Saturday, 27 April 2013

Who Knew You Could Get a Brand New Passport in an Hour and a Half on a Saturday!?

I have a feeling that this will be one of those stories that I'm still telling people when I'm so old that I'm basically being held together by a combination of Jesus and black magic and duct tape.

I don't think I've really shared my excitement at my wonderful vacation that my Gentleman and I planned. We researched forever and looked at reviews and went back and forth about where we wanted to go and then in early February, we settled on the lovely Caribbean island of St. Lucia. Needless to say, I was pumped. I've never been to he Caribbean before and neither has he. We were both excited but February was still a long way from the end of April.

Flash forward to now. This past week couldn't have gone fast enough and with the craziness of the Budget Estimates meetings ending and whatever else work decided to throw at me this week, I was more than ready for my vacation. I had basically packed (throwing all your clothes in a pile in your suitcase and then staring at is with disdain counts as packing right?!) and I was ready to go. I had even made sure that my passport was still valid, but that's mostly because on Wednesday morning as I was drying my hair, I had this horrific thought that it wasn't good anymore and that I wouldn't be able to go. Friday I tasted the sweet sense of freedom, left work early to finish my shit because functioning as a real adult during the week proved to be too much for me, and get ready to leave. We left the house and picked up my Gentleman to take the red eye to YYZ.. We got to the airport and said or goodbyes to my lovely father and went to check in. Everything was splendid. We were excited and happy and couldn't wait to spend a week int the sun and relaxing with each other. Life was grand. Until it wasn't.

We went to get our boarding passes and I was told that I wasn't allowed to fly. What do you mean I can't fly?! What kind of garbage is this?! Apparently, your passport needs to be valid for at least 6 months to the day of when you travel to St. Lucia. My passport was 12 days short of that 6 months. 12 fucking days. I was shocked. I cried. A lot. And I'm not one of those girls who are blessed with being pretty criers. So here I was with the Andre the ticketing agent who was so lovely and helpful, crying with snot running down my face, blubbering and asking what I should do.

I got on the phone, woke up my parents, got on the phone and was told that I needed a new passport. Well that's really fucking great. It's Friday at 11 pm. The passport office is closed and won't reopen until Monday. This only served to increase my level of hysteria. Then, magically my mum found an emergency passport number and called it. She was told that someone would call at 9 am. Se also decided to contact foreign affairs , so there's that. It's kind of hilarious.

The only thing to do was send my Gentleman on without me. He was not happy about that. I went home and waited for that call.

They called and somehow, by some stroke of luck and baby Jesus, told me to go to the passport office at 1pm with all my documentation. An hour and a half later I had a brand spanking new passport and am on my way. I'm actually writing this while siting at my gate.

I couldn't make this shit up if I tried!

I promise to share how St. Lucia was with everyone!

Xoxo
Leah

Thursday, 11 April 2013

Musings on Men with Mullets in Spandex

 

I experienced my very first Wrestlemania last Sunday. While my Gentleman shares my questionable taste in really bad television, I do not share his love of wrestling. It's more than a like for him. It's pure love. He knows the name of every wrestler, and all their signature moves and the words to their theme songs. I actually find it quite endearing and kind of cute. It's something that helps me know him better. A part of his childhood. He had wrestling, I had a massive collection of Ty Beanie Babies (we all had them, don't judge me). Apparently these two mutually exclusive obsessions make for a good relationship.

The whole art(?) of wrestling wasn't completely unknown to me as a child. All I knew was that Hulk Hogan was a monster of a man, with an ugly bleach blond mullet and incredibly creepy facial hair, who had a penchant for spandex pants and speedos. And I knew this only because my grandfather loved WWF as it was called in the '90's, and would always watch it with my male cousins. As a child, I scoffed at it. I just didn't understand the appeal of watching two grown men grab at each, locked in an epic fake battle to win some gaudy belt that looks like the contents of The Situation's stomach after a hard night of drinking and fist pumping. My ignorance was not lost on me when I discovered my Gentleman's love of the sport(?). One Monday (Monday is RAW night, much like how on Wednesday's we wear pink), we were hanging out and RAw came on. This was very early in our relationship and I tried my hardest not to scoff and openly mock this kind of awesome guy. But as I sat there, watching this spectacle with him, I couldn't help but get sucked in, and this was slightly disturbing, but not altogether surprising. Boiled down, wrestling is really just like any other trashy televsion show that we both watch. There are epic rivalries, friendships that span decades, evil villains with a mind on the bottom line, romance, fights, and last but not least, Donald Trump. Now, a year later, I watched (at least part of ) Wrestlemania 29. I still don't know most of the wrestlers, or their handlers or even their story lines, but I do know that if it involves The Rock or John Cena, I like it. Sure they still wrestle in tiny spandex pants, and yes, there are some very questionable fashion choices, but it's quite a spectacle and I couldn't help but enjoy it.  I think me watching it was also probably both entertaining and mildly irritating at the same time. I also don't really know how to digest what I saw. I'm still thinking about it, and it's quite puzzling for me. I know for an absolute fact that this was not the last wrestling match I will ever watch, but I think that I'm okay with that.

It's more than just men with mullets in spandex. It's men with mullets and spandex and fireworks.

xoxo
Leah