Friday, December 6, 2013

Why You Should Fuck on the First Date

This is something that's been on my mind for a while, so I can only assume that it's been an issue for other ladies as well. I've received lots of advice on the subject from friends and Cosmopolitan articles, none of which did a damn lick of good for me. It took me about two years of confusion, insecurity, and repeated, crippling blows to my sense of self worth to figure out a good solution to my problems, and now I'm out to give equally confused and insecure women a pep talk (and maybe some dudes too, who knows).

I'm sure you're all familiar with the situation, for the possibilities are legion. Maybe you recently met somebody and started dating. Maybe you've known them for a while and are venturing into that dark territory that is Friends with Benefits. Maybe you're drunk and met this person at the bar. The circumstances are different but the question remains the same. Should you fuck them? Sure, why not.

Now I'm going to digress for a moment and let you know that I am not a doctor, or a psychologist. I'm not an expert on sex or relationships, I didn't write the book "How to Get Men to Stay with You". I have a terrible track record when it comes to dating, but I haven't fucked enough dudes to achieve the mystical status of 'slut'. I'm not even sure how many dudes that is. I think it's half your age plus seven? Or is that how many days you're supposed to wait before returning a text?

This conveniently brings me to my first point: "dating etiquette" is completely and totally lost on me. Because nobody seems to know what the fuck to do with, or about, a potential romantic interest, we, as a society, have created a whole bunch of rules which make no sense, contradict one another, and are total bullshit.

Some of the rules I've observed in my short life include but are not limited to:
- wait three (sometimes as many as seven) days to call or text a person after the first date
- don't divulge too much personal information on the first date
- don't kiss until the second date
- the youngest you can date is half your age plus seven (who the fuck thought this up, seriously)
- don't get dinner on the first date
- dont' get drunk on the first date
- if you do get dinner on the first date, McDonald's is not appropriate
- he pays the bill (I always wondered how the fuck this was supposed to work if you're not, you know, heterosexual...)
- you should split the bill
- don't fuck until the third date. Sometimes this is the fifth, or seventh, or some other pleasing number, but never, ever on the first
... and so on.

None of these 'rules' have any basis in logic insofar as I can tell. So, you know, barring actual laws (like say if the person you want to get naked with is twelve, or a sheep, or doesn't want to fuck you for any reason (or no reason at all), then you should not fuck them), my first piece of advice is throw the rules out the window.

I have fucked guys on the first, second, and third dates. I was with my ex for a couple of months before I fucked him. I have fucked guys with whom I had been friends for years, and strangers. I have fucked guys in a drunken haze, and I have avoided fucking guys because I was in a drunken haze. Once I even responded to a sex ad on craigslist because let's face it, I may be many things but classy is not one of them. Generally speaking, I felt pretty bad about myself afterwards.

Observing my acute distress, my guy friends dispensed sage wisdom: the reason I have trouble with guys is that I jump into bed with them too fast. If I just made them wait they would respect me more. How could I have overlooked that? Obviously the reason the guys I chose to sleep with were acting like insensitive, disrespectful jackholes* was because of something wrong with me. I was putting out too easy.

Which brings me to my second point: for whatever reason, sex is regarded as some highly sacred ritual, bestowed upon men, begrudgingly, by women, who are supposed to act like innocent, chaste little mice. That it is something to be granted or denied in order to control power. That it is, unequivocally, the most intimate experience two people can share.

And I guess it can be for some people, and that's fine for them. Honestly, I find the sharing of my innermost thoughts, dreams and fears way more personal and more terrifying. I'd be way happier having a guy stick his junk in my junk than sitting down, looking him in the eye, and telling him all the things I lie awake worrying about. I don't want anybody to know about that shit.

Don't get me wrong - fucking somebody you truly care about and who also cares about you is really, really nice. Like, super awesome. However, sex can be really fun even if you're not doing it with "that special someone". It feels great. It doesn't have to be anything else. It's also a pretty good way to get to know spomebody and decide if you like them. I've been in a situation where I really dug a dude and spent months trying to get in his pants and when I finally did it was just such a clusterfuck, I kinda wished I'd gotten that out of the way beforehand. It turned me off the guy. Never mind that he was being a total fuckweasel. If I'd known that the end result was going to be a kinda shitty lay, I probably wouldn't have chased him around, tolerating the fuckweasely head games.

That, however, is not the situation where I figured all this shit out. No sir, I kept right on trucking, assuming that it was still my fault that he was being a fuckweasel. If only I'd not fucked him, or not shown interest, or not deviated from the innocent mouse-woman mold with my vulgar language and blowjobs and stuff.

My epiphany didn't come until later. I was out at the bar, wrecked on rye and looking fine. I met a feller, he was nice, good looking, fun, and we danced most of the night. It was great. At the end of the night, he asked me to go home with him. At first I was all like, "oh fuck yeah, hot guy sex!". But then the voice of reason came crashing into my mind. "You know, if you have sex with him, he'll think you're a ho and act like a douchenozzle. Surely you don't want that! That simply will not do" It seemed I had a dilemma on my hands. I really wanted to fuck this dude because a) he was hot; and b) I hadn't got laid in a month and was hornier than a jungle duck (I'm fucking twenty two, you guys). But, you know, he might think I was a slut or whatever and god forbid that should happen.

Let's think about the ways this is fucked up.
1. I wanted sex but didn't want anybody to know I wanted sex, least of all the guy I wanted to have sex with. We aren't supposed to want it. What the hell kind of mindset is that?
2. I didn't even know this guy. Why would I give two sweet fucks what he thought of me? What was he going to do, call my grandmother up and tell her, "oh yeah, I didn't even buy her dinner"? And even if he did, my grandma would probably just be all, "nice" and high five me like the badass bitch she is.

I still didn't know any of this yet. As far as I was concerned at the time, I was doing myself some great injustice by even entertaining the thought of letting some man defile me. Wracked with paroxysms of anxiety and self doubt, I went home with my roommates, probably ordered pizza, and definitely fapped myself to sleep.

It's important that I state that I'm not suggesting anybody go out and get drunk and go home with random guys from the bar. If the guy has Rapey McStabbist written all over him, you should in no capacity allow yourself to be alone with him (or her, for that matter. That's a thing). In fact, if you're going out with the intention of getting waaaaaasted, you should have a contingency plan. I never go out alone, or with people I don't trust implicitly to keep an eye on me and not let me go home with creepy lookin perverts.

This guy did not have Rapey McStabbist written on him anywhere, and the thought of getting raped and/or killed was not the reason I didn't leave with him.

Anyway, I gave Friendly Not-Raperson my number. That's what you're supposed to do. Sweet little mouse-woman, making the man wait for sex. We exchanged a few texts later, and he was (and still is, I presume) a very pleasant, decent human being. Nothing came of it.

Sooo even though I went through all that self induced, nerve wracking brain-wankery, I didn't get laid. Fuck.

And that, my friends, is when my magical revelation dawned on me. The guys I chose to sleep with were not acting like like insensitive, disrespectful jackholes because of anything I did. It was because they were, in fact, insensitive, disrespectful jackholes. Holy shit. There was (and is) nothing fucking wrong with me, except that at one point in time I worried a bit too much about what people thought of me.

With that, here comes my final point. Ready? If somebody doesn't respect you, whether or not you fuck them is not going to change that. To reiterate, if a guy or girl thinks you're trashy, or a slut, or just a piece of meat they can use to get off, they're going to think that if you fuck them on the first date, the fifth date, or the eightieth date. To that point, if somebody actually does have a modicum of respect for you, they're not going to lose that because you wanted and got the same thing as them. And wouldn't you like to have that out of the way earlier on? I know I would.

So, ladies, if you're going out with a guy or girl or whatever the fuck you're doing, and you want to get naked and do the locomotion, just fucking go for it. Don't play the fuckaround game because it's what we're programmed to do. If you're genuinely not comfortable enough with a person to want to fuck them then by all means don't, but if you want to, you go right ahead. And if they turn around and start acting like a dick, then to hell with them. Move on. You got some sweet booty, don't worry about it. And hey, maybe they'll be totally cool about it. That's just a fucking bonus right there.

(*disclaimer: I have fucked one, maybe two guys who were exceptionally kind and considerate, and I appreciate it, I really do, but guys, this post isn't about you. It's about all the other stunned tossers. Sorry)

Saturday, October 26, 2013

11 Ridiculous Couples' Halloween Costumes

(disclaimer: I was drunk when I wrote this)

First off, quick personal update and a brief explanation for what I'm on about and why. A month and a half ago, I packed up my shit, moved out of my mom's house and shacked up with my friend and her boyfriend in Halifax.

So the other day the three of us were sitting around, and they were trying to decide what they should go as for Halloween. I, being a super helpful friend, started shouting out retarded shit, from Dory and Nemo's dad, to Tetsuo and Kaneda, to cigarette and cigarette package.

Some of the stuff we came up with, though, wasn't entirely terrible so I, being a super helpful human being, figured I would share them with the internet just in case there's any couples out there who don't want to go with Frankenstein and Bride of Frankenstein, or Homer and Marge Simpson. So without further ado, ridicuolous Halloween costumes for the creative couple...


My personal favourite, this can be sexy, or disgusting, or a combination of both depending on how you feel abotu Halloween. The main thing is that it`s super easy, and perfect for lapsed Catholics.
You Will Need: Black pants, black shirt, priest`s collar, bible, crucifix, rosary, nightgown, make-up (tutorial starts at 0:41), white contacts (optional).
Bonus: If you get too drunk at the party and throw up, it's actually part of the costume.

T-101 AND T-X

Also super easy, plus The Terminator is the epitome of awesome (nevermind that Rise of the Machines kinda sucked - if you're jacked enough you could easily just swap out the leather pantsuit for a black tank top and go as Sarah Connor)
You Will Need: Red leather pansuit, black leather jacket, leather biker gloves, sunglasses
Bonus: If you can actually do a halfway decent Arnold impression.


This costume is extra creepy if you actually are brother and sister.
You Will Need: Pretty much anything in black, white, and/or red. This costume takes next to no effort!
Bonus: Bring your drumkit.


If anybody actually knows what you're doing, they are clearly awesome. Furthermore, sometimes it's hard to do a matching costume when you're two dudes and don't want to be fuckin Bert and Ernie or some shit.
You Will Need:  Silver bodysuit (I can't find one of these without a mask - just... leave the mask off coz that's creepy), platform boots, hawaiian shirt, fedora, moustache if you don't already have one.
Bonus: If you can get people to go as Naboo and Bollo I commend you, sir.


Blade Runner is probably in my top five favourite movies, and Pris and Roy are hands down my favourite movie couple. I'm sure that this has been done pretty damn near to death but it'd still be fucking awesome.
You Will Need: Blonde hair, lotsa eyeliner, studded choker, mesh top, black bodysuit, fishnet stockings, stompin boots, black leather coat and grey sweater OR no shirt at all, black pants.
Bonus: If you can get a dove, that would be great.


Probably my second favourite movie couple, Conan and Valeria kick ever so much ass.
You Will Need: Pretty much any generic barbarian costume will do - if you want to get really accurate I can't help you.
Bonus: See "T-101 and T-X"


"We was like peas and carrots" THIS COSTUME IS FUCKING GENIOUS.
You Will Need: Sexy carrot costume, sexy peas costume. Done. 
Bonus: If you can find a pea costume that is actually sexy. The one I found was more disturbing than anything but all the other ones I came across were either for babies, or Sweet Pea from Sucker Punch.


This is kind of a weird one but I think it's cool and sort of apropos if you and your significant other are total freaks.
You Will Need: Crazy hair, suit, white dress, weird ass makeup (I can't find a link for this - I'm thinking tons of putty and shit. I don't fucking know, somebody else gotta figure this out).


I think this is a great costume idea, given that you are not going to a bar or club or party where bringing a pitchfork would be frowned upon.
You Will Need: Black shirt, brown dress, cameo, black jacket, white shirt, overalls, pitchfork, glasses.
Bonus: If you are unhappy and dour.


I just... I don't... this is actually a terrible idea for a costume. It's like when you're at that point in your relationship where you're just like "fuck everybody else on the planet, we're too cool for y'all", know what I'm saying.
You Will Need: Shark costume, octopus costume
Bonus: I hate you.


Okay, I'll admit that this costume was actually inspired by this porno. I have nothing else to say for myself. And yes, I've had it on in another window the entire time I was writing this. Hah. But, you know, Raquel Welch in One Million Years B.C. is like, the classy version.
You Will Need: Cave girl costume, pterodactyl costume
Bonus: God have mercy on your soul.


Edward Scissorhands & Winona Ryder, Beetlejuice & Winona Ryder, Sweeney Todd & Helena Bonham Carter, Christopher Walken and Whatsername, Jack and Sally, Corpse Bride & Corpse Groom (?), Willy Wonka and Oompa Loompa aaaand I just realized how much Willy Wonka looks like a pimp...


After all that discussion I suggested the three of us just be the human centipede but we couldn't decide who would get to be the front.
You Will Need: Bandages, three people, chutzpah.
Bonus: If you pull this off, son, send me pictures.

Actually, if anybody wants to send me pictures of their halloween costume, couple or otherwise, hit up The ones I find most entertaining I will post on my blog. Sweet, la?

Monday, October 14, 2013

10 Books that Changed My Mind

I'm going to start this out by saying that, despite my allusions to the contrary, I am not particularly well read. I read very slowly, mostly because I find it hard to set aside time for reading every day (I'm usually either working or drunk). Also, as will soon become apparent, I am a huge sci-fi fan. As a result, most of what I read is short, pulpy, genre novels. Most of what I read is crap, and very forgettable.

That being said, there are a handful of books which knocked me clear out of the water. The majority are considered classics, I think, and a couple of them I read begrudgingly as part of my "schooling", but they all had a very profound effect on me and, though it's been a while since I've read a lot of them, they are rooted very firmly in my mind. I can't say that they changed my life, but they certainly did change the way I think about the world and the people in it.

Frankenstein - Mary Shelley
When it comes to books I am a sci-fi fan but as far as movies are concerned I am a die hard horror junkie (see my now more or less defunct Blog of Horror) and James Whale's Frankenstein is my all-time favourite horror flick. That being said I didn't read this book until I was about sixteen, one summer while I was working in a craft shop. And it blew my damn mind. I was simply not used to horror/science fiction which was actually well written and I was easily mesmerized by Mary Shelley's romantic prose, if you will. Furthermore, both Dr. Frankenstein and his daemon proved to be fascinating characters, and their relationship will haunt me until I die.

Trilby - George du Maurier
Of all the books on here, this is the one I read most recently. I'm not sure why exactly I chose to read it in the first place. I think I'd read a reference to Svengali in some other book - I looked him up thinking he was a real historical figure and subsequently heard about this novel. Honestly, I was kind of expecting some excurciatingly boring tale, something like Phantom of the Opera which I couldn't stand and was apparently inspired by this book. What I got was a meandering story about a group of friends living in Paris in the mid-ninetheenth century. The book doesn't really have a plot but it captures the lives of bohemian artists in a tragic and nostalgic sort of way. It was like taking a little trip back to a time and place I really would like to visit but is alas gone forever.

"The Tooth" - Shirley Jackson
I went on a big Shirley Jackson bender as a young lass after falling in love with The Haunting of Hill House. I ploughed through her short stories like they were going to save me somehow, and all of them had a very deep and profound effect on me and the way I write - I learned that the most horrifying subject of all was not, in fact, the inevitable rise of the insects, but the way people treat and perceive each other and themselves. It's sort of hard to pick any one of her stories as having the greatest impact on me. I was going to just put "The Lottery" since it's her most famous and probably most shocking work, but this other little story about a woman defined by her toothache who loses her identity when the offending tooth is removed is way more distressing. It's just about the epitome of the subtle terror which Jackson's writing inflicted upon me.

The Day of the Triffids - John Wyndham
Another one I read not that long ago, this is the best apocalypse story as far as I'm concerned. From the chilling opening in which the narrator awakens in an effectively abandoned hospital to find London more or less totalled (remember the beginning of 28 Days Later? Lifted from this wholesale), to the slightly unconventional method of destruction (MAN EATING PLAAAAANTS!!!), to the well thought out chronical of the demise of all vestiges of civilization, to the surprisingly well written characters, this book is fucking fantastic and scary as shit. Yeah, the circumstances for the apocalyptic event are a bit farfetched (which is probably the only thing which kept me from having a heart attack while reading it) but the realistic treatment of the way people react to the disaster could apply for any situation.

Childhood's End - Arthur C. Clarke
So far all of the books I've talked about have had a positive (if terrifying) effect on me. This book did not. It's interesting to a degree, but the symbolism is so (intentionally) heavy handed it made me uncomfortable and the novel is structured so that whenever I started to get used to the characters (I can't say that I liked them because there really wasn't any reason to) the story jumped away from them. Combined with the subject matter of the plot, this makes for the most demoralizing book I've ever read. Honestly, after I read this I kind of loafed about in a depression for a few days, unable to muster up the energy or motivation to do anything because life seemed utterly meaningless.

I am Legend - Richard Matheson
Slightly after my Shirley Jackson bender, I went on a Richard Matheson binge. I read every fucking scrap of his work I could get my hands on, which is really quite a lot. His stuff is so hit and miss that part of the thrill was what exactly I was going to get from the next story. It could be something that stretched the imagination and filled my dreams with terrors, like that one about the freaky kid in the basement, or it could be weird and stupid, like that one about the apartment building that's actually a spaceship, or the one about the two dudes banging a ghost or whatever the fuck was going on there. The man wrote a fuckton of stuff, but when it was good, it was really good. I am Legend was really good. It's spooky, it's neat, and the twist ending really made me want to reconsider my outlook on life and society, without being way too over the top with it. As yet the only film adaptation which came even close to capturing the feeling of the novel was Last Man on Earth with Vincent Price. 

Lolita - Vladimir Nabakov
I'm going to admit that I might have been a little too young when I read this. I think I was fifteen or so and I may have not read it in the context which I should have, I may have found it a little too romantic, I may have sympathized with the narrator more than necessary. I've often wondered if my predilection for older gentlemen stemmed from my fondness for this book, or the other way around. I may never know.

"And Now the News..." - Theodore Sturgeon
I didn't really know what to do the first time I read Theodore Sturgeon. His writing style surprised me, it's clever, it's a little on the whimsical side, and the characters are pretty damn good for pulpy sci-fi. A lot of his stuff, if written by anybody else, I would find unbearably cute (the one about the girl with the psychic dog, or the one with the little kid alien). Some of his stuff, if written by anybody else, would be disturbing as fuck (More Than Human, The Cosmic Rape). And then there's, like, Killdozer which just defies words. He just has a way of making things, which would ordinarily be completely unappealing to me, appealing to me. Anywho, this short story about a guy who becomes way too obsessed with news, may have actually broken something in my brain. It's one of the first things I ever read by him, and everything in the story just seems so out there but so gently presented. The ending is probably the biggest understatement of all time and prompted me to re-read the whole story just so that I could understand what the hell had just happened.

The Lathe of Heaven - Ursula K. LeGuin
Guess I might as well admit that I am not the biggest Ursula LeGuin fan - I appreciate that she is a feminist colossus in the male dominated field of science fiction writing but that isn't really enough for me to enjoy her works, and honestly her writing is a little too... political? social? for me, and way too left wing. Although I did enjoy Catwings way more than is really necessary. I also enjoyed this book, not least of all because I'm fascinated with dreams, and the differences in peoples' interpretation of reality. It articulated a lot of the half baked thoughts I had at the time, and explained some stuff about people I was trying to figure out, kind of guiding me along in my journey of self awareness. I actually think this should be mandatory reading for teenagers and everyone else who thinks they're the centre of the universe.

The Poisonwood Bible - Barbara Kingsolver
Holy fuck I loved that book. Like how Trilby is a view into a romantic world which entices and allures me, The Poisonwood Bible took me somewhere beautiful and frightening. I tend not to read a whole lot into anything, so I mostly took this book at face value. I'm sure there are a million undercurrents which I didn't pick up on. I was just fascinated by the characters, the nigh incredible things they had to go through in their life, their extremely complex relationships, and the descriptions of the scenery. Good god. Also when I read it I was just at the tip of the iceberg of a really shitty breakup and it gave me strength. I laughed, I cried, I was moved. 

So those are some books that shaped the way I think about things. Anybody out there want to tell me about a book that changed your life, or at least your opinion of life? Or a book you think I would like and should read? Lay it on me, I want to hear some feedback here bitches. 

Thursday, July 25, 2013

Songs About Booze

As we all know, I like to drink. But who would have guessed I like to listen to music as well? Shocking stuff, I know. Anywho, for whatever reason I decided to put my two passions together and share with the internet some of my favourite songs about drinking, drunkenness, and alcoholic beverages - songs which, when my sober mind hears them, I chuckle to myself and mutter "ahh, yes, I have been there", while my drunken mind screams "everybody shut the fuck up, this is my song!" and cranks the stereo. Some of these songs have particular memories and feelings attached to them, others are just general songs about the joy or misery of gettin slizzered.

JACK DANIELS - Eric Church

It seems to me that Eric Church has written a lot of songs about getting drunk and/or stoned either because his lady left him or just for the hell of it. However, I have a certain fondness for good ol' JD - it used to be my anytime drink of choice, later getting promoted to my personal "a man done me wrong" drink, which makes the song sort of pertinent.

HANGOVER - Taio Cruz

Pretty much the anthem for Sunday morning. Nuff said.

SOBER - Pink

My favourite Pink song from back when I used to like Pink (I find her latest hits insufferable. I still bought a tube of mascara coz her picture was on the display, though) To me, it's about using alcohol as an anti-depressant which, you know, I've been doing for the past two years. Pro-tip: it doesn't work. I've been just about as close to rock bottom as I care to go (not due to alcohol, mind, but it sure helped) and back up again, repeatedly, like a yo yo, so pretty much everything in the song reminds me of my own self destructive tendencies.

ME AND THE MINIBAR - The Dresden Dolls

You know when your pitiful attempt to act like not-a-freak to impress your painfully bourgeois lover falls flat on its face leaving you alone to drink yourself into oblivion? It's not a nice feeling.


I don't remember the first time I ever drank tequila, but I do remember the morning afterwards. I woke up in my bed feeling like a piece of shit with the shit kicked out of it. When I finally managed to get myself out of bed, I found myself completely naked from the waist down, no sign of my pants anywhere. Asking my boyfriend whether I was wearing pants when I arrived home from the bar was a pretty awkward conversation, I'll tell ya.


I probably never would have heard of this song, however, at work we have five CDs on a loop day in and day out, the Trews live album being one of them. So I became rather fond of this east coast crying-in-my-beer song.


That's how we do it in Canada, boys.

GIN AND JUICE - The Gourds

I thought this was a fairly recent cover, but apparently it's from the nineties, long predating the recent raft of acoustic, folksy gangster rap covers. I'm sad to say, I didn't like this song until after it was already cool. However, I was drinking gin and juice before I knew there was an awesome song about it.


I am positive that everything in this song happened to me one time. The first time I heard it I was all, "waitaminute, I drank a bunch of white russians then puked outside in a parking lot while he tried to kiss me. Was what fuck?" Plus I have a soft spot in my heart for shitty girl-grunge bands. Whatever happened to that kind of music anyway? It was awesome.


A jumble of absurdist observations about the denizens, animate and inanimate, of some dingy nightclub that perfectly describes what happens when you drink just a little too much. At first you're like "wheeey I'm gonna dance on everything that isn't moving!" but then three or four double gins happen and you're all "god damnit the waitress is being a dick and that chair tried to trip me", "the urinal doesn't like me" and "I'm not drunk, the floor is drunk. Dumbass" When little things like that start to bother you way more than they should, it's time to go home and go to bed.

Thursday, May 23, 2013

Facebook Stereotypes Part I

I had big plans for what I was gonna do after I got off work today. I was gonna work-out, I was gonna take a shower, I was gonna eat some food. Instead I just drank beer and watched youtube. On a positive note, I also came up with this blog about the things people do on Facebook.

I was probably about ten when I realized that people really only talk about a handful of things (the most common topics being who they fucked, who they want to fuck, how much beer they can drink, what they would eat if they weren't so fat, and how they wish they weren't broke - that's what I talk about 95% of the time anyway. The rest is books and jellyfish). Facebook amplifies this by isolating a single person's single thought in status form, often without context and often without dialogue, discussion, conversation or whathaveyou.

So I decided to exaggerate that, and then make fun of it, and then post it on facepage because that seems like a really good idea. Without further ado, here are some of my favourite Facebook Stereotypes.
(P.S. I found most of the pictures on google. Some of them pictures may be copyrighted to somebody. If that somebody happens to be you, drop me a line and I will apologize profusely.)

This person - usually female, I'm sure there are some dudes who do this but I haven't seen one yet - really loves their kids. They're always posting updates about how their kids are doing in school or extracurricular activities, or pictures of their kids, or inspirational images about parenting.

Some people also do this with their pets.

- The kids' lives are waaaaay more exciting than anything I was up to at that age
- The kids often have modern and/or unusual names and even stranger nicknames
- Bonus points if this person has, like, forty children
The Upshot:
As stated before, Momma posts tons of pictures of her/his kids, a lot of which are almost unbearbly cute. Since I am unwilling to have my own children, I like to live vicariously through my friends' facebook shit.

This kid is under the delusion that they are some kind of ultimate badass (I can't make too much fun here coz I more or less used to think I was a female, not-dead Kurt Cobain (this is me circa 2008), but I respected my parents damnit). They are either rambling on about how much they hate school, or how they are doing some sort of illicit activity. I never understood this. If I'm going to smoke a doob - which, for the record, I'm not, thankyou very much - I'm not going to brag about it on facepage. For one thing, that shit is, for whatever reason still techincally unlegal in this country. For another, everybody and their grandpaw smokes a doob now and then, get over yourself.

You're twelve, dude, what the fuck
- Profile picture involves backwards hat, faux-gold chains, mom's bathroom mirror and a thug sign. Bonus points for a handful of twenty dollar bills.

yeeeeeeah bro
- Doesn't understand that everybody knows that they are twelve.
- Extra bonus points if s/he is friends with his/her parents and gets called out.
The Upshot:
One, I'm glad I wasn't quite this bad when I was a kid. Two, I will recognize the advance signs in my own hypothetical children. Or my friends' children. And then I will be forced to.... correct them.

Again, this one is usually a girl but can probably be a guy as well. Generally 19-20 years of age, if they are any older it's not gonna be by much. They are only active from about four PM on a Friday until 10 AM on a Monday. The rest of the time is nothing but drunkenness and debauchery. I'm somewhat in this category but I'm going to set myself apart because contrary to statuses updated in jest, s/he is not: "a toooootal alcoholic" because s/he apparently only seems to drink on weekends. Unlike myself. I drink every fucking day.

In all fairness, I have been here and her spelling is WAY better than mine ever is
- Profile picture was taken at a bar or nightclub or party or whatever it is the young folks do these days
- If they post anything during the week (AKA "sober time) it's going to be song lyrics
- Uploads or is tagged in 174 pictures on Sunday from the Wicked Party!!! Bonus points for garish make-up, obviously fake tan, or duck face
- Uses way more letters than necessary in any given word.
The Upshot:
If you need to know where the party's at, ask this chick.

Nothing ever seems to be going this person's way. Whether it's work, their social life, bills, relationships, health problems, everything is horrible, all the time and it doesn't look like it's going to get better. Ever. And, you know, it's never anything really serious. Like, the people who have cancer or just lost a family member or something always post stuff like: "It's all in God's plan, I'm going to live what's left of my life appreciating the beauty in all things" or "RIP Aunt Rachel, can't think of anybody who lived life more freely than you, love you always" or something else uplifting and - no sarcasm here what-so-fucking-ever - without fail makes my eyeballs leak. Meanwhile, this person's all like, "oh my god I stubbed my toe this is the worst thing that ever happened to anybody".

Alternates between self-censoring foul launguage and writing out the most obscene things on hand, probably depending on their level of ire.
- Inexplicably talks shit behind peoples' backs, then shares pictures with captions about how they don't want shit spoken behind their backs. And calls out anonymous people behind their backs about talking shit behind everybody else's back. What the fuck?
- Bonus points if they state how much they "hate drama".
The Upshot:
No matter how bad my life gets, no matter what bullshit gets thrown at me, it is clearly nowhere near as bad as whatever this person has up their ass.

This post is getting kinda tl;dr and I'm getting kinda drunk so I'm going to break it up into parts. More to come.

Tuesday, May 21, 2013

What I Should Be Doing

I just realized that I have been dicking around (which, in this case, means watching Jenna Marbles and eating stuff) for approximately the last six hours. I also realized that there is nothing more terrifying, more soul crushing, or more depressing, than thinking about the things I should be doing. Because there really are a lot of them. And, like everybody else, I have a habit of putting them off til tomorrow, or the next day, or, well, not that day coz, ya know, I'm working and stuff and I couldn't possibly do any of the things before noon. That would involve getting out of bed before eleven. Instead, I'll just do all the benignly self destructive things I normally do, and claim to be trying to get out of the habit of doing. Scary stuff. And, since I hate to suffer alone, I'm gonna share my procrastinative dread with y'all.


Take my clothes off the line before they get rained on. Again.
Shower - and actually clean myself in the shower rather than standing under the water, looking at the bar of soap and thinking about how rubbing soap and hot water on your skin doesn't really make it cleaner at all.
Put on clothes, other than the pyjamas and work boots I have been schlepping around in for the last (x) days.
Make myself something nutritious to eat, such as a salad, or chicken.
Wash the dishes in the sink.
Start inking the comic I pencilled a week and a half ago.
Write something other than inane blog updates, shopping lists, and the word "kill" over and over again in my journal.
Come up with a responsible budget so that I can pay my debts off this summer.
Do something nice for somebody (yeah, this is never going to happen but it's staying on my list coz it makes me feel good).
Be a rockstar.


Think about exercising.
Eat a block of cheese.
Take a nap.
Drink coffee.
Obssessively research whatever it is I'm interested in at the moment.
Smoke 20-30 cigarettes while staring at the road and contemplating the subjective nature of reality.
Drive around aimlessly, listening to music and looking at people's houses to see if anything has changed since yesterday. I like to call this 'neighbourhood watch'.
Make a half assed attempt at looking presentable so I can go to the store and buy more cigarettes.
Check my phone seven hundred times in the hopes that maybe, just maybe somebody texted me (it should be noted that most of the time when somebody does text me, I'm too fucking lazy to text them back).
Read comics.
Look at pictures of shoes, food, men, clothes or sharks online.
Worry about my lack of productivity.
Open a case of beer and call it quits for the day.

Thursday, May 9, 2013

How to Get This Girl

In my last post I made it pretty clear how a guy can go about making sure I don't want him anywhere near my pants, at any point, ever again. By analyzing what I definitely don't want from a man, I can extrapolate the things I do, in fact, want and compile an instruction manual of sorts for anybody who's interested. Why bother, you may ask?

Because I look like this. Also, I can cook, just sayin.
Furthermore, though this guide is specific to me, seeing as I have more experience being me than anybody else, people are  all pretty much the same so with a little tweaking it could apply to almost anyone, the only difference being that I am a little more blunt about my thoughts and feelings than most.

So, barring the proper combination of pheromones, good looks, alcohol and desperation (I might think I want anybody temporarily if they're nice and I'm drunk), this is the surefire way to get - and, more importantly, keep - this girl.

This one is really, really important, which is why it goes right at the top. There is nothing more depressing than somebody with no ambition to work. It doesn't have to be anything spectacular - I don't care if you work as a fry cook at McDick's or a plucker at the turkey plant, just as long as you have something to do with yourself besides loaf around on the couch all day and bum money off me.

It might seem like a nice gesture seeing as I'm broke most of the time but if you start handing me cash - or worse, paying my bills - I'm going to be insulted. I don't want to feel like I have to depend on you to get by. If you want to buy me a coffee or something, that's cool, but don't straight up give me money. I'm not a prostitute.

"Smart" is even better than that.

I don't mean to sound arrogant here but, in the spirit of honesty, I don't have any problem finding guys who will fuck me. I have standing offers from dudes I could call up any old time to get laid, no word of a lie. Even if that wasn't the case, if I go out to the bar I am guaranteed to meet at least one dude who would gladly take me home. But I don't want that. I want you. I like you. You're great. Respect that.

I have friends. I like to hang out with them. They've stood by me through all kinds of unspeakable shit and they'll still be around if you leave. Don't ever try to compete with them for my attention because you will lose. Some of my closest friends are guys and I understand that there is a whole testosterone things going on there but try not to start shit if you can help it. Also, to return to the previous point, if I wanted to fuck them, I wouldn't be with you.
My family is sort of like that (not the fucking thing obviously, none of that now, but the other stuff) but more so. I love my parents and my brother more than anything or anybody else. You can say virtually anything to or about me, but if you talk smack about them I'll take a bad one. There will be blood.
To that point, once you get into my heart I will defend you with the same fervour.

So do you. So does everybody else. I have a certain propensity towards erratic mood swings and a tendency to try to self medicate with alcohol with varying degrees of success. Normally, when I am in one of my moods (depression or rage being the worst of these), I do what I can to stay away from everybody. If you come into my space when I am avoiding everything with a pulse, well, don't be surprised if I'm a little morose or short tempered. Just remember that it's not you that makes me like that and if I accidentally do unleash on you, it doesn't mean I don't like you or anything like that. Plus, I'll go out of my way to make it up to you later.
This also means that I'll go out of my way to understand and accept whatever issues you have. Everybody's got them and trust me, I can deal with a lot. My ex was an emotionally abusive, clinically depressed alcoholic with a criminal record, serious jealousy problems and an intellect just slightly below that of the average tractor. He also killed one of my cats. And he was the one who dumped me. So unless you compulsively murder people or smuggle drugs in your butt just for fun, you're probably not that bad.

Just because I am emotionally capable of shouldering a lot of shit doesn't mean I have to, or that I am going to. If you ever start thinking that you can do whatever you want because you own me, or because I "can't live without you", just remember that I got by for over two decades without your help. I'll be just fine.

Like, you know, something you can do on your own in your downtime. My schedule will probably not synchronize perfectly with your schedule so instead of calling and texting me constantly while I'm working, or worse, sleeping (there is nothing which makes my blood boil more than being woken up by my phone), go build a model train or fix your guitar or organize your stamp collection or whatever.. Also, I am fascinated by everything but only to a point. Once you go beyond that point, don't expect me to feign interest. Really, do you want me to just pretend to care about what you're doing? If you're not interested in how I draw comics, or Norse mythology, or how many different kinds of cheese there are, just walk away. I won't be mad. I'm pretty damn independant, if you haven't got that picture by now.

If I'm not impressed by the person you are, I'm definitely not going to be impressed by the person you make yourself out to be. No amount of bragging or bullshitting is going to change that.

It's more than just a big old sack of goo taking up space in your cranium. It is - hopefully - the most exciting and attractive thing about you. I'm not necessarily talking about intelligence, and I'm not saying you have to be on par here - I am trying to sound arrogant here, but I'm an intellectual and have met maybe a few people who can keep up with me. It's okay if you don't. I'm not going to think you're stupid. What I want is someone who has a few thoughts bouncing around in his head different from my own, with the capacity and inclination to contemplate things beyond just acting on basic biological impulses "because I felt like it". That shouldn't be all that taxing but most people seem to have trouble with it.

Because you can't. In the most dramatic example, suppose that you, O Hypothetical Boyfriend, were to hypothetically cheat on me with another hypothetical woman (or man, for that matter. Equal opportunity). This has never happened to me but from observing others and watching television, I have ascertained that it's pretty bad. If something of that ilk (or anything really. I'd honestly be more distressed if a man was stealing from me, or lying about his feelings towards me, or secretly beating my dog. At least I understand the biological impulses behind cheating) happened, just tell me. For one thing, you'll feel a lot better getting that off your chest. For another thing, I will find out (I'm pretty sharp, see) and I'd rather find out from you than someone else. Yes, I will be upset, angry even, but that will pale in comparison to the mythic fury that will be witnessed upon you should I find out you've been trying to trick me. Seriously, the Erinyes ain't got shit on me when I've been crossed.
I will forgive all sins but one and that is being made to feel stupid.

Monday, May 6, 2013

Online Dating, Pick-up Lines and the Artlessness of Modern Romance

Something happened to me today (queue the suspense) that inspired me to write one of my lists. The list required a rather lengthy preface though, and I ended up getting a wee bit carried away and rolling with something kinda different and only tangentially related so I broke it up into two separate posts. Who would've thought one stupid text would have been such a goldmine of material.

Anyway, I'm sure I've mentioned this in previous posts but, unless you count the boys I had playdates with when I was five, I have only had the one boyfriend. I've done the "friends with benefits" thing (or as I like to call it, "sad, misguided attempts to get dudes to like me"), which invariably ended in carnage. I figure it's only fair to state my background, if you will, before going on a feminist rampage.

For the record, this is me. And (some of) my cats.

After almost a year of being single and months of trying to figure out whether the dude I was into was into me or not (he wasn't), I decided to give online dating a whirl. It seemed like a great idea, a little bit too much like online shopping at times, but efficient and to the point. It says right on your profile what your interests are - which saves a lot of questions and talking and shit - as well as what you're looking for, be it a one night stand or something more long term.

At first I got a whole bunch of messages requesting slightly distasteful sex acts (the really classy ones were just pictures of turgid wangs with queries such as "u like it?" or "u want some" or variants thereof), but I quickly figured out how to set my account so that I could only get messages from dudes supposedly looking for a relationship, whatever that means (I also restricted guys who were listed as married and/or over fifty - a girl has to have standards).

Despite my precautions, most of the guys I "met" on there were pretty awful. On the plus side, when I got irritated, bored, or disgusted with the conversation I could just block the fucker and I never had to see them in person at all. Ever.

I did meet and go out with a few guys who were really nice and interesting people but just didn't really do it for me as far as potential boyfriend material for one reason or another. Then I met this guy, who we'll call Bob for the sake of kindness, who did kinda seem like the type of fella I could get with.

For starters, the "About Me" section of his profile, as well as the introductory message he sent me, were clever, sarcastic and self-deprecating. We went on a couple of dates, he was funny, educated and reasonably good looking, we had similar interests, liked the same kinds of movies, smoked the same brand of cigarettes and, according to his profile, he was looking for something long term and steady. Ka-ching.

Buuuut in the words of my friend who we'll call Liz because that's her name, "people lie". A month and a half of frustration, late night booty calls and terrible sex later, Bob told me he only ever wanted a fuck buddy. Great. That was a colossal waste of time. It was then that I realized that people go on dating sites for a reason. Bob's reasons were arrogance and unavailability. Mine were that I drink too much and hate to leave my house.

Short story long, I wrote the entire thing off as a learning experience, deleted my account and went back to more or less flying solo. The last time I communicated with Bob was nearly five months ago via text message while I was at a Christmas party, about a week after the whole "fuck buddy" conversation. I told him that I was going to go over to his place then evidently changed my mind, got drunk, sent him several incoherent strings of letters and passed out. In the morning, I sent him an apology and deleted his number out of my phone.

Honestly, I don't really know why I started texting him that night in the first place. I had, at that point, decided to cut my losses and moved on to bigger and better things (I didn't intend for that to be a sexual innuendo but it's true). My guess is that it had something to do with my dislike of sleeping alone. Also the beer, wine, rum, vodka, sour puss and jagermeister I was drinking at the time. Maybe, who knows.

Flash forward to today (or yesterday if you want to get technical). I get a text from an unknown number asking how I'm doing and what was up with the message I apparently left on his voicemail in my drunken fugue back in December. It was Bob (surprise!).

We exchanged pleasantries for fifteen or twenty minutes before he confirmed my suspicions regarding the reasons for his suddenly appearing out of fucking nowhere. Our conversation after that point is presented verbatim for posterity.

BOB: So if I invited you over for some wild face paced sex, would you get loaded and pass out again? Lol

ME: More than likely.

BOB: Lol, atta girl

ME: What can I say, I like to drink.

BOB: Even more than sex?

ME: Depends on the sex but in most cases yes.

BOB: Jesus, Thad [sic] dedication. Wanna get drunk and fuck?

ME: Not really no.

I hate to quote song lyrics in the middle of my blog, but a line from Ampersand by Amanda Palmer jumped into my mind: "Has any girl in history said, 'Sure, you seem so nice, let's get it on'?" I am very seldom surprised by how ignorant and gross human beings are, but I was shocked and more than a little bit offended by the sentiment. I hadn't made any effort whatsoever to get in touch with Bob in five months but he obviously thought there was a chance I would run and jump right back in his bed.

Then I took to thinking (which I always dangerous) - this particular case is an extreme one but it seems to me that people these days, both male and female, are getting really lazy when it comes to hooking up.

I understand that it's not the middle ages anymore, there's no such thing as courtly love, and I'm definitely not expecting anybody to pen a poem about my shimmering auburn tresses or stand under my window playing the lute. That would be kinda weird. I also understand that women, being human beings and not timid woodland creatures, do not need to be coaxed and lured and tricked. We want sex too.

However, saying things like "holy shit I'm horny", "let's make a sex tape" and "there's coke at my place if you want to come over" - all things men varying in relation from Total Stranger to Uncomfortable Acquaintance have said to me - are awful, awful ways to introduce yourself, and I really can't see them unlocking anybody's pants. One guy to whom I gave my phone number prior to deleting my account on the dating site texts me usually once every 4-6 weeks, same thing every time: "still single?" I told him I wasn't interested, told him I was seeing somebody, turned him down for a date I don't know how many times, but he still texts me.

One guy showed me a picture of his cock in a bar one night, while I was working no less. The weird thing with all of these guys is that they go about their bizarre wooing with such confidence and they seem to get angry when I'm unimpressed and/or repulsed. For some reason they genuinely think saying "I haven't got laid in seven months, you should come to my place tonight" is going to make me want to do anything besides walk away cringing.

It makes me wonder where these expectations come from. Is there an invisible sign over my head that reads, "I'm easy"? Yes, I am frank about my sexual tastes and experiences, I'm not a nun, and yes when it comes to hooking up or whatever I prefer people to be direct rather than taking the coy, fuckaround route, but holy fuck, there is such a thing as tact. And you know what, just because I'm uninhibited and do and say what I want doesn't mean I'm a slut. Learn about it. 

Wednesday, April 17, 2013

I am horribly agitated

I've been trying to aleviate my quiet, seething, internal rage by drawing a picture every time I want to scream at, or physically harm another person. Here are some of those pictures.

Tuesday, April 16, 2013

Hawaiian Nachos

Last night as I was making nachos, throwing everything I could find into them, it occurred to me that they were going to be almost unbearbly salty. To cut the salt, I figured what the hell I'll throw some pineapple in there and see what happens. Turned out pretty good so I figured I'd share with the world.

Hawaiian Nachos

2 tomatoes, chopped
1 small onion, chopped
1/4 c. mushrooms, chopped
1/4 c. green olives, chopped
1/4 c. ham, chopped
1 can crushed pineapple, drained*
1 c. sour cream
2 c. cheddar cheese, grated (at least. I have a cheese problem so there was probably more than two cups)
1 jar salsa con queso
2 bags nacho chips

Preheat oven to 400.
Mix tomatoes, onion, mushrooms, olives, ham and pineapple in a bowl. Add sour cream, mixing so that vegetable matter is liberally coated.
In a seperate receptacle, blend about 1 1/2 cups of cheese and half the cheesey salsa.
In a baking receptacle (not sure what size I used - you might need two), lay down a layer of chips. Top with salsa-cheese mixture. I found this hard to spread so I just slapped it down in big globs then spread the remaining salsa around. Pile on the vegetable-sour cream thing. Add another layer of chips and sprinkle the rest of the cheese on top.
Bake 15-20 minutes or so, until cheese is melted all over the place.

*Tip: I poured the pineapple juice into a cup and added a liberal amount of rum to pretend I was still in Cuba.

Saturday, April 13, 2013

Anatomy of a Malcontent

35 Things I Learned in Cuba

I went to Cuba last week. I know it's not the biggest deal in the world but (apart from a burn and turn to Bangor a few months ago during which I was out of New Brunswick for maybe six hours total), it's the first time I've left the country in fifteen years, the first time I've left the Maritimes in two years, and the first time I've left the province in a year. Fuck, it's hard to get me to leave Gagetown for anything less than midnight burgers or new shoes.

Furthermore, the only other time I've been out of Canada was a trip to Berlin as a child so this marked the first time I'd ever been anywhere warm. Needless to say, it was a bit of a shock. And being me I had to compile a rough list of things I learned about the country, about resorts and about myself while I was down there.

- It is very hot in Cuba. The temperature was in the forties with the humidity at least once while we were there.
- Due to the heat, it is almost impossible to rush anything. You can wait twenty minutes for the waiter to even acknowledge you in a restaurant. It's also to hot to care.
- It's so hot the birds, I shit you not, are too lazy and nonchalant to fly.
- The only things in a hurry in Cuba are the cab drivers for some reason, and the rain. The rain was in a big hurry. According to the hotel staff it only rains, like, once every two weeks. We caught it the last day we were there. It was one of the coolest fuckin things I have ever seen.
- Caribbean sun and Mediterranean skin do not mix well.
- Furthermore, SPF-60 sunscreen don't do shit.
- After roasting in the sun all day, a cold shower is not your friend.
- It is very, very cold in Canada. I didn't appreciate quite how cold it is here until I got back. It took me two days to get warm.
- All-inclusive is great. The inability to pace oneself. My prime objective was to drink enough liqour to equal the cost of the trip. This did not happen. I went a little too crazy on the first couple of days and had to slack off towards the end of the week. That being said, I did better than the sixty high school students who were staying at the same resort the same week. Damn punks don't know how to drink.
- Cuban rum is pretty foul, particularly the white rum. I watched one of the guys pour 3/4 of a bottle on the beach in front of a bunch of east coasters. This is impossible to do at home without violence erupting.
- Beware the free-pour. Gin and juice seems like a good idea until you see how little juice they put in it.
- Shoes are optional. I started walking barefoot after a couple days, although the walking paths were paved and got really hot. I'm sure I probably got athlete's foot or something but whatever, at least my feet were comfy.
- Don't go to the beach alone at night. I went with a crew of people but it was still kinda sketchy.
- The beach is, however, the place to bang at night. Apparently. I did not do any banging.
- You can do pretty much everything there is to do on the resort in about two days. Excluding the gym and the tennis court. Fuck that healthy shit.
- The only beer available on the resort was Cristal which is, apparently, the 'girl beer'. We did regular excursions to get Bucanero, the tasty, manly beer.
- The food on the resort was mediocre. I wound up snagging raw ingredients from the buffet and constructing sandwiches in my room.
- Todo en Uno in Varadero has the best fried chicken ever. I tried to find the actual address of this place with little success, but it's like a mall with a bar and pool tables and a rollercoaster and this wicked chicken place. My god that chicken was fuckin good.
- I love naps.
- Pelicans are fucking huge. One of my secondary objectives for the week was to see a pelican scoop up a small child. That didn't happen either.
- A lot of people want to get married in Cuba. I watched one wedding and met a whole lot of people that were there for other weddings. As beautiful as the country is and unlikely as I am to wed, I wouldn't get married there. It seems like a lot of hassle.
- I only saw one clock on the resort. It was stuck at 12:15, mocking my preoccupation with knowing what time it is.
- I left my phone at home so I wouldn't get a whole bunch of charges. I'm surprised at how little I missed it.
- I met so many people from the east coast. The whole place had a real east coast jive to it. Everybody says howdy.
- Pickles on a beef kabob are truly amazing.
- Also amazing was the coffee. One of the first things I did when I got back to Canada was grab a Robin's. It tastes like dirty bean water in comparison.
- You can smoke anywhere on the resort, including (but not limited to) the restaurants, the rooms, and the pool and nobody says anything.
- You could get a deck of smokes for .60 pesos on the resort. It was 2 pesos for a lighter.
- Just because the smokes cost sixty cents does not necessarily mean one should buy or smoke them. I usually got my smokes from the machine in the lobby. I didn't recognize any of the brands so I just punched a different button every time. One day I got 'Monterrey's, which were unfiltered and stronger than hell. My lungs just about jumped up and ran out of my body but I smoked 'em.
- Blue is my new favourite colour. I must have seen a hundred different kinds of blue.
- Water slides effectively combine my fear of heights, fear of drowning, and claustrophobia. I did it anyway, twice. I'm still kinda proud of that one.
- As near as I could tell, they only had three songs on the resort which they would play over and over again, all day, every day. These songs were "Gangnam Style", "Set Fire to the Rain", and something by Pitbull (I can't tell his songs apart). If I go the rest of my life without ever hearing these songs again, I will be happy. I realize that the likelihood of that happening is low.
- Playing "My Heart will Go On" on a boat as it's leaving the dock is a terrible idea. Yelling "boat gonna' sink!" while they're playing "My Heart will Go On" on a boat isn't a very good idea either and will get you dirty looks from strangers.
- Going through the airport in Varadero on the way home was one of the most terrifying experiences of my life. I get pretty anxious at times and I was just about vibrating when I got to security.
- A change of scenery, even for a week, kinda makes you rethink your life.