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Election diary of Stephen Harper, aged 51 and 11/12s: Friday, 25 March, 2011

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Weather: Sunny, -1.

Hockey stats: Leafs! Leafs! Leafs! Habs/Boston (ha ha ha).

Mood: Ebullient. Yes.

Dictionary.com's word of the day: Bumptious -- That should be an easy one to memorize. I knew it already. :)

What a week! I'm smiling. The budget went so well. We killed parliament, those bills, the committees. And what's even better, the Leafs killed the Wild, the Bruins, the Avalanche, and then the Habs fall down on Thursday like a stand of old growth cedars. Heh. I can smell a majority like I can smell the Stanley Cup.

I'm still getting shivers about it. Jim did exactly what we told him to do, down to the shoes and the fake anger about the budget being rejected by the other parties. The three stooges jerked around like marionettes. (I've been trying to think of a Brangelina kind of tag for them.... Ducelaytieff, heh.)

Is a majority worth the $300 mill price tag? Oh yeah. It's almost worth $300 mill to get the indignation from those right honourable members, because I can see so many Canadians are just not paying attention. Love it.

Libya, Bill C-393. I'd do a jig, but that makes Dimitri yell that stupid marketing mantra. "It's mask time, Steve. Put on that game face!"

And he's right, of course. It's all business now. Baird was giggling so hard I had to say the mantra to him, too. So he started yelling again. He rammed through so many bills on Thursday I decided to christen him "Rambo." He liked that and took off his jacket to showed his guns off to the secretaries. Heelarious.

Hmm. Text message from Mansbridge. I don't think so.

I can play this game now like a Bay Street card sharp, but with the added bonus of being the one with the best media budget. I was miffed at first when Layton brought up my having tried to do a coalition thing with him and Duceppe against Paul Martin, but I should stick to the mantra. No one will remember it tomorrow. It will be fodder for some constitutional history prof at the University of Regina. Everybody'll get real mad in Regina.

Stockwell's ignoring me again, the twerp. Dimitri says he heard there was some talk with the ministers about what I'd said. Well, duh. So what? Stockwell SHOULD spend more time at home with his tanning beds. I told him to his face that I wanted him to spend more time with his tanning beds so as to grow a thicker skin. He told me he was 60 and wanted to do something a little more local in B.C. I'll take that to mean waterskiing. Yesterday's man already.

Chuck Strahl's a sad loss though. He's a lot of fun. Everybody likes him.

This is my time. Finally. After all these false starts. I said they won't recognize this country when I'm done with it, and many people already don't. It's remade in my image.

Laureen's been watching Rick Mercer again. I hate to write bad language, but GEEZ. I'm frosted. She missed the vote and everything.

There's enough going on this week without having to have THAT discussion again. It was bad enough when Mercer came over to the house to make a segment and I had to pretend to read to him in his pyjamas. Gave me the shivers.

It's not my kind of comedy at all, of course. I mean Mercer's a communist, but Dimitri says it plays well in Mississauga. I said it plays well in three houses in Consort, all the immigrants and KD Lang's house. We had a good laugh about that. KD Lang. I don't think I've ever written his name down before...

Anyhow. We're off to the Stampede. Again. Feeling great, totally pumped for an election. One day, well into my majority, I'll come back to read this entry and smile at that confidence. I love my confidence almost as much as I love my children. It's my saving grace.

Laureen's upset because we're going to miss Prince William's wedding in April as I'll be up to my calculator in campaigning. We had words, unfortunately. I even said geez to her and everything. She, I am ashamed to say, said "fire truck." Twice. She hasn't said that since the girl was being born.

Last time we were in London, the Daily Mail newspaper wrote a story about how she was the most attractive wife of a G8 leader. Even and including Carla Bruni. That was awesome. I didn't read it, I was looking over the Financial Times, but Dimitri said it was highly complementary. You never forget the first flush of a woman when a favourable story appears about her in the media. She's a sensible girl, but I knew she was pleased. I'll never let on that it was a plant.

So I figured that a little lady-vanity was at play here in her madness about missing the wedding, but it turns out she really wanted to see some shows. She's a conniving arts lover. There's some play on about Frankenstein that she wants to see at the National Theatre in London by the river.

I said there was no way I was going, but then she said that guy who made Slumdog Millionaire was directing it, and I thought it might be cool. Now there's poverty. I don't know what our people are going on about, they've got a long drop before they hit that level.

Anyway, no prince. No Kate Middleton. And no Frankenstein. I'll get Baird to take her to something nice, she can pick her city.

I told her not to, but Laureen had gone to Holt Renfrew when the invitation arrived and came back with six dresses. She had her assistant take three of them back this morning. That didn't help her mood. Why do I even have to know about this stuff?

Game face.

I love March. Reminds me of my favourite walking style. Best time of year. Springtime for Harper. Laureen looked at me funny when I said that to her earlier.

Game face. Can't wait to see the G-G Saturday.

Cathryn Atkinson is rabble.ca's news and features editor.


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