Something's rotten in Atlanta...

Low riding pants (with underwear showing) could be outlawed in Georgia.... no, seriously. They're thinking about it.

Are you kidding me???

I'm ambivalent about the phenomena (or, in my opinion, the lack thereof), but this is just fucking ridiculous. There are so many things wrong with this kind of proposed legislation that I don't even know where to start:


Atlanta's city council considers banning low-riding jeans.

Trying to shrug it off...

From Dictionary.com:

id·i·ot /ˈɪdiət/[id-ee-uht] –noun
1. an utterly foolish or senseless person.


About a month and a half ago, I had a falling out with one of my closest friends in the world. Well, not so much a falling out as I got impatient, spoke too quickly, and it was exactly what she needed to throw our friendship into the rubbish bin.

And much like any failed relationship, I'm still going through various stages of... separation, I guess. I'm finding a lack of closure difficult. I dislike the fact that our friendship ended in such a stupid way. That she never had the balls to say, "What's going on?" or to even respond to emails or the final phone call of, "Maybe it's best we don't hang out for a while."

That she doesn't even know I'm angry, or why. Knowing her as well as I do, I imagine she's created this whole thing where I've been a lousy friend, negative, unsupportive, possibly even jealous. (I've forced myself to consider all of these very carefully. Of all of them, "negative" is the only one that is even in the realm of accurate. And I do try to not bring other people into it. I'm usually optimistic for everyone except myself.)

Maybe it's easier for her to think of me this way, but I will admit that it infuriates me. I do have a sharp tongue -- but anyone who knows me realizes that it's never intentionally mean. My ribbing, or pushing buttons, is my own twisted, repressed way of expressing affection. And that when push comes to shove, I will do almost anything for my friends. That I always have their best interests at heart.

But I dislike as being pegged as someone I'm not. Or something I am maybe 0.02% of the time.

The truth is, even after all this time, I'm furious. Still. Most of the time, I simply let it go, but other times I think on the situation and I'm just bloody frustrated and annoyed. So I rant here.

I've gone through every detail in my head. I know where I am to blame, where I am not. But I dislike being tried by a smug jury who has sinned against me far more often... and decries me for crimes they not only committed, but those that are far worse.

I can't go up to her and argue. I'm afraid I'll completely lose my temper, and throttle her.

Funnily enough, I had a talk with my father about it a few weeks ago. I filled him in on the situation, the background, and my own part in the unforeseen Event That Divides (you can call me a lot of things, but you must admit that I never -- or rarely -- downplay my own failings).

And bless the man, but my dear old dad came up with the best advice I've heard:

"She's an idiot.

"Idiots aren't bad people -- you can work with them, talk to them, even be friends with them. But the simple truth is this: You can't argue with an idiot. You're just wasting your time."

You weren't expecting warm and fuzzy father-daughter advice, were you? Because unorthodox as it is, I believe my dear old dad is right.

You can't argue with an idiot. And I'll think twice next time I consider befriending one.

Leave the man alone, for god's sake!

I will admit to occasionally reading a few celebrity gossip blogs. Not the fawning, "Oooo, famous people" claptrap, but the funnier and smarmy types. Hell, at one point, writing celebrity gossip funded my way of life for a couple of months (ah, the days of doing contract work for good cash).

But occasionally, I wish they would leave some of these people alone -- the grieving ones. The sad ones. The ones who did something stupid eight years ago and are being punished for it. The ones who opted to wear track pants when they went for a walk with their dog.

And yes, the ones who have been recently accused of attempting suicide.

Write another brief on the Lindsay-Paris-Britney Bermuda triangle of inappropriate behaviour or something. I mean, there are times to respect a person's privacy.

And yes, I'm well aware that as a reader of this tripe, I'm part of the problem, the whole circuitous mess, etc. But I can't help myself -- I know they're successful, wealthy (I accept philanthropic donations), gorgeous people... but I feel bad for them. I do.



(Seriously, Brad and Angelina -- couldn't you help out a struggling writer by sending me a photo or two I can publish for amounts that would pay off my entire student loan, credit card bills AND fund my life for a year or two or more? I know your dignity is at stake, but really... someone else is going to make coin off it. Wouldn't you rather it be for someone who needs it desperately?)

I beg to differ...

So yes. I got swindled out of my last $35 until Monday.
The money was not in my mailbox as promised, and some shithead probably went off and bought crack or a blowjob because I'm too nice to be an asshole.

I can't go to Starbucks and write this afternoon because I don't even have enough money to buy a lousy tea.

So no, Ro, I'm not wise. I'm an idiot. And life seems to make a point of reminding me about it every day.

So naive...

Ok, so I'm a chump.

For someone who really is cynical, distrustful and "negative", I have a tendency to believe that most people are good.

Now don't get me wrong. "People" as a collective universally suck. A violent virus on the surface of the earth. We're planetary acne -- explosions, infection and all. But people individually, face-to-face... well, they tend to be OK most of the time. As long as I can see their eyes.

I'm also the first person to hold doors open for people, to bend down when something has been dropped, to smile and chat with fundraisers (on the street or door-to-door)... and if I have change, then yes, I do give it to homeless people or panhandlers.

I was a nightmare in Cambodia. I would have cheerfully given away every US dollar in my wallet (except I ran out pretty quickly) to the kids lurking outside of the temples or in alleyways. At one point, my travel companions had to order me to sit down and not talk to people. (I can't help it, I find people fascinating. And frankly, Cambodia hardly has the social and economic infrastructure to assist all of these poor families -- it's not a wealthy country, and I found it frustrating as hell that so many western tourists could simply walk by without a backward glance. So you're out a couple of bucks. Big deal. You're going to go home and make hundreds more than that after a couple of days or a week at work. Pony up, cheapskates.)

Anyway, a "neighbour" came to the door in a bind late this evening. I don't recognize him, but apparently Chris helped him out once (or so they claim), and he had some problems with a van, needed to flush the line with fuel and needed gas but something happened, he has no money, etc, etc, will return money first thing in the morning, terribly embarrassed, etc etc.

I gave him $35.
And not just the $10 from my wallet. Oh no. I went to a bank machine and pulled out an additional $25.

In retrospect, I'm smacking myself on the forehead. Energetically.

I suspect the problem is not my lack of a suspicious nature (I'm paranoid as hell) -- I suspect it's more due to feeling it wouldn't be polite to refuse. "How rude and unkind to not help someone when you're clearly in a position to do so. You should be ashamed of yourself. What if they're telling the truth?" And voila, the choice is made for me.

I'll be a nightmare if I ever have a surplus of money. Unless, of course, I turn into everyone else, and simply cease to give a shit.

It could happen.

Now back to our program...

A little break never hurts.

Was actually in Nova Scotia for a bit -- enjoying fresh air (scandalous!), good food (my mother rules) and hangin' with the fam. And this year had an extra special guest... Chris actually came to Nova Scotia for the first time. He might have had a better time if his trip didn't involve a visit to the emergency ward.

Seems little towns don't have walk-in clinics. And nothing makes you feel like a big wanker like sitting in the emergency waiting room -- surrounded by actually unwell people -- for an inner ear infection. Fortunately, the staff were all very nice and we got through quickly. And Chris decided to donate his cold to me. Lovely indeed. So combined with the seasonal allergies and still-recovering throat (mmm, bruised laynx from unfortunate encounter with wooden deck railing), I am... well, I'm a mess.

Hiding out. That's me.

Besides, with a number of friends in the "out (because they're basically bastards)" bin and a couple of friends in the "out of country" bin, my social calendar is a little quiet at the moment anyway. Just as well.

Hmm. What else is new? Am missing out -- possibly even as I write this -- on a friend's wedding in Vegas. I do so want to go (they're being married by an Elvis impersonator!), but the finances are sulking more than usual, and I couldn't quite find the cash to head down for a couple of days.

Otherwise, I'm doing OK. Still a little heartbroken from some ended friendships, but I've made tiny peace offerings to no avail. And frankly, I'm pretty much done with trying to fix shit all of the time. I've spent my entire life walking on eggshells, gauging moods and trying to keep the peace.

And I realize that some people just can't be bothered. So while I'm a little unhappy, there's very little I can do. I would like -- for once -- someone else to walk up and say, "hey, can we talk about this?" or "what's going on?"

But they won't. And I guess I just have to get used to other people's apathy. Ca, c'est la vie.

Kind of a morose return, huh? I'll be better next time. Promise.