You may be interested to know...

So I found this site called 'Abstinence Education', a helpful guide from the wholesome Heritage House , a supposedly-secular charity group. It's directed at teens and early 20-somethings, and strives to educate youth about the dangers of pre-marital sex, and the myriad wonderful perks enjoyed by those who wait. Alongside their free information, they also have a store that sells, among other things, a variety of inspirational 'worth the wait'-type bookmarks. The best one I found was an instructional guide to young couples who find it hard to think of things to do that aren't, well, sex. Here are some of the 50 alternatives to nookie they helpfully list:

1) Go on a picnic with friends
2) Bake cookies
3) Play on the monkey bars at the park
4) Go out to eat
5) Slide down a grass hill on a block of ice
6) Go horseback riding [Freud is rolling in his grave]
7) Go roller blading
8) Do something kind for a needy person
9) Go bowling
10) Try making a new recipe
11) Throw an 80s party [always a good erection-killer]
12) Get your friends to go on a video scavenger hunt [?????]
13) Wash each other's car
14) Go people watching at the airport

Others that deserve honorable mention are 23 (ride a carousel), 27 (go to church together), 29 (get friends and play board games), 35 (chop up things in the blender and make food art), and 37 (do homework together) which wins for the most enjoyable sex-alternative.

My goodness, is the religious Right ever creative.

I sometimes get the feeling that the fairy tales were right. Love is only true for pretty girls. Everyone else gets feverish fantasy, cut short by the brutal reality of it all. Embarassed, defeated, and full of loathing.

the thing about white people...

Yeah, you know this is gonna be good.
But seriously, here's the thing that bothers me about white people. Not ALL white people, mind you, just many more than one might expect. Seemingly regular, pleasant, middle class white people who certainly would never consider themselves to be racist, and wouldn't dream of saying anything derogatory to a minority. But when in the presence of other white people, something eerie happens. Suddenly it's ok to make racist remarks (whether vague or blatant) because it's done on the assumption that you (the other white person) are somehow with it, somehow privy to some sort of accepted white-people humour. Let me give you an example:

White person 1: "...and then she told Maury 'they'se no way Latisha was sleepin' wit my man, she too uuuugly.'"
White person 2: "Hahahahaha, it's so true, it's always 'Latisha' or something like that, not a normal Canadian name, you know?" *looks at you conspiratorialy*
You: "............" *disbelieving stare*

You cannot imagine how many times things like this happen in everyday conversation with white people. Here's another example.

White person 1: "I went and saw that new Jack Black movie, you know, the Mexican one."
White person 2: "Oh yeah, was it good?"
White person 1: "Well, it wasn't really funny, but everyone laughed anyway, you know? Cause like, be honest, everyone knows it's funny because Mexican people look different than us, and so we laugh at them because they always look silly."
White person 2: "Hahahaha yeah it's true!" *looks at you conspiratorily*
You: "...........don't touch me."

Endless variations of this conversation occur on a daily basis, often peppered with "I'm not racist but..." and other such sentiments designed to comfort and soothe the white people into believing it's ok to participate in the spread of superficial stereotypes about other races. What's worse is these white people assume that all other white people are in the same exclusive, vaguely racist club. And if you respond to their comments with things like "that's still racist" or an incredulous "ummm, racism isn't just lynching minorities, it can be pervasive and subtle too", you either get laughed at, or stared at blankly.

...and that's the thing about white people.

all good things

1) Not being hungover from New Years.
2) Massaging footbath after the 3-am walk home from club Abstract in my high heels, coupled with champagne swigged from the bottle.
3) Spicy chocolate at last night's fancy dinner. Yes that's right. Spicy.
4) Good friends, good company, no judgement regarding random make-outs and dirty dancing.
5) A certain adorable, wonderful DJ giving me hope, a heart-melting smile, and a goodbye hug (despite the fact that scary ex-fling showed up and kissed me in front of him... ahem)
6) Discovering Mike Patton and falling asleep to 'Retrovertigo'.
7) Lying in my cozy canopy bed with my laptop and some echinacea and licorice tea. *contentment*

more

Ok, I'm calm.
Still, I'd love to tell those kids exactly what it's like to have a mother who doesn't care about them, never wanted them, and never made an effort. They have no idea how good they have it. But I suppose that's just the way it is. Sandy herself knows, because she experienced it first-hand... we know, her and I.
Anyway, I can't be angry, it takes too much of my energy. I still have one more closing shift to work before I head out of Waterloo. My hangover from last night is finally fading, unlike during my morning shift, which was a graceless staggering performance at best. The teahouse was packed, too, which didn't help, but I muddled through.
It was worth it, though. Even though I said I'd only have a couple of drinks and head out at 1:30. The thing is, when you're at Club Abstract for all-request night with two of your gal friends, and the place is pretty much empty, and the bartender and the DJ are catering only to your needs, it's hard to say no to another drink, and another song. When I went up to thank the DJ for playing us so many wicked songs, he said "I was trying to anticipate what you guys would like, what you would dance to. I wanted to keep you dancing as long as I could." It blew my mind. Then we chatted about our mutual love of Tori Amos, he told me his name was Jason, shook my hand, and told me to come back real soon. Not to mention that the bartender, impressed at our bold consumption of gasoline shots, gave us free polar bears to wash down the taste. Needless to say, we left right before the last song.
Soooo... now I've got to haul ass back to work, then come home, finish some last-minute consumermas gifts, finish packing, and try to sleep. I have a driving lesson at 9 tomorrow morning, after which I will be driving myself (!) to the greyhound station where I'll catch my bus to Toronto.
Oh, and I have decided that there is only one way to avoid a miserable future of futility and sorrow: never have children. I have deduced that all the happy older people I know are childless. Also, I'd be very reluctant to bring a child into this world. Western society is a damaging climate for developing human beings. Now, to find a way to beat the system of autonomic hormonal desires and drives... a way to switch off the biological wrist watch.
...that is all.

the frothy mixture that says 'I love you'

Some things that have been making me happy lately:


1) Reasonably warm weather

2) Writing a paper on the ethno-historical use of psychotropic plants

3) Having gorgeous, big, weather-proof new windows in my room which actually open

4) The fact that Dan Savage (of the popular sex column 'Savage Love') held a contest encouraging people to come up with a definition for 'Santorum', as in Congressman Rick Santorum, the man who equated homosexuality with incest, adultery, and bestiality. The best part? The winning definition of 'Santorum' was "the frothy mixture of lube and fecal matter that is sometimes the byproduct of anal sex".


...sometimes, it's the simple things that make life worth living.

Who the fuck is Jackson Pollock?

Well, here I am in single-land again, trying to get my own life figured out. It's not a bad place to be-; presented with endless opportunities, not bound by anyone else's will. All the energy I had previously devoted to keeping a failing relationship afloat can now be directed towards other, loftier projects.
Like ESSAYS!
And staying up to watch the U.S. midterm elections, because I'm a tool like that.
Seriously, though. I'm doing well. But not as well as retired trucker Teri Horton, who just found out that a painting she bought as joke for $5 is most likely a Jackson Pollock original. To quote Ms. Horton: "We were going to go in the trailer and get her darts and throw darts at it, but we sat there and drank beer and never did get around to it."
I must warn you, however, that most painting found at thrift stores aren't worth a pile of cash. Not to knock paintings on velvet.