For those who have been wondering (and I appreciate your emails and text messages asking what’s been going on lately), here is the longish explanation:

I am taking my masters degree in communications, part-time. There are four classes that have to be taken before you can start your thesis; being a part-timer means that you only take one class per semester. I started my degree in September of last year, so I have taken two classes so far. 4-2=2. Right? Right.

At my university, each course that you take counts as 3 credits. I don’t know why, it just is. If you take a course that runs for a full year, then it’s 6 credits. Now, following that math, 2 courses * 3 credits = 6 credits for a year’s worth of courses.

The deadlines that we were given to follow stated that if you were going to have completed 9 credits of work by a given date, you had to have your thesis proposal turned in by such-and-such a date. If it was by this date (which would have applied for me), then you had to have it turned in in December, 2006.

Of course, if I had the emails in front of me, this would be easier. :P

Anyhow, along comes February, and on the 22nd, the administrative assistant for the graduate students sends out an email stating that suddenly full-timers had to have their proposal in by the 3rd of April (later revised to the 7th), and that part-timers had to have their supervisor and thesis subject registered by April 3rd (later revised to the 7th). Now, because the administrative assistant was in the habit of sending the same email multiple times, or just sometimes changing dates in the email that was otherwise a cut-and-paste job, with no “Hey, things have changed, here it is” warning, I, admittedly, wasn’t completely up on my reading of the emails. I asked her after the first one, “Does this apply to part-timers as well?” had it explained, and Bob was my uncle.

Bob came along and beat me up.

I found out in the beginning of March, from a classmate in the same boat, about what was going on. Now, as some of you may recall, March sucked a lot for me. I had crazy amounts of things going on and no time in which to get them all done. Some of them never did get done, ‘cause I just happen to suck that way.

So, I started making the rounds of desperate phone calls to various professors who might in any small way be related to my chosen subject matter. In my department, there are five such professors; four of them are francophones, and one of them is a professor I’ve had four times in my undergrad and grad combined, and I was hoping not to work with him.

Of the four francophones, I called three and was able to meet with two. All accounts said that the last guy was one step away from completely incomprehensible in English, and oh joy – he’s teaching one of the courses in the fall.

The first professor is the head of the graduate faculty, and seemed like he was interested and in the end, told me where he’d be able to be of use to me. He told me to keep interviewing folks, send me some of my writing – preferably something in the realm of media-related work – and then we’d talk.

The second professor was a bit dotty, but pretty much agreed to supervise me by the end of our discussion. The Anglophone professor told me I wouldn’t want to work with her, but I figured beggars can’t be choosers (or at least, those who have few options probably shouldn’t complain about the ones they have… I guess that was pretty redundant). She asked me to write up a little one-page explanation of what I wanted to do and send that to her on the weekend. I did – on Sunday. So I’m liberal about my application of ‘weekend.’ Whatever.

I hadn’t heard from her by Wednesday, so I called her from work before I left for class. She called while I was in a meeting and left a message on my cell, but I figured I’d check it later. I’m very glad I did.

I went to class that night, and my group did our presentation and watched and questioned all the others, and I felt pretty decent by the end of the night. The wine the last group had served might’ve helped that; I know I was definitely tired, which can be blamed on the wine and on my crappy sleeping schedule of the last few weeks (no one’s fault but my own, and sometimes perhaps the Smooshy).

I got home from class and listened to my voice mail, and it was then I learned that the dotty prof felt that I wasn’t developed enough in my ideas – no shit, I didn’t have to have them ready for another six-plus months – and she asked me to maybe come back to her again in the fall. Well, if I were to do the directed studies course over the summer as I planned, then I have to have my thesis proposal in before the fall… and regardless, I have to have a supervisor registered now, you bint, not four or five months from now.

So, needless to say, my mood plummeted significantly, and I found myself both very upset and depressed. And more than a little stressed, ‘cause that goes along well with the rest of it.

Instead of going to bed at a reasonable hour, as I had previously hoped/planned, I spent the next half hour or so composing desperate emails to the two other professors with whom I had spoken. I had warned the first francophone professor that when my computer had exploded, I had lost many of my previous papers, so what I ended up sending him were two papers from my second year and the research paper I had composed for my first masters course. If nothing else, it showed a literature review and a few other things that would be applicable to my proposal and thesis.

The Smooshy monitored my home account for me on Thursday, and forwarded me emails of relevance. The Anglophone professor wasn’t able to/was unwilling to sign off on my paperwork as he had originally offered (he said he would register as my prof and I could then find someone else at my leisure), but I called the department and got myself an extension as a precautionary measure.

In the end, on Thursday, there was an email waiting for me from the first professor, agreeing to supervise me. Major relief. Granted, I had to wait awhile to get the email, since the power was out in my neighbourhood from 3 p.m. until about 10:30, then a few times more during the night, but I got it, and I was pleased.

Also, I made sure my computer was unplugged during the night and the next day, since they had cautioned about rolling blackouts on the news. I wasn’t taking any more chances, especially not with my sexy new computer.

I was, however, able to use the blackout as a bit of an excuse for ‘sleeping in’ on Friday, and I ran first thing to the department to drop off my paperwork for my supervisor’s signature. It was also my last real day with my former manager as manager, so it was a very positive day in many ways, despite the poo weather.

Friday evening I was supposed to have dinner with Moose, but it fell through (for the second time, I might add). The evening was spent fairly quietly, with both the Smooshy and I in a bit of a funk.

Wednesday morning I’d had a meeting downtown, and I spent some time at the mall shopping for a belated shower/on-time bachelorette party gift for N. I managed to find a few things that were very appropriate for her fiancé (and my friend), so I picked up season 5 of Buffy on DVD for her, and the He-Man/She-Ra Christmas special on DVD for him. As her bridal shower had the theme ‘lucky’ and her bachelorette party had an 80s theme, I was trying to get something that might fit one or the other, but didn’t quite manage… though I claimed that season 5 was somewhat lucky because you got to see Spike with his shirt off. I did, however, succeed in some semi-fluorescent green wrapping paper, as well as some bright-pink… and I got some blank cards that are fluorescent green and have velvet paw prints marching over them. So I managed to continue my semi-regular cat theme for cards, which was a success in my books.

The bachelorette party was fun. I made a pasta salad that got compliments, and a chocolate-caramel cheesecake that I found a bit disappointing. The highlight of the evening for me was the horrible luck I was having bowling (I was granny-style bowling the ball too hard, so it kept spinning off just before it got to the pins) – and I’d like to point out that it was only my second or third time doing 10-pin bowling – and doing various dances with N in the bowling lane in our shoes and her bright white lacy dress. We were under blacklights, so she really glowed. Props to Mad for another successful (on-going) turn as a matron of honour. :)

Sunday was a very quiet day, and I got to spend many hours cross-stitching. I also took the bike out for a trip, and it was a fairly successful run, though a bit chilly… and then there was when the guy tried to pull out of a gas station in front of me, but we didn’t collide. I just felt somewhat unsettled in my stomach for a few more minutes after that. I think the guy in front of me who had his left turn signal on for three blocks before he actually turned help me get over that a bit faster, since I had an annoyance to concentrate on.

Aside from bobbling the bike in the driveway (which slopes downwards fairly stiffly) and the herd of elephants my idiot upstairs neighbours invited over for what seemed like wrestling and throwing bowling balls and furniture around in addition to the barbecue they were having, the evening was pretty decent. Is it wrong of me to be rooting for my neighbours to kill or maim one another, so we can just be finished with it?

Also, they did an episode of Mythbusters on flatulence and the Ben Franklin electricity/kite myth. At one point, they tried to fart Buster to death, as I so not-crudely put it. I love that show.

Finally, this article today amused me for the first part, then the last part was somewhat sad. But I wish there were more judges like her:

The Winnipeg Sun, 2006.04.08

NO FREE RIDE FOR PHONEY DRUNK

ROSS MCLENNAN

Three years have passed since Winnipeg Transit officially declared its Open Door policy .. er ... open ... in April 2006.

Predictions that some people would try to take unfair advantage of the new policy came true yesterday when a man became the first person to be found guilty of pretending to be drunk in order to obtain a free ride on a bus.

Judge Wanda Gavell sentenced Carver Flamboyne-Sussex, 48, to seven days in jail, with no chance of parole.

She also fined Flamboyne-Sussex $250 and ordered him to pay the dry-cleaning bill of each passenger he urinated on during his phoney drunken state.

Paying passengers testified that a seemingly intoxicated and belligerent Flamboyne-Sussex staggered on to the bus, told the driver he was "pissed" and had no money and then asked him what the %#@*% he was going to do about it.

The driver, in accordance with the Open Door policy, quietly wiped the spittle from his face and politely told Flamboyne-Sussex to take a seat.

"Considering Flamboyne-Sussex burped in his face more loudly than Barney does on The Simpsons, I thought the driver was being far more courteous than necessary when he added, 'Have a nice day,' " one of the passengers said.

Bus operator Zack Change was later asked if the reason why he was so polite to Flamboyne-Sussex was because he does, indeed, support the humanitarian impulse that sparked Transit's Open Door policy.

"Sure," Change said, adding, "Of course, if I'd just learned I'd won the lottery, I'd have kicked him right in the crystals."

Although Crown attorney Phil Buttress and defence lawyer Greta Meinhair agreed Flamboyne-Sussex should be given a conditional sentence, Judge Mavis Gavell decided a jail sentence would be more appropriate.

"I might have considered a conditional sentence," Gavell said, "if it hadn't been for the fact Flamboyne-Sussex also deliberately consumed 10 cups of coffee all the better to urinate on fellow passengers in order to make his intoxicated condition appear more genuine."

The judge dismissed defence-lawyer Meinhair's argument that Flamboyne-Sussex consumed all that coffee because he's been addicted to caffeine ever since a childhood spent with poverty-stricken parents who were similarly afflicted.

"Mr. and Mrs. Flamboyne-Sussex spent every penny they had as they drifted hour after hour from one Starbucks outlet to another," said Meinhair. "They took little Carver with them, and soon he was able to match them grande by grande throughout the day and into the night."

That was when Gavell asked the court reporter to stop recording the proceedings, turned to Meinhair and told her she was "nuts."

When the trial resumed, the judge said that Flamboyne-Sussex's failure to keep his pants zipped wasn't the only reason she decided to send him to jail.

She explained that Garwood Hemphill, one of the 13 bus riders upon whom Flamboyne-Sussex urinated, was a genuinely drunk man who was even less able to protect himself from Flamboyne-Sussex than the sober, fare-paying passengers.

"It's a sad day, indeed, when a truly intoxicated person is unable to take advantage of the bus company's Open Door policy without being subjected to this kind of behaviour," Gavell said. "It's cruelly ironic that the very kind of person this policy is intended to help became, instead, its victim.

"We can only be thankful that Flamboyne-Sussex didn't vomit all over Mr. Hemphill as well."

Hemphill later expressed surprise at the sympathy extended to him by Judge Gavell.

"To tell you the truth," he said, "I'm not sure which of the urine stains on my pants were Flamboyne-Sussex's or my own," he said. "And I don't think it would have much much difference if Flamboyne-Sussex had vomited all over me since I'd already thrown up all over myself before he got on the bus."

Although Hemphill said he remembered nothing about the incident, Gavell said Winnipeg Transit should recompense him for "having endured a humiliation he will never forget."

Following the trial, bus-driver Change was asked if he would continue to abide by the Open Door policy, despite his experience with Flamboyne-Sussex.

"Sure," he said, "as long as I don't end up like Garwood Hemphill."

Hemphill, Change explained, was a former bus driver who couldn't cope with the Open Door policy and was driven to drink.

"He lost his job and his home, and his wife and kids left him, and now all he does is stay hammered and ride the buses hour after hour," said Change.

"Thank God for the Open Door policy, or he'd never survive."

1. Part of me would really like to get drunk tonight.
2. I have to work tomorrow.
3. Part of me would really like to mope around my apartment.
4. I need sleep.
5. I'm not especially flush with cash.
6. I'd like to ride the bike today or tomorrow, weather depending.
7. Because I'm somewhat responsible, I likely won't be doing any drinking.

Shake That
(feat. Nate Dogg)

[Intro - Eminem ]

Shady, Aftermath
There she goes shaking that ass on the floor
Bumpin and grindin that pole
The way she's grindin that pole
I think I'm losing control

[Verse 1 - Eminem]

Get buzzed, get drunk, get crunked, get fucked up
Hit the strip club don't forget ones get your dick rubbed
Get fucked, get sucked, get wasted, shit faceted
Pasted, blasted, puke drink up, get a new drink
Hit the bathroom sink, throw up
Wipe your shoe clean, got a routine
Knowin still got a few chunks on your shoestring
Showin I was dehydrated till the beat vibrated
I was revibed as soon as this Bitch gyrated
And hips and licked them lips and that was it
I had to get Nate Dogg here to sing some shit

[Verse 2 - Nate Dogg]

Two to the one from the one to the three
I like good pussy and I like good trees
Smoke so much weed you wouldn't believe
And I get more ass than a toilet seat
Three to the one from the one to the three
I met a bad bitch last night in the D
Let me tell you how I made her leave with me
Conversation and Hennessey
I've been to the muthafuckin mountain top
Heard muthafuckers talk, seen 'em drop
If I ain't got a weapon I'ma pick up a rock
And when I bust yo ass I'm gonna continue to rock
Getcha ass of the wall with your two left feet
It's real easy just follow the beat
Don't let that fine girl pass you by
Look real close cause strobe lights lie

[Verse 3 - Nate Dogg]

We bout to have a party (turn the music up)
Let's get it started (Go head shake your butt)
I'm lookin for a girl with a body and a sexy strut
Wanna get it poppin baby step right up
Some girls they act retarded
Some girls are bout it bout it
I'm lookin for a girl that will do whatever the fuck
I say everyday she be givin it up

[Chorus - Nate Dogg]

Shake that ass for me, shake that ass for me
Come on girl, shake that ass for me, shake that ass for me
Ohh girl, shake that ass for me, shake that ass for me
Come on girl, shake that ass for me, shake that ass for me

[Verse 4 - Eminem]

I'm a menace, a dentist, an oral hygienist
Open your mouth for about four or five minutes
Take a little bit of this fluoride rinse
Swish but don't spit it, swallow and I'll finish
Yeah me and Nate d-o double g
Looking for a couple bitches with some double d's
Pop a little champagne and a couple E's
Slip it in her bubbuly, we finna finna have a party

[Verse 5 - Nate Dogg]

Have a party (turn the music up)
Let's get it started (Go head shake your butt)
I'm lookin for a girl I can fuck in my hummer truck
Apple Bottom jeans and a big Ol' slut
Some girls they act retarded
Some girls are bout it bout it
I want a bitch that sit at the crib with no panties on
Knows that she can but she won't say no
Now look at this lady all in front of me, sexy as can be
Tonight I want a slut, will you be mine?
I heard you was freaky from a friend of mine

[Bridge - Eminem]

Now I hope you don't get mad at me
But I told Nate you was a freak
He said he wants a slut, hope you don't mind
I told him how you like it from behind

[Chorus - Nate Dogg]

Shake that ass for me, shake that ass for me
Cmon girl, shake that ass for me, shake that ass for me
Ohh girl, shake that ass for me, shake that ass for me
Cmon girl, shake that ass for me, shake that ass for me
We bout' to have a party (turn the music up)
Let's get it started (go ahead shake your butt)
I'm lookin for a girl with a body and a sexy strut
Wanna get it poppin baby step right up
Some girls they act retarded
Some girls are bout it bout it
I'm lookin for a girl that will do whatever the fuck
I say everyday she be givin it up

[Outro - Eminem]

There she goes, shaking that ass on the floor
Bumpin and grindin that pole
The way she's grindin that pole
I think I'm losing control

God, come one

[Eminem makes noises]

I ain't leavin' without you bitch

Come here home with me

And my boy, and his boy, and his boy, and his gurl

haha, Nate Dogg

[deep breathing]

Um, fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

And, oh yeah -- fuck.

No, I'm not single, this is just a fun song -- and good advice to live by.

From "Thoroughly Modern Millie," the song "Forget about the boy":

MILLIE:
No canary in a tree for me
This canary's ready to fly free

Cut the cord
Is that a man I once adored?
He's nothing but an albatross
No great loss
Doublecrosser
Forget about the boy
Pull the plug
Ain't he the one who pulled the rug
He's lower than an alley cat
Dirty rat
And I flatter
Forget about the boy
Forget about the boy
Forget about the boy

And in the moonlight
Don't you think about him
Sister, you're much better off without him
You can blow the blues a kiss goodbye
And put the sun back in the sky
For when he comes crawlin'
I'm not fallin'

Shout hooray and halleluh!
Now me and mister wrong are through
I'll find myself another beau
Who I know is no rover
Forget about the boy
Forget about the boy
Forget about -

Jimmy, oh Jimmy, Jimmy

TYPIST #1:
Horace

TYPIST #2:
Danny

TYPIST #3:
Milton

TYPIST #4:
Percy

TYPIST #5:
Edgar

TYPIST #6:
Timothy

TYPIST #7:
Alfred

TYPIST #8:
Vito Carbone

TYPIST #9:
Benjamin Pratt, the third

TYPIST #10:
Teddy Morgan

MISS FLANNERY:
Barney Schreiber, C.P.A.

MILLIE:
Jimmy, oh Jimmy, silly boy
Gee, what a real swell guy

MISS FLANNERY and TYPISTS (at the same time):
Cut the cord, is that a man I once adored?
He's nothing but an albatross
No great loss, doublecrosser

ALL:
Forget about the boy

MILLIE:
Jimmy, oh Jimmy, what great joy
He makes my troubles fly

MISS FLANNERY and TYPISTS (at the same time):
Pull the plug, ain't he the one who pulled the rug?
He's lower than an alley cat, dirty rat
And I flatter

ALL: Forget about the boy
Forget about the boy
Forget about the boy!

(The typists break into defiant tap, topped by MISS FLANNERY in a tap solo.)

Shout hooray and halleluh!
Now that me and mister wrong are through
I'll find myself another beau
Who I know is no rover
Forget about the boy
Forget about the boy
Forget about the boy

And in the moonlight don't you think about him
Sister you're much better off without him
You can blow the blues a kiss goodbye
And put the sun back in the sky

MISS FLANNERY and TYPISTS:
For when he comes crawlin'

MILLIE:
I'm not fallin'

ALL:
Hallelujah!
Forget about the boy
Forget about the boy
Forget about the boy!

A series of letters and lists, to make life complete:

Dear sweater,

I do not understand what exactly you’re doing, or why you don’t look exactly like the picture even when I follow the directions you are giving me, but I will continue knitting you because you’re cute, knit up quickly, and in the end, aren’t that complicated.

Dear life,

Please stop becoming so stressful and complicated. I appreciate that you want me to be busy, and I understand that ultimately, it is my own fault that things are as crazy as they are, but really, I didn’t ask for all of this. Please slow down so that I could.

Dear co-op housing people,

Please call more often than once every blue moon. I would like to understand how you can say you want us in for April 1st, but take over a week to call me after I submit my application, then almost another week to call me after you cancel our original appointment, even though you said you’d call the next day or a day later. Please understand that the Smooshy and I cannot necessarily meet you six or seven hours later in the same day, just because it is convenient for you. My schedule is fairly flexible, but his is not, and you are the ones who want both of us there, which I do understand.

Dear professors,

Thank you for finally returning my calls and emails. I understand that you are busy people, especially now, and I appreciate that you have time to meet me. It is vaguely frustrating to have to leave my job early twice this week and come in late (possibly) on another day to accommodate this, but I will do so, because the university has decreed it necessary for me to suddenly sign on with a research supervisor and thesis subject a full year before I planned to start, some five or six months before your original deadline, and at least six months before I thought I had to have everything finalized in my head, let alone paperwork.

Dear university,

Fuck you. You tried to fuck me in my undergrad, but I wouldn’t let you. Now, you’re trying to fuck me in my grad, and it looks as though you may succeed. I’m watching you, and I’m somewhat pleased that you don’t offer a PhD program, because I wouldn’t want to take it there anyways.

Dear me,

1. Enjoy the fact that you will have a motorcycle out and on the road this weekend.
2. Remember to call the local centre to have the bike checked out and fixed, where required.
3. Pay your bills.
4. Put money in your Royal account for your debt and your mom.
5. Have gift finished at least 2 weeks before the wedding.
6. Attend all wedding-related events wherever schedule allows.
7. Assist in planning of non-tame bachelorette party, should schedule allow.
8. Try to resist counting down to April 10th. At least, pretend you’re not.
9. Meet with professors: 1 down, 2 to go. Avoid begging, it’s unprofessional.
10. Turn in all related paperwork before April 7th.
11. Avoid killing professor.
12. Put together draft paper for Wednesday, March 29th.
13. Meet with classmates to create powerpoint slides for presentation on April 5th.
14. Submit first final paper for April 5th.
15. Present first final paper for April 5th.
16. Write up justification, *grounded in science*, for second final paper, for April something.
17. Submit second final paper, group exercise, for April14th (may be me submitting, may not).
18. Remember to breathe.

Dear work,

Why are you getting busy now, after so long where you weren’t? While I appreciate the thought and the effort, ohmygod I already have a lot on my mind. But that’s okay, it keeps me from wishing I could use the plastic knife I have here to slit my wrists. Or someone else’s.

Dear weight,

Please go away. While the Smooshy may appreciate the fact that my butt apparently wiggles when I sneeze naked, I’m not sure I do.

Dear sweet tooth,

You and I have been friends and enemies for a long time. I think we need to start seeing other people, though.

Dear motivation,

Please arrive soon.

Dear sex drive,

I miss you.

Proving once more that I am, beneath it all, a heartless human being, the abandoned kitten in Trainspotting seemed to affect me more than the dead baby. I was actually surprised that the baby survived as long as it did, and didn’t have much sympathy for the addicts when it died.

I did, however, feel bad for Tommy’s character; he had a bad break, and it wasn’t his fault in the least.

So, I’m back from the east coast, and after all the rush and panic that took place to make sure I had everything ready before I’d left, you’d think things would’ve calmed down a little now, right? Hah.

Let’s list the things I was trying to arrange before I left:
1. Finish my paper (which was due, via email, on the 20th).
2. Wait for co-op housing company to call me back to arrange for our interview.
3. Wait for professors 2 and 3 to call me back so that I could have a supervisor registered (and now professor 4, since I’ve just emailed a new person).
4. Have my annual physical with my GP.
5. Try to finish the wedding gift for my cousin.

I’m sure there are other things, but we’ll get to those.

Here’s how the journey unfolded, in brief:

Thursday, March 16: Fly into Nova Scotia for approximately 9:30 p.m., local time. Drive to friend of the family’s house in Dartmouth, via rental car, to spend the night.
Friday, March 17: Pick up sister in Halifax after she finishes work. Drive to Quispamsis, New Brunswick, to stay with maternal grandparents.
Saturday, March 18: Cousin’s wedding. Attend.
Sunday, March 19: Drive to paternal grandfather’s home in Bedford, Nova Scotia. Stay the night with him and aunt.
Monday, March 20: Spend day in Bedford and Halifax. Spend night again.
Tuesday, March 21: Unplanned trip to Peggy’s Cove for gingerbread. Semi-unplanned drop off of sweater at uncle’s work in downtown Halifax. Leave on 4:55 p.m. flight to arrive home.

Now, during the first part of this journey, I had no access to internet and thus no email access. Not a big deal, except that when I emailed my paper to my prof on Thursday, I had requested he contact me at home or at work (also given) in order to confirm he had received my paper, since otherwise it would be counted as late. I didn’t hear from him, but there wasn’t much I could do.

Once I arrived in Halifax the second time (on the 19th), I checked my email. My prof said that he had (once again) extended the deadline, giving everyone until the 24th. He’d made this announcement in class on Wednesday, the 15th, a class I’d skipped so that I could stay home and finish my paper. Given my usual procrastinating style of working, this was the crunch day, although I had written the majority of it in previous days (longhand; for some reason that was how my brain was working that week). He was offering to look at everyone’s drafts, and offered me the same opportunity. I asked that he do so; he asked me to send him the paper, as he hadn’t received it (this email was one I’d gotten when I was away, but hadn’t read, since I knew I wouldn’t be able to do anything while gone). I sent it and received feedback, which I’ll be addressing tonight (again, the day before it’s due).

So that was issue 1. Now for issue 2, the co-op housing. They had called me on Friday or Saturday (while I was at my Nanny’s house, I just can’t remember which day) to ask if I could come in and meet with them on Monday. I said I couldn’t, that I wasn’t going to be in the province. They asked for Tuesday; I said I could do around or after 7 p.m., as my flight was due to arrive around 5:45 that night. I remembered after the fact that the Smooshy was off that day, so that was fortunate. We set everything up and I figured I’d pull a Scarlett and worry about how I’d arrange getting there with or without luggage later. I’ll come back to this one.

Issue 3, professors. Professor 2 hasn’t contacted me yet; I left him a voicemail yesterday. I’ll try talking to my classmate friend next to see if she has any suggestions/knows of his office hours. Professor 3 emailed me before I left and set up a 2:30 meeting on Wednesday the 22nd to meet. Great. She then called me on the 21st, when I was in Peggy’s Cove, to say she couldn’t make it, and could we reschedule for the following week. I said sure. She asked me whether I was currently enrolled (it was in the email), how I had gotten her name (through the descriptions in the booklet we were all given when we registered), what courses I was currently taken (I told her), whether my professors had given me her name (no, it was in the booklet and online), and I have the impression that she’s going to be an ‘interesting’ supervisor, if we both decide to go ahead together. Why is it that there are no good/reliable cultural studies-oriented professors? They’re all business/political communication, and I’m sorry, I cannot do that for 100 pages and a year and a half.

Just before the professor called, my phone rang and I didn’t have time to grab it. The housing company lady had called me to cancel/reschedule our appointment. She said she’d call yesterday or today to reschedule. She hasn’t left me a number at which I could reach her, of course, so it’s now going to be FUN to schedule this meeting around her schedule, mine, and the Smooshy’s (which is kind of the least flexible). *sigh*

Needless to say, I didn’t get my cousin’s wedding gift done in time. I’m only a few hours of work out of finishing it, but I’m trying to get R and N’s wedding gift done, too, and that’s for May 20th and involves more work. Plus at this point, it’s still the fairly fun stuff and not the annoying backstitching/daisy-chaining that remains on my cousin’s gift, so I prefer to do it. I’d like to get one gift done on time… and have I mentioned that I still haven’t finished anything for Greg and Madeleine? Again, the finishing details. They’re annoying. Not to mention, after having seen some of the other gifts they’ve received, I’m slightly embarrassed to give them mine, which aren’t nearly as nice or skilled in their turnout. Well actually, one of them is quite nice – just very unfinished. Again, le sigh.

My doctor’s appointment is tomorrow, and unless they reschedule it on me, it’s all good. I have to leave work early for it, but that shouldn’t be a problem.

I’m also supposed to help R and N move on Sunday, but my classmates chose that day to get together, so depending on timing, I might not be able to do both. I might be able to borrow my mom’s car, which would help matters (since my dad and I have decided that it’s probably still too early to get the bike out). And while we’re on the subject of the bike – I spoke with my current housing company a few weeks ago, and they asked if I might be willing to consider moving the bike. They said they couldn’t force me to, but they’d like it if I did, ‘cause of new tenants and a shortage of spots. I got swamped, I was under no pressure, so I didn’t get back to them right away. I got a letter in the mail today that said they were moving me, that I was paying a reduced rate for my spot and that wouldn’t change, and that I was to contact the super. I spoke to him, he said we basically had to move ASAP, ‘cause the tenant was using another tenant’s spot, and that he could help me move the bike (I had said that I was putting it together on Saturday, and asked without asking if that would be good enough; it wasn’t). I plan on telling him that the reason I hadn’t called sooner was multifold: swamped, out of town, and told I didn’t have to move. The thing I won’t be mentioning is that I had thought/hoped to be out of there very soon – possibly even for April 1st – and so hadn’t really felt the need to rush. I suppose I could offer to pay full price for the spot and guarantee my right to it, but I really don’t want to, and I kinda really dislike a lot of things about the building I’m in right now and the management, so whatever.

I was trying to fall asleep last night and I was having a lot of important thoughts, and now I can’t remember any of them. Such is always the way for me.

Okay, I'm sharing this with everyone I know, and now it's your turn.

Jim Theis wrote a book called 'The Eye of Argon.' It would seem it's notorious in some circles as being utterly incomprehensible, and I have to admit, what I've gotten through thus far would certainly support that.

However, I found a link to a guy who did his own MSTing of the book, and I have to say, this guy is funny. So now, I entreat you all to take several hours of your life and devote them to reading here, where Adam Cadre MSTs Jim Theis' Eye of Argon. Enjoy, and you're welcome.

A sample, definitely not unique in terms of humour or quality:

The paunchy noble's sagging round face flushed suddenly pale,

Crow: It flushed pale? Did it blanch red after that?

then pastily lit up to a lustrous cherry red radiance.

Crow: Hold me.

His lips trembled with malicious rage,

Tom: As opposed to good-natured rage.

while emitting a muffled sibilant gibberish.

Mike: "Mom, you just don't understand my generation's music!"
Tom: If anyone's an authority on gibberish, it's Jim Theis.

Do you think the Calgary Sun knew what they were doing with this headline?

The Calgary Sun, 2006.03.09
Editorial/Opinion, page 14

'TAINT ETHICAL

The link to the story is here if you want to read it, or want proof I didn't make it up. It just strikes me as being of somewhat... poor judgement, at the very least. Maybe it was funnier this morning, when I first saw it.

More information than you wanted (there's your warning).

My other nipple hurts, and I haven't a clue why. I've decided to blame the Smooshy, and I know he'll accept the blame, even though neither of us will have a clue as to why or even how it happened. I think I slept wrong, but really; how often does sleeping funny make your nipple hurt?

I also have a crick in my neck, but that's quite possibly unrelated.

How are you?

I just wish I could understand.

It's been a rough little while. Repairs on the shower took quite some time, which made me feel frustrated and grody. The guy was supposed to show up at 10 on Saturday to finalize the work; he arrived at 1:35, about 5 minutes after I'd resolved to bus to the gym in order to have a shower. I'd have gone to the Smooshy's apartment, but he was working that day.

So my Saturday felt like a bit of a waste, even if I wouldn't have done anything much different even with a working shower (make sense of that). I had a bath later that afternoon, and things were better.

Sunday the Smooshy came over (he'd slept at his place the last few nights, the first due to severe crabbiness and insomnia, and the second due to the ingestion of smokable substances), and we shared a shower. As has to happen when two bodies occupy a small amount of valuable, hot water space, we had to change places. During this transaction, the Smooshy lost his footing and was about to go backwards over the edge of the tub, more than likely hitting the toilet in a very painful manner when he did so. I tried to catch him, and ended up being the one slipping and connecting with the floor of the tub in a fairly painful manner. My poor right knee.

This was the same knee I'd bruised a few days earlier in my sliding attempt to catch Thena before she got outside. She still succeeded, but didn't go far, probably due to the weather.

So I hobbled painfully around the apartment for a few minutes, then grabbed a bag of frozen broccoli and arranged that over my knee while I watched some television. The Smooshy later used the same bag in the preparation of dinner. My knee was more or less back to normal the next day, and I was able to run on it last night at the gym, but some of the other exercises I was doing put some strain on it that I could tell could get bad if I persisted.

The same day, I cut my hand on a knife while putting dishes in the dishwasher. Not a very deep cut, but enough to be annoying every time I put my hands in my pockets on Monday.

Yesterday at the gym, I managed to slice the web of my right hand between my thumb and index finger, which has its painful and difficult moments. I also came down with a migraine last night that persisted into this morning, so it made for a cranky and somewhat emotional morning (sometimes it makes me much less able to deal with things, and I can get driven to tears over absolutely nothing).

On the plus side, I bought some pillow cases to cross stitch for my cousin's wedding (two different sets of two, plus a pillow sham to be ribbon-embroidered, which I'll be saving for someone else, possibly the parents), and I managed to complete one of them on Saturday, and it looks quite nice. I've also mostly completed one smoker's glove (I have just to knit the flap and then sew in ends), and I'm working on the second, as well as working again on my project for R and N. So aside from the fact that I'm doing zilch in the way of school work or reading, that part of things is going well.

I'm stressing myself out over school, and this whole moving thing isn't helping much either, I don't think. The Smooshy and I are getting better about being able to talk rationally and non-defensively about household issues, but it has its bad times. I got my hydro bill for the last two months, and it was at its highest ever (more than double what my last one was), and given my little spending sprees last week, that wasn't exactly a shining moment for me. Add that to the fact that the Smooshy is much like me in terms of household maintenance and jumping up to do chores (i.e., both of us would rather spend our days fucking around and doing nothing instead of tidying up), and he gets defensive at times when I ask him to do things... and it's stressful. I'm thinking that drawing up a chore chart when we move out might be one idea... or cleaning up before I go to my cousin's wedding and seeing how things are when I return is another.

There's a possibility we might end up moving into a four-bedroom townhouse (although the three-bedroom is more likely), which would give us each a room to do with as we please. Of course, if he continues on as he does at his own apartment and leaves dishes in his room/office, I might just have to kill him. He knows this though, so it's not a big surprise.

Maybe we just need to each have our own pots and pans, and then I don't have to care as much if his are gone or have rice left in them or don't get soaked or whatever. *sigh* All of this has left me with a great deal of sympathy for what my mom has gone through for the last ten hundred years. I think it means I won't be a stay-at-home mom, if I ever get around to breeding. Heh.

Poor Smooshy... having to read all this rantyness. Poor the rest of you, too. What else can I mention? It's 41 days until my real manager returns, not that we're counting down anything. I'm hoping the weather clears up soon, so I can start riding the motorcycle again (I had another dream last night about people riding motorcycles around me... some of the others have involved me riding one). I'm a little over 2/3rds of the way through Gone With the Wind (the book, not the movie), and I'm enjoying it, though her complete and utter disregard/dislike for her kid is unusual... it almost feels like Margaret Mitchell kept forgetting she'd written him in, so has to mention him every now and again to remind us and herself that she hasn't killed him off yet. I might be curious to read the sequel after this, though I'm not sure how I feel about someone else writing a sequel to a classic book like this, even if I'm not sure how it ends just yet (and don't tell me!).

Otherwise, I'm tired of being stuffed up all the time, I want time to pass quickly, I want to do well on my paper (if I ever get around to writing the damn thing), and I want things to get better. I'm demanding.

Also, I want to be rich. I'm po'. :(

I also posted this on Angry Apostrophe, but I wanted to share it here, since I like it and I never know if you guys actually follow my hotlinks. ;)

Sometimes, you find gems in livejournal icons. I've seen this with a few different accounts, so I don't feel bad transcribing it here:

• “Your stupid”? My stupid what?
  
• Your throws of ecstacy send me into throes of amusement.
  
• You can defuse a bomb. But diffusing it might be a bad idea.
  
• Your is not mine. You’re means you are.
  
• Thru is only a word if you’re referring to getting a hamburger in your car.
  
• Per se means of itself. Per say is only how you pronounce it.
  
• Fire is fiery. Burn all misspellings.
  
• A horde is a large group of people, often unruly. To hoard is to gather, and often references dragons.
  
• Et cetera does not abbreviate to ect., ecc., or et. Etc.
  
• E.g. means for example, and i.e. means that is. I.e., always be correct.
  
• You should definitely spell definitely definitely.
  
• If you had a d, you wouldn’t deserve congratulations.
  
• A lot is two words. Allot means to distribute.
  
• Never enter your pin number on an atm machine. You could get the HIV virus.
  
• If you really did have baited breath, you would smell rather fishy.
  
• Rouge is a colour. A rogue isn’t.
  
• I before E except after C, or when sounding like a as in neighbour and weigh. Unless it’s weird.
  

Also, take the Carnal Knowledge Quiz (safe for work). I stunk (52%), but then again, American history isn't exactly my specialty.

Americans terrify me sometimes.

Halfway to Heaven
A Catholic millionaire's dream town draws fire.

A Vision: Ave Maria, whose temporary campus-chapel is seen here, is Monaghan’s most ambitious undertaking

By Susannah Meadows
Newsweek
Feb. 27, 2006 issue - The 5,000-acre tomato field in southwestern Florida sure doesn't look like heaven. Bulldozers scrape the land flat while clusters of Porta Pottis signal an undeniable earthiness. But soon a massive cathedral will rise from this barren spot. Reaching 100 feet in the air behind a 65-foot crucifix, the Oratory will anchor Ave Maria, a whole new town and Roman Catholic university 30 miles east of Naples. Ground was officially broken last week, and the plan is to build 11,000 homes—likely drawing families who already hold the church at the center of their lives.

For Tom Monaghan, the devout Catholic who founded Domino's Pizza and is now bankrolling most of the initial $400 million cost of the project, Ave Maria is the culmination of a lifetime devoted to spreading his own strict interpretation of Catholicism. Though he says nonbelievers are welcome, Monaghan clearly wants the community to embody his conservative values. He controls all the commercial real estate in town (along with his developing partner, Barron Collier Cos.) and is asking pharmacies not to carry contraceptives. If forced to choose between two otherwise comparable drugstores, Barron Collier would favor the one that honored that request, says its president and CEO, Paul Marinelli. Discussing his life as a millionaire Catholic who puts his money where his faith is, Monaghan says: "I believe all of history is just one big battle between good and evil. I don't want to be on the sidelines."

The ACLU of Florida is worried about how he's playing the game. "It is completely naive to think this first attempt [to restrict access to contraception] will be their last," says executive director Howard Simon. Armed with a 1946 Supreme Court opinion that "ownership [of a town] does not always mean absolute dominion," Simon will be watching Ave Maria for any signs of Monaghan's request's becoming a demand. Planned Parenthood is similarly alarmed. So far, Naples Community Hospital, which plans to open a clinic in Ave Maria Town, says it will not prescribe any birth control to students. Will others be able to get the pill? "For the general public, the answer is probably yes, but not definitely yes," says hospital point man Edgardo Tenreiro. The Florida attorney general's office says the issue of limiting access will likely have to be worked out in court. Barron Collier and Monaghan say they're following Florida law.

Raised by nuns in orphanages, Monaghan, 68, has tried to franchise his religious views in the past, creating elementary schools, a small college, Catholic radio stations and, in 2000, a Catholic law school. While many of his initiatives have foundered, the law school, with 88 percent of its most recent class passing the Michigan bar, is off to a strong start. Early signs suggest the new Ave Maria complex, his final and most ambitious project, might also work out. The developers are close to leasing 60 percent of the commercial space (no pharmacists yet), says project manager Blake Gable, and they have received some 7,000 inquiries from people interested in buying homes, which will go for less than the half-million median price in nearby Naples. In an area of strip malls and bad traffic, Ave Maria's communal design—with shops within walking distance to the homes—has civic appeal. "The general buzz is that the university and town are going to be a spark plug for massive development in that area," says Michael Reagen, president of the Naples Chamber of Commerce. Even the pope is interested. When Ave Maria Provost Father Joseph Fessio saw Benedict XVI, the first thing out of the new pontiff's mouth, according to Fessio, was, "How's Ave Maria?" He's not the only one awaiting the answer.

Aside from being busy, stressed, cranky, sleep-deprived and so on, it’s actually been a fairly good week.

I got in some classtime at the gym on Tuesday, when I participated in a class that combines tai chi, yoga and possibly something else. I felt like a ninny at first, moving my arms around in pseudo ‘blocks’ (right, like that would’ve been effective at any attacker other than maybe a sweater), but once it moved into some yoga poses and other more challenging things, it got more interesting. Of course, since I’d done an upper-body workout with my trainer just before, as well as some abs (and then extra abs, after she left), some things towards the end got much more challenging for me. But I also really enjoyed the rest period we did before the final cool-down; something like that always feels a lot more refreshing than even a nap might have.

Tuesday I also picked up some jeans (one of which I have to return to the store with, as they left the theft-deterrent sensor on it), some knitting needles for my next project, some supper for the Smooshy and I, and as I said, the gym. Wednesday was class, whoop de shit (various controversies regarding proposed projects and massive class rebellion, but it blew over – though the prof seemed disappointed. To him, I have to say: Sorry dude, but most of us have lives outside of your class. No one is taking your class exclusively, and unlike your pet, not all of us are looking to suck up to you by engaging in these new class projects that weren’t on the syllabus and would require several hours of outside research… especially when you already have a difficult time with time management). Since we got out even later than usual (again with the time management), it was fairly late (10:30?) when I got home. And I’m probably one of the people who lives closest to campus, too. Urgh.

Yesterday the Smooshy and I had our post-poned Valentine’s Day celebrations. They looked like they might not happen, since we were both crabby with one another (apparently I have a knack for being grumpy at the exact wrong moment… there are some serious challenges to dating someone more sensitive to you that were not covered in the handbook), but we managed to pull it off. We ordered in a buttload of Chinese food, I had picked up some white wine and some cinnamon buns (classy all the way, I am!), and we watched the movie I’d rented last week, “The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill.” It’s a documentary about a guy who took an interest in the wild parrots that he noticed in and around his neighbourhood, and took the time to get to know them and look after them. I’d seen a trailer for it when Ben and I saw March of the Penguins, and I wanted to watch it.

I found some parts of the movie especially easy to relate to, like when he has to give up one bird in particular whom he has bonded with, or when he relates the story of the last days of another bird he looked after. There are also the birds that simply stop returning, and whose fate is always somewhat unknown; these are all things I’ve had to deal with in my short lifetime of pet ownership. I greatly admire his ability to do the right thing – to find a good home for Mingus, to ask the city to leave the birds be, and to let the wild birds stay wild. He really seemed to understand and respect the spirit of what the birds represented, as well as the birds themselves – if that makes any sense whatsoever and doesn’t sound too airy-fairy to the rest of you.

The Smooshy thinks I’m crazy, ‘cause movies about animals are 100% more likely to make me cry than movies about people. He’s not the first person to think that I care more about animals than I do people; The Ex- thought the same thing. Sometimes I get the impression that people who say things like, ‘A movie about orphans in [name developing country of choice] is much more likely to make *me* cry’ feel that they are better than me, or more sympathetic, or more humanitarian, or something. It makes me kind of defensive, but I don’t usually bother to argue the point much.

The thing is, I’m a fairly emotional person, but I tend to hide it more than some. I feel vulnerable when I’m emotional, and I don’t like to show that side to others. When I was crying during Wild Parrots (especially during the last 20-30 minutes, which the IMDB board indicates is a common occurrence), I was trying to hide it as long as I could. Smooshy knew, and eventually it was undeniable, but it’s a side of myself that I don’t like to show many people. Hell, probably about 1% of my friends have seen me cry at any given time.

But, that doesn’t mean that I don’t get choked up about things. Hell, especially when I’m PMSy (which I think was another culprit last night), I get choked up about the dumbest things. I can remember once getting worked up over the last episode of Saved by the Bell, ‘cause I was PMSy. I’m a loser, I know it.

When it comes to people, I think expressions of joy or despair are usually the two that get me. The people who jumped from the top of the World Trade Center rather than get crushed by rubble, or the people who had to choose which child to let go of during the tsunami; those are horrific situations in which to be placed, and I hope to never have to make those choices, or be so far from any sign of hope as to make choices like those.

I feel that animals are less able to look out for themselves in face of human cruelty than other humans. There is no explanation for some of the harm that we inflict upon on another, but a grown man punching another grown man can defend himself. A grown man punching a dog or a cat… people torment one another, and in extreme situations, the tormented brings a gun to work and kills. But a person who torments an animal, sometimes there is no recourse for that animal, and it will simply never trust anyone else again – or not without a lot of care and attention. Certainly sometimes that animal will turn and snap, but others will simply give up. And yes, this is seen in people, too.

I know I’m not making an especially strong argument, but it’s very difficult to explain why you feel a certain way about something that happens to be very close to your heart. Without bringing religion into it, try explaining why you’re opposed to murder, or abortion, or gay rights. “It’s just wrong” doesn’t really cover it very well, but it’s hard to come up with other arguments that are very strong – they’re just part of your moral or ethical code (one is changeable, and I think it’s values, but I can’t remember). According to my mom, being an animal lover is in my blood, and that’s just how it’s always been. I can’t explain why movies about animals are a sure-fire way to make me cry, whereas I can be horrified or upset by a movie that features poor treatment of people and stay more composed, but that’s how it is for me. Maybe it’s like humour; poo and fart jokes don’t make me laugh, but the book “I wanna go home!” by Gordon Korman still makes me laugh out loud, two-dozen plus readings later. Go figure.

I’m currently taking a course that will remain unnamed as part of my requirements for my masters degree. This course is not really something that interests me, but it happened to fit into my schedule (i.e., it was in English and it was in the evening, and it was the only one that fit both requirements). I have many complaints about its time of ‘day’ (7 – 10 p.m.), and the way it’s run and so on, but those are not really part of my current complaint.

As part of my readings for tonight’s course (oh yeah, I’m on time with this stuff; it doesn’t help that the professor’s idea of posting things ‘on time’ means making them available on Monday for a Wednesday night class… and there’s a crapload of crap to read, but that’s not my complaint right now), we’re reading a speech that the professor gave last week to some gathering of foreign bigwigs in Turkey. Now, I used to work on speeches for a fairly large Ministry in my last federal public service job. I know that people who give speeches like to breathe, and long sentences tend to lose your audience anyways. As such, I felt no compunction at editing speeches (be they originals or those incorporating changes from the ten thousand people who had to review these things before they were approved) to contain short sentences. Granted, I write long, winding, confusing sentences full of interjections and sidenotes, but that’s only in text. I have written and delivered a number of speeches as part of past course work, and I like to think I’m actually fairly good at it (I've been told I have a natural style of delivery, and I'm now old enough and apathetic enough that I mostly enjoy public speaking, and don't have to prepare too thoroughly ahead of time).

My professor wrote his own speech, so he only has himself to blame for gems like this one: “Third: We are in what Manuel Castells has called an Informational Age running on every smaller, cheaper and faster circuitry that has facilitated overlapping and cross-cutting policy networks peppered with non-governmental actors running the gamut from large NGOs such as The International Federation of the Red Cross and Crescent Societies to someone with a computer who can self-publish his or her views for a global audience.”

Commas, periods, colons, semi-colons, ellipses… these are all natural pause points in (spoken) text, and allow the speaker to take a breath. I shared that paragraph exactly as it is written on what he has provided us; you can see there exists precisely one colon, one comma, and one period. I’m only on the third page of his speech, and so far this is the worst offender, but it’s hardly the only one.

Today my coworker handed me a candy cane and wished me a happy series of holidays, before he got to Valentine's Day.

Happy St. Valentine's Day, folks, be you with someone or single. There are plenty of advantages to either state, and I'm sure longterm readers of this site have heard me enumerate on them all.

In other news, I keep thinking of things I want to write, be they anecdotes or pieces of prose, and they go nowhere. Hopefully, after I manage to cull from my life all of my time-sucking hobbies and other tedious things (work, school, the usual), I'll have the chance to write them up here.

I went through my LJ page the other day and figured out how to filter my friends communities away from the other high-frequency communities like the kittypix or the ohnotheydidnt communities. Then I sort of caught up on peoples' lives and felt slightly more in touch.

I've also managed to bork my computer somewhat, I suspect, so tonight may involve me lighting scented candles, pouring a glass of wine, slipping into a nice teddy and trying to romance the shit out of my computer. And no, I don't have an USB-capable vibrating attachments for me to get anything out of this arrangement.

When did I turn into such a geek?

P.S. The Smooshy and I finished Baldur's Gate: Dark Alliance II last night. Anyone know when the sequel is coming out?

Such a geek. It's almost hopeless. Except that I still look good in a teddy. ;)

I have a mild addiction to Roger Ebert's site. I like to read his reviews on the new releases, partly because it's nice to get another's opinion (though I'll still see something I really want to see, even if he pans it), and partly because he's entertaining in his columns (like when his review for Adam Sandler's "The Longest Yard" basically consisted of him writing about how he wished he could take back the review he'd given it).

Point in fact, his review for Curious George. The following amused me:

"I have no idea what teenagers think, but I know what 4-year-olds think, because I was one, an expert one, and I believe that up to a certain age all children enjoy more or less the same things: Bright colors, vivid drawings, encouraging music, a plot that is exciting but not too scary, and a character they can identify with. This character should have an older friend who guides him through neat adventures and keeps things from getting too scary. If that doesn't describe what you liked when you were 3 or 4, then I blame your parents, Mr. and Mrs. Chainsaw."

Here we go, I'm going to invite some controversy with this one (sourced from IMDB.com:

Jackson To Release Pope Prayers?
Pop superstar Michael Jackson has been asked by the Roman Catholic Church to set the prayers of the late Pope John Paul II to music. The 47-year-old singer was chosen to write music for the 24 prayers and chants, after Vatican officials decided his global celebrity would best promote their holy message. Father Giuseppe Moscati says, "We have the rights for the 24 prayers written by Pope John Paul. We had hoped the fact that we have been in contact with Michael Jackson would remain a secret. But sadly it has leaked out ahead of time. We are in discussions and trying to sort it out." The priest, who is head of the Millennium Music Society, insisted Jackson's hard-won battle against child molestation charges did not discount him as a candidate. He adds, "He was cleared and found not guilty by a jury. Michael Jackson is very interested in this project - we shall see what happens."

Now, am I the only one who thinks that having Michael Jackson put Pope prayers to music kinda adds the wrong kind of weight to all of the allegations of child molestation on the part of the churches?

Why do reporters think that me saying, "I don't really know much about this issue; I'll have to look into it and get back to you." means that they can continue asking me questions about it? Especially when those questions lead to, "I don't really know much about this issue; I'll have to look into it and get back to you" being repeated.

"So-and-so from this department told me that it's a very political issue. Why is that?"

"I don't really know much about this issue. I'll have to look into it and get back to you."

Mind you, this same reporter contacted the Deputy Minister's office to try to get answers to her questions; she figured that since s/he should be the one making those decisions, that she should ask his/her office directly.

*blink* *blink* Umm... most organizations of any size have a media relations department. They're much better equipped to a) answer your questions; b) find you information; c) line up interviews for you. All organizations with a media relations department know better than to answer any questions directly from the reporter; you always go through your media relations people first.

It's bureaucracy, people. It's not new, and while it's a pain in the ass, it's there for a reason. In the end, it's often faster to go through the proper channels.

Often. Not always.

P.S. I want to be at home.

I posted this at The Angry Apostrophe, in full.

Also, sometime this week (the 23rd, I think), marks way too many years that I've been doing this whole 'blogging thing'. I'm not sure if it's sad or not, but... it's weird to read past entries and see how things were for me x number of years ago, or how my 'voice' has changed as I've evolved and grown *old*.

Secondly, next month, on Valentine's Day, will mark two years that I've had Thena in my life. She actually turned 2 around the beginning of the year, and Venus will be 2 sometime this summer, according to my math. My kitties are old and annoying, especially when Venus chews on my fingers. I keep threatening to get another kitty to keep her company, but the Smooshy doesn't seem to care for that thought.

In addition, the Smooshy and I have officially started our apartment hunt. The apartment that we saw last night (two, actually, in the same dwelling) was advertised as being at a major intersection downtown, but was actually the opposite end of one of those major streets (about 5 blocks away from my last place, which was 4 blocks away from this major intersection). The smaller place was fairly nice, though smaller than my current place; the second apartment had a neat loft area where the second bedroom was, as well as some additional space. Unfortunately, they were asking $1275 for it, which is out of the budget for Smooshy and I, and not raally worth it for that location. No matter; we're still looking. In fact, we have appointments to look at places tomorrow and Saturday, and I've passed along one or two others to him today.

I hope that any place we do find has good neighbours; I'm getting really tired of the inconsiderate louts I keep finding myself living next to. :P

Who knew that, at this illustrious stage in my career, I would have the great fortune of becoming an 'expert' on bed bugs, of all things?

Suffice it to say, I may never travel, sit on a couch, sleep in a bed, or hug another human being as long as I live.

Once upon a time, I worked as a receptionist for a local animal hospital. We answered the phone with, "[Name of animal hospital], [our name] speaking." I said Jen; it's what I like to go by.

There were areas where notes could be left for the receptionists. In my section, I kept a list of names that people had called me other than Jen -- this included, from memory, Denise, Dan, Ian, Jan, Jane, Janet, Janine, Jeanie... I don't think I have an especially masculine voice, so the male ones were a bit of a stumper. The rest are, while not always especially close to Jen, at least understandable.

I made a few appointments today to look at some apartments in the region. I spoke with one woman, and as has been my habit with all of these calls, I identified myself at the start of the call as Jen [last name] -- partly force of habit to add the last name, it's true.

Somehow, out of Jen, she got Chantale. When I corrected her at the end of the call, as we were finalizing the appointment, she asked me somewhat incredulously, "Didn't you say your name was Chantale?!"

Uh... no?

I'm a bit afraid if she's part of the management team.

In case you missed it before, here's the best blonde joke ever.

So, Tory government, eh?

Well, I'm happy for the change, but not necessarily for the party choice. I'm willing to give them a chance, but lemme tell you -- if Harper decides to try to touch the marijuana bill, the gay marriage bill, or a woman's right to abortion... we's gonna have words.

Okay, so, it's a bit of a bad thing when you never update your website anymore. I just updated The Whore's Boudoir for the first time in let's not say when. Partly it's because I'm heading out of town for the weekend, and figured I'd leave you guys something to discuss in the meantime. Also, it's partly because I finally had something I wanted to write about.

There's been many rants I've wanted to post that were work-related, but I've always been very careful to keep that side censored, and it's something I'm practicing even more. Also, blah blah busy blah blah knitting blah blah video games.

I started classes last week. I can finally remember the name of the course -- Public Communications Campaigns. Some of the reading I got to do the other night included such winning phrases as 'communicating communicatively,' 'nouning,' 'verbing,' and 'sense-making'. That last one isn't too bad until you realize that it was the reason for the 'nouning' and the 'verbing'. I could give you lessons in the subject matter, but I seriously doubt many, if any, of you want to benefit from my coursework.

It still feels a bit weird to talk about 'my undergrad' and 'my grad'-level courses. I don't think I sound pretentious in class when I mention doing my undergrad, since we're all there for the same end purpose, but it still feels weird sometimes. It's also odd to be surrounded by all of these people who have lived lives and done incredible things, and I look at my little lifetime and feel like I haven't done much of anything -- at least not career-wise. It doesn't really help that I don't really know what my dream job is (although I keep saying it's doing communications work for the Humane Society), so I keep plugging away and learning and amassing skills. I'm certainly not wasting my education or my time, but sometimes I just feel like I'm not doing much of anything. This may be old hat to many of you.

Anyhow, this isn't my usual, 'oh my god, my life is going nowhere' complaint, so don't worry about that. Just an observation, more than anything. :) It is weird to think that just two years ago I was thinking that I wasn't qualified to do anything other than sell books, teach clarinet, work at an animal hospital or at a radio station, and now I've had more than a couple of interviews and potential opportunities based on my skills alone. It feels nice to be employable, even if some people think communications work is bullshit. :)

Yesterday I took a shower and wrapped my towel around me, as is my habit. Thena was perched on the back of the toilet tank, waiting for me to finish, as is her habit. She jumped up on my back, as she is sometimes wont to do, and her hind claws were digging into that apparently tender area between my shoulder blades and below my neck… nicely positioned in such a manner that there was very little I could do to dislodge her, especially as her not moving was causing me enough pain as it was.

I poked her stomach, I tried to push her feet, and all of this amused her about as much as one might expect. She started growling a little and gearing up for a fight. Now, picture me bent over at the waist, with a decently-sized cat perched on my back in a perfect position for me to do absolutely nothing. She’s angry, I’m in pain, and somewhere in there I started crying and she finally moved. I can’t remember the exact order of events, but I’m fairly certain I was crying for a bit before she deigned to move. I could tell by the feel of her getting off my back that one of her nails had been twisted in my back in such a manner as to make the whole process even more unpleasant.

I can’t exactly explain why it was I started crying, or even crying as strongly as I did. Possibly an overreaction to stress (after all, I was going back to work the next day), possibly just a reaction to the pain (and it was), or possibly just PMS. Whatever the cause, it continued for a bit after she had left, and I felt somewhat emotionally wonky for some time after that.

This morning, in my attempt to rush through my lunch preparations and catch the next train on time, I managed to slice my left index finger with the tip of the knife I was using to cut my apple up. It was deep enough that it bled for a while, even with the firm pressure I was applying. Once the bleeding had essentially stopped, I roused the Smooshy for a comfort hug and some pity. Oddly enough, I had somewhat pictured myself cutting my finger before it happened, though I remember picturing a deep slice at the knuckle, which seems to be my favourite doom-and-gloom visualization.

Hopefully these aren’t portents of the year to come; I have no reason to believe that 2006 will be a bad year. With any luck, this year will see big changes happening – in fact, some of these are potentially already underway. But until they’re more definite, I probably won’t be speaking of them too much (though some people are already in the know).

Although in a final slightly ‘down’ omen, the copper ring that my aunt gave me for Christmas is turning my finger grey/green (yeah, I know), but also appears to be either developing or losing a coating on the outer surface. I may have to retire this ring, which would be a shame; for now I’m just trying to see if I can outlast the oxidization (some rings I have had turn your finger strange colours, but then stop; we’ll see if this is to be one of those). Thankfully, although it does need some resizing, the ring from the Smooshy has caused no problems thus far.

I’ve also decided that my birth control is that which is responsible for my loss of libido, and will be endeavouring to make improvements in that regard. I have another prescription that I can revert to for now, and if it once again tanks my mood or doesn’t seem to be helping, I can speak to my doctor. Fortunately I’m due for a physical in a few months and can address the problem then, but in the meantime, it’s a tiresome subject to continue spatting about, especially if it’s – at least to some extent – outside of my realm of control.

And on a final note before I wrap this up and head off to the gym, I’m going to be trying to write short descriptive pieces that will appear on The Angry Apostrophe. This will be a way for me to practice describing things, people, places, events; I feel this is one of my weaknesses as a writer. Maybe from there I can move on to writing actual stories – or at the very least it will be writing again. Although at some point I may post the beginnings of the piece I was writing that was my version of an “Office Space”; the only problem is coming up with what I actually want to say. I have great ideas for characters and so on, but very little for actual plot/conflict. As I’ve said before, I feel this is an important part of stories, although maybe I’ll write something that doesn’t have much conflict and turns into the next classic.

Sometimes... sometimes I wish I could say what I think.

Well, Merry post-Christmas to you all, and Happy anticipated New Year.

Sorry for freaking out so many of you with the last post, and thank you to those who called or emailed to question me as to just what the hell was going on. In short, I had come out of a meeting that angered me, and I just put down on paper (as it were) the thoughts that were running through my head -- something I've been doing less and less lately, which frustrates me sometimes.

I did start writing a story one day a few weeks ago, and who knows how that'll go. I really need to get around to actually fleshing out that story I had started so long ago. I have the characters, I have the setting, I have the 'rules' set out -- I just don't have the conflict for them to undergo. And, having finished a book that had no real conflict in it, that was just a screen capture of someone's life for a week (yeah, I'm a geek), I know that that isn't necessarily the nicest book to read... especially if you really don't care about the character being profiled and maybe want to smack him, but can't really justify the impulse.

Oh yeah, run-on sentences make me hot.

I think I've lost my previous fan base, which is pretty depressing. Maybe it's just the holidays, or maybe it's the fact that I'm not updating as regularly as I used to, but it saddens me. Part of my lack of updates stems from the fact that my current cubicle arrangement has people entering my cubicle behind me, and perfectly able to see everything I type -- which is not exactly conducive to the salacious updates that you've come to know and expect from me.

I've also been spending crazy amounts of time on the couch trying to finish various craft projects. I made mittens for my paternal grandfather, mittens for the Smooshy, a toque for the Smooshy, and a large mystery present that I can't talk about yet because it hasn't been delivered (or even finished, really; I have a buttload of ends to sew in).

Apparently the 'save as draft' function has changed, or it just hates me. Whatever. I'm going to wrap this up right now, 'cause I have bullshit to do. This ties into my last post.

Dear You,

Fuck. You.

No love,
me

I had a dream this morning that I was shopping in a CD store. I was looking through a rack of CDs, and there was a cat underneath the display poking at my toes. When I woke up, Thena was around my feet.

About a week ago, just before waking up (I could feel myself panting and my heart beating quickly as I came into consciousness/after I did wake up), I had a dream that I came home to my apartment and my door was partly open, as was the inside door (which in reality doesn't exist). Knowing it was the wrong thing to do, I opened the door and looked inside, to see my place being ransacked. I must've made a noise or something, because suddenly a large man with a head of curly blond-ish hair was at the door, holding an X-Acto knife like a dart. He didn't say anything, but the implication was clear, and I was afraid that he was going to throw this thing at me and get me someplace important.

Even in my dream, I wasn't concerned about my possessions; that's what insurance is for. I was more concerned that my cats were lying around the apartment, sliced open.

Although realistically, I know Venus would run and hide; Thena would probably hide also, but maybe not.

And no, when I awoke, I was not being menaced by anyone with pencils, pens, or other similar implements.

I just wanted to share that for now; more later.

My country is pretty awesome:


CBC.CA News - Full Story :
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Swingers clubs not harmful to society: top court
Last Updated: Dec 21 2005 02:52 PM EST
Clubs that allow group sex and partner swapping do not harm Canadian society and should not be considered criminal, the Supreme Court of Canada ruled Wednesday.

The high court, which was ruling on two Quebec cases, said Canadian standards can tolerate the activities, even when they are done amid spectators.


Interior of a Montreal swinger club
The judges, in a 7-2 ruling, said the test for indecency is the harm it causes, and not simply community standards.

The ruling says, for example, there was no evidence of anti-social attitudes toward women or men, no one was pressured to have sex, no one paid for sex and nobody was treated as a sexual object.

The cases involved two swingers clubs in Montreal that allowed sex acts that included swapping.

One case involved James Kouri, owner of a club called Coeur a Corps.

He was convicted by a lower court on two counts of keeping a common bawdy house and fined $7,500.

YOUR SPACE: Letters on the Supreme Court ruling

The other case involved Jean-Paul Labaye who ran a members-only club called L'Orage.

He was convicted of keeping a bawdy house and fined $2,500.

At the Court of Appeal, however, the cases took different turns. Labaye's conviction was upheld while Kouri's conviction was overturned. Now the Supreme Court has given a favourable ruling in both cases.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Copyright © 2005 Canadian Broadcasting Corporation - All Rights Reserved

An article on the abortion issue that I thought was rather well-written:

From The Leader-Post (Regina):

Abortion issue should be personal, not political

Abortion came to the political forefront in the United States recently with President George W. Bush's nominations to the Supreme Court.

The battle was joined again.

Now, more than ever, we need to recognize that there is no single Christian perspective on abortion, no single ideology that passes scriptural muster, no one correct way for people of faith to think about this issue.

Some will try to make it simple, with slogans and shouted Bible verses, but that is just bullying. Like any other significant moral issue, the issue of abortion won't be resolved by demonizing those who hold opposing views, by making it artificially yes or no, or by bowing to the loudest shouter.

In my view, we must separate the decision to have an abortion from the politics of allowing legal abortion to occur.

Abortion is a personal and pastoral matter, more wrenching to the woman or couple involved than outsiders realize. Abortion isn't a casual form of birth control, but a difficult decision made by a variety of women for a variety of reasons, usually under stress.

My wish for any woman considering an abortion: a caring pastor, caring family, accurate information and a competent physician. By politicizing abortion, one sector of organized religion has abandoned its primary role as pastor and caregiver. How many women will seek religion's care when they know to expect the scorpion of judgment and condemnation? When abortion touches your life and your family, you need information, counsel and sound medical advice.

In my opinion, abortion doesn't merit the fury or political centrality being accorded it. Of the many moral issues that could merit our attention, abortion seems less frequent in occurrence than incest and addiction, and less damaging to the human community than, say, racism, systemic poverty and genocide. And yet, on this one issue, people square off angrily, and powerful institutions spend lavishly to sway public opinion and policy.

I think abortion is to our society what wearing the veil has become to Islamic fundamentalists: a way to balance a society's moral ledger by forcing something on women. I urge you to read Reading Lolita in Tehran, Azar Nafisi's poignant account of Islamic fundamentalism in Iran, where morality police forced women to wear the veil and to give up personal freedom, arguing that the future of both religion and state depended on it.

In my opinion, something similar is going on with abortion. The focus is entirely on women (not the men who impregnate them), on denying women a personal freedom, and on punishing women who are poor and vulnerable.

I don't buy the notion that abortion, politically, is about the sanctity of human life. If that sanctity truly mattered to people, then we would hear similar outcries against capital punishment, alcohol and drugs, tobacco, guns, warfare and other known threats to life. I think the abortion issue is about women's freedom, not about theories of life.

Nor do I buy political arguments on behalf of children not born. If we truly cared about children, we wouldn't be reducing health-care benefits, chipping away at government safety nets, exposing children to exploitative entertainment, or allowing children to spend 61/2 hours a day being electronically amused and intellectually deadened.

I don't doubt the sincerity of most people who care about abortion. I do notice, however, that opposition to abortion centres based on improving someone else's morality, a practice that Jesus cautioned against. I wish the same zeal could be applied to larger and less safe issues, such as allocation of wealth.

I also notice that some religious and political leaders use abortion to amass power. They mislead their flocks by making abortion a litmus test on faith and belonging, not to mention distorting the political process by using abortion as a wedge issue to blur the separation of religion and state.

- Tom Ehrich is a writer, consultant and leader of workshops. His book, Just Wondering, Jesus: 100 Questions People Want to Ask, was published by Morehouse Publishing. An Episcopal priest, he lives in Durham, N.C. His Web site is www.onajourney.org

Sheesh, I try to do what the audience requests, and still I get nothing. That's it, 17-paragraph update about Buffy on the way for you guys.

Actually, I went out dress shopping with some of the ladies on Sunday, and I found a calendar of Spike, and a calendar of Buffy (the cast). I was tempted, but I think I might try my luck on the after-January 1st sales of calendars, as is my habit. I can't quite justify spending $20 on a calendar that I can get for anywhere from $5-10 a few days into the new year.

I'm looking forward to Christmas this year. I happened upon a pretty good second gift for my sister yesterday, so the immediate family is all taken care of. All that remains are my grandfathers, my nanny, a few friends (who don't know they're getting gifts, so even better), and the Smooshy... although he's quite positive he's getting slippers for Christmas, so I'm going to get a good laugh when he and I do our gift exchanges.

I picked up a couple of books in order to try to use up one of my three Chapters gift certificates. I'm back into wanting to read critique-style books, so that was a bit more of my theme, although it did only account for one book (I was in a storefront Coles, instead of a Chapters). I finished reading "Sex, Drugs and Cocoa Puffs," by Chuck Klosterman, and it wasn't too bad. I also polished off "East of Eden," by John Steinbeck, and turned that into my book club pick for January. It's long, but good.

Right now I've picked up "The Catcher in the Rye" for about the fourth time and I've made some decent progress this time. I have the feeling I'm going to wind up disliking the character at the end, but we'll see. I have a problem with the disaffected youth that seems to saturate the market lately (and in years past; this isn't exactly a recent book), and I've ranted in the past about movies and books with these characters, so I won't bother. I'm trying to stay open-minded, but so far I think I just want to smack Holden Caulfield.

I've been compiling my list for Christmas cards, so if you get an email from me requesting your mailing address, that's probably why. Conversely, if you want a Christmas card from me, feel free to contact me at litterboxjen at yahoo dot ca and I'll see what I can do. I also have to pick up some gifts for a Secret Santa gift exchange I'm doing through an LJ community I belong to, and I have to get that done yesterday-ish.

Last week and a bit this morning, I spent time going through an ATIP request that we were releasing, checking to see if there were any issues that we might have to address. The ATIP was (or seems to have been for) emails received on a particular issue. These emails came from the general public, who comprise the usual assortment of folks who are educated on the issue and have valid points to make, and those who have read a hysterionics-inducing article here or there, and are reacting accordingly.

My time on these emails reinforced a few beliefs I have had:
* A tragic number of people in this world cannot write.
* A tragic number of people in this world believe that fucking swearing, CAPITAL letters, exclamation marks!!!!!!!!!!! and condemning us to purgatory (instead of Hell, where it's reputed that all the cool folks go; I'm destined to never be cool), will somehow make us consider their remarks with extra weight and thought. It's like the guy who, when rebuffed by a lady he fancies, calls her a bitch and a dyke. Granted, swearing at the boys who turned me down got me where I am today, but I'm frequently the exception to the rule.
* What else? Oh yeah: people are fucking nuts.

I would quote examples, but although the information is now in the public domain, I've always made a point of keeping my work and this blog separate (more or less; I don't tell you where I work, although I do acknowledge that I work, and the general industry), and I don't feel right posting what are essential private comments. In addition, I'd have to edit them so much to keep my work out of it that the point would be more or less lost in some cases. Plus, I'm too lazy to go through 500+ pages of material to share the 5-6 gems of which I speak.

Because these emails are 'private', the folks who are associated with this issue had to contact each of the citizens who emailed or wrote in and ask if we could share their names with the ATIP requester. A vast majority said no (or their names were removed anyhow; I'm not sure how it worked), so there were a lot of greyed-out email addresses and names. That's cool, I respect a person's right to maintain their anonymity (and I practice this myself). What I did find somewhat funny were the few folks who asked to have their names blacked out, but then also had included newspaper articles or some such that they had written and had published that gave their name in the byline. Again, public domain information and so on, but why not just keep the first one open as well, and maybe just ask them to black out the second half of your email address (i.e., your ISP or whatnot). Ah well, probably more issues I just don't really know about, and that's okay.

I'd continue on in this vein, and with things I actually meant to write about, but it's now time for me to depart. I get to decide if I want to do more shopping, or just go home and be lumpy. I think lumpy wins tonight -- as it so often does. Here's also hoping my torrent download has completed! :)

As a follow-up to the post that no one has read (or so I am choosing to assume), the Hamilton Spectator has another article here.

Here is the first little bit. Go to the link to get the full article:

Stop quizzing women: College
By Dianne Rinehart
Special to The Hamilton Spectator
(Dec 8, 2005)
The Ontario College of Pharmacists has advised its members to stop asking invasive and personal questions of women seeking the morning-after pill.

Ontario Privacy Commissioner Ann Cavoukian met with the college yesterday and it agreed to stop using the controversial guidelines issued by the Canadian Pharmacist Association.

Ranty, ranty...

It’s very possible that I smell pretty today, although I’m not entirely sure I can tell. I bought a new body wash and lotion yesterday, and they smell like toffee – a bit like slightly burnt toffee when I use the body wash, but still very tasty nonetheless. The body butter is pretty nice, too; it seems to be helping my poor winter-sucking legs out.

This is my shallow post, in response to my more in-depth one, it would seem. However, I could always get into issues.

Let’s see… latest news I’ve read has some pharmacists who were refusing to issue birth control to their clients (here and here were the original sources I used), which I wrote about back here, are now being punished (reference here). What can I say, but that this encouraging at least for Illinois-area women. Although I should clarify; these pharmacists are being taken to task for not selling the morning-after pill; other pharmacists were refusing to sell birth control pills.

Now, one line in particular from the article confuses me somewhat: ”Walgreen policy says pharmacists can refuse to fill prescriptions to which they are morally opposed — except where state law prohibits — but they must take steps to have the prescription filled by another pharmacist or store, Bruce said.”
I’m curious… what other prescriptions, aside from perhaps Viagra or its derivatives, would be something to which people would be “morally opposed’? I mean, it’s not as though pharmacists are dispensing medications made from clubbed baby seals, or ground-up baby parts, or anything of the sort, right? Why is it that moral opposition always seems to concentrate on sexuality? Would there be pharmacists (perhaps Jehovah’s Witnesses?) who were morally opposed to dispensing anti-rejection drugs for someone who had had an organ transplant, and would refuse to dispense them? Wouldn’t the outrage and furor be loud in a case like that? Why is there only a murmur when it only affects one gender, or happens to be something that affects sexuality?

Grr. Getting myself somewhat worked up here. I wonder if these same pharmacists happen to keep the condoms behind the pharmacy shelf and require their patrons to request them, so that they can then deny them. I wonder if these pharmacists ‘allow’ their wives to use birth control pills. I wonder if they use condoms in order to prevent pregnancy.

I understand that some people consider life to begin at conception, or some people even consider the egg and sperm to be living, and so they feel that birth control pills, by preventing an egg from implanting, to be impeding life. I’m not about to get into an argument with someone over when ‘life’ begins. But I have to wonder… for those people who believe that life begins before conception – do they mourn when they have a wet dream? Do they mourn a woman’s period? Am I just talking out of my ass without properly looking up anything I’m talking about and only working off of vague recollections?

Yeah, sorry. I haven’t spent as much time writing this missive as I did the last one on this subject. :) Needless to say… I’m cheering the fact that Walgreens is punishing these pharmacists. For a woman in need of the morning-after pill, time is of the essence, and being denied access to the medication, or not being told where else she might be able to obtain it, is terrible.

Speaking of morning-after pills… the Canadians aren’t entirely blameless in this situation, either. There have been several articles I have read on this subject, but the link I’m providing is to the Hamilton Spectator’s article, because it’s the one I bookmarked from work. I can’t guarantee how long the link is going to be active, I’m afraid, but if it disappears, well… there are plenty of places to find similar information, I’m sure.

Anyhow, the Canadian Pharmacists Association, who, if I’m interpreting this correctly, design the guidelines for the pharmacists across Canada, which requires pharmacists ask women for: their name, address, the date of their last menstrual period (as opposed to what other kind?), when you had unprotected sex, and your customary method of birth control. Not to mention, this information is going to be stored in a computer, and as the editor of the Canadian Medical Association Journal points out, can be subpoenaed.
Now. On the one hand, I don’t really care too much about people reading my medical history. For the most part, it’s a pretty boring litany of the regular complaints – occasional ear infections, a personal history of benign skin staph infections that all babies get and some simply don’t get rid of (yay me), colds that went on to long, annual checkups, and lately, the dreaded PAP smear. Whoop-de-shit. Granted, there is some information in there that I choose to reveal to a very short list of people that I wouldn’t necessarily feel like having emblazoned wherever this kind of stuff was going to be emblazoned (I imagine it would be more of a problem if I wanted to become a political figure, or a religious one), but on this same one hand, I overall don’t care too much about it becoming public knowledge.

However… on the other hand, I do care to keep my personal information personal, I don’t like the U.S. policy of huge openness and transparency (a favourite government buzzphrase now) in the interests of protecting myself from apparent terrorist threat, and I don’t feel that anyone has the need to or ought to know when my last period was, when I had unprotected sex, and what, if any, form of birth control I regularly use.

On the one hand, I can see that this might be a ‘good’ way of tracking women who are irresponsible and regularly have unprotected sex, and maybe trying to convince them that using condoms or some other form of birth control might be in their better interest.

However, on the other hand, this type of risky behaviour is not something women engage in alone. Men are typically very eager and willing participants in the sex act, and if this is consensual partner sex, then fucking make sure you are using something.

It’s one thing if the woman fucks up on her birth control – be it the pill, the patch, the sponge, or whatnot – or takes some medication or herbal supplements that interfere with a hormonal birth control product. This type of thing does happen, women are human, and mistakes get made.

But if you know for a fact that your partner is not on any kind of hormonal birth control, then ‘just risking it this once’ is a dumb fucking idea. Use a condom. If you can’t come easily with a condom on, their either fuck until you want to come and get a blowjob/handjob/finish yourself off, or practice beating off with a condom on so that you can manage it. Try different condoms. Try putting lube in the condom. Get more foreplay before you start fucking. Experiment. But don’t just risk it, because in the end, I’m sorry, but I do believe that it is easier in one sense for men to walk away from a pregnancy or a baby than it is for women. That’s another point I could go off on, but that’s not my current rant.

If a woman is raped, then I fully support her in her quest for the morning-after pill, an abortion, or any other type of recourse she might choose to take. If she chose to keep her baby, then I fully support that notion, too. I don’t know if I would want to in that situation, but, and I knock wood as I say this, it’s thankfully not an issue I have had to deal with up to this stage in my life.

From the information I have read on rape victims, it’s my understanding that it’s difficult enough to pick up and go on with your life. Reporting it to the police and having to repeat your story over and over again is difficult enough, let alone suddenly be presented with a pharmacist who – though they may be only following guidelines – is asking you when you had this unprotected sex, and what birth control you usually use. This is being done as a way to ‘counsel’ women. Does this mean that the pharmacist, or the CPhA is going to take on responsibility to counsel the women who have been raped? What do they see as ‘counselling’ anyhow? Talking to women about responsible birth control? Does this include the women who are already well-versed in birth control and maybe forgot to take a pill one day for whatever reason? Or is this being reserved for the women who use nothing? Will there be a seminar that women are forced to endure before being dispensed their medication, or simply a pamphlet? A sermon from a pious pharmacist who only knows the answers you give him or her, and not the possibly mitigating circumstances?

I like to think that if I had been raped, and a pharmacist started asking me these kinds of questions, I'd get angry and yell at them. "When I had this unprotected sex? Oh, I didn't have sex. I was fucking raped. And no, it wasn't because I asked for it, I wasn't wearing a short skirt, I didn't flirt with the guys, etc... Rape isn't about sex, it's about power. This asshole felt he needed to have power over me, and so he took his cock and he fucked me without my permission. When did this happen? Two days ago. And as you can see, I'm just over the moon about it. Thank you very much. Can I have my fucking drugs now, so that I can reduce the chance that in addition to violating me, making me go through rounds of personal questions with strangers such as yourself, making me go through sexually transmitted disease testing to ensure that he didn't give me something that could fuck up my chances of having children with a future husband or of having something like HIV or AIDS, and making me feel like shit, this asshole didn't also impregnate me with a child I didn't choose to have at this time?!?"

But I can't know that, since I haven't been raped. But I'd like to think I'd do something like that. Of course, I often think of having conversations like that, but I rarely do. I'm actually a lot nicer than most people realize, surprising as that is going to sound. I think of many worse things than I ever actually do or say... much as I'd like to. But moving on.

I took the morning-after pill once. It’s a bit of a misnomer; there are two pills that you take 12 hours apart. Guess what? They’re not fun. It’s essentially a huge dose of birth control pills, and it made me nauseous enough to spend a day at home. Most women are not doing this sort of thing for fun, I will go out on a limb and assure you.

Finally… I’m frustrated with the blame and judgement that seems to get assigned to women for taking responsibility of their sexuality. People make mistakes, and fuck up on their birth control. It happens, don’t judge them. If it happens often enough, then sure, I think they should switch methods of birth control. I applaud my girlfriend who recognizes that she would never remember to take the pill, and uses other methods of birth control. Good for her.

Someone who has unprotected sex. Okay, they’re dumb. But as I said, it’s not just the woman’s fault. The guy needs to take responsibility and put on a condom, even if it might affect the sex. Guess what? It can affect the sex for us, too. But there are men I know who have never had sex without a condom, even if the woman is on the pill. Good for them; they’re being responsible.

Someone who has been raped. Don’t even get me started. It’s not your business to know this. The question of when you last had sex may be medically necessary, in order to ensure the pill is being used when it would still be effective – up to 72 hours after sex has occurred – but that can be achieved with a simple caution or advisory from the pharmacist before they dispense it: “I need to tell you that this is only going to be effective up to 3 days/72 hours after sex has taken place. If it has been longer than that time, then this pill may not/will not help you.” Then, depending on their response or lack thereof, dispense it anyways. It’s not as though this is a drug that can be used recreationally (to my knowledge, at least).

And although I’m sure I have more to say on the matter, I’m going to wrap this up with one final point. I find it ironic that the CPhA wants to counsel women who want the morning-after pill, but they publish a patient guide that includes, in the 2006 guide at least, tips for better sex in later life. That somehow just strikes me as … not quite right. Maybe I’m reading too much into this.

The moral:

Men: you are also responsible for birth control. Use condoms, or make sure your partner is on something.

Women: speak the fuck up. If you’re not on something that will prevent babies, make sure you use condoms. Insist on it! If he won’t, then either do other things or nothing at all.

On friendship

I’ve wondered at various times what it is that makes someone a good friend, and how much we happen to owe our friends.

I like to think – as does everyone, I’m sure – that I’m a fairly good friend. I’m loyal and honest to my friends, and I support them in the things they choose to do, even if I don’t necessarily agree with the path they’re taking. Sometimes I’m the first person to speak critically about my friends, which I think confuses people. I believe – I know? – that no one’s perfect. I have a list of faults a mile and a half long. But I think that being able to see and speak to someone’s faults and care for them regardless of how much they drive you crazy sometimes is an important element of friendship. You’re friends with someone because of their good qualities, and you accept them with their bad ones – you just learn how to deal with them, or ignore them as works for you and your friend.

When I disagree with something that one of my friends is doing, I will usually not say so to them. I feel that it’s their life and their choices, and it’s not necessarily my place to speak out. If pressed, or if I feel it’s very important, I will tell my friends once how I feel. Whether it’s saying that someone’s significant other treats them poorly, or that maybe they should save up more money before doing this or that, or whether they should stop sleeping with that person and here’s the reasons why I feel that way… I say it once. I figure after once, you know how I feel on the issue, and I don’t want to be that friend who’s harping at you. Plus, if I go off on a tear about how much I hate my friend’s significant other after they break up, and they get back together again… won’t I feel like an ass.

But sometimes, friends need support. This is normal, and part of being a friend is to be there for them. But I’ve always wondered where that line is meant to be drawn. While I would be there for any of my friends in a minute, that also depends on my ability to be there for them. I believe that first and foremost, you have to look out for yourself, because when it comes down to it, everyone looks out for themselves first. I will be there for the Smooshy anytime he needs me, and I am there for any of my other friends should they need me, but if my life is going through hell, and your life is going through hell, I’m very sorry, but I have to ultimately look out for me first.

Maybe this is a selfish position, I’ve never really been sure. But I also think that surrounding yourself with emotionally needy people is a sure-fire way to wind up exhausted, drained, and with nothing left over for you… which in the end means nothing left over for your friends. If you want to look at it that way.

Most of my friends are, technically speaking, adults. I have friends who are soon-to-be parents, I have friends that are married or engaged, I have friends that live on their own or with roommates, and I have friends who still live at home. Most of these friends are within a few years on either side of being my age (25, if you haven’t been keeping track). On a grand scale, I don’t try to judge my friends’ situations; everyone has their reasons for living at home/with roommates/on their own, and everyone has their reasons to be parents/married/living with someone. I’m very happy for many of my friends, have no doubt. But there are also others that concern me.

I believe in independence, regardless of gender. I believe that anyone who is regularly employed and living out of their parents’ home should be able to manage their financial situation with some measure of success. This means being able to pay your bills on time, and ideally pay down debts and even put aside some savings. I’ve never presented myself as the picture of fiscal responsibility, but I’ve never had a month where I feared being kicked out of my apartment or losing any of my utilities or luxuries. I know I’ve been very fortunate in the employment situation, but having seen many friends go through different employment situations (and having worked a minimum of two jobs since I was 17), I think that being employed is usually not a difficult thing to do. I’ve had friends with very unfortunate situations, and I have sympathy for them, but that’s partly because they are also independent and spent many days straight looking for work.

I guess I’m a tough friend. My sympathies tend more naturally towards those who try to help themselves. Whether this means going on EI; working a shit job to have an income; living with roommates because you can’t afford a place on your own; working outside of your industry in order to have an income; breaking up with someone who isn’t a right match for you; taking your medications, whatever they might be (no babies here!); whatever… you have to look out for you.

Yes, friends are there to support you. Yes, friends are there to provide a shoulder for you to lean on when you need it, or advice when you want it, or even just a kick in the ass when you need it (or they think you do)… but what it all boils down to is, after a certain point in time, you’re considered, for better or worse, to be an adult. You have to look after you. You have to pay your bills, find yourself a new apartment, pick up your groceries, see your doctor, see your dentist, go to work, get your bus pass, shave your face, wash your clothes, and so on and so forth, all by yourself.

It’s not your friends’ responsibility to hold your hand while you do laundry. It shouldn’t be up to any of my friends to remind me to take my birth control pills (although the Smooshy is certainly within his rights to remind me, if he wants to. I don’t need it, but he’s allowed). If I fuck up and forget to pay a bill on time, or don’t put the money in the right bank account, or forget to get the cats to the vet… well, ultimately that’s my problem, and no one else’s.

I don’t know, maybe I have a cynical view of friendship, maybe I have low expectations for what kind of support to receive from my friends, or maybe I’m just more independent than I think. But I think that being an independent person allows you to be a good friend, because you know how to look after your own stuff and can help them look after theirs – but not do it for them.

Friends are wonderful. Friends are necessary. Friends are great to have around you when you need them. But sometimes, they have their own stuff to deal with, and I think it’s perfectly justifiable for them to look after themselves first, and me second. Or third, or fourth… or whatever. That’s why I like to have several close friends around me. One, it feels nice, and two, it means that I’m not relying on one or two people to be everything for me. Hell, I can even lean on my folks if the need should arise, but I’m fortunate enough to have a fairly good relationship with them.

Of course, I’m also fairly introverted, and there are plenty of times that I haven’t really wanted to talk about bad stuff that’s going on. Sometimes I prefer to just process it internally, or write about it. Whatever, I’m going off-topic.

For those of you that made it this far… what are your thoughts on friendship? Am I way out on my own in this, or am I, as I frequently do, just rambling and enjoying the sound of my own voice?