"Don't Touch -Willie"....good advice!
Everyone always has advice to give on everything; friends, family, magazines, tv shows, complete strangers etc. The problem is that we're usually offered so much of it that it's hard to know what to listen to. The obvious person you should be listening to is me...I am amazing.
I've been given a ton of advice about everything in life, some I'm very glad I've listen to, some I wish I hadn't and some I'm really glad I didn't. To the friend who advised me at age 24 that I should have a baby because it was fun...ya...you maybe should refrain from sharing your advice. To the person who advised me that lending money to a deadbeat ex-bf was a bad idea...wish I'd listened to you.
These days I take most of my advice from Liz Lemon "Put potato chips on a sandwich", but I felt it prudent to share some nuggets of wisdom I've received or learned over the years from various sources...what I would consider to be amongst the best advice I can give.
1. Live Alone. Not forever...but do it at some point in your life. I lived with two boyfriends after moving out of my parents house. I technically had my own place briefly but I spent almost no time alone there. Living alone teaches you how to become a more complete person, how to solve your own problems, how to live with yourself and be independent.
2. Watch how someone treats service people. If they are rude to the waitress or the cashier, what does that tell you about someone? It shows a lack of respect for people and shows selfishness. I had an ex who used to be foul to waitresses and it embarrassed me...it wasn't long before he began to treat me the same way.
3. Comfortable shoes are never unfashionable. Seriously, having sore feet can ruin any day or occasion. Always have comfy shoes on hand because there is nothing sexy about high heels when you're walking like you just had the world's largest enema.
4. Wait 24 hours before sending an angry message. We all say things in the heat of the moment that we wish we could take back...so why risk it?
5. Never go to bed angry. This can be so hard because sometimes you're just so angry or so upset, but it's worth it. Waking up still angry will put a damper on your entire day, you're letting the negativity consume you and eat at you and the resentment only builds. Just deal with it now...trust me.
6. Wait to get married. Why are people in their 20's in such a rush to get married? I watched so many friends marry the wrong person just because they HAD to get married or else they thought their world would end. If you love them and want to be together, then that's what matters...make sure you know. Otherwise, maybe you're just doing this for the wedding and not for the marriage.
7. Don't lend money to people you know. This never ends well. If it's for life-saving surgery, ok, fine, but otherwise, do not risk it. One person will end up getting screwed somehow, even if you pay them back immediately...it will haunt you both.
8. Drink more water. There is no downside to this...just do it. It helps your digestion, your skin, your appetite control, your blood sugar, your weight...and it's the best habit you'll start.
9. Send me money. How did this get in the list? Silly me....but seriously, do it.
10. Have a hobby...like me...I write blog posts nobody reads or cares about...but I do it because I enjoy it as an outlet. It keeps me from venting at strangers on the street again.
Now my advice is to stop dicking around on the internet and do something productive...like watching Netflix.
White Girl Blogging
Friday 27 March 2015
Wednesday 25 March 2015
A story about boobs
Boobs. Breasts. Tits. Jugs. Tatty BoJangles.
Babies need them, men lust after them, women are never happy with them.
I remember being about 11 years old, puberty hadn't come for a visit just yet and I was tall but still had a kid's build. I was sitting with a friend lamenting that the boys (who were all about 13-14) would never notice me because they were always looking at the older girls with boobs. I told my friend that I wished I had big boobs because maybe then I would be liked by the boys.
Holy Christ, be careful what you wish for.
One year later, I wasn't even finished grade 6, 12 years old and sporting C-cup boobs that showed no signs of slowing their growth. I was already starting to get a sore upper back from carrying those things around on a 12 year old frame.
And just like a a pimple on prom night, they kept growing and growing.
By age 14 I was often being mistaken for 19 and 20 years old and it certainly wasn't because of my knowledge of classic literature and my mature demeanor. Men twice my age and many more who were blatantly old enough to be my father would whistle, stare, make cat calls or try a cheesy pick up line. Most of them ran away in horror when I would tell them I wasn't even close to being of legal age to vote let alone for what they had in mind. Being a teenager is awkward enough, let alone suddenly getting attention that you know isn't genuine. I had no idea how to deal with it. Girls would trash me and call me a slut because I had big boobs even though I had barely even kissed a guy at 14. Guys would assume I was easy because I had boobs even though I was actually quite terrified of sex at that age. I had no other identity...I wasn't funny, I wasn't smart, I wasn't nice, I wasn't anything...I was a pair of breasts. So, eventually I tried to 'own it' and took to low-cut shirts, making jokes about it, making (bad) attempts to be flirty....because I had resigned myself to the fact that it seemed they were all I had to offer. Yet, I stayed a virgin and rarely even kissed the guys I flirted with...because as much as I tried to 'own it'...I resented the fact that they just liked me for one reason.
I couldn't wear the cute shirts, dresses, swimsuits that other girls my age were wearing because they either looked ridiculous, didn't come in my size or looked like something out of a bad porn. Forget training bras, by high school I was having to buy bras at special boutiques for $100 a pop. I walked around with hunched shoulders and back pain. I wore a lot of baggy hoodies, hockey jerseys and my brother's old shirts, thinking that maybe I could hide them.
Then a miracle occurred. I was at a muscle rehab session for my bad neck and shoulders from years of bad posture from lugging what were now enormous sacks of flesh around on my frontage for years. The insanely cute doctor had me do a few stretches to see where my bad muscles were and told me that it was the front weight that was hurting me...and he asked me if I'd ever considered a breast reduction. What?? They do that? I called my mother over and she, having been a nurse, asked him the smart questions such as long term effects, scarring, healing, etc. All I asked was..."How soon can it be done??"
And so it came to be. I remember very clearly standing in the little pre-op room while the surgeon asked me to take down my gown so he could make some markings on my breasts for the surgery...I had trouble not being a little offended that he in no way reacted when I got topless. I was 19 years old, I had not shown a lot of men my boobs before, but I was certainly not used to a man being bored and professional about them. He asked me what size I wanted to go down to...I said that I didn't care if they went concave, just get them off of me. He chuckled. They had told me to bring one of my bras without the under-wire so that they would use it to help keep the gauze and bandages in place for a few days after surgery, so when I left the hospital, I didn't feel any smaller or different. My mother was my at-home nurse so when the time to remove the bandages came, she helped me undo the bra, and slowly peel the bandages off me. The doctor had warned me that I would be sore, badly bruised and that I would have lumpy boobs at first...because they would need to re-settle into their new natural shape over time. I looked down and they looked so small...and man were they lumpy...it was like looking at two half eaten bruised potatoes on my chest. I was horrified (and hugely drugged) and thought I'd made a huge mistake...I was so used to being the girl with the big boobs...I felt like I'd lost part of my identity.
I was uneasy for days, wondering if I'd done the right thing. I didn't have my real answer until my mother brought me new bra shopping at La Senza. It was my first time there in ages, I hadn't fit into off-the-rack bras in years. I hadn't gotten to wear the 2 for $20 cute lacy bras that young girls love...I was trying to shove my mountainous burdens into what felt like harnesses discarded from military missions. I walked into the brightly coloured bra boutique and literally skipped around grabbing one of every colour to try on. I put on the first bra and threw my t-shirt over it and looked at myself. All doubt was gone...I felt awesome. I felt normal. I felt like a hunchback who had had the hump removed...just...in the front. The Hunchfront of North Toronto...not quite as catchy.
A weight had been both literally and figuratively lifted from me, I felt like I didn't have to be defined by my shape anymore. It was only at that time that I really started dating at all, I had never previously trusted guys that they didn't just like me for my....plumage. A few guys who had always been so nice suddenly weren't very nice to me anymore. I didn't mourn their loss any more than the loss of the searing shoulder pain I'd gotten rid of.
I did not have small breasts after the surgery, but I had breasts that did not enter the room 2 feet before the rest of me. I was more social and willing to talk to people after that, I felt much less awkward about having any attention drawn to me. I met a surprising number of girls who had had the surgery as well or who were considering it and we all agreed that big boobs were more of a curse than a blessing and that getting them reduced was a saving grace.
I still have a full frontage...they fluctuate with my ever trampolining weight on the scale. I still sometimes have trouble finding a decent fit but I can still walk into stores and find something that will fit. The only things that are still a no-go are button up shirts (any girl with C-Cups or over knows the eternal struggle with the button boob gap) and anything strapless...because I don't need them bouncing of my knees or injuring a small passing child. I am comfortable in my frame, I don't feel the need to hide away as if I'm on day-release from the circus, but I am also comfortable enough with myself to not have to walk around with the girls hanging out for all to see. At this age, I'd rather dazzle you with my wit than show you a tit.
I could say a ton more about the subject of boobs, I fancy myself, not an expert but...experienced. I am not even really trying to make a specific point with this story...other than perhaps showing that everyone is insecure about something and that getting what you wish for isn't always a good thing. I still always wish I was skinnier, but then I wonder what I'd be unhappy about if I were to achieve that. Big boobs, small boobs, women are rarely happy with them..and if they are, they're probably unhappy about some other part of themselves. Just don't make assumptions about someone because of how they look. Deal?
Babies need them, men lust after them, women are never happy with them.
I remember being about 11 years old, puberty hadn't come for a visit just yet and I was tall but still had a kid's build. I was sitting with a friend lamenting that the boys (who were all about 13-14) would never notice me because they were always looking at the older girls with boobs. I told my friend that I wished I had big boobs because maybe then I would be liked by the boys.
Holy Christ, be careful what you wish for.
One year later, I wasn't even finished grade 6, 12 years old and sporting C-cup boobs that showed no signs of slowing their growth. I was already starting to get a sore upper back from carrying those things around on a 12 year old frame.
And just like a a pimple on prom night, they kept growing and growing.
By age 14 I was often being mistaken for 19 and 20 years old and it certainly wasn't because of my knowledge of classic literature and my mature demeanor. Men twice my age and many more who were blatantly old enough to be my father would whistle, stare, make cat calls or try a cheesy pick up line. Most of them ran away in horror when I would tell them I wasn't even close to being of legal age to vote let alone for what they had in mind. Being a teenager is awkward enough, let alone suddenly getting attention that you know isn't genuine. I had no idea how to deal with it. Girls would trash me and call me a slut because I had big boobs even though I had barely even kissed a guy at 14. Guys would assume I was easy because I had boobs even though I was actually quite terrified of sex at that age. I had no other identity...I wasn't funny, I wasn't smart, I wasn't nice, I wasn't anything...I was a pair of breasts. So, eventually I tried to 'own it' and took to low-cut shirts, making jokes about it, making (bad) attempts to be flirty....because I had resigned myself to the fact that it seemed they were all I had to offer. Yet, I stayed a virgin and rarely even kissed the guys I flirted with...because as much as I tried to 'own it'...I resented the fact that they just liked me for one reason.
I couldn't wear the cute shirts, dresses, swimsuits that other girls my age were wearing because they either looked ridiculous, didn't come in my size or looked like something out of a bad porn. Forget training bras, by high school I was having to buy bras at special boutiques for $100 a pop. I walked around with hunched shoulders and back pain. I wore a lot of baggy hoodies, hockey jerseys and my brother's old shirts, thinking that maybe I could hide them.
Then a miracle occurred. I was at a muscle rehab session for my bad neck and shoulders from years of bad posture from lugging what were now enormous sacks of flesh around on my frontage for years. The insanely cute doctor had me do a few stretches to see where my bad muscles were and told me that it was the front weight that was hurting me...and he asked me if I'd ever considered a breast reduction. What?? They do that? I called my mother over and she, having been a nurse, asked him the smart questions such as long term effects, scarring, healing, etc. All I asked was..."How soon can it be done??"
And so it came to be. I remember very clearly standing in the little pre-op room while the surgeon asked me to take down my gown so he could make some markings on my breasts for the surgery...I had trouble not being a little offended that he in no way reacted when I got topless. I was 19 years old, I had not shown a lot of men my boobs before, but I was certainly not used to a man being bored and professional about them. He asked me what size I wanted to go down to...I said that I didn't care if they went concave, just get them off of me. He chuckled. They had told me to bring one of my bras without the under-wire so that they would use it to help keep the gauze and bandages in place for a few days after surgery, so when I left the hospital, I didn't feel any smaller or different. My mother was my at-home nurse so when the time to remove the bandages came, she helped me undo the bra, and slowly peel the bandages off me. The doctor had warned me that I would be sore, badly bruised and that I would have lumpy boobs at first...because they would need to re-settle into their new natural shape over time. I looked down and they looked so small...and man were they lumpy...it was like looking at two half eaten bruised potatoes on my chest. I was horrified (and hugely drugged) and thought I'd made a huge mistake...I was so used to being the girl with the big boobs...I felt like I'd lost part of my identity.
I was uneasy for days, wondering if I'd done the right thing. I didn't have my real answer until my mother brought me new bra shopping at La Senza. It was my first time there in ages, I hadn't fit into off-the-rack bras in years. I hadn't gotten to wear the 2 for $20 cute lacy bras that young girls love...I was trying to shove my mountainous burdens into what felt like harnesses discarded from military missions. I walked into the brightly coloured bra boutique and literally skipped around grabbing one of every colour to try on. I put on the first bra and threw my t-shirt over it and looked at myself. All doubt was gone...I felt awesome. I felt normal. I felt like a hunchback who had had the hump removed...just...in the front. The Hunchfront of North Toronto...not quite as catchy.
A weight had been both literally and figuratively lifted from me, I felt like I didn't have to be defined by my shape anymore. It was only at that time that I really started dating at all, I had never previously trusted guys that they didn't just like me for my....plumage. A few guys who had always been so nice suddenly weren't very nice to me anymore. I didn't mourn their loss any more than the loss of the searing shoulder pain I'd gotten rid of.
I did not have small breasts after the surgery, but I had breasts that did not enter the room 2 feet before the rest of me. I was more social and willing to talk to people after that, I felt much less awkward about having any attention drawn to me. I met a surprising number of girls who had had the surgery as well or who were considering it and we all agreed that big boobs were more of a curse than a blessing and that getting them reduced was a saving grace.
I still have a full frontage...they fluctuate with my ever trampolining weight on the scale. I still sometimes have trouble finding a decent fit but I can still walk into stores and find something that will fit. The only things that are still a no-go are button up shirts (any girl with C-Cups or over knows the eternal struggle with the button boob gap) and anything strapless...because I don't need them bouncing of my knees or injuring a small passing child. I am comfortable in my frame, I don't feel the need to hide away as if I'm on day-release from the circus, but I am also comfortable enough with myself to not have to walk around with the girls hanging out for all to see. At this age, I'd rather dazzle you with my wit than show you a tit.
I could say a ton more about the subject of boobs, I fancy myself, not an expert but...experienced. I am not even really trying to make a specific point with this story...other than perhaps showing that everyone is insecure about something and that getting what you wish for isn't always a good thing. I still always wish I was skinnier, but then I wonder what I'd be unhappy about if I were to achieve that. Big boobs, small boobs, women are rarely happy with them..and if they are, they're probably unhappy about some other part of themselves. Just don't make assumptions about someone because of how they look. Deal?
Tuesday 24 March 2015
New dictionary entries in 2015
Each year the OED accepts new words and a 'word' of the year is named for being the most popular. I have a few of my own creations that I would like to submit.
Trifukta (try-fuck-tah)- noun. To have three major errors or flaws. Eg. "Rob Ford is racist, sexist and homophobic, he has completed the trifukta of being a horrible human being" OR "I busted my phone, threw up in the street and ripped my pants, tonight has been a complete trifukta"
Clam Bake (klam bayk)- noun. A gathering a females. The female equivalent to the "Sausage Fest". Eg. "There were no guys at the party, it was a total clam bake"
Hypercrastinate (hy-purr-cras-tin-ate), verb. To have a ton of energy but not do anything productive. Eg. "I was bouncing off the walls but couldn't be bothered to go mail that letter down the road, I just sat around hypercrastinating".
Zeeyoncé (zee-yawn-say) noun. An ugly and ghetto girl who thinks she's Queen Bee. "Girl, you tryna be Beyoncé but you so low rent, you more like Zeeyoncé"
Trifukta (try-fuck-tah)- noun. To have three major errors or flaws. Eg. "Rob Ford is racist, sexist and homophobic, he has completed the trifukta of being a horrible human being" OR "I busted my phone, threw up in the street and ripped my pants, tonight has been a complete trifukta"
Clam Bake (klam bayk)- noun. A gathering a females. The female equivalent to the "Sausage Fest". Eg. "There were no guys at the party, it was a total clam bake"
Hypercrastinate (hy-purr-cras-tin-ate), verb. To have a ton of energy but not do anything productive. Eg. "I was bouncing off the walls but couldn't be bothered to go mail that letter down the road, I just sat around hypercrastinating".
Zeeyoncé (zee-yawn-say) noun. An ugly and ghetto girl who thinks she's Queen Bee. "Girl, you tryna be Beyoncé but you so low rent, you more like Zeeyoncé"
Friday 20 March 2015
40 Reasons To Smile
I'm told that today is International Happiness Day...so in that spirit- I am going to name off a list of things that, instead of 'noooope', always make me go 'yeeeeep'
Here is my own personal book of awesome:
A really cold beer
Coming in late to work only to find out that the boss is even later than you
Watching a princess-looking woman trip over her own heels
Hearing that the person who you hate got into trouble at work
Making someone spit their drink out from laughing
Taking your bra off at the end of the day
The cashier telling you that your item is actually on sale
Getting your contact lens in on the first try
Someone bringing you a hot cup of tea (or coffee) in the morning
When a child asks to sit next to you
Thinking you forgot your charger but finding you didn't
Grabbing your keys as soon as you go into your purse instead of having to search
When an old friend reconnects without having ulterior motives
Your online order being delivered way faster than you expected
Meeting a new friend from the same fandom as you
Getting the elevator to yourself
Getting a seat on the subway/bus
When the office closes early the day before a holiday
When an animal falls asleep on you
Getting home from work and taking off your pants
A foot rub when you've been walking all day
Stepping in front of a fan on a really hot day
Finding out that your guilty pleasure food isn't as high calorie as first thought
When they open a new cash register just as you walk up to the line
Free donuts at work
Your best friend saying something unbelievably stupid so that you laugh your ass off
Finding out that your favourite show has been renewed for another season
Getting to use a piece of obscure trivia you aren't even sure how you know
Laughing until you either snort or wheeze
A onesie
Good hair days
Free samples!
Getting that long overdue 'to do' item checked off your list
Having breakfast for dinner
Wearing a new shirt and people complimenting you on it
Finally being alone and able to scratch your butt when it's super itchy
Getting the cozy chairs in the café
Getting to go back to sleep
Comfy shoes
Fridays
Here is my own personal book of awesome:
A really cold beer
Coming in late to work only to find out that the boss is even later than you
Watching a princess-looking woman trip over her own heels
Hearing that the person who you hate got into trouble at work
Making someone spit their drink out from laughing
Taking your bra off at the end of the day
The cashier telling you that your item is actually on sale
Getting your contact lens in on the first try
Someone bringing you a hot cup of tea (or coffee) in the morning
When a child asks to sit next to you
Thinking you forgot your charger but finding you didn't
Grabbing your keys as soon as you go into your purse instead of having to search
When an old friend reconnects without having ulterior motives
Your online order being delivered way faster than you expected
Meeting a new friend from the same fandom as you
Getting the elevator to yourself
Getting a seat on the subway/bus
When the office closes early the day before a holiday
When an animal falls asleep on you
Getting home from work and taking off your pants
A foot rub when you've been walking all day
Stepping in front of a fan on a really hot day
Finding out that your guilty pleasure food isn't as high calorie as first thought
When they open a new cash register just as you walk up to the line
Free donuts at work
Your best friend saying something unbelievably stupid so that you laugh your ass off
Finding out that your favourite show has been renewed for another season
Getting to use a piece of obscure trivia you aren't even sure how you know
Laughing until you either snort or wheeze
A onesie
Good hair days
Free samples!
Getting that long overdue 'to do' item checked off your list
Having breakfast for dinner
Wearing a new shirt and people complimenting you on it
Finally being alone and able to scratch your butt when it's super itchy
Getting the cozy chairs in the café
Getting to go back to sleep
Comfy shoes
Fridays
IKEA...more like WHY-KEA?!
The episode of 30 Rock (Season 6, episode 6) where Liz goes to IKEA with her boyfriend may be the most honest and truthful piece of television writing in history. While that show may have been the source for many crucial life lessons "Live every week like it's Shark Week" - Tracy Jordan, and "Never follow a hippie to a second location" - Jack Donaghy, the IKEA episode hits home the hardest. In that episode Liz Lemon makes the very real point that IKEA is where couples go to die and it makes everyone insane. Sing it true, girlfriend!
Ladies and gentleman....I hate IKEA.
I don't mean I hate IKEA in the same way that I hate having to stand in line at the post office or how I hate people who name their kids bulls**t names like Persephone Apple Blossom Rainchild...I mean I hate IKEA in a way that causes me to break out into a rash the moment someone even suggests going there.
Don't let their bright happy blue and yellow colours or their adorably quirky Swedish-ness fool you...they are pure evil.
The typical trip to IKEA is such an ordeal that it will completely suck up your entire day and spit you out so cruelly that you may not even know what just happened to you, or even who you are anymore.
Just think about every trip to IKEA you've ever taken....
First of all, you have to get there....the ordeal begins. There are no IKEAs close-by to civilization, you must always drive or subway out to the middle of nowhere, because they must lure you to the edge of all humanity so that you won't be able to go shopping anywhere else that entire day. Once you've entered their land, they have you trapped...there is nowhere else to go. You've spent so long getting there that you better make it worth the effort to have gone. They have succeeded in wearing you down by the time you've entered the store.
In every entrance stands the same disgusting children's playroom with the urine soaked ball-pit and influenza coated slides. There are stands with catalogues, pencils, writing pamphlets and those shitty foot-long paper measuring tapes. What there should be is a 'Proceed at Your Own Risk' sign and Gollum to guide you into the brightly coloured Scandinavian Mordor.
And so you enter and immediately you're overwhelmed by the amount of things to look at: room displays, price tags, huge vats of random trinkets and gadgets and the constant hoard of other shoppers, many of which have dragged along their screaming children for some reason that is beyond me. Like a stunned animal, you begin to wind you way into their maze, looking at the carefully crafted showrooms and finding a charming humour in the names of the objects.
Every 5 feet there is the question from your spouse "Do we need one of these?"....and it's always no...nobody has ever needed one...whatever it is.
Soon you arrive at the chairs and couches and every time, you feel some draw to sit in one- often because you're already exhausted, but you also can't help but want to learn more about the $200 couch. Your spouse is in a corner looking at a cheap flower pot, so you sit...and you adjust...and you squirm. You quickly realize that this is one of the most uncomfortable things you've ever sat in and it's almost no relief from standing because your lower back feels like it's being compacted. You get up, disappointed, and carry on, now a bit disillusioned and grumpier than before you sat down. Your spouse gives you a sneer because of the grumpy look on your face "What's your problem?" you both begin to think.
You slowly begin to wonder where the section you need is...this confusing maze of a store keeps winding you around but doesn't actually seem to have an ending or any sense of real direction. You look at the time and are amazed how late it already is...you'd better keep going. The moment one of you begins to dawdle...and you will...the other immediately snaps "Come on!"....no man left behind in IKEA...because if I have to drag my ass on, so do you dammit. At this point, you have stopped consulting each other on the little trinkets and are feeling resentful that you ever came.
If you're looking for furniture, it's about now that you'll spot something roughly the same size and shape as what you were looking for....although it's never exactly what you want. You look at the size, you argue over the colour ("The table is dark wood but I like white" , "Who would have a blue mirror?" etc). You read the size but neither of you really know what that equals in actual space...so you try to use the shitty paper measuring tape...but it's too short and when you try to stretch it at all, it snaps in half. You look at the price and figure you'll try it...but you can't just buy it there...you have to write down the coordinates to go attempt to locate it and pick it up at the end of your shopping fun.
You're done the first section and you come across a section that God (or Gods) forgot. The IKEA cafeteria. It's not a restaurant, no matter what they call it. No restaurant would ever sell $1 meatballs and $2 turkey dinners. It is inexplicably overflowing with children and people, you don't understand how so many people can be fooled into eating rubber food and tasteless slop. One of you will want to stop and go in, if for no other reason than to take a break from endless parade of showrooms and not-quite-right furniture. Whether you stop or not, you're in for a bad time, either you eat the horrible food and feel worse for having ingested it or you soldier on and the person who wanted to stop resents the lack of repose.
There are no more showrooms in the second half, it's all just utensils. frames, kitchen goods, lighting and the smaller household things that can really cause misery. Furniture is big enough that most couples will go into it with the understanding that both parties should have a common goal- the smaller utensil type stuff is a total free-for-all. Each item is small enough that you feel you shouldn't need to justify it, and it's always too cheap to want to really start a fight over...but yet you find yourself arguing about the $4.00 blue vase every time. This is where the resentments build to breaking point "We don't need a cheap lemon zester...you won't use it...you don't use half of the crap you already own...and it's always me cleaning it...you never clean up....I do everything...I hate you". Boom. Ikea has caused another relationship to explode in anger.
You walk through the remaining sections looking at every item because you'd rather look at the crappy wicker garden basket than look your spouse in the eye right now. You're so filled with hate and resentment right now that you draw out how long you look at everything just to avoid them. You contemplate buying the ugly huge fern right near the exit just because it will be something in the house you could talk to rather than your partner.
And so you think you're done...oh no....you aren't done yet. You enter the warehouse in which you need to comb through the aisles of brown boxes to find the one product you wanted to buy an hour ago and can't even remember what it is. You look at the coordinates written on your pamphlet with the stupid golf pencil you dropped 20 minutes ago in a basket somewhere....and you go hunting. if you're lucky, when you track your boxes, they have it in stock; or if it comes in two parts, they may have stock of only one. You are ready to grab it and go...except once you lift it you find that it weighs roughly the same as a neutron star. How on Earth are you going to get this home on the subway? And it's huge...this won't fit in the trunk. Screw it, you came all this way, spent all this time and energy, you are determined to not leave without it. You haul it onto one of those weird trolleys that never steers properly and head to the cash, bumping 5 bystanders on your way and getting your ankles rammed about 4 times by others. You see the lines....the ungodly long lines...and then the spouse says the magic words "I just want to check out the As IS section".
The As-Is...the unholiest of grounds on the planet. Where broken and damaged furniture that was crap when it was brand new are sold at a slightly reduced rate in an attempt to pawn off garbage onto the weak and gullible. Random planks of wood, old unlabeled parts, couches with huge rips and dressers with gouges are all on sale for 10% off. Every second you're forced to stand there and assess the heaps of garbage, you are about to explode...you just want to leave and get out of this fluorescent lighted hell.
You return to the mile long line...and you wait and wait and wait. Finally, it's your turn and the cashier rings you through....and you feel yourself throw up in your mouth when you see your total. How did all of that cheap crap add up so so much money?! You're so desperate to get out that you pay and figure you'll look at the receipt later. You pass by their last trap...the ice cream and hot dogs. For $1 fat and carbs, you figure you've earned it...who cares if the line is twice as long as the one you just stood in. It tastes bland and the kid behind the counter didn't wash his hands...but you're too tired to care. You walk outside into the loading area and it's more crowded than a sale at Walmart. You send your spouse to bring the car around and after 20 minutes, they finally find a parking spot close to the loading zone. This is where your years of playing Tetris as a kid come in handy...because the huge heavy box versus the trunk/backseat is about as complicated as the German Enigma Code machine from WWII. You scratch the leather interior...you drop on it our foot...you back your knuckles on the side of the car and then you hit your head as you back out of finally shoving it in the corner.
You're exhausted, you hate your spouse, you're bruised and you paid too much. Now you get to journey home laden with that Satan spawn box of crap furniture. And guess what? You still have to assemble it.
But that is another story.
Happy IKEA shopping!
Ladies and gentleman....I hate IKEA.
I don't mean I hate IKEA in the same way that I hate having to stand in line at the post office or how I hate people who name their kids bulls**t names like Persephone Apple Blossom Rainchild...I mean I hate IKEA in a way that causes me to break out into a rash the moment someone even suggests going there.
Don't let their bright happy blue and yellow colours or their adorably quirky Swedish-ness fool you...they are pure evil.
The typical trip to IKEA is such an ordeal that it will completely suck up your entire day and spit you out so cruelly that you may not even know what just happened to you, or even who you are anymore.
Just think about every trip to IKEA you've ever taken....
First of all, you have to get there....the ordeal begins. There are no IKEAs close-by to civilization, you must always drive or subway out to the middle of nowhere, because they must lure you to the edge of all humanity so that you won't be able to go shopping anywhere else that entire day. Once you've entered their land, they have you trapped...there is nowhere else to go. You've spent so long getting there that you better make it worth the effort to have gone. They have succeeded in wearing you down by the time you've entered the store.
In every entrance stands the same disgusting children's playroom with the urine soaked ball-pit and influenza coated slides. There are stands with catalogues, pencils, writing pamphlets and those shitty foot-long paper measuring tapes. What there should be is a 'Proceed at Your Own Risk' sign and Gollum to guide you into the brightly coloured Scandinavian Mordor.
And so you enter and immediately you're overwhelmed by the amount of things to look at: room displays, price tags, huge vats of random trinkets and gadgets and the constant hoard of other shoppers, many of which have dragged along their screaming children for some reason that is beyond me. Like a stunned animal, you begin to wind you way into their maze, looking at the carefully crafted showrooms and finding a charming humour in the names of the objects.
Every 5 feet there is the question from your spouse "Do we need one of these?"....and it's always no...nobody has ever needed one...whatever it is.
Soon you arrive at the chairs and couches and every time, you feel some draw to sit in one- often because you're already exhausted, but you also can't help but want to learn more about the $200 couch. Your spouse is in a corner looking at a cheap flower pot, so you sit...and you adjust...and you squirm. You quickly realize that this is one of the most uncomfortable things you've ever sat in and it's almost no relief from standing because your lower back feels like it's being compacted. You get up, disappointed, and carry on, now a bit disillusioned and grumpier than before you sat down. Your spouse gives you a sneer because of the grumpy look on your face "What's your problem?" you both begin to think.
You slowly begin to wonder where the section you need is...this confusing maze of a store keeps winding you around but doesn't actually seem to have an ending or any sense of real direction. You look at the time and are amazed how late it already is...you'd better keep going. The moment one of you begins to dawdle...and you will...the other immediately snaps "Come on!"....no man left behind in IKEA...because if I have to drag my ass on, so do you dammit. At this point, you have stopped consulting each other on the little trinkets and are feeling resentful that you ever came.
If you're looking for furniture, it's about now that you'll spot something roughly the same size and shape as what you were looking for....although it's never exactly what you want. You look at the size, you argue over the colour ("The table is dark wood but I like white" , "Who would have a blue mirror?" etc). You read the size but neither of you really know what that equals in actual space...so you try to use the shitty paper measuring tape...but it's too short and when you try to stretch it at all, it snaps in half. You look at the price and figure you'll try it...but you can't just buy it there...you have to write down the coordinates to go attempt to locate it and pick it up at the end of your shopping fun.
You're done the first section and you come across a section that God (or Gods) forgot. The IKEA cafeteria. It's not a restaurant, no matter what they call it. No restaurant would ever sell $1 meatballs and $2 turkey dinners. It is inexplicably overflowing with children and people, you don't understand how so many people can be fooled into eating rubber food and tasteless slop. One of you will want to stop and go in, if for no other reason than to take a break from endless parade of showrooms and not-quite-right furniture. Whether you stop or not, you're in for a bad time, either you eat the horrible food and feel worse for having ingested it or you soldier on and the person who wanted to stop resents the lack of repose.
There are no more showrooms in the second half, it's all just utensils. frames, kitchen goods, lighting and the smaller household things that can really cause misery. Furniture is big enough that most couples will go into it with the understanding that both parties should have a common goal- the smaller utensil type stuff is a total free-for-all. Each item is small enough that you feel you shouldn't need to justify it, and it's always too cheap to want to really start a fight over...but yet you find yourself arguing about the $4.00 blue vase every time. This is where the resentments build to breaking point "We don't need a cheap lemon zester...you won't use it...you don't use half of the crap you already own...and it's always me cleaning it...you never clean up....I do everything...I hate you". Boom. Ikea has caused another relationship to explode in anger.
You walk through the remaining sections looking at every item because you'd rather look at the crappy wicker garden basket than look your spouse in the eye right now. You're so filled with hate and resentment right now that you draw out how long you look at everything just to avoid them. You contemplate buying the ugly huge fern right near the exit just because it will be something in the house you could talk to rather than your partner.
And so you think you're done...oh no....you aren't done yet. You enter the warehouse in which you need to comb through the aisles of brown boxes to find the one product you wanted to buy an hour ago and can't even remember what it is. You look at the coordinates written on your pamphlet with the stupid golf pencil you dropped 20 minutes ago in a basket somewhere....and you go hunting. if you're lucky, when you track your boxes, they have it in stock; or if it comes in two parts, they may have stock of only one. You are ready to grab it and go...except once you lift it you find that it weighs roughly the same as a neutron star. How on Earth are you going to get this home on the subway? And it's huge...this won't fit in the trunk. Screw it, you came all this way, spent all this time and energy, you are determined to not leave without it. You haul it onto one of those weird trolleys that never steers properly and head to the cash, bumping 5 bystanders on your way and getting your ankles rammed about 4 times by others. You see the lines....the ungodly long lines...and then the spouse says the magic words "I just want to check out the As IS section".
The As-Is...the unholiest of grounds on the planet. Where broken and damaged furniture that was crap when it was brand new are sold at a slightly reduced rate in an attempt to pawn off garbage onto the weak and gullible. Random planks of wood, old unlabeled parts, couches with huge rips and dressers with gouges are all on sale for 10% off. Every second you're forced to stand there and assess the heaps of garbage, you are about to explode...you just want to leave and get out of this fluorescent lighted hell.
You return to the mile long line...and you wait and wait and wait. Finally, it's your turn and the cashier rings you through....and you feel yourself throw up in your mouth when you see your total. How did all of that cheap crap add up so so much money?! You're so desperate to get out that you pay and figure you'll look at the receipt later. You pass by their last trap...the ice cream and hot dogs. For $1 fat and carbs, you figure you've earned it...who cares if the line is twice as long as the one you just stood in. It tastes bland and the kid behind the counter didn't wash his hands...but you're too tired to care. You walk outside into the loading area and it's more crowded than a sale at Walmart. You send your spouse to bring the car around and after 20 minutes, they finally find a parking spot close to the loading zone. This is where your years of playing Tetris as a kid come in handy...because the huge heavy box versus the trunk/backseat is about as complicated as the German Enigma Code machine from WWII. You scratch the leather interior...you drop on it our foot...you back your knuckles on the side of the car and then you hit your head as you back out of finally shoving it in the corner.
You're exhausted, you hate your spouse, you're bruised and you paid too much. Now you get to journey home laden with that Satan spawn box of crap furniture. And guess what? You still have to assemble it.
But that is another story.
Happy IKEA shopping!
Wednesday 11 March 2015
The Hatred for Pants Explained
"Don't you hate pants?!" said Homer Simpson... and yes, I really do.
How can a person hate pants? Oh...I hate them...I hate them more than I hate that leg jerk you get sometimes when you're just about to fall asleep that wakes you right up.
My hatred is based on two main factors: 1. I am a girl 2. I spent the majority of my life as plus sized. These two simple factors are not exactly uncommon (especially if you've ever been to the southern US states) yet they make the love of a good pant a rare thing.
If I were to meet the makers of jeans, pants, capris, shorts etc. I think that my main question would be "Who the living hell are you using as a sizing model?" No woman that I know has an easy time buying any kind of pant because nothing fits. My body type was never something so rare that I should never have expected to find clothing to fit my freakish frame, I have been overweight but I was at no point shaped like a starfish, oblong or Dyson vaccuum cleaner..so why, no matter the size, can I not find pants that fit a woman's body?
Do they fit around your waist? Well they probably make your butt look big. Do they make your legs look slim? I bet they're 4 feet too long. Are they your usual size? I bet they make you look like you've got bigger saddle bags than John Wayne.
Even after losing weight, I have yet to find a pair of pants that fit properly, be they jeans, capris, khakis, dress pants or the like.
The only exception is, of course, sweatpants (not yoga pants, I don't do yoga pants, they are only flattering if you have a yoga body). There needs to be a movement in the fashion world to make sweatpants 'in' at all times, not just on casual Fridays and lazy Sundays. I know that many women wear them around out now...but you can't help but feel like they should be trolling the aisles of Wal-Mart in them.
My other pant related issue is with shorts. Ladies, call me old fashioned, but I believe that your shorts should be longer than your vagina.
How short are shorts before they're just considered underwear?! I have seen far too much ass cheek, thigh jiggle and upper thigh whiteness to be a supporter of shorts. Throw on a pair of these denim panty-wannabes and one of the tiny tank tops and I feel like women are now walking around in their underwear. I am not a fashonista, I have been guilty of numerous fashion crimes (I most often dress similar to a 15 year old boy)...but every time I walk past one of these women it reminds me to book my next gynecologist appointment.
So, I call on the designers, the fashion savvy and the pant-wearing world at large, that we need a pant revolution. Pants that fit...not a hard concept. They can put a rover on Mars, they can decode a genome...but yet they cannot create a pair of jeans to fit a regular woman.
The day moo-moo's become socially acceptable will the happiest day in history.
How can a person hate pants? Oh...I hate them...I hate them more than I hate that leg jerk you get sometimes when you're just about to fall asleep that wakes you right up.
My hatred is based on two main factors: 1. I am a girl 2. I spent the majority of my life as plus sized. These two simple factors are not exactly uncommon (especially if you've ever been to the southern US states) yet they make the love of a good pant a rare thing.
If I were to meet the makers of jeans, pants, capris, shorts etc. I think that my main question would be "Who the living hell are you using as a sizing model?" No woman that I know has an easy time buying any kind of pant because nothing fits. My body type was never something so rare that I should never have expected to find clothing to fit my freakish frame, I have been overweight but I was at no point shaped like a starfish, oblong or Dyson vaccuum cleaner..so why, no matter the size, can I not find pants that fit a woman's body?
Do they fit around your waist? Well they probably make your butt look big. Do they make your legs look slim? I bet they're 4 feet too long. Are they your usual size? I bet they make you look like you've got bigger saddle bags than John Wayne.
Even after losing weight, I have yet to find a pair of pants that fit properly, be they jeans, capris, khakis, dress pants or the like.
The only exception is, of course, sweatpants (not yoga pants, I don't do yoga pants, they are only flattering if you have a yoga body). There needs to be a movement in the fashion world to make sweatpants 'in' at all times, not just on casual Fridays and lazy Sundays. I know that many women wear them around out now...but you can't help but feel like they should be trolling the aisles of Wal-Mart in them.
My other pant related issue is with shorts. Ladies, call me old fashioned, but I believe that your shorts should be longer than your vagina.
How short are shorts before they're just considered underwear?! I have seen far too much ass cheek, thigh jiggle and upper thigh whiteness to be a supporter of shorts. Throw on a pair of these denim panty-wannabes and one of the tiny tank tops and I feel like women are now walking around in their underwear. I am not a fashonista, I have been guilty of numerous fashion crimes (I most often dress similar to a 15 year old boy)...but every time I walk past one of these women it reminds me to book my next gynecologist appointment.
So, I call on the designers, the fashion savvy and the pant-wearing world at large, that we need a pant revolution. Pants that fit...not a hard concept. They can put a rover on Mars, they can decode a genome...but yet they cannot create a pair of jeans to fit a regular woman.
The day moo-moo's become socially acceptable will the happiest day in history.
These are a few of my LEAST favourite things
I often think of things that annoy me but they don't quite have enough meat in them to sustain their own rant, so I am compiling them into this list of little shitty moments. For most of them, one of these isn't enough to ruin your entire day, but pick any 3 and have them all occur within a 24-hour period, and that day is a write-off.
- Not being able to wear the outfit you'd mentally prepared to wear
- Making tea/coffee and discovering that there's no milk
- Getting to the street corner when the counter is a '3'...because you're a dick if you start crossing but it's still an extra 3 seconds you have to stand at what is technically a green light and feel dumb.
- Taking a sip of your tea and it's ice cold
- Not having hot water
- Someone not saying 'thank you'
- Tripping in public
- Replying immediately to a text you've received only to not get a response...what did you do, text me then throw the phone out of the window?
- Meeting up with someone who is more than 15 minutes late and they didn't bother to text or call
- Stepping in a puddle and it soaks your sock
- Socks in general...f**k socks
- Your team losing....trust me, I'm a Leafs fan, I know this feeling better than most
- Realizing it's not pay week until next week.
- Being on hold
- When the item you want is finally on sale but they don't have your size
- Getting stuck behind someone who is making a return or has to hassle the cashier
- People who argue for the sake of argument...go deal with your anger issues on your own time
- Teenagers...all of them...always
- Getting stuck behind people who walk abysmally slow and not being able to get around them
- Someone who doesn't hold the door open for you
- When they don't have any good soup at your favourite lunch spot...this happened to me yesterday and I'm still bitter.
- Getting to work and realizing that the look you thought was 'hot' at home in the mirror looks ridiculous
- Lipstick on your teeth
- Fat days, bad hair days, cramp days
- Going the whole week without winning F**K ALL in Roll Up the Rim
- Getting a bitchy voicemail first thing in the morning
- Being happy that 'at least it's Thursday' only to realize it's Wednesday
- Leaving a store with a bag of stuff you bought having forgotten to buy the thing you originally went in for.
- Breaking a nail...don't pretend like it doesn't suck
- Your boss dropping by unexpectedly...it throws you off.
- Your computer freezing
- Forgetting your password for something
- Having a headache
- Having to pretend you enjoy your friend's bullsh*t inspirational quotes they always post
- Hearing that an actor or singer you like has died
- Getting into an argument via text...because those last ages
- Not knowing what you want for dinner...it's just frustration you eat
- Hearing someone misquote your favourite book or movie
- Getting blamed for something that wasn't your fault
- Going to every store in the mall and still not finding anything you like
- When the fast food place gets your order wrong
- Delays on the TTC
- Looking down and seeing a stain in your shirt or a run in your pantyhose
- When your cashier is rude for no reason
- Forgetting your headphones
- Rain when you weren't expecting it
- Your colleague being off sick
- Waking up with less than 5 minutes before your alarm goes off
- Getting a reminder call for an appointment tomorrow you totally forgot about
- Getting to the stop or station just to see your bus/train pulling away
- Calling for any kind of appointment and them not having anything available
- Explaining something 17 times and the other person still doesn't get it
- When your phone rings just as you get up to go to the washroom (although most men I know would just bring their phone in with them...cause they're gross)
- Having to go somewhere when you only have 20% battery life left on your phone
Hm, kinda got a bit long winded...but many things bother me. So,..how's your day?
- Not being able to wear the outfit you'd mentally prepared to wear
- Making tea/coffee and discovering that there's no milk
- Getting to the street corner when the counter is a '3'...because you're a dick if you start crossing but it's still an extra 3 seconds you have to stand at what is technically a green light and feel dumb.
- Taking a sip of your tea and it's ice cold
- Not having hot water
- Someone not saying 'thank you'
- Tripping in public
- Replying immediately to a text you've received only to not get a response...what did you do, text me then throw the phone out of the window?
- Meeting up with someone who is more than 15 minutes late and they didn't bother to text or call
- Stepping in a puddle and it soaks your sock
- Socks in general...f**k socks
- Your team losing....trust me, I'm a Leafs fan, I know this feeling better than most
- Realizing it's not pay week until next week.
- Being on hold
- When the item you want is finally on sale but they don't have your size
- Getting stuck behind someone who is making a return or has to hassle the cashier
- People who argue for the sake of argument...go deal with your anger issues on your own time
- Teenagers...all of them...always
- Getting stuck behind people who walk abysmally slow and not being able to get around them
- Someone who doesn't hold the door open for you
- When they don't have any good soup at your favourite lunch spot...this happened to me yesterday and I'm still bitter.
- Getting to work and realizing that the look you thought was 'hot' at home in the mirror looks ridiculous
- Lipstick on your teeth
- Fat days, bad hair days, cramp days
- Going the whole week without winning F**K ALL in Roll Up the Rim
- Getting a bitchy voicemail first thing in the morning
- Being happy that 'at least it's Thursday' only to realize it's Wednesday
- Leaving a store with a bag of stuff you bought having forgotten to buy the thing you originally went in for.
- Breaking a nail...don't pretend like it doesn't suck
- Your boss dropping by unexpectedly...it throws you off.
- Your computer freezing
- Forgetting your password for something
- Having a headache
- Having to pretend you enjoy your friend's bullsh*t inspirational quotes they always post
- Hearing that an actor or singer you like has died
- Getting into an argument via text...because those last ages
- Not knowing what you want for dinner...it's just frustration you eat
- Hearing someone misquote your favourite book or movie
- Getting blamed for something that wasn't your fault
- Going to every store in the mall and still not finding anything you like
- When the fast food place gets your order wrong
- Delays on the TTC
- Looking down and seeing a stain in your shirt or a run in your pantyhose
- When your cashier is rude for no reason
- Forgetting your headphones
- Rain when you weren't expecting it
- Your colleague being off sick
- Waking up with less than 5 minutes before your alarm goes off
- Getting a reminder call for an appointment tomorrow you totally forgot about
- Getting to the stop or station just to see your bus/train pulling away
- Calling for any kind of appointment and them not having anything available
- Explaining something 17 times and the other person still doesn't get it
- When your phone rings just as you get up to go to the washroom (although most men I know would just bring their phone in with them...cause they're gross)
- Having to go somewhere when you only have 20% battery life left on your phone
Hm, kinda got a bit long winded...but many things bother me. So,..how's your day?
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