The Only Sensible Way To Live In This World Is Without Rules

22 hours. 24 minutes. 0 seconds.

That is how much time is left of 2008 from the moment I started to write this.

I suppose I could go back and reflect. In fact I did with this post and had actually planned on writing more posts focusing on friendship, family and myself. The friendship post is nearly done. It will remain in my drafts for as long as this blog exists. I never did get to writing about my family or myself.

I suppose I should reminisce ... see how far I've come. How good 2008 was to me. How bad it was. At times, lifeless. But I don't hardly focus on me anymore. Maybe that can be a goal for 2009.

In all honesty, the only thing that runs through my head is that the more time passes, the less of it I've got with my parents. Nice, huh? Guess you weren't expecting that. I wasn't either. But everytime I see them ... talk to them, I think, "How much time do we have left?" I hate those thoughts. But they won't stop. I need to make the most of the time I have with the people I love.

2009, I welcome you with open arms. I do. I've given myself some momentum in 2008 and this (coming) year I'm hoping that all that energy that has been building up will allow me to fly and never look back. There will be some major changes. It is inevitable and vital. Like breathing.

I don't want to follow some prescribed rules that I set out for myself. And it's not because I'm afraid of failure ... I just don't want to limit myself. I want to wake up every morning and think, "Damn, it feels good to be a gangsta." I want to step out of the shallow pool. Only thing to do in that end is to wade and I've got too much in me to just pretend that I'm swimming. I should just swim for real. No more faking it in life.

I've got places to see and people to do. I've got to prioritize. And I need to make it up as I go.

It certainly is unconventional to begin a new year - new slate - without a clue on how to start. What makes tomorrow so special? January 1st? Please. Everyday is January 1st. Everyday is full of promise. Full of excitement. Full of something new. Fuck January 1st.

I'm not bitter. I just have no one to kiss at midnight.

Happy Birthday planet Earth.

Oh and stop lying about your age. We all know that you are way older than 2009.

21 hours. 42 minutes.

#$@%ing Read Me!

So, Christmas is officially over, and, no, this is not an "obligatory" re-cap post. I won't bore you with the deets on how I spent it. I can sum it up in two words: food, family. That's all you need to know. You're welcome.

On to bigger and better news ...

My dear friend, Peter DeWolf, wrote a book! He calls it a novella, but if it is bound and published, then it is a book in my eyes.

The book is called #$@%ing Read Me! (yes, seriously, that is what it's called) and can be found on sale here*.

Now at first glance you're probably thinking, "Why would I read a book where the title is telling me to fucking read it?!"

And, that was my first thought too. In fact, I thought to myself, "He is lucky that he is my friend and I like-slash-respect him so much. I will fucking read your book, Peter. But not because your book told me to!"

So, why would you read it? Well, because it is telling you to, that's why! I mean, what author would have the balls that Mr. DeWolf has to name their book #$@%ing Read Me!

But in all honesty, this book is really great. I was able to read it in one sitting because I completely got caught up in the story line. I fell in love with the characters (yes, even the bat-shit crazy mother). You can also hear Peter's "voice" come through in this novel.

It's funny though because as I was reading, I kept fixating on the title and thinking, "But, why would he name his book that?" Still, I kept reading and reading (because the story was great ... I mentioned this already, yes?) and then the answer to why this was the name of the book came to me near the end of the book. And no I will not give it away. You'll just have to buy it and see for yourself.

So, go. Fucking read it. You'll be happy you did.




*Click the word "here".

Fashion Friday - Christmas "Interior" Edition

Oops, I almost forgot to post this today. I just noticed it sitting in my drafts.

It's Friday already ... and one week of my holiday is *poof* gone.

Sigh. (I know, I know ... stop complaining.)

I liked it better last year when Christmas was right at the start of the week. All the hooplah happened right at the beginning of my holiday and I had the rest of the week to recover. Now it's the opposite. Next thing you know, it will be New Year's and then back to work.

Well, the above picture isn't sporting any clothing ... it's more to do with interior fashion. That is pretty much what I did all day ... read a book on the couch, sipping an eggnog latte (which I made myself) and reading, reading, reading. I must admit though that yes there was a brick fireplace, but sadly no fire.

Today is Boxing Day in good 'ol Canada, but I prefer to stay away from shopping establishments on days like today. People seem to go a bit loopy when they think they are saving a few dollars on items.

I hope that your Christmas was jolly and that Santa gave you all that you wished for.

Merry Holidays!

Merry Christmas!
Happy Festivus!
Happy Hanukkah!
Happy Kwanzaa!
Eid Mubarak!

Seriously, whatever the fuck you celebrate, make it a good one!

Love And 2008

Listening to The Weepies and consuming Vodka Tonic (when every square centimetre of my brain is pleading for me not to because it is currently splitting in pain) has made me a bit reflective this fine evening.

I almost bought sour keys tonight at the grocery store because one can never have too many sour keys on hand. I decided against it because consuming two of them meant I'd be ingesting 120 calories. So instead I bought a bottle of Tonic Water (diet). Tonight was a night for taking in my calories like a grown up - through beverages - instead of like an 8 year old.

There are 9 days left until the year is officially over and it's about that time that I reminisced a bit and reflected on my life in 2008.

First on the docket ... my (non-existent) love life.

Well, I'm still single. No big surprise there seeing as how I purposely give off the vibe that I've got some incurable STD and am therefore too contaminated to be in a relationship.

I don't know what my deal is. I think the whole wanting to be independent is getting to my head a little too much.

All I know is that I saw a woman in her 40's at Starbucks complaining that at 39 she thought she met "the one" and was with him for 4 years before he'd had enough. She kept saying, "I don't know what I'm doing. I just somehow attract the wrong kind of guy all the time."

At this point, I had just finished lacing my tall latte with sweetener and vanilla powder (fine, and cocoa powder too). As I walked away, I discretely glanced at her and I just felt sad for her. But mostly, I felt sad for me because I truly don't want to be 40 and alone. I don't. I'm like Wall-E, looking for that someone who will just hold my hand.

At the risk of sounding like I actually spend a lot of time thinking about this stuff (I really don't), I just wonder sometimes. Who will it be. How will it happen. When will I know. I just wonder is all.

Okay, my head is hurting even more just thinking about this. I need to finish my drink (or throw it down the sink as I became a little cocky and fixed myself a really tall glass - haven't decided yet) and clamp my head in a vice that will squeeze away the pain.

I really wish I bought the sour keys.

Stressed Out Santa

I got this email forward from my brother and it was too good to pass up. Since I don't have your e-mail addresses to forward this on, you can read it here. It will be my Christmas gift to you.*

Deer Santa,

I wud like a kool toy space ranjur fer Xmas. Iv ben a gud boy all yeer.

Yer Frend,
BiLLy

Dear Billy,

Nice spelling. You're on your way to a career in lawn care. How about I send you a frigging book so you can learn to read and write? I'm giving your older brother the space ranger. At least HE can spell!

Santa

Dear Santa,

I have been a good girl all year, and the only thing I ask for is peace and joy in the world for everybody!

Love,
Sarah

Dear Sarah,

Your parents smoked pot when they had you, didn't they?

Santa

Dear Santa,

I don't know if you can do this, but for Christmas, I'd like for my mommy and daddy to get back together. Please see what you can do.

Love,
Teddy

Dear Teddy,

Look, your dad's banging the babysitter like a screen door in a hurricane. Do you think he's gonna give that up to come back to your frigid, fat mom, who rides his ass constantly? It's time to give up that dream. Let me get you some nice Legos instead. Maybe you can build yourself a family with those?

Santa

Dear Santa,

I left milk and cookies for you under the tree, and I left carrots for your reindeer outside the back door.

Love,
Susan

Dear Susan,

Milk gives me the shits and carrots make the deer fart in my face when riding in the sleigh. You want to do me a favor? Two words, Jim Beam.

Santa

Dear Santa,

What do you do the other 364 days of the year? Are you busy making toys?

Your friend,
Thomas

Dear Thomas,

All the toys are made by little kids like you in China every year. I give them a slice of bread as a Christmas bonus. I have a condo in Vegas, where I spend most of my time making low-budget porno films. I unwind by drinking myself silly and squeezing the asses of cocktail waitresses while losing money at the craps table.

Santa

P.S. - Tell your mom she got the part.

Long Dong Claus


Dear Santa,

Do you see us when we're sleeping, do you really know when we're awake, like in the song?

Love,
Jessica

Dear Jessica,

Are you really that gullible? Good luck in whatever you do. I'm skipping your house.

Santa

Dear Santa,

I really really want a puppy this year. Please please please PLEASE PLEASE could I have one?

Timmy

Timmy,

That whiney begging shit may work with your folks, but that crap doesn't work with me. You're getting an ugly sweater again.

Santa

Dearest Santa,

We don't have a chimney in our house, how do you get into our home?

Love,
Marky

Mark,

First, stop calling yourself "Marky", that's why you're getting your ass kicked at school. Second, you don't live in a house, you live in a low-rent, ghetto apartment complex. Third, I get inside your pad just like all the burglars do, through your bedroom window.

Sweet Dreams,
Santa

*Shut up, I'm not cheap.

What What?

I am officially on my Christmas Break which can mean one of two things for this blog:

1) I won't post as often because I will be too busy being lazy/making familial rounds/making myself available to friends/losing myself in novels/feeding at the trough.

2) I will unleash my thoughts onto blogland with as much force as the snowstorm that hit my neck of the woods yesterday.

I suppose that if there was a third option, it would be that I will post as regularly as I already do. But two weeks is like a quarter of my summer holidays and I posted a grand total of 67 times during this past summer (not counting drafts). Based on those numbers, I have no choice but to say these next three words: Watch out internet.

And now I will entertain you by posting a couple of videos that I found amusing. I know how much people love to watch videos on blogs. You're welcome.

A friend at work has an iPhone and we've taken to perusing YouTube videos on it for fun during our breaks. There is a particular one that we've come across which brought us and several other people on staff such joy, I couldn't not share it with you all. I promise it has nothing to do with Jesus or the sound of sleigh bells ringing.

It's by an up and coming artist named Samwell and his song is called What What (In The Butt).



There is just so much going on in that video. So much mental imagery. I will allow you to play your own version of Where's Waldo? only this one will be called Where's The Underlying Message? If you notice, all of the people in the video are Samwell. If you ask me, I think he wishes he could do it in his own butt.

And what's a song without a parody?



If the Grammy's had a parody category, then this one would win it hands down. No ands, ifs or butts.

Fashion Friday - Everything Is Beige

I'll have you know that despite what Mr. Big might think, beige is NOT bullshit.

What I like most about this outfit is how the top has all that extra fabric while still creating a form-hugging appearance. All I know is that with all the eating that I've been doing lately, that extra fabric will come in handy so that my ever expanding tummy will not be as noticeable ... it will be camouflaged by beige. And, again, beige is not bullshit.

The shoes rock too because of how it has that extra fabric at the toe. Cuteness, right? That shoe was made for that top ... exact same concept and exact same colour.

I figured simple accessories were the way to go seeing as how there is a lot going on with that top. Simple headband, only earrings as jewelry and a simple handbag. Don't want to take the spot-light off of that massive, melting flower that seems to be taking over the left breast-al region.

More On Christmas

One of my students is Leaving On A Jet Plane today to Sri Lanka, home of her ancestors. She said to me, "Oh, by the way, today is my last day. I'm going to Sri Lanka tomorrow."

And because I'm such an awesome teacher, I said, "But what about your History assignment that is due on Friday?"

She just giggled and avoided my answer. The assignment is done in partners, so I suppose that is her saving grace. Or else, she will be getting A LOT of late marks taken off.

It was then that I remembered my manners and said, "Have fun! Merry Christmas!" to which she responded by handing me a wrapped box of Ferrero Rocher chocolates. T'is the season for getting fat, after all.

I braved Toys 'R Us yesterday, but to no avail. I saw a drum set there last week that I wanted to get the twins, but they were all gone. Boooo. And now, I'm stuck again because I still have the sentiments I shared with this post. Ugh. I think I'm leaning towards getting my offspring once-removed clothes. I hate that I have to be that aunt this year.

I keep thinking that the meaning of Christmas has been lost along the way and that I had no choice but to go along with celebrating the birth of retail, but a couple of nights ago, the true meaning was rehashed during a Twilight retreat sponsored by my school board. It had nothing to do with the book (my friend made me laugh when she said in her best Nelson voice, "Haw, haw! You have to spend the evening with a bunch of teenagers!") and I think more with the fact that the even was being held during twilight ... the time of day between sunset and dark. Either way, it sounds so mystical, so I approve of the title.

The evening was very Charlie Brown Christmas, but we had a liturgy, ate some good food, and sang Christmas Carols by a fire. Okay it was a room with a fireplace in it and I sat within the vicinity of it (and actually could not see the fire or feel its warmth from where I was sitting), but the knowledge that it was in the same room as I was comforting. And as we were singing, it started to snow! All we needed to cinch the evening were some deer to walk by the window munching on fallen berries and giving us the nod of approval before they got killed by Bambi-eaters galloped off into the night.

As much as I enjoyed the night, I couldn't help but giggle like a 10 year old boy during the singing of the carols. Especially when the word "ass" made an appearance in one of the songs. Could you not have said DONKEY, song-writer?! I just find it hilarious, that while singing about the birth of Jesus, I need to sing of how an ass was in the stable where Mary so lovingly shoved Him out.

And all those people who pretended that they didn't just sing "ass" and kept singing as if nothing was wrong made me laugh even more. So oblivious. Or I'm such a child. Either one works for me.

And now I must prepare for my day that will not end until after 9ish. T'is the season to be busy as hell.

Thought Of The Day

I really wish that teachers were still allowed to beat their students with the strap.

Well, I usually don't wish this, but today I would've given my left ventricle to be able to whip a student in my class, if only for a brief moment.

Not going into detail lest I get discovered.

That is all.

Early Mornings = Grrrr

I'm not a morning person. I need to ease myself into the day. I set my alarm clock an hour before I actually need to get out of bed just so I can get that extra time to drain out the monster in me. I even have my alarm on the other side of the room so that I am forced to get out of bed, or else I'll just snooze, turn the volume waaaaay down and then proceed to be late for work.

Because of this, any and all attempts to wake up early to exercise ... well they never had a chance in hell. I always convince myself that I can do this. Even when I collapse onto my bed at 11pm, I still wake up at 6 feeling like a Mack Truck ran me over, put its gear in reverse, and then ran me over a second time. I never wake up feeling refreshed.

Today is no exception. My alarm sang some pop hit to me about 45 minutes ago. What really shot my ass out of bed is hearing this weird alarm thingy come from the inside of my house (although it seemed really far away). It sounded like what I imagine an alarm would sound like if we were being attacked by aliens and the citizens of the world needed to be warned. At first I thought it was a car alarm gone awry, but when I opened my door, it sounded like it was coming from some remote corner of my house. So I just backed-up in my room. No investigating for this gal so early in the morning. Maybe it's already too late and there is an alien in my house trying to trick me. Well, fuck him. I'll just sit here, write on my blog and IT can come to ME!

This next work week is going to be absolute hell. You try getting your kids to sit and do work when they've got visions of sugar-plums and mp3 players dancing in their heads. Oh t'will be fun.

I need to figure out how I will fill my days on my 2-week holiday. I have 9 sessions of yoga left, so I'm hoping to use them up. But I need to do other things. I will definitely be going to the movies again. Perhaps I can muster up the courage to go skating alone (stupid friends getting married and having kids). Or maybe I'll take my offspring-once-removed. I definitely want to spend time with them doing something fun. Anyways, I'll figure it out.

I need to cut this post short because it's boring me just writing it. That and if I don't stop writing, I will be late for work.

Moving On Out

Sometimes it's really hard being the daughter of immigrant parents. There are just a lot of expectations placed on me that I'm not sure I can (or want) to fulfill.

Let me put some stuff into perspective.

For my entire life, I have been dealt the mentality that you don't leave the house until you have entered the sanctity of matrimony. And everyone I have ever known - family and friends alike - have followed this very specific rule. Brothers. Cousins. ALL my friends (Italian, Portuguese, Indian, Chinese - no matter what culture). They have all done this. My friends who are not married are all still living at home. It's not a shocker.

Living with my parents has taken a toll on me, though. And it is coming out now more than ever. And before any of you jump to the conclusion that I'm taking a free ride, I give them money every single month - as much as any of you would pay for rent. Maybe more depending on if you have roommates. And they don't ask for it. So trust me when I say that I pay dearly to have my sanity be chipped away at.

I'm no where near marriage (completely fine with that too). And the thought that I will still be living here until that happens really makes me want to put a gun in my mouth and pull the trigger. For the most part, I am left alone. I come and go as I please. I do my own thing.

But I am 30. And I have a friend who is in the same boat as I am. She just moved out. The only difference is she is 4 years older than me. And I think, "I don't want to wait 4 more years." I know people who are older than that who still live at home. That will not be me.

I don't care if I'm "going against tradition" or if I will disappoint them because I won't have a "man to take care of me." As much as I am left alone, I feel sort of stuck. I'm not happy here. It gets worse as time goes by. I need to get the fuck out.

Only thing is I'm not willing to pay for rent. No offense to all you renters out there, but for me that is like dropping my well-earned money into a bucket with a hole in it. It's not something I'm willing to do. I know that the market for buying is going to start looking really good in the next year, so I'm starting to seriously look for a place that I can call my own. And actually own. I picture it in my head all the time. The furniture I'll have. What I will use each room for (you can bet your ass that one will be a library and one will be a room where I paint). More importantly, I think of how it will make me feel. And I know that it will feel like home.

I've been ready to leave for a long time, but paying off my undergrad loans and graduate fees and my car have been what I needed to do before hand. Now that that is all said and done, I can focus on the next big step for me -- owning a property.

Maybe if I got along better with my folks, I wouldn't be in as much of a rush. And yeah, you may be thinking that at 30 I should've been long-gone ... but as I said, it is a cultural thing. Moving out when you're 18 just isn't done. I know of people who still live at home after they are married (just to give you an idea). My relationship with my father is very hot and cold and, frankly, I can't deal with it anymore. I want to want to come home after a long day at work. And I haven't been feeling that for awhile.

I'm sure that this will cause a ruckus within my family as I still have many unwed cousins (some that are much older than me) still living at home, but fuck it. I don't care.

I'm buying a condo. Or a house. And that is that. Hopefully by the end of the year (2009), I will finally have a place I will want to come home to.

Fashion Friday - Hell No!

I think this outfit speaks volumes for itself.

I really hope I don't need to go into detail as to why this is just so wrong on so many levels.

Lesson Of The Day: Not All Humans Are Bastards

Yesterday night was a rough night for me. Too many tears. Family issues and such. I'm not going to get into it, but just know that I would've made Justin Timerblake proud because I think I did cry him a river.

Anyways, that's not what this post is about.

This post is about strangers doing nice things and me thinking that despite all the shit that gets thrown my way, there is always going to be a silver lining. Even if that silver lining is on a completely different cloud ... it's there!

Yesterday, the silver lining was my cashier at Chapters.

I went in during my lunch period (because I shop for books on my lunch hour, not shoes) to pick up The Tales of Beedle The Bard, Veil of Roses and the Twilight Soundtrack (seriously, save your money).

My cashier must have been trained in heaven.

For one thing, he was a ray of sunshine. For another thing, he took his price scanning duties way beyond what his minimum wage pay-cheque requires. He looked at my Twilight CD and said, "Oh, I think the cover is scratched. Let me get you another one." Then he came back and said, "Wait ... I think this one is scratched too. It could be the plastic but I'll just get another one for you just in case."

He changed my CD twice so that I'd have one that wasn't scratched. I know it's not a big thing, but it's a nice thing. In that moment, his happiness depended on my not having a scratch on my new CD.

I'm convinced that if people were nicer to eachother, then we'd all be better off. You never know the kind of day that someone is having. A little kindness goes a long way.

So even though my family sucks sometimes, it makes me feel a bit better that at least I have the respect of complete strangers.

This Would Never Happen If I Still Taught The Little Kiddies

Thanks for your input on the post below, gang*!

Everyone pretty much thought what I thought: It looks like a dick.

(Oh, and those of you who thought other stuff -- light saber, elephant, a liar, bad surgery scar ... y'all are hilarious.)

ANYWAYS!

I have this computer thingy in my class which is, basically, a keyboard with a screen above the keys that is probably the size of the "window" that you'd make if you touched your thumbs and pointer fingers together, respectively. The reason I have this in my class is for the student who has difficulty writing. All he has to do is type on the keyboard, attach it to a computer with a (USB?) cord and print it out. It's actually pretty cool.

Here is the thing. Some of my male students have decided to use this device for personal reasons. I guess they figure it would be fun to pass virtual notes to eachother during the lunch period (when I'm not there, of course).

Well, I had an interview with a parent the other day and I wanted to show him this keyboard since it's a tool that his kid uses.

WELL.

I turn it on and see this delightful message flash on the screen:

:------------ mine is this big in [female student]'s mouth!!!!!!!!!

My reaction: Mouth dropped. Face scrunched up. Dry heaved a little. Yanked keyboard back to turn it off. Proceeded to turn 8 different shades of red.

Luckily I had another teacher sit in on the interview with me who was doing the talking at that time which saved me from the parent having noticed my facial contortions. I just hope he didn't actually read what was written there. All I need is for him to think his kid is getting an anatomy lesson from his peers.

I will never EVER look at those students the same way. Dirty fucking bastards.

(My new challenge is to show it to my principal who, no doubt, is not aware of text speak. I might have to say the word "cock" to him. God, I hope I don't have to draw him a picture.)

*Apparently it is 1952 and I am Archie Andrews.

Answers Appreciated

What does this look like?


:-------



I swear there is a point to this.

Thought Of The Day: Twitter Me This

To those twitter-ers who follow a lot of people ... I'm talking 100, 200 ... more than 200 ...

I just have one question for you: How do you do it?

I'm just curious. I follow 30 people and can barely keep up with them. I find myself pressing that "older" button at the bottom of the page just to see if I've missed anything. If I followed 200 people, I'd be missing a whole lotta twits. And I would give up scanning the older pages pretty quickly.

I guess you could look at it in two different ways:

1) I'm lazy.
2) You're talented*.

I suppose it could be both.

* With a shit load of time on your hands.

Fashion Friday - Christmas Party

I just woke up from this dream where I was wearing these awesome Coach shoes. The heel was insanely high, the design was funky as hell and (the best part) they fit like a glove. I'm not even sure that Coach designs high-heeled shoes, but you know what I'll be doing on the internet later.

On to the post.


It's that time of year again. The time where we let our hair down and get pissed drunk with our co-workers and maybe make out with a couple of them too. It's Staff Christmas Party Time, YAY!!

The thing with the Christmas party is that you want to look sexy but not so much so that your fat, sweaty, married boss (no, I don't stereotype at all) is lingering his rotundness a little too long against you as he tries to move past the crowded floor. You also don't want that douchebag (Todd Packer, anyone?) chasing you around with mistletoe strategically placed in his pants. As you can plainly see, those shoes were not made for running.

What you do want is to make Jim that co-worker you've been pining over to finally fucking notice you. A hair flip might have to be executed during the night as well. Play it by ear -- you're not filming a hair commercial, after all. Too much is overkill.

Sexy + sophisticated + patent leather + pearls + shoes that are the hotness = a kick ass party outfit

Oh, and red ... because, you know, you are a festive gal after all.

F Is For Fail Not Fantastic

Tonight is parent-teacher interview night.

A fistful of parents called for an appointment (of course these are the parents of the kids who are excelling for the most part). The other parents I needed to "have the liberty" of making an appointment for them whether they liked it or not. Some said they'd make it, some said they would not. Whatever, it's only your child's education.

I have a student who failed a few things on his report card and I'm pretty sure that his parents have no clue. I'll be sure to call them up and let them in on the good news.

Another parent was wondering why the fact that her child was doing so poorly was never brought to her attention. Umm, well if your kid is shoving every graded assignment or test in the back of his desk except for the two he got A's in ... there is your answer.

"Why did your mother write this?! Haven't you been sending home the tests and assignments?"

"Umm, I forgot. I'm going to bring them home tonight."

"Too little, too late, Einstein*. Let me guess. They are shoved in the back of your desk. Right?"

"Yeah."

Our future, ladies and gentlemen.

12 more days.

*I didn't actually call him Einstein out loud because in this context, it would be an insult. And I'm pretty sure he'd notice and try to get me fired for it.

If You Do This, Then You Suck

I never understood why women (I can't speak for men) spend all their time and energy on a new guy that enters their life. It's like everything that happened before them or any friendships that they may have had suddenly don't matter or don't exist.

I have (or had? not sure yet) a friend who I haven't spoken to in about a year. We met when she was with her ex (the one she thought she'd marry) and spoke fairly regularly because we worked together, but nothing really beyond that. Until, of course, she started to have problems with her man. Then I was getting the calls and the requests for coffee or dinner. And I bet you can guess what 80% of the topic of conversation was.

I didn't mind. I tend to be the one people throw their problems at, and I really don't mind that role. But when I start to become "the therapist" rather than "the friend", well that bugs me. And the way I can tell what is what, is when a new guy comes in the picture. "The friend" would never be forgotten. "The therapist", however, is on a need to know basis. And only if the need to know is bad news.

Don't call me a few days before your birthday when we haven't spoken in months. And don't text me a week before mine, in case you forget to say happy birthday on my actual birthday. Which you forget about anyway. Probably because you figured your lame ass text would suffice.

Here's the thing. I'm not a clingy friend. So I really don't mind if my cell phone isn't ringing every hour with someone else who wants to talk or see what's going on. I'm used to being alone and I don't get offended easily (meaning if you spend more time with your significant other, I'm not complaining).

But don't let months go by without picking up the phone to see how I am doing (not to tell me what is pissing you off about your boyfriend). Because if I call you or email you and I don't get a response back? Well, fuck you. No, really. Fuck. You. Because you are not a friend. And I see that now. Don't email me or call me when the guy is gone, because I'm not some dog who will be wagging my tail and jumping all over you trying to lick your face when you finally do come around. I'll be that pussy cat who is hardly making eye contact with you or giving you the time of day.

Is a little acknowledgment asking for too much?

It's The Most Wonderful Time (FOR RETAILERS) Of The Year!

Christmas is really starting to piss me off. Not the actual holiday. I do love the warm and fuzzy feelings it leaves me with. Knowing that I can drink my chocolate daily (sometimes twice a day) and people will not look at me as a glutton, but rather a person who is throwing herself into the festivities really puts a smile on my face (and an extra layer on my ass).

I love the decorations. The red, green and white balls of holly. The Santa hats. The elf ears. The cheesy winter sweaters with giant snowflakes on them (guilty). The tinsel, the lights, the fake snow on windows. The Christmas songs. I love it all! In case I haven't made myself clear, Christmas is my favourite holiday of the year.

But then why is it starting to piss me off? I'll tell you why. The commercial aspect of it. It's getting to the point where I don't even want to buy presents for my nieces and nephews. WHY?? They have more than they need, and chances are they will use my gift for a grand total of a few hours before they put it away and move on to the next thing. Because I have such a large family, those kids get SO MUCH. More than they need. I'm pretty certain that any and all of their gifts from last year have been forgotten a long time ago.

It just pains me to know that I need to battle the retail war just so I can get a gift that, chances are, will be too small or too big, not the right colour, a toy they will be getting from another relative, or something that will be overshadowed by a cooler toy. I remember one Christmas, I got my nephews wooden instruments (triangles, moroccas, drums) and blocks. Simple building blocks. My reasoning for that was because the toys these days have too many fucking bells and whistles that it doesn't even give kids these days a chance to be creative with their play. At least with blocks, they could build any which way they wanted. And with the instruments, they can actually create something that would resemble music. I wanted to bring out the creativity in them. I'm sure that my gift was overshadowed by a race car track run on batteries, but I gave it a shot.

And now? I need to get them the latest fucking toys so that their little brains can be even more stimulated to no end? Sometimes too much is just too much.

Because I don't want to look like a complete douchebag going to their houses empty handed, I need to figure out what I can get those kids without playing into the commercial aspect of it. I want to enhance their minds, but not with flashy toys. I know that my attempts will be lost in the mountain of toys that they will no doubt receive ... each one competing for their attentions, but I can't be a part of that. And the thing that pisses me off is the sense of victory the gift giver has when they feel like their toy has "won" the gifting competition ... congratulations, asshole, you gave another gift that all the commercials told you she would want. Way to follow the crowd. I'm hoping they will lead you off that very steep cliff.

I have some ideas of what to get (something that will wake up the creative side of their brains), but if any of my 10 readers have any other ideas, please feel free to throw them my way.

14 days left.