I Reach a New Level in Unemployment PLUS Bonus Story: My Mosquito Induced Heart Attack

When I used to leave somewhere late at night, I liked to count down the hours I would get to sleep before I had to get up and commute to my Real Life Job. On a regular night, I would calculate roughly 6 hours (or 5.5 if I was feeling optimistic that I would be on time - coughnevercough); so I would average about 6.5 hours of sleep a night which probably didn't help with the whole "horrible commute" and "unsatisfying job" aspects of my morning. 

Tonight, while leaving my friend's house at around midnight, I did the mental math and figured out that if I have a gym appointment at 10:00, then I will have to wake up at *gasp* 9:00. That's....that's only about... 8.5 hours of sleep. And I'm in a fit of despair. 

How can it possibly have shifted so fast?? In three weeks, sleeping a little too long is becoming too little! "Must sleep for 12 hours to be fully satisfied!" How did I function passably at a Real Life Job on half a tank?

I think what I'm actually dreading isn't that I don't have enough time to sleep; it's the fact that I have to set an alarm and make myself get up. I will miss out on a beautiful, natural wake up - a hair flowing, blue birds singing outside my window, I'm already wearing make up kind of wake up. Instead I will have the abrupt, halting wake up - the alarm clock wailing, bleary-eyed snooze button reaching, grouchy teenager  kind of wake up that no one wants.

This is what unemployment does to you folks! By next week I might be complaining that I had to get out of bed for 2 whole hours! Here's hoping my muscles don't atrophy before I am able to get a new job. 

Bonus Content!

Another nightly ritual of mine (other than disappointing myself with badly estimated sleep times) is a straightforward 6 point check. 

When living in the basement, one must always be vigilant about the horrific possibility that there may be a large, disgusting insect somewhere in the room. I simply cannot relax unless I have done a thorough sweep of my room upon entry:

1. Around the outside door frame

2. Around the window

3. Around the bed

4. Behind the laundry basket

5. The ceiling

6. The carpet

The ceiling is by far the trickiest, most harrowing spot to scan. This is rivalled only by the carpet, which might as well be camouflage print. Since 98% of ceilings are painted egg-shell white and most things that are hairy and beastly stick out rather easily on that surface, you'd think that this would be the easiest location to search. You would be wrong. You'd be wrong just like my father who thought lightly white-washed bead board was the way to go! Every knot in the wood paneling over my head is now a potential creepy- crawly. This becomes a 15 minute game of "Where's Waldo" except Waldo has a million legs, and I don't actually want to find him.  

So, when I went to my closet to get my pajamas, I was confident that I wouldn't have any scurrying surprises. I reached for my door handle and just as I pulled, a giant mosquito buzzed into my field of vision and I had a coronary.

Now I'll have to search (7.) EVERYWHERE. 

How Much is that Henry Cavill in the Window?

Well, what can I say? I may be a bad person.

Last night, I went and saw "Man of Steel" and thoroughly enjoyed myself. As a movie it was very entertaining. I enjoyed the story line, the action sequences, and the general look and feel of the whole movie; but if I'm being honest - I mainly enjoyed lusting after Henry Cavill.

For the past little while, it hasn't been normal for me to really bone-out on a film-star, or to be incredibly heated up by something on screen, but last night Superman had me salivating. #howJessiegothergrooveback

After my sister and I did a full run down of Mr. Cavill's amazing abs, chiselled jaw and perplexing pecks, my father started to get indignant about our objectification of Clark Kent. Why was it okay, he asked, for us to fall all over ourselves about this actor, when I was always so judgemental of men doing it to women in film?

Good question, Dad. Thanks for calling me on that.

I have thought a lot about this last night as I was lying awake until 2 am. I think I have come up with an answer that explains why, and also allows me to continue to Google the shit out of my favourite super hero - because he is not being marketed to me as a sex-symbol.

When you watch the ads of Man of Steel, there are a few seconds of shirtless glory - some gritty scenes of rippling muscles, but when I watch the trailers, I see this as a show of Superman's super-human abilities. I feel like this is presented to the audience as physical proof that he is the strongest man. I feel like what is on display is his strength and super-natural skills. Due to his amazing body, he is able to save lives and perform unbelievable feats.

But when I got home and started my fan-girl hunt for scintillating images of the star, I was disappointed by my lack of eye-candy. How is it that there are a limited number of shirtless pictures on the interweb! IMPOSSIBLE! It was the official website of the movie that brought me to the reasoning behind my irritation.

When I compared the official website to what I remembered of the Transformers trailers and website, I kept on recalling the incredible sexualization of Megan Fox (who, by the way, was supposed to be a teenager??). I think the difference is that we were shown her body as sexualized object, versus that strength and stamina that we are given in the form of Henry Cavill. I feel like I just happened to find a man insanely attractive instead of a trailer telling me "This is an attractive man - commence drooling". I feel like this is how women are portrayed "This a hot woman, look at her!" without any of the dualism of what benefits the hotness her body may give us - what's she going to do? Blow some Decepticon circuits with her bodacious bod? I don't think so.

Maybe this is because women aren't as vocal about what they want to see sexualized on screen? When Magic Mike came out, I was astonished by the reaction from women - it's was like they had never seen a naked torso before? I think the fact that the movie was presented as a sexual movie for women was what caused all the commotion. Same with 50 Shades of Grey. While those books are terribly written and have a crap plot line, they opened up a discourse of how women hide their sexual selves, and how it's possible to open that up.

I'm not saying that if we objectify men, it somehow makes it okay to keep doing it to women. That isn't how equality should work. I want to say that we should market women in a different light, with the added bonus of them being attractive.

In the end I have a screen saver of the sexiest part of Superman that Warner Brothers would provide me: his jaw.

Three Years Later and I'm the Same Person

Well, hello to you! It's been a while, but I'm back with a vengeance. 

Let me catch you up:

- 2010: Left The Grocery Store for the Book Store. Made great friends, loved my job, loved my life. Got fit, had fun. Tanned outside and was a bronze goddess. 

- 2010-2013: Worked at a very large and prosperous Software Company. Made great friends, didn't love my job. Got fat, had less fun. The chaise-lounge hasn't been opened in three years = pasty white.

- TODAY: FUNEMPLOYED! I just said adios to the Software Company less than a week ago, and I already feel better. While I am sad to see the people go, the job wasn't for me. How can I say this tactfully? It crushed my spirit. How do people exist in offices? I think florescent lights are designed to kill the creativity of the people under them. Like somehow the light slowly cooks the happiness from your braincells. But, I've emerged back into the world and so far the only thing I'm missing is my co-workers, and the CBC Radio 2 Personalities. Commuting makes the radio your best friend. Tom Power, I miss you!

I am feeling very stereotypical at the moment as I sit at a Starbucks with my (new) Macbook Pro. I am feeling pretty fraudulent; I have the clothes and the glasses and the computer and the coffee, but do I have the substance? I was feeling incredibly self conscious until I found my old Blogs and realized that I really enjoy spewing my thoughts into the world. 

I need to practice writing if I ever want to be good at it. I am really hoping to take a creative writing course so I can learn some actual skills on how to write a structured story. (Sidenote: I think someone has a Pumpkin Spice Latte. UNFAIR. It is July. Don't make me miss Fall already!)

I'm actually at The Book Store, which feels like Mecca to me at the moment. I have returned to the place I felt the most myself. When I worked here, I felt like I was with people who understood me, and celebrated the parts of myself that I want to celebrate. All I want to do is work here again, but I'm worried that I'm just trying to reclaim the past. Maybe I'm as delusional at Gatbsy in the recent Baz Lurhhman film - 

Nick: "You can't repeat the past"

Gatsby: "Sure you can!"

Okay, so that's not the quote but you get the gist. I don't want to repeat the past, but I would like to get back to being as happy as possible, and I think that this is a good place to start. I love surrounding myself in books. They remind me that there are people like me out there; people who create whole worlds, characters, and events in their heads and make believe that they are real. This is possibly unhealthy. 

This sort of wild imagination tends to get me into a lot of emotional trouble. I am constantly making up details about the personalities of the people around me, and then being disappointed when they aren't those things. I have an entire boyfriend scripted out in my head. I change his face depending on the people around me (default: Sidney Crosby). This cannot be healthy. How can anyone fit perfectly this character I have created in my head. Surely, no one can be that awesome. 

And now - the the gym! I have too much to think about already, and I want to free up the mind space that spends 50% of my day hating my body. 

-Jess-

Too Many Good Names for this Blog

I guess it all started with the Wii...I think.

Today, Mom and I went shopping for lamp shades and a Wii. Funnily enough, it was my Mom's idea, and not a situation where I had to badger my parents about how awesome a Wiifit would be for our current weight loss lifestyle. She just decided and asked my opinion. Like I'm going to say no? Let's be serious.

Seriously. We went to Best Buy and bought a Wii (of course all the Wiifits are gone becuase it's New Years and everyone is going to "get skinny this year"). It was very simple and I only had to explain to my mother 5 times that, "no, we still need to get the game, this is just the console". It was great. Then we went to Homesense where I remembered my unconsolable fear of "bargain mark-down stores" (read: Winners). I am against all stores who's best tag line is "Great Finds!" Yea. The word "Find" implies that there was a search needed. Basically they're telling you that you have to sift through all their other shitty product to get to other shitty product that's at least half way decent. Somehow I don't think this is a WINNING recomendation to a store.

After I told my mother that she should get a lampshade that is as benign as the one she already has, and convinced her that no one at ALL will notice our new cream bathmat is a titch lighter shade than the colour in our shower curtain, we got the fuck out of there.

I set up the Wii. Very easy. Played a million rounds of Bowling with my mom (I made her tighten the wrist strap), she went to play with the washing machine and I decided to try boxing.

Holy Jesus.

Wii Boxing is about as fun as my entire life put together into a ball of awesome. I have never done anything in a video game I thought I could do better in real life. Mortal Kombat never inspired me to do round-house KO's. WII BOXING MAKES ME FEEL LIKE EVANDER FUCKING HOLYFIELD. I could DEFINITELY fight someone in boxing and win. Wii said so. I didn't lose a match. It made me feel very light on my feet and boxy. In an awesome way.

It was in this state that I rolled a joint and went to visit my Wishing Cousin. (The one who wishes really hard for things at christmas). I picked her up for a night on the town. We smoked my apparent cannon. I had thought it was regular size, but apparently it was for 10 people. Suffice to say, I was pretty stoned by the time we were burning filter. WC left me to go pee and I was to finish the roach. BLINDSIDED: headlights sweep my face. Her Mom, My Aunt. Home early from Water Aerobics because the pool is being cleaned this weekend. We were "leaving" when she left. We were still outside when she came home. Bad sign. Especially as I'm already sketchy about people knowing about my pot-intake-valve. WC was inside. I had a joint in my hand. So I did what every NORMAL person does and went into a totally ape-shit panic.

Using skillz only learned from Wii Boxing this afternoon, I dodged the headlights, bolted to the back door. In one smooth twist of the wrist, I ashed the joint and lunged to the side, flicking the spent filter into the bushes and bursting into the house. I alert WC as to what has happened and she tells me to go get Diet Coke from the garage and stay there until her mom had vacated the premises. So I bolt into the garage.

If you've ever seen a Scooby Doo episode where all the characters are running from the monstor and enter the "hall of doors" scenario, you can imagine how the rest of the aunt-encounter went. I went into the garage, she came in the back door. I popped my head out of the garage as she just walked into the laundry room. I hid in the garage. She went upstairs, I ran out the back door. She came downstairs. She went upstairs, WC ran out of the bathroom, out the door and into the car.

We fled. No honour, just sheer fleeing. WC was not as shaken as me, because she's way cool, but i was a hot stoned mess. By the time we reached party destination, I couldn't breath I was laughing so hard. I felt exactly as if I were Phoebe Buffet and that I was driving a big yellow taxi. I blame the boho hat I was wearing and the side swept bangs I've finally managed to accomplish.

All in all, a great night. The monstor was actually Mr. Jones from next door. He would have succeeded if it weren't for those pesky kids!

xoxoxox

P.S. Joel Plaskett, if you read this, I think you're hotter than Jesus.

Contains Personal Information

You know what's the worst? When you strategically place a condom in a convenient location, don't end up needing it, forget you put it there, and then remember 3 hours later after your mom has been in the general area of said condom for at least 2 of those hours.


AHHHHH!!!!

Luckily I was safe, she did not move the Kleenex box and discover my hiding spot. You'd think I'd learn, but really, I don't. I prefer the shock-horror of the moment, apparently. This has happened to me approximately 12 million times. I flatter myself. I only WISH it happened 12 million times cause that would mean I would have had a lot of sex. Actually, it would mean I almost needed a condom 12 million times, but never got around to it. Hmmm. Need to rethink that wish.

Speaking of "wishing", I have a bone to pick with the term "wishing". You can "wish" to have sex 12 million times. You can "wish" you were taller. You can "wish" to wake up with better hair and straighter teeth but you cannot "wish" like my cousin "wishes".

Darling, I'm about to expose you. My fabulously awesome cousin "wishes" for things for Christmas. It's normal when you're 8 to make out a "wish list" from the Sears "wish book" (which is something else entirely that I don't want to talk about yet).

The thing that puzzles me the most about all of this wishing is her phrasing. She says "I'm going to wish for that for Christmas". Maybe it has something to do with the fact that you really "wished" for things from Santa, and we know that Santa = Parents, so now we "ask" for things for Christmas. It also suggests to me that she sits there, thinking REALLY had about what she wants, "wishing" that it will appear come December 25th. It suggests that she will keep it to herself and hope that it shows up. Since you're not supposed to tell anyone your wishes, and Santa was just supposed to know what you wanted, it seems counter-productive to wish for something for Christmas when, if you ASK your parents for it, you're more likely to get it.

But this is all just semantics. I know what she means, she asks her parents for it, but always describes it as "wishing" for Item X; In my head I see her sitting alone in her room, eyes scrunched up tight with a thought bubble of the thing she wants, drawn in a cartoon. In my head, she's wishing really really hard.

I love you.

Maybe I should apply her theory to my situation. I will wish for sex 12 million times. Does that mean I have to ask for it? Cause that's just desperate isn't it?

My other cousin, (Wishing Cousin's Sister) came over to my house yesterday and I was drunk.

You see, originally I went to a tailgate party for a football game but ended up being thrown up on, going home early and opening the door to my mother who said: "You smell like booze" and "Is that vomit on your pants?" It was really a pretty funny experience. When my cousin came over, I was in a great mood! I had drank enough in the morning so that I would have been drunk for the entire game. The only problem was, I was at home, alone, with my mom all day. We watched TV and ate pizza and I tried to keep my drunk thoughts to myself. When I relayed the story of my up-chuck experience (it was not my vomit, but my best friends, so it didn't really bother me, somehow?) she said to me: "You know, Jessie, I think only you can make a story about being thrown up on and missing a football game into a hilarious story, and still be bouncing happily around your house." And it's true. Only I could do that, because I have to WORK at being in a bad mood. I have to WANT to be angry to really be grouchy.

Naturally happy people are pretty weird. I have a weird part of me that tends to really take over my whole self sometimes. I wonder how people get along with me on a day-to-day basis; especially when I get to work at 6 AM and am really happy. I'm not a morning person, I'm an everytime person. If I wake up in a bad mood, normally I can have it beat by noon, or earlier. Though, I went through a pretty bad couple months where I was in a consta-bad mood. Even choosing to be happy didn't help, and just came out forced. I would sink into happiness, but then remember that I was in a bad mood and then turn that smile upside down. I think I'm almost over it, though it still drives me INSANE when my mom drives to the lights in the morning instead of the stop sign. It's 6am. No one is on the road!!! YOU DON'T NEED THE LIGHT!!!!

I'm irrational sometimes, but what can you do?

I gotta go get that condom out of there before I have some explaining to do.

LIGHT BULB!

A few hours later and I'm the smartest person I know. Eyes to the front, boys and girls, while I regail you with my tale of genius.

I left a bit ago to turn off my dvd and to answer a phone call from my cousin. I am blessed with having amazing relatives that actually like me and want to hang out. She convinced me that it is futile to sit sedentary and be swallowed up by my giant Pier 1 Imports Papasan Chair when there are fun times afoot. I decided to meet her half way at least and shower.

During my shower I decided to step outside the box and, instead of using the shampoo that my mother and I share, I chose my dad's shampoo. It is some Suave something or other with coconuts on the front. To my astonishment and amazement, it actually smells EXACTLY like Banana Penicillin.

Did I mention I'm death-bed sick? Phlegm and all the other nasty assortment of ewwies? Did I also mention that I have had roughly 9,000,000 ear infections in my youth and would only ever get Banana Penicillin and beg my mother to let me have more than my prescribed tablespoon?

I LOVE BANANA PENICILLIN! I love it so much, I washed my hair with the copy-cat-scent-shampoo just to help myself feel better. Upon discovering this, I also decided to do my "Full Body Cleanse". It's like when you go to the car wash and decide to get the "Deluxe Wash". I clean every part of my body consciously. The crook of my elbows and inbetween my toes and all the things you miss out on when you're just doing the important bits like the mirrors and the hood. It makes me feel like I'm scrubbing my brain from the outside in and it always makes me feel better. However, my delightful suds-up was RUINED when I caught a whiff (through the pinhole airway in my clogged nasal passages) of GARLIC!

CURSE YOU GARLIC SUIT! Even when the uniform is in the wash and I've scrubbed my hands, you insist on adhering yourself to me! Well not today. No sir, I refuse to wear you all day. I am reclaiming my independence from odourous-mascotry.

(Here is the stroke of genius...I bet you thought I forgot about it)

I washed my fingernails with toothpaste.

TADA!!!! Garlic is GONE. Toothpaste is designed to combat the horridness that is offensive food smells and it is formulated for the body! It can't possibly harm me, except make my hang nails sting. But other than that. Presto Chango. The smell is gone and I feel remarkable.

I felt so good in fact, that I just HAD to blog about it, and now my hair has dried funny.

-J.-

Hidey Holes

While miming a fit of sobs at work today, I almost shed real tears. I told my friends that I was moving out of my apartment *forever* on Thursday. It's not so much the apartment, but closing the door on the last semblence of independence I thought I had. It was sooo nice living with friends instead of family. You can do whatever the hell you wanted to. If you closed your door, it meant (very clearly) that you did not want to be spoken to.

It's not that living at home is so awful. I have it stupidly easy here. I get to drive whenever there's a free car; and I have a comfy room specifically for my use; I have a home-gym in the basement; my parents are awesome at understanding I am basically an adult.

Very basically. I feel like an Adult-Child. It's very depressing to me that now that I am done university, a graduate, that I will revert back to my high-school like zone of influence until I get a job where I make enough money to move out of the parental house. As much as I hate to admit it, I really want to see Post Grad with Alexis Bledel. The movie of my life, it seems. I think it's funny that they're making a movie about the "AHH!" moment after graduation where you realize you're supposed to have a "career path", and everything slowly slips from beneath your feet.

On a lighter subject, I am watching The Nightmare Before Christmas. I don't know why but periodically I love to watch Christmas movies. This is the perfect movie for me at the moment, because the October-February stretch is chaulk full of holidays, and the rest of the year, not so much. No one gets excited for Civic Holiday the way they do about Christmas. I think it might have to do with the fact that no food is associated with these holidays. All good holidays have a good food associated with them.

Halloween: Candy. Need I say more?

Thanksgiving: Turkey. Sweeet tryptophan. Pumpkin Pie.

Christmas: Either MORE Turkey (Which is never a bad thing) or Roast, and allll the associated Christmas foods: Apple Cider and Cinnamon EVERYTHING and Bailey's.

Valentine's Day: Cinnamon Hearts.

I guess Easter can sneak in there because of all the chocolate, but it's more religious than the others, which I suppose detracts from the tasty edibles.

Anyways, I can't wait until Autumn. It's my favourite season. I love comfy sweaters and wearing jeans and cosy shoes. I love big steaming cups of tea while the wind howls outside. I love when the leaves all set themselves on fire in a final farewell to warm weather and drop from their branches. I especially love when it rains and blows and it's chilly out and all the wet leaves are slick on the road. Oooo it makes me want to curl up right now under a blanket and feel protected.

Soon, it will be all pathetic fallasy, what with the stormy weather. Maybe it will even out. Right now I have the opposite of pathetic fallasy. The sunnier it gets, the moodier and snippier I am. Maybe when we hit Fall, I will be super happy as the days get more miserable. Here's hoping.

I wish I owned Hocus Pocus on DVD.

-Jess-