Tuesday, January 27, 2009

Strubs

There are certain things that everyone does when they are in a bad mood. Some people like to talk to their friends or listen to uplifting music. Others prefer to wallow in their own self-pity until they feel better. Me? I like to eat pickles.


What you see here, ladies and gentlemen, are various assortment of Strubs. Arguably, the solution to pretty much everything. Need a quick snack? Strubs. What to serve the guest? Stubs. How to get Israelis and Palestinians at the peace table? Don't worry, they're kosher.

As I said before, I eat pickles when I am depressed. I used to try writing poetry, but then I realized that I would just end up writing a short summary of my pain in a form that rhymes. The pathetic hilarity of my bad form did not encourage a very soul soothing process. However, it was better than what I used to do before that, which was just listen to Joni Mitchel until I got tired of crying uncontrollably for no reason. Just kidding. No seriously.

I needed cheering up today as I was in a bit of a pickle (I'm really sorry, I've been looking to put that in here somewhere for some time now. Forgive me). I recently lost my social insurance card, needless to say, it turned out to be a huge pain in the ass to try and get a new one. First off, the Human Resource office, where one has to wait in line to be served, is in the next town over. It's a 45 min walk.

Secondly, it was recently merged with the unemployment office and as such the line twisted the whole waiting area and just stopped short of the door. Stupid depression. After waiting about an hour to get to the admissions desk, just the desk that gives the forms that you need to fill out, not takes mind you, I find out that you can only use your birth certificate for ID. Driver's license or passport? Nope, not good enough for a SIN card!

I took some time to literally stomp around the block before I went home. I find acting childish in public is a good way to visibly vent my frustration to people. It makes me feel tired and I don't have to feel guilty for swearing uncontrollably. Even better than that is to go home and snack on comfort food.

My future soulmate should hopefully have a strong desire to learn the art of pickling.

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