Friday, August 29, 2008

A riposte

Dear Sir,

Thank you so much for your thoughtful, courteous and intelligent reply. I'm glad to see that your ability to comprehend simple sentences, understand the points being offered for discussion and accept constructive criticism are so well-developed.

I appreciate that you would take more time replying to my comment than you did actually reading it. That does mean a lot to a girl. But in the future, you might find it more helpful if you ensure you understand the remarks to which you are replying before doing so. It would improve things for everyone. I'd end up getting a reply that actually deals with the points I made, which might help me understand your position (this is indeed the point of communication, no?), and you wouldn't end up looking like a complete tool by illustrating that your reading comprehension is less than that of a first grader, and by taking the time to remove the highly unnecessary condescending statements interspersed throughout.

In response to your ill-thought out and misplaced observations, I am familiar with the Internet and how one can pull facts from it. However, as I in no way recommended that you simply converse about basic numbers that any slack-jawed yokel can pull from any of a dozen websites, your haughty suggestion that I look for them on my own time shows you did not understand what I wrote. I am unsure if this is wilful, or if you simply don't have the sense that God gave gravel. If it is the later, I am truly sorry, and would suggest it might be beneficial in these sorts of cases that you get someone to read the email to you, and explain again (perhaps using words of no more than one syllable, or pictures?) what the actual point is before responding in a manner that demarcates you as a mean-spirited, poorly-mannered jackanapes.

Also, while you can re-write your memory of the event under discussion, using words in all caps is not persuasive to anyone who is possessed of a modicum of intelligence, or is above the age of 14.

I live in hope that you were simply in a bad mood, and took out your frustrations in a rash and misguided manner. However, I fear that this is not the case, and in fact you are the poor excuse for a human being that your reply indicates. In any case, please accept my apology for daring to voice an opinion contrary to yours, and rest easy in the knowledge that it will not happen again, as I have decided that I need to listen to your tripe as much as I need a hole in the head.

Please lighten up, and thanks for writing.



I just don't think Emily Post would be able to help me with this one

Well, it's Friday. And you know what that means: a mature, analytical, reflective and thoughtful discussion of all things groinal.

I found this question posed just in passing, and thought that on this, the most privatest of parts day of the week, it needed to be given more attention.

So, today I'd like to query, "What is the proper response when someone sends you an unrequested picture of his penis?"

Stormy, I'm looking at you here...

Tuesday, August 26, 2008

Best news of the day

Stormy is back, finally, from her summer sojourn in the the wilds of America, trying to live that operatic life.

I have no idea how I managed without her, and it thrills me to bits that she's back in my area code. Welcome home Stormy - the vodka is chilling the freezer, and the hummus is waiting, any time you're ready!

Why my clothes are making me sad

As I mentioned before I went to drink the last of my stash of gin (horrors! To the LCBO, post-haste!) my clothes are making me terribly unhappy. Let me explain - no, wait, there is no time. Let me sum up.

I have been doing my damndest to fight my way out of a huge (no pun intended) battle with food issues and a weight problem. It has been the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, but I’m finally getting a handle on it.

I’ve had issues with food since I was 11, when I hit puberty, and my parents translated my lack of complete scrawniness with me being fat. Eating in front of them, even eating healthy food, became all but impossible, and being a typical teen (with an additional nod to my stubborn self, as that seems to be holding up long past twenty) I crammed food in my mouth in private. I’d down a litre of ice cream in 30 minutes, hiding in my room. I’d stash chocolate behind my stereo for stuffing down later.

I would like to note that despite this atrocious behaviour, I was still not fat, but my parents wouldn’t relent. I was forced into one weight loss program after another, made to undertake one exercise regime after another, and generally made to feel awful about myself. A couple of times, when a program started to look at the emotional reasons for me eating, my parents pulled the funding, as they didn’t like the fact that I wasn’t just being told not to eat. And no, I’m not imagining that, they actually told me why they didn’t like the program. I started to believe I wasn’t worth much.

Things came to a head when I left home once I had a steady job (my boyfriend at the time didn’t support me leaving, despite knowing what it was doing to me to stay there, which tells you something about how much I hated myself, that I would date someone who didn’t support me trying to get myself into a better emotional state.) and no longer had to hide my eating. I had no control, or idea how to handle this newfound freedom, and my issues with food took over. I gained a crapload of weight, and finally was fat. My body now looked the way my parents had always implied, and I no longer resembled the person I had just a few years prior. I spiralled into a really awful place physically and emotionally. I hit rock bottom, and after a few years of the bottom, and not wanting to see any photos of myself, I finally decided to face up to what had been going on.

But unlike earlier attempts, this time I did it on my own, for myself, and I actually looked into the reasons for my issues with food. There are still miles to go before I sleep on all of that, but now that I am aware of the reasons, I’ve been better able to deal with it. I started to do things for myself instead of shoving food into my gaping maw. When I was employed, if I was feeling crappy, first I started buying higher quality ice cream or chocolate, and taking my time eating it instead of inhaling it. Then I phased food out, and I’d buy a new eyeshadow, or mystery novel, or bath stuff in lieu of the food crutch. I found an exercise regime I liked, and stuck with it, by doing it on my own time, and not beating myself up if I missed a day. I taught myself to cook, so that gobs of pasta and cheese weren’t my main meals. I decided to try a new sport, curling, which it turns out I love and am actually good at. I even started to feel better about myself, and eating “good” food in front of my parents was possible again. And yes, I lost (again, pardon the pun) a tonne of weight and my body started changing, but for the better this time.

Some time last year, I was actually able to eat “not good” foods, such as bread, potatoes and desserts other than plain fruit in front of them. This was a monumental achievement, as back when I was in high school, and was asked by my aunt if I wanted mashed potato with my thanksgiving dinner, my parents actually answered for me, in front of my entire extended family, that no I didn’t.

All this is good, right? Well, yes…but.

Despite all the good progress, I find that when I look in the mirror now, all I see is all work I have left to do, and then I get depressed that with all the work I’ve done, I’m still so freaking far from my goal. And I can’t go out and buy a little something to make me feel a bit better. Hell, even a nice treat of a non-fat latte is beyond my means.

Plus, with all the changes, my body no longer fits the majority of the clothes I own, unless they are from pre-blowup days, in which case they might be no longer appropriate for my life, or might be a tad worn out looking. So, now that I’m trying to get employment and generally feel good about myself and the new path my life has taken, getting dressed is depressing. I can’t afford an entire new wardrobe, so am forced to live with minor adjustments, such as a very occasional new piece, or taking pieces that are now too big, but otherwise are still wearable to the tailor for altering. Again, as these things cost money, I tend to do them very rarely, and I’ve found that when the altered pieces become too large again (which they have) instead of feeling good about the progress, I feel crappy that once again my clothes make me look gross, and it feels like I’ve not done anything.

The long and short of it is that I’m starting to slip, and I hate that. I actually found a way to fit ice cream into my budget earlier this week, and if I’m honest with myself, I ate it to feel better. Gah. If only I could afford therapy, I could talk to someone about this, but sadly, we don’t seem to have this kind of option at my school. And no, I can’t talk to my parents about financial support for that. Now, you might be surprised that I still have a relationship with my parents, based on how they handled the situation, but I’ve been able to forgive them, as I know they only did what they did out of love. Misguided, harmful love, but love nonetheless. But I'm not in a place where I can openly discuss this with them. I hope to be at some point, but not yet.

Wow. That wasn't all that short, and it was kinda depressing. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go look at my closet and weep.

Why I've been away

Dear Internets,

The reason I’ve been away so long is because I’ve been too depressed to form words, let alone type them out and post them.

Please forgive me,


What? You don’t believe me? Fine. These are the things that have been making me so sad/insane:

Internet access, the lack thereof.

Don’t even wanna talk about it, as if I ponder on it, I go into an angry catatonia, and with school starting up, I can’t afford that. At least it is back, for now.

Surprise party, organizing/general prep and hosting of.

A major birthday for my Dad. Guest list of 50. I did 90% of the cooking, shopping and baking for the event. Plus, I had to keep my mother from spazzing out, as apparently she can’t handle stress. It nearly killed me, I tell you. It was almost a month ago, and I still need to vacation. Though, I did get to use my mad project management skillz while organizing, so there’s that…

Job, the lack thereof.

Despite my best efforts, some amazing interviews, and gigs that are perfectly matched to my skills and interests, I have yet to land one. Am I too old for part time retail work? Too skilled? Too female? Don’t know, but I don’t think that I can handle going in for one more interview, nailing it, and not getting the job. I interviewed for a part time job at a local indy bookstore. Books and me go together like ebony and ivory. Or Oprah and baked ham. They loved me, and my interviews went spectacularly. But no dice. Hell, jobs I interviewed for and didn’t get are now being posted again, showing that I would have been a way better choice. It just makes me want to curl up and die.

Brokeness, excessiveness of.

I’m so short of cash that I have to choose between going out for one drink on a friend’s birthday and eating that day. I went out to meet up with old friends a few weeks ago, and spent 20$ in one night. I didn’t buy food for the rest of the week in penance. I frequently find myself talking myself out of purchasing such luxuries such as vitamins, fruit and vegetables (have you any idea how freakin expensive they are? Yeesh!), and basic food stuffs in general. And if I do purchase said items, I end up feeling bad about it, like I shouldn’t have done it. I spent 25$ on groceries last week, all on items that were on sale, and were healthy essentials, and still I feel like I should have done better or gone without.

Scholarships, my lack thereof.

I had no idea that my intelligence would be such a bother in getting money for school. I wasted my time kicking scholastic ass last year, when what I should have been doing is finding a way to get adopted by some Masons, or having a kid some I could get some “single mom” cash. I don’t know if this is just my school, but the bursaries for the smart are vastly outnumbered by those for the incompetent, somehow disabled, or special cases.

Playoffs, not being in them.

The continuing inability of my beloved Jays to get into the playoffs, despite having a good team, is infuriating.

Clothing, suckiness and dearth of.

But more on that later, when I’ve imbibed far more gin.

So, mostly? I’m gonna agree with the Debt Canada poster –“Like hell money can’t buy happiness.” Tru dat. If had some cash, I’d be mostly filled to the brim with girlish glee. The rest would depend on cashing in some runners in scoring position. Sigh.