Okay, so things are finally confirmed and I have a few minutes where I feel productive, so I discuss things.

But first, a summary of the last few days.

Let's see... Thursday I went out to a cheapo comedy club with the spook and one of his friends. En route, the spook said something to me (as a joke) that I found really offensive, so I seethed for about five or ten minutes, then decided to do the mature route and get over myself and state I had found it offensive. He apologized, and things were better for the rest of the evening.

He dropped me off right after the show 'cause he wasn't feeling well, and I more or less went right to bed, because I had a Big Day planned for La St-Jean.

I woke up around 8 Friday morning and decided to get up and get moving. I didn't really get out of the house until 10, 'cause my version of 'get moving' is still fairly slow if I don't have to move quickly. I headed over to Stefan's place, and the two of us headed over to the DMV.

He read the motorcycle book in the car, and read out a few things to me, and when we got to the DMV, we sat in the car for a bit and read some more. We went in to see how long of a wait it would be, I had difficulties with the vending machines (bring lots of loonies or twoonies, 'cause that's all it takes!) and we chatted a bit while we waited. I tried to read the book a bit more, Stefan kept stealing it from me, and then it was our turn to go through the vision testing and so on.

I was convinced I'd failed it 'cause I wasn't able to see some of the numbers in the little circles, but she processed me through (note to self: don't wear contacs!). We wrote the tests, Stefan did better than me (probably because he actually read the book a bit more thoroughly -- i.e., at all), and we both passed and were out and on our way.

So... I'm now legally allowed to get on any motorcycle during daylight hours and drive around the city. With no training whatsoever. I know this is the same as when I got my G1, but at least there you have to have a passenger, and if you're driving an automatic, a car isn't the most difficult thing in the world to operate.

Anyhow, we headed over to the motorcycle store so I could buy a clock for the spook's bike, and I picked up a pair of boots and a helmet for myself. Then we drove over to the spook's place (after a stop at a drug store so I could buy a bow to put on it -- ended up with some multi-coloured ribbons that looked very pretty), and Stefan decided he passed the Nice Guy test, because the spook offered him a beer shortly after our arrival/invitation inside.

From there, we headed over to Ben's place and harrassed him and Mark for a bit. I decided I wanted to do a dinner thing, so we called up Matt and arranged to have him (and the two As) meet us later at Stefan's place. I drove Mark, Ben and Stefan downtown, and then Mark and I hung out for a bit at my place before he had to head out to meet his friends for a movie. We talked a bit about friendship and trust issues, didn't necessarily accomplish anything in the conversation, but there didn't seem to be any major hurt feelings or anything, either.

The BBQ was fun, and I left around 11:30 or so because I had to be up early on Saturday. Saturday I, along with most of the rest of the crew, was helping S and N move from their current place to BFN. The day as a whole was fairly fun -- there were some shorter tempers than usual, probably helped in no small part from the heat, but no one seemed to really snap at anyone else. I had two of my "friends" comment on the "titty sweat" pattern that I had (apparently my nipples have moved a inch inwards apiece), and it was then said that I had some kind of arrangement where my nipples were spurting I'm-not-sure-what above the top of my bra in order to form this pattern. I was trying not to listen. :P

N and I were amused by the various sweat patterns that were forming on some of our friends -- JJ, for example, had a Tenderheart sweat pattern going on (the shape of the heart, not the bear), and M had a dry patch in the shape of a butterfly or batman symbol on his chest -- so we decided that he was wearing the costume under his shirt.

Anyhow, despite most of us taking the wrong exit off the highway, we all got there in one piece. From there there was some unloading (I confess, I didn't participate in the unloading -- but I did a good amount of loading, without even feeling sore afterwards!), and some playing in the pool and sitting on the deck outside, talking. I felt somewhat outside of things -- it definitely felt like there was a lot of coupling or pairing of conversations going on, and I felt like I wasn't really welcome in many of them. An observation, not a complaint.

I managed to crack my head on a table at one point, and only discovered later that night that I had a cut above my nose -- I've now been asked twice if one of the kitties got me, but alas, it was my own stupidity. It hurt a lot at the time, and I'm surprised I didn't get a bruise or something, but not especially disappointed.

I left at the same time as R and N, shortly after dinner, and got home around 8 o'clock. I called them up and we went out to see Mr. & Mrs. Smith. Beforehand, I grabbed a Timmy's sandwich (I kept winding up hungry *after* eating food that I hadn't been especially hungry to eat in the first place) and some Solarcaine for the sunburn on my shoulders. Nothing too awful, but it's been years since I've had a burn, so I'm finding it uncomfortable. I'm a wimp when it comes to pain! ;)

Sunday I drove the car back out to my parents' place, then went with Dad to pick up Mom from the airport. While we were waiting, Dad and I were talking about motorcycles, and the possibility of storing it in my second bedroom (my sister isn't as crazy as I thought!).

See, the reason I can start making plans for my second bedroom now is that I actually have a real, solid *job* that I'll be starting Monday. I love the timing -- my contract here finishes on the 30th (Thursday), and I have the long weekend, then I start my new job on Monday. It would've been nice to have some time off to theoretically clean or lounge around or something, but this will work out nicely.

I want to have something momentous happen in my life. Good momentous, though. And I know, a new job should be enough, but for some reason, it just isn't.

I had the kitties out on their leashes last night -- well, sort of. I'd brought my chair outside after my gym session (a pretty good one, I think), and I had them both on their leashes. Venus did the chicken thing and stayed inside, and Thena went inside after awhile and didn't come back out. I had the back door open, so I just thought they were lying in the doorway, being dorks.

After awhile, Venus came out and was near the door. I praised her for being brave enough to come outside, and watched her a bit as she wandered around the patio. I was reading, I wasn't paying too much attention -- until she was down the steps, further than she's able to reach when on her leash. Then I realized there was no line of blue following her -- she'd gotten off her leash. And, as it turns out, her harness.

So, she was a good kitty for having stayed close to home, and I don't think she deliberately tried to get off her harness (it was hanging over the couch, so I think she tried to run away and slipped out). Thena, on the other hand, was all twisted around the kitchen table and chairs -- a new game she likes to play. It's called Annoy Mom. :P

She came out and got twisted around my chair a bit, and then tried to jump back on the patio, landing with an awful-sounding thump both times she tried. I got her to calm down and I untangled her. Poor kitty. :( Mind you, all of this will teach me to pay a bit more attention to them when they're outside -- or not, I should say.

Last night at the gym, my trainer had me do a new kind of exercise. Once upon a time, she held my legs somewhat while I did chin-ups -- this was a modification on that. She moved the bar on the Smith machine to its second-highest setting, and placed a flat bench underneath it. I kneeled on the bench, held onto the bar with my palms facing me, and raised myself up so my chin was above/at the bar. Ideally, I should've done this without ever going back fully on my knees, but I did because that is my way. It's a huge workout for your obliques, and I can definitely feel them today. Yesterday, after we finished two sets, I laid down on the bench at one point (while she was moving the bar into place and adding some weights to do military press), and I was getting mini-spasms in my obliques, almost like someone was prodding them under my skin or something. It's an exercise I think I'm going to love to hate, and I can see myself doing it again more. When I mentioned the spasms, she said that obviously we were going to have to do more of these. :)

Afterwards, I did a few more ab exercises -- one set on "Rocky" (as she calls it), where you hold yourself up from your calves and you do curls upwards, and then a set of knee raises. I do have strong abs somewhere under all the rest of this stomach. :P

I was supposed to have a workout on Friday, but I'd cancelled it. I figured the net result with Saturday's exertions more or less balanced it out. :)

Also, I feel that I have no fashion sense. I decided this today -- well, I decided this a long time ago, but I feel it more today. I shouldn't fear wearing more fitting clothes, because the baggy look just isn't flattering or attractive. Now if I could only get my body to a point where it looks good in the fitted clothes... Bah!

Anyhow, I think I'm moving past some of the emo I had going on this weekend, hopefully.

I finished my copy of Fahrenheit 451 the other day, and last night I finished the book I'd started reading last night, and I forgot to bring more reading material with me today. :P

Okay, time for lunch, I think. Breakfast didn't satisfy me -- maybe pancakes and bacon for dinner last night didn't really fill me up the way it should've.


And new story up at Angry Apostrophe. Enjoy The Connecticut Bride, and bonus points to anyone who can tell me why it's called that.
From yesterday's "writing":

I feel as though, if I were to sit in a book store all day, undisturbed, with food and beverages as I need them, I could write. When I'm surrounded by books, by the efforts of so many determined and successful people, I feel it is something that I too could achieve.

Instead, I wait for those brief moments of inspiration to come through and find my brain and spark something.

I need to go back to carrying a notebook -- my little book for phrases, not the big, important ones that require full sentences and properly fleshed-out ideas.

I need to fight my way past my innate laziness and do things -- be it clean my apartment, work out, pay attention to my cats, write, read or whatever.

Things collect dust in my apartment. I have a yoga mat and tapes, a boxing stand and bag, a bicycle... but I always have reasons not to do any of them.

It's partly why I hesitate to take on new hobbies -- who has the time? Though I do want to convert my second bedroom into a craft room/office... maybe somehow make the room huge and turn it into a library, as well. Speaking of which -- finally got in touch with the landlord company to renew my lease.

And there endeth yesterday's writings. Not very exciting, I know.

I've seen Batman Begins again -- did that Tuesday night, with Ben and Stefan after pho. I slept horribly Tuesday night, which lead to some entertaining (for my coworkers) ranting and crankiness as I was leaving early to escort my friend E to her dentist appointment. She was having her two wisdom teeth removed, and needed someone to get her home and make sure she didn't die, etc. Everything went fine, and I'm envious of her ability to recover from anaesthetic much faster than I do. Not that I spend a lot of time under general anaesthetic, so it's not really relevant.

I'm starting to end up in overthinking mode. Making efforts to stay out of that world, though.

I used the phrase "carrying a matchstick" for someone awhile ago -- I'm not even sure to whom I used it. I think it was Ben. Basically, it's my version of "carrying a torch" for someone -- if you're carrying a torch, your feelings are that much stronger and obvious. If you're carrying a matchstick, then it's personal and perhaps known only to you, and doesn't affect you except maybe every now and then when you think about that person. I liked the notion.

I watched Snatch last night, finally. Good movie, but I didn't have as much trouble understanding Brad Pitt most of the time as I thought I might. Every now and then something other people didn't necessarily come through, though, so early on I checked the subtitles to double-check what someone had said -- and there wasn't one. I think that was done deliberately, but it was still slightly annoying. There might be some clarification on the second disc, but I'm not sure I care enough to check.

I made sure to go to bed early, though. I was in bed before 10:30, and for some reason or another, spent some time imagining myself blowing up at someone over an issue that's been going on for a long time. I kept imagining what I'd say, and how it would play out -- and picturing it in front of a group of people so as to get the most effectiveness and support out of it. Because I know there are others who share my feelings, and have suffered worse and would support it... but public humiliation might not be the best way. It might, because it would probably stick the longest and be the most 'serious' manner of things playing out, but at the same time, it would probably generate the most resentment and anger -- and not necessarily just from the target, either.

But then again, I don't even know that this whole scenario I imagined would be necessary. I could very well be imagining something for nothing, which I often do -- reconciliation scenes, debates, fights with friends... my brain is a very different place to live.

Sometimes I try to imagine who would be the ideal partner for my friends. Let's face it -- I've had a decent amount of dating experience, and I've seen a number of different couples and how they work. Sometimes, I get a weird feeling about a particular couple, and I don't think they're suited to the long-term. I've had discussions with a couple of my male friends how are honest-to-goodness nice guys (tm) about how, if they end their relationships, they aren't going to be bad guys (tm). These guys don't want to end things because of stupid reasons -- they've invested a lot of time and energy in their respective relationships, and they're at points right now where it's possible it might just be time to move on.

Now, granted, it's not up to me to make that call. I refuse to decide the fate of someone else's relationship, because it's not my place -- I don't even get to control the fate of my own. :) And maybe I'm not being the best of friends by saying to someone, "maybe you should think about ending it"... but I wouldn't say it if they weren't already maybe hinting around it and just needing someone to be the bad person (tm) and verbalize their thoughts, and hey, maybe I am being a good friend by being able to step up and let them know that this might not be the worst possible thing they could do.

There are a few relationships that are around me that I've looked at and thought they wouldn't last. Or maybe that they shouldn't last. To most of the people in them, I've alluded to or flat-out said this. Actually, I've done that in the cases I can think of where I'm friends with someone in the relationship (except maybe one). Again, it's not my place, etc., but... I don't know. Am I a better friend for voicing my concerns, or am I a better friend for keeping quiet and supporting the people in their relationship decisions? What if those decisions involve more serious steps?

I'd like to think that if I was involved with someone my friends was a horrible mistake, that someone, somewhere would say something. In fact, to anyone who reads this and interacts with me on some kind of regular basis, I actively encourage you to do so. Give the guy a chance, perhaps, but feel free to step up to the plate and voice your concerns. I promise not to get upset with you for them. :)

I know of one instance where an intervention was considered. I don't know if I'd have the confidence to do that, so I applaud anyone who does. But I've also seen what happens when a concerned populace tries to voice their concerns -- it seems to make the people being approached that much more stubborn and determined in their path. Of course, that time it was with a couple that was convinced it was doing the right thing; in other cases, maybe it works.

I've wondered if I should intervene in any of the cases I can think of, but I'm just not sure I feel right about doing so. My rule of thumb is that I very rarely voice opinions about someone's boyfriend or girlfriend, because you never know when it's going to come around and bite you on the ass. I'll generally give my censored/guarded thoughts once, in a situation where I think the friend to whom I am speaking is receptive to them, and then that's it. I guess my more recent version is to cautiously say to someone that they might not be a horrible person if they go ahead and end things. :)

I've said many times that I want to get married. But I don't kid myself that I'm going to find Mr. Perfect anytime soon -- or maybe not even ever. I don't pretend that this relationship or the previous one or the next one is going to be the right one. The best I can do is to just keep dating -- selectively -- and enjoying myself and any company I choose to keep. I think some of my friends worry that, given my desire to be betrothed, I'm going to rush into something stupid, or I'm going to settle for just anyone, or that in my loneliness and hunt for love, I'll pick someone who'll be, from the start, a mistake.

Not to worry; I'm (usually) more sensible than I seem. Although just like everyone, I'm entitled to mistakes. :)

But what happens if you know someone that you fear might be settling? What about situations where they just seem to be contenting themselves with the best of the worst? What if you just haven't dated enough to find someone that genuinely complements you the way, in my romantic mind, honestly should? Is it intervention time, or do you just accept that maybe you don't know all of the details, because after all, a relationship is between two people, and only they know all of what's going on -- and sometimes, like in most of my relationships, only one of those two ever knows it all? :)

Okay, so maybe I do overthink things... but sometimes it's preferable to thinking about work. :P


The Epic

Over dinner Saturday night (last week), I was talking to the spook about something or another I happened to have read in one of my feminist mags (Bust, Bitch and Ms.). He asked me why I read the magazines, because I didn't seem like much of a feminist.

I was surprised, but asked him what he meant, and he said that I don't hate men (I'm paraphrasing here, I'm sure).

So I said a little bit about how there are different extremes of feminism, and that no, I'm not at the end that hates men. We moved on to another subject shortly thereafter, but the question kinda stuck with me.

I've read and collected (with the intention of reading) a lot of feminist literature. Without doing a comparative review of the various philosophies, I can only presume that, based upon my own interests and subsequently, the books to which I would be drawn, that they are similar in nature as far as degrees of extremism goes -- but as I said, many are, as of yet, unread.

However, it's important to realize that, as with many different theories, there are many different "scales" of feminism, and many concerns for feminism to address. We are all products of our societies and upbringings, and as a result, we each have our own priorities.

Regardless of the number of times I may have said it on this site, I don't hate men. Most of my friends -- and likely all of my best friends -- are men. I am primarily straight, which means I am attracted to men, and much of what goes along with that -- their smells, their muscles, their body hair, their thoughts, their actions, their feelings, their penises.

Yes, I put that last one in the list. While I do believe there exists a very phallocentric bias in our society (which I could detail at a later date, if there is interest), I'm also hard-wired to enjoy the phallus on its own merits. Sorry, but there's something hot about the feel of a hardon pressed against you -- under the right circumstances (more here, at "Caught Next to a Hard Place").

And that's just it. My feminism includes heterosexuality -- as well as homosexuality, bisexuality, and transsexuality/transgenderism. My feminism allows for the removal of bodily hair, the wearing of makeup and skirts, heels, low-cut tops, push-up bras, thongs, g-strings, granny panties, whatever you'd like. But, I feel that if you want to wear any of those things, you should do it for yourself. I shave my legs semi-regularly during the winter because I prefer the feel and it helps alleviate problems with dry skin -- not because I'm worried it might gross out my boy. If that's all it takes to turn him off (or out of my bed), well, he won't be able to handle a lot of other stuff that comes with me being me (a rant about women, men and bodily functions would go well here, if I hadn't lost the post).

I don't wear makeup because I'm too lazy to wash my face before bed most nights, and I think I look pretty okay without it.

My feminism includes looking as feminine or as butch as you'd like -- wear jeans and t-shirts, wear blouses and skirts, whatever.

My feminism speaks to equal rights. That's something we finally saw when women's right to wander topless was brought into effect -- something I'd been talking about for years (either give us all the right, or ban the men from doing it, too). Equal rights includes a woman's right to work in an environment where they are paid the same as their male counterparts, and they can work free from harrassing language and images.

But not just the same rights as the men in my life and the lives of others. There are some rights that are more directed to women, that affect us more. Reproductive rights, for one. There are regions of the US where pharmacists are refusing to to fill women's birth control prescriptions because it goes against their beliefs (1). Some of these same pharmacists are refusing to tell women other places they can go to get their prescriptions filled, or even holding onto their prescriptions and refusing to release them (2). Some of these pharmacists will fill prescriptions for married women, but some of these require proof of the woman's marital status, first.

Needless to say, these are likely the same people who are against abortion rights. I am pro-choice, and have been as long as I've known what the term meant -- as near as I can recall, that's been since I was 13 or 14, if not younger. I have always known that if I were to wind up pregnant at a time when I could not support myself and a baby for whatever reasons, I would not have weeks or months of agony or torment over making the decision to have an abortion.

I support all choices -- having the baby, giving it up for adoption, or abortion. I do not support abortion used as a form of birth control, or for choosing the gender of the baby. I'm undecided when it comes to babies born with genetic defects; I think that's between the parents and the doctor. I don't believe it's up to me to decide whether or not a mother, father, or family -- be it a heterosexual couple, two moms or two dads -- should be required to raise a child they are not prepared to raise, and that includes trying to tell someone they can support a child, regardless of health and financial status, etc. It is absolutely an issue that is dependant on the situation at hand.

At the same time, I will on occasion express an opinion *against* some people having babies -- when they don't have the money, the emotional readiness, and so on. Maybe I don't have all the details and I'm being judgemental, but we're all entitled to our own opinions, yes? I don't tell the people themselves those things, just others. And there are certainly those who are having babies that I think are totally ready and will make fantastic parents.

I've gone on a tangent, though. My feminism supports mothers and fathers, and includes daycare so that mothers and fathers can work and raise children. I believe there should be support for parenthood, instead of guilt trips and difficulties.

I saw the movie "Stepford Wives" in theatres with D last year, and we discussed afterwards how it frightened me (I thought I wrote about it here, but can't seem to find a post on it). It frightened me because there do exist men who only want wives who cook, clean, and put out as the man desires. They do not want women who express opinions, have feelings or thoughts or aspirations of their own -- or personalities of their own, for that matter. Women in those relationships are mere accessories, or trophies to be displayed before the other men as examples of what the husbands can achieve -- for men in those situations, regardless of their physical appearance, intellectual state or emotional makeup, always seem to feel entitled to the young, beautiful women.

Of course, there is something disturbing to be said about the women who allow themselves to be in those situations. I don't kid myself that anyone is dating me first and foremost for my face or body -- to date me, you have to have a pretty high tolerance and appreciation for my (difficult) personality and sense of humour. I subscribe to the Miranda Hobbes, of Sex and the City fame's theory: "Sexy is the thing I try to get them to see me as after I win them over with my personality." I take pride in being attractive based on my intelligence and personality.

Though I will admit to being flattered when someone finds me physically attractive. I don't have the bar star physique -- tall, slim, long blonde hair, busty, tanned -- so finding someone who's drawn to me (someone with the body type I describe as capable of throwing a cow over my shoulder and taking it off to the barn -- hooray for Ukraine and Irish peasant stock genetics!) over what society dictates as "ideal" is a flattering occurance. I'll admit it -- but then again, how many among us don't like to be made to feel attractive?

A lot of us have a difficult time giving or receiving compliments. I try to make sure I do give them now and again -- though people seem to react oddly to being told they're wearing a nice cologne (something I'd say now and again to the appropriate people when I was working at the book store). Go figure.

Actually, whenever I'm riding the bus, if I find myself staring at someone for whatever reason, I always try to come up with something I like about what they're wearing in case they get upset and challenge me. I've always been a paranoid monkey, it would seem.

I've also always had a difficult time staying on-topic. I wanted to discuss the virgin/whore complex, and the role people like Britney Spears, Paris Hilton and so on play as "role models," but couldn't come up with a good segue, so this is it. My segue, that is.

I strongly believe that these women represent terrible role models for women of all ages. We have Britney, who is on record as saying that now she is married, she doesn't want or need to dress up all sexy, and her public had better get used to it.

We have Paris Hilton, recently quoted as saying that she plans to settle down and be a good wife. Apparently she has only been playing at being a dumb blonde, that she considers herself a businesswomen and a brand.

I'lls tick with these two for now, since they've been in the news most recently.

First of all, I fully support anyone's right to wear the sluggiest clothes around. Goodness knows I have no fashion sense, and I do it, too. I also fully support anyone's right to mock and/or trash anyone's outfits -- also something I do on occasion.

However -- honey, darling, baby -- you are completely undermining feminism when you say it's now because you're married that you don't have to dress nicely. You are exacerbating so many stereotypes by perpetuating the myth that women only dress nicely to snag ourselves a husband, then it's curlers, cold creams, sweat pants and bonbons until we die! Dress nicely for yourselves, not for a guy (or girl). But also, don't just totally let yourself go -- people don't like feeling like they've been taken for granted, and that often happens when you completely let go of all your grooming habits, just because you've nabbed a partner. And yes, this applies to boys as well as girls -- maybe you don't have to style your hair as regularly, or wear as much makeup or your outfits quite so tight, but a little effort is appreciated and can go a long way.

(And when you're dealing with a guy who already left the mother of two of his children, when she was 8 months pregnant with the second, you might want to examine why he left her for you -- not that I'm trying to imply she let herself go or anything like that, relationships are about two people, but it's possible he was attracted in some way to your high-maintenance lifestyle. He obviously didn't feel obligated to stay around for the children -- and reports state that he's missed out on the birth of the second for a reason I can't recall, and the birthday of the first because of filming a video with you... what a catch!)

Secondly, I won't get into what I think of people sa brands. I find it very sad that there might in some way exist a Paris Hilton brand. Not to mention the fact that this woman's self as brand revolves around their main items/issues, as I see it: her identity as a blonde ditz (a la Simple Life or the "loss" of her chihuahua, who she "forgot" was being dogsat); her identity as sex object (a la sex tapes -- which are mysteriously released anytime her name falls out of the news for any length of time -- or her ad for that American burger chain); and finally, her identity as petulant heiress, famous mainly for being famous -- a la "divorcing" her best friend, a la "shock and dismay" of the "hacking" of her cell phone, a la complaining of how it is no longer fun to go out and have "losers" want to have their picture taken with her.

Umm, boo hoo? You made your bed -- then "accidentally" lost the sheets, pillows and video of you sleeping in it. All I can say to the heading, "Hilton Plans to Quit Public Life in Two Years" (3)is -- can we get that promise in writing? Please?

I get so angry with the vapid women who fill our airwaves with their cute, giggly soundbites. Jessica Simpson, another prime candidate for a brain transplant (or simply a refill from an air-pump station), is playing this role up as Daisy Duke in The Dukes of Hazzard movie. Now, maybe she's only playing the role from the original tv series (and sure, I haven't seen it, so I can only go by what I've seen so far), but honey -- why don't you play against type for a change?

When a woman only sells herself as T&A, she tells society that it's acceptable to look at all women that way, that we actively enjoy, encourage and solicit that sort of attention. Now, of course everyone enjoys being made to feel attractive (see earlier), but that sort of attention isn't the same. That attentino is debasing and devaluing, and is all about the sum of your parts, instead of the sum that is you.

Being regarded for just our parts is a major element of the virgin/whore complex (as is attitude/behaviour, but I'll get there). When we are seen only for our tits, ass, legse or what-have-you, it becomes that much easier to disassociate personality and person from the parts, and whatever characteristcs one wants to said person. Frequently, our society determines that a woman with a voluptuous body -- for example, Angelina Jolie -- is someone who is willing to pursue a married man, or do any other host of untenable things. The fact that she is on record as being sexually experimental simply feeds into that mythos.

Men are, of course, not immune from this stereotyping, but it doesn't seem to be near as popular. I'll readily admit, a large part of James Marsters appeal stems from the fact that, to me, he looks like someone who knows hot o have dirty sex -- and would cuddle you afterwards -- but how many other public male figures are on record with so-called "questionable" sexual proclivities (and to my knowledge, he isn't; I just choose to assign them to him).

A woman with large breasts, large lips, long legs, a tight ass -- choose whatever is the ideal of the day -- is open to anything with anyone, or so goes the stereotype. We want to touch beautiful people, and we assume they want to be touched in return. No one ever imagines themselves as unappealing to others (even if they complain of low self-esteem, I still hold this to be at least somewhat true), so we find it difficult to grasp that other person might find it objectionable to receive physical contact from us -- be it a touch on the arm or leg, a backrub, a hug, or even in some cases, something more.

When our focus becomes concentrated on body parts as objects to be touched, patted, tasted, kissed, licked, attained -- then we do not see the tension of one who does not wish to be touched. We do not see the (hidden?) look of disgust, discomfort, or other "non-interest." We lose sight of the forest in pursuit of the tree.

This is where communication and respect are hugely important. If we respect one another, we do not go grabbing the body parts unless we are positive the attention is welcomed. When it comes to touching or touching near society-delineated and personally-delineated private parts, it's best to adopt a "hands-off without express invitation" policy. These lines may be blurred somewhat in coupled situations, but just because we have a more-or-less open-door policy on the parts doesn't mean respect should be forgotten. Needless to sya, if either of you has someone whose parts you're allowed to touch, you shouldn't be touching those of others (except in agreed-upon circumstances, etc.). It doesn't matter how pretty they may be, or how different from your partners' -- unless the owner of the parts invites you, and your partner says it's okay, don't touch. We're not in kindergarten playing Doctor anymore.

Attitude, as I earlier stated, also appears to play a major part in how we are societally-perceived, and, consequently, perceived by our friends. It has been my personal experience that the ability to discuss sex openly and honestly, in a shame-free and educated, mature manner, makes one a slut who is sleeping with every guy to whom she speaks, and is obviously guilty of every sexual 'transgression' of which she is accused. And all because... bah. That's a separate, private rant -- but I know that I'm not the only one hwo is subjected to it. As a society, we love to tear down our heroes, especially those who are strong people -- and no, I'm not considering myself a hero by any stretch, but I do firmly and proudly consider myself to be a strong, independent person.

Weak personalities, particularly in women, upset me greatly. I know it can be disenheartening or lonely at times to look after yourself or be on your own, but it's a fun challenge. I adore having a huge apartment to myself, one that I can decorate and clean -- or not clean -- as I wish. If I want to wander in the buff and leave clothes lying around and stay up late watching girly movies or playing video games -- that's my prerogative, and I'm not convinced I would have that same freedom if I wasn't the one paying all the bills. Ideally I would, but any guy in here would likely get tired of all the naked.

If you rely on smoeone else to be your keeper, chauffeur, cook, sugar daddy, etc. -- then that comfort, once you've grown used to it, is much more difficult to give up. Suddenly you may be required to pay more, cook for yourself, drive yourself around, get a credit card, pay your own bills, set up the bills and assorted utilities on your own, figure out your own taxes, masturbate/go without sex... it's daunting, but if you're independent of character and/or have done it before, it's not scary or insurmountable -- it's just a pain in the ass.

Despite all of these assertions of independance and so on, there are times that I encounter a situation to which I know not the best response. Whether it's simply not wishing to hurt someone's feelings, disrupt group harmony, risk angering or upsetting a friendship, or any number of other reasons, sometimes otherwise strong or dominant personalities leave issues alone -- on the surface.

I find that's the mark of a good friend; someone to whom you can vent about a situation, without fear of your venting getting out and disturbing the current state of affairs -- and where, ideally, they can relate to your frustrations. Friends -- especially sympathetic ones -- are great.

So, all of this came about as a result of being told I don't seem like a feminist. Maybe it is time to invest in a "this is what a feminist looks like" shirt from Bust.

Of course, when I told someone of my other friends about that question, several of them asked if the spook was still alive. Who knew I was so volatile?

I think it's very sad that many women do not associate themselves with the term feminist -- especially since more often than not, the woman distancing herself from the question is someone in the public eye, or in a position of prominance who, years before, would have not made it to where she is now -- feministm is, I choose to believe, directly responsible for the number of successful women in the world. Whether sucecss to you is a clean and safe home, reponsible, clothed, sheltered and educated children, a large number of possessions or being at the top of your career ladder -- or even just being satisifed in your position, pink-collar or not, I think feminism has a lot to do with that success -- or at least reducing or eliminating those barriers to your success.

Unfortunately, feminism still has its detractors. The main one to come to mind is that of Kansas State Senator Kay O'Connor -- a woman -- who says that "she doesn't support the 19th Amendment, which guarantees women the right to vote, and that if it were being considered today she would vote against it" (4).

She believes "that the amendment was the first step in a decades-long erosion of traditional family values" and that "if men had been protecting the best interests of women, then women would not be forced to cast ballots and serve in the state legislature. Instead, they could stay home, raise families and tend to domestic duties."

She says that "rules created by men did not allow her the opportunity to stay home and care for her [sick] child." She got into politics by accident after her retirement, and she believes that "as a state leader... it is more important to stay true to her convictions than simply mirror the views of her constituents." Finally, if her husband asked her to quit (if the trips to Topeka got to be too much), she would.

Let's examine the inconsistencies in this, shall we?

1. She does vote (see source).
2. She obviously benefits from women having the vote -- as one who does it, and as one who was elected, at least in part, by women voters (I find it highly unlikely that only men voters would have cast ballots in her favour).
3. She is out in the workforce at a time when most men and women are long retired (at the time of the article, written in 2001, her age is given as 81), and not at home, tending to her husband and household's needs.
4. She's in a position of prominence, one she would not hold, were it not for women's suffrage, and, more broadly, feminism.
5. What about those few of us who don't find fulfillment in cleaning house?
6. What about those of us who prefer to stand on our own two feet, and not wholly rely on another person to pay the bills, or tend to our needs?
7. What about those of us who derive satisfaction from being out in the workforce?
8. ARGH.

I'm reminded of one of the guests who appeared a number of times on one of my shows, who believed that feminism was directly responsible for the erosion of the family. She was about my age, 23 or 24 at that time, and in school to become a lawyer.

Now, though I never was able to share my views on her beliefs with her, my "traditional family values" response would have been something along the lines of:

Okay, revert to your desire for traditional family values (tm). To begin, you're over the hill -- why aren't you married? Where are your children?

Please remove yourself from university; you're occupying valuable student seat space that could be better used by a man, one who stands a chance of becoming a lawyer and not quitting to raise a family.

Women make ineffectual lawyers. Their hormones and periods make them irrational, and they are too delicate to handle the more "unseemly" cases.

Also, and maybe this one is a bit more extreme, but please don't put yourself on the radio. If nothing else, this show airs from 5-7, a time during which you should be making and eating dinner with your family. You don't speak for me, and, I like to imagine, for many other women in many different fields, who are currently working hard to support themselves as well as their children (if they have any).

Mind you, that argument works in reverse -- you can just as easily say that I don't speak for you, which is fair. But I wasn't the one on air.

I fully support women's right to stay home and be the primary at-home caregiver. It's not a role I wish for myself at this time, but maybe when the biological clock kicks in and I've suckered some poor bastard into wanting and loving me forever and ever (tm), I'll feel differently. But I refuse to believe that my biological makeup will make me better-suited to staying at home, cleaning, cooking or nurturing. I'm contrary that way -- and I think someone like my ex-bf J is a much better caregiver than I. Although my kitties are fairly well looked-after...

So-called "traditional values" have been re-defined many times through the years in oder to suit the society at the time. During the Industrial Revolution up through the Great Depression (I believe), it was common for children to work in order to support and supplement the household. The acceptance of homosexual affairs has ebbed and flowed from the times of the ancient Greeks and Romans. Society and societal mores have changed with the teimes; I can only hope that we are evolving and moving forward, to a position of equality for men, women, heterosexuals, homosexuals, bisexuals, transsexuals, transgenders, people of different cultures, races, and religions -- from all walks of life. My feminism includes all of that.

Except for when I hate people. Then it's me and my cats, and nuts to the rest of ya.


New post up at Whore's Boudoir. Woot, writing!


ARGH. Lost the damn post twice. I care and I don't. No comments from the peanut gallery -- I have nothing better to do right now, okay?

Anyhow, at least this means that there will be more sources for what I'm writing. As well, I can write the preface without having the post follow.

There was also a tale about my pita pit so-called flirtations (as named by the spook), but that story gets more and more trimmed down the more I redo my post. :)

So, the highlights of the prefacing (the post will follow later): I wrote this over the course of five days, June 12th to June 17th. I didn't write it every day. I welcome challenges on what I write, unless you're trying to directly challenge my personal experiences, in which case, I'm sorry, but you're wrong. :) I don't have a "put-upon" attitude -- I don't view everything through the lense of prejudice or sexism because of my gender, but there are some things that are simply easier to qualify as discriminatory.

Finally, I didn't edit this. I typically don't edit my material except when I transcribe it, so what you read here is a bit different from what I have in my notebook (yes, I long-handed it first), but not drastically. I can't guarantee that anyone other than me can easily follow it, but I appreciate the efforts.

And last note -- this is, I believe, the longest thing I've ever written that wasn't a story or a paper for school. Papers usually quoted from other sources, or at least referenced them. Most of this is off the top of my head.


I haven't posted here yet because I'm working on a fairly epic thing that I'd like to keep at the top of the page for a bit.

Also, there have been many discussions I've had with friends on various matters that, for various reasons, won't appear on this page -- either because of concern of the wrong people hearing/learning things about themselves, or out of concern of hurting people that I don't wish to hurt -- either by sharing information that isn't mine to share, or by saying things in a semi-unkind manner, as is my way.

Also, I feel like crap right now. I feel somewhat dizzy and I'm not sure why -- best guess is that my blood sugar is still somewhat depleted from yesterday, and the replenishing that I thought I did has burned off already.

Yesterday was pho with some of the regular crowd, and the return of Andrea and Christie, and prior to that I took myself down to the absolutely gorgeous piercing parlor (I'd been to its smaller location, but not the main one) to have my oldest piercing replaced. Fortunately, the hole wasn't totally grown back in, so it was only a matter of tapering it back in (essentially upgauging it), instead of repiercing it.

I say "fortunately" and "only a matter of," as if it didn't hurt. :P

Since the procedure was only going to cost me $5, I decided on impulse to go ahead and redo my last piercing, too. Since I had my jewelry with me for both, it cost me only $30 something to have both done -- especially after the piercer told me not to bother giving him the $5 for the tapering. I dropped $10 in his tip jar as a thank you.

While I was waiting for it all to take place, I was joking around a little with one of the guys in the studio (I think a piercer, but I'm not sure), and I think I traumatized him, which was amusing. It's always funny when girl-next-door can scare the heavily-tattooed, likely-pierced, biggish semi-burly piercer. :D

The guy who did the piercing was very nice, and we talked about a few different things as it was going on, including the Michael Jackson trial and so on. I'm sure I should feel more self-conscious about everything I go through, but really, I just don't. *shrug* I'm odd. :)

The craziest part of it has been the lack of pain I've felt since it was done. I mean, they both hurt when they were done, and they hurt for a bit afterwards, but by the evening, I was more or less fine. I even slept for portions of the evening, lying on it, I'm fairly certain, without any noticeable discomfort -- and only a very small trace of blood in the morning (and none after it was done!). I'm very tempted to go back to the parlor and congratulate the guy -- tell him I haven't the faintest what he did, but he's magical. :)

Anyhow, the work I was waiting on has arrived, so I'm going to get that done, and then go home to the supposed peace and quiet of the kitties.

In the meantime... I really want things to hurry up with the new job -- I want that letter of offer already! Argh. :\ I don't think I really believe I'll be starting a new job in a few weeks; it doesn't really feel real yet. :)


Blargh. The week, she is not improving. Lots of urgent issues that keep getting held up by problems... I semi-bitched at my manager today about having too many things on my plate that all needed attention, and that she'd have to handle some of it, and now things seem better. Actually, now is when the problems are starting, but we're all managing somehow or another. I've managed to clear off my plate, at least, and in the end, isn't that all that matters?

I also managed to find a shiny purple notebook in the cabinet at work, so I've stolen that for my own use. I'm trying to do some writing in it, but an idea that seemed like a good one a couple of days ago is not exactly going well now. ARGH. I need to get myself back in the habit of writing, and writing often; it seemed to flow better when that was what I did.

I got on the scale at the gym yesterday, and I'm still holding around 150 or just under it, which is good -- it means that either I haven't undone the good start I had, or the sugar just hasn't caught up with me yet. I think drinking diet pops only is helping out, as is not eating as many carbs as I was before. My habits may not be perfect, but I'm working to improve them -- there are certainly more veggies and fruits in my diet than before, and I want to get back to the farmer's market to pick up more fresh fruits. My fridge actually has space in it!

Which reminds me, I need to eat that cauliflower that's in there. And the other veggies. And buy more chicken. Who wants to come over for a hamburger-fest? I need to use up the 20 million tonnes of hamburger I have in my freezer... only thing is that you have to bring mustard and relish if you want it, and buns. Otherwise, I'll make 'em my way and they're tasty. :)

Today's the second day this week I've had coffee -- or, well, my version of it, which is the French vanilla cappuccino. Very healthy. Yesterday it was because I was zonked, today it's because I'm cold and I was bored.

It was weird being at the gym yesterday after drinking a bunch of coffee, 'cause as I was leaving I wound up with the caffeine and depleted muscle shakes. I ended up snarfing a bunch of Ritz crackers (first crackers I've had in weeks, aside from the wedding last week) to tide me over until dinner.

I wore one of my new outfits into work today; white camisole top with lace edging, and a past-knee-length taupe skirt with brown and white printing on it. My coworker described it as 'batik' -- I don't really know what that means, so I'll say that's what it is. Anyone in the world is smarter than me, fashion-wise; as a general rule, if I can't match it with white or black (or denim), I don't know how to match it. One of the skirts I bought has a brown band around the bottom of it, so I bought a brown t-shirt to go with it -- that way I'll have at least one thing I'll know how to match it to. I am fashion-dumb.

I also find I regularly look frumpy in things, but I think it's because I'm not comfortable wearing really snug outfits, and so many of my clothes aren't very form-fitting. I don't think GLH (girl love handles, for those of you who don't read Dan Savage) are attractive, and I endeavour not to be the girl with the belly hanging over her pants. It still happens sometimes, but if the pants do that, I try to make sure the shirt is long enough to cover it, or isn't necessarily super-snug. Although I do have some fitted tshirts, so there's where my fashion theory falls down.


Now that I have my male readers back...

Ah, stop whining. I'm only teasing in my generalizing. :)

For anyone who's read the "newest" orgasm study going around, I loved the line in particular that said: "women who orgasm very easily may be more likely to be satisfied with poor quality men." It's possibly true (the caveat to that is true in my case), but it's little consolation, I think. :)

Okay, weird situation. At my current phone numbers -- home phone, work cell phone and to a lesser extent, personal cell phone -- seem to collect wrong numbers, my home phone in particular. Last week I had a *very* persistent person repeatedly calling my work cell phone, who apparently just didn't believe that they could possibly be dialing wrong or have copied the number down wrong, though they never argued with me. They just kept dialing. :P

*Anyhow.* A bit of background to explain this. I used to live at 2-224 X Street. At that address, I had the phone number 999-9999. I now live on Y Street, and they made me take on a new number -- 888-8888. Follow so far?

I got a phone call for an Ian Gibson (my secret alter identity, but don't tell) to the new number. The woman identified herself (Mrs. Snotty Lady -- no first name, just Mrs. Last name), and left a reference number, and said that if the call was in error, she'd appreciate a call back. Personally, I'd appreciate if you'd stop fucking calling me, because this is the second time I've had to follow up on something like this because deep down inside somewhere I don't know about, I am a good person (TM).

So. I call the number back, and Mrs. Snotty Lady isn't around, so the guy who answered the phone asked for the reference number so he could look it up. I gave it, and the guy's name, and I said to my knowledge, he'd never lived there (I know my former neighbours very well, because they never cancelled *any* of their mail, and though I return it with "MOVED" or "NO LONGER AT THIS ADDRESS" or sometimes, to the really persistent ones, "MOVED, NO LONGER AT THIS ADDRESS, PLEASE STOP SENDING THINGS," they continue to show up... I'd write "deceased," but that would cause more problems than it would solve). The guy who was looking the info up said, "Oh yeah, Mr. Guy, at 224 X Street."

Now, first of all -- stupid to tell random stranger some other random stranger's personal information. But he doesn't have my name, so it's okay. So I say, "Okay, well, that's my old address, but I didn't have this number (888-8888, the one at which this message had been left) when I was living there."

I also wanted to follow up with, "And I was just by that apartment a week ago, and it's empty, so I don't think he lives there anymore," but I didn't. I did say that I could give the guy my old number (which used to give my current number as the one I'd transferred it to, but that would've expired on my line about 5 months ago), but that there was no guarantee that it was still the number assigned to that address. He said that he thought she was just using an old phone book.

So, there we go. Weird situation.

Secondary weird situation; I saw a lady in the hall that was a client of ours at the animal hospital. I recognized her face, and I remembered her pet, but bugger if I can remember her (although I might have, just now). I actually said something to her this time, and we chatted a bit about Otis, her chinchilla. Nice coincidence. :)

Also, I like my fake coffee. But I'm not sure it's the best thing for me, so it's not going to be a regular part of my diet. Though caffeine buzzes can be fun, I have to admit.

And finally, in comments that don't make sense to anyone: I (facetiously) suspect the spook is spying on me. T shared a link with the list about being about to tell the done-ness of your meat (hamburger, steak), by comparing it to the various stages of erection that a penis goes through. The spook cooked me a steak dinner, well-done; as I said to N, I think he's trying to tell me something. ;)


Urgh. Rough few days. :P

Work here has seriously picked up the last few days, with the introduction of our two pieces of legislation into the House, and then very strange procedures to continue them through. I don't totally understand why or how things are going how they are, but it could just be part of a big ploy on the part of the government to look good for Canadians. No idea.

Monday night into Tuesday day was looking like a bunch of poo, though. Monday night I managed to burn my stomach on the edge of the frying pan I was using to cook my dinner (I was trying to get the spices down from my cupboard, above the stove where they're stored, and I leaned a bit too far and my shirt rode up, and voila, very minor burn -- there's a line, but that's it). Not too bad, but not the best of starts.

Tuesday, I was brought in for an "HR" meeting between my manager and director, whereby I had it confirmed that my contract won't be extended past its current end date of June 30th (yes, the end of this month). I also found out that the results of my French oral interaction test weren't as high as I'd hoped, so I started going into "paranoid monkey" mode about whether or not I'd still be hired.

Then, the spook called to say it looked like he was going to be stuck at work again until late, so my plans with him were more than likely off. Ouaf.

But... things picked up a bit. I worked out some plans with Stefan, whereby we drove out to the mall that I knew had an Old Navy, so I could get some shopping done, and his gf met us there and was a huge help to me. I bought a *tonne* of clothes, so I now have a work-suitable summer wardrobe, and I should be set for awhile, so long as I don't put on a tonne of weight (although some of the clothes have some room for growth, so I shouldn't be totally naked should I gain weight -- not the goal anyhow), and many of them are pretty, etc.

After the shopping expedition, we picked up Ben and Matt, and headed over to Stefan's place to hang out on the patio and eat pizza and drink. The spook had called while I was in the changing room (*everyone* had called on my cell, and more often than not, when I was getting one phone call, another was coming in and confusing me into thinking my battery was dying -- not to self, clean out your voice mail), so before we left the mall I called him back and we decided not to bother getting together. Then, en route to get the boys, I called him back and invited him to join us -- he said he was just about to call me to see if I wanted to do something similar. Problem solved.

So eventually we all wound up there, got pizza (which was ready about 20 minutes after they said it would be), and hung out and talked. Nothing too exciting, but the spook now has the "pinecone" nickname to go along with the "pickle" one he already had.

Needless to say, this week has kinda sucked. I keep going back and forth over the same stupid annoying speeches with (usually) brand-new headaches and changes everytime. Also, since I know the end is in sight (either through this new job or through the dead-end deadline), I'm even less inclined to put in a huge amount of effort, but right now is when it's actually required, so I am.

I don't care, and I don't think it's because I've been told I'm not coming back. I didn't care much before that, and it doesn't help that I have a bad manager. More on that at another date, although it's getting less and less important as each day goes by, especially since I wasn't out-and-out told she wouldn't provide me with a reference, but the conversation more or less indicated that, and I haven't been working with her that long (though it certainly feels like longer).

I placed a phone call to the director's assistant this morning and got voice mail; I said I was just looking to see what was going to happen now that my results were back (sounds like I went to a clinic) and I said that I was willing to come pick up the letter of offer when it was ready so it wouldn't have to travel through Canada Post. Almost immediately after I hung up, I got a phone call from the HR lady from the same place asking about my security clearance and its level, and asking for proof of it (which I sent), because they were going to continue the process (that they'd stopped when I got removed from the competition) of transferring my security clearance to their department... so this is a time of *cautious* optimism.

It's also a time of *tired.* Argh. I'm determined not to cancel my gym appointment tonight, because I already cancelled the last two, and I've eaten chocolate two days in a row, and a bit of ice cream before that. As you can tell, I'm doing very well at keeping to the diet.

I haven't fallen *completely* back into my old bad habits (tm), but I'm not doing as well as I was. I still try to eat veggies and other good things as snacks, and I try to stick to reasonable food items for my meals, but I haven't done much cooking the last while, and I've been wanting pizza. That's been my main indulgence over the last week or two. :)

Garh. I'm very tired. I'm not getting enough rest, and this marks the second or third day in a row that I've wanted to get coffee at this time. Today, however, I think I'm actually going to do it -- it might keep me from killing off various people around the office. I just really want to get my letter so that I don't have to spend another 3 weeks and a day here. It'd be so much nicer to leave earlier than they're anticipating, and during a busy time. I'm a horrible person, it's true. :)


And this is what happens when Shawn and I get going on a subject:

Me: I am sad. The OSC is full until August. BUT. If I got my M1 now, I could still ride a bike and then take the course in August.

Shawn: Yay!

Shawn: What is this "OSC" course!?!1

Me: [explain]

Shawn: And dis "M1" stuff? I want one! I don't konw what it is but it sounds neat!

Me: It is part of a motorcycle driving license!

Shawn: Like a liscence to FIGHT CRIME AND STOMP ASS

Shawn: Ooh!

Me: Shh! You weren't supposed to tell about my owning that!

Shawn: So you wanna get a motorcycle and be a Bike Babe?!

Me: I do, I want to tool around with my "Hog" and wear "chaps" and be like, "DOOD, GIT OVER HERE YA SWEET ASS!"

Me: As you can see, I will make an awesome biker chick.

Shawn: It's true!

Shawn: You will abuse women!

Shawn: And DRINK!

Me: OMFG it's like a little slice of heaven!

Shawn: YES!

Shawn: Will you start fights in bars where you play pool?


Also, I will grow a rattail, and will walk around with my huge tattooed arms showing through a sleeveless leather vest, and will only be known as Becky, for reasons clear to me and me alone.

Shawn: Reasons ... SO CLEAR.

Shawn: So seriously, you're interested in motorcycle-ridin'?

Me: Yup, I want to be more than just an attractive accessory. :)


I'm feeling very much in a rut right now. I feel as though my life is ... not very exciting, and very static and routine, and I want to do something to change this. I'm not sure what, yet, though.

I also feel vaguely crabby and irritable right now, and I'm not sure why. Maybe because of my realization that things are fixed and dull. I know I really didn't want to come into work today -- it's 30 degrees outside, and I'm inside running crap. And by the time I leave, it's too late for me to do anything, especially since I have to get up in the morning and do more crap. But at least I'm being tested for my oral French abilities, so that's a break in the routine. Also, I have a meeting to run tomorrow, and lately I haven't been invited to many of these -- I called this one though, so it'll be tough for them to remove me from it.

I have job woes to articulate, but I'm going to wait until I've moved on to share them. Suffice it to say, anyone with a modicum of computer knowledge will be very frustrated on my behalf, or so I hope.

Friday night I got together with Big A for some catching up. We had a martini apiece and some dessert, and he decided that the waiter liked me -- until it was time for the guy to present us with our bill and collect payment, and then apparently the waiter didn't like me anymore. I think Big A's drink was just hitting him harder than he wanted to admit. :)

I went home to bed, because I am an old lady. Saturday I got up and had some breakfast with the spook -- and I ate too much -- and then we did a bit of running around, since I had already wrapped the wedding gift and didn't really have anything else left to do that afternoon, aside from pick up a card, which I thought I'd already had. My apartment was way too warm to want to hang around in, so it was nice to be out and wandering -- although I think I ended up with the same result.

We checked out a couple of book sales, and hit up Mountain Equipment Co-op, where he wanted to get some shorts, look at boots and pick up sunglasses. I found a pair of sunglasses I liked, and another lightweight, small backpack ('cause I don't already have enough of them), so I got those, too.

He dropped me off at the restaurant where the wedding was taking place, and then it was an evening of hanging out with my friends. I chatted a bit with someone new, that some of my friends were talking (not sure how seriously) about setting me up with, but nothing came of it, and that was fine. It's not like I'm looking, and I can always just add it to the busted ego. ;)

Our dinner table consisted of myself, JJ, A and her J, M and A, S and N, and Mad's parents. We were having fun, laughing and joking with one another -- M and A are a riot, and Mad's parents are awesome, too -- and we talked about all sorts of everything and nothing. The one thing that really stands out from that evening was the phrase, "Voulez-vous du beurre?" as the best pick-up line.

Anyhow, apparently the fact that we were laughing and having fun led other tables to believe that we were all drunk. *roll*

Which leads into a rant, but that comes out later. Anyhow, dinner was good, and I even ate a whole slice of tarte au sucre, a French-Canadian classic diabetes dessert, and JJ and I went out for a bit to chat and enjoy what had then become a cooler evening. We ended up missing out on the first dance or two, and he left shortly thereafter, but I stayed until the very end, which I hadn't really intended to do.

Let's see... danced a fair bit, including a slow song with most of the guys in the group, half of a polka with Greg that left me leaning against the post in the middle of the room for awhile until the world stopped spinning -- then T and I finished it off... A was dancing seductively with her back to the post at one point, so T and I set up on either side of her to bracket her and add our own seduction techniques to the mix. Her boyfriend didn't look too impressed, but the groom got some snapshots that might not turn out (no flash).

Towards the end of the night, when I was feeling punchy-tired, I had a piece of cake (which was a bit of a mistake, since I was already feeling as though I'd overeaten), and then the cover of the song "I will survive," by Cake, came on, and I announced to the groom, "Yay, Cake! I love cake. And I just ate cake!" and I laughed. Which led him to ask me how drunk I was -- to which I said, "I'm as sober as you are." He said he hadn't anything to drink, and I said, "exactly."

Enter the rant. I am very very tired of having people -- especially people who don't drink -- tell me I am drunk, when I'm only laughing and having a good time. I pick up on other peoples' moods fairly frequently, and if I'm hanging out with people who are loud and laughing and having fun, I will do the same thing. I did it with the spooks' parents and friends, I do it with Shawn, with Big A, and so on. There is only one person in that crowd who has ever seen me drunk, and that was J, the ex-bf, on my birthday almost 3 years ago. I have had drinks around my friends, and I have been slightly tipsy, but I would have had to point it out to them for them to even realize it. I have major control issues; my level of intoxication ties very strongly into that.

I'm just very tired of being accused of being drunk just because I happened to have a drink.

I'll be the first person to label myself as a cheap drunk, but my tolerance is equalled by my self-control. If it weren't for the fact that it would play directly into peoples' expectations, I'd be tempted to get drunk and show them exactly how I am when I am drunk, for real, and not just in their minds.

Argh. Right now I'm just so tired of my life. I'm tired of disliking my body, I'm tired of disliking my work, I'm tired of not wanting to clean my apartment, I'm tired of not having any nice clothes to wear, I'm tired of wasting time, I'm tired of feeling as though I'm forcing myself onto people (yeah, yeah), I'm tired of feeling unattractive and overlooked and I'm tired of feeling tired of all of these things.

What change should I make next?


Note to self: Booze with meal, good. Booze after meal, good. Booze before meal, especially one you're cooking? Less good.


I have determined, based on mirror evidence, that I look horrid naked and no one shall ever see me naked again. At least not in good light, and especially not from the rear.

Why didn't you people tell me that I look so awful nude?!


So, in totally random events, I had a job interview downtown yesterday. It was about two blocks east of where I can catch a bus that goes almost to my doorstep, so I walked west to catch said bus. As I was waiting, I notice someone I happen to know turning the corner and walking towards me -- ex-bf J. Very weird.

We chatted for a bit, the bus arrived, I took it home.

It's odd to stand with someone or sit across from someone or be around someone with whom you've had a personal relationship -- "personal relationship" ("action quotes") -- and try to imagine that time again. Not so much in a reminiscing or nostalgic manner, just... "I used to sleep with this person. Now, here we are having a totally civilized, normal conversation on a street corner, or across a table at a restaurant, and anyone happening by who didn't know us would never know." Maybe it speaks to my ability to hide my feelings/thoughts/past, or maybe it speaks to my ability to compartmentalize my thoughts/feelings/past, or maybe it's just a part of moving on and moving apart.

Anyhow, the encounter was pleasant and random and then it was time for pho and movie plans. After I changed twice and sat outside in the sun with the kitties, and even laid down on the bed for about five minutes to rest my eyes a little.

We actually finished really early with pho for a change, so I had time to change into my biker chick wear, and we had time to figure everything out and even wait for the others to show up -- namely, Lucas (who was late!!), and the spook (who was early for a change :)). When we were trying to figure out theatres, I told everyone that since the spook and I were going by bike, he wouldn't be too particular about what theatre we were going to, and I was right. Western-most theatre in the city? Doesn't matter. Biking is fun, though the bugs were kinda gross (and slightly painful when I took one just below my eye).

So we took the long route to the theatre, using mostly city streets, so there was more of the awesome strength of my thighs being employed. I've gotten very comfortable in the passenger role, and I think I'm moderately good at it now. Plus, apparently it's exciting having a (hot?) chick sitting behind you, squeezing your hips with her thighs. Or so I've been told.

Matt happened to call my cell as we were on the way over, and that amuses me -- one, because I don't have it anywhere near me when we're biking (usually it's in my purse on my back, or in my backpack, as it was yesterday), two, 'cause I can't hear it ring at all, and three, even if I had it in my pocket and could feel it or something, I sure as hell can't answer it. :)

Anyhow, we met up without problems, got seats without problems (though Ben the loser and Lucas sat in the row in front of us, which led to some wasted Junior Mints and popcorn as we launched things back and forth), and settled in to enjoy Madagascar.

As the movie reviews I read stated, it's better than Shark Tale (by a long shot), but not as good as say, Shrek 2. I might've liked it more than Ice Age, though. And I know I laughed more than at The Incredibles.

The penguins are hilarious, the King of the Lemurs is funny, and the monkeys are great: "If you have any poo, fling it now." The main characters? I could've done without 'em... they really didn't add much of anything to the movie. Mind you, a full movie of just the penguins would've had me laughing until I cried (which I did at one point yesterday, when they first take over the ship).

After the movie, the spook and I hit up Chapters so I could pick up the latest two books on my hit list (a Kinsey biography and "The Talented Mr. Ripley"), and we went back to my place. Because we were going at more moderate speeds (than say, when we took the highway back from the west end to downtown), we were able to chat a bit more.

Finally, in a totally unrelated note, Shawn has upped my self-esteem with random and semi-nonsensical compliments. I feel pretty!

Although the dress I wore today is totally unflattering. I remember once upon a time when I used to look good in clothes. I think I was 6. Maybe it's time for the nudist lifestyle. :P

Well, I've cancelled on the gym and I think I'm going to do some cooking and baking tonight, in addition to watching movies. I'm in the mood to make cinnamon buns. :)