32 degrees

The bitchmobile finally retired, my friends. She's happy to finally be able to rest.

The bitchmobile (real name: Susanna Avery) was born in Oshawa, Ontario in 1992 to GMC and Pontiac GM. She lived a simple life in her childhood, spending her early years in a small lot just north of Winnipeg with close friend, Chevrolet Cavalier. Few months passed before she was adopted by a small family from Red Deer, Alberta, and she spent the next few years of her life carrying them from grocery stores to schools to soccer practices and beyond. Her four doors and fuel efficiency were well utilized until the release of the 1999 Pontiac Sunfire, at which point she was sold in the classified ads to a young woman and her mechanic husband in Kamloops, British Columbia. The bitchmobile, now age 6, spent the next few years of life more simplistically, changing from the hectic schedule of a family of 4 sedan, to the casual vehicle of a childless wife. She lived comfortable parked in the driveway, occasionally traveling to and from the local women only fitness center, until one day, she was once again placed in the classified ads. Her lady had found a brand new Pontiac Grand Prix, and she no longer needed the tiny bitchmobile's steady service. She sat for many months wearing a for sale sign, until one day in May, 2 years ago, I stumbled upon her brilliance and beauty. We spent day and night together, going from one edge of B.C. to the other, and she was a steadfast and loyal companion for me. It wasn't until about 5 months ago that her reliability started to slip up, and after a long conversation together, she told me she was tired. We took one last trip together, and after a tear jerking goodbye, I watched her roll in neutral off into the sunset. And, you know, she's a lot happier now. Last email she sent me, she was in Maui with plans of visiting the East; I'm expecting a postcard any day now.

And I miss her very much.

What We Had

Things I Used To Do:

1. Take city transit.
2. Exercise.
3. Write poetry.
4. Make art.
5. Floss.
6. Care.

Explanations:

1. I got a car, and it was a dirty mistake because all I've done is spend foolish amounts of money on things like gasoline and insurance for the last 3 years.
2. I got lazy
3. I got boring.
4. I lost my creative sense.
5. I gave up.
6. See #5.

That is all.

On Air

I went to my first hockey game last night.

It was so loud there, with everyone talking to each other or people cheering; collective sighs and boos. The men behind me were talking to the players, almost believing that they could really hear them. And everyone had towels to swing around, and seeing everyone do so all at once was almost surreal. Hockey, I have discovered, is more about showmanship than sportsmanship. Hockey seems to be a game in which fighting is encouraged - other than in boxing, of course. You don't usually see tennis players scrapping with their rackets in hand. More importantly, the fans have the same intensity as the players - one of which I'm sure fuels the other. Never have I seen such loyalty and idolatry as I have when it comes to fans and their respective teams and their game - which seems more painfully North American than it is.

I'm sitting in my kitchen right now, and when I look out my window, I can count six identical windows, all aligned and covered with the same white curtains, on my neighbour's house. They stretch from one side all the way to the other side of the house, and this is peculiar to me. It's so quiet today, both inside and out. My roommate is in his room, asleep. We're both killing time before work. I feel like how I remember feeling when I was a child. This feeling is reminiscent of our family vacations, when we would first arrive and would be sitting in our hotel room itching for something to happen; anticipating what we knew would be in store for us, and being anxious and excited. That is how I am feeling today, but with no excitement; just anxious as all hell and wishing for something to happen.

I'm going to teach myself German and run away to Berlin.

This waiting is killing me.