Ben's Dream

Ben: I just remembered I had a dream where I was walking around all night, and I passed a street performer playing the saxophone.

 

Marg: Sexy!*

 

Ben: As I walked by he started to play the Pink Panther theme, so I started "walk-dancing" to the music. I stuck around and did it through the whole song, and when he finished I went to put some money in his saxophone case, but he wouldn't accept it because my dancing was too awesome.

 

Marg: hahahaha. Go Dream You!

 

Ben: Hahah. Yeah. And then it was morning, so I went to a comic store I'd never been to, and the owner immediately recognized me and wanted me to draw comics for him daily for free.

 

Marg: And did you?

 

Ben: No. I told him I'd be too busy to do comics for free these days.

 

Marg: Too busy dancing.

 

Ben: Damn straight.

 

 

*Sexy Sax! 

Fishing for compliments.

I love getting complimented. It's great. I take it exceedingly well.

I'm 100% not the type of person to throw your compliment back in your face either. Some people respond to compliments as though they have just been attacked... "What? No, my hair looks gross today, you're crazy!" "You like this sweater? I think I look so fat in it." Personally, I will probably just beam and thank-you graciously. I do this because when I tell someone something nice about themselves, I always really mean it. "You're just saying that because you're my friend and you have to" is utter bullshit to me, seriously. I don't have to tell you anything. No one is putting a gun to my head and making me tell you that you look nice. It's technically easier to say nothing at all. So, in that regard, I never assume that if you're saying something nice about me that it being said under duress... unless of course I've demanded you list off reasons why you like me*. 

Sometimes I wonder why people choose the compliments that they use, and certainly have taken pause at some word choices in the past. For example, being called a "stone cold fox" is pretty much ah-mah-zing**, but once when referred to non-ironically as someone's "princess", I pretty much barfed. I get it - the intent was to tell me how special I am, but fuck that noise - I may be useless and get myself kidnapped and stuck in towers, but I am not entitled about it! 

The best compliments are the simplest ones, usually. If I think you're terribly clever, I like to let you know "you are terribly clever", I'm probably not going to go over the top and tell you that you're the smartest person on the whole planet unless I am having fun with hyperbole. Which to be fair, I often do.

On the other hand, there are the wildly specific, delightful sorts of compliments that are also just fantastic, "I like your bizarrely expressed confidence" for example, followed by examples of. Or, "your ears are the nicest ears I've ever snuzzled." Perfection!

Compliments from strangers are another ballgame all together, and I don't often shell them out myself. Some people however manage to do it just right... like that time I was being shown an apartment by this French guy. I told him that the fixtures of the place were beautiful to look at, and he said (very frenchily), "If I may say so, you are as well." Said by anyone else, that would have been terrifying! He made it work. 

A good rule of thumb might be that if you are not a bohemian looking French man, perhaps you shouldn't say things like that.

Lots of things seem wonderfully flattering when said by those you know, but just don't work in the context of strangers. If someone you have a longstanding flirtation with sends you a text that says you looked so wonderful that they couldn't keep their eyes off you all night, then you giggle and blush and smile charmingly just in case that's true and they are looking at you this very second. If that text comes from an unknown number, your first instinct should be to reach for your pepper spray.

For those with issues giving compliments, I direct you to this episode of David Mitchell's Soapbox. (Even those without issues shall enjoy). "Anna, you look absolutely radiant. Brenda you're looking perfectly acceptable. Clara, you're also here." 

*Ben is so lucky. 

** Give Happy Endings a chance!

Things I am Bad At Case #642: Not Giving Out My Phone Number.

Stranger: Can I have your number?

Marg: (Oh god! No! No! No!) Uh... um... ha ha... um, but...

Stranger: I'd like to text you sometime, yeah.

Marg: (I don't want you to text me! Shit! Think Marg, think!) But see... I um... I don't...

Stranger: I just think you're the kind of girl I'd like to get to know. Here, let me put it in my phone.

Marg: (Okay, okay, give him a fake number. That's easy, that's not rude, he'll never know! A fake number!) PROCEED TO BLURT OUT MY ACTUAL PHONE NUMBER. (Why! Why!?!!? No!!!)

Stranger: Awesome. We'll hang out.

Marg: (No we won't!)

The above scenario has happened to me numerous times. I am incapable of coming up with the words "No, you can't have my number!" or "Sorry, I have a boyfriend". Nor am I able to think up a fake phone number on the spot. I wish that I could, because every single time a strange man wrangles my phone number away from me, the following things happen, though not always in the same order:

1) They actually call me! (How gross is that? What on earth am I supposed to say? I'm not picking up.)

2) They text me dozens of times. (If I didn't respond to you three hours ago when you asked me "What R U doin?" then why would I respond now?)

3) They call again, usually in the middle of the night. (When in the history of ever has a courtship taken this path: awkward meeting, flustered reluctant phone number given, texts ignored, call ignored, call at 3am accepted, thus booty call for the win? Never! Never in the history of ever,  that's when!)

And what has never, ever happened as a result of a stranger getting my phone number? A date. Not once! In fact, I don't believe I've ever dated someone who hasn't had to sort of awkwardly ask "Oh, what is your phone number anyway?" long after we'd at the very least made out.

So yeah, most recent Stranger who has texted me an epic 15 times since 12:41pm yesterday with not one response back: please adjust your army beret and respectfully abandon your efforts. If you ever call me, I will probably answer the phone in a thick Romanian accent.     

Slug Killer (Happy Mother's Day!)

My mum is incredibly difficult to buy Mother's Day presents for. This is because, as a genuine and thoughtful woman, she thinks all the usual-suspect types of presents are kinda bullshit. 

A card purchased at a store? 1) Environmentally and financially wasteful, and 2) Cheesy. 

Candy or chocolates? "I don't eat that crap, Marg."

Fancy-flowery-scented bath and body products? You'll give everyone a migraine!

A bouquet of flowers? 1) They'll just die and 2) My mum already has a garden filled with all the beautiful flowers she'd ever need. 

Speaking of her garden though, it was that which inspired one of the best presents I feel I've ever gotten her. When I was a kid (and today, too for that matter), Mum always preferred to receive handmade presents if we were going to give her any presents at all. One year, not content to draw her a picture (mine were sub-par compared to my siblings') or create some avant-garde craft (like the toilet paper tube, puffed rice, egg carton, and gold paint masterpiece I dubbed "A Rich Person's Toilet"), I decided to make her something really useful for the garden: a Slug Killer! 

SLUG KILLER HOW-TO

Supplies:

1 longish stick, a broom handle sans broom head is ideal; anything sturdy and walking-stick length will do.

1 tin can lid of a good size, the sharper the better.

1 small nails. 

1 hammer. 

Instructions:

Carefully nail the lid to one end of the stick, so that most of the lid hangs off the end. See my cool diagram:

       

Now, your mother can use awesome new weapon to slice up some gross slugs!

I also recommend gifting some salt. That kills those sick bastards real good too.

Mum liked it. 

Happy Mother's Day!!!

Pig Hunt.

The good thing about occasionally still going to video stores is deciding to rent something you've never heard of before on a whim based exclusively on the title and DVD art. Last night, as really it was a special occassion since Lou Lou in briefly in town from Japan, the only thing to do was rent Pig Hunt. 

Luckily for you (and him!), I sent Ben some great real-time review text messages so that you don't have to watch Pig Hunt yourself.

Marg (10:20pm): We are going to watch a movie called "Pig Hunt"!

Ben (10:21pm): Well that seems like something you'd be into. 

Marg (10:22pm): It is from the Fangoria Horror Film Fest, I believe.*

Marg (10:26pm): It's Canadian!**

Ben (10:26pm): Neat

Ben (10:41pm): How is it so far?

Marg (10:43pm): POV of the Pig = often.

Ben (10:43pm): So awful?

Marg (10:44pm): Prerequisite stop at a hillbilly gas station = currently. 

Marg (10:44pm): So awful!

Ben (10:45pm): hahahaha

Marg (10:47pm): There are strange hippies.

Ben(10:48pm): Another sign of a quality horror film.

Marg (10:49pm): I just can't wait for the sex scene. 

Ben(10:49pm): Inevitable. 

Marg (10:51pm): Abandoned cottage! Let's stay here!

Ben (10:51pm): Natch.

Marg (10:56pm): Here we go!

Ben (10:56pm): Sex?

Marg (10:57pm): Yeah, but it was disappointing. 

Ben (10:57pm): Well it usually is for you...

Marg (10:59pm): haha, not true!

Marg (11:02pm): A hillbilly was just drinking TAB!***

Ben (11:02pm): hahhaha

Marg (11:05pm): There is a token fat guy, he falls down a lot.

Ben (11:06pm): You'd think we'd have moved passed the horror movie cliches by now.

Marg (11:07pm): In society or this conversation?

Ben (11:08pm): Society. 

Marg (11:15pm): But it is so much easier to use them!

Marg (11:39pm): Teddy bear with a veiny penis on the front of a dune buggy!!****

Ben (11:42pm): Another tired cliche. 

Marg (11:45pm): The biggest complain thus far is lack of pig.

Ben (11:46pm): Seems like the pig gets hunted, so isn't that a good thing?

Marg (11:46pm): The pig is a giant killer pig. 

Ben (11:47pm): Oooooh, the pig IS the hunter!

Marg (11:48pm): Currently on the screen: naked ladies bathing in the woods. 

Ben (11:49pm): hahaha, wow. 

Marg (11:54pm): The hippie commune (there is one) feeds people to the giant pig.

Ben (11:57pm): Why not.

Things I forgot to mention to Ben: 

- This movie had enough of a budget for car crashes, a giant pig, and to use "It's a Man's World" by James Brown in its soundtrack.

- The end of the film featured a quote from George Orwell's Animal Farm. The only connection between the movie and that novel was the inclusion of pigs. 

- The lead actress was pretty classy and clearly put her foot down about being a topless bimbo. This resulted in her costume in the first scene being a really bizarrely shaped strapless bra (the character was just waking up). It was pretty obvious that the filmmakers had planned on her being topless, and were like "um... I don't know, wear this!"

*Close! It was from the Fangoria Frightfest Collection.

**It isn't. 

***TAB!!!!

****Technically, the Teddy Bear with a Penis was attached to a pick-up truck, but the chase scene was confusing... and there was a dune buggy involved.