In Praise of Cowardly Fat Dudes.

There's a certain character archetype, both in television and film, that when invoked I cannot help but automatically root for them.

They are the Cowardly Fat Dudes*.  

I say dudes, because frankly, there's not a lot of representation for fat women on TV and film, cowardly or otherwise.  Off hand, I can think of four fat lady recurring characters over the last twenty years and half of them were played by Melissa McCarthy.**

However, I digress.  This post is, after all, titled "In Praise of Cowardly Fat Dudes," not "Let Us Bitch About The Lack of Representation for Fat Women."  Believe you me, that is a post for another day.

I love a good underdog, and the Cowardly Fat Dude archetype fits the underdog description well.  Cowardly Fat Dude is portrayed as unsure of himself, often slow, and well, cowardly.  However, they are also often written as generally kind and concerned for others and can often represent a voice of reason when every thing around has gone bat-shit insane.

Some classic Cowardly Fat Dudes include Chunk from The Goonies, Dave from The Full Monty, and Piggy from Lord of the Flies (although anyone who has taken high school English knows things didn't turn out so well for Piggy.)

My current favourite Cowardly Fat Dudes are Aaron Pittman on Revolution (played by Zak Orth) and Samwell Tarly on Game of Thrones (played by John Bradley).  Aaron, a former stupidly-rich MIT grad and Google exec, loses his money, power, confidence and his wife after the blackout that is the catalyst for the events in Revolution.  He spends a lot of the first season mourning his pre-blackout life and generally pointing out the bat-shit craziness of the events that unfold around him.  However, as much as he protests and balks, when his friends are in trouble, he's usually right in there, even if he looks ready to crap his pants at any moment.  Late is season one, he pulls one particularly ballsy, kick-ass move that had me literally in tears.

Aaron's expressions usually alternate between this and "Are you kidding me?" disgust.  Source

Samwell is introduced as a self-described coward, who seems to have internalized a lot of nasty stuff told to him by his father, who considers him more than useless.  He joins the Knight's Watch (Night's watch?) after his father threatens to have a "hunting accident" if Sam doesn't get the eff out.  I haven't seen much of his character arc so far, as I am still trying like hell to catch up on this series, but I can't help but like the guy and hope to see him kick some ass.

There's some rage in there.  This kid is going to do some awesome shit, I know it.  No spoilers, please.  I'm only on season three.  Source

The reason I like the cowardly fat dude is that they seem to rise above their fear when it comes down to the line.  Every other character underestimates their abilities, as do they themselves, so I always find myself rooting for CFDs to come out on top, especially in situations where they are able to put their own particular talents to work in ways that other characters with more brawn and bravado would not be able, through the use of wit or intellect rather than brute force.  

I love the Cowardly Fat Dude character because it's one thing to lack a sense of danger, but it's an entirely different thing to look danger in the eye, feel debilitating fear, and go forth anyway.

*I'm fat-friendly.  I use 'fat' solely as a value-neutral physical description, and not a perjorative in any way.

**In case you're interested, the ones I came up with were Rae from My Mad Fat Diary, Molly from Mike and Molly, Lorelai's friend on Gilmore Girls and the inimitable Roseanne Conner.

A Case of Mistaken Identity or When Life Gives You Lemons...

I was reminded today of an odd phone call I received about three weeks after the birth of my youngest daughter, as surrounded by half-unpacked boxes and children's toys, I attempted to nurse said newborn child.

Picking up the phone and awkwardly squeezing it between my ear and shoulder, I heard a male voice on the other end ask for me by my full name.

"This is she," I replied, adjusting kiddo in one and dragging a nearby chair over to the telephone table.

"Oh, hi!" the voice on the phone said affably. "My name is Dave*.  I know your friend Mike*."

I plunked myself down and took a moment to switch my fussing child from one boob to the other.

"My friend... Mike?" I replied, grunting as she latched.   I knew a few Mikes.  Puzzled, I asked, "Which Mike?"

"Your friend Mike that works for the OPP.  Yeah, he said you were single and that I should call and introduce myself... See if you want to get a coffee sometime."

By now it was obvious this guy had the wrong number, as I was 99% sure none of the Mikes I knew worked for the OPP.  Apologetically, I told the guy, "That's very nice but I'm afraid I don't know Mike that works for the OPP."  

"Are you sure?" The stranger that is called Dave asked, sounding perplexed. "Your name is {redacted}, right?"

I chuckled and replied "It is, but I assure you, I don't know any Mike that works for the OPP."

There was a lengthy pause as he mulled this over.

"Are you black?"

The conversation had officially hit a new level of weird.  Glancing down at my arms, I said "I'm definitely sure I'm not black."  (In fairness, I don't exactly have my genealogy entirely mapped out, so theoretically I could have been wrong).

"Oh.  Mike told me you were black.  I must have the wrong number."

"Yup, I you do," I replied.

The stranger on the phone that was called Dave paused again.

"Do you want to go out sometime?"

Flabbergasted, I searched for words. "Um.. Yeah.  Actually, I just gave birth less than a month ago.  I'm not exactly in a dating place right now.  But thanks? I guess?"

"Oh well, figured I'd try!" He said, then hung up.

I guess some people just gotta take a chance when it presents itself.

*names have been changed, because quite frankly, I don't remember them.

FYI (If you're a nosy asshole)

This post. I mean, this friggin post.  

Had the *ahem* pleasure of reading Mrs. Hall's lengthy missive to the teenaged girls who have Facebook friended her precious wee boys regarding the seemingly scandalous selfies young girls seem to like to take of themselves.  Mrs. Hall is quite concerned that her boys may be exposed to these wanton adolescent hussies, posing in their pajamas in sultry poses.  Some of these girls are even (gasp!) not wearing bras!

Mrs. Hall is trying to raise young men with a strong moral compass, who don't "linger over pictures of scantily clad ladies."  Which is apparently quite impossible to do when there are pictures of teenaged girls posing for selfies on the Internet.  Any female friend of the Hall boys who thinks of posting a vaguely sexy picture of herself online should consider themselves as good as blocked because Mrs. Hall only wants her boys thinking of girls respectfully and Gord knows, being a sexual being and being a human being worthy of respect are two mutually exclusive things.  Well, if you're a girl.. Isn't that right Mrs. Hall?

Mrs. Hall, I noticed that your boys are posted all over your blog in beachwear, which some would argue is much more revealing than pajamas or even a towel.  I guess girls (or non-hetero boys) can easily un-see that, though can they? And still think of your kids as people worthy of respect?  But you said yourself, once a boy sees a girl naked (or in towel, or in pajamas or without a bra) he can't unsee that.  You seem to have a high level of confidence in your boys' ability to behave like gentleman and not like rutting animals.  Or maybe not.  Because if you did, the spectre of some silly, pouty pictures wouldn't loom such a threat.

There are a dozen good reasons to be careful of what you post online.  Surveillance, online weirdos and pedophiles, and the fact that stuff you post does NOT GO AWAY are all things we should be concerned about and I agree that we should be encouraging kids (and adults, of any gender) to be extra self-critical of what they post.  These safety and privacy issues don't seem to be on your radar, however.  You seem more concerned about not letting these girls sully your preciouses virginal little minds.

I find the attitude that in order for men to respect and cherish women they must not think of them sexually is a harmful one.  The implication you've made here is that a girl or woman cannot be sexual while still being worthy of respect.  That is what we call, in feminist circles, slut shaming.  And it is harmful.  Girls are continually sexualized and objectified by our culture, while simultaneously being shamed if they dare to be sexual on their own terms.  A girl's history or perceived history can be used against her in sexual assault cases.  

Mrs. Hall, if you want your sons to be men of integrity who eventually meet and possibly marry women of character, teach them that a woman's worth is about more than her sexuality.  Teach them that being sexual and being a person worthy of respect.  Teach them their respect for someone should not be predicated on their sexual history or whether or not they're wearing a bra in their profile picture.  If you can't teach them that, I think my soon-to-be teenaged girls would be better off blocked.

Reverse Objectification Tuesday: Oscar Edition.

This will be a short one, as I have ten minutes before the work whistle blows.

I didn't watch the Oscars, as per usual, since a) they generally tend to be pretty long and fairly boring and B) my intense loathing of modern day cineplexes generally guarantees that I have not seen any of the films nominated. True to form, this year I have seen a grand total of ONE of the winning films.

And I was very excited for its win for best song.

Why?

Because MUPPETS.

And because Bret McKenzie is about as adorable as a bowl of kittens wrapped in newborn babies and sprinkled with more kittens.

Source

Source

Whew.. 8:59. Just under the line.

A post in honor of Movember or "Dirty Porn-staches Abound"

Oh Movember.  So many dirty pornstaches.  Secretly, or not so secretly, I love it.  Last Thursday, a group of mustachioed men at karaoke lipsynched at my friend Tess and I and it was the greatest, funniest thing ever.

I'm reminded of a story of a few years back.  A co-worker of mine had grown out a rather nice goatee.  It was working for him, until he shaved off the ... um.. the 'tee and left the goat?  Is that a terrible way of putting it?  Okay well, the beard was gone, and just a mustache left.

It was distracting.

I had to say something, in the name of the public good.  "Dude," I said, being awesome and definitely not a dork and never EVER too old to use the word dude. "What is the deal with your porn-stache?"

"I beg your pardon?"
"The porn-stache.  What is up with that?"

My friend looked rather indignant.  "That's a little personal, don't you think?"

I thoroughly confused by his indignance.  Okay so my question wasn't exactly tactful, but I didn't think asking what possessed someone into a particular style statement was overly personal.  I asked him what he meant.

"I don't see that my reading material is your business, and besides that's hardly suitable conversation for work."

Light bulb.

"NO!! no no.. PORNSTACHE.  Like, Mustache?"
"Oh.. oh Jesus."

This why you choose your words carefully folks, or you may accidentally out co-workers on their questionable reading material.

If you're reading this now, I still apologize.

On that note, with Movember almost over, I leave you with this classic clip from The Tick

They'll give anyone a license to teach these days.

First off, let me say that I agree with the idea that by constantly shielding our children from all and any type of conflict we are not providing them with the coping skills that become necessary when one gets out into the 'real world' and learns that ... *gasp* you are NOT a special and unique snowflake and not everyone will like you.

However, it's important that we not forget.. children are PEOPLE and deserving of respect just as are adults. I don't subscribe to the idea that any show of childhood aggression is bullying.  But I won't deny that it definitely happens more than it should.  I also believe that kids learn aggression from adults around them and that one of the ways  to combat it is to teach kids not that they are a special and unique snowflake, but they ARE a human being and worthy of respect, of both their peers and adults around them.

Case in point:

I let out a pretty good string of obscenities when I read a story about a Phys. Ed. teacher in Wyoming who handed out 'Hurt-Feeling' reports that asked those filling out the report if they were 'thin-skinned, a pussy, a little bitch' and so forth.  Not only did these report use a wide plethora of extremely misogynist and homophobic language to describe the kid reporting the incident (because, you know.. only girls and gays have feelings... feelings that get hurt) he refers to the person being complained against as a 'Real Man'.

Of course, because Real Men taunt and torment and tease others in their constant quest to be the Alpha, the manliest of manly men.

And they're letting this guy teach?

Stuff like this is why I get my panties in a bunch sometimes when people discuss childhood bullying and abuse - and make no mistake, THIS is a bullying tactic, through and through. It's hard to break through the idea that adults just don't give a shit when there are assholes like this in the teaching profession.  I was bullied as a kid, for a good year at least, and later in other instances and I never told anyone.  If a kid like me, with a supportive family and half-decent teachers wouldn't seek out adult intervention, what hope do kids have who have to depend on this jackhole?

By the way, Baldy McScaryPants was reprimanded for the forms and ... um.. demoted, I guess?... from Phys Ed. coach to...

... get this...

A MOTHERLOVING GUIDANCE COUNSELLOR.

"HELP ME HELP YOU.. TO NOT BE SUCH A WHINY LITTLE BITCH!!"  Dear Gord, send it back to Hell.

I'm not sure what bugs me more about this:  The fact that this guy who is supposed to be in a position of trust and authority is waving a flag stating "I don't give a shit about you or your precious fee-fees" or that he's also reinforcing the idea that if you speak up about someone hurting them, you are not a Man.  You are a sissy or worse, a girl. (subtext: No one wants to be a girl.  Girls are icky.  So are gays.  Because they are like girls and have girly-hormones).  Men Don't Have Feelings.  Only Girls and Sissy Gay Boys Have Feelings.

God help the kid that comes for guidance who happens to be a girl, or gay, or both.

It makes me sad that there are dedicated honest people waiting for teaching jobs while this dude is probably setting up a whole new generation of Columbine kids with apathy and hatred.

Photo Credit: Jezebel.com

Sometimes the way into a girls heart is through her record collection.

Before I get into the topic at hand, I want to mention that this morning I opened my email to the following:

Vindication at last.

Some of you may remember last December I waged a brief campaign to have Joel Plaskett follow me on Twitter after being unceremoniously Twitted and dumped.  It was a spectacular failure of epic proportions, although I do thank all two of you who helped me try to get #comebackjoelplaskett trending.

Delayed gratification is still gratification in my books.

Anyway...

I came across the following article on Jezebel the other day and if I had been drinking any liquids at the time, I guarantee they would have been snarfed all over my computer screen.

Shockingly, Liking Nickelback Will Not Get You Laid

Chalk that down as my FAVORITE HEADLINE EVER.  I know, making fun of Nickelback is pretty cliche by now, but frankly I find it well-deserved for continually making a mockery of our home-grown music industry.

Oh, full Disclosure:  I have owned one album, and seen them in concert.  And it was okay for a while.  Then there was Photograph.  After that... well, I don't want to talk about it.  Let's just say, when the only local rock station  has a playlist of roughly 15 songs, and 8 of them are by Nickelback, and each song is starting to sound more like the one before it except that the lyrics get more douchey and mysogynistic than the one before, well it's enough to make you yearn for the day when they were just mildly annoyingly introspective.

But I'm not here to rag on them.  At least that's not my primary reason for being here.  I got to thinking about how music had affected my relationships.  As someone to whom music is a large part of life, the article made sense.  I could see myself judging someone if they told me Nickelback was, like, their favorite band EVER.

I don't think I have ever actually rejected a guy over music.. although I have judged guys I've dated over their enjoyment of the movie Hard Core Logo.  And their have been guys whose musical tastes have made me like them more.

I'm not sure if I could ever love someone who didn't at least have a passing enjoyment of the Tragically Hip, who couldn't appreciate them on even the smallest level.

I will however, judge you if you like Papa Roach.  True story, this band makes me violently angry.  The ex-hub used to play them and it got to the point where I begged him to NEVER EVER play them while I was within earshot, after one day I ended up in the back bedroom with a pillow over my head while I cried.  I'm still to this day not sure what it is about them that triggers me, but holy shit.  Remember the scene in BioDome where the National Guard came and tried to get Pauly Shore and Stephen Baldwin to come out of the dome by blaring The Safety Dance?  I'd probably react the same way, and just dance my ass off and enjoy the party (because, you know.. if your friends don't dance they're no friends of mine).

Tell me this shit wouldn't set you off as well.

But if I was in a hostage situation and the National Guard (or the RCMP, I guess) came and starting playing Papa Roach, I'd likely surrender, throw myself on their mercy and possibly beg them to shoot me.

I don't like them.

The ex-hub and I had similar tastes but they diverged after a while.  Once, as I was getting into a very mellow folkish phase, he was getting into Korn and the like, this being the late 90's and very early Oughts.  Sometimes when you hear a song you like enough times you will eventually start to hate it.  We all know this.  Thing is, it works the other way as well.  Despite absolutely loathing them (but without the same violent reaction as to Papa Roach) I had eventually heard them enough that I started to hum along to a few tunes.  One day the ex came home and went to put a CD on, and eyed me rather suspiciously as he pulled "Follow the Leader" out of the stereo.  His eyes had widened and he pointed an accusing finger at me and cried "YOU WERE LISTENING TO KORN!!"

I was caught.  I had no recourse but to shrug and grin sheepishly.

Nu-Metal.  Kind of like New Coke.  Look how well that turned out.

In the midst of our split (years later... we didn't split because I started liking Korn), during one of the many "What the hell happened to us?" conversations, he tried claiming that I had 'changed' and that he couldn't even handle the kind of music I listened to anymore.  This from a guy who had started playing in a fucking country band.

*sigh*  Such is life, amirite?

I find nowadays an eclectic taste in music intrigues me.  I dated a guy briefly whose musical tastes played like a game of "One of these things is not like the other."  His favorite artists had included Nirvana, Pearl Jam, The Doors, The Rolling Stones and...

Lady Gaga?

"Rly?"  "Ya Rly."

I kid you not.  He even had Pokerface as his ringtone.  For the longest time I associated that song with him.

One of the things that really got me with the most recent ex was upon going to his house for dinner the first time, he went to put on some music and asked if I preferred "Radiohead, Neil Young or Sinatra?"  Now, I'm not a devoted fan of any of these performers, but the sheer juxtaposition of these three seemingly unrelated acts resulted in my heart going aflutter.

Neil Young=Sexytimes.

Although I'm fond of guys with an enthusiasm for music, I'm not sure I would date a serious musician.  Having spent time as a band-wife I can tell you it sucks, especially if you're someone who would rather be on the other side of the footlights.  It ends up being like a really unfunny episode of I Love Lucy.

My jealousy was never had this kind of awesome result.

I could still handle being sang to.  Call me hokey, but especially so if it was this:



I still think this is one of the sweetest songs ever.  Sounding like Brad Roberts isn't even necessary.

Photo Sources:
www.100XR.com
www.graphicshunt.com
unrealityshout.com
yvettecandraw.blogspot.com

Oh, and by the way.  I went and signed up for NaNoWriMo because I'm a masochist like that.  If anyone else is participating, please feel free to be my 'buddy'.

Nothing is more fun than commenting on something I'll never have to deal with..

Conversation I had with my sister shortly after the birth of my eldest daughter.

N:  So, are you going to have her circumcised?
Me (with utter shock): Uhm.  No.  Pretty sure that's heavily frowned upon in this part of the world.  I think the UN may be trying to have it banned, even.
N: Ah, frig.  Girl.  Right.

In fairness, my sister had had her second son a scant year-or-so earlier and it was a question she was surprisingly used to hearing.  I say surprisingly, because I would think the decision whether to snip your little one's pecker would be a pretty private matter, but as I have learned over the years, when it comes to conceiving, carrying, birthing and raising babies, nothing is sacred.

As much as I bitch about the perils of raising little girls, this is one area that makes me glad I never had boys, although nowadays I'm sure I'm a lot more clear on my stance as far as to snip or not to snip.  Unnecessary surgery?  Oh hell no.  I didn't even want to pierce my girls ears until they were old enough to ASK me.

That being said though, there's some interesting debate happening around a proposed law to ban male circumcision in San Franciso.  Personally, I think treating such a topic as a matter of a municipal by-law is silly at best, since anyone could drive out of town to have the procedure done.  Plus the proposed sentence of a year in prison seems, oh, I don't know, a little over-the-top.

No, this is one of those cases where "Education, Not Legislation" would be the most viable approach.  As far as I can tell, the most common reasons for circumcision  are:

• For religious reasons
• For hygenic reasons
• Because it's better to do it when they are younger so they don't feel it as much (lolwhut??)
• Fear of the child looking different than other kids or their respective male role models

Religion:  This is one of the main reasons why an all-out ban is asking for a shit-storm of trouble, because jailing people for performing what is viewed as a sacred ritual is going to cause all manner of discrimination suits.  In all honesty, I'd be willing to guess that the people who circumcise for religious or spiritual reasons are probably a smaller number than those who do it 'Just because'.   Aim for reducing the numbers elsewhere then eventually the major religions will catch up, just like the Catholic Church did with birth control..  oh, wait.

Hygenic reasons:  Teach your kids to wash their junk properly.  Pretty simple, no? From what I understand, research on the health benefits of circumcision are pretty sketchy and the benefits don't seem to outweigh the risks of just leaving well enough alone.   Yes, a kid may have a problem down the line that requires foreskin removal, but the thing is.. if you have a problem because you're intact, you can fix it.  It's a lot harder and likely more costly to fix issues from a botched circumcision.  And it's super-cheap to teach your kid to wash their junk.

Better to do it when they are Younger:  I call bullshit here.  I will not be convinced that an un-anesthetized procedure hurts a baby less than a older child or an adult.  The difference is a baby can't verbalize their discomfort in the same way.

But I don't want little Billy to Look "Different":  Calling bullshit again here.  This is where North American tendencies to be over-the-top Puritanical when it comes to our bodies and how they work really does a number on us.  So little Billy's little billy doesn't look like Daddy's?  Try this:

“Well, Billy, once upon a time, when Daddy was a baby, people had no problem with slicing off the end of your penis for no apparent reason, and even encouraged it. But we think they were wrong, so we didn’t, because we like you and don’t think cutting babies is cool.”

That's not so hard is it?

*snicker*  Yes, I have then mentality of a 12 year old.  Don't you judge me.

This line of reasoning always reminds me of this joke:

One day a little girl was watching her mom make a roast beef. She cut off the ends, wrapped it in string, seasoned it and set it in the roasting pan.

The little girl asked her mom why she cut off the ends of the roast. Mom replied, after some thought, that it was the way that her mother had done it.

That night grandma came to dinner and the little girl and her mom went to her and asked why she had cut the end off of the roast before cooking. After some thought grandma replied, that was the way her mother had done it.

Now great grandmother was quite old and in a nursing home. But the little girl went with her mom and grandma to see her and again asked the question.

Great Grandma looked at them a bit annoyed and said, "So it would fit in my pan, of course."

"Houss-keepink? Hoooouuuussssskeepink?"

Just doing some light house keeping.  Updated the blogroll and took off some folks who are no longer blogging or actively blogging.

D'Artagnan, if you're reading this... WTF man?  Not even a good bye?

I've also added some folks to the roster who I think are worth a read, so take a gander and see if anyone catches your fancy.  Moved the Popular Posts over to the sidebar so I could include more posts.  If anyone knows how to do 'Random Posts' or 'Related Posts' and wants to let me in on the secret that'd be great.

To date, my most popular search term is "Tom Cavanagh" which has led a whole fifteen people to this little piece of the internet.  Is it wrong that a little part of me hopes that Tom Cavanagh spends his spare time Googling himself and will one day stumble across this blog and fall madly in love with me?

It'd be great.  We could get a cottage on Georgian Bay where we'd sit and be reminded of light beer.

And this could be me.  I thought photo-shopping my head onto Julie Bowen's body could be construed as "Creepy" - Source

The Tragically Hip are playing in Bobcaygeon  this weekend (and if you're a Hip Fan you will know how epic this really is) and I'm in physical pain from the knowledge that I won't be going.  I'd almost consider offering perverse sexual favours to the person who could offer me me a ticket, but then again if I was willing to go that far, I might have held off on cutting the most-recent-ex out of my life for a couple weeks or so.

Maybe Tom Cavanagh has an extra ticket?

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go watch this video on loop and drink heavily and cry.


Extra points for Hugh Dillon's cameo.

Author's Note:  Just wanted to point out how creepy, out of its proper context, this still from the video is.  It's like the girl is off screen is going "Noooooo!" at the approaching Gord Downie in all his law-enforcement intimidation (for context: she's opening the screen door for him)

A Very Special Reverse Objectification Wednesday.

Thank you, Sarah Lindahl (and Kira) for providing the inspiration for this post.

Think back.

Way back.  Your first crush.  No, maybe crush is the wrong word.  Crush can mean "Aww gee, I like you.  You're fun.  Let's ride bikes."  which is an awesome and cool way to feel about someone, but not quite what I'm getting at.

Think back to the awakening.  Yeah, that one.  The first time you had that tingly-in-the-pants (or for the gentleman, that tight-in-the-pants) red-faced I'm-gonna-barf feeling.  When suddenly, kissing wasn't gross anymore.

I was somewhere in the ballpark of eleven or twelve years old.  I'm going to let you in on a little secret.  It's not something I'm proud of, but it's a part of my past and there's nothing I can do to change it now.

The object of my pre-adolescent lust?  Here goes...  no, come closer...

Scott Bakula.

What?  You didn't catch that?  Okay, fine.  *sigh*

Scott Bakula.

Source

Shut up.

There was a love scene, I don't recall if it was in an episode of Quantum Leap or in the less-than-stellar football movie, Necessary Roughness, but my face went red and the pants got tingly and suddenly I didn't know where to look.

I think it may have been the latter, because I remember Mom took me and a bunch of kids from trailer park where we used to camp to the show, and I had a huge crush on one of the guys that came with us, even though he was two years older than me.  This may have added to my discomfort, since I had been inadvertently given new fodder for my inappropriate pubescent daydreams.

So how about you all?  Who was your first fantasy/crush/objet d'lust? (Je parle le francaise plus not real great)

Rip-snortin' ass-kickin' Sunday Round-up

Pretty darn good.  That's probably my best way to describe this weekend.  No complaints here.

Friday night I picked up some Sushi for dinner at the local RCSS, and since they've changed the delivery day to Friday, it was very very fresh.  I really want to go out for actual restaurant sushi but I'm good with grocery store grade in the meantime.

Headed down to the Legion for karaoke with mom and Sharon.  Dad was already there for darts.  I haven't been out since before Christmas so I was having some withdrawal.  Ended up having a blast and getting some work out of the deal.  Looks like I might have a gig hosting the karaoke night on my kid-free Fridays.  I go in on the 11th so that Lance, our current KJ can train me on the equipment.  Pretty awesome.  Some extra cash to go towards my house-downpayment-fund for two nights work a month, for being where I might already be any given Friday.  Can't beat that.

Speaking of house hunting, mortgage calculators of the ilk that you find on real estate sites are bullshit, and depressing as hell.  According to the mortgage calculator, I can afford roughly $278 a month for a mortgage (which puts me at about $38,000 for a house.  I can't get a mobile home for that little around here).  I pay $700 bucks a month rent, plus hydro and I am not behind on my bills, and I'm managing to pay down my debt so CLEARLY I can afford more than $278 a month for a mortgage.

So eat me, mortgage calculator.

Back to happier things.  While at the Legion a group of about 10 snowmobilers/cottagers from Strathroy come walking in, most of them around my age (couple older dudes, and at least one paperboy).  My first thought, as one of the youngest available women in the Legion was "Oh! Hello Boys! Happy Birthday to Me!"

Normally I'm about as socially awkward as they come but on Friday, whether it was the beer or just a general sense of well-being and oneness with the world coupled with just feeling like holy-shit-I-am-one-hawt-mamma I was kind of on that night and lapping up the attention, especially from one of the cuter guys, who bought me a beer and asked for a dance.  He was a riot, and we spun and twirled and made clumsy attempts at dipping while his friends hooted and hollered and we all sang along to any given songs.  What a fun bunch they were, and I was feeling full of confidence.

Saturday I got up and went into town to take some clothes to the Salvation army and attempted to find a plain wood frame I to use for this print that I bought at the craft sale I did a few weeks back.  I can't for the life of me remember the photographer's name but if I remember it I will link back. In the meantime, please, no one steal this image, kay?  I'd feel really bad if you did.   'preciate it.  I just want a plain wood frame so I can paint it.  I'm thinking either red with white polka dots, or black with white polka dots.

Got a source now - Corey Ramsbottom Photography

Saturday afternoon I went ice skating with my friend Tessa and her boyfriend and her kids.  My ankles felt like jelly and I think I need to invest in some hockey skates.  I think they'd be more conducive to my skating style than the figure skates I currently have.   We left soon after Tess fell and bruised her arm pretty good, which was unfortunate and quite surprising since Vegas odds would be on me being the one that wiped out, but I miraculously didn't fall once.

Saturday night I grabbed my guitar and headed to the local church for their coffee house night.  I showed up a bit late so as a result I was dead-last on the roster, but I held out and managed to get a few songs in.

Here's what I played:

When I Come Back - NQ Arbuckle and Carolyn Mark (I posted a vid of myself playing this a while back.  You can see it here)

I Make the Dough, You Get the Glory - Kathleen Edwards (I've always kind of considered her a poor-man's Sarah Harmer, but I enjoy this tune a lot.)


Tina's Glorious Comeback - Dan Mangan (Future Husband and Stepfather to my children.  I wish.)

If You're Gonna Be Dumb You Gotta Be Tough - Karen O (This song is fun as hell to play)

Just a little Open Mic Ettiquette 101.  Everyone wants a chance to play.  If the mode number of songs people are playing is four, it might be poor form to play seven,  you know?

Because I was very last on the bill, I was a little late to catch the free show being put on by Run With The Kittens at one of the local restaurants, but I did manage to make it about halfway through their first set.  I've never actually heard of them before, but I found them enjoyable.  Their sound is an odd mix of experimental sounds and blues-based rock.  When I listened to them, all I could think of was the Moldy Peaches tune Downloading Porn with Davo (NSFW people).  Later I found a similarity to catl as well.

Sadly, although a great restaurant, I found the Explorer's Cafe lacking as a live music venue.  Lacking space to move, that is, so I left at the intermission as my claustrophobic tendencies were making me a bit twitchy.

Today was laundry and grocery shopping day.  I met up with my mom and sister at the seventh circle of hell and promtly informed them that I was totally compromising my principles just to hang out with them, because I rarely shop at Wal-Mart if I can avoid it.

Feeling accomplished as I managed to make both Jello and Rice Krispie Squares for the girls lunches. Making them homemade is way cheaper than buying these things. A box of Jello costs about 69 cents and makes around six servings.. a pack of jello cups is about 2.99 and they have four.

With a box of Rice Krispies (4.99), three bags of marshmallows (@1.27 each, so $3.75 let's say) and a half pound of butter (1.50) you can make 4-6 dozen rice Krispie squares.  A box of 8 individually wrapped ones are about 2.99.  Plus by making the stuff, you get around the litterless lunch manifesto of the schools.

Don't get me wrong,  I love the idea of a litterless lunch, and we should all do our parts to cut down on garbage.  But telling a kid to take a granola bar out of it's wrapper and bring it in a container is bullshit.  And I doubt the school is going to come to my house and wash all my bloody plastic containers.  So I tell the girls "No, it's not litterless, but it's still less litter."

My Indie Crush of the Moment Danny Michel

Hello Folks!  Welcome once again to Reverse Objectification Thursday!

A friend of mine, upon returning to Ontario for a visit home (she current resides in San Diego) commented to me that Canadian guys are just a lot cuter than guys in California.  Maybe it's a combination of  a more laid-back and relaxed attitude, along a certain ruggedness I've found, but without the hyper-masculine neanderthalness.

Right now, right here, this moment, I'm harbouring a huge crush on singer/songwriter Danny Michel.

There's something sexy about a man and his accordian. Source

Cute, no? Looks a little like Robert Downey Jr. in this pic.  And I loves me some RDJ.

I'm not entirely sure where Danny Michel hails from, but I always like to imagine he's from somewhere in Quebec.  The name screams Quebecois and I'll be honest, I have a bit of a weakness for the Quebecois accent. Ohm.

I'm not a big fan of the European French accent.  I don't know, but the times I've heard it - and working customer service for a company with an international user-base I come across it from time to time - it just always sounds.. I don't know.  Fake.  Stereotypical.  I always want to laugh because every time someone speaks Parisian French to me, it sounds like they're channeling Pepe LePew.  Sorry, people from France.  It's not you, it's that stereotypical imitations are so bang on, that I always think that you all are playing it up for laughs.

I never said I was a good person.

But French Canadian accents?  Yum.  Friends can attest, they have an.. *koff* effect on me.

....

Anyway, where was I?  Yeah... so, cute in a laid-back indie-folk way, way talented, imaginary sexy Quebec accent (can't find a home town on the bio, so my fantasy gets to live on another day).  Can't ask for much more for Reverse Objectification Thursday.

He has a song called Maybe You Can Find It In Your Heart, and if I listen to this song in the car, the intro sequence always makes me feel like I'm starring in the opening credits of some kind of  romantic comedy, or possibly a family comedy.  I think if they ever made a movie of my life, I'd have to insist that the film open with me getting my car and pulling out of my driveway with this song as the soundtrack.

Incidentally, the end credits of the movie of my life would roll out to Mike Ness' cover of "Don't Think Twice, It's Alright."

In case you were interested.

So yeah, go check him out.  

Source

Isla de Encanta - Day Eight, Apparently. Momma, I'm coming home.

I was not ready to fly home Thursday.  I missed the girls, and I missed my guitar and beyond that.. well, I would have made do.  I would have forged the girls some passports, and had them and the axe shipped to me if it meant I could stay on the beach for just a little while longer.

Nonetheless, I got up early, packed up all my shit and headed down to breakfast.  You know how you can never seem to pack everything up the same way you did when you arrived somewhere?  Yeah, I'm really glad I'm not big on buying souvenirs for people.  I had a drum, a chess set, and a flute and a plinky-plunky weird instrument to bring home.. somehow, someway, I got it all into my suitcase, oddly enough, and ended up with LESS in my carry-on bag even.  The plan was to check out and then take all my stuff to Kaylee and Mindy's room since check out time was 1pm, but my bus for the airport didn't leave until 8pm.  This would save me either paying for late-checkout, or storing or lugging my shit around for the rest of the day.

A few times I was close to tears, I did NOT WANT TO LEAVE.  All I could think of was having to go right back to work on Monday, and snow.  Holy crap, I did NOT want to see snow.  Especially knowing that we were supposedly supposed to get a giant mother of all snow-storms here, and knowing that my car would be sitting at the Park N Fly for a week in all that B.S.

Really, would you want to leave this...

...for this?  Photo Credit

So I spent the morning on the beach, guerilla-tanning because to my naked eye, I still looked Irish as all hell.  Go SPF 30.  I set my phone alarm so I would know when it was time to go check out.  When I went to the check out desk, I ran into Alain the Quebecois taxguy and his friend at the front desk heading out for an excursion.  In the name of keeping what happens in the tropics, in the tropics, I chit chatted, told them I was checking out and wished him a pleasant remainder of his holiday but did not ask for contact info.  He kissed me good bye and wished me well and that was that.

I just shared a rather awkward lunch with an elderly German by the name of Fritz who spoke not a work of English.  After a stilted introduction, we chewed in silence for a good ten minutes.  Upon finishing, I didn't want to just walk away so I said a quick "Guten Tag, Fritz," as it's the only German I know.  "Ah, Danke Shen (sp?)" he replied.
I think I've hit my weirdness threshold for this trip.  - Vacation Journal, 02/04/2011

Yup, the lunch with the elderly German man was an interesting point to the trip.  For the remainder of the day we kind of took it easy, sat on the beach some more, then went back to the plaza for a while as we still had not completed our souvenir shopping.  We spent a good amount of time in one store that was being run by two friendly local girls, one of whom was fascinated with both mine and Kaylee's facial piercings and expressed a wish to get something of her own done.  The music they were playing was killing me, in a good way.. they were playing bossa nova type covers of Guns 'N' Roses songs by an unknown (to me) female singer.  Most other GNR fans might kill me for this, but man, they were AWESOME and I wanted to find out where I could get the CD, because I would have played the hell out of that at home.

I made a mistake in my last post and it was actually the last night while we were waiting for the buffet to open up that we ran into our family from Listowel and had our pictures taken.

About five minutes before the bus for the airport showed up, I realized I didn't have my travel documents in my purse and I pretty much lost my shit.  After rifling through my bags near tears and muttering 'ohshitohshitohshitohshit' I ran like the devil back to the girls' suite and lo and behold there they were, on the kitchen table, so I grabbed them and ran like the devil back to the lobby.

Getting on the bus I struck up conversation with my seatmate, whose name escapes me now, and it struck me how comfortable I got over the week with just talking to strangers.  A week previously I had sat silent and awkward and not talking or making eye contact.  One week later I was telling this guy from Newmarket my life story.

Vacations make you friendly.

I narrowly escaped an awkward three and a half hour plane ride when I misread my boarding pass and sat myself down in row 11, seat H only to discover 10 minutes later that J, one of the young hamilton boys who had been systematically avoiding and/or being vaguely awkward with me since things had gotten a bit hot'n'heavy at the beginning of the trip came and sat down in seat J.  Hoo boy, yes that would only happen to me.  Weird.  However, one of the other guys came up and made the discovery that I was in HIS seat, to which I had to ask "Well, where the hell am I sitting?" to which I replied to myself "Oh, you're sitting another ten rows back, you jackass."

So I suffered 5 or so minutes of awkwardness of looking creepy in exchange for 3 hours of awkwardness sitting one seat away from my holiday booty call.  I'll take looking like an idiot who can't read a boarding pass, thanks.

However, these guys were not to get rid of me so easily, because after the flight, and customs and such I got my stuff and got on the shuttle bus to the Park N Fly, and all bloody twelve of them were on the bus.. and as it turns out, were parked about six spaces away from me.  Oh, and the good news is that my car had maybe 2 cups of snow on it, so there was no digging to be done, which is good because I had a 3 hour drive to Mildmay to embark on so that I could attend the wedding of one of my best friends that day.

That's right, I de-planed, drove out to farm country in the middle of the night and went to a wedding the next day, because I am hard-core like that.  It was a beautiful wedding too, small but very elegant, and pulled together in a very short period of time.  Krys and her new hubby Dean seemed ridiculously happy, and I am happy for them.  Warms this cynical jaded heart of mine.

The restaurant where they had the reception was attached by a small corridor to a sports lounge so after all the family went home, we went to the lounge and in all our wedding finery had some beers and did some karaoke.  I ran into the ex-girlfriend of one of my online friends who lives in the area.  After I introduced myself she rang him up to let him know I was in the area.  Unfortunately our ride ended up leaving before he got there so we were thwarted on meeting in person once again.  Such is life.

Sunday we all went out for breakfast in Walkerton before I headed out to see my Grandma Ruth.  We had a nice visit, then I headed home as I was having dinner at my other friend Tessa's place that night, which was a good time, I met a friend of hers and we've been chatting since.  Tess also packed me leftovers for lunch the next day and it was kick ass.  So all told, I didn't get home until 8:30 sunday night, just in time to have to work Monday.

Okay, phew.  Done.  On to other topics now....

Isla de Encanta - Day Seven - Last night in Puerto Plata

Yup, so apparently the day I flew in did NOT count as one of my days, so my seven day trip actually had eight days.

Author's note:  I had two wisdom teeth extracted yesterday.  I apparently have the healing abilities of friggin' Deadpool because I was able to go to work today and have taken maybe three T3's in the last 36 hours for pain.  Or fun.  Whatever.

Photo Credit

"Hankering for a Spankering."  Heh.

So Thursday morning I got up and hopped on the hotel interwebs once again to try and get a hold of Karen, but with little luck.  After depositing some towels and bags on some beach chairs, I tried calling out, and got a hold of Ryan who informed me that she was on a bus on her way to Puerto Plata as we spoke.  Since we weren't sure where exactly the bus was going to drop her off, I sent out a series of text messages, and eventually figured out that the bus had dropped her off just outside of the Playa Dorada compound.   The three of us set out on foot to find her, which we eventually did, wandering around out near the shopping center. 

Not having seen each other for about 8 months, we did a comedic slow motion Chariots of Fire run at each other as a means of saying "Hi".  As we made our way back to the hotel we decided to hire a cab to take us into Puerto Plata proper for a few hours so we could shop for souvenirs for the kiddies and get some lunch.  Karen negotiated the cab for us.  It was quite a sight to see my very blonde, Irish/scandinavian looking friend speaking fluent Spanish with the cab driver, while negotiating as well as through most of the ride to town.

Note on Dominican traffic.. holy hell am I glad I never followed through with my plan to rent a car to go to Santo Domingo, because drivers there are friggin' NUTS.  I'm pretty sure there's no posted speed limit, and people actually honk to communicate to other drivers, rather than as a mere expression of road rage.  Oh and we saw a couple carrying a barbecue.  On a frickin' MOTORBIKE.  Yeah.

The driver took us to a flea market type place, where we explored the various stalls that mostly had a lot of the same stuff that we had seen in the other flea market, and in the mall and being sold by the wandering beach vendors.  There was one stall that had a lot of potions and powders and voodoo-ish type stuff, including baby dolls hanging from the ceiling with blood-stains (fake or real, I don't know).  It looked kind of like my house at halloween, and I finally understood what some people meant when they said that dead baby dolls were disturbing.

We had lunch at a local restaurant, but still tourist-board approved so as to avoid all that pesky cholera and whatnot.  I attempted to order off the menu in Spanish but probably came off like kind of a dink.  The restaurant had a neat atmosphere.. it appears run down, but when you look closely, the chipped plaster and exposed brick is all painted on.  I had some fried chicken, but the meat portion was huge and I couldn't finish it all.  Over lunch we all got caught up on what had been going on in our lives and Kiki told of her varying adventures in academia abroad.

After lunch we went to a large department store which was basically the Dominican equivalent to Zellers or Wal-Mart.  They had shirts on for super cheap and I thought about adding to the collection, but instead bought a lovely tramp-top to wear out for my last night on the island.  Oddly, the large box store was the only place we went where they would NOT accept U.S. dollars, which I found odd.

We came back to the hotel afterwards but were informed that without paying upwards of 60 bucks for a day pass we wouldn't be able to bring Karen into the hotel.  Fortunately Reynaldo, a friend we made at the hotel informed us of a public access to the beach that we could get to by crossing this huge empty field.  while we were making our way across I kept getting struck with the idea that snipers were going to start shooting at us from nearby buildings.  Weird, I know.

After chilling out on the beach for an hour or two, we walked Karen back to the bus so she could head over to another resort to visit her cousin who was also in the country that week.  We got caught in a rainstorm on the way out, only the second instance of rain we had the whole week (the first being a light mist the day we went on the Runners excursion). 

I may have napped.  I am not sure.  Maybe that was the day before.  We may have gone straight to dinner.  No, no, that's not right.  We ran into our "Family" and insisted on having a family portrait taken, then ran into some of our H-town buddies who would be leaving on the same flight the next day, then we got dressed for dinner one last time at Michaelangelos, and one last awesome canneloni.

After dinner we sat out by the pool bar and attempted to play some cards until the disco opened but we discovered the card pack had two Jacks of spades so our three-handed Euchre game was thwarted and we were left with crazy eights, which gets old fast.  We watched one of the live shows which was pretty cool, and we danced with a couple of the animators, one of which took a shine to K, but would prove to be a giant ass-hat later in the evening.  While at the disco I met up with Alain from Quebec again who invited us to come to Coco Bongo, but at the time it didn't look like we were going to go.  After we started chatting with one of the couples who had been on our excursion, Paul and Katherine, a lovely couple from Quebec as well, said they were going to go check it out, we all changed our minds and decided to go.

At Coco Bongo's K's wee admirer started being a douchehat and had her really upset, to the point where when our Hamilton friends showed up, they were called into do damage control, as this guy had her freaked right out.   They were good guys and helped her out.  Later we told our friend Reynaldo about it, and asked if this was just a cultural thing we didn't pick up on and he pretty much confirmed, "No, that guy's just a dick."  While at the bar I had run into my friend the Quebecker, who after some conversation asked if he could come by my room to say hi.  For reasons unknown I said sure (and no, it actually had little to do with alchohol).  After the awkward situtation with the sketchy douchehat Kaylee and I had gone back to the hotel and talked for quite sometime, so I was surprised when Mindy showed up (she had left the bar earlier due to back issues) and told me that he had been looking for me.  More surprised I was when about half an hour after I got back to my room there was a knock at my door.  So I let him in and we visited (okay, shit, made out) for a bit, before I sent him back to his room.  Hey, the deal was just to say hi.  Amiright?  Yeah, thought so.  Hey, it was my last night there.  Sue me.

Isla De Encanta Day Two. FYI, Canada is cold.

"I swam in the ocean and once again had that lost-in-time feeling.  The ocean water was so calm that for a moment I could have been at home on Georgian Bay, perhaps on the beach at Wasaga.  I ventured into the water that was green under the tropical sun.  When I tasted the salt of the Atlantic, I knew where I was." - Vacation Journal 01-29-11

Saturday morning I woke up to the sunlight streaming into my room and promptly made myself a pot of coffee with the coffee maker provided.  No milk.  Dammit.  No matter, I thought as I wandered towards the breakfast buffet.  I have time to get a coffee and something to eat before the 10am orientation, I thought to myself not realizing that Dominican time is an hour ahead of Eastern Standard time, so rather than an hour, I had roughly two minutes.  No breakfast for me.  We were given a lot of information about various amenities of the resort, some warnings, ie. don't drink the tap water, don't convert your money to Pesos unless you plan to spend all of it, because the banks won't take those back, no way.

By the time orientation was over, I had missed breakfast.  No breakfast, no coffee.  I was not off to a good start.  I went to guest services to book one of our a la carte meals for the next night, as it was Kaylee's birthday. The guest services woman was an unholy bitch who instructed me to go to the front desk if I wanted to order a cake.  Front Desk told me I had to go to Guest Services who told me to go to the front desk.  No food, no coffee and I am dealing with the most unfriendly woman on the planet.  I lost my shit and was like "Seriously, can I not just get a frickin' cake for my friend?  For the love of God and all that is holy!."  We got it all sorted out but not without some tears of frustration on my end.

Starving, I bought some three dollar Pringles in the gift shop (yeah, I'm talking the single-serving can, not the full-stack) and headed to the pool with my book to kill some time and read.  This past summer marked the first time since I was roughly 16 that I have dared to don a bikini.  I was kind of nervous heading out (as I mentioned in my previous post, I was unable to find a decent one-piece) but all told, the trip did a lot of good in the name of my own personal body acceptance.  Were there a lot of people who looked a hell of a lot better than I did?  Yeah, I suppose so.  People whose stomachs haven't been ravaged by carrying two children.  At any rate, I was surprised at my own comfort level.  I didn't feel like people were staring at me going 'What is she thinking??'

Okay, I felt like ONE person did that, but she looked like kind of a bitch anyway.

"I've met some people.  Hoorah! I'm not completely socially retarded!" - Vacation Journal 01-29-11

There should be more bars that you can swim to.  For real.  The Swim-Up bar allowed me my first opportunity for meeting and talking to people.  It was there that I met Joe and Bruce from Long Island, who broke the ice with "Don't worry, I'm buying." Incredibly witty in the context of an all-inclusive, don't you think?  Nah, they were all right.  They played a guessing game at my age, and then commented on the vast number of Canadians in the Dominican.  I explained to them "It's frickin' cold.  We don't want to be there."

Here I also made the acquaintance of a number of the young gentlemen that had boarded the plane the previous day.  One of them called me out on my little piece of home, the Tim Hortons traveller I was using to carry my drinks in.  The plastic cups they pour your drinks in at the bar are little better than glorified shot glasses, so bringing a traveller means less waste and less trips to the bar.  And if you have a nice one, your drink stays cold.  I ran out of conversation quickly though, so after a quick water aerobics class I went and changed for dinner, hit the buffet and then killed some time until Kaylee and Mindy's bus from the airport was due to arrive.

About this time I started missing my guitar and really wished I had packed as my carry-on, since the thought of sitting on the beach and playing some tunes was sounding not only like a great way to relax, but I have always found it to be quite the icebreaker.  There was a beach party after dark and I got up the guts to volunteer for a competition for best reggaeton dancer.  It was fun and embarrassing.  I came in third and got a lot of compliments over the next day or two.

Finally Kaylee and Mindy got there.  Our rooms were messed up but we couldn't really do anything about it until the next day.  We were supposed to have adjoining, ocean-view rooms, theirs a double occupancy, mine a single.  I got a single occupancy, with the slightest view of the ocean and they got a room with a double bed.  On the opposite side of the hotel.  Anyway they got there, unpacked their bags and our game faces were ON!

Coco Bongo in the daytime

We hit the hotel discotheque and met up with our buddies from the plane, who were a fun bunch of guys.  We heard of another dance club just outside of the hotel by the name of Coco Bongo so after the hotel disco closed we headed out that way.  I ended up sharing a drink on the patio with one of the Ontario boys until we decided to walk back to the hotel.  This confused the hell out of the girls, as this guy had a twin who showed up after.. so they're all "Um.. where's Andie?" and he's all "Who?"  Yeah.  Awkward but funny. 

During the walk back to the hotel, J. and I got horrendously lost and ended up going full circle, right back to where we started.  It ended up being a long walk back to the hotel.  The second trip around afforded me the chance during a bathroom run to check out a pretty cool looking rock club I hadn't noticed before.  Sadly I never got to check out more than the bathroom at this particular establishment, and they never had any live music during the week.

I got woken up at roughly 5am by drunken silly giggles and banging at my door.

"What are you dooooing???"
"Hellooooooo!!??"
"Who's there???"
"Hoooussssekeeeeepinggggg!!!"

With one of the other ontario boys in tow, the girls decided to pay me a visit and wake my ass up.  I'm sure my neighboring guests LOVED that.  The whole scene was pretty funny though, once i got my friggin' pajamas on.

Isla de Encanta - Day one

"Arriving in a foreign country by the dark of night is a disconcerting experience.  It's as if no time, no space has passed.  As we taxied to a stop over ground that glittered like snow I laboured under the delusion that we had not moved at all, we'd merely been hovering for the last four hours only to land where we started." - Vacation journal 01/28/11

Well as promised, over the next few days I'm going to give a run down of the happenings of my trip to the Dominican with two of my besties.  I should just interject here that although I use the word 'Bestie' I invariably want to punch myself in the face when I do.  Yet, I insist on using this term.  That, dear folks, is friendship. 

Having dropped my ladies off to school in the morning last Friday I decided a haircut and an eyebrow wax were in order before I left for the airport.  My flight was leaving at 4:30, which meant to get to the airport for the recommended three hours previous, I had a good four-hour window in which to make an hour-and-a-drive to Pearson International.  Needless to say, I was leisurely.

One Eyebrow wax, One haircut and a last-ditch, failed attempt to find a reasonably priced, attractive one piece swimsuit in the dead of winter later I was on my way, this time managing to not get too lost on the way to the airport.  After getting my luggage checked and making my way through security I tried texting my friend Jay, a self-described baggage monkey for the airline we were taking, to see if he wanted to hook up for a coffee since it'd been a good two years since I've seen the guy.  I got a response to my text this past Saturday morning.  Such is life.  So not to be thwarted, I started looking around for the special lounge that they were promoting but trying to find the lounge in such a huge airport is a little like trying to make your way through Hogwart's.  So I eventually gave up, and wandered some bookstores before getting a rather delicious fish and chip meal from one of the restaurants.

Does no one outside of specialty shops actually sell comic books anymore?  I found myself really craving a good one to read but none of the magazine shops had any.  Lame.

After eating I made my way to my gate, and killed some time people watching.  As I observed the folks lining up for my flight, I texted Kaylee and Mindy:

There's about a dozen 20-something guys getting on my flight to Puerto Plata.  This is going to be a good vacation.

The film playing on the flight was Eat Pray Love, which was ironic in a way, although in retrospect, mine would be more like "Eat, Drink, Lust".  Not a whole lot of prayer involved.  Except maybe negotiating the Dominican traffic on our day trips, but that's another story for another day.

"The airport is dark and the air is fragrant.  Although the night is cool there is a humidity that sneaks under my jeans within minutes, rendering them heavy and oppressive.  I am still wearing my winter boots." - Vacation Journal 01-28-11

 I felt awkward on the bus to the resort from the airport.  At this time, I was there by myself as due to previous engagements I had left a day earlier so I could depart a day earlier.  By the time I got to the hotel and settled into my room I only wanted to have a bath and go to bed.  Vacation could start the next morning.  This meant I missed out on karaoke, which was unfortunate, but at that point I had not quite reached the comfort level to venture out by myself. I would wait until daylight.

**************************************************

Okay, now THIS pisses me off...

Via Matthew Good's Facebook page

Oh Noes!! A Couple and their CHILD!!  AVERT YOUR EYES, SINNERS!!

Mr. Good's caption on the photo:

Harps grocery store in Arkansas put a "family shield" over the recent cover of US Weekly because, well, little kids might have to look at two gay men and their child. And you know what that leads to - dancing, drugs, and teen pregnancy. Oh, and being gay.

Are you friggin' kidding me, Harps of Arkansas? 

I wish our grocery store would put a Family Shield over Kim Kardawhoserface or the short broad with the big hair from Jersey Shore, because they sure as hell offend MY sensibilities and I don't want my young shoppers subjected to THAT.  However, I'm pretty okay with a picture of a couple with a baby.

Holy crap, people.

I don't know if you think you're being cute or condenscending..

... but whatever it is, just stop.

Backstory:  my online dating profile includes the same picture I use here, the one with me and my guitar.  My Photobooth program flips pictures so they're mirror-images.  Things appear backwards.

I get this email this morning from some 'dude' (guitarplaya - age 38).

I don't mean to alarm you but you are holding your guitar upside down (in your pic). Its nothing to be terribly concerned about and easily rectified if you follow these simple steps.
1. grab the guitar neck with your left hand.
2. place the body of the guitar an your right thigh.
Now your ready to play properly.

My response:

Orrrrr.... I could take the Auto-flip function off my Photobooth program. (or I could be playing left-handed with strings reversed.. aha!)

But thanks for the tip.

Is it me or does this smack of 'Aww wook at the widdle gurl.  Her thinks her knows guitarz'.  Maybe it's early and I haven't had enough coffee, but I've been playing for seventeen years. Fuck off.

Photo Credit

Dating sites make me cry - or - the ironing is delicious.

Online dating sites can be a veritable cesspool of hypocrisy. I'm laughing at some of the stuff I'm finding. (all emphasis added is mine)

From ryanord, age 25:

We won't mesh if:
Your dumb
boring
picky eater

From forever_mann, age 39:

And one last thingy. I'm gonna call the Cops on the next woman who tries to trick me with fake, old or really far away pics, that crap should be a criminal offence!

 ...says the guy with a single pic, head down, baseball cap covering face.

This made me weep for the state of the education system, and our future health care system.  From Treys_song, age 26 Profession - Medical Student:

U can call me a geek or watever..but hey do u not want ur doctor to not know his shit? exactly haha

Oh hell no.  I want my doctor to be able to fucking SPELL.

I kind of wish I didn't think it would be incredibly mean to post some pics, because some of them are hilarious.  Like the tattoo kid, who asks why girls don't like guys with a lot of tattoos?  It really needs the picture with it to get the full humour.

I'm going to add for some unknown reason it really irks me when people list tattoos and piercings as an interest.   It's not that I'm against body modification, I've got one facial piercing and one tattoo with another planned.  I just don't get how it's an interest.  To me it's like saying hair dye is an interest.  Or pants are an interest.  Like, when does it go from simple adornment to an actual interest?  When you start doing it yourself?  When you start researching artists and piercers throughout history?  I don't know.  Maybe someone can enlighten me.

At any rate, I don't quite have the balls to go so far as to post pics.  I feel like I'd be crossing a line.  Maybe if my GIMP program didn't take so long to boot up and do, well, anything I could block out people's eyes and stuff.  But I'll just stick to foot-in-mouth disease.

It's a little one-sided I know.  I used to have a guy-friend who would critique profiles for me, and I for him and man, we'd find some doozies.  We're still friends, we just don't critique for each other much anymore.

Does anyone else have some really bad dating site examples?  Add them to the comments and if I really like them, I'll add them to the post.

On 'Schrodinger's Rapist' and the Culture of Fear.

This is not going to be a fun-filled post, so if you're looking for something fun and fluffy today, well, there's some nice menu's that will direct you to some of my other posts.

I was talking to a friend of mine about the video I posted in my New Year's post about 'How to Be Alone'.  I'm sure many of you have seen this one, it was pretty popular this year.  Anyway, we were discussing the difficulties of being a male by yourself in public versus being female by yourself in public.. namely the difficulty of being perceived as the 'creepy would-be rapist' versus the difficulty of having to be on the lookout for the 'creepy would-be rapist'.

So it struck me funny that I would come across this article on Schrodinger's Rapist (aka'd as 'A Guy's Guide to Approaching Women without getting maced') via April's year end round-up at Ethecofem.  Well, I kind of found it through the year-end round up via April's critique of the original article, which I'll get to.  Anyway, it struck me funny, because it nicely explained my argument of the risk women run being in public alone.

Although I also recommend reading the article in full, I'll give you the gist of it.  Big Bang Theory fans will know this from season one, but anyway, the concept is based after the Schrodinger's Cat experiment.  Long story short, scientist puts cat in a box with a vial of poison that will break open at any given time.  While in the box, the cat can be considered both alive and dead, since we don't know which it is.  However once the box is open, it can only be one or the other.  Starling's article applies this to the perception of a stranger in a public place (or a party or anywhere really) as a way to explain to guys who, for the most part are probably well-intentioned and only interested in striking up conversation.  However, the article points out, we as women out alone in public do not know what your intentions are, and until they become clear, you can be considered Schrodingers Rapist - that is to say, you both are a potential non-rapist and a potential rapist. 

I'll point out here that the fallacy in this metaphor is that in Schrodingers original experiment, once the box is opened the cat is obviously alive or dead.  However, in this application, taking into consideration that most rape and assault is committed by someone close to the victim, our metaphorical box is only opened once the person in question has been exposed as a rapist.  As long as they haven't raped or assaulted anyone they're still metaphorically 'in the box'  which is pretty fucking depressing, for men and women alike.  No really, it is. 

Now, I don't believe that Starling's article was meant to imply that this is how all women think when they are out in public.  At least, I sure hope not, because I know I don't... well, all the time.   I think it's offered as more of an explanation as to why some women may not be comfortable or impressed with what may be a guy's totally innocent compliment or attempt at conversation.  And although you may be a nice guy with good intentions, we don't know that.   Simple as that.  As Starling states, some people's risk threshold are higher than others.. Me, I'm one of those girls with a low risk factor.  This is probably due to the fact that *knock wood* I haven't found myself violated after being in a high-risk situation.  Some women have experienced assault, and as such, they have a no-risk threshold. 

Now, one may counter this with 'Well, I don't know if a girl's had a traumatic past...' and I'd be inclined to agree, that no, it's not up to you to know if someone has had past trauma.  But it is up to you to read cues (as mentioned in Starling's article) and know when to back-off.  Because I agree, when you ignore the 'please leave me alone' cues and continue to press for attention, you cross that line from well-intentioned friendly dude to pain-in-the-ass-douchebag to potential threat.

The downside of this article, as April argues, is that it does tend to paint this picture that all men are potential rapists, when that is simply not the case.  Let's take into consideration the rather dire stat given that 1 in 60 men will have committed sexual assault in some form in their lifetime.  Pretty fucking depressing, isn't it?  If you have trouble wrapping your head around that statistic, keep in mind that this isn't limited to the stranger-in-a-dark-alley trope... this includes date rape, coercion, having sex with someone who has limited capacity to consent (so drugs, alchohol.. even 'Hey, my girlfriend is sleeping.. now's a good time') .. basically, any sexual activity without explicit consent.

Here's the good news:  That mean's that for every potential threat, there's roughly 59 well intentioned friendly dudes' out there.  Hooray for the good guys!! 

Here's more bad news:  Sometimes it's pretty fucking hard to tell the difference, until it's too late.  And if someone has been a victim of assault before, sure as shit, they're going to have their guard up in certain situations. 

Myself, as a girl who has walked home alone late at night many a time, walked through the brush with my headphones on, occasionally forgotten to lock my door at night, flirted with guys at bars, met people I had only talked to online and *gasp* even consumed alcohol in the presence of (only) the opposite sex, all without incident, well admittedly, my risk threshold is pretty high. But every so often my spidey sense gets a tingling and I know I've stepped into a potentially volatile situation.

I once chatted online for a period of time with a guy I had met on a dating site.  One day we were talking about meeting, and I mentioned that I would like to meet for coffee because I wasn't comfortable meeting someone for the first time in my own home.  Like, shit man, I have kids to think about.   This guy got his panties in a bunch which both pissed me off, and freaked me out.  It worried me, because it seemed like such a little thing to get so agitated over, and it pissed me off because it was like "Sorry man, your hurt feelings DO NOT trump my personal safety."  I made the decision then and there not to meet with the guy and it took a few more conversations consisting of how unfair I was being and how unreasonable and how I had led him on etc before I said enough I just stopped answering the phone.   Because in my mind, at that point, he became a threat to me, the threat having been communicated through a sheer lack of regard for my personal boundaries.

And this is where I think Starling is coming from... If you ignore the 'Please leave me alone' cues, you become 'that guy'.  The guy who thinks that his desire to interact trumps a stranger's desire to be left alone.  I will however, agree with April that its unrealistic to say never approach a woman unless she's for sure open to being approached.  Some of us would like to be approached.  I know I would, once in a while.  But if you approach a girl, and she's giving off the 'please go away' vibe, then take the hint.. or you become 'that guy'.  Because let's face it.. it's 'those guys' that fuck up dating and trying to meet people or trying at all to negotiate any type of friendly/professional/romantic relationship with the opposite sex.  They fuck it up for women, who have to be on their guard and they fuck it up for other men, because now women see well intentioned friendly dudes as potential threats.  Way to go, That Guy.