Conspiracy Theory #282: D'Angelo's Car Crash

Hmm. So you are listed in "critical condition" following a harrowing SUV crash in which you (duh) weren't wearing your seatbelt.

Now, all of a sudden, it appears that you just bruised a rib. Ok, I'm following along so far...

But when your lawyer / business adviser, makes a statement that includes the sentence: "(D'Angelo) is anxious to finish the recording of his soul masterpiece that the world has patiently awaited", you lose me.

Bravo 14-minuter, I applaud you and your dubious techniques. You have reached the checkpoint and your time has been extended.

The Art of Compromise

I bend like grass in the wind...everyone elses feelings ahead of mine, everyone elses needs come first. I should be studied by anthropologists due to my remarkable lack of spine.

And I just put my foot down dammit!

I am sick and fricking tired of people taking my aura of compromise and "let's just get along"-ness as weakness or indifference. And if there is one thing I've learnt from my lack of vertebrae, that is people will take advantage of someone's desire not to rock the boat.

My beloved Mother for example (drip THAT with sarcasm, and you are right where I am right now). She is unable of giving an opinion without making you feel as if you are absolutely stupid to do it any other way than the way she has suggested. This all came up over Bridesmaid Dress colours, which I couldn't give a flying frig about. Bridesmaids colours, whee. So what? So, I eventually whittled my own intense disinterest into two choices; champagne and charcoal. Upon finding out that, oops, champagne makes my girls look like extras in "Dawn of the Dead". I change and go for the charcoal. Fine. Or so I thought.

Twenty eight years of brutal and intense bootcamp training in the art of avoiding my mother's opinion should have kicked in about now, but no, I decide she deserves...not a "say", but at least a moment to air her thoughts. And air she did.

She simply cannot tell me (as any rational person would in the face of an eager, sunny bride-to-be asking an opinion) that she isn't fond of the colour. She can't even make non-committal noises. No, my mother has to have an all-out "your choices suck" kind of moment. The kind of moment, where, I paraphrase, she called my choice "dull, dire, funerial, boring, and sad".

Oh, ok then.

Bearing in mind that I have been completely non-plussed by the events leading up to our wedding. My "choices" have been flexible and frankly, the result of many coin tosses. But this one was my own choice. My only choice. So, what does my rational thought process do as soon as I hear the tired from Mummy-Dearest?

I want to change it to champagne.

"Frick that" is what (I believe) I heard a small portion of spinal column whisper up to my grey matter. I couldn't believe that I was actually going to change MY choice, at MY wedding, which I AM PAYING FOR because my mother doesn't fancy the colour.

Screw you Mum...I'm getting charcoal.

So while I rest my body with it's burgeoning spine, I will be informing my BM's to go order their dresses in that dire, funerial colour.

Then I will proceed to hide under my duvet and avoid the incoming calls from England.

Ah, compromise!

Assist now...

DEAR SIR/MADAM,

RE: TRANSFER OF (24) TWO-DOZEN KRISPY KREME DONUTS

I want to transfer (24) Two-Dozen Krispy Kreme Donuts from a Prime Donut Manufacturer here in South Africa to an oversea domicile. First, I must solicit your strictest confidence in this transaction. This is by virtue of it's nature as being utterly confidential. I am sure and have confidence of your ability and reliability to prosecute a transaction of this great magnitude. I solicit your assistance to enable us transfer the said amount of donuts into your safe house for unward consumption. You can either provide us with an existing kitchen counter or to set up a new food service area immediately to receive these donuts, even an empty shelf can serve to receive these fried bread products, as long as you will remain honest to me till the end of this important business trusting in you and believing that you will never let me down either now or in future.

I am the personal pastry chef to the great late INDUSTRIALIST who has a donut craving in one of the top donut depositories here in South Africa. The shop was opened in 1998 and he died in 2003 without a written or oral WILL and since 2003 nobody has operated on this manufacturing plant again hence the donuts are floating and if I do not remit these artery clogging pastries out urgently they will be forfeited for nothing. Or go stale.

The owner of this palace of fat is a foreigner and no other person knows about this business or anything concerning it, the owner has no other beneficiary and until his death he was the manager of the company. My investigation through the National immigration department proved to me as well that he was single as at the time of his entry into the Republic of South Africa. The amount in the glass display case is 24 ( two-dozen) only.

As a matter of fact, I have decided to transfer these donuts abroad for consumption. Your assistance as a foreigner is necessary because the management of the Krispy Kreme will welcome any foreigner who has a kitchen table, or at the very least, a napkin, which I will give to you immediately, if you are interested to do this business with me. There is no risk in this business. With my position and my personal contact with the manager of the Krispy Kreme, the donuts can be transferred to any mailbox you can provide with assurance that these pastries will be intact pending their physical arrival in your country for sharing.

We will start the first transfer with a half-dozen original glazed [6]. Upon successful transfer without any disappointment from your side as to their taste and freshness, we shall re-apply for the remaining balance of 4 devil's food, 2 kruellers, 6 lemon filled, 5 chocolate cake and 1 sprinkle-topped to your home. I am only contacting you as a foreigner because these Krispy Kremes are known to be fattening to local people here, and can only be approved to any foreigner who has the incorrect nutritional information of the trans fats, which I will provide for you.

At the conclussion of the transfer you will take 2 original glazed and the remaining will be for me. As soon as I hear from you and upon your strong assurance that you will not let me down once the donuts go into your house I will then start the processing of the transfer of 1 devil's food and a couple of lemon filled to your kitchen without further delay.

Send the Information as I stated below.
Name:.............
Address:..........
Proximity to a Tim Horton's:...........
Are you a police officer?:............
How do you take your coffee?:.........

Contact me urgently via telephone for further details.

Thanks.
Yours Faithfully,
Ayaka Udom.

If I'm "on-the-wagon", can I eat wagon wheels?

Day 6 of my renewed attempt at the South Beach diet. I finished the diet a month ago with little flourish and 8 pounds lighter. My 14 / 19 day stint seemed to have done well by my waistline. Then my sister arrived and we ended up in junk food hell...grabbing whatever we could eat in between activities. Then I got a call from the bridal store...my dress was in, well ahead of schedule. So I threw myself back into this no starch netherworld to try and shed just...a...little...bit...more before I have to go in for my fitting in early November. I am definitely well on the way to my goal weight.

Throw in some stripping, ahem, "exotic dance" lessons, some rock climbing, and lots of pretending to be at the gym, and it all looks very positive. But...

I'm starving. Starving! Damn this whole thing to hell, I want cake. And not just any cake, no, the ooey-gooeyist of cake, with cheesecake on the side and icing thick enough to hold up my grandmother without her walker. I want to swim in jello FULL FAT pudding and stuff lemon meringue pie into my mouth until it pushes out of my ears. I'd eat someone elses black forest if they weren't holding onto it. My teeth would make marks on the plate if I got my paws on pecan pie.

So I had a zero fat, sugar free yogurt. Which was nice.

*Sidenote: Not sure if you have them here, but Wagon Wheels (in England at least) were basically a Joe Louis which is (in Canada at least) is a chocolate coated, cream filled, oh-so-bad-for-you, trans fat ladened cake. Mmmmm. Trans fats....

Oooooh the irony...

We just booked our honeymoon today, which I am totally and utterly thrilled to bits about. Nothing gets me all fired up like the prospect of a vacation as you can see through my March 2005 posts about Cuba. So, we (I mean "I") splurged and booked Maui. Yes, Maui. Fant-a-bulous Maui.

And I haven't got a coin in my wallet. Not one.

Since my sister came, and since I spoiled her beyond all reasonable means (including my own means...dinners out, shows, more dinners out, clothing, cosmetics, entertainment, MORE dinners out) I am now completely overdrawn on my account and can't even scratch together a $5 to get me through to Thursday.

I couldn't find a post on this, so I assumed I never wrote it. Three years ago (almost exactly), I was living by myself in an apartment I could not afford. I had stacks of debt on credit card and lines of credit and my job simply didn't make me enough each pay to get me through with the basics. I was overdrawn each month and I was barely hanging in there. I had no social life to speak of, and no luxuries if you don't count a passive-aggressive cat. The point of no-return came on an October Tuesday, when MF and I were at the end of our rope. I was SO overdrawn, I could overdraw no more. My credit cards were maxed, my line of credit was packed, and I had $5 in my wallet. MF was in an equal bind...fresh in divorce-ladened debt, his available credit was zero, he couldn't even afford his mortgage payments each month, and worse than me, he had NO cash. And we had to buy enough food to get us dinner that night, lunch and dinner the next, before our pay came around again.

No savings, no money, no nothing. This was truly the lowest point for us. I felt like a failure. What the hell was I doing? I didn't deserve to be called an adult, I had misused or misappropriated what little I did have. Somehow, we managed to buy a loaf of bread and 6 eggs, figuring that the dusty can of tuna in my cupboard could be divided four ways over four sandwiches, and an omelette would be filling. We ate in silence. I was terrified.

I look back on that and am thankful that I hit that point. Somehow, through some form of grace, or at the very least, a soppy movie ending, it all got better. MF asked me to move in with him. I paid him rent (1/4 of what I paid living alone) which allowed him to afford his mortgage. I got a better job with more money, and suddenly I'm booking a honeymoon to Maui. It all works out in the end...but why? That's the mystery.

I have had a little taste of that day in October this week. No money in my wallet, but an empty credit card to use if I must. Savings in the bank. An RRSP for my future. I've realized that, if things seem bad, that just means you aren't at "the end" yet...ain't no fat lady singing. Everyday just takes you in one direction, to the inevitable conclusion of the story...I hope you are travelling up.

Is Yahoo News, News?

Scary:

Mice infected with bubonic plague missing

Roberts Says He Won't Be Ideologue

Donald Trump to Make Soap Opera Debut

Obvious:

Washed-up celebrities saturate reality TV

U.S.: Spike in Iraq Violence Predictable

Blog...delete...blog...delete...aw screw it, I'm bloggin'!

I keep writing the same post over and over again, each time figuring that it may be offensive and deleting it. I don't even keep it as a draft, I mercilessly just delete the pages of text I wrote saying "Naw, this could get messy, I'd rather duck and avoid". Then, two weeks ago, I re-wrote the whole thing. It was still vibrant, a little scathing, and probably poorly written. I don't know exactly, because I deleted it. Today, I have decided just to bloody say it, because dammit, I can. Now, after that prelude that is going to make the rest of the post seem completely disappointing, here it is...the forbidden post.
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Original title: Dying Whiners

You already know that I can't stand whiners. Get of your hiney and do something about whatever the hell it is you are complaining about. I am only so harsh on others because I have been there...my name is Barlet, and I'm a whiner. No more though, I have put the whining days (almost) firmly behind me, and if it wasn't for blogging, I wouldn't whine at all. It is simply something that, to me, takes more time and effort than just getting it done (whatever that may be). So, let's call this whole thing "An Observation" and not a whine (which is really, at it's base level, exactly what it is).

There's a guy in the blogging sphere. He may read my blog, I don't know. I wouldn't think I was self important enough to think he would if it wasn't for sharing mutual blog links. It is just a possibility. This guy has had a tough run of it, and his problems are very real and very, very pronounced. BUT, the guy is a whiner. Grade A. His blog is filled (FILLED) with the tales of woe, usually centring around which of his friends has recently done him wrong. The post that follows would then flip the whole thing on its head...they are now best of buds. And this seesawing continues throughout...friend wasn't available to talk = bad friend, friend sends email = good friend, friend hasn't time to be on the phone = evil friend, friend makes positive comment = good friend. I can't take the drama.

So why do I read this? I don't know. Nothing ever changes. Someone always "done him wrong" through some tiny misgiving that I would forgive of my worst enemy. I almost start to crave the lunacy...his best friend in the whole world kicked to the curb over a misunderstanding...LOVE IT! Better than a soap opera / car crash combination.

But it is hard to watch, the total and utter mental and physical disintegration of someone who is so fickle, hard to please, impossible to deal with, manic and clearly insane. Yet every day I aid and abet his whining observations of the world around him.

*sidenote: if you don't see why I couldn't write this earlier, maybe now you can

And here is where it gets difficult. I have known many disabled and sick people throughout my life. I have cared for the elderly, the dying, the permanently maimed, and guess what? While I was privy to their darkest thoughts, the most painful and lonely times, there was always a glimmer of...not hope...lightness. Of acceptance or humour (and not the dark kind either). These are people who still lived fulfilling and interesting lives, and fulfilled the lives of others even as they lay dying. Is this important? I don't know. All I know is that whining got them nowhere during those last weeks. All it got them is less time and less breath to say what they needed to say.

What am I saying? That people in terrible pain and in the process of dying should shut up and put up? No. But I am curious as to why this guy wastes so much breath and time and energy on being such a drama queen, if his days are, but his own admission, limited. All of the things he appears to be bitching about, all of the supposed "slights" against him appear minor to say the least, so what's the deal? What's the story?

Should I be writing this post? Isn't it taboo to saying anything bad against the diabled or dying? Yes, it is, but does that make this guy any less of a jerk? No. He's a jerk. I'm not sure why I care so much, but I feel as if I want to punch him in the face sometimes just to get him to understand...life is precious, shut the hell up! Why are you wasting time?! Why are you so focused on who said what to whom at what time when your kids are going to be fatherless?! Why the hell are you typing this blog? What is it for? What type of legacy is this that you are leaving for your wife and kids ? Shouldn't you be writing them letters to open on their wedding days? What the hell is wrong with you, and don't give me that "I'm dying" crap because I've seen it and this isn't about that.

Now that I've sufficiently whined my way through a blog post (again), I guess I'm just saying that life is short, and even shorter for some. It's what we do with it that counts. As Terry Fox Day creeps up on us I just think of him on the road, riddled with cancer but full of life. He showed us what it means to live, as strange as that is. To the anonymous guy, I wish you the best life possible. Just don't waste it.
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All hate mail can be directed to barletstarlet@yahoo.com

Back in the blogging saddle...

After a weeks worth of fun and hilarity with little sis, she is now back home and everything has got back to normal. So I have decided to avoid a full blown post and just go straight to bullet points...the Big Mac of the Blogging experience: quick and satisfying (oh, and bad).

Things I Did With My Sister This Week (in order):

• Picked her up at the airport
• Went mini-golfing
• Hit a driving range
• Ate three pounds of crab (each)
• Saw "The 40 Year Old Virgin"
• Went to the CNE
• Ate perogies
• Ate cheesecake
• Had a pedicure
• Went shopping
• Ate steak
• Ate at Denny's
• Went rock climbing
• Had chicken risotto
• Had lunch with a family friend
• Visited dead grandparents
• Ate green thai curry
• Saw Blue Man Group
• Went shopping
• Chose a bridesmaids dress
• Visited Rib Fest
• Went to a wedding show
• Saw the President of China
• Watched Napolean Dynamite and Sideways
• Had McDonald's Breakfast
• Visited Canada's Wonderland
• Ate funnel cake
• Ate Chinese food
• Went shopping
• Bought junk food
• Unlimited shrimp at Red Lobster
• Dropped her at the airport

And here is what I didn't do while my sister was visiting:

• Have sex

And here is the extent of my interaction with MF while my sister was visiting:

• An argument

Needless to say, I need some TLC and some downtime. And don't get me started on my mother...I've HAD IT! More on this later.

If you can't beat 'em, join 'em

I have the utmost of compassion for those affected by Hurricane Katrina. In an effort to wholely sypathize with the citizens of the affected states, and to immerse myself in their experience, I have begun looting my office.

Things looted to date:
A stapler
A blue highlighter (technically, not looting. Just retrieving my property from a co-worker)
A cheesestring
Two sheets of previously doodled on paper
A DVD player

I know that the paper and the cheesestring could be seen as being greedy and unnecessary. However, the DVD player is fundemental to my existance during these flood ravaged times.

I will next loot the Walmart Gun Section. Oh right, this is CANADA, we don't sell guns in department stores. Oh well. Not looking too smart are you Bush / NRA? Ha!