10 Years.

     Apparently I have forgotten what world I live in. Today I fucked myself. I fucked myself so god damn hard. One of those real life consequences that I thought I could avoid if I followed the rules. I follow the rules. I’ve got my taxes sorted out. I don’t take in calls. I don’t solicit, I read the 17 page document of bi-laws that I am to follow, and I do.

     But I am so fucking stupid. Just so incredibly stupid. I forget that people don’t give a shit about integrity or honesty. And I forget that the system is set up to fuck people.

     I tried to fly to see Owen today and I didn’t think about customs. I had so much anxiety and nervousness around the trip (cause that’s what I do before I go on a trip) that it didn’t even occur to me to think about what I was going to tell the customs officer. Usually I just say I’m a student and leave it at that. But with my new way of living an honest life, when he asked me, I told him. He was such a cool guy. We laughed and joked and he asked me to come with him.

     I waited in the holding area for an hour before I was pulled into an office with another really nice officer, and he asked me questions, and made jokes about how formal he is supposed to be. We shared the same sense of humour I have. That also went on for an hour or so. Then back to the holding area while the man behind the curtain made the final decision.

     At this point it’s 3PM. My flight left at 1:45. I was supposed to get through security at 11, where I’d planned on having my first meal of the day due to my nervousness. That did not happen.

     I get called back to the desk, and he starts his pre-amble. It’s like being on fucking American Idol. I have no patience for it.

     “Is it yes or no?” I interrupt him. I can do this, cause we’re friends now.

     “It’s no.”

     Things are pretty blurry after that. I have to apply for a visa now if I want to go again. But essentially I’ve been banned for ten years. That is where everything gets real clear. I try to hold it together, but I can’t. I just start crying at the desk. I try to hold it together to ask questions, about what exactly this means but it’s a struggle, and he is really patient with me.

     It means that as long as I have this job, there is no way in Hell, I’m getting into the states. It means that I’m not going to Burning Man. Burning Man is my soul. It’s my church. It fills my spirit. My life revolves around Burning Man. All year, I’m planning and scheming costumes, and ideas, and rehashing old stories. All my friends are Burners. It means that I can’t go see my friends again. It means that my dream of making road trips around the continent is out. It means that my ability to fly to Mexico or Central/South America are greatly, greatly impaired. I am devastated. It means that I’m going to have to come up with an explanation for my parents.

     Cell phones weren’t allowed in the holding area, but my officer gave me permission to call Owen. I phoned him and let him know. I cried, and told him how stupid I am, and he suggested I go somewhere else, or stay in this city for the week. We talked about my options, when another officer came up to me and told me I wasn’t allowed to be on my phone. I pointed to the first officer, and informed him that he had given me permission.

     “You had permission to let them know you won’t be making it, and you have. You need to get off the phone right now.”

     “Ok, Owen, I have to go.”

     “Get off the phone right now.”

     “Ok! Owen… Owen...” I say trying to interrupt his rant of liberties, “I have to go.”
     “Hang up and put your phone in the bag.” The asshole demands.

     I glare at him while I hang up and put the phone on the seat beside me. Fuck you.

     He goes back to his desk o’ power and I pick my phone up and start texting. Daring him, begging him to call me out on it. Fuck you! We’re in Canada Asshole! You have no authority over me. Fuck you. What are you going to do? Ban me for another ten years? That Canadian officer right there has authority over me. And that man who told me to turn around, I respect him, because he’s not a fucking dick! But you… You can just suck it. That was my imaginary argument. Truth is I’m sure he does have authority over me, and I’m sure that little rant could probably get me arrested. In the end he found out I was starving and bought me some trail mix. I still think he’s a dick, and his whole damn country can suck it.

     I don’t even know what to do right now. I’m on a lay over. My airline was going to charge me out the ass to fix my ticket and when the lady asked if I was going to try again tomorrow, I started balling, trying to use words to vaguely explain what happened, then suddenly all the fee’s went away.

    Fuck this sucks. It just fucking sucks. It sucks on so many levels. I think I’m done crying for now. I’ve been crying on and off for the last three hours. I’ve eaten a bowl of soup, so the shaking has stopped too. Ten fucking years. Does America not know that they have prostitutes? Fuck. I don’t know. I just want to keep saying fuck.  

“Get Busy Living or Get Busy Dieing”

     This was a tattoo that arced over a the red neck’s beer belly. I nearly died when I saw it! I was going to ask him if it was a prison tattoo but he volunteered the information before I got a chance. It seems that I am getting quite good at identifying them. 

    I wish I could make this shit up. 

KCCO

I had my first Chiver last night!!! I thought I'd try my hand at being a Chivette. Whaddya think? Should I get my own shirt? 

Ugly Duck

     

     I feel like Anne Hathaway. In her earlier days, it seemed that in every movie she was in she did the conversion from ugly duckling to beautiful swan. That’s how I feel. All the time. I feel like I haven’t gotten used to being pretty. That doesn’t mean I don’t own it, but on the inside it feels weird. After a call last week I had to stop and get gas. It was snowing out, and there were lots of puddles, and I was wearing a wool trench coat, dress and heels. The trench coat completely covered the dress, so all the men at the gas station saw was leg and heels. Gentlemen, do you think we do not notice your looks, your second glances, and your blatant stares? We do. I’m not saying I don’t like it, but it still feels weird.

     When I’m at school, I couldn’t give two hoots as to what I look like. It’s like night and day. Rarely will I wear any make up and I try to match my clothes, and ensure they’re clean, but no guarantees. I just don’t care. I go to class, take notes, and leave. I don’t spend a lot of time socialising. The other day an attractive man was giving me the eye, and I think to myself as I head to the washroom, “See, I don’t look like a total garbage truck.” However once I was in the washroom, I saw that my sunglasses had propped a sprig of hair about four inches straight up. Yeah, I’m a real sexy beast!

     My point is, the looks that I get are night and day. I’m invisible when I don’t clean myself up. When I tell people about my job, I feel the need to defend the fact that I clean up good. And other times I don’t care. I enjoy being invisible and underestimated. I will say though… and don’t tell anyone… a few weeks back I went and saw a client, and right after I knocked on his door, something felt funny. I touched my eyelashes… no mascara. I completely forgot to put make up on at all. GASP! What do I do??? To late to do anything. And besides, what would he say? He said nothing, and we had a great time together.

     I suck so much at this ‘looking pretty’ thing, that I can’t do my own shopping. I used to make Alex do my shopping for me, but his plate is pretty full now, and he works in a mall, so in his off hours he avoids them at all cost. But it needed to be done. I hate shopping so much that I avoid it at all costs. I’ve taken do doing one major shop, and generally it lasts me the year. However, my things have gotten pretty rough looking, so today I dragged out my friend, Mr. Pinkie. That’s his actual nick name. And no, it has nothing to do with his penis {as far as I know anyway} He just loved the experience. The goal was sexy, but not slutty. Not to casual, but not too formal.

     “So you’re saying this would be good for Realme, but Not Alison. Wait, hold on, who am I talking to now?” He totally treated me like I had a multiple personality disorder. We did a reasonable job not going over my budget too much, considering I’m making no money these days. But I feel like a new woman. It’s like one of those stupid make over shows where she comes out crying. No not really. Not that bad… but almost. 

Paddle Paddle Paddle

     That’s me keeping my head above water. The last month of the semester has arrived and it's been essays and exams galore. I have hardly had time to work at all in the last three weeks. Throw in some seriously shitty personal drama, and it’s been a rough couple weeks. All in all though, I think I’ve done alright.  Through the sadness, and hurt that I’ve been feeling I’m keeping optimistic that this too shall pass and summer is coming. So stand by, I’ll be back at work soon.