Category Archives: Random Life Stuff

This category is all about the posts that don’t fit in any other category

Dating Advice For Ladies

 

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, if we combined some of our old fashioned romantic sensibilities with our new understandings of sexuality, the importance of consent, and a more evolved understanding of the female as a human rather than as a plastic dress-up doll, we could end up with something actually useful.

What you’re about to read below is not that.

It is some old fashioned romantic advice, but it’s not useful. Rather than being combined with our modern sensibilities, the below has been combined with my ill advised advice and sense of humour.

Please enjoy responsibly.

So, You’re Going on a Date: Advice for Ladies

Congratulations!

You’ve landed a date, which is your sole purpose as an unmarried lady. This is the first step to landing the husband you need so that you can finally stop all that bothersome thinking for yourself.

First things first: Choose the underwear you hope to show off. That the underwear should be spotlessly clean goes without saying, but every woman should wear the best quality underwear that she can afford and if she can’t afford it, what’s a little debt in the grand scheme of things? Also, the color should be preferably pink with lots of lace and ruffles. This underwear says “Why, I never expected you to see these at all! I’m just a shy little pure waif waiting for a tough man like you to protect me,” whereas all other underwear says “I am a wanton whore who will probably give you the clap.” and going without underwear entirely is far too suspicious and is punishable by death.

Once you’ve chose your underwear, it’s time to choose your purse!

A lady’s handbag is always very telling about what type of woman she is and is a great way to showcase her keen sense of style. Date bags should always be small and dainty; you wouldn’t want the boy you’re with to think there’s something in the depths that bites if disturbed. Because if he catches on, he’ll probably alert the others. They can’t know. If you think he’s on to you, flutter your eyelashes and faint. His noble side will kick in and distract him from the horrible truth of what lurks in your purse and will buy you time to develop an appropriate elimination and disposal plan.

Don’t forget to put your lipstick in your purse before you leave the house and for the love of God, slap some lipstick on that pale gash you call a mouth. To remain eligible, a woman must have youth or fake it well enough that people are polite enough not to mention how far beyond child bearing years she will soon be. Rouge up those cheeks, ladies! (But not too much, you sloppy hussy!)

It’s important to make sure your make-up is done before you leave for the evening with your fella. Don’t use the car mirror to fix your make-up. The man needs it in driving and it annoys him very much to have to turn around to see what’s behind him or to have to catch glimpses of your horrifying face in the mirror.

Speaking of cars, how do you enter a car? Do you get into cars head first? You’ll look prettier if you slide in sideways at 45 degree angle while humming the national anthem. It’s an easy way to make an good impression so your guy knows he’s dating a lady with class!

Once you arrive at your dinner destination (a first date must ALWAYS be dinner first), allow your gentlemen to guide you inside the establishment- but keep that physical touch to a minimum. Don’t be familiar with your escort by caressing him in public. Any open show of affection is in bad taste and usually embarrasses or humiliates him, because you are not worthy. He has blessed you with his attention and it is your duty not to fuck it up. If you ruin this, he may move on to the others. You have a duty.

Feel free to peruse the menu after you both sit down, but try not to set your heart on any one dish. The man always does the ordering. Never ask the waiter anything for yourself. He has to think he’s in control. It will all be easier if he thinks he’s in control.

The trickiest part of the evening is certainly the conversation. If you are a gal who uses frank, men’s locker room language, DON’T on this first date. Avoid shocking your date. Even if he uses such language and hears all the guys and dolls in the senior class using it, he wants his date to be better than the rest of the crowd. However, if you have nothing to contribute to the conversation, feel free to say shocking things. He’ll be too stunned to realize what a bad conversationalist you really are.

If you’re really stuck on something to say, encourage him to tell a joke. Sure it will inevitably be a joke of incredibly poor taste and far out of date, but make believe you’ve heard this joke for the first time. Remember your most important job is to build up and maintain his ego (which gets bruised plenty in business). Morale is a woman’s business. His ego will blind him when the time is right.

Dinner is over. Your perfectly made up face, the precisely right shade of pink underpants you ‘inadvertently’ flashed him while you slid into the car, and your fawning conversation have won over his heart.

What do you do if he invites you back to his place for a nightcap? In a situation like this, social conventions can do very little to protect a girl really bent on getting into difficulties. In this case, a girl not out of her teens would do better to avoid such an engagement unless others, considerably more mature than she, are present nearby and can lend assistance when the time comes. A career girl, from her twenties onward, can accept such an invitation but should not stay beyond ten or ten-thirty, so as to avoid suspicion. An old rule and a good one is ‘Avoid the appearance of evil.’ It is still very true that the public at large is less likely to believe a pretty little woman could be capable of the terrible things that befell that man if she gets out of there long before the man in question has been discovered.

In the event he doesn’t invite you back for a nightcap, that’s all right. That’s to be expected. Invite him in for a nightcap yourself. If he refuses, release the thing in the depths of your purse and slip inside before your neighbours are alerted by the screaming.

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DISCLAIMER: Please for the love of all that is good, DO NOT ACTUALLY TAKE THIS HIGHLY QUESTIONABLE ADVICE. THIS ADVICE IS MEANT FOR HUMOUR PURPOSES ONLY AND SHOULD NOT BE TAKEN SERIOUSLY OR RECTALLY.

Misfortune Cookies

2016 was, for me and many others, a flaming pile of steaming garbage.

There were good moments.

Not many, but they were there.

Despite it being a hard year personally, I recognize there are a lot of ways in which I am still fortunate.

So, what better way to celebrate this past New Years than to create something combing the fortunate and the unfortunate? Something tasty but upsetting to properly celebrate what a garbage year 2016 was. What better way to do that than to create cookies filled with nihilism.

Hence, Misfortune Cookies.

Here, I’ve decided to provide you with a tutorial on how to make your own Misfortune Cookies. Although, I am aware, you could make these for a variety of purposes. I intend to and will likely be selling them around my city.

Anyway. Tutorial

Let’s do this.

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Miss Kris Misfortune Cookies

Ingredients
  • 2 egg whites – at room temp
  • 1 tsp pure Vanilla and/or Almond Extract
  • 2 tsp Water
  • 1 tbsp Lemon Juice
  • 3 tbsp Vegetable oil
  • ½ Cup  All Purpose Flour
  • ½ Cup White Sugar
  • 1½ tsp Cornstarch
  • ¼ tsp Salt
  • food colouring of your choice or none if you don’t like fun. I recommend the food colouring gel they use for fondant
  • Parchment Paper
  • Kitchen Gloves is a good idea
  • The complete and total sacrifice of your fingertips
  • Fortunes written with a profound understanding of the void
    1. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper. TRUST ME ON THIS.
    2. In a medium sized bowl, add the egg whites and other wet ingredients save the food colouring
    3. Whisk until the eggs are frothy (not stiff) about 20sec.
    4. Sift in the  dry ingredients and add slowly to the wet until you have a smooth batter with no lumps
    5. Add the food colouring until it’s the colour you wanted. In my case, I used black so if you’re anything like me, your batter should look like it’s something Barb gargled in the Upside Down.
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    6.  Measure out 1 tbsp batter for each cookie and put it on the sheet, using the back of a spoon to spread out thinly to 4 ½ inch diameter both ways. ONLY DO TWO COOKIES AT A TIME BECAUSE YOU ARE NOT MAGIC (yet)
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    7. Bake at 375F for 6 minutes or until the edges are brown (unless you colour them black like I did in which case AHA HAHAHAHAHAH GOOD LUCK).  Keep a close eye in them, THEY BURN LIKE I DO IN THE SUN.
    8. ARE YOU READY FOR THIS NEXT STEP? BECAUSE IT IS INTENSE AND YOU HAVE F*CKING MOMENTS!
    9. Pull the cookies out of the oven, flip them over and place the fortune in the middles. Fold them in half and press those edges together but then bend the entire cookie over a mug or a bowl or some shit like that YOU ARE PROBABLY TAKING TOO LONG.
    10. OH GOD! YOUR FINGERTIPS ARE BURNING!
    11. AHHHH!
    12. Place in a muffin tin while the cookies cool so they keep their shape and you can have a few moments to emulate Will Smith in that scene from Men In Black where his fingerprints get scorched off.
    13. Take a deep breath and assure yourself this will get easier with practice. (These are lies)

    Ta-da!

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You have what may appear to be a totally burnt husk of a cookie, but is actually a delicious courier of bleak awareness.

Why not try some of these fun fortunes?

  • You and everyone you love will eventually be forgotten
  • When you stare into the void, it changes nothing
  • Your actions mean nothing to an uncaring universe
  • This cookie had no nutritional value

Or the ever classic Homer gem: The price of stamps will climb ever higher.

Roots & Connections & Stuff

It occurred to me the other day that I think I’m starting to grow roots.

Not literally, I’m not becoming an Ent, but figuratively. For the first time in my adult life, I actually know some of my neighbours. I don’t necessarily know all their names, but I know most of their pet’s names and I know their faces.

There are shops, not many but some, where the sales staff and I recognize each other and transactions are peppered with legitimate questions of well being or good wishes for the day.

Having lived in this city most of my adult life, I finally kind of know where most stuff is and in what direction.

I have a routine.

I have the spare keys to a friend’s place.

I have a daily social circle, which is completely comprised of people and dogs I know at the dog park, but I am totally ok with that.

Most of these changes largely have to do with my dog. He’s forced me to become a part of my community, which is probably really good for me and has made me realize what an hermit I can actually be.

While I’m kind of pleasantly surprised about these new tendrils of what may be roots, I also want to rip them up and run away?

To quote Walt Whitman really loosely, I’m a bundle of contradictions.

I’ve moved so many times since the first time I moved away from home, I don’t really want to go through the packing and unpacking part again, but I’d be lying if I said the idea of picking up and moving far away didn’t appeal.

I don’t know if this is a comment on my mental health or a very natural desire to go seek out newness because it’s exciting, but it is what it is.

I think maybe it’s just a sign that there are still things I’m looking for, things I feel are missing. It’s probably also kind of a sign of frustration, this year has been the biggest struggle I’ve had with my mental health since I was unemployed. I have been and I am getting help, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t still kind of butt nugget sometimes.

I’m trying to figure out what it is that I feel like I’m missing, but that isn’t easy either. It’s kind of like when you’re trying to choose a movie to watch but you can’t decide what you’re in the mood for so you just end up watching YouTube videos until you end up in that weird part of the internet again. (I really hope it’s not just me who does that)

I think part of why I’m so restless is that I haven’t had much for vacation yet this year. I took a week to go to the cottage, but I’ve been saving half of my vacation days so I can go to my friend’s wedding in Georgia.

I’m super excited. I’ve never been further south than New York City, so going to Georgia is a big deal for me. Not only that, I get to hang out with awesome people and meet people from my online community that I’ve never gotten to see in person before. THERE WILL BE MANY AWKWARD HUGS!

Man, speaking of roots, I have quite a few strong ones in that community. These are a group of virtual friends who have been there for me from when I worked fast food and hated my life to my first big-girl job, unemployment, and my current life. They are the most supportive bunch of delightful weirdos you could ever want to meet and I get to meet some of them in person in a few weeks and I AM SO EXCITED! CAPS LOCKS IS ON, MUTHA TRUCKERS, BECAUSE I AM YELLING WITH JOY….FIGURATIVELY. I DO HAVE NEIGHBOURS, YOU KNOW. IT WOULD BE AWKWARD TO LITERALLY YELL.

You know what? I don’t have much else to say this week, so I’m going to end it on this high note.

To my friend, Amanda, I am so excited to see you again and to help out with whatever I can for your wedding. In fact, I will probably look even more excited than I did last time we hung out.

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meexcited

I

meveryexcite

AM

mesoexcite

SO

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EXCITED!

P.S. In retrospect, I realize this is kind of creepy but whatever. THIS IS OUR FRIENDSHIP.

Literally Broke-Ass

So, truth be told I don’t have a lot of news but I do have one kind of ridiculous piece of news.

I broke my butt.

I am, literally, broke-ass.

butt-cast

Now, if this were a comedy, this is part where you’d hear a record scratch and a voice-over saying that you’re probably wondering how I ended up in this situation.

Well, that’s just it. I don’t really know?

You’d think you would know when/how you injured your tush, but I don’t. I didn’t fall dramatically on my butt or moonwalk into something at an extremely high speed and I definitely didn’t do whatever else your wicked minds mind come up with.

It doesn’t matter how I injured it, what does matter is that sitting is terrible BUT (and yes that pun is totally intended) it did give me a rare and precious opportunity.

I got to tell someone to X-Ray my butt.

Somewhere deep inside my eight year old self was having the time of her life.

Imagining Receptionist: Hello.

Me: Hi, I’m hear to get a butt x-ray?

Imagining Receptionist: *smiles* Can I have your healthcard?

Me: *hands over card* How long is the wait to get your butt x-rayed?

Imagining Receptionist: About 10 minutes. You can have a seat in the waiting room until then.

Me: I could, but that would hurt. Hence the butt x-ray.

Imagining Receptionist: You can stand, if you prefer.

Me: I’d prefer to sit butt…*waggles eyebrows* Get it? But, but like butt. Because I’m here for a butt x-ray.

Imagining Receptionist: You don’t have to keep saying butt x-ray.

Me: I really think I do. *stares at receptionist*

Imagining Receptionist: *stares back*

Me: *whispers* Butt x-ray.

X-ray Tech: Kris (NAME WITHHELD BECAUSE THIS IS THE INTERNET)?

Me: *goes over to door*

X-ray Tech: *hands over gown* Take off everything except your underwear and put this on, open side to the back.

Me: Won’t that make it awkward when I moon the X-ray machine?

X-ray Tech: Why would you moon the machine?

Me: I’m here for a butt x-ray.

X-ray Tech: *laughs* That’s not how we do it.

Me: Thank you for crushing my dreams, now let’s x-ray my butt! I’m going to warn you though, there is already a crack in it…

So, I got an x-ray about a week ago and never heard anything back. Turns out, that means it’s not a fracture. It also turns out, that the doctor who initially saw me is a lazy slob who should have given me more information than he did.

The good news is that I do not have a fracture, the bad news is that I now have a prescription for “manual manipulation” through physio or massage therapy.

I think I’ll wait and see if the pain gets bad enough for me to be desperate enough to fulfill that prescription. Call me old fashioned, but I’d prefer if the back door stayed shut.

Well…I think this will be an interesting test to see how many people actually read my blog. I’m going to base my numbers on the number of people who talk to me about my butt.

Anyway, you have my apologies if the writing on this post isn’t really up to par. Like I said, I didn’t really have much inspiration to write this week. I guess you could say I kind of *puts on sunglasses* pulled this one out of my ass.

Am I working blue, yes, but I regret nothing.

Next week, a very special post that is not at all related to my butt.

Fine, I’ll Eat Vegetables

I’ve been trying to get more vegetables into my diet lately.

Partly because I want to be healthy but mostly just because I don’t really know what to do with them beyond don’t cook them or shove them in pasta or a stir fry and that makes me feel stupid and I can’t have that.

So, this weekend, I set about finding different recipes for vegetables I don’t normally eat in ways I wouldn’t have normally thought to prepare them.

This week, I tried Parsnip Patties.

I like root vegetables and I also like how cheap they normally are, so I figured this would be a good starting point.

The recipe I used is from Kittencal@recipezazz at the aptly named website, http://www.food.com. You can find it here OR if you’re lazy, I’ve written it out below this sentence (YOU’RE WELCOME) with my own flourish:

Parsnip Patties

Ingredients:

  • 2 small parsnips, peeled (if you feel like wasting your time) and grated ( this should yield about 1-1/2 cups)
  • 1 small red bell pepper, finely chopped (or grated if you just feel like grating)
  • 1 small onion, finely chopped (you could also grate this. Everything’s grate!)
  • 1 large egg (don’t grate this)
  • 1 tablespoon fresh minced garlic(optional or omit it if you hate flavour)
  • 1teaspoon dried dill (optional for people who hate deliciousness)
  • 1 pinch teaspoon cayenne pepper (or more)
  • 2 -4tablespoons grated parmesan cheese (or that stuff from a can, no judgement)
  • 3 tablespoons milk (or use half and half or water)
  • 1cup flour (more if needed, you probably won’t need more)
  • 12-1 teaspoon seasoning salt (I used sea salt because I can’t read, but it was fine)
  • ground black pepper (to taste unless you can’t find the fecking pepper and give up looking)
  • 14cup vegetable oil (or whatever kind of oil you want as needed, I used WAY less than they’re calling for)

Directions

  1. In a medium bowl, beat the egg. Show the egg you are superior.
  2. Stir in milk or whatever liquid you decided on.
  3. Add in the flour; mix until well combined.
  4. Add in the grated parsnips, red bell pepper, onion, the garlic, the Parmesan, and the dried dill.
  5. Season with salt and pepper (and/or cayenne pepper).
  6. Form into 4 patties or just divide into four in the bowl and spoon it on to the skillet and smush them down. Or cook it as a hash instead of patties if you want, I don’t care. I’m not your Mum.
  7. In a skillet, fry the patties over med-low heat, until golden brown on the outside, and cooked through.

The only thing about this recipe I didn’t like during the cooking process is the vagueness of the cooking time: “In a skillet, fry the patties over med-low heat, until golden brown on the outside, and cooked through.”

First off, medium heat on my stove is the equivalent of the surface of the sun for some reason- so I end up having to guesstimate what constitutes medium-low on my stove top because where you’d think is medium-low is actually more like true medium but if you go any lower, then you risk aging and watching the centuries pass you by as you wait for your food to cook.

Secondly, when you’ve got that kind of heat issue…well. It can be golden brown town on the outside but Elsa’s ice castle on the inside. How do I tell if it’s cooked through? It’s a veggie patty. It’s not like I can cut it open and see if it’s still pink inside. It’s also all grated, so sticking a fork in doesn’t really tell me if it’s tender or not.

Thankfully, I managed to cook them by the tried and true method of “Ehn, I think this is fine, if not I’ll just microwave it” and it turned out they were cooked and everything was fine.

BEHOLD THESE MAGNIFICENT BASTARDS!

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I ate two and am desperately trying to resist eating the other two so I can save them for lunch.

These things taste like garlic filled DILLiciousness and (given how much cayenne pepper I used) are spicy enough to hurt you in the good way.

I am 100% going to make this again.

I feel like if I’m going to post the occasional recipe I should have a rating system…

I chose to rate this the way I measure how good most things are: with Bowie.

This dish gets 4 out of 5 Bowies.

BowiesBowiesBowiesBowies

Crime and Punishment aka Nonsense

So, I think my stuff might be magic.

Before I moved, I had a lot of stuff, but despite moving being an actual big huge chore that I wildly underestimated….a lot of that stuff seems to have disappeared.

I know it’s not that I donated it all.

I donated a lot but moving day still took three trips despite my having moved the majority of the smaller stuff over with friends the week before.

I guess that’s why the cliché “Out-of-Site-Out-of-Mind” exists, because as soon as I can’t seem my stuff it’s like it disappears.

I’m basically a baby playing peek-a-boo but myself.

This also might explain why I’m so bad at dating.

You’re here? Yay! You’re not here: What boy? Did you mean Netflix?

Anyway, like I said: My stuff might be magic.

The only other explanation is that I’m being very subtly burgled….which if you think about it is kind of a genius crime. If you come home and your big important shit is gone, you’re going to notice right away and call the cops.

If you come home and nothing seems amiss, even if you notice something missing you’re probably not going to call in law enforcement.

I’m not a criminal but if I was going to be one, I think that would be my angle. Just subtly steal stuff from places. Nothing big, but small expensive items- only one per place, though and you’d have to make sure you didn’t take too much from one geographical area.

It definitely wouldn’t work if it was your only source of income, you’d probably have to make crime your hobby and have a real job on the side…which I suppose kind of defeats the purpose of being a criminal.

That is, if there is a purpose in being a criminal.

I don’t think I’d ever manage being a thief, though. Despite no longer being religious, I still have a healthy fear of some omnipresence (be it God, karma, or ghosts) punishing me for my wrongs.

Catholic Guilt: Durable and long lasting even long after the Catholic has faded.

The only way I think I could be a criminal is if I legitimately believed that what I was doing was right.

Like, I would never steal money just to steal but if I saw Donald Trump’s wallet lying around I’d donate any cash inside to charities of my choosing and then burn it and laugh. You may be wondering why I wouldn’t use the credit cards: that stuff is traceable and if I’m going to be a criminal, I’m going to be a smart one.

I’d also break any laws I thought were stupid without much guilt…within reason. Like, if memory serves it’s still illegal to drag your dead horse through downtown in Ottawa between certain hours-that’s too impractical for me to bother breaking and also why would I have a dead horse?

Having a dead horse raises more questions than why I decided to break the law about when I can and can not drag it through the street.

But less obviously impractical arcane laws?

They’re fair game for breaking.

If it’s illegal in my place of residence to eat an orange in the bath? Screw you, I’ll do what I want with my citrus and I’ll love every second of it.

And what’s really sad is that I’d probably enjoy it more knowing it was something I wasn’t really supposed to be doing but it wasn’t something that I wasn’t supposed to be doing enough that it would make me feel guilty.

I guess I’m a very controlled kind of thrill seeker…which is a nice way of saying I’m a giant nerd.

A giant nerd who’ll eat an orange in her bathtub whenever she damn well pleases.

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I’m Gonna Win

Today I had one of those days.

You know the kind of day where stuff just keeps piling up on you?

Every time I got something done or felt like I was getting something done, something else came sliding down. Normally, this would be annoying but doable.

Today I just did not have the bandwidth.

I’m gearing up to move this month, which is stressful.

I’ve been sleeping like shit, which is never good.

I woke up stressed.

But you know what?

Even though the majority of the day felt like bricks being added to my chest one by one and even though I have been torturing myself over a move that likely won’t even happen for a few weeks, and having a slight existential crisis because I do that every so often…

I kept my shit together and I got through.

It doesn’t matter that my last nerve was frayed and dangerously close to snapping at the end of the day and that a lot of the weight on my shoulders is still there because I managed to get through today, which means I got to make it to tomorrow.

I think sometimes we think that win has to be something big but a lot of the time a win is just the absence of a failure or further fuckery.

I watch the videos and read the articles about the massive wildfire plaguing Alberta and I think about how getting out alive is a win for those people.

I look back at my own life just a little less than two years ago and I think about how having a job at all is a win for me.

I’m not saying it lifts the burdens I’m currently carrying, I think it’s unrealistic to expect gratitude to somehow erase the weight of your problems, but it does redistribute the heavy load and make it a little more manageable if only for a little while longer.

Sometimes a little while longer is all you need to get to the next win.

Right now I feel like I’m in a place of stagnation and I find that’s often when I start to get restless.

Maybe that feeling will go away once I move into the new place, but for now I’m trying to placate myself with breaking down my problems into things I can maybe do something about.

Is this satisfying?

Nope.

Not even a little.

Most of these things are stuff I can’t control and frankly, I would like the gratification to be…not instant but more immediate. Like 3-4 weeks delivery rather than 9 months, but I pride myself on being realistic and I know that if I can’t solve my problems instantly, then I need to break off little chunks of them so that my obsessive noodle-cave of a brain can gnaw on something other than my sanity as it spins in circles.

A colleague recently, like REAL recently, pointed out that I don’t have much for an ego.

Which is ridiculous because I’m made of freaking magic and you’re all my future peasants, but it’s possible this peasant had kind of a point.

When it comes to ego, I find myself in kind of a chicken-vs-egg situation. I can never tell is my lack of belief in myself and abilities is a result of having a strong belief that there’s an answer that I just can’t get to and that the reason I can’t get to it is because I’m lacking or if I actually have a giant ego and think that when I’m missing answers it’s totally unacceptable because I’m smart and perfect and must hold myself to a higher standard.

Either way, I’m the type of person who can get fixated on things- whether or not I have control over them.

I have literally obsessed over whether or not I cut someone off while driving because they honked at me, despite knowing logically I had done nothing wrong and the passenger in the vehicle telling me that they saw the whole thing and I wasn’t at all to blame.

I have also spent over and hour playing Tetris with a box of dishes just to fit everything in the way it was originally because I had kept all the cardboard and it had come all together so surely it had to fit back together and I am a moderately intelligent human, so I should be able to figure that out- never mind that it would have taken me far less time to just cobble together an alternative.

Weirdly, I don’t really fixate on how I fixate on things, I just try to find ways to manage it. If you understand your weaknesses, you can at focus them in productive ways at best and manage them at worst.

Today, I have chosen to shift my focus from the stress and the weight of today to the fact that I came out of it profoundly less affected than anticipated and choose the pieces of my problems that will keep my brain from running around like a screaming child.

It’s not ideal, but I’m managing.

I have no snappy ending for this post, so instead, please enjoy this great and apt Rob Cantor song:

Things

I have things.

Little things.

Pieces of people, places, and times I have been

and resented

and loved

and coveted

and lost.

I think I keep them because they make the ghosts that haunt me tangible-

not so tangible as to be enough to fill the hunger that resides in me to touch them,

but tangible enough to keep me intravenously hooked to things perpetually out of grasp.

Most of them are incomplete things:

A key with no lock

A compass with no direction

A perennially empty mirror.

Together they form a mosaic depicting all the parts of me I’m afraid to look at.

It’s much easier to keep them separate.

If I keep them separate,

then perhaps no one will notice the jagged edges

or the inconsistencies,

or the bloodstains on the parts I keep catching myself on.

I do not hide these things.

Hiding something is the quickest way to make it found.

Instead I display these things, precisely.

No one looks too closely at what they are permitted to see,

I will make billboards of these empty chasms

and they will become part of the cityscape,

ingrained past the point of recognition.

Do not, for one moment, pity me.

I am alone here by my choosing,

I am a museum of extremely limited access

and, should you somehow swindle membership,

you will be given access to the finest sledgehammers,

crowbars,

baseball bats,

and other tools of destruction you could dare to dream of.

Take up arms against a sea of displays, if you should so choose,

and lay waste to every carefully cultivated item

until the museum of me is nothing but a monument

to the aftermath of a moment.

Your membership entitles you to this decision

but know that if you leave,

when you leave,

I will curate a brand new exhibition

and there is nothing you can do

to stop me.

I have things.

Little things.

Would you like to see them?

 

Modern Love

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: It is hard to find love in modern society.

Not that I really have a basis for comparison given that I don’t remember any past lives or anything and have yet to experience time travel.

Still.

It’s hard.

Maybe it’s because I’m not super in touch with my emotions, but (somewhat ironically) I feel like that shouldn’t matter.

I’ve been doing the online dating thing again, a paid site this time in a vain hope to avoid the plethora of creepy messages out there, but I’m still not a huge fan of it.

It’s hard to get to know someone through a screen when so much of attraction is an in-person event. At least, it is for me.

The way a person carries themselves, talks, their facial expressions, the way they deliver a joke? That is what interests me. It’s hard to get that before you meet people in person.

It’s not that I don’t know what I’m looking for.

I do.

I know.

I also know it exists.

The problem is finding one such example of humanity and lucking out enough to also be attractive to them.

That does not happen to me very often, if at all.

I feel like maybe part of the problem is the type of guy who’s attracted to me.

Not all, but a lot of the guys who are/have been attracted to me are looking for a strong lady because they don’t want to be the leader in the relationship- which is totally fine, but the thing is, I don’t want that either.

I have no desire to play the role of Mommy 2.0: Now with more Oedipal issues!

I need a cohort not a henchmen.

I mean, I also could use some henchmen but I don’t want to date them.

I’m also not looking for perfection, I just want someone whose damage compliments my own.

I need a guy who refuses to let me put myself down and who knows that I would much prefer he bring me a lemonade than a bouquet of flowers. If given that, I can be that girl who refuses to let him be too hard on himself and make him laugh with ridiculous shenanigans.

I’m not sure where to find a guy like that.

I’ve met a few but they rarely like me back.

Maybe I’ve been cursed?

Maybe I should stop yell-singing LOVE ME, LOVE ME, SAY THAT YOU LOVE ME in the street?

I kid, I kid.

I don’t yell-sing in the street.

Out loud.

Just in my head.

Wait, are all men secretly able to read my thoughts and they’re weirded out by my mental-yell singing and that’s why I’m single?!

OMG.

Yes.

Yes, that must be it.

Ok. Well, problem solved.

I will just stop doing that and mentally cat-call them instead.

Like:

HEYYYYYYYYYYY TALL BEARDED FELLA. YEAAAAAAH. YOU BRING THAT LUMBERJACK LOOKIN’ TUSHIE OVER HERE! MMMMMM YEAH. BUILD ME A GAZEBO!

YOU A FUNNY GUY? ARE YOU FUNNY?

WHY DON’T YOU COME WITH ME AND I’LL SHOW YOU A GOOD TIME. I’LL SASS YOU AND MAKE LOTS OF SIMPSONS REFERENCES.

YEAH. YEAH YOU LIKE THAT?

YOU KNOW WHAT I LIKE? A FISCALLY RESPONSIBLE LIFE-STYLE. DON’T TAKE ME OUT FOR DINNER, LET’S MAKE DINNER AT MY PLACE AND WATCH NETFLIX.

WE CAN WEAR SWEAT PAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANTS!

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 Zach Miko looks particularly unimpressed with my attempts at wooing, but he’s married and thus does not count. 

Having just re-read the above bit, I am no longer AS confused about why I’m single.

In fairness, though, romance is weird.

It’s basically saying “Hey! You, human. I enjoy spending time with you. Let us mash our mouth flaps together and perhaps even our downstairs bits, but also spend lots of time together when we’re not doing that and make ourselves into a little team. Us  vs. whoever/whatever we want to tackle! Let’s do this indefinitely!”

Like, objectively, that’s kind of weird.

I think it was Doctor Seuss who said that love is just mutual weirdness.

I know what you’re thinking and yes, I do get all my romance advice from children’s authors. Where else would I get it from?

No, seriously.

Where else?

Anyway, I’m afraid that’s it for this week.

Next week I may finally break down and blog about the adorable ball of derp that is my dog.

If you know a man of high quality who is potentially interested in matching my weirdness, please have him send his resumé including: a photograph of his choosing, his favourite Simpsons character, and three ex-partner references to me.

I can be reached via Twitter at @TheCoffeeKris or Instagram @coffekris or by yelling my name loudly enough.

Applications are being accepted indefinitely.

 

 

Things That Scare Me

They say that to grow as a person, you have to do things that scare you.

The problem is, I’m really good at rationalizing to myself that the things I’m afraid of are not things I’m afraid of, I’m just not comfortable doing them or not doing them for perfectly logical type reasons.

I think that without meaning to, we all lie to ourselves sometimes. You’d think that being ourselves, we’d be able to figure out what are and aren’t lies but it’s a whole rabbit whole of complexity and confusion and oh my god why can’t we just know stuff?

Stupid human complexity.

Stupid emotions.

So, I’ve been trying to figure out what scares me so I can start confronting those fears.

As you might know if you follow the blog, this isn’t unusual. I try to push myself a lot because I HAVE TO DO ALL THE THINGS AND SUCCEED IN THEM DAMNIT!

I’m not a perfectionist with high expectations.

Shut up.

While I’m sure there are more things I’m afraid of than I’m aware of yet, the big three I can think of revolve around my confidence, or lack thereof.

I’m really, really insecure about my body. Some days are better than others but there is a deep self-hate there that I’m not great at dealing with. You might say that if I’m not happy with how I look I should do something about it but if you’re saying that then I’m sorry to inform you that you’re a bit of an asshole and missing the point entirely.

I want to be ok with my body as it is because it’s unlikely to change. Losing weight, for medical reasons, is nearly impossible for me and I can’t afford/don’t want do resort to surgery. Hell, even if I lose the weight I’m sure I’d find something else I don’t like about the way I look.

That sucks.

I mean, I don’t hate how I look all the time but I literally get anxious until I’ve seen the picture taken of me because I’m afraid I’ll look unattractive. Which is kind of a paradox considering I’m quite happy to take my dog for a walk with bed-head and pj pants at 7:30am and I don’t give a shit.

So, that’ something I’d like to confront.

The next thing I’m afraid of is performing in public. I really love playing my ukulele and singing but I rarely do that in front of people because I am terrified that people will say or think that I shouldn’t be doing that in public because I’m not good enough at it. I have this unrealistic fear that someone would just come up and perform take my ukulele to perform better than I can and I’d just be there mortified. WHICH MAKES NO DAMN SENSE! There’s always going to be someone better at stuff than I am, why the hell does it matter? It doesn’t.

Anyway, I’d like to perform in front of actual humans at some point.

The last thing I want to work on is asking for things. I don’t mean material things, I just mean asking for what I want. I’m not great at asking. I never want to put anyone out or inadvertently include myself where I’m not wanted. There are a lot of things I would love to do or be invited to join or get help with but I have a lot of trouble asking for those things because I feel like no one owes me anything and if I ask they might think I do feel that way and I don’t want to bother them but…..and so the cycle of self-doubt goes.

I’m trying to get better at asking and in fairness, there are a few things that I will ask for with no problem or ask for regardless of how unspeakably uncomfortable it makes me.

So now that I know these are the things I want to confront, the question is how to confront them?

I’m not super sure, yet.

I mean, number two is easy enough, I can just perform somewhere in front of some humans….of course in doing so I’ll slightly be confronting all three of these fears because I’ll have to ask to perform somewhere (most likely) and I’ll be super self conscious of how I look the entire time.

I feel like learning to love myself as I am is a lot harder than performing in public, though. I’m not even really sure how to do that. Suggestions are welcome.

As for my fear of asking…I’m not sure what I can do beyond what I am doing: trying to make myself ask for things.

You know, life would be a lot easier if instead of these kind of internal fears I was just afraid of external stuff like ducks or something.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t trust ducks, but I’m not afraid of them.

I just think they’re semi-aquatic rapists.

If I was a duck I’d be scared of ducks but as a human, they aren’t a fear I need to confront.

In conclusion: ducks are assholes.

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See? Will Ferrell gets it.

P.S. Next week I will try to write a blog that is both on time and more coherent than this one.

P.P.S. I said TRY.