocado in its menu, learning centuries later what we’ve always known in Chile: avocado goes with everything. No sandwich is complete without it. We even put it on our pizza when it’s out of the oven, and spread it on hot dogs. I will never forget the time one of my older brother’s friends came to our house in Saskatoon, and asked what the hell we were putting on our hotdogs.
  • Is it really avocado though? That they use at Subway? Or is it that gross processed stuff they sell in a vacuum-sealed bag at the grocery store? I need an answer to this question.
  • We had an unreasonably rainy week, and now it’s unreasonably hot. The reason I find this unreasonable is the heat came precisely when I started dog-sitting, and the only way to have two manageable dogs within the confines of the house is to take them out, a lot, and tire them out. Not great to do in the heat, as the one dog is black and the other likes to run full-tilt, to the point of heat exhaustion.
  • Here’s the funny thing about the black dog. The kids weren’t sure how to describe her because they think it might be racist. “Is it okay to call her black, Mom?” She’s BLACK.
  • I watched The Last Gladiators with my son the other night. Must-watch – you don’t have to be a Habs fan, or a hockey fan. After watching it, my son said, “I don’t understand why (my cousin) even bothers with the Canucks.” Neither do I, buddy… neither do I.
  • Speaking of the Canucks, that was all kinds of cray yesterday at the Draft, eh? Luongo? Schneider? The drama in this city, with the addition of Tortorella as a coach, just got real. Better Vancouver than Montreal, for me.

I have to go finish my take-away exams for two courses now, since the dogs are currently doing this:


Happy Canada Day, everyone!

Christmas in April… It’s Playoffs, Baby

“How could it be so?
It came without ribbons! It came without tags!
“It came without packages, boxes or bags!”
And he puzzled three hours, `till his puzzler was sore.
Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn’t before!
“Maybe Christmas,” he thought, “doesn’t come from a store.
“Maybe Christmas…perhaps…means a little bit more!” *

How are all the armchair coaches in Habs Nation doing today? We beat the Leafs. No, we SMOKED them. 4-1. Masterton candidate pulled from the net. 4 unanswered goals, no less. With our backup goalie. In their territory. And Carey was the only one who sat the game out. Therrien, once again, called his own shots, dressed everybody else, and it turns out, made the best decision.

And in the game that Hockey Night in Canada was practically drenching us with their drool over the inevitable Habs / Leafs matchup in a so-called “Forever Rivalry,” for the first round after the Leafs beat the Habs to a bloody pulp in the so-called “Game 1” of that series… we won.

We did it with Markov.
We did it without Price.
We did it with Whitey, Patches and Lars!
And the Leafs puzzled three hours, ’till Kadri’s whiny face was sore.
Then haters from Habs Nation thought of something they hadn’t before!
Maybe this team, they thought, doesn’t give up when down.

Maybe this team… perhaps… doesn’t give a crap that they’re midgets and small and doesn’t listen to Toronto trash-talk or CBC or PJ Stock or Glen Healy or all the moaners talking about how they’re going to get swept in 4 in Round 1 and how it’s already time to hit the golf course, and can play their game and focus on only themselves.

I felt a little earthquake last night when all the haters hopped back on the bandwagon. Settle in, guys. It’s gonna be a great ride.

* Credit, obviously, to the brilliant Theodor Seuss Geisel’s “How The Grinch Stole Christmas.”

Happy Valentimes!

  • I don’t read what I write here. But I went back and read the past couple of posts and holy crap, I use “I” a lot. It seems obnoxious. But it is my online diary/opinion-fest so I’m not really talking about anyone else’s point of view. It makes me want to watch out and not do that but then, forget it. That sounds exhausting. And probably not even possible.
  • Just coming off an extra-long long-weekend and it has been marvelous. Didn’t do too many things out of the ordinary, but getting accomplished in 4 days what I barely can squeezed into 2 is a single mom’s dream.
  • In Chile, taking the Friday off when you get a Monday off too is called a making a “sandwich” out of a long weekend. We seriously have the best way of saying things.
  • So we were back to work on Tuesday. Which always reminds me of that one Sex and the City episode where they all referred to this nasty person politely as a “C.U.Next Tuesday.” Which was hilarious. My brother and I took our Mom out for her birthday a couple of years ago, and I cannot remember why, but this topic came up. And my mom was sitting there listening to us go on, and said, “See you next Tuesday? What’s all this ‘see you next Tuesday?’ What – do we have a long weekend?”
  • I had this dream where I auditioned for a part in a stage adaptation of the Wizard of Oz. And GOT IT. I was going to be Dorothy. The whole dream, all I could think was, “Who the hell is the casting director, and is he on crack? I don’t know any of these songs off by heart! And I can’t sing! This is going to be a disaster. I’m no Liza Minnelli!”
  • I woke up in a sweat before opening night, thank god. Also, a couple of days later, I was like, “It’s Judy Garland, not Liza Minnelli. You’re an idiot.” Even in my dreams.
  • Two of my friends and I went to see a Kathy Griffin standup act a few years ago. We had primo seats, something like 3rd or 4th row (hi, Lisa!!), on account of we have connections. But there were two empty seats directly in front us, and we were wondering who would buy such great seats and not show up? Then the lights went down and Kathy took the stage, and very shortly after, two people sat down in the empty seats. IT WAS LIZA FREAKING MINNELLI, and some dude. She’s tiny. And laughs really loudly. And eats lots of candy. She’d just played the same venue the night before, so seeing Kathy was how she enjoyed her night off. Had she sat behind us, we could have tried to surreptitiously snap her picture. Just trust me. It happened.
  • I’ve been counselling my 10-year-old daughter on the ways of catty girls. Oh, the 5th grade drama these children create. My rule of thumb is:  if she has a lot of “temporary” and disposable best friends in her wake, and generally has more ex-best friends than current “best friends” – RUN. Don’t walk away. Will never be worth your time, in fact she will definitely be a waste of your time, and either doesn’t appreciate good friends or doesn’t know how to be a friend, or both. I know a lot of little girls don’t yet have the maturity to develop these qualities, but you can’t start too soon. I know some adult women who have this problem, too. It’s easy dispensing this advice, but 10-year-old girls need to experience things themselves…I just hope  she’s learning from experience, and maybe remembering what her old mom had to say.
  • It’s Valentine’s Day! I couldn’t care less about Valentine’s Day, as it turns out. My “valentine” makes me feel special every day, so that, for me, is all I need. I’m not anti-Valentine’s Day, mind you – particularly for the kids. Valentine’s Day is always fun at school, with all the sweetheart candy and such. The rule at my kids’ schools is if you’re giving one person a Valentine in your class, everyone gets one. So that’s good.
  • On my desk is a six year old card, written in pencil and on red construction paper. The cover says, “We love you,” and inside there’s a heart and message: “from: secrt admier.” I found it deep inside my handbag on Valentine’s Day in 2007. I don’t think that one can ever be topped. And it does make my heart squish a little bit for those years the kids would wish me a “Happy Valentimes, Mommy.”
  • I can’t talk about my various loves without also mentioning the furry four-legged one. She’s mostly a very well-composed puppy, and obedient (as long as she’s not alone in the room). She’s doing well. She does however, speaking of the bf, have a huge weakness when he comes around. It’s fun time, all the time, when he’s here. So she loses her mind. We’re having to come up with new ideas to keep her contained so we can have a moment’s peace when he’s here. It’s his own fault, really, as he plays with her like crazy all the time. So she goads him, and he always complies, playing, rough-housing and getting her worked up. Here’s the thing about this crazy, wonderful dog. You can play with her, and drive her crazy, and she growls, jumps, barks, the works. One thing she never, ever does, is bite. You can stick your hands right in her mouth, and she’ll never, ever even slightly clamp down. Gentlest thing in the world.
  • She has super strong jaws. She’s a chewer. And I have all the implements to satisfy this predilection – the floor in my living room is an actual boneyard. Cow femurs and deer antlers. It’s appropriately animalistic when she gets down to chewing. One time a couple of weeks ago, the bf came over with the solution for the evening, another “eternal” chew that presumably would keep her busy for hours. He gave it to her, and a few minutes later I asked how it was going, and he said, “She ate it like a damned cracker!” Which led us to conclude that if this animal ever decided to actually bite anyone, she could snap a wrist in half in no time. She does. She chews this stuff like bubble gum, and you can see the bubble coming out of her mouth, and it says, “Ain’t no thang.”
  • Which leads me to Leafs fans, defending a grown man biting down on the arm of another during a frenzied scrum in a hockey game. Max Pacioretty, in a game that the Leafs were crushing us, in a melee tried to grab Grabovski off a teammate, and from behind, clamped his forearm on Grabovski’s face for about 1.3 seconds. Grabovski BIT DOWN. This guy is a grown-up. The bite has been dissected and defended ad nauseam since Saturday so I won’t go down that road right now, but the biggest scream from Leafs fans was, “I would bite him too!” “He couldn’t breathe!” “What was he supposed to do?” OK, here’s what he was supposed to do, coming from a 1.5 year old puppy: turn your head, and turn your chin down. Get out of it. This from a dog for whom it definitely goes wildly against instinct to NOT bite. She is such a lady.
  • So I heard my kid calling someone else a “pissant” recently. I was suitably impressed, since pissant is such an old-timey word. Turns out he had read it in a book, and was particularly pleased to know it because he thought it was a dirty word. I burst that bubble, and taught him another one: miscreant. He’s a sucker for vocabulary.
  • My retired boss, with whom I worked for 7 years, retired last year. We still do lunch. He took me out just before Christmas to Hawksworth, which has been deemed “the best restaurant in Canada.” I’d never been there, and was looking at the dishes go by, and told him I thought I would order the burger. He told me I could NOT order a HAMBURGER at the best restaurant in Canada. And I said, “Yeah, but, can you imagine the burger at the best restaurant in Canada???” Whatever, I ordered the ribs. And they were DELICIOUS.
  • So speaking of food, I’ve had the hardest time finding my dog’s food in the past few months. Her food costs more than what I spend on MY HUMANS, specifically, the Okanagan Apple and Lamb flavour made by Acana. She loves it, it’s ridiculously expensive, and now, ridiculously hard to find. I finally bitched to my poor Bosley’s sales representative last week, and he said the food’s been hard to come by on account of the factory having had a horrible fire. Why does everything happen to me.
  • The kids were watching When Harry Met Sally with me on the weekend. In one scene, she’s making out with her vanilla, blond boyfriend in a jacket and tie in the airport. Max took one look and said, “God. I bet that guy’s name is, like, Winston.” Sofia replied, “Or Walter.” I can’t explain why, but I’m surrounded by the most hilarious people.
  • One thing that made me laugh uncontrollably was when Martin Short hosted SNL. Did you see it? He was playing the gynecologist to the Royals, tutoring the new guy who is going to deliver Kate Middleton’s baby. First, he would only refer to ‘it’ as “The Royal ‘Ahem'”, then went on to tell the other guy he was lucky he didn’t have to see Camilla’s, which can only be reached by a drawbridge, that’s guarded by a troll who asks you a riddle! I can barely type that sentence. The mirth. It’s too much.

It’s a school night, so I have to go to bed. The Habs won tonight. 4 points in Florida. And the Leafs are lower in the standings. Life is perfect.

Happy Valentimes!

Why so sad? Because the music said!

I was watching Grey’s Anatomy the other day and you know how they always or at least usually play a whole song for the last like 10 minutes of the episode? They take a perfectly happy bouncy song, then have someone re-record it to make it depressing as hell. WHY. Take music that’s already depressing. Like, every song by Coldplay. Every song by Coldplay makes me want to cut my wrists. Stop messing with The Cure, Shonda Rhimes!

*This is basically a long tweet that didn’t fit into 140 characters, or a single bullet point that couldn’t wait for a family of bullet points because it was on my mind.

Watches, NHL, US Politics, Wine & Traffic Cops

Happy October! I’ve been rolling a few ideas around in the noggin lately and have decided that bullet-form is my best format. It appeases my preference to change unfinished topics and such. I’ve actually taken to jotting down random ideas on my iPhone when they come to me and when I have enough, I’ll blog. It goes against my instinct to organize my blog in any way. But we’ll give it a shot. So I think I have enough now, let’s do this.

  • Wearing a watch dates you. None of the kids wear watches anymore, they consult their mobile devices. When you see someone wearing a watch, you know: old.
  • I wear a watch. What.
  • I also have the iPhone 5, baby! I got it on day 2. I love it. There’s this one guy at the office who is super anti-Apple and brags about his Samsung Galaxy. Whatever, it’s like a tablet. Like I want all those cancer waves waving a tablet-sized radius around my head. Whatever.
  • The traffic has gotten crazy again since school’s been back in session. How I adore summer-vacation rush-hour. The cops have been crazy lately, too. You can usually expect to see them out in full force around the end of the month, trying to rack up their quotas and whatnot. But lately and unexpectedly I’ve seen them all over the place, like, mid-month, even. Last week, I was going down this road that is 30km/hr, right by a playground. I was the caboose in this caravan of 4 cars crawling down the road, and I heard this pickup vrrrrroooom past me, overtaking us in the oncoming lane, got around us and popped into the lead. This cop car was hiding in the bushes and fired up the siren and went after him. I hope Mr. Pickup was happy he gained 8 seconds. It probably cost him $300.
  • I have no rational reason for hating pickup drivers, but I just do. But my number one of people I hate are Hummer drivers. Who needs to drive a damned army vehicle. Sorry/not sorry.
  • There’s this hilarious guy who works at the wine store I frequent. I went in one time and bought a bottle, and he said, “Do you require documentation this evening?” Me: “Um…huh?” Him: (waving receipt with flourish) “Of this transaction?” Right? I love him. Then on the Friday before Canadian Thanksgiving, which is a holiday I never really “got”, being an immigrant and all, I went in and told him I was getting ready to celebrate the pilgrims. And he said, “Oh, I thought you were going to say you were going to celebrate the Pill!” To which I said, “I’m thankful for that too. I’m mentioning it in my speech.” But my favourite was a couple of days ago was when I went in and looked for this one kind of wine that I really like but don’t get often because it’s expensive. And it was sold out. So when he told me, I said, “It’s not sold out because it’s reasonable!” And he put his one hand on his hip and helicoptered his finger around and said, “You’re unreasonable!”
  • It sounds like I drink too much wine.
  • Just message me if you want to find out where this wine store is. It’s a great place to get some comedy with your Sauvignon Blanc after a long day.
  • The debate between Obama and Romney a couple of weeks ago was fun for a couple of reasons: it got me on Twitter to see the reactions, which I’ve not been checking into a lot since the NHL lockout. And I saw Romney ingratiating himself to the left and centre, aligning himself to a lot of what Obama says and does, because of course, Obama was killing him in the polls, so something was obviously working for him. And Obama “lost” the debate, losing points in the polls for days afterward. It was interesting to me to see the pundits (p.s. it makes me crazy when so many people say “pundint”. Like all the people who pronounce “realtor” “re-la-tor”. Nucular. Don’t get me started.) talk about how Romney “won” because he seemed most “Presidential.” Yes, Presidential. So did Martin Sheen. And Harrison Ford. Your point? Jeez. But then we got to see the meaningless VP debate which was awesome, because Biden came to PLAY and got to say/be all those things that Obama cannot. Ryan stood no chance. Tonight’s town hall meeting was good – Obama brought his cojones.
  • Politics in Canada is slightly different. It makes me crazy the (lack of) voter turnout we get here. You know the voter turnout in Chile? It’s ONE HUNDRED PER CENT. Why wouldn’t you vote??? In Chile under the dictatorship no one was allowed to vote or have a choice. So when democracy returned, it was like a party. Everyone wanted their voice heard. People would bring cards to play and pack a lunch for the hours-long lineups. Not so in Canada. I was talking about it once with a co-worker before a meeting, and I figured it’s because we have all the most important things sewn up, and those things won’t change with a different Prime Minister. Things like gun control, a woman’s right to choose, healthcare, gay marriage, etc. I said “It’s like no matter who’s in office, it wouldn’t matter.” He said, “Maybe I should run then.” And I said, “Yeah, that should be your platform. Vote for me!” In unison: “Because it just doesn’t matter.” TM!!
  • There was this guy who was waving a gun around in the hotel where I PARK the other night. The cops shut the stupid city down in a standoff against this one guy who had no hostages. It took 11 hours for 100 cops to realize, “Hey, we outnumber this guy, we’ve got bullet-proof vests on, and he’s not a danger to anyone but himself…let’s rubber-bullet him in the leg.” 11 HOURS. And I was inconvenienced for about 12 minutes to find a different place to park. It didn’t even make this morning’s news. And where did this clown even get a gun?
  • The NHL made a very reasonable proposal to the NHLPA today. 50/50 split, 82-game season starting November 2nd. And all the millionaires on both sides still get to be millionaires. If the players don’t accept, I’ll be forced to reconsider everything I think about them and may have to hate them. And I will hate hating them. I mean, I’ll still always hate the obviosos no matter what – Chara, Avery, Ference, Marchand, Phaneuf, and everybody who’s not a Hab. You guys – we may have hockey in a couple of short weeks. I’m giddy!

That’s all of the topics I wrote down. I don’t know, this felt too organized. We may have more blogs soon depending on the return of hockey – also, more tweets! Sorry/not sorry.

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