Friendship Highlight: Elin Bäcklund

My friends, welcome to the segment of the program where we kick back, relax, and pay attention to me groveling at the feet of those who deserve it. That's right, it's FH day! To all of those who keep asking me "When are you doing me?" the answer is I'll be doing you later. As in, you've now been pushed back. As in, I'm now making you purposefully wait and wait and wait until you think I'm never going to highlight you...then POW, right in the kisser. Right when you least expect it. I'm going Pearl Harbour on your asses but without the whole "war" thing. That's too expensive for my budget.


Anyhow, this highlight is going out to my dear friend Elin Bäcklund who has been a dear friend to me for quite a few years now (don't ask me how many, I lost track). Even with her being all the way in Sweden and my being here in Canada, we've managed to have a pretty awesome friendship with tons of stories. Not the kind of adventures I've spoken about previously (yet), but we still have memories. 

I don't even know what's more cute; her or the kitten. Elin is the sweetest, nicest, most genuine person I've ever known and is the sort of person that makes me wish I was a better individual. You know, classy, genuinely good, the kind who wouldn't turn over to the Sith side in a heart's beat. Everything I've ever wanted to be as a woman she already is. I can't imagine anyone ever not liking her or wanting to be around her. Her goodness is so contagious that if Hitler was still alive, Elin would've been the next weapon we sent over to defeat him. He would've melted in her ooey goodness. Now, I'm not saying she's a goody two shoes because no one can stand those. No, she knows how to have fun but is also the epitome of the statement of having a heart of gold. That was written just for her (or so I'm convinced). She's also one of the strongest people I know. Not many have known the uphill battle she's had to fight but not only did she fight it but she also won. Took herself on, told herself "Na uh, not today bitch", and dominated. 

Words can't express how proud of her I am and how happy I am to have her as a friend of mine. She's sort of like that cookie you want when you're 3 years old but the jar is too far, yet you still find a way to get that cookie. You're so proud of yourself for getting it that you don't even want to eat it. Elin, you're my cookie. I promise that I won't eat you, though. That'd just be weird ;)

Also, be forewarned that now your nickname is cookie. It's done. In fact, I'm going to try it out right now for size. I love you, cookie <3
Yup, that works nicely.

Ad Perpetuam Rei Memoriam

October 13th is always a tough date for myself and my family. It was my stepfather's birthday. The hooligan was born on Friday the 13th in the month most associated with badassery when it comes to death, ghosts, vampires, and other unChristian things the Vatican frowns upon. He died a few years ago and I miss him dearly to this day. Dearly as in I can be broken down to cry like a little schoolgirl who just learned what a "period" is. However, this year I'm ditching the melancholic vibe. I've done that enough, as has everyone. It's about time I showed the world who he was and not in a mourning fashion but in a celebrating fashion. Well, more poking fun at him and posting embarrassing pictures of him than celebrating but it's all the same thing in my books!

He looks like such a square here, yes, but do not be fooled; he wreaked havoc even back then. I can't tell you how many stories there are about the hell he'd create around him just for shits and giggles. Like how he destroyed his cousin's jeep because he wanted it but couldn't have it (or something along those lines). Also, it is safe to assume that his angelic smile got him out of a lot of crap. I learned a lot about getting out of crap from him but more importantly, I learned how to get into crap. Good ol' crap!

This was "the baby". Screw me, screw my sister who hadn't even been born by this time. THIS was the beloved one and by god this car earned that right. In case you've no idea of the god you're staring at this is what's called a Mazda RX-7. Baby girl would call to my Dad and I early Saturday mornings calling "Kamaaaal....Beeeeth...come ride with meeee". We had absolutely no choice but to bid its calling. To this day, I still hear her inside my very soul.

You only wish your Dad was this cool. The kind of Dad who would sit there and glare into your very soul while you pinned your favourite bow into his hair. The kind of Dad who would only beg this picture would not be shown to the public when your spouse grabs the camera. I don't know why; he rocks the pink bow look. Also, your parents are hoping you're not the kind of child that I am who would then in later years post the picture in a public forum for everyone to see. 

Unfortunately, I can't take credit for the Minnie Mouse ears or the picture. This is my Mother's handywork. In this moment, I'm very proud of her taking advantage of someone while unconscious. My mind is making so many mental notes about the endless possibilities. This was taken when they got married at Disney World and you can bet your ass I got to go. The good days when tie die shirts and Minnie Mouse ears totally didn't clash.

Can you see why my sister and I like hats so much? Hair accessories were this man's "thing". It's a shame the whole tie die shirt thing didn't catch on with us offspring but there's still a few years yet to let that develop. This wig was infamous in the family and made its rounds. I wore it, my Mom wore it, Dad loved it. We could all feel like 80s glam rock stars! Pfft, what am I kidding? Secretly, we are 80s glam rock stars. Go on; be jealous. Our groupies are absolutely legendary.

See? This is the 80s glam rock train, nonstop all the way to Rockville, baby! Denim was all the rage because it was the material that just didn't give a fuck. Dad's not really giving the peace sign there; he's ready to gouge your eyes out if you get any closer with that camera. Screw your pink bows and Minnie Mouse ears! In reality, this was the family on a trip to some farm in a place I can't remember. All I remember is I tried milking a cow and my little sister discovered her love for baby pigs. No, I'm not talking about Justin Bieber and Selena Gomez, I mean the animals. God.

I figured it would be nice to end on a "nice" family picture. Especially with a bonus family member in there, my Auntie Binde! This was when Auntie and my uncle Manoj got married. They had some bogus belly dancer who decided to shake her stuff right in front of me. See how young I am here? Can you understand why I'm tainted as a human being now? Do you know the things I've seen?? Anyway, it was a fun night where many of us learned that we will never be stars in a Bollywood movie. Not sure if Dad kept his tie on for very long after this picture. When he partied, he meant Business with a capital B which automatically entails tie-throwing.

This is the man that I remember who made up so much of not only my childhood but also my personality. If it weren't for his music influences, I wouldn't be the rocker/metaler that I am today. I wouldn't have the sense of humour that I do. I wouldn't have the willing spirit in me to kick ass that I do (not like I succeed. Kicking the shins is not a good fighting move). It's still hard to accept that he's gone and I'll always have my moments. Hell, looking at these pictures I know I'll be having one soon. However, the moments I have mean that he's still alive in me and I wouldn't trade that for anything. Nope, not even a pool filled with $50 Billion dollars and lord knows what I would do for that pool of $50 Billion dollars. When the moments are over I still have the good memories and all the lessons I learned from him. I also have the true family and friends who continue to help me get through the loss. It's not an easy process and without them it'd be a helluva lot harder.

So here's to you, Dad. You'd better have WIFI up wherever the hell it is you are and you'd better read this. Mainly because I want you to know that the world sees how you are totally stylin' in that pink bow. I love you, I miss you, and all of us down here are continuing the 80s glam rockstar life for you. You wouldn't believe what a groupie did to me the other day....

Author's Note: Thanks to my uncle, Anoop, for unknowingly supplying me with all the pictures I've used in this blog post. Facebook's awesome/a bitch like that! <3

Photog Friday 3

It's that time of the week where I shamelessly whore out my photography content from my dA account! It's a fun time, a happy time, and a time where I keep reminding myself to finally look up some tutorials on how to take better pictures. I digress, however.

This week we're going back to the nature theme but there's a little something extra in the photo that makes it special. The photo was taken a year ago when my sister, mother and I went to Fern Resort up North. It's a beautiful place and as a family we had a lot of fun. Even stole a few of their infamous honey buns to bring home with us since they were that addictive.


The last night we were there, we were treated to a beautiful, purple sky over the water. I knew that I absolutely had to try and get some shots of it. This is the sort of scenery you rarely get in a city or even in a small town. To my surprise and pleasure, I realized that I wasn't the only one trying to capture the magic. Another woman was down by the water with her point and shoot, taking shot after shot after shot. She seriously wouldn't stop but I couldn't blame her. I had been doing the exact same thing. It actually took me a few moments to realize that hey, this was an awesome moment to capture in itself. 


I didn't ask her permission. I didn't talk to her. Hell, I don't think she ever even realized I was there. All I did was aim my camera and press the button. Boom. Magic. Though the picture is a bit grainy since I wasn't using the best camera I was, and still am, very pleased with the result. Not very often do you not only get such a picture handed to you on a platter but also get another person who appreciates it as much as you do. 


So there you have it. Photog #3. As always, if you'd like to take a sneak peek at the rest of my gallery you can just click  here. Just keep in mind that it's cheating. No one likes a cheater! With that, thank you for reading and indulging me. Until next week!

Hipsters - An Investigative Probe You Haven't Heard Of

This is a true story. It happened to a friend of a friend of mine. Actually, to someone who's just my friend and happens to know someone who identifies themselves as a Hipster. This generation uses the term as loosely as other terms such as "emo", "scene", "love", and such phrases like "I'll never hurt you" and "I swear, it only happened one time". However, as much as the term Hipster is tossed about do we even really know what a Hipster is? 


Back in my day (the glory days) we had several different terms for people, all of which were straight forward. Growing up with those terms means I still use them on a daily basis. Jocks, preps, emo kids, all of which were easy enough to identify. When the Hipster term made its way into my generation it was easy to apply the right people to the term. It simply meant that it was someone who thought they were better than you because everything they did and affiliated with was "underground". Bands, clothing, you name it. Everything they did was stuff you wouldn't get because you hadn't even heard of it and chances are you never would. There. That was the standard for a Hipster. Nowadays, the definition seems to be a huge clusterfuck of criteria and standards that differs per person. Everyone claims to know what a Hipster is but everyone's definition seems different. Here are just a few of those definitions:

• "Back in the seventies it  used to mean someone hip...someone who was cool."
• "An aging person in their 30s who still likes hip hop."
• "Teenage cool alert wannabe."
• "Hipster = liking obscure things like 70s music and decent anime."
• "Pretentious prick with a poor sense of fashion taste and hypocrite of the highest order, constantly talking about hating things that are mainstream then buying Starbucks and Macs and buying all their clothes from Pacsun and Aeropostle."

As you can see, I wasn't kidding when I said the definitions can differ. Not only can it be different but some people aren't even on the same page as the other when it comes to identifying these Hipster types. So what is a Hipster, then? What is the criteria that makes one up? Who falls into this category? How do they see themselves? Better yet, how does the world see them on average?

For the most part, the people who are outside of the Hipster circle seem to use the label as a negative connotation. That's something that everyone seems to agree on. Is it because of the aforementioned attitude of "I know more than you, I know better than you" that seems to be their trademark? Is it because they have managed to form a sub-culture all their own? Or maybe it's because in their search to be anti-mainstream they've become just that; mainstream. Whatever it is, hating on Hipsters is something that seems to unite people for they are, indeed, a kind of people who are looked down upon.

Now tell me how you really feel.

To fully understand Hipsters (to the best of my ability) I turned to Wikipedia for what they deemed was an overall definition of them. The page for Hipsters (contemporary subculture) says, "are a subculture of young, recently settled urban middle class adults and older teenagers with musical interests mainly in indie rock that appeared in the 1990s. Other interests in media include independent film, magazines such as Vice and Clash, and websites like Pitchfork Media". With this definition, though, all we get is that Hipsters are defined by outside influences. That there's nothing within their lifestyle or with their attitude that sets them apart. How accurate is that, though? I don't believe anyone is just defined by that. Sure, as a metalhead a lot of my influence comes from the music I listen to but I'm not so 2 Dimensional that it's only the music which makes me who I am and sets me into that label. So it's hard for me to believe that any subculture can be defined that way.

Next stop: Urban Dictionary. The site is a bit scary for me thanks to some of the definitions people have sent me over the years but it's a great place to explore today's culture and the terms that define it. That being said, one has to keep in mind that most/all of the entries are submitted by readers. Wikipedia does the same thing but at least they're trying to regulate it now. The days of reading about Hitler creating Scientology are over, unfortunately. Urban Dictionary has TONS of entries for the definition of Hipster so I decided to use the entry with the most "thumbs up". It reads like a book and the author is obviously pro-Hipster but it's good that it gives us an insider view of how they see themselves. 

"Hipsters are a subculture of men and women typically in their 20s and 30s that value independent thinking, counter-culture, progressive politics, an appreciation of art and indie-rock, creativity, intelligence, and witty banter."

Do I agree with this definition? Not overly. I know many people who can think for themselves, aren't the biggest fans of society, can appreciate art, who are creative and smart, who can banter the witty out of anyone, and who isn't a Hipster in the slightest. However, this is how they define themselves. They see themselves as stand-alones in a corrupt world of mainstream mediocrity, almost as if they alone are the saviours of creativity and free thought in this world. While this is idiotic thinking on their part we have to remember that this is their view of who they are. It's a hard pill to swallow and perhaps that's where the resentment for them comes from. Who the hell are they to say that anyone who isn't like them is essentially a stupid sheep that follows what everyone else is doing, blindly following government, trends, consumerism, etc? And it doesn't matter what we say or do to prove them wrong; they're not going to think any differently any time soon. We're the stupid ones, remember? They know all. In the subculture world they think they are the Messiah. 

 

You thought I was joking.

So, where did the Hipster come from then? Well, Wikipedia says they came from the 1940s back when Jazz music was making its debut. Hipsters were identified as the white kids who more found the lifestyle of the black Jazz musicians a hell of a lot more stimulating and appealing than the typical American Dream. WWII changed that, however, for afterwards Hipsters became the white kids who would hitchhike and travel to better themselves. Separate themselves from the world as they knew it. This is a characteristic that modern day Hipsters have tried to keep alive. They want us to think they're completely separate from us, eternally searching for a new and improved them, a level of reflection that is clearly above the rest of us. Every subculture has a sense of being separated from society as a whole but it seems like Hipsters have taken a very pretentious and arrogant way of expressing that. Whatever happened after the 1940s is just speculation. You could say they involved into Hippies and then went on to be Hipsters. You could look deeper into it and bring up all these past subcultures they could have came from. What I've learned is Jazz and black people are to blame for the modern day Hipster nonetheless. Gee, thanks black people!

So from all this insight and information, do we get a definition? It's hard to say. Outsiders call them "pretentious", they see it as "educated". "Arrogance" is seen as "confident". "Jerk" misconstrued as "misunderstood". I've come to the conclusion that there's no clear definition of a Hipster unless you just want to limit to someone who wears Ray Ban sunglasses, listens to indie music, and watches underground movies you've never heard of. That's a really shallow definition. Anything further than that is susceptible to whether or not you actually are a Hipster, are for or against the Hipster cause, like or dislike the Hipster people.

I know someone who's all for them.

If this is all too confusing or is too long of a read for you, my friend James sent me an amazing link that hilariously offers its own explanation of what makes a Hipster and where they came from. You can find the link here: Evolution of the Hipster. 

As for what my own definition of a Hipster is, well, I now have to think about it after all the reading and research I did (aka the two webpages I read). There seem to be so many factors that contribute to it and there are even different  kinds of Hipsters too. We may not know what makes one or why they stick around to put up with the rest of us but I think it's safe to say that this subculture has all of us transfixed on them.

Which, I think is safe to assume, is exactly what they want.

Retail Hell

100% of my job experience thus far has come in the form of customer service. Why that is I'm not entirely sure but there you have it. I only started working once I was 17 (being the lazy bugger that I am) so it's not like I have oodles of noodles of experience, but I do have a few stories that are good to tell around the campfire. The same campfire that Jason will always look out for to get his next serial killer fix, by the way. I'm a survivor. Don't forget it.


My survival skills don't just revolve around dodging machete-wielding maniacs, however. Retail is the sort of job where you need that survival instinct. If you don't have it, you're going to get eaten alive by not only bitchy customers but pent up bosses, disgruntled co-workers, power-tripping management, and the ever present sales goal that can never be achieved. Once you sign up for the job, your soul is now the property of whatever company you work for. Once upon a time I had a soul. Now it's replaced by memorized sales every week, what's "in" concerning the fashion world, and elastic-waist pants that older women seem to love so much. Yea, I can find those with my eyes closed. I'm all set for my elder years (if I live long enough to see them years).


Most of the grief, mind you, comes from you guys. Society. The customers. The majority of my stories come from dealing with the lot of you and my main question to you is this; do you not remember what a hanger is or how to use it? Too many times have I and my co-workers cleaned up an area perfectly, made it shine and sparkle like gold, only to turn our backs for 5 minutes and return to the remains of Hurricane Katrina in our store. Clothes won't even just be on the floor. They'll be flung over racks, stuffed into crevices we didn't even know existed (Narnia is now in the dress section), and pretty much treated like the rags you wash your car with. I understand that when you're shopping that you want easy access to everything. That and you do enough cleaning at home. Why be conscious about it in a store where there's people to do it for you? Well, because we clean at home too and there's only so much of us versus you guys. If you're going to trash our store, don't come back later to bitch about how trashy our store looks. 


That's just a small thing for me, though. I'm mostly at the cash register, taking people's money for my company. As such I get to meet quite a variety of different people. Some are really nice, like this old man who periodically comes in to share chocolate with all of us. It may sound sketchy but none of us have blacked out to only wake up in an unknown place with our pants missing yet. He just likes to come in, share some chocolate, and tell us stories about his granddaughters of whom he is so proud. My family has never been that proud of me so it's quite interesting to see that sort of emotion up close. Almost like watching a movie but you get free snacks!


All that being said it should be noted that for every nice person there's about 4 jackasses to make up for it. Jackasses or people who you can't help but wonder how they remember to breathe. No word of a lie, a woman asked me if I could change her limit on her bank account with RBC. Last time I checked, I'm not the bank. I even told her so. However, her disappointment was genuine that I didn't have the power to hack into RBC's banking system to increase the limit she had on her account so she could buy a few shirts. Shirts that would be on sale for the entire week, nonetheless. It could be argued that she was confused for she was elderly and also not from this country. It could also be argued, however, that I don't look like a goddamn bank teller.


There are also those who seem to think they know how to do my job better than me. Recently a Russian man tried to tell me how to calculate the percentage being taken off of a sale item. I'll be the first to admit that math is not my cuppa. If someone gave me an algebra equation, put a gun to my head, and told me to solve it I would just tell the person he might as well shoot me. Math and I don't get along. That's where the calculator in my cash register comes in handy! I don't care how Russian you are. You could ride a bear into my store and threaten to have it bite my head off. You could send Russian Spetsnaz babies in to destroy me in the most gruesome way possible. I'm still taking a computer's word over yours, especially if you're being a dick and especially if I have all the prices memorized after dealing with the sales all day. After telling him so in a diplomatic fashion (as diplomatic as I can be, mind you) he tried telling me about his years in sales working for such and such, owning such and such company for such and such years. Ok, I get it. You're a Russian mogul. The fashion world's answer to Putin. Get over it.


My ultimate favourite thing is when dealing with someone who is bitchy, uppity, snobbish, and watching them then struggle to use their debit/credit cards. There's just something so satisfying to have an individual treat you like you don't know what you're doing only to have them humiliate themselves by having no idea about what they're doing. At that point, I'll walk them through the steps just to add insult to injury. It usually goes something like this:


Bitchy Customer: "So, it's a swipe?"
Me: "No, you use your chip."
Bitchy Customer: *Swipes the card*
Me: "No, insert the chip at the bottom"
Bitchy Customer: "Oh..." -attempts to do so- "It doesn't go in"
Me: *Easily inserts the card for them*
Bitchy Customer: "Oh...ok, so what do I do now?"
Me: "Follow the prompts on the screen."
Bitchy Customer: *Puts in pin number*
Me: "No, you have to accept the transaction, choose your account, then put your pin number in"
Bitchy Customer: *Spontaneously combusts from the effort*


If the customer survives the eternal hellfire they've brought upon themselves from the vast amounts of concentration this takes, they're so frustrated and embarrassed that they shut right up about anything they might have been saying to me before. For the cherry on the cake, I then act very sweet and hope that they have an honest-to-goodness great day! 


These are just a few examples of not what only I put up with but what anyone in the retail business lives on a day-to-day basis. We've all had our intelligence questioned, our integrity put on the line, our patience tested, our lives threatened (no joke), and our faith in humanity broken down. Which brings us to the question of why do it? Well, someone has to. We can't all just walk out on retail and leave all you dumbasses to do it yourselves! You can't use your debit cards, you can't find change rooms that are right there, you don't know what size you are, you don't even know what you're looking for half the time! In a way, retail workers are the superheroes of the everyday world! We save you from not only looking like shit but from getting yourselves killed between women's wear and shoes!


Actually, I just do it for the large sums of money that I obviously make in a part-time position at the minimum wage rate.

Friendship Highlight: Amanda Schroeder

This blog has taken a more rant-like tone than I had intended. Sure, maybe my rants make sense or ring true. Perhaps they're amusing or give you some food for thought. Maybe the rants just make you want to gauge my eyes out with a fork, use a butter knife on my throat, and use a spoon for...well, I'll leave that option to you. Despite all that, I want to take a break from rants and focus on something more important.


I have the best inner circle of friends in the world. There's absolutely no contesting that. You can tell me stories about how your friends may have held your hair when you puked or covered your bar tab. Hell, you could even tell me that a friend gave up their firstborn child so that your life could be saved and I would still be convinced that my friends are the most awesome people in existence. Not only are the types of people who don't annoy or bore me, but they've gone above and beyond for me in every way possible (someone has totally given me one of their organs). As such, every once in a while at random times I'm going to be doing a Friendship Highlight on this blog. There's no rhyme or reason as to what order I choose people so if you're not first or if you're last, don't take it as a personal affront. All of my close friends are dear to me and I'm using this as a means of expressing it.


That being said, my first friend to debut my FH blog is Amanda Schroeder. This is her here. Look and drool. Be in awe. Appreciate. Kiss her feet. Sacrifice a sacrificial lamb on a Satanic alter.

Amanda and I have been friends since high school, back in my Ottawa days. She always stood out in my mind as someone who was genuine, honest, sweet, generous, kind....the adjectives continue in a positive light. Throughout the years our friendship has only become stronger as we both share our experiences with each other without holding back any detail. That's the kind of friendship I really appreciate; someone who I can trust enough (and who trusts me enough) to not hold back any sort of detail whatsoever when it comes to any situation, experience, or event. When we get together to hang out she's always up for any adventure and actually suggests adventures of her own. Yes, she initiates adventure. Do you know how hard it is to find that in a friend these days? When it comes to anything that I do (this blog included) she's my personal cheerleader and constantly pumping up my self esteem. 

Beautiful, both inside and out, I know I'm damn lucky to have her as not just a friend but as a best friend. Oh yea, there's a big difference. If I was forced to put the fate of my life in her hands I would have no qualms or worries about doing so. I can barely trust most people to get my coffee order right.  So thank you, Ms. Schroeder, for being one of the best friends I've had in the history of best friends and for putting up with me all this time with a smile. It's not an easy task so all the more power to you. Now for some Amanda pictures that I completely took and posted with her permission (not).

So cute when she's been drinking. This is from the night I posted my first Adventure blog about. It should be noted that a lot of the adventures I have are Amanda-related. Come to think of it, I'm pretty sure I should apologize for that at some point for the things she's seen as a result.

Never before has anyone ever been so excited and satisfied by spaghetti before this woman. Either that or someone laced the food. Believe it or not, it wasn't me. Swear to god.

One of my favourite pictures of us. Take a good look. This is how happy we're going to be when we run away to New Zealand and live with the wolves, leaving society behind. Might let a couple scruffy men join us. Might.

I apologize if I come off as corny, cheesy, or any other food-related description that is in no way related to a good digestive system. This is what my good friends do to me: they make me mush because they are that good to me. Stay tuned for who I might highlight next. In the meantime, I hope you enjoyed this, Amanda. Love you lots doodlebug! <3

Plenty of Fish: End Transmission

Well, I've had it. Reached my limit. Hit the end of my patience. I have deleted my PoF account and I cannot tell you how liberated I feel in doing so. Sure, I got some good stories, had a few laughs. However, there's no way in HELL I'll ever do something like that ever again.


Now, to be fair, I did make a new friend who's into metal and all that jazz (Hi John!). I can't deny that. Also, as I've pointed out before, I know a few other people who have had success in finding some pretty decent people on PoF. All the power to them. They must be the most patient people in the world. Being on that site for a week made me lose a part of my soul I'll never get back. I am forever tainted when it comes to what's now the norm for the dating world. Don't fool yourselves. Online dating is the greatest thing in matchmaking since sliced bread, It's kicking up a storm and not just among the desperados who wouldn't even get a life partner if they paid good money for it.


That all being said it's just not something that I feel I need or want. I'm single and damn proud of it. No, it's not a feminist, power-to-the-ladies thing. I hate that FemiNazi crap (that's a new rant for another time). It's more about being my own person, doing what I want, how I want to, when I want, with who I want to. I know I sound like a broken record because I've touched on this so many times but it's true. That's so important to me. Do I miss being with someone? Absolutely. There are definitely some perks to being a couple, quite a few of which I can't state here because now my family reads this (I'm so sorry, dear family). The more innocent perks include being able to discover the other person, share new things with them, always have a partner in crime to do things with and have someone to talk to. Everyone misses having that after some alone time. However, I'm not really ready to impose myself on another person and I'm most certainly not willing to settle on just anyone just to have someone.


That's the feeling I got on PoF; that so many people were there just to find somebody, anybody. Didn't matter who you were, what you did, what your interests were. As long as you were capable of love (which everyone is) and close by, that's all it took. I can't tell you how many messages I got from people who normally would never even consider me if they ever met me on the street. I'm not approachable in person and I sure as hell didn't make myself out to be all that approachable on PoF. Yet still they messaged me, calling me obscene things like "beautiful", "gorgeous", "cute", "sexy" and other unmentionables. I'm not those things. People who know me know I'm not those things. Nor do I strive to be those things. So what the hell is up? Well, it's that loneliness can be a killer to people who can't handle it. I mean, can you see a ghetto guy walking up to me in a public place and asking me for my number when I'm wearing my metal garb? No. So why does it happen online?


I'm not going to theorize that it has to do with the blissful anonymity that comes with the internet because PoF can be pretty damn personal. You are pretty much told to post pictures of yourself on your profile and if you don't, your chances of finding someone are close to nil. They want you to fill out surveys to pinpoint your personality and relationship needs. You're urged to write as much about yourself in the About Me section as you possibly can or else face a lifetime of loneliness watching chick flicks alone in your mother's basement (the only person who will ever love you). Essentially you put everything about yourself up on that site in hopes that someone will stumble upon you and go "Yea! They're worth my care and affection based on hobbies and a picture!" What I am going to theorize is that a lot of people hit up PoF as a last resort. They've tried the bars, they've tried the dating scene, they've tried to just live life and not care and they have found nothing in their efforts. So they turn to online dating which still has such a stigma around it that it's insane. Countless people had their header on their profile as "Willing to lie where we met". Really? Is it that embarrassing to meet someone online?


Back to my original point, PoF being a last resort. Yes. So they try this site that promises of success and women/men, happiness and love, sex and comfort, all just waiting for you at the click of a mouse! So these people sign up, make a profile, do as they're told concerning About Me and their pictures, and hope for the best. Then you learn about messaging. Sounds simple, right? If you stumble upon someone you like then you just send a message to them to initiate conversation. It's the online version of buying that girl at the bar her next drink. What's so bad about that? Well, what's bad about it is not only is it horrifyingly intimidating but most of the time messages don't even get replied to. I was guilty of this to a T. The majority of messages I got I didn't respond to. One poor guy got a hell of a lashing from me when I was in a bad mood not even related to PoF. Imagine getting that all the time when you try to reach out to a girl who you think might be good for you. Then it becomes a numbers game. The more people you message, the more likely you are to get a response right?. And that's where people like me start getting messages from guys who initially signed up looking for a good, Christian, country girl.


Again, I can't repeat enough that it's not everyone on PoF who are like this and my intent isn't to upset or offend anyone who's used the site and liked it or found success with it. This is just my own personal experience with it and as such, my own personal theories. When it comes to finding someone I believe it's best to not look. Enjoy yourself. Live your life. Do what you want to do. That's when love will come along and give you the slap across the face that you've been waiting for. Better yet, the slap won't come from a crazy person or someone who's desperately creepy. It'll come from someone who will apologize profusely for it, offer to take you to the hospital if your jaw is broken, stay with you in the E.R for hours, and will hold up your slusherized steak-in-a-cup to your face so you can sip it through a straw. Yea, the right kind of person you want slapping you with love. That and you won't have wasted time sighing and pining over a relationship that yes, someday you will get. You'll be putting that time towards something so much better like taking a class, moving up in your job, going to school, or doing what I do which is getting your ass kicked at metal shows (another story for another time).


Everyone finds love in different ways. Whether it be online, in a bar, at a club, at the movies, in Starbucks, at a convention, stalking the same celebrity, it really doesn't matter. As long as you do what's ok for you and you're happy. I'm just perfectly happy doing dick all about it and continuing to let (probably unsuccessful) relationships fall into my lap :)