Everything Under the Sun

As of my next birthday, I think I might have met almost everyone I'm ever going to meet.

Over the last few months I've really started to notice some eerie similarities between the people of my childhood to people I meet today. I've come to the conclusion that all the new people I come across are really just updated versions of someone I've met before. Therefore I now have the opportunity to make better decisions regarding new associations. I don't know why this never occurred to me before!

There was the guy who seemed really interesting until I realized all his most profound ideas came straight out of those sports movies about underdogs who always win in the end. Yeah, he's the only exception. I can't make that decision twice. But when I do meet High School Hunk2.0, all he's getting is a high five!


Then there was ThePrince O'Folly. The Prince O'Folly is so pathetic that he's almost endearing. He's always an hour late, and doesn't have a car(running... because his broke down, but he's got two in his garage); he can barely keep a job; he doesn't have a home, so he's always sleeping on your couch; he's super enthusiastic about everything for about a minute and will drop a fortune on a good party. Sometimes its hard to believe he won't ever get his shit together. Fun for a night of partying, but probably not worth taking out a mortgage for. Prince O'Folly Digitally Remastered: I gots my eye on you... I mean your IOU.

Who could forget that girl who was constantly in the middle of her very own after school special? Her life was always falling down around her ears. If it wasn't her parents, then it was a troubled sibling, or a cheating boyfriend. No fault could ever definitively be linked back to her, But I'm quite certain when the world ends, she'll be texting whoever brings it all down in the end. I know now when I meet DramaQueen the Final Chapter, to call the professionals and stand behind the police lines away from the falling debris.

There are wonderful people too. The Friend-O-Matic:there for you faster than you can say "Cake Batter";The Teddy Bear:A great snuggle, but too often forgotten on park benches; The Guru: Wax On! WAX OFF!; Zaphod Beeblbrox :deservedly the centre of the universe; and of course the World's Biggest Fan:you know who you are.


Thankyou

G




check out more funny comics!
http://www.savagechickens.com/2009/04/fortunes-fool.html

My Record Collection

For Christmas, I always ask for something I can use. Last Christmas my brother gave me a little portable record player and 3 or 4 records. The records were pretty random, a little Frank Sinatra, The Beach Boys and and Indie LP I had never heard of (but enjoyed). He painted the body white and told me I should paint it. I still haven't but I have gotten use of the little thing.

The sound isn't Hifi or anything, its a little tinny and has that aged wobbly sound, no matter which disk you spin. There's something calming and wholesome about the sound.

I'm not an avid music collector. I never have been. I went through my Columbia house phase, but during my next broke phase I copied all my CDs to my computer and sold the CDs for peanuts to cover a pack of smokes or two. I love music. However, I've never really taken music very seriously and so building a music collection has never been a goal of mine.

But when I was presented with this gift, I was presented with the task of finding records to play on it, and a record collection became necessary.

I went down to a local used record shop to see what I could find that tickled my fancy. After a brief turn of the lp section I realized I was in over my head. I do not know enough about music to know what albums are supposed to be in my record collection. So discouraged I sought out the bargain bin, knowing that the cheaper the record, the less guilty I would feel for preferring my ipod to my little music box. I no sooner found the dollar bin than I realized the purpose of my record collection: to salvage unwanted records.

I've now built a modest collection of everything from Raffi's Christmas album to the second half of The Wall. I've got a sprinkling of 80s pop, a few really good rock and roll classics, a couple folksy songwriters, a few standards, more Neil Diamond than I really should, and that one Indie album my brother gave me.

The other day I was invited to root through the unwanted bins in the basement of a record store. I nearly doubled my collection. So maybe, I'm still not the connoisseur of music that some other collectors are, but at least I listen to my records.

G

The Puppy Button II: Revenge of the Dogsitter

Dear Readers,

We at Proroguing Perfection regret to inform you that we can no longer endorse the "Puppy Button" (trademark pending) due to the fact that we can no longer guarantee that no puppies have been harmed by the use of said "Puppy Button" (trademark pending).

A few weeks ago I had the opportunity to test a Puppy Button prototype, and I am disappointed and ashamed to admit that Puppy Buttons are not that good for puppies.

I got to spend one glorious day with one of the cutest and sweetest puppies I have ever had the pleasure to shake-a-paw with. Though I'm not sure that she really ever caught on to what I was trying to do by grabbing her paw constantly.

We spent most of the day walking around in the sun and splashing in fountains, puddles, and quite nearly ended up in a canal. What little time we spent inside were mostly bathroom breaks (for both of us) and naps. By the end of the day we were both pooped.

More so for the puppy. I guess you can take a puppy for too many walks, cause I exhausted that poor thing. Apparently after applying the "No-Puppy Button" (which we still endorse) that sweet innocent creature was suffering nausea and diarrhea. The Official Puppy Button handler (my good friend and animal shelter volunteer) assured me the puppy's sickness wasn't my fault, but I felt guilty for trying to cram a 3 months' worth of puppy-time into one day.

I would have posted this week's ago, if it weren't for the massive weight of puppy-guilt, on top of the crippling shakes of puppy-withdrawal.

Yours,
Management (G)

You must be dreaming

I'm a dreamer, but not in the John Lennon, save-the-world sort-of way. I don't claim to dream about the future or alternate realities. I DREAM. I go to sleep and something in my brain lights up like a Christmas tree! I envy the people who say they don't dream.

On very special occasions I have knock your socks off crazy messed up dreams and nightmares that are so vivid that the details become permanently etched in my visual cortex.

When I was about 3 years old I had a terrible nightmare that I was creeping through a large aluminum cistern filled with sleeping bats. When one of the meanest and ugliest of them awoke, he began to chase me, calling after me. "I'm gonna getchya, and when I getchya, I'm gonna eatchya!" I screamed and a hand reached out of a trapdoor in the ceiling and pulled me out just as the bat (now turned hideous bloodsucking monster beyond description) was nipping at my Mary Janes.

When I was eight, I had a dream about a soldier's ghost that desperately needed me to do something about his grave because it was under a road and that didn't rest well with him. Somehow in my dream the road was moved, and that seemed to please him. In the dream, he was haunting an old antiques shop that my mother had once brought me to in order to buy a skeleton key for our old farmhouse. Years later I told the story to a friend who said that house was well known to be haunted by a British Redcoat from the war of 1812. (Cue Twilight Zone music)

I am living proof that when you die in your dream, you don't die in real life. I have dreamt of being shot in the back, having my throat slit, drowning, and even falling out of a 20 story window and hitting the ground before I woke up. If you die in your sleep its not because of what you dream.

I've also had a dream where I was hunting an axe murderer who was terrorizing a slumber party I was having, only to find out at the end that the axe murderer was me. Imagine my surprise when I chopped one of my friends into little tiny pieces!

A couple of years ago I had the most f'd up dream ever.

I was standing in front of my highschool with some friends of mine smoking cigarettes and watching yellow buses blow by us. I had just handed a friend of mine a small piece of jewelery, a pearl on a chain that I had taken for worthless. It was an overcast day. The clouds were hanging low in the sky. My friend pointed suddenly to a black spot that appeared like a scorch mark on one of the clouds. Soon I noticed that it was no spot at all, but a massive black spider gripping the clouds with his long beetle like legs... but no, it WAS a beetle suddenly and it was spreading its black wings getting ready for flight. Then as it began to descend it morphed into a monstrous black bird with a 50 foot wingspan. As it glided towards the grounds of the school, the students around me began to scream and run in all directions. But I stood there. The bird was nearing the ground, and I could feel the wind of its great wings on my face. That's when I saw the rider on its back. I couldn't tell if it was man or woman. But you can bet the rider wore all black, and rode holding on to the reins with only one hand. The other, of course, held a gleaming sword pointed at the sky.I knew what it wanted.

I called to my friend to return the small pearl-pendant but she was gone. I turned back, and just as the bird reached the ground it morphed again into a giant black mastiff (not unlike the sort of dog that Sigourney Weaver turns into at the end of GhostBusters, except WAY bigger), the rider still perched on its back - sword in hand pointed at me, the only person still standing in the vicinity. I was more curious than scared, and as I marveled at this fact, taking pride in my own bravery, I woke up.

I've thought about what this dream may mean, but I think I'd rather not know and simply sell the idea to a heavy metal band interested in a concept for a music video. Any takers?

Sweet Dreams!

G

A Heist

So I'm walking home from the bus stop last night enjoying the quiet midnight hum of chainsaws and leafblowers revving in the moonlight. And I had to think to myself:

Why would you rev leaf-blowers and chainsaws in the middle of the city in the middle of the night?

The man with the chainsaw was not cutting any wood, but rather waving his roaring machine towards a pile of flats leaning against a shadowy wall.

The man with the leaf blower could barely find something worthy of his thundering. I saw him chasing a gum wrapper for half a block, beyond which a torrent of trash lay undisturbed before he returned to the corner again to rev his leaf-blower obnoxiously at nothing.

There was a pickup parked nearby with the city's crest emblazoned on the side and a few scattered orange pylons.

Again, I ask why its necessary to wield such obnoxious machinery anywhere near a city neighbourhood in the middle of the night. The only respectable explanation I could come up with was that these healthy young city employees were actually covering for a very noisy sort of robbery, murder or otherwise misdeed: A jewel heist perhaps, or tunnel into a nearby bank vault. Whatever the reason, I know that it couldn't possibly be that this is the hour at which city employees are paid to wave their ineffective power tools around.

G

The Puppy Button

Everyone thinks that they want a puppy. But let's face it, if you really really wanted a puppy you'd have gone out and bought one already. What you want is a Puppy Button.

It's a button installed in a convenient location somewhere in your house, which when pressed releases a puppy through a magic portal to a nice farm in the country. Once you press the puppy button you have one of god's cutest therapy methods immediately available to you. You can wrestle, play fetch, or growl at strangers with your puppy without the cost and hassle of feeding, training or cleaning up after it. With the puppy button you will be free to rub noses with a puppy and say things like "who's the cutest puppy in the world?" and "Puppy puppy doowuppy snuffers" in your cutest baby/Scooby doo voice with no shame whatsoever. Our puppies are so cute and so temporary that you won't care if they jump all over you, or your furniture to sniff your crotch or kiss you in the mouth or up your nose. Whatever the hijinx are that you need a puppy for - you're free from actual responsibility.


And when you tire of the incessant yapping and shake-a-paw, or if you are one of the idiots who actually went out and bought a puppy and realized that you no longer have a life because of your needy-ass puppy. All you need is a No-puppy button. All you have to do is press the No-puppy button and the puppy is humanely sucked back through the portal where a friendly and loving handler is waiting to feed your puppy prime rib, and pigs ears and dole out endless scratches behind the ear and tummy-rubs. You are then puppy-free again and can live your life not worrying if you will have any panties left with a crotch still attached when you get home from work.


I'm still working on the Relatives Button.

G

The Precoital Agreement

I wrote this relationship contract to facilitate communication in a relationship and outline clear guidelines for behaviour within a relationship. I think I will present it to my next boyfriend before we have sex for the first time. I think its important to set clear expectations.

CONTRACT

1. Honesty: Full Disclosure past, present, and future.
Any information pertinent to the maintenance and integrity of the relationship or either partner shall be fully disclosed. This includes any past trauma,present concern or future plan that may have some affect of the behaviour treatment or dignity of either partner.
a. Infringements of article 1 will be considered as lying and so can be prosecuted under Article 3 subsection A.

2. Honour: Making Promises -Your word is your bond.
It shall be known that any verbal agreement made within the term of this partnership shall be considered binding whether or not 'I promise' is explicitly used. If at any time a verbal agreement must be broken, the injured partner shall be compensated for losses of time or enjoyment at the next possible opportunity at the appropriate personal cost of the cancelling party.
a. Infringements of Article 2 can be debated and prosecuted under Article 3 Subsection B.

3. Respect: value, treatment and consideration.
Each party shall treat the other as he/she would like to be treated in public as well as in private. Should this break down at any point the injured party shall retain the right to be compensated at the cost of the injuring party, but shall not retaliate with negative treatment.
a. automatic infringements of this rule include insults (general as well as specific), ignorance of special occasions, lying, cheating, and intentional failure to respond to direct questions.
b. any other infringements must be agreed upon as an infringement by both parties in private mediation. Both the accusing and defending party must present his/her case clearly in any manner or volume he/she is comfortable with, but must avoid infringing on Article 3 subsection A or risk forfeiting his/her right to compensation.
c. the value of compensation must be agreed upon before compensation can be made.
d. If no mutual outcome can be agreed on, the mediators must acknowledge the futility and inconsequence of their argument and drop all charges immediately.
e.. If futility and inconsequence cannot be agreed upon the parties must vacate eachothers presence for an assumed minimum of 2 hours or may extend said vacation verbally within those two hours to a maximum of one week.
f. If no resolution can then be reached expediently either partner has the right to invoke a third party mediator.
g. This contract becomes null and void if no resolution can be reached through mediation.

4. Time Considerations and Appointments: quality, and duration of time spent together
Section 1: Any and all time spent in the company of eachother shall be agreed upon and will be considered as time 'together'. During such times the needs and desires of each partner shall be considered to take priority over the needs of other uncontracted company at all times except in the following circumstances.
a. medical emergencies
b. when the demanding partner is suspected of infringing on Article 3 in any way. This must be then subjected to Article 3 subsection B and if the defendant is found innocent the accusing partner shall be automatically found guilty of an infringement and compensation be reversed.
c. In the case of family, or estranged friendship. The needs of these relationships will take presidence over the needs of the partner but may not infringe on any article in this contract.
d. personal needs. Allowance must be made for the desires and space of the individual within the company of others. In such cases the needs of both parties must be acknowledged immediately and prioritized according to expedience.
Section 2: All time spent together will be assumed to prioritize quality over quantity.
a. should either partner feel that the quality of said time is compromised for any reason he/she must seek to validate a cessation of time spent together under Section 1 of this article allowing for the needs and desires of the other partner.
b. should the quality be found to be compromised and the needs of the partner found to be readily fulfilled through agreement of postponement, time together may be ceased temporarily without repercussion.
c. at no time should the quantity of time spent together be questioned if the quality is uncompromised.
d. Should the quantity of time spent together be considered to infringe on the quality of time spent together by either partner, both partners must commit to mediation and resolution of the underlying problem.
Section 3. Duration: There shall me no maximum of time spent together but the following minimums may apply when time cannot be found for quality interaction.
a. phone calls shall be considered the minimum comphensation for cancellations of physical time together. During which time resonable explanation must be given for said cancellation, within a reasonable time frame.
b. emails may be considered as a minimum compensation for missed phone calls providing that they are sent at least a full 2 days before the appointment in question. Reasonable explanation and compensation must be outlined clearly within.
c. instant messaging and text messaging are to be used to postpone only and are not to be used for cancellations.
d. repeated cancellations without comphensation are subject to discussion under ARticle 3.
Section 4: Partners cannot be prosecuted under section 3 if the following circumstances conflict with appointments or infringe on the quantity of time together: work, family, medical emergency, natural disasters, the expediant needs or emergencies of close friends.
a. close friends shall be hitherto defined as friends familiar to both parties of the same gender.
b. expediant need can be hitherto defined as medical aid, designated driving, physical backup, natural disasters or moral support in times of extreme stress or heartbreak.
c. the expediant needs of close friends found to be of the opposite gender shall be restricted to medical emergencies or natural disasters in which the opposing partner is not also in need.

5. Personal Space: Respecting the individual
Section 1:The privacy of both partners shall be respected at all times. At no time will either partner seek to gain unnecessary or undivulged information about the other through anything but open conversation and direct questioning.
a. Any line of direct questioning must cease and desist if the questioned partner is made to feel accused or uncomfortable and can reasonably show that the answers have no bearing on Article 1.
b. If they cannot reasonably show that the desired information has no bearing on article one the partners may agree to a minimum one day moratorium on the question or a maximum of one week, at which time answers shall be offered in the most comprhensive manner available to both partners.
c. Any personal information aquired during the term of this contract must remain private and must not be divulged to any uncontracted person even after this contract is dissolved.
Section 2. Personal items will be respected and valued equally by both parties.
a. both parties will respect the belongings of the other and consider any insult or damage herewith as an infringement of Article 3.
Section 3. Personal Time: all time spent away from eachother can be considered as personal time and shall be respected as part of the individuals natural rights, needs and desires and shall be considered under Article 4 section 1, as well as section 1 of the current article.
Section 4. Personal Habits. Any habit that is already instated at the signing of this contract will not be subject to insult or question unless said habit worsens or immediately indangers either partner.
Section 5. The career or vocation of both partners shall be respected and priority will be given to said career or vocation should either partner wish it to be so as long as it does not contradict any articles in this contract.

6. Love and Affection
Section 1:No one shall enter into this contract without acknowledging that they can and want to comply with all articles for the purpose of partnership, communication, and understanding. Love is not a prerequisite, but it is hoped that through compliance and respect love may be facilitated.
a. Any infraction of this article can also be considered an infraction of Articles 1 through 3 as well as 5.
Section 2: Signs of affection may be public or private according to the customs and comfort levels of both parties and must be consentual.
a. the lack of public affection cannot be considered under Article 3.
b. The total lack of private affection should be considered by both partners as an infraction of this article.
c. Affection should not be expected during menial tasks or labour, but is encouraged.
d. Affection can be defined hitherto as any outward showing of appreciation. Winks, smiles, kisses, hugs, compliments, treats, and unnecessary considerations are acceptable forms of affection.
e. The physical act of sex shall not be considered as a sign of affection.
f. Any act that is claimed by either party to be demeaning or unwelcome is not a sign of affection and is subject to ARticle 3.

7. Sex
Section 1 Sex must be consentual
Section 2 Sex shall be considered private and information about any sexual act between the partners shall not be discussed with any uncontracted person until after the contract has been dissolved.
Section 3 The sexual desires of both parties must be respected and considered rationally.
Section 4 Sex shall be pleasurable for both parties.


This contract is fully amendable to accommodate any further concerns of both partners. Amendments must be fully agreed upon and reasonable. This contract may be dissolved at any time with good reason as long as it is fully disclosed that one or many of the article herewith have been compromised and no mediation or resolution can be reached within the confines of Article 3.

We the undersigned do hereby declare this binding contract to be fair and equitable.

Signed: ___________ Signed: _____________
Date: ______________




G

Quitting Smoking is Easy

I haven't had a cigarette in 11 days, 9 minutes and 49, 50, 51, seconds.

I've saved $82.50 by not smoking 165 cigarettes.

I've added 20 hours to my life.

I don't miss them.

If my math is right, if I had smoked 165 cigarettes in a row, it would take me almost a whole day.
That's insane. My math can't be right.

What a waste!

G

Becoming a non-smoker

Slowly but surely. I'm becoming a non-smoker. I can feel my superiority growing inside me like a tumor.

It's fed with a variety of cheerful non-smoking podcasts, that tell me that I am becoming a better, stronger person for freeing myself from the tyranny of nicotine. Every day that I'm smoke free I can feel it eating away at my coolness, my laid-back ways are being ruthlessly devoured from the inside out.

Sadly, the only cure is the sweet sweet vapors of a burning stick of tobacco. Oh the irony!

I have a little meter on my computer that tells me how long I've been smoke free and how much money I've saved. Sure I can see that my physical self is slowly healing, but what about my soul? It doesn't tell me how much longer I have until I turn into one of those obnoxious soulless monstrosities, the non-smoker.

How long is the gestation of self-satisfied smugness before it rips out of my abdomen and gobbles up the people I used to love and respect? How much longer before I turn into a preachy, complaining, self-righteous blowhard trying to shame people into quitting?

How much longer have I got doc? How much longer before my soul cries out to the heavens in its raspy smoke-etched voice - "Get this girl back on the pack before she ends up losing her entire identity to good health and a balanced lifestyle! Save us oh lord from our salvation!"

Or can I have it all? Can I have my health and smoke it too?

G

Happiness is alot simpler than you think.

Happiness is a direct measure of how good at living you are.


Are you good at living your life? happy.
Are you really awesome at living your life? Happier.


It ain't rocket science.

G

Quitting

Yesterday I quit smoking again. I've decided to publicize my fourth attempt at it. Maybe it will make me more accountable.

This is my third attempt to quit smoking. The first attempt was quite successful. I moved to Korea and quit smoking after the first month. Originally it wasn't my intention to quit. Cigarettes are cheap as hell there. But in Korea, smoking isn't really a respectable thing for a woman to do and as a teacher, I had mine, and my school's image to consider. So I quit. I figured that since my entire life had been uprooted any way, I might as well add one more thing. It went well, as long as I wasn't also drinking to excess. So I gave that up too. Korean beer didn't suit me anyhow. I only had a few cigarettes after that for 6 months and I considered myself fairly successful.

Then I came home and fell back into old habits. Puffing those DuMaurier Extra Lights was like crawling into your own bed at night, soothing and comfortable.

November 2008 I started getting frequent discomfort in my throat and my voice started to crack occasionally. I knew it was the smoking but I also knew that at the time, I couldn't quit on my own. I enlisted my friends to join me in an attempt to quit. Most of us failed miserably in the first month - sneaking cigarettes between us, promising not to tell any of the others, so inevitably the pact fell apart.

But I felt guilty. I let myself down, and the one friend who stuck with not smoking made sure I felt guilty for letting her down. Sorry C. To atone, I quit for Lent. 40 days without cigarettes was more difficult than I thought it would be. I must admit I fell off the wagon a few times, but I was proud of myself nevertheless. My will power has always been such, that I should take the small victories where I can.

But come Easter, I was a smoker again. And now, another attempt. This time I'm going for it. I'll try everything. I've managed to score some nicotine gum, I've downloaded a variety of no-smoking podcasts and I've entered a no smoking contest.

Now my jaw hurts and I'm getting canker sores, but I haven't smoked in 2 days. I have, however, put a major dent in the peanut butter jar. Luckily, I'm too broke to even buy groceries, so once the peanut butter runs out, I'll have to turn to less fattening habits to fall back on. But for the first few days, I think my system can take a little indulgence.

More to come on this. It's a long road, and all y'all are coming with me!

G

Put Your Money Where Your Mouth Is!

When you've got no money, nothing else seems to matter. Last month I hit the ceiling on my credit and found myself with a nasty infection near one of my back molars.

Now if I was a blind-raving optimist, I suppose it might have been considered a blessing not to be able to eat solid foods. But after a week of soups and smoothies, my only option was to go to the dentist. But without any dental-plan or cash I was forced to borrow money from a friend to cover half of the appointment cost, and wrote a post-dated check for the rest - to be cashed 2 days after pay-day.

The kindly dentist hummed and hawed over my Xrays, told me my back molar would need to be extracted, and gave me a prescription for antibiotics. The prescription is still in my wallet, unfilled for want of extra cash. When you're broke, you'd be surprised how resilient your body is to infection. I willed myself better, cause will power is much cheaper than drugs. I hoped I wouldn't come down with anything serious this month.

But yesterday was payday, and the money disappeared quicker than ever. I had last month's bills to pay, I have credit cards to feed, and let's not forget rent, and tuition! Before I knew it there I was against the wall again, and then I remembered that post-dated check, now magically rubberized!

One of my friends has been telling me for months to do my taxes. I hadn't done them in 3 years! "You must be due a refund" she said. So this morning I walked through the rain with 3 years worth of tax-receipts and travel mug full of hope that the tax man would pull me out of the hole I've dug for myself. The accountant informed me that I was due back a total of $300 from 2007! 2008 was a total wash, and for 2009? I owe a cart load of clams. Apparently the tax-man is no longer the hero I took him for. Who'd a thunk it?

When you're broke luxury items take on a whole new meaning. Medication, coffee, and peanut butter; items formerly necessary to my well-being become luxuries I can no longer afford. When I have a few extra dollars I have to consider carefully what I'll spend them on. Last week I bought peanut butter and a loaf of bread to treat myself when I was feeling a little less "down in the mouth".

Luckily, I've inherited my mother's tendency to buy too many non-perishable goods when the money's a-flowin, so I've been living on beans, canned salmon, soup, pancakes, oatmeal, home-made syrup, rice, pasta, and the variety of veggies in my freezer. Extra cash is spent on fresh vegetables and fruit. Next week I'll splurge on some cheese if I'm feeling indulgent.

My run-in with the dentist has also made me think about quitting smoking again. Smoking is a black hole of wasted cash. I've always known this, but when the going is good- why not smoke 'em if you got 'em? Well now the going is well...not. But all I can think about is a cigarette. That cheeky little .40 cent friend of mine! Does it strike anyone else as ironic that nicotine gum costs twice as much as a pack of smokes?

So I've been reaching out to my friends alot lately, and I must truly thank them. Not only were they there when I needed some extra cash to pay for dental Xrays, but they helped me with nicotine gum, cigarettes, coffee, spending cash, and some sensible though not very helpful financial advice. My friends have been so helpful in fact that I've decided to begin a sponsorship program through my facebook page. For a little more than a Starbucks latte a day (I ain't livin' in no 3rd world country - shit is expensive around here!) my friends and family are now able to help a poor starving artist in need. I'll send much better letters and drawings to MY sponsors than anything those World Vision kids would send. Stick ME on your fridge! Write ME off on your taxes! Cause god knows I can't.

G

Winners VS Losers

Just as the peak of the Olympics Fever is breaking, I find myself pondering the affliction of competition. How much does winning matter

The more its worth to you the more you'll win.

You'll work for it. You'll put in the time doing the research, sharpening your mind and training your body for it. You'll eat sleep and dream it. You'll seek it out until you find it and nail it.
And Victory is so sweet. You're a hero. You're a samurai. You're a warrior.
People throw parades for you and shower you with riches.
You will set the bar and reach new heights of glory because it matters, it really matters to be the very best brand of good you can be.
It's the natural way. Survival of the fittest. Kill or be killed.

But how long does victory last before you're grasping at it again? How long can you rest on your laurels before you're a has-been looking for your next comeback? Is it really worth all the hassle? Who needs honour, riches and glory anyway?


Some of us are more concerned with the game than the winning. And some, don't feel like playing at all.

We're the losers. We're the spectators. We're the adoring fans.

Winners need people like us to prop them up. Make them look good. Without us, the winners are just idiots running in circles, expending all sorts of energy hopping about for no reason at all.

Who do you think drives the winner's Cadillac through the streets waving and grinning like a cheshire cat? Who do you think he's waving at? Who do you think buys boxes of cereal with his face on it? Who do you think chants his name as he crosses the finish line?

But again, I ask. Does competition really matter? If there was no one sitting in that cadillac, if there were no bouqets and medals, wouldn't traffic move a little quicker? Wouldn't I be able to nosh on my sugar-O's without being reminded that I have no chance of ever running a one-minute mile? Wouldn't I be able to read a newspaper with actual news in it? Wouldn;t men have more interesting things to talk about?

Just a thought.

G

The Dying Art of the Telephone Conversation

Ring.... ring.... ring

Hello?

Hello.

What's up?

Not too much, you?

Nothing new.

How are you?

I'm good. Things are good.

That's good.

Indeed.

So what's new?

Well I haven't talked to YOU in a while, so... this is new.

Yeah.... (prolonged silence) ... So what's new since last time we talked?

If you are like me. You have had a conversation like this recently. This has happened because, either a) you are very boring, b) your friends are very boring, c) you have been doing too many drugs to remember all of the interesting things you do, or d) you have no idea what people are supposed to talk about on the phone.

The telephone was invented a really long time ago, by a guy who is probably not the same guy your highschool teacher told you invented it. We're not sure why he invented it really. But up until a few years ago most people were pretty certain that it was invented as a substitute for human contact. You could "reach out and touch someone" without actually being seen with them, leaving your house or getting their grimy cooties on you.

When I was 14. I was convinced that the telephone was invented to keep rural teenagers from going postal on their families. Without a car, the internet, or cable, the only real connections I had with the outside world were books, and the telephone. And since books did not piss off my mother quite as much as my 2-4hr long chats with my bff, the telephone was my only link to society.

2-4 hour CHATS! Think about that. I would have enough to say about my life and the things in it that I could talk for 2 to 4 full hours every day! Now, I have trouble filling 5 minutes with interesting enough conversation to hold my own attention let alone the attention of the poor sap on the other end of the line.

WARNING! Here is where I ironically rant about how modern technology is ruining my ability to communicate effectively with actual people. Feel free to skip ahead.

These days I am constantly in touch with everyone else on the planet. I've got blogs, viral videos, instant news, TV on the internet, google, wiki-everything, text messaging, instant messaging, uplinks, downloads, and social networks 2.0. Everything is text. For some reason I've decided that it is much more convenient to communicate via text than actually speaking to people. It may just be that I'm a particularly literate person; I read everything that I don't watch on TV. I have come to the realization (after numerous unsuccessful first dates that have followed wildly scintillating MSN chats), that I am much more entertaining in text, a genre in which I can edit myself, rather than in an actual real-time conversation (Am I alone here?) But this has come at the cost of my tele-stamina. I just can't seem to make a conversation last the long haul anymore.

I talk to people for a living. I teach people to engage in conversation, so why do my telephone conversations lack that je ne sais quois?

a) I'm boring

Guilty as charged. My life has fallen into a dull monotonous loop of work, school, eat, sleep, watch TV, with sprinkles of socializing, painting, gossip, and homework. Gone are the exciting intrigues of a young teenaged life. Oh to be 14 again, when I was SO interesting and everything that happened to me was a pivotal event in world history worthy of broadcasting immediately across the wires.

b) My friends are boring.

I can only guess from the amount of information that I manage to drag out of my friends that either their lives are quite similar to mine, or they are keeping important details of their fascinating life from me in an effort to protect my fragile ego. And though I may find the contents of their breakfast titillating, they have chosen for one reason or another to keep it to themselves. Let me put it on record, guys. I can take it! Give me all the gory details! Let me live vicariously through your Baconator!

c) I've been doing too many drugs to remember all the interesting things I do.

Unfortunately I cannot afford the drugs necessary for this to be true. Life is sad sometimes. But as least I can recall almost every tedious moment of it.

d) I have no idea what people are supposed to talk about on the phone.

False. A phone call should be a brief discussion of pertinent events. You want to meet up with someone? Call them on the phone. You want to discuss specific personal issues? Call a friend up. Whenever possible personal issues should be discussed in person. If that isn't possible, have a conversation on the phone. Get it off you chest. Listen carefully to their response. Say goodbye. Something bad happened? Call 911. I hear they are good listeners.

I have quite a few friends who live far away. Sometimes they call me just to chat. It's a painful experience but I put myself through all those awkward pauses, bad jokes, and repetitive questions for one reason. I generally like these people and I would like if possible to one day get a phone call that has a purpose. I want to hear them one day say "hey, wanna get together?". That way, when our conversation hits that inevitable lull and silence washes over us like a wave of boredom, instead of thinking to myself - How much am I paying for this? or I wonder if they are picking their nose right now too - we can just be friends without the silent pressure to be interesting.

G

Monster

I know I'm not the only one who used to be deathly afraid of stepping off my bed too close to the edge. If I had to get out of bed for some reason in the middle of the night, I would jump out as far as I could so that the monsters that may or may not have been under the bed couldn't grab me by the ankle and pull me under. I knew that there probably wasn't anyone under the bed. I knew that if there was someone under the bed, chances are they'd wait til I was sleeping to grab me and tear me into pieces. Duh. That's what I'd do.

When I was a kid I hated horror movies. HATED them. I once saw Freddy Kruger rip the tongue out of a guy's face. For 2 years after that I slept with the covers over my head. My older sister successfully kept me from sneaking into her room by hanging a giant flag of Freddy in front of her door way, until my mom made her take it down. Even then just the knowledge that the image of Freddy was somewhere in that room kept me from snooping. Freddy can come alive out of almost anything you know!

When I finally faced my fears in highschool - Freddy was the first monster I confronted. I watched every single Nightmare on Elmstreet. And Freddy turned out to be kinda funny. So I continued my quest to face the best monsters of Hollywood. Next, came the vampires, whose sexy immortality fueled my immagination for years. I understand the popularity of vampires. Teen vampires bore me. Remember Anne Rice? She wrote bloodthirst without all the garbage about vampire/human love. Vampires shouldn't be nice. They should be killers! Humans are just meat! This was a necessary lesson for me. So when at long last the zombies slowly dragged their oozing corpses into my life, I could understand the theory.

Everybody has a favourite monster, and mine is a mindless mob of festering drones. Devestation of the human race is a preoccupation of mine, and zombies give me a good pretext for avoiding crowds, shopping malls and the mindless automatons that frequent these places: just in case. Zombies are my number one reason for getting in shape. I run up the stairs of my building to train for that day when the human race gets infected with whatever virus causes the dead to return to life to eat brains. When they come - I hope I'll be in good enough shape to run to the nearest armory for supplies.

But what does our favourite monsters say about us? Do I use my love of zombies to keep the general populous at bay (just in case they want to feast upon my massive nogin?). Does my best friend's love of vampire romances mean that she secretly has a thing for bloodsucking immortals? Maybe. To each their own.

All I know is that in my mind, it was never really a monster under the bed. It was a real person, with untold desires to do heinous things to me if I had the gall to get out of bed before morning. The fear was not of Freddy, or Dracula but of real men with the capability of consience to really be heartless. Zombies aren't scary. They move slow, and they're stupid. Its the droves of mindless consumers who really scare me. Real people are fast and surprisingly clever when it comes to fulfilling their questionable cravings.

So excuse me if while you and I are standing in a crowd, I seem distracted. I'm just working out my escape route and looking for something I can use as a bludgeon, just in case.

G

So much to do so little time...

I'm not one of those people who would ever be content with conventional life. You know the image I'm talking about: the husband, a litter of precocious kids, 2.3 pets of various mortality rates,flower pots, a car, gardening on the weekends in canvas gloves, bake sales where everyone makes the same nanaimo bars, grandma's silverware, and flower embossed plates.

These things are lovely, and I'm not going to lie and say that these aren't things that I want. I would love to be satisfied with such a picturesque life. But in my hands, these things would not be picturesque for long.

That husband would soon be overweight thanks to all the mac and cheese I'll stuff him full of; the precocious kids would probably drive me to drink (as precocious kids tend to do); the 2.3 pets would be one by one, flushed down the toilet due to neglect, and then I'd probably have plumbing troubles, cause you aren't supposed to flush puppies down the toilet; I'd trip over the flower pots in a drunken stumble, crash the car and leave the garden to the grubs and aphids; grandma's silverware would tarnish, or get pawned, and the flower plates? Well I'd probably smash them upon sight. Flower plates? Who wants to eat off those?

My life will be something different. There are so many things I want to do in my life. Just the lessons alone would render my poor children motherless. Here's a taste of all the things I want to learn:
1. Spanish
2. French
3. Painting - proper painting - not this amateur stuff I'm passing off for art now.
4. Dancing: flamenco, belly, swing, pole - you name it, I wanna be able to do it.
5. Cooking - so I don't have to live off mac and cheese anymore
6. beekeeping
7. stunt driving
8. mountaineering
9. Highdiving
10. Curling
11. Luge
12. Skiing
13. Sewing
14. carpentry
15. Welding
16. Skydiving
17. Yoga
18. Capoera

Really, with all these things on the horizon, who has time for a regular life? Plus there are a few hundred places in the world I still want to visit, and no one wants to be on a 12 hour flight with a bunch of precocious children.

G

The Hangover

My friend just turned 28. Because I'm a few years older, I take pleasure in reminding her how close to 30 she's getting. She hates that. But I think when she does turn thirty she'll take it in stride just to piss me off. When I turned thirty it took me a month to be able to say my age out loud. She still gasps when I admit it openly.

So she had a birthday party. Since she lives in the same building as I do, this makes for a very uncomplicated but messy elevator ride home. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

The party was planned weeks in advance via a facebook invitation. It's always a little nerve wracking to watch a guest-list develop and according to facebook there was only supposed to be like 7 guests, all of whom were girls. And though there is nothing wrong with a good old-fashioned hen-party, I'm very glad that the boys did show up. It cut back on the recurrance of reproductive issues in most conversations.

So because I live 5 floors beneath my friend, I got blattered! I had a great time. I was the resident head-hunter, hiccough curer, and dance party starter. Though I'm not sure if you could call me demanding my more coordinated friends teach me to ball change, grapevine and box step would qualify as a true "dance party". Some of us were attempting to dance and I believe I was a major player in that activity - from what I remember.

All in all a great night. But oh, I know you can commiserate with me when I say - "Why do I do this to myself?" I woke up the next morning with black liquid eyeliner rimming my eyes like a racoon. At the time the worst thing about my state was that I felt like I had just finished licking the furry balls of a cat who relieves himself regularly in an ash-filled litterbox. Other than that I was hungry but otherwise fine.

So breakfast. Oh greasy bacon, egg yoke and peanut butter on toast! Thou art my saviour in my darkest ugliest times! When breakfast was finished I thought all would be well, but when I stood up I realized that the entire lower portion of my body had begun to cramp and stiffen painfully. I walked home as if I had just gotten off a horse. I used this as an excuse to lay on my couch for most of the day watching British soap operas and procrastinating my homework.

By nine o'clock I managed to finish my homework and groan my sad 30 year old self into bed - thanking god that the hangover would certainly be gone by the next day.

It wasn't.

Since when do hangovers last two-days? In my experience the hangover should be doled out in equal portions to the amount of partying. I've had 2 day hangovers, but that was only because I had partied for 2 days straight! 2 day hangovers should only occur if you've had more than 4 different types of alcohol. I was drinking red-wine exclusively! So where did today's gut-rot and blinding headache come from?

Is this karmic retribution for my light-hearted teasing of my younger friend? Was I supposed to let that charming man in the tie die of hiccoughs? I don't deserve this! It's because I'm thirty isn't it? Well, my friends, it would seem that alcohol is not the good-time party-buddy we thought he was. Alcohol is a ageist jerk, and maybe I should think twice before inviting him to a party in the future!

Who am I kidding? It was probably just the onion dip.

G

Sexapalooza

Last night, I found myself paying $20 to get into Sexapalooza a sex-trade-show. Someone had mentioned that Sexapalooza was coming to town and I figured that since I've never been to any kind of Palooza at all, I'd make this my first.

As my 2 single-girl friends and I wandered down the main street to the convention centre, I was cool as a cucumber. Sex is so just part of everyone's lives. I'm totally cool with my sexuality, and I'm cool with everyone else's too. I think I may have even strutted just a little, thinking about howI would capture this oh-so-Carrie-Bradshaw experience in an understated Times font.

But as we got nearer and nearer to the convention centre I began to worry a little that I might give myself away as a sex-trade-show nube. I've been in sex shops before sure; I even went to the sex museum in Amsterdam once. I silently reminded myself as I paid for my ticket 'Don't be awkward. Don't be awkward. Please, for once in your life G, don't be awkward.'

Greeting us in the entrance was a giant plastic vagina. I picked up the matching giant plastic penis and took advantage of the photo op. Totally not awkward.

The first booth was full of cheap plastic vibrators and vinyl nurses outfits. Not awkward, but not what I was interested in. The next booth was called "Clitoraid", a charitable organization fronted by an awkward Stuart-Smalley type man in blue eyeshadow and ugly pink lipstick. We chatted about how successful clitoris rebuilding surgeries can be. 'I'm so progressive' I told myself.

But the next booth was a trap. It was a simple booth with bowl of chocolates and free condoms. I helped myself, and as I stuffed my face with chocolate hearts, a pretty girl approached me with free tickets to a gentleman's club, despite the fact that I am not a gentelman.

"Oh! A Gentleman's club!" I spat out. "Are you..." but I paused. Is it wrong of me to assume that just cause these fine ladies are manning the booth for a gentleman's club that they're performers there as well? If I finish this statement will I be committing some kind of sex-trade-show gaff? G, I reminded myself. Just cause they're spending their weekend handing out free tickets to a titty-bar does not make these women strippers. But my hesitation was noticed. My cheeks flushed a Stuart-Smalley-lipstick shade of pink.

"Don't be shy. Ask anything. You want to know if we're dancers." A towering blonde prompted me out of my dumb freeze.

"Yeah, thank god, I didn't know if it was ok to ask."

"Actually we're the bartenders." Another girl said.

"Oh! Well that must be a fun job." In my head I'm telling myself to move along. You've been saved G, but if you spend too much time here... "Sorry I'm a little awkward, it's weird for me to be here."

"Why?" the blonde asked.

"Awkward" noted my friend who just walked up behind me to witness the stumbling conclusion of this exchange.

"Oh I uh, its not. It's just not what I uhh... Thanks for the chocolate condoms, I mean chocolate and condoms.. uh." Crap.

New Sexapalooza rule. Don't talk to the strippers.

The rest of the night was spent cruising a variety of booths, looking for that perfect corset, testing vibrator settings and textures (on my hand-you sickos), and making a mental list of sex-toys I could make at home, from a candy-necklace thong to a beaded penis ring - or bracelet? I don't know what the proper term for it would be but I don't think I should have to pay $30 for it.

By the time we had left, the pink had faded from my cheeks and I was more comfortable with my kinky side, but still not totally cool with girls who may or may not be strippers. On my wishlist for next Christmas? A Leather corset with buckles and hooks, not zippers and a mustache trimmer.

G.

The Unanswered Question

As a single woman in her late-twenties I am often faced with the challenge of graciously answering a very stupid question. (Ok fine, I'm thirty. I mean "late-twenties" in the same way you might say "late-husband".)

Now, I'm a teacher, and like most teachers I have been known to say "there are no stupid questions". But there is an exception. I teach mainly adults, and I use that term loosely. Many of my students are teenagers, or in their early twenties. I have long suspected this period of maturity to be akin to toddlerhood. Most are still bottle-fed, over-indulged, whiny cry-babies, and in my line of work I get the broken sentences and sparse vocabulary to boot!.

Most of the students I have come from varying degrees of traditional cultures. In most of these cultures a thirty year old woman that's not yet married, engaged, or widowed is often viewed with varying degrees of curiosity, pity, or suspicion. The problematic question arises when students (or children), unaware of cultural taboo feels that my love-life (or lack thereof) is as easy for me to explain to them as grammar or pronunciation patterns.

So when a young, newlywed student, or honest-to-god toddler asks me "Teacher/G, why you no marry?" I have an appropriately flippant response prepared.

"Ahmed (or Mohamed, or Jin Su, or Juan, or little Johnny)," I say calmly "I'm not married because I have no room in my apartment to keep a husband." (If this question is posed by a real toddler, the topic is usually dropped. It makes as much sense as when their mommy tells them they can't have a pet elephant because there simply isn't enough room for one. )

But Ahmed (who may just have a pet elephant or two back home in Saudi Arabia for all I know) says "But teacher, you marry man. Coming to apartment new, big!"

"But Ahmed, I like my small apartment. Men are dirty like elephants." Ahmed thinks about this for a moment. Something doesn't make sense to him.

"Teacher, you have brother? Father?"

"Yes, Ahmed"

"Teacher, they are dirty?"

"I don't live with my father or brother, Ahmed. They live far away." The gears turn audibly.

"Teacher!" Ahmed is desperately trying to make sense of this strange culture where single women are permitted to roam free. "You no live with you father? Only you?"

"Yes, Ahmed. I like it."

"But teacher, you marry to husband you no work. You go shopping."

"But Ahmed, I don't need a husband if I work. "

"But children teacher! You must marry for children!"

"I don't want children." I tell him honestly. "I don't need a husband." This is where it all makes sense. Teacher doesn't want children. Teacher can be single. Teacher will go to hell for all eternity, but teacher does not need a husband. Poor silly western woman all alone in her tiny apartment.

The reason this question bothers me is not really because its so personal but because it really never has a sufficient answer. In traditional cultures, my preference to live childless is suffient reason to not have a husband. But in the west, this is no reason to live solo. Everyone expects to meet that perfect someone that will share the same goals and dreams and help you pay the rent, children or no. The question gets worse when its asked by a kid who doesn't stop at "no room in the inn", and is aware that culturally everyone is looking for their soulmate. Inevitably the real question arises.

"What's wrong with you?"

And I inevitably answer it just as flippantly with "I'm too tall. I'm afraid I will trip over him."

Which really, if I answered honestly, is not too far from the truth.

G.

Magnifesto

There is a part of me that is always trying to overcome my faults, but there is another, much more persuasive side of me that is quite happy to accept that all the faults I see in myself are the very things that make up who I am and have always been and so I've sometimes been known to revel in, even celebrate the very traits which I often attempt to exorcise. This is no less of a fair description for how I feel about humanity in general. On one hand all the ignorance, stupidity, and foolishness of human beings makes me crazy with fear, shame and intense disgust. On the other hand if none of you were fucked up - I'd be the only ass left still trying to lug my baggage up this big ol' mountain of crap we call life.

I've always been a procrastinator. Why do today what you can put off til tomorrow? I've also recently taken up the habit of taking on more work than a procrastinator has any right to commit to. Currently, I have 2 part-time jobs, I'm trying to get ready for my first (as of yet not scheduled) art show, and I'm taking 2 courses a semester in Linguistics. So, rather than spend this fine evening on any of those things, I've decided to start a blog. Perfect!

In my life, I've read two blogs. Both were in the last few days. I once heard a writer waxing on about the degradation of modern writer's craft in the new blogosphere (I guess its not so new anymore). He went on and on about how our expectation of good writing is being destroyed by this stream-of-consciousness lack-of-editing style of communication. At the time, in my ever so smug English-Lit-BA-toting mind, I thought "here! here!" Who wants to read these people's self-serving uncrafted garbage anyways? Well I still certainly don't, but you might, and I will now officially stop judging you for that.

Thanks to the following two blogs, I am now a blogger too.

philbertun.blogspot.com
raymitheminx.com

G.

A Brief Glossary of Terms

prorogue [prəˈrəʊg]
vb

(Law / Parliamentary Procedure) to discontinue the meetings of (a legislative body) without dissolving it

[from Latin prorogāre literally: to ask publicly, from prō- in public + rogāre to ask]

prorogation [ˌprəʊrəˈgeɪʃən] n

perfection [pəˈfɛkʃən]

n

1. the act of perfecting or the state or quality of being perfect

2. the highest degree of a quality, etc. the perfection of faithfulness

3. an embodiment of perfection

[from Latin perfectiō a completing, from perficere to finish]

Collins English Dictionary – Complete and Unabridged 6th Edition 2003. © William Collins Sons & Co. Ltd 1979, 1986 © HarperCollins Publishers 1991, 1994, 1998, 2000, 2003

Gin also: jinn, djinn (jn)
n.pl
In Muslim legend, a spirit often capable of assuming human or animal form and exercising supernatural influence over people.

[from Arabic jinn, demonic, demon, from jinn, demons, from janna, to cover, conceal; see gnn in Semitic roots.]

The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition copyright ©2000 by Houghton Mifflin Company. Updated in 2009. Published by Houghton Mifflin Company. All rights reserved.