Apparently ignorance isn’t always all that blissful.

Crazy Birth-Month Personality thing.

JULY:
Fun to be with. Secretive. Difficult to fathom and to be understood. Quiet unless excited or tensed. Takes pride in oneself. Has reputation. Easily consoled. Honest. Concerned about people’s feelings. Tactful. Friendly. Approachable. Emotional temperamental and unpredictable. Moody and easily hurt. Witty and sparkly. Not revengeful. Forgiving but never forgets. Dislikes nonsensical and unnecessary things. Guides others physically and mentally. Sensitive and forms impressions carefully. Caring and loving. Treats others equally. Strong sense of sympathy. Wary and sharp. Judges people through observations. Hardworking. No difficulties in studying. Loves to be alone. Always broods about the past and the old friends. Likes to be quiet. Homely person. Waits for friends. Never looks for friends. Not aggressive unless provoked. Prone to having stomach and dieting problems. Loves to be loved. Easily hurt but takes long to recover.

I was going to reply to a comment on that entry, but I’m not a fan of writing novels in comments, so here’s the part of the comment that I’m responding to, and my reply:

As one of the people who needs to take a variety of medications every day for the rest of my life, I’m annoyed with the way you’ve written this entry. Have you ever needed to take medication such as anti-depressants? Or are you just talking out of your ass on this?

And here’s what I have to say:
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It wasn’t getting to sleep in a little bit, which is nice whenever it happens.

It wasn’t getting to see my parents when they picked me up this morning, which is always a treat because I don’t see them as often as I’d like.

It wasn’t watching all of the proud men and women in uniform march through the city streets and surround the lovely memorial.

It wasn’t seeing the turnout at Victory Square as a huge number of Vancouverites all came to show their respect and share in the moment.

It’s not the fact that my little brother is out, in uniform, on some boat in the Pacific, serving his country in these troubled times.

It wasn’t even that magical moment, plucked from the pages of a perfect story, when at the first note of the Reveille, at the end of the 2 minutes of silence, the sun finally rose up high enough to peek over a nearby building and shed the crowd in it’s crisp, autumnal glow.

It was the realization of what this holiday means that’s made it seem so much more special to me. Not a lot of fuss is made leading up to Rememberance/Veterans/Armistice day. A poppy here and there. A few commercials on TV on those 10 days in November leading up to the 11th.

But really, this is what holidays should all be about. Celebration of our fellow (wo)man - regardless of race, religion or political affiliation. All that’s expected on this day is respect. No fancy presents, or fuzzy mascots, or ties to a particular religion or people. A donation for a poppy would be appreciated, but it’s not necessary.

Cameraderie, Awareness, Respect, Rememberance. I think it’s time for us all to re-train our focus onto the things that really matter.

Dear the 50 kids who get on the skytrain at Rupert each morning on their way to school:

While I appreciate your zeal for education, embodied by the high pitched squeals that you seem to enjoy emitting so much, I must make one request. Nay, less a request than a demand!

When all 50 of you cram yourselves into one skytrain car, would you please be so kind as to hold on to the lovely metal stabilization bars that have been provided for the use of passengers such as yourselves? This will prevent you from toppling like so many dominoes into all of the other passengers each and every time the train speeds up, slows down, or turns.

Don’t try telling me that you “didn’t know” it would be such a rough ride - I watch you act out this sad scene each morning on my way to work, while I try to avoid your careening bodies.

If you fail to meet this perfectly reasonable expectation that I’ve set out for you, you may find that I’ve either accidentally stomped all over your hello kitty backpack that you’re dragging on the ground behind you, or that your internal organs, or obnoxious cranium may have an unfortunate run-in with a well-placed elbow.

Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Warm Regards,
peechie.

An interesting entry over at NecroRogIcon. It’s nice to see people that have similar views to mine, and aren’t afraid to express them - even if they could possibly be seen as intolerant. And intolerance seems to be quite the mortal sin buzzword these days.

In any case, I was going to comment on his post, until I realized that my comment was getting to the length that it would be a post all on its own - so here you go, my thoughts on the issue:
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As I was trolling around the blogroll in my Saturday morning stupor, I came across this little entry, with pictures and everything (definitely safe for work).

My roommate bought the very same toothpaste, and, as is the case with most things in her world, she hates it. I had to try some for myself - and IT’S THE FUCKING SHIZ-NIT!

I went out and immediately procured some for myself. Now I could easily brush my teeth 5 times a day, just because this toothpaste tastes and feels so darned good!

Just go and try it for yourself.

be sorted @ nimbo.net

Congratulations on making Gryffindor!

Basically, you’re brave, daring, chivalrous, and pretty much.. an all around good person. Of course, some see you as a goodie-two-shoes. But hey, it’s true! You’re really good at winning, and normally always come out as the hero. Everybody likes you.. except, maybe, the Slytherins. You’re too perfect. No, really.. You’re too perfect. It’s annoying to watch you win, repeatedly. Oh well. Be proud anyway.

I’m watching the “Goodbye” episode of 8 Simple Rules right now.

It’s the most accurate and un-fluffy and true-to-life portrayal of a death in the family that I’ve ever seen. From the way the news was delivered, to moving through the memorial, to trying to accept it and imagine that your life might move on, and how a family can come together in the most uncharacteristic ways at that time.

Safe to say, I’m an absolute wreck. I don’t think I’ve cried this hard since the same thing happened in my family a couple years ago (a cousin, if anyone’s curious). This show is so well done, that I feel like I’m living it all over again.

So thank you to the writers and producers and actors that delivered this lovely tribute.

And pass the kleenex.

You know you work too much when you try to dial “9″ before each call you make on your home/cell phones.

I forgot how nice it feels to cook, and then enjoy the fruits of one’s labour. Tonight I made a shrimp stir-fry, with broccoli, carrots, snap peas and red pepper in a garlic ginger sauce, on whole wheat pasta.

And it’s quite tasty.

But really (and this got worse as I reached past them for the shrimp), I’d rather be eating meatballs.

*sigh*

I am addicted to Ikea Swedish Meatballs.

They’re all I’ve eaten for 2 days.

Help me!