I don't know how much of this is because I'm filled with the spirit of Beyoncé, but I've been thinking some things lately.
You
know that thing where some guy is giving you The Ick? You're minding
your business, living your life and some guy leans out of his car window
with just a "Hey baby!" Or even just a "Woo!" if he's feeling
particularly uncreative (serves you right for walking down the street
with dat ass when he dint have no time to prepare some of his better
material). Or maybe you work in customer service and you get a slimeball
who decides that every word you say is a double entendre ("Receipt with
you or in the bag?" "Oh yeah, put it in my bag, huh huh huh!")
Or
maybe you're wandering around Target thinking about all the cool pens
you're about to buy, just shopping with your family, and some guy
decides to follow you around. This is what happened to me last week.
So
there I am, admiring the notebooks and thinking about where to start
when I become aware of some guy who wandered into the same aisle. I
didn't think anything of it at first, since people are allowed to wander freely throughout Target without some woman thinking they're following them. Also, I have that thing where it doesn't matter where I am or what aisle I'm in - it's always desert-empty when I walk up and then suddenly someone has to be exactly where I am, looking at exactly what I'm looking at. So I didn't pay it any attention, other than to think, "Man, it certainly always seems like people need to be all up in your perimeter when you shop, doesn't it?"
A minute later, I decided that I wanted to see what my sister was looking at, so I walked into the next aisle where she was. The guy who wandered into the aisle I had been in decided to follow me. This was unusual enough that I noticed, but didn't make eye contact because it wasn't beyond the realm of possibility that he might need something in the stationery aisle. When I joined my sister, she and I talked about what we were looking for and other various sisterly things for a good five to ten minutes. I wandered a little up the aisle on my own for a moment and realized that the guy was still there - not looking at anything in particular, just hovering.
I got mad. Before I could really get fired up to take action, my parents rolled up with their cart to see what we were doing. The four of us talked for a loud five minutes, and the guy stayed in the aisle, watching all of us. No one noticed except me. I decided to confirm that he was actually following me and walk into the original aisle I came from, while my family stayed in the second aisle. I also needed a minute to weigh my options.
Option A: Continue to pretend I don't notice while thinking up a dozen snappy comebacks to any sort of greasy talk that he might be gearing up for.
Option B: Continue to pretend I don't notice and stay close to my family with the hope that he'll just leave.
Option C: Confront him because I am sick of this bullshit and I am ALWAYS READY TO BOX.
He followed me back into the aisle. Guess which option I chose?
So this is like, a hardcore fact about me - I stay ready. One of the things about having issues with anxiety is that you're always prepared for the worst. And in the world we live in, the worst can sometimes mean getting violently attacked if you reject a man's attention (the best case scenario is that they utter a few choice words and leave you alone).
I'm not saying I'd confront a group of street harassers in an isolated area (I talk big but I'm not crazy), but I felt confident enough in a Target store, with my family nearby, to bust out my best Minerva McGonagall and stare witheringly into this man's eyes for as long as it took him to get visibly uncomfortable and leave. I have confronted many a slimeball on many an occasion, and the thing that works best right off the bat is the Stare. They aren't, I guess, expecting you to confront them at all, and most of them turn into scared lil bitches as soon as you look them in the eye. My assumption is that they're just kind of counting on that polite nervous laughter that women are born knowing how to do, and any other reaction seems to throw them off.
I wasn't always an Option C woman. I used to just play nice and be polite and think, "Well, you never know what might happen, best to stay safe, you could get hurt." I can't figure out when this changed, if it was an overnight thing or what, but all I know is that now, when I find myself in these types of situations, I am TOO FUCKING TIRED to be polite. I spent my entire life being worried and anxious about What Might Happen and just accepting that harassment was part of a woman's life, and it is EXHAUSTING. If I confront some man in a store and he gets violent, I am going to throw down right there and I don't care what happens. I truly, honestly feel that I'd rather go down fighting than be passive and allow this behaviour to continue.
Of course, my family disagrees. My husband thinks that someone like me, with no formal fight training, is going to get hurt badly. My response is that when I play combat video games, I might not know how to take down my enemies in the smoothest and most efficient way, but I know how to hammer on those buttons wildly enough to get some good licks in. And sometimes, I win.
I think that people who say that I should be more careful or I might get really hurt would be better off putting their energies into developing a world where men don't feel like every public space is theirs and that women are guests in those spaces.
I think that women who don't feel safe enough to call out inappropriate behaviour should try it, just once, by using the Stare (the trick is to keep staring with as much disdain as you can for as long as it takes, without reacting to anything the guy is saying or doing). The chances of some prick getting violent with you or doing anything worse than maybe calling you some names is slim enough that the statement you'll be making is worth it.
I think that other women should stay ready to step up and support other women being harassed when they witness it. Don't worry about whether or not it's your business, just go over to that other woman and ask her if she's okay.
I think women should just decide what they will and will not accept and truly, honestly, believe in their bones that they are worth the freedom of living their lives as they choose without the Male Gaze and its effects.
And I think that men who harass women deserve to get beat with a shoe if that's what it takes for them to understand that we will not tolerate this any longer. GET MAD!
Thursday 26 May 2016
Saturday 8 August 2015
Dear Salad: I hate your fucking guts
I hate salad. I hate they're so easy to throw together (literally 3 minutes from start to finish if you don't need to cut up anything). I hate that they're essentially the most accessible healthy thing to eat anywhere I go. I hate that I have to zazz it up with hard-boiled eggs and cheese chunks before I can trick my mouth into opening so I can cram in as much as possible, as quickly as possible, so I can get the ordeal over with and start eating my real food. I FUCKING HATE SALAD.
The weird thing is that I actually do like vegetables - I'm just super lazy. So of course I'd rather eat a veggie curry or something, but who the fuck has time to make a veggie curry every day? Same for any type of cauliflower mash, kale chips, stir fry, whatever. Delicious to eat, but all these things take more than 3 minutes to make, so fuck that noise. It's not dinner time, it's the middle of the goddamn day and I need some fucking vegetables right fucking now.
I also hate exercise. UGH, I GODDAMN SHITBALLS FUCKING HATE EXERCISE. But here's the thing: I struggle with anxiety and depression and you know what they say.
So for the sake of Stephen, I embark on 30 minutes of exercise every day. It takes a whole month for something to become a habit, so if I can keep this up for 30 days in a row, I should basically be able to consider it part of my lifestyle, and no longer a project. Other benefits from exercise apparently include the ability to not be out of breath after climbing one flight of stairs, being able to sleep for a full 8 hours every night and being able to eat bacon without fear that every bite is clogging the fuck out of my arteries.
Oh, I'm not cutting anything OUT, in terms of this healthy-eating thing. I'm still drinking like 60 ounces of coffee every day and lying on my couch binge-watching episodes of Roseanne with a cat on my lap (or a bowl of Cheetos, same thing). I'm just also exercising and eating my veggies and drinking my water. I figure if I can do those three things, then I can also eat and do whatever the fuck I want. I'm not trying to get rid of my bodacious booty, I'm just trying not to die of a heart attack next year.
That's another thing about making healthier choices. Every time you put a fucking carrot stick in your mouth, some asshole is always like, "Great job! Here's a tip for losing weight that worked for my cousin!" Not every woman out there subscribes to this ridiculous idea that we should live our lives thirty pounds underweight. NAH. This flab under my upper arms? THOSE ARE MY WINGS, MOTHERFUCKER, MIND YO BIDNESS.
Today was Day 2 of 30 minutes of exercise every day. I'm doing Zumba for beginners, and so far the only thing I've learned is that I am uncoordinated as fuck. I grudgingly admit that it's kind of fun and when the instructor is all, "Put some flava into that box step!", it's highly entertaining. The irony of some white woman teaching me how to dance is not lost on me. What can I say? She knows how to pop-step.
The weird thing is that I actually do like vegetables - I'm just super lazy. So of course I'd rather eat a veggie curry or something, but who the fuck has time to make a veggie curry every day? Same for any type of cauliflower mash, kale chips, stir fry, whatever. Delicious to eat, but all these things take more than 3 minutes to make, so fuck that noise. It's not dinner time, it's the middle of the goddamn day and I need some fucking vegetables right fucking now.
I also hate exercise. UGH, I GODDAMN SHITBALLS FUCKING HATE EXERCISE. But here's the thing: I struggle with anxiety and depression and you know what they say.
So for the sake of Stephen, I embark on 30 minutes of exercise every day. It takes a whole month for something to become a habit, so if I can keep this up for 30 days in a row, I should basically be able to consider it part of my lifestyle, and no longer a project. Other benefits from exercise apparently include the ability to not be out of breath after climbing one flight of stairs, being able to sleep for a full 8 hours every night and being able to eat bacon without fear that every bite is clogging the fuck out of my arteries.
Oh, I'm not cutting anything OUT, in terms of this healthy-eating thing. I'm still drinking like 60 ounces of coffee every day and lying on my couch binge-watching episodes of Roseanne with a cat on my lap (or a bowl of Cheetos, same thing). I'm just also exercising and eating my veggies and drinking my water. I figure if I can do those three things, then I can also eat and do whatever the fuck I want. I'm not trying to get rid of my bodacious booty, I'm just trying not to die of a heart attack next year.
That's another thing about making healthier choices. Every time you put a fucking carrot stick in your mouth, some asshole is always like, "Great job! Here's a tip for losing weight that worked for my cousin!" Not every woman out there subscribes to this ridiculous idea that we should live our lives thirty pounds underweight. NAH. This flab under my upper arms? THOSE ARE MY WINGS, MOTHERFUCKER, MIND YO BIDNESS.
Today was Day 2 of 30 minutes of exercise every day. I'm doing Zumba for beginners, and so far the only thing I've learned is that I am uncoordinated as fuck. I grudgingly admit that it's kind of fun and when the instructor is all, "Put some flava into that box step!", it's highly entertaining. The irony of some white woman teaching me how to dance is not lost on me. What can I say? She knows how to pop-step.
Sunday 26 July 2015
Get busy living, or get busy dying
A lot of things happen when you quit your job.
Phase One: You WHAT?!
Let's say you have an awesome job. You love what you do, you love the people you work with, you love the company you work for and the perks are great. Heaven! Except as time goes on, you start to feel less and less engaged. You've been doing the same job, in the same place, for eight years now. The opportunities for advancement aren't really grabbing you, for various reasons, and you've been waiting for something more challenging to come along for over a year now.
This is how it happened to me, and I decided to quit my job. Let me be clear: NOTHING happened that was out of the ordinary. I just decided that I'd had more than enough of retail management, and that was that. The day I decided, I remember thinking "I feel like this is a completely normal decision now, but I'm probably going to wake up screaming in the middle of the night." While it wasn't exactly like that (I only scream for food), I had this "I did WHAT?!" moment the next day after everything had processed.
Phase Two: Realizing Your Own Mortality
Somewhere inside my head is a third-grader who dictates everything I eat, what time I go to bed and seems to get hold of my wallet now and again. Also somewhere inside my head is a geriatric senior citizen, who makes her presence known mostly in the mornings and whenever I try to get out of a comfortable chair. Occasionally, the senior citizen speaks.
She had a lot to say about me quitting my job.
The thing is, after eight years, you get kind of used to things like medical benefits and financial security. Once those things are no longer a factor in your big-picture planning, you become convinced that you'll suddenly need emergency dental surgery because you're going to trip and fall and hit your open, grinning mouth and all your teeth will fly out and get smashed into the pavement. THIS COULD HAPPEN.
The best I could do in this phase was get my eczema cream prescrip refilled, buy a buttload of my disposable contacts and make an appointment with my dentist during my last week at work.
Phase Three: You Can't Do Anything Else
This was a rough one. If you, like me, had been in the same industry essentially since you started working, and you're suddenly sick of it, you learn, real fast, why you should have stayed in college and finished your degree. Going back to school is a romantic idea best left to people in their twenties. At 37, even without kids depending on you, this isn't a possibility.
The whole reason I started working in retail in the first place was because I hated school. I did one year of college and then decided to fuck off. I needed to find a job, so I went to the mall. This was back in the days where you had to arm yourself with a million paper copies of your resume (at this point in my life, I'd had three jobs: babysitting, which I slyly hid under the far more professional-sounding "Private Child Care", Telemarketing and Payroll Clerk) and just go store to store, shaking hands with the manager and hoping they didn't notice your anxiety-sweats. Thank god the internet came along. Eventually, someone took pity on me and hired me to sell clothes, and through what I'm convinced was sheer dumb luck, I found myself having fallen into the role of Assistant Manager within my first year in retail.
From there, despite several attempts to return to school, I was pulled into the maelstrom of Retail Management as Your Career. I kept thinking of myself as a kid with a full-time job until one day I realized I was an adult with a career. What made this difficult for me was that I realized this just as I quit my job, and now I was an Adult With No Career.
Every other time in my life that I wasn't happy with my job, I just found a new one. Sometimes it was before I had quit my current job, sometimes it was after, but each time, I wasn't changing careers, so it was no big deal to find another retail management gig. Now I find myself with tons of customer service and people-management skills, and not much else. What do you do when you decide to change careers?
... if you know the answer, text a bitch.
Phase Four: Telling People
I learned this the hard way - people expect to be told when major things in your life are happening. I did not see that coming at all, which is one of the many reasons that I sometimes think I must be sociopath. YOUR FRIENDS EXPECT YOU TO TELL THEM THINGS. Wait, I have friends?
My family knew I quit, because I told them the day it happened. I let my staff know during a meeting at work. Once my staff knew, I started telling my coworkers, or at least the ones I thought would care. What I learned is that there are way more people who gave a shit than I had anticipated, and every single one of them was curious as to why I was being so mysterious.
I wasn't being mysterious (not intentionally, anyway). I just didn't think anyone would care that much, mostly because I assume that people don't care about things that don't directly affect them. In case you're thinking the same thing, YOU ARE WRONG. Lots of people care, lots of people are curious and lots of people like to be involved in supporting you and wishing you well as you leave a company you've been part of for nearly a decade. This gives me the warm fuzzies, and also confronts me with a harsh truth I always suspected: The reason I don't have a lot of friends isn't that people don't like me, it's that I don't know how friendship works.
So you need to tell people, and more people than you'd think if you're an awkward bastard like me.
Phase Five: Acceptance
So there you are, no career. If you're a boss bitch, you accept it and go live your life.
I gleefully accept the fact that I quit. I wasn't happy and that was that. I have never doubted my decision. I'm not sure where I'm going, but I know that my apartment is going to get organized all to hell while I figure it out. I'm going to enjoy the freedom that comes with NOT working in a mall downtown. I'm going to enjoy not walking face-first into a wall of hobo-stank every time I get off the subway. I'm going to relax and eat my lunch in peace without some asshole street harassing me because I have tits. I'm going to get 8 hours of sleep every night. I'm going to get a library card.
I might be broke as fuck, but I'm happy.
Phase One: You WHAT?!
Let's say you have an awesome job. You love what you do, you love the people you work with, you love the company you work for and the perks are great. Heaven! Except as time goes on, you start to feel less and less engaged. You've been doing the same job, in the same place, for eight years now. The opportunities for advancement aren't really grabbing you, for various reasons, and you've been waiting for something more challenging to come along for over a year now.
This is how it happened to me, and I decided to quit my job. Let me be clear: NOTHING happened that was out of the ordinary. I just decided that I'd had more than enough of retail management, and that was that. The day I decided, I remember thinking "I feel like this is a completely normal decision now, but I'm probably going to wake up screaming in the middle of the night." While it wasn't exactly like that (I only scream for food), I had this "I did WHAT?!" moment the next day after everything had processed.
Phase Two: Realizing Your Own Mortality
Somewhere inside my head is a third-grader who dictates everything I eat, what time I go to bed and seems to get hold of my wallet now and again. Also somewhere inside my head is a geriatric senior citizen, who makes her presence known mostly in the mornings and whenever I try to get out of a comfortable chair. Occasionally, the senior citizen speaks.
She had a lot to say about me quitting my job.
The thing is, after eight years, you get kind of used to things like medical benefits and financial security. Once those things are no longer a factor in your big-picture planning, you become convinced that you'll suddenly need emergency dental surgery because you're going to trip and fall and hit your open, grinning mouth and all your teeth will fly out and get smashed into the pavement. THIS COULD HAPPEN.
The best I could do in this phase was get my eczema cream prescrip refilled, buy a buttload of my disposable contacts and make an appointment with my dentist during my last week at work.
Phase Three: You Can't Do Anything Else
This was a rough one. If you, like me, had been in the same industry essentially since you started working, and you're suddenly sick of it, you learn, real fast, why you should have stayed in college and finished your degree. Going back to school is a romantic idea best left to people in their twenties. At 37, even without kids depending on you, this isn't a possibility.
The whole reason I started working in retail in the first place was because I hated school. I did one year of college and then decided to fuck off. I needed to find a job, so I went to the mall. This was back in the days where you had to arm yourself with a million paper copies of your resume (at this point in my life, I'd had three jobs: babysitting, which I slyly hid under the far more professional-sounding "Private Child Care", Telemarketing and Payroll Clerk) and just go store to store, shaking hands with the manager and hoping they didn't notice your anxiety-sweats. Thank god the internet came along. Eventually, someone took pity on me and hired me to sell clothes, and through what I'm convinced was sheer dumb luck, I found myself having fallen into the role of Assistant Manager within my first year in retail.
From there, despite several attempts to return to school, I was pulled into the maelstrom of Retail Management as Your Career. I kept thinking of myself as a kid with a full-time job until one day I realized I was an adult with a career. What made this difficult for me was that I realized this just as I quit my job, and now I was an Adult With No Career.
Every other time in my life that I wasn't happy with my job, I just found a new one. Sometimes it was before I had quit my current job, sometimes it was after, but each time, I wasn't changing careers, so it was no big deal to find another retail management gig. Now I find myself with tons of customer service and people-management skills, and not much else. What do you do when you decide to change careers?
... if you know the answer, text a bitch.
Phase Four: Telling People
I learned this the hard way - people expect to be told when major things in your life are happening. I did not see that coming at all, which is one of the many reasons that I sometimes think I must be sociopath. YOUR FRIENDS EXPECT YOU TO TELL THEM THINGS. Wait, I have friends?
My family knew I quit, because I told them the day it happened. I let my staff know during a meeting at work. Once my staff knew, I started telling my coworkers, or at least the ones I thought would care. What I learned is that there are way more people who gave a shit than I had anticipated, and every single one of them was curious as to why I was being so mysterious.
I wasn't being mysterious (not intentionally, anyway). I just didn't think anyone would care that much, mostly because I assume that people don't care about things that don't directly affect them. In case you're thinking the same thing, YOU ARE WRONG. Lots of people care, lots of people are curious and lots of people like to be involved in supporting you and wishing you well as you leave a company you've been part of for nearly a decade. This gives me the warm fuzzies, and also confronts me with a harsh truth I always suspected: The reason I don't have a lot of friends isn't that people don't like me, it's that I don't know how friendship works.
So you need to tell people, and more people than you'd think if you're an awkward bastard like me.
Phase Five: Acceptance
So there you are, no career. If you're a boss bitch, you accept it and go live your life.
I gleefully accept the fact that I quit. I wasn't happy and that was that. I have never doubted my decision. I'm not sure where I'm going, but I know that my apartment is going to get organized all to hell while I figure it out. I'm going to enjoy the freedom that comes with NOT working in a mall downtown. I'm going to enjoy not walking face-first into a wall of hobo-stank every time I get off the subway. I'm going to relax and eat my lunch in peace without some asshole street harassing me because I have tits. I'm going to get 8 hours of sleep every night. I'm going to get a library card.
I might be broke as fuck, but I'm happy.
Friday 24 July 2015
Jack, get back.
Okay, so Stephen and I are watching Footloose (the original 1984 one, not the remake), and I decided to look up Footloose trivia. Apparently Kevin Bacon sometimes bribes wedding DJs not to play the song, because people expect him to dance like in the movie.
Think about that for a second.
That is THE WORST. No, really, think about it! Imagine the scene near the beginning where he's all mad and dancing by himself in... I don't know, is it a barn? I think it's a barn. So he's like swinging from the rafters and doing backflips and all kinds of crazy bullshit, and like, 100% of the time it's a double (more trivia: the dance double for Kevin Bacon in Footloose was married to the dance double for Jennifer Beals in Flashdance). But then it's 30 years later, and you're Kevin Bacon at your nephew's wedding or whatever, and Footloose comes on.
From the first strains of "Doon do-doon, do-doon, DO-doon, do-doon...", the hair stands up on the back of your neck. Now you only have two options - you either awkwardly disappoint hundreds of people looking expectantly at you by helplessly shaking your head and then running out of the room, OR YOU FUCKING DANCE LIKE A GODDAMN CHAMPION.
And then imagine trying to dance and failing spectacularly. Like, you try to swing from a chandelier and miss grabbing it by like, three feet, and falling flat on your face.
BOTH COMPLETELY TERRIBLE CHOICES. I can't even think about it anymore.
Think about that for a second.
That is THE WORST. No, really, think about it! Imagine the scene near the beginning where he's all mad and dancing by himself in... I don't know, is it a barn? I think it's a barn. So he's like swinging from the rafters and doing backflips and all kinds of crazy bullshit, and like, 100% of the time it's a double (more trivia: the dance double for Kevin Bacon in Footloose was married to the dance double for Jennifer Beals in Flashdance). But then it's 30 years later, and you're Kevin Bacon at your nephew's wedding or whatever, and Footloose comes on.
From the first strains of "Doon do-doon, do-doon, DO-doon, do-doon...", the hair stands up on the back of your neck. Now you only have two options - you either awkwardly disappoint hundreds of people looking expectantly at you by helplessly shaking your head and then running out of the room, OR YOU FUCKING DANCE LIKE A GODDAMN CHAMPION.
And then imagine trying to dance and failing spectacularly. Like, you try to swing from a chandelier and miss grabbing it by like, three feet, and falling flat on your face.
BOTH COMPLETELY TERRIBLE CHOICES. I can't even think about it anymore.
Saturday 4 April 2015
Million Dollar Idea
Okay, so this is what I've noticed about the Cineplex VIP Theatres.
Ain't nobody going.
It seems to me that Cineplex is trying every trick in the book to get people to come. Now they have a Wednesday date night thing, where two people can see a movie and have dinner for like $50. They also changed the menu a bit and made it slightly fancier (shrimp cocktail is a thing. Seriously). Nothing is working - this place is motherfucking EMPTY every time we show up.
I really had no idea why, until I realized that they're going after the wrong audience. It looks like they want young professional couples. THIS IS MADNESS! Young professional couples are at fucking wine tastings and tapas bars and shit. THEY AIN'T SHELLING OUT FOR BOOZE AND ARMCHAIRS WITH MOTHERFUCKING 3D MOVIES. Nah, Cineplex VIP. You need to go after the NERDS.
Let me explain. Who are the people who will pay anything for their entertainment? Who are the people who need to see their fandom first, who line up for midnight showings, who have exactly the time and energy to devote to choosing their favourite snack in their favourite spot during the big-screen version of their favourite book in their favourite series so they can feel like MOTHERFUCKING SNAPE'S HAIR GREASE IS DRIPPING ALL OVER THEM?
Fucking nerds, that's who. Bitches like me, who have thought long and hard about the ways that the entire movie going experience could be improved. Recliners? Check. No crying kids allowed? Check. Deep fried food? Check. Assigned seating so clever bitches can get their favourite spot without having to wait in a goddamn line and then run inside when they open their doors and hurl themselves into their seats like a goddamn hot dog juice-covered savage? CHECK, MOTHERFUCKER.
Think about it! You know I'm right. Only fucking geeks will shell out that kind of money for those ridiculous extras that Cineplex is touting. The problem is that nerds aren't watching TV right now, they're watching Netflix or Hulu or some shit, so they haven't seen those fucking commercials. THEY DON'T KNOW THIS MAGICAL UNICORN LAND OF PERFECT THEATRE WHIMSY EXISTS. So I have an idea.
They need to start hosting monthly marathons. Pick a different fandom each month and GO APESHIT. Have people pay one price, and then show all the Lord of the Rings movies back to back. EXTENDED EDITIONS, MOTHERFUCKER. Star Trek! Star Wars! Joss Whedon weekend (in my mind, this one starts with Titan A.E, goes right into Dr Horrible, Cabin in the Woods around midnight, and then Serenity right before the kick off to all the Avengers movies on Day 2).
AND THERE'S MORE! Cross-promote with Nerd Block and Horror Block (nerd-friendly subscription box services). Or ThinkGeek.com! Maybe you get a box on your chair or something when you go in, like a themed goodie bag or whatever. But whatever it is, you HOOK THE GEEKS. Geeks will pay anything for a better entertainment experience - it's why so many of us have state-of-the-art TV and sound systems and wear the same pizza sauce-covered hoodie every day. BECAUSE WE SPEND ALL OUR MONEY ON THIS BULLSHIT.
So get on it, Cineplex. TAKE OUR MONEY. NOW.
Ain't nobody going.
It seems to me that Cineplex is trying every trick in the book to get people to come. Now they have a Wednesday date night thing, where two people can see a movie and have dinner for like $50. They also changed the menu a bit and made it slightly fancier (shrimp cocktail is a thing. Seriously). Nothing is working - this place is motherfucking EMPTY every time we show up.
I really had no idea why, until I realized that they're going after the wrong audience. It looks like they want young professional couples. THIS IS MADNESS! Young professional couples are at fucking wine tastings and tapas bars and shit. THEY AIN'T SHELLING OUT FOR BOOZE AND ARMCHAIRS WITH MOTHERFUCKING 3D MOVIES. Nah, Cineplex VIP. You need to go after the NERDS.
Let me explain. Who are the people who will pay anything for their entertainment? Who are the people who need to see their fandom first, who line up for midnight showings, who have exactly the time and energy to devote to choosing their favourite snack in their favourite spot during the big-screen version of their favourite book in their favourite series so they can feel like MOTHERFUCKING SNAPE'S HAIR GREASE IS DRIPPING ALL OVER THEM?
Fucking nerds, that's who. Bitches like me, who have thought long and hard about the ways that the entire movie going experience could be improved. Recliners? Check. No crying kids allowed? Check. Deep fried food? Check. Assigned seating so clever bitches can get their favourite spot without having to wait in a goddamn line and then run inside when they open their doors and hurl themselves into their seats like a goddamn hot dog juice-covered savage? CHECK, MOTHERFUCKER.
Think about it! You know I'm right. Only fucking geeks will shell out that kind of money for those ridiculous extras that Cineplex is touting. The problem is that nerds aren't watching TV right now, they're watching Netflix or Hulu or some shit, so they haven't seen those fucking commercials. THEY DON'T KNOW THIS MAGICAL UNICORN LAND OF PERFECT THEATRE WHIMSY EXISTS. So I have an idea.
They need to start hosting monthly marathons. Pick a different fandom each month and GO APESHIT. Have people pay one price, and then show all the Lord of the Rings movies back to back. EXTENDED EDITIONS, MOTHERFUCKER. Star Trek! Star Wars! Joss Whedon weekend (in my mind, this one starts with Titan A.E, goes right into Dr Horrible, Cabin in the Woods around midnight, and then Serenity right before the kick off to all the Avengers movies on Day 2).
AND THERE'S MORE! Cross-promote with Nerd Block and Horror Block (nerd-friendly subscription box services). Or ThinkGeek.com! Maybe you get a box on your chair or something when you go in, like a themed goodie bag or whatever. But whatever it is, you HOOK THE GEEKS. Geeks will pay anything for a better entertainment experience - it's why so many of us have state-of-the-art TV and sound systems and wear the same pizza sauce-covered hoodie every day. BECAUSE WE SPEND ALL OUR MONEY ON THIS BULLSHIT.
So get on it, Cineplex. TAKE OUR MONEY. NOW.
Wednesday 25 March 2015
I said GODDAMN. Goddamn.
The mall I work in doesn't have free wifi. This is often a problem.
Typically, I can't use my shop's computers during operating hours - people need to buy shit. There isn't a way for a bitch to just jump onto a computer and use it. My shop actually has wifi, which I'm sure would be helpful if I could just pop into our back room and sit down and work for a few hours, but we don't have a back room. Most of the time, if there's something particular that I need to do online during business hours, I have to go hunting in the mall for free wifi so I can get online with my tablet and get my shit done.
Here are my options:
1. Timothy's coffee shop: comfortable seating, quiet environment. The only problem is that there's a two-hour internet limit and there aren't available outlets to charge anything.
2. Starbucks: No internet limit, but it's in the shittiest corner of the mall, rife with hobos and always full of students taking up all the outlets and seating for their phones.
3. The food court in the atrium (the tiny mall attached to my mall): smack in between the Greyhound bus station and the liquor store, this is really a slice of downtown Toronto. Everyone smells like piss, everyone has some sort of mental health issue, people are constantly interrupting you to ask for change and there aren't any outlets. However, the wifi, which comes from the Teriyaki joint, is decent.
4. St Louis Bar and Grill: Ample seating, sometimes you can get next to an outlet, pretty quiet during the day. Alas, this is a restaurant and while I can fuck up a plate of wings, no problem, I can't sit there for eight hours or they get kind of testy.
So there I was one evening, after having bounced around for a couple of hours at three different locations trying to get some work done, left with the McDonald's wifi because that was apparently the only place in my mall where I could get online, sit down and plug in my tablet at an outlet. I had to sit next to these two girls at this long table sort of thing, because when outlets are at a premium, you basically elbow your way in whenever you can. When I sat down, the two girls were in the midst of being hit on by some dude, because downtown Toronto lyfe.
Let me make this clear - these two ladies had their shields up hardcore. They were trying everything in the book to get this dude to go away, but subtlety never works with guys who try to pick up women at fucking McDonald's. I, of course, listened to every single word because I pay a lot of attention to my sisters and the men who bother them. Just in case reinforcement is necessary. And also, because repelling lecherous men is my main thrill in life.
Dude: So are y'all from Scarborough?
Girl no. 1: Nope. We're having a sisters day. Just spending some time together. By ourselves.
Dude: Cool, cool. I don't want to bother you -
Girl no. 1: I appreciate that, thanks.
Dude: I'm just gonna give you my number.
Girl no. 1: That's okay.
Dude: Yeah, you can just text me. Just text me.
Girl no. 1: Sigh.
So the guy gives her his number, and out of the corner of my eye, I watch the girl pretend to tap around on her home screen like she's putting it in there. He scuttles off, pretty pleased with himself BECAUSE WHAT THE FUCK WITH THESE GUYS JESUS and the girls go back to their own conversation.
About three seconds later, these other two guys sit down across from them. They start hassling the girls immediately because two women can't possibly sit down in public and enjoy each other's company or eat some fucking fries on their own. After maybe three more seconds of witty banter, one of the guys is all, "Can I have yo number?" and Girl no. 1 GOES OFF:
Girl no. 1: YOU THINK YOU JUST GONNA SIT DOWN AND GET MY NUMBER JUST LIKE THAT? YOU THINK THAT'S ALL YOU GOTTA DO IS SIT DOWN??
I stopped listening after that. These ladies had everything under control.
Typically, I can't use my shop's computers during operating hours - people need to buy shit. There isn't a way for a bitch to just jump onto a computer and use it. My shop actually has wifi, which I'm sure would be helpful if I could just pop into our back room and sit down and work for a few hours, but we don't have a back room. Most of the time, if there's something particular that I need to do online during business hours, I have to go hunting in the mall for free wifi so I can get online with my tablet and get my shit done.
Here are my options:
1. Timothy's coffee shop: comfortable seating, quiet environment. The only problem is that there's a two-hour internet limit and there aren't available outlets to charge anything.
2. Starbucks: No internet limit, but it's in the shittiest corner of the mall, rife with hobos and always full of students taking up all the outlets and seating for their phones.
3. The food court in the atrium (the tiny mall attached to my mall): smack in between the Greyhound bus station and the liquor store, this is really a slice of downtown Toronto. Everyone smells like piss, everyone has some sort of mental health issue, people are constantly interrupting you to ask for change and there aren't any outlets. However, the wifi, which comes from the Teriyaki joint, is decent.
4. St Louis Bar and Grill: Ample seating, sometimes you can get next to an outlet, pretty quiet during the day. Alas, this is a restaurant and while I can fuck up a plate of wings, no problem, I can't sit there for eight hours or they get kind of testy.
So there I was one evening, after having bounced around for a couple of hours at three different locations trying to get some work done, left with the McDonald's wifi because that was apparently the only place in my mall where I could get online, sit down and plug in my tablet at an outlet. I had to sit next to these two girls at this long table sort of thing, because when outlets are at a premium, you basically elbow your way in whenever you can. When I sat down, the two girls were in the midst of being hit on by some dude, because downtown Toronto lyfe.
Let me make this clear - these two ladies had their shields up hardcore. They were trying everything in the book to get this dude to go away, but subtlety never works with guys who try to pick up women at fucking McDonald's. I, of course, listened to every single word because I pay a lot of attention to my sisters and the men who bother them. Just in case reinforcement is necessary. And also, because repelling lecherous men is my main thrill in life.
Dude: So are y'all from Scarborough?
Girl no. 1: Nope. We're having a sisters day. Just spending some time together. By ourselves.
Dude: Cool, cool. I don't want to bother you -
Girl no. 1: I appreciate that, thanks.
Dude: I'm just gonna give you my number.
Girl no. 1: That's okay.
Dude: Yeah, you can just text me. Just text me.
Girl no. 1: Sigh.
So the guy gives her his number, and out of the corner of my eye, I watch the girl pretend to tap around on her home screen like she's putting it in there. He scuttles off, pretty pleased with himself BECAUSE WHAT THE FUCK WITH THESE GUYS JESUS and the girls go back to their own conversation.
About three seconds later, these other two guys sit down across from them. They start hassling the girls immediately because two women can't possibly sit down in public and enjoy each other's company or eat some fucking fries on their own. After maybe three more seconds of witty banter, one of the guys is all, "Can I have yo number?" and Girl no. 1 GOES OFF:
Girl no. 1: YOU THINK YOU JUST GONNA SIT DOWN AND GET MY NUMBER JUST LIKE THAT? YOU THINK THAT'S ALL YOU GOTTA DO IS SIT DOWN??
I stopped listening after that. These ladies had everything under control.
Thursday 12 March 2015
Feeling 2005
This is from an old LiveJournal post (LIVEJOURNAL YOU GUYS YOU REMEMBER THAT SHIT?) I made ten years ago today.
"After the show, people were milling about in the lobby, and I handed my sister my shopping bags and said I had to pee. I went upstairs (the Canon theatre has like, this landing and two staircases leading upward from it, in opposite directions. I went up one of them to get to the upstairs bathroom), and at this point, the show had been over for about fifteen minutes, so there was practically no one in there.
So I'm just washing my hands when I hear some guy blowing into a microphone, and realize that there are speakers in the washroom. I still had to use the dryer and fix my face, so I was in there for about another five minutes, listening to the speaker, which was blaring something about, "Thanks so much for coming! Blah blah blah presentation, blah blah blah Israel bank bonds. Blah blah blah richoldpeoplecakes."
I left the washroom and came out onto the upstairs landing. When I looked down, at the lower landing that I would have had to cross to get back downstairs, I saw that they were making this presentation in front of about a hundred rich old Jewish people, and the guy on the microphone with a pointer and a pie chart was like, all set up on there. Right where I had to walk past. Totally doing his thing, with everyone staring at him. It's hard to describe, but it was like a play going on, and me having to walk out from stage left and into the audience.
You get me now?
So I stood there for like, a second, wondering what my chances were of running past him so fast that no one would see me ("George? Did you just see a brown streak?"), and just as I decided that they were slim to none, one of the ushers from the show walked up to me to ask if I needed help. I was like - "Um. Is that the only way for me to get downstairs?" Of course it was, so the usher had to escort me down the stairs. Past the guy. Into the crowd of rich old Jewish people. By the way, I was wearing jeans with a hot-chocolate stain on one knee, a brown and orange hoodie, and carrying a green messenger bag covered in pins. Need I repeat? Rich old Jewish people in fur!
The show, however, was so great! All of you need to see it. Libby from Sabrina the Teenage Witch was Nessa Rose, but I suspect that I'm only one who's excited about that."
All I have to say is that in ten years, my life hasn't changed much. Also, reading your own old diary entries is MOTHERFUCKING DEPRESSING. Why do I even have any friends? Let's not go down that spiral.
Other Random Facts About My Past:
* When I worked for Sunrise, we had the same courier guy come in to pick up our weekly packages, and once, we told him he looked like Elvis. After that, whenever he was leaving, he always said, "Thankyouverramuch" and it made me laugh EVERY SINGLE FUCKING TIME.
* I was really, annoyingly obsessed with movies and television in 2005. I paid good money to see the remake of The Longest Yard, with Adam Sandler! Again, HOW THE FUCK DID I EVEN HAVE ANY FRIENDS?
* I chronicled my OK Cupid dates and BOY HOWDY are they fucking horrible.
"After the show, people were milling about in the lobby, and I handed my sister my shopping bags and said I had to pee. I went upstairs (the Canon theatre has like, this landing and two staircases leading upward from it, in opposite directions. I went up one of them to get to the upstairs bathroom), and at this point, the show had been over for about fifteen minutes, so there was practically no one in there.
So I'm just washing my hands when I hear some guy blowing into a microphone, and realize that there are speakers in the washroom. I still had to use the dryer and fix my face, so I was in there for about another five minutes, listening to the speaker, which was blaring something about, "Thanks so much for coming! Blah blah blah presentation, blah blah blah Israel bank bonds. Blah blah blah richoldpeoplecakes."
I left the washroom and came out onto the upstairs landing. When I looked down, at the lower landing that I would have had to cross to get back downstairs, I saw that they were making this presentation in front of about a hundred rich old Jewish people, and the guy on the microphone with a pointer and a pie chart was like, all set up on there. Right where I had to walk past. Totally doing his thing, with everyone staring at him. It's hard to describe, but it was like a play going on, and me having to walk out from stage left and into the audience.
You get me now?
So I stood there for like, a second, wondering what my chances were of running past him so fast that no one would see me ("George? Did you just see a brown streak?"), and just as I decided that they were slim to none, one of the ushers from the show walked up to me to ask if I needed help. I was like - "Um. Is that the only way for me to get downstairs?" Of course it was, so the usher had to escort me down the stairs. Past the guy. Into the crowd of rich old Jewish people. By the way, I was wearing jeans with a hot-chocolate stain on one knee, a brown and orange hoodie, and carrying a green messenger bag covered in pins. Need I repeat? Rich old Jewish people in fur!
The show, however, was so great! All of you need to see it. Libby from Sabrina the Teenage Witch was Nessa Rose, but I suspect that I'm only one who's excited about that."
All I have to say is that in ten years, my life hasn't changed much. Also, reading your own old diary entries is MOTHERFUCKING DEPRESSING. Why do I even have any friends? Let's not go down that spiral.
Other Random Facts About My Past:
* When I worked for Sunrise, we had the same courier guy come in to pick up our weekly packages, and once, we told him he looked like Elvis. After that, whenever he was leaving, he always said, "Thankyouverramuch" and it made me laugh EVERY SINGLE FUCKING TIME.
* I was really, annoyingly obsessed with movies and television in 2005. I paid good money to see the remake of The Longest Yard, with Adam Sandler! Again, HOW THE FUCK DID I EVEN HAVE ANY FRIENDS?
* I chronicled my OK Cupid dates and BOY HOWDY are they fucking horrible.
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