Safety

Safety seems to be a commodity as much as jewellery is- and just as inaccessible.

Safety is having a closed door behind a closed gate in a "good" part of town. Safety is having a car to move around in. Safety is not having to take the deserted bus at night. Safety is having pepper spray, being able to afford those self-defence lessons. Safety is being able to avoid dangerous situations, like a midnight run to a "washroom" out in the fields.

Safety is expensive.

~Sam

I hate. (Now without the four letter words)

Warning: The following post is (UPDATE: used to be) filled with profanity, angst, profanity, hatred and profanity. I don't usually condone swearing, or like it, but extreme provocation (read: a pointless exercise conducted in a very pissed-off sun, coupled with stress and PMS) provides for extremely provoked language. Anyway, read at your own discretion and for God's sake don't leave messed up comments for me.


I hate. I hate the sun, the fact that its a frickin hundred degrees outside, the fact that the stupid weather is so stupidly annoying.
I hate people, stupid, empty, meaningless, shallow, superficial people with no consideration for others, who can't even do the  jobs they're paid to do properly.
I hate yelling. I hate having to yell. I hate stupid dumb blank stares with the heat rushing through your veins. I hate blinding red hot rage.I hate that I'm talking like this.
I hate traffic jams and fifteen minute jobs taking one and a  half hours.
I hate the fact that the hot dog and momo stand behind my house shut and went away.
 I hate the fact that people are so hard to read, so hard to trust. I hate that perfect freaks don't exist in my universe.
I hate the internet screwing with me.
I hate prying stranger-acquaintances.
I hate short tempered hormonal women. I hate being a short tempered hormonal woman. I ' hate hormones.
I hate that the stupid drummer next door doesn't realize that there are people living near by who can hear him who have lives which they'd rather live without a constant bang bang bang as background music. I hate the fact that he doesn't even have the courtesy to be freakin' hot if he's going to be drumming away all the time.
I hate work, sleep deprivation, expectations, judgement, all that jazz.
I hate anger and slamming doors and loud voices.
I hate that I have to password protect everything just to get some privacy. (Okay, that's not exactly true, but whatever. UPDATE: That is now true.).
I hate the words "everything is fine". I hate people who ask you how you are when they don't give a damn about anything except their stupid new car or whatever. I hate stupid social conventions.
I hate the fact that people make stuff up in their head about you without knowing a thing about your life. I hate the fact that when you say you're worried they don't understand that you're worried.
"Oh Sam? Yeah, she's fine, just perfect. What does she have to get scared about?" I hate that.
I hate the fact that I'm so unsure of everything. 
I hate the fact that society thinks that women are some fragile little flowers that need to be protected all the frickin' time. I hate the fact that half the people who think that about their women are the ones who go fuck with other women. I hate the stupid, hypocritical world that we live in. I hate that the sunshine and rainbows are so overshadowed by the stress and mud.
I just..hate. And I hate that I hate.

~Sam

Dear Environment People,

Who do you think you're kidding? No, really. You think you can convince us to go out and look for jute bags when we have plastic right in front of us, to give $5 to Greenpeace instead of buying diamonds, to think about 50 years from now instead of tonight?

Dream on.

Have you even thought about what you're dealing with?

We're the race who needs to be threatened with punitive action to follow even the simplest rules-meant to protect our own lives-and even that we don't always do. Why would we care to fulfill voluntary agreements?

We're the race who skips red lights because reaching a meeting in time is more important than the prospective loss of lives of half a dozen people. Why would we care about the consequences of brushing with the tap on?

We're the race who spends more each year on war than on welfare. Why would we try to save?

We're the race who votes people into power and forgets all about the bigger picture for the next 4 years. Why would we take any responsibility on ourselves, when we can foist it off on them?

We're the race who doesn't study until the night before the exam. Why would we think about the long-term?

We're the race who lies, steals, and kills.
We're the race on top of the evolutionary pyramid.
And we're the race who doesn't care.

So stop wasting your breath. It won't make a difference. We all know all the things that are going wrong, whats going to happen-we're all aware enough. We just don't care.

Because who would rather think about the life of their future grandkids than their next date?


~Sam




PS: Because it apparently wasn't obvious enough-the above post is 100% sarcastic. I strongly believe in being eco-friendly and the above post was just me venting about how much people seem to say and how little do.

Also, because I loved the way that the person who commented below phrased this:

"If you say you shouldn't care about the future, and live in the present-blah. Just blah. If you believe that, then why exactly are you studying to build a career? Why do you have insurance? Why do you dream about a perfect guy whom you would meet in the future?
I don't mean to offend. I just want to say-care for others. Stop and look around you once in a while. If everybody says, "Why should I do this," who would actually do it? Do your bit. Don't ignore it. Don't keep taunting nature. It will, one day, get tired.
Just care. You won't lose anything."

More ramblings. (This is what I do when I have things to say but not enough to make an entire post.)

Hi.
If you're a hyper-sensitive guy well aware of his manliness who refuses to carry his girlfriend/mom's handbag, you should probably leave right now.
As should sane persons and other people who like coherence in their blog posts.

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So first up, if having a baby is anywhere near as uncomfortable as the processes that make childbirth possible, I'm never doing it. Screw experience, one magical moment is not going to make up for nine months of torture. I'll just adopt and pledge my soul to Greenpeace instead.

(Greenpeace because I'm being all eco-friendly by not adding to the population, and because everything-literally everything, from sushi to sanitation- can be linked to the environment. And therefore by extension to Greenpeace.)
(Also, congratulations. You now know that I've never experienced the joys of childbirth.
 (or have I?)
 Bravo.)

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God.
Why, God, why? Why do you hate me? And if you don't, why do you act like you do? Why do you ignore all my sorry's and pleas and thank you's? Do you not care about me? Why did you make me, then, if your plan all along was to leave me?
Why do you not listen to me? Why do you not acknowledge my existence? Why do you ignore all my thousands of thought-messages? Are you not telepathic? But you're God. If you're not telepathic, what hope do the rest of us have?

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Google.

If Google was a person (a guy person) I would marry it. It has everything I want. It's amazing and it's popular, it's successful and it knows everything without being an idiot about it, it looks good and it plays pranks on people, it's unique and it's accessible, it's multifaceted and it has a sense of humor, it's ultra-cute and I bet if it had a smile, it would have dimples.
So there you go. My perfect man is a search engine. 

Though I totally love Sergey Brin, too. Marry me?

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And that is what PMS and a soppy Valentine video from Google does to me.

This post is probably going to come back to haunt and embarrass the life out of me later.

Meh. I'll go eat my Subway now. (Subway <3)

~Sam

You know what the worst thing is?

I know who my perfect guy is. I know he exists. I know he's out there. I know he's not some unattainable dream.

I know he's out of my reach.

He's perfect.
He has dimples, the most beautiful smile.
He plays the guitar and the piano and sings, and I have every reason to believe he writes well.
He's gorgeous, he's talented; he seems nice.
He's funny, he's modest despite having every reason to be arrogant; he's beautiful.
He's perfect.
His looks, his history, his eyes, his teeth, his hair, his everything.
He's everything I've ever wanted; he's the perfect personification of my ideal man.

Unfortunately, he's also taken.

:'(


~Sam