February 8, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): You love it when everything is balanced, and today gives you the chance to juggle every element of your life so that they're all weighted more or less equally. You should breathe quite a bit easier as a result!
Being unemployed is not the same as being on vacation. And it certainly doesn’t mean I am suddenly everyone’s personal assistant. Would someone please tell my family?!
Marella called at 6:45 this morning—“Oh, I forgot you’re not working”—to ask me to drive up to Whistler to pick up an Australian guy she picked up Friday night. (Seems she recalled I wasn’t working when it really mattered.) “Oh, come on, sis. He’s absolutely adorable and he’s so energetic in bed. I was just hoping for one more round. You know, celebrate the whole Boxing Kangaroo affair.”
“Can’t he take a shuttle?” No idea what the response was. I hung up. I will not pimp for my sister. Besides, the last thing I need is to sit in a car for a couple of hours with a horny stud who only refers to me as Driver.
Estelle begged me to babysit Gretel and Sven this afternoon. “It’ll only be four hours, maybe a bit longer.”
“What’s it pay?” I asked.
“Relax. Of course I’m kidding. But I may raid your pantry. Name brand labels are so lovely, don’t you think?”
Poor Estelle. She got her sense of humor from Stephen Harper and “According to Jim”.
Lucy keeps calling to get me to join Olympic protests. “But I like the Olympics,” I said.
Lucy sighed dramatically. “That’s just because you’re uninformed.”
“So you’re saying I’m ignorant.” This time she hung up on me. I knew it would work.
Now I have to face my toughest challenge: Mom. She is determined to give me a makeover. “Your roots are showing,” she commented. Good ol’ Mom. Criticism as a form of encouragement.
“But, Mom, you know I don’t dye my hair.”
“That’s what makes it even more appalling.” Yep, thanks Mom. Managed to put her off by saying I’m working on my résumé. I’m learning that, when you’re unemployed, you can always say you’re working on your résumé. People never question you.
My horoscope? A definite head scratcher. My life is not in balance, but I’ve managed to keep family at bay.
That’s what makes me breathe easier.
KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):
I BLAME THE COMMERCIALS. TOO MANY OF ’EM. THINK I DOWNED A BEER DURING EACH BREAK. WENT FROM SUPER BOWL TO TOILET BOWL. HAVEN’T DONE THAT IN TEN YRS. MARTY’S STILL GONNA BE A FRAT BOY WHEN HE’S 70. I JUST CAN’T DO IT ANYMORE.
THE GAY GUYS DIDN’T FIT ANY STEREOTYPES. HE’S A MARTIAL ARTS INSTRUCTOR AND HE’S A LONGSHOREMAN. BOTH KNEW WAY MORE ABOUT THE GAME THAN I & BOTH WERE RIVETED BY THE PLAYS. HONESTLY, THE GAME FELT LIKE A SIDESHOW. I COULDN’T SUSTAIN ANY INTEREST. ALL THE MOMENTUM WAS SUCKED DRY FROM THE ADS & THE OVERBLOWN ON-AIR ANALYSIS & THE ENTERTAINMENT.
AND THE BEER.
TYLENOL, BLACK COFFEE,…NOTHING’S WORKING. I HAVE BRUISES ON BOTH SHOULDERS AND MY RIGHT THIGH FROM LOSING MY BALANCE WALKING HOME. TOO MUCH CONCRETE IN YALETOWN. SURPRISED A VANOC CREW WASN’T CALLED TO THE SCENE TO PICK ME UP & DUMP ME IN CHILLIWACK.
THINK I’VE GOT MY BALANCE BACK AND I DON’T THINK I HAVE ANYTHING LEFT TO UPCHUCK. GOTTA GIVE THE HALL CARPET ANOTHER SPONGING SO STRATA DOESN’T GET ON MY CASE & THEN I’LL SHOOT FOR A NOON ARRIVAL AT WORK.
SO GLAD THE SUPER BOWL IS ONLY ONCE A YEAR.