Tag Archives: Life

4 Ways to Make Life Slow The Heck Down!

We live in a fast-paced society. Hell, we live in a fast-paced world. Things change almost instantaneously. News outlets churn out more stories per hour than the amount of bathroom breaks I take in a day (and I have a small bladder). People talk at a hundred words a minute and so much is going on that speech is hardly concise anyway. And what makes this worse is that we are busier than ever: eating, sleeping, working, groceries, errands, sports, leisure, socializing. And some of us don’t even have kids yet! Besides, even without them, all our free time is sucked into social media and technological mind-clutter. But worst of all, living in a high-paced world and being chronically busy makes time seem to race by. I couldn’t believe it when I looked at the calendar and saw that it was December and 2015 would soon be upon me. And it’s already December 9th!

But I’ve devised a plan. I’m gonna hop off of this high-speed train before it hand-delivers me to old age and I’m gonna work a way to slow things down while I still have the time to do so. Maybe try a few of these out and let me know if they work for you too.

Decrease Time-Wasters

This is my number one problem. I’m an addict. I’m not afraid to admit it. And chances are, you are too! I’m addicted to my phone and my laptop and Netflix and the internet and constantly being preoccupied with SOMETHING! What’s worse, I catch myself doing it. I can feel myself sinking into the chair and opening Facebook or Twitter or Buzzfeed and then endlessly scrolling. Sure, a half-hour here and there to unwind isn’t bad, but my obsession with scrolling has surely accumulated at least a year of time where I could have been doing something productive.

So, vow to stop that. Limit your wasting-time time. Do something that’s exciting and inspiring and maybe even productive. At least you won’t feel like you wasted your time when you look back at what you’ve done with your day.

My current kryptonite...

My current kryptonite…

Stop Multi-Tasking

Multi-Tasking is the cancer of the modern-day, middle class Western citizen. Well, okay, maybe there are others, but it’s one of them. In any case, dividing focus is the best way of losing just that. And what’s happens when we lose focus? We glaze over. Maybe it’s time to be intentional and singular and enjoy the things that we do, instead of just doing eight of them all at one time just to get them over with.

Experience New Things

I’m going to come out and say it: my forty day backpacking trip felt like a lifetime in comparison to the amount of time I’ve been home. I returned a little over five and a half months ago but all that time seems condensed and monotonous. There are periods of time where it seems I have no memories. I was just mindlessly going through the motions. But I think back to the trip and that time seems to stretch out forever. It even felt like an eternity while I was out doing it.

Why? I was doing something new. I was experiencing something out of my normal that was exciting and fun and fresh. Am I suggesting that I leave my home and my job right this second to do it all again somewhere else? Well, it’d be nice, but no. However, maybe there is something to learn from that. Maybe we should strive to do new things in our lives all the time to break up the monotony, whether it’s a new recipe or a new place to visit or a new hobby.

Allow Yourself to be Bored

In fact, I think you should encourage yourself to be bored. Take some time to do nothing. Seriously, absolutely nothing. No distractions. No TV, no computers, no books or phones. Just be for a few moments. Meditate if need be. It doesn’t work for me, but if I can set aside just ten minutes to reflect and absorb, maybe I won’t feeling like I’m half-assing and skimming through life all the time.

Got any methods for slowing life down and being in the moment?

Gun Range Defends A 9-Year Old Who Shot Instructor to Death: I Don’t Understand.

We’ve all heard the news and it almost seems pointless to recap, but here’s the run down:

In Las Vegas, a 9-year-old girl (unidentified) was attending something along the lines of gun lessons. While being instructed on how to use a Uzi (which I had to Google an image of in order to understand… #Canadianproblems), the gun got out of control in the recoil and she accidently shot the instructor in the head. The full story with video can be read here. I recommend not watching the video…

Tragic, right? Freak accident, right? I feel bad for the instructor. I feel bad for the instructor’s family. I even feel bad for that little girl. Can you imagine what that must feel like knowing you’ve shot and killed someone in a freak accident? She’ll have to live with that for the rest of her life.

But I must admit, my sentiments echo those of most critics:


Screw ballet or swimming lessons, let's teach our daughter how to use an Uzi!

Screw ballet or swimming lessons, let’s teach our daughter how to use an Uzi!

Now, I wasn’t going to write about this. The whole gun vs. no gun thing is an interesting topic, but definitely not something I comment on outside of discussions with friends. And hell, I live in Canada. We’re relatively gun-free in terms of legality, and I like it that way.

But then I read another article. This one includes comments from Bullets and Burgers, the establishment where the incident happened. Surprise, surprise: they evaded responsibility and pulled the “sorry, not sorry” card. How sensitive.

My issue isn’t with the fact that it’s a shooting range and they won’t take liability and yadda yadda yadda. My issue is with the comments they made about the young people (aka CHILDREN) who handle the guns. Here’s an excerpt from the article from the CBC:

“Sam Scarmardo, who operates the Bullets and Burgers shooting range, where the incident happened, defends the practice of allowing children to fire machine guns on his range.

“There’s people younger than 9-year-olds handling AK-47s in the Middle East right now,” he tells As it Happens guest host Peter Armstrong.”

Let’s take a moment and think about this logically. 9 year olds using AK-47s in the Middle East face *perhaps* a different living situation than 9 year olds in Las Vegas. I don’t think it’s unfair for me to say that. 9 year olds with AK-47s in the Middle East probably have other things they’d like to be doing. 9 year olds in the Middle East probably don’t want to be fighting wars where they have to use weapons and they are probably compelled to use them for a variety of reasons which may include, but are not limited to: coercion, a need to protect themselves and others, forced enlistment into a terrorist cell.

I bet a 9 year old from the Middle East would admire a nice, relatively stress-free day enjoying warm weather at Bullets and Burgers. 9 year olds from the Middle East are not afforded the luxury of shooting ranges. THEY LIVE IN A SHOOTING RANGE! And then to defend shooting ranges using 9-year-old CHILD SOLDIERS in the Middle East as a crutch? Disgusting.

A 9 year old should not have a gun. A 9 year old should not be allowed to use a gun in a shooting range, and if we’re going to let her, maybe we should consider letting her drive and gamble and buy alcohol too. Also, I find it ironic that a 9 year old in the US can practice her Uzi shooting skills, yet God forbid she want to enjoy the milk chocolate-y goodness of a Kinder Surprise. Cuz, you know, THAT’S dangerous.

Watch out for the toy in the kinder surprise... It's more dangerous than a gun, you know?

Since when did yummy become illegal..?

I can’t even.

/end rant.

Confessions of a 20-Something Millennial

Real talks, everyone. For real.

1. Sometimes, I’ll go for a walk just so I can stop crop-dusting the same unlucky people.

Onto new victims.

On to new victims.

2. “I’ll see what I can do” is my way of saying I don’t want to do what you want me to do.

3. I haven’t bought new razorblades for quite some time. It’s not cuz I’m poor. I’m just lazy.

4. I don’t care if I’m too old for Disney Channel. I just wanna watch That’s So Raven.

5. Sometimes, I just don’t feel like working out. For 8 months at a time.

6. I’ve never seen Pulp Fiction. Or Fight Club. And I’m not sure I want to.

7. Your baby photos on Facebook? A few are nice. Even twenty is fine. A photo every damn day? I get it.

So, maybe your baby is cute and I mean, it did come from your body and all. But seriously, stop.

So, maybe your baby is cute and I mean, it did come from your body and all. But seriously, stop.

8. I don’t want to work a 9-to-5 my whole life. Some call this entitlement. I call it just knowing what I want.

9. My ten minute bathroom break? Yeah, I was playing Candy Crush in the stall.

10. If it weren’t for my Facebook News Feed, I would not be half as caught up on current happenings as I am.

11. I watched Games of Thrones and didn’t like it. The books are better.

12. Money isn’t everything. Seriously, I’ll be happy with just enough to get by. But the lottery? Yeah, okay. I’ll play.

13. Sometimes, I eat fast food more than once a day. And I don’t even feel bad about it.

14. I’ll buy two bottles of wine if they’re on sale. It’s a recession.

15. Sometimes, I pretend to be busy when in reality, I just want to go to bed at 10 o’clock.

Bedtime at 9:30? Count me in!

Bedtime at 9:30? Count me in!

How I Stopped Caring and I’m Better Off

So, here’s the deal. I graduated university in April. I left on a plane ten days after my last exam and travelled to South Africa and Europe for forty days. While I was abroad, I managed to secure a publishing contract after YEARS (legit, like 7 years) and then get a contract for a day job to carry me until I can *hopefully* be able to make my writing my work.

My secret? I stopped caring.

Old Life Philosophy: Micro-manage the crap out of everything and then beat yourself up when things don't go EXACTLY as planned.

Old Life Philosophy: Micro-manage the crap out of everything and then beat yourself up when things don’t go EXACTLY as planned.

Okay, backtrack. I don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea. I do care. I cared very much about getting my post-secondary degree. I cared very much about being able to uproot my life for a while and live out of a backpack. I cared and continue to care very much about my writing because ultimately, writing is my art and my child and without it, I’d be completely lost.

What I stopped caring about was all the pressure that I was putting on myself.

Before I completed my university degree, I was in a different place. I had three manuscripts that seemingly no one gave a rat’s ass about. I had the daunting task of trying to find a job in this rough and often hopeless-seeming economy. Worst of all, I had this fear welled so deep inside me that I would never get to live my dream of being a writer. I worried that I would lay on my deathbed decades from now and realize that not only had I not achieved my dream, but I had wasted my whole life with nothing to show for it. I felt hopeless.

And then I boarded a plane and everything changed, almost as soon as I landed in Paris from my first overnight flight. It wasn’t that nothing really mattered anymore because a lot of things did, it was just that I seemed to have developed a distance from everything in my life. Sure, the physical distance was there, but there was also a mental one — an emotional one.

I learned to live in the now. I stopped worrying so much about what I was going to do once I graduated, what would happen when I returned home, and how I would feel if I failed the one thing I so desperately wanted to do. I also realized the immense pressure I had been putting on myself. It was the pressure to succeed for myself and a fear that I would fail and have to live the life that society envisioned for me. I became okay with not having a clear-cut direction for a little while and best of all, I stopped caring.

Drinking in Durban in the daytime? I just don't care!

Drinking in Durban in the daytime? I just don’t care!

I didn’t care that I had no job. I didn’t care that society was trying to convince me that my dream was unable to be achieved. I didn’t care that I had very little money and that I would return home to face an abyss with little more than a grand to my name. I just knew that I loved something so much that I trusted I would find a way to make it work.

And the moment I stopped caring and stressing, things fell into place. I was twenty-five days into my backpacking trip, checking into a hostel in Heidelberg, Germany when I got the email I would be a published author.

So, stop caring.

I Once Thought I was Pregnant

Most children are gullible. I, on the other hand, was a completely different breed of gullible. I would do anything if you could convince me it was the right thing to do. And trust me, that was not hard. I once ate tin foil because my cousin convinced me that my parents weren’t going to feed me anymore. But that was a meek experience in comparison to some of the other things I believed, so I’ve decided to list a few of them. Embarassing? Yes. Hilarious? Most definitely yes.

Enjoy at my expense.

Pull My Finger

So my father did this thing, as I’m sure most dads do, where he would say “pull my finger”. I would pull, he would fart, we would laugh, bonding moment ensues. But it didn’t just stop there. For the first 6 or 7 years of my existence, I honestly believed that my dad couldn’t pass wind unless I or someone else pulled his finger. Poor guy.

And believe you me, when I found out I could fart without someone pulling my finger, I thought I was the raddest kid around.

I can fart all on my own. Get at me.

I can fart all on my own. Get at me.

You Live Here?

Move aside teachers, I know you don’t live at school. I had a teacher who lived on my street and my mom was best friends with another, so I learned pretty quickly that they didn’t sleep on the desks of our classroom.

But my swimming instructor? He definitely lived in the recreation center. It all started when I asked my level 3 instructor where he lived, and he looked at me right in the eyes and pointed to the supply closet. And as a 5 year old, I believed him. Boy was I surprised when I went to work at that same recreation center ten years later.

Santa Doesn’t Exist… And Neither do Reindeer.

I believed in Santa Claus. I’m not ashamed to admit that. So did you, don’t lie. It was a thing. All the cool kids were doing it. It was the most magical experience of my life.

And then around the double-digits, my parents decided to stop tricking me and helped me avoid the social suicide of being an 11 year old who still believed and militantly fought the opposition (you’re referring to me? No, I didn’t do that).

In any case, such a stunt confused me. Once I sorted out that Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy didn’t exist, I accidentally grouped another childhood fairy tale creature into that pile.

Reindeer. I believed reindeer didn’t exist. I’ll never forget the day someone mentioned them and I turned around like the smarty-pants I was and exclaimed “Reindeer? Are you stupid? Reindeer don’t exist!”

But they do. For the record, they really do.

I was almost seventeen years old.

You don't exist. Sorry, bro.

You don’t exist. Sorry, bro.

The Birds and the Bees

This is perhaps the most embarrassing. I know the reindeer one is ridiculous, but this tops that.

As children, we’re keen to wonder. What is that over there? How does that work? How are babies born? Well, that last one I figured out all on my own. Mom and Dad got into a room, got naked, and just looked at each other. Perhaps they sat in chairs and just stared, I don’t know. Either way, BANG! children. Simple as that.

And then one day, I saw a gentleman naked in a change room at the pool where I took lessons. Let me tell you, it was the most traumatic experience of my young life. Not only had I seen perhaps the most scarring image a 7 year old could see, but now I was pregnant!

What was my mom going to think?


Luckily I never told anyone about this last one, but I guess I’m telling all you now.

Got any ridiculous things you once believed?

15 Things 20-Somethings Say, and What They Really Mean

We’re just so cryptic, you know? Okay… Maybe, we’re not fooling anyone.

“I’m in between jobs.”

Meaning: I have no idea what my life is about anymore. I thought I knew, but that was a lie. And I realized there’s no job market for what I want to do anyway.

“What do you do?”

Meaning: Is there an opening at your workplace? Can you get me in? This is networking, right?

You have a job, you say?

You have a job, you say?

“How have you been?”

Meaning: Are you as lost and confused as me? No? Well then.

“I’m fine.”

Meaning: I’m probably not fine, but I numb myself to real life so I can keep a peaceful existence like everyone else. Oh look, wine!

“I think society is unfair to Millennials.”

Meaning: I’m secretly afraid that everyone is right about Millennials.

“I’d love to travel.”

Meaning: I spend an obscene amount of time cruising travel websites, blogs, and Cheapoair, but ultimately, I’m broke.

Yup... Won't be going anywhere for a while.

Yup… Won’t be going anywhere for a while.

“Yeah, I drive a pretty good car. It gets me from A to B.”

Meaning: My car is shit. I’m terrified it’s going to break down on my way to my job. Correction: on my way to a job interview.

“I’m job searching. It’s a rough economy, but I’m staying positive.”

Meaning: I’m freaking the hell out and I’m scared I’ll spend the next 10 years living with my parents mowing the lawn and taking out the garbage for an allowance of 20 dollars a week.

“I’m using the experience to build my resume.”

Meaning: Basically, I’m working for free.

“I’m working on my ten-year plan.”

Meaning: I have no plan. Everyone else seems to have their shit in order though so I guess I’ll pretend to too.

“I had a crazy weekend!”

Meaning: I drank wine, watched Netflix, and put off tasks that should have been done two weekends ago.


“I can’t believe Super Successful Sally is getting married.”

Meaning: I’m weirded out but also kind of stressing. Should I be getting married too?

“We should meet for coffee. We haven’t hung out in forever!”

Meaning: Coffee is a nice thought, right? We always say we should but legit this time, we should. No, I’m busy next week.

“I never see you anymore!”

Meaning: I miss how close we were in college, and the fact that those days are gone makes me feel old and lonely.

“I miss college. Those were the days.”

Meaning: No one told me real life was this hard.

Could we take a moment for the carefree days we'll never get back?

Could we take a moment for those long lost college days?

8 Rules for Writing Fiction and Why You Should Break Them

I always find it funny that writers and editors always seem to have a billion sometimes-contradictory dos and don’ts when it comes to writing “good” fiction. But what is “good” fiction? I don’t want to start a philosophical debate, but one person’s Shakespeare is another’s Rebecca Black, you know? So instead of giving you a list of things that I think make good writing, I’ve decided to look at the rules, whether they come from professionals or amateurs, and I’ve taken the liberty of refuting some of them.


8. No Prologues

Listen, I can’t say I’m a particular fan of prologues, but honestly, a lot of successful writers have used them and their work has been just that: successful. I would suggest that writers stop agonizing over this rule and focus on what’s important. Get back to the writing. Get back to the story and the characters that will carry you beyond that prologue. If it’s essential to the story, it will stick.

7. No Adverbs

I read somewhere that using adverbs is a mortal sin. Mortal sin? Really? Even worse than a flawed plot line or boring characters? I militantly disagree. A couple adverbs here and there aren’t going to ruin a piece. In fact, sometimes I like them. It’s like drinking wine: a few adverbs may heighten your experience, but a lot of them can be draining and induce headaches.

Are they really that bad?

Are they really that bad?

6. Never Use A Dialogue Tag Besides “Said”

I was on this boat once, and then I got an editor and she pointed out how dry this made my writing after paragraphs and paragraphs of he said, she said. I’m not saying writers should go wild, I’m just suggesting that perhaps spicing it up a bit may actually enhance your writing.

5. No Present Tense

Don’t get me wrong: when done poorly, this can be disastrous, but mindless copies of the same old third person narrative can be terrible too. When done well, first person has an almost fast-paced, immediate feeling to it. It also feels more personal and more artistic, kind of like the primitive storytelling that humans were good at for THOUSANDS OF YEARS. So, give it a try. If it works, perhaps your story is meant to be told that way.


4. Use Only Complete Sentences

If you’re writing academically, then sure. Fiction? It can have positive effects.

See what I did there?

3. Write Every Day

It’s not that I disagree with this rule, it’s just that it’s unrealistic and puts a lot of pressure on aspiring writers who ultimately fail at this and then feel inferior for not reaching this goal. Myself included. If I could rewrite this rule, I would say Write a lot.

Life happens. People have day jobs. And school. And children. And lives. If writing every day doesn’t happen, that’s okay. But don’t doubt the need for time. Writing won’t happen when you’re asleep. Just remember, sometimes quality trumps quantity. You may find that writing every day for ten minutes may not be as productive or as enjoyable as writing for 2 hours every couple days.

2. Write What you Know

I don’t necessarily disagree with this, but I disagree with the misinterpretation this rule carries. I read somewhere once that young people made for bad writers because they were too inexperienced. The argument was that young people should go out and experience the world before attempting writing. I even heard that young writers shouldn’t even try until they had a master’s degree in creative writing. In other words, young writers don’t have enough in the “know” category yet.


I say, to hell with that, write away! Forget about what you know and what you don’t. Write something that comes from the heart. 9 times out of 10, what comes from the heart isn’t just something you know, it’s what is meaningful to the soul. Besides, F. Scott Fitzgerald’s This Side of Paradise was published when he was in his twenties and he dropped out of his undergrad at Princeton without completing. That’s not to say that a writer shouldn’t explore the world around them and get new experiences, I just caution against waiting. Strike the iron while it’s hot, if you can pardon the cliché.

1. There are no Rules

There is perhaps no rule I can disagree with more. Rules are meant to be broken, yes, but that doesn’t mean that there are no rules. Writers still have to adhere to grammar and spelling rules. Failyure to do sow results in sentenses that look like this.

So, don’t listen to those who say that there are no rules. There are. Editors judge pieces based on rules. Publishers judge pieces based on rules. READERS judge pieces based on rules. What this rule means to say is that some rules can and should be broken. Others can even add an element of artistic flair if broken in the right way. Ultimately, you decide, but know that getting an opinion from an editor or trusted reader is always valuable.

Got any rules that plain just don’t make sense?

Why I’d Rather Pass a Kidney Stone Than Talk About My Writing.

So far, this summer has been a busy one. I mean, I don’t know which summer hasn’t been busy because seriously, Canada only allots me about 8 to 10 good weeks of summer weather, and the rest of the time, I contemplate immigration. In any case, this means my short summers are jammed packed with social gatherings, family parties, and barbecues to enjoy the limited sun and bathing suit heat we do get. This year though, something has changed.

I’m going to be a published author.

Yay me, right? Don’t get me wrong, I’m ecstatic. This has been my life dream since before I had any concept of the real world or the feasibility of a career in writing. Well, I’m getting there and people are realizing that too.

But it’s not without struggles. In light of more editing, deadlines, and enough promotional materials to sink a small ship, I’m facing some new situations. Not all are bad: most are awesome and everyone is supportive.

But one makes me want to scream.



“So, you’re getting published, right?” Asks some distant relative, or friend of a friend, or colleague of my mom’s second cousin at that barbecue or other social event.


I shift uneasily. I can hear the words that are coming next. They resonate in my brain before they’ve even been verbalized. Abort mission, Michael. ABORT!

“Well, what’s your book about?”

There it is. I freeze. My palms get sweaty. My mouth is dry and I fumble to do something else with myself. Perhaps I need another drink. Perhaps I need to help that older lady climb the stairs. Perhaps I need to start cleaning up this mess because although this party has just started, fixing those misaligned paper plates would make me more comfortable than answering that question.

“Well, you see,” I start. “I’ve written a post-apocalyptic fantasy novel about a village of surviving humans who are stalked by mutant demons that have evolved in the jungle following Earth’s destruction.”

And then comes my favourite part: the glazed-over look in their eyes, the furrowed brow, the confusion. One of two things has happened just now: either they have no idea what I’m talking about, perhaps hung-up on words like post-apocalyptic, or they’re just frightened.

“The apocalypse?” They say. “Oh, that’s… interesting.”

That’s my exit cue. That’s when I normally reach for the vodka bottle for some social lubricant. Maybe I’ll also adjust those paper plates. Things would be much less tense if they weren’t misaligned.

But the struggle must continue. I know what’s coming next, almost like the way you can feel a bad cold by the preceding chills and slight light-headedness.

“I’ve always wanted to write a novel,” they say. “I have all these ideas and I really think I could get somewhere. I just don’t have any time, you know?”


My insides start churning. I feel like I should say something, like I should tell them that writing isn’t something you just wake up and decide to do. It’s not like buying a latte. You don’t just walk up to a writing bar, give some money to a writing barista, and then BANG! you got a novel.

Not that I mean to disrespect baristas or anyone who actually wants to be a writer, but what people don’t realize is that writing is work. Just like any job, you have to put time into it. It’s like running a marathon. I can’t get up tomorrow and place first in a 20K. I’d fail. Miserably. In fact, I have failed. Writing itself comes with a lot of failure. You gotta go through a lot of rejection before you get ANYONE who believes enough in you or in your work to take you on. I just mean to say that what this person is implying is true: yes, anyone can write. Everyone has ideas that could be novel worthy.

But being a writer? That takes more than just a half-realized fantasy and some spare time.

I don’t say any of these things, of course. Instead, I smile and say “well, you should try it some time”. And this, I actually mean. Give it a try. Set forth, my child, and write away. At least then you’ll realize that writing is more than just a finished product or a contract. Writing is work. Writing is committing yourself to a passion even with other pressures and responsibilities like a full course load or a full time job. Writing is pursuing a dream even when you’re tired and grumpy after a long day and 2 hour commute. Writing is a lifestyle.

What writing is NOT, however, is a snap decision. It most definitely is NOT something that is accomplished easily with a little spare time and a ballpoint pen.

/end rant.

Hope you all are having a wicked week!

What writing (if any) are you pushing through?


You’re Weird. Seriously. Really Weird.

Okay, maybe not just you. Everyone. All humankind (and maybe alien forms, if they exist). There are just certain things that we as human beings do that are frankly just bizarre. I’ve compiled a small list of them below. Proceed to feel awkward.


So awkward. Maybe cute. But mostly awkward.


So, you really like someone, right? They treat you well and make you feel good and those sparks are flying, or so they say. What better way to show that person that you’re attracted to them than by mashing your lips against theirs? And hey, while you’re at it, throw in some tongue and saliva!

Who’s idea was that? Don’t get me wrong, I like a good kiss as much as the next person, but can you imagine how weird you look? I mean, recall what others look like when they kiss — and not just a peck, I mean a real, wet, sloppy smooch.

That’s you. That’s how you look. Awkward.


If I were an alien from outer space and my super awesome x-ray vision goggles happened to be looking through the ceiling of a dance club, I would be afraid. I would probably take my space ship and get the hell right out of there — right away from whatever that is. We flail around like chickens, virtually hump anything we can get close to, and throw our hands in the air whenever there’s an obnoxious and screeching rise in the music.

And to make it worse, we prepare for this. We spent hours grooming and getting ready to prance around like rabid, semi-conscious animals. To top it all off, once we start, we just can’t stop! Get one of us going, and it’s like a disease. We practically herd ourselves into enclosed spaces in an effort to bump and grind and we do it for HOURS.

In fact, if I were a smart alien looking to invade this beautiful planet, I would just blast the YMCA and wait until the irresistible allure to jump about sets in.


Easy alien bait right here.


Honestly, we are probably the only species on this blessed Earth that does this. When we want something, we wait our turn. Okay, cool: we’re compassionate and rational and no one gets hurt that way. What is painful though is the way in which we do this. We plop ourselves into a location, stand completely still, and stare off into space.

AND THEN, heaven forbid you try to start conversation. If you talk to anyone, you get looks and exasperated sighs. If you’re lucky, you might just get someone to walk away, annoyed and slightly uncomfortable. Because talking to someone when you should just be quietly waiting? That’s just weird.

Stand in silence. It’s more natural that way.


Let’s go back to our kissing scenario for a second. This is before then. This is a time before your incessant face mashing (maybe not, but let’s pretend). But something else is happening. Every time that person says or does something amusing, you have this uncontrollable urge to expel air from your lungs and screech like a banshee. Sometimes, the urge is so persistent, you do this many times, getting to the point where you have trouble breathing and tears flow from your eyes.

Another note taken for the alien. Amuse the humans and they’ll become a shrieking, snivelling mess.


I tried to warn you. You’re just weird. Sorry you had to find out this way.


President of the Weird Club. Yes, that’s my natural hair.