Hey Oprah, I need a new car.

2004-09-23, 3:52 p.m.

C'mon! Help a sister out! I hear you're givin' em away like candy apples on Halloween! Speaking of Candy Apples, could you make my car candy apple red? That would be fantastic. What? You say that if I just look under my chair there will be a '65 mustang convertible with insurance paid in full stuffed into the glove box? I take it back, Oprah! I LOVE YOU! I love you the most of ALL the talk show hosts. Except Ellen.

I actually do need a car. Because I sold one the other day. And now I only have one left. And you guys know I can't really live with just ONE car in the garage in Saskatchewan where I can't drive it.

The people at SGI are starting to get testy with me about when I'm going to challenge their authority. HOW DOES ONE YEAR LATER, GRAB YA, LOSERS? Isn't it deliciously O. Henryish that I'll have to sell my car to be able to afford to drive? Couldn't you just fuckin' plotz?

But that's my other car. The other other car. The one I sold was the one I hit a deer with. We fixed it up and it looks okay now and my dad convinced a 16-year-old girl to buy it for a thousand bucks. HA! Stupid 16-year-old girl! SUCKAH-DOG! So I get $500 back because I still have to finish paying a loan off. I'm going to put that Five Hunnerd Samolians toward my ULTIMATE BED FUND.

Let me tell you a little about my bed. It's a twin bed. That's all you need to know. It's too small and too ridiculous and really tells you everything you need to know about my sex life in the last few years.

So I told my dad I was going to buy a new bed and he was like "What for?" I stared him down. Like, what do you think, dillhole? For having lots and lots of the sex! All the time! With multiple partners! And dwarves maybe!

Okay, no. Not really. It would be nice if sex followed the addition of a big bed into my life, but mostly (I can't believe I'm actually admitting this) my cat takes up too much room and I hate to move him. Yes. The Chairman Meow is becoming, how shall we say, portly? And he likes to sleep with me and I like to sleep with him and really, why should I deny myself the pleasure of sheets full of cat hair and granules of litter at the foot of my bed? Why should I not let him jump over me continuously throughout the night as he chases imaginary (hopefully imaginary) mice?

Yeah. I can't come up with a good reason either.

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Also: I'm back. I bet you didn't even know that I left. Obviously, that's because I couldn't tell anybody.
But now, I can. So:

I live in Medicine Hat. Which my Canadian readers will know is where the winner of this year's Canadian Idol competition is from. And since I'm now doing entertainment reporting, they sent me to Toronto to cover the last two episodes live from the theatre in Toronto. And it was frickin' awesome!

I mean, the show is kind of lame and cheesy and it's totally just Star Search: The Next Generation, but still, they sent me to Toronto, dudes! There's no way I'm not gonna go and enjoy the hell out of it!

I saw Don McKellar (who looked sufficiently embarrassed at being seen at a Canadian Idol competition) and Kurt Browning and all the Idol competitors and Seamus O'Regan (the host of Canada AM). And a guy dressed up like Orin Issacs. Who used to be Mike Bullard's band leader. I've now officially lost anyone who isn't Canadian. Sorry about that.

Not really, actually. I also chatted with Ralph Goodale (Canada's finance minster, who I kind of have a little crush on and not just because he's so rich and powerful and control's our nation's wealth. Or lack thereof.) and our local MP Monte Solberg.

Anyway. It was fun! I met a friend who I only knew online before and she was great. We successfully made it to a dog show (and saw a pug wearing a t-shirt that said Johnny Cash, which made the entire trip worth it.) and sat around in a park talking about our virtual lives. Don't call us losers! We're relevant baby! Haven't you heard? Bloggers are hip! The newspapers said so! (They're only a few hundred years behind, huh?) Also, the hotel I stayed at had horrible food at prices high enough to make me cringe. But apparently not low enough to dissuade me from ordering Belgian waffles with maple syrup for $20 and a $25 hamburger and fries. That burger better have come from a cow that was fed wheatgrass and wine and massaged hourly in a penthouse suite in New York.

When I got home, I saw that the Chairman had voiced his displeasure at the length of my voyage by dragging his ass over every square inch of cupboard space and coffee table visible. Also, anybody looking for some mulch for the garden could have the contents of my crisper after two and a half weeks (cause I was away on vacation for a week before I went to Toronto).

So yeah. This job is pretty cool. But it's making me tired. I'm starting to realize that I liked having no life. Because at the end of the day, I would MUCH rather climb into a pair of comfy flannel pyjama pants and eat ice cream and cheetos on the couch while watching the Iron Giant for the FIVE HUNDREDTH TIME while my cat drags his ass over every surface than tart myself up and sip champagne at a concert or play. Actually, if you put the champagne into the couch-sitting/movie-watching/cheeto-eating/cat's-ass-dragging scenario, it doesn't sound half as bad.


Tube: I'm succumbing to peer pressure and getting cable. Okay, the only one pressuring me is me. But I'm unbelievable convincing when I want to be. Soon I'll be in couch potato heaven!
Text: Cupboard Love is a book about the etymology of cooking words. Did you know that a guy was inspired by the Simpsons to create and actual Tomacco plant? Did you know that he succeeded? This book is so cool!
Tunes: Leslie Feist's "Let It Die." She sounds like Joni Mitchell, Dusty Springfield, and Carole King all mushed together. Also: K-os' brilliant, brilliant, brilliant "Joyful Rebellion." AND Michael Kaeshammer's "Strut." He's Like Michael Buble, only talented and an amazing boogie-woogie piano player.


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