Canada

I was in Tennessee and Alabama last week hangin’ with my girls. My tribe.
Two of them are from Canada, the land of Mounties and mooses—and Justin Trudeau—which they rub in my face every chance they get.

She was telling me over duck-fat tater-tots (you heard me) that when she phoned her mom to tell her she was coming to the States, her mother didn’t tell her to have fun, or ask her for a t-shirt from Nashville (which is up there with Vegas and Disneyland in its “We don’t have anything like this in Canada” gobsmackery.)

Nope. Her mom voiced her concern. It went something like this:

“Mom, I’ll be in the United States next week.”

“Aww jeez honey, don’t get shot.”

Wtf? That’s embarrassing.

It breaks my heart. And it makes me mad. 
Because it happened on my watch. Our country became this dysfunctional, hot mess on MY watch?

The fact that the rest of the civilized world is afraid to come here for fear of some loon opening fire and killing them with his Constitutionally protected assault rifle while they innocently sit eating a tater tot is sad—and disgusting.

What has become of us? What does it say about America when sane folks warn their daughters to duck and cover?

A few weeks ago Trump signed into law some legislation making it easier for the mentally ill to get guns. You know, because who doesn’t want that?

I’ve always had such a hard time with this “right” to own a firearm. Listen, my husband has guns. He relishes his right to own them. He is skilled with them, respects them, and locks them up when they’re not in use and most importantly, last time I checked—he wasn’t crazy. But sadly, that is not the case with some people.

And I have to say, their rights are starting to infringe on mine!

I have to go through metal detectors at museums, concerts and sporting events. Some schools even have then now.

I have to open my bag at most public social events and let people poke around in there.

And the past few times I’ve flown I’ve been subjected to a body scan at the airport even though I’m TSA pre-check approved.

When do I get MY rights back? When do I get to laugh at my friend’s mom for being neurotic nervous Nelly—instead of prudent?

When will they stop interpreting the Constitution for their purposes?

When does this madness end? I don’t have the answers.

Thanks for the rant. 

Oh…Canada.

Feel stuff. Stay involved. Vote.

Carry on,
xox

On my recent trip to Canada, I was asked repeatedly if I felt any difference between the States and Canada.
You know, energetically. In other words a not so thinly veiled attempt to get me gabbing about the texting habits of our Cheeto-N-Chief.

Now I don’t know about you, but the butt cheeks in MY inner circle have been clenched so tightly since November that I for one could press a quarter into two dimes and nickel. Needless to say (so I will anyway), the discomfort caused by this collective gluteus charley horse has set everyone on edge.

And that was never more evident than when I spent a few days in Vancouver – or “America Lite” as I like to call it.

When I landed, there was a rare powdered sugar snow event happening which made the serene calm even calmer and the whole city eerily quiet. As if a benevolent snow angel was whispering a sweet little lullaby. That had the same effect on me as sucking on a chocolate covered Xanax.

Deep… exhale.

This Canadian silent night effect just exaggerated the fact that we, as a nation, are jittery, jumpy and wound tighter than a Real House Wife of Beverly Hills’ face (because we all live inside of reality show now, right?).

Right?

I mean, the past three weeks, in particular, have been a sucker punch an hour.
My guard is up.
My loins are girded.

Last week found me traveling in and out of the country during this cluster fuck immigration BAN—which I’m told isn’t a BAN—but let’s call it a BAN…because it is.

It may be on the legal ropes for the time-being.
But what time is it now?
That could change in the next ten minutes.

Listen, as you know, I’m a middle-aged white woman who lives in a blue state, one of the “coastal elites” and I was going to freakin’ Canada. Yet, I felt a bit anxious. I couldn’t help but clutch my “papers” to my chest like an early 1900’s, babushka wearing, Irish potato farmer – or a Syrian refugee. It made me distinctly aware that the only difference between them and me is the fact that through no effort on my part, I won the “uterine lottery” by having the good fortune of being born in Los Angles California, USA.

That being said Canada is looking pretty darn good to me right now.

I think Canada looks at us US citizens these days like I’ve always looked at Italians. With a mixture of admiration and pity. “What great people! They have so much going for them” I’d say. “The food, the wine, the shoes! Such a shame their “elected” officials are bat-shit crazy and their government is corrupt as fuck.”

Because I believe that a country’s moral aptitude trickles from the top down, many citizens in this new America are quite mouthy.
They have a newfound brazenness.
Sharp tongues.
Permission to carry a harsh political incorrectness disguised as “telling it like it is” as a weapon.

Perfect example:
I’ve NEVER heard the word “Fuck” YELLED in all of its many forms as much as it was on our American carrier as we sat on the tarmac for an hour waiting to take-off. Men, women, even babies. (It was so outrageous that a baby across the aisle yelled fuck, you know because they’re parrots, and even though her mother was mortified—we all laughed because a baby saying fuck in their cartoon voice is hilarious—and the tension inside that plane was absurd.)

As for exhibit B: On the Canadian carrier, it felt like I was inside of a time machine. Everyone was kind and courteous, like a flashback to 2014 before all of this mishegas started. So much so that we taxied away from the gate—then back again—to let a sick passenger get off (and her sisters and aunts and a couple of other random passengers) without any cursing. Next, the flight attendant announced that since our flight was going to be about an hour late on arrival, and since several passengers had tight connections to make, that while the cabin door was open and we were parked at the gate…anybody else who felt compelled to leave was welcome to do so!

Wait.
What?

I ducked.

I waited for the “fucks” to fly.

Nothing.
Silence.

As a matter of fact, good-natured silence.

That pretty much sums up the difference these days between sanity and the Twilight Zone in which we find ourselves these days.

What are you noticing?

Carry on,
xox