If I hear this word one more time. . .

Okay. I admit it. I'm thirty. I'm no longer as down with the lingo as I used to be. In fact, I was a nerd in high-school so I wasn't that down with the lingo then either. A couple of years ago, I worked for Starbucks and was surrounded by 17-21 year olds. Took me forever to figure out that when the 17 year old called me 'Homes' [as in 'W'sup homes?'] he did not mean 'Holmes' [as in Sherlock - I'm rather book smart but clearly short on street smarts]. So I'm slow on learning the new terms. I do know what it means for someone to be 'all up in your grill' [in your face] and I've got a pretty good handle on how to use 'for shizzle' [for sure - I think. I actually haven't had that confirmed].

But what is with the current trend of calling your significant other 'boo?' As in:
You're my boo.
I love you, boo.
My boo and I are going out.

I don't fraking get it! The only things I think of when I hear boo are:
Halloween
The Cute little girl from Monsters, Inc. [My nephew used to watch it so many times that my mum and I actually miss it now!]
Boo-Boo -Definition 1: I fell off my bike and scraped my knee and now my mum is going to put some polysporin on my boo-boo.
Boo-Boo - Definition 2: I was supposed to back up the database before I tried to fix it, but now it's completely broken and I can't even restore it. My boo-boo.

You know, all I can say is that if someone called me his boo, that would be a deal-breaker. While I'm a girly-girl, I'm also quite practical and utilitarian so the thought of someone applying such an idiotic term to me makes me cringe. And if anyone did apply such a term to me, he clearly does not know me.

Don't let yourself be called boo. Really. It's akin to when grown women wear pyjamas with fuzzy animals on them. It's wrong wrong wrong.



Totally off-topic note: so I was on Mirriam Webster getting the spelling of a word today [I'm such a bad speller] and I saw that the word of the day was 'cunctation.' Doesn't that sound totally dirty? Like you would get detention if you used it in high-school! Or your mama would slap you for saying it in the house. But in reality it means 'delay.'

Movie You Should Rent Right Now!

Persuasion (1995) staring Amanda Root and Ciaran Hinds

8 years prior to the opening sequence, Anne was persuaded by a close friend to turn down the offer of marriage from Captain Frederick Wentworth. At the time, Wentworth had no prospects and poor family connections and despite the fact that Anne loved him she allowed herself to be persuaded to decline his offer of marriage.

Now, 8 years later, Wentworth is a Captain in the Royal Navy and quite distinguished. Anne, is still the quiet, overlooked memeber of her family. Will she have to stand by and watch as Wentworth courts another woman? Will she herself be courted by her cousin William? What are Williams motives, if any? Could he love Anne? Does Captain Wentworth despise her for her rejection? Did she make the biggest mistake of her life? Is it too late?

Persuasion is like Pride and Prejudice's forgotten step-sibling. Just as good, if not better at times, but consistently overlooked. It's a great movie for curing up in front of the TV on a gloomy day. Sit with your favourite blanket, a fire in the fireplace, a cup of coffee and get lost in another era. You've got all the Jane Austen staples - lovers thwarted, nefarious scoundrels, poor families tossed out of their house, annoying family members all mixed up and trying to get by under society's strict rules of propriety. It's totally worth viewing.

Satan has a new one-stop shop!

Hello my lovelies! I am here to corrupt your bodies with sugary goodness. Tommorrow is Jenge's birthday and ever since I brought her her first cupcake from Crave we have been obsessed with it. So sweet. So dense. So irrestible. Jenge decided to get her birthday cake from Crave and I picked it up this morning. The box was nice and heavy, the way you want cake to be because then you know it will be dense with TONS of icing. I took a peek and saw mounds of pink fluffy icing, yum! We got cupcakes for Easter Dinner too. These cupcakes are so good. They must have LSD in them because I think I'm having a flashback right now! Walking into the store, inhaling and getting a snootful of cake, happy little cupcakes lined up on display. Little food is alwasy cute (that's why hors d'oeuvres are always such a big hit) and as a minature cake, cup cakes are no exception. Crave even has mini cupcakes (which I guess technically would be a mini mini cake!). Now, I have heard some people say that these cupcakes are too pricey. Well to those I say, "Shut your cake hole and go by a dozen cookies at Costco if you want. I want my cupcake!"

Self-Declared Martyrdom

What's with my generation? [BTW, I consider anyone from the ages of 25-40 to be in my generation. . . we're the kids of MTV, Atari and Hair Bands]. Have you noticed how everyone wants to be the martyr? You know what I'm talking about. They are the people who always have a bad day, bad job, bad kids, bad husband, bad pets, aching back, aching head, troublesome inlaws, and black sheep family members. No one suffers like them! Yet they tarry on bravely! [So they tell you]. Suffering in not-so-silent silence.

Think carefully and I'm sure you have a self-declared martyr in your social circle. Now, think even more carefully. When was the last time this person was fun? If ever?

What self-declared martyrs don't get are a couple of things I'm going to point out:
1. You are buzz-kills. You are the wet paper bags of the social scene. Hanging out with you is akin to going to work. I know I should, but I'd rather be shopping.
2. Everyone [with the selection of a tiny minority - of which you are not a member] has it as 'rough' as you. We all have to do stuff we don't wanna do. We all get headaches, we all get sick, we all have days where we want to stay in our pyjamas and pretend that the bills will just magically disappear. Who is this select minority who does have it rougher than you? Well, off the top of my head: Low income single mothers who are working three jobs just to buy bread, people who were tragically injured by drunk drivers, people who have ALS, children trapped by abusive parents . . . the list goes on. Think about how silly you sound compared to that!
3. You cannot crown yourself anything, martyr being the least of them. Let's take a quick look at two people who crowned themselves: Micheal Jackson - self crowned King of Pop - you don't want to end up like that. Napoleon Bonaparte - self crowned emperor of France - exiled.
4. Martyrs are only martyrs after they are killed for what they believe in. In order for you to be a martyr, I would have to kill you.
5. Do I want to be supportive to you? Yes. Do I want every bad thing that happened to me to get trumped by something worse that happened to you? No.

Don't get me wrong, I know that life can be crappy and I'm not saying you don't have the right to beeyatch. But let's get a little perspective here! It can't be that bad! And the other people in your life need some sympathy too!

If you think you may be a self-declared martyr here's my solution: Find five minutes for youself [STOP IT! You can so find five minutes! Don't give me that martyr crap that you are too busy! You had time to read this!] . . .where was I? Oh, yes. Five minutes. If it is sunny and not too windy [as I hate the wind] go outside and stand in the sun, with your eyes closed and feel how nice it is. Breathe deep. And sigh. Mmmmm toasty warm! If it is windy or not sunny, pour yourself a cup of coffee/cup of tea/glass of water and look out the window and think how lucky you are to be inside on a yucky day with your hot cup of coffee/hot cup of tea/water that is safe to drink from the tap - or - water you had enough money to buy bottled. Breathe deep. Sigh. Safe as houses.

Leave martyrdom to the likes of third world human rights activists who are trapped in a country that will kill them for speaking their mind. They deserve it more than you.

Growing up is hard to do!

I remember when I was a girl and I would buy a wallet with the allowance money I had saved, or mum and dad would take me shopping and I would beg to have a purse. I would take the wallet home and fill out that dorky card that comes with it with my name and address, and keep all the fake paper cards that said CREDIT CARD on them in the slots. Dreaming of the day when I would have cards to fill those glorious slots.

Air Miles, Mastercard, Visa, BankCard, Driver's License, Shoppers Optimum, Doctor's Card, Dentist's Card, Nail Tech's card, Sears, Blockbuster, Esso, Blue Cross. . . . It's gotten to the point where I turn down savings offers at tills because I don't have room for the cards!

Do you remember when being grown up seemed like the best plan in the world? You were gonna have your own place, get that dog you were begging for, stay up all night and order pizza when you felt like it! The fridge would have all your favourite goodies and you would read all your books in the bathtub, soggy pages be damned!!

But there were a few things they forgot to tell you about being a grown up. Oh yes, my little friends, there is always a down side and you must never forget the small print. Here are some things I bet we all figured out the hard way. . . .

1. If you don't take the garbage out, no one else will.
2. If you don't vaccuum, no one else will.
3. When your dog gets worms, there is no one but you to bleach the entire house and take her to the vet.
4. That funky smell from your kitchen is a potato forgotten in the drawer under the oven. They will rot, it will take months, but they will rot.
5. If you don't change the furnace filter, no one else will.
6. If you don't mow the lawn, no one else will.
7. You can't stay up all night eating bon bons and watching bad tv unless you want to be fat and out of a job.
8. A steady diet of your favourite foods will also make you fat.
9. If you don't buy milk, no one else will.
10. Friends from high school may lose touch with you, you can forget to go to the dentist for 5 years, you can put of your yearly physical for ages, but Visa will always find you.
11. When the drain is plugged, you either have to buy Drano or take it apart and clean it out (EW! - I shed like a long haired dog - it was awful) but if you don't do it, that's right! No one else will.
12. Scary sounds in the middle of the night must be investigated by you if you want to sleep. And sure, it usually turns out that a piece of paper is too close to the air vent, and it's making a ruckus, but you won't sleep until you know for sure!
13. When a light goes on on your dashboard, or your car is making funny sounds, you will be the one that has to a) figure it out and take it to the mechanic, paying for it with your first born or b)you will have to take it to the mechanic, make the sound for them [because the car will refuse to be broken then] they will figure it out and you will be paying for it with your first born.
14. Dog pees, throws up, eats shoes, eats tub of margarine . . . it doesn't really matter. It's all you!
15. You will start to care about things like taxes, elections, politics, oil prices, hard winters, dry summers, frozen pipes, retirement plans, interest rates, mortgage rates, market values, leaky basements and crime in your city. They are all boring and no fun. It doesn't matter. You still have to care.

They always say youth is wasted on the young [who are 'they' and how do 'they' know so much!]. Youth isn't wasted on the young. If someone made you 10 again tomorrow and took your memory away, you wouldn't do it any differently. You couldn't. You would still be dreaming of filling your wallet with cards and vowing that when you grew up, there was gonna be pizza every night. You wouldn't be thinking, "Thank God I don't have to pay Income Tax! Visa kiss my A$$!' You'd be saying to yourself, "Mum and Dad totally don't understand me! When I grow up, I'm gonna ride my bike anywhere I want. I'm gonna be the only boss of me. And there will always be Double Stuffed Oreos in the house and if don't want to eat veggies, I won't!"

And really, would you want it any other way?

Blocked!

So I've been trying to figure out what I want to blog about for the last couple of days and I can't find anything that I genuinely want to rant about. Have I finally run out of things to say? Impossible! Or is it just that I suffer from the biggest plague on my generation, apathy? My other problem is the political incorrectness of alot of my opinions. Now, normally, I would not shy away from these things and blog about them anyway but I'm becoming increasingly aware that I am insanely hard to please and easily irritated, and if I keep blogging about what pisses me off I will eventually ostracize everyone I know. My lifestyle is already dangerously similar to that of a hermit crab, I've no need to help it along!

Woo-Woo World

What is it about the human condition that makes most of us closet paranormal junkies? You know what I'm talkin' about. You secretly read your horoscope in the magazines you buy, telling yourself that you don't really believe it but always finding something in your life to match it up to. Even though most of us would scoff at superstition if our friends asked us, we still chalk up unlucky events to the fact that it's Friday the 13th, or ponder our seven years bad luck when we accidentally break a mirror.

Jenge went to the psychic this weekend and I must admit, I was dying to know what she was told. She came home and regaled me with stories about all the stuff the psychic knew. And sure, some of it could just be good guessing, but how did that woman know that of Jenge's two sisters, one took after the Greek side like her (Ann) and one was more fair, like mum's side (me)? Or that I'm a writer, but I keep most of my stuff hidden away. Or that Ann is crafty? It makes ya wonder. . . .

And I'm totally a paranormal/psychic junkie! Most of the fiction I read has some sort of woo-woo (that's the scientific term for freakishly paranormal stuff) in it. The stories I write are choc full of crazy paranormal stuff. I always read my horoscope even though I know that due to the drift of the stars over time, the zodiac is a couple of signs off. I'm fascinated by Mayan culture and prophecies, I've watched more than one special on Nostradamus and Edgar Cayce. Although, I do pepper my superstitious beliefs with handy dandy factual evidence. I know alot of superstitious grew out of perfectly logical roots. A way for our ancestors to explain things that they did not have the tools to yet explain. And alot of it was, ahem, fostered by the Catholic Church as a way of driving out paganism - making formerly paganistic icons and rituals bad luck or bad omens.

So, is our lack of understanding about the paranormal mojo simply that we have not advanced enough in our science to comprehend it? And if so, why are so many people so ready to dismiss it or scoff at it? Why, when you tell someone about a dream you had that then came true, they are so ready to burst your psychic bubble? But when hockey players wear the same socks for the entire playoff series and don't shave, these are reasonable actions? Why are so many people ready to shut our woo-woo/mojo door? What are you afraid of? I don't have a clue about quantam physics or string theory other than a vague understanding of the principles but I don't dismiss it as junk. So if you don't know frak all about palmistry or tarot cards or iridology, why are you ignoring it? Gravity worked for a long time before Newton wrote about it, and E=mc² ages before Einstein figured it out. So who's to say that the same won't apply to the woo-woo?

Blog Dog: A Post by Portia

Seeing as my mother, Mummy Margarita sees fit to put my dirty laundry up on the web (mmmmmmm dirty landry) I thought it was high time I had a post of my own to tell you how things really are around here.

You see what I'm lying on in this picture? This is Mummy's bed. Look how comfy! How cozy! She has six pillows and a heated blanket! Do I get a queen size bed like this? NO! I'm forced to share with her, getting only a small corner of the bed, unless I take my sleeping elsewhere. In which case I either have to sleep on the couch (yes, sad but true!) or sometimes even the hard floor (although the hardwood does get warmed up by the sun and sometimes you can find a nice hot spot and zone out for hours).

Mummy treats herself once a week to McDonald's but am I allowed to order anything? NO! I have to wait for the bag to be emptied when Rocky and I get to share the fries that fell out of their carton. Imagine, sharing with the Sock! Oh, the humiliation.

And while I'm on the subject of food, it's kibble for breakfast, kibble for dinner, kibble for a treat. Do I ever get a nice T-Bone steak? Okay, once at my grandparents house I got a bone, but I had to eat it outside. Grandma said I was fine out there as it was 20 degrees and sunny, but let me tell you! Eating outside is for savages!

Mummy drinks coffee every morning. I only get water. And sure, she cleans the water bowl every day to make sure it's fresh but nothing tastes as good as a beverage that isn't yours. Which is why I drink exclusively from Rocky's bowl. I don't even care when Mummy puts ice cubes in my bowl for a treat. It's the Sock's bowl or BUST!

She makes me pose for ridiculous pictures which she then takes and does something called 'scrapbooking.' I had to pretend to read a magazine once and then she thought it would be funny if I looked like I was drinking Starbucks coffee. But I'll let you in on the dirty little secret! The cup was empty! I only got to lick the milk bubbles.

And once I got a hold of some yummy smelling yarn and I got in trouble! I mean, it was lying around on the counter, not doing anything. How was I to know she was making a blanket with it?

And the time I ate the remote, well I was only trying to turn the tv on. They leave it off when they go out. What's a dog to do to pass the time?

She tells everyone stories about me. Embellishing them to make her sound like the hero. I was feeling under the weather a couple of times, and she took me to the vet. Big deal. If I could drive a car, I woulda taken myself! She says she cleans up after me, but really, it's the other way around. She leaves things lying on the counter all the time and it's my job to jump up and get it. To show her how messy she is. I will then rip it to pieces to teach her a lesson. You can't just leave your stuff out!

I mean, I guess she's okay. Sometimes she buys me special bones. And with her long nails, no one gives a back scratch like her. Or sometimes I will stand next to her, because I am feeling lonely, and she will pat my head and tell me I'm a good dog, scratching that one place behind my ears that I can't reach.

But if she puts another sweater on me, I'm outta here!

Get a real haircut and get a real job! Well, 1 outta 2 ain't bad!

It's been far to long since I have blogged about a dog, so I thought I would put up this picture of The Sock, who looks oh-so-snazzy after getting his hair done on Monday. Rocky's hairdresser specializes in Shelties and is harder to get into than my own hairdresser, and costs about as much. But as you can see, it's clearly worth it as he struts around for the whole week after a fur cut shaking his tail and bowing to you (contrary to popular believe, dogs are not always stretching when they put their two front paws out and bend down. In the dog world, this is also known as a bow or an invitation to play.)

For those of you looking for a Portia nose update, it's still pink, but several people have informed me that they know of someone this has happened to so I should not be worried. We're prolly gonna go back to the vet in a week or so to see what's what.

BTW, she has been very snotty since Rocky got his haircut. She is quite jealous I think.

Where have all the good bands gone?

As I listen to the radio these days, I'm forced to ask, where have all the good bands gone? Who is the next U2? I don't like the Rolling Stones but I can appreciate that they have stood the test of time and have legions upon legions of fans. Let's face it, Keith Richards prolly made a deal with the devil for them to keep on going. How else do you explain the fact that he is still alive?

But I digress. The radio these days are full of catchy pop tunes and bands churn out a couple of good hits but none of them really have any staying power. I thought Matchbox 20 was gonna be the next U2 but then Rob Thomas went solo (although, Mr. Thomas if you're reading this, you are a STAR!! Love your record).

But what's with all the thirtysomething bands singing teenage looser songs? Sum 41, Blink 182, Simple Plan. . . There is only so long you can go on bee-atching about how mum and dad don't understand you and school sucks before your fans will realize that you are 35, making millions off them and didn't actually have an angst filled adolescence. But they prance around in front of the mike in their short pants and whine that no one understands them. Short pants, by the way are how you tell guys who are stuck in the teens vs guys who finally grew up. Men wear shorts, boys pretending to be grown up are wearing capris. I know that boys don't call them capris, they call them board shorts (I think - I'm kinda out of the teen loop) but I'm sorry, honey, they are capris. If I would wear them with a pair of strappy sandles and a cute purse, it means they are capris.

I have some good bands I listen to, but I don't know if any of them have the staying power I'm looking for. If you want to make a long term committment to a band these days, your choices are pretty slim. If you ask me, Green Day has the best chance. Dookie was a smash hit and after some good follow ups, they released American Idiot which I think has the most staying power. Don't get me wrong, I like the guys of Green Day, but they are not U2. They are a poor man's U2. A substitute for a U2-less generation.

So who do I listen to despite the fact that they don't have legions of followers? Well, I'm a big My Chemical Romance fan right now, I like James Blunt (but he's not rocking enough to be a rock band), I love Rob Thomas, I like Garbage (despite the fact that they have been in a popularity decline as of late). I miss Econoline Crush in their Sparkle and Shine days - Trevor Hurst where have you gone! Sob. And we'll have to wait for the next Maroon 5 album to see what the verdict is. I like my Michael Buble and The Killers, but once again, we have to wait a couple years to see what's gonna happen with them. And I miss my early 90's Depeche Mode. Sniff.

Maybe I'm too outta touch with the music world. For all I know, there are millions of people out there ready to rip my throat out because I just trashed Blink-182. And don't even get me started on Coldplay. Yes they are good, but they aren't as good as everyone is telling you they are. Now they are just overexposed.

So I'll keep trolling iTunes for the next band to keep me going.

For Sale: Mint condition Uterus! Never been used!

So I was on Heidi's blog today (Completely Barking Mad,) and she had a link to another blog called Nine Pound Dictator. Sounded like a good title, and I'm a sucker for a good title so I decided to check it out. I only made it to the post titled Mommies Rule before I had to stop.

What's that sound you ask? Well, that's me having an aneurysm. In the article, she says that people look at her differently now that she's a mother. It's the respect, she claims. Respect for her, and her respect for life. She also claims that women are nicer to her when they find out she's a mother, she's no longer the Competition, apparently.

You know what? You know what!!?? (the Double 'You know what?' from me is a sign that you have just unleased Evil Margarita. She doesn't get to come out and play very often, generally because I'm left to apologize for whatever she does while she's out, but I'm letting her out this time because she has a point)

(continuation of Evil Margarita's tirade . . . ) Just because I haven't pushed a nine pound human being out of my uterus does not mean that my life is a total waste of time. I'm tired of being constantly informed by the media and anyone else who has a baby that I just don't understand the meaning of life. You know what? I don't understand the meaning of life, but I doubt that having a baby will make everything crystal clear for me. Some of us aren't wired that way. Some of us don't have a burning desire to procreate. And just because you have procreated, you do not instantly deserve my undying respect.

Don't get me wrong, I think motherhood is a great thing, and if you choose to be a mom and that makes you happy, then I'm happy for you. My sister is a great mum to two beautiful boys and she works hard to be a good mum to them. It's a hard job. The pay is lousy, the hours worse, and nine times out of ten, you have to be the bad guy.

But for those women out there that have a baby and then instantly start propogating the urban legend that the rest of us childless freaks are missing out really irritates me. I actually had to give myself a cooling off period before I could even write this blog. I know alot of women who don't have kids. Some don't want kids, some just haven't had them yet, some aren't in a position to have them, but none of them feel like they are missing the boat on life because they don't have mini-me's running around.

What about the woman who can't ever have kids? Is she less deserving of my respect because she is incapable of having children? What about the women who choose definitively not to have kids? Should I disrespect them for their heinous choice? Or what about the women who knowingly have unsafe sex with no regard for the consequences and get unexpectedly pregnant? This is instantly deserving of respect? I think not.

I tell you what I do respect. I respect people who make the right choices for themselves. I respect anyone who chooses to live their life in the manner which suits them. I respect people who live their lives every day making a conscious effort to be good people. They pay their taxes, they are nice to the coffee barista, they are kind to their friends and they love their family. Some of them have kids, some of them don't. If they have kids, they are working hard to make those kids good people too. That is worthy of respect. However, you can have a child and be raising him or her to be a royal pain in the a$$ to the entire world. Chances are, you're a pain in the a$$ too. And you don't get my respect for that. You get my ire.

I don't want to rain on anyone's parade. I'm just tired of getting my child free parade washed out. Live your life, I'll live mine. Neither one of us has to like the other's, but don't tell me that you are instantly a better person because you procreated. Or that I can't possibly understand what it's like to be a mum. I don't have to know. It's not your job in life to show me the way.


Evil Margarita has left the building.

Movie You Should Rent Right Now!!

I am always amazed at some of the great movies out there that no one seems to rent/know about. I have yet to figure out the hollywood machine, what makes some movies hits even if they suck, while other movies don't even make waves, but they are really good! I guess it has to do with the marketing and who the mucky-mucks are buddy buddy with. So, in an attempt to turn the tides, here is the first installment in an on-going feature: "Movie You Should Rent Right Now!"

Equilibrium (2002) - starring Christian Bale, Taye Diggs, Emily Watson

I have Heidi to thank for this one, she mentioned it to me one day and I had never heard of it, so I went out and rented it and then I went out and bought it. Equilibrium is about a future where emotions are outlawed. Anything that may cause human emotion is contraband: art, literature, music. Christian Bale plays John Preston, a cleric, whose job it is to track down emotional offenders and contraband and dispose of them/it. The entire society takes daily doses of Prozium (hmmm, I wonder what that's supposed to stand in for. . . ) to keep their emotions in check. This is the price that society decided to pay to rid themselves of war, crime, etc. When Preston's partner turns out to be an offender, and he terminates him, it starts Preston on a journey toward finding out whether the price society is paying is worth it. Great action scenes, great dialogue, and great twists in the plot to keep it going. If you like your sci-fi with a bit of brains, this one is for you! Plus Sean Bean is in the opening section of the film and I am such a Sean Bean fan!! Why is he not in more blockbusters!!

I'll try to bring ya more good movies!!

Chuckle Worthy moments . . .

So here are a few of the things that made me chuckle this week:

Thursday morning I burnt my neck with the curling iron, dropped it two minutes later and biffed myself in the face with it while trying to catch it, giving myself a really cute fat lip. I then tripped on my way out of the bathroom. But then on the way to work, a busload of highschool guys gave me the thumbs up and waved madly at me. So I must be hot stuff after all . . . . at least I hope they were in high school. Did ya notice that the older you get the harder it is to tell the junior highs from the high schools?

My nephew had to have a minor medical procedure done and proclaimed that the laughing gas smelled like his brother's feet. Two days later and I'm still laughing out loud at this.

I was trolling knitting pattern sites and somebody has gone to all the trouble (psychotic trouble no less) to make a fuschia representation of the female reproductive system. No joke. Check it out.

So I was sick on Wednesday and stayed home and I committed the ultimate mortal sin. I watched Maury Povich. It's been 5 years since the last time I saw Maury and nothing has changed. Freakishly loud and rude people are arguing on his show about whether or not some lame-a$$ punk with no prospects is the father of some baby. The women always proclaim they are 1000% sure he's the daddy (who's your daddy?) despite the fact that they were, ahem, friendly with several gentlemen around the time in question. And then this guy proclaimed he couldn't be the dad because he had GREEN eyes and the baby had BROWN eyes.

Okay. It's time to go back to Biology 10/20 and pay attention this time. Better yet, let's go back to 'Health' class (aka Sex ed - which was covered in religion class at my Catholic Junior high. HA!) and review a few concepts.

But it still couldn't beat the episode I saw with Donna 5 years ago when some young punk declared he was "One hundred and fiddy percent sure he wannunt the faddah of dat baby!" and then he told his sobbing ex to get his name outta her 'mouf' (I kid you not! He yelled "Get my name outta your MOUF.") Maury, Maury, Maury. Stay at home, raise the kids and leave the newscasting to Connie. At least I can take her partially seriously.

Okay I can't take her seriously either, but there has got to be someone else we can find to fill this time slot!

The Flip Side

My whole life, I've been pretty good at anything I've tried. I'm smart, a quick study and able to pull of pretty much most of the stuff I've done by the seat of my pants. Case in point, Engineering class on circuits. I sucked at that class, it was at 8 in the morning and I nearly fell asleep almost every day. I studied here and there, did my assignments, got by and woke up two hours before the final, crammed and passed. Exhibit B: Physics 269 - optics. I was so lost I didn't even know what the class was really about. I got a tutor, learned how to derive my own formulas and got my C-minus (required to take the next level).

I can count pretty quickly the times I've absolutely bombed something (PMAT 451 the first time around - Got an F. Take two I got a C, but by PMAT 453 I pulled off an A minus). I came thisclose to bombing PMAT 491 but since the rest of the class was sitting at an D average, the prof said whatever we got on the final would be our final grade. Despite the fact that he put two concepts we had never taken in class on the test, I got a B (it was an open book test and I was able to teach myself out of the textbook and get the gist of it).

But all this leaves me with a paralyzing fear of failure. I don't mean to come off as a jerk saying that I'm good at stuff, what I'm saying is, I've always been able to pull it out of the fire (as my mum says). Consequently, I absolutely fear failure. I don't know what to do with it. A by-product of this is that, now that I'm older, I rarely try new things. Knowing that the coin I've been tossing has been pretty consistent in coming up heads, I'm sure that there are a number of Tails with my name on it. I'm a math major, for crying out loud. I know the stats.

So what's a type A squirrelly girl to do? I'm trying to embrace the failure. In baby steps. So I have been working on my issues s-l-o-w-l-y. I've purchased a new pattern for knitting, and while you're thinking this does not exactly sound like bungee jumping, for me, it's been a learning process. I've started and pulled it apart 10 times now. It's been VERY FRUSTRATING! Knitting is supposed to be relaxing but right now I can feel my blood pressure skyrocket as soon as I pick up the needles. My head bent over, my shoulders hunched, I've GOT TO KEEP TRYING! No matter how many times I fail. It's getting better. I may not even have to rip out the stitches this time. We'll see. But the urge to toss it aside and declare it MORONIC is overwhelming!

So, it may not seem like much to you, but to me, this is the first lesson in Failure 101: How to fail and move on. We'll see if I can get back on the Roller-blades this summer. I haven't fallen yet, so I know that there is a massive wipe out with my name on it. There's got to be, I'm a total klutz.

I wasn't always like this. As a kid I used to ride my bike super fast and then hard brake on gravel. I would ride it all over the place with my friends and never gave a thought to getting hurt, but two massive wipe outs has me fearful of gravel ever since. I have some lovely scars on my knees that are still purple to prove it, and they are over 20 yrs old now.

So I guess I have to try and find the girl that used to jump down 6 stairs at a time, despite being told it was dangerous. And if I fall, I'm just gonna have to get back up.

Looking for the Cheese. . . .

You know, most days, we're too busy to stop and think about what we're doing. You get up, you eat breakfast, you get ready for work, you go to work, you work, you eat lunch, you work, you drive home, you eat dinner, you space out in front of the telly for a few hours and you go to bed, you get up, you eat breakfast. . . .

I was on the treadmill the other night and I suddenly realized how symbolic the treadmill was of my life. I'm going at an okay clip, not as fast as I could go or I'd be uncomfortable, not as slow as I'd like since it really wouldn't be worth it, but I'm not really going anywhere. I ended up exactly where I started. Was this a metaphor for my life? For all our lives?

Sure, there are people out there that are living it up, loving every moment, carpe diem and all that, but aren't most of us just mice on a really big treadmill? We're putting it out there, but where are we going? Are we even going anywhere? Aren't we all just looking for the cheese?

But what's the cheese?

I'm saving for my retirement, which while financially a sound idea, seems ludicrous at times. While I work, I save for when I won't have to work. I save so I can do all the things I want to do, but I don't get to do all those things now, because that wouldn't pay the bills. Is my whole life transferring imaginary money on Scotiabank? Is retirement my cheese? That seems dumb because I may get hit by a bus tommorrow, or be too old to enjoy it. Retirement is old cheddar, you have to wait for it.

Is vacation the cheese? Those two weeks you take off work to go someplace, see something, do something? But vacation goes by so fast, and you never get enough. Vacation must be cheese fondu.

Is family the cheese? I'm not married, I may not ever get married, and I don't really see myself having kids so if family is the cheese then it's my blue cheese, some people think it's great and others just pass it by.

But is any of that my cheese? They say life is a journey, not a destination, so does that mean that looking for the cheese is the cheese?

It's too deep for me! I don't have time to sit around and figure out what the cheese is! And isn't that the whole problem? And your cheese is probably not my cheese so even if you figure it out, you can't tell me.

So, I guess it's back on the mouse treadmill tomorrow.


photo from Flickr

The Art of the Nap

Why do we shamefully hide the fact that we are creatures who require sleep? Why do people brag about being able to get by on only four hours a night? The hold it up to your face like a badge of honor that they can fully function on minimal quantities of sleep, while you are left to feel shamed and guilty because you cannot function on such little rest.

Why do we lie if someone catches us sleeping?

Ring-ring, the phone intrudes on your slumber, you groggily grasp for it and hit the 'talk' button while faking your best, "Nope, been up for hours" voice.
"Did I wake you?" They ask, feigning politeness but underneath it all, there is that oh-so-snarky tone.
"Nope. I couldn't find the phone."

I gave up lying like this years ago. Anyone who knows me knows that sleeping is my favourite thing. I love crawling into bed at night, sliding under my pile of blakets, arranging my pillows, snuggling down, and then with a sigh, I close my eyes. When you call me and I answer the phone with a slurred voice, I am not drunk. It wasn't that I couldn't find the phone. It's that you woke me up! I don't care if it is 11 am on a Saturday. I get up with Portia and Rocky at 6.30 for them to have breakfast and a pee break and once doggy bellies are full and bladders empty, it's back to snooze land I go!

I also try to nap at least one day on the weekend. It's my not-so-guilty-pleasure. For those of you who don't nap, you are missing out. It's the highlight of my day. Here is my guide to the nap.

Start off earlier in the day if you can, to avoid disrupting your nighttime sleep. Although, I require so much sleep, I can generally nap for three hours and it won't affect me. Not even if I chug a latte right before bed.

Turn off the phone.

Make your room dark.

Let your roommate know you are napping (Jenge knows that when I am napping, someone better be crying or dying before she wakes me.)

Never nap for less than 45 minutes. Whenever I read those books that say have a 20 minute nap, I snort. C'mon! It takes me that long to go through my left-side, right-side, left-side routine to get comfy. Nap at least 45 min, but keep it under 3 hrs or you start to feel too groggy when you wake up.

Now, some of you might be saying, I can't nap! I have kids! I have housework! I have yardwork! I have to do my taxes! Go grocery shopping!

To which I say: Sucks to be you. Thems the breaks. I don't have kids, the housework can wait, the yardwork can wait, my taxes are done, and I'd rather have no food in the house than forgo the joy of napping.

Bonus tip: Get an electric blanket! So great to crawl into a warm bed on chilly days!

Choose Your Hell

Mes enfants! Yes, I took a brief sojourn for a few days but I am back!

So, when Jenge and I are bored, staring at a blank TV, with nothing else to say to one another (I mean, when you live with your sister, there is only so much new news. After that it's all,"Did I tell you about. . ", 'Yes, yes you did, twice." "Oh, What about .. . ?" "Yes, that too.") we have this game we play called Choose Your Hell. Choose your Hell was born on a bus in Greece when we were the only two english speaking people on a tour arranged for us by our Aunt Freida (who doesn't really speak English and so the fact that we asked if the tour was in English somehow got a little lost in the translation). Hours after hours on a bus in the middle of the Greek countryside, we never knew where we were going, how long it would take or what we were doing when we got there. So we used to play this game.

The object of Choose Your Hell is to present two equally unappealing things to the other person and they must choose. There are good points to each choice but there are bad points. Case example:

Marry a guy with only one eyebrow
Marry a guy with no eyebrows

And then the questions can start:
When you say one eyebrow do you mean monobrow?
Nope. Only one eyebrow, on one side of the face.
Left side or right side?
Um. Let's say left side.
Can he pencil one in?
Nope. He refuses to. He is totally content with his one eyebrow and that's that!
Does he have dark hair or light hair?
Jet black. It's totally noticeable.
Hmmm. It's just that people with no eyebrows always look so surprised. But I'm a big fan of symmetry. ummm. . . .

And eventually you will have to make a choice. Now, over the years, I have tried to pass on this game to other people and so far VERY FEW people understand that Choose Your Hell is not about grossing the other person out and it's not about picking two horrific things for the other person to choose between, it's about giving them two things that are both kinda undersirable, but ultimately, you COULD live with if you had to. Like one day I gave Jenge the choice between P. Diddy or Jay Z. These are both wealthy music moguls, attractive in their own right, but we don't find either one of them particularly attractive. So who do you pick? I believe Jenge and I both voted for P. Diddy because he has more money.

But most people I tell this game to always go for the ultimate gross out. They think they are being sooooooooo funny and isn't it terrible that you have to choose??

I generally give them a blank stare, play along for a few minutes and then try never to bring it up again.

Donna and Jenn M (my peeps!) both understand the subtlety of choose your hell. The best one lately was when Jenn M propsed "Guy with no toenails, guy missing a finger" The debate went on for a full twenty minutes. . .
Does he wear socks all the time?
Nope, open toed sandles. He has no shame about his missing toenails.
Which finger?
Pointer finger.
Which hand?
Right hand.
Is he left or right handed?
Right handed. And he's a hand talker. It's always waving in your face.
Is it the whole finger?
No, just the top digit. He still uses it to point at stuff all the time.

And just when I was thisclose to choosing the guy with no finger, Jenn M goes. "Wait! Wait!" and then she knuckled over one of her fingers and leaned in and pretended to brush something off my face, mimicking the no finger guy! I squealed like a nine year old girl, "No toenails! No toenails!!"

She however, has a severe fear of feet so she had to choose no finger guy.

So there you have it. Choose Your Hell. The ultimate bordem buster.

Craft is Whack!!

Yes, it's true, I am a craft junkie. It came as quite a surprise to me. I started out flipping through Ann's stuff and then she leaned over one day and said, "Maybe you should stamp. You could make your own cards."

Hmmm, my own cards. So I bought some stamps from Stampin' Up (Ann had a friend, Shelley, who sold Stampin up).

Soon, I was churning out my own Christmas cards. Card after card of shimmery trees and happy hedgehogs, all with a personalized touch.

And then Ann leaned over one day and said, "You should try scrapbooking."

Hmmm. Scrapbooking. I didn't have any scrapworthy photos, I thought. But there was the Come as You Aren't Party and that was a good photo op. I would scrapbook that.

And then I started scrapbooking Portia. Who, quite frankly, is very photogenic.









A couple of months ago, Jengie wanted in on arts and crafts too, so she decided to take up knitting.

Hmmm. Knitting. I could make a scarf!!

Jenge jettisoned it after a week, I am happily knitting away. And I just bought a book to teach me how to crochet.

I'm a CRAFT HO!!

This last couple of months, here is what my chequing account had to say to me:
Latest purchase of stamps - $150.00
Latest purchase of paper - $80.00
Yarn to make cape - $24.00
Yarn because it was 30% off - $25.00
Specialty yarn bought online along with bamboo needles and pattern - $90.00 USD
Yarn because it was pretty and fun to touch - $30.00

It starts off with people lending you stuff, kinda like - Hey the first hit is free! Now, Ann and Shelley is are my dealers. We meet secretely and speak in code: Have you seen the new Basic Grey? I just got Urban Couture, and there's a coupon this week! If you go to Technique Tuesday, you can get acrylics. Scrapshotz is having a sale on MM!! I'm almost out of Crystal Glaze, and pop ups.

I joined an online knitting group and they are feeding my yarn fetish. Yarn stores online I never knew about!! Patterns for things I didn't even know you could make!! They too have a code: DK, Alpaca, Mohair, Yarn Over, Chunky weight.

The craft world is the seedy underbelly of suburbia. Women meeting in out of the way coffee shops to show off their treasures and gab about life. You lie about how much you spend, you lie that the stuff you bought was on sale, you tell your non-crafty friends that it's really an investment, because you'll have it for years. You spend the day thinking about what you will do when you get home. Will it be knitting? Crochet? Scrapping? Stamping? You jones all day long for your next fix!! You go on weekend benders with the girls to ranches in the middle of no where to scrap (yes, such places exist and you have to book ahead 10 months, they are so busy! - But if you need the number - call me!). You proudly parade your creations in front of anyone who will listen (and even those who won't) all the while knowing that while they may appreciate the effort, they do not feel the certain je ne sais quoi about it that you do. They don't realize that this is the last time you can use Basic Grey Black Tie because it has been discontinued, or that your yarn was a steel considering it's mohair.

Sniff. The life of a junkie. No one but your enablers understands you!!

Wake up and smell the anti-reality!

Yes, I watch soap operas, and yes I enjoy them greatly. I love the crazy plot lines, the over the top dialogue and that one great holy grail of it all - soap opera hair! Where else can you see coma patients that look better than you do after an hour of trying to do your hair and makeup? Where else do women wear fashionable short sleeves and tank tops in the middle of winter with outrageous high heels? You couldn't even get into your car with those heels but they wear them to catch serial killers.

So what's my beef? Well, on All My Children, recently, Erica Kane found out that the pregnancy she terminated in the 70's was not terminated. Her embryo was transplanted to another woman and she has a son she never knew about! The Scandal! The Outrage! The fabulous hair tosses!

But the soap opera community is in an UPROAR. When Erica had her abortion in the 70's it was even more taboo than it is today. And she had it because she wanted to be a STAR! And she didn't want to be saddled with a kid! She had dreams!! Ambitions!! And the soap opera fans are complaining because:
1. This apparently takes away from her Womens' lib choice
2. This procedure is not even medically possible
3. TPTB (The Powers that BE) have decided to rewrite history!

Ummmm.. . . Did y'all forget that you are watching a soap? Just off the top of my head, here are some things that the soap opera fans have not been in uproar about in the past. . . (from a bunch of different shows)
1. People who have come back from the dead or presumed-dead: AMC - Tad, Dixie, Zach Slater(although we didn't know him when he was dead, lol), Miranda. ATWT - Holden, James Stenbeck, Paul. GH- Luke, Laura, Lucky, Stavros Cassidine, Helena Cassidine, Carly. OLTL - Todd, Nikki Smith, Cristian, Mitch Lawrence, Victor Lord, Margaret Cochrane. B and B - Taylor (TWICE!!). DAYS - Don't even get me started!!
2. People who have been kidnapped/held hostage/terrorized more than once: AMC - Greenlee, Kendall, Lily, Dixie, Little Adam, Bianca, Miranda, Babe, Brooke, Krystal, Adam, Opal. ATWT - At last count I believe Lily had been kidnapped at least 7 times! OLTL - Nora, Natalie, Evangeline, Marcie, Blair. GH- Carly
3. People who had dramatic face lifts, came back to town and no one recognized them: AMC - Janet Green/Dillon. OLTL - Todd Manning. DAYS - John Black/Roman Brady.
4. Had a doppleganger or secret twin: DAYS - Marlena/Samantha, Marlena/Hattie and Bo/Evil Bo., Kristen DiMera/Susan Blake/Sister Mary/Penelope (Yes there were FOUR of them!). OLTL: Bo and Faux Bo (I kid you not! That's what he was called!), Colin/Troy. ATWT: Lily/Rose. Sunset Beach - Derek/Ben. Santa Barbara - Robert/Quinn. GH - Connor/Nicolas, Lorenzo/Luis. YR - Katherine Chandler/Poor Waitress. AMC - Maggie/Frankie, Stuart/Adam, Anna Devane/Alex Devane. Passions - Grace/Faith
5. Had Amnesia (Curable or Not): GH - Jason Quartermaine. ATWT - Holden Snyder. B and B - Stephanie Forrester. AMC - Tad Martin. DAYS - John Black, Marlena. OLTL - Cristian Vega. Passions - Grace.
6. Slept with someone and later found out they may/maynot be related to you (through DNA): Passions - Chad and Whitney (so far, they are half siblings - ew!). Y and R - Cole and Victoria (verdict - Not related). ATWT - Holden and Lily (verdict - related by marriage and adoption, not by DNA). GH - Lucky and Liz (verdict - related by marriage, not DNA). OLTL - Tina and David (not related, but they still did the deed when they thought they were!).
7. Slept with someone who later turns out is married to/involved with a relative (or slept with someone you knew was married to/involved with a relative): GH - Sam and Sonny. OLTL - Lindsay and Bo. Days - Sami, Austin, Lucas, Carrie. Y and R - Cole, Victoria, Nikki. AMC - Tad the Cad Martin, Liza, Marian. Kendall, Zach, Ethan, Michael.

I could go on and on. . . .
Don't panic, I don't watch all these soaps, but I do keep up to date with my Soap Opera Digest ;)

Clearly, we are not dealing with reality here, people!! If they have to bend the rules of space, time and physics so that I can be mindlessly entertained for an hour (or so), I'm okay with that!! Why aren't you??

Rob Thomas, you rock my world!

Donna and I went to Rob Thomas tonight and it was AWESOME! Thanks to Donna getting pre-notification for tix (because she goes to all those Motley Crue concerts) we had awesome seats, 9th row from the front. We could see the whites of his eyes!

It was a great show. His opening act was Anna Nalick (whose music is available at iTunes) and she was really good. She had a great voice and her music was fabulous and she had on the cutest pair of shoes I have ever seen. You totally need to download her album from iTunes, 'Wreck of the Day.'

And then it was on to Mr. Rob Thomas. He has an amazing voice and it's even better in person than it is on his records. He did alot from his new album, 'Something to Be' and some of his Matchbox Twenty stuff, and even a cover of David Bowie's 'Let's Dance' which totally made me get up outta my seat and shake my bootie, and I'm rather shy about my bootie shaking so you KNOW it was good if I got up and got my groove on. His band was super! And the lights were so great! It was such a good show, totally worth any price. I normally think concerts are a great idea until I get there and it's too loud and there's so many people (They don't call me squirrelly girly for nothin') but I hardly noticed because it was such a terrific show.

I'm running out of adjectives to tell you how much I loved it! Great music, great sound - you could actually make out the lyrics unlike some other concerts where all you hear is 'Whanh whanh whanh - drum solo - whanh whanh whanh.' And my ears are hardly ringing, which is a first for me.

So, Rob Thomas, if you're out there in cyberspace and you happen upon my blog, your show was simply marvy!! THANKS!!

The Perils of being Female. . .

As a woman, I am well aware every day of the dangers that I face. Walk alone late at night? No, thank you! Go to FutureShop to buy a computer? Um, no, not unless I want to walk out the door with a thousand dollars of stuff I don't need and a warranty that will expire a mere two days before my hard drive crashes. Go to the mechanics? Nope. Prefer to wait until the entire thing blows apart in pieces while doing 100 clicks and hour.

But, last night I faced the most treacherous part of being a girl . . .


I was waiting for Grey's Anatomy to come on (which CTV had said was going to be on a 10pm due to the Junos. Fascist liars!!) so I figured I had time for a bath and a quick pedi. After getting the water just right I added my moisturizing bubble bath. As I soaked, I used my moisturizing body scrub and then my moisturizing foot rub (I live in Calgary, okay! It's very dry here!). About 15 minutes into my Calgon moment, Jenge yelled upstairs that Grey's Anatomy was on and I was missing it! Stupid CTV didn't stick to their schedule! I have a very firm bedtime of 10 pm (due to my tendancy to fall asleep in my car) which I had decided to forgo, but if there was a chance I could still make it, I knew I had to hustle.

And then came the dangerous part. . .

Trying to haul my very soapy body and soapy feet out of a tub full of moisturizing product. I nearly died!! I could have been killed!! Thank GOD for the handle on the wall of my tub. Seriously! I need a valet to help me out in times like this!! There was sloshing and a heart stopping moment when I nearly lost it, but I prevailed, upright and unscathed.

I get the chills just thinkin' about. It's dangerous work being a girly girl. NOT for the faint of heart!

'Sucks' to be you!

So I write fiction in my spare time (although I haven't put anything to paper in 2 years! I'm working on a lot of if in my head). So, consequently, I have a lot of kooky stuff rattling around in my noodle. New characters, new plotlines, snappy dialogue . . . Prolly explains why I have so many weird dreams. But I digress . . . I am going to be introducing a new character into my coven of witches (the central group of my current story). His name is Sebastian (or Baz, as I like to call him). Sebastian is a vampire (you had to see that one coming, I mean I write about witches for crying out loud). But thinking about Sebastian, where he comes from, what he does, got me thinking.

If you're a vampire, following the traditional rules of fiction, summertime SUCKS for you! (Oh the PUN!)

I mean, you have, what, maybe 6 hours of darkness at best?? How does one rule a large conglomarate of vampires, run a business and do his grocery shopping all within 6 hrs of darkness in the summer?? Impossible!! (Although some of you may think that the whole idea of a vampire is impossible, to me, it's just another literary device to get my story told)

Lucky for me, I am god in this crazy universe so I can bend the rules. This time, I've simply changed the rules. Baz and his hoard of vampires simply prefer the night, but can be out and about during the day. Much like us mortals who can be out in either day or night but have made a choice to make daytime our preference, Baz and the vamps prefer the night. The ultimate night owls, or bats, as the case may be.

Even though I have outrageos plotlines and insane twists in my stories, I'm a practical girl at heart. My characters are frequently seen in the grocery store buying milk or grousing that they have no clean socks because with all the running around killing people and stealing sacred artifacts, laundry day fell to the wayside. They stop to eat, they bitch about waiting for public transit, they spill spaghetti sauce on their shirt at lunch and have to go the whole day with a large marinara stain on their shirt, despite the fact that they are the most powerful people in the world. I think it adds a sense of quirkiness that you could burn an entire forest down with the snap of your fingers or shapeshift into a bird, but spill your latte in your car, and you've got to get it to the car wash before the milk goes bad. Or the whole things will smell, despite the fact that you are one of the most powerful creatures in the universe.

Why has no one else addressed this in previous vampire novels? Why does no one make mention of the fact that you have 6 hrs to get all your pillaging done before you get all crispy? It irks me when published writers don't address what I consider to be serious plot holes. Is it winter all the time? Do they live in the North Pole? (Discussing this with my chiropractor, he said that if he were a vampire, he would live half the year in the north pole, half in the south pole, that way he could go out whenever he felt like it!). Do vampires get shack-wacky in the summer? Suffer a form of Seasonal Affective Disorder because they are trapped inside for most of the season? (Wait a minute - this could be a whole other book!)

Does anyone care but me??

Anarchist Catholic

Used to be, if someone like me was going on and on about issues they had with the Catholic Church, they would fit me for a nice oak backbone before they burned me at the stake. Now, they can't even be bothered to know who I am long enough to excommunicate me.

It's not that I'm not religous, or don't believe in the Big Guy. I just have a real problem with his adminstration. I mean, I don't get to choose who my pope is. I don't get to choose my representatives. The Vatican is not a democratic state! So I'm left to trust that the leader of my faith is appropriately chosen by some really old, right wing guys in funny hats who don't seem to know what is going on the world today. Guys who still think that a woman's best place is either a: by her husbands side churning out hoardes of Catholic kids or b: wearing a habit dedicating her life to the Guy Upstairs.

And we're all waiting for the second coming, but let's be honest, if Jesus did come back, we'd probably look him up in an insane asylum because we wouldn't believe him.

Like I said, I believe. I pray. St. Anthony (patron saint of lost stuff) has never let me down! But it's the organized in organized religion that I have a problem with. Where do these guys get their decisions from? It's not like they have a special red phone in the Vatican that links them directly to God, like Commissioner Gordon had for Batman. And the truth is, alot of our cornerstones are choices that were made for political and financial reasons in days gone by but now we're stuck with them. No marriages for priests? - Financial decision by the Church so that they would not lose incomes to any potentials heirs that may arise from the union. No women in the higher echelons of the Church? - Well I don't recall that being in the Bible (although I may be wrong). That's because we have traditionally lived in a patriarchal society.

I mean, the used to make you pay for forgiveness for crying out loud. If you had a government like this, you would be outraged!! Forming underground movements! Calling on other leaders to pressure your government for change!

But you're Catholic, so you sit down quiety and feel guilty about it.

So, what's a girl who wants to believe to do? Overthrow the administration? Form an anarchist Catholic state? The other uber-catholics would most likely be the ones to burn me at the stake then (or send me hate mail - What is with that? The ones who claim to be most religious always end up to be whack jobs. - God save me from religious zealots!), but I still doubt that Benedict XVI would even know or care who I am.

So I put my faith in the Big Guy upstairs and hope that when I finally do croak, St. Peter doesn't meet me at the gates and inform me there is a GOD-Phone identical to the Batphone and God has been phonings his decisions in (or voting by proxy) for the last couple hundred years.