Good lord.

I guess you could say I'm a fan of that guy up there, which is really interesting because I'm a total atheist. True story.

It's probably comparable to the way I feel about Elliot Smith or any other person I've posted in idolatry - some people are just awesome and worth adoration!

Here's why Jesus is cool, and why you're allowed to think Jesus is cool, even if (like myself) you feel awkward and sinful walking past churches on your way to the bus.

1. Jesus made a lot of quotes for himself that people still wander around saying, sometimes without even realizing that he originally said them. I am guilty of this. I am known to tell people "do unto others as you would have done unto you" (which is extremely hard to stammer out when you've been drinking, by the way) and only tonight did I finally google it and see who said it. And I sat there, dumbfounded, before finally saying:
"Alright, Jesus, you win this one."

2. Jesus had a fuck-ton of followers because he had a real interest in helping them, which is something that isn't too common nowadays. Most of the time, I see people hide behind their iPod's earphones and avoid homeless folks downtown. There's nothing wrong with homeless folks, except for they haven't got homes. This wouldn't have bothered Jesus, I imagine. In fact, I imagine him pulling his earbuds out (I assume he's listening to either Gregorian chants or Neil Young) and pulling up some curb to hang out and help out anyone who needs it. You go, Jesus.

3. Jesus died for no real reason except for that everyone else was being an asshole. In fact, he didn't even really understand why he had to die. And I quote: "My God, why have you forsaken me?" I think I'd be saying something completely different, if my ankles were having metal stakes driven through them. "Ouch", perhaps. But really, he took everyone's sins onto himseld and just kind of...went for it. That's a pretty noble thing to do.

4. RESURRECTION!

5. Water into wine? My good sir, you've captivated my heart and soul! I like a nice chardonnay, if you don't mind.

I could go on, but I think you see the point. It's funny, I've always had this internal struggle as to how I should feel about religion and Jesus and God, but I think in my old age and education, I've finally figured it out. Guys, it is totally cool to not be religious, but to still respect religions beyond the "yeah, they can think whatever they want to" thing. Religion is a meaningful part of people's lives that guide their choices and ways of being, and just because non-believers refute their beliefs and Gods doesn't make them any less real for the believers. Every person has a different ultimate reality that they are accountable to. For me, I am accountable to the ground and the earth when I die, and not the secular "God in heaven" belief - but that is totally cool. You make your own reality and you construct your own understanding of the afterlife (if there is one), which means that I am going to a completely different place than you (if you're Christian or otherwise) when we both die.

I guess the moral to this blog is that Jesus was rad, I'm still a non-secular punk and everyone goes wherever they believe they're going to when they die. So stop worrying and enjoy your life.

The end!

To my friends:

What you see above is quite possibly the most comfortable, most beautifully stunning, most expensive chair that I have ever known, yet failed to own. If you love me the way I know you do, a bunch of you will pool together and start saving the change leftover from the five dollar bills you give at Tim Horton's for your $2 coffees in a little jar at one of your houses - just so you can buy this chair for me. It won't take long to save up, and my birthday is still 8 months away. This is doable. Please - my house is only filled with black-brown, rectangular Ikea furniture. It's an absolute tragedy to live this way.

All my love,
FMcG

Daydreams

I've had a few revelations about what my life would be like if I had absolute freedom to do what I pleased.

You know, being in school and tied down to a job is sort of like living in a box. Things get to be pretty predictable fairly quickly, so it's nice to have such a raging imagination to use as crutches that get me through the day.

If I could, I'd abandon all my routine and take my hard body to the pole! Dancing under the pseudonym of Brenda, I'd shake it and spin to Def Leppard in a pair of white cowboy boots. I'd stuff my boots with wrinkled 5's and 10's, and go home exhausted but rich, falling asleep in my post-show velour tracksuit.

Okay, now, realistically - that's not something I could do, but what I could do is this (which was mentioned tonight in the car ride home): I could workout and take pole-dancing lessons. I'd like to be as good as Felix Cane - maybe even compete and steal the title away from her! Yeah, right.

Aside from my starry-eyed strip club circuit dream, I'd drop everything and move to France for art school. I'd spend my days painting and sculpting - my nights spent dancing and drinking cheap wine. I'd wear novelty berets and striped t-shirts would be a wardrobe staple! This is actually a very realistic dream, once I think about it. I could totally stock my closet with striped shirts, seeing as they're haute couture at H&M these days. Mais, oui!

Of course, there are other fantasies and daydreams, but I can't remember them all now. The biggest dream right now is to dig my goddamn way out of Starbucks-hole-in-the-ground hell. I'm on the hunt for a new job a.s.a.p. You know shit is rough when even your manager jumps ship.

Le sigh.

Two Days Off

Yes, a whole two days!

But it's kind of like this: I bitch and moan about how much my life sucks when I have to drag my ass out of bed at 4:30 in the morning to go brew coffee and take shit, but then I get a couple of days off and I don't know what to do with myself. I'm like one of those experiment kids that they leave in a black room with no stimulation or emotion from birth until age 20 and then release into the world to study. Sad.

I got up this afternoon (don't judge), and promptly threw together a load of laundry and a pan of brownies, because I'm a domestic goddess. And then I sat my big ass down and got reacquainted with the dirty world of celebrity gossip. I haven't touched the stuff since fighting off my despicable addiction back in 2005, but today I dipped my toes in for just a quick feel of what the Holly-world is buzzing with. And do you know what I discovered? Not a whole fucking lot has changed. And I immediately remembered why I cut off all ties in the first place. Here's the big news:

1. Mel Gibson is a raging, racist psychopath.
Didn't we already know this? Didn't he already make a few distasteful comments that dirtied his good father image? Apparently now while he's not hitting his own infant son and import wife, he's raging about not having any money because of said family. If anyone is allowed to rage about not having any money, it's normal folks (like me). I'd bet downsizing a house or two and selling a few cars/designer duds might add some more zeros to the bank balance in a jiffy. Cock. Read about it here.

2. Lindsay Lohan is in prison.
Ha, we'll see how long that lasts. However, seeing as LiLo (unlike Mel) is actually poor these days, she doesn't have any money to buy her way out. And there are no dicks to suck in an all-female prison. Sha-boing!

3. There's this thing called Jersey Shore.
...which I imagine is a lot like "The Hills", which was also just "Laguna Beach", which all came from the afterbirth of fictional show "The O.C.". Actually, let's not kid ourselves - they're all fictional! Fortunately I gave up cable a long time ago, so I never have to subject myself to horrendous "reality" television programs.

4. I still don't like twitter.
And it's because it allows the continued whoring and self-promotion of already too-famous and spoiled "celebrities" who are really only famous for being...famous? Self-promotion is not a talent worth fame, folks. People do that at job interviews all the time, and you don't see them tweeting their opinions as facts and expecting results.

I have a brownie migraine setting in. Damn you, Betty Crocker!

Lemon

Oh, so what am I doing today?

Alright, well, I woke up at 10, ate some oatmeal, started a new painting, went for a walk, checked the mail, had some tea, ate a cookie, ate another cookie, had some more tea, wrote boyfriend a note for when he gets home, found biscotti recipes and sat down to write this. You know, that sounds like a pretty relaxing day, right? And you know, it is. I'm kind of lonely, though. I miss boyfriend when he's away at his big fancy corporate job. And what's shitty is that I'm headed to work in about 2 hours. I should really shower.

Newest condominium revelations - I'd never buy one. Ever. Before I moved in here, I thought that condos were really a smart idea. No lawns to mow, no driveways to shovel. If the roof's leaky, someone else worries about it. My mail will never be stolen - it's locked into a box in a mail room. There's a gym. There are guest suites. Etc. etc. But really, condo life isn't all it's cracked up to be. My building is full of snobby 30-something married professional-types who have yet to have kids because really, it doesn't seem like they like each other enough to reproduce because it doesn't seem like they like anyone. But themselves. I would know, because I walk by the in-house gym and spy them oogling themselves in the mirrors as they lift weights and jog-jog-jog on the treadmill. Go outside, folks. It's beautiful out there. A chance encounter with one yuppie couple whose arms were full of dry-cleaning outside the parkade elevator produce no conversation. Rather, I listened intently to them muttering to each other about suit jackets and a dinner meeting. And then I decided to take the stairs.

There seem to be some cool people in my building, though. I've just yet to actually meet them. Instead, I spy on them from the peep-hole in the door. Our suite is right outside the elevator, so I've come into the habit of running to look through the peep-hole every time the lift's door squeals open. I want to know who my neighbours are, damnit! There's a condo barbecue on the 22nd that I want boyfriend to go to, in an effort to make friends for us. He's a shy guy, though. We'll see.

I want to do some baking tomorrow. Maybe an apple crisp and some biscotti. Hell, I'll make muffins, too. I'll do anything to escape the "living in a filing cabinet" feeling.

Denver Omelette

Hi,

I don't actually recall the last time I blogged, but a lot has changed since then. I moved to Calgary. What the heck am I thinking, right? People here like country music and beef, the street lights are sideways, my nose hasn't stopped bleeding 'cause it's so dry, and there's apparently no culture to be found. Oh, but that sounds like a challenge, Cowtown. A challenge.

I guess you could say my goal over the next 3 years is to find as much culture, fun and underground entertainment as possible to keep myself occupied in this little-big northern Texas. So far, I'm not a fan. I did, however, scrounge up some snippets of info on an alternative/art house movie theatre in Kensington called the Plaza Theatre. I'll be heading up that way tomorrow night for a little grindhouse cinema documentary action, if boyfriend is willing.

In a never-ending goal to remain open-minded and positive, I'm going to embrace Calgary with open arms and smother it in my chest "motor-boat" style like an old friend, hoping for the very best. While Vancouver Island's majestic beauty is a shame to leave behind me, vacations will occur annually to visit the friends (and really, they're more like family) that I had to leave there. Also, I snagged a souvenir Starbucks V.I. mug, so like....I'm always nostalgic. Shazam!

Last night, I sat down and could name 47/50 U.S. states. Forgotten? Nebraska, New Hampshire and Oklahoma. But those are kind of like the ugly stepchild states anyways.

Joon!

My birthday has come and gone, thus thrusting me into the category of a "twenty-something".

I got a rather unique present for my birthday - snow! Now, granted I was in Calgary for my birthday, but really? Snow in practically June? That's just absurd.

Boyfriend: "I swear, it's not usually like this. You'll like it here! I promise! Really!".

Calgary is complete and utter urban sprawl. I was saucer-eyed for a good 2/3 of our trip, shocked and amazed at how every single borough looks the exact same as the previous. And also, slightly paranoid about the very obvious police presence. "It's mostly safe here," said boyfriend's policeman uncle. "Like, an occasional dismemberment; some floaters in the river. Nothing big." Thanks for the reassurance, man.

In a sudden twist of maturity, I now have difficulty saying 'swear words' out loud. Like, I used to be able to string out sentences entirely comprised of my favourite adult phrases, but now I can barely even whisper what the fuck without feeling incredibly awkward and inappropriate. Y'know, I think it might be less of a maturity thing and more of like...Bump can sort of talk now, and she repeats everything. Previously potty-mouthed conversations have now mellowed out completely; trash words became innocent euphemisms.

Me: "Yeah, that mean lady was really making me unhappy. I wanted to tickle her."
B: "What the french toast, man."

Translation:

Me: "Yeah, that bitch was pissing me off. I wanted to punch that cunt out."
B: "What the fuck, man."

Something like that. 'kay, happy Caturday!