It's A Slippery Slope

Here’s another phrase I can’t stand.

If I’ve gotten suckered into a debate (there happens to be several people in my life who love a good rousing debate) and someone says “its a slippery slope” as a justification for their argument, as far as I’m concerned the conversation is over. Because now we are just talking in absurdities. And instead of getting dragged into a reasonable debate about relevant and important subjects (which I don’t always mind), now I’m having a hypothetical argument about ridiculous and non-existant situations where anything we say has no bearing on reality or the actual argument itself. (This is what I call “quibbling” - which is just argument for argument’s sake. Don’t even bother; there are better ways to spend my time.)

I find this statement comes up a lot when discussing something like gay marriage, or legalizing marijuana.

“It’s a slippery slope. If we let a man marry a man, what next? What if he wants to marry his horse?Are you gonna let a man marry a horse (cow, sheep, its almost always a farm animal)?” Nobody mentioned farm animals. Nobody is talking about farm animals. Well, except you. Do you want to marry a horse? The argument is not whether or not it would be appropriate for that farmer to marry Babe. We are talking about two human beings, who want to commit to sharing their lives with each other in marriage and everything that entails.

If someone says “it’s a slippery slope” there really isn’t a response I can come up with that isn’t sarcastic. And I’m sure there are goat-marrying crackpots out there, but that’s not really the point. I bet when African Americans were finally allowed to vote somebody warned that it was gonna be a slippery slope. “If we let Black people vote, what next? Women??!” (While we’re here I’ll just mention that Blacks in Canada were seen as persons and given the right to vote 1837, whereas women did not get that consideration until 1929 – almost 100 years later; in the U.S it was 1870 and 1920 respectively). And I’m sure people were crying, “What next? Are we going to let my dog vote now?!”

When you insert “slippery slope” into a reasonable argument you’re suggesting that by even considering it we are all going to lose it completely. As if opening your mind to new concepts will result in a complete and utter loss of all reason and rational thought. Debating with people like that is a slippery slope too - towards futility.

I Would Have Done That

Over the last decade I have had a lot of housemates. I have had some wonderful, amazing housemates with whom I have forged tight bonds and still am close friends with to this day. I have also had roommates from hell. I could start a whole other blog called “Roommates From Hell” and fill it with outrageous anecdotes. I’ve lived with a lot of people who “would have” cleaned the bathroom, or “would have” thrown out their garbage. I lived with one roommate who I can only assume was doing a study on the breeding habits of the millipedes who took up residence under his plates in the kitchen, otherwise he “would have” done the dishes. Home is not the only place I hear this useless and ridiculous sentiment, but it is where I learned to loathe it.

I am expecting somebody to do something. They tell me they will do it. I wait and wait for them to do it. I finally do it for them. Then they come in and see it is done, or see me doing it, and say “Oh, you didn’t have to do that, I would have.”

No. Who are you lying to – me or yourself? If you were actually going to do it then you would have done it. You were given plenty of time to do it, and I know that because I didn’t want to do it and was putting it off hoping you would eventually get around to it. And if you really feel bad that I ended up doing it, how is saying “I would have done that” supposed to make anybody feel better? “Oh, really? Well in that case, thank you so much! Your good intentions made the work a breeze!”

As a good friend of mine likes to say – don’t piss on my shoes and tell me its raining. How about next time, spare me the bullshit and just get it done.

Close Talkers

I knew this girl in high-school who was what you could call a "close-talker." Except in addition to that, she would hold my wrist with her bony claw fingers while she was talking. I would back up and she would move closer, until eventually I was practically pinned against a locker. Still makes me shudder to this day. I can't remember my Woodshop teacher's name but he was a close talker too. And a yeller. One time he was yelling in my face about something - although I can't remember what - and suddenly he stopped and asked if I had pizza for lunch. Then he said "Oh no wait, that was me." Ugh!

Recently there has been a new close-talker in my life. I back up and he moves closer. We go about this little close-talking dance until finally I can wriggle myself out of the conversation. Once, we started the conversation on opposite sides of the desk. Feeling safe, I engaged him in a longer conversation then usual, until I noticed he was slowly moving closer. Eventually he, very slowly, made his way around the desk until he was actually standing over me in the chair! I realize in his case it might be a hearing issue so I always let it slide.

I may have a slighter larger personal comfort zone than most people; my "bubble" extends probably about two or three feet in each direction. But I honestly don't think we need to be able to smell eachother's breath in order to have a conversation. Blech! There just doesn't seem to be a polite way to tell someone, who genuinely wants to spend some time and have a conversation with me, to back the hell up.

It won't let me embed the video but here's the YouTube link for the Seinfeld clip:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NGVSIkEi3mM

you know what REALLY grinds my gears?

... that I don't even have time to write a fun little blog about what grinds my gears.

New post hopefully up later today

RAWWRR! RAGE MONSTER!!!

I hate pretty much everyone and everything today. I feel over-worked and under-appreciated and I just want to go to the gym and sweat it out a bit then curl up in my bed and watch Disney classics to sooth my soul which of course I obviously can't do because I never get to do anything I want to do. I can't even get a spare freakin second to eat some breakfast (in this case - a chicken burger from Wendy's because I am also battling a Hunger Monster)

The Immigration Debate

An article caught my eye today on CBC.ca 

“Politician Likens Illegal Immigrants to Feral Hogs”

Representative Virgil Peck said Tuesday that his remarks during a Monday meeting of the house appropriations committee were "regrettable." The committee was debating whether to try to control the wild hog population by using gunmen in helicopters. Peck said, "if shooting these immigrating feral hogs works, maybe we have found a solution to our illegal immigration problem." The remark drew gasps from the audience and other legislators. Peck later said he was joking and told the Lawrence Journal-World after the hearing that his constituents are upset with illegal immigration.

This is something I think about a lot as a Canadian watching the ‘Immigrant Debate’ in the U.S. I was there last year when Arizona enacted their immigration bill and I remember being incredulous, and disgusted, and saddened. And embarrassed! The entire community that we stay in is maintained, cultivated, and kept absolutely spotless and beautiful by the Mexicans who work there. They are quick, and efficient, and friendly. And just like anybody else, want a good life for themselves and their family. They don’t even presume to expect an honest wage for an honest day’s work. My heart went out to them. And let’s just get this straight before we move on – they are not stealing American jobs. They don’t sneak across the border and become teachers or dental hygenists. They are doing the jobs that nobody else wants to do.


When have Americans gotten it in their heads that only Americans can pursue the American dream? The words on their beloved Statue of Liberty read:  

"Give me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.

Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,

I lift my lamp beside the golden door"

When did this become no longer true? The population is made up of the children and grand-children and great-great-grand-children of immigrants. When was it decided that the country now belongs to them alone and they to get to prevent other immigrants and refugees from “taking over the country”???


But the most ridiculous thing is this fence. The  $49 BILLION fence that stretches a whole 700 miles (out of a 1,969 mile-long border). If a person really wants to cross the border to pursue a better life for themselves or their family, they are going to cross the border, half-ass fence in the way or not.


My thinking is, why not spend that $49 billion on immigration, integration, or citizenship programs? Now, Lizzie, you say, you live in Canada not the U.S. This is not our problem. But the problem is, I hear the same kind of ignorant and bigoted thinking coming out of mouths of CANADIANS!! And we need to nip that in the bud right now. People say they will take our jobs and take our space (take up housing/land, drain our resources etc). This kind of talk really should not be tossed around in Canada. Let’s put this into perspective. Canada is what – the 2^nd largest country in the world? 30 million people live in Canada. 30 million people live in just New York City alone. I think we have the space/resources to help a neighbour out.


I realize this was a really long post and I apologize. But the ‘Immigrant Debate’ really grinds my gears!    

Sharing A Bathroom

Sharing a bathroom with boys is at best icky, and sometimes can be downright disgusting, but that’s actually not what I’m complaining about today. As a dilemma, this is more exasperating than fury-inducing; however, it happens on a weekly basis and so it deserves mention.

 

I am not a morning person. But because I am forced to wake up and drag myself out of bed at an ungodly hour five days a week for work, I have somehow established a routine that makes mornings a little less excruciating. This routine has become crucial to getting my day off to a good (or at least less miserable) start. I wonder if you can plead “Not A Morning Person” in court? There are several things that can cause my mornings to de-rail: accidently sleeping in, having no milk for my cereal, running out of coffee, opening up the laptop to find that somebody has left it unplugged all night and now the battery is dead. But the absolute worst is not having the bathroom to myself.

Have you seen the Family Guy where Lois and Peter both wake up and then right away start brawling over who gets their morning poop first? I couldn’t find a clip to attach here. It is both hilarious and the absolute truth. That being said, I am a very private pooper. I cannot poop in public and will go to great length to avoid this. Fortunately, I poop at the same time every day. Approximately 10 -15 min after I wake up. Unfortunately, so does The Hubby. If The Hubby wakes up at the same time I do, the entire morning routine is shot.

Our bathroom is about the size of a small closet. There is hardly room for elbows. There is definitely not room for two. Also, THERE IS NO FAN, no window, no ventilation of any sort. With no ventilation, its like a sauna in there after a hot shower. All this means is that I cannot do all the things I need to do to get ready for work in the bathroom. I must enter and exit the bathroom several times in the course of toweling off, moisturizing, getting dressed, doing my hair, applying make-up, adding deodorant and perfume and general last-minute touch-ups.

If I make him wait while I monopolize the bathroom to get ready for work, I have to hear him huffing and puffing and groaning out in the living room. If  I let him use the bathroom first while I wait, I have to get ready for work in a hot stinky closet. If he’s up, there’s no way I could poop first, knowing he’s out there waiting for his turn. If I let him poop first, there’s no way I would be able to go afterwards. If I don’t get my morning poop, I’ll spend the rest of the day feeling like I’ve been gypped. 

One day we will live in a house that has more than one bathroom. Until then I’ll keep setting my alarm half an hour ahead of his.

Elevator Etiquette

This morning’s fury was not actually what I planned on ranting about today, but it came up and needed to be expressed. I’ll save my originally intended post for another day and instead bring up something that really chaps my ass:

LET OTHER PEOPLE EXIT THE ELEVATOR BEFORE YOU ENTER

Does this really need to be said? Do we need Miss Manners to write a cute little article about why your fat ass can wait its turn? Dear Miss Manners: For some reason people are always in the doorway when I’m trying to barge into the elevator. What should I do?

And while we’re on the topic – I get it, you are a super-duper important business man doing super-duper important business. But when you forget to get off the elevator at your floor because you are too absorbed in your Blackberry to notice your surroundings, you look like an idiot.

Also, please don't pass gas in the elevator. Its not that I mind you tooting - sometimes mine slip out accidently too - I just don't want you to leave and then the next person coming into the elevator thinks that rotten stench came from my bum not yours 

Them's Fightin' Words!

You know what I really need when I've been working my ass off, doing over-time every week, AND running around every single evening trying to take care of errands and life's little obligations, AND planning a wedding, AND taking care of my house's abundant needs, AND trying to make time for my man, my family, and my friends? (Did I mention it has been -30C for the last 5 months?) - Someone to tell me "wow liz you look really pale today."

DO I? Do I look pale today??!! WELL GOD FORBID! Let me just hop in my private jet to Barbados for the afternoon so that I don't offend your delicate sensibilites by not looking tanned and well-rested.

'Someone' is lucky they didn't get bitch-slapped! But, that is what this blog is for.

People Who Get Too Easily Offended

This is something that legitimately bugs me, and also is a good disclaimer for this blog. Don't read it if you are going to get offended. It is not meant to infer anything to anyone specifically - it is a just a rant, an outlet, my $0.02. In fact, if I tried to sell my opinions, they would probably be valued at less than two cents. And so would yours.

I can't stand people who call in to radio shows to complain about something they heard someone say, or write angry letters to the FCC demanding the censorship of something they have been exposed to by watching the television. With the Internet being what it is, this comes up a lot. A lot of opinions and cents being bandied about and a lot of people being offended. If you don't want to read/see/hear it, then don't read/see/listen to it!!! There are a lot of options out there, people are free to choose what they want to consume.

If you don't want to hear someone else's opinion, what makes you think anybody wants to hear yours? I think a lot of this boils down to plain old ignorance. Perhaps that person is not aware of the context of the conversation, sarcasm has flown right over their head, they don't understand the concepts being discussed, or maybe are too damn close-minded to consider anything other than what they think to be right. I honestly think some people just like to be offended. 

**Now listen, I'm not talking about blatantly hateful material here. Yes, please be offended by that. Write letters. Fart in the envelope and mail it to them. I'm talking about the mundane and easily tuned out drivel you hear and see everywhere - including blogs like this one  

Bridesmaid Dresses

Let's begin the bloodbath with the #1 item on my Shit List these days: bridesmaid dresses.

What sadist came up with this idea? Nevermind the bajillion other details that a bride-to-be has to take care of (with little to no help from your average groom-to-be, obviously). She is now placed in the delicate and precarious position of choosing the dreaded Bridesmaid Dresses for her dearest (and inevitably going-to-be-offended no matter what you do) friends. Because, you see, you can't please everybody. Even lovely, patient, and well-intentioned bridesmaids. So why even attempt the Herculean feat of selecting bridesmaids gowns, when resisting the temptation to pull a 'runaway bride' and get the hell out of dodge is a feat all its own? We are not all cookie-cutter shaped barbie dolls, somebody is going to to get the sticky end of this lollipop. And frankly, I think its me. Because no matter what dress I choose - flowy or fitted -I damned if I do and I'm damned if I dont. I am having for real anxiety-induced night terrors about this whole situation and honestly about thisclose to getting all Bridezilla up in this biz-natch and handing out Glad garbage bags (the kind with the ties for added adjustability of course!) to each of my lucky lovely ladies.