On Naming Pets

   Day: yesterday. Time: post-dinner food coma time. On TV: The six o'clock news.
   Picture this: A story is featured about a little lost dog. The dog is small and of a longhaired breed, the golden variety. Via the aid of some kind souls in the community the dog finds his way back to his masters. Truly heartwarming, you feel for the little lost dog and his sad owner UNTIL you are informed that the dog's name is Tiny Tank.
   Who the fuck names their dog Tiny Tank? Animals with people names can be charming and cute, but I draw the line at animals with thing names. I take the dog's name to mean that he is powerful despite his size, but do you really need the name to remind you of that? If the dog truly is a small, tracked, armoured fighting vehicle then I'm sure anyone who encounters him will realize this therefore it does not need to be explicitly stated in his name.
   Another gruesome thought has now just crossed my mind. Is Tiny Tank a girl or a boy? I don't think any living female, mammal or amphibian, relishes the idea of being compared to a tank engine, regardless of the honourable qualities associated with it. But then I was thinking of nicknames, and the dog probably goes by Tiny in its home. I can't imagine the owners use its full name all the time, and I'm assuming they're on a first name basis (no need for Mr./Ms. Tank). But a boy dog affectionately referred to as Tiny doesn't seem to fit quite right either, although maybe I'm thinking too black and white in terms of gender stereotypes.
   Or perhaps this is what the owners of Tiny Tank wanted all along; an educated discussion of the gender norms in our society. Yes, I think that even the whole missing dog story was a ploy to capture the public's attention. How clever Mr. and Mrs. Tank Sr. are! I have had a change of heart and would now suggest that we all start naming our animals strange thing names to inspire discussion of a political nature. I can't have pets in the home, but I have a plant and I will address it as The Napoleonic Wars from here on out.

How Long Does It Take? And Other Unanswerable Questions.

   My best lady friends and I had a serious lady friend talk today, and it has brought to my mind a question that I think all of us have asked ourselves at some point in our lives recently. How long does it take to get over things (and other unanswerable questions)?
   If someone psychoanalyst could come up with a chart it might be really helpful. Just a classic line graph of traumatic instances on one side (dog died, breakup, crime scene witness etc) and amounts of time/ suggested routes of recovery on the other (buy commemorative picture frames, listen to Adele, flee the country). It would be really really helpful, that way you know if you are close to being done with that feeling of having an indian sunburn in your guts. People always says its different for everybody, but is there any way to standardize suffering? I think we would all appreciate if there was a designated amount of suffer-time that would immediately terminate upon reaching its total duration.
   The most frustrating thing about trying to get over an emotionally trying situation is that you always wish you were already cured of however you feel (sad, angry, stabby). But it never works that way. You are never finished being upset right when you wish you were. There is a word for people who have emotional light switches and it is sociopath. Until we can all be so lucky as to call ourselves sociopaths, we have to wait out the brainstorms of life - I say brainstorm because it literally feels like a storm is occurring in your brain, you rain from the eyes and nose, and unruly sobbing often frightens dogs.
   It is no consolation that everyone has their brainstorms that take months or even years or even decades to get over. And some seasoned pros will even tell you that you can't get over some things, its just a matter of coming to terms with them. Hopefully you and I never have to be seasoned pros. But I am still keeping my hopes up for the development of a line graph!

Startling Animals

   One of life's little pleasures is startling animals. Thats a scientific fact, not just personal opinion. Sneakery in general is very satisfying when pulled off right and sometimes even dulls the pain of seeing something you can't unsee while in the act of sneaking. Sneaking up on animals is the best though because you are guaranteed a wholesome encounter unless you're dealing with zoo animals which I cannot recommend or support.
   This morning I threw a dish in the sink and a squirrel lounging outside was startled. The best part was that he had no idea it was me. Joy of joys! I proceeded to grin a devilish grin and slink away into my living room to watch Mad Men. The satisfaction was such that I felt the need to share it with the world.
   Cats are good for startling too, although its much harder to sneak up on a cat so the opportunities are more or less catch as catch can. Usually embarrassing a cat involves some serious revenge, so I'd hide my pillow if you're considering spooking your own house cat.
   Dogs are no fun because they are just down to play with you if you startle them, and really, I'm just in this for personal gain, I'm not interested in spreading the fun around. Sneakers should be advised that this is a one-man, in-it-to-win-it activity. You're probably only actively participating in sneakery because you're really bored and your friends don't want to play with you (lets be real here). You've already annoyed all the people around you to the point where they no longer wish to see you, so you might as well start on annoying all the animals you can find. Good luck!

A Real Surprise Party

   Last weekend I threw a surprise party for my two best twin friends. They were lured to my house by my partner in crime, when I called saying I wanted to go for B-day drinks with them after I had been feigning an illness all day. They came to pick me up at my house on the way to the bar, and when they arrived all the lights were off an there was no response to their arrival until the fifty people yelled "surprise". I guess they had fun, because the recurring response I got from them when asked how they enjoyed the night was "we thought you were going to be dead!" and anything is better than that I guess.
   I have discussed this with a few of my friends who also wanted to know if the twins had fun, and we think that next time we should milk the whole potentially dead trick for all its worth. In fact, another friend is being surprised at a bar on her B-day this weekend, so we can get the opportunity to do it right this time.
   I'm sure one of the many people invited has a contact in the police force so we can get our hands on some caution tape (real caution tape, not the Halloween kind that says CSI- Crime Spook Investigation). Then we can mix up some fake blood or maybe kill a couple squirrels for authenticity, and smear it all along the stairs of the bar up to the rooftop patio. The ideal effect would be that it looks like someone has been crawling up/down the stairs in a panic- some bloody handprints too would be good. Then on the rooftop patio there's a number of things we could do, lots of room for creativity. I would propose a dummy of sorts- if anyone has a contact in the farming industry we could get our hands on a scarecrow- and some kitchen knives. The kitchen knives could be replaced with a circular saw or some loose chains, really its whatever inspires you at the time. To top it off you could have someone's loved ones (preferably a boyfriend/girlfriend's who the B-day boy/girl would recognize) crying and muttering incomprehensibles.
   One of my friends suggested that we carry this theme all the way to the hospital before yelling "surprise". This would show great dedication to the whole B-day production and thus the friendship. So everyone should be at the hospital at least 15 minutes ahead of time. The beauty of this is that the B-day boy/girl will be so rattled that they won't even question why everyone is there! You can set up the scene in Emergency at your own discretion- a novelty heart monitor programmed to beep happy birthday at the appropriate time would be excellent. I would recommend having some of the guests disguised as hospital staff to really add to the surprise, and one person lying on a stretcher under a sheet.
   When the guest of honour arrives at the hospital (hopefully in hysterics) everyone should be crying and/or rushing around, offering condolences, ordering a hearse etc. They should then be led to the body where they are told "we've lost 'em" or "he's a goner". Give it some time to really sink in, and make sure they get real close to the body. Then upon a carefully timed out signal, the body should spring to life, and as everyone yells "surprise!" the presumed-dead should shove a cake into the stunned B-day guest's face!
   It is sure to be a B-day lie no other, and one they will never forget. Good times will surely be had by all!

Trading

   Modern Western society is lacking in the art of bartering and trading. I have no experience whatsoever in marketplace bartering, except maybe a that time I haggled over a vintage bottle opener at a thrift shop. They run a hard bargain, let me tell you. But not quite as hard a bargain as my mother when she trades marbles with our eight-year-old neighbour.
   Picture this: my mother in her late fifties, complaining that our young marble-dealing neighbour is ripping her off. The best part about these trades though is that no matter what they trade, our neighbour will always be able to see them again, or even trade them back. I'm sure if it came to tears, my mother would make it seem like she was losing a lot of great marbles, and give him all the best ones. She is not a tyrant in that way. They might as well be trading fine silks, or golden chalices the way they carefully deliberate over the intricacies of a trade.
   According to my young neighbour, the best part of trading is that you can get good deals. Better than what you might get at the toy store I guess. So its a more bang for your buck situation. And you can still enjoy the merchandise and play with them without being harassed by aggressive sales-people. Its a win-win I'd say. Now the only question is how can I get designer shoes that way?

Shower Curtains

Dear Shower Curtains,

   I barely knew ye before you became grungy with soap scum. Maybe we put too many expectations on you. Three people showering every other day on average is a lot of suds to handle, and you don't really have any resources to clean yourself. I'm not sure if any of us have ever cleaned you ourselves. We were so excited by you right off the bat. You were heavier and more expensive than all your predecessors. The steam vacuum in our shower did not even phase you. Where other curtains clung to our ankles like nervous children in front of strangers, you stood your ground shifting only when you needed to readjust. We love you shower curtain, we really do but you are getting old now. Our love affair was fleeting, but while it lasted no other could come between us (or at least the shower and the rest of the bathroom). I hate to use the word novelty when referring to something that was once so wholesome and genuine. You have served us well and continue to do so, and just because you're looking a bit more long in the tooth lately that does not mean we will kick you to the curb. We can appreciate fine art, we three are artists too. Shower Curtains, you are the creme de la creme, you bring an effortless serene to your work and you never whine or complain. I would even say you get better, more fearless with age. For that I will always appreciate you. One day I will come home and you will hang in our washroom no more, but it will not be by my hand.

For You, With Love

   You are never so alone. You are never alone in anything that you do, and maybe that upsets you but it shouldn't. There are people out there who want you around. I want you around. I refuse to let you go. I don't know you, but I know that I will always tell myself you are still here. I support you and I know you can get through what you need to get through, because I don't believe in quitters but I believe in you. 

   You are too young. No matter how old you are you are always too young to feel so alone. Talk to someone. Talk to me, better yet, talk to everyone because once you do you will be one thousand times stronger than you are right now (even if that still might seem like nothing, its progress). Forward is the only direction you can go, and the best part of forward is that there is always more of it to get to. 

   Everything is worth it. The smallest and most insignificant things are worth sticking around for. You don't want to miss the things you've never seen. When its all said and done (and that time is not now) the things you haven't seen or done yet will be some of the best things you remember. 

Good Food

   Is a good palate something you are born with or something you develop? I can't imagine there are many six year olds out there remarking upon the subtle hints of citrus in the cod crudo. On the other hand though, there are people like myself who can barely taste the difference between a blade of grass and a thin mint (I think its the common earthy flavour). I wish I knew how much of food connoisseurship is learned, then I might know whether there is still hope for a palate hillbilly like me.
   This is not to say that I cannot appreciate fine dining, just that I probably can't appreciate it as much as G. Ramsay himself. But then again I'm not big on cursing at my admirers so maybe its not meant to be. But when people go on about the difference between free-range and oppressed chicken, I can only smile politely and stuff my face to avoid being asked my opinion.
   One could even argue that what I lack in genuine know-how and etiquette, I make up for in making all chefs feel like their food is five-star. I really enjoy food, particularly because I am so cheap and most of my spare cash goes to alcohol over food. So whenever I can get my tiny hands on a morsel, I treat it like its the last thing I'll ever eat (sometimes it might really be the last thing I eat for 24 hours).
   I have a great respect for people who use their superhuman palates to create delicious food that makes the world a better place to live in, really I do. I wish I could count myself as one of those people, but at least I can play the field in terms of "good" and "bad" food.

Dead is the New Alive

   The latest Vanity Fair covers have all gone to the deceased. The most recent  cover was in honour of the 50th anniversary of Marilyn Monroe's death. There was a fold-out inside with all sorts of sassy "never before seen" photos of Marilyn wearing a bed sheet, posed around some strategically placed pineapples. It was beautiful, she was beautiful, it would have made a blind man cry, etc etc, thats not the point.
   Another recent cover was Jackie O. Also a beautiful and iconic woman who is dead. What I'm trying to get at is where are all the alive iconic women? Are there no strong and confident women today who can do the cover of Vanity Fair? I would say absolutely there are, but I guess Vanity Fair doesn't think so. I don't keep tabs on who has been on the cover, but I know Marilyn has had it about 3 times. I don't know if anyone alive has been on the cover that many times- maybe George Clooney. But what about the ladies! Where my girls at? I would love to see people like Tina Fey, Ellen Degeneres and my grandmother. The ladies are out there, and since it matters to people who read magazines, they at least deserve to be invited to be covered.

The great toe dilemma

   What is it about toe nails that make it impossible for them to ever be the right length? No matter how often or not often you clip them, your clipping instrument of choice, or how you go about it they never seem to be right. Its not that big of a deal really, unless you really cut them too short and your feet are but bloody stumps. Hopefully thats not happening on the regular to anyone.
   Full disclosure: I have long toes. I don't know if its some sort of optical illusion that my toenails always look disproportionate to my toe length, but this is one of the many petty afflictions I have to live with. Now that we're getting into sandal weather I'm having trouble coming to terms with the problem. Would it help if I painted them with a flash-coloured polish so that they just blended in with the rest of the toe? Probably not. But my greatest fear is cutting them too short and developing some sort of irreversible and probably gross toe condition.
   If you have read any of my other posts I'm sure you can tell I am not People Magazine's #1 problem solver of 2012. In the words of an old friend, "that shit ponder[s] my mind like the loch ness monster". Like the loch ness monster, the toe nail issue is bigger than you and me. Hopefully some day modern science or cosmetics will pull through for me and others like me, until that day I will suffer in silence.

Father's day everyday

   I wish everyday was father's day. I come from a secretive family. My family is a family of few words, so feelings don't get expressed very often. I have inherited this quality in the fullest. Since I cannot express my feelings to others, its frustrating that I have such a wonderful father and I can't make him cards telling him how much I appreciate him everyday of the week.
   You in the back, speak up a little... Why don't I just live each day like its father's day you say? It is not in my molecular build-up to do such a thing. At any given time I have a thousand lovely thoughts and one unfortunate one (usually a slightly racist joke, or a negative comment about someone I hardly know). The latter is the one that makes it from thought to speech. This has become so consistent that sometimes when I get close to saying something nice I am overcome with emotion, which is really bad for my street-cred.
   So its too bad that everyday can't be fathers day. My dad deserves the lovely words more than anyone else I may have lovely half-thoughts about.

Yahoo news

   A good way to keep entertained is by checking the Yahoo news headlines. If you're at all familiar, you know what I mean. They're mostly anything but news, and if they are broadcasting something that can be remotely classified as "news" they usually do it after its been reported by every major newspaper as well as your eight year-old neighbour.
   The site straddles a really awkward line between celebrity gossip tabloid, irrelevant and sometimes false facts for the day-to-day life of a housewife, and local community news column. There was one about a college football player's new tattoo. It didn't cause any kind of uproar, he didn't lose a scholarship or get kicked off the team, he just got a tattoo and Yahoo news though we should all know.
   I recall another article about what all the kids are doing today according to... I don't know who. It was a particularly scandalized article about vodka tamponing, with information seemingly pulled from one specific classroom in the states and applied to the rest of the global teenage population. Good thing for teenagers, nobody reads Yahoo news.
   Sometimes it even feels like Yahoo news readers are testing it, like they know that only crazy people care or take them seriously so they do it on purpose. Today one of the headlines read "Hairdos Take Years Off Face". Not only is it a hilarious line if you read everything literally to experience the most (and the least) of life like I do, but who the fuck cares? Tell me more Yahoo news, tell me more about what haircut I should have because I trust you and your positive influence on social media, especially after that article about whether dressing warmly really does keep a cold away (for the record, they confirmed the benefit).
   So if you're ever feeling down, or have some time to kill, I highly recommend Yahoo news for some laughs. If you've got 5 minutes before leaving for school or work, just take a sit and read the headlines even. I'm sure Yahoo news would support a study to see whether reading something funny increases the chance of laughter. And you know if its Yahoo news than it is nothing short of ground-breaking "news".

MY tampons

   Tampons. This is going to be about tampons.
   They recently changed the box of my tampons. I don't know who the fuck they think they are and I certainly don't know who they are, but those are my tampons. What gives them the right? Don't they know that if I am stocking up on tampons that I am already a glass case of emotions, ready to ex/implode at any minute? Therefore it is utterly irresponsible for the tampon box guys to change the appearance of not only the box, but the individual tampon wrapper too! For all they know Playtex Gentle-Glide customers everywhere are throwing fits at local drugstores; cleaning out the frozen dessert section and pocketing all the Cosmos off the racks.
   The individual tampon wrappers used to be pink and now its green. Green I say! This means that my purse artillery of tampons are mixed colours now. Don't I, and women everywhere, at least need some stability during this topsy-turvy time of month? And why green? Is it to remind us of the nausea we might hope to experience, or simply to remind us that we are closer to nature and all god's creatures at this time?
   The box itself is a whole other calamity. Its bright pink, a drastic change from the baby blue we have all come to know and love. The baby blue was somewhat ironic (if you really want to read into it), and was a breath of fresh air in an aisle that oozes estrogen. Now the box is entirely pink; the colour of uteruses (uteri?). The physical box stuffed full of clean and ready soldiers laughs at the other internal box, my uterus, which will never be clean (sorry, but lets be real here) or ready for anything come the last week of each month. At the worst of times, I could step on a leaf on the sidewalk and my uterus would convulse physically contort into a sad pretzel.
   Why did they change the box and wrappers? Are they trying to hurt me? IS NOTHING SACRED?

Inner-peace, outer-discomfort

   What is it that makes artists think it will be easier to be creative in the country? Although being away from home puts distance between you and your problems, they still exist. Its not always the case that a bunch of Blue Spruces are going to make give you a million new ideas and a fresh outlook on life and art.
   Its different I suppose if you are an impressionist or Emily Carr, and "eat that shit for breakfast" as they say. Or if you are William Wordsworth and find every twig and/or pebble to be a source of inspiration. Don't get me wrong, I am a fan of these artists' work. I wish I were like them, but I feel like my cynical personality does not allow my right brain to its thing. I am more prone to tyrannical rants than sonnets, and nature does not necessarily promote tyranny.
   On the other hand the sheer serenity of the wilderness is frustrating to me, because beautiful things make me angry and I am an awful, backwards example of a human being. Like my mother and her mother before, I do not believe in serenity. It is a lie concocted by the fabric-softener companies to boost sales.
   I cannot vouch for the benefits of loon calls and pine needles on the creative mind. I'm sure many others could though, like people who are not made uncomfortable by the thought of inner-peace. I think I need things like car alarms at 3 am to make me tense and hilarious. I'll let you know if I ever change my mind though.

On hosting events

   On hosting events: best case scenario, I fall into a deep coma from the minute I conceive the idea and awake once its all over. The stress of hosting an event is the worst. Who do I invite? When do I invite them? How do I describe the event? How funny do I have to be in the event description? What is the most liked flavour of chips among the guests? Where do I hide the taxidermy fish? Or should I keep the fish out to scare people and ward off bad spirits? How many standing fans do I need to disperse around my living room? How many cushions is too many cushions? Do I warn the neighbours? Do I let people in my backyard? Do I allow people to smoke mad splizzies in my backyard? Is it cool if I refer to it as a splizzie? Sex? Do I tell anyone about my upstairs bathroom? What if someone upper-deckers me? Should I rehearse a frighteningly quiet speech for if someone upper-deckers me? Do I need to buy plastic cups? Which carpets can I keep laid down? Will my speakers be loud enough? If I put a giant moustache on the piano, is that enough of a disguise? How will I hear my phone? Where do I hide my father? Who makes the playlist? Can I get away with snubbing the conservatives? Is anything in my home offensive to minorities? How do I manage empties? How do I manage that friend who always cries when she drinks? Jello shots? What is my policy on chilling on my porch? Do I have to invite peoples' significant others if I don't know them? Will the Tupac hologram show up? What would MacGyver do? Weapons? NASA? Lolcats?
#suicide

Clover Man

   The other day I was walking down the street like I do, and a man stopped me and asked me if I wanted his four leaf clover (he had one in his hand, thats not just some weird innuendo). He was maybe in his early sixties, and wasn't particularly well dressed but wasn't particularly scrappy looking either. Usually when men who fall between this nondescript category and scrappy, being a young lady I usually assume foul play. Its not that I think I'm hot shit, although if I'm wearing a pair of spanx I do usually think I'm hot shit, its just that that is how young ladies are taught to respond to strange men. It makes sense of course, I'm not blaming anyone for educating me against strange gift-bearing men.
   So my first instinct was to decline the four leaf clover. I was also a little thrown because usually when creeps are a-creepin' they offer you something like vague and disgusting like "a real man" or "the business". So when this older man offered me a four leaf clover I said a little confusedly that it was so nice and that I wouldn't want to take it from him. Sometimes being kind like that is interpreted as willingness to be creeped upon, and it has gotten me in situations where someone will proceed to frighten me with their persistence.
   But this clover man just replied that he picked them all the time so he didn't mind giving it to me. There isn't really a defensive reply to that kind of honest answer. I could have been a jerk store and said "fuck that old man I don't want any part of your witchcraft" or ran away or something. I took the four leaf clover and the man walked away. I have been having a rough time looking for jobs lately so I have been thinking about this encounter a lot lately.
   If you believe in luck or signs from the universe, it doesn't get much better than this. For the most part I try to make my own luck, but I've been realizing how hard that is sometimes. This encounter was just one of those times that give me hope for humanity. Thats suuuuuper cheesy and I know its just a four leaf clover, but people don't do little things like that. I am so afraid of what strangers think of me (more so than what people I know think of me) that I would never think to do something like that. It makes me glad that there are people who aren't like me at all.

The interesting lives of people I don't associate with

   I went to a group interview in a church basement today. There were about 15 people there and while everyone was doing their spiels I realized that some people are SO interesting. I had nothing on these people! It was just a silly interview for a summer drama camp position, but these people had these super fascinating hobbies!

   One girl had a Russian accent (and thats the least interesting part) and she was a wrestler. She's currently looking for a sports agent because she does stunt double work. Thats so flapping cool! There was another guy who is working with autistic adults in a production of Peter Pan. So flapping inspirational! Another girl wrote a scripted historical reenactment of a boat race. So flapping unusual! I had a poached egg for breakfast. So... yeah.

   There are times when a lot is going on and I think my life is super exciting. But it has never been nineteen year old stunt double exciting! I think adrenaline is probably a key ingredient in that kind of life-excitement and adrenaline and my lifestyle are like oil and water.

   Some people!

Make it look easy (?)

   I have recently been thinking a lot about signs and symbols and phrases that I hear in my day to day life that I can turn into personal mantras. Do I have enough time? I'll answer your question with another question: would someone with too much time on their hands improvise a one-woman musical inspired by the Price Chopper weekly savings flyer?
   I conceived a phrase (that has been conceived a million times before) and I can't decide if its really good advice or really bad advice: "make it look easy". On the one hand it can show that nothing gets to you, on the other hand it can seem like you don't actually work very hard, or care very much. I generally find that when people make difficult things look effortless I am a simultaneous blend of awe and jealous rage.
   The next question is if you were to take this on as your mantra and adapt it in the full, how would you feel? I don't know that I'd feel better about myself if I made all my struggles look effortless. Its not really the same as pulling off a hoax or general sneakery (like when you successfully blame a fart on another dinner guest) because there isn't any risk. As much as hard work should be rewarding to oneself first and foremost, it is extra-rewarding to hear someone else acknowledge it.
   I know that as much as I would love to be mysterious and have nobody know anything about my less-than-shady past, I like to talk. I truly wish I didn't like to share the mundane aspects of my life, but lets face it, I do have a blog. And as much as I would love nothing more than to make it all look easy, I worry that if I didn't express my constant struggles, nobody would reassure me. At the end of the day I think it takes either extreme insecurity (knowing that nobody wants to hear your shit) or extreme self-reliance to make everything look easy (truly not needing anyone to be there for you).
   When I am in the midst of a lot of struggles -bear in mind that a 10/10 struggle for me is a normal person's 6/10- I try to remember all the people who support me. In fact, I don't have to try very hard, because the amount that I complain to them is enough that I get constant reassurance almost every day. So I think for their sakes, I will try to make everything look easier. I know I will always talk too much to make everything look easy, but for the record, I've still got some secrets that I can't wait to reveal when I am a fifty year-old loose canon at my future godson's bar mitzvah!

The Sober Blues

   Whenever I have the blues I get the urge to watch the whole Harry Potter series. I'm not sure why. I can't even tell if it helps at all. I guess its comforting to get my mind off things and put everything into perspective: my life's not bad at all, I'm not even being hunted by a shadowy noseless man.
   I just finished watching The Deathly Hallows part 1, and let me tell you it makes me all kinds of sad! But the kind of sad that you want to be, as opposed to the feeling sorry for yourself sad. Its better to be sitting in a puddle of my own Dobby's-death-tears than my-plantars-wart-won't-leave-me-alone-tears. I'm sure I don't have to tell you that the first kind are genuine tears of loss and sympathy while the latter are those of pathetic helplessness.
   Sometimes the best way to chase away the blues- albeit not entirely foolproof- is to scare them away with the sober blues. The sober blues are the good kind of blues, the ones that have results- you pull yourself together, or are all you need to feel better- whereas the blues are categorized as the kinds of things that would make you cry drunk and should never make you cry sober.
   This has been a message from the Government of Ontario.

Is everyone hanging out without me?

   One of the questions that has recently kept me up at night is if everyone I know is hanging out without me. This is one of the first and foremost FWPs (first world problems), and is usually pretty unjustified. In the peak of anxiety though, it can present very real emotional stress on awkward youths. I would estimate that nine in ten Canadian young adults suffer from Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me(?) at least once in a two year period.
   This fear is usually totally unjustified and sparked from the dumbest assumptions. In my case, I find myself worrying about this upon discovery of gatherings of people I know (not even necessarily people I enjoy being around) that I probably wouldn't even want to attend anyway. That doesn't mean I wouldn't attend out of common courtesy in some situations, but it certainly goes to show that it is understandable why I was not invited in the first place.
   Speaking as a young person (maybe I'll get back to you when I'm old and tell you how I feel then), I have noticed a growing common need to be invited everywhere at all times, even on statutory holidays. I feel it too, probably more so than I admit to in day to day conversation because I maintain the outer countenance of a rock. But on the inside I am like a plate of lemon jello, left out of the fridge for a couple of days sweating slightly from being ignored while EVERYONE WAS OUT HAVING FUN TOGETHER.
   Why do we feel the need to always be included? Sure if you are the one person out of everyone you know not included in something, it hurts. But usually there's a perfectly logical and fair reason for one-time exclusion. But still I find, we feel the need to be invited. In fact, I would argue it is not so much the need to be around our peers, but the need to be wanted around. Turning down an invitation at least gives the potential of being missed. And even if you know it was just a courtesy invitation you can still pretend you'll be missed.
   I know from personal experience that it can lead to ice cream binges, bathtub tears and the purchase of blouses you don't really need when the feeling of being left out festers for a while. Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me can deteriorate into Does Nobody Want to Hang Out With Me in the worst cases, and that is usually entirely unjustified in all situations. Unless you're a murderer maybe and in that case all you can do is wait or the long arm of the law to keep you warm at night.
   Even if you are presented with a situation where "everyone" is hanging out without you, it is no cause for the alarm that usually ensues. There's almost always a reason, and its almost always warranted. In those situations, so what, you sit this round out, maybe play Jenga with your family. And if it really is that some people genuinely do not want you around, then why do you even want to be around them? Screw them, you have real friends who will hang out with you in the long term.

"Rapey"

   A couple nights ago one of my friends described the atmosphere in my neighbourhood as "rapey". My response was something like, "my neighbourhood, rapey? No..." I mean, just because there's a halfway house across from my street and the occasional public meth deal that doesn't necessarily warrant words like rapey. What about all the reptile stores you ask? Well surely they're not all drug fronts.
   When I tell people where I live they don't immediately think its the ghetto because it is surrounding neighbourhoods are inhabited with mommy and baby yoga, froyo lounges and places where you can purchase silk booties for your Puggle. Its when I tell them to get off the Southbound bus at the stop with the Coffee Time that words like "opium den", "six months without parole" and now "rapey" get tossed around.
   During the day my neighbourhood is a lively ethnic enclave. I take pride in the fact that the average person has to walk fifteen minutes to get to a Starbucks from my home. Actually, lets follow the Starbucks theme for a minute. If you were to describe my neighbourhood and its surrounding areas like the popular coffee retailer, the areas directly to the East and West would be the serving and seating area. My neighbourhood would be the Starbucks bathroom, because as Tina Fey put it in her autobiography, "many of the worst things in the world happen in and around Starbucks bathrooms".
   I would not go so far as to say the Starbucks bathroom that is my neighbourhood - where I was born and raised- hosts the worst things in the world. But the gentrification that has taken place is my expanded community has forced a concentration of rapiness into my immediate neighbourhood. The bathroom is a necessary part of Starbucks and the under-the-table dog groomers, exiled youths and one-step-away prostitutes have to go somewhere. It would be great if the Starbucks bathroom wasn't a necessity, it would probably cut costs or something. But if you try to eliminate the Starbucks bathroom because you can't deal with what goes on in there, you're going to have people running into the streets in a panic after they've drank too many beverages, and ultimately have a bigger mess on your hands than if you'd just kept the bathroom.
   See what I'm saying here? Maybe I've gone overboard with the metaphor, but all the "rapey" things that have accumulated in my neighbourhood are there because they were ruining the vibe of other neighbourhoods. Rather than dealing with what has been wrong with the larger community, these "rapey" things have been forced into one area where they may very well have festered.
   I don't know what the solution is; more support programs or rent freezes maybe. But the bathroom isn't going to get any cleaner by ignoring it, and building another Starbucks probably won't help either.

The #1 Noise you never want to hear come out of your body

   Bodily functions can sometimes make your life so awkward you almost wish you were a fluid-less, sterile raisin. Body sounds and smells are one of the few things that truly link all human beings to one another. The tree of life is connected by a series of embarrassing moments that everyone EVERYONE can relate to, but that nobody NOBODY wants to admit to.

   I have stumbled upon a major link in the chain that connects all humanity in terms of body stuff. There is one single noise, above all others, a noise so gut-wrenchingly repulsive, so sickeningly disgusting that should you hear if emerge from your own body (what you might refer to as your "temple") you will surely think (because your tongue is too tied with shame to exclaim anything) "Did that come out of me?!"

   You all have cottages, chalets, or lodges, or at least your rich uncle has one and you've visited it in the past. Picture a cottage in the North that has not been used all winter long. The pipes nearly froze, because it was a cold winter. When the first cottager goes to turn on the tap, there is a noise. 

   The noise is a deep mechanical gurgling. It sounds like the wheels of a giant clock in the depths of the earth gearing into motion, slowly at first but with increasing purpose. A few stifled sputters first choke through the faucet before the full blast erupts. Its a very distinct noise. Its industrious. 

   Industrious noises are not the kind you want emerging from your body. It is an indication that your body is not a temple, in fact this noise makes it appear nothing more than a factory. Maybe a factory that produces low-grade zippers or sweat socks.

   But aren't our bodies more like factories than temples anyway? Do you really want to relate your body to something that is put on the earth for no seemingly practical purpose? The human body is a ceaseless machine of thought and movement. Sure, it may not always been immaculate or impressive and half the time its downright embarrassing. But in recognizing the imperfection hopefully we can come to terms with our awkward bodies, and realize that maybe a working factory is better than an glorious temple.