It's good to be the king.

Fuck I hate stress.


My weird hobbies involving other peoples lives delivered me a drug baby last spring to babysit. For months on end, I had this tiny man with me, who shook at times, cried a lot and spit up almost everything that was fed to him. The poor thing, the choices made by the mother kept my sleep in minimum for months and honestly, the hate his troubles arose within me are a new low.

The beauty of American social services was also shown to me. I had been registered as the care taker, but the babys relative called in and told the lady in charge the biological mom babysits him. Nothing anyone said or did mattered after that, they would not believe that wasn't true even if we could easily proof otherwise.

Anyway, straight after that I lost my house, or more accurately the quietness of my house to a visiting relative. For months on end listening and trying to mind an extra adult was almost as wonderful as I imagine being eaten by an alligator would be.

Finally when all that was dealt with, I was such a stress ball everyone in my household agreed I needed to go away.

Some people go to a beach, I write and drive. The combination works for me better than anything. I think it's the combination of not needing to take over others problems, and the feeling of being in control that works for me. Five days and my houlders move again, I keep smiling, and life is beginning to make sense again. I get to meet funny personalities and I get to meet strangers, friends,acquaintances and stop when I must.

I washed him all by myself, he was waxed by two kids who are the only canadians I've met who don't know where Seattle is.

Last night was a great one. An 800 km drive through rural areas, beautiful scenery and something to complain about. An all around win in my books. Ontario state (or province, damn words translate to the same to me) appears to be the one Canada should donate to an other country.

The furry police has worked in every other province here in a way that is almost perfect. I've had my fair share of scenery and speeds that shall not be told here, a few close calls were all my own damn fault and the people are unbelievably nice.

Then Ontario happened.

The speed limit on the highways is so low walking is faster, rd's are banned, and unlike the rest of this country, no one has informed people here how moose operate.

In other places, the known wildlife crossings are well known, they post a sign saying that, people slow down and all goes well. Here it appears the moose run around everywhere, and the signs are idiotic.

Had to be posted even if it's unclear. I spent the night trying to capture this text. At says this province has moose on the loose. Apparently the rest of Canada keeps them in cages.

Just as a suggestion to this state that hates speed so much it finds you with 10 000 ticket for going 50 over, I would suggest looking at a map. USA is on the other side of the border, stop copying them!

I also saw two police vehicles. That's two more than in all of the rest of the country combined.

Like the stop signs in Washington, the moose signs here have stopped working because of over usage. Sure, I realize there must be a fuck load of wild life here, but these herbivores take the same paths they've always done. Mark those and you'd be good to go!

Also, moose move in the dusk and dawn. Stop fucking telling us to mind them at night! They sleep!

So, bitchy and on a bad mood when I finally arrived to Thunderbay. The damn province had gotten to me, not finding a decent hotel was a hit, I felt like having a fit. Then two people happened.

I pulled up to the Marriot, had a nice chat with a guy about tuning and modding, he told me how he totaled his old Audi and the audi hater in me was glad to hear one less is blocking my way. A good example of my weird ways to see the world and meet new people, destressing at work.

Then this happened.

After finding the reception and an American walked in two seconds after I had gotten my keys.

The man had reservations mixed up, and because he was paying for this luxurious place "with my hard earned money" he was making a scene. The receptionist was really trying to get him and his two adult children the rooms he needed, I ended up giving him mine, the man was so damn obnoxious and rude, I had to take his picture while watching the show .

the poor man had a problem with everything, including the weird foods served in Canada. Everything naturally was the receptionists fault.he was the epitome of what we all think of you, and because I'm me, I started up chatting with him to learn how he ended up becoming him.

I could really make a living with my photography.

The word scared came up so many times I concluded he needs a chill pill. Smoke weed. Get laid. Take a walk. Something. Meeting him made me realize how fucking fortunate I am to be able to get away and get the stress off of my back at times. I would advice people like him to come to Canada, and to unwind, but besides Ontario this place has treated me so well I would never wish for you to be stuck with more folks like him.

This morning I was eavesdropping on a group of bikers talking about boats. Photos were shown, and since I didn't quite get what the guy was explaining, I went to look at one of shots.

I know, my manners suck. Normal people don't behave so. Instead of telling me to fuck off like i deserved to be told, we had a few words about fishing. Just now, when they were pulling away from the hotel I stopped them to take their pic next to my car. The lovely American was made to park next to me last night (by me, I wanted the photo I admit) so in the future when I feel like being a bitch, I'll just look at this picture. Happy, smiling bikers versus the memory of that idiot from last night. I do hope he slept well in my bed.

Anna

(oh, It's good to be the king is a Stargate episode, a good one. I would tell you all about it but sadly the geek in me knows it probably word by word so this post would get a bit long)