Being a good person and being a good friend are two very different things. In my friendship circle, I have inner, mid-level, outer and occasional friends. Rings like a bullseye. I have subconsciously divided up my free time between each ring. I have also realized certain friends are better for certain things. Like my doggie park friend. My musical theatre friend. My chick flick buddy. Or the gossip girl. I have a special connection with each member of every ring. But I didn't realize, I have a ring outside of that: The I wish we could be friends ring.
That is a strange feeling. I consider myself a sweet and caring gal. A good friend, a nice neighbour, a loving wife. There are people who are so nice! So wicked! People who are super great, but for whatever reason, we can't be friends. The reasons vary from conflicting schedules, allergies, distance and sometimes, though it's hard for me to admit- disinterest. There are people that no matter how nice, sweet and similar we are, we're just not friends. This revelation comes as a stiff tonic. I thought I could be everybody's Bestie.
With FB and social media connecting us so tightly we can often be confused as to whom our real friends are. Clicking a button and participating in a relative stranger's life. Being busy adults we must take responsibility for the choices we've made. The fact that you know the daily trials of your grade 5 classmate's baby- doesn't necessarily mean you should invest daily in that relationship. Perhaps we should unplug ourselves for a few hours and focus on our realtime relationships. But don't unplug from this blog, cuz I am your realtime friend:) and that's a circle I can get into.
If you know my Hubby, you know how he feels about superheroes. Specifically, Superman, the Man of Steel, the Kryptonian from Kansas. If you know me, you know I can hold my own when it comes to superhero showdowns. I know the differences between Heroes, Vigilantes and Anti-Heroes. And when it comes to a heated debate of Good VS Evil, I know all the players and they're powers. The real question is with all this backstory; what would my super power be and how would I choose to use it.
I think I would choose to be an alien, as most of the time I feel like I don't belong anyhow. Which is often its own superpower. Different is good. But I am that already...
Telekenetics and telepathy are both solid skill sets. But there might be an internal conflict with knowing the thoughts and motivations of every unprotected cranium. So the idea of those powers might be nicer than the actual ability.
Maybe I'd like the ability to manipulate time and space- or have access to advanced technology that would allow for time travel. With the understanding that a time machine can also travel to locations simultaneously in current time. Though once time is altered it splits realities and changes destiny and the outcomes of everyone and thing involved in the conflict. Which is a lot of pressure, knowing what can and should be changed, only to change it making it worse, only to change it again, and again...you get the idea.
I guess there is a reason that heroes are heroes. It is a tough decision to make not to screw anything up worse than it already was. And having a super power gives many opportunities to not be so super. What I do wish is that there were more real heroes taking care of those who can't help themselves. Also can I just say, it ticks me off that Clark Kent has a better job than I do, and that's not even his REAL job. Sigh, Wait, is jealously a super power?That's it! I will be the Green Eyed Vixen, though I can't help but think that sounds more like a villain... But villains really are misunderstood heroes...right?
It's been a few months since I wrote an ode to earhairs. It's sad but I long for the mysterious intrigue of earhairs. A tickly, thickly curling wisp that flutters in the wind. It's hooked and I can't stop starring! Of course, there have been a few memorable chin hairs and a mole hair or two, but nothing worth a dedicated blog to my outspoken affection for such furry occurrences. I have been trying to rise above the physical foibles of those around me. But what is it they say about the best laid plans?
Upon returning to my regular cop shop gig I have seen a few wily whiskers, but have taken the high road- for the most part. Ignoring a hair collar sticking out above shirt necklines, and avoiding eye contact with caterpillar brows. Honest I was trying to be good. Until yesterday, I discovered a giant ear hair...you will never guess where. In MY own EAR. I couldn't believe it. It was awful. Possessed by a tickle I felt in my ear canal. A creepy crawling, fluttering feeling that I couldn't shake. Literally I couldn't shake it off. Heading to the loo, I thought I would discreetly pull all the hairs from both ears, you know, all those tiny fine hairs that cover a human. The fuzz that reminds us we're not too far from being the animals we were. And trust me if I'd had a razor I would've shaved myself from the eyebrows down! Getting to the washroom I studied, inspected, looked and leered at my ears- seeing nothing, but I knew it was there. I started plucking blindly. Oh did I mention that I carry tweezers with me? Cuz, yeah I do. Everywhere I go, just in case. That's when it happened. The tweezers clamped down on something. And like deep sea fishing, it was a struggle to reel that hair in- or out as the case may be. When I finally triumphed over my well rooted foe, I was .5lbs lighter and my hearing had amplified 4 fold. How long could it have been growing there? As far as I am concerned- any length of time is too long. Now, I must turn my obsession inward, I have become my own earhair-enemy.
But it could have been worse, I guess. The group I associate with at work are a mature crowd. Their eyesight isn't like use-ta-be and most have earhairs of their own, earhairs they can be proud of. So, I figure as long as I can still see, feel and pluck my own unruly rogue hairs I am ahead of the social grooming curve. But maybe we could all use a little help from our friends. One of my colleagues has asked for a lady's agreement. Using my 20/20 vision I am to alert him to any strays I may spy...though to prevent hurt feelings I have been collecting a few hairs to alert him of all at once, instead of a daily hair check-in. It's better for us both that way. I get to marvel at those wiry wonders for a few more days, and he gets to think his super power is growing multiple magnanimous hairs in an afternoon. So my fair earhairs- it's been a while since we wrote, but you are a familiar friend. Honestly though, I could do without you whispering in my ear. Literally.
Do people ask you favours? Do they want your advice? And thank you for your outlook? Do peers admire you? Does every other problem come before your own? Has something felt off? Are you behaving in a way that you're proud of? Is your karmic scale in balance? These are important questions and even more important- are your answers. In recent social interaction I have noticed people straying from the person they tell others they are. This is so brutal. It is your responsibility to try and be your best. Being an optimist gal, I want to see the best in every person I meet. Even the ones who've hurt me. I want people to want to be their best selves. It has gotten to the point people, where material goods aren't good enough. I want the fabric of our lives to be the woven of strong moral fiber.
Being less than your best can make you feel guilty. And there are so many kinds of guilt. Guilt for doing something wrong, or the guilt of wanting to do something wrong, without actually doing it. But then there's that feeling. You know one? That something is not quite right. Something is off and the universe is taking it out on you. I call that Karmic Guilt. When you feel guilty about something that isn't your fault. Or you think that things beyond your control are out of whack. It's full-moon-mania even though it's waxed and waned. This karmic imbalance is the worst. Nothing you did -directly- created it, but you're suffering with it none the less.
What posible control can you have over the whims of Karma? Well, Hubby is a fan of saying that intention is the most important part of doing anything. If you're intending something evil, karmically you will receive something evil. Conversely if you intend something fabulous, it should manifest equally so... But this is never my luck. I am an even-Stephen. So instead of one big fabu cosmic gift, I receive thousands of teeny weeny fabus. But I can't complain...because karma is listening. What can we do to rejig the karmic balance, if right now it's not in our favor? Do you give the waitress a big tip? Tell someone you love them? Compliment a stranger? I can only hope that by trying to be good, karma will see how hard I'm working at it and recognize that sometimes I fail, but I still deserve to get some points for effort. So, Karma, if you're listening; I hope to tip the scales in my favour and reach my ideal Karmic weight:) but I'm willing to put in the workout.
Growing up my Momma convinced herself (and the rest of us) that making our costumes was a cost effective and easy way of celebrating a devious holiday. But every year we'd get to the day before the School Halloween Parade and those costumes wouldn't be ready. Then, it was crunch time. Frantically breaking out the markers and glue gun... Taking short cuts and crossing fingers that the safety pins would hold. Side note: This was typical of bake sales, science projects and term papers too. Now, it was not entirely Momma's fault we didn't finish our costumes early. She's always been a busy lady and as a family unit we're not great at prioritizing, except by which project is the most fun. Which explains a few things about my genetic inclination towards procrastination. But you can't call it procrastination if you're too busy doing other things.
The most memorable costumes my Bro and I had growing up include, but are not limited to: Robin Hood, Black & White Harlequin clown, Lydia from Beetlejuice, 3 years in a row being a blue FryGuy, Beaten up Robin Hood, and an 'I don't do mornings' lady with slippers and bathrobe, curlers in her hair, Cup a'joe and green overnight mask.
In our family though, there is always one clear winner. Drum roll please, and the award for the Best Worst costume goes to my Bro as the Orange masked- nun chuck whipping Pre-teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle- as he was only 8. He was covered head to toe in green with an orange face paint mask cuz at that point masks had been deemed unsafe for children. The kicker though? My Papa B (infamous for his sheet ghost costume) fashioned a homemade shell and being a woodworker; choose wood. Forgetting a giant wooden shell might throw all 45lbs of 8 year old Bro off kilter. But Bro being so excited for Halloween, gave that hulking shell his most valiant effort. An attempt that his rat Sensei would've been proud of. More than once he toppled over backwards, splayed and unable to flip himself over, in typical turtle fashion. It wasn't many houses before my teeny Bro collapsed under the shell's weight, my Papa B and I doubled over with laughter, de-shelled my teeny-weeny Bro. Exposed the way he was, my Bro was determined to continue his trick or treating. Without a shell he was transformed into a Pre-teenage Mutant Nun-chucking Slug. Not as intimidating, but just as green. You know, I think we still have that shell, maybe he could go out this year as a turtle, though that Weeny is still only 78 lbs full grown;) Here's hoping your Halloween is flippin' awesome!
P.S. If you've never seen my Bro's mad fuk-coo skills, they're really something.
In an industry where youth is celebrated- sought after and faked, turning another year older can be a lot to recover from. Birthdays are supposed to be special. The one day to feel celebrated. One day a year where you are the number 1, top banana, king of the day; unless of course you're a twin. A day to be doted on. Loved and adored by those who love and adore you. Receiving birthday wishes from all those who think I'm something special. Family and friends eager to enjoy my company. But how does getting older really feel?
My Grandma Near; before she lost her mind to dementia said to me: "I don't remember getting old. I was 22 then I was 80, but that 22 year old is still in here."*pointing to her noggin. Then she asked me how babies were made. Strange disease Alzheimer's, forgetting who you are before your done with being yourself. But that's a story for another day. Growing older I have started to understand the importance of making memories. The urge to celebrate and be with the ones you love. Growing up, well, growing taller I can't help but wonder what the future holds for me. And most of all I've realized that just because you're not doing something doesn't mean things aren't happening. You can't stop progress. I think that getting older is a good thing for me. It's hard to admit that I won't be a reckless teen or self-involved twenty-something ever again. I am becoming a responsible adult. I am growing into my hit- acting-wise. Which should be a good thing*fingers, legs, arms and toes crossed. I am digging on being a grown up...except the ever increasing creases.
After all the indulgence birthdays bring, I will be happy to get back to veggies. The day after my party I had a sugar hangover and my tongue was swollen from sour candies. Plus my just-washed-jeans were a little tighter that morning. My body had just started being healthy for reasons of business and pleasure. And was starting to feel good. But now that I am one year older it won't be so easy staying in shape says Hubby who's been (infuriatingly) the same size since we met. Happy Birthday to me. I am glad to make these new resolutions with you. Here's to a Happy New Year of Melicious:)
I am just going to go ahead and coin the term North Poehler! A Canadian who loves Amy Poehler- catchy I know! Whoa! That was too many exclamation points. Anyhow, while watching Parks and Rec, I was schooled about "Treat Yo'Self"! A yearly tradition when you get to spoil yourself for the whole day. Well, being the broke sass I am, it's not likely I'll get to Treat My'self anytime soon. But since it is my birthday, I thought I would write a
"Treat Yo Self" wish list:)
1. An iPad to aide in my internet takeover
2. Unlimited Hula classes
3. Full body massage with rose water facial and scalp treatment
4. Ukulele Manicure and Kandy Korn Pedicure
5. Vaca to a sunny beach so I can catch up on my reading
6. Create a Melicious Manners logo design
7. A pretty pink princess dress complete with tiara and blonde updo wig
8. Pin-up style vintage photo shoot and new head shots!
9. Limo for 8 going to Niagara Falls to do all the quirky museums and Ripley's and a room with a view of the Falls
10. Snap up those high priced concert tickets- Maroon 5, Pink and Bon Jovi
11. A $500 gift certificate to Lululemon
12. Mojitos and Playa Cabana catering all day long
13. Those dang Ikea shelves put up by a Handy Man
14. More lessons with Ukeologist Judy!
15. Dance lessons & circus training- but that might take more than a day
16. Prepaid personal shopper with a flair for vintage
17. I was going to do wishes up to my age, but I then thought better of it:)
This list doesn't sound like much of a Treat My'self day, it sounds like a MeliciousManners Better Yo'Self list with vacations and a few future plans thrown in for colour. Sigh. It's strange to think that my treats are learning, escaping and improving. My fellow North Poehlers, I encourage you to think about ways to "Treat Yo'Self"! Maybe you should watch Parks & Rec; 22mins of awesomesauce in it's 5th season of Wowey! Available on Netflix! Another exclamation?!? Really? I need less enthusiasm or more emoticons...emoticons it is:)
Never underestimate your power. Growing up is hard. Growing up unique is even harder. This goes out to all the kiddies who have it rough. It is up to us grown ups to teach the world tolerance, and stop the things that hurt those who can't speak up for themselves.
When I was little, I was odd. I know, I know, shocking? But I was. I was mature for my age. I loved vintage when my classmates loved grunge. I sang to myself and spoke to myself and yelled at myself when I got out of hand. I spent a lot of time writing poetry in the basement on our 2nd generation desktop computer. I spent hours every day dreaming, plotting, scheming and creating stories in my head. And for a long time I was alone. I was bullied for being different. I was teased by the cookie cutter people who didn't know how much more fun it was to be themselves. All through high school I attended MM video dances. Where nobody asked me to dance- so I danced with myself, well myself as a giant shadow on the gym wall. By senior prom- everyone knew me as the shadow dancer and I was the first on the dance floor dancing with myself to a standing ovation. I didn't fit in anywhere. All I knew was there must be a place where I belong. I knew there would be people who got me, I mean really understood me. I knew this because my mentors taught me.
Mentoring our children is one of the most important jobs we have as grown ups in this world. As North Americans we should be breathing a sigh of relief, that our kids can be safe, healthy and fed. We don't have to worry about fresh water or malaria. Children are the most important resource we have. So please help me teach those odd ducklings that it gets better. We are the change they need! You have the power to teach the world to love. So here's an apple for your first day teacher, it's going to be a long journey to prom, but I'll save you a dance.
Writing, every person who can write, does. That's not to say that every person can do it well. And people who practise can typically write even better. Well, people, I can do it, I do it well and I practise. That should stand on it's own. But it doesn't, writing is something that is beautifully read in the eyes of the beholder. The value of those words and stories depend on the reader. People who can read, do it. And do it everyday. And people who can write will continue to do it. Hopefully they do it well. Otherwise what would happen in a world without stories?
I want to write stories and tell tales and maybe even spin a yarn or two. I always have. I want to tell stories to people. Stories that roll around in my head. The characters I hang with when I am on my own, and the mischief they get into. But I want to be able to work on them, because I love them. But asking for money for something you love. Well, that just makes me feel guilty. Wanting to be working at something you're in love with, seems greedy. Most people are happy with a job, a steady pay check- Too bad if you don't like it. Do it for the money. I should be happier that I am doing what I love and that is it's own reward. Oh and it really is. I love having inside jokes in an online world. I love that I have been tough enough on myself to stick with it. But it does seem kinda lack luster when your big launch happens and it's just you typing at a computer and your dog waiting to go for a walk. Also there's a missing thank you cuz I want to reward you for reading. For making this an emotional success for me. I do want to start working on more of a contractual basis, you know like a job. But here's the problem, I don't have any experience.
I don't have experience? Okay, I am not sure how much more practise I will need before I start gaining some "experience". I have not dealt with deadlines. Because daily entries for 11 months straight, is a flimsy work ethic. Oh a track record. Perhaps a school newspaper? Head of the Young Voices of Canada club? Maybe I have 2 years to work as an unpaid intern in a publishing firm or daily rag. I should have a degree in journalism with at least 5+ years of online media editorial experience. Alright, alright already, I am so I'm not Arianna Huffington. And I am not saying I am Tolstoy, I would never be that presumptuous. I will, however wait for a critic to say it, then quote it on my FB fanpage and the outside jacket of my book, well series of books. Sorry, tangent, I was also writing my Oscar speech, but I can't decide which category I am accepting for. As far as I am concerned I have already climbed that well written mountain, in my mind. Now how do I photoshop this resume to prove I am up here? Cuz people are never going to believe I was. Okay, okay, so maybe they're right I do need a bit more practice. But I am on the journey to becoming an above average writer, if I do say so myself. And I just did.
Oh Pop culture how do I love thee? Let me count the ways. When I was growing up there was a lot of story telling. Joke telling. You heard about hip songs from that one friend who knew music. You read fashion magazines to learn style. You quoted television shows. If you wanted information about what was hip, you went to a hip person. You couldn't outright ask them, of course, because then they'd know you were not hip. You had to absorb and translate their hipness. But now! Oh my little pop culture, how you've grown.
Have you danced lately? Have you whooped'em Gangnam style? If not you should. It's really fun! Pop culture is no longer just regional- it's become a global obsession. With social media, we've all become entertainment editors- choosing, sharing and championing the next big thing. The best part about that is everyone can be Pop! No matter where, no matter who, you can set a trend. I am in love with it! Truly in love with watching mash up videos created by fanboys and girls. Tip and trick instructional videos. Watching Pop icons mock themselves- shocked that their 15 minutes is passing so fast. Doing the circuit and schmoozing with Seacrest. SNL and CNN equally intrigued with the Pop movement of the moment. Pop culture welcomes the weird, the wacky, the talented and the terrifying. There is room for us all.
Technology is helping us tell stories. Recording our jokes and teaching us that being hip comes from being yourself. When things get sad, just take a deep breath, hit the search bar and wait for that special viral feeling to overwhelm you. Or get out your camera and make a music video. Smile! Dance! Post, share, laugh and love the culture we're popping together. Then crank up the speakers, whip out that lasso, sing a song in Korean and Pop goes the world again.
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