My mouth is on fire and there is just no end in sight.
One pepper isn't even all that hot.
But if you've eaten a whole pile of them there is no stopping the heat.
29.11.10
I can't stop eating jalapenos, stuffed with feta cheese, and soaked in olive oil
My mouth is on fire and there is just no end in sight.
One pepper isn't even all that hot.
But if you've eaten a whole pile of them there is no stopping the heat.
25.11.10
Things said by dumb girls at my work #5
"I was sooooo sad when The Situation got kicked off Dancing With the Stars. And then that girl won from Dirty Dancing or whatever. Ohmigod I hate her."
Things said by dumb girls at my work #4
"P____ is my little fishy. And I'm his little chicken. And I'm so going to have his babies, we're like meant to be together."
Things said by dumb girls at my work #3
"So I gave my professor my thesis statement and he's, like, 'That's it? One page?' And I'm like, that's so embarassing, cause we were standing right in front of the whole class and it's not like he gave an outline saying it had to be more than one page. And like, I'm paying to take his stupid class, I should be able to write as many pages as I wanna and not have to worry about him making me feel bad about it in front of everyone. I mean, I saw everyone else hand in more than one page but he didn't say to anywhere. Anyways, if he gives me a bad mark on this research paper I'm totally going to contest him on it."
Things said by dumb girls at my work #2
"I don't really have anything against gay people. But, like, my religion prohibits it, so the whole concept really just grosses me out. Y'know?"
Things said by dumb girls at my work #1
"Wait, so potash is a rock that gets used for fertilizer? Ohmigod, I totally thought it was like a marijuana issue, or something."
24.11.10
Oddly
Due to synesthesia (see previous post about this remarkable neurological phenomenon) the word "suicide" tastes like Signature Swiss Chalet sauce.
Yum.
I find it amusing that the word for such an unpleasant (yet occasionally alluring) concept as suicide could be so darn tasty. The words "greed", "murder", and "molestation" don't taste good at all.
(Greed tastes like when you unknowingly pour curdled milk in your coffee and take a sip, and then get chunky coffee. Murder tastes like a hamburger that hasn't been cooked through at the centre. Molestation tastes like old cheese).
Yum.(Greed tastes like when you unknowingly pour curdled milk in your coffee and take a sip, and then get chunky coffee. Murder tastes like a hamburger that hasn't been cooked through at the centre. Molestation tastes like old cheese).
At least it's better than being chased by scientologists
For the past month or so, a group of theology students from South Korea have been hanging around outside the subway station closest to where I live.
I would have no trouble with this if they would just leave me alone. However, they want something from me, and from the rest of the world; they want church members.
The first time I encountered two of the students, I was moderately interested in what they had to say. They weren't preaching, they were explaining. Despite my lack of patience for religion, I admired the fact that these theology students had, more or less, created their own sect. We got into a debate, but it didn't get ugly.
They were stressing the importance of not only God the father, but God the mother as well. I was shown several passages from the Bible that seem to (rather ambiguously) indicate that there has always been God the mother and that if we don't worship her and God the father we will never have everlasting life.
I found that to be interesting, and when the students discussed the Sabbath day and their belief that Saturday should be the holy day, not Sunday, I understood where they were coming from. They also told me that they felt Passover should be observed in Christianity as it is in Judaism. I liked it. A sort of Seventh Day Adventist kind of thing with a Hebrew twist.
All very good points, and I had a nice time talking to them. I explained that I was raised Catholic and that my mother still attends church, but that I renounced my faith some years ago and that I consider myself an atheist though I do look up to Jesus for the (mortal and cool) person that he was.
This totally baffled them, for starters. I tried to get through to them that I'm not a Christian; I don't believe Jesus was divine or that he was somehow born after an immaculate conception. I think he likely existed and made some good points on how humanity should behave. I think the whole Star Over Bethlehem thing got blown out of proportion, and that it was probably a comet, or, even likelier, a UFO. He was just a man, he wanted to do right, and I think he was groovy.
"But you're a follower of Christ! That makes you Christian!" they said repeatedly.
We eventually got past that point of discussion and onto the part where they tell me that I am going to hell because I don't partake of the body or blood of Christ; there is no way I can have everlasting life in heaven, amen.
First of all, I don't want everlasting life, period. I have enough difficulty with this life. I dislike the idea of life going on, indefinitely, on this plane or another one. I will live for as long as I am capable of, and then die and promptly cease existence.
Maybe, if ghosts do really exist and I am able to become one, I will return to this earthly dimension and move some shit around the room, whilst invisible, and it will all be very creepy. Hopefully someone will be playing a theramin in the background.
I don't like being told that I am going to hell because 1) that's rude and I hardly know them, and 2) it's all absolute poppycock because I'm still technically a Catholic and I can always have a confession done on my deathbed if I end up wussing out and reverting to Catholicism in the very end.
They told me I should come to their church and I said I don't go to church, I'm an atheist. They wanted to give me information about their church, and their contact information in case I changed my mind. I didn't want to be rude so I took a pamphlet.
I've run into these theology students twice since and they have recognized me and asked when I am coming to church. I've told them I enjoyed our discussion but that I'm an atheist, I don't believe in God, and I don't go to church. They've told me that their church is a lot of fun, and that I can easily fit my schedule around their services. Also, they've really pushed the "God the Mother" issue, and reminded me that only those who partake of the body and blood of Christ can go to heaven. And I continue to politely decline.
I mean, Jesus Christ what are these kids on? They're teenagers, they should be out forming Doo Wop groups and going to sock hops, not spouting Bible passages at me on a street corner.
Moreover, if this is some kind of career option for them, they need to get better at it. Right now, I am a hardcore meatatarian, and they are trying to tempt me into becoming a vegan by offering me a soy steak.
In conclusion, I find it ironic that people who are spreading the message of God the father's (and God the mother's) love can be so judgmental and focused on hell. And also that they put so much of their energy into something that doesn't exist. Except for my annoyance, which exists with a force that should not be further reckoned with.
You have been warned, theology students.
I would have no trouble with this if they would just leave me alone. However, they want something from me, and from the rest of the world; they want church members.
The first time I encountered two of the students, I was moderately interested in what they had to say. They weren't preaching, they were explaining. Despite my lack of patience for religion, I admired the fact that these theology students had, more or less, created their own sect. We got into a debate, but it didn't get ugly.
They were stressing the importance of not only God the father, but God the mother as well. I was shown several passages from the Bible that seem to (rather ambiguously) indicate that there has always been God the mother and that if we don't worship her and God the father we will never have everlasting life.
I found that to be interesting, and when the students discussed the Sabbath day and their belief that Saturday should be the holy day, not Sunday, I understood where they were coming from. They also told me that they felt Passover should be observed in Christianity as it is in Judaism. I liked it. A sort of Seventh Day Adventist kind of thing with a Hebrew twist.
All very good points, and I had a nice time talking to them. I explained that I was raised Catholic and that my mother still attends church, but that I renounced my faith some years ago and that I consider myself an atheist though I do look up to Jesus for the (mortal and cool) person that he was.
This totally baffled them, for starters. I tried to get through to them that I'm not a Christian; I don't believe Jesus was divine or that he was somehow born after an immaculate conception. I think he likely existed and made some good points on how humanity should behave. I think the whole Star Over Bethlehem thing got blown out of proportion, and that it was probably a comet, or, even likelier, a UFO. He was just a man, he wanted to do right, and I think he was groovy.
"But you're a follower of Christ! That makes you Christian!" they said repeatedly.
We eventually got past that point of discussion and onto the part where they tell me that I am going to hell because I don't partake of the body or blood of Christ; there is no way I can have everlasting life in heaven, amen.
First of all, I don't want everlasting life, period. I have enough difficulty with this life. I dislike the idea of life going on, indefinitely, on this plane or another one. I will live for as long as I am capable of, and then die and promptly cease existence.
Maybe, if ghosts do really exist and I am able to become one, I will return to this earthly dimension and move some shit around the room, whilst invisible, and it will all be very creepy. Hopefully someone will be playing a theramin in the background.
I don't like being told that I am going to hell because 1) that's rude and I hardly know them, and 2) it's all absolute poppycock because I'm still technically a Catholic and I can always have a confession done on my deathbed if I end up wussing out and reverting to Catholicism in the very end.
They told me I should come to their church and I said I don't go to church, I'm an atheist. They wanted to give me information about their church, and their contact information in case I changed my mind. I didn't want to be rude so I took a pamphlet.
I've run into these theology students twice since and they have recognized me and asked when I am coming to church. I've told them I enjoyed our discussion but that I'm an atheist, I don't believe in God, and I don't go to church. They've told me that their church is a lot of fun, and that I can easily fit my schedule around their services. Also, they've really pushed the "God the Mother" issue, and reminded me that only those who partake of the body and blood of Christ can go to heaven. And I continue to politely decline.
I mean, Jesus Christ what are these kids on? They're teenagers, they should be out forming Doo Wop groups and going to sock hops, not spouting Bible passages at me on a street corner.
Moreover, if this is some kind of career option for them, they need to get better at it. Right now, I am a hardcore meatatarian, and they are trying to tempt me into becoming a vegan by offering me a soy steak.
In conclusion, I find it ironic that people who are spreading the message of God the father's (and God the mother's) love can be so judgmental and focused on hell. And also that they put so much of their energy into something that doesn't exist. Except for my annoyance, which exists with a force that should not be further reckoned with.
You have been warned, theology students.
19.11.10
Wondering
Why real life can't be more like The Sims.
Curse you, unattainable and ideal digital world!
Curse you, unattainable and ideal digital world!
Going to the chapel and boosting the economy all at the same time. That's multi-tasking!
The internet is all atwitter (both literally and figuratively). The newsstands are bursting with freshly printed magazines. You can almost smell the coffee the writers consumed while they stayed up all night.
Prince William of Wales (or England or something, I forget which) is engaged to Kate Middleton (S.'s cousin, a wedding planner, refers to her as 'Waity Katie').
I think I will let it slide that I called 'dibs' when I was fourteen and he was sixteen, mostly because Wills is really starting to look really British, in that boney-faced, stoat-like manner. Plus his hair is thinning and few things turn me off more than grabbing for a man's hair during passionate sex and feeling nothing but some sparse head whiskers and oily scalp.
Having never been alive for a real royal wedding, I am kind of intrigued to see the eventual spectacle that will result. You know, the commemorative plates and china sets. The corgis decked out in morning dress.
Yes, world, there are few things sweeter than a display of luxury and indulgence in a Britain that hasn't been in such awful financial shape since, well, the last time there was a big-ass royal wedding. Sourced here y'all.
From an actual British guy, so you know it's legit.
And now a more cynical point of view.
They are going to make some mighty proper, moderately
good-looking, fraffly-well-spoken offspring to put in line for the throne.
Prince William of Wales (or England or something, I forget which) is engaged to Kate Middleton (S.'s cousin, a wedding planner, refers to her as 'Waity Katie').
I think I will let it slide that I called 'dibs' when I was fourteen and he was sixteen, mostly because Wills is really starting to look really British, in that boney-faced, stoat-like manner. Plus his hair is thinning and few things turn me off more than grabbing for a man's hair during passionate sex and feeling nothing but some sparse head whiskers and oily scalp.
Having never been alive for a real royal wedding, I am kind of intrigued to see the eventual spectacle that will result. You know, the commemorative plates and china sets. The corgis decked out in morning dress.
Yes, world, there are few things sweeter than a display of luxury and indulgence in a Britain that hasn't been in such awful financial shape since, well, the last time there was a big-ass royal wedding. Sourced here y'all.
From an actual British guy, so you know it's legit.
And now a more cynical point of view.
They are going to make some mighty proper, moderatelygood-looking, fraffly-well-spoken offspring to put in line for the throne.
The Dianne Wiest Factor
Eventually every aging Hollywood actress will look vaguely like Academy Award winner Dianne Wiest.
BEHOLD I HAVE CONDUCTED SCIENCE TO PRESENT PROOF OF MY THEORY.
< - - - Dianne Wiest
} The start of an homogeneous race of actresses resembling Dianne Wiest.
BEHOLD I HAVE CONDUCTED SCIENCE TO PRESENT PROOF OF MY THEORY.
< - - - Dianne Wiest
} The start of an homogeneous race of actresses resembling Dianne Wiest.
18.11.10
The Dobler effect
"I don't want to sell anything, buy anything, or process anything as a career. I don't want to sell anything bought or processed, or buy anything sold or processed, or process anything sold, bought, or processed, or repair anything sold, bought, or processed. You know, as a career, I don't want to do that."
Thanks 1980s John Cusack. I admire your perspicacity.
I also like to imagine that you grew up to become 1990s John Cusack starring in Grosse Pointe Blank, just as cute but infinitely more sexy. I'm not going to throw you out of bed for eating crackers.
EDIT: What, ho! Apparently John Cusack is the "thinking woman's" sex symbol.
See article here.
I am pleased that there is a distinction between "thinking women" and, presumably, "non-thinking women". This explains things like Josh Hartnett and Zac Efron.
Thanks 1980s John Cusack. I admire your perspicacity.
I also like to imagine that you grew up to become 1990s John Cusack starring in Grosse Pointe Blank, just as cute but infinitely more sexy. I'm not going to throw you out of bed for eating crackers.
EDIT: What, ho! Apparently John Cusack is the "thinking woman's" sex symbol.
See article here.
I am pleased that there is a distinction between "thinking women" and, presumably, "non-thinking women". This explains things like Josh Hartnett and Zac Efron.
Unpleasant Physical Observation #1
My chest has been tight and achey all day. Perhaps a result of acute anxiety or the fact that not a day has gone by since I was 19 that some part of my body has not been sore.
For the past year and a half now most of my torso has been in some kind of physical pain, be it the persistently tight shoulder, upper arm, and mid-back muscles, or the jammed up hips a lower back. Sometimes all at once.
I see a chiropractor every two to three weeks, and I tend to feel good for the remainder of the day. Less pain, but still a dull ache which I attribute to the aforementioned physical manipulation at the hands of my doctor. I would go more often; I would go every if I could afford it. Alas $40 per visit with no insurance represents a significant amount of my income.
I pop Robax Platinum at least a couple of times a day, with no discernible difference in comfort level. My muscles are not relaxed they are just slightly less tense. Not even a good dose of marijuana combined with a sound night's sleep and a heating pad on my back cannot undo the tension that is my constant state of being.
Today my chest has been feeling a strange pressure, almost like someone hit me in the solar plexus. This has been going on all day and I am wondering if I should get worried. After all, I have been complaining about chest pains for the better part of seven years. I worn a Holter monitor, had an ultrasound of my heart, had an ECG, and done that test where you run and they monitor your heart. I've been told by my family doctor, two chiropractors, and several psychiatrists that I need to relax and I will feel better.
Even when I have no reason to be tense, I am tense. I'm tense right now. I keep catching my shoulders creeping up towards my ears.
I would like to feel good, genuinely good, for just one day. I haven't felt truly well since I was in my teens, and even then I was having anxiety issues. Now sometimes I feel I have more than I can contend with. If I am not having a headache, I am depressed. If I am functioning at a normal mood level, I have aches and pains. If I am headache free and functional, I am anxious. If I am having a headache, I know that likely within the next 12 hours my mood will be highly unpredictable, and that I could either be ecstatically happy or fantasizing about suicide. Things could be worse, I know, but that doesn't mean I don't feel how draining it is or wonder why in the world I waste money on pharmaceuticals to begin with.
My mom always says, sighing, "No one can feel good all the time." True mom, but I would like to feel entirely, wholly good, just once.
For the past year and a half now most of my torso has been in some kind of physical pain, be it the persistently tight shoulder, upper arm, and mid-back muscles, or the jammed up hips a lower back. Sometimes all at once.
I see a chiropractor every two to three weeks, and I tend to feel good for the remainder of the day. Less pain, but still a dull ache which I attribute to the aforementioned physical manipulation at the hands of my doctor. I would go more often; I would go every if I could afford it. Alas $40 per visit with no insurance represents a significant amount of my income.
I pop Robax Platinum at least a couple of times a day, with no discernible difference in comfort level. My muscles are not relaxed they are just slightly less tense. Not even a good dose of marijuana combined with a sound night's sleep and a heating pad on my back cannot undo the tension that is my constant state of being.
Today my chest has been feeling a strange pressure, almost like someone hit me in the solar plexus. This has been going on all day and I am wondering if I should get worried. After all, I have been complaining about chest pains for the better part of seven years. I worn a Holter monitor, had an ultrasound of my heart, had an ECG, and done that test where you run and they monitor your heart. I've been told by my family doctor, two chiropractors, and several psychiatrists that I need to relax and I will feel better.
Even when I have no reason to be tense, I am tense. I'm tense right now. I keep catching my shoulders creeping up towards my ears.
I would like to feel good, genuinely good, for just one day. I haven't felt truly well since I was in my teens, and even then I was having anxiety issues. Now sometimes I feel I have more than I can contend with. If I am not having a headache, I am depressed. If I am functioning at a normal mood level, I have aches and pains. If I am headache free and functional, I am anxious. If I am having a headache, I know that likely within the next 12 hours my mood will be highly unpredictable, and that I could either be ecstatically happy or fantasizing about suicide. Things could be worse, I know, but that doesn't mean I don't feel how draining it is or wonder why in the world I waste money on pharmaceuticals to begin with.
My mom always says, sighing, "No one can feel good all the time." True mom, but I would like to feel entirely, wholly good, just once.
Something about Dune and rare, tasty mushrooms
A remake of Dune is, or was, in the works. S. is understandably excited, since it is one of his favourite novels. Yet he is apprehensive as well. Apparently someone called Pierre Morel was chosen to direct, and he is not well-liked by S. or any of the hardcore movie nerd community.
Fear not, movie nerds. The other day S. burst out of our (or rather his office, since I tend to just plonk down on the couch with my laptop) office with a look on his face right out of a 50s sitcom and happily announced that one Mr. Morel has been removed from the project.
S. was so happy he ate a muffin and cracked open a beer in celebration, while I sat nearby and basked in the glory of his immense nerdliness.
Of course the question on everyone's mind is whether or not they will replace the director, or just scrap the project altogether.
Please let it not be Uwe Boll. Please let the world burn in apocalyptic flames before anyone thinks of him as a possibility.
In the meantime, enjoy this gem of creativity from writer / director / actor Tommy Wiseau, who is surprisingly similar to, and yet entirely unlike, Uwe Boll.
http://www.atom.com/channel/channel_the_house_that_drips_blood_on_alex/
Fear not, movie nerds. The other day S. burst out of our (or rather his office, since I tend to just plonk down on the couch with my laptop) office with a look on his face right out of a 50s sitcom and happily announced that one Mr. Morel has been removed from the project.
S. was so happy he ate a muffin and cracked open a beer in celebration, while I sat nearby and basked in the glory of his immense nerdliness.
Of course the question on everyone's mind is whether or not they will replace the director, or just scrap the project altogether.
Please let it not be Uwe Boll. Please let the world burn in apocalyptic flames before anyone thinks of him as a possibility.
In the meantime, enjoy this gem of creativity from writer / director / actor Tommy Wiseau, who is surprisingly similar to, and yet entirely unlike, Uwe Boll.
http://www.atom.com/channel/channel_the_house_that_drips_blood_on_alex/
An open letter to people I don't like about why I don't like you
I don't like many people, and in fact I like animals better than I like most humans.
Here are some things that you do, people of the world, and it's why I don't like you one bit.
Have your two-year-old child record the answering machine message so that I have no idea if I've reached the right number, or if I've misdialed and got the main switchboard in Munchkinland.
Write Facebook status updates about Jersey Shore so that they show up on the news feed and I am subjected to your terrible taste, grammar, and spelling.
"im so addicted too that show, its a train wreak & i luv it. "teeshirt time" lmao."
"jersey shore all the way i havent missed a show since it started i love ya all"
"i love the jersy shore!!! that show make my night.. i love seeing vinny!!!"
I can't make that shit up. WHY DO I EVEN KNOW YOU?
Talk very loudly on your cell phone in the break room, using the word "like" every few seconds. Make me wonder how someone as vapid as you manages to breathe, and why I have the misfortune of being in the same space as you.
Stand on the escalator going down when there is not enough room for the twenty-or-so people piled up behind you to get by. How lazy do you have to be, anyways, to not move? You're going downstairs. That requires almost no energy.
Stop me on the street, try to talk to me about God and convert me to your religion. Assume that because I am an atheist I know nothing about the Bible. Then you try and convert me to your religion. That's not very polite. I am (to your face at least) respecting your ridiculous religious beliefs by not trying to convert you to atheism. Be nice and respect my stance and not bore with me with your jibber-jabber.
Expect that because I am an attractive girl in her 20s, travelling alone on a bus after dark, I must be single and want you to talk to me. I rarely want you, or anyone I don't know, to talk to me. I don't want to make small talk with you or listen to you talk about your band. I have a boyfriend and I'm not interested, hence the book and the iPod and the fact that I did not approach you. You're going to be chatty anyways, and ask for my phone number. I am going to have to tell you I have a boyfriend. Feeling like a bitch is going to be the only outcome out of many possible scenarios.
Particularly to dirty men of the world: feel me up on a crowded subway. Do it and I will kick you in the testicles.
Cancel Gilmore Girls. Cancel Firefly. Cancel Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip. Cancel Veronica Mars. Keep Scrubs on the verge of being cancelled for years before, finally, cancelling it. Cancel Party Down. Cancel Freaks and Geeks. Keep shows like Gossip Girl, According to Jim, Two and a Half Men and 9021fucking0 on the air. My only consolation is that I don't pay for television.
Talk about how flu shots don't work, because a month after your flu shot you got a cold. Well, it's not called a cold shot is it, genius?
Have some kind of religious opposition to flu shots. And blood transfusion. And life-saving surgery.
Automatically assume that because I think I may not want children, it's because I fear I will be a bad mother. That is most certainly not the reason. It has more to do with the fact that there are 650 000 000 more people on the planet than we can support in a sustainable fashion and the idea that we have to have babies and replace ourselves to "keep the human race going" is just outlandish. But you go ahead and reproduce. You'll make an excellent mother by virtue of the fact that you think babies are just so gosh darned cute and worth all the trouble. Then you will proceed to spend the next 18 years whining about how hard it is, as if no one ever indicated this to you before. Of course by then I won't be taking your calls.
Hmm. Well. That was actually quite cathartic. I was feeling kind of down earlier, partly because I'm in a low mood, but also because I listen to CBC Radio 1 nearly every minute that I'm home, and being constantly inundated with bad news from all areas of the world can be a bit of a downer.
But this has really made things better between us, world. If only for a short time.
Here are some things that you do, people of the world, and it's why I don't like you one bit.
Have your two-year-old child record the answering machine message so that I have no idea if I've reached the right number, or if I've misdialed and got the main switchboard in Munchkinland.
Write Facebook status updates about Jersey Shore so that they show up on the news feed and I am subjected to your terrible taste, grammar, and spelling.
"im so addicted too that show, its a train wreak & i luv it. "teeshirt time" lmao."
"jersey shore all the way i havent missed a show since it started i love ya all"
"i love the jersy shore!!! that show make my night.. i love seeing vinny!!!"
I can't make that shit up. WHY DO I EVEN KNOW YOU?
Talk very loudly on your cell phone in the break room, using the word "like" every few seconds. Make me wonder how someone as vapid as you manages to breathe, and why I have the misfortune of being in the same space as you.
Stand on the escalator going down when there is not enough room for the twenty-or-so people piled up behind you to get by. How lazy do you have to be, anyways, to not move? You're going downstairs. That requires almost no energy.
Stop me on the street, try to talk to me about God and convert me to your religion. Assume that because I am an atheist I know nothing about the Bible. Then you try and convert me to your religion. That's not very polite. I am (to your face at least) respecting your ridiculous religious beliefs by not trying to convert you to atheism. Be nice and respect my stance and not bore with me with your jibber-jabber.
Expect that because I am an attractive girl in her 20s, travelling alone on a bus after dark, I must be single and want you to talk to me. I rarely want you, or anyone I don't know, to talk to me. I don't want to make small talk with you or listen to you talk about your band. I have a boyfriend and I'm not interested, hence the book and the iPod and the fact that I did not approach you. You're going to be chatty anyways, and ask for my phone number. I am going to have to tell you I have a boyfriend. Feeling like a bitch is going to be the only outcome out of many possible scenarios.
Particularly to dirty men of the world: feel me up on a crowded subway. Do it and I will kick you in the testicles.
Cancel Gilmore Girls. Cancel Firefly. Cancel Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip. Cancel Veronica Mars. Keep Scrubs on the verge of being cancelled for years before, finally, cancelling it. Cancel Party Down. Cancel Freaks and Geeks. Keep shows like Gossip Girl, According to Jim, Two and a Half Men and 9021fucking0 on the air. My only consolation is that I don't pay for television.
Talk about how flu shots don't work, because a month after your flu shot you got a cold. Well, it's not called a cold shot is it, genius?
Have some kind of religious opposition to flu shots. And blood transfusion. And life-saving surgery.
Automatically assume that because I think I may not want children, it's because I fear I will be a bad mother. That is most certainly not the reason. It has more to do with the fact that there are 650 000 000 more people on the planet than we can support in a sustainable fashion and the idea that we have to have babies and replace ourselves to "keep the human race going" is just outlandish. But you go ahead and reproduce. You'll make an excellent mother by virtue of the fact that you think babies are just so gosh darned cute and worth all the trouble. Then you will proceed to spend the next 18 years whining about how hard it is, as if no one ever indicated this to you before. Of course by then I won't be taking your calls.
Hmm. Well. That was actually quite cathartic. I was feeling kind of down earlier, partly because I'm in a low mood, but also because I listen to CBC Radio 1 nearly every minute that I'm home, and being constantly inundated with bad news from all areas of the world can be a bit of a downer.
But this has really made things better between us, world. If only for a short time.
17.11.10
Loving Savagely
I would say I wish it were possible to make Dan Savage fall madly in love with me and marry me, but I know deep down that this would only make him miserable as he is gay and already married.
Also, I love S. and already intend to be married to him, eventually, when I get the rest of my life sorted out and something like marriage can actually become a priority instead of existing only as my mother's fantasy for me.
However, this doesn't stop me from practically worshipping Dan Savage. S. listens to his podcast, and I live for every Thursday when I can pick up my free copy of Now magazine at work, and read Savage Love during my break.
I love how he doesn't take shit from people, and how he can be alternately sympathetic or condemning. I enjoy it in particular when he shoots down someone who tries to rationalize their bad behaviour by blaming it on childhood baggage or a unpleasant relationship experience. I can always count on him to give a big 'fuck you' to social conservatives and hypocritical Christians.
(see: http://www.thestranger.com/seattle/SavageLove?oid=5135029)
I think part of the reason I derive so much pleasure from his harsh views towards religious beliefs criticizing extra-marital or even polyamorous sex and gay marriage (in particular gay marriage) is because even as a recovering Catholic I can't understand how some Christians can be so goddamned uptight.
I was raised in a Catholic household, attended a Catholic elementary school, and eventually went to a public high school where religion was not part of the curriculum, but where there was a Christian fellowship that I joined for the five years of my secondary school career. I had all the beginnings of a bigot.
Maybe the difference in my upbringing was that my mother (the only practising Catholic adult in our home; my dad is the son of a former, and now dead, United Church minister, and my dad is a strict believer in evolution and believes that the existence of any god is highly unlikely) has always been a very accepting person, as Christ always taught people to be. Case in point: she watched The Rocky Horror Picture Show with me when I was nine. She was a big fan of the movie when it came out in the seventies, and when it played on Much Music the year I was in grade four, I watched it with her.
Obviously I had some questions about the film, mainly, "Why is that man wearing ladies clothes?" It was a peculiarity I had not yet encountered in my young life, aside from attempting to dress my brother in one of my dresses and pretending he was my sister. She said, "Because he likes to." No further explanation, no statement about how it was something that not everyone likes to do, or that Tim Curry was somehow "different".
I took the whole thing very much in stride. And why not? Children gauge the reaction of the adults in their lives in order to come up with their own reaction. Had my mother not been a fan of Rocky Horror and lambasted Tim Curry, and the film, for being crazy gay, I likely would have felt the same way.
Likewise, I used to freak out if I heard the smoke detector go off in our house, but calmed down immediately upon discovering that my mom was completely unconcerned, only newly burnt pot of carrots sitting on the stove-top.
Having been raised Catholic, and having no issues with gays, anal sex, deviant sexual behaviour (very much enjoying my own frequent experiences with bisexual adventures), and thoroughly enjoying the movie Shortbus, I have very little patience for anyone who presents intolerance and a sense of religion-induced self-righteousness.
And reading Dan Savage's vicious attacks against anyone like that just makes my cynical little heart burst with glee and, I won't lie, a bit of girl cream.
Also, I love S. and already intend to be married to him, eventually, when I get the rest of my life sorted out and something like marriage can actually become a priority instead of existing only as my mother's fantasy for me.
However, this doesn't stop me from practically worshipping Dan Savage. S. listens to his podcast, and I live for every Thursday when I can pick up my free copy of Now magazine at work, and read Savage Love during my break.
I love how he doesn't take shit from people, and how he can be alternately sympathetic or condemning. I enjoy it in particular when he shoots down someone who tries to rationalize their bad behaviour by blaming it on childhood baggage or a unpleasant relationship experience. I can always count on him to give a big 'fuck you' to social conservatives and hypocritical Christians.
(see: http://www.thestranger.com/seattle/SavageLove?oid=5135029)
I think part of the reason I derive so much pleasure from his harsh views towards religious beliefs criticizing extra-marital or even polyamorous sex and gay marriage (in particular gay marriage) is because even as a recovering Catholic I can't understand how some Christians can be so goddamned uptight.
I was raised in a Catholic household, attended a Catholic elementary school, and eventually went to a public high school where religion was not part of the curriculum, but where there was a Christian fellowship that I joined for the five years of my secondary school career. I had all the beginnings of a bigot.
Maybe the difference in my upbringing was that my mother (the only practising Catholic adult in our home; my dad is the son of a former, and now dead, United Church minister, and my dad is a strict believer in evolution and believes that the existence of any god is highly unlikely) has always been a very accepting person, as Christ always taught people to be. Case in point: she watched The Rocky Horror Picture Show with me when I was nine. She was a big fan of the movie when it came out in the seventies, and when it played on Much Music the year I was in grade four, I watched it with her.
Obviously I had some questions about the film, mainly, "Why is that man wearing ladies clothes?" It was a peculiarity I had not yet encountered in my young life, aside from attempting to dress my brother in one of my dresses and pretending he was my sister. She said, "Because he likes to." No further explanation, no statement about how it was something that not everyone likes to do, or that Tim Curry was somehow "different".
I took the whole thing very much in stride. And why not? Children gauge the reaction of the adults in their lives in order to come up with their own reaction. Had my mother not been a fan of Rocky Horror and lambasted Tim Curry, and the film, for being crazy gay, I likely would have felt the same way.
Likewise, I used to freak out if I heard the smoke detector go off in our house, but calmed down immediately upon discovering that my mom was completely unconcerned, only newly burnt pot of carrots sitting on the stove-top.
Having been raised Catholic, and having no issues with gays, anal sex, deviant sexual behaviour (very much enjoying my own frequent experiences with bisexual adventures), and thoroughly enjoying the movie Shortbus, I have very little patience for anyone who presents intolerance and a sense of religion-induced self-righteousness.
And reading Dan Savage's vicious attacks against anyone like that just makes my cynical little heart burst with glee and, I won't lie, a bit of girl cream.
9.11.10
Just writing about it almost makes me happy I don't live at home anymore. Except for the mild homesickness.
Whenever I go to my parents' house to visit (I refer to their house as "home home" because I still consider it to be my real home, even though S. and I have done a good job of making our apartment a new home for the two of us) I am filled with a weird type of homesickness. Even though I can be with my parents and my brother in the house where I grew up, I still have a sense of melancholy. What I am sad for is the way my house was when I lived there.
I miss the way my bedroom used to look, filled with all my clothes and books and CDs. Moreover, when I lived at home, things were cleaner. I regularly tidied up around the place, a habit I got into during high school.
Prior to my grade ten year, my mom was largely a stay-at-home mom. When I was in elementary school she did a lot of babysitting for neighbourhood kids; there were always tons of children in our house after school ended for the day. She also worked part-time at the school my brother and I attended; she was a playground and lunch monitor. The rest of time she did stuff at home: cooking, cleaning, laundry, etc.
When she went back to work when I was 15, she had no time for all of that household stuff. Consequently she took to coming home from work in time to cook dinner, and tended to be in a bad mood. Then she would scream at me and my brother for not helping out more around the house. She yelled at my dad too, but he 1) was used to not doing anything around the house because she coddled him for 16 years and 2) didn't see why he should have to clean the bathroom after work when he had college-level exams and labs to mark.
It so followed that I started doing all of the necessary cleaning in order to avoid having her scream at me and to keep the tension in our house at a bearable level.
For the next nine-or-so years, I did the brunt of the housework. The place stayed . . . manageable. Then I moved out.
Now the house rarely gets a good cleaning unless I am visiting. Irritatingly enough I will scrub down the kitchen when I visit, and then return a week later to find it just as messy as before.
Everything is even messier than before. The bathroom attached to my former bedroom is littered with dustings of tobacco and marijuana; my brother uses it as a drug den. He has never learned any housekeeping skills because my mother, or I, did everything for him. I don't think he's even made a proper bed in his life.
My mom is too depressed by work, and visiting my elderly grandfather every few days, to do more than come home from work and sleep for a few hours, get my dad to pick up Swiss Chalet and wine, and then drink herself into a stupor from half a bottle of wine and the alcohol she keeps hidden around the rest of the house. If she does cook dinner she watches t.v. or and goes back to sleep before my dad and brother have even finished eating. Sometimes my dad cleans up the
dinner dishes and cutlery but rarely any of the pots and pans, which sit congealing on the counter until I return home to clean.
I am the one with bipolar disorder, anxiety issues, and a mild case of OCD, and I am the most sane member of my family, the guard against dysfuntion.
Let me point out that my own apartment is relatively tidy. S. is fastidious about cleanliness, and I am almost as careful as he is, unless I am in a low mood, wherein I couldn't give a shit whether the place is clean.
Maybe that's how my mom feels all the time. But the thing is, she could easily hire a cleaning lady. But she won't. Know why? My mom doesn't like the idea of some outside person cleaning her house, because she feels that person won't do things right. Also, my mom has said repeatedly that if she had someone come in to clean for her, she (my mom) would have to clean everything first so that the cleaning person wouldn't think they are messy. ARGH!
Getting to the point.
The point is: when I go home I feel sad for the way things used to be when I was home. Tidier. More structured. I get ever get back to that point unless I were to move back home. If I'm homesick, I can't ever go home because that place doesn't really exist anymore.
I miss the way my bedroom used to look, filled with all my clothes and books and CDs. Moreover, when I lived at home, things were cleaner. I regularly tidied up around the place, a habit I got into during high school.
Prior to my grade ten year, my mom was largely a stay-at-home mom. When I was in elementary school she did a lot of babysitting for neighbourhood kids; there were always tons of children in our house after school ended for the day. She also worked part-time at the school my brother and I attended; she was a playground and lunch monitor. The rest of time she did stuff at home: cooking, cleaning, laundry, etc.
When she went back to work when I was 15, she had no time for all of that household stuff. Consequently she took to coming home from work in time to cook dinner, and tended to be in a bad mood. Then she would scream at me and my brother for not helping out more around the house. She yelled at my dad too, but he 1) was used to not doing anything around the house because she coddled him for 16 years and 2) didn't see why he should have to clean the bathroom after work when he had college-level exams and labs to mark.
It so followed that I started doing all of the necessary cleaning in order to avoid having her scream at me and to keep the tension in our house at a bearable level.
For the next nine-or-so years, I did the brunt of the housework. The place stayed . . . manageable. Then I moved out.
Now the house rarely gets a good cleaning unless I am visiting. Irritatingly enough I will scrub down the kitchen when I visit, and then return a week later to find it just as messy as before.
Everything is even messier than before. The bathroom attached to my former bedroom is littered with dustings of tobacco and marijuana; my brother uses it as a drug den. He has never learned any housekeeping skills because my mother, or I, did everything for him. I don't think he's even made a proper bed in his life.
My mom is too depressed by work, and visiting my elderly grandfather every few days, to do more than come home from work and sleep for a few hours, get my dad to pick up Swiss Chalet and wine, and then drink herself into a stupor from half a bottle of wine and the alcohol she keeps hidden around the rest of the house. If she does cook dinner she watches t.v. or and goes back to sleep before my dad and brother have even finished eating. Sometimes my dad cleans up the
dinner dishes and cutlery but rarely any of the pots and pans, which sit congealing on the counter until I return home to clean.
I am the one with bipolar disorder, anxiety issues, and a mild case of OCD, and I am the most sane member of my family, the guard against dysfuntion.
Let me point out that my own apartment is relatively tidy. S. is fastidious about cleanliness, and I am almost as careful as he is, unless I am in a low mood, wherein I couldn't give a shit whether the place is clean.
Maybe that's how my mom feels all the time. But the thing is, she could easily hire a cleaning lady. But she won't. Know why? My mom doesn't like the idea of some outside person cleaning her house, because she feels that person won't do things right. Also, my mom has said repeatedly that if she had someone come in to clean for her, she (my mom) would have to clean everything first so that the cleaning person wouldn't think they are messy. ARGH!
Getting to the point.
The point is: when I go home I feel sad for the way things used to be when I was home. Tidier. More structured. I get ever get back to that point unless I were to move back home. If I'm homesick, I can't ever go home because that place doesn't really exist anymore.
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