I'm addicted to finding free samples on the Internet! I don't think I've bought shampoo in the past 3 months, because I keep getting samples! The handy travel-size, no less!

This one is really fun, though! Free movie posters! You don't even have to pay the shipping.

Another one, for the ladies is the Instead Starter Kit , which has 3 cups, and an 'instructional video', which I'm sure would be usefull for a doorstop, or a paperweight. Anyway, the cup is rather useful for those delicate situations when Aunt Flo is visiting. Sheesh, that sounds dumb. Instead is good for sex on your period. There.

....and how about some Juicy Fruit? This time, it's blue!

Finally: Free bleach!

Jana and I, somehow got into a conversation about sex faces. Oh, we all have them, don't be embarrassed. I surmised that I probably look like a muppet. Jana urged me to be more specific.

So, then, I urge all of you to pick a muppet you most closely resemble during sex. Post it under the comments for everyone to see!

Oh, and for a complete list of all the Muppets, go here. I urge you to look at the "Feather Duster". Jim Henson was a disturbed man.

And if any of you are wondering, I think Mr. Wonderful probably looks something like this. I know it's not very original, but the resemblance is striking.

This post has (surprisingly) nothing to do with the previous post.

Crazy Americans, indeed.

I say having naked monkey sex in a tree with a transsexual in Central Park just made it on my Sexual To-Do list.

Finally, these are actually a pretty good idea. Sure, the idea seems kind of silly at first, but things would get pretty interesting with these!

\Set"tle\, n. [OE. setel, setil, a seat, AS. setl: akin to OHG. sezzal, G. sessel

1. To put into order; arrange or fix definitely as desired.
2. To put firmly into a desired position or place; establish.
3.
To establish as a resident or residents: settled her family in Ohio.
To establish residence in; colonize: Pioneers settled the West.
To establish in a residence, business, or profession.
To restore calmness or comfort to.


To accept in spite of incomplete satisfaction.


Yes, yes, I'm ranting again, I know. If you've gotten this far, you'll probably want to skip this post entirely, it don't be very interesting.

I happened to stumble across that job posting today. There are 2 interesting things about this: 1) It's a temporary position, so they may still come back to me. 2) The pay was the same they were offering me, so they obviously weren't stretching themselves too thin trying to get me back.

And yes, I know that those two points are completely contradictory: Why do I care if they come back or not if I know what the real deal is?

I guess the only honest answer I can provide is that, at the very least, it's an option. It's a safe option.

I remember thinking, in my idealistic days, that "I will never settle". Now, more and more, I find myself thinking "I will do this when I'm settled." I guess my former idealistic self didn't think about the implications of 'settling'. Back then, settling meant being in a situation, a job, a relationship, a state of mind, that wasn't fulfilling. I would never settle, because settling meant making do with things that weren't making me happy. I had visions of myself being with some dick, working at a dead-end job, and being terribly unhappy, but being, at least, 'settled'. Oh, the horror.

Hm. I've started this paragraph three times now, and I just keep getting more and more frustrated and confused. I think the initial ranting energy has since faded. If you were silly enough to read this far, I apologize for not providing an accurate conclusion to this rant.

So, after our little erotic interlude, I sent my film off with my friends/fellow pornographers to be developed. However, it turns out that the film in the camera was a dud. I'm not sure what happened. I just have bad luck with cameras, entirely. This one seemed to be working just fine. The film was advancing, and it rewound itself at the end of the roll. I may bring it back to where I bought it this weekend to find out what the hell happened. I'm pretty pissed off. I invested lots of time into those pictures. I'm sort of half-worried that some perv photo-developer kept them for himself. Eep. Actually, that's a very plausible scenario, seeing as how I obviously can't blame myself for this snafu. Right?

It's 2:23 now. It's another one of those afternoons where I'm the only one upstairs, and therefore completely unmotivated to work, dontcha know. I've been spending most of the afternoon reading the message boards on ScarletTeen, which, I suppose, could be considered research.. \m/

After only a few short sentences, it's now 2:58. The afternoon is just wizzing by. I've been invited to some party-type thing at my boss's house tonight. It's like a fantasia party, only with face masks and gunk. I don't really want to go, and won't purchase anything, but I'm going on the chance that I can get a free facial. The rest of the night will be spent packing. I had the forsight to do my laundry last night, so it shouldn't be a big ordeal. Which is nice, because SURVIVOR is on!

I'm trying to fit in as many double-entendres as possible today, okay? Sorry, it's just been that kind of day.

So, funniest sex question EVER.

I'm enjoying this new, more sexualized version of the J-Spot. Can you tell?

Anyway, Blogger asked me if I wanted to try out GMail. Hell yah! However, each time I try, I get a 'this page cannot be displayed' page. Damnit. I reported the bug, so hopefully they'll get back to me.

Yesterday, Amanda and I went over to our boss's house for booze and BBQ. Amanda runs the child care program here. She's young, and likes to party, so we get along just fine, I think. We both got pretty tanked, which was nice. We drank on the front porch as the sun was going down and ate hot dogs, but then they all wimped out and went inside to watch Dr. Phil. Pussies. I count my blessings. I'm happy if the temperature is on the positive side of the thermometer.

Anyway, after my third drink, I came back home, hung out with Amanda a bit (where we talked about speech impediments and how to swear in Arabic) and then passed out on my couch. I woke up when American Idol came on. Holy, how not surprised was I when the red-head guy sang Mandy? Jesus. I like him, but this isn't the competition for him.

I had a conversation with my mom last night where she told me that if UW offers me a job, again, now I should take it. Now? What about last week? Hm. This past Monday was the 3 month mark, by the way. It means I'm 1/4 done, if I stay the full year, which, right now, seems unlikely, but I'm constantly flip-floping. Bah.

On a completely unrelated note: After a month of birth control experimentation, my hormones are begining to come back to normal. Meaning: I'm hornier than a three-weinered rabbit in a bowling alley (I found that off a website so I won't take credit for that tidbit). I think that also might have to do with my mood lately. I've been a feeling a little out of sorts.. A little.. disconnected.. impatient, and anxious. Then again, I always seem to have these sorts of feelings just before I go home, only this time it seems more so, and more sexually charged. Not that I'm complaining, mind you. It's just hard to keep my mind focused in the meantime. The afternoon drinking helps, though.

And finally.. I'm thinking about re-designing the site. I know very little about doing this. I like the every-changing colour scheme, I really do, but I'd really like to get some pics up here.. I'm not sure. Any suggestions?

... cuz when I do, I get in trouble for it...

I delivered some letters to the local high school today. It was a letter of introduction, just saying what I could offer the teachers in terms of presentations, etc.

After about five minutes after arriving to work, Ms. Principal calls my boss and demands to know what it is in the letters. P.P. was the return address, so I guess she must of thought that I was writing some malicious like "kill babies!" or "tell your students to have lots of sex!". So, my boss tells me all this, and I feel sort of bad to have caused all this grief. But, geez, does the principal go through all the mail that comes into the school? Or just the ones from P.P.? Anyway, my boss talked to her, faxed her a copy of my letter, and everything is okay now, but.. Geez.

In other work related news, I was asked by PPFC (the national branch of the organization) to get a list of hospitals and clinics who will perform abortions. I am fortunate enough to never have gone through the process of seeking an abortion, and to my knowledge, I don't know of anyone who did. But, wow. I'll tell ya, it's damn near impossible to find anyone willing to do it, especially anyone local. Many doctors won't even refer you to one who will perform it. I never realize what a sticky issue this is. It was impossible to get a list of hospitals who will perform them, because it definitely just depends on the doctor. The only thing I found was the TPU (Termination of Pregnancy Unit) at the QEII hospital, and a sprinkling of a few other hospitals in other locations. If you're in NB, I think the situation is even worse. There's the Morgantaler clinic in Freddy, but I think that's it. This all just made me think of what would happen if I was in this situation. What if I went to my doctor and he outright refused to treat me? What if I was 16 or 17 and he told my parents (apparently, if a woman is not yet 19, she must have consent of a parent)? What if I couldn't affort to travel to Hali or Freddy? What would I do?

I don't know.. and I hope I don't ever have to find out. And on that note, April 25th is the National Day of Action for Choice. Y'all know this is about as political and 'activist' as I get, but if there is even a chance you could get pregnant, even if you wouldn't have an abortion, I encourage you to think about what it would mean not to be able to make that choice.

This is American, but funny, and poignant.

...getting off my soapbox now....

All this research has opened my mind to the fact that a lot of people here, a lot of vocal, powerful people don't like having a PP here, and don't like what it stands for. Being naive, I thought that most people here were open to what I'm doing, and what PP does. However, the events of the last few weeks have led me to believe otherwise. I don't think I need to worry about anything too extreme, but I'm now more conscious about my place in this small, rural community. I lock my doors at night now, just in case. Better safe than sorry, right?

Now, this is an amazing idea. I love it! It's a great idea, AND the website is really well laid out. I'm so impressed. I think it would be a very neat event to attend. Cheap camping and music and food! Being homeless has never looked so good!

Back here, there are a bunch of angry women downstairs talking about all the things their husbands do wrong. Why is it that almost every married woman (or common-law, even) I know takes up bitching about men as a hobby?? Is this just an inevitability? Do we all just grow into bitter, haggard, wrinkly old hags, devoid of any joy or passion in our lives? Agh!

I guess it's an occupational hazard of working in a women's center. I understand that marriages, relationships in general, are not always perfect, that if you are with someone for a long time, there will eventually be things that come up that will become annoying. It just seems like, more and more, there's this prevailing 'us versus them' mentality, that I don't find particularly palatable. I just don't think that that is a healthy attitude to have, especially in a women's center. Especially for a P.P. The motto on my business cards is "Sexualy Health for Everyone". But if you were a guy, would you want to set foot in a place where the gag "If they could put a man on the moon... why can't they put them all there?" is stuck on the fridge? Isn't that sending the wrong message?

Y'know, that's why I'm excited about this T'N'T ("Tough n' Talkin'") program. It's a sexual health program developed just for young guys. I think it's a great idea, but I know I'm going to have one bitch of a time trying to convince anyone to come (no pun intended, perverts). I know that if I were a guy here, I'd be called a faggot for even looking at this building, much less attending some camp there. My biggest problem is that I don't have a penis. Preferably, if you're going to do a camp for guys, it should be facilitated by another guy. They know how guys think. I so don't. Besides, having a woman facilitate just changes the dynamic. Would they be comfortable talking about masturbation with me? Doubt it.

So, I'm trying to focus my attention a bit more on the first ever SH Pride Day. That, I have a bit more control over. I'm thinking my best strategy is to go with a "Straight.... Not Narrow" campaign. It's entirely unintimidating, and everyone can participate. It's not like I want to round up all the gays and have a parade down Main Street. I just want people to know that they don't have to go all the way to Hali just to feel comfortable.

Anyway, I'm rambling. Maybe I should actually work on some of these projects rather than just blogging about them. Though, if y'all have any suggestions/comments about the above, make sure to leave a comment.

. . . and I couldn't be happier.

Some friends came down yesterday for the day. Since there is fuck-all to do here, we went to Hali for good food and only a little bit of gambling.

After trying, rather unsuccessfully to find a movie theatre, we decided to drive back here, and come back to our good friend, TV, oh and Ear Wax Candy. Words cannot possibly describe how gross it is to eat gooey, honey-like goo from the inside of a pink ear. Ew, ew, ew.

We watched a bit more TV, and then, well, things got a little strange from there... Let's just say that there was lots of underwear flying about, and lots of flashes going off..

... and boy am I tired this morning.


There are some more sexy links on the side. Enjoy!

It seems the more worried I get, the sillier the songs get in my head. For the past two days, it's been "Baby Got Back" by Sir Mix-a-Lot. It's quite difficult to make life altering decisions when "My A-na-con-da don't-want-none-unless-you-got-buns-hun" is playing over and over in your head.

So, gee, big surprise, I'm a bit of an emotional eater. The result; I've been noshing on Hersheys Chocolate Covered Almond Bites for the last two days. Honestly, I've been trying not to, but there so good. Okay, maybe just one more. Oh, damnit.

I think I'm going to make a shirt that says "I worked for United Way for Four Years and All I Got was This Stupid T-Shirt... And an Ulcer". Jeez. In the last 24 hours, I keep going back and forth on my decision to stay or leave. I talk to Mr. So-and-So. HE makes some very good points, namely that it's one thing to stick around if I'm getting something out of it, if I had some sort of mentor, or someone to show me the ropes, but I don't. I've been relying on my past experiences, and not necessary acquiring new ones. So, why stay? Especially if I know that I'll be leaving after a the MOST a year, and will I have any better chances of getting a job back home? Who knows? But if I leave now, I'm guaranteed a permanent job. It might not be the dream job I thought I was coming to here, but it's something I enjoyed doing in the past, with people who I liked (most of the time), with decent pay (comparable to what I'm making here).

By the way, sorry about that link up there. It just struck me as incredibly funny. Oh, and obviously, that isn't really him. Or me, for that matter. Heh heh.

So, then I talk to my mother. My mother doesn't like UW. She knows that they've fucked me over in the past (see posts circa January 2003), and she hasn't forgiven them. She isn't entirely convinced that this job will be permanent, she thinks it's risky.

Then, dear old Dad. I always respect my father's decisions when it comes to my career; maybe a little too much. My father thinks that running this place on my own is great experience. Even if it doesn't succeed, he thinks that I will get a reputation for being a self-starter, independent, and a go-getter type. He thinks that this reputation will following me back home when I leave. He also thinks I do have a responsibility to put in my time here. I made a committement, and I could do lots of damage if I left too soon. Hmmm..

But they all support any decision I make. Well, gee, thanks, guys.

So, I talked to them today. I told although I really want to go, there's just no way I can go right now. I told them I wouldn't leave any early than the end of June. They need to hire someone right away, though. I guess I can understand that, but if they really want me, they'll just have to wait a few months. Anyway, they have that information. I'll just have to wait and see if I hear back from them. Maybe the third time's the charm with these people..

In other news, my sister sent another one of her fabulous, random gifts. This time, it was the letters S and X. I had to check the envelope a few times to see if there was an E in there somewhere, but nope. It's supposed to be sort of like the Rx that doctors use, but I'm not sure if the people around here are smart enough to catch onto that. We'll see. I'm going to find something interesting to do with them.

Oh, one more thing... I've got a naughty confession to make. I've been reading sex blogs through the Blog Canada directory. There's a few of them I've been reading rather frequently, so I'm going to side-bar them, in case any of you are feeling a little naughty. The Sweetness Follows blog even has an audio blog. I listened to a few of them at home last night. Wow. I really do love the marvels of technology. The J-spot is also listed under the "Sex" category of Blog Canada, so I feel obliged to Sex-Up the place a little bit. I won't turn the J-spot into a sex-blog per se, but I'm going to try to include a bit more erotic content. After all, it's my job, it's what I do.

I can't remember when I found this, but this is a brilliant marketing strategy from Burger King, of all places.

The second thing is... Do any of you remember OK Cola? It was a rather short lived Cola put out by Coca-Cola circa 1994, I think. I remember it tasted vaguely like orange pop and coke.The best thing was that they had a phone line. 1-800-IFeelOK. I even have an OK Cola hat. My sister and I would call the number as soon as we got home from school everyday for about a month. I remember my favorite being something about a Teddy Bear talking about having no knees.

Well, due to the magic of the Internet, I found the sound files from the phone line! The one I mentioned is the "secret life of stuffed animals" one near the bottom of the page. I unfortunately can't listen to them, as I don't have speakers on my work computer. Anyway, I remember them being pretty funny, so I hope you enjoy!

Yeah, I rock. \m/

Our good friends at UW came back with still another offer. This one is full time, permanent.

But still, they want me to start right away. I told them to give me a day to think about it.

I'm definitely leaning towards 'no', but every once and a while, one has to stop at the fork of the road and look off into the horizon, y'know?

In a situation like this, what would Robert Frost do? What is the road less travelled?

Some of you may remember a certain someone I sort of worked with last Summer. He didn't work in the Center with me. He worked as a marketing person for the Tower, but he had very little work to do, so he spent most of his time in my Center, either goofing off on the Internet, or answering the four dozen cellphone calls he'd get from his wife and/or stepdaughter (and this is no exaggeration).

He called me 'Jenny-Jenn-Jenn'.

Now, most of you know that no one, BUT NO ONE calls me Jenny. It gives me hives. There was a girl in my highschool with the same name as me, though she went by 'Jenny'. She sucked. She was my nemesis.

Actually, I do let one person, Vicks, call me Jenny. But only her. I let my girls in from MTA call me Jenné, but that's altogether different.

But what the FUCK is 'Jenny-Jenn-Jenn'?

So, anyway, the incessant cellphone conversations, the stupid nicknames, combined with his overbearing attitudes on what I should do with my life (see 200 Things About Me, #18), obviously did not put this guy on the top of my list of favorite people.

So, then I get this email this morning, with 'hey sexy' in the subject heading...

"How is everything up there in Nova Scotia. I just wanted to drop you a quick hello.Kinda like a quicky..lol I miss you, Hope all is well and you are enjoying you new job. I'm just winding down my school year. only 26 days left before OJT. Hope I get to go somewhere good. I put in for ********. Hopefull (fingers crossed) that I will get to go there. It will be a long summer without you though. I had a great time with you. We should have had a summer fling...lol Maybe next time. Drop me a note and let me know that you are ok. "

Isn't that a little odd? No, odd isn't the right word... More like.. ICKY.

Have we all seen WWdN yet? I don't read it all the time, but I must say, this blog is a great read. He's consistent in his posting, and he's quite candid with his emotions. It's nice to know not all celebrities sold out to the man.

Anyway, if you read through a little bit, you'll see this quite a bit: \m/

It took me a few re-reads to figure it out, but it's the 'rock on' sign. The humps on the m are knuckles and the slashes are fingers. See it?

Anyway, this sign tickles me to no end. It's so uber-geek it almost hurts. Though I'm a chronic over-emoticoner as far as messenger is concerned, I try to keep it to a minimum here. But you may see this one pop up every once in a while, like when I'm talking about Fubar. \m/

I'm back! Happy Easter!

I feel like I've been gone forever. It has been five days, though. That's probably the longest I've been gone for a while.

I arrived in Moncton at about 6pm on Thursday. Sarah and I went out to Boomerangs for our traditional feast of cow and bread and slushy drinks. Go Atkins! Oh, I also bought a camera. I was getting sick and tired of buying disposable cameras at $10-$20 a pop, so I thought I'd get a decent one and be done with it.

So, Friday morning I got up at 5:45am, showered, and attempted to look my best for the nerve-wracking trip to Edmunston. We left at around 7am, and drove. Forever. It was a gorgeous day, but the drive was still long. We arrived in Edmunston at about 11:30am. Let the games begin!

I can't say I feel in love with Edmunston the moment I saw it. It definitely has it's charm, but the city planners must have been seriously rockin' the ganja. There is a giant pulp & paper mill in the center of town, and it stinks. The smell reminded me of boiled hot dogs (which is too bad, cuz I used to like boiled hot dogs...). The mill aside, though, Edmunston is a pretty neat place. It's cornered by Maine and Quebec, so there's this mish-mash of cultures all over the place.

And ah, yes, the french thing. Well, I'm disappointed to report that I did not develop into a fully bilingual woman when I arrived there. I more developed into a deaf-mute. It's a good thing I have such a winning smile, or I may have gotten myself into serious problems. Well, not really, everyone was really nice and understanding. The Mother would kindly explain to everyone we met that I was English, so 'il faut parler lentement', which did nothing to ease my paranoia of having Down Syndrome.

The Mother, by the by, is a great cook. I've never seen someone cook so much food, and so often.

Hmm, so... some highlights...

- Walking along a little path along the river and laughing at the skaters.
- Driving around the 'B.S. Tim Hortons' (the Tim's where all the trashy-types hang out, ALL THE TIME)
- Drinking at Dooly's and WINNING at pool.
- Playing with Poopy, the dog, who has an atrocious underbite that is just so charming.
- Listening to Metalica from about 1am to 9am the next morning. This isn't so much a highlight as a lowlight, but deserves mentioning nonetheless.
- Driving through the countryside, down a dirt road, only to end up in Quebec.
- Learning the difference between 'Tabernac' and 'Tabernouche'.
- Saying "Je suis une ?ducatrice du sant? sexuelle" a few dozen times.
- Having to be, y'know, quiet.
- Listening to Tom Jones, over and over and over.


Well, that's the condensed version, more or less. We got back yesterday. We stopped in Moncton long enough to drop off/pick up certain things. Then we were on the road again to SH. We stopped in Truro for supper and for some groceries. I also went to Staples and got a cordless phone, which I'm quite excited about.

I'm going to cut this a bit short, as it is lunchtime, and I have a chocolate bunny ear with my name on it!

Cette link ici n'est probablement pas pour les religieuses....

J'ai maintenant seulement trois jours pour ameliorer mon francais. Zut Alors!

Mon fin de semaine etait formidable a cause d'un visiteur inattendu. La visite m'a motivé pour nettoyer ma maison Vendredi soir, mais par Dimanche apres-midi, tout a été ruiné.

Nous sommes aller au Casino Samedi. J'ai depense vingt dollars, et nous avons joue pour 2 heures. Maintenant que je moins intimidé, je ne déteste plus le casino, je pense.

En tout cas, je vous donne ceci. Je sais que l'hiver est passe, mais c'est du FUN!

It's been over two months now, and those bastard garbage men still haven't picked up my garbage.

Actually, that's not true. They picked it up one week, for some unknown reason. Perhaps the planets were finally aligned properly, maybe the garbage guys had just gotten laid, maybe lady luck was shining upon me that day.

That was about five weeks ago.

The result: About ten bags of stinky decomposing garbage. Luckily, it's been cold enough that the smell hasn't been too offensive, and hasn't attracted, you know, BEARS (side note, I had a dream last night about bears.. that I kept running into baby bears as I was walking down a road, and was freaking out because I knew the momma bear was somewhere).

Anyway.

I decided that this week was the week. I asked around to see who I could possibly call about this problem, and the best answer I got was "Well, gee, I think Jo-Bob goes around in his truck. You could ask him". Useless.

I was going to take matters into my own hands. My garbage is stored in a large wooden bin on the side of my house. I thought, initially, that maybe the garbage men didn't see the bin, and that was why they kept passing me by. However, after a few weeks of leaving the bin door open (so they could see the bags) and even positioning the bags in the bin so that they were clearly visible from the road, they were still being left behind.

So, last night, I took a few bags of this foul, rotting garbage, and made a path leading from the road, directly to the garbage bin (which held yet another 4 or 5 bags of garbage). There was no way they could miss this, I thought, smugly. Heh heh.

I went to bed, thinking that my troubles were over. I could finally sleep soundly knowing I would never have to see the rotting, half eaten cantaloupe, or the dozens of used Q-tips ever again.

If I could borrow a term from Sarah:

RAGE.

This morning, after closing and locking my back door, I stepped off my patio to see, yes, most of my bags back in their original home. Oh, and this time I had a little gift from my nemesis - the Halifax Regional Municipality Garbage Collectors.

I got a goddamn fucking TICKET.

Attached to one of the bags of contemptible, decaying garbage was a bright orange ticket. On this ticket were several boxes ticked off, each represented a most foul and heinous crime that I had committed. Even under the square marked "Other" they got creative and wrote in their own offences.

I peeled the sticker off my garbage bag, place it back in the bin, and slammed the lid down again. Were it not for the fact that my boss, and her entire family live only steps from my house, I would have sworn a stream of swears so loud it would make garbagemen blush.

I spent my usually delightful, calming walk to work fuming over my situation. Since those dicks won't take my garbage, I now have to go through these rancid bags of waste and sort them according to the mysterious code of the HRM Garbage Gods.

At first, I blamed myself. I should have researched the policies. I knew NB had a waste management program, so NS shouldn't be that different. But then I remembered, I had asked about this, and the only rule was to separate your cans, milk cartons, etc. You know, the usual. But my ticket read like some ancient code of conduct one would need the Rosetta Stone to decipher.

So, I mention this to my co-workers this morning. They had never seen or heard of someone getting a ticketThey were shocked. They've never had a problem. One of them doesn't even sort her cans.

I've decided. The garbagemen are picking on me. It's a personal vendetta. I don't know what I did, but all I know is: They pissed. Meanwhile, it's getting warmer out, and fuck knows what's growing in that garbage at this point.