When I come home and find my answering machine blinking the assumption is made that someone left me a message while I was away from my humble nest gathering twigs and leaves, to make a living. And hey, if you make more than I do and live in a house that costs more than mine the message tonight is to sod off. Tomorrow I'll probably find the only person who still qualifies to talk to me is Humble Bob from down the ways... he lives in a tent made of turkey feet and squirrel tails. I have no idea what my fingers are typing right now. Why doesn't anyone stop me when I do stuff like this?
Imagine my surprise when, on a regular basis the messages aren't even for Mr. Stinky or me. Ha! You thought it should be "Mr. Stinky or I" didn't you? You thought you'd caught me in some grammatical flub but you didn't because it's not. Shut up and just read OK? Tonight I received three messages, two of which were specifically addressed to Jason something. When my machine clearly enunciates "Hi you've reached Mr. Stinky and Stinky T. Please leave a message, we'll get back to you. Thank you!" I'm not joking, it means exactly that. I didn't record a generic, nameless message, it doesn't say "the Smiths", "Santos and the clan", or even "Isaac, Lloyd, Muriel, Jennifer, Wing Tse and Jack Jr.". Just two names. Which means two people in the household and neither of us are there to pick up the phone.
So why then are these neanderthals disregarding my cheerful greeting to leave full and detailed messages for nonexistent Brandon Johnson or Sally Waters? I. Don't. Get. I realize you want to discuss banking options with your clients, or find available workers for tomorrow but you grossly overestimate my altruistic nature if you think I'm going to hunt down these people to pass along your plea for a return call. You're also confusing my powers of identity transference, all those people you're asking for... I can't become them just because you asked, nor do they live in my head. If you want to get into my schizophrenic world you're going to have to do better than that. You'd need to get the names correct for that too.
Finally, dear telephone operating people, spruce up those listening skills. Whether it be by cleaning the gunk out of your ears or understanding my simple command of the English language, leave a message for the right person. It's not that hard to match up the name on the paper in front of you to the one you hear on my machine. Thank you and have a nice day. Beeep.
February 21, 2007
February 15, 2007
B-I-T-T-E-R
Sooo, yesterday was Valentine's Day. What'd you dooo? Didya do the romantical dinner for two and make googly eyes at each otherrr? Didya go kissy kissy and get all mushy mushy?
There was none of that here, in the Stinky household yesterday was just another day. I was told by Goose that I must be bitter because I didn't "celebrate" the day or do anything special. This is my forum to let you know that of all things to be bitter about, Valentine's Day isn't even on the radar. Allow me to explain my indifferent position.
Unlike New Year's, birthdays and Easter where there is cause for an actual celebration, I just don't see what February 14 observes. It's a sham event created by corporations such as Hallmark to cash in on the concept of "you must prove your feelings for me by spending your hard earned money to buy me such uselessly trite and recycled gifts like long-stemmed red roses, stuffed toys and chocolates which by tomorrow won't be worth half the amount you spent today". Believe me, I worked for a florist on Valentine's Day and the mark-up is astronomical ... especially near the end of the day when stock is running out and there's a line of desperate men lined out the door willing to pay anything to walk out with something.
Does it make me bitter to prefer the other 364 days of the year when Mr. Stinky surprises me at random just because he can? Or when I pick him up an extra box of candy because I know he'd enjoy them? And sometimes on a weekend we'll decide to get in the car and just drive to wherever, returning whenever just to do something special by ourselves, something different, something spontaneous. To be reminded by the radio, TV, stores and other people that for one arbitrarily picked day of the year you should "show how much you care with that something special" just seems incredibly forced and patronizing. I much prefer to let the rest of the year speak for itself. Would you still call me bitter because I don't believe that love can be defined by 24 hours of sugary commercialism?
This isn't to attack Goose Poo for what he said to me. His birthday's coming up so I thought it'd be a clever way to give him a shout out and besides, he hasn't made an appearance here for awhile now. However, if you've got your own reasons to start burning effigies and egg his house let me in on the plans. Let it be known that the Stinky girl will always partake in reckless acts of abandon in the name of fun and immaturity! In no way is he alone in this train of Valentine's thought, after all everything is subjective and people do like to find reasons to celebrate stuff. It just doesn't fit for me, this hyped up non-holiday of sorts. Maybe we're just not as ostentatious, maybe we're cheap. Maybe somebody can be objective and let me know if I really am bitter about Valentine's Day.
There was none of that here, in the Stinky household yesterday was just another day. I was told by Goose that I must be bitter because I didn't "celebrate" the day or do anything special. This is my forum to let you know that of all things to be bitter about, Valentine's Day isn't even on the radar. Allow me to explain my indifferent position.
Unlike New Year's, birthdays and Easter where there is cause for an actual celebration, I just don't see what February 14 observes. It's a sham event created by corporations such as Hallmark to cash in on the concept of "you must prove your feelings for me by spending your hard earned money to buy me such uselessly trite and recycled gifts like long-stemmed red roses, stuffed toys and chocolates which by tomorrow won't be worth half the amount you spent today". Believe me, I worked for a florist on Valentine's Day and the mark-up is astronomical ... especially near the end of the day when stock is running out and there's a line of desperate men lined out the door willing to pay anything to walk out with something.
Does it make me bitter to prefer the other 364 days of the year when Mr. Stinky surprises me at random just because he can? Or when I pick him up an extra box of candy because I know he'd enjoy them? And sometimes on a weekend we'll decide to get in the car and just drive to wherever, returning whenever just to do something special by ourselves, something different, something spontaneous. To be reminded by the radio, TV, stores and other people that for one arbitrarily picked day of the year you should "show how much you care with that something special" just seems incredibly forced and patronizing. I much prefer to let the rest of the year speak for itself. Would you still call me bitter because I don't believe that love can be defined by 24 hours of sugary commercialism?
This isn't to attack Goose Poo for what he said to me. His birthday's coming up so I thought it'd be a clever way to give him a shout out and besides, he hasn't made an appearance here for awhile now. However, if you've got your own reasons to start burning effigies and egg his house let me in on the plans. Let it be known that the Stinky girl will always partake in reckless acts of abandon in the name of fun and immaturity! In no way is he alone in this train of Valentine's thought, after all everything is subjective and people do like to find reasons to celebrate stuff. It just doesn't fit for me, this hyped up non-holiday of sorts. Maybe we're just not as ostentatious, maybe we're cheap. Maybe somebody can be objective and let me know if I really am bitter about Valentine's Day.
February 11, 2007
Soulmating the World
Jem and I recently had a brief discussion on the topic of soulmates. Not sure how it came up… oh right, we were making fun of the pathetic and perpetually “Confused” losers who write in to advice columnists describing how their partner is full of infidelity, children everywhere, sometimes there’s physical abuse and don’t forget the constant lies but “he swears he loves me and says we’re soulmates and I love him and couldn’t live without him so please tell me where this relationship is going….” He and I both know that we’ll never be hired on as advice experts because we’d respond with as much warmth and compassion as a stapler or a bowl of coleslaw but we like to dream.
So then we moved on to this whole soulmate deal. I remember watching Dawson’s Creek and gagging everytime they used that term for Dawson and Joey only because they thought that by beating the viewer over the head constantly with it we would collectively understand and accept that, indeed they were destined to be together… only they didn’t and I was ever so happy about that because I very much disliked him and his gigantic head and preferred Pacey. Asides from the gay name, he played for the Mighty Ducks and they’re superstars… and he was so much hotter and cooler than Dawson. Where were we? So yah, I don’t recall why exactly they were soulmates other than the fact that Dawson was obsessively possessive of Joey but that to me does not make them… y’know, that word.
I don’t believe in this concept of soulmates, people destined to be together, sharing past lives and having their love written in the stars for several reasons. With a world population of roughly 6.5 billion, what are the chances your soulmate lives down the street from you? That would really suck if you lived in some back swamp Louisiana and she lived in a Derjiskistani yurt because the chances of you guys meeting are remote to the nth degree. If people are destined to end up with their other half, doesn’t that take away the idea of free will? Would you still qualify for a soulmate if you didn’t believe in destiny and astrology? And what if you don’t even like each other? That might make things complicated as well as her being 92 and you having reached the ripe old age of 16 last week which makes me think of something else. If your soulmate dies, will you be alone for the rest of your life? Or maybe life would just supremely suck because anyone else you hook up with will only be a poor substitute for the real thing. Like butter and margarine, sugar and sweetener, Chippendales and the portly neighbourhood flasher…
You can see that I don’t believe in a lot of things they tell me. As a highly skeptical person I’m more about needing proof first… another reason I don’t do church. So no soulmates for me, and none for Jem either. He’s jaded too, but it’s people like us who even the keel for the kooks out there who believe a stranger can magically fix their problems in the daily papers. What they need to do instead, is to extract heads out of ass, wipe poo from eyes and look reality in the face. How's that for advice?
So then we moved on to this whole soulmate deal. I remember watching Dawson’s Creek and gagging everytime they used that term for Dawson and Joey only because they thought that by beating the viewer over the head constantly with it we would collectively understand and accept that, indeed they were destined to be together… only they didn’t and I was ever so happy about that because I very much disliked him and his gigantic head and preferred Pacey. Asides from the gay name, he played for the Mighty Ducks and they’re superstars… and he was so much hotter and cooler than Dawson. Where were we? So yah, I don’t recall why exactly they were soulmates other than the fact that Dawson was obsessively possessive of Joey but that to me does not make them… y’know, that word.
I don’t believe in this concept of soulmates, people destined to be together, sharing past lives and having their love written in the stars for several reasons. With a world population of roughly 6.5 billion, what are the chances your soulmate lives down the street from you? That would really suck if you lived in some back swamp Louisiana and she lived in a Derjiskistani yurt because the chances of you guys meeting are remote to the nth degree. If people are destined to end up with their other half, doesn’t that take away the idea of free will? Would you still qualify for a soulmate if you didn’t believe in destiny and astrology? And what if you don’t even like each other? That might make things complicated as well as her being 92 and you having reached the ripe old age of 16 last week which makes me think of something else. If your soulmate dies, will you be alone for the rest of your life? Or maybe life would just supremely suck because anyone else you hook up with will only be a poor substitute for the real thing. Like butter and margarine, sugar and sweetener, Chippendales and the portly neighbourhood flasher…
You can see that I don’t believe in a lot of things they tell me. As a highly skeptical person I’m more about needing proof first… another reason I don’t do church. So no soulmates for me, and none for Jem either. He’s jaded too, but it’s people like us who even the keel for the kooks out there who believe a stranger can magically fix their problems in the daily papers. What they need to do instead, is to extract heads out of ass, wipe poo from eyes and look reality in the face. How's that for advice?
February 05, 2007
Huddle Up
I don't know if the wind is just blowing the snow out from under my feet or if I'm actually being blown sideways. Through all the layers I've got on the icy air manages to drive through the weave with needlepoint precision, numbing and burning my skin at the same time. I'm floundering through the drifts, alternating between exposed patches of grass and deeper, ankle grabbing fluff which at the very least covers up the mucky, frozen manure underneath.
On one of the coldest and windiest days of the year so far, I'm outside but not trying to be one with nature. My eyes moisten from the constant wind and I watch fascinated as the frost builds up thicker on my eyelashes with every step. The boogies have long stopped running and now they've become frozen crispies slowly closing up my nostrils. It's that friggin' cold. In my mind I'm thinking holy shit it's cold. Who came up with this idea anyway? I've seen cows and cats before, I must be out of my mind to be doing this.
We were up in Dufferin Region having a long-delayed family Christmas lunch. It was great seeing everyone and catching up. It was not so great to make the trek to the two barns out back, first to check out the new barn kittens and second to see the new calves. The cats decided they didn't feel like company so off we headed to the big barn. This was the painful trek where one thought of survival and death on the Chilkoot Trail, and the insanity of leaving a warm, insulated house in the first place.
The calves were cute, some were only a few days old and wobbled around on their arthritic-looking legs inside the barn. A few cows dropped cow patties which temporarily added some warmth to the air and reminded me that my nose wasn't completely frozen yet. You're going to think this is gross but I actually like the smell of manure. It smells of country, fresh outdoor air, summer, nature and life. There aren't many things that are natural anymore, but poo is and to me there's a certain sense of escape when the manure bouquet hits my senses.
We lingered in the barn and talked, perhaps for longer than anyone actually cared to but nobody was eager to be the first to step back outside into the stinging winds. Barns are not enclosed structures so it was still super cold in there, but with three walls at least there was protection against the winds and the heat from the cows definitely helped. When we finally decided to leave the bovine sanctuary let me tell you, the return trip was just as painful. Next time they ask if I want to see the livestock I may have to gauge my sanity before making any stupid decisions.
On one of the coldest and windiest days of the year so far, I'm outside but not trying to be one with nature. My eyes moisten from the constant wind and I watch fascinated as the frost builds up thicker on my eyelashes with every step. The boogies have long stopped running and now they've become frozen crispies slowly closing up my nostrils. It's that friggin' cold. In my mind I'm thinking holy shit it's cold. Who came up with this idea anyway? I've seen cows and cats before, I must be out of my mind to be doing this.
We were up in Dufferin Region having a long-delayed family Christmas lunch. It was great seeing everyone and catching up. It was not so great to make the trek to the two barns out back, first to check out the new barn kittens and second to see the new calves. The cats decided they didn't feel like company so off we headed to the big barn. This was the painful trek where one thought of survival and death on the Chilkoot Trail, and the insanity of leaving a warm, insulated house in the first place.
The calves were cute, some were only a few days old and wobbled around on their arthritic-looking legs inside the barn. A few cows dropped cow patties which temporarily added some warmth to the air and reminded me that my nose wasn't completely frozen yet. You're going to think this is gross but I actually like the smell of manure. It smells of country, fresh outdoor air, summer, nature and life. There aren't many things that are natural anymore, but poo is and to me there's a certain sense of escape when the manure bouquet hits my senses.
We lingered in the barn and talked, perhaps for longer than anyone actually cared to but nobody was eager to be the first to step back outside into the stinging winds. Barns are not enclosed structures so it was still super cold in there, but with three walls at least there was protection against the winds and the heat from the cows definitely helped. When we finally decided to leave the bovine sanctuary let me tell you, the return trip was just as painful. Next time they ask if I want to see the livestock I may have to gauge my sanity before making any stupid decisions.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
