A Note from the Editor

I am the editor.

My father happened to read my blog post entitled Maggot Chocolate?!? and expressed his disdain at my statement that, and I quote, "he'll eat anything."

What I meant to say is that as long as it is edible and accepted by society at large, he will eat it. He is NOT a tasteless diner by any means, but he is far less picky than I am. For example, I do not eat grapes unless they are cold (i.e. refrigerated) and crispy. If they are soft, that is a giant no-go and I throw them out as starving children in various parts of the world shake their heads at me with pursed lips and glaring eyes. My dad, however, does not mind eating soft grapes as long as they are not rotten, obviously.

SO. I apologize if I gave my readers the impression that my father eats maggoty chocolate. He would never eat maggots, but I do profess that if he was a contestant on Survivor, he would win the jackpot prize because he is brave, adventurous and has taught me that one should never turn anything down without at least trying it once. He also likes coconut and fried fish.

End.

Long Overdue

Hello, world. I have finally emerged from my cave of academia to type out this entry. Thank goodness for the "thesaurus" function in MS Word: four essays later, my brain has been drained of all expanded vocabulary. But don't worry, this post will be 100% organic Samaa.

I am all for shamelessly writing about bodily functions (I think it is becoming somewhat of a trademark for me... 'tis the end of my intellect as we know it), and here I offer a list of things that should continue to be done in private as they are today, but should also be less taboo. This list is PG-rated, unless you are squeamish and/or proper with highly refined table manners, in which case, I do believe there are tea and crumpets in the next room.

1. Picking noses: Yes, it is gross to witness, but I'm pretty sure every child does this as their go-to method for nostril cleaning, and I think kids have it right. Just take a deep breath (if your sinuses will let you) and admit that there is no better way to get the debris out of your nose. I obviously reach for a tissue when my blocked airways call, but it is so frustrating having remnants left over and nine Kleenexes later, I am counting down the minutes until I can get into the shower and use the proper "tools." There is so much oxygen just waiting to be inhaled. When alone, don't be ashamed to use what God gave you.
2. Pooping in public washrooms: For hygiene reasons alone, this can be stressful, but sometimes you gotta go when you gotta go, and having to be super self-conscious if someone else is in a neighbouring stall, or washing their hands, or combing their eyelashes, is the final straw. Yes, world, everyone poops, including women (shocker). Being of the female persuasion, I often wish I was a fruit fly that could poop freely without fear of judgement. I don't know if guys have this issue with their fellow stall-mates, but I fear that if my end-products dare make a noise, I shall be condemned to Loserville by my peers for the rest of my life. I know I'm waging psychological warfare on myself, but can we all agree to not judge the various noises we hear when we are in the bathroom? Poo happens.
3. Hiccuping: Unless your loud, drunken hiccup interrupts the launch of a spaceship, I don't think hiccups should be embarrassing. I've seen enough people blush and guiltily excuse themselves for something that isn't smelly, messy, or even voluntary. Your diaphragm appreciates your concern, but it will keep on going regardless of how you feel. So unlike that air bubble trapped in your throat, just go with the flow.
4. Smiling at strangers: Okay, I'm getting off the body talk train before I lose all my readers. Years of working in customer service have brainwashed me into smiling at whomever I cross paths with. However, I find that younger people (ages preteen to twenty-I-know-everything-five) tend not to smile back and, on the contrary, look at you like your sinister face is a portal to the underworld. I've seen people recoil in fear as if I'm about to mug them, or else look at me like I have real nerve trying to be friendly with someone of their high caliber. I have no ill intentions... unless you blatantly disregard my toothy grin. Then somebody gonna get a hurt real bad.

I hope you agree that we need to slow down on the judgement. I think if animals had the capacity for human language, they would tell us how silly we are for confining ourselves while they poop freely in open grass. Although I do agree we should all go potty in enclosures, we should also accept that we, too, are animals (with iPhones!) and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that.

I shall write with words that incur more pleasant imagery next time. Thank you for sticking around... like my boogers.

Rotting Garbage is Amazing

Ask my parents and they will tell you I am Mt. Vesuvius when it comes to angry outbursts. Unfortunately for them, I am only like this at home because, hey, they're my parents, they will forgive me forever! Right?

However, to ease their suffering, I have figured out a solution to make the nasty feelings go away.
Contrary to popular belief, venting anger just makes you angrier by activating the anger/aggression centres of your brain - PSYCHOLOGY, woohoo! Of course, it's equally unhealthy to suppress it, but stewing in it is just as bad. So, I have come up with a handy dandy technique that will make you go from a raging fire to a calm quagmire (...this is why I don't write song lyrics).

Whenever I am mad at something or someone or all of humanity, I will first bask in it for a while so it doesn't manifest into some kind of intense craving for Cheez Whiz (seriously, what is that stuff made of?!). Then, I start listing everything I like about my object of hatred. I force myself to appreciate that motherchucker like it is my last lease on life. I don't even care if my reasoning is hardly valid - like how I enjoy the never-ending cold and ice (welcome to Canada) because it motivates my cat to snuggle with me and mooch off my body heat. And I like the pouring rain because I get a free car wash; plus, if it's warm enough outside, I can reenact scenes from all my favourite romantic movies, i.e. I dance with my invisible "air" boyfriend.

It's surprising how quickly my anger dissipates. Appreciation of all things, annoying or otherwise, is a force to reckon with!

Before I sign off:

My blogging application is kind enough to let me stalk my reading audience by listing which countries you all are from. I just want to thank every single person out there for reading what I write. I am quite biased towards you non-Canadians because, in my head, I imagine I am making someone smile many miles away. However, no matter where you're from, you externally validate me and I LOVE it. Thank you!

Stuck in a Polar Vortex

My immune system is forming a union to protest the extreme temperature fluctuations that are keeping spring at bay.

Anyway. I participated in a photo shoot with my dance team yesterday, so the day before, I went to get most of my body waxed. Yes, people, I am a hairy animal. I like my body hair, it keeps me warm in winter, but to conform to social norms, I decided to bite the bullet and evict my follicular babies from their anchors. (I have reasons for waxing vs. shaving, but let's not discuss all my bodily functions!)

Let me tell you something about getting my legs waxed: worst pain of my life. "Suck it up, princess," you say. NO. I sucked, slurped, and vacuumed all of it up and it was still so painful, halfway through the process, my body started trembling and sweating profusely from shock. God knows why my dear esthetician didn't call it quits after I turned into a vibrating sprinkler. As I dug my nails into the spa chair, convincing myself not to escape half-naked, I thought about how ridiculous I would look to an alien. There I was, turning red from inflammation because my hair was being ripped from its roots, serving me absolutely no biological advantage. I was removing a natural, functional part of my body because I have learned that doing so makes me more of a "lady." Of course, the hair on my head should be thick and lush, but anywhere else is, "Ew, gross!"

Hair wicks away moisture (underarm hair), creates a barrier to prevent pathogenic bacteria from entering (nasal and pubic hairs), and keeps us warm (body hair). In my humble opinion, hair growth is symbolic of good health, fertility, and vitality.

No, I'm not hippie enough to parade around looking like an animated shag carpet, and I would be lying if I said that being "smooth" doesn't make me feel confident and sexy. However, these psychological rewards are a product of our culture and I don't think young girls should grow up thinking the removal of something so natural is necessary to be beautiful and accepted.

That is all. I will continue waxing when it is required of me, but a message to my future husband: I have hair, it is a part of who I am, and I will remove it only when I feel like it. Caress that, sucka!

Glitching

The other day, my mother dearest was making her way to the kitchen when she tripped over the vacuum cleaner. From a good five meters away, I immediately said, "Sorry."
Soon after, the same word came out of my mouth when my friend tripped over her own two feet while we were traipsing through the mall.

Apparently, I apologize on behalf of all Newtonian laws. These last two instances really got me thinking, what on God's green earth am I sorry for?

Now that it is a part of my awareness, I have caught myself saying sorry A LOT, for absolutely no darn reason. I cringe every time I say it, but it reflexively pops out like I'm a malfunctioning PEZ® machine.

Source: http://www.candywarehouse.com

(For all you non-90s children, this is a PEZ® candy dispenser, akin to my free-for-all "sorry" delivery system.)

I thought of possible reasons for this. I am either subconsciously taking every opportunity to compensate for my own wrongdoings/failures, or else I have the programmed self-esteem of a slug.

Well, that's all I got. My sinuses are currently infected and it hurts my head to come up with anything profound and enlightening. Love yourself, don't be sorry for who you are, etc. etc. All these notions are already within you! That's why they resonate so well when you read the same words on paper (e-paper?).

Alright, I am going to go wallow in self-pity over my illness now. I think a nice, steaming cup of tea will do...

Oh yes, and I shall stop unnecessarily apologizing. The world can kiss my sorry butt.