Cotidie damnatur qui semper timet

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Aug. 19th, 2006

10:12 pm

Here is an interesting dilemma for you, my few non-existant devoted readers.
Would you be willing to sacrifice your dreams, your schooling, your career, your principles in order to stay with the person you love?
The most obvious answer is yes, I would do so hands-down no problem. This is an enlightened century, supposedly full of gender equality in the Western world, why would this be an issue? Or alternatively no, no I would never place my own selfish desires above the person who will stay with me for the the rest of my life.
Now the people who have truely felt love, have known that this person is more then just a quick relationship, have felt that this one person is IT knows that there is no easy answer to this query.
If someone loves you back deeply does equality actually take place in the relationship?
What would you do, honestly think on this before getting defensive, what would you do if someone that you loved needed you to stop everything that you've worked for in to stay in a relationship with them?

Current Mood: depressed

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Jul. 31st, 2006

09:56 pm

At what age do you lose your dignity?
We are all born the same, essentially, born as helpless little frog-like creatures that only are aware of two bodily functions: The need to eat and the need to soil ourselves. It seems to me that after living our lives as angry teenagers and then productive though grossly overworked adults we seem to at some point revert back to our previous incarnations. (Though admittedly some people love the shit fetish) We depend once again on kindness and sympathy, someone else to feed us and change us.
Today at Zellers I was told that an elderly woman needed me in the washroom. Nothing could have prepared me for the sight. She didn't make it to the toilet...the thong that she was wearing was grossly inappropriate for the task of containment and had quickly given up the fight. She had the stall door open and was all at once shouting her embarrassment at her situation and showing me her soiled naked thighs and nether regions. One of my managers had to physically wipe this woman's' ass and backside because she could not reach.
I felt pity. I felt revulsion. ...and the majority of my coworkers had a good laugh over it. I can understand all of those feelings but I can't really make sense out of them, it felt that my feelings over the matter were forced, does that make sense? I needed to feel sad, I needed to be sick and I needed to laugh...but I couldn't shake the premonition that this was how we all ended up, and above anything else that made me apathetic.
Why?

Current Mood: apathetic

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Jul. 28th, 2006

Mar. 7th, 2006

06:53 am

Chocolate,
Ultimate comfort food, shoulder to cry on, exam snack, and aphrodisiac -
Ambergris, an ash-coloured substance secreted in the intestines of a sperm whale, was used in the licentious courts of France as a coating for chocolates. It was said to provoke sensual attraction, particularly by Madame du Barry to ensure Louis XV's amatory interest.
But what type of chocolate that you enjoy is, according to therapist Murray Langham, supposed to say much about your personality.
Do you LOVE almond? Then you desire success, are a little self centered, and though you are a good friend you love to mettle.
Cherry? You have a level of excitement that scares people who don't know you. You love the politics of life, the sex, passion. sex, ups and downs of relationships, and sex.
How 'bout orange? Very calm person, a caregiver, someone who knows what to do in a panic situation. But you are not a leader, you follow the instructions of others
Marshmallow people are very social, love a good party - not exceptionally deep but fun loving.
There are others but I shan't list them, if you have one you want me to look up go ahead.
There are also personality types on what shape of chocolate you enjoy and what you do with the wrapper.
I would have love to have been the researcher for this....

Current Mood: hungry

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Feb. 14th, 2006

08:55 am

Today being Valentines Day I thought that I would give a little bit of history as to what makes a good woman, this document was supposedly taken from "Housekeeping Monthly", 13 May, 1955. There is some debate as to wether this is a fake or not but in either case these are accurate views of the time as deduced from jounal entries, criminal trials, etc.
Enjoy!

-Have dinner ready. Plan ahead, even the night before, to have a delicious meal ready on time for his return. This is a way of letting him know that you have be thinking about him and are concerned about his needs. Most men are hungry when they get home and the prospect of a good meal is part of the warm welcome needed.

-Prepare yourself. Take 15 minutes to rest so you'll be refreshed when he arrives. Touch up your make-up, put a ribbon in your hair and be fresh-looking. He has just been with a lot of work-weary people.

-Be a little gay and a little more interesting for him. His boring day may need a lift and one of your duties is to provide it.

-Clear away the clutter. Make one last trip through the main part of the house just before your husband arrives. Run a dustcloth over the tables.

-During the cooler months of the year you should prepare and light a fire for him to unwind by. Your husband will feel he has reached a haven of rest and order, and it will give you a lift too. After all, catering to his comfort will provide you with immense personal satisfaction.

-Minimize all noise. At the time of his arrival, eliminate all noise of the washer, dryer or vacuum. Encourage the children to be quiet.

-Be happy to see him.

-Greet him with a warm smile and show sincerity in your desire to please him.

-Listen to him. You may have a dozen important things to tell him, but the moment of his arrival is not the time. Let him talk first - remember, his topics of conversation are more important than yours.

-Don't greet him with complaints and problems.

-Don't complain if he's late for dinner or even if he stays out all night. Count this as minor compared to what he might have gone through at work.
Make him comfortable. Have him lean back in a comfortable chair or lie him down in the bedroom.

-Have a cool or warm drink ready for him.

-Arrange his pillow and offer to take off his shoes.

-Speak in a low, soothing and pleasant voice.

-Don't ask him questions about his actions or question his judgment or integrity. Remember, he is the master of the house and as such will always exercise his will with fairness and truthfulness. You have no right to question him.

-A good wife always knows her place.

Current Mood: flirty

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Feb. 8th, 2006

09:56 pm

and you'll hear them call out your name
invoking the fates
chances are you've travelled too far
in stirring their hate
what will it take
sister awake
awake

"Sister Awake"
Tea Party

Current Mood: contemplative

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Jan. 31st, 2006

08:02 pm

A week later he had awakened with horrible taste in his mouth and a nose bleed. Through fuzzy peripheral vision he saw the shape of something black and shadowy leaving his doorway. When he went to follow it he tripped over Fiffy and bashed his head against the radiator. A few days after that he had turned over in his sleep to find a courtesy mint on his pillow. Marilyn Manson, at 3:06 in the morning, was blaring from his entertainment center. On his wooden floor was a Ouija board and Samuel Coleridge's poem "To a Young Ass" scrawled in pink crayon.
* * *
A town meeting was called after a break-and-enter at Mr Jagajivan's store. Meetings such as this always made Dirk feel self-conscious. He had only started attending after one of the high ranking band members told him that tribal meetings were a part of his heritage and that it would be a disgrace to his ancestors if he didn't start attending. Dirk was alright with offending most of his ancestors, except his great-grandmother. She would squish wasps between her finger tips, bullwhip rude miners, and chase ruffians down the street with her cane – if anyone would come back from the dead to yell at him about town meetings it would be her.
Despite promises by Mr Jagajivan that his older brother Alzeshi in Barkerville had arranged to send over "many sunscreens" by helicopter on Tuesday of next week, the town-hall could not be placated. The crowd began protesting the lack of sun protection and demanded governmental pregnancy prevention programs. Then things really started getting out of control. Two elderly woman in the crowd began throat singing and had to be pepper-sprayed. The meeting was dissolved.
The result of all of this was that Dirk could not, for the life of him, buy some canned peas for his dinner. The thieves had trashed the pharmacy section taking as many bottled lotions and muscled-male calendars as they could carry. They had also broken most of the windows, spray-painted "Black Power" on the walls and greased the floors with Crisco oil. The entire building was declared unsafe and had been nailed shut until repairs could be made. This made Dirk very upset, he had been counting on those peas to be able to restore some normalcy in his life.
That morning he had awakened to a terrific crash and a horrid smell. As he leapt out of bed he knocked over his water glass and stepped in something very shitty feeling. In his living room was a very angry 600 pound male caribou decked out with bells, a radio transmitter, and a red bow. It was trying to ram Fiffy, who was holding her own and had managed to give it a few good swipes across the muzzle. When Dirk left five of Aklavik's toughest men were trying to wrestle the thing to the floor, and Fiffy was going back for pot-shots. In other words his apartment was trashed and he had lost his damage deposit. He really needed those peas.
Miss Okalik found him outside his apartment building in a fetal position mumbling something about his mother. He told her about the caribou in his dining room, about Fiffy and the food, the homemade moccasins, his ex-wife, the men in black suits in Mrs Tulugaq's apartment, and his theory on radio alarm clocks.
She told him she was pregnant.
"I just hope that sunscreen comes soon. What if we get that skin cancer that has been going around Florida? That wouldn't be good for the twins. Oh, did I tell you? I just heard from my granddaughter down in Whitehorse, Mrs Tulugaq has given birth to two healthy baby boys, cesarian of course —poor thing's hips went out on the first push. And she has decided to stay in the small native community there for the time being, rest her bones. We have sent her a card, I signed it for you, and then we sent her some caribou meat because you know what the meat's like there. Oh there, there love, don't you worry about a thing, because we can't do anything about it now can we? But look, there's a cloud in the sky."
No – he couldn't do anything about it but with today's modern drugs at least he could make life a little less intrusive. That night, with Fiffy curled up between his legs, a couple of very strong tranquilizers and the gentle sound of wind rattling his blinds, Dirk fell into a deep sedated sleep. An hour later, Fiffy stirred, hissed and ran under the bed. Dirk's apartment door unlocked, opened, and was pushed to one side. Two men wearing matching black suits and ties stepped into the apartment and nodded at each other. One brushed bits of snow off of his companion's back while he straightened his lapel. Then with a sense of purpose he worked his way through the debris and caribou droppings into Dirk's bedroom. He moved the moccasins to where Dirk's old slippers used to lay, then he moved Dirk's water glass to the very edge of the end table and exited the room. His companion entered it and reset Dirk's alarm clock to 3:06 am. They nodded their heads stiffly at each other, then the men in black suits and ties left the building.

Current Mood: sick

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Jan. 24th, 2006

09:25 pm

The population of Aklavik consists of fifty-two and a half people of Inuit decent, a east-Indian grocer,
a white 36 year old man named Dirk, and Alan the llama.
You would think that a sudden influx of well-dressed, pasty white men would cause some sort of stir.
Personally Dirk felt threatened in his position as the town's only Caucasian male. When Dirk had first
arrived in town, the school children had burned him in effigy — he had brought them marshmallows
and they soon became friends. But nobody seemed to notice these well dressed men in black, even as
Dirk and Miss Okalik passed two crunching on snow-cones in the sun – she didn't bat an eye.
Miss Okalik was a kindly 70-year-old grandmother of three who sometimes took pity on Dirk and brought him along on her shopping trips. She would gossip about this and that, but today she was worried that all this sun would hurt next months' "Running of the Caribou." This was an annual event where a bunch of drunken men on ancient skidoo's would round up a group of mad 700 pound, testosterone pumped, sexually frustrated, demonlike versions of Santa's little sledders. They would be herded down the five streets of Aklavik and into a crowd of drunken, testosterone pumped, sexually frustrated 200 pound. men. The women didn't consider it a good day unless someone lost a testicle. When Dirk told Miss Okalik about the men he had seen in Mrs Tulugaq's apartment she was outraged that a group of "seal-sucking whites" had chosen to bother their small community and "if she ever got her hands on 'em..." Miss Okalik, like many other people in Aklavik's community, had chosen to believe that Dirk was really a dumb albino Inuit with dyed brown hair. It was easier for them.
"What would you do then, Miss Okalik?" Dirk prodded gently as he put a jar of beets and pickles into his shopping basket.
"Well, you remember that Franklin expedition? Whole group of those whites came up here looking for a North West passage, well they ended up going mad and eating each other."
"You'd eat them?"
"No. But I'd direct them to the nearest McDonald's," she pointed out the window and into a lone, barren and frigid landscape "Give them five dollars, tell them I'm too old to walk it and could they please bring me back a Happy Meal." She smiled warmly at him and, as they were now in the pharmacy lane, she dumped a jar of Beano, two bottles of suntan lotion, laxative, and a pregnancy test into her buggy. "Hey, Jagajivan, you're running out of suntan lotion!"
"What about Mrs Tulugaq?"
"What about her then, love?"
"Well where did she go then?
"What's that, dear?" They were passing a stand of this year's calendars showing muscle bound men fixing cars.
"Mrs Tulug-"
"Oh, her then. Silly old bird got herself knocked-up that one did. She had to be flown to a maternity clinic in Whitehorse the poor thing."

* * *

Something square shifted and something wet fell.
"...Show me how you wanna do me, tell me baby cause I need to know now, wo because..."
Bam!
"...Hit me baby one more time...."
Bam! Bam!
"...yes that gorgeous sunlight is now hitting its fifth day in a row, Mr Rama Jagajivan would like to wish everyone a Happy Divali, and to let customers know that he is now out of suntan lotion and home pregnancy kits..."
There was no real point to Dirk's existence anymore. His slippers would be wet, his robe would be moldy, and the coffee would be burnt but there would be no one there to wave good-morning to him.
"...of course we can expect this darn sun to disappear by tomorrow in a flury of showers..."
Bam!
He sighed and smelled dark roasted coffee beans with just a touch of vanilla and a sprinkle of cinnamon. He poked his head over the bed. The water glass had fallen and hit his pair of slippers, but had missed a pair of brand new pair of lynx fur-lined moccasins with floral beading, he put them on—a perfect fit. He looked up at his robe hanging on the bed-frame, this was still moldy but a little less so, like someone had made a genuine effort to return it to its natural white color but in the end had to admit defeat. He hid his head under the covers. He got the feeling that he wasn't alone in his apartment. The sound of sizzling bacon confirmed his dreaded suspicion and, like a siren, tempted him out into dangerous territory. A door somewhere clicked shut. After five minutes, an uneasy calm settled over Dirk, who now felt that it was safe to face the world, as much as it had ever been.
On his dining-room table there was a spread of eggs, cheeses, yogurts, fruits, jams, and crumpets. Bacon sizzled in a frying-pan that wasn't his own. Coffee brewed in the background in a coffee maker, also not his own, and there was a used Garfield mug on his table.
"Meowwwrrrrr.....hisssssss"
Hissing at his new moccasins was Fiffy, Mrs Tulugaq's cat. Attached to her collar was a note in baby-blue ink: "Good-bye."

Current Mood: annoyed

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09:19 pm - Chapter 2

The population of Aklavik consists of fifty-two and a half people of Inuit decent, a east-Indian grocer, a white 36 year old man named Dirk, and Alan the llama.
You would think that a sudden influx of well-dressed, pasty white men would cause some sort of stir. Personally Dirk felt threatened in his position as the town's only Caucasian male. When Dirk had first arrived in town, the school children had burned him in effigy — he had brought them marshmallows and they soon became friends. But nobody seemed to notice these well dressed men in black, even as Dirk and Miss Okalik passed two crunching on snow-cones in the sun – she didn't bat an eye.
Miss Okalik was a kindly 70-year-old grandmother of three who sometimes took pity on Dirk and brought him along on her shopping trips. She would gossip about this and that, but today she was worried that all this sun would hurt next months' "Running of the Caribou." This was an annual event where a bunch of drunken men on ancient skidoo's would round up a group of mad 700 pound, testosterone pumped, sexually frustrated, demonlike versions of Santa's little sledders. They would be herded down the five streets of Aklavik and into a crowd of drunken, testosterone pumped, sexually frustrated 200 pound. men. The women didn't consider it a good day unless someone lost a testicle. When Dirk told Miss Okalik about the men he had seen in Mrs Tulugaq's apartment she was outraged that a group of "seal-sucking whites" had chosen to bother their small community and "if she ever got her hands on 'em..." Miss Okalik, like many other people in Aklavik's community, had chosen to believe that Dirk was really a dumb albino Inuit with dyed brown hair. It was easier for them.
"What would you do then, Miss Okalik?" Dirk prodded gently as he put a jar of beets and pickles into his shopping basket.
"Well, you remember that Franklin expedition? Whole group of those whites came up here looking for a North West passage, well they ended up going mad and eating each other."
"You'd eat them?"
"No. But I'd direct them to the nearest McDonald's," she pointed out the window and into a lone, barren and frigid landscape "Give them five dollars, tell them I'm too old to walk it and could they please bring me back a Happy Meal." She smiled warmly at him and, as they were now in the pharmacy lane, she dumped a jar of Beano, two bottles of suntan lotion, laxative, and a pregnancy test into her buggy. "Hey, Jagajivan, you're running out of suntan lotion!"
"What about Mrs Tulugaq?"
"What about her then, love?"
"Well where did she go then?
"What's that, dear?" They were passing a stand of this year's calendars showing muscle bound men fixing cars.
"Mrs Tulug-"
"Oh, her then. Silly old bird got herself knocked-up that one did. She had to be flown to a maternity clinic in Whitehorse the poor thing."

* * *

Something square shifted and something wet fell.
"...Show me how you wanna do me, tell me baby cause I need to know now, wo because..."
Bam!
"...Hit me baby one more time...."
Bam! Bam!
"...yes that gorgeous sunlight is now hitting its fifth day in a row, Mr Rama Jagajivan would like to wish everyone a Happy Divali, and to let customers know that he is now out of suntan lotion and home pregnancy kits..."
There was no real point to Dirk's existence anymore. His slippers would be wet, his robe would be moldy, and the coffee would be burnt but there would be no one there to wave good-morning to him.
"...of course we can expect this darn sun to disappear by tomorrow in a flury of showers..."
Bam!
He sighed and smelled dark roasted coffee beans with just a touch of vanilla and a sprinkle of cinnamon. He poked his head over the bed. The water glass had fallen and hit his pair of slippers, but had missed a pair of brand new pair of lynx fur-lined moccasins with floral beading, he put them on—a perfect fit. He looked up at his robe hanging on the bed-frame, this was still moldy but a little less so, like someone had made a genuine effort to return it to its natural white color but in the end had to admit defeat. He hid his head under the covers. He got the feeling that he wasn't alone in his apartment. The sound of sizzling bacon confirmed his dreaded suspicion and, like a siren, tempted him out into dangerous territory. A door somewhere clicked shut. After five minutes, an uneasy calm settled over Dirk, who now felt that it was safe to face the world, as much as it had ever been.
On his dining-room table there was a spread of eggs, cheeses, yogurts, fruits, jams, and crumpets. Bacon sizzled in a frying-pan that wasn't his own. Coffee brewed in the background in a coffee maker, also not his own, and there was a used Garfield mug on his table.
"Meowwwrrrrr.....hisssssss"
Hissing at his new moccasins was Fiffy, Mrs Tulugaq's cat. Attached to her collar was a note in baby-blue ink: "Good-bye."

Current Mood: sleepy

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Jan. 20th, 2006

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