Sunday, January 27, 2013
Gangster Squad & Letting Go
"Mickey Cohen can have the whole damn city, he just can't have you." - Connie O'Mara
I absolutely love action movies. For being as anti-violence as I am, it is surely an odd mix. The reason I like them is quite simple, it is the same reason I can play FPS's for hours on end without a care in the world, but seeing a heated argument makes my stomach turn. When I play my games or watch Josh Brolin punch Sean Penn in the face, I know it isn't real. No one is actually getting hurt by fake punches or pixelated bullets. It is a safe outlet of aggression. But I digress.
Last night, I went with a friend to watch 'Gangster Squad', a highly stylized period piece loosely based on true events. I loved it. Emma Stone plays a lovely cardboard cutout in beautiful gowns, the soundtrack was excellent, and the characters were just fleshed out enough that they were semi-real, but they did not overshadow the obviously built up main characters. Sean Penn as Mickey Cohen was spot on. He was a rabid dog. He was violence incarnate. It was exactly what I had hoped for.
I was surprised at how much of my heart went out to the sergeant's wife, Connie O'Mara. The woman was pregnant through the majority of the movie, tied to the house, and scared out of her mind for her husband who would go out into LA every day to wage war against the mob. With Mickey Cohen at the head, the mob owned Las Angeles. No, like literally owned it. Crooked cops, paid off judges, the mayor was in his pocket for God's sake. Mickey Cohen was untouchable and the whole city knew it. Connie knew it.
Every morning, Sgt. John O'Mara went out the door to fight the good fight. Every morning, Connie would make him breakfast, stand behind him, help him where she could. Connie may not have been a gun toting bad-ass, but that girl had more balls than I could in that situation.
I can't help it. I have a nurturing nature. I want to strangle all of my darlings in my apron strings. I want to keep them safe, but I can't. I need to be able to let go sometimes too. I need to learn from Connie, who could jut out her chin in defiance of her own heart and watch her husband plot. John would pore over stacks of files, and where was Connie? Right beside him, pointing out the seemingly obvious answers and hand picking the perfect team. Where would I be? Locked in the bathroom until my husband agreed to never ever ever put a gun to another human being again.I would cry hysterically until he took up a safe, quiet job. My husband, ex-gang hunter, CPA.
After the baby was born, Connie flees LA at her husband's urging. The city was far from safe, and he had to protect her. She leaves rather unwillingly, but not once does she ask him to run away with her. He has to stay, he has a duty, a mission to complete. He can't just walk away, and she knows it.
Throughout literary history, what makes a strong female character is her ability to silently persevere. What makes us as a gender so strong is not our physical build, but our strength to carry the burden of a hurt heart, a sea of emotional turmoil, a hundred nagging issues at the back of our brains. We do this without breaking a sweat and often without shedding a tear. At least, without shedding those tears to an audience. We don't need to be able to carry the weight of a limp body, because piled on top of our already heavy hearts, we are carrying yours as well.
Saturday, January 26, 2013
Hey, Fatty.
In the past year and a half, I have lost and kept off roughly 50 pounds. There wasn't some grand life-altering diet that I picked up, and my physical activity levels haven't increased (possibly decreased?). So, what's my secret? Ah, the simple elegance of IDGAF.
At my peak, I was weighing in at 195 pounds. At 5'7", I was no longer overweight, I was slightly over the obesity line. I didn't really feel obese, whatever that would mean. I did feel fat, though. I felt heavy, I felt blown up. I felt BIG. I felt like people were looking at me with disgust and pity. Our culture is continuously pointing at our bodies, making us compare what we have to what others have, pushing us toward the ideal. Thin is In. I was out.
When I adopted my 'unrelenting optimism' policy, I had to give up a lot of ideas about myself and about others. Tolerance is a difficult thing to have 24/7. There are plenty of days when "You are who you are, and I forgive that." is almost impossible. Days like that, I resort to plan B. I Don't Give A Fuck. IDGAF. In my teens, I was so self-conscious about myself, my body, and the image I put out into the world. If someone made a snide comment about my clothes, my sensitive tiny teen self would have an inner meltdown. This can really put a lot of stress on a person, and it is a SCIENCE FACT that stress is a factor in weight retention.
Don't like my haircut? IDGAF.
Don't like the clothes I wear? IDGAF
Don't like the fact that I'm overweight? Guess what? IDGAF.
As soon as I stopped caring about my weight, it stopped being a problem. I am now sitting semi-comfortably within the 'normal weight' range on the BMI index. This isn't a pat on May's back for beating weight problems, this is about weight discrimination. When I first started losing weight, it came off pretty quickly. The comments I received were unreal.
"You look so GOOD!"
"Oh my God, are you still eating?"
"You're so pretty now!"
Not to mention the excessive attention from male friends who previously had no interest in me than my ability to pwn noobs. Me? ME?! I'm still the same obsessive, neurotic, semi-unhinged girl and having a smaller waistline hasn't changed that. It makes me really uncomfortable when friends and family would talk to me like I am somehow a better person now that I'm thinner. I mean it, literally speaking to me like a more worthy individual based on my body. Is that insane?
I think it has been covered enough that what the media portrays as appealing is fucked up, so I'm not going to beat a dead horse. I want to talk about how overweight people are portrayed.
Fat people are mean. Fat people are lazy. Fat people are dumb. Fat people don't bathe. Can you think of one fictional character that is overweight and NOT a villain or comedic relief? Can you think of a fat man who is a hero? Even rarer, can you think of a fat woman who is sensual? NO, THAT'S GROSS.
Get over it, ladies and gentlemen. We are out there every day, fighting the good fight for equal rights. Down with sexism, down with racism, down with homo and transphobia! We do all this, but we still give that big guy on the bus dirty looks because he doesn't sit comfortably in one seat. That's his body, not yours. He isn't hurting you. The only reason he's bothering you is because you are told to be bothered. There are plenty more factors to a person's size than what they eat. Metabolism, the amount of sleep they get, their bloodline, stress. Being fat doesn't mean a person lacks willpower. Get over it, stop judging him by what you see. Why do you give a fuck?
My own personal struggle with weight hasn't exactly ended. You would think that now that Ms. May was within this 'ideal range' she would be happy. Afterall, she has achieved something women are supposed to STRIVE toward, and she did it without trying.Yeah, it did make me feel pretty good as an overachiever, but something else happened, something worse than being big. A wedge was driven in between myself and a few of my friends. One of the few joys us girls have is being able to be open about our body issues and having one another to comfort them. We are witness to the pains of one another, and that really isn't something my male friends get to do with one another. At least, not when I'm around. Maybe they do. I digress.
When my female friends have insecure moments and confide in me about their displeasure with their hair or their clothes or whatever, its fine. When I have issues with those same things, they have my back. When I get insecure about the fact that there are days you can see my ribs where my cleavage once was, I get venomous stares like I'm bragging. I really am not. When my roommate was still here, I felt like a scavenger in the kitchen. We would spend almost $200 on groceries, and I would have to ensure I was buying at least a few things I knew he didn't like just to be sure there would be something in the house to eat. I do not enjoy that there are times I make my friends feel bad about themselves. I want them to feel beautiful because they are.
I went from being that curvy, sassy girl I was to having the body of a 12 year old. I don't feel sexy, I don't feel desirable. I once received a comment from a loved one that I'm "just not as nice to cuddle anymore." That devastated me. Aren't skinny girls supposed to be an ideal? I am still self conscious, I still worry about belly fat from time to time. I will always have flaws. Well, so what? So do you. So does everyone. I am my toughest critic, but it gets easier. I don't think anyone else in the world (save Scott Miner) would ever notice my eyebrows are uneven or that my toes have hair on the knuckles. Flaws make us wonderful. Stressing out about what other people think of them is a complete waste of time.
Say it with me now, people. IDGAF.
At my peak, I was weighing in at 195 pounds. At 5'7", I was no longer overweight, I was slightly over the obesity line. I didn't really feel obese, whatever that would mean. I did feel fat, though. I felt heavy, I felt blown up. I felt BIG. I felt like people were looking at me with disgust and pity. Our culture is continuously pointing at our bodies, making us compare what we have to what others have, pushing us toward the ideal. Thin is In. I was out.
When I adopted my 'unrelenting optimism' policy, I had to give up a lot of ideas about myself and about others. Tolerance is a difficult thing to have 24/7. There are plenty of days when "You are who you are, and I forgive that." is almost impossible. Days like that, I resort to plan B. I Don't Give A Fuck. IDGAF. In my teens, I was so self-conscious about myself, my body, and the image I put out into the world. If someone made a snide comment about my clothes, my sensitive tiny teen self would have an inner meltdown. This can really put a lot of stress on a person, and it is a SCIENCE FACT that stress is a factor in weight retention.
Don't like my haircut? IDGAF.
Don't like the clothes I wear? IDGAF
Don't like the fact that I'm overweight? Guess what? IDGAF.
As soon as I stopped caring about my weight, it stopped being a problem. I am now sitting semi-comfortably within the 'normal weight' range on the BMI index. This isn't a pat on May's back for beating weight problems, this is about weight discrimination. When I first started losing weight, it came off pretty quickly. The comments I received were unreal.
"You look so GOOD!"
"Oh my God, are you still eating?"
"You're so pretty now!"
Not to mention the excessive attention from male friends who previously had no interest in me than my ability to pwn noobs. Me? ME?! I'm still the same obsessive, neurotic, semi-unhinged girl and having a smaller waistline hasn't changed that. It makes me really uncomfortable when friends and family would talk to me like I am somehow a better person now that I'm thinner. I mean it, literally speaking to me like a more worthy individual based on my body. Is that insane?
I think it has been covered enough that what the media portrays as appealing is fucked up, so I'm not going to beat a dead horse. I want to talk about how overweight people are portrayed.
Fat people are mean. Fat people are lazy. Fat people are dumb. Fat people don't bathe. Can you think of one fictional character that is overweight and NOT a villain or comedic relief? Can you think of a fat man who is a hero? Even rarer, can you think of a fat woman who is sensual? NO, THAT'S GROSS.
Get over it, ladies and gentlemen. We are out there every day, fighting the good fight for equal rights. Down with sexism, down with racism, down with homo and transphobia! We do all this, but we still give that big guy on the bus dirty looks because he doesn't sit comfortably in one seat. That's his body, not yours. He isn't hurting you. The only reason he's bothering you is because you are told to be bothered. There are plenty more factors to a person's size than what they eat. Metabolism, the amount of sleep they get, their bloodline, stress. Being fat doesn't mean a person lacks willpower. Get over it, stop judging him by what you see. Why do you give a fuck?
My own personal struggle with weight hasn't exactly ended. You would think that now that Ms. May was within this 'ideal range' she would be happy. Afterall, she has achieved something women are supposed to STRIVE toward, and she did it without trying.Yeah, it did make me feel pretty good as an overachiever, but something else happened, something worse than being big. A wedge was driven in between myself and a few of my friends. One of the few joys us girls have is being able to be open about our body issues and having one another to comfort them. We are witness to the pains of one another, and that really isn't something my male friends get to do with one another. At least, not when I'm around. Maybe they do. I digress.
When my female friends have insecure moments and confide in me about their displeasure with their hair or their clothes or whatever, its fine. When I have issues with those same things, they have my back. When I get insecure about the fact that there are days you can see my ribs where my cleavage once was, I get venomous stares like I'm bragging. I really am not. When my roommate was still here, I felt like a scavenger in the kitchen. We would spend almost $200 on groceries, and I would have to ensure I was buying at least a few things I knew he didn't like just to be sure there would be something in the house to eat. I do not enjoy that there are times I make my friends feel bad about themselves. I want them to feel beautiful because they are.
I went from being that curvy, sassy girl I was to having the body of a 12 year old. I don't feel sexy, I don't feel desirable. I once received a comment from a loved one that I'm "just not as nice to cuddle anymore." That devastated me. Aren't skinny girls supposed to be an ideal? I am still self conscious, I still worry about belly fat from time to time. I will always have flaws. Well, so what? So do you. So does everyone. I am my toughest critic, but it gets easier. I don't think anyone else in the world (save Scott Miner) would ever notice my eyebrows are uneven or that my toes have hair on the knuckles. Flaws make us wonderful. Stressing out about what other people think of them is a complete waste of time.
Say it with me now, people. IDGAF.
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
Adultlescence: The Weaker Sex
Today, my boss made a poorly worded statement about why he chose who he did to shovel the sidewalk. Now, the discussion had nothing to do with who he chose. We were discussing the importance of being aware of the property and yadda yadda yadda, he got J____ to do it this afternoon. He was the only other guy on and Mr. Boss certainly wasn't going to do it.
He was the only other guy? There were twelve people in the building, but J____ was the one to do it because he's a man? Oh, really.
I am not saying that J___ isn't stronger than me, because he is. I am not saying I'm angry that I didn't get to go outside to play in the snow, because the winter is my nemesis. My point of offense is that J___'s testicles do not make him automatically suitable for any job other than creating sperm.
Physically, yes. Men are built for upper body strength. Science fact. Women are better equipped for lower body strength, and that is also science fact. I am not arguing averages, I am arguing who was on hand. There are plenty of men who are weaker than the average, and there are a lot of women who are stronger. J____ having a penis does not grant him super strength and I did not care for his comment. Of course, Ms. May and her inability to let anything slide, I called out Mr. Boss.
"What did you mean J____ was the only guy? What about the girls?"
I think it was clear from the looks on the faces of the women around the table (which greatly outnumbered the boys) that he had struck a nerve and this was his chance to backpedal. Nah, not Mr. Boss. Not about manly men things. He unapologetically backed up exactly what he had to say and quickly dismissed the discussion.
Why am I so mad? I didn't want to do the stinking job, why does it matter that J____ did it? Really, it doesn't matter, but it was how he made his decision that got under my skin. We have plenty of very capable, able-bodied women on staff. We have people of all shapes and sizes of both genders in our store. Gender relations is a very particular, sensitive subject, but I for one have always been very proud of my company for setting aside those differences. Up until now, I have never felt like I have received any sort of special treatment because of my gender. I never even considered it would be a problem. I, as a business person, have no reason to bring my tits to the workplace (don't get me started on uniforms). Today, I was told there is in fact things I cannot do for my company as well because my genitals are located inside my body.
It may seem like small potatoes, to be so worked up about shoveling the walk. This is where it starts, but where does it finish? Girls are taught that sports and physical activity are unfeminine and butchy. We should sit quietly with our knees together and ankles crossed. Women don't exercise to keep their obviously-important-to-societal-standards weight in control, they diet or develop eating disorders. I suppose a lack of a balanced, nutritious diet may leave a girl physically weak. Hell, I'm not a doctor, I'm just hypothesizing.
For our company's plan for wellness (staffed with virtually all women, one of which is an Olympic athlete), we are encouraged to participate in this year's Bluenose marathon. I knew as soon as the plan was launched that I wanted to participate. At the beginning, we were told to pick an attainable goal to strive for. mine was a half-hearted promise that I made to fill in the blank on the sheet, but I think today I have a new goal. A promise to myself and a point to make. Mr. Boss, you better start putting in some effort to this plan, because I'd like this to be a proper challenge and not just an embarrassment. I'm going to run that marathon, and I'm going to beat you. My vagina does not make me weak.
This may sound awfully petty and spiteful, and it is. I'm letting negativity into my life after very recently writing at great length what a cancer it is. I'm being a hypocrite, and I'll admit that. This goes against every point I've tried to make on this blog, but if I spend my time practicing, when will I preach?
He was the only other guy? There were twelve people in the building, but J____ was the one to do it because he's a man? Oh, really.
I am not saying that J___ isn't stronger than me, because he is. I am not saying I'm angry that I didn't get to go outside to play in the snow, because the winter is my nemesis. My point of offense is that J___'s testicles do not make him automatically suitable for any job other than creating sperm.
Physically, yes. Men are built for upper body strength. Science fact. Women are better equipped for lower body strength, and that is also science fact. I am not arguing averages, I am arguing who was on hand. There are plenty of men who are weaker than the average, and there are a lot of women who are stronger. J____ having a penis does not grant him super strength and I did not care for his comment. Of course, Ms. May and her inability to let anything slide, I called out Mr. Boss.
"What did you mean J____ was the only guy? What about the girls?"
I think it was clear from the looks on the faces of the women around the table (which greatly outnumbered the boys) that he had struck a nerve and this was his chance to backpedal. Nah, not Mr. Boss. Not about manly men things. He unapologetically backed up exactly what he had to say and quickly dismissed the discussion.
Why am I so mad? I didn't want to do the stinking job, why does it matter that J____ did it? Really, it doesn't matter, but it was how he made his decision that got under my skin. We have plenty of very capable, able-bodied women on staff. We have people of all shapes and sizes of both genders in our store. Gender relations is a very particular, sensitive subject, but I for one have always been very proud of my company for setting aside those differences. Up until now, I have never felt like I have received any sort of special treatment because of my gender. I never even considered it would be a problem. I, as a business person, have no reason to bring my tits to the workplace (don't get me started on uniforms). Today, I was told there is in fact things I cannot do for my company as well because my genitals are located inside my body.
It may seem like small potatoes, to be so worked up about shoveling the walk. This is where it starts, but where does it finish? Girls are taught that sports and physical activity are unfeminine and butchy. We should sit quietly with our knees together and ankles crossed. Women don't exercise to keep their obviously-important-to-societal-standards weight in control, they diet or develop eating disorders. I suppose a lack of a balanced, nutritious diet may leave a girl physically weak. Hell, I'm not a doctor, I'm just hypothesizing.
For our company's plan for wellness (staffed with virtually all women, one of which is an Olympic athlete), we are encouraged to participate in this year's Bluenose marathon. I knew as soon as the plan was launched that I wanted to participate. At the beginning, we were told to pick an attainable goal to strive for. mine was a half-hearted promise that I made to fill in the blank on the sheet, but I think today I have a new goal. A promise to myself and a point to make. Mr. Boss, you better start putting in some effort to this plan, because I'd like this to be a proper challenge and not just an embarrassment. I'm going to run that marathon, and I'm going to beat you. My vagina does not make me weak.
This may sound awfully petty and spiteful, and it is. I'm letting negativity into my life after very recently writing at great length what a cancer it is. I'm being a hypocrite, and I'll admit that. This goes against every point I've tried to make on this blog, but if I spend my time practicing, when will I preach?
Sunday, January 20, 2013
Crazy Cat Lady
I have no problem admitting that my cats are two of the most important beings in my life. My kitties are my companions, always there to greet me at the door after an especially exhausting day serving the masses. Hell, Audrey won't even let me in the door before she is crying to be picked up and held. I am not a crazy cat lady.
Skylie is eleven years old, and in all of those years of her and me against the world, it stands to reason that she would be jealous of the tiny, big-eyed invader that perches up on my shoulder. She looks at me with those green eyes accusing, and it may seem silly, but I feel like I've betrayed her in a way. Skylie, that aging diva, has seen me at my absolute lowest and she let me bury my face in her side and cry my angry, pubescent tears with nothing but love and patience. Trust me when I say it, I mean my absolute worst. I spent so many nights in her younger years, sobbing and explaining to her my grief in a language she can't possibly understand because there is no fear of judgment. It was the best of both worlds, really. Being able to be my absolute truest self alone without ever being alone. She was and still is my best friend. I am not a crazy cat lady.
Audrey is so new and so excitable. She is still a tiny, energetic baby. She meets me every day at the door when I come home, and whether I'm gone for five minutes or five hours, she is just as happy to see me. She dances around my boots and meows up at me like the world is whole again. Audrey came to live with us because she needed me. She was abandoned and alone, she needed a home. It is pretty clear to me now that I need her just as much as she needs me. There is something tragic about coming home to an empty house, no lovably obnoxious roommate asking me "What's up?" while I'm standing in the doorway with my uniform on under my winter gear or barreling into my room to tackle me while I'm reading. There's not anybody anymore, just the girls and me. Despite their best efforts, it is still painfully lonely sometimes. I think Audrey sees that as a challenge. The more withdrawn I become, the more she cries for attention. She is very good at reminding me that the house isn't really so empty, and I love her so much for it. I am not a crazy cat lady.
Interacting with people has never been nor will ever be something I am good at. I overthink all situations and spend too long mulling over the right words or the proper emphasis that I usually don't end up saying anything. I'm an awkward duck. Cats are just easier. They either don't realize or don't care about what makes me special or unique (read: weird or crazy). My girls put up with a lot of ridiculous shit from me that, God willing, no human eyes will ever need to witness. And for what, you ask? For meals on time, for fresh water in the bowl (though Skylie still prefers drinking from the toilet) and the occasional scratch behind the ear. They don't play mind games, they aren't interested in some ulterior motive, they just want to soak up love.
I am not a crazy cat lady.
Skylie is eleven years old, and in all of those years of her and me against the world, it stands to reason that she would be jealous of the tiny, big-eyed invader that perches up on my shoulder. She looks at me with those green eyes accusing, and it may seem silly, but I feel like I've betrayed her in a way. Skylie, that aging diva, has seen me at my absolute lowest and she let me bury my face in her side and cry my angry, pubescent tears with nothing but love and patience. Trust me when I say it, I mean my absolute worst. I spent so many nights in her younger years, sobbing and explaining to her my grief in a language she can't possibly understand because there is no fear of judgment. It was the best of both worlds, really. Being able to be my absolute truest self alone without ever being alone. She was and still is my best friend. I am not a crazy cat lady.
Audrey is so new and so excitable. She is still a tiny, energetic baby. She meets me every day at the door when I come home, and whether I'm gone for five minutes or five hours, she is just as happy to see me. She dances around my boots and meows up at me like the world is whole again. Audrey came to live with us because she needed me. She was abandoned and alone, she needed a home. It is pretty clear to me now that I need her just as much as she needs me. There is something tragic about coming home to an empty house, no lovably obnoxious roommate asking me "What's up?" while I'm standing in the doorway with my uniform on under my winter gear or barreling into my room to tackle me while I'm reading. There's not anybody anymore, just the girls and me. Despite their best efforts, it is still painfully lonely sometimes. I think Audrey sees that as a challenge. The more withdrawn I become, the more she cries for attention. She is very good at reminding me that the house isn't really so empty, and I love her so much for it. I am not a crazy cat lady.
Interacting with people has never been nor will ever be something I am good at. I overthink all situations and spend too long mulling over the right words or the proper emphasis that I usually don't end up saying anything. I'm an awkward duck. Cats are just easier. They either don't realize or don't care about what makes me special or unique (read: weird or crazy). My girls put up with a lot of ridiculous shit from me that, God willing, no human eyes will ever need to witness. And for what, you ask? For meals on time, for fresh water in the bowl (though Skylie still prefers drinking from the toilet) and the occasional scratch behind the ear. They don't play mind games, they aren't interested in some ulterior motive, they just want to soak up love.
I am not a crazy cat lady.
Saturday, January 19, 2013
The Domestic Yeti
The first thing you must know before you begin to domesticate your yeti is that yetis are indeed wild creatures and may never be perfectly domesticated. If you are reading this in hopes of a perfectly housebroken lap yeti, you may want to reconsider. Yetis are dirty, smelly, crude, territorial creatures that should, at all times, be treated with caution. If training yeti still interests you, check out my helpful hints for you novices.
STEP 1: Acclimatizing your Yeti
Yetis, as I said, are territorial creatures by nature. When you first bring your wild yeti to your home for the first time, be sure to give it plenty of space to explore. Don't be too concerned about your yeti causing any damage to the home. Yetis are only destructive when they feel threatened. the best way to let your new yeti grow accustom to the new surroundings is to sit back in a comfortable chair (you may be there for a while) and focus your attention on something else. You can either read a book, play a video game, or knit if you're any good at it.
Yetis are curious creatures, so expect it to spend quite some time poking about in your things. The most common places your yeti may investigate include, but are not limited to:
-Bookshelves
-DVDs
-Consoles/game collections
-Television
-Computer/internet connection
-Pantry
The kitchen is the only certain place your yeti will spend an extended period of time. Yetis have voracious appetites, so it will be important to plan ahead and have your kitchen stocked for its arrival. Yetis are not particularly picky eaters and it would be to your advantage to have a plethora of snack foods available for it.
The time you will have to wait while your new yeti becomes comfortable in your home will vary. very social yetis may only need as little as ten minutes to have a snack and poke about before they are ready to interact, while the more skittish may need much longer. Fear not, you just need patience. When your yeti is ready, it will come to you, but it is important that you let your yeti make the first move.
STEP 2: Gaining Trust
It is easy to get caught up in the excitement of having your yeti that is willing to interact, but don't be hasty. Before you can tame the beast, the yeti must feel completely comfortable with not only the home, but with you as a master. Don't feel discouraged that your yeti doesn't immediately roll over onto its hairy back and beg for belly rubs. They are a proud species, and you must respect that.
Spend the next few days with your yeti, pay attention to its needs. Make sure it has an ample supply of fresh food and water. Listen to your yeti while it moans and groans about yeti things. A good yeti is more than a pet, it is a companion, but to have a good yeti, you must be an excellent master.
Find common ground with your yeti. It shouldn't be difficult, if you are any sort of yeti fanatic. The most common interests of yetis are science fiction, video games, being right all the time, reading, expensive cigarettes, movies, drinking all the milk, hibernating, and groaning about yeti problems. Talk with your yeti, and laugh at the yeti jokes that aren't that funny. Smile a lot at your yeti.
STEP 3: Asserting Your Dominance
Once you and your yeti have bonded, it may already be time to show it who is boss. A common problem most yeti trainers have is showing the yeti who is boss. It is important to having a good relationship with your yeti that it knows its master, not that it knows it's master. You should not treat your yeti harshly or abuse the poor beast, but you must be quick and fair when correcting poor behaviour. Spare the rod, spoil the yeti.
Your yeti will be able to out muscle you at every turn, so it is important that you plan with cunning. Though most yetis pride themselves on their heightened intelligence, they are still a dim species and easily outwitted. The biggest step of progress you can make with your yeti is convincing it to admit you are right. Your yeti can concede on anything, the subject matter isn't as relevant as the act of admission.
Another common tactic is the accidental injuries your yeti will inflict upon itself when it tries to overpower you physically. Don't be afraid when this happens, it is the yeti's way of trying to win back its role as the alpha. After successful completion of steps 1 and 2, you should have complete faith in your semi-tame yeti not to hurt you. (Note: If your yeti does inflict any intentional injury onto you, it is not meant to be tamed and should be released back into the wild IMMEDIATELY) Yetis, like most feral creatures, wrestle one another for sport, as well as asserting their role within the household hierarchy. Your yeti will win if you let the game go, but an ill-placed elbow or a half-cocked knee and your poor yeti will become the victim of his own excitement.
Stop the game immediately at this point. Your job now is to coddle your poor, hairy monster and kiss its boo-boos better. The idea isn't to make your yeti think that he is in danger in any way. Quite the contrary, when your yeti knows that you wouldn't, you've got yourself a yeti that will, in fact, roll over onto its back for belly rubs. But there is one final step that is, quite possibly, the most pivotal.
STEP 4: Feed the Beast
It is a big step for these creatures to relinquish their crown as the alpha. If there is one thing that can bring your yeti back from the mopey slump it will inevitably find itself in. The answer, for any of you who has met a yeti before, is obviously food.
They say that the quickest way to a man's heart is through his stomach. I don't think that is a scientifically valid, but it certainly applies to your yeti. While your yeti is recovering from the bruising you have just dealt to its ego, it is best to stock your pantry with lots of sweets and yummy treats. For being a surly, lonesome species in the wild, there is very little in life that can keep a yeti down when it has a happy tummy.
Note: the description of yetis in this guide comes from years of experience. Please be sure to always act with caution when handling your yeti. These are ferocious creatures of the wild, not labradoodles.
There, Darcy. Look what I did because of you.
STEP 1: Acclimatizing your Yeti
Yetis, as I said, are territorial creatures by nature. When you first bring your wild yeti to your home for the first time, be sure to give it plenty of space to explore. Don't be too concerned about your yeti causing any damage to the home. Yetis are only destructive when they feel threatened. the best way to let your new yeti grow accustom to the new surroundings is to sit back in a comfortable chair (you may be there for a while) and focus your attention on something else. You can either read a book, play a video game, or knit if you're any good at it.
Yetis are curious creatures, so expect it to spend quite some time poking about in your things. The most common places your yeti may investigate include, but are not limited to:
-Bookshelves
-DVDs
-Consoles/game collections
-Television
-Computer/internet connection
-Pantry
The kitchen is the only certain place your yeti will spend an extended period of time. Yetis have voracious appetites, so it will be important to plan ahead and have your kitchen stocked for its arrival. Yetis are not particularly picky eaters and it would be to your advantage to have a plethora of snack foods available for it.
The time you will have to wait while your new yeti becomes comfortable in your home will vary. very social yetis may only need as little as ten minutes to have a snack and poke about before they are ready to interact, while the more skittish may need much longer. Fear not, you just need patience. When your yeti is ready, it will come to you, but it is important that you let your yeti make the first move.
STEP 2: Gaining Trust
It is easy to get caught up in the excitement of having your yeti that is willing to interact, but don't be hasty. Before you can tame the beast, the yeti must feel completely comfortable with not only the home, but with you as a master. Don't feel discouraged that your yeti doesn't immediately roll over onto its hairy back and beg for belly rubs. They are a proud species, and you must respect that.
Spend the next few days with your yeti, pay attention to its needs. Make sure it has an ample supply of fresh food and water. Listen to your yeti while it moans and groans about yeti things. A good yeti is more than a pet, it is a companion, but to have a good yeti, you must be an excellent master.
Find common ground with your yeti. It shouldn't be difficult, if you are any sort of yeti fanatic. The most common interests of yetis are science fiction, video games, being right all the time, reading, expensive cigarettes, movies, drinking all the milk, hibernating, and groaning about yeti problems. Talk with your yeti, and laugh at the yeti jokes that aren't that funny. Smile a lot at your yeti.
STEP 3: Asserting Your Dominance
Once you and your yeti have bonded, it may already be time to show it who is boss. A common problem most yeti trainers have is showing the yeti who is boss. It is important to having a good relationship with your yeti that it knows its master, not that it knows it's master. You should not treat your yeti harshly or abuse the poor beast, but you must be quick and fair when correcting poor behaviour. Spare the rod, spoil the yeti.
Your yeti will be able to out muscle you at every turn, so it is important that you plan with cunning. Though most yetis pride themselves on their heightened intelligence, they are still a dim species and easily outwitted. The biggest step of progress you can make with your yeti is convincing it to admit you are right. Your yeti can concede on anything, the subject matter isn't as relevant as the act of admission.
Another common tactic is the accidental injuries your yeti will inflict upon itself when it tries to overpower you physically. Don't be afraid when this happens, it is the yeti's way of trying to win back its role as the alpha. After successful completion of steps 1 and 2, you should have complete faith in your semi-tame yeti not to hurt you. (Note: If your yeti does inflict any intentional injury onto you, it is not meant to be tamed and should be released back into the wild IMMEDIATELY) Yetis, like most feral creatures, wrestle one another for sport, as well as asserting their role within the household hierarchy. Your yeti will win if you let the game go, but an ill-placed elbow or a half-cocked knee and your poor yeti will become the victim of his own excitement.
Stop the game immediately at this point. Your job now is to coddle your poor, hairy monster and kiss its boo-boos better. The idea isn't to make your yeti think that he is in danger in any way. Quite the contrary, when your yeti knows that you wouldn't, you've got yourself a yeti that will, in fact, roll over onto its back for belly rubs. But there is one final step that is, quite possibly, the most pivotal.
STEP 4: Feed the Beast
It is a big step for these creatures to relinquish their crown as the alpha. If there is one thing that can bring your yeti back from the mopey slump it will inevitably find itself in. The answer, for any of you who has met a yeti before, is obviously food.
They say that the quickest way to a man's heart is through his stomach. I don't think that is a scientifically valid, but it certainly applies to your yeti. While your yeti is recovering from the bruising you have just dealt to its ego, it is best to stock your pantry with lots of sweets and yummy treats. For being a surly, lonesome species in the wild, there is very little in life that can keep a yeti down when it has a happy tummy.
Note: the description of yetis in this guide comes from years of experience. Please be sure to always act with caution when handling your yeti. These are ferocious creatures of the wild, not labradoodles.
There, Darcy. Look what I did because of you.
Wednesday, January 2, 2013
Adultlescence: Hate Leads to Suffering
I was born to be an optimist. Even my blood type is "be positive". Sometimes it can be difficult, but it is so important to try to find the good in a situation. If a person spends all of their energy focusing on negativity, it just breeds more negativity. Likewise, when you focus your attention on the good, it affects more than the superficial issue at hand. It comes down to a choice, one you will make in every situation in every day of your life. Will you feed your hate, or will you choose compassion?
Have you ever met a person with an infectious smile? Of course you have. All smiles are infectious. Laughter is contagious. Happiness is so easily handed out, it seems almost selfish to keep it to yourself. You will lose nothing by giving away a smile to a stranger you pass on the street, but there is so much to gain by such a simple gesture. When that person inevitably smiles back, you've turned your own goodwill into a profit. Doesn't it make your heart lighter to have a person smile at you? In some small measure, such a simple act of civility can lighten the weight on your shoulders. It can make you walk a little taller. It can stroke a bruised ego. That is just one example of the hundreds of thousands of ways that you can make your own life easier by a simple alteration of attitude. The universe, I believe, is a great neutrality and everything you give into it, you get back. You have to, or the universe becomes unbalanced. By that logic, the more love and compassion you let into it, the more you get returned. This is just basic karma.
Your life is the longest thing you will ever commit yourself to, but really, in the grand scheme of things, it is a mere bat of your eyelashes and it is ending. Each and every one of us will live a solitary, insignificant life and when we die, it will inevitably be forgotten. This idea doesn't scare me. I understand how some might find it so, but I must disagree. Wouldn't it be a great amount of pressure to live your life for future generations to awe at? But trying to create a legacy for yourself is just as selfish as letting yourself blend into the background and avoiding the stress. The fact of the matter remains that maybe one of the people you have met or will meet in your life will be 'memorable' and the rest of us will be given our monuments as tombstones indistinguishable from any other in a field of tombstones.
That may not exactly sound like the most optimistic point of view I realize, but I for one always work better under pressure. All you are given is this one, very short period of time to do, see, say and eat everything that you want to do, see, say and eat. With such a limited time here to accomplish whatever it is you as an individual consider to be important, how can a person find the time to be pessimistic? Negativity is contagious. It is like a cancer that infects you and spreads through your mind and body. When a person gives in to their hate, they are feeding it and allowing it to grow. It can start small; a stubbed toe, a rainy day, a hair in your dinner, but it doesn't end there. You let that stew inside you, and nothing is as bright as it was originally because of that one black spot you let into your life. That black spot turns a not-so-great cup of coffee into the-worst-cup-of-coffee-ever and the black spot has grown. As it grows, it gets stronger and stronger until it isn't a bad day your having, its a bad week. A bad life. Hate has the power to rule you, but only you have the power to let it.
What does a person have to gain by putting so much energy into their own misery when it is so simple to twist around on itself. Change it. Rearrange it. Fight it. Right it. Raise a little hell, raise a little hell, raise a little hell. No one is going to fight your battles for you, you have to stand on your own two feet. The point of importance is that you do stand. Stand and fight and make things better. I may be one small girl, but I have an unrelenting optimism. I nurture it and let it grow, and my world looks a little brighter every day because of it. Positive thinking is a little harder to spread, I find. Hate is easy because you will never have to blame yourself. You can be the victim all your life if that's what you choose, but remember you do have options. There will always be hate in the world, but you don't need to let it swallow you whole.
Have you ever met a person with an infectious smile? Of course you have. All smiles are infectious. Laughter is contagious. Happiness is so easily handed out, it seems almost selfish to keep it to yourself. You will lose nothing by giving away a smile to a stranger you pass on the street, but there is so much to gain by such a simple gesture. When that person inevitably smiles back, you've turned your own goodwill into a profit. Doesn't it make your heart lighter to have a person smile at you? In some small measure, such a simple act of civility can lighten the weight on your shoulders. It can make you walk a little taller. It can stroke a bruised ego. That is just one example of the hundreds of thousands of ways that you can make your own life easier by a simple alteration of attitude. The universe, I believe, is a great neutrality and everything you give into it, you get back. You have to, or the universe becomes unbalanced. By that logic, the more love and compassion you let into it, the more you get returned. This is just basic karma.
Your life is the longest thing you will ever commit yourself to, but really, in the grand scheme of things, it is a mere bat of your eyelashes and it is ending. Each and every one of us will live a solitary, insignificant life and when we die, it will inevitably be forgotten. This idea doesn't scare me. I understand how some might find it so, but I must disagree. Wouldn't it be a great amount of pressure to live your life for future generations to awe at? But trying to create a legacy for yourself is just as selfish as letting yourself blend into the background and avoiding the stress. The fact of the matter remains that maybe one of the people you have met or will meet in your life will be 'memorable' and the rest of us will be given our monuments as tombstones indistinguishable from any other in a field of tombstones.
That may not exactly sound like the most optimistic point of view I realize, but I for one always work better under pressure. All you are given is this one, very short period of time to do, see, say and eat everything that you want to do, see, say and eat. With such a limited time here to accomplish whatever it is you as an individual consider to be important, how can a person find the time to be pessimistic? Negativity is contagious. It is like a cancer that infects you and spreads through your mind and body. When a person gives in to their hate, they are feeding it and allowing it to grow. It can start small; a stubbed toe, a rainy day, a hair in your dinner, but it doesn't end there. You let that stew inside you, and nothing is as bright as it was originally because of that one black spot you let into your life. That black spot turns a not-so-great cup of coffee into the-worst-cup-of-coffee-ever and the black spot has grown. As it grows, it gets stronger and stronger until it isn't a bad day your having, its a bad week. A bad life. Hate has the power to rule you, but only you have the power to let it.
What does a person have to gain by putting so much energy into their own misery when it is so simple to twist around on itself. Change it. Rearrange it. Fight it. Right it. Raise a little hell, raise a little hell, raise a little hell. No one is going to fight your battles for you, you have to stand on your own two feet. The point of importance is that you do stand. Stand and fight and make things better. I may be one small girl, but I have an unrelenting optimism. I nurture it and let it grow, and my world looks a little brighter every day because of it. Positive thinking is a little harder to spread, I find. Hate is easy because you will never have to blame yourself. You can be the victim all your life if that's what you choose, but remember you do have options. There will always be hate in the world, but you don't need to let it swallow you whole.
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