Coping Strategies

What to do when you don't want to do anything...

In accordance with Jenn's advice, this is indeed the second post in two days. I hope you enjoy it, my dear, since you're the only person who ever reads this nonsense.

It seems to me that much of the world is in need of a few pointers on getting through life. I know full well that I'm not the only person who has miserable Tuesdays, and the popularity of Hostile Wednesdays is booming in a way I never thought it could. So I've compiled several suggestions that I believe will help get everybody through this grand ordeal with at least a few less injuries.

First and foremost, give up on the idea that you will ever be content for more than a few moments at a time. The sources of happiness for most people are so few and far between that they do not deserve any type of devotion whatsoever. That includes lovers and friends because the world is constantly trying to right itself, and that usually involves separating happy couples and forcing together people who would rather die than enter into a friendly exchange. As for school, even if you get an excellent mark it won't make you happy. You will always find a way to ruin it for yourself. Moreover, if you get perfect you still won't be satisfied because you will tell yourself that it was "so easy," thereby devalueing the best possible mark you can get. Case and point: I almost cried when I got 107% on a grammar test last year because there was a bonus question that I missed.

Take a healthy dose of spite when you wake up each morning. Find an innocent object (not person) to kick or yell at just because of the way it looks or something that is inherent. [Sidebar: this morning I got mad because my shower was so wet. This is a perfect example.] This way, you won't relinquish your wrath on every passerby--just a few of them.

Get a really boring hobby, then let your creative outlet be finding ways to make that boring hobby interesting or relevant to other aspects of your life. If the hobby isn't that boring, you can still be creative and come up with excuses for doing it. When you get really good at it, you can tell because people will groan when you start talking about it, knowing full well that you are preparing to launch into a speech about how video games increase reflexes. An excellent case of this happened just last week: I explained to Brenda that Dynomite was helping me study for geology because the combos were named based on time periods. Now if that's not innovative I don't know what is.

Send random and retarded essay topic proposals to your professors. You'll get used to getting shot down, and once you've worn them out your actual topic will be like a breath of fresh air to them. They will be so glad that you gave up on a "political" reading of Peanuts in relation to nihilism that they won't be able to refuse your somewhat more conservative approach to the course material.

Learn a new language. Start with the profanities. Learn to say these foreign obscenties in the sweetest voice you can muster, and greet everyone you meet with them. This trick works extra well if you can do it convincingly enough that no body thinks you speak English. NB: Gibberish is a great language to break yourself in with. Practise my lapsing into gibberish whenever your emotions are unexpectantly heightened.

Tell every person you see that they are your new best friend. Tell them something incredibly private. Like always, don't let the truth get in the way of your happiness.

Do a formalist reading of the Presidents of the United States of America's song "Feather Pluckn", "Lump", "Naked and Famous", or "Stranger." Try to figure out what they're really saying. Reason your way into an epiphany about life, death, sex, or chocolate.

Resist everything, especially your most basic urges. (That one was just for you, Jenn.)

Earnestly claim that you don't like the smell of it. Then take your clothes off in a restaurant for the helluvit. Or tell someone that you live in seclusion. Make it clear that reality and sobriety are your only delusions.

Every time you feel like you're on the verge of tears or any other kind of utter emotional collapse, do the chicken dance. You won't be able to take yourself too seriously if you are doing the chicken dance. If you are afraid to do this in a public place because you think it's embarassing I have only this to say to you: swollen eyes and runny make-up; real men don't cry.

See, the most important lesson to learn is that life is just one big joke. No matter what you do, it's probably wrong in someone's eyes. If you try to please only yourself you will be all alone in the world, and if you try to please everyone you'll be a miserable failure. Positivity wein-style. You know nothing if you expected anything different. Tomorrow I have a special entry planned...for the only person who was capable of making me smile on my Hostile Wednesday. Who could it be? Oooh, a cliff-hanger. Til then...

A Miserable Day

A Tale of Agony and Defeat in Three Parts

Part One: In which the heroine finds herself utterly alone in the world and tries to console herself by clinging to a desparate hope for "Better Days" as promised once in a song.
Today was a dreary day. Clouds loomed, but not even rain came to visit. It was one of those days from the second the alarm sent me flailing off my bed, tangled in covers, until this very second, that nothing was right. That is not to say, of course, that everything was wrong (because then it would be all right). No, it was more hopeless than that. It was a "crying over spilled milk" and "sobbing over the way the cookie crumbled" mixed with a bit of "choking on the regrets" kind of day. Try as I might, I couldn't get a grip.

So, I did the usual. I listened to happy music to make me happy--it made me angry. I listened to angry music to help me get over my mood--it made me sad. I listened to sad music to set the mood for my sulk party--and all hope disappeared from the world. We can't have none of this I says to myself (for my interior monologues are always riddled with poor grammar), and I plowed on through my day. I listened intently to the presentation of The Recruiting Officer. I read Brecht while I ate my lunch. I brought Brecht with me to the Job Search Clinic and laughed outloud in frustration when it didn't make sense to me. I went religiously to my Modern Drama class. I perked myself up with some caffeine and chocolate at break. And then I quit.

Part Two: In which the heroine realizes her shortcomings and attempts to quit everything. Failing miserably to even quit, and the miserable day continues, as all days must.
Screw Earth Science, I decided, I'm going home. And here I have been ever since. I thought writing a blog would make me feel better--the computer crashed. Clearly, there is something screwy about my logic because everything I did to make things better ended in bitter failure. Story of my life; except that I'm morally opposed to failure. I'm also opposed to being denied the things I want, like the right to write an essay on the topic I choose. My Emersonian reading of anti-Americanism in Fury would have been beautiful and poignant. But when the world collapses because it's been robbed of that gem of academia, I will delightedly point you in the direction of that prof.

In the mean time, I'll be distastefully sweet and kind. Hostile Wednesday will have a strange bite to it. But that's life, my dears, and we will keep on keeping on whether we like it or not.

Part Three: In which the heroine provides yet another list for her devoted followers, providing renewed hope for bitter but not miserable days in the future.
Now, feeling completely useless, I'd like to share another part of my day that I glossed over. I was waiting for class to start, and a fellow classmate who I am doing a presentation with next week spotted me. We talked over the presentation and our availability. Then she asked me what I was going to do with my degree. It's endless. Everybody always asks me that. I gave her some excellent advice, and pointed her towards my favourite book on careers. She was just curious about her options, not skeptical about the likelihood of available options.

Of course that got me thinking about the first post I put on here and how well it portrayed each and every one of my grievances without the hassle of names and dates--you know, facts. And as a result, I have compiled my third list of possible career avenues. This list focuses exclusively on jobs for the anti-social underachiever. Here they are:

• Fortune Teller: This job lost some points because it requires interaction with people, but there is a certain sinister aspect to fortune telling that really draws me to it. The fact is, no one expects a fortune teller to tell the truth or even the future, so you get to fuck with people's lives however you see fit. And if they are dumb enough to believe you and pay to be manipulated like that... all the better.
• Food Critic: The words "I can't talk, I'm eating" are indispensable for the anti-social underachiever. And no body needs to practise eating. So this job gets bonus points for the lazy factor. On top of all that, food critics get to hide their identity...how much more anti-social can you get?
• Movie Critic: There are only two places a movie critic needs to be: watching a movie (in the dark where no one is supposed to be talking) or writing the article (in the privacy of one's own home). Move this one to the top of the list if you have a lock on your door. It ranks above food critic because movies don't make you fat.
• Parts Picker: Now hear me out! Anti-social: the supervisors love you more when you don't talk to anybody. Lazy: brainwise--your brain will probably just melt or die from lack of use. I know mine did.
• Bus Driver: No body can tell me that bus drivers are expected to be nice or intelligent. They are mean and they really like trying to run me over.
• Librarian: I'm sorry, but this job sounds sweet. My favourite part is definitely the shushing. I don't get to shush people often enough. Maybe I should start.
• Postal Worker: Oh, the person that delivers the mail...how much can be said? The job is getting easier by the day because people are walking further and further to get their mail themselves. In the interest of keeping our mail secure, we've agreed to walk down several flights of stairs or to the end of the street. Postal workers don't even have to deliver to houses with aggressive dogs or their bastard children any more. What is the world coming to?
• Distance Studies Teacher: Now, I thought it was a sweet deal to get to read lectures online in my bedroom. But just think of the prof that gets to recycle lectures year after year and doesn't even have to say them outloud, just post them on the internet. Moreover, tons of these profs have grad students for assistants, and the grad student does the grunt work. It's perfect. You don't even have to know anything.

Holy mack, if you're not tired of reading that's too damn bad--I am tired of writing. I hope I've inspired some something...or at least helped you convince yourself that your life is relatively wonderful when you hold mine up as an alternative. And Jennifer: this is a perfect example of weinist resistance because it is resisting even itself. More on that next time. Sleep sweet. I was not the answer so forget you ever thought it was me--or convert.

Still Breathing

As if I had a choice in any matters presently before me

Let's start with something a little more positive than normal. It's Thursday, so Hostile Wednesday has come and gone. Moreover, it's Thursday post-Modra, so I can tell you all about my acting accomplishments. Our interpretative staging of Cherry Orchard by Chekhov went off as hitchless as imaginable under all the circumstance. My butt is thoroughly frozen from sitting on the cold concrete for upwards of half an hour. I sure hope it's not true that you get hemmroids that way: that would be quite upsetting. Hopefully that presentation is a positive starting point for the endeavours to come: my Rocks test (20%) and my developmental psych mid-term (25%). I can't say I'm too concerned about either, but that's mostly because I have no choice but to trust in my own abilities at this point: rocks starts in under 30 minutes. Psych still requires a bit more studying, but my attention seems to be continuously diverted by numerous things--roommate, computer, other readings, etc.

However, I'm content that I'm not quite a hopeless case. Psych isn't until Saturday after all, and if my worse offense is that I take some time to eat meals and keep up to date with my other classes then I don't think my condemnation is written in stone--at least not yet. The fact of the matter is, I haven't compulsively cleaned anything or taken to hiding under my sheets, so I'm probably in pretty good shape all things considered.

It got cold today. Bitter cold. There wasn't a wind, but Jack Frost was like a ravenous dog nipping at every exposed limb. So whose idea was it to perform in the courtyard? Did you ever have one of those moments when you hear your own voice, and feel your lips moving but you can't agree with what's being said? "Oh, ya! It would be perfect to do it out here"--was one of those moments.

I'm bound and bent on not reviewing rocks anymore, so I'm just going to keep on typing. I'll tell you more about the excitement of my life. Tomorrow I get to arise bright and early to trek to the school for a workshop I'll present on Resume and Cover Letters. The workshop runs from 10:30 to 12:30, but we usually finish quite early. I will be absolutely furious if no one shows up. I'm not supposed to be on campus on Fridays, let alone before noon.

Next week is going to be hectic. Monday, brighter and earlier than ever before (this year), I will come to campus, get on a yellow school bus and proceed to Ingersoll, where Amanda and I will lead a class of grade 11 students through what is cheerfully known as "The Violence Prevention Program: A Love that Kills." And once isn't enough--oh no. I will be re-presenting the program to yet another class of grade eleven students on Thursday the 27th, this time in Stratheroy. Exciting, I know. My last presentation for the VPP is the following Thursday at Beal--London's largest high school. Anything I can do to help! Did that sound wrong to you too?

In addition to my Career Assistant-esque engagements, I will start working at the Western Day Care Centre within the next couple of weeks as their fundraising assistant. For those of you who don't know, the interview for this position was the one that led to the delirious walk down Wharncliffe on minimal sleep. I wonder how often I'm going to relive that experience.

I'm just about out of things to say...like that ever happens. I'll leave you with just a couple thoughts on how to cope with self-imposed mania:

• Embrace it. You're gonna need something to hold onto once your mind goes.
• Don't forget to breathe. Or at least recognize that you don't have a lot of choice in certain matters, like inhaling and exhaling, and your heart's insistence to keep beating. This way, you can relish in the things that you do have a choice about.
• Go crazy now and then. Throw something. Yell. Tell all your secrets to the person you trust least in the world so quickly that all that they hear is an odd and voracious burp.
• Dance like no body's watching. Or like they are if you're attention-deprived.
• Sing like you're tone deaf. This one's so easy for me. I've totally mastered it.
  
• Don't forget the important things in life. Whatever they are.
• It'll all be over soon. Soon is never soon enough. Rid yourself of the belief that it'll be over in due time. Due time has nothing to do with soon.
  

Wish me luck! I need it.

Top Ten Riesens to Live

Alternatively: What to Make Yourself Believe When October feels Desparately like November

It has been said, on a tv commercial no less, that all you really need is one good Riesen. Now, I just had a riesen, and it was alright, but it hasn't done much to actually get me through this atrocious week. So, on a most hostile of Wednesdays, I'm here, writing my top ten reasons to live, rather than dealing with the relationship between social standing and economics in one of the first four plays I encountered in Modra. Here they are for your benefit:

1. Chocolate. The list could not possibly start with anything else. A Riesen is chocolate and caramel as you should know by now, and it is delicious.
2. The Daily Show. There is no other program on tv like it. It is the truest form of critical realist news on Earth. The scientists may think there is only one conclusion to be drawn, but we know better don't we?
3. Kahlua. Please take note of the fact that I didn't generalize and just say "alcohol" that would be idiotic. Alcohol is a means of escape, not a means of coping. Kahlua is just lovely by its inherent nature. Oh, Kahlua...
4. Ice cream. Don't forget that the items on this list aren't exclusive. Just think: Kahlua topped ice cream with chocolate chips while watching the Daily Show. You heard me right--it's a time saver and it's the best plan ever.
5. O'Rocky's. Get this: they take the waffle they would usually make into a waffle cone and roll it up and then dip it in caramel, roll it in pecans, and then dip it in chocolate! I just don't know what more can be said about it without causing me to burst into tears of longing.
6. Dying would probably hurt. No one has ever really been able to support or refute this point for me: I don't listen to ghosts because they don't know anything.
7. Gwynne Dyer. Even though I have hours upon hours of reading to do every week, I still managed to read Future: Tense in the wee hours of the morning to become utterly and unconsollably depressed by the way the world is going. Having a reason to be depressed about the awfulness of the world is key though, and Dyer is really good at delivering on that front.
8. Sleep. Don't it only seem to go that you don't know what you got til its gone? Well, sorta...Sleep is beautiful and the less you get the more wonderful it becomes. Nothing else in the world is really truly like that. Mostly because we are horrible people who are overindulgent in every way imaginable.
9. Public Transit. Every real issue in the world can be argued through a thorough debate on the public transit system. Seriously. Let me show you: Treatment of the Elderly and Disabled. On buses there are specific seats designated for the elderly and handicapped, but young able bodied people sit in them all the time. Is this blatant disregard for authority or just practicality at work? You tell me. If you really want to get me going you should see how I link public transit to war or something broader. There was no time for that now.
10. You have my blog to keep you company. Oh, that's a reason alright. And a damned good one at that. Just admit it and the list will at least be over.

There you have it. And now at least you have found the hope that maybe we'll find better days, as Mr. Rzeznik might say.

Thoroughly Passive Thursday

As it turns out, I'm actually much less hostile and bitter when the world is actually out to get me. Case and point: I got less than two hours of sleep last night, and walked from Commissioner's Rd to campus today (it took about an hour and a half) and so far I haven't said a harsh word to anyone or even cursed the spitefulness of the world. The true test of this was my reaction when the fifth bus passed me while I waddled along Western Rd.--absolute ambivalence. It's really quite odd...as if the meanness has been beaten clean out of me and I'm left without enough energy to even give it a second thought.

In fact, my sleep deprivation proves to be a real pool of inspiration. It might be a cesspool of idiocy as well, but that's the duality of life that makes the world such a fascinating place. This morning Amanda came in and was talking about the weather. "The guys on the radio said there was a lot of fog and they were talking about bus delays," she states. I look away from the computer screen long enough to check and see if she's serious. Then, to avoid making a scene, I choose not to get her to explain what a "bustelay" is and assume that she's just crazy.

And then there was the interview this morning...the root of all the evil that pervades my existence today. It was fine. The ladies were nice enough. I smiled a lot and did my best to convince them that I would be well suited to the job, even though I hadn't decided yet if I really wanted to take two buses to the seedy part of town to input data for an average of five hours a week (which always means way more than that). They were very positive about everything I said, then told me that had yet to speak with a couple of other candidates and would let me know their decision by the end of next week. I would have been hurt that they didn't hire me on the spot, but there was no hiring to be done...just an unpaid position to fill.

So here I am. I should go to Rest Lit, but there is a part of me that would rather eat rat poison than listen to Zeitz talk about Britons and the stock market. Those people are horribly boring. And if you think they are bad now, you should read what they were writing about in the eighteenth century. It's enough to make a sane person go crazy. I don't know what it does to the crazy people yet though; the stats haven't come in on the effects of boredom on the already terminally insane. Check in with me in about 6 months and you'll be able to come to your own qualitative conclusions on that front.

All in all I'd best be off. Have a happy turkey day. Remember to be thankful and not gluttonous. I don't want to hear any whining about post-Thanksgiving weight gain. All my love (and never anyone else's). Convert.

Hostile Tuesday

So, today was one of those days when if the sun wasn't out you'd hear me cursing because that was "just my luck" and if it was shining beautifully you'd hear disgruntled mumbles along the lines of "pure fuckin spite..." And do you know what the sun is doing? You should check the weather network's report... we're in for more "Clear Haze". What a bunch of oxymorons.
Why the hostility? Why the distasteful hatred toward the sun? What could the sun have possibly done to deserve this treatment? I'll tell you: It came up. Pathetic, hmm? But it couldn't just stay put, it had to rise, and here we are.
But, Erin, it's Tuesday. Isn't your hostility a day early? It sure is ladies and gents, but you can count on a hostile Wednesday as scheduled, this one just got a bit of a head start. Moreover, there might be more bitterness on Hostile Tuesdays than their later in the week counterpart. I gotta tell you, this one feels extra extra hostile. But, since it is Tuesday, and that means I'm supposed to be holding this in, let's discuss this matter of "bottling up your emotions." Sounds like fun don't it. Pros and cons? I think that will work.

Pro: People are nicer to nice people. This is fully testable, go outside with a smile and say hello to every person you see. Even if they don't want to talk to you, people generally smile back and are very polite.
Con: Who wants to talk to people anyway? People are idiots.

Pro: By being nice, you will make others feel better about themselves. A kind word does a world of good and all that junk.
Con: Other people shouldn't be able to feel better about themselves if you are feeling so miserable about yourself--it's just rude.

Pro: Maybe if you can make other people believe you're happy then you really will be...someday.
Con: Probably not. If there's something bugging you, you're going to have to face up to it.

Pro: Ignorance is bliss. Everybody will be happier if they remain in the dark about your peccadilloes and insecurities.
Con: You will spend many of your days thinking about how no one really knows the real you...sigh.

Pro: Feeling hurts. Pretending doesn't hurt as much.
Con: That tumour you developed from the stress of keeping everything inside. You know that scene on Family Guy where Lois represses something retarded about Peter, and she says, what harm can smiling do? (Or something to that effect). Well, the harm is a singing tumour.

So the debate continues--shock of a lifetime. I'm going to do a truly selfless good deed: I'm going to sit in the job search clinic for an hour and teach people how to get good jobs. Sometimes no one shows up though. The JSC is notorious for throwing those kinds of curve balls at us. If no one is there I'm going to go over my budget because the thing about working for the SDC that you can always count on is the "unpaid" part.

Teach a Cynic to Cope

Or, All the Reasons that You Should Stop Encouraging My Pitiful existence

Holy Hostile Wednesday...except that it's Thursday now. Guess what. The sentiment can last as long as I remain sober past midnight (it's the newest rule of Weinism). So, following the tradition that I have laid out in HWs of yore, I'm here to tell you that life should be so much shorter than it is--at least my life should be. So, you taught me how to cope, with such nuggets of wisdom (aphorisms, says Professor Adams) as: Dr. Rut's Rules for Coping with Modern Sexuality: Ensure your partner's comfort; no Mohawk styles for pubic hair, and many more.

Wow. Now, was that really a good idea? Did it really facilitate the sentiments that the world needs to live as peaceably as possible? Pfft. All the pacifists are dead or powerless anyway. So, I'll give you the benefit of the doubt and come up with some excellent reasons for teaching this cynic to cope:

1. You love me. Admit it. I'm lovable. You may not want to, but you can't help it.
2. By teaching me to cope as a cynic, you can still laugh at my self-deprecating jokes (Oh, goody).
3. You thrive on my sarcasm. Not to mention my overflow of spontaneous feelings. Most of those feelings aren't that fun for me. But anything to make the rest of the world a happier place...
4. You would forget to be hostile on Wednesdays without my leadership. In case you forgot why HWs are so important, you can quickly remind yourself by reading the rest of this blog. I can also sum it up in a few words: Because I like them and they end with rum. NB: I said end with rum not end with "rum". I am actually opposed to most words that end that way.
5. Your life would be so pleasant without my demeaning comments that you would be bored out of your skull. And that would hurt. Hurt is bad.
6. The book only cost one person one dollar, and was printed before I was out of diapers. Plus, it's good nighttime reading for me. Gives me a really bright outlook that leads to a wholesome night's sleep. I awaken inspired by the dawn of a new day. Actually, there is so much more to this coping business than the book, but who has the time? Not I, says the pig.

Oh, but wait. The subscript says that I'm not going to conclude that I should not be encouraged to keep breathing. You know what that means. Here are the reasons that I should just quit:

1. I always say I'm going to quit and never do. Actually, I found a book called "Quitting for Non-quitters", maybe someone should buy that for me to counteract all this coping I've been doing.
2. The world loves a loser and shuns a winner. Just think about how American Idol runner-ups do in comparison to the winners. There's no difference. Pop stars suck. But I'm still right. I'm infallible after all.
3. I always wanted to publish something post-humously. So, here's the plan: I'll write a whole bunch of insightful things, and "hide" them. Then I'll die. I'll give the directions to my hidden insights to one person who I trust more than anyone in the whole world, and that person will have them published. Got it? Good, you're that person. If you steal my insights I'll haunt the hell out of you and once I've obtained that hell from inside you I'll torture you with it. Now that's a plan.
4. It's late and I'm tired. Something tells me that should be reason enough.
5. People are worthless. That is to say, life has no meaning. We're just specks, right? Stupid, insignificant specks. Well, not according to Emerson. To him we are the centre of everything. Go, Emerson. Woot. What an idiot. Nietzsche was right-- people are pompous.
6. It's all going to end horribly. Let's get this over with as soon as possible. Actually, for the sake of saving time, I prefer the acronym: Let's get this over with ASAP. Better yet: now.
7. The big circle that isn't that big. If this makes sense, you're on your way to ruin with me. The theory of history that predominated before modernization took place and the linear progress model was adapted (holy way to oversimplify, but stick with me) suggested that history was bound to repeat itself because time was cyclical. Moreover, the social makeup was based on the same cyclical model, and the people on the bottom eventually rose to the top, so the people on the top inevitably fell to the bottom (If you want to understand this better read some Frye. He's a "good" Canadian literary theorist who says that all relevant plots are based on this movement. Most people talk about this stuff in terms of "the Wheel of Fate/Fortune". Not the game show. Don't get me started on Vanna). Well, I think that the circle of time isn't all that big, so certain people spend more time on the bottom, even if they rise to the top, especially if they started on the bottom. Literature conveniently focuses on the uprising of an oppressed group (in comedy) or the downfall of a self-righteous upperclass (in tragedy) but forgets that there tends to be a whole lot of time on either side of the span of the plot. Literature gets to forget. I can't. Either the circle isn't that big, or it's really huge so I'll always be stuck to the bottom...crushed. Poor, poor me.
8. I really want to be part of the group that proves the linear progress model is wrong. If I don't cope, I won't progress. If I don't progress then the model doesn't apply to me. If the model doesn't apply to me, then clearly the whole thing is stupid. I am the centre of everything, so I am a force to be reckoned with. I love inductive reasoning. The sky's the limit when you can reach the conclusion by any means necessary.

Convinced? Well, the final reason is the simplest to accept. Teaching me to cope means listening to me complain...at least for a few extra days. There's a strange irony in winning this one: Either you don't let me have my way and I am forced to keep on coping, or my victory is my demise. Tricky, eh? That's me. Always thinking. Way too much. Hope I didn't throw you for too much of a loop with that Frye junk. More tasteless banter to come. I'll leave you with a short poem to sum up:

Grumpty Dumpty:

Grumpty Dumpty sat on a wall

Grumpty Dumpty had a great fall

All of the day

And all through the night

He bitched!

--Courtesy of The Cynics Guide to Coping with Life. Copyright Eden Press 1987. Notorious for making the whole world feel better about the horrible gifts they've given and received.

The Rules of Weinism

These rules were created during grade 12 sociology, and presented to me as a 20th birthday gift by my second in command. Here they are, the fundamentals of my proverbial religion (oh, religions themselves CAN be proverbial):

• Dodge all Dodges.
• Wein owns life.
• Practise ultimate independance: We don't need no body to be happy! (Or basic grammar for that matter)
• Jean is wrong if she's arguing with Wein.
• Jean is second in command.
• Don't listen if you don't want to hear it...run away! Screaming obscenities! AHHHHHH!
• Welch's grape juice does taste like there's a party in my mouth and only the people I invite are allowed to come.
• One hour is "2 minutes" long by other international standards (this must be observed on Wein Day). What this means is essentially there is such thing as a long day. Every day but Wein Day is long because Wein Day is so awesome.
• If you run out of space, make more!
• Convert others to Weinism like there is no tomorrow.
• There is no tomorrow.
• All Danishes should be stabbed repeatedly with a rusty fork.
• Vector bars have an unseen magnetic attraction to Dodge vehicles.
• Saturn vehicles CAN dent! The drivers are clueless and we should avoid all contact.
• In fact, let's make an island for only Saturn and Dodge drivers, and they can hit eachother and we will be safe.
• Christmas lights are for Christmas...NOT Groundhog Day.
• Fist shaking is always necessary.
• Kyle's house should be egged once every hour.
• We are all nermal.
• Incredibly nermal.
• YOU BETTER READ THIS!

And remember, "History is like a hand holding a pen, writing itself in the books of time." Now that's deep.

I'm killing myself from the inside out, and all your fears have pushed me out.--Goo

Here Comes Trouble

As you may have noticed from past entries, I am not entirely committed to anything that I write on here. That said, if you actually expected me to follow through on my promises to rant in an organized fashion, kick yourself in the face for me. Instead of ranting about the things that I planned on ranting about, I'm going to do a complete one eighty and talk about something different. Something exciting. Something so mind-blowingly fascinating, that you will come back to this blog religiously from now on to hear more of my fabulous insights.

The only problem? I don't know what that something is yet...

So, let's play the "You Know You're in Trouble When..." game. Rivetting, I know.

YOU KNOW YOU'RE IN TROUBLE WHEN...

• You resolve to only drink Coca-Cola if it is mixed with rum.
• You start mixing your coke with rum because you wanted some coke.
• You're sitting in the Dairy Queen parking lot lamenting the fact that no one is playing with every button in your car...including the four-way flashers and the heated seats.
• You have a full-fledged panic attack over the bumper bed being too full for you to put your bumper in it. Hyperventilating and everything...
• You get worked up whenever you tell that story about the time the bumper bed was full.
• You believe that Sidekick noodles and pickles is a well-balanced meal.
• You decide to drink a rum and coke with your Sidekicks and pickles because you can't do too much good for your body in one day or it will never toughen up.
• You burst into tears in the movie theatre.
• The movie you're crying over at the movie theatre is Wedding Crashers.
• It makes you sad to know that life is more than who we are.
• You start thinking and talking in lyrics.
• People around you know the song that you are thinking and talking in. (But everything IS wrong. I know, Erin, and it's alright.)
• You went to the store for M&Ms and came back with a freezie. In January.
• You're so drunk that before going tubing you tell your dad to take it easy because you don't want to have to have your tampon surgically removed. (I had to put at least one on here that didn't apply to me. Creative, huh?)
• You have a sulk party at least once a month and the only people invited are Ben and Jerry.

So, are you in trouble? Or is it just me? Maybe the list needs to be longer. Or maybe the real problem is society's definition of trouble. Because, you know, if I changed the title of the game to "You know you're cool when" then I would actually be cool. And probably a little sarcastic. But at least I gave you something new to mull over. Just remember that boredom is the last resort of the unimaginative. And I'm nothing if I'm not imaginative. Or is it bored? Too much thinking. Let's have a coke. You bring the rum. I'm down in all my fears but I ain't crying no tears over you.

Holy Ford Phobia and the Reunion of Ranting Weinists

Did you really think that after 4 months, I'd be so broken I wouldn't have any strength left to rant? Silly kids...I won't go gentle into any nights (good, bad, or ugly). Ford fuelled my rage and I am here now to set up the schedule of rants for days to come. Bear in mine, spontaneous outbursts are fully qualified in Weinism as long as they can be related (however obscurely) to an incident taking place in, on, or around a Hostile Wednesday. Excited yet?? You better be! Here's the line-up as I see it shaping up:

• Holy Ford Phobia--First order of business is spreading the bitterness bestowed upon me by my gracious and evil ( not to mention schadenfreude) employer. With the aching hostility granted to me by the recent airing of The Corporation in my living room, we'll try to wrap that one up by the end of the day, if my head doesn't explode first.
• DQ Disasters--subtitled "Lyndsay just get a freakin job at DQ so I can have free ice cream! You could be their leader!!" Look forward to such gem-like quotes as "Mmm, Dennis, your blizzard looks like it tastes better than mine..." and "There is no way this thing is upsidedown thick."
• Road Rage--Dennis has inspired me to enroll myself in an anger management course. Or was it the scratchy feeling I have in my throat from the larangitus (how in the hell do you spell that affliction?) I developed from screaming at all those Intrepid Drunks.
• Drinking Team Disbandment--What a shameful array of pettiness and cold-hearted cruelty. Jerks.
• Fantastic Fan--An ode to 5% and laziness. (So, technically this is another Ford rant, but it needs to be a separate one, okay?)
• Blossom City Baby--Good news...General Chicken is back as the lunch special. So dry your tears, Dennis, there is hope left in the world for you yet.
• Second Cup Sass--A tale of tragic and comedic appeal--ON ICE for the love of Peter and his starving children!
• Anti-Eminem--This one's all for you, Brendan. If you actually want to see it come to fruition, tell me. Otherwise, I'm saving it for those nights you think that all we need is a good theological debate to chase our boredom blues away.
• Ad-mania must die--Holy crap, they've stooped to posting ads for auto lending on as comments for this piece of crap blog. What is the world coming to?

Without a lot of further ado (because I have nothing if I don't my ado) we'll get started on the Ford ranting.

Ford was a joke. Just one giant joke. From the time we got there until the time we left, I never stopped laughing (silently, in my heart of hearts). Jeff says it was like Groundhog Day...and it was, even more than he knows. I think I said it best in my sleepless stupor the first day they made me switch to the 6 am shift: "It's like I live at Ford. Or with Ford. Like Ford is an abusive husband and I am being beaten to an inch of my sanity by it, and I can't leave because I have no where to go. Except I don't think abusive husbands pay their wives this much. That would make them whores. Oh god, I'm Ford's whore." And most of that was silent and in my heart of hearts too where I was laughing, but it wasn't that funny then either. And you're probably terrified now. No? Well then let's continue...

Have you ever had a shock absorber drop on your head? No, but I fell through my share of unsafe beds, and got pinned between two pieces of sheet metal...Oh, the excitement.

Turns out I'm rather tired, ladies and gents. But I will say this: I am so over Ford that if Ford was the moon, I would be over it in another galaxy. I hate analogies too. Fucking apples. Fucking corporate psychopaths. Fucking movie got me so riled I'm not gonna sleep for days..."Oh, wait til the water part, that'll really piss you off."

On that note...some goo for your trouble? You and I got something but it's all and then it's nothing to meYEA...yea. And I got my defenses when it comes to your intentions for meYEA...yea. And we wake up in the breakdown of the things we never thought we could beYEA...yea. I'm not the one who broke you. I'm not the one you should fear. What have you got to move you, darling? I thought I lost you somewhere but you were never really ever there at all.