The cat came back...

C and D's day-O-fun is only a month (ish) away. I think...I am not really sure which day it's happening. I mean, I know theoretically which day. But it's only going down if C can get a day away from work/home. So...there it is, a theoretical day-O-fun. 

So this begs the question...is a theoretical day-O-fun almost as good as a real day-O-fun? What happens to two people who have had a purely fantastical 'relationship' when they come face to face? Are they disappointed that the other does not resemble the fantasy partner they have imagined? Are they disappointed with the loss of illusion? Is it like going behind the scenes at Disneyland? Does the magic fizzle? Is it like seeing KISS without their make-up on? Gene Simmons was far better looking before the make-up came off. Some of us don't look the same as we did in high school thighs and asses have grown larger, wrinkles have grown deeper, age has set in.

The idea scares me. 

The idea scares me for many reasons. I cherish this relationship, I know that it has its limits but I enjoy the candidness and the openness and the trust that this limited relationship has grown into. I don't want to lose that. As well I fear that if the illusion is gone then what it is that I have to offer also disappears. In other words, my concern is that all  have to offer to maintain the interest of my limited relationship partner IS the fantasy. Once the fantasy is gone does the interest fade? Should we risk it?

I want to. I want to risk it so badly. I want to roll into town, meet my partner and have a fun carefree day and night together (and by night, I don't necessarily mean bow chica wow woww) no time constraints, no limits, just a relaxing and rewarding day for two old friends together. 

But...I worry. A lot. I worry that all I have to offer is wrapped up in the imagination of my partner, and that the reality of me won't live up to fantasy. 

So, is a theoretical day-O-fun better than a real day-O-fun? My heart says no but my head worries that if his fantasy dies that weekend then I will forever regret it. 

Perhaps my insecurities have taken over but, is there more to me than being the 'girl who got away'...

New phone number version 2.0

D wishes that someone would check his email and let her know if he got her message about her new phone number so that she can stop obsessing about it.

Also wishes that she would not care quite so much.

Married to a boy and a girl

OK, so I am pretty sure that there is a polygamist family living across the street from me. Or maybe I have just watched too many episodes of BigLove...no, no, I am pretty sure there is a plural family right outside my door. 

I say this not in judgment...because I don't really think it's a bad idea. I mean if not for all the garbage religious overtones..I could totally get into a plural marriage. I get it. It makes sense to me. 

What a great cooperative environment to raise your family in, the wives would have built in friends and confidants. They would not have to bug their husband to talk with them or satisfy the emotional side of them because they would do that for each other. The wives would take turns sleeping with the husband and having alone time with him, otherwise it would be a collaborative biosphere. 

So...I have been spying on these people and trying to get a glimpse into their world to figure it out. And the most ironic thing occurred to me. People who practice polygamy do so in secret, they must hide it from friends, family, and the law. Because it is not thought to be an appropriate lifestyle choice and it is illegal to marry more than one person at a time. And here I am, an outsider who totally 'gets it' and does not judge at all...I mean I actually kind of like the idea. Yet, because of the fundamentalist beliefs that led them to that lifestyle, they would judge me! And not approve of me, and think that I was going to hell, and they would look down with condescension and condemnation on me! The one person who in no way judges them...they would judge me! Isn't that ironic?! 

searchin' for that lost shaker of salt

Today I miss my life in Edmonton. 

I am putzing around my house...not doing much. And all I can think of is what I would be doing if I wasn't here. Don't get me wrong I want to be here, I chose to be here, and I do know people here but...some days I miss the ease of my old life. The ease of just walking over to Kris's house for an iced tea and a chat on her front steps, the ease of calling Chad, Ben, Cass, Brit, Jenn, Chris, Nicole, etc...to go for lunch, to go to the market downtown, to go to the fringe, to go get a huge iced coffee and sit on a bench on Whyte watching people go by...

The ease of doing nothing with nobody in particular.

I miss watching tv with Desi over the phone, I miss the ease of sitting in Lynne's living room and rockin' out to Rock Band struggling to time sips of a beer with breaks on the song. I miss hanging with Nicole and Chris at pub quiz and music trivia. I miss late night text-athons with Chris and his dry wit making my laugh uncontrollably. I miss unexpected giant hugs and dry humping from Chad. I miss the quiet calm and hug that always lasts a little too long from Dan. 

I miss the festivals, the Fringe, Taste of Edmonton, Gay Bingo, Drag shows, The great Sweet Potato Fry challenge, The rape walk, man diaper, and drinks on a patio that started as just two of us but easily grew to 20. And Vietnamese and Thai food Tuesday. 

I miss Kris's huge laugh and unbelievably loud shreik, I miss Nicole's uber geekiness and willingness to try anything. I miss Chris's agreement with me and our frustration over the lack of understanding of elementary grammar basics that seem to plague society today. I miss Chad challenging me and making me really think about my arguments, I miss Ben and his dorky laugh and his great smile and his fancy dancing.

 I miss the ease of doing nothing but doing everything, with nobody in particular, but with everybody special.

I have an almost impossible time not interjecting when I overhear people talking and they are completely wrong. I realize that I am the inappropriate party…the one who is eavesdropping and who was not invited to the conversation to begin with, however, in my heart I feel that not correcting them is akin to agreeing with them and THAT is irresponsible on my behalf.

So…today sitting in the cafeteria I overheard two individuals talking about pedophiles. On a side note: They were referring to them as sexual predators a term that I take great offense to because pedophiles do not WANT to be sexually attracted to young children, they did not choose to be sexually attracted to children, it is a mis-wiring in their brain and they no more want to behave this way than we want them to…and to demonize them using such negative terminology makes the rehabilitation process even more difficult.

I guess that wasn’t a total side point, because that really is the subject of my frustration today. These individuals sitting in the cafeteria were suggesting quite angrily that all pedophiles should be put to death…that they are all horrible and evil people and that they had no right to continue living on the earth.

I was shocked!

Clarification time:

Pedophilia: a psychological disorder whereby an adult has a sexual attraction to prepubescent children (or child)

Hebephilia: a psychological disorder in which and adult has a sexual attraction to a postpubescent child (a teenager, younger than the age of consent)

Child molestation: a crime committed by an individual who has touched an individual under the age of consent in a sexually inappropriate manner.

OK, so…back to the amateur judge and jury in the cafeteria. There I was, mouth agape mortified by the lack of understanding and condemnation I heard spewing from the mouths of these uninformed executioners. In Canada we do not kill people who have a diagnosed (or diagnosable) psychological disorder. Individuals suffering from pedophilia do not choose to have a sexual attraction to children. It is not as though they woke up this morning and thought to themselves…”you know I am just not satisfied enough with vanilla sex…I know how about I mix it up a little; anal…no, same sex…nah, oh oh oh how about a leather body suit…no that’s not it either. EUREKA! How about I become only aroused at the thought of young children…that’s sure to satisfy.”  ~~Note the sarcasm dripping from that last sentence~~

Seriously people, for real. People suffering from pedophilia are no different than people suffering from depression, anxiety, phobias, dissociative disorders…they have a glitch in their wiring. It can be fixed…it is difficult, but it can be done. One of the reasons it is so difficult is because of the stigma attached to it. People suffering are not very likely to seek help until it is too late…because they are demonized, labeled, and persecuted even though they have not committed any crime. It is not a crime to have thoughts in your head. It is only a crime to act upon those thoughts…but just like any compulsion, or any recurring thought that you just can’t seem to clear out of your brain…the longer that thought lives there…spins around, and you think about it and you think about it and you think about it…over and over and over. BAM! You are bound to act on it. Like when you have a craving and you can’t stop thinking about what you are craving…imagine having that for years…5,10,15 years…or more. Eventually. You are bound to act on it.  Who can walk into his or her doctor’s office and say, “y’know doc, I feel just fine but I can’t seem to stop thinking about diddling a little kid” NO ONE.

We don’t know exactly causes these thoughts, there is definitely an element of conditioning…learned behaviour But that is not the only cause, or trigger. Just like depression, anxiety, phobia, we don’t know the exact origin for each individual. But also like those disorders, we do know that it will not go away on it’s own. But how can the medical community provide help when idiots like the cafeteria judge and jury openly promote the execution of those afflicted with the disorder.  How can someone who is suffering from these thoughts openly communicate with a therapist, when they are demonized by the society at large?

And don’t even get me started on the fear the media puts out there about “internet predators” there is no increase in people suffering from pedophilia…it is just different. And…most of those individuals utilizing online sites are hebephiles, they have always existed…remember 100 years ago (Romeo and Juliette were 13, Scarlett O’Hara was 16, Pocahontas was 12 when she saved Captain Smith, The March sisters of Little Women fame were 16,15,13, &12) when we used to marry at age 12!  Men are hardwired to like youthfulness…it’s a sign and the best predictor of fertility, and the newer the female to puberty the less likely she’s been defiled by another male. This should make sense to use whether we like it or not…it’s less of a mis-wiring and more of a less willing to conform to Western society’s (relatively) new rules. UGH off track again! OK…perhaps rather than condemn and judge individuals suffering from pedophilia we should empathize, assist, and promote rehabilitation.

Stigma is a bitch; maybe one day the judges from the cafeteria will find out first hand what it is like to be stigmatized…and they will change their opinion towards help and rehabilitation rather than condemnation. But for now I shoot them the stink eye, struggle to keep my mouth closed and drool a little over Zac Ephron.

To Betty or to Veronica

Because I apparently have nothing better to talk about on a Sunday afternoon than male fantasy comics...I had a conversation yesterday with someone who was shocked that Archie chose Veronica not Betty. Oops, I hope this is not breaking news (like I just told you there was no Santa Claus). Earlier this summer, Archie Andrews finally made up his mind and proposed to Veronica Lodge. 

Of course he did. Did any of us as children ever think he would actually pick that sweet as peaches and cream Betty Cooper? Hell no!  Veronica Lodge the sexy brunette vixen was obviously the choice he was always going to make. 

My friend who shall remain nameless (lets call her Miss Guided...or MG for short), provided a fairly strong argument for why Archie should have picked Betty. However, I am not convinced that her argument holds any water.  As I lay in bed last night not sleeping I mulled over our discussion in my head and it seemed clear to me that Veronica was the obvious choice for that undecided  ginger (I use ginger in the nicest sense of the word...I really love red-heads so I mean no disrespect Archie). 

So...lets look at the pros and cons of these two birds and I think you will agree with me that Ronnie Lodge was the clear choice.

Firstly we have to put aside certain variables because although we like to think they hold weight they are actually superfluous and cloud our judgment. For example...although we like to say things like " The most important thing to me is a sense of humour" First of all that is bullshit...if someone approaches you and he or she looks like a fucking sea donkey are you going to take the time to discover whether or not they have a good sense of humour and even if they can demonstrate wit right off the bat would you be willing to overlook oozing sores on his or her face because of a good sense of humour? Doubtful! Secondly...sense of humour is simply a cue that we use. A sense of humour is indicative of good cognitive health. If an individual can make you laugh or 'gets' a joke that you tell it indicates that they have had similar (and assumably a good and healthy) cognitive development to ones self. Additionally, when someone cracks a joke that you 'get' or alternatively 'gets' one of your jokes it means that they have a similar cultural background. This is good because of our innate propensity to categorize. Historically, we humans (just like other animals) had to fight for territory, food, water, shelter, access to mates, etc. Therefore, when someone has a similar cultural background it makes them part of your in-group and eliminates or seriously lessens the possibility of threat or harm coming to your kin. Ok, ok, I am totally off track...back to Betty and Veronica

So...variables that matter about these girls:

- Archie is attracted to both (both are highly attractive so whether they are a 9 or a 9.5 is irrelevant)

- Both girls have an equal level of education

- Both girls grew up in the same community suggestion similar cultural normed behaviours

- Both girls are clearly interested in him, and he is clearly interested in both of them

- Both girls spend equal time with Archie (or close enough to equal), and we know that location and frequency of exposure contributes to overall ratings of attractiveness

Therefore in sum we can clearly see that both Betty and Veronica are healthy, attractive, smart, and socially active from which we can deduce they are both of high gene quality, and could successful produce  healthy offspring. But is that enough??? 

No.

We know from empirical studies that it is not just enough for a female to be able to produce quality offspring but she must also be able to care for and rear them until they can produce offspring of their own. Historically (in most animal species) the male is responsible for providing resources for the offspring, but...what if one could maximize the resource potential? Veronica Lodge has a seemingly unlimited supply of wealth...wealth that can be used to maximize resource potential. Of course Archie is going to choose her (all other variables being even). If he is going to invest in a female and her resources can significantly increase the potential success of any future offspring then...Archie would be a fool to choose Betty who cannot compete in that department.

So...congratulations Archie...natural selection prevails! 

Life isn't always a bowl of designer cherries

Today marks the one year anniversary of me taking my life back. 

One year ago today I was moving out of a brand new house in a new subdivision of a major city, full of brand new furniture and pretty little decorations. Everything matched, the tiles were all slate, the floors were all hardwood, the bonus room over the garage had a beautiful pitched ceiling. The attached oversize 2 car garage had a brand new Mustang, a new motorcycle, a new quad. The backyard was pie shaped and had a brand new low maintenance deck, looking out over a greenbelt in a neighbourhood where children rode their bikes, played hockey in the winter, and hide and go seek in the summer. Almost every home had a dog that was walked each evening...the walk taking longer than it should because every couple of houses there was someone outside to stop and talk to. The 4 piece bathroom off the master bedroom had 2 sinks, a jetted tub (that easily sat 3 people) and a frosted window that required no covering just beautiful natural light. The house was beautiful, my (our) dream house...we built it that way.

We worked hard for that house, we lived in shitty apartments, condos, townhouses. We bought a starter home and fixed it up (I loved that house the most), and sold it when the market was good. We lived out of a hotel, had all of our belongings stolen. We worked ridiculous hours, hardly ever seeing each other. When I returned to school we agonized over my having to leave the job I had managing the pharmacies. The first 3 years of Uiniversity I worked full time managing a restaurant (stupid flexible hours), easily putting in 50 hour weeks in addition to attending classes full time. He worked long hard dirty hours in the sewer (I remember one particular day when he worked 20 hours straight because services were backed up), sticking it out in the trenches, finally working his way up to a salaried position as superintendent. We earned that house, we worked hard and we built it the way we wanted it.

But there was no life in that house. There was only anger, and resentment, and sadness, and selfishness. So I left.  Maybe we worked too hard to earn that house and not hard enough on our relationship. Maybe the ten years together had actually only been 2 or 3 or 4 because of all the time we were apart due to work. Whatever happened, that house broke the relationship apart. It was beautiful, but deadly.

So, then I moved...into the 'hood. renting a small top floor of a house blocks away from hookers and crackheads (real hookers and real crackheads). I took some of my stuff and I left. Left the beautiful house and moved into a cute little rental in the slums. It wasn't so bad, I kept telling myself...all of those years of hard work and here I was walking my dogs nervously at night avoiding used needles in the gutter. My dream house was gone but my dream wasn't.

What was the dream? During my second year of University I knew that I was going to go to Grad school...not that I wanted to go but that I WOULD go. I would have to go it solo because the dream house would not be moved. So...go to Grad school, yes. But what to study? Evolutionary Psychology...is that even a thing? It was as if a fog lifted and my path became clear...Evolutionary Psychology. Was there anything more perfect...well...the answer to that is yes, yes there is. Evolutionary psychology studying the evolutionary mechanisms that contribute to homosexuality. YES! It was a path that was made for me...my very own yellow brick road (or perhaps rainbow brick road is more appropriate). So, living in the 'hood no longer seemed that bad when I had something to focus my energy on...Grad school. Fuck You dream house! I don't need your beautiful tile work, or your amazing hardwood floors , or the giant two tiered deck. I am going to make a difference in the lives of many people (well...at least one out of every ten). 

I got in.

 I. GOT. IN. 

I managed to get a position with the only researcher in all of Canada studying Homosexuality from an evolutionary perspective. Well...I should re-phrase: the only researcher empirically (Science bitches! it works!!) studying the evolved mechanisms of homosexuality. Fuck you dream house, Fuck you crack heads, Fuck you 'hood rats. I got in.

So, as I write this I am lying in a crummy basement suite, full of all kinds of bugs that I have never seen before. I don't have a deck, a new mustang, quad, or motorcycle, I don't have the beautiful giant ensuite or the amazing new bedroom set with the mattress that feels as though it massages your back all night with tiny robot hands, I don't have the slate, the hardwood, the fireplace, the stainless steel appliances, or the pitched ceiling...in fact in my kitchen right now I don't have any ceiling. But I have my life back. And when I come home this basement isn't filled with anger, resentment or sadness...it's filled with hope, excitement, strength, and a few random bugs that I don't have the heart to kill. 

Today is my anniversary of freedom but it is his birthday (I gave him the best present ever...I left without being a greedy demanding bitch) Happy Birthday Tom, I hope you are enjoying YOUR dream home today and that it hasn't swallowed you up like it was doing to me. 

The bugs and I are planning the future, if you are ever in the neighbourhood stop by , stay the night I'll blow up an air mattress for you and you can crash in my pad, and don't feel sorry for me living in this basement. This is the home that dreams built!

Knight in shining a(r)mour

I have a 'friend'...a very close friend who pulled my pig-tails but then did something very nice for me this evening. Like a school boy crush he teased me over the phone but then my power went out and after scaring the bezeezus out of me, he salvaged the potential wreck by being a perfect gentleman. 

I feel as though this particular friend lives in a constant state of conflict with our relationship. And as a result he often teeters on the fence of kindergarten crush, the lure of something new, and an old pal friendship (I realize a fence has only 2 sides but it's my blog and I'll have as many sides to the fence as I want). 

I too live in a state of conflict with our relationship because I have very little control over it, and I am a control freak...rephrase: it's less that I am a control freak and more that I do not handle conventional rules well and I like to manage my life and the events in my life. However, in this particular case I am not in control.  I have had relationships before with people who were unavailable either emotionally or physically and who were impervious to my awesome management skills. But those individuals did not relate to me the way this man does, I did not feel as close to them, as connected to them...I did not really care about them and I did not turn to them to satisfy or to  provide emotional strength, compassion, or wisdom. With this friend I find myself wanting (needing) that component. When something good happens I want to phone him, when something bad happens I want to phone him. But, more than likely I cannot do either. I could email if I am dying to talk but...that is not therapeutic enough, there is no immediate reward.  My only control comes in the form of protecting him from certain aspects of my life ( a girl has needs) that I feel would be simply unkind to share. This seems more negative (removal) than positive (addition).

I do not want nor do I intend to place any improper expectations or any unjust strain upon him. I do not want him to be anxious or uncomfortable. 

And I think he feels this too, because I get the sense (much of the time) that he is keeping me at arms length, not completely letting down his guard. Not relinquishing control, and making sure that he is managing this 'relationship'. I also think there are others like me who tempt him and that he is conflicted with them as well...torn between satisfying this curious side of himself and between being a good husband to a wife that I know he loves. 

So, I let him guide me through these waters...I myself succumb to the curiosity and to this peculiar relationship. And although I find myself waiting with baited breath for a phone call or an email, or anything that will satisfy the nagging sensation in the back of my mind (hearing his voice brings me perspective), I do not let it paralyze me. I continue on with my life, and wonder if anyone can see through me and clearly see this dirty little secret that I carry around at all times. 

So there you have it from inside a crazy girl's head at 2:30am, random thoughts about my knight in shining a(r)mour. 

False Grace 

Operant conditioning (once again) rears it's ugly head

I was standing in the shower this morning trying to hurriedly rinse the conditioner from my hair so that I could propel myself back in front of my computer in order to check my email. Embarrassing. Fucking embarrassing. How did it get to this point? How did I become 'addicted' to electronic communication? I'm a fairly well rounded individual, I have friends, a good family, a healthy social life...but for some reason I can't seem to last for more than a brief period of time before logging in and checking my various emails, social networking sites, and instant messages. How did this happen to me? I realized as I was dripping across my living room that I have been conditioned. 

Behaviour modification is a beautiful thing...we don't have a clue that it is happening and then BOOM, suddenly we are jumping through hoops in a pool of salt water at sea world looking for our fishy reward. 

How does it get to this point?

B.F. Skinner said it the best when he said 

"The way positive reinforcement is carried out is more important than the amount."

This intermittent schedule of reinforcement (the mother of all schedules) is a tough habit to break. The problem is that sometimes when one checks his or her email there is a new message flashing in the inbox. And sometimes it's not just Dr. Lovebone asking you if you want to increase the size of your member, sometimes it's not your boss wanting more out of you, and sometimes it's not your needy [insert friend, wife, husband, co-worker, sibling etc. here]. Sometimes it's a good one, from someone who makes you feel good inside, who makes you feel as though they couldn't have gone another minute in the day without sending this email to let you know they were thinking of you. Of you, and you alone. That feeling you get, that good, feeling that causes the corners of your lips to curl ever so slightly, that causes your pupils to dilate, that causes your chest to swell with excitement. That email...even if it only comes once in a blue moon...it is that email, the randomness of it and the unpredictability of it, and the satisfaction of it that perpetuates the behaviour resulting in the compulsion to log in and check every account we have. 

So, we have established the strength of operant conditioning lies in the type and schedule of reinforcement. Now what? Do we need to change out behaviour? Maybe this is all a part of our nature? This reinforcement is the same reinforcement that used to cause people to sit by the phone, waiting for it to ring. The same reinforcement  that used to have us sitting by the window waiting for the mailman to arrive. We didn't judge those behaviours as bad...so why do we judge the constant email checking as bad? Why do we feel bad admitting that we do it and why do we feel the need to hide this behaviour like a junkie on smack cowering in the corner of a dirty and dark alley way.

Perhaps what we need to re-evaluate is our attitude. Perhaps we need to see this behaviour in a positive light, a good thing to do. Maybe the reward is absolutely worth the time that the mind spends consumed with wanting to log in and check our accounts. Perhaps it is adaptive...maybe the checking gives the mind a 'break' from it's usual tedious work, possibly providing the mind a focus which satisfies a small part that lies within everyone of us, some compulsion to categorize and organize. We know that these are adaptive techniques...although equal rights proponents would have us think otherwise...categorization is most definitely one of the traits that helped us evolve.

Operant conditioning although many do not wish to admit it shapes our entire lives. Be it good or bad, we are born with very few innate qualities...many of the things we think are innate are in reality shaped through behaviourist principles. Language for example, yes we are born with the innate ability to produce and comprehend language, but in order to take advantage of that innate ability we must be taught the rules for our particular native tongue. Decisions we make, are influenced by all the decisions of our past and what we have learned through those decisions. Perhaps Skinner had it right when he said that we have no free will...we are simply guided by what we have previously experienced. 

So...easily conditioned we are, just like all the other animals. Is this innate ability to learn adaptive...I would say so. Without learning we could not have evolved to the point we are at now. So...is it bad that all I want to do is get the hell out of this blog and check my email...hell no. I am evolved.

False Grace

And so it begins...

A friend of mine told me today that he has secretly been contributing to a blog for the past 3 months. It surprised me and caught me a bit off guard. I don't know why because he tends to have many little secrets in his life. Different secrets for different people and different secrets for different situations...so it got me thinking. It must be tiring to keep all of these different facets of his life separate and hidden from people. Perhaps this was one way that he could truly be free to vent, contemplate, organize, and soothe the most inner part of his mind. Maybe blogging was his new electronic diary? Only for his eyes, hidden away where nobody would go looking for it (unlike the porn under the mattress), buried within a website...protected by some obscure name and password. This electronic journal or diary was probably something nobody would expect he would have, I certainly didn't see it coming. So...two questions have come out of this for me. 

The first being: does blogging provide the same therapeutic value that counsellors have preached about for years? Is there some inherent relief that an individual experiences when they have a forum in which to vent their personal highs and lows, or when they are able to organize, categorize, prioritize, or theorize. Does it make room in a cluttered brain and allow for more coherent and efficient thought throughout the day? I am empirical so the only way to answer that question is to give this thing a try myself. Perhaps this is the answer I have been searching for that will allow for a good nights sleep rather than lying in bed awake planning my day, or re-playing the events of the current day. Perhaps the things that I want to say but I don't (thank-you internal filter), can be said here...and provide me with the satisfaction that I do not receive from 'keeping my mouth shut'. 

Secondly: Why did he tell me about his blog today? Three months into the process. Was it an accident? Does he regret it? Will I tell anyone about mine?

If I keep this blog to myself will it provide the same therapeutic value as if it were public? And if I tell people about it does the process become cheap and trashy like a self-indulgent open mike night at the local watering hole?

I suppose the only way to answer these questions is to wait and see what feels right...the proper course of action will hopefully seem obvious after the first couple of entries. 

So there you (or perhaps just I) have it. The premiere entry...numero uno. For now it is mine, who knows what the future holds it is far too soon to tell.

Bye for now,

False Grace