Why Lord?! Why?!

Ticketmaster has officially RUINED

Autumn's Week of Rock.

No golden ticket, no t-shirts.

(Sniff.)

Ha ha! Revenge is sweet!

Riders 19 / Stamps 9

(Karma's a bitch ain't she, C.C.?)

But I WANT a Golden Ticket!

Two posts in one day! Holy shit! I'm lucky if I can churn out 2 posts in a month!

I have spent the past few days in and around Regina, catching up with the whole fam-damily and my good friend Jenn. (Should she happen to be reading this, Russ gets the thumbs up - he's pretty darn funny. Maybe not as funny as his mom... but close.) Anyhoo... the few days that I had off were pretty low key - golfing with the grandparents, 2 ball games, the requisite paddle-boat with my aunt, damn the man conversations with my other aunt, drinking with my little bro.... and getting THE ITCH. (No, this is not crabs. You pervs.) I'm not sure if THE ITCH is something that Albertans know about or not, maybe it's called something else like the elusive bunnyhug/kangaroo. Southern Saskatchewan gets a lot of Canada Geese in the summer. And they shit. A lot. And when they shit, copious amounts of algae are created, so when you swim in the water and it's hot and not very windy and there aren't a lot of boats out... well you end up swimming in a literal shit load of algae. And then if you don't rinse or dry off right away once you're out of the water - you develop THE ITCH. Normally THE ITCH just looks like mosquito bites - clusters of them. But this year they look more like hives. I never get the itch and I managed to acquire it this week - I think it may have something to do with the fact that the shower water you use to rinse off the algae is actually lake water - filtered only by the shower head. Anyway... I don't actually feel itchy, I just have the spots - everyone else at home was scratching like a bunch of damn monkeys. And pouring vinegar on themselves. (Which was amusing, but highly uneffective.) I have one spot right inside my belly button - that one makes me laugh every time I see it. One summer when I was a kid, THE ITCH was really bad and everyone had spots but for some reason my brother was in horrible shape. We couldn't figure out why. A week later my remaining 2 siblings, myself, and one cousin all had the chicken pox. Bastard.

Wow. That was sort of lame to go into that much detail over THE ITCH. I'm a winner.

On my flight back from Regina yesterday I forgot to ask to be seated at the back of the plane and I ended up sitting behind a young mother, her toddler son, and her infant daughter. The was the longest flight I've ever been on in my life! I was sitting directly behind the toddler who was playing that neurotic game that toddlers play where they repeatedly bonk the back of their head on the back of the seat. I felt like my knee was slowly driving my thighbone into the back of my hip. If my knee was my head, I would now be concussed. And THEN... from take off through to landing, the baby cried and screamed nonstop. I'm no parent, and I know nothing about kids - but damn it, I know enough that when a baby is crying on an airplane it's usually because it's ears are popping and it hurts them. So instead of shrugging and looking helplessly at the grouchy travellers around you and saying "I just don't know why she's being like this!", give the child her soother or bottle so she can swallow a few times and unpop her ears! God! SOME PEOPLE'S KIDS!!! I swear!

In any event, while I was trying to distract myself from Hammerhead and Lungs sitting in front of me, I compiled a short list of things to write about in my blog. Unfortunately for you readers out there it's a fairly negative list. Reason being, when I think to myself that I hate something (ie: "Damn, I hate screaming babies.") that thought is generally followed with more things that I hate. So this list of things to write about is actually a list of things I hate. But don't worry, it's not very long.

Things Autumn Hates

(a list)

- Crocs: What does that say about our generation when the shoe of choice is a godforsaken GARDENING CLOG?!?!

- Hippies. Goddamn hippies. Especially folk festival type hippies, or the ones who hang around the Roasterie. The smell of dirt and patchouli is not pleasant. White boys with dreadlocks who haul around drums in Navajo blankets look ridiculous. Even more ridiculous are the baby boomer hippies - especially the old crones who don't shave their armpits and spend their time at outdoor festivals twirling around. Gross.

- Skinny jeans. I saw a kid the other day wearing black skin-tight jeans - with a giant freaking cast on his leg. Seeing as it's simply got to be impossible to remove those babies while his cast is on, I am led to believe that this wanker is going to wear the same skinny black jeans for at least the next month. Which is gross. "Hipsters" are retarded. There is nothing even remotely attractive about wearing tapered, skinny pants of any kind.

- My sister's boyfriend. He's a tosser. He manipulates her using the whole sensitivity thing - he actually cries when they fight. And he's a mama's boy. Literally. His parent's keep him on such a short leash that I was concerned that Alex may sucked into some sort of fundamentalist Christian group by them. The little weiner actually made the fatal mistake of trying to talk about books with me - leading off the conversation with "James Patterson is my favorite author, have you read (insert crap title here)? I like that he writes such short chapters."

Too easy. (Picture Autumn, the hungry Fox - sly grin, teeth gleaming, smacking her lips. Straight outta the cartoons.)

Apparently I'm the intimidating family member?!

- My potty mouth. It's weird, I get home from work and I swear like a sailor. (The sailors in Pirates of the Caribbean don't swear. So maybe it's actually the hoity-toity sailors on the H.M.S. Hottentot or whatever that swear. I don't know why it is important for me to note this in my blog, but I suppose I am curious as to which sailors the expression is referring to.) Anyhoo... I suppose the bad language just gets pent up inside of me (sort of like these pointless blog tirades) and as soon as my feet hit the pavement I'm homefree to swear to my little heart's content?

Ok. So that's really all I could think of that I hate. I could think of many more if I tried, but I won't over do it. Besides, I have good things ahead. I got my Who tickets for October 5th, and lo and behold, the Rolling Stones are heading to Regina-fucking-Saskatchewan ("A" for effort on curbing the swearing there). The hot tickets are $300 - they're called the "Golden Tickets" and man, I am practically chewing off my own tongue at the thought of getting a hold of one of those. The Who on the 5th and the Stones on the 8th? I could die. After all that I could literally just die. It would be AUTUMN'S ULTIMATE WEEK OF ROCK!!! I'm even thinking of getting t-shirts made. I think I'll call it the "I CAN GO AHEAD AND DIE NOW TOUR - 2006".

Seriously. So let's all pray that I get my hands on the golden ticket... now who wants a chocolate bar?!

Today's lesson in sportsmanship

I've always considered the term "Canadian celebrity" to be a bit of an oxymoron. Sure, they may show up on tv every once in awhile, someone somewhere may actually be a fan, but they're not exactly household names are they? How does one guage whether they have actually crossed the status line into diva territory?

For example... today being the day before game day, the Stamps were flying to Regina. I checked most of them in and then went on to work their flight. Most of the players are friendly, polite, and in good spirits. Henry Burris even laughed when I told him he was going to be sitting in the pit for this flight because he made the mistake of letting a Rider fan check him in. But hey, that's class - he knows he's representing his team and knows there is nothing to get worked up about. But there are always the few... the ones who want star treatment from start to finish - the ones who skipped gym class the day everyone else was learning about sportsmanship.

So here's the scenario... Stamps don't fly on charters, they take the regular flight to Regina. Regardless of the fact that we're an economy airline and we don't do VIP stuff, the Stamps somehow get priority over our other guests who paid for their flights out of their own pocket - Stamps get the majority of aisles and windows - never middle seats. And that's understandable, we have a good business relationship with the Stamps, and obviously they're bigger fellows so a middle seat isn't exactly comfortable for the majority of them. It puts our guests out, but most of them are so excited that the Stamps are on board that rarely does anyone complain. However, what the guests do complain about is that we're late departing and therefore late arriving. Why? Because the players have this silly little game - a contest to see who can get one the plane last. It doesn't matter that the plane is due to depart in 5 minutes, nor does it matter that we're paging them to board the plane, and it certainly doesn't matter that they're standing 5 feet from the bridge to the plane. They just won't get on. At first it's amusing, ha ha, silly Stampeders, blah, blah, blah. But it gets old. Fast.

So the two of us working that particular flight start to get anxious. And a little pissed off. We page, we ask politely, we call them up by name.... no one wants to get on the plane. "But there's a line up on the bridge" they say. (A line up a whopping 5 people deep.) It never occurs to them that maybe we have duties other than getting them on board the airplane - duties that all need to be done before that plane can even shut its doors. Finally, exasperated, my co-worker flat out says "You guys need to get on that plane now, you have waited long enough, you need to board NOW." And here is where the fun begins...

Imagine that you are 5'9" or 5'10" tall, probably pretty scrawny - no where near big enough to be a football player. And Daddy's a coach in the big leagues - so of course you want to play - but you're no Rudy. So you manage to get a little bigger (after today I can just guess how) but you never make it past college ball. But Daddy can pull some strings - you can be a coach! Maybe you're just having a bad day, maybe you're experiencing a little roids backlash, or maybe you're just pissed because no one watching the big game knows your name - whatever the reason, when someone other than Daddy asks you to get off your ass and do something, you feel like you have to put on a shit show. So you rant and rave a bit, and point fingers, and get in people's faces - but funny thing - no one's buying the diva bullshit! It just doesn't seem to be working! Not only that, but your buddies - who thought this was all so freaking hilarious from the get go - all kind of look embarassed by you and your theatrics. It matters very little to you that there are people other than you on that plane who are waiting to leave. It matters even less that every minute we are late departing - my partner and I are held accountable for. Sure, Daddy will keep you on the payroll, but what happens to me 3 months down the line when I am being evaluated for a payraise? It matters still less that I am standing with my face 2 inches from yours, looking you point blank in the eye and telling you that if you don't calm down you won't be going on this flight. And it's a long walk to Regina. And apparently it matters least of all that you - a coach for the Calgary Stampeders is making your team look very, very bad.

Maybe things are different now, I don't know. But when I was growing up, the rules of sportsmanship were drilled into my head from the get go. It didn't matter what sport they played, I always looked up to players who had class and dignity. In high school, we would be kicked out of the gym if we booed the other team or if we made noise during one of their foul shots. I was no angel - we all get riled up some of the time - but it was more important to me that people respect me - not be intimidated by me.

Now, this incident wasn't the Stamp's fault - but as a member of this football club he should have known better. Just because you're in a suit doesn't mean the impression you are leaving is a good one. Each player and coach is responsible for representing the image the Stamps want to maintain for their fans, their financers, and the people working behind the scenes to accomodate them. And as in today's example, all it took was one person to drop the ball for that image to be tarnished.

In hindsight, I shouldn't have let him on the plane. But goddamn it, karma's a bitch - so the Riders better damn well kick it into high gear this weekend!

A Very Merry Unbirthday to ME!!!!

I got tickets to see the WHO!!!
After October 5th, I will officially be able to die.
(Not that I will be or anything, but if for some reason I am hit by a bus at that time, it will all be ok.)

:(

(Sigh.)
Heart broken.
Alexandrovich gave his two weeks yesterday.
Ironically he is going to be a cop.
I must now go drown my sorrows with
long islands on the balcony
for the next 8 hours.
Today has been a very dark day indeed.