The high cost of living…

Here we are, a month before xmas, and I’m already feeling the itching and burning of the financial crunch that the holidays imposes. Just traveling home to see the family that’s expecting gifts is a burden on my bank account that I’m having trouble covering, let alone the presents I’ll need to buy/make. It seems this time of year, though beautiful, is always stressful for me.

I love the idea of giving gifts and I love the smile that they produce, but I can’t for the life of me figure out how to meet people’s expectations and survive the whipping my credit card company will give me. I can now see why people are pushed to the edge this time of year ‘ why crime rates go up and why people begin to panic and freak out and/or turn to the bottle to steady their nerves.

I can actually say with complete confidence though, that I'm glad I don't have to deal with having a girlfriend this time of year. It seems strange to put it that way, but it's true, I don't think I could handle the pressure of having to come up with something spectacular, meeting someone's family or feel guilty about going home for the holiday - because I live in Vancouver now. As much as I miss the warmth of a body next to me, I'm just not convinced that it would be worth it this year given my current circumstances. Especially if I was to meet someone this close to "the day".

Perhaps maybe I’ll stumble into something come January, and I’ll be able to enjoy the goodness of the holiday with someone fun and exciting, and I’ll only have to deal with the pressure of Valentines day. Thankfully, it will only be the first Valentines day in the relationship and the expectations won’t be the same as they would be the next year. They would be manageable.

So there you have it, a perfectly reasonable plan to succeed in a relationship with perfect timing. Now, I guess all I need is to find someone else in the same boat, looking for the same thing, with the same concerns’ Shouldn’t be too hard, right?

So start lining up on the 2nd of January ladies. Please have a photo and resume ready.

Sunday November 12, 2006

Daniel and Kim, family from Regina rolled into town but 6 hours ago to watch the western final of the CFL. In Daniel's words, "it's probably the best team we'll have for a while so it's worth coming out." It's the first time either have been to Vancouver and it's not necessarily the city for them. Both looked uneasy and unsure when they stepped through the automatic sliding doors of the airport's West Jet terminal to claim their small suitcase from the conveyor belt.

Though breakfast was good, and it's great to have them in town to visit, I can only assume the loss incurred by the Rough Riders (as of this writing, they stand at a 26 point loss to the Lions of British Columbia) will only serve to distract them from the beauty of this city. Unfortunately, they have arrived on a typically grey day and because of the season, they will not only miss the opportunity to see the mountains, which are currently most likely capped in fresh white snow, but will also emerge from the stadium to a barrage of catcalls (they are wearing their Rider jerseys of course) into the darkness of autumn night.

The gleaming glass towers of the downtown core will fail to inspire them and the sour taste of passion unfulfilled will double the feelings of beleaguered tiredness their 3:30 am wake up have incurred. As the host of this short visit, I feel compelled to bring these two over to the pro Vancouver agenda. I am afraid that I will be unable to fulfill these self imposed duties.

I can already tell that the low, misty grey clouds will overshadow their experience here in my new home (is it really new after 14 months?). I can only hope that a good meal of some type of traditional comfort food might be my only option to win them over. I'm not sure however that a stop at Modern Burgers for fantastic meal will do the trick. I'm willing to try though.

As for me, I'm already feeling the dreary effects of the grey winter. Like the dampness in the air, the grey seems to slowly seep it's way into my body and like the feeling of damp wool, begins to weigh and itch at the happiness I have inside. I have decided to make a concentrated effort this year to eliminate that feeling and force myself to bear the cold and dreary weather like a badge of honour. Resolute I stand under this drapery of cumulous, preparing for the inevitable erosion.

These are the times that I miss home. I miss the comfort of friends dear and I miss my mother's smile. I miss the tender touch of lovers past and I miss the crisp biting cold that I am used to defending myself against.

So to all those Rider fans out there that have suffered a loss that will echo for seasons to come. I say, Go Riders, Go. And though I don't care for your sport, nor it's entrapping fanaticism, I will empathize with your battle, standing tall in the bleak and cold future. We will endure. The promise of spring is always in the air.

Go Riders, Go.

Warning, this blog is inappropriate for reading – seriously

An open letter to the lame chick at the bar that decided to make fun of my hair.

In case you got so ridiculously shit-faced at the bar tonight and don’t recall the incident that provoked this letter, I’ll refresh your memory. In passing me at the bar, while dragging the less attractive friend you have undoubtedly had since high school to make yourself feel more secure about your own fleeting looks, (yes, I noticed the years of tanning have left you with premature wrinkles that you undoubtedly already hope botox will solve) you decided you interrupt my conversation with friends to let me know that you “like my hair”.

Of course, due to the noise in the bar, which has caused my ear to ring well past my retiring for the evening, I was forced to ask you to repeat your comment because it didn’t seem to make any sense. And so you did, saying the same thing again, then dragging your dumpy friend away to the dance floor to grind like a prostitute. Your comment took me aback. I didn’t understand what caused the unprovoked attack on my genetically induced fleeting hair, and I still don’t. But rest assured, I’m trying to figure it out.

I’m sure that your lack of social decorum is most likely due to your frequent attendance to the ridiculous nightclubs on Granville, where you receive much attention from cha-chi, douche bag guys that treat you more or less like a third, independent hand to lavish their genitals with. I’m sure you have had an easy life in the bar thanks to the way in which your breasts pour from your “bar” shirt, enticing losers to purchase you drinks for a moment’s worth of adoration or thanks, much in the same way a common whore uses her body to solicit cash from strangers.

I’m also sure that your sexuality has been “explored” with many near strangers that have seduced you with what ever it is that can be “discovered” within two hours of the thumping and sweaty confines of the over-sex dance floor, covered in spilled rum and diet cokes and flecks of vomit. I’m sure that the attention you receive tossing your tits around has probably lead you to believe you have some level of superiority over the males that commonly frequent the Royal. But this is where your assumption has definitely made an ass of you and me.

Yes, your jab was sharp, and your delivery was scathing – you succeeded there, but you failed to consider that in order for your comment to truly sting, you would have to have or be something I desired. You failed to understand that though there were many men at the Royal last night that would have seen you as attractive, I was most assuredly not one of them. In fact, despite the way you have decided to flaunt all the features of your toned body like they were different cuts of meat in a butcher’s window, splayed out for the public to gawk at like every other tramp there to “hook up”, you are exactly the opposite of what I find attractive.

You are the kind of woman that will rely heavily on your looks in your early years, despite perhaps even acquiring a university degree, to draw attention from men. You will see the string of one night stands and tawdry failed relationships you experience until your early thirties as fun and exciting until you realize that your beauty has faded and you really have nothing else to offer the world socially besides a complete understanding of which top 40 hits of the 2000’s offer the most opportunity to get Furgalicious and grind your crotch on a stranger’s leg.

You’ll panic and marry the next douche bag you hook up with that actually leaves his real phone number with you in the morning without realizing that you don’t have the social skills to determine that he’s actually an asshole that will probably cheat on you after you gain weight and lose your body to an unplanned pregnancy in the early years of marriage or after he’s inflicted years of emotional and verbal abuse on you and your young child, he’ll finally pop you one when you get too mouthy. After the divorce you’ll be completely unmarketable sexually as an overweight single mother and will think back onto your time in the bar as the best years of your life while your fatherless child becomes part of the next wave of douche bags that frequent the Royal – and the cycle will begin anew.

Or maybe you’ll escape this fate and discover at thirty, that your genitals have become so over sexed and under-respected by the strangers that have frequented it, that they have started to droop or scab. You’ll spend years worrying about whether or not your vulva is still attractive, contemplating which plastic surgery to begin first: your aging face, lifting your now drooping breasts, trimming the fat off your ass, or stuffing your flaccid labia back in. You’ll never be satisfied with your body because you’ll always be thinking of the power you once had as a young bar star “hottie” dancing on a speaker so gold chain wearing losers could look up your skirt.

Either way, I’m sure you’ll have a fitting, karmic fate.

And now for my comeback, the comeback I didn’t bother wasting on you in the bar because you were obviously half way to being shit-faced so you could find the courage to captain your sexuality with some drakar noir wearing dick head that would only see you as a moist sheath for his cock. I hope the guy that managed to wrangle you into bed last night not only abruptly and rudely pushes his way into your out-port with his potentially diseased manhood, but that he also finds the courage to finally pull off a donkey punch so he can brag to his friends the next day and laugh at your expense.

I hope that you end up the cruel and ironic butt of a joke based on the way in which you have sexually exploited yourself to boost your confidence.

Good luck being you, you worthless bitch.

Sincerely,

Mike Fly

On myspace, this is my 100th blog.

So here we are – 100 blogs since I started this thing a while back. Why did I start a blog? I dunno… I guess it was just a way to stay in touch with those I can’t say hi to on a regular basis, or maybe it was to see what it feels like to just sit and puke up some words onto a page, or maybe it was just to see what was banging around inside my head. Either way, I’m here.

The past week has been full of excitement, so let’s start at the beginning… Halloween was fun. We prepped for it 5 days before so we could shoot the show that would air on the 31st. It was fun because we got all the excitement and dressing up happening in the studio.

Then we went out on the Friday to party it up at Brian’s cabaret (I think that’s what they call them here). It was fun. One of our cohorts was so loaded before the party even started that he and his 3 foot drunken sway radius had to be packed into a cab and sent home. After that, Chris and I hit Granville and took pictures of him in his Ali-G outfit with random girls. It was good times.

On Saturday, I forwent the Halloween good times to play 3 shows in Theatre Sports. It was lots of fun. The first two shows were good, and the third was okay, but not great. I’d really like to play some more because it just feels good to be on a stage again. It was also great playing with some new people – such a good energy…

On Monday, the Urban Well produced her final night of improv – it was a big banging good time and we had a great crowd. The first half (in which I played) went well, and then they loaded everyone onto party buses to take them to the new venue, Chivana’s on West 4th. It’s a better venue in my mind and it will serve the show well. I’m hoping there’s room for me to play semi-regularly because I miss it.

And actual Halloween was good – Ian and Alanah had over 65 kids show up begging for candy. It still amazes me that this city goes apeshit over fireworks at Halloween. I’ve never seen anything like it. Strange west coast types…

Oh, and my boss had salmonella on tuesday. That was strange. I’m pretty sure I never want to have it ever. Yup, pretty sure.

And the last thing to mention in this prestigious blog is my short review of BORAT!

Well, if you’ve been following the movie and all it’s preview bits on the internet, you’ve seen most of the excitement – don’t get me wrong, it was super awesome, just not super-duper awesome, but seriously, go and see it.

That’s it – there’s one hundred. Leave a comment. Let me know what you are up to, what you want from me/life. What you want to be when you grow up.

I’m gonna sit by the phone and wait for my cousin to call and hang out (she’s in town this week) while you write me some shit for a change. Booyakasha!