LOL BRB

I like to think there are only two ways to live your life; as if nothing is a dance party, or as if every day is a dance party. Dancing in the shower is the only proper way to start a day. I guess that it would only stand to reason that my favourite part of the season is the music. I love Christmas carols! As of December first, my iPod is crammed full of Bing Crosby and Frosty the Snowman.

My absolute favourite songs are the hymns, and I think that would surprise most people. I was raised Catholic, but due to some inconsolable differences of opinions with organized religion I don’t think it is fair to still call myself one anymore.

To clarify, let’s go over a few FAQ’s.

Am I religious?
Absolutely. I think if I didn’t believe in a higher power I would drive myself crazy. There is to much grace, so much wonder and beauty in the universe as we know it to think it could all be left up to chance. The more we as a species learn about the world around us, the more awestruck I become, and all the more reasons I have to praise the higher powers that be.

Am I still a Catholic?
Nah, I can’t say that I am. I am a pro-choice, pro-legalization bisexual. The church and I will just have to agree to disagree. As I said, I was raised Catholic, and many of my beliefs stem from it. Rather, they were by Christianity in general. I attended a Christian character club at a Baptist church on Fridays as a teen. I started distancing myself from church immediately after my confirmation into the Catholic church, but it took me a long time to realize why. I wasn’t sure at the time what I was supposed to stand for or what I supported, but I knew that there was something about being in a church that felt wrong.

It was the negativity, really. Have you ever heard of Catholic guilt? Essentially, it is the mentality that each and every decision you make is a horrible one because you are a sinner and evil and wrong. Or, at least that’s what it felt like to me. Repent! Repent! Repent! I felt like I was unworthy of God’s love because I could not be perfect.

I’d rather think about God in a merciful light. Would you forgive an ant for stealing from another ant? Of course you would. The insignificant lives of such insignificant creatures means so little to you in the grand scheme of things, it would be a waste of energy to harbour ill will. If you wouldn’t forgive the ant, you’re kind of a jerk and should stop reading my blog. The ten commandments and the seven deadly sins are not stone cold requirements for His love, they are guidelines for being a decent human being and making peace with those around you. If you have kindness and forgiveness in your heart, I like to think He will too.

Do I believe in Jesus Christ?
Well yeah, in a fashion. I think like any great story, there is bound to be exaggeration. Hypothetically, could a man’s daily catch shared among a group not turn out to sound something along the lines of feeding fifty men with just one fish? I’m not sure how much of it is accurate, but I think that there was once a great man who understood God much better than you or I and made his life into spreading the word. There must be at least a mustard seed of truth in there somewhere. Really, I think that what he was spreading is a message of love and acceptance. Doesn’t that seem weird now? For as intolerant as the church can be at times, it was founded out of love and kindness.

So why hymns, you ask? Because regardless of petty squabbles or differences of opinion, we are all human. We are all brothers and sisters in that we are all God’s children. If nothing else, Christmas is a time of year to spread good will toward your fellow man. Showing your love to your family and friends is important, yes. Equally important, though, is to show love toward anyone and everyone who needs it. I don’t believe in charity. I don’t like the connotation that I’m giving a handout to someone, whether they need it or not. I like to think of it as sharing the wealth. I am fairly well off, I’m living comfortably, but there are so many people out there less fortunate.

In a lot of ways, the sharing has been of time. Not everyone has that Norman Rockwell family that they are going to get to go home to for the holidays, and in virtually all cases, it isn’t where they want to be. My heart goes out to everyone out there who isn’t on pins and needles waiting for Christmas morning. I’ve made my goal of December to instil as many people as I can with the spirit of the season, and I’d like to think its working. If one person having a blue Christmas smiles at me, I’ve had a good day.  That’s why I love the hymns so much. I feel closer to my version of God, and because of that, I feel closer to everyone around me. Christmas is the time to love.

This is why I’m going to have to go on a brief hiatus for December. I should have posted this sooner, but I’ve just been so busy. I’ll be back some time in January, so hopefully I can make it up to my readers with this overexposure into my life.

Fandom Surprise.

Thanks to Nick, I am now aware of the fact that Bruce Campbell is in Burn Notice. Why I didn't know already is beyond me. Now I have a lot of catching up to do.

What a silver fox, ladies and gentlemen. Also, Evil Dead remake? Still not excited. More like... cautiously optimistic.

Adultlescence: Dare to be Stupid

The other night, I went to a Zumba class with about a dozen of my employees. The whole shebang is being paid for by OUR boss, who is a wonderfully generous man, as a kick-off to the new 'Plan for Wellness' program that he has developed to keep his employees happy and healthy. Let me say again, this is out of his own pocket. This is money he could use for whatever he wanted, but he's chosen to invest in his crew. I've been so excited for this event, but it has been almost a trial to get the rest of the store on board. The thing about taking a group of inexperienced kids to a dance aerobics class for the first time is simple. No one knows what they're doing and everyone is afraid to look like an asshole.

Does that sound ridiculous to anyone but me? We aren't invited to go to this event to present a choreographed masterpiece, we're there to have a good time and get some exercise. But I guess I can understand why they feel the way they do. Doing anything for the first time will always be at least a little scary.

Does anyone else remember Weird Al Yankovic? He did a bunch of ridiculous music parodies in the 80's and 90's including Dare to be Stupid. Can you guess what the song is about by its title? We take ourselves way too seriously, my friends. Why do we walk around with our heads held high like we don't fall down sometimes too? Like our you-know-whats don't stink. It isn't how many times we fall down to pick ourselves up, it is all about how hard we get to laugh at ourselves for falling down to begin with. There are few talents that I admire more in others than their ability to laugh at their mistakes.

Every one of my employees who came out (except for one certain Mauly girl who was amped before she got into the building. ) had that same initial look of uncertainty in their eyes while we waited for the class to start. No one really knew what was going to happen, no one knew what they were expected to do.To be honest, I didn't care for it too much either, but we all know how much I like to be in control.

The only way to keep them to worry about how much of an idiot they probably looked like, my boss, my champions and I took it upon ourselves to out-stupid anyone who was having those feelings. We ran around and cheered and tried to keep everyone focused on us and away from worrying about themselves.

Needless to say, it worked. By the time the class was into its second song, no one cared if they didn't know the moves and certainly didn't care that anyone else around them didn't. It was a wonderful time and I'm excited to see this program flourish.

But why does it even matter? I've always been a bit of a screw up, but I like to think I can laugh at myself. Have you seen my smile? That would be the best example I can give you. As much as I would like to have a perfect, pretty smile, I like to think of my gap tooth as being a badge of honour. I did something stupid one night and I will (hopefully not for much longer) sport my crooked teeth with a smile.

It isn't even about being afraid to be foolish, or be thought of as odd, or anything else that has your mind tied up and holds you back from doing something ridiculous for a change. Dare to be yourself, dare to be different. Don't Forget To Be Awesome.

One Follows, One Leads.

Not to toot my own horn, but I'm pretty fantastic. Apparently.

Today, an employee and friend posted a link to his brand new blog on Facebook. First post, first blog! Good for him! I left a reply to the link, welcoming him to the blogosphere, and got a response I wasn't expecting. Can you believe that I, me, moi, inspired him to start a blog of his own? this is exactly what I wanted this space to accomplish. I made one person decide to create something of their own. One more Adultlescent is speaking up and making us heard.

The other day, I was linked to this video. I don't know if Ze, the creator, really counts as an Adultlescent anymore, but I think he really captures the message quite well. not only in this video, but in all of them. Check them out! At one point in the vlog (video blog, Dad.) he talks about becoming culturally irrelevant. As he gets older, he is growing further and further from the world 'optimized for the young'. This must be a scary concept for him. It scares me too. I have a short time span where my ideas are "young" and "fresh" before I just become another hack would-be writer in her late thirties who has done nothing worthwhile. The thing that really grabbed me, though, wasn't Ze explaining the fear of growing old, but this one comment I saw floating below the video. It was a single sentence and it summed up this entire project beautifully.

"I'm 23 and I'm scared of never ever being culturally relevant at all." - aloneinkyoto000

This over anything is my biggest worry. I may never make it big, I'm totally fine with that. I'm scared that none of my ideas are actually worth squat in the real world. That I am just a peon for the real 'grown-ups' and some day I'll do the same thing to the up and coming kids of the next generation. This is why I don't want to create in this space. I NEED to. If all we do is consume and never create, we've stopped growing. Each and every one of us has the ability to create, but we're so busy with our big girl lives that we don't.

That's why it makes me so happy that Nick has chosen to blog as well. His blog only has the one post as of yet, but in it you can see him so perfectly. It makes me so happy. You can read his blog here. (Keep writing, Nick! Have fun with it!)

Another interesting little notion in my blogger life: I have a follower now. I'm pretty sure I know who she is, a friend of a friend of a friend of mine that I've only met a handful of times. That made my heart (and ego) swell so much that someone is so interested in my thoughts. That just means that there is at least one other person out there who agrees with me and wants to hear what I have to say. That's so fantastic! It is an honour.

But for the next few days, I'm sorry to anyone who has to listen to me rave about my internet fame. My over-inflated ego needs to be taken down a notch.

Isn't She Lovely

It really astounds me how much hate there is in the world today when each and every one of us was created out of love. Two people loved each other, for years, or for hours (or possibly just minutes), and here we are to celebrate that.

Excerpt: Oh the Places You will Go

His eyes gazed upwards as they always did on nights as clear as this. It looked like any other star on the canvas of night sky, but he knew it was Earth. He'd always loved that comparison. The night sky was a large blue-black blanket that tucked the planets into sleep and the stars were like tiny picks and pinholes in the fabric that let the night light shine through and keep away the monsters. As he looked up at it, he tried to feel the distance. it was impossible. It was beyond his reach, beyond the distance his feet could cover or would ever in his lifetime. Even the shuttle that brought him here from there could not give the span any definition. From the transparent aluminum windows for hours and hours, the only indication of movement was the growing and shrinking of worlds. It just didn't feel real. The iridescent blue speck was, for all intents and purposes, accessible but not in the least attainable.

There was just something about light travel that was still too unfathomable for Henry to entirely believe. It was all just some clever trick of the government. Smoke and mirrors. Even if it were true (and he had all of the evidence to prove it was) it would never be enough. There was always something beyond and beyond and beyond. He wanted to see it all. He wanted to go and do and touch and taste. It would never be enough.

From the imagination of Ray Bradbury and into his textbooks, space travel had become real and was steadily becoming more real every year. Some day, he smiled wistfully to himself, I will dip m feet in the warm waters of Venus. I will scream into the yawning eye of the great raging storm on Jupiter and i will conquer all fears. I will dance on Pluto while it waltzes on the brink with its moon. I will seduce Andromida and make her my wife. It is only a matter of time.

He stubbed out his cigarette and flipped the still-smouldering butt into the gutter. The only way to make any of these things a reality would be to ace his final exams and it was already crunch time. He clicked the lock behind him as he returned inside to his dorm. At his desk he shuffled through mountains of loose pages with no discernible organization. Peeking out near the bottom of the stack was the colourful corner of a children's book Henry had received as a gift from his family's nanny the day he left for Mars. He chuckled to himself when the bright colours caught his attention and wiggled the thin hardcover out from the mess.

It had seemed like such a cliche at the time. it was an ancient story written long ago, and would have likely gone out of print centuries ago if it weren't for nannies and grannies and distant relatives shucking the nonsense onto graduates.

"Oh the places I'll go" He said aloud, if only to himself. maybe that old cow wasn't so bad after all.

Remember Remember the 5th of November. I Mean the 11th.

As long as we have the right to stand proud as free people, there will never be peace. That is the greatest misfortune of eating from the Tree of Knowledge. Our individuality will constantly set up barriers between you and I. But this is our duty, now. We puff out our chests and we stand for what we as individuals believe is right. No, not what we believe. What we know to be right and true, even if it is only true for some, or even for one. Reality is largely subjective and I am the optimistic little girl who still believes reality can be gentle and forgiving and merciful.

This isn't true for all of us. It can't be true. Not even for Canadians as a whole, who are celebrated as being the peacekeepers. Looking around at the hundreds of faces in the crowd today at the ceremony, I could see countless men and women in their fancy pressed uniforms, military, RCMP, police officers, all who must every day push aside the nagging question "Is this the day I will die in service of my country?" It isn't the land and sea and trees that they are fighting to protect, it is you and I and our decisions as free Canadian citizens that they are fighting for.

I will continue to be a pacifist. I will fight every battle I can with my words than my fists. I will forever disagree with brute force to accomplish political agendas, but because of those same military forces, I am free to express it. My life as I know it will be eternally in debt to those men and women who laid down their lives so that we all can live in a brighter world. I can forgive our old enemies from decades ago, but that will never be able to take away from my gratitude to those of us who apposed them. Lest we forget.

Adultlescence: Let Me Explain

In Canada, it always feels like it's cold. Even in the summer, there is a cold breeze as the sun goes down that reminds you that winter is always just around the corner. It is with that same kind of chilled autumn feeling that I see adulthood with. I don't know how or why, but my thoughts and feelings for the future have faded from an effervescent bauble of science fiction joy into this dirty, grey-brown mud of responsibility and safe choices. Some days I need to remind myself that my life isn't ending, that it's just beginning.

That is why I need to write this, my think. Some days, after a long day of being a grown up making grown up decisions, I come home and my apartment is so cold. Its cold in the way that adulthood is cold. I don't consider myself a pessimist, but on days when my finger tips are tingling and two sweaters doesn't seem like enough, I have such a hard time trying to be a reckless, naive child. The summer is over and now I must prepare for the long winter ahead.

But that's not true at all! I still get to dance around my house with the radio blaring. I still get to play my video games for hours at a a time. I still get to have fun. That is the hardest thing I need to understand about growing up. I don't have to be serious and responsible all the time. I don't really have to be anything at any time. Being an adult is whatever I want it to be! (Check out this webcomic to see what I mean). My parents laid down a solid foundation in my formative years, but I don't have to answer to anyone anymore. Well, that's not true. There's still the government, the police, my bosses... okay, there's a lot of people who I need to answer to, but I am nobody's charge. My piles of responsibilities that I oh so often complain about are all my own. I don't have to do anything I don't want to.




I named my blog "May Again" because of the phonetic pronunciation of my name. I am not MEE-gan, I'm not MAH-gan. I explain it like this: Another year goes by, and it is MAY again. Maygan. Megan. Get it? I just really hate it when people call me MEEgan, I think it's ugly. I started writing it as an exercise to keep me writing. before I started keeping this blog, I was working on a novel that outgrew me. I couldn't write about anything else except this one story, so when I was at a wall in the plot, all productivity shut down. Keeping a blog meant I had a place to shunt auxiliary ideas without taking away from my novel. (Which I've given up on. It needs a total re-write.)

I've started a project here on my blog that I call "Adultlescence". Basically, it is a look at my life, and the lives of the people close to me, and how growing up hasn't been at all what we were expecting. We don't have the awesome jobs we thought we'd have, we don't have the super cool apartments with a ball pit and an arcade like we were expecting when we were kids. There aren't any Disney romances, and the nobody cares about your problems as much as you do. (Except maybe your mom)

'Tweens' get their own demographic, and for some reason that bothers me. I can only assume its because I am jealous that we 20-somethings don't. We aren't teenagers anymore, and hardly anyone considers us 'adult'. So what are we? I've heard 'Students' a fair bit (as in: apartment for rent, no students) but that hasn't fit for me for as long as the word 'teenager' has been inaccurate. I've also been called a 'young professional' but what the fuck does that mean? I mean beyond the fact that I have a job, how can that be a title? I wouldn't call my employer an 'elderly professional' and it would be offensive to do so. "Adultlesence" is an attempt to qualify this feeling of homelessness. Or really, it is to attempt to give a voice to a demographic that goes largely unheard.

I'm glad I picked "May Again" for my blog title, even if it was a little at random at the time. I like it because some days, when it is cold, it reminds me to be optimistic. The nights are longer, the sky is pearly grey instead of blue, but all it takes is patience and perspective. Nothing is dark forever. The snow will melt eventually, and soon we can all pull out our shorts and sleeveless tops again, even if the air still has a bite to it and our skin turns into goosebumps. I just need to keep reminding myself it'll be May again.

Halloween poem

Inspiration has been sparse lately. I wrote this walking to my Doog's house one day last month and I wasn't planning on posting it. As you can tell, I'm not a poet.

You poor October tree.
Withered and dry, your vitality
Stolen, once so tall and strong,
Brittle.
Tightened.
Once reaching up now recoiling.
Shivering against the cold.
Shrinking back,
Crying and creaking its tired bones.

Short Story - Haunting and Celebration

Ladies and Gentlemen! Nanowrimo is here and I haven't done a thing for it. I was looking forward to it for so long, but here it is, November 4th, and I haven't even begun. I haven't built a plot line, I haven't designed a main character, I haven't done anything. Maybe this year just isn't going to happen. Or maybe I've just become so preoccupied with blogging about women's rights that I haven't had much time to think of much else. Most likely, I am making excuses for myself and I'm just incredibly lazy.

In any case, in honour of all of the true writers out there, I'm posting my rejected short story for Asimov's Science Fiction for you all to enjoy. But let me warn you, it is a piece of work that is entirely self-gratifying and has very little literal value. But if you were a Bradbury fan, you may like it.

Adultlescence: Let This be a Lesson to You.

Every weekday, at precisely 12:20pm, the kids from a nearby junior high school flood my restaurant like a plague. They aren't bad kids at heart. Not really. Their hour out of class for lunch is their first taste of unsupervised freedom and they don't know how to handle it yet. They yell and throw things and make a mess because no one is there to tell them not to. Sure, we have our own management hierarchy in the store, but what 12 year old is impressed by a polyester tie?

I must seem absolutely ridiculous to them. Which is fair. But little boy, when I am telling you off for grabbing a girl your age and holding her against her will, I am not scolding you as an authority figure. I am yelling at you as one pissed off person to another who has done something wrong. I don't care who you are, how old you are, who your parents are, or what colour your skin is. I am not going to stand idly by and watch a girl be physically harrassed.

"It was just a joke. We're just playing." he says to me. Oh? And what part of this is funny? No, dear child, this is no joke. What this little boy is doing is teaching this girl why it is right to be afraid. She is obviously unable to get free of him, but he is a friend, right? He wouldn't really hurt her, right? All of her friends are looking at them and laughing. Yeah, maybe it is scary, but maybe she's just being sensitive. She shouldn't cause a scene. She shouldn't speak up or tell him no. Everyone is just having a good time. She should just play along. Ha ha ha.

Maybe I'm reading too much into this. Maybe I'm projecting my own feelings on two completely innocent children. What what if I'm right, though? What if that little girl was afraid and needed someone to speak up for her because she felt like she couldn't?

Does that seem like a big deal to you? Two kids 'playing' in the lobby. Would you have said anything? Or would you have let kids be kids? This aggressive behavior toward women isn't something that boys are born with, it is something they learn from watching adults. (Hey, that's us!)

Men, sure, I can't hold it against you that you are the way you are. Girls are no better. In some ways we're worse, but that is a long-winded discussion for another day. You are who you are, and I don't expect you to change because a girl on the internet told you to. Just for a second, put yourself in that girl's father's shoes. Is that how you would want your daughter to be treated? Your sister? Your mother, bless that saint? And what if you are partially to blame for it happening? Monkey see, monkey do, and these little monkeys need a proper example set for them.

In my last post, I tried to call out my fellow ladies to stand up for themselves and each other, but men, this is for you. We can't do it alone. It is one thing for me to stand up to some school bully, and I can only hope it is a start in many steps that boy needs to take to understand gender equality, but I wasn't alone in that building. What about you, gentlemen? If you don't start standing up for what is right, us girls are going to have a much harder uphill battle. I'm not asking you to put yourself at risk, like jumping between a rapist and his victim or something. That's just damned crazy, don't get yourself killed. Just call the cops. But just think about it. Every time you laugh at a joke about women, you're laughing at your mother, your aunt, your sister, your niece. These are the situations where you gentlemen could save us a lot of grief. Show those jerks giving your gender a bad name what's what. Tell them it isn't funny. Or Hell, just don't laugh. Don't encourage them.

Set the example, be the gentleman. Help us to succeed. 

Adultlescence: Top Gun Reference

Today, I read this blog post. I have been debating on writing about this for a while, but I always have such a weird, backward time trying to explain my thoughts on the matter. I flip flop over insignificant details depending on my mood or the context. Some days I feel traditional, some days I'm liberal. Some days I feel like a hardcore feminazi bull dyke. Other days I can't stop fantasizing about being someone's little housewife. So you can see how it can be difficult to express my opinion. "All women should be treated like A, except in situations like B, C, or D."  What I can say for certain is that yes, in my experience, every girl has felt the way the author of that post has felt. Threatened, objectified, used, powerless.

Anyone who knows me knows that I have a lot of control issues. I don't necessarily want to be in charge of everything all the time, but I need to know all of the gritty details about any plan or I am working at a high stress level. I don't need to be in command of the group, but I need to have full control on my own part. No big deal, right? Since I surround myself primarily with men, it is fairly common that I will go with the flow of whatever they want to do that day. If they want to play Rock Band all afternoon, that's no problem. I'm playing the drums and don't try to take them from me. But what about those instances where I don't have the same kind of weight as the man I'm speaking with? How many times have I, or one of my female employees had some dirty old man say something slightly sleazy and I or she would laugh uncomfortably and excuse herself from his company as quickly as possible? And what else can you do, really? Women are told very young to be agreeable, quiet, polite. Girls are told to be nice, but boys will be boys.

The problem, I think, is that right now, the feminist movement has been taking the wrong approach to making the changes they want to see happen. Women are not equal because we are better. I've always thought that was a ridiculous argument to take. Yes, childbirth (I've heard) is incredibly excruciating. A pain no man could ever really understand. Periods happen every month and there are days I think I may never be able to walk upright again, but you move on. Let's face it, girls have it pretty shitty. I know I'll never truly understand the feeling of getting kicked in the balls, but my roommate will never fathom what it's like to wake up in the morning on the first day of 'shark week' and have muscle cramps from the middle of your back down to your knees. God, just look at the difference between sexes when they have a head cold. It is a woman's role to silently persevere.

Now is the part of the blog post where I become the uppity bitch I supposedly am for thinking this in the first place and I give all the dumb little ladies a mental shake-down (sorry, boys). It is not your job to be polite when a man is making you uncomfortable. It is not right, when a guy is pressing you too hard about going on a date with him and you are uncomfortable, to give him an excuse instead of telling him straight that you don't want to. If a man is out of line, you let him know and you let him know immediately. Ladies, let's get real here for a second. Let's have a life talk. Nothing is ever going to change if you don't speak up.I'm not going to stop shaving my legs or start burning bras, that phase of the evolution of women's rights has passed. Now is the time for us to settle this matter as adults. Once and for all.

But ladies, what is it that we are asking for? If we are trying to send a message to those big, mean boys, can we first agree on what that message is? We are telling (asking) them how to behave and what is acceptable when we can't clearly decide unanimously what they can't (shouldn't) do and what is unacceptable. I can't decide which is worse for women, the Nazi man-haters who will hate on the young women who choose to explore their right to sexual freedom, or the slutty bimbos who make girls looks like objects in the eyes of all of those chauvenist pigs.

We come in all shapes, sizes and colours. We may be cis or transgendered, gay, straight, bi or asexual, but we are all women. We share each others pain and celebrate each others achievements. We're all fighting the same fight, here. We're on the same team.

I could easily get off-topic here and begin a long-winded tangent about all of the horrible things girls do to each other and how hateful we can be to one another, but that isn't the direction I want to go with this. I don't want to point fingers or dwell on the negatives. If you really want to know why girls hate each other, check out this video by Jenna Marbles. She is totally on the right page.

So this is what it has to come down to, ladies. If we want to take down the patriarch, we have to support each other. If you don't want to be promiscuous, you don't have to. If you don't want to put on make up or style your hair every day, then use those extra moments to sleep in. Enjoy it! If you want to dress up every day and wear your heels wherever you go, you rock those shoes, girl. But remember, my dear, darling girls, that is your choice to make. It is the same choice every girl makes and just because it isn't what YOU choose, she isn't wrong. We need to create a united front if we are ever going to make progress. We need to have each others backs. Honestly, if we are ever going to fight against men, we need to stop fighting over them.  

Adultlesence: Nerd.

Sometimes I get the odd chance to act a little recklessly. I'm not a misreable old lady every day and I love using my chances to be impulsive to their maximum extent. That's why I'm looking forward to Hal-con so much this year. I'm going to be cosplaying as Lady Deadpool which means, for those of you out there whoaren't fluent in geek speak, I'll be wearing a full face mask while I'm in costume.

Have you ever been to one of these nerd conventions? You put as many people who are genuinely passionate about the same things into a room as possible, and add caffeine. Normally, North Americans are very reserved when it comes to physical interactions, but these rules do not apply at a convention. When you're there, you should be expecting a lot of high fives, hugs, handshakes, fist bumps, and the classic awkward half-hug for pictures.You should expect to get touched. For a nerd, this is just an outlet to express their passion about their fandom. It can be overwhelming. I think that's why nerds get belittled by the rest of the world. We have no social propriety when it comes to, say, our favourite TV show (Firefly! <3). We whoop and shout and squeal like children over something most people would consider trivial. I think that they're just jealous, though. They walk with their heads held high with uptight reservation, but we skip everywhere we go and we high five strangers in the street because we like that person's X-Men t-shirt.

"I like your Jersey Shore shirt!" Said no one ever.

 I don't like to wear my Green Lantern ring to work so much anymore. When random customers come in and comment on it, I feel awkward. I don't know what to say. Did you like the movie? I don't know! Its a weird interaction and I'd rather just avoid it than have it. I love my Green Lantern ring! I wear it everywhere I go, regardless of forced awkward small talk. It makes me feel like a super hero, which can be pretty uplifting when one is sitting in ones pajamas at 2:30 in the morning on a Sunday night.

Maybe, briefly, while I am disguised in full costume with my face hidden, I can be so stupefied by the things that I love so much. I don't have to make tedious small talk with a stranger for a prolonged period of time because I wanted to compliment their costume. Fuck that, they don't know me! I run over, say whatever I want to say to them, and run away. I don't have to be polite when they don't know who I am, just in case I ever meet them again. I can be completely bonkers and make an ass of myself like I always do, but on such a grander scale. Without pedantic rituals of etiquette, I can be 100% myself as I want to behave with minimal consequence. And what's more, its encouraged! This is part of the fun of being at a convention and I will be one of just many dancing, yelling jesters in the court.

If you're going to be in Halifax next weekend and want to check out what I mean, come visit me at Hal-Con!

Adultlescence: My Father has Doomed Me

My father will always baby me. To him, I will always be that chubby, awkward little girl I used to be. When i was a teenager, this was a punishment for being born last. Mom understood that I was growing up, why couldn't he? He would dote on me like a child, bringing me home stuffed animals and small gifts "just because". He still does from time to time, but when I was in my teens, I was embarrassed. Doesn't that sound arrogant? I was embarrassed by my father's affection.

Now that I am officially a 'grown up' I really can't get enough of it. I relish it whenever I am visiting with my parents. I am 23 years old and my dad still cooks me breakfast. There is nothing as comforting as a grilled cheese at 8pm.

My daddy was my idol. Don't get me wrong, my mother is my best friend and I love her dearly, but she was the hand of authority in our home and dad lucked out. He got to be the fun parent. the relationship I have with him as never been tainted. To him, I am still a little fairy princess and when I'm home with him, I am one.

I am, in that when I am home, I can step back from my big girl life and see how far I've come. The buildings in my home town change, businesses open and close, but it is at the heart still the same Westville I grew up in. Faces gather lines, but the smiles are still the same. I haven't changed so much either and Westville really shows it to me. I lost 50 pounds and a tooth, but essentially I am still the same girl, just with a little alteration to the luggage.

The reason I am so comforted by this isn't because I'm scared or unwilling to grow up. On the contrary, it is the reason I want to. Some day I'll decide to get married, and I feel very sorry for the person stuck with me because they have some very big shoes to fill. My parents have given me very high expectations in what to look for in a partner, because I won't accept anything less than a love like that. I am not perfect (let's face it, who of us is?) but my flaws are a part of me and he loves everything about me as a fraction of a whole. Every time I royally fuck up (infrequent, but on a grand scale. Every time.) he never judges me. He picks me up, wipes away my tears, kisses my forehead and assures me that everything will be alright. To say that to him, I do no wrong would be inaccurate. I do get it wrong a lot. I make the wrong choices. I say or do the wrong thing. I do mess up, but it is all forgivable.

The person I am to be with forever must be, above all else, kind. If there is one thing my father has taught me, it is that kindness and generosity are their own reward. Nothing feels as good as helping someone in need. When I am asked to describe my dad to someone, the first thing that comes to mind is his big heart. He may be quiet or standoffish when he first meets a person, but he loves everyone he meets. It takes a lot to change his mind and even after he does, if that person is in a bind, my dad is the first one to offer a hand. When I was a kid, I just accepted it as a fact of humanity. If my daddy was this sweet, everyone is supposed to be. Turns out no. My father is the only person I have ever met with such an eager desire to be selfless, without want or expectation of reward.

I could fall flat on my face every day of my life, and he would still be proud of me, but he has this certain way about him that makes me want to give him good reason to be proud. Even though my parents are 100 miles away and probably have no idea what I am doing at any given time (thank God for Facebook) I still consider them in virtually every decision I make day to day. Would my dad be proud of me for doing this? What would he say if I did this? That isn't to say that in my line of work I am faced daily with dangerous or moral decisions. It is much more simplistic than that. Should I be selfish with my time, or should I use it to help a friend who needs a favour? Always go with helping a friend. Would it be a bad idea to have another beer. Probably. 

No one I have ever been with since I decided dating was a cool and fun thing to do has ever been able to stand up to the ridiculously high standards my father has set for me. Kindness, loyalty, humor, unwavering optimism. Sure, my lovers will embody some or most of these qualities. It is what attracts me to them in the first place. The key, I think, is the quality of love that I expect from them. I want someone who will (because I know they will) make my blood boil the way my Dad can to Mom, and forgive them for it just like she always does because love is so much stronger than hate or anger. I need someone who understands my moods the way my father can look at my mother and know what she's feeling just by her face. Sure, he may not always do exactly the right thing, but he does it with the best of intentions. I want a love like that.

FAILURE IS NOT AN OPTION

Today I received my first rejection letter. I tried to submit a very self-indulgent short story about my reaction to reading about Ray Bradbury's death to Asimov's Science Fiction thinking that if anyone would understand this kind of loneliness, it would be my people. Out there, there must exist at least a handful of awkward nerds who grew up falling in love with some little old man who saw everything with a sparkling brilliance.

No one can deny that there is a piece of the author in everything they write. Everything a person writes, even a tweet or a post-it note is a piece of them that oral conversation has a way of hiding. Speaking personally, if I'm writing, I'm verbalizing my inner monologue which is something very few people have access to. I can't say for sure that is the same for every writer, but you can feel it in their work. Bradbury, at least in my mind, is such a lovely, naive, innocent man who had the fortunate luck of being alive and writing when space adventure was still unexplored. When he wrote science fiction, he was pioneering. Like the astronauts in his story, he was colonizing a whole genre. He turned something childish into a habitable style of writing for many of his successors. but what does his style say about him? He's an adventurer! he knows it, and he's so damn excited about it!

When I read his works, I sort of became him. I would spend an hour or so of my day reading about Mars or distopian societies of the future and then spent the rest of that day with my head in the clouds. The world was suddenly new to me again. But what does that mean now that he's gone? When I first heard the news that Bradbury had passed, my first reaction was to read The Halloween Tree and cry my bitter tears. How can he still be talking to me, though? If he is gone, his voice should be gone with him, right? Here he is, plain as day in my hands. his voice hasn't muffled at all.

This is why I chose to write. Or, this is why I've chosen to try to write. As of yet it hasn't been my most successful endeavor. I am the type of person that I want to, have to, be immediately good at something or I don't want to do it anymore. I am a perfectionist and an over-achiever and to not be the best is the greatest sign of my own weakness. So why continue writing? I made my attempt and failed. The automaton rejection letter could not have made it any clearer that I didn't do well enough for them. I just can't give up on it. It isn't like learning guitar or trying to knit (both of which i have failed utterly at and tossed aside), this is a passion of mine and I can't accept failure. I need to write in the same way that i need to feel validated. My opinion must matter, even if it is just to myself.

Over time, my writing voice changes. Everyone's does. It is a fact of writing in the same way that your writing voice exists at all. It can cause a problem with bigger projects because your 'style' shall we say, changes from the beginning to the end which can produce an undesired effect on the story itself. But small things are important. Blog posts are important. Think of it as a breadcrumb trail of personal awareness that leads a writer back to who they once were.

So I failed. I knew in the back of my head as soon as I had finished the short story that I would, but I tried anyway. I don't think it was optimism that did it to me. In fact it may have even been a bit of self-loathing mixed with pessimism and masochism. I had to see myself fail at least once at it. What could possibly motivate me more to move forward? I talk and I talk and I talk about this story or that and about how harrrd it is to write and how harrrd it is to pretend to be a writer, but really i'm just a girl with a big imagination who works a shitty retail job. My failure is my own motivation. FOR ONCE.

Watership Down vs. We're Alive

When I was young, I used to watch this cute little show about bunnies. Happy little bunnies hopping around in the meadows, stealing vegetables from the farms. It was such a cute, simple idea that I was hooked. I don't think I ever missed an episode. I had no idea it was a novel while the show was running. It wasn't until I was browsing through a second-hand shop in the city that I stumbled upon it. Now, I am of the opinion that every book deserves a good home, so Watership Down joined the ranks of unread novels littering bookshelves, tables and ledges around my home. It sat on my shelf half-forgotten for almost two years.

Since graduating high school, the term 'summer vacation' has meant little to nothing to me. Work took priority since moving out of my parents' house. That is to say bills took priority. This is my first year with a salary instead of a wage job. I'll be damned if I'm not taking a proper vacation! I packed up my duffel bag with books and clothes and I hauled ass out of the city for the week.

I felt bad for ignoring all of the unread books spread across my house while I continued to accumulate more. At this rate, I'll never be able to read my own collection because it is growing faster than I can keep up with. When I packed up the books I planned on taking on vacation with me, I decided I would not take anything that has been in my collection for less than a year. I was going to plow through my long-forgottens. This included Watership Down.

Cut to me at my parent's house. The clock reads 4:30AM and there's Ms. May wide awake with a book in her hands. Once I started reading Watership Down, I couldn't put it down. It was actually kind of sad. If I had left it on the dining room table (which is the pinnacle of socialization in my parents' house) I would pick it up as soon as I sat down. Someone's trying to have a conversation with Ms. May? Nope, sorry. I found a book. Everything else in my life became secondary to finding out what happened to the bunnies, even though I already knew the story by heart.

Have you ever had an idea that was just beyond your reach? You stretch out your consciousness to grasp it, but your mind just barely grazes it. That's how I felt about this novel. There was something to it that I wasn't quite getting. After I finished reading, I started to look up book discussions and reviews. I had to know what it was I am missing. I couldn't agree with a single review I read. The general opinion seems to be that this is a novel of leadership and humanity's involvement in nature. Sure, I can see that, but that's not the idea that was keeping me from starting a new novel. I had to solve this mystery!

I sat on the porch with my headphones on and my notebook in my lap. I doodled bunnies in the margin of the blank page and listened to "We're Alive" but the solution wasn't coming to me. Maybe if I distracted myself with zombies, the answer would come more naturally than trying to force ideas.

Eureka! We're Alive wasn't a distraction at all, it was the solution! I've heard that Watership Down is a political allegory, but I am inclined to disagree. It is a struggle between tyranny and freedom, nature and reason, fear and duty. Am I blind?! They aren't political at all, it is entirely human nature! Let me try to explain with a comparison to "We're Alive".

The most important quality these two pieces of media have in common are the settlements. The rabbits in 'Watership Down' are forced to leave one warren that is in danger to find a new home with nothing to rely on but the feeling of one. This is almost directly parallel to the ending chapter of season 2 in 'We're Alive'. The likeness of the residence of the Tower and the warren of 'Watership Down' is striking.

The Maulers (a group of escaped convicts that have taken up residence in a strip mall, for those who are not zombie-savvy) play the same sort of role in the podcast that the rabbits in Cowslip's warren does in the novel. Death to these characters means absolutely nothing. Both groups are willing to sacrifice the lives of their own to ensure the survivors are able to live comfortably without threat of what lies beyond their safe zone.

When I was a kid, Efrafa scared the Hell out of me. These rabbits had zero control over their own lives. Everything they did was directly controlled by the warren and their leader. (Communism..?) This is how the survivors in the Colony lived. Is it possible to actually live happily like this? Again, these are the sacrifices the survivors had to make to ensure their futures. It makes me wonder how much would I be willing to give up to continue living. Would I become a pawn in a larger plan of someone else? Would I follow their direction without question? Would I run or would I stay? Would I fight? Would you?

These warrens and shelters are their home now and those with you are as good as family. Family above all else. Over and over again, especially in the podcast, the cast will run headlong into danger for the sake of one of their own. The family is an extension of the self. What would you risk to save your mother? Your cousin? Often times I feel that I can handle any amount of garbage and mistreatment, but I simply can't abide someone trying to mess with my employees. They are my family now too. I would do anything for them, but would I be able to risk my life for one of them? I really don't know.

The overarching theme I've found is the constant fear they all live in. It has become a natural part of life without being overbearing. How does this relate to you? Everywhere you turn, there is danger but we live with it. We protect ourselves. Look both ways before crossing the street. Don't approach strange dogs. Unplug your toaster. For all that we have done since our ancestors painted in caves, we all still live in fear.

I think the scariest part of both is how the obvious enemies are not the biggest threat the cast has to face. No enemy puts up the kind of fight or causes as much damage as their own kind. (Efrafa, the Maulers.) This is true in day-to-day life as well. If you need proof, open your local newspaper. How many articles are about shark attacks or bears mauling hikers, and how many are about anthrax in letters, or kids getting shot over drugs? Humanity is its own worst enemy.



I highly recommend anyone reading this to check out "We're Alive" at http://www.zombiepodcast.com. It is well worth your time.

One of the girls who works for me asked me today how long I've had my hair short. She asked me if I had just decided the day I cut off all of my locks to become a lesbian. I know she'd meant it as a joke, but it kind of struck me as odd, I guess. First of all, I never 'decided' to be a lesbian, it was never a choice. I'm not going to get into that, though. That isn't what I wanted this post to be about, I just had to point that out. If you're interested in finding out about homosexuality, ask your local queers. Or Lady Gaga. We were born this way.

When I discovered that I liked girls, I was still quite young. One of my very first crushes that I remember clearly was the yellow Power Ranger, Trini. It was very confusing to try to grasp sexuality at such a young age, before I really knew what sexuality was. All I knew about it at the time was that Barbie and Ken were supposed to go together like Mommy and Daddy go together. Barbie was not supposed to make smoochie faces at Teresa, that's weird and gross and wrong.

I thought something was wrong with me.  Maybe I was broken? Maybe I was supposed to have been born a boy. For a long time i thought this was the only logical explanation. This may have had a part in why I felt so easy around boys instead of girls. this is what I was supposed to be doing, if my gender wasn't broken, so I might as well do it anyway. Digging in the dirt was just much more enjoyable than playing dolls.

That isn't to say that I didn't still do girly things from time to time. I felt obligated. I was trapped in the wrong body but nobody knew it, so I had to be a lady and I was stuck. It wasn't exactly something I could bring up to my parents one night over dinner. "Mommy, how come I'm a girl?" I couldn't put my finger on why it was wrong, it was just an instinct that this topic was untouchable. It was as wrong to talk about as how it felt. It was not meant to exist and was an abomination to even speak the name of.

So I guess I had to learn to live with it. I played dolls with my cousins and house with the girls in my neighborhood. I had crushes and experienced puppy love and grew out of childhood as a rough and tumble tomboy with both knees skinned and crying that I tore my new tights.

It wasn't until I was in my early to mid teens that the idea of bisexuality was explained to me. Woah, hold the phone here. I can like girls AND boys? And that's an okay thing? Holy smokes, ladies and gentlemen, alert the media! This was life altering news and I had no idea what to do with it. I'm not broken after all, it was just not something that occurred all that frequently in my small, one-horse town. At least not yet.

During my highschool years, I really tried to open up to this other side to my sexuality. Like I said before, I figured if i was stuck in a girl's body, I would have to get used to doing the things that girls do. This included dating boys. I wasn't that I found boys... unattractive. I liked them plenty. Hell, I still do. There is something safe and comfortable about being with a guy that makes sense. But no man has ever made my heart thunder in my chest the way a woman can. Yoga pants are just unbelievable.

What was I talking about? Oh right! high school sweethearts.

My first sincere lady love was a lovely girl named Meagan. She was everything I idolized, everything I wanted to be at the time. She was rambunctious, she was opinionated, she was BOLD! Nothing would stand between this girl and what she thought was right, while I was so soft spoken and shy. I was an easy target for bullies and apparently so was she, but she took my hand so fiercely, damn the world if they didn't like it. I couldn't be so brave. I was terrified. What would my parents say? What would my friends think? Would they still love and accept me if I was different? Up until I started seeing this girl, there was not a whisper of gay culture in my high school. People would gawk at us holding hands and whisper when we passed. I could not handle this shit.

In the end, I chickened out. I told her that I was not ready to be open about this kind of thing just yet and I wasn't ready to call her my girlfriend. She was upset and rightfully so, so we went our separate ways. It was by far the hardest breakup I've ever had to face.

It was a very long time before I would be able to let another girl in. I've never officially dated a woman since, but i still consider myself a bisexual. Well, no. That's not really true either. I don't care much for that term, it seems so linear. I'm queer. I'm queer in many ways aside from my orientation, so it just seems fitting for me. I don't think I need to be actively with a girl to consider myself a bisexual, but I've heard a lot of flack from other self-proclaimed bis that this is a big deal and anyone else is a poser.

What the hell does it matter to them who I'm with or who I think is attractive? Regardless.

It has been a long journey of self-discovery to accept myself this far. I feel confident in myself and the person I want to be. I don't consider myself to be transgendered. I am a woman and I've recently come to terms with that. I still have some difficulties, though. I am still more comfortable being a 'bro' than a 'Ms.' and I still identify more with a man than a woman. It comes from self-confidence really. I don't know if I'm explaining myself very clearly. Sometimes I think I make such rash decisions to be alternative and masculine because I still don't feel like I make a very good girl. I'd never pass for a stereotypical hot chick, so why bother trying? why put on makeup every day and do my hair and pick out the perfect outfit when I still can't make a silk purse from a sow's ear? So I completely rebel against it or ignore it completely because if I don't try, I can't fail. I'm a boy because I'm good at it, I'm a girl because I was born this way.

Not that I'm not happy with my body. Don't get me wrong. If I were another person, I'd totally tap this. Its the me inside and the me outside that don't sync up and make me such a sloppy mess. I'm a recovering fat girl hiding her insecurities behind the facade of an inflated ego. It sounds complicated. I love me and I hate me at the same time.

Girls still scare the piss out of me. Maybe its a nerd thing, but I have absolutely no ability to talk to women and if I find them attractive, forget about it. I'll be hiding in the corner over there, thank you very much. Dudes are simple, they don't play games and largely the guys I keep company with understand that I'd rather be treated like one of them without taping my breasts down and making my personal opinions an awkward conversation topic.

 I 100% support all transgendered people. I think what they do is incredibly brave and not at all something I could handle. They are the victims of unreal hate crimes and to be able to face every day with their chins up is such a sign of strength. I couldn't do it. I admire them.

This post, I think, has rambled on enough. I don't know why it bothered me so much that this one girl commented on my haircut.

Oh God. What if she was flirting with me?

...Fuck.

What just happened here?

I spent about an hour today trying to churn out the next chapter in the story I'm working on, and it all went swimmingly enough. When I got stuck trying to decide how Leading Lady would react to Main Character's latest splurge of self-deluded garbage, I tried to reflect on the scene as a whole and develop what her mood would be like up to that point. On the one side, it seemed a little out of character for him to just open his mouth and spew forth all of this verbal diarrhea without shame, and it was definitely not like her to just stand there and take it.

In the end, I scrapped the scene and started again, but it ended up the same way. I went back further and further to see where I deviated from cannon, but I didn't find it. What I did find (not entirely sure how I forgot) was a very lengthy chapter of Main Character drinking with Supporting Male and brooding.

GOD!

It makes sense now, that is EXACTLY what Main Character would do in that situation! No wonder I couldn't get anything else out, he wouldn't let me! That's actually kind of scary in a way. Main Character has become so real in my mind that he just acts and I try to keep up. Does anyone else have that problem?

That fucking painting.

Lee is the kind of guy who is always quizzing my nerdom. Like I have something to prove! Maybe he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, but it almost feels like he’s trying to question my elite geek status. Kind of narcissistic, right? Maybe I’m just a sore loser, but I don’t think it takes away any of my credibility as a nerd if I don’t know the opening theme to this anime or that. I am a geek of varying traits, I am not an expert in any of the various media I enjoy. I’m just so competitive that I want to be the best. At everything I do. I feel attacked when he gives me a pop quiz on the Walking Dead comic versus HBO production.

Tonight was one of those nights. As usual when spending any amount of time at Mallory’s, we were pretty baked, and for whatever idea I was stuck on, I felt so excited! Whatever this thought was (again, as usual, lost in the colander that is my memory) I was pumped about it. Talking to the group isn’t really something I do, so I suppose what Lee saw was me sitting in the corner of the bed, getting more and more volatile.

“calm down” he said, pointing at the painting behind my head. “do you see the town? its what my Dad called the ‘town test’ ”. What the fuck does that mean? He was trying to tell me that this painting he cherished as a sign of his sophistication and intelligence only had one way of perceiving it, which was I can assume, a town. Now don’t get me wrong, this wasn’t some folksy novelty trash you pick up at a garage sale when you’re driving through Cape Breton. It was absolutely lovely and yeah, I guess I could see a town in it (which apparently still wasn’t right anyway) but for some reason it reminded me more of a huge steamboat floating duskily across a wide river. It made me feel like there should be a presence of alcohol and playing cards.

There aren’t any right or wrong answers when it comes to feeling. When did it become a secondary function to thinking? It seems to me that more and more, there is a pull away from physical body and a heavy crutch on consciousness. We are not discorporal beings of thought, we are apes. Stinking, fucking, bleeding apes! I think that’s why “Gargantua” was on the reading list for FYP. With all of that weight of ideas on us, it was nice to have awareness of my own broad shoulders made of bone and muscle that could withstand it.

Sometimes I forget, but I am human.

Seduce my mind and you may have my body
Find my soul and I'm yours forever.
-Anonymous

I think that in a novelization of my own life, I wouldn't even be a main character.

Most days, the only way I can make it through a day at work is all the different ways I can fuck with my crew...