Prolific Immigrant

I did it. With the help of a very lovely neighbour named MING, who may or may not capitalise all letters in his name, which rhymes with KING.

The instructions were clear, and so I:

(1) Inserted the toy key which matches my festive nail polish, see…

(2) Then pushed a squishy thing that supposedly splooshed gas all over something on the inside. I think they’re lying about this because I couldn’t hear anything happening. Even though I think this instruction is just for fun and really nothing more, I followed it carefully.

In tandem while pushing the squishy three times, I was supposed to ensure that I physically covered some other part of the snow blower. Maybe. I didn’t really understand that part and so didn’t do it.

Instead, I pushed the squishy six times with the following logic: if something had to be covered, this was because the gas could sploosh outside. Six squishes instead of three ensured that even with the escaping gas, enough splooshed gas remained within to coat whatever.

Smart, yes?

(3) Anyway, then I made sure the slidey bar was atop the rabbit, rather than the turtle.

(4) And that Olga the Snow-blower was being Choked rather than Run.

(5) And finally, I pressed the Start button.

Only, nothing happened. Repeatedly I pressed, but Olga just yelled ME’KH and then stopped talking.

I stood confused.

Across the way was KING MING running around with Olga’s older brother. I rolled down my driveway and sidled up to KING MING. As I am the size of a Rice Tank while wearing my parka, as this to-scale drawing confirms, I stood at the bottom of KING MING’s driveway and yelled for help.

KING MING very graciously came to assist me and gave me the greatest and most important secret handshake to the world of snow-blowers: GASOLINE.

I didn’t have any in Olga.
(You’ll have to pardon her inclination for drunk. It is the holidays, after all, and who doesn’t like a little punch in their day?)

Rather naively, I assumed that Olga was already full of gas; that she would be delivered as such. Wrong. (And maybe now that I see that before me in print, maybe had she been transported with gasoline inside of her, she would have been hazardous or explosive? I don’t know…I’m not smart around the holidays. Sparkle distracts me much too much and I see snow and think that God keeps forgetting to stop dumping icing sugar on us, please and thank you.)

As a final and small end to this, I will say that snow blowing is difficult and lonely and an extreme sport of domesticity. If I could sit on Olga and drive her, I wouldn’t mind, but as it stands, Olga doesn’t even reverse her ass up like a proper Ho in a 50 Cent video and so she is of little use to me at this time.

My love affair continues with Mr. Shovel. Strong, steady, durable, light and flexible, just as God intended.

That at this same time of the years spanning 2005 – 2008 inclusive, there were moments of deep sadness in my life. Each year, there was a particular thing, for lack of a better word, which I had granted entry into my life (be it an individual or a situation), the consequences of which always ended in some sort of emotional blueness.

This year, nothing. No sadness and no drama, and most definitely no emotional upheavels.

It’s the fkng holidays and I am happy and satiated beyond expression.

Yay.

Also, I hope you are as well – and if I am any measure, trust that it will get better. It really, really, really and truly does…even if it takes a few years.

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“Serene”
“Lovely”
“Blissful”
“Peaceful”
“Calm”

These are only a few of the words used by folks when discussing the first snowfall of the year. For instance, today I was speaking with someone who described this day as one akin to a “blanket of warmth”.

Standing back sipping my coffee I wondered quietly what kind of hashish this individual had smoked, and surely it was laced with something chemical? Because, are you serious?

The first snowfall is oftentimes accompanied by my brothers and sisters Canuck who – having invented the world’s warmest winter jacket – can’t remember how to drive slowly or carefully and so more often than not, usually kill a few other Canucks during the first 24 hours of this prick we call Winter.

Today is precisely this day in Ottawa, the one for which I have been preparing since early October when I began wearing my very large parka, taking up much too much room on both elevators and buses, suffocating at least one person who dared stand next to me (much in the same way as the effects of quicksand, this is what happens when one is caught in the outer layer of my parka). Really, everywhere I go I take up the same space as a baby elephant. Thanks, Canada Goose.(1)

Since morning, there has been neither calm nor peace. There has, however, been an endless array of sirens and ambulances rushing about in an attempt to keep up with the useless Canuck drivers who keep forgetting how to drive in such weather. As equally bothersome are three other minor sounds: the slobbering of wet pant bottoms across floors and carpets; snow pelting at one’s exposed skin including eyeballs; and, the yelps of people as they crash over snowbanks and slide off of sidewalks.

…and one major sound, that of the shovel scraping across the walkways and driveways. The sound most bothersome to your webMum most especially when she is the one generating said noise.

We recently purchased a very pretty snow-blower. It remains pretty and shiny and lovely, sitting quietly in the corner of the garage because I am too afraid to use her. This evening, I walked into the garage and stood quite still in front of the snow-blower, staring at her very hard, willing her to tell me how she is to be used.

If we were in a relationship, she would have said something like: I don’t mind if you occasionally have a thing with Mr. Shovel, or even Miss. Broom, depending on the amount of snow that drops. But the moment you need real and serious support, you had better come to me. Or it’s over. Because between you and me, that’s the only thing that really gets me going…

I walked away from the snow-blower with the same amount of knowledge I had when I approached her – zip. I don’t know how to use one and I am in fact scared to use one. They are really loud and look like they could run away if you don’t strap them to your arms. And, what if I blow snow in the wrong direction? Like, into the wind? Or at my neighbor? Or in my ear?

Anyway. All the above to say that today was Ottawa’s first prick of a snowfall. I shoveled while a beautiful snow-blower sat in the garage warm and cozy. I did this while padded into my parka…and later realized that had I just laid down and rolled across both my walkway and my driveway, the size of me in my parka would have done a better job than Mr. Shovel.

**********
(1) I am rendering null and void my prior thought that Javier Bardem smolders. For the record, please let it show that I now find his head much too large for his shoulders and so think he is creepy looking. Thanks very much.

I love you very much and am proud of you beyond words or measure.

I have printed Bordering on Fear: A Comparative Literary Study of Horror Fiction, your 399 page whopper of a PhD, into which I am extremely excited to sink my teeth.

(And to the end of this PhD sojourn, I shall add: Ameen, sister.)
xox

P.S. Entry coming this weekend. Thank you to all for your emails of curious ‘wtf are you doing not writing?’ and ‘when in the hell…’.

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Welcome to Switzerland circa 1532, where racism and ignorance reign supreme.
I am so happy that we have come so far in our understanding and intelligence.

Degenerate fkn a**holes each and every one of you who voted in favour of this ban.

Read for a further excellent breakdown here.

I hope this decision will be challenged in a court of law.

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