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11 Reasons My Car is the Perfect Man

  1. He keeps my bum warm.
  2. He reminds me to wear my seat belt — because he cares about my safety.
  3. He warns me if the roads are icy.
  4. He lets me play music as loud as I like and never gets mad if I want to listen to the same song over and over.
  5. He loves it when I sing. (Or maybe just never complains. But isn’t that basically the same thing?)
  6. He picks up right where we left off.
  7. He cleans up nice.
  8. He makes room for my friends.
  9. He communicates his needs effectively and efficiently without being abrasive.
  10. He takes me out but understands when I want to stay in.
  11. He listens, really listens, and never offers unsolicited advice.

Blogosphere, meet Frankie. He’s the only one for me.

Frankie

Me and him. Him and me.

 

Good enough is not enough

Preface this all by saying that the way I came about this little actualization is probably going to sound a little stupid to you. And that’s just fine.

I got my hair cut last weekend. I’ve been going to the same stylist for about a year now. She’s great at what she does and I dig her – not only because she sometimes puts Baileys in my coffee.

She put some highlights in my hair and they all looked great except for a piece that’s almost white-blonde right in the front. Just wasn’t quite, you know? It was kind of streaky and that shit isn’t free and platinum blonde doesn’t suit me and I don’t need to explain why I didn’t like it because it’s my head and I just didn’t.

Hair is a little thing. So is not getting what you ordered at a restaurant. But I think that recognizing when those little things matter to you and then making adjustments allows you to do the same for the big things. Like moving on from your dissatisfying job or speaking up when someone treats you poorly.

To make healthy compromises with another human (or animate creature) is to cultivate a positive, lasting relationship. It is to establish rapport and cultivate the understanding that the world does not, in fact, revolve around you. That’s good. Those things make sense. Compromising yourself or the things that matter to you is not. When things matter to you and there’s something you can do about it, you should. You kind of need to. And especially with the little things because if you allow yourself to settle for less over shit like highlights, how are you going to take a stand when something actually matters? (Note: Not to say that you should make a big stink about every little thing that isn’t quite right. Rather, when you have the ability to take the extra step or make something a little better, you ought to take it.)

So, anyway, I went back and she fixed in seven minutes and now I couldn’t be happier. It’s little, but it mattered to me and there was something I could do about it. So I did.

Good enough is never good enough because good enough is not enough.

K

“That’s what the present is. It’s a little unsatisfying because life’s a little unsatisfying.”

And that’s okay.

This is my brain on yoga

Inside my head before yoga: 

You know, I know I said I’d go to class and that I was looking forward to it and Saturday’s was great and stuff but I don’t feel like it. It’s been a long day. I’m tired. My hip flexors are weirdly sore. And I’m just not into it. I work hard! I totally deserve a break. I’ll go tomorrow.

Ugh. No. NO. I paid way too much for this unlimited class pass bullshit. I can’t not go. Seriously why is yoga so damn expensive anyway? It’s like Canadian airlines where they just band together and jack up prices so that we basically BEGGAR ourselves to go to these classes (or other cities) so I can feel all soulful and bendy after. Jesus. Okay. I’m going.

WHY IS EVERYBODY ON THE ROAD GOING TEN KM UNDER THE SPEED LIMIT? Seriously people, it may be rush hour but that doesn’t mean you get to drive like my grandmother. She isn’t even allowed on the road anymore. Ohmygod. Everybody is stupid but me. 

Shit. That trendy, super flexible girl is here. I knew she would be. In her great, slightly colour-coordinated, oh-I-just-wake-up-like-this-outfit. Annnnd she’s putting her mat next to mine. Awesome.

Is it savasana yet?

 

Inside my head after yoga: 

Okay, that? Was awesome. I can’t believe I wasn’t going to come!

Would it be weird to hug my instructor? Maybe a little. I’ll just, like, say it was a great class or something. Ahhh I love this yoga mat; it’s just so comfortable and homey, you know? And these leggings! I swear I’m more flexible in leggings.

And beautiful, bendy girl complimented my headstand! Dope! You too. So good. Seriously, your practice is inspiring.

I should go home and make some soup to take for lunch this week and maybe some of those dairy-free, sugar-free, gluten-free homemade power bars I pinned the other day oooooo and a smoothie! I love smoothies. That would be the best snack after yoga!

Ahh. Great class everyone! See you tomorrow! And the day after that! And the day after that. Namaste!

K

How feminism has ruined romantic comedies for me forever

Well, it’s true. Feminism has ruined romantic comedies for me forever. Movies I once closeted-ly (or not) loved, like The Holiday, have become unfortunately and disappointingly lacking in both substance and positive role-modeling. And, much like the person you think is unbelievably attractive until you realize that he or she is a total jerk, these films immediately lose their lustre and I can no longer watch them without feeling annoyed and kind of guilty.

The Bechdel test is an assessment of gender bias in works of fiction. Most prominently applied to aspects of contemporary culture like movies and television shows, it places many seemingly female-focused works in a different light. In order to pass the test, a work must fulfill three criteria:

  1. It has to have at least two [named] women in it
  2. Who talk to each other
  3. About something besides a man

[It seems like such a small requirement to achieve, yet so many movies don't! -J] Applying this test to some famous and largely popular films is surprisingly disappointing. For instance, six of the Harry Potter films fail the test. [Maybe this has something to do with it being from the perspective of a boy? I like to imagine that all the girls/women are getting together all the time and discussing school/life/politics/Voldemort and Harry just isn't privy to it. -J ] Lord of the Rings also fails, as does the Social Network and Avatar. In fact, five of the nine 2014 Oscar nominees fail the test.

It’s not perfect. He’s Just Not That Into You technically passes because Jennifer Aniston’s character chats with her sisters about bridesmaid dresses for 1:27min before starting to discuss her recent break-up. But, personally, I feel like the fact that all they talk about it bridesmaid dresses doesn’t quite cut it.

Sometimes I just want to watch shitty TV without judging commercials and feeling weirdly subjugated by Grey’s Anatomy, you know? [When did I start looking at What Not To Wear and think "fat shaming"? - J]

K

I Am a Baby Giraffe

Me.

Me.

Preface this all by saying two things. The first is that yes, this is sort of a tall joke (a tribe to which J and I both belong, as you may or may not know) provided generously and (hopefully) in good humor by a friend of mine. The second is that if you’ve never seen a baby giraffe, you should go Google Image that shit straight away because a) you’re missing out and b) this post will only really make sense if you’ve seen one bumbling around.

Giraffes are statuesque, majestic creatures. They host a unique and somewhat fascinating variety of traits. Fully grown, they move with grace and certain kind of elegance. I also recently learned that adult giraffes can crush a hyena’s skull with their feet – meaning that in addition to being elongated creatures they are also super badass.

This is not so with their young. These little fellas are awkward and gangly. They have knobby little knees and aren’t quite sure how long their legs are, much less how they are supposed to work. But despite the fact that they are a liability to the rest of their giraffe friends because they can hardly walk and have zero idea what’s going on all the time, there’s something adorable in their moony little faces and tentative, wobbly steps

I am a baby giraffe. While I now have a decent understanding of my body proportions, I realize  just enough to know how little I know about relationships and being in the workforce and financial planning and life overall.

I am a baby giraffe. While I have the walking thing under control, I realize how stumble-y and somewhat random my post-university path as been and that despite my best efforts, there really is only so much control I actually have.

I am a baby giraffe. While my face is (and please don’t correct me if I’m wrong) significantly less moony than it once was, I realize how impossible it is to avoid getting hurt or hurting others, physically or emotionally, as I move forward.

We’re all a bunch of baby giraffes. Other people are nothing but liability. We hurt one another and we hurt ourselves. And, quite frankly, nobody is totally sure what they’re doing or if they’re doing it right or even how they’re doing it half the time.

We’re all just a bunch of weird, gangly creatures wandering around and bumping into each other and falling over when we try to get a drink. It’s nice to know I’m not alone.

K

My least favourite question in the world.

“So what are you doing now?”

That is my most dreaded question these days. See, I just finished university in December, and am now the proud holder of a Bachelor or Arts degree, majoring in English. Which, it turns out, after four and a half years of sleep-deprivation, malnutrition, back problems, seemingly endless reading and writing, and extremely unhealthy amounts of stress, leaves me with slim job prospects and virtually no applicable life skills.
When I was first beginning university, people constantly told me just to “take what you love.” I followed this advice flawlessly, taking English classes and shopping around for a minor, finally settling on Women’s and Gender Studies. What I didn’t realize until far too late, however, is that this advice is actually terrible. Shockingly, things have not magically fallen into place, as I assumed they would, upon reaching graduation. Instead, I’m faced with the reality that my degree is mostly useless, and that I’m almost certainly going to have to go back to school or resign myself to an underwhelming job I don’t enjoy.
So, the aforementioned question is probably the least welcome in the world for me right now. Although, I’ve found it’s been easier since I’ve finally stopped trying to pass off whatever half-baked idea is currently rolling through my head as a viable plan that I’m excited about, and just started straight-up telling people: “I’m actually not doing anything. Nope, I have no specific plans. Yes, that does in fact bother me a little bit, but I sort of can’t care anymore right now.” Because the fact is I’m exhausted after stressing for months and months about what the hell I’m going to do with my life. The fact is I just don’t know right now. And I’m sort of becoming okay with that.
And, as I admit this to friends, family, acquaintances and even near-strangers, I’ve been pleasantly surprised by a number of lovely responses of people sharing their own former post-grad confusion with me. Or not even post-grad, necessarily, but any time in life when you don’t know where you’re going or even where you want to go; all you know is you have to go somewhere, soon. Hearing from some well-established people who have their lives together that they’ve gone through the same thing I have; that periods of uncertainty and ambiguity are normal, and can be a good thing; that it can be a long and winding road to get there.
I don’t know where “there” is. But I think, somehow, I’m on my way.
- J 
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