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!!

Two F**ks?!

 

Do you think your cat really gives

two f*cks that this smells like Pumpkin Spice?!?

FRIDAY - It's a Bitch Session

  Fridays.  As frightening to me as Monday's, but for a different reason.  Everyone hates Monday for the obvious.  Weekend was too short.  Work week is too long and no fun.  However, as much as I hate getting up bright and early Monday and driving into work, the process doesn't scare me near as much as it does on Fridays.  No matter what I might encounter in the days leading up to the weekend, nothing concerns me as much as Fridays, or more specifically, Friday afternoons.

It seems like, after lunch, everyone's brains head home early for the day and people get reckless & dangerous behind the wheel of their vehicles.  Everyone is in a rush, even though they don't need to be.

In the job I have now, I'm required to drive in traffic daily, destinations set from downtown to just a few miles from the shop.  Every day, I have a front row seat to how drivers in our fair city respond to whatever day of the week it is.  Mondays seem more relaxed.  No one is in much of a hurry to get anywhere and every subsequent day, is nearly the same, peppered with a few anomalies, because nobody is perfect.  Fridays, though.  Gives a whole new meaning to Freaky Friday.

My new job has me working at a facility in the south industrial section of our city.  We make RVs which are sold all over North America.  Most notably, is the Prince of Darkness, himself, Ozzy Osbourne having purchased two or three of the RVs.  There is a promotional poster hung all over the plant of Jack (Osbourne) and Ozzy posing in front of their beloved RV.  Come Friday afternoon, at quitting time, it's a mad dash by all to vacate the facility.  A couple of weeks ago, I had made a right turn onto a street, turning into the right-hand lane before signaling to get into the left.  That's when another fellow, who also works for the company that I do, decided that he was going to circumvent the normal rules of the road and rip into the left lane, Mad Max-style, nearly side-swiping me in the process.  He was clearly in the wrong, but holy f*ck if that guy doesn't hold a grudge.  That day, he slowed right down, trying to egg me on to a fist fight and in the weeks since that incident, he's treated me like a cockroach.  (He's one of the "higher-ups" in the company, so I just shrug it off.  It's his life that seems to be the most effected by the near-miss accident.)

Leaving the south industrial area is a breeze, every other day, but Friday.  At the conclusion of my first week of work, it took me 45 minutes just to leave the area, due to an extraordinary build up of traffic.  It was enough to nearly make me quit the job, I was so frustrated.  Every Friday afternoon, since that day, traffic is notoriously bad and when freedom is finally accomplished, the craziness doesn't end.

Let me breakdown yesterday, October 1st, 2021, for you.  After making a stop at Wal-Mart for milk and bread, I was lucky enough to leave Stonebridge (which is adjacent to the south industrial park), my adventure homeward was only beginning.  There was a near miss as I merged onto the freeway.  Likely someone with their nose buried in their phone, rather than focusing on the road.  Next was entering the clover-leaf, as nobody seems to know how to yield to oncoming traffic.  That's where a young lady had been rear-ended by another unattentive driver.  I foiled that debacle, steering around the scattered panels and marker lamps.  Around the loop and heading north, I managed to escape a driver whom I can only assume was Mario Andretti.  Although it was not a Formula One Ferrari blowing by me, it was a sporty Dodge Charger going like a bat outta Hell. (Maybe it was Meatloaf?)

I finally round the off-ramp that leads toward my house and this is where it's always f*cked up, regardless of what day of the week it is.  I don't know who designed that flow of traffic, but they should have had their head smacked.  It is completely R-worded.  Then, as if that overflow of traffic wasn't bad enough, there's a van stalled at the next set of lights, but the dummy behind the wheel didn't bother to put on her 4-way lights to alert other drivers that she was inoperable. Hoards of drivers were stuck behind her, myself included, all of us unbeknownst that she wasn't going anywhere.  Drivers are already being dicks and not allowing people to go around her, so many of us were stuck.  I was two cars behind her stranded van and I was there for nearly 15 minutes or roughly three songs on he radio.  They weren't even good songs, which made the experience even worse.

I love my truck.  I love driving my truck.  What I don't love is driving my truck in this minefield of ridiculous drivers.  As much as I think small towns suck, I doubt they ever need to deal with this much bullshit.

I don't have a point to this blog.  Not today.  There's no humour.  No thought-provoking discoveries.  Just a bitch-session.  In fact, I think that's what I'll title this blog, today.

Ozzy Osbourne posing with his Pleasure-Way RV.

Jack & Kelly Osbourne posing
with Ozzy's Pleasure-Way RV.

Horse In A Three-Piece Suit

 Last fall, my mom got her first "smart" phone.  She'd had a flip phone for years, struggling along as she does, but got pretty good at maneuvering her way around it's operation and use. Last fall, she finally replaced the aged technology, opting for Apple's iPhone.  Probably a terrible decision, as she hasn't the foggiest idea how to work it, often coming to me for help.  I hate Apple and can't figure out how it's technology makes any sense.  I have a strong and healthy dislike for Apple products, which is too lengthy and involved to discuss in this forum.  Suffice it to say, words in the English language can't describe how much disdain I possess for the Apple company.

So when my mother comes rushing to me, half in tears and in a deep-seated panic, most of the time I tell my mom to Google it.  I've remarked for years how one can find just about anything on Google.  Like the Land of Oz, Google is an amazing and wonderous place.

My friend D__ was telling me about his son, D_____, who is constantly bombarding him with questions about this and queries about that.  D_____ is a young man, entering the scary world of adulthood, so naturally he has a million-and-one questions.  His father, my friend, D__, told him to Google whatever he wants to know.  When told about this conversation, I responded with "Oh hell yeah.  You can literally find anything on Google.  Case and point:  A horse wearing a three piece suit.

Horse in a 3-piece suit.

Need I say more?

Man sits atop a horse
in a 3-piece suit.

Terrorism

 

The dictionary defines "terrorism" as: The unlawful use of violence and intimidation, especially against civilians, in the pursuit of political gains.  Google's explanation of the term goes a little deeper, saying: Terrorism is the use of fear and acts of violence to intimidate societies, governments or against an ideology. Many different types of social or political organizations may use terrorism in an attempt to achieve their goals. Google then goes on to explain; People who do the terrorism are called terrorists.  That part could have gone unsaid as the first thing that came to mind was 'DUH!'.

Now I could go on in this piece to point out instances of terrorism that proved itself pointless and alike, but everyone knows much of the big events and don't need my fat ass reminding them of that.  Plus, when I really sat back and thought about it, I had to admit that I didn't actually know that much about what terrorism was and is.

This all began this morning.  I've been watching a lot of video game play through's as of late on the YouTube.  A lot of war and shit like that, usually from the perspective of American servicemen.  I thought why aren't other world Armed Forces represented in the video game world.  They could make campaigns from an Australian perspective.  Or British or Israeli or...  Then I thought ISIS?  Without glamorizing the latter, video game makers could just make them all goofy and stereotypical. Design them to be stupid as f*ck.  Then again, in the social climate that our society lives in, some asshole would claim to be offended, to which I say: Unless you're a terrorist, yourself, who gives a shit?! I laid in bed, 6:30am, thinking about this stupid shit.

How would I define terrorism, based on the limited knowledge that I possess?  Essentially, it's a group of people who frown on another group's happiness and joy, who feel it necessary to shit on those freedoms by blowing shit up and inflicting fear.... Or terror.  In the simplest of terms, they're a bunch of assholes.  And poorly dressed ones at that. That last part is purely my own belief.  I'm not very stylish, myself, and shouldn't cast stones on poor choices of apparel.

The dictionary defines the word "contentment" as: A state of happiness or satisfaction.  Based on personal observation only, looking at the state of many Middle Eastern countries who are bombarded with Acts of Terrorism on a nearly daily basis, don't appear to be very happy places, but I imagine the peace loving citizens make due in the environments in which they live.  Plus, the shitty state of their country may be due to the terrorist factions continually blowing shit up.  I don't know.  It's pretty f*cked up.

Looking upon these words, it becomes pretty f*cking clear that the events that unfolded on January 6th, 2021 in Washington, DC and the attacks on the State Senate, appear to be, by all definition, an Act of Terror, but I could be mistaken on account that the government refused to punish the instigator of that terrorist act.

Goes without saying.  This kind of bullshit needs to end.  Not just the terrorism expressed by pajama wearing assholes who blow shit up in hopes of nailing 40 virgins in the afterlife (& let's be honest, that bullshit isn't happening), but the homegrown terrorists, too.  Redneck assholes holed-up in shanties and log cabins throughout Montana and all those other scarcely populated areas.  Or those gangland idiots who runs the streets of our major metropolis' with a gat in their hand or an AK.  Just a distasteful lot, all of them.

I don't have a means to an end.  No magic ideology that everyone can get behind in a sense of global unity.  That will never happen except in the science fiction movies and that's all FICTION.

The dictionary defines "science fiction" as: Science fiction (sometimes shortened to sci-fi or SF) is a genre of speculative fiction that typically deals with imaginative and futuristic concepts such as advanced science and technology, space exploration, time travel, parallel universes, and extraterrestrial life.  Perhaps in a parallel universe, but I doubt I'll ever see some sort of World Peace in my lifetime.  I could add the definition of "World Peace", but I think that's just a pipe dream.

Broken

 

I am a broken man.  Broken in so many ways, physically and otherwise.  I've endured torn muscles and broken bones, the worst of which, came in 2014, when I broke three vertebrae in my back.  My T3, T4 and T5 all receiving compression fractures after a platform that I was standing on, dropped.  Up to that point, that was the worst pain I'd ever endured.  Mere walking, after that point, was painful and laboured.  I was forced to take soft slow and methodical steps as any harsh impact on the ground or floor would result in a xylophone effect, of sharp dagger-like pain, shooting up my spine to the base of my skull and down my legs.  It's not something I'd wish on anyone.  Eventually, through physiotherapy and exercise, I was able to walk... normal-ish and without most of the pain.  It's still something that I deal with on a day-by-day basis.  I was told that the injured vertebrae would never heal completely and any plans that I might have had for adventure, would have to be avoided for the rest of my life.  So no skydiving or bungee jumping for me and to be truthful, I'm quite fine with that.

Up to that point, that was the most severe pain and, might I say, injury, as years later I would take a nasty spill in a parking lot, which knocked my fat ass out, in the process.

On a cool March evening in 2018, I'd just returned back at the warehouse where I was a courier.  The man-door by the overhead was busted and we would have to walk to the next bay to enter via that door.  In the cool darkness, I was unable to see the ground clearly, which resulted in my taking a nasty fall, thus knocking myself out in the process.  I was unconscious for nearly twenty minutes.  I know because I was happy about returning early that night.  I had arrived at the warehouse a little past 7:30pm, my usual time was mostly closer to 10pm.  When I came to, I was shivering and cold.  I reached for my phone that was in my hand, but now laying on the ice.  I was shocked to see that the clock was reading nearly 8pm.  I don't remember a lot after that.  I recall texting my boss to give him shit about being so cheap and not buying any sidewalk salt, then nothing.  I don't remember going home, nor do I recall coming back to work the next day or most of my 1000-plus kilometer delivery route the next day.  In fact, I don't remember anything up until I found myself sitting in a lab waiting to give a blood test for an unrelated thing.  That's when fear overwhelmed me and I sought out medical attention.

Over the course of my life, I've probably had a grand total of (at least) 10-12 concussions, but by definition alone, I suspect that I many have had quite a few more.  The worst prior to this event, occurred following a snowmobile accident, where I slammed my head so hard that the helmet I was wearing, split in two pieces.  I never received any medical attention at that time, my family telling me to go lay down (before anyone says anything, I know now that this was a really bad idea).  The result of that injury was just a slurry of massive headaches and migraines.  The brain injury in 2018, was much much (MUCH) worse and the lasting effects are quite intrusive and bothersome.

At the time of the slip and fall, I was experiencing a loss of vision, loss of balance, both short-term and long-term memory loss, slurred speech, an inability to remember or form complex words, and a lack of attention.  Years earlier, I'd been diagnosed with ADD.  Back in high school it was called something else, daydreaming or as my dad called it back then, "stupid".  I've always had a problem with focusing on things, which includes a learning disability.  I can learn quickly how to do things when I see it done physically or visually, but I'm unable to read anything, comprehend it and put it to use.  This is probably why I was almost in tears when I met wrestling legend, Mick Foley.  His books were and remain, the only books I've been able to read and comprehend as I was reading them.  For those of you who take this ability for granted, will never know that magic of this feeling.

Keeping my attention has always been a challenge, but since that fateful day, my attention span has been greatly challenged.  Just yesterday, I was picking up some butter for my mother and had to call her three times to ask the same question.  That's the long-term result that frustrates me most about this injury.

Through physiotherapy, I was able to restore most of my mobility in that, I no longer have balance issues, although I remain somewhat clumsy to a degree.  The headaches aren't quite as extreme as they were in the weeks following the fall.  At that time, I was forced to wear sunglasses almost constantly, when I was outside of my house.  The glaring sun and indoor lights would create a vise-like grip on my frontal lobe that would almost bring me to tears.

My speech would return, also, although I've noticed a severe stutter that rears it's ugly head from time-to-time, which is added frustration, which in-turn causes more stuttering.  Then when I'm not stuttering, but attempting to engage in conversation, I find myself struggling to remember or form certain words.  Not even complex words or as my friend, Danny calls them, "$10 words", but simple vocabulary is almost non-existent. 

I was tested a number of years ago, kind of a aptitude test of sorts.  They tested my mathematical, mechanical, literary and vocalization skills.  I failed to do well on the reading, as per my ADD, but scored well on the (basic) math and mechanical tests, but the vocalization, which I was told referred to my conversational skills.  That my verbiage skills were in the top twenty-one percentile for my age group.  When pressed, they further explained it as me being "smarter" than seventy-nine percent of those in my age grouping.  If I were to take that test today, I doubt that I'd perform quite as well.

Physiotherapy managed to restore most of my abilities prior to my concussion and for that I'm eternally grateful, but something that hasn't been restored, is my memory.  Both short-term and long-term is going to be effected for the remainder of my life, I'm told.  I find this aspect of my recovery to be the most worrisome.  Everyday is a struggle to remember simple chores and responsibilities.  Remembering how to travel to destinations where I've been a thousand times before, is a struggle some days.  I feel shame and stupid when I fight to remember.  Then other times, when I remember something, I feel like I've won the lottery.  Even the most insignificant memory, to me, is an incredible feeling.

I was pushing snow off my driveway the other day, when I was reminded of the time, as a little kid, my mom bought me and my sister snow shovels.

I grew up on a farm.  We didn't have anything like a snow blower or a blade on the front of a truck or tractor.  Instead, my dad used a scoop shovel, that he'd normally used for shoveling grain in the storage bins* that lined the hill on our property.  My dad would clear the snow out of the yard and the lane that connected the yard to the highway.  For some reason, that day, my sister and I, convinced my mom to buy us a snow shovel each, to go help our dad.  I remember the look on my dads face as we proudly marched out to the yard to help shovel snow, and the look of disappointment when we gave up on that endeavour, because it wasn't as fun as he'd made it look.  That memory flooded my brain the other morning, bringing a smile to my frozen face. (*It took me quite a few minutes to remember the word "bins", in the construct of that sentence.)

My biggest frustration, more so than the ability to access memories, is convincing others, some friends, but mostly family members that I can't remember what they're talking about.  Just the other night, my mother was telling me something that (apparently) I was a part of, but when I revealed that I had no recollection of the incident, I was met with conflict and accusations of untruthfulness.  I was accused of lying because I couldn't remember any facts about a family dinner we'd all attended many years prior.  I hate that.  I f**king hate that.

When I broke my back, I was unable to do this or that, as such injuries often restrict those with the injury.  My sister refused to believe that my injury was as severe as it was, stating that "if your back was broken, you'd be paralyzed".  She's obviously misinformed.  My sister is also one of those who accuse me of deceit whenever I'm unable to recall certain facts or elements of a story.

I've been injury free, brain-wise, in the years since that fateful night when I knocked myself unconscious in a parking lot.  I have a little PTSD from it, nervously venturing outside in the winter, for fear of falling again and possibly further injuring my brain.  I've taken a few nasty falls during this time frame, but my head has not been effected.  My struggles to remember continue and I celebrate them when memories return.  I've been known to say the words, "Praise The Positive" which was a silly thing some friends used to say when making drink toasts, but rings truthful these days.  As bad as things get in my life, I choose to praise the positives whenever they appear.  It's like discovering life all over again.

The Most Overrated Band in History

 

I was perusing my Twitter the other day (@ToontownJuggalo, for anyone interested) and came across a tweet from WWE commentator, Corey Graves who mentioned that the Canadian band RUSH, sucked.  I can't remember his exact wording, but the message essentially translated to them sucking.  I concurred, adding another band, which I'll mention later on.

Fast-forward to this morning.  The phone rang at an alarmingly early time, which isn't that late for normal functioning adults, but being that I'm not working until springtime, 8am is too early for this guy.  The radio was playing the Electric Light Orchestra, ELO for short, song "Don't Bring Me Down".  I f*cking detest this song.  It's SO f*cking annoying, I can't believe it was ever popular.  Sadly, it's only saving grace is a part of why it's so annoying.  The chorus chimes "Don't bring me dooown, Groos!  Don't bring me doooown, Groos!"  I don't know what a "groos" is, but thankfully, it sounds like "UCE!", which is a Samoan word for "brother" or "bro" (I've seen definitions referring to either meaning).  As a long standing wrestling fan, I can appreciate the term, as it's often repeated by WWE's resident Samoan members, The Uso's and their cousin, the "Head of the Table", as he's known as of late, Roman Reigns.  The ELO song, however, remains as one of my most hated songs, but it's not the worst song.  That honour goes to the 1980's questionable hit, "Come On Eileen" by the one-hit wonders, Dexy's Midnight Runners. No matter where I am, what obstacles may be lying between me and that radio dial, when the first couple of notes float into the air, I will stop at nothing to switch the station or shut the radio off.  It is the WORST!!  

Growing up, I remember hearing music that I never cared for.  Most of Queen's library would have been included in that category, but later in life, I learned to like it and even love it.  The song "Radio Ga Ga" was one that I remember listening to on the way to school and absolutely detesting it, yet when it comes on the radio these days, I crank up the volume and belt out the lyrics at the top of my lungs.  It's a song hated by most die hard Queen fans or so I've heard, but I absolutely love it.  That Dexy's Midnight Runners song has never, nor will it ever appeal to me.

Earlier, I mentioned that I concurred with Corey Graves' assessment that the Canadian rock trio, RUSH sucked and I stand by that statement.  I've never liked the band, but I can tolerate that garbage.  Mostly because I've been able to change the lyrics in my head, to make the drivel more enjoyable.  There's one song of theirs that comes on the radio, from time-to-time, that I call "My New Brown Pants".  I don't know the name of the RUSH song, but singing "My new brown pants" as loud as I can, makes me laugh.  If I'm unable to change the station, this is a pleasant consolation prize.

Also mentioned earlier, I commented that I concurred with Graves' comment and added another group.  This has been met with much pushback for many years, although, not so much in recent memory.  It's no secret for those who know me.  I hate The Beatles.

I've always laid the claim that The Beatles are (probably) the MOST overrated band in history.  Many, and I do mean many, people have disagreed with me on this subject, one fellow, a former co-worker, even threatened to fight me if I didn't take back the claim.  I didn't and he didn't follow through with his threat.  The only song that the mop-headed quartet ever did that I do, in fact, enjoy and maybe even love, is "I Wanna Hold Your Hand".  As for the rest of the catalogue...  Well, that's complicated.  While I find the band highly overrated, they did manage to write some great songs, which have been (more) expertly covered by other bands.  Motley Crue's version of "Helter Skelter" is a great song!  Aerosmith's rendition of "Come Together" is practically flawless.  As well as many other bands and solo artists, too many to list here, have covered many Beatle tunes and done so with greatness.  The Beatles, however..., not so much.

A year or two ago, I will admit this.  I was watching The Late Late Show with James Cordon who caught up with Sir Paul McCartney in Liverpool and they did this huge Carpool Karaoke segment, touring around Liverpool, reliving some fond memories, finishing with an impromptu concert in a local drinking tavern.  First revealed to a dozen or so, local residents which soon swarmed to several hundred or more, packing into the tiny bar and listening from outside.  I found the whole thing to be overwhelmingly sweet.  Mostly because they hold McCartney in such high regard and had an opportunity to see this living legend perform live in their neighbourhood pub.  It was pretty cool, but I came away from that experience with a tear in my eye and retaining the belief that The Beatles are the most overrated band in history.

I'm not claiming to be an expert on what is best or superior in music, past or present.  I know what I like and I don't mind announcing what I don't like.  I love the Insane Clown Posse.  Most people don't.  Mostly because the name alone, scares them away.  However, when people tell me that I'm wrong for liking them for whatever reason, I don't get upset.  I don't honestly care.  "They suck!!" people say, trying to get a reaction, to which I always reply "It's a matter of opinion" and really, that's all it is.  Maybe The Beatles aren't as terrible as I think.  Maybe RUSH is a great band.  I doubt it, but maybe.  One thing is for sure.  Dexy's Midnight Runners' "Come On Eileen" is the absolute WORST.  That and country music.  I feel sorry for anyone who listens to that horse shit!!