Is anyone else sick of seeing Brad and/or Jen and/or Angelina in the tabloids? It seems that every damned time I go out to get groceries I see at least one of these morons on the magazine rack. For crying out loud, the whole Angelina the homewrecker fiasco happened, what? Two or three years ago? Whatever, the point is, it happened a fucking long time ago, and no one could possibly give a shit at this point!
What's more, I fail to see why people care so much about what happens in the personal lives of celebrities in the first place. Your friend's man cheats on her, you call him a douche-bag and maybe help her slash his tires, then you move on. Brad cheats on Jen? The majority of North America knows about it, and won't SHUT THE FUCK UP ABOUT IT for years after the incident occurs! For crying out loud, they've moved on, why can't the media? In 10 years, no one's going to give a shit about them anyway because their looks will go (yes Brad, even yours), and everyone will realize that they're all just crappy actors who used to look pretty enough to make up for it.
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
There's something about babies...
A while back, I was standing outside a walk-in clinic, waiting for it to open. There was a bit of a line-up, and several people had small children. I was quite miserable that day, I was worried about some bizarre symptoms I had been experiencing, and besides that, I hate talking to doctors at the best of times. Needless to say, I wasn't in the mood to smile as I waited to see whether the doctor I ended up seeing would actually listen to me, and try to help as best he or she could, or write me a prescription for a random drug and send me off to die. As anyone who has gone to a walk-in clinic knows, it's a bit of a crap-shoot going to those places. The doctors volunteer to be there, and some of them aren't exactly medical professionals of the highest calibre.
As I stood around, a small child in the line behind me would occasionally run into the back of my leg (not exactly a coordinated youngster). Now, I am not exactly fond of children. More to the point, the little creatures are alien to me. On the rare occasion that I am left to care for them alone, I am at a complete loss for what I am supposed to do. Chances are that I'll be slapped with a court order forbidding me to reproduce should I ever express interest in doing so; and for good reason. I can't even keep fish alive.
However, occasionally I will see a child that manages to make me smile. What can I say? I might be a cynical bitch, but my heart isn't made of stone. Yes, children can be hell-spawn, but they are undeniably cute when they wish to be. A young mother who stood ahead of me held a small baby boy, about 1 1/2 years old. He had to be one of the most adorable children I've ever seen. What I found slightly disturbing was, he seemed to be fascinated by me. He would stare at me unblinkingly for as long as his mother talked to other people. I couldn't help but smile a bit, he had the sweetest, big, blue eyes I have ever seen. When I smiled, a big, ear-to-ear grin formed on his sweet little face, but I could only look at him for so long before my anti-social nature kicked me back to reality. My smile was replaced with my usual crabby scowl, and I stared at the ground.
Normally that would have been the end of it. But for the next hour until the doors to the clinic finally opened, I felt eyes on me. Every time I glanced up, I would see those big, beautiful blue eyes. When I looked at him with my trademark scowl, his grin would be replaced by a sad little frown. Seeing a baby that adorable frown tugged at my heart-strings a little, so I was forced to smile...and to keep smiling. As I watched the little boy, some of my worry left me. By the time I finally went into the clinic, my spirits were high. I don't know the name of that little boy, and I'll probably never see him again, but I know I'll remember those adorable blue eyes and that sweet baby grin for the rest of my life.
As I stood around, a small child in the line behind me would occasionally run into the back of my leg (not exactly a coordinated youngster). Now, I am not exactly fond of children. More to the point, the little creatures are alien to me. On the rare occasion that I am left to care for them alone, I am at a complete loss for what I am supposed to do. Chances are that I'll be slapped with a court order forbidding me to reproduce should I ever express interest in doing so; and for good reason. I can't even keep fish alive.
However, occasionally I will see a child that manages to make me smile. What can I say? I might be a cynical bitch, but my heart isn't made of stone. Yes, children can be hell-spawn, but they are undeniably cute when they wish to be. A young mother who stood ahead of me held a small baby boy, about 1 1/2 years old. He had to be one of the most adorable children I've ever seen. What I found slightly disturbing was, he seemed to be fascinated by me. He would stare at me unblinkingly for as long as his mother talked to other people. I couldn't help but smile a bit, he had the sweetest, big, blue eyes I have ever seen. When I smiled, a big, ear-to-ear grin formed on his sweet little face, but I could only look at him for so long before my anti-social nature kicked me back to reality. My smile was replaced with my usual crabby scowl, and I stared at the ground.
Normally that would have been the end of it. But for the next hour until the doors to the clinic finally opened, I felt eyes on me. Every time I glanced up, I would see those big, beautiful blue eyes. When I looked at him with my trademark scowl, his grin would be replaced by a sad little frown. Seeing a baby that adorable frown tugged at my heart-strings a little, so I was forced to smile...and to keep smiling. As I watched the little boy, some of my worry left me. By the time I finally went into the clinic, my spirits were high. I don't know the name of that little boy, and I'll probably never see him again, but I know I'll remember those adorable blue eyes and that sweet baby grin for the rest of my life.
Thursday, October 05, 2006
The Victim
I'm anti-social, I'm moody, and it doesn't take a lot to get under my skin. But the thing I hate more than anything else (even more than forced humility), is people who play the victim. They constantly wallow in self-pity, taking every oppotunity they can to milk you for sympathy. Sometimes, these people deserve a little pity. Their lives may have not been easy. A person can only take so much hardship before they begin to grow self-centered. It's a matter of self-preservation I suppose. But the "victims" of the world take it a little too far. A day doesn't go by that they aren't saying, "Poor me," and most of the time, they get exactly what they're after.
After a while though, the patience of even the most empathetic individual will wear thin. Sooner or later, sympathy is replaced with one of two things: irritation, or pity. The Victim doesn't want to be on the recieving end of either of these; irritation for obvious reasons, and pity because it makes them look less "strong". But in the end, they're really not strong at all. If these people would take a moment and pull their heads out of their ass, they would see the pan-handlers on the street, and people trying to keep warm in boxes and newspapers in alleys. Chances are they would kill for what The Victim has. If they were to look a bit farther, they would see the people in Africa, living in mud huts, not having clean water to drink. They would see the thousands of people dying over there every year from malnutrition, and HIV. And what about the innocent people in Irac, getting bombed on a regular basis just because they happen to live in the same country that Sadam did? My point is, no matter how shitty your life happens to be, chances are there's someone out there who has it 100 times worse. So get the fuck over yourself, stop whining, and grow the hell up.
After a while though, the patience of even the most empathetic individual will wear thin. Sooner or later, sympathy is replaced with one of two things: irritation, or pity. The Victim doesn't want to be on the recieving end of either of these; irritation for obvious reasons, and pity because it makes them look less "strong". But in the end, they're really not strong at all. If these people would take a moment and pull their heads out of their ass, they would see the pan-handlers on the street, and people trying to keep warm in boxes and newspapers in alleys. Chances are they would kill for what The Victim has. If they were to look a bit farther, they would see the people in Africa, living in mud huts, not having clean water to drink. They would see the thousands of people dying over there every year from malnutrition, and HIV. And what about the innocent people in Irac, getting bombed on a regular basis just because they happen to live in the same country that Sadam did? My point is, no matter how shitty your life happens to be, chances are there's someone out there who has it 100 times worse. So get the fuck over yourself, stop whining, and grow the hell up.
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