So much better

There are times where I look back in my life and realize I have relationships with people that I shouldn't have. It isn't because they're horrible people, but because they aren't the people I should have in my life.

Why did I have relationships with them? Because I had to.

It has been said the reason why people pass through your life is to learn about yourself. They allow you to act and react in a manner which is reflective of the person you are (even if you don’t react, that’s still indicative of a behaviour).

So, I grew as a person after learning what I needed to learn from them. Although I thought they were in my life because of a deep-seated need to connect with someone - anyone - that will lavish some attention on me to prove my worthiness in the world, it wasn’t the reason.

Without them, I wouldn't know the person who I was, am and was going to be. Thankfully, I am so much better having them in my life... even if I’m lucky to have them out of my life because some of them were assholes.

Never get chapped

One of the benefits of kissing someone wearing lip balm on is your lips never get chapped.

Multiple personalities for sale

When I feel the need to purge some stuff from my life, I log onto Craigslist and Kijiji and post some ads. It’s a great way to sell what you have that you don’t need while making a couple bucks. Lucky for me, I don’t wreck anything and normally keep the original packaging just in case I have to return it to the store.

I use an alternate e-mail address (for my junk mail) to keep track of all those who send me messages, claiming they’re interested in my wares. When it’s time to meet and do an exchange, I give them an alias, and I ask for their phone number because I don’t want them to have mine (it’s private).

The reason why I don’t use my real name and give them my phone number is because I don’t want these people to come knocking at my door if they want to return what they bought. This isn’t retail and there’s no exchange policy - final sale, only.

But, I still can’t get over the fact that people will call me by my alias when I approach them. Part of me giggles inside and that’s why I appear to smirk when I introduce myself. There’s even been a time where I almost said, “Uh, no. My name is...” when they called me by nom de plume.

Thankfully, no one has ever called out the other name while in public. Now, that would be awkward. I wouldn't be able to do a proper exchange without proof of purchase.

The fart talk

“Ok, we have to talk about it and get it out of the way.”

“What?”

“The fart talk. We have to have the fart talk.”

“Uh, ok.”

“I don’t care if you do and when you do it, but please, as a favour to me, don’t do it in bed.”

"I’ve never farted in bed with you."

"As long as I’ve been here, I know you haven’t. Then again, I’ve been holding them in while in bed; that’s why I always go to the bathroom in the middle of the night."

"Why? I don’t care if you fart in bed, as long as you don’t pull a dutch oven scenario."

Laughter.

"Uh, no. I flap the covers to air them out."

Laughter.

"And, I’d also appreciate it if you don’t get up, like you’re doing right now and let one rip in my face."

Laughter.

"Fine."

Laughter.

White stains on black fabric

I've discovered almost nothing removes semen stains from black jersey.

It's only surgery

Going under the knife isn’t as terrifying as it sounds. People are worried that it will be painful (and sometimes it is) and that the recovery will be hard and arduous.

On more than one occasion, I’ve been asked the same question and my answer is always the same.

“So, are you nervous?”

“Why should I be? It’s only surgery,” is my reply.

But, I think I know what they’re really getting at: Do I worry about dying while/after an operation?

After thinking about it for two seconds, my answer remains the same: Why should I be? It’s only surgery.

These procedures are done in the hospital by qualified specialists. I put my faith in those who are handling the sharp instruments. I’m not getting anything done in the alleyway of a Mexican shantytown.

And if I have to die, at least it’s a sanitary place where I’ll be taken care of immediately. The last thing I’d want to happen is to be found in an unpleasant manner, and ready for a salacious page six story about how I got there in the first place.

Surgery, again

Today I am having surgery and it's not any easier after the first couple of times.

Five thoughts for this week

Why is it that men’s asses get flatter while women’s asses get fuller as they age?

‘Thyroid’ is the new get out of jail card for fat people.

Why does pubic hair turn white at a different rate than the white hair on your (other) head?

I need to sell some old stuff to make enough money so I can get new crap to replace it with.

Why do you have to start happy hour in your time zone?

Until something better comes along

In life, there will inevitably be a fork in the road that many people will face. Two choices, one selection. Which is the correct (and possibly blissful) path?

If one is chosen, another is left behind. But, for whatever reason people go down one road and not another is never known. Sometimes it's a whim, sometimes it's chance, and sometimes they see one path as being prettier than another and decide that the gardener did a better job maintaining the landscaping.

And, that's how it is with a lot of people in my life. They stick around until something better comes along. It's sad to think of people that way, but it happens more often than I'd like to think and admit.

Maybe they just think I'm not good enough for them and it's time to "move on." When I see who they've "moved on" with, I have to scratch my head (and get a little angry) especially since my replacement is a hell of a lot uglier than I am.

It's unfortunate they never realized how good they had it. I'm not perfect, but I'm not half-bad. And when they come back (which most do), they assume it's going to be like it was. It never is and it never will be.

I move on, as well.

Cell by date

For years, people have been commenting on the vintage of my phone. Commenting isn’t the word; insulting is the more correct term. It’s so old that people wonder if it still works. Truth be told, I’ve had it for eight years and it never let me down.

Its main purpose is to contact people in a quick manner. It's not used for texting, or spending five minutes on the phone, trying to decipher who is going to meet whom, where and when.

So, why would I trade it in? Because it’s rather basic, even for me.

Because new products are introduced to the market (almost every six months), my phone has aged exponentially. It had limited texting abilities, no camera, no web surfing options, had only six rings to choose from, and my battery would only last for 15 minutes on a phone call (which is a good thing if you don’t want to talk on the phone for very long).

So, I finally did it. I went ahead and purchased a new phone. It wasn’t without its drama (then again, nothing is without its drama when it involves me). It was my Christmas and birthday present. And, for what it cost, it should’ve been given to me as a gift from my cell phone provider.

It’s sleek, thin and wrapped in black. Basically, it’s me, only digital.

Of course, I’m not going to throw it out. It’s a collector’s item. Also, if my new phone happens to break down in less than 8 years, than I have a back-up.