Enemies and Enemas

Life is great, but it’s not all ice creams and summer vacations. During the course of life, you will be faced with two unpleasant and uncomfortable things; enemies and enemas. Both can be painful, degrading, and despite the slight spelling difference, both do belong in your butt.

You probably got acquainted with enemas or suppositories first. I had a real scare when my parents forced my first glycerin bullet up my rear. I can understand why they would want to get this over with as soon as possible, but there’s really no need for the tactic. First, loving mommy and daddy corner you in a locked room. You can already sense the tension in the air by the way they say your name, like nothing and everything is wrong. In a flash, one parent is holding you down while the other exposes your petite derriere to the chilling draft of a fortified room. To add insult to injury, with no warning at all, some pointy thing makes its way inside a hole you so far know only as “Exit”, hereby shattering your belief in constant concepts.

The misery doesn’t end there; your parents have to hold you down for some time otherwise you would just stand up and fart the intruder back in their faces. So you are held down, whimpering, while doting parents shush you like a wild animal about to be put to sleep. After they are satisfied that said slick medication has dissolved, you are allowed your freedom and modesty back (temporarily anyway, till the medication starts its expulsive magic).

Just like suppositories, enemies will present themselves in painful situations in life. They shame you, force you to feel uncomfortable, and will certainly put you in compromising positions. And even if you do eventually become sodomistcally inclined, enemies will always be the more painful of the two.

Luckily though, just as enemas eventually do offer some relief, so too can the snakes that slither around you. One of the greatest things about being in uncomfortable or negative situations is that it can challenge you to brainstorm your way out of it, or find a solution. If you have that one slut in the office whose very pulse causes you to cringe, eventually your inner warrior will find clever ways to avoid/manipulate/kill said germ without leaving a trace.

The journey might be painful, but learning how to make the most even of bad situations is an invaluable skill that can do wonders in the long run. If everything went your way in life instead of against the stream, you’d grow up to be whiny wuss or the subject of many voodoo dolls. The scars help mold you into a stronger, better version of yourself, so welcome those enemas and enemies with open cheeks and arms.

Enemies & Enemas

  • Both are misrepresented by advertising and packaging
  • Both will cost you something, although one is cheaper, and it’s not the one you find on shelves
  • Both work behind the scenes to make you miserable, although one offers faster relief
  • Both are mass produced, although one comes in all shapes and sizes
  • Both are a pain in the ass yet both belong where the sun doesn’t shine

 

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Heel Thyself

Stilettos, pumps, platforms and “come penetrate me now” shoes. If you’ve ever had a flair for the feminine, then you’ve got one or a hundred of these babies lurking in your closet. Yet even though they look hot, one cannot negate the fact that many soles that don these instruments just don’t know how to maneuver in them. And if you can’t glide like a swan, then just leave the heels and do your back, and society, a favor.

There are more than a handful of fashion victims out there. I am always astounded by the sheer number of ladies who wear very high heels to work every day. I always thought that stilettos were only required if your office desk was, in fact, a pole or someone’s lap. Yet there are herds and herds of females that wear pointy devil shoes as part of their professional corporate attire.

The issue arises when those that don’t know how to walk in heels do so anyways. And there are many women who are completely unaware of what they look like. There are those that hunch forward, to try to avert the pressure on the ankles. The result is that they walk looking like they are about to charge you, kind of like a raging bull-ess. Then there are the femme fatales that allow their ankles to sway wildly while they try to resist gravity. Note to you ladies, the only things that should be swinging that much are the sexually adventurous folks out there.  And finally, there are the dames that insist on heels so uncomfortable that their faces are plastered with tears and grimaces akin to a birthing mother. These last set usually scuffle to the bathrooms for relief or just won’t get up at all.

If you look at the anatomy of the heel, it immediately becomes apparent that it was invented either by angry gay men or the Dark Lord himself. At least when they first made the scene, the heel had a little base to even out the impact on your poor feet, but as we can see today, fashion has diminished comfort to the point that some heels rest on atoms for support.

I used to wear heels before my disc. Months after my injury, I remember trying to wear a pair and as soon as that searing pain shot down the nerves of my leg, I kissed those babies good-bye and opted to rely instead on my big personality. However I do certainly understand the appeal, which is why I’m sharing a few tips for the height-addicted.

Tip number one: Keep your back straight. A great way to practice this is to walk around in the privacy of your own home and balance a book on your head. Once you can walk around swiftly without dropping the book, you are ready to take your strut to the general public.

Tip number two: your feet should always be parallel; not turned in nor out. If your feet don’t point straight ahead, not only do you look like you are being examined by a gynecologist while walking but you are also adding unnecessary tension to certain weak points, like your ankles.

Tip number three: start with smaller heels, or wedges. The wedge is my hero, it won’t hurt your back as much and you don’t have to worry about getting your heel stuck in sewage drain covers or ….

Tip number four: If you insist on wearing a pair when you go clubbing, sneak in a pair of foldable Scholl ballerinas in your bag. You’ll make your grand entrance, look astoundingly hot for the first few dances, then when everyone you’ve impressed has strapped on the booze goggles, you can enjoy the evening in the comfort of flats.

If you just can’t seem to manage any of these, keep the heels for turning on your lover in the safety and vicinity of the bedroom. You’ll still look hot with your legs in the air, and you can spare your spine and bones the pressure. Just make sure you don’t poke out his eye.

 

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The Science of Stupid

It’s one thing to believe in Santa when you are young. It’s quite another to grow into a sound adult who shares serious “Santa spotted in Brazil” posts on Facebook based on some asinine source. Day in and day out, I am simply astounded by the sheer amount of bull manure that is shared on social media and defended as fact. Unfortunately, not only has news reporting become sullied by sensationalism and outright deceit, but science is having her day in the pit as well thanks to those who perpetuate false claims.

At school, we were taught the difference between fact and fiction. But more important now is the difference between fact and opinion. The world has become inundated with self-proclaimed experts that spew out garbage with throngs of drones just accepting whatever shit comes their way. Just because you’ve experienced something doesn’t give you the right to suddenly claim to be an expert and start spreading your ignorance around. If that were the case, I would attach ‘tequila connoisseur’ to my name on all official documents, and roam the earth sucking up agave liquor from all the finest venues. Yet just because I consume industrial amounts doesn’t mean I get to be interviewed about the atomic differences between brands.

Study has become a greatly abused word today. Reporters and people hide behind the title to make outrageous claims that are too absurd for words. How is it possible that there are still people that don’t know the difference between satire, blogs and science reports? For a very succinct and hilarious explanation of the problem, please watch this awesome video by one of my heroes; John Oliver (Here). Essentially, it boils down to the fact that research studies sometimes have misleading or catchy headlines that get completely blown out of proportion by traditional media.

And it’s not like science isn’t sexy enough on its own. Ever watched ‘How the Universe works’ or Morgan Freeman’s Through the Wormhole? That shit is literally so cool it hurts to understand.  The world around us is astounding, the way nature works on our planet and off it are simply beyond wonder. Do we really need to latch on to stupid claims about how smelling farts cures cancer? Or how the vibrational energy in my heart will soothe your throbbing hemorrhoids?

It’s one thing to want to believe, but it’s another to not only buy the lies but spread them as well. Sure, I would love to live in a world where instead of chemo all I had to do was sniff some butts to heal, but that’s not the way it works. If you are going to start defending a claim, please make sure it comes from a recognized scientific source, not a blog. When I was studying history in university, I remember one teacher constantly hammering us with “check your sources, check your sources, check your sources” over and over. This person needs to start a religion because there are bucket loads of morons that believe just about anything today.

If it seems like I’m coming off kinda mean, I’m not. There is a study that has actually honed down our Bullshit Receptivity Scale and how it relates to our intelligence. If you are in doubt that you may yourself be a victim of this, simply apply the scientific method to whatever you are in doubt of and you will be on your way. For example, let’s say my friend Jerome tells Cinderella “hey Cinderella, did you know that licking cows makes you lose weight?” Cinderella is excited, because who the fuck enjoys actual dieting? Cinderella goes to a farm, weighs herself, and then licks some cows. After a few of these sessions, she notices no change in her weight, however she has developed a fever. What does Cinderella conclude? That Jerome is an asshole.

Enough ignorance. Ignorance is at the root of all evil in our world today and we begin to change the universe by changing ourselves, and I don’t mean what you’re wearing, I mean from within. If you can search for porn on the internet, then you are capable of deciphering what’s fact from what’s drivel. Part of our definition as humans is that we have the intellectual capacity for critical thinking. If you don’t apply it, you might as well walk around with a bell around your neck, and a ‘beef’ stamp on your ass.

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Stand by your SO(B)

Relationships are special. Relationships are cursed. About all I can say with certainty after my life experience is that they are a delicate balance of giving in, looking the other way and sticking to your guns, literally, as in sometimes you need to threaten people with physical violence or they just don’t get it. Yet despite the hierarchy and anatomy of different types of relationships, one thing that I absolutely detest are people that put their SO (Significant Other) down in public.

I often see people put up with shit in their lives, be it from their work, their kids, or that vindictive slut karma that doesn’t seem to always live up to her word. Yet despite the crap we are dealt with, the one instance where we shouldn’t bend over and smile is when we are being put down by people we love. Life hands out enough humiliation, like that time you were speaking to someone and accidentally threw up on their face, or that time you thought you were alone in an alley and farted Mozart’s 5th symphony, only to hear the crushing giggles of an invisible audience.

Yet humiliation from a loved one is more painful than sodomy with a palm tree. There are several reasons for this. The first is that your Significant Other is significant because you love, respect and admire them, so technically they are coming from a point of authority. It’s like your mom announcing in front of your science club that the only white coat you were going to get as an adult was in the loony bin as you were dropped way too many times on your head as an infant. Another reason is the surprise element, like when you are out hunting deer and as you are crouching in the bush, an excited-nearly-extinct rhino spots your behind and decides to finally try out interspecies mating. It hurts from both ends; mentally and physically.

Not only does it hurt when you are involved, but it is also quite shitty to witness. Even if you are not close to either party, watching someone be humiliated by their SO(B) is as uncomfortable as watching your parents go at it. It’s awkward, its ugly and you would rather be miles and miles away, hunting the last unicorn in some dimension. Sure, sometimes, we lose our tempers and explode and say things we regret, yet these instances should be few and far between. Others however, thrive and exist on berating the partners they hold dear, with complete disregard to the audience. The fact that these assholes are even allowed to procreate is beyond me; I only wish it were socially acceptable to interfere and say something to their ugly faces.

Unfortunately though, you can’t interfere in someone else’s business. Unless they are physically smashing their partner’s teeth out, you kind of have to sit the abuse out. It’s sad but in every instance when you try to step in to stand up for a friend, it will always backfire and you will suddenly be the focus of the problem. Their dysfunctional relationship will survive way past your friendship, and years down the line they will be on some deserted beach, sipping Bacardi and talking about how they almost broke up that time because of that asshole one time; you.

If you are, unfortunately, in love or living with someone like this, and the sex is too good or you are just too lazy to seek an alternative life partner, I suggest the following to help Karma on its way:

  • Spit in their morning coffee. It’s a nice discrete way to send them on their day.
  • Hack into their bank account and treat yourself every month to a spa or nice day out
  • Give the brake pads on their car a little nip. Only do this though if you feel like you are ready to maybe start looking for the next Mr./Mrs. Wrong to ruin your life.

It’s a sad fact of life, but there are people who put up with demeaning partners because of low self-esteem. You can sugar coat it all you want, but glazed abuse is just as sickening as the non-glazed version. It is a form of bullying, that will probably be picked up by the children and perpetuated for generations to come. Ultimately, relationships should be a support system. Your SO should be the one raising you up, not crumpling you down to a wilted flower. And while it may be hard to step out of the madness, you need to remind yourself that life hands out enough shit, so you really don’t need to put up with someone else’s. And remember, abuse isn’t funny, unless it’s physical and happening to the abuser.  relationsheep

Ode to Idiot

There’s a lot to be said about your inner idiot. It’s a side we all have, and one that society needs, really. Let me differentiate off the bat; I’m referring to the fun loving, let-me-make-an-ass-of-me-self, yes I’ll have 18 more shots, sure I’ll squirt lemon in that lion’s eye-kind of idiot. I am resolutely not talking about the authentic Grade A idiots; the ones that believe everything on the internet, think that a plant in the desert can cure cancer, or the ones that think that their face massager is fooling anyone. Clear distinction. An easy way to tell off the bat is that real idiots don’t laugh at themselves, take themselves more seriously than science, and generally illicit a lot of gore and violence in us awesome folks.

Now getting back to the former kind of idiot, here’s why society needs this awesome guy. I’m sure most of us agree that what we do during the week does not represent who we truly are. We work hard. We smile at people we fantasize about stabbing with pens. We show respect to people we wouldn’t pee on if they were on fire. It’s a five day cycle of repression and spirit breaking. Well maybe not all days and all weeks are like that, but a big part of it is.

Luckily these cycles of hell are dotted with 2 day breaks where you can escape the asinine meetings and bad breath to escape to a world of friends, intoxication and expression through dance. While I don’t condone destroying your health every single weekend, there is something to be said for the therapeutic value of indulging in your idiotic roots every now and again. I recently celebrated in the desert and I absolutely let myself go. I distinctly remember the moment. I was surrounded by strangers, I was way too many shots in to care and the tension I had been nurturing from the office was making the muscles on my back cramp. And I said to myself “tonight, I let go. Tonight I don’t give a fuck. Hide your kids.”

As soon as the decision was made, I descended into the abyss of madness. It was glorious. I spoke of STDs, I ran amok with dogs, I made racially questionable statements, I harassed the innocent bystanders, I flooded my vicinity with screams and howls and I let it all hang out.

The next morning, when I regained consciousness, I felt a tangible difference in how relieved I was, physically, mentally and spiritually. Sure I lost my voice and my dignity, but I was reborn, rejuvenated and ready to face more clashes with the Grade A idiots that I was bound to encounter.

Returning back to society was discernibly easier; it was akin to bursting through the womb. I had to gasp to take my first breath but despite being covered in amniotic fluid, I was physically ready to climb the ladder of life. It made me realize; we all need to nurture our inner idiots once in a while, for our own and society’s sake. You can’t conform to a dysfunctional societal structure without breaking the norm sporadically and mooning strangers. So in the interest of humanity, the next time you encounter an idiot raving about, give them a hug, and hide your butt while you walk away.

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I’d like a skinny bitch, please

I’m actually referring to the drink here; vodka and soda water. Yeah, it’s a thing. My husband, aka the long and lean noodle, has it almost exclusively. I, on the other hand, prefer shorter drinks that usually have traces of worm in them and leave you so confused and delirious by the end of the night that you end up having conversations about religion with plants. I’m absolutely fine with this state, what I’m not fine with is banning alcohol abuse from diets.

On my 4th week of a strict atoms-only meal plan, I began to miss my drunken escapades with society’s refugees. Diets are as varied as the people who need them, yet most of them explicitly ban most traces of good-times-booze. According to many new reports, alcohol is detrimental to weight loss because the minute it is in you, your body stops burning fat and switches to burning alcohol.

Yet it seems to me that these scientists need to differentiate between types of alcohol and how you consume them. If, like this author, you smoothly sashay into a club at ten with the intent of having “one or two glasses of wine”, only to stumble into the men’s toilet at midnight with traces of Jager, Tequila and vomit on your shirt, then banning alcohol is probably a safe bet that you will reach your weight loss goal.

On the other hand, if you can somehow commit to the oxymoron of “sensible drinking”, then you just might have a chance to escape your calorie deficient days with giggle filled evenings. The following list will help fellow dieters commit to a smaller waistline without skimping on good times:

1) Designate a Bar Vader, preferably a good friend otherwise this won’t work, who will shadow you throughout the evening and ensure that you stick to one type of the approved alcohol list. This is for those of us who have the resolve yet struggle with reality.

2) Pace yourself. In this race, the tortoise is the winner. If you have had a light dinner, you won’t need that much liquor anyway, and if you space out the drinks to one per hour, you should be fine.

3) Move! This is no time to sit and ponder the fate of humanity. If you are drinking your carbs, you should be moving, dancing or molesting some piece of furniture/security guard. At least give your body a chance to burn those empty calories instead of converting them into self-hating prophecies.

4) Avoid the sugary, mixed stuff. So long Pina Coladas, anything with an umbrella, or drinks that make your pancreas erect. Instead, befriend the straight up folks like tequila, vodka, gin and the like.

5) To beer, or not to beer. This is a tough one. I know some folks who drink this exclusively and are physically free of the Homer Simpson gut. Yet they are also quite active and drink nothing else. If you use beer as a chaser then it’s probably a good idea to cut it out, otherwise limit your intake.

6) This is probably the most important: Avoid the fast food in the aftermath! I don’t care if the McD’s vendor has promised you his first born, late night eating is a sin by normal standards, and late night junk food binging is an invitation for all sorts of snug trouble.

Thanks to these simple rules, I still make the rounds on the weekends. They have helped me maintain a balance between my night life and my daily commitment to health. For other sources that allow your inner lush to come out and play, try the following. In the meantime, I am enjoying the fruits of my starvation, while keeping my thirst in check.

 

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New Year, Old Me

I don’t know if it’s my age or not, but having celebrated 30-something New Yearseses, the event is really starting to lose its thunder for me. Even more deflating are the annual declarations we make called resolutions, which are ultimate assurances of failure. Come January first, all forms of communicable media is gushing with messages of how to improve, enhance or further yourself into that gleaming shining star buried deep within your flaws. Read here for 6 easy steps to tightening that neck. Click this for the secret to building muscles on your eyelids. Why are we so drawn into that lure of bettering ourselves? What could possibly be wrong with the way we are now?

Every New Year, I head out and join throngs of intoxicated homo sapiens to count down, drink, scream, and inhale in the new year. And surely enough, once the celebrations have died down and we have located our abodes and dignity; there is always that talk of resolutions. It’s really funny when you see people who in the span of 12 hours go from trying to inject tequila and sniff detergent to singing up for Tai Chi and yoga retreats.

There is a fine line between what our perception of ourselves is and what we actually are. If asked to describe ourselves on a sheet of paper, I’m sure many of us would use words like “kind, smart, creative, funny” where in the same instance, we wouldn’t dote these adjectives so freely on other people and might opt for more expressive terms such as “genetically challenged” or “religiously bound to idiocy”. Point is, even if we think we are better than we actually are, the project of improving yourself is tantalizingly exciting and too hard to pass up.

Unfortunately, the resolution system is inherently flawed. The sheer fact that you need to wait until a specific date to adopt better practices for your health and life carry the same risk of failure as “I’ll start my diet on Monday”. If you can’t say no to those 400 snicker bars now, chances are you’re not going to magically acquire the strength to stop licking butter bars on a certain date. It’s an old cliché but the “there’s no time like the present” has stood the test of time because of its veracity. If you decide on December 3 that you’re going to quit smoking on the first, this means you are going to spend the better part of the month over indulging in a bad habit; trying to suck up cancer through every hole in your body. And unless you’re one of a few talented females in Thailand, I don’t think you can pull off that trick smoothly. Nevertheless, not only will you smoke more, but you will also probably just hold up the resolutions for a matter of nano seconds, so you might as well have not made the damned resolution in the first place, and saved yourself a charred asshole.

While it might be fun to reinvent yourself come January, remember not to pour too many resources into a project with such a high failure rate. I mean, let’s face it, if you had kept all your resolutions, you would be God by the time you were 28. This year, the only thing I’m resolving is to stay as fabulously imperfect as I am. The only thing that will change is the date. I’m going to greet 2017 with the same love handles, renegade grey hairs and copious cursing that have colored my glorious days. There’s a good chance you will too so throw in the towel now and join me in my quest for un-resolving to change.