Today I said “obvs” to the Vice-President of Finance.
Today … this afternoon … I said “obvs” to the fucking Vice-President of Finance.
This was followed by some deep and dark self-reflection. Have I really sent that many texts? IM’ed with just a tad too much passion? Has my basic ability to form small, simple words in the context of a term so common even toddlers can understand and use it perfectly gone out the window, along with my ability to actually use my cell phone to call people?? I think it has. But what can I do? If I start talking in big words I would just be seen as loquacious albeit condescendingly sarcastic with a touch of good humour (aka a total douche). Yet if I continue on this path I’ll be saying LOL NM JK to my boss at my next review and before you know it I’m texting everybody from my imaginary cell phone because I can’t afford a real phone because I live in a refrigerator box BECAUSE I’M BROKE AND HOMELESS … unless you count that refrigerator box as my home, in which case I just live in a really shitty house and have no money … which still sucks anyhow.
Fuck it. I’m going to start being one of those people who correct grammar on Facebook. THEY HAVE FUCKING SPELL CHECK. I feel it is my duty to society, and also to my own integrity, to point out those opinionated assholes who can’t even distinguish between “they are” and “those people’s property (whether it be a name or whatever the fuck)” despite the fact we all learned it back when Pogs were selling like crack on the playground.
10 points for the most expletive-filled paragraph ever written on PGPT, and 10 points for trailing off and having no real conclusion to this post.
What started me thinking about this topic was the insane amount of media attention (social and traditional alike) that Ms. Samantha Brick has received and the conversations I had with my friends about this following the shitstorm.
If I get told one more time I’m beautiful just the way I am I’m going to lose it. Because as much as the Dove Foundation and every mother in the world wants us to believe it, it’s simply not true for all of us. Let’s just say it – there are some really ugly women out there. Am I being mean? I don’t think so. I think if all of you can honestly sit there and say you’ve never elbowed your friend in a food court so hard they spit out their CinnZeo just to point out the freakshow wearing the Tazmanian Devil t-shirt, fried blonde mullet and multiple chins (complete with zits in every stage) standing in line at Arby’s (of course) then you’re a dirty liar. Unless of course you’re taking me very literally, in which case you’re probably not a liar, but you’re also missing my point completely and kind of just being a jerk, because you know what I mean.
So now that you all think I’m a shallow asshole, hear me out. Yes, I can openly admit that there are uggos out there. I can also openly admit that there are women so beautiful it simply can’t be denied. They are perfect. I have no response.
Then, there’s the rest of us who fall somewhere in between that spectrum. And that’s okay! I am well aware of the fact that I’m not gracing any magazine covers. At the same time, I’m just as aware of the fact that I still get checked out by those men who haven’t yet seemed to learn that I can see them staring directly at my breasts. So my question is – why are we all so obsessed with categorizing women as either “beautiful” or “not?” There’s about a million points on the scale in between that that are being left out, and are thus making us all feel like shit when we don’t measure up to Kim Kardashian’s ridiculously perfect proportions.
Maybe I’m simplifying it, but seriously, I think we’d all be better off if we thought more like this guy:
Warning: This isn’t going to be ridiculous. It’s an article written by Ashley Judd about media criticizing women, and how sad and damaging it is that women not only participate, but initiate. Love, love, love it. I think it’s so important that we all at least give this point of view a listen.
I’ve recently come to a startling realization: I’m boring. Call it what you want – dependable, predictable, reliable – I’m boring as shit. Gone are the days when I used to get a tattoo on a whim (a phase evidenced by my hesitation to ever go swimming with my boyfriend’s family lest they see the tokens of my wilder youth), when I would – nay, could – get wasted every night of the week and get into shenanigans of epic proportions and still make my 8 a.m. class the next day; an era when you never knew what I would do next. Now you know exactly what I’m going to do next. You probably know it before I even do. Originally I was hoping this post would somehow weave into all these reasons why I’m NOT actually boring, but in fact still super cool and awesome fun, but instead all I can think of are all the reasons why I just can’t party like I’m 15 anymore:
I fall asleep before midnight every Friday
I pay my bills the day they’re due
I always signal
My taxes were done the day I got my T4
I know who I’m having sex with next
I still play Mario, just like I did in 1994
My hangovers take entire weekends to get over
Is this just a natural, late-twenties state of depression that is reached when your body finally can’t keep up with the absolute shit haul you’ve just pulled it through, lined with shots and pub crawls and trysts? I mean, don’t get me wrong, as I wouldn’t trade my bf for the world, but maybe when you’ve settled into a relationship with somebody that you’re still really into, even after arguing over name brand versus store brand Sidekicks (or “Compliments” for you poor folks like us) in the aisle of a local Sobey’s while a two-year-old kid with glasses gawks on at his inevitable future of domestic bliss, you just sort of stop caring about being new and exciting? Fuck that. I’m gonna go do something crazy. Soon. Like stay up past 10 on a weeknight. HIDE YO KIDS!
I’m just going to warn you now; if you are a human being who did not spend their formative childhood years in Canada with access to basic cable and are not between the ages of 25-35 as you read this, what is about to happen may make little to no sense. Although if you don’t fit both of these categories and just happen to be an aging artist who enjoys watching strange children’s shows from the 1980s while on a three-day PCP binge then enjoy, friend.
For those of you who do fit this mold, I’m about to take you on a wild journey back into the depths of both your memory and heart. No matter what your family life was like, what school you went to, how you’ve grown, what soul-searching you’ve done on the banks of whatever-the-fuck country you traveled to on your parents’ dime after high school, what career you ended up going into or what heartbreak you have doled out or suffered through in life – I am telling you right now that these show are why you are you who are. Point blank period. This is also why, despite all the seemingly inherent differences that may exist between you and I, we will forever be bonded. Here we go.
Take Part!
Let’s do some crafts, bitches! I’m convinced this show turned me into an artist. The things I could do with an empty shoe box, some pipe-cleaners, a handful of glitter and some googly eyes. Gawd damn.
This show was produced by Lois and Herb Walker but also had a cast of unforgettable (although slightly creepy, in retrospect) characters. Remember crazy Mr. Twister?
There was also Pam’s Kitchen but I always used that segment as a break to go get myself a snack because umm, hello, why would I just want to sit around and watch other people eating snacks?
The Smoggies
Pioneering in terms of radical environmentalism. As a child, I had no idea what the fuck it meant to ‘measure your carbon footprint’ but I’ll tell you right now, I was not about to let NO motherfucking Smoggie pollute my ocean. This show made my 5-year-old ass want to go help clean oil off baby ducks from the Exxon Valdez and made me extremely adamant that my mother only bought cans of tuna with the “no chopped up dolphins in here” logo.
The Racoons
The most important thing about this show was the fact that instead of taking place in a magical world of seizure-inducing colours in the sky (I’m talking to you, Rainbow Brite…ole bright ass bitch) this show looked exactly like your backyard, especially if you grew up in British Columbia or Alberta. This shit was REAL.
It took place in the Evergreen Forest, which were basically the only trees you knew existed for the first 10 years of your life until your family saved up enough money to go to on a trip to San Diego and you nearly shit your pants seeing a palm tree for the first time. It felt like if you played outside long enough, you were bound to run into one of these dudes. The only thing that reminded you it wasn’t real was the aardvark millionaire, Cyril Sneer.
Really, though - an aardvark?
[Fun fact: I honestly thought he was a "weird-pig-kinda-thing" until I researched this show as an adult.]
Stickin’ Around
Just yesterday, someone in my office mentioned this show and no one could remember it until I started singing the theme song. Then our brains exploded.
Under The Umbrella Tree
This is the show I feel the least amount of people remember. So when I finally meet someone who does, it’s like looking into the mirror for the first time. I see you.
Today’s Special
This shit had me screaming “hocus pocus alimagocus” at every mannequin I saw until 1993, although the thought of a mannequin coming alive is now one of my greatest adult fears. When I moved to Toronto a few years ago, I found myself screaming it again at the top of my lungs when I was walking down Queen Street West and realized they shot the show in the store windows of what is now The Bay. Thankfully screaming at basically nothing seems to be the municipal pastime of Queen Street West.
Sharon Lois and Bram
WE ARE ALL SO HIGH
Kidstreet
I wanted to be on this show so bad until I realized that your teammate had to be a sibling. My younger brother was only one year old when the show stopped shooting new episodes so THANKS, MITCH.
Video and Arcade Top 10
Sweet graphics, bro.
And the most important lesson you could ever have possibly learned…
DON’T YOU PUT IT IN YOUR MOUTH.
Before I go pass out from overwhelming nostalgia, shout outs also to the following pillars of cultural relevance:
Polka Dot Door
The Friendly Giant
Fred Penner
Dudley the Dragon
Uh Oh!
Have I blown your mind? Did I miss your favourite show? Is Fred Penner your cousin’s stepdad or something? Talk to me.
First of all, I’m sorry for my absence. I’ve left K. here alone to entertain you all for some time now and I apologize. Mama is home. I’ve got a bunch of new posts sitting halfway done in our ‘drafts’ and I promise to finish them soon. In the meantime, I will send you to other places where people write much more frequently AND prolifically. It’s International Women’s Day! So I wanted to share with you some of the blogs and sites that revolve around women in some capacity and that I read on a regular basis:
Gender Across Borders: GAB is a global feminist community, blog and a global voice for gender justice. Great articles that cover a multitude of gender issues in various facets of life. PLUS, they have a book club which I am totally joining as soon as I’m done this post.
Jezebel: You should all know this already, though.
Bad Perm: Full disclosure here – I’ve been a part of this site since its inception about four months ago. But let me tell you UNBIASEDLY why it is so great and so needed. If you’re a woman who also happens to be a fan of hip-hop, then you know how prevalent misogyny still is within the genre and how difficult it is to be a true fan of the culture while not ignoring the blatant misrepresentation of your fellow female kind. Bad Perm is not a site dedicated only to women in hip-hop, it’s dedicated to hip-hop from a woman’s perspective. And therein lies the difference. The entire site is run by women; from the coding and graphic design to the writing, videography and editorial support. We’re not highlighting the achievements of one specific gender, just making sure that the stories and experiences of being a hip-hop fan are being told in both voices.
Those are just a few of my suggestions for you to check out today (and every day)… now do YOU have any suggestions for us?
I am begging all of you who do this to please stop the following:
a) Taking pictures of your food and posting it on Facebook. It’s not like you’re the first person in space, you’re at fucking Moxie’s. We’ve all seen food – three times a day at least for most of us, five+ if you’re me. We get it. And we Just. Don’t. Care.
b) What happens in <here>, stays in <here.> This is by far the most overused statement in life and if I hear it one more time, what happens to your FACE will be my FIST. Let’s be real – with Smart Phones and this thing that’s been around for a month or two called THE INTERNET, nothing stays anywhere anymore. So just stop it. If you’re going to be a douchebag, you’re probably one at home too, anyways.
Welp, welcome to 2012. I heard that we’re all gonna die this year … that should be neat. If that’s the case, though, there are a few things left on my bucket list that I would like to take care of:
Quit my job, take what’s left of my “assets” aka my car, the contents of my one-bedroom apartment (although you may have to fight my boyfriend for the video games) and my amazing collection of tiny mugs from around the world (shut up), and travel. Because let’s be real – who has the time or money to actually do this in real life the way it was meant to be done besides that b*tch Elizabeth Gilbert and her stupid perfect life in that book we all read and/or forced guys that want to sleep with us to see in theatres.
Eat. Seriously though, if I have one year left to live you better BELIEVE I’m going to try everything under the sun before I go. Except beets. Those can stop existing any time now, thanks.
Write a book. Lame? I once wrote a book in Grade 2 about a girl … well, about in girl in grade 2. So it was more of a diary, WHATEVER. Seriously though, having some personal memoirs that nobody will be able to read after the end of the world would be cool, albeit completely useless I guess if everybody’s dead.
Photobomb a celebrity. Heck, even a PSEUDO-celebrity would do.
Inappropriate list item that involves my man. I’m pretty sure his mom reads this blog so if you’re reading this, what I mean to say is we will be holding hands and going for long walks.
There are just so many reasons why I need this. Some of them relate to a very positive push towards dental hygiene but most of them relate to having Justin Bieber in my mouth every day.
Have I mentioned it’s almost my birthday, you guys?
