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.

An open letter to the guy who insulted me as I went for breakfast.

Dear Asshole,

Today I got up and went for breakfast. The man friend was not up for it, so I decided to take a book for company instead. Seeing as it was a lovely, sunny, brisk morning I decided to walk to the restaurant. It seemed like it could shape up to be a decent day.

Thanks and a hearty "Fuck You" for ruining it.

As I was entering the front door of our local dining establishment, you and your probably equally douchey friend were coming out. I guess my appearance caught you eye because you felt compelled to exclaim "Wow! Holy fucking teeth!" at me.

For those who may not have seen pictures, I have prominent front teeth and a bit of an overbite. I know this, because assholes and dentists have insisted on pointing this out to me pretty much since my adult teeth came in. I'm 32 years old. It's nothing I haven't heard before. Doesn't mean it doesn't feel just as shitty now as it did when I was a kid.

So, thanks a lot for reducing me to feeling a goddamned awkward twelve-year-old and making me feel ugly and insecure once what you had said registered.

And then.. And THEN, you had the audacity to look outraged when, realizing that I had just been insulted to my fucking FACE, I turned around and told you to fuck off. Like I was the asshole here.

My apologies to any diners who were within earshot of that, by the way.

Believe me, that was the least you deserved for not keeping your bloody comments to yourself. A full-on public shaming would have been fitting so you could have felt as humiliated as I did at that moment, but unfortunately I'm not verbally eloquent when I'm upset. Hence why I blog.

So fuck you for making me feel like shit about myself when I was just minding my own business, enjoying my Saturday. Fuck you for the fact that I was just a little scared about walking home after breakfast, in case you and your friend decided I needed to be put in my place for speaking up. And fuck you for the good possibility that had the man friend been with me, you probably wouldn't have said shit because I'm pretty sure that's precisely the kind of cowardly piece of excrement you are.

I hope a large piece of frozen airplane toilet water crushes you from a great height.

The thing about 'But'

It's been pointed out on the internet umpteen times, but I just feel the need to reiterate.. if you find yourself making a statement, then adding a 'but' or 'however' you may just end up completely discrediting your original statement and revealing a lot more about how you think.

Examples:

"I'm not racist but I really think Native people need to get over it already."
=
"Actually, I kind of am."

"I'm not homophobic, but I just wish they wouldn't flaunt it everywhere."
=
"Actually, I kind of am"

"Of course rape is wrong, but maybe she should have not sent out so many 'mixed signals'/been walking out alone/let that guy buy her a drink/been alone with that guy/drank so much"
=
"I actually think there are times when rape is justified. "

"Of course those cops shouldn't have beat that guy up, but if he didn't have anything to hide, why would he not give them his name?"
=
"Although I will say cops beating civillians is wrong, it's actually pretty normal and to be expected when someone doesn't submit to authority"

If you find yourself saying but after similar statements ("I'm not sexist, but.." "I'm pro-choice, but..." and even examples like "I'm no feminist, but {insert pro-feminist statement about gender equality here}" take a long hard pause and think about whether your following statement is going to discredit your opening.

If you don't have anything nice to say, STFU and go order your coffee.

People amaze me with their ignorance sometimes.

As you may be able to tell from my display picture, my hair is currently a shade of pinkish red not usually found in nature. Originally part of a Halloween costume, I decided I liked this look and would keep it for a while.

Needless to say, reviews have been mixed, and I totally accept that.

The other day however, my friend Tess and I were sitting in the timmie's downstairs from work and a woman i know, who shall remain nameless, came in and lined up. I said hi, and the following conversation ensued:

Her: what did you do to your hair? (I've kind of gotten used to this line of questioning)
Me: I stuck my finger in a socket
Her: that wouldn't turn your hair... Well, what do you call that color?
Me: I call it "I used to be red but I have showered many times since then"
Her: ugh.. You need to dye it back.
Me: I dunno. I like it.
Her: (in what i'm guessing was an attempt at humor) yeah but what you want doesn't matter, other people still have to look at it
Me: yeah I'm not particularly concerned with other people.. Haha. Like I said, I like it.
Her: really, though, it doesn't look good.

At this point I shrug and go back to my conversation with Tess.

When I posted about the incident on Facebook I got a whole lot of support and compliments, which was awesome and sweet, but missed the point, which was "who the hell asked?"
Like I said, i'm totally cognizant that this particular aesthetic choice is not to be everybody's cup of tea. I've recieved my fair share of backhanded compliments ("well, you're still very pretty") from people who don't get that I did this on purpose. I would think, though, that unless it has been solicited, so-called constructive criticism should be kept to oneself.

I mean, how many times should someone have to say "well, I like it" before they take the hint and drop it. My own dumbfoundedness at the gall and my generally sweet nature prevented me from getting really nasty, which maybe I should have. Hell, even my grandma only got to make so many comments before I finally said "listen lady, if you don't let it go, then next time I see you, it's going to be Green.". And I LOVE my grandma.

If I ask someone's opinion, then I expect an honest response. Otherwise, don't rain on my fuckin' parade.

It's pretty basic Kindergarten 101 stuff: if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all.

12 bars at closing time.

Source

plink plunk.

I think I'd like to be the world's greatest lady blues guitarist and it occurs to me that maybe I am.  If there are others before me, their names have been lost to history.  Maybe I just need to read more.

There's a pattern here, there's a pattern and a structure only decipherable when the pattern breaks and the sour note stabs, making me curse these befuddled digits.  Thinking of playing until my fingers bleed, but it never happens, not really.

Once I did dip my fingertips into ice water, until the numbness allowed me to go on.

plink plunk.

I need to not be drawn in by the urge to check up on those from my past, through the tempting rabbit hole that is social media, it only creates more questions than it answers.  My ego makes up stories, scenarios that are likely as detached from reality as one can get.

But sometimes it's nice to pretend.  I like to think it's all about me.

Through the looking glass, I wonder if someone pointed out the mistake.  Did they bring it to the surface?  Did it leave a scar, a vicious red x on your psyche?

Did you shake your head, cover your ears?

Ehh.

It's probably not about me, anyway.

I have a song, but I didn't write it.  Someone else's words are all I have to describe my experience.  I've tried to put them as my own but it all comes out a plagiarism, so I am left only to paraphrase.

These words are mine, here.  Put them to what melody you may.

The melody is not mine.

Ugh, excuse me whilst I rant a moment...

I was just going through emails for work, so I don't have a metric fuckton to go through tomorrow morning, and I gotta say, sometimes people disgust me.

Whatever happened to professionalism?  Seriously?

I'm not even talking about bad spelling and worse grammar.

I'm talking about swearing in supposedly professional correspondence.   When did this become acceptable?  Oh wait, that's right.. IT DIDN'T.

Okay, so the site I work for has a number of newsletters that go out.  When someone signs up, they have the option of opting out of them.  It's right there on the registration page, and frankly, if you're too damn lazy to make sure all your boxes are unchecked, than you deserve to have your shit spammed.

Occasionally we get an an email requesting to be manually unsubscribed, if the unsubscribe function is not working.  Mostly they are polite, some have an air of desperation ("Please, sir, make the emails stop!").

Tonight I received an email from the CEO of what I can assume is some kind of fish processing company that simply stated:

Stop sending fucking emails , you are wasting my time.

 Wow.

I have a filthy mouth with the best of them, but really?  You're sending this out into cyberspace, to others in your industry, with your name and your company name?

That's just not good business sense.

I have a file I keep at work for dealing with really difficult customers.  Basically I write out the things I'd really like to say, so I can then move on and write the nice, professional, non-snarky, non-sarcastic response.  I make sure to write my imaginary responses in Word so I don't ever accidentally send one off to the customer.  Pretty S.M.R.T, no?

Dear Sir,


We have removed you from the mailing list.  Please accept our apologies for assuming that when you signed up for fifteen different newsletters that you might actually want to receive the newsletters.  In retrospect, I guess that's pretty darn silly.  We'll stop sending you fucking emails now.  Good luck in the fish business, by the way.

Signed,
The Helpdesk.

This is one of the more pleasant ones.  I'd almost consider sending this, minus the second last sentence, because then I'd just be a hypocrite.  But I probably won't.

All I want for Christmas is to be an Internet Meme

I feel so used.

This morning, as I read my email, I was on top of the world.  I had been notified that I was being followed by Joel Plaskett, of the Joel Plaskett Emergency on my Twitter account.  Oh what bliss.  I went to look at my followers, but he was nowhere to be found.  Crushed I realized I had been Twitted and dumped. 

Wham bam, thank you, Twit.

I've embarked on a campaign to win my way back into Mr. Plaskett's good graces, but I need help.  I've created the hashtag #comebackjoelplaskett and I'm asking everyone to post a tweet, linked to @jplaskett with said hashtag. 

What do you get out of this?  Admittedly, not much.   You get to kill some time, and add some content to your own Twitter feeds.  You may also get to be part of what could potentially be the greatest internet meme since.. well.. That friggin' dancing Hamster.   Or it could simply be a time-killer perpetuated by a girl stuck working at home with pinkeye.  But what do you have to lose?

Don't be a tease, Joel.

This post is like me. Short and sweet.

So I'm doing a Facebook 30-day photo challenge and day 19 is a photo and a letter.  I enjoyed writing this so much I thought it'd make a fun blog post.

Dear Owner of this ginormous White Pickup Truck.

You don't know me. I don't know you. But I feel it is my duty as a fellow human being to let you know.. there is no more blatant way to advertise yourself as a douchebag redneck of epic proportion than to hang a pair of artificial testicles from the back of your giant redneck-mobile.

I can't even begin to describe all the different negative stereotypes that flood my brain when I see this kind of dumbassery. Uneducated, backwards, mysogynist, whiskey-swilling, wife-beating, date-rapin' sumbitch. Now, you may not be ANY of these things. But when you choose to hang a ballsack from the back of your truck, this is the impression that you are giving to at least ONE person, if not everyone.

Is that what you really want to project to those around you? I ask, because I care. And because everytime I see this, some small part of me wants to key your vehicle, just for fun.

Sincerely,
A concerned bystander.

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

I'm frustrated right now, because part of me wants to paint, and another part wants to sleep.  I had such a horrible time waking up this morning.  It's winter at work.  I hit the snooze button 4,693 times it seemed, each time cursing it, cursing the snow, the cold, and just wanting to snuggle up inside my duvet and sleep.  It's still dark, frchristssake. Getting up without an alarm is such a luxury.

I haven't painted or made anything in a bit.  I'm feeling creative, but bogged down with just too much to do.  I'm not even in the holiday spirit.  This isn't my usual 'Bah Humbug' not-in-the-spirit type thing.  It just feels like an afterthought this year.  Like, 'Oh, yeah.  Christmas.  Right, I should get on that.'  I don't have my lights up or anything.  Just haven't really thought about it much.  

I'm determined to make some time for painting or something this weekend.  Just because.

God help us all..

Dear Buyer,

When an email from a seller says 'Smartphone Sent', it indicates that the email has been sent from a Smartphone.

It does NOT mean that he is sending you a Smartphone.

Relax, already.

Sincerely,
The HelpDesk.

Opportunities lost

A couple of things I really wanted to say to people at the bar tonight, but didn't, but should have.

To the two girls whose 'dresses' and I use the term loosely, were barely covering them, cause me to be traumatized at least once: "I don't mean to alarm you, but it appears you may have forgotten your pants."

To the crazy-air-guitar-alternating-with-both-arms-raised drunk dude: "Hey, I can guess that you're drunk and probably trying to get laid. It's not working. You're cute but you need to work on your game. Seriously, in the name of avoiding future embarassment, learn about personal space."

The Friendship Divorce

Ending a long-term friendship of 18 years is like going through a divorce.

The finger-pointing and claims of who has sacrificed what for who, and who has wronged who.

Looking at pictures and feeling both sad and angry at the same time.

Other mutual friends don't quite know how to act.  If you even tell them at all.

Questioning what happened to the person you once knew, and loathing this new person they have become.  Wondering when you started to notice the change.  Thinking maybe you never knew them at all.

Questioning yourself. Maybe every hurtful thing they say is true.

What of the children?  They lose, too.

The kicker is, I didn't even get to wear a pretty dress for a day.  Eff this.

A woman like that'd make you forget about Hiroshima

.. that's a line from a Kids in the Hall sketch I've had rolling around in my head since watching the Pilot episode on DVD the other night.  It's from the 'Guys on Break' sketch, which is basically about three guys who ogle women walking by and talk about all the things they'd like to do to them, only it's stuff like how they'd like to take them out to dinner or help them work out their issues with their ex in a bistro ("He was a bastard to ya! More Coffee More Coffee More Coffee!").  It's a work of comedic genius, really.



Anyway, that line has been stuck in my head for about a week now.  I think I'd like it if someone were to describe me as such.  I'm not particularly sure what it means, but it sounds cool.  Like someone who makes an impact.  A huge one.

*sigh*

This week has been a hard one.  I've been on the outs with one of my oldest dearest friends, and more and more it's looking like we're not going to be able to talk for a while.  I'm sad about this, and at the same time I'm indignant.  It's all different perspectives, but for me, what it comes down to is my feeling that my decisions are my own, and that while I don't require my friends to like what I do, they should respect them.  There is a short list of people I feel accountable to.. it mainly consists of my children, the law (within reason) and my own conscience.  My conscience is clean, I try to live my life as best as I can without hurting people around me. Those who have not walked a mile in my shoes need not pass down judgement.

That's all I'll say on the subject because despite the fact that this blog is my forum to vent, I still try to respect the privacy of others.


and now for something completely different...

I got the coolest captcha when commenting on a post at The Sassy Curmudgeon.


I think I want to try and work this into my vocabulary, because it sounds badass.. Rextro.  What do you think it means?  Something old, kitchy,. and badass.

Yeah.  And somewhat related, I watched Airheads this weekend, and I continue to have a dirty crush on Steve Buscemi's character, who happens to be named Rex, and happens to be pretty badass.

You get what you pay for. Effin' dollar stores.

Dear Dollarama,

Your freezer bags are absolute shit.  Because they are shit, I have three meals worth of spaghetti sauce.. DAMN FINE SPAGHETTI SAUCE, I might add, sitting at the bottom of my freezer, waiting to be cleaned up.  I've never had this issue with Ziploc so I can only assume that you guys just suck.

Thank Christ you people don't make silicone breast implants or there'd be a lot of dead porn stars out there.

Isn't this just fucking lovely

I miss my friend.

And it saddens me greatly.

But it also pisses me off, because as grown-ups I'd like to think we've evolved beyond the silent treatment.

But then again, we probably should have evolved past passive-aggressive blogging.

If you're reading this, I'm ready to talk when you are.

People make me sad.

Customer: I'd like to get a price on a piece of equipment on your site.

Me: Do you have the ad number?

Customer: Ad number?

Me: Yes.

Customer: Uhm. I have an A.D. number.

Me: Yes sir. That would be the ad number.

*head desk*

While we're at it.. when did saying Good-bye on the phone become passe?

Come on, people (especially people on cell phones, because there is no audible 'click' to tell you that you've been hung up on) throw me a friggin' bone and say something, anything, definitive to let me know you're hanging up, so I don't sit there on the phone like a jackass because I don't want to inadvertantly hang up on YOU.

How to reserve your own spot in hell

I've been accused of having a sick sense of humour. I plead guilty. Roughly six-hundred and seventy-three times a day I think or say things that initially make me giggle, then consecutively make me realize what an awful, horrible person I am and that if there is a Hell, I've probably got my own personal space reserved, complete with velvet rope and disco ball.

There are a small handful of friends who only serve to aggravate this predilection for completely inappropriate humour. You know who you are.

Some of the completely inappropriate things I joke about regularly:

• Smack Abuse - this is a bad one, if only because beyond numerous viewings of Trainspotting, I really have had no exposure to the horrors of heroin addiction.
• Beating small children - before people freak out, my kids find this more amusing than ANYONE so that's gotta tell you something.


• Non-violent, yet arguably non-consensual sex, especially involving alchohol and narcotics


• Punching people in the face


• The fear that my eldest child will choose 'exotic dancer' as a career path (In my defense, I don't joke about this in her presence.. I don't want her getting any ideas.)

I guess I'm just not a good person.

So much for clever.

When I left the note I wanted to write
"So long, and thanks for all the fish"
It seemed like something clever to say.

I didn't know if you would get it.
When I remembered that you'd read it
It was too late to go back, anyway.

well that was short-lived.

Things were amazing such a short time ago. Here I am on my own again. It hurts. A lot. Had I known it would be the last time, I would have said more. I would have savored the last kiss, the last time we made love. I would have tried to make a point of remembering every last detail.

My eyes are surprisingly dry. There are tears, but not the torrents that are usually my way. Perhaps I knew it was coming, despite hoping against hope that the clock was not running out on us. My main regret are my own actions which pushed up the date of our inevitable parting.

I really sincerely hoped that I could have been enough for you. A reason to stay. Maybe I hoped too high.

*sigh*


Are there no blinders on lights that glare
White noise on the eyes
From gas station lights and reflected ice glare
So that i can walk home by moonlight
Alone

Or can we go out to where the wind howls and stand to lean up against the trees
They've grown up so tall that you can't see the house
It's a fortress now but you know how it used to be
I can lie to myself
And say i like it
But i would love it if you were here

These words on paper smell like you
Associated in random thought
On my lips the words turn blue
Evidence i'm feeling lost
I can lie to myself
And say i like it
But i would love it if you were here
I'm just sad for myself
Cause i know you're clear
But i would love it if you were here

I can just see you show me your garden
I thought you'd grow roses and grapes on low vines
I wanted to know you when we were both older
I thought there'd be more of those wonderful times
I can lie to myself
And say i like it
But i would love it if you were here
I'm just sad for myself
Cause i know you're clear
But i would love it if you were here
You were here
Yes you were
Yes you were

- copyright, Sarah Harmer

M is for misfit

Think back.

Do you remember being in grade school, and one of the cool kids was having a birthday, and you knew it was coming?

Then about a week before, she comes to school with a stack of invitations, dropping one on each desk with a smile, but when she passes your desk, she just kind of walks by without a word.

That's how i feel, right now. Awkward. Invisible. Like third grade.

An Open Letter to the Idiot who cut me off as I tried to merge onto Hwy 12 this morning...

Dear Douchebag,

Hi there.

You don't know me, but this morning as i was coming up the ramp to get onto Highway 12, you and your giant hideous red pick-up truck came up out of nowhere behind me and effectively cut me off as I was trying to merge. I had barely time to put my blinker on before you came careening out of nowhere. Had I seen you a second later, me, my car, and my children would probably have been, to use insurance terms, a 'write-off'.

Did I mention there were children in the car? Yes. Two of them. I like them, they're rather precious to me, and I prefer that they not be maimed or killed because of some asshat that doesn't believe that the first person on the ramp should be the first person on the highway.

I wonder if the guy in the white car that was coming up behind us (oh, yeah, the one I SAW, but apparently YOU didn't) was shitting his pants as you zoomed into his lane as though your pregnant wife was crowning in the passenger seat. I know I was. You may have heard the honking meant to express my dismay.

I'm not sure if maybe the giant truck and overly aggressive driving style is your way of maybe over-compensating for erectile dysfunction issues or some latent homosexual tendencies that you're just not ready to come to grips with, but I suspect this may be the case. The big exhaust pipes coming up the back? Pretty Phallic, if you ask me.

Just sayin'

Anyway, my advice is this: Find a guy, find some little blue pills, and do some experimenting. Hell, it's the 21st century, we're not here to judge. Stop putting people's lives in danger. In with the love, out with the jive. Next time, when you're out pretending you're Jacques freakin' Villenueve at a monster truck rally, remember that you live in a very small town, with a VERY recognizable vehicle. Keep that in mind.

P.S. To the other idiot who almost killed me this morning; You do NOT have an advanced green, so you must wait to make your left turn. I go straight, thus I go first. Asshat.