Monday, May 12, 2014

Holy shit and what the fuck. Hello.

So.

I guess it's been three years.

Well, in fact, it's not a guess. My last blog post was March 10, 2011. So it has been three years, two months, and two days since I visited here.

Honestly, I wasn't even sure I'd be able to log back in. I'll consider the fact that I remembered the hotmail password I set up in 1998 a real personal victory.

Who even uses blogspot in 2014? No one.

To tell the truth, I forgot this blog even existed. Then, when someone reminded me over drinks last week (it still occasionally happens. The reminders, I mean. The drinking is far from occasional), I decided to go back and see if the bitch was still online.

Pleasantly surprised and fairly drunk by this point, I re-read a year of my life, mourned my youth and my 25-year-old ass and my favourite hobo Neckbeard, and wondered what the hell happened.

Did I grow up? I'm currently drinking a bottle of wine in bed (#Mondays!), so you be the judge.

So, how do I start filling you in on the last three years of my life?  Like this.

I missed reporting. In April, 2011, I took a job at a scrappy newspaper in a scrappy province and BadInfluence and I drove across the country in a Uhaul. Milo came, too. I wrote about business. I wrote about chickens. I dabbled in smoking cigarettes. I lived off $13/hour. I bought all our groceries and clothing at Giant Tiger. I met my soulmate friend, FriendMate. We drank gin and smoked cigarettes and made midnight mussels. Being poor and walking uphill to work meant my ass had never looked better. TigerCat got married. I hired some fat ladies to dance at her bachelorette. I turned 29 and BadInfluence filled a car with balloons and we went dancing like we were 19 again.

I was offered a full time job at my dream company back in CapitalCity. FriendMate and I cried and drank gin I smoked my last cigarette and we made midnight mussels. BadInfluence and I drove across the county in a Uhaul. Milo came, too. I worked for The Big News Company. BadInfluence was promoted at TheStartup. We become workaholics. I threw my back out putting on pants. I worked overnights. I became a heinous zombie. I had hope that soon I would be promoted to days. Five months after starting the job, I went home after an overnight shift, popped two sleeping pills, woke up at 2pm wondering why my phone was buzzing so much, and found out on Twitter that my entire division had been laid off. I listened to a lot of sad Elton John.

I shopped at Giant Tiger again. I was a summer intern again. I applied for a special fellowship. I won it. BadInfluence proposed. I said yes. We started planning a wedding. I turned 30 and drank in the woods with BadInfluence. I threw my back out brushing my teeth. My fellowship meant moving across the country for half a year. I packed my life into a suitcase. Milo didn't come. BadInfluence couldn't come.

I lived in a basement apartment in PrairieCity. My landlords were mennonites. I worked for another big newspaper. I liked it. I flew back home after three months to marry BadInfluence. He said "I do." I flew back to PrairieCity. BadInfluence visited. The province flooded. BadInfluence went home. In a perfect miracle, FriendMate and her husband got jobs at PrairieCity newspaper and moved across the country. We drank gin and (she) smoked cigarettes and we made midnight steaks. I somehow acquired three cowboy hats. I started liking country music. I forgot the touch of a man. BadInfluence talked about moving out there. The newspaper said they couldn't hire me. I flew home to BadInfluence before I became a lesbian or a Conservative. We finally honeymooned and had sex on a roof. I decided I liked marriage quite a bit.

We went home to CapitalCity. The Big News Company said they couldn't hire me. I looked for jobs. I refused to move for work again. I couldn't find newspaper work. I got ragey. I dabbled in housewifery. I lasted a week of making pot pies before I applied for a non-newspaper job. I got it. I soul searched. My debit card was declined buying dental floss. I took the job. Milo dropped a dead mouse on my chest in my sleep.

The condo flooded. We moved to another condo. Milo came, too. My benefits kicked in and I went to the dentist so damn hard. The rest of The Big News Company was laid off and people told me I dodged a bullet, which helped and didn't help. I was given my own intern. It helped. I taught her to make coffee. She never got the hang of it. BadInfluence broke five wine glasses over four months. Milo learned to open all the doors in the condo. I liked my life. I missed reporting.

So, what do you do when you miss writing but don't want to uproot your life again? You get drunk on cheap red, hack into a blog you started in 2006, and see what happens.

Internet, let's dance.