The Reality Has Set In and It Doesn't Look Good

For two days, we lived vicariously through the thoughts of "what if"?  Can you imagine how different our lives would be?  How much better the lives of everyone we care about would be?

To clarify, the big lottery, the Lotto Max, had it's $55 million jackpot won by a single winner, located right here in Saskatoon.  As an avid and faithful customer of the lottery, I always have my fingers crossed, but am greatly skeptical when I hear a jackpot has been won.  Especially, when it happens practically in my backyard.  I'm not being cynical, but rather, I know how shitty my luck is and when a big prize, like the afore mentioned $55M, I am almost certain that the lucky bastard who won, will not be me.

However, for two days, my workmate and I have been dreaming about the what ifs.  Dreaming of what we would do and how and where and all the dreams that are associated with a vivid imagination.  All fun and games, but in the back of my mind, I'm thinking, "Seriously... What if?"

In the days leading up to this exciting news, I've been overwhelmed with feelings of deja vu.  This rarely happens to me, but when it does, something good usually follows.  I was coming home and thinking about how I would renovate my house.  I've had grand illusions of how I would change things up in my humble abode.  Of course, I'm not the only person I was thinking about.  I would take care of my family, too.  Though I'm a single fella, I'd take care of my sister's family.  I have a nice plot of land, just south of the city, that I've had my eye on for awhile.  It's a blank slate, ready for me to move in and for the right budget, build my forever home.  Then, to the east of that I could parcel out a portion for my sister and her family to build a house, too.

Then there's my mom.  She's done SO MUCH for me in my short shitty life.  She's so helpful and generous, that if nothing else, I wanted to win that money to take care of my mom for the rest of her life.  Get her a new car, something safer than what she's driving now.  She'd live rent free, as I doubt she'd want to move again.  Basically, I wanted to give my mother a life of no more stress or worry.  Nothing but clear sailing.

That was two days of bliss, but like all good things, it came to an end.  I checked my ticket and unless I have another that I'd forgotten about, I'm afraid that I have to remain satisfied with the freeplay that I'd won, in place of the fifty-five MILLION DOLLARS.

What sucks most is... I'm forced to stay employed at the place I'm at.  Nothing would have made me more happy than to walk out of that place, head held high and never looking back.

So now reality has set in.  My life is as shitty now, as it was before.  The only ray of light is my cat, Monkey.  For richer or poorer, he's right here, by my side.  I'm so lucky to have that cat.  Most days I feel so overwhelmed and disappointed in how my life turned out, but then I look at my little boy, looking up at me with those gorgeous eyes, I thank the powers that be, who brought that little tabby cat into my life.  Now if those same Powers That Be, would get their heads out of their asses, and award me with a major jackpot, I'd be perfect!!

Lottery Isn't Comprised of Three Words

I was returning home from an excursion I'd taken at mid-day.  Suffice it to say, I wasn't in the best of moods, given a major inconvenience about an hour earlier, but I wasn't prepared for what happened when I stopped at a nearby gas station to pick up a lottery ticket.

I've rarely visited this location over the years, as it's situated in a very inconvenient place.  It's pumps face backward in relation to when you drive into the lot, but given that I don't buy my gasoline from any of the regular stations, opting instead to visit the Costco for it's lower prices, the odd placement of the gas pumps at the Shell station are barely an issue.  However, I only needed a lotto ticket.  I haven't any chance of winning the jackpot, on account that it's something that I want and need desperately, hence the unlikelihood that karma will allow it, but just in case, it's only slightly easier to win with a ticket in hand.

I've purchased lottery from this location before, albeit it hadn't been for more than a decade, I'm sure, but I slipped in quickly, with only this purchase on my mind.  Behind the counter was a lone female.  She was a bigger girl, both in height and girth.  I directed my inquiry to her as she sat perched atop a tall stool, with an abundant belly hanging down over her "cooch", and both hands tucked deep into the pockets of her bunny hug, sorry....  In the pockets of her hoodie.

"Could I get a 6/49 with the...." I asked, interrupted by a negative blast from the large Marge parked behind the counter, 

"N***a, please!!  We don't sell no lottery!!" she blurted out in response.

I paused for a split moment, although it felt like an eternity as her statement slowly soaked into my psyche.  For one thing, she pronounced the word 'lottery', like it was three words; "LAW-TRRR-EEE"!!  Another thing, "We don't sell no..." is a double-negative, which would conclude that they do, in fact, sell lottery.

I shook my head, then responded, "First.  That seems a little harsh.  And secondly, who the f*ck doesn't sell lottery?  Every place of convenience, sells lottery."

Still seated on her perch, hands still in her pockets, she just turned her head to look out the window.  "Yeah.  Well we don't!!"

Anyone in the Saskatoon-area who may read this, please stop supporting this location of Shell.  Normally, I could laugh this shit off, but holy f*ck, such a callous response to such an innocent query, seems inexcusable.

Unjust

Yesterday afternoon I stopped off at a nearby confectionery to check some lottery tickets I had.  I tend to gather a number of them before checking for winners, rather than racing the the lotto kiosk after every draw.  I used the self-checker and found that I only had two winning tickets out of the ten or so I brought in, and those were only worth two dollars each, just enough to pay for a ticket for this Wednesday's draw which I believe may be around $7M.  While waiting in line to pay for my goods and grab a new ticket, there was a little Filipino guy behind me, muttering about who-knows-what.  His accent was thick and I really didn't give a crap anyway.  The only words that I did understand from his garbled speech was "thank you" when I ushered him to another til ahead of myself.  I was nearly at the cash register in the line that I was in, so I didn't mind if he moved ahead of me and another till.

No sooner had I handed over my two winning tickets to collect the four bucks to cover the cost of my new ticket, than I overheard that same polite fellow begin freaking out at the checkout clerk helping him out.  Apparently, he too, was cashing in a lottery ticket.  His was a scratch ticket, however, and worth (from what I gathered) $10,000.  She explained to him repeatedly that he had to cash a large sum ticket with the Lottery Commission, and that such a substantial amount of money could not be awarded from a business like this, nor would it be safe for him to carry out a large sum of money like ten grand, but he would have none of that explanation.  It seemed, as if, they more clearly she explained, the angrier and the worse his accent got.  By the time I was gathering up my goods to leave, this man was as coherent as the Tasmanian Devil and just about as riled up, too.

I don't know how to word this next part without making myself sound like a total asshole, but I'll give it a whirl.  It's not his behavior that offends me in this scenario, but the mere fact that HE won that kind of money and I'm still cashing in free tickets and two dollar paydays.  This guy is "fresh off the boat", so to say, and I've lived here all my life.  I mean, they guy is still wet behind the ears practically, and I've more than paid my dues, so-to-speak.  I've lived in this country, freezing my ass off every winter, getting blasted by intolerable heat in the summers.  I've broken bones, tore muscle, and had teeth smashed out of my head, but I get a couple of bucks from playing the lotto, while this insensitive prick from half way around the world, steps off the plane, buys a lottery ticket and wins ten grand.  Then adding insult to injury, pisses and moans about having to wait until the next day to go cash the ticket in, via the usual methods.  Somebody ought to kick his ass, on principle only.  If I were a lesser person with loose morals, I would have done it and stolen his ticket.  Except I'm more civilized than that.  Plus, I don't look like a Pereira or a de la Cruz...

Out With A Bang, In With An OUCH!!

The beginning of 2013 had me fighting a bad case of pneumonia, followed by a few months of worry and concern, with return visits for X rays and CT Scans, following the progress of, what was described to me as a "black mass" on my lung.  That turned out to not be as serious as was initially believed. (Phew!)  Then the last half of December, I found myself sick, again, which I eventually found myself battling an excruciating bout of pneumonia, once again.  That fight took up most (if not all) of my two week shutdown break from work.  Yay!  At least the weather was shitty and cold, so I never had much need (or desire) to leave the comforts of my house.

January 2nd, 2014, was my first day back to work.  While I didn't feel a 100%, I did feel (or so I thought) well enough to return to work.  I knew that there'd be at least a couple of people still gone with extended vacations, but we were down four in actuality.  I managed to muscle through my Thursday, but with a badgering cough that was fueling an exasperating headache.  With every frenzied cough attack, the world would fade through my eyes and the painful pounding would commence.  Thankfully, it being the first day back, my job wasn't too strenuous and was easily manageable, despite the discomfort.

The fight never ceased after the final bell rang and it was home time.  I came home to a snowy driveway, packed with hardened snow that I foolishly took a stab at clearing.  The hard packed snow had accumulated a few days prior, so much so that it blocked my front door, which caused the bottom of the door to bend and tear away, upon my exit on Tuesday.  (Great!  More expense out of pocket.)  The temperature had warmed up significantly, but not enough to avoid heavy breathing.  With my asthma, I find that the cooler temperatures really have an adverse effect on me.  Especially since the discovery of the "black mass" on my lung.  Earlier in the season, with the dropping Mercury, I found my breathing to be difficult and laboured, at best.  This is something that the specialist relayed to me as the norm for the remainder of my days.  (I really gotta win that lottery, so I can retire to Texas or Arizona.  Or maybe New Zealand.  That place looks like it could be kinda cool..., except for all the god damned Orcs.)

Thursday night and Friday morning was disturbing.  It seemed for every thirty minute to hour patch of sleep, I'd be woken up abruptly with a coughing frenzy.  Even in the darkness of my bedroom, with my head pounding hard, my surroundings seemed to fade from my view.  Reluctantly, I contacted my employer in the morning, notifying that I regretfully would not be coming into work.  I hate leaving them in a lurch like that, despite my boss thinking that I do.  I went back to sleep for (thankfully) a very restful hour, before I got up and drove myself to the hospital.  This is something that I really should have addressed over my break, but I had my pal's van while he and his family were on vacay in Florida and I didn't want them to come home to needing to be taxied to my house to pick up their van.  However, I do think that if I'd had addressed my illness in a more timely fashion, my current predicament could've been avoided, possibly.

I was hooked up to a nebulizer, where medication was administered into my lungs.  "Breath deeply." I was instructed by the wee little blonde nurse.  On completion of that, I was ushered to the X ray department to get an X ray done, then ushered back after that.

The beginning of 2013, I fought a terrific case of pneumonia.  The end of 2013 had me fighting the worst bout of pneumonia (or any sickness I've ever experienced, including Swine Flu in 2009), and now, I'm barely ankle deep into 2014, and I'm forced to fight a f*cking lung infection??

I don't subscribe to any sort of religion and you'll never see me crouching at my bedside with hands clenched, praying for this or that, but in case I'm terribly mistaken, if there is a God, he'd better bless me with a substantial lottery win pretty f*ckin' soon.  I've paid more than my fair share of dues in this shitty life of mine.  I deserve a god damned break.  This inability to breath, bullshit, is just that.  Bullshit!!

Living the Dream

I stood quietly, overwhelmed in the moment.  Staring across the sea of magazine stands and book shelves at the terminal that would soon determine my fate.  This was a motion that I'd repeated many many times beforehand, but this time it felt different.  Like anything was possible.  People passed me by, never once paying any attention.  They didn't care and why should they?

The day started as any other work day would.  A groggy stammered start to a shortened work week.  The long weekend had just come to an end, but my long weekend was just too short.  I'd spent most of my Saturday at the Veterinarian College, where I took my sick cat in for some much needed tests.  So despite having the extra day off, I still felt completely spent.

Feeling much better after his stressful ordeal, my cat came to see me off, as he often does in the mornings.  It makes me feel better seeing his fuzzy face lurking out the front window as I pull out of the driveway.  This morning he was extra attentive, almost as if he were trying to talk me out of leaving.  "Believe me," I said to him, "If I could afford not to work anymore, I'd gladly spend my days at home with you.  Maybe I'll check my lottery ticket on the way home.  You never know...."

The thought never entered my mind again until I overheard someone talking about the lottery at work.  "Someone in the city, here, won the $14 million." he said.  After that, it was all I could think about.  Usually, when something like this occurs, where it's known that a local resident has won a substantial win fall, I pay no mind.  Reality, of course, sets in and I know in my bones that I never won the jackpot, and the proof is in the pudding, as I still work a nine-to-five job, rather than gallivanting across the globe.  However, this day felt different.

In the past, I've mentioned something I refer to as "Jeffy's Law".  It's similar to Murphy's Law, only Jeffy's Law is: Anything of equal of greater value will happen to me.  For instance, I received a $900 tax return many many years ago, then had my car breakdown to the tune of a $1200 repair.  For every good, something much worse will occur.  So naturally, I thought given all the bad shit I've had to endure this year, that perhaps something good would come of it.

So all day long, I thought about the financial freedoms that might come upon me.  What I'd do with this...  What I'd do about that....  I thought about the television program that I'd develop and sell to TLC.  (I figured if they gave a show to that idiot Honey Boo Boo, whoever the f*ck that is, that they'd have to give me a show.  My show is pure genius!!)

So all the thoughts and warm regards of my day culminated to that one moment.  The fleeting few seconds that found me standing in the drug store, looking across the field of magazines and hard cover books, to the lottery number verifier terminal.  In a few moments I'd find out if I was a winner or not...

I held my breath as I placed the unfolded ticket under the scanner.  Then it happened.  BEEP!!

Wednesday morning began like any other workday.  I was groggy and stammering to put my work shoes on.  My cat, saw me off and I waved as I drove away.  Needless to say, I didn't win f*ck all.  Not even a free play.  I'm the same loser I was before, working a nine-to-five job and livin' the dream!

Man On The Moon

I have the perfect body.  That is to say, that if this shitty body I have, can be defined as "perfect".  The norm would dictate otherwise, but I've come to the realization that no matter what sort of workout regiment or diet I was to commit to, my level of desirability to the opposite sex, will be null and void.  To elaborate further;  Even if I were to become the most physically fit fella in the city, I'd remain ugly as f*ck.  

No matter how much I squint, looking into the mirror, it is still my ugly mug that I see squinting back.  To be perfectly honest, I'm not even clear on the conquests I've already had in my life.  To the best of my knowledge, every one of these fantastic women have had good vision, therefore by simple deduction, I have to believe that it was charm and charisma that got me to share that special bond with them.  These days, however, I'm rarely faced with a situation that will allow me to impart my special characteristic.  It's rare that I converse with anyone at work, especially those of the female persuasion.

I was thinking the other day, that if I were the person I am today, back in high school, there's a good chance that I'd have been more popular than I was.  In high school, I was invisible.  A "living ghost" as it were.  Roaming the halls, too shy to speak to just about anyone.  I had friends, sure, but my place on the pecking order was near the bottom with the dog shit and spent chewing gum.  Whether that was the case, truly, it's how I've always perceived myself back then.

Nowadays, I don't have many opportunities to mingle with people.  Availing myself in a social situation, faced with any single women.  I've gone to the bar with friends, but really, does a person really wanna establish a relationship with some floozy who's half cut with her boobs bouncing out of her two-sizes too small shirt?  Not really.  Fun to watch from the corner of the booth, but I can't respect someone who doesn't respect themselves.  Although, as I type out these words, it would seem that I, too, have little self respect.  Not to mention that the premise of exchanging an intelligible conversation with a heavy bass pounding in the background is f*cking impossible.

I'm not that interesting, anyway.  Even with those I've already have an established friendship, I rarely have anything significant to share.  One of my best friends in the world, who ironically I only see once every few months, I never have anything that interesting to share when we do catch up.  He'll ask about what's new in my life, and I almost always have nothing to tell.  I work, I come home, I repeat.  Weekend comes and more times than not, I stay in the entire weekend.

As per my current situation of not meeting anyone, or having opportunities to engage anyone long enough to warrant a social outing of warm refreshments and a tasty meal, I suppose that's on me.  Ball's in my court, so to speak, but I honestly couldn't even tell you what sort of venues are out there for a single (unattractive) fella like me.  Go to a church?  Gimme a f*ckin' break!  Plus, I wouldn't feel right about seeing someone who believes so strongly in something that I find absolutely preposterous.  Online dating?  Not a chance.  I tried that years ago and got burned by one chick and then the other described herself as "athletic", but in reality was a chain-smoking battle tank.  I'm no prize, myself, as I've plainly pointed out, and definitely should not be throwing rocks from my glass house, but f*ck.  I'm not interested in cigarette-ash-stinkin' sibling of Jabba the Hut.

Another argument for winning the lottery would be my sudden attractiveness to women.  With a couple mill in my bank account would definitely make me much more attractive to women.  I know this is a shallow point, both on my account and theirs, but with enough zero's behind a number, would even make John Merrick* suddenly appear like Gerard Butler to the most finicky of women.  In the meantime, I think I could maybe get away with just wearing sunglasses everywhere.  Kind of like Belushi in The Blues Brothers.  Wearing my Raybans always make me feel better about myself anyway.  

The biggest frustration I feel, I think, is when I look around me and see all these other ugly motherf*ckers of equal or greater hideousness, partnered with an attractive significant other on their arm.  A special someone  with whom to spend time with, laugh with, converse with.  Someone to just be with.  That's all I'm really concerned with.  The physical aspects of any relationship is one thing, but someone to just be with.  A shoulder to lean on when the times are tough.  A smile to share a laugh with when the times are great.  I don't think that's too much to ask.  I just don't know how to do it, is all.  I believe that deep down, I'm a fairly decent guy.  I have a good job, own my house, and have an awesome head of hair.  I'm not perfect, this is true, but people seldom are.

It's been said by those who come out of a marriage and are faced with the single life once more, of having "ring rust", so to speak.  Having no idea on how to dive back into the dating pool.  I've never been married and I still have no f*cking clue....

.

*John Merrick was "The Elephant Man"*