Five Years

November 30th.

Five years to the day since my Mother departed this goodly earth.

The Man and I went to Mom's grave today...just because I had to. It's something I need to do every so often.

We've had a lot of snow lately, as you can see. I had to dig to find the stone - and even then, I found it iced over. Not that her stone reveals any great truths to me or anything...I just wanted to see it...see her name. Sadly, I couldn't get all the ice off it as I only had my keys to work with, and I feared scratching the marble surface.





I guess it was about five years ago today that I started despising Christmas. The yuletide season was always my mother's favourite. She wanted the tree up, the lights on the house and garland on the banisters the minute the jack-o-lantern was gone.

It seems strange that this time of 'giving and generosity' took from me one of the best things in my life.

Christmas sucks.

So does cancer.

I miss you, Mom.

Hello, My Name Is...

I was informed yesterday that a friend of a friend of mine recently gave birth to a baby girl (as opposed to a litter of puppies....which wouldn't have shocked me as much as one would think)

She and her husband named the child ~ahem~ Madagascar Delaray. Anyone else want to help me beat these people to death with a garden weasel? And yes, Delaray is the middle name - not the surname. To protect the idiotic, I will leave that out....for now.

I realize that people want their child to be unique. Giving them a name like that isn't going to make them unique, it's going to make them a freakin' target! I think they should take the poor little thing right now and get a nice white and red ringed tattoo put on her forehead.

Names, I know, come and go with time. Not a lot of Berthas, Ednas, Agathas or Hazels running around these days. I believe that is because most of them are in the nursing home.

Nowadays, we are inundated with Tiffanys, Cheyennes, Ambers, Caitlins, Ashleys, Ariels, Courtneys, Whitneys...and all of the many, many spellings thereof.

And speaking of spelling - why is it that names traditionally spelled with y's are suddenly all ending in i's?

Kathi, Nanci, Judi, Kerri, Juli....this is absurd! Next thing you know it will be: "Hi, my name is Heatheri...the i is silent."

I'm not even going to go into the names celebrities give their offspring - although Gwyneth Paltrow, lovely thing that she is (with a great name, too) should be drawn and quartered for naming her daughter Apple and her son Moses. If she and her husband had any brains or biblical knowledge, they should have named their son Adam...that would have at least been funny instead of just moronic. Apple, indeed. What's next? "...and these are my children, Baklava, Parfait, and the twins, Peanut-Butter and Jelly"??

Shakespeare wrote: "What's in a name? That which we call a rose, by any other name would smell as sweet."

Obviously, Shakespeare didn't have to deal with the names of today - because most of the trendy, cutesy names out there just plain stink.

Madagascar...

Ugh.

Blech

Ugh.

I'm sick.

I've been fighting a bug for a few days now...telling myself it's just a cold and not to be such a big baby.

Now I have a fever.

I feel dizzy and I'm hearing voices...although they don't speak English, so I can't be sure what they're saying.

Everything tastes like glue, and my tongue feels like it's wearing a sweater.

~sniffle~

I hate feeling like this.

Anyone want to make me soup?

The Purse-moot of Happiness

Okay, so obviously I have a hang-up with my key chain.

Many of you have emailed me or messaged me to tell me that I do, indeed have a problem and that I should seek help.

One kind soul was brave enough to suggest that the problem may lie deeper than my key rings, and that I should perhaps look to my purse.

Oh god...

My purse (or, the black hole as The Man calls it) is a frightening thing. It holds more mysteries than a Masonic Temple ledger. Not secrets of wisdom and wonder, but more along the lines of 'what the bloody hell is that doing in here?'

So, it is with more than a little trepidation that I present to you, my friends and readers of this nonsense, the contents of said accoutrement.

First, the bag itself:



Nothing out of the ordinary, right? Simple black leather.

Now...the hard part.

The contents:




Wow! Where do I begin here...

Well, let's do it this way:

Here is what any functional, right-thinking woman would carry in her purse (give or take maybe two or three sundry items)



Wallet, glasses, hair brush, lipstick case (2 lipstick), perfume, calculator, compact mirror, address book, sunglasses, parking change (that's the small velvet bag). You will note that I do not have a cell phone. Don't ask why...trust me.

These are the items that should be in my purse - and they are. Along with all this other crap...



All right...let's see here...um...

One hair band, one barrette, three hair elastics
Eight more lipsticks, three lip liners, one eyebrow pencil, one tube of highlighter cream, one tube of mascara, one lip gloss
Two bottles of perfume
One bottle of hairspray
A jar of assorted D&D dice (never know when you may need 2 d12)
One bottle of black shoe polish
One pair of scissors
A glue stick
Two CD's (I've been wondering where that Refreshments CD was!)
One deck of cards
Three ball-point pens - two blue, one green
One paperback novel - Another Roadside Attraction by Tom Robbins (excellent book, btw)
One worry stone
Two double A batteries
A large, pointy screw (ah...shaddap!)
One roll of cellophane tape
An acorn (I have no idea...)
Three more packs of gum
Two butane lighters
One pack of matches
A flask (doesn't everyone carry a flask?)
One bottle of silver sparkle nail polish
Two more pair of sunglasses
A pack of shoelaces
Four bottles of medication (actually, they probably belong in the necessities group)
A packet of DayQuil cold medication
Two more key chains - woo hoo!
One wine bottle cork (honestly, officer...I haven't the slightest idea how that got there)
One Japanese good luck coin
One container of hand cream
One toothbrush
One spool of dental floss
One pair of gold earrings (I've been looking for those, too)
One silver heart necklace

Yikes.

My purse is now much lighter - and much emptier.
But I feel better...

The Keys to My Undoing

I dropped my keys this afternoon.

I think I broke my toe.

Seriously.

If there is such a thing as a contest for the most crap on a keyring, I believe I could be a contender. It's ridiculous, I tell you. The fact that I can still manage to lose my keys is baffling to me...

I have all of nine keys...that's it. The rest of this conglomeration is assorted junk.

Red baubles, The Horde symbol, a fob from the local radio station (I used to work for them), lip gloss, a brass egg, a jar of sand from Cuba, a glow-in-the-dark spiky ball, a War-Amps tag....

There must be some kind of therapy for this.

Redundant (see: Redundant)

Redundancies annoy me.

Here are a few that I have seen recently while perusing the net:


Total Abstinence

Subject Matter

Honest Truth (no, really!)

Join Together

General Public

Harbinger of Things To Come

New Initiative

Audible Gasp (because a silent gasp is just a breath)

Advance Warning

Execution-Style Killing

Future Plans

Gather Together

Jewish Synagogue (as opposed to what, exactly?)

Lag Behind

Manual Dexterity

Occasional Irregularity (don't give me that crap)

Basic Fundamentals

First Time Ever

Shrug One's Shoulders (what else are you gonna shrug...hmmm?)

And then...then there is Redundancy in action!

Behold and be amazed.

To Be or Not

Below you will find a clip from the movie Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead. This is possibly my favourite movie of all time. I know many of you are not Shakespeare fans - but you don't have to be to appreciate the simple genius of the words spoken.

This particular clip is a parody on Hamlet's 'To Be or Not To Be' soliloquy...only it is far better in my opinion.

If you haven't seen the movie - do yourself a favor. It is incredibly funny, intelligent, and has a phenomenal cast including Gary Oldman, Tim Roth and Richard Dreyfuss.




"Whatever became of the moment when one
first knew about death?
There must have been one - a moment.
As a child; when it first occurred to you
that you don’t go on forever.
It must have been shattering...
stamped into one’s memory -
and yet, I can’t remember it.
It never occurred to me at all.

We must be born with an intuition of mortality -
before we know the word for it.
Before we know that there are words...
Out we come, bloodied and squalling;
with the knowledge that for all
the points on the compass, there is only one direction -
and time is its only measure."

Chili Weather

I made chili for supper tonight.

I love chili, especially on days like this. It's cold and snowing - and chili is warm and satisfying.

More often than not when I make chili, I will buy bread bowls to serve it in. Less dishes, and yummy bread to boot. However, I didn't have a vehicle today - so no bread bowls.

I decided to make beer muffins with cheese and bacon instead. They are absolutely delicious, and go exceptionally well with chili. Not only that - they are the easiest thing in the world to make.

Trust me - people will think you're a frickin' kitchen genius with these babies.

Check it out:

Three cups all-purpose flour
Five teaspoons baking powder
Three quarters of a teaspoon of salt
Four tablespoons of white sugar
One half cup of cooked, crumbled bacon
One cup grated cheddar cheese
One bottle of beer
Two tablespoons melted butter

Preheat oven to 350F and grease muffin tins.
Measure dry ingredients into bowl.
Stir in bacon and cheese and pour beer over top, stirring to blend.
Spoon into pans & brush tops with melted butter.
Bake for 15-20 minutes or until tops are golden brown.
Makes 9 lg muffins.

The KY Incident

Because Jen was kind enough to mention it in her comment on yesterday's post - I will relate to you the KY Incident. (it's not as bad as you think...or maybe it is...ah well)

Before The Man and I got married, he was determined to find out just how much he could embarrass me before I'd either 1) leave him or 2) kill him. He never thought for even a moment that I could hold my own against him.

Anyway...

It was Hell Thursday (the day before Good Friday) and we were in one of our city's largest pharmacies, purchasing Laura Secord chocolate eggs for my niece and nephew (and myself, of course). Now, being the day before the chocolate holiday, the place was packed with people as this was one of the few places in town to carry the best quality goodies. To say the lines at the check-outs were long would be a tremendous understatement.

So, standing in line, I turned to say something to The Man, only to realize he'd disappeared. Nothing new, really...men have a tendency to wander off when bored, right?

Suddenly, above the noise of the people, the cash registers, the crying children, I hear my soon-to-be husband's usually subdued voice bellow from across the store: "Hey Honey...THIS ONE???"

Looking over the heads of the people behind me in line, I see The Man standing in the middle of the store holding over his head the biggest damned tube of KY Jelly I have ever seen! Honestly, this thing was HUGE! Needless to say, his outburst and his choice of product attracted the attention of most of the patrons and employees in the store.

All eyes turned from him to me...

My first thought was 'you son-of-a-so-and-so...I'm gonna kill you'. But then, from the beneath the waves of embarrassment and seething rage came a calm voice...the voice of revenge.

I fixed The Man with a vengeful stare and shouted back "Noooo....That's not the flavour you like!!"

Laughter erupted around me and indeed, the entire store. The Man disappeared down an aisle like his butt was on fire.

When he reappeared he was sans lube and his ears were almost purple (that's how he blushes).

Walking by me as he made his way quickly out of the store, he leaned in to whisper to me "...good one."

He's never tried anything like that since.

He knows better.

Shopping Shenanigans

Finding myself in need of certain household necessities (garbage bags, dish washing soap, etc) I made a foray into the local hell that is Walmart.

This time of year, I like to avoid shopping all together - especially places such as Walmart. There is Christmas music, trees, ornaments, lights, candles, cards, and all the poofery that goes along with this overblown holiday.

The toy department has grown exponentially in the past week to take over a good quarter of the damned store - and everywhere there are whiny, sniveling children begging their blank-staring parents for every single thing on the shelves.

I hate Christmas. Bah-freakin'-humbug!

It is a joy, however, to shop with The Man in times such as these.

Being neither a parent, nor sympathetic to their plight, he takes great pleasure in grabbing whatever toy some poor, bedraggled mother has ripped from her child's hand after saying 'NO' for the fortieth time, and putting it in our cart...while making Nyaaaa faces at the child who then loses his mind completely. Of course, I dump the toy out on the next aisle - and The Man moves on to his next taunting victim.

Another place he likes to do this is in the grocery store. The cereal aisle being the best place for this sort of thing. Usually, the child is trapped in the cart - facing backward so that he or she can see The Man do a little victory dance as he puts the Cocoa Puffs, Cap'n Crunch or whatever into our cart - again with the child throwing a small conniption fit...and the mother is none-the-wiser.

My favourite game whilst shopping is to throw random things in other people's carts. Not big things, mind you. A Twenty kilo bag of dog chow is liable to arouse suspicion. Just small things...condoms, corn pads, flea collars...that kinda thing. Of course, I don't do it often - and I usually reserve this for people I know. Usually...

So...as much as I loathe shopping, at least there are these small glimmers of glee.

In Your Facebook!

Facebook sucks.

There. I said it.

I used to have a facebook account.

I got tired of stupid, unsolicited emails, getting poked, pinched or whatever the newest thing was at the time, and I really hated people wanting me to join this group or that group.

Don't care what you're into...leave me out of it. So you like fuzzy bunny slippers - big deal. Doesn't mean I want to join your fuzzy bunny slipper group just because I happen to know who you are. And do I really know who you are? You and I met once (I think) at a friend of a friend's 30th birthday party. Weren't you the one throwing up in the begonias?

And please...for the love of all that is holy - stop with the wall-writing thing. Electronic graffiti has none of the risk or artistic merit of actual graffiti. Besides, it's not like you can actually spray paint YOUR HOCKEY TEAM SUCKS ROCKS on someone's facebook page now is it?

Instead of Facebook, I offer the following. I think it would be a much better use of people's time, effort and creativity.

Hell, I'd belong to this.


You would too...and you know it.

November Rain

It's Saturday...and it's raining.

Could be worse, I suppose. Considering the date, it could be snowing. I guess I can take comfort in the rain. At least I don't have to shovel that.

Days like this always make me want to just stay put. Laze around the house, read a good book and enjoy the sound of the rain. Warmer days and summer rains require a walk around the marina or maybe the local park - but at this time of year, that's just asking for pneumonia.

I had plans today - but I can feel them falling apart as I type this.

There is always tomorrow...at least in theory.

If ever there was a day to listen to this, it is today. I'm not the biggest GnR fan - but I always found this particular song to be haunting and somewhat mesmerizing. I think I'll put it on an endless loop, take my book, my cats and my coffee cup and curl up on the couch.

November Rain - Guns and Roses

When I look into your eyes
I can see a love restrained
But darlin' when I hold you
Don't you know I feel the same

Nothin' lasts forever
And we both know hearts can change
And it's hard to hold a candle
In the cold November rain

We've been through this such a long long time
Just tryin' to kill the pain

But lovers always come and lovers always go
An no one's really sure who's lettin' go today
Walking away

If we could take the time
to lay it on the line
I could rest my head
Just knowin' that you were mine
All mine
So if you want to love me
then darlin' don't refrain
Or I'll just end up walkin'
In the cold November rain

Do you need some time...on your own
Do you need some time...all alone
Everybody needs some time...
on their own
Don't you know you need some time...all alone

I know it's hard to keep an open heart
When even friends seem out to harm you
But if you could heal a broken heart
Wouldn't time be out to charm you

Sometimes I need some time...on my
own
Sometimes I need some time...all alone
Everybody needs some time...
on their own
Don't you know you need some time...all alone

And when your fears subside
And shadows still remain
I know that you can love me
When there's no one left to blame
So never mind the darkness
We still can find a way
Nothin' lasts forever
Even cold November rain

Don't ya think that you need somebody
Don't ya think that you need someone
Everybody needs somebody
You're not the only one

The Name Game

I wonder sometimes where we get the names of things.

I have a physical condition which requires me to take medication for pain. These medications are referred to by my doctor and pharmacist as 'pain pills'. Doesn't that sound like they cause pain? I already have pain...I want relief pills.

The same can be said about the Fire Department. Sounds like they set fires, doesn't it? It should be called the Extinguishing Department. The Bomb Squad sounds like a terrorist organization to me.

Don't even get me started on things like 'wrinkle cream'...

Remember This

November 11th is Remembrance Day, or Veterans' Day to our southerly neighbours.

Today, we set aside a moment from our day-to-day lives to remember those who gave theirs in order that we might be able to live as we do.

A solemn occasion, and yet a celebration as well.

I live a stone's throw from the largest Military Base in Canada, CFB Petawawa. In my time, I have seen and taken part in many Remembrance Day ceremonies.

All across the country, cenotaphs and war memorials will be packed with War Vets, government officials, military brigades and scads of civilians. Wreaths will be laid, moving speeches will be said, the bagpipes will play. It's very emotional.

Eventually, the poem In Flanders Fields will be read - usually by some middle school-aged child who will read it like he/she was reading Old Mother Hubbard.

Yes, it's a poem. Yes, it's written in rondeau form. Doesn't mean it was meant to be read that way. This is one of the most beautiful, stark and moving pieces of prose ever written. It wrenches my heart whenever I read it - and it makes my blood boil when I hear it orally presented with all the emotion of a weather report.

For your consideration, allow me to print the poem as I believe it should be read. Perhaps then you will understand what I mean. Take note of punctuation - it makes all the difference in the world.

In Flanders field the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row, that mark our place;
And in the sky, the lark, still bravely singing
Fly scarce heard amidst the guns below

We are the dead.
Short days ago we lived, felt dawn, saw sunset's glow;
Loved, and were loved.
And now we lie in Flanders Fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe!
To you, from failing hands we throw the torch;
Be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die -
We shall not sleep;
Though poppies grow
In Flanders Field

-Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae

Battitude

There are phrases that people use everyday that just don't seem to make a lot of sense to me. Common usage makes them acceptable and ordinary - but sometimes, they just strike a strange chord with me. And that makes my mind wonder...and wander.

I was talking to The Man yesterday. He was telling me about some guy who nearly killed him on his way home from work because the guy blew through a four-way stop intersection going 'like a bat out of Hell'.

How do we know how fast a bat would leave Hell? He might fly really slow. In fact, why should we assume that a bat would even want to leave Hell? Maybe he likes it there. Perhaps Hell is just right for a bat. Maybe it's bat Heaven!

And while we're on the subject - how do we know there are bats in Hell in the first place? What would a bat be doing in Hell? Bats are usually in the belfry, aren't they? Why would they want to split their time between two places?

Then again, maybe that's why he's in such a hurry to get out of Hell...he's due back at the belfry.

The Prick...er...Price is Right

The Home Shopping networks are a true evil in society today.

Never before has such crap been available to so many people in the comfort of their own homes.

Crystal-encrusted teapots, cashmere lampshades, talking fridge magnets...you name it, you can get it. (not that you want it - but you can get it)

Personally, I cannot abide home shopping channels. Not even rampant insomnia can force me to watch them. But every so often, I find things like this - and I wonder what I have been missing.

Aw...Puck.

Checking the hockey schedule today, I see that my beloved NY Islanders are playing the Pittsburgh Penguins.

Ugh.

Bad enough they are on the bottom of the Eastern Conference and the entire NHL standings at the moment - but now they get to battle the Penguins and the mighty Crosby.

Would someone just shoot me, please?

Although the Isles have done poorly in the past, I believe that this year's early slump is a downward slide that seems unstoppable. Garth Snow (GM) and Scott Gordon (Head Coach) made some poor choices in the off-season; trading away some of the better depth players - I can only assume for financial reasons.

It's painful to watch them now.

The fact that they won the other night only makes me more frustrated as it gives me a spark of hope...one that will be quickly doused, I'm sure.

I'm actually torn as to whether I want to watch the game tonight or not. I probably won't - but will listen to it via the net. That way, I can take out my frustrations on some poor innocent Scrabble opponent.

Maybe I should join The Man and cheer for the Maple Leafs. Hahahaha...!

I'm depressed...but I'm not stupid.

At least the Isles have won 4 cups in a row...in MY lifetime!!!

Yes...at the moment (and probably for the remainder of the season), the Islanders suck canal water. But at least they aren't the Maple Leafs. 1967, kids. That's the last time Lord Stanley's trophy made it to Toronto.

I feel better now.

November 9: We lost...surprise, surprise.

Cereal Killer

I'm not much of a breakfast person.

Coffee.
More coffee.
That's breakfast.
(it's usually snack, lunch and often supper, too)

I have been trying harder of late to change my eating habits. When I do eat breakfast, it's normally something terribly good for me - like an Oh Henry bar or a handful of Oreos - along with the mandatory coffee, of course.

So, I bought a few different kinds of cereal the other day - variety being the key, so I've been told.
Special K, Corn Flakes, Harvest Crunch and Shreddies. There are Fruit Loops, but they aren't mine - they belong to The Man. I wouldn't dream of eating them anyway...they look like some kind of nightmarish mardi gras necklace exploded. Someday I'll tell you about my "Fruit Loops are the Food of the Antichrist" theory...but not now.

Anyway - coffee happily perking away, I armed myself with the required implements for a healthy breakfast; that being a bowl, a spoon and the milk jug. I looked into the pantry cupboard at my four cardboard-encased choices. They all looked equally unappealing. I grabbed the closest one to me. Shreddies. Diamond Shreddies at that. (don't even get me started...)

I turned the box on its side - "100% Whole Grain Wheat!". I turned it over to the French side of the box. "Blé Entier de Grain!"

Blé.

Yup...that sounds delicious.

Oreos, anyone?

The Many Faces of Insanity

Yes, yes...it's time for one more introduction to yet another of my WoW companions.

This is Totemmaster.


He's a shaman. He's also insane. But I love him.

Known as Andrew when he's not at the computer - which is rarely. Like me, I'm sure that even in real life he has learned to answer to his characters' names.
(I still get called Cord...and I still answer to it)



Another alternate junkie, I first met Totemmaster, or Tote, as I call him, on his sexy-beast rogue known as Oradis. I was just a young and impressionable warrior then....level 20 something I believe. We were introduced in a place known as Scarlet Monastery. A great place to earn gear and materials for advancement.

Oradis ruled the battlegrounds for ages at level 29, until one fateful night...when he leveled without wanting to. I can only imagine that he now terrorizes the Alliance at level 39.


I personally spent days on end farming a Gnome pit for a particular pair of leggings for Oradis - because it was essential that he have the best gear. The things I do ...honestly.

Anyway, Andrew also started a rogue to level to 70 with the strange name of Cuddlesworth. Nothing like being pwned (yes...I said pwned - cut me some slack) by someone with a name like that. Cuddles is now level 70 and terrorizing everything while mounted on his netherwing drake.



Cuddles and I tore up Outlands together. I was leveling a hunter at the time, known as Idun. We had great adventures...getting squashed by the fel reaver...bombing the crap out of things...good times, good times.

I have heard that there is a female warrior amongst his alts now...(I would like to say I had something to do with that...but I can't). She is probably just as crazy/ballsy/mouthy as the rest of Andrew's toons...and I wouldn't want it any other way.

Andrew is a great player, a fun guy to hang with, and a great friend...he's also an artist. Not just on the battlegrounds either...I mean a real-live artist!! How sweet is that?

Someday, I'm going back to Azeroth...because I miss hanging out with Tote and the gang. Not only that - he has all my money!

High School Confidential

Recently, I ran into someone I knew in high school. Not a friend per se, as I didn't have many of those; but someone I had shared several classes with over my four years in hell.

She asked me why I had chosen not to attend the recent high school reunion. Of the boundless and valid answers I could have given, I simply shrugged and said I didn't feel like it.

This wasn't a lie. I truly had no desire to see people whom I didn't particularly like then gloating and preening with their accordion-fold picture collections of their prize-winning children.

Bitter, you say?

Not in the least.
As much as they were choosy in who they accepted into their midst, I was just as choosy about who I hung with...although not for the same reasons.

Twenty years doesn't really change people all that much in the long run. Most of the girls who excluded me from their circles in high school would most certainly exclude me from their country clubs, charity drives and church groups today. I'd like to say I'm choked up about that...but I'd be lying.

My small but close-knit group of odd and outcast friends has pretty much stayed intact over the years. We keep in touch, though we are spread all over the country now. We aren't fastidious about contact - but we do communicate - thanks to the internet. There are a few who have fallen out of sight...one or two who have fallen all together.

I need no organized event to remind me of who I was - and who others were as well. Nor do I need to attempt to validate my existence and accomplishments to those who did and still do practice one-upmanship as a sport.

High school.
Bad enough the first time around, I think.
Why waste 15 years of therapy just to get a t-shirt and a whole new complex?

It All Adds Up

I play Scrabble.

A lot.

Competitive Scrabble, that is.

If you are looking for a friendly game, I am not your girl. I play to keep my mind occupied, my vocabulary honed, and the opportunity to be chastised and berated by strangers. What can I say? I'm a strange string bean.

Often, to amuse myself while waiting for my opponent to take their turn, I will look at words and mentally add up their point value. Not words on the board...just words in general. Words on the nearby newspaper(16 points) for example(18 points).

Anyway..
(15 points)

I was playing against some supposed wunderkind yesterday and was getting more than a little frustrated at his use of small words which clutter the board and box things in. A fine strategy near the end of the game, but a pain in the posterior in the opening few rounds.

Muttering to myself, I called him an asshole, which was unladylike, but it's not like he could hear me.

Then it hit me...!

Asshole: A (1) S(1) S(1) H(4) O(1) L(1) E(1) = 10 pts...!!!

How sweet is that???

I can now call anyone I want an asshole without being one myself. I just have to tell them they are a perfect 10! They think I've given them a compliment, and I get the smug self-satisfaction of cleverly insulting them.

I need a new hobby.

I guess I really am a 10...

..