A Little Perspective

Some days it's hard to get out of bed. It just feels like the whole world is crashing down around you and you just don't want it anymore. Today was one of those days.

I would have called in sick, except I had an important meeting. So I dragged myself out of bed, hopped on my bike and plodded through the rain to my job. As I was locking up, a man walked out of the building, albeit with some difficulty. He had a cane and a prosthetic leg.

Seeing him really helped me gain perspective on my own problems. While I lie paralyzed on the couch dreading the bike to work, this man wakes up, puts on his pants (one leg at a time, evidently) and he would probably give anything to just ride a bike.

I am truly blessed. As hard as things get, I still have so much to be grateful for. I will do my best not to lose sight of that.

FOUND!

So immediately after writing that blog post, I found Hershey!

Someone had (accidentally?) locked him in the downstairs bathroom that no one ever uses. Well, no one except him apparently. MAN does it stink in there!

Trouble

Hershey, one of my ferrets, has decided to go AWOL. We're now nearing the 24 hour mark.

This is not the first time this has happened. The basement here is a ferret's dream, with a million places he could hide (even under the floorboards). This means a search party is effectively useless.

Now he's not a hamster: he doesn't try to run away, or have a death wish. Hershey would never intentionally hide from me. The trouble is, he is a ferret. He sleeps 18 hours a day, and is nearly impossible to wake up. It's not so much sleep as a light coma.

At this point though, I AM worried. He should have turned up by now. Unfortunately, due to the reasons mentioned above, there is very little I can do. Someone needs to invent a ferret whistle.

God I hate hamsters.

And Knowing is Half the Battle

I've just learned via The Bloggess that dolphins masturbate. And now, so have you.

This begs the question: how?

Do they rub up against other dolphins? That wouldn't so much be masturbating as second base...

Maybe Flipper just kind of cuddles up to the sea bed and goes to town. Not unlike how my mom's cat used to make frantic, passionless love to my pillow.

I would probe further into this, but frankly the thought of googling "dolphin" and "masturbate" gives me chills.

...

Ok I did it. The things I do for you, Reader.

Apparently it's not uncommon for dolphins to try raping unsuspecting swimmers. Yes, I said raping. It would seem that some dolphins enjoy using people as sex toys.

Now my mind has gone to a(n even) dark(er) place: I remember all those stories about sailors lost at sea... "Look! It's dolphins! They've come to save us!"

I need to step away from the Internet now. It's not safe.

Familiarity

Today I had brunch with my mom and sister. Savvy son/brother that I am, I decided to sneak a quick bite in before leaving.

Why? Well first off my sister is allergic to everything. Basically, if you can find it in a store that doesn't have "co-op" or "nature" in the name, she can't eat it.

Darwin says let her go.

Add to this the fact that my mother is convinced that corporations are trying to melt our insides through clever manipulation of our food. If it doesn't say 'organic' it will probably kill you in a most horrific and undignified way. Upon her arrival, she brought me no less than three new vitamin bottles including "vitamin D with sea-iodine" and "vitamin C with... wait for it... dihydroquercetin". And 'da hell are "synergistic antioxidants"?

My mother is the kind of person who reads the dosage on vitamins like she's doubling a recipe.

As you can imagine, this makes finding a restaurant a monumental task.

And you know what? I love 'em. Yes, they're strange and they're difficult but they're mine.

Don't Mess!

Today I was buying razors. At my local pharmacy, when you open up the razor compartment, there's an alarm that sounds, almost like they're just DARING you to shoplift. It always makes me feel guilty, like I've been caught touching the art. Add to this that I love to spend my days off buried in my sketchy black hoodie, and I just know that one of these days some zealous security guard is going to taze me.

I made my way to the cash and just as my business was concluded, I turned, as I tend to do, toward the exit. Little did I know that a fragile wisp of a woman had positioned herself directly behind me. Evidently, my casual turn carried enough momentum to send her fragile form flying.

Thankfully she kept her footing, in large part thanks to her walker (I know, I'm terrible). Thoroughly embarrassed, I helped her with her groceries and made my undignified exit.

I think next time I'll just grow a beard.

Benchmarks!

Today is a glorious day!

Not only does this blog now have an 'older posts' link (that's right, be jealous) but now we have two, count em, TWO followers!

We did it Reader! Or should I say Readers. Oh I like how that sounds.

By my calculations, if we continue growing at this pace (doubling every two weeks) we'll have roughly 6.7 billion followers by this time next year.

Mission Accomplished.

God's Wrath

Yesterday, it finally happened. I joined the madness that is Twitter. I lost my twirginity, my cyber twerry. My productivity may never recover.

I swear, I did it for the most noble of reasons: my friend is doing the ride to conquer cancer this weekend, and she promised to update us all via Twitter.

So I decided to dive right in with my first tweet. The gravity of the situation strangely disconnected from the juvenile subject matter:

"I'm alone in the office, so why am I still trying to muffle the sound of my farts?"

Evidently, the gods were dissatisfied with my offering. Shortly thereafter the whole building started to shake; it was an earthquake. A fucking earthquake.

Deigning to forgo subtlety, the universe had sent me a clear warning: I was meddling with forces beyond my comprehension.

Tread carefully, mortal.

Ode to the Awesome

The other day my roommates and I were watching the Matrix (yes, it is still awesome) and as the credits started to roll I saw a name I recognized: Joel Silver, the producer.

After racking my brain for a few moments (I was now in the bathroom at this point) I suddenly remembered where I'd heard the name before... Joel Silver, the inventor of fucking Ultimate Frisbee!

My shouts of elation coming from the bathroom were no doubt unsettling to my roommates, but there was no time to worry about that.

I wiki'd him (no I don't bring my laptop to the toilet) and yes, it is the same guy. Among his other notable accomplishments are Lethal Weapon and Die Hard. This guy just makes wins.

So really, if you remember our earlier discussion about the origins of the frisbee, even the Matrix was brought to you by pie.

It's MY party and I'll cry if I want to!

For a long time, I have struggled with anxiety and depression. This seems to be a more and more common experience, if the number of prescribed anti-depressants is any indication. I don't take drugs (anymore). Not saying I'm against them - some people legitimately need to be medicated - but I believe they are vastly over-prescribed. I know in my case, I wasn't allowed out of the depression ward until I had gone through several rounds of medication to "see which one worked."

The truth is, there is no magical pill for happiness. It's too easy to merely assume that there's something wrong with the chemicals in your brain. Maybe that's the case for some, but for the vast majority of people you can make profound changes in your mood with changes in your lifestyle. All it takes is the will to change. And maybe a good push from someone that loves you.

If I make it sound easy, know that that is not my intention. It is extremely difficult to change your life. Doubly so with clawing your way out of depression.

The truly insidious thing about depression is the way it grips your reality. It makes you feel like you've always been unhappy, and you always will be. You get tricked into thinking all those times you WERE happy you were just lying to yourself, pretending. You feel hopeless. What's the point in going forward if you're physically incapable of squeezing even a shred of enjoyment out of life?

Know that it passes. Also know that feelings of despair are part and parcel of the human experience. One of the worst things you can do is allow yourself to fall into that spiral of believing that you've always felt like this. You haven't. Understand that just because you feel sad right now, it doesn't mean there's something wrong with you

It's okay to feel sad when sad things happen. Allow yourself to be human. Realize that this feeling will pass and that you will come out the other side a little bit stronger.

You will be happy again. It may even surprise you when it happens... you might wake up one morning and things will be okay again. Maybe you'll feel the sun on your face and realize just what a beautiful world we live in, and how blessed we are to be a part of it.

Go be a part of it!

It Begins!

The other day I stepped out of the shower and discovered, much to my chagrin, that I have sprouted my first back hairs.

Not unlike my first bout of "backne" (thank gawd that didn't last!), this was an unwelcome sight. All I could think was "It's too soon!"

It's funny, when you first start growing facial hair you're all like "yeah! I have to shave!" and you get to grow a (really awful) play-off beard. You start shaving every day despite the fact that it takes you a month to grow less hair than a baby peach.

Then once the novelty wears off, and it will, it becomes "I have to shave? Again?!"

Thus far I've really only achieved adulthood by virtue of a technicality: being twenty-four. I still get carded sometimes, which is not particularly flattering, being that the drinking age is 19 here. Especially when I go to Quebec where the drinking age is puberty.

This latest benchmark means that I'm entering that stage where I'm old enough for yearly prostate exams, but not yet old enough to get away with being crotchety.

I'm looking forward to crotchety.

Repent!

So today I'm watching the world cup and I finally understand what people are talking about with those vuvuzela horns: they sound like a swarm of locusts about to descend.

Now it's half time. After 45 minutes of play, Ghana has three shots on net; Australia has two. This is why this sport hasn't caught on in North America: we just don't have that kind of attention span.

Also this is just awesome. It's time to pack it in when even soccer hooligans won't drink your beer.

Did You Know?

Of the many contributions pie has made to society, this has to be the best:

The inventor of the first Frisbee was inspired by throwing around a pie plate with his wife at the beach. Of course he didn't call it a Frisbee, it was originally named the Pluto Platter.

In 1957 he sold the rights to the Wham-O company, who renamed it the Frisbee. Why? Because of the New England based Frisbie Pie Company and, we've been over this, pies are fucking awesome.

Man it feels good to drop the F-bomb. I bet you liked it too. It's okay, you can tell me.

Reason #9 why pie is superior to cake: You don't need to put icing on pie to get us to eat it! Zing!

Remember when Marie Antoinette said 'Let them eat cake'? They cut her fucking head off!

Viva la Revolucion!

So tonight I heard an unholy noise coming from the basement. It was violent and vaguely mechanical, like two robots either locked in mortal combat or fornicating furiously.

After a few moments spent picking out appropriate names for my new robot pets (Clanko and Mecha-Marty), I went downstairs to investigate and was relieved/disappointed to discover that it was just the washing machine pleading for a merciful death.

The machine had been shaking so violently it had ripped the front panel clean off. I looked inside to see all the gears and wires and watched the washing compartment desperately making a bid for freedom. Unable to bear it's continued suffering, I lifted the lid to end the madness.

I guess I'd never actually considered how complicated some of our appliances are. I was half expecting to see the washer elves stumbling out, rubbing their eyes and blinking in the light. Then I thought, if there are elves where will they go? Who will look after them? What are good elf names?

At this point I began to grow concerned. It was simply too much of a coincidence that my toaster AND my washing machine would self-destruct in the same week.

There was only one logical explanation:

The elves were rising up against me.

By failing to rinse my dishes before loading them into the dishwasher, I had unknowingly fomented the seeds of Revolution. Now the elves were organized, and they were pissed.

Now it's late and I'm hungry but I dare not open my fridge for fear of an ambush.

In the unlikely event that I survive the night, more Pie tomorrow!

Free of Charge

Did you think I would be handing out valuable life lessons on just my third post? Well, Reader, that's just how much I care.

But I'm not going to make it that easy for you. Buried in this blog post is one piece of good advice, and one horrible suggestion that will leave you with a sore face.

Try to guess which is which! I think you'll be pleasantly surprised.

I told a friend yesterday that I had started a practice blog and his immediate, no hesitation reaction was that there are 300 million bloggers out there and I should "manage my expectations."

This is why you shouldn't tell people about your goals. (That sounds like advice doesn't it? I'll never tell...) People will almost inevitably project their own doubts onto you, and you know what? I'm full up on doubt; I don't need anyone else's.

The people who get anywhere in life are the one's who dare to dream and who work their asses off to make it into a reality. I know the odds are against me, but I also know that the vast majority of people think just like my friend there, and they will give up too soon and too easily. Not me.

Also, rocks are delicious.

Practice Makes Perfect (apparently it's Cliche Tuesday at BTYBP!)

For those of you not in the know, this is a practice blog.

I'm glad you asked. A practice blog is somewhere I can practice my writing before I dive in to my real blog and actually try. I figure if I can't make a blog about nonsense and update it every day, then I'm not ready for the real world of blogging.

So this blog is special in that I will be doing no shameless self-promoting. It's even more special in that I have total creative freedom. That means that you, dear Reader (I have faith you exist) are likely the only one of your kind. And that makes you special, and not in the helmet and crayons sort of way.

In exchange for your loyal readership, you shall be my confidante. I will share with you things I wouldn't tell my own mother. Unless you are my mother, in which case, not cool Mom!

Spoiler Alert:

Tomorrow's forecast calls for a high chance of pie.

Fresh from the Oven!

My favourite* pies in order of preference: pumpkin.

Seriously, why did they keep making pies after that? You can't make a better pie, don't even try. Greater minds than you and I have been broken in the attempt. Lemon meringue? The hell is that?

Contrary to popular belief, meat pie (or tortiere for the French/pretentious/preFrenchous among you) is NOT pie. It is an abomination and eating it is Sin.

So yes, this is my first blog post ever. Years from now (months?) when I'm an Internet celebrity (complete with twitter account, fan pages and fake nude photos), these will be immortalized as the first words I ever wrote. This is where it all started.

*you got me, I'm Canadian. And that IS the correct spelling. If you give me sass over "neighbour" or "centre" I will find you and I will unmake you.