I came across an old shirt the other day and smiled. My sweet friend Jane had it made for my 28th birthday and I remember opening it, blushing, and laughing my ass off. It's a black, stretchy shirt with an odd nickname my friends call me emblazoned across the breasts in glittery gold letters. (I can't tell you the nickname here, because a girl's got to have some secrets, even from her friendternets™.) It was funny because it was unlike anything I would ever buy for myself, or even wear. But it's so Jane and I loved her for it.

I've only worn it a couple of times, because there are not a lot of places that I go where a tight shirt with a weird nickname across my boobs is appropriate. And, on top of that, I need to be feeling really sassy and confident to make it work. The two times I wore it, Jane was my partner in crime; I'd shake my "nickname" at her and we'd both dissolve into giggles.

Coming across this shirt made me think of the first time I wore it. It was when I was dating Mr. E. (I was over him the moment we broke up, because I was so happy to be free from him. However, I've been punishing myself about that relationship for the past two-and-a-half years now – punishing myself for making such a horrible choice in a partner, for ignoring all the signs that this person was really wrong for me, for pushing myself down and becoming a different person to make him happy, and for staying in the relationship even though I was miserable. It’s only now that I'm finally getting to the point of forgiving myself so it won’t weigh me down any longer.)

Mr. E was having a house party and it was the first time I was to meet his friends. I was stressed, so I grabbed Jane for support and threw on my sassy shirt. We went into his house to the basement, and it was like stepping into another world. All the guys were on the couch, watching a hockey game on a big-screen television, and all the women (the guys' wives and girlfriends, I later found out, because all of these people were coupled up) were in the kitchen, talking amongst themselves. It was weird to me because at all the parties I go to, men and women mix and mingle. And most people I know have parties to talk to other people, not yell at a TV screen while their female counterparts hang out in the kitchen. The segregation and the hockey were unsettling, but I put on a smile and hoped things would get better.

Another unsettling feature was that everyone, male and female, was chain smoking. There was a thick haze to the room that gave everything a dull edge. I guess I must be sheltered, but I honestly thought no one smoked anymore. I mean, back in our bar days, most of my friends smoked when they drank, but in my current circle, only the odd person does. It was so strange to me that I had found this pocket of people for whom a non-smoker was an anomaly. These were so not my peeps. But, again, I smiled and tried to make a good impression, because I still really wanted them to like me.

Later on, once the hockey game was over, we all sat in the living room and played a party game. Guess what the teams were? Boys against girls. It was a fun game – one where you had to describe something without saying specific words and everyone on your team has to guess. I was having a good time at first, until the guys started winning. Every time they got a point, one of the guys would yell out, “Yeah! Respect the cock!” and point to the women.

“What the fuck? Is this for real?” I thought. My chest felt tight and my thoughts were racing. What shocked me the most was the fact that no one else in the room seemed to be bothered. The women were silent and showed no signs that they were uncomfortable in any way. The guys certainly didn’t mind it – they thought it was funny.

The guys kept winning. “Respect the cock!” echoed again and again throughout the hazy room, seeming to grow in volume along with the density of the smoke cloud. My muscles tensed. My rage grew. I felt violated. I felt like this man was ramming his fucking cock down my throat. I felt suffocated by it and wanted to scream. But at the same time, I still wanted them to like me. I wanted their acceptance. I wanted to be nice. I pushed down the anger and indignation and put on a terse smile. Jane later told me she could feel the energy radiating off me.

“Respect the cock!” I bit my tongue. I wanted to explode. And then, surprisingly, the women’s team finally got a point.

“RESPECT THE CLIT!” I yelled at cock guy, the words spilling from my mouth without premeditation, with a force and urgency that shocked me. Oh, god, it felt good to say. Because the clit should be respected, damnit!

Immediately, a hush fell over the room. Everyone turned and stared at me. Cock guy looked disgusted and said, “That’s such an offensive word.” But what really shocked me was the women’s reaction. In the split second that I was unleashing my revenge, I had imagined my sisters rallying around me and praising me for defending their collective honour. Not so. They were uncomfortable for the first time that night. They turned their eyes away from me in shame. They agreed with cock guy that “clit” was a Bad Word and decided that their catch phrase would be “Respect the breasts.”

After that brief shake up of their little society, everything went back to how it had been before my outburst. And I felt silenced. This was only the beginning of my silence.

Labels: relationships, self-esteem

My niece turned three recently and my brother had a little party for her. He bought some of those huge, oversized balloons that you tie elastics to and punch with your hand. I hadn't even thought about those since I was little, so it was so fun to bounce them around - so satisfying to feel the rubber rebound off your hand and make that familiar "boinging" sound that I so delighted in as a child, and still do. My brother and his friend obviously felt the same way, because they were just whaling on those balloons and giggling like a couple of little kids.

My niece was trying to get their attention, to show them how to bounce the balloon gently and nicely instead of smashing it around. They were too wrapped up in their little game to notice. Well, I think they may have noticed but didn't want to listen to her because "playing nice" would have been no fun.

She got this really perturbed and disgusted look on her face as she watched them. Then, she turned to me and gave me the same look, as if to say, "Can you believe this? WTF!??"

I shook my head and said, "Sweetie, boys are silly."

She looked at me and repeated what I said (she's at that great stage where they mimic you and say everything you've just said back to you - so fun!), "Boys are silly."

I nodded sympathetically. And then, the most curious look came across her face. A look of recognition. A look of understanding. She got it. We shared this moment of connection as the phrase sunk in and turned itself around in her mind. Just for a second. Then, she ran over to my brother and yelled, "DADDY! BOYS ARE SILLY!!!"

Amen, sister. Glad to be of help. That knowledge will serve you well in life. Go forth and spread the word.

Labels: misc

In my in-box:

Lazy to attend exam or classes?

We have Diplomas, Degrees, Masters' or Doctorate to choose from any field of your interest.

Only 2 weeks require to delivers the prestigious non-accredited universities paper to your doorstep.

Do not hesitate to give us a call today!

Lazy to learn proper English before starting your own fake Internet university? No problem! Chances are, someone will be dumber than you and then you can roll around in their cash naked. Naked, I tells ya! With bills sticking to your naughty parts and everything. Really, it's true!

Ah, spam. You make me feel superior to others. Thanks - thanks so much.

Labels: grammar

Aside from the food poisoning I inadvertently gave myself from eating something questionable out of my near-empty fridge (Note to self: Anytime you have to ask, "Hmmm, that's been there awhile, I wonder if it's okay? Just don't eat it. Don't. Go grocery shopping. Order in. Is that really that hard, Savia?), this Valentine's Day was pretty alright.

I checked my mailbox and there was a present from one of my best friends (a fellow Tiger who now lives Away. She had sent me the C@rmen Electr@ aerobic striptease workout. (Though, after watching it, I think it should be re-named "C@rmen Electr@ humps a chair for fun and fitness"). It actually looks like a pretty good workout, but if I get up the nerve to do it (tee hee, I said "get up"), you can be sure that all my shades will be drawn. I live in HoodLite, remember?

Anyway, I had just popped in the disk entitled "The Lap Dance" when the doorbell rang. Frantically, I tried to mute the TV or turn it off so I could answer the door, but I must have hit the wrong button because nothing happened. I looked through the peephole and it was a delivery guy with a package (tee hee, I said "package"). I managed to turn the TV off, but the sound was still going. I opened the door, praying, "Please God, don't let this guy figure out that I'm watching an instructional video on chair humping!"

The package (tee hee) he was delivering was a gift from Musically Speaking. I had emailed her about how chapped, cracked and sore my lips were from the new braces (a condition probably caused by my obsessive tooth brushing over the past two weeks) and she promptly ordered and sent me this amazing lip balm. I was so touched (tee hee, I said "touched").

I went to check my email, and I found a most fabulous V-day card from the more-than-fabulous Sarcomical. It was so funny, I laughed out loud, and it takes a lot for me to do that.

Later on in the day, I drugged myself up with stomach meds so I could leave the house for an hour and sign some papers at the bank. This is the present I'm giving myself. My debts have gotten out of control, so I had my mortgage redone to absorb most of them. Fortunately, HoodLite (*now with Splenda!) is becoming a better neighbourhood and property values are increasing, so I can do this.

While I was at the bank, I finally had the nerve to speak up about something that had been bothering me for some time. I've had my account there since I was two years old, and every month, my statements and bills come addressed to "Miss Savia Bella". I cringe everytime I see that "Miss" associated with my name. Well, on V-day, I finally asked them to change it to "Ms."

"Can you please change that? It makes me think of a little kid," I said. But what I was really thinking was, "Fuck this patriarchy that makes women define themselves in relation to men. Looking at 'Miss' every month reminds me that I'm not married and am somehow deficient in society's eyes, either as an immature child or as a future spinster. Whether or not I ever get married, I will never be a 'Mrs'. Never. The thought makes me ill. I will never be anyone's property. I refuse to comply with these labels. I'm going to be 'Ms. Savia Bella' to the end of time, thank you very much. Now fix it so I don't have to look at another statement with that word on it!"

She did. I smiled and exclaimed, "I'm a grown up now!" And it was the best Valentine's Day present ever.

Labels: gifts, musically speaking, transition

Labels: meme

I'm just "quirky alone".

Labels: relationships

This one's for madam diva.

Four jobs I’ve had

1. Food prep girl at Ruddfuckers
2. "Would you like fries with that?" gal at Micky D's (I was even employee of the month once. But the sad part is that I was 21 at the time.)
3. Conversation partner for 10 Korean ESL students (one of whom fell in love with me and continued to call and write after he went home to Korea)
4. Meat packer, night shift. My duties included packing wieners and assorted cured meats at a local plant. Good times.(Summer job in university. Actually not as bad as it sounds - the people I worked with were really nice, and it paid very well compared to, say, Micky D's)

Four movies I can watch over and over

1. Chicago ('cause I like to sing along)
2. How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days
3. Sex and the City (not a movie, but I must have seen every episode at least 10 times)
4. There are some movies that I watch when I'm in a specific mood. For instance, when I'm depressed, I'll watch the Kids in the Hall move, Brain Candy, because of the message it contains (you can't know what happiness is if you don't feel sad sometimes). When I'm feeling regret and restless and helpless about my life, I'll watch Sliding Doors (moral: certain things are meant to happen to you - no use wishing you had done something different, because it's all going to work out as it should). When I'm bored, I watch South Park, Bigger, Longer and Uncut, just because it's fun, and it also says a lot about Canadian/American relations.

Four places I have lived

1. Ottawa, Ontario
2. Saskatoon, Saskatchewan
3. Trois Rivieres, Quebec
4. Avellino, Italia (Okay, this was just for six weeks, but I say it counts!)

Four TV shows I love

1. Commander in Chief (Geena Davis rox!)
2. Dead Like Me
3. The L Word
4. Six Feet Under

Four places I’ve vacationed

1. Toronto, ON
2. Pisa, Italy
3. Cancun, Mexico
4. Vancouver, BC

Four of my favorite dishes

1. Sushi, tempura, miso soup
2. Ethiopian food
3. Anything chocolate
4. Homemade ravioli with ricotta cheese and creamy tomato sauce

Four sites I visit daily

Schmutzie
Soul Gardening
Sprigs
I Blame the Patriarchy

Four places I would rather be right now

1. At home on the couch, watching the shows I've obsessively taped all week
2. On a stage, singing at the top of my lungs
3. In Italy with my family
4. On a nice, warm beach somewhere (where people aren't living in poverty next to the resort)

Four people I am tagging

I just can't do it, man. I would feel too guilty tagging people. It's my thing. I hate to impose. But if you wanna do the meme thing, go for it! I wish you all the best in your future endeavours.

Labels: meme