Girlspeak

The universally accepted truth: men and women do not understand each other. We're wired differently. Countless hours and years and lifetimes have been spent trying to figure each other out, to no avail.
Being married, I can discipher a great deal of "male code", but I am in no position to give insight into the mind of someone else's husband. I've got my own live-in male brain to figure out, so ladies, you're on your own. Good luck.
I can, however, throw the guys a bone.
The following is a rough translation of Female English. These translations are approximate, and will vary in detail and intensity from woman to woman.

She says: Nothing is wrong, I'm fine.
She means: There's plenty wrong, I'm anything but fine, and you have about thirty seconds to figure out why and fix it, unless you want my mood to worsen exponentially.

She says: Do you want to watch a movie?
She means: Do you want to watch a movie with characters, a plot, and minimal explosions/gunfighting/female nudity?

She says: Do we have a step ladder?
She means: I'm going to paint the living room tomorrow while you're at work, and even if you don't like the color, it will be too much work for you to change it.

She says: You're blue sweater? It's hanging in your closet, for once.
She means: I found it under the bed, and if you don't start picking up your clothes, I'm going to throw them all away.

She says: Did anyone call while I was out yesterday?
She means: I know Susan called while I was out yesterday, so if you can't take and deliver messages, let the machine pick up.

She says: I don't care, go out tonight if you want to.
She means: I'm not telling you to go out, I'm giving you the opportunity to prefer to stay home with me. I obviously don't want you to go out, and I will make you miserable for days if you do. Choose carefully.

She says: Does this outfit look ok?
She means: I wouldn't be out here modeling for you if I didn't think it looked good, so please tell me it's incredible, or I'll probably tear my closet apart in a rage and end up staying home and pouting all night.

She says: Kate's husband bought her the most beautiful flowers, you should see them, they're blue roses.
She means: I want you to buy me flowers, please. (The "please" part is variable, depending on mood and length of time that has elapsed since she last received a bouquet of flowers)

She says: How was supper?
She means: It took me two hours to cook that, amidst screaming children and chaos, so you'd better say it was delicious or tomorrow we'll be having Kraft Dinner.

She says: Who was that scantily-scad, buxom knock-out you were hugging?
She means: That better have been your long-lost cousin.

She says: I'm going to get my hair done tomorrow.
She means: We'll be $120 poorer tomorrow, and you probably won't even be able to tell what I got done to my hair.

She says: Work was a nightmare today.
She means: I can't wait to tell you the story about the photocopier mishap, how I spilled my coffee, and how Marcy complained about her cramps all day. It's your job to pretend all of this is interesting, the way I do when you talk about power tools being on sale at Canadian Tire.

She says: My friend from high school got engaged.
She means: On July 14th of next year, you'll find yourself wearing uncomfortable clothes and smiling at a room full of people you don't know.

She says: We need to talk.
She means: You need to listen.

Now, in my defense, I do not base these simulated conversations on life experience (well, the majority of them, anyway). My husband doesn't have it nearly that bad, but these examples, however accurate, are an unpleasant reality for many husbands and boyfriends. Take heart, gentlemen; we love you, and we'll go as easy on you as we can. We know you don't understand us but, luckily for you, that doesn't stop us from trying to show you how.

More news!

I haven't been neglecting my blogging duties, I've been holding off on purpose.
I recently got a job with the Cape Breton Post, for whom I'll be writing a twice-weekly column starting next week. Because I'm expected to produce 2 new articles every week from here on in, I've been writing up a storm and storing them all without posting on here. Starting next week, I'll post all the new ones on here the day after they're published.
Also, b/c I'm giving the Post exclusive rights to all my work, I won't be writing for the Reporter anymore. That sucks, b/c I would really like to keep writing for them, especially since lots of ppl from home read that paper on a regular basis. However, that's the business of journalism and publishing I guess, so I'm movin' on up! I hope everyone gets a chance to check out the Post next week!

Open Letters

(For Lillian, since I was gone for awhile)




Dear Dr. Phil:
I remember well the first time I saw you speak, it was on the Oprah Show. For Oprah Winfrey to speak to someone's genius is a good enough reason in itself for me to listen to them, and this fact, combined with your accurate assessments of so many neuroses, made me a fan of yours right from the start.
I enjoyed watching a show that dealt with regular people and the psychological and emotional issues they face. The way you broke down and explained relationship dynamics was brilliant, and your "tell them the truth even if it hurts" approach made your show an interesting and honest look at humanity.
So now tell me - what the hell happened?
I first began to smell disaster when you started with the hidden camera thing. Very Maury Pauvich of you. But when I saw the promos for "The Dr. Phil House", I could smell disaster, since the reality TV concept is a pretty desperate move. Still, I chalked it up to the necessary evil of sweeps ratings, and I kept tuning in. It is very unfortunate that things only got worse. I knew the end was near when I heard about your Britney Spears show. As soon as I saw the akin-to-A-Current-Affair-anchor-desk, you had lost me for good. Ads for that show incinuated that you would be talking live to Lynn Spears, her mother, when really you spent three minutes at the end of the program recounting a conversation you had with the elder Spears many years ago. Tsk, tsk, Phil. That's false advertising in my books.
It only went downhill from there, as I have since seen promos for a show about the OJ Simpson book and DNA paternity test results (again, very Maury Pauvich). But the last straw, I'm afraid, was the expose show about "Dog the Bounty Hunter", with special guests Al Sharpton, and the mother of the woman Dog defamed. Classic.
So in closing, I'd just like to express my deepest sympathy over the loss of your dignity and credibility.
And, if I can be so bold, the whole "holding hands with your tranny looking wife as you leave the stage" thing is less than believeable, and appears more like a contractual obligation tailored to uphold your family man image.
Very sincerely, a former fan

Dear Paris Hilton:
You're not fooling anyone with this "save the world" baloney. I realize you have been working tremendously hard on your post-convict image, but you could have just REFRAINED FROM GETTING DRUNK AND FLASHING EVERY 24 HOURS to accomplish that. It's best for all of us if you just cancel your tickets to Rwanda, admit you don't even know how to SPELL it (let alone understand or sympathize with it's problems), and leave the humanitarian schtick to Angelina Jolie and Bono. Nobody is anticipating that you'll change the world; we're all expecting you to buy the world, and then dye it pink. Stick to shopping, half-naked partying, and dressing tiny dogs in tiny dog clothes and expensive jewellery. That would be "hot".
With warm regards, Gina

Dear Celine Dion:
I attended one of your concerts a few years ago, and it was a beautiful show. You have an amazing voice and you deserve every bit of success you have acheived.
However, as much as I hate to be the bearer of bad news, I doubt if the enibriated, head-banging, AC/DC-tshirt-wearing, dope-smoking, mostly-rock-fan ticket holders for the summer '08 concert in Halifax, are going to enjoy your show as much as I did.
Just giving you a head's up. I'd duck if I were you, a water bottle in the cheek is going hurt like a bugger right in the middle of "My Heart Will Go On."
Pulling for you, Gina

Dear Lynn Spears:
It has become apparent that your daughter's escapades have gotten in the way of her keeping up with her correspondence. If she had, she would have read my earlier letter warning her to get her shit together.
In case you're not aware, your beautiful and talented daughter has completely lost her effing mind. I only state the obvious because it appears as though you don't give a hoot one way or the other, and I have to assume her public embarrassment has escaped you somehow.
She lost her kids. What would be the biggest nightmare for any mother on earth, has become cause for Britney to celebrate by chandelier shopping? Cuckoo!!! I repeat, YOUR DAUGHTER'S BEHAVIOR HAS RESULTED IN CHILD SERVICES TAKING HER KIDS. That seldom happens in the real world, so what must conditions have been like for those kids in order for a judge to take them away from one of the biggest celebrities in the world? I shudder to think.
Anyway, it's about time that you grab your frequently and habitually drug-using daughter by that nasty weave of hers, drag her sorry ass back to the bayou in Louisiana, and shake the stupid out of her. Shame on you if you don't. (If you want it done, send her to me, and I'll do it for you.......for a modest fee, of course).
When K-Fed starts looking like Father of the Year, something is terribly, terribly wrong. Make your daughter clean up her act. Her career and her reputation are damaged beyond repair. You're letting her waste her life. What the hell is wrong with you people?
Best of luck, y'all, from Gina

"Those Flower Pins"

I got my Remembrance Day poppy a few days ago. There was an older man, dressed in a Legion uniform, giving them out at the grocery store, and he smiled at me when I put a few dollars in his container.

When I was young, Remembrance Day was the day for which we had a big assembly in school. The day our teacher would hand out poppies after lunch. The day men in uniforms would come to our school, show us all their medals, and give a sad speech. The day one student got picked to go lay a wreath at the front of the gymnasium. Once the assembly was over, we went home, had a day off school, and then it was back to business as usual.

Even as I got older, war was just something I studied in Terry Clements' history class. My grandfather was enlisted in World War 2, though, being in communications in Halifax, he was never deployed overseas, so I didn't hear any horror stories. A friend of mine served in Rwanda, but he came home years ago, and without a visible scratch. Like so many others, because my life was never really impacted by war, I viewed war as something that happened long before my time.

As I was putting on my poppy, a little girl behind me asked her mother what "those flower pins" were for, and the lady replied, "to remember the all men and women who died in the war a long time ago." Unfortunately, she's only somewhat correct about the "long time ago" part.

Today we live in a different world. War is no longer something that took place 75 years ago, that we study in history class. It's happening right now.
You don't have to be in support of any current war to be in support of the people who are fighting in it. I'll leave my opinions of George W. Bush and the wars in the Middle East for another day, but I can tell you with certainty that, in no way does my opposition of the "War on Terror" compromise my high regard for the courageous people who risk their lives over there. I think it's a shame that men and women, young and old, have put their faith and trust in leaders who, with ulterior motives, lie their country into war and conflict. But history will show, those leaders will be looked down upon, and not those who followed them.

All over Nova Scotia, on November 11th (and every other day), people will be remembering their recently lost loved ones, and praying for their family members who are fighting abroad as we speak. Maybe also for their great-great-grandfather, who was lost in World War 1, or their mother's uncle who died in World War 2, or their neighbor's late husband who died in Vietnam, but also, and perhaps more immediately, for those soldiers at war right now. The 35-year-old fathers from Greenwood who have left a wife and two small children behind. The 43-year-old brothers from River Bourgeois who have been in Afghanistan for five years. The 29-year-old daughters from Sydney who have spent most of their adult lives in the Middle East. The husbands, sons, fathers, brothers, wives, mothers, daughters, sisters, and friends of people all over our region. War is more than ancient history, it's reality.

This is to take nothing away from the Veterans of WW1 and WW2. These brave men and women did the same kind of fighting that we see on the news every night, and should always be revered and honored, regardless of how long ago it was. When I see a smiling Veteran, handing out poppies at the grocery store, I often think he must be shaking his head at our obliviousness. Everything he went through, the sacrifices he made, the victory he helped win - and some little punk casually leaves a quarter in his jar, grabs a poppy, and walks away. I think we should all make it a point to acknowledge those Legionnaires, out of respect. Say hello. Smile. Talk to them. It doesn't hurt, I promise. Were it not for them, we might not be out buying groceries, we might be chowing down on rations of Hiltler Sticks and Nazi Nuggets.

Remembrance Day is more than just a holiday, a long weekend, a day off work. It's a time for us to contemplate how lucky we are, to honour those who weren't so lucky, and to acknowledge those who have to pray for luck and survival every day. It's so easy for us to forget, but on November 11th, it's our job to Remember.

Close Call

There are some things I'll write about for the paper, and some things I won't. The good thing about this blog is that I can say WHATEVER I WANT, and I don't have to worry about accusations of slander or libel, or journalistic integrity. I can even curse if I want to.

This week, I submitted an article to the paper that I have already posted on this blog. Since that would mean "no new blog for at least another week and a half" according to my publish-then-post plan, I wanted to write about something that has come up in conversation over the past week, that I don't plan on publishing in the paper.

A few years ago, while we were living in Timberlea, we had an "incident" take place. I hesitate to call it an attempted abduction, but you can decide for yourselves.

Nick has always been pretty street smart - maybe a little paranoid even. He's suspicious of every adult he sees, and even goes as far as to tell me from time to time that "there was this creepy guy who was looking at me in the car while you were in the store, so I locked the doors." We've spoken to him countless times about "stranger danger", especially considering we lived in the city for awhile.

Nick was 8, and he was only allowed to play on our street. This usually suited him just fine, since most of his friends lived a few houses away and they, too, were not allowed to leave the street. This way, your kid was always somewhere that was visible to either Mom & Dad, or one of their adult neighbors. We usually didn't worry too much, even when he wasn't right in front of our house.

We lived in a very quiet subdivision, on probably the quietest street in that subdivision. Our street wasn't a main thoroughfare. In a nutshell, unless you were driving onto Wedgewood Avenue to visit someone who lived there, there wasn't much traffic, since it wasn't a main road.

One day we were on our way into Bayer's Lake, myself, Joey & Rory. Nick was already playing up the street, so we were getting our things together and planned to flag him down once we got outside.
We got down to the car, and one of our neighbors approached us, with her hand on Nick's shoulder. He looked upset, and my first thought was that he had gotten in trouble for something. She launched into a story that made the hair on my neck stand up.
This neighbor (we'll call her Judy) had been weeding her garden behind a hedge right across the street from our house. Her position in the garden kept her hidden from traffic on the road, even though she was mere feet from it. She told us she had seen Nick walking toward home from up the street, when a vehicle approached him and stopped right in front of him. Being a mother to a young boy herself, she wanted to make sure this was someone Nick knew, so she listened in.
She said she knew right away that something was wrong. The car, a burgundy Rav-4 type vehicle, was occupied by two women. The driver was in her mid-40s, and the passenger was a few years younger, by Judy's estimation. They started asking Nick all sorts of questions, such as where he lived, if his parents were home, and if they expected him home soon. Seeing women in the car must not have triggered any alarm for Nick, as I imagine he thought of "strangers" as men, and he began talking back to them.
Judy said the questions were giving her cause for suspicion, and when she heard, "Do you need a ride....", she stood up, making herself clearly visible to the women in the car, and asking Nick if everything was OK. Judy said the woman tramped on the gas, quealing the tires as they took off. Luckily, she had the presence of mind to memorize the license plate number.

Needless to say, her recounting of this story made us panic, and we immediately called the police. We gave them a vehicle discription, including color and assumed make & model, a description of the women, including ages and appearance, and we told them what Judy had witnessed and heard. They told us they would look into it and call us back.
After a few hours, we received a call back from the RCMP. They told us they had run the plate number, which was registered to a burgundy Rav-4. It belonged to a woman who lived in another Timberlea subdivision not far from ours. They had gone to her house, and they told us the woman matched the description we had given them. So far, so good. "She said she wasn't on your street at all today, she had no idea what we were talking about," the cop told us. We thought that was pretty funny. Caught in the act, and denying everything. Are the police ever going to lay it on her, we thought. But then it all went downhill. "So I the matter won't go any further, she said she wasn't even there." Those were the next words out of the cop's mouth. What? What do you mean? She said she wasn't there, but we all know she was! We had her license plate number! We were incredulous.

Let me break it down for you, as I did VERY CRANKILY to the unlucky RCMP officer who was handed this matter.
A woman approaches a strange young boy on the street in her car, something I would never do for fear of scaring the kid or alarming the neighbors. She starts asking him inappropriate questions. She comes within one syllable of offering him a ride, when he had just told her his house was right up the street. A reliable adult witnessed the entire exchange. At the first sight of this adult, the woman speeds off in her car. If her intentions were pure, assuming she needed directions or something, she would have acknowledged the adult with a positive reaction. When this woman is found by police, even though her, her vehicle, and her license plate match the descriptions given by an adult witness, she denies even being in the area.
And the cops just take her word for it and move on? I DON'T THINK SO.

I almost feel sorry for that officer who had to deal with me over the coming days and weeks. I did so much yelling and screaming and arguing and fussing and reasoning and explaning, that I thought I would lose my mind. I didn't get any kind of rational response. I even called the staff sergeant to complain and to have someone different put on the case. I was told that it wasn't even a case; it was a complaint that had been dealt with and resolved.

Oh really? Well, what was the resolution? This was the explanation I was given.
Because the police hadn't witnessed this occur, it was our word against hers.
Because our neighbor hadn't written down the license plate number, there was room for error. The chance existed that another woman meeting her description was in our neighborhood, driving an identical burgundy Rav-4, bearing a license plate just one number or letter off from the one Judy remembered. (WTF is this, "My Cousin Vinny"???) After all, she said it wasn't her. And they have no reason to believe she's lying. (Really? None???)
Because she hadn't committed a crime, there wasn't anything the police could or would do about the situation anyway, even if she WAS lying and she DID attempt to take our son. There's no crime in an adult approaching a child in their vehicle and asking the child if they want a ride to their house (which was about 300 feet away).

Now, would you be satisfied with that explanation?

I WAS NOT.

So I gave the police this analogy.

What if a guy walked into a bank wearing a ski mask. He walked up to the teller and started asking her how much money was in the safe, how many security guards were on duty, and then said "put your hands..." - only then to be interrupted by a security guard asking what was going on. The man runs away, and hops into his car, but not before the security guard makes mental note of his license plate. The cops are called and given a description of man, the vehicle, the plate number, and the details of his suspicious visit. But when the cops visit the suspect's house, he denies being anywhere near the bank, even though the plate number matched, as did the description of the car, the description of him, and his house was a block from the bank. Do you think that cops would just say, "Oh, ok....must have been a mistake." NO, THEY WOULDN'T. THEY'D ARREST HIM UNDER SUSPICION OF ATTEMPTED ROBBERY.

But how is my situation any different? Sure, she may not have snatched my child from off the street, but what would have happened if Judy hadn't been there? Why did she stop to talk to Nick in the first place? Why did she panic and bolt when she saw an adult? And if her intentions weren't evil, WHY DID SHE DENY THE WHOLE THING? If I had caused a scare like this to some poor child and his family, I would fess up immediately and apologize. ONLY IF I WERE TRYING TO HIDE SOMETHING WOULD I HAVE THE GALL TO LIE TO THE POLICE, KNOWING THE WHOLE THING HAD BEEN WITNESSED.

I was so mad, SOOOOOOO MAD, that I didn't know what to do with myself. Then, as luck would have it, one cop I spoke to accidently let it slip what subdivision this woman lived in. BINGO! Perfect, I thought. I drove around that subdivision until I found the car. If the cops won't do anything about it, I will, I had decided. I'll go to her house, pound the shit out of her, threaten to kill her if I ever see her on my street again, and then leave. When the cops come asking me about it, I'll just say it wasn't me, tit for tat.
As luck would have it, I have people around me who can be more sensible than myself in the face of chaos and anger. After much discussion, Joey convinced me that beating this women to within an inch of her life probably wasn't such a good idea, and it certainly wouldn't help matters any.
(G: Yes it would Joey, she wouldn't be physically able to drive, AND I'd scare her so bad she'd be too paranoid to pull a stunt like this again.
J: Gina.
G: But Joey she deserves something, she can't just get away with it!
J: Gina.
G: You can't stop me, I'm going to do it whether you want me to or not!
J: Gina!
G: But it would make me feel so much better!
J: Gina, come on......
You get the point.)

All Joey's convincing still didn't stop me from driving by her house 600 times, waiting for her to walk out so I could "accidentally" speed up and run her ass over.

Anyway, you get the point. I was pissed and scared, but mostly pissed, at her and at the cops. We moved from Timberlea shortly after that.

What do you think? Does this sound a little fishy to you? I often wonder if it's just the ovverreation of a paranoid mother. But usually I just consider it an injustice.

In Other Exciting News...

Big news for me! Starting next week (Wed., Oct.25), I'll have a weekly column in The Reporter, the local newspaper here in the Strait area. It's going to have the same content as my blog, so for those of you who come here on a regular basis, you can now see the column in print. From now on, since the paper comes out on Wednesday, I'm going to be posting here on Thursdays. I'm taking this week off since I have to write an introductory article for my first column, but I'll be back in business next week.
Kiss my rosy red rump, Kings College of Journalism.

The Devil Wears Puma

I've never been a big fan of "The View". A bunch of female know-it-alls, celebrity big-mouths, nosy windbags, all talking over each other in a mass frenzy, making a TV show that sounds like Friday night bingo at the St. Peter's Lion's Hall. Too much noise for Tuesday at noon, thank you very much. Still, when I occasionally get a break from Treehouse, I sometimes tune in (for lack of any alternative).

"The View" has played a merciless game of musical chairs with it's hosts, and has changed the lineup of "regular members" more often than Destiny's Child. The original cast was tolerable-ish, with their various Master's degrees, at least demonstrating maturity, professionalism, and restraint most of the time. Unfortunately, that changed seasons ago, when ABC started thinning the herd of intelligent people and replacing them with morons.

Case in point: Barbara Walters, in her infinite genius, hired Elisabeth Hasselbeck.

Maybe she seemed harmless in an intellectually-useless kind of way. After all, when she started her stint on "The View", she openly admitted to being uninformed about politics, and just generally naive and inexperienced in life. She probably served as a great ratings-magnet; a pretty young girl from a popular TV show, yahoo! Whatever the reasoning, there she sits, and therein lies the problem.

I can't say with certainty, but in my opinion, there is good reason to believe that Elisabeth Hasselbeck is the stupidest, most ignorant person alive.

I haven't decided if her harping and ranting is the most annoying and mindless noise pollution ever recorded, or if it is perhaps the finest comedy on daytime television. A bad case of foot-in-mouth disease at best. Rosie was obnoxious, but at least she made valid points that she could back up with facts. Elisabeth, whose impeccable credentials include a season on the most contrived reality show in history (where she came 4th), a degree in Fine Arts (majoring in "large paintings"...WTF?? That's a major???), and designing sneakers for Puma, has suddenly become the voice of a nation? An expert in governmental affairs, ethics, and foreign policy? LMAO...I don't think so, dear. A few months in the wilderness without shaving your legs and judging the Miss Teen USA pageant only makes you an expert in irrelevance.

Here's just one example of her rationale, my personal favorite little nugget of wisdom from the incomparable Mrs. Einstein herself: On the topic of lowering the legal drinking age from 21 to 18, Elisabeth disagrees with the idea, but thinks the law should allow 18-year-old soldiers returning from Iraq to drink at their leisure. Also, while they're at it, the government should design a program to wean high school students into drinking, so that they can properly gauge their alcohol tolerance when they go to college. (LMAO....I'd love to see that law pass on the floor of the House. The Hasselbeck/Yale/Lohan Mandatory Underage Alcohol Consumption Bill For The Success and Betterment Of University Binge Drinking.)

As a far-right-leaning, very conservative Republican, she opposes gun control, ending the war, the morning after pill, and most other Democratic ideals. Her position on those topics should be respected and heard, but not shoved down the throats of other hosts, guests, and viewers alike. Her maniacal defense of George W. Bush comes off like a student defending her father the Principal. (Could she be the love child of GWB and...let's see...possibly Farrah Fawcett?!?! That would explain so much....) It almost seems as if she's been so brainwashed by Republican propaganda, that she's about to start her own church or something. The Church of Bush. (Hey, that would make a pretty good skit for Saturday Night Live, EH starting a church dedicated to the teachings of GWB, not unlike Tom Cruise and his Scientology bull&%$#......sorry, I digress....)Anyway, the bottom line is, it's fine to have strong opinions, but it's unprofessional to be rude and catty to people who disagree with you, as is so often the case on "The View" when Elisabeth opens her pie hole.

And I'm not alone in my judgement of this chick. The website www.fireelisabethhasselbeck.com has a mission statement, a petition, and a purpose.

As a disclaimer in my own defense, for people who might say this is a case of the pot calling the kettle black, I am very aware of my lack of knowledge on many (most?lol) topics, and I can admit that. I don't pretend to know it all, and I don't subject millions of people to my self-righteous bickering on national TV five days a week. (Only online in this blog occasionally....)

I'm not sure how to end this rant. I'd love to put something witty and catchy and humorous, but those characteristics aren't in keeping with the Elisabeth Hasselbeck theme. So I guess I'll just say, I think she may be the devil, which means apparently the devil doesn't wear Prada after all. She wears Puma.