Exposure Therapy

As you may or may not be aware, I am horrified by birds.  They're creepy, little, winged, dino-ancestors, who can move their heads in horrifyingly freakish ways.  Well, today, I came face to beak with HUNDREDS OF THOUSANDS of the little bastards, as I travelled on the O'Brien's boat tour, around Green Island and Gull Island, off the coast of Newfoundland.  Look closely and you will see my own personal 5th Ring of Hell.   Jesus.

No, You Curb YOUR Enthusiasm!

This will come as no shock to those who know and love (or at least tolerate) me:  I have several "quirks" that many people find both entertaining and perplexing.  Although I have not been officially diagnosed with any type of anxiety disorder, common sense propels me in the direction toward self awareness (and eventual acceptance) of my rather neurotic propensities.  

I, too, find my idiosyncrasies fascinating and bizarre... Every day, there seems to be another one added to the ever-growing list.  

For your virtual gawking pleasure, here is a sampling of that which forces that little vein above my left eye to twitch at Bolshevik tempo:

Birds:  These are flying dinosaurs.  True story.  Look it up.  Birds can move their heads in creepy positions, and they stare at me-- judging, mocking, plotting-- while I'm walking my dogs.  Crows are the worst. I'm sure it's no accident that a group of them is called a "murder". Coincidence?  I think not.  Seagulls and pigeons are close runners-up.  Those jerks are everywhere.  I'm familiar with Hitchcock.  I'm no dummy.  Besides, they have beaks.  Never trust anything that has its pecker on its face.

*Swimming in Lakes:  No.  Lakes have fish.  The end.

Swimming in the Ocean:  No.  Oceans have fish and are made of salt.  Aaaaand, if I really need to point it out, sharks live there.  If a shark broke into my house and started thrashing about in my kitchen, I would beat that bastard to death with a pipe, no questions asked!  I fully expect that they feel the same way about intruders in their aquatic domicile.  As do piranha.  And jellyfish.  And orcas. 

Swimming in Public Pools:  No.  Old people, children, and jerks pee in there.

Hot Tubs:  Petrie dish for bacteria.  People pee in there, too.

Bathing in Tubs:  Nope.  It's like marinating in your own filth.  Showers.  Period.

Jacuzzi Foot Spas:   I saw 20/20 once where these machines were investigated... Most spas don't clean them properly, and people's dead, exfoliated skin gets trapped in the jets, and breeds bacteria.  They said it was the equivalent to bathing in water used by hundreds of people before you.  The story had real-life victims of bacterial diseases on their legs and feet from these clogged machines.  No.  Just plain no.

Untreated Wood (i.e. Wooden Spoons, Popsicle Sticks, etc.).  No, you read that correctly.  I can't stand the feeling.  I just can't touch them.  Just... No.  Especially if they get wet.  There is nothing worse than putting your hands in the dishwater , only to pull out a giant, soaking wet, wooden spoon.  That's enough to put me in a massive speed wobble.

Babies:  Yes, actual babies.  Babies, like birds, stare at you, and may, in fact, be trying to remove your soul.  Try a staring contest with an infant-- you won't win.  They have an agenda.  If they're under 2 years old, they are soul-stealing, bobble-headed, mind-readers.  Don't make eye contact.  I'm warning you.

Outside Creatures Trying to Freeload:  Insects, spiders, bats, birds, mice, etc. have the whole world to explore.  I have a tiny little piece of that world--- which I pay for, decorate, and clean on a (somewhat) regular basis.  That is mine.  All ye aforementioned creatures, unless invited, need not breech the perimeter.  Any trespassers will face the death penalty.  See below.

Killing Bugs:  I can't do it the old fashioned way.  I just can't squish anything.  My preferred method of execution is chemical warfare.  Centipedes are the worst, but respond nicely to this...  My secret?  Extra strength hairspray.  I saturate the little buggers until the stickiness prevents them from moving.  I just can't squish things---not even a fly.  I tried to drown the last one with Windex.  All it did was make him really shiny-- and streak-free.  Live and learn.

Cotton Balls:  Ugh.  They feel terrible.  And they're too squeaky.

Bridges:  Can't drive over them.  Can't even be a rational passenger while someone else drives over them.    The one on the way to Niagara Falls, just outside of St. Catherine's, just about made me have an aneurysm back in the spring.  

Clowns:  Obvious reasons.

Dolls, Marionettes, Ventriloquist Dummies, Puppets:  See clowns.  

Camping in Tents:  I have a job so I don't have to sleep outside on the ground.  Tent-sleeping is voluntary homelessness.

Mushrooms:  Fungus grown in poop.  Can't do it.  Except on pizza.  I don't know.  Don't ask.

Raw Onions and Beans (Lima, Kidney, Baked):  These all feel like bugs in my mouth.  Kidney beans even look like June Bugs.  Ugh.

Tomatoes:  Only on a toasted tomato sandwich.  And they have to be a certain texture.

Hummus:  It's like a mouthful of paste.  Can't do it.

Cotton Candy:  I imagine eating spiderwebs.  It makes my teeth sore just thinking about it.

Double Dipping:  You might as well skip the middle man and just spit directly into my mouth.

Sharing Food or Drinks:  See above

Planes:  Planes crash.  I saw LaBamba.  No, Bob... Not MY Ritchie.

Trains:  Trains de-rail.

Well, do you see why some of my nearest and dearest consider me to be a bit "quirky" (to say the least)?  How could you not?!?  Even I can't rationalize why some of those things are on the list.  But alas, these things provide very real obstacles as I try to navigate through life, this time around.  These things that I have listed are just the tip of the iceberg!  There's a lot more--- but these are the ones from the top of my head.  It's not easy being me, you know...  Life is certainly a lot more interesting though, when everything is a potential threat--especially those babies!  I've learned to work around all of this, but I can embrace it at the same time.  It makes me look like a right looney toon, but on the plus side, it keeps my friends entertained.  :)

Back

It's been a while, but I'm back.  

Where did I go?  Nowhere, really... But now I'm hanging around with a lot if time on my hands, and need to some things off my chest.  There's only so much satellite TV one can watch in a day.  This is the first summer EVER that I'm not working/teaching/taking courses.  I don't know what to do with myself.  For real.  So, I said to myself, "Hey self, let's do some blog stuff!"  

Well played, self... Well played.

Darwin Awards: Woodstock Edition

So today something truly bizarre happened and I'm still in a bit of shock.  Let me explain...

While pumping my gas at the Mac's on Devonshire in Woodstock, I was just zoning out & minding my own Ps & Qs, when I heard the guy on the other side of my pump start talking.  It took me all of 10 seconds to realize he was talking to the young guy at the pump in front of him.  This was the exchange:

Guy sharing my pump:  "Dude!  Is your car running?  Are you filling up your car and the engine is still running?

Other guy (looking confused):  Uh, yeah... So?

First Guy:  Dude!!  You can't do that!  You can't put gas into your car with it running!!!  You'll blow up!  Shut your car off!!!!!

Other Guy:  Oh! Okay... Hold on.  I'm almost finished.... 

At that point, crazy gas guy finished pumping, screwed on his gas cap, and drove away, leaving the other guy and me to stare at each other, eyes wide, mouths open, with no immediate words between us.  Eventually, grateful that I wouldn't  have to spend the weekend dead, I thanked the guy for noticing the potential disaster, and for calling the guy on it.  

It's funny... I always see (and even chuckle at) the warning at the pump that engines must be turned off while filling the tank.  Until today, I thought, "why on earth would they need signs like that?  Who in the world would leave their car running?"  Well, smack my ass and call me Betty!   You know, as entertaining as they may be, I have always had my doubts about the authenticity of "The Darwin Awards" and shows like "1000 Ways To Die".  I was wrong.  Apparently I have been giving humanity far too much credit--- which is soooooo not like me.  I guess Darwin really was on to something...

In that moment, I felt like being the self-appointed guardian of our sorry-ass species, by going up to the halfwit and giving him a good dose of whatfor!  Though I didn't actually do it, I felt like saying, "You!  Moron!  Out of the gene pool!"   My tongue, however, is still bleeding from biting it in self-restraint.

Pot? Not!

Do I care if someone smokes pot?  No.  Do I care if they smoke it in my house?  You bet your Aunt Susie's ash can, I do.

And that goes for cigarettes, too.

Bottom line: apartments with shared ventilation systems need to be smoke-free.  If you share my air, it better be top quality.   If you want to poison yourself to death, get to it.  In fact, do us all a favour and hurry up about it!, but until then, smoke your nonsense outside.    

There seem to be quite the entrepreneurial adventures happening downstairs, in the apartment below mine. Not only do I get clocked in the face with a brick wall of stench, in the form of Mary Jane the second I walk in my house, but visitors may even be able to "choose your own adventure", if you're picking up what I'm laying down.   Cheech and Chong downstairs aren't very good at being discrete with their basement bargain booth... You know, with their guests' cars left running on the road as the drivers "run inside", as well as a constant stream of 5 minute visitors.  Oh, that, and hearing business details right from the horse's mouth.  

What bothers me is, no one in this town seems to care.   Everyone is aware of what is taking place below me, but all blind eyes get turned.  So, until Willie Nelson downstairs decides to pack up and go, I guess I'll have no choice but to wallow in my 2nd floor hotbox, and just hope the continuous flow of "riff raff" stay the hell out of my way.

The Caramilk Mystery = Solved!

FYI:

It is a little known fact that there is a creature, much like the Chupacabra, that sneaks into your house at night -in pure Santa Claus fashion, and tampers with the food in your cupboards. Centuries ago, this creature, the CARAMILKASAURUS roamed the earth, sneaking into dwellings, and licked all the perishable food products within. Only 5 centimetres in height, the CARAMILKASAURUS went virtually undetected. After going from residence to residence, licking all food in sight, the creature would have to void his bowels. The waste material was a chocolate-like substance with a sweet creamy filling, and became a delicacy to those who happened to find this delicious treat. It sounds slightly disturbing upon first hearing of this revelation, however, we must remember that it isn't as bad as it sounds. The best coffee in the world has passed through the digestive tract of the Luack -an exotic, cat-like creature. The Luack eats the coffee beans, and as they move through its system, the chemical processes give them a chocolaty-type flavour. This, too, is a delicacy, for which connoisseurs will pay top dollar. We are just fortunate that a CARAMILK bar is affordable for the rich and poor alike. The CARAMILKASAURUS is not to be feared, but revered! This legendary creature -like the Yeti and the Loch Ness Monster, is elusive and has become the subject of much investigation. Many cultures have their own version of the CARAMILK secret, but the one constant is the creamy caramel goodness within. I, for one, say "thank you, CARAMILKASAURUS, for what would become of our collective 'sweet tooth' without your delicious feces?" 

Animal "Care" Centre. Hmm...

My gears are grinding.  I have always had certain "feelings" for London's Animal Care Centre organization, but today, I feel the need for catharsis in the form of the written word.

I have made countless calls to them in the past, reporting strays or injured animals, and am usually met with the same response:  "we don't do that" (that, being assisting in whatever issue I was reporting).

How many times have I called to report a dog trapped in a car on a smotheringly hot day, to be met with a voicemail message, stating LACC is closed?  On at least 3 occasions, those calls were made prior to 5pm.  The message then directed me to the Humane Society --which was also closed.  THEIR message referred me back to LACC.  All the while, the dog in the car waited for relief.  As a last resort, I was directed to phone the police.  Isn't this why taxes pay for an animal control organization?  

When they are on duty, they seem to have a bit of an inflated sense of that duty.  LACC has been known for trespassing on the properties of private residences, and has been spotted peeking in private home windows, trying to see if there are unregistered, unlicensed pets inside.  This is not speculation, this is fact. They claim to have a right, as "bylaw" folks, to investigate, but I'm sorry... unless I woke up in Russia this morning, this is a definite problem.  Police need a warrant to search a residence, but the local dog-catcher thinks he/she is able to be a legal "peeping Tom"?  That is exactly what it is-- voyeurism and trespassing, and I can tell you, if I saw anyone on my property peeking in my windows, they would meet the business end of a broom-- or, dare I say it, worse.  

They claim to provide all these wonderful services -- and don't get me wrong, I'm sure they have saved many animals' lives --don't get your panties all in a bunch.  Yes, they house, feed, and spay & neuter needy animals, but they are only sporadically available, and pick and choose which services to provide.  They will collect stray dogs, but not cats.  Apparently there are too many stray cats, so if you see one in dire straights, YOU have to catch it, contain it, and take it in.  What are all these mandatory yearly licensing fees buying?  They only pick up certain animals, and only during certain hours...  Their own website states that they are only open until 4pm on weekends and:

After hours the City of London does not provide for the patrolling of dogs at large or the pick-up of stray dogs.

So, I guess if you find a stray or distressed dog at 4:01 on Saturday afternoon, you're out of luck.  Don't bother calling The Humane Society... They don't deal with strays--- only surrended pets.

If you find a pet with no identification after hours, we would ask that you provide shelter for it overnight and call us in the morning to arrange for the pet to come to the Animal Care Centre.

And if you can't?  Sorry, pup. 

This is what burns me.  Today, a local radio station announced that 3 wee kittens were stranded in the snowstorm.  LACC would take them in, but wouldn't pick them up.  These wee lives, in obvious desperate need of care and sanctuary, were left to fate, or to the generosity of local animal lovers. This was not some stray tabby, using an old lady's lawn as a litterbox... These are tiny babies, on the verge of freezing to death in the frigid dead of winter.  That sounds like a mission for London's Animal "Care" Centre, if you ask me.  

Or maybe all the field agents are too busy peeking in tax-payers' windows.  I bet you don't find THAT service on their website.

http://www.accpets.ca/hours/index.htm

TO FORGIVE AND FORGET: THAT IS THE QUESTION

From 2007:

So everyone has heard the cliche, "forgive and forget". I would like to submit my '2 cents' on the subject. 

Can one actually accomplish that which is being asked? I'm going to say no. 

I can completely validate and support the concept of forgiveness, for it is with the holding of grudges that, over time, we become cold, hard, cynical, and unfeeling. We try to teach children the concept of empathy and the value of an apology. What are we modeling by being unforgiving and resistant to compassion? Holding a grudge, in fact, does nothing more than keep the negative feelings within oneself, ultimately affecting only the grudge holder. In fact, many times, the 'offender' is completely unaware that another harbours ill feelings towards him/her. By holding that grudge, who is really suffering? The person with whom the grudge-holder takes issue? No. Chances are he/she is either unaware of the hurt feelings, or more likely, no longer even cares. So who is really suffering? Sure -it is the person who has been unable or unwilling to forgive. That person is in a perpetual state of emotional negativity as a result of refusing to let go. To hold a grudge is, in essence, continuing to give the offender the power, as the grudge holder is kept an emotional prisoner, controlled by possible feelings of anger, hate, vengeance and a general ill-will towards the offender. A futile state, especially if the offender no longer 'gives a damn'. Of course, not every offence requires forgiveness. In fact, many do NOT. What DOES need to happen, however, is for the grudge holder to at least let go, even if forgiveness is impossible. One can reconcile oneself to NOT forgive completely, but one MUST find a way to purge oneself of all the negative energy and emotional drain. For one's own sake, the weight needs to be lifted, with or without true forgiveness. 

My real issue with the 'forgive and forget' mantra is the 'forget' part. Each experience we have on this planet (whether you believe we are here once or that we have several 'kicks at the can') shapes us into the people we are. Both positive AND negative experiences teach us lessons that we need to learn in order to be truly empathetic, learned and evolved spirits. It is with our most trying times that we learn the greatest lessons -even if we can't interpret the significance at the time. The most difficult situations (and people) reveal to us quite a bit about ourselves, our society, our friends and family, and our assumptive worldview in general. Why would ANYONE want to forget? Sure, we may want to stifle the memory of specific details, but the overall lesson should be accessible to our conscious memories. Besides, in forgetting our trials and tribulations, we set ourselves up for repeating the same mistakes. If you are able to forgive someone for their sins upon you, by all means do so.... but don't EVER forget that it happened. What is the old saying... "fool me once, shame on you... fool me twice, shame on me"? If you forget lessons of the past, you are likely to be 'fooled twice'. It is almost entrenched in my psyche now, as a History teacher, to evaluate the lessons of the past, and apply them to the present and future. One's personal history is just as important as the macrocosm. I'm not sure why we are so reluctant to actually learn from the mistakes of the past... whether it be our own personal indiscretions, those of our society, or those of other civilizations. The lessons are abundant in all cases, but we turn a blind eye, believing they have no relevance to us. 

But... here is the REAL question. If you continue to remember ---choosing NOT to forget, can you truly, whole-heartedly forgive? Can you tell someone that they are absolved of their sins if you never really wipe the slate clean? Can you truly mend fences with the continued knowledge of someone's misdeeds toward you? My guess is no, not completely. A catch-22, indeed. Maybe that is good. Maybe one should never completely wipe that slate clean... Proceeding with caution in regards to those who have offended you is probably the best way to go. 

Should you forgive and forget? I'd say no. CAN you really forgive and forget. I'd still say no...for the axe is never really buried if you mark the spot where it lies.


HAVE YOUR SAY: Is there an act that is unforgivable?

The End of an Era

As you may or may not be aware, Piggy was euthanized yesterday after a very short illness (resulting in a giant grapefruit-sized tumour that appeared almost overnight).  Pig was a force with which to be reckoned.  Anyone who had any dealings with her will tell you, Princess Pig was a diva who called the shots in every relationship she had (with humans or her other animal buddies).

Anyway, Pig had a brush with death years ago that resulted in some hilarious story-telling material for me.  She had liver failure and stopped eating.  I had to force-feed her with a syringe after a very pricey stay at the emergency vet clinic.  You can imagine how well that went.  I blogged about it then and would like to share the hilarity of it now:

From 2007:

OPEN WIDE... CHOO CHOO... HERE COMES THE TUNA TRAIN!!!!

Picture if you will: A sickly feline, a devoted cat-mom, a can of wet food, a towel, and a syringe. No good could come of this scenario.

Piglet is home under the condition that I FORCE-FEED a can of wet food every day. Her liver is in a state of self-repair, and a lack of nutrients will make her regress, undoing all the progress we've made thus far. As much as her name might indicate otherwise, Piglet is not really a big eater. She likes a lot of different kinds of food (her favourite for begging purposes: applesauce), but does not really eat beyond her capacity for storage. She will beg for something but when I finally submit to her pleas, she will sniff the food at hand, look at me, then walk away. It is, in fact, all about the successful hunt for her, as opposed to the enjoyment of the actual prize. This is why it is so difficult to force-feed the Pig. She doesn't want it.

I have been instructed to wrap her little kitty-body in a towel -nice and tight -as if she were a feline burrito. I am then to suck up, into a syringe, a bunch of watered down wet-food, at which point I am supposed to hold her down, open her mouth, and inject the nutritious morsels into the back of her throat. No problem. Sounded like a well laid out plan. Yeah. One factor that comes into play here, though: THIS IS THE PIG AND PIG DOESN'T DO WHAT PIG DOESN'T WANT TO DO. She has made it very clear to me that this whole feeding thing goes way beyond the boundaries of our relationship -as if I am in breech of some contract, for which she will plot, and eventually seek vengeance. For those of you who don't know the Pig, she is a feline version of Stewie Griffin (a la Family Guy). She schemes, she plots, and she has enough attitude to shame a classroom full of tenth grade girls. She is furious about our new dinner dates and expresses her opinion in no uncertain terms. When she's not hissing and growling at me as I try to nourish her poor depleted frame, she is violently shaking her head from side to side, making it nearly impossible for me to cram her yap full of tuna-like goodness. What DOES make it into her mouth may or may not remain there, as she has somehow learned to close her throat, and to spit the remnants back out at me. By the end of each feeding session, we are both drenched head to toe in cat food. I feel bad for her, but it's called tough love -and any decent parent out there will know that sometimes you have to be a hard ass for the benefit of all involved.

I love my Pig. Clearly. I wouldn't be doing this for shites and giggles. Put it this way, after the amount of money that went into her little 10.7lb body this week, in addition to my blood, sweat and tears over this food thing, she's damned lucky she's cute. Oh... who am I kidding? She's my "fur child". Of course I'm going to do what I can to help her survive. Any pet owner (a REAL pet owner) would do the same. So, I guess I will continue on the path to wellness, and do my parental duty -albeit unpleasant for both of us. I will continue to wear regurgitated MediCal with pride, knowing that I am a good mom, and I'm sure, despite the spitting, growling, and hissing, Piggy thinks so too. 

Godspeed, little Pig.

HAVE YOUR SAY: Have you ever had to make the decision that "enough was enough" when it came to a treatment for a pet?

No Parking. Seriously. You Can't Park There

 I wrote this in 2007.  Amazingly, 7 years later, the problem continues.

I am amazed at how many Starbucks coffee drinkers are apparently illiterate. This is not a blanket-statement dig to the franchise.  Oh, no... for I, myself, am a slave to the dark roasted bean... I am speaking specifically about those who frequent the Chapters/Starbucks in London's north end. It concerns me how so many patrons drive their cars, clearly unable to read the parking signs in the lot. How many times, on any given day, at any given time, does one see the vehicles belonging to those die-hard latte drinkers, lining the fence that is clearly marked with no-parking signs? Now, maybe I’m wrong, but I was under the impression that a no-parking sign meant that there was to be no parking there. Is it me? Or how about the cars that just pull up in front of the café and park right there in front of the entrance, forcing parking lot traffic to go around, or wait for the oncoming vehicles to clear? Perhaps mandatory Drivers’ Ed recertification is in order? This behaviour is offensive even when the lot is crowded, but absolutely abhorrent when the lot is basically empty. Yes, you may just be “running in for a coffee”, but guess what? That’s what the rest of us are doing, too. Most of us park in a legitimate parking space every time –even if it’s raining, or snowing, or if we have to park 50 feet away. Do you know why? Because those are the rules! If you can’t get out of your legally parked car and walk 20 feet to the door, perhaps you should be going through a Drive-Thru. The audacity to exist, believing the rules don’t apply to you! Maybe the issue isn’t literacy. Maybe it’s elitism? Perhaps it is apathy or sheer laziness? One thing for sure, it is inappropriate and shameful. I can’t even count the amount of times that I’ve witnessed a delivery truck unable to complete its mission due to illegally parked vehicles in the way, leaving the driver no choice but to sit and wait for the offenders to return to and move their cars. I’m just sorry I didn’t get to see any illegally parked cars get damaged or blocked in by vehicles actually permitted to be in the area. That would at least be gratifying, instant karma. This current culture, revolving around “the cult of the individual” –the misappropriation of individual rights, leaves very little room for consideration of the common good. No wonder we have a society full of children and adolescents who believe their actions require no consequences –that the rules don’t apply to them. Why not? Look at their role models. Just remember: it’s not about YOU. We all have to co-exist together; therefore, we must all abide by the rules put in place to ensure the appropriate ebb and flow of society. The rules apply to everyone: even those of us who drink Starbucks coffee.