The Truth in Fable

My Fable 2 avatar Horatio looks like an idiot. As of right now in my saved game, he's blond, has dreadlocks and mutton chops, is wearing a "tart" skirt, a farmer's hat and a "posh" shirt.

Why, you ask? He's trying to open one of those damned demon doors. Each one has requirements before it will disappear and leave a portal. Most are fairly easy; one just grunts, "Meat! You meat? You too big! Need meat! Urg!" You give him a big chunk of mutton, and voila, no more talking bearded head trapped in stone. But now I have to go find a silver cape, as per this stupid, difficult, neurotic door, and suffice to say, my hero appears to be a newbie crossdresser with a flair for the ironic.

And while it's all good fun to see a muscly man traipsing about medieval settings in a deranged whore's outfit with a sparkly katana and crossbow strapped to his back, it got really interesting when he made his way back into civilization. I was fully expecting everyone to either flee in terror or point and laugh at the hero's mental deterioration. This is not to say that this didn't happen; one woman told Horatio that he'd let himself go and that he'd be more attractive to her if he "spruced up a bit," a phrase I have yet to completely understand. (How does one exactly spruce? Can you spruce down? Horizontally? Diagonally? Interdimensionally?) Another man said that he "used to think [Horatio was] great!" Apparently, the transvestites have a long way to go for equality in Bowerstone. However, it was Horatio's wife that surprised me the most. She kept commently lustfully on how she'd love to run her fingers through his hair. Granted, she's a barmaid that's married up in the world, so her standards are lower than most. But he looks HORRIBLE.

This all got me to thinking about how, in this game, you can never really please everybody. Horatio's second wife (who died tragically at the hands of Lucien's men) liked chunky guys; his first (who also died tragically at the hands of Lucien's men - Horatio was a bigamist, although he is now going down the righteous - and boring - path of monogamy) was not a fan of the heroic pose. When Horatio started to get fat to please wife Uno, his reputation went down, and he also kind of bored people with his endless "seduce" expressions for wife Dos. Even when I changed his outfit to more attractive (at least by this game's definition, not necessarily mine) pieces of clothing, others were either apathetic or downright outraged that he would wear such things. It's all very confusing.

As much as I hate comparing the virtual world to real life, I can't help but see a nugget of truth in this idea. There is always someone who won't like what you do and another person might fall over himself to see you perform the very same task. One woman may like a guy with a big ass while her sister may get all hot and bothered by a skinny boy who wears girl jeans. Why? No one's quite sure, but it does make everything much more complex than I would like.

I suppose there is also an element of frustration on my part, as I'm trying to figure out why I am attracted to a certain person. I find myself irritated at me for liking him. He has deep-seated issues, stemming from middle and high school, that he has carried with him like a security blanket. He talks loud, gets defensive whenever I make snarky comments about his work, consistently thinks he's right, etc. And then I turn around and I STILL LIKE HIM. However, get along very well, and I'm one of the only people he doesn't fool with his "I'm the best thing on the planet" attitude he spews everywhere. He also understands me in ways that I think no other person, other than my close friends and family, has. I feel 100% comfortable around him, and I don't have to worry that my brain power is going to freak him out. He's not too bad looking, either, and his arms (my weak spot, totally) are pretty awesome. The thing is, I don't have to be Horatio with this guy. I don't have to go around, trying to please demon doors, as weird as that sounds. I can be me, little Miss JujuJuniper.

(Okay, and now I'm back to being pissed that I still have feelings for this guy.)

In the Information Age of today, you can be educated on pretty much any topic you might care to ponder with a single click of a mouse. I'm amazed, really. Libraries, schibraries - who needs 'em? The internet is your ultimate research tool. Can't understand the lyrics to that song you heard yesterday? Check. Need to know how to make a pipe bomb? You betcha. Looking for a way to cheat on your spouse? Oh, yeah, you're covered. You don't even have to leave your house! Score!!

Apparently, I'm a little behind the times because I just discovered the only atrocity that is AshleyMadison.com. I mean, I sort of recall seeing some type of news coverage a year ago, but I didn't pay much attention to it. For those of you as clueless as I was until 48 hours ago, AshleyMadison.com is an adulterer's response to Match.com, where unhappy marrieds go to start extramarital experiences with similarly mismatched spouses. The tagline: "Life is short. Have an affair."

Seriously.

I even forced myself to watch an episode of the Tyra Show (that was torture, in and of itself) where the CEO, oddly not female and not named Ashley Madison, is trying to justify the purpose of his site. He rambles on about marriage counseling and choosing to take "the path," which I assume means becoming a cheating asshole, even as he's confronted by a man whose marriage was destroyed by his company's services. He did honestly seem disturbed by the fact that he newly-divorced man (the couple looked like spruced up Jerry Springer guests) was crying, and even Tyra, the perceptive bubblehead that she is, noted this. But it still felt like he was basically saying this: "Hey, I'm sorry that your wife cheated on you and I know I provided her with the means to do it, but I'm not responsible because I didn't tell her to do it and if you were more of a communicator she wouldn't have wanted to bone the other guy." Um. Okay. Thanks, dude.

I look at this as the morally bankrupt cousin to the similarly eeky uncle SugarDaddie and the selfish sister-in-law How to Commit Suicide. It's just deplorable. Sure, if someone's miserable with their wedding vows, they might choose to explore their options (i.e. sleep with their next door neighbor's dog walker) or ask for a divorce. Or hell, they might even choose to make the other person's life so unbearable as payback for it.

Ugh, I'm getting extremely irritated now, so I'm gonna get back to work.

Welcome back, welcome back, welcome back .....

Wow, it's been a long time, friends. A long, long time. Not only have I been metaphorically bludgeoned to death with work, but there have been computer problems here. Apparently, my Blogger account had some issues with it (IP address screw up, or something along those lines, and someone changed my password along the way) and Twitter only worked some of the time (FAIL WHALE), but everything is back up and I can start posting again, which, depending on your leanings, can be a good or bad thing. :)

I am very excited! :) And kind of internet-communication starved, too.

PS I was trying to channel "Welcome Back, Kotter," but I'm not sure if my attempt was very affective.

It's been a while .....

So, these past two weeks have been as close to insanity as I could possibly get. And most of it didn't even really have to do much with me. I've been bombarded with insensitivity, frustration, happiness, frivolity, fear, anger, douchebaggery ... you name it. If there's an emotion, I've either felt it or have been around someone with it. I'll just give you a basic rundown, because there's honestly enough crap going on that I could write an entire novel and still keep you interested... maybe.

First of all, if I haven't mentioned it before, one of my oldest friend's is getting married in about a week or so. I'm not in the wedding (thank God - no offense, friend, to you ... you've been the least bridezilla-y person on the face of the planet and I couldn't be happier for you), but it's literally around the corner and I have yet to buy a present. To be fair, this is my fault, but damn it, I'm poor. And then, a few days ago, another friend of mine announced to the world via Facebook that she's engaged (and getting hitched in about two months) to a guy she's known for, I don't know, six months. And everyone else in my life seems to be poised for proposal or actual vows. Ugh.

Secondly, and kind of humorously juxtaposed with the previous paragraph, many relationships have ended, either extremely well (as with me) or very poorly. For me, it took me exactly two seconds to move on. (Okay, explanation here. This wasn't really a relationship, per se, but a possible one. Then I found out via a slip on his part that, whilst discussing, with a fair amount of detail, I might add, a thing with me, he was still dating his girlfriend of three years or whatever. This constitutes as cheating, folks. I don't care if there was nothing actually done; the thought is what counts.) It was like, "Aw, I kind of liked him. Oh, well." For others, it was devastating. I've been there, so naturally, it's in my blood to console. There's only so much I can do, so I provided a care package: tissues, jewelry, chocolate and a puzzle book.

Then there's work. Oh, holy Jesus, why must it be so hard to deal with morons? Not everyone in my training class is bad. On the contrary, I like most of the people in there. But there's two (well, actually, just one now, although number two, who I've called Douche Turd in the past - we'll stick with that, only he's more Douche Turd Lite now - and I basically got over our differences) that continue to grate on my nerves. Not only are we stuck going over the same shit that we've gone over a million times, but we're not advancing onto the next phase: Medicaid. We'll be here damned near Christmas if we don't pick up on the learning. If I'm still in training by then, there may actually be fist-to-face action. Watch out, Snobby Sue. Watch out.

I'm also behind on my writing and artwork. If you read my writing blog (http://amillionmoretogo.blogspot.com), I had promised I would have part one to my first story up. Well, I didn't do it for reasons I'll explain in that blog, which has just added all sorts of frustration. It's like a whole other freaking job.

And in the same vein, I feel 100%, totally inadequate when it comes to my stuff. I've been reading up on people with similar styles and looking at professional artists, and they present their work with such pizazz, such finesse, that I just want to put down my pen/pencil with a resounding, "Fuck it." I know they've had years of experience, but for the love of God, will I ever be able to make it in such a challenging and competitive field? It's the exact reason I've been so hesitant to publish any of my stuff. Comparatively, I suck. Big time suckie.

Enough of the whining, though. I'm refocusing. I'm gonna watch my Fresh Ink podcast, get a little inspiration and probably go to bed. Actually, probably not. I have a rewrite to do.

And with that completely nonsensical entry, my friends, I bid you, adieu.

My Life, According to a Paparrazo

Juniper Trela was most recently seen at the recycling drop off approximately 2 miles from her home, dressed like she always is in jeans, a tank top and a pair of well-worn, outdated flip flops. Apparently, she's taking the recycling thing a little too far!

A source very close to Juniper says, "Jun Jun's involvement with recycling things is really just a way to keep her mind off the fact that she's single. She really wants a boyfriend!"

As most of her fans know, her break up last year with an as-'til-then anonymous chef, Luke Meinert, was a public spectacle. Everyone was waiting for her to go on suicide watch, as she was frequently in the same outfit two days in a row and had taken to eating nearly an entire bag of Tostitos with salsa in one sitting.

Another source who has been friends with Juniper since before she became a household name says, "That was a really hard time for her. Even her super successful career couldn't keep her happy. It's like she just stopped having a reason to live, but luckily, she received a lot of help for that and all of us were there for her."

But there might be good news on the horizon for our favorite sci-fi/fantasy writer. Last week, she was spotted chatting it up with an unidentified man in a Nashville convenience store. The two seemed very friendly and might have possibly exchanged numbers. Now, if we can only get her out of that outfit!

Ugh.

I recently overheard a conversation about boob size. Well, by overheard, I mean read, and by conversation, I mean Facebook status plus its comments.

It basically went like this:

Girl 1: Women get their confidence from their boob size.
Girl 2: I completely agree!!! :)!!!!!
Girl 3: It's because of the men. All men like big breasts.

Um ....... okay.

I, for one, get my confidence from my intelligence and snappy wit. And if I were to rest my opinion of myself on various parts of my body, this would just be sad. I have tiny boobs. My legs are long but nothing to write home about, and my ass is not something I like to flaunt too much. I have nowhere near washboard abs, and my arms have little if any tone to them. The only features I can really be "proud" of are my lips and my eyes; I will not have to worry about Botox later in life, and I have blue cat-like eyes. And yet, I manage to leave my house every day without feeling like I have to boost these physical areas. Sure, I work out and I love running; but it isn't my main focus.

As I've said before, I loathe generalizations. Why? Because more often than not, it doesn't apply in such a grand scale. "All men like big breasts." Ha. If I took a poll of my guy friends, I can almost guarantee you that this will not be the consensus. In fact, most of them would say, "More than a handful (or depending on the couth-ness rating, a "mouthful" might apply here instead) is just a waste." Now, this is not to say that there aren't men out there who get turned on by big breasts. The porn industry would not be where it is today if this were not so. It's like saying that all men want a woman who looks like Jennifer Aniston or Angelina Jolie (*gasp* They are in the same sentence!!! Certainly there will be a brawl!). Sure, both are beautiful women, and most men will attest to this. But I know of some guys that are kind of meh towards both.

It's starting to look like all the phobias women have with their bodies are perpetuated by themselves. This isn't a novel idea, of course, but it's becoming very apparent to me, as of late. We have all of this media coverage, various beauty products, the latest styles, fad diets, etc., that just manage to keep us thinking that we're somewhere below par. That is the main reason I changed my major from marketing. The more I studied the concepts, the more I disagreed with basically convincing people that their lives weren't what they could be without such-and-such product. Blech. And while they don't just focus on women, it does seem that many companies do target them.

But then it gets this idea in our heads that we need to get the newest look from the runways (which, to me, always look horrendous - if you can muster the strength, just look at an Elle magazine fashion spread. Can I just say, "YUCK.") or try the anti-aging cream at age 28.

And from what I have heard, which is not to say it's entirely representative, many guys just sit there, scratching their heads. "You looked fine before this. What did you do this for? Me? I liked you the way you were." It's why I hate those commercials about the woman using this cream that shed 10 years off or whatever, and her husband said that he was more attracted to her now. Thanks, advertising assholes.

So here's an idea. How about getting your confidence from something other than your boobs? Your eyes? Your hair? If you died, do you want somebody to say, "She had really amazingly large breasts" or "She had an amazingly large heart?"

I'll take the latter, thanks.

"My accent is ALWAYS on value."

Genesis Diamonds commercials seem to come up every time there's a run of ads, at least when you're listening to the radio (see my previous post on this). They aren't nearly as annoying as the Shane Company ones that basically make it sound like the purchase of jewelry is the most important thing EVAR. But they do paint themselves as the mavericks of the jewelry business.

For those of you who don't live in Nashville, Genesis Diamonds prides itself on being the official jewelry store of the Tennessee Titans. Now, I'm not sure exactly how this came to be, as the Titans are a football team, but maybe all the players buy little sparkly gifts for their wives after they have an affair or get drunk and do something stupid. Or maybe they make rings for them. I honestly haven't wasted too much brain power on this because, well, I don't care.

Right now, they have this manager whose name fails me narrating the commercials. He makes a point that he used to manage a chain jewelry store but he felt guilty trying to convince people to buy stuff. And he says that Genesis Diamonds is, like, totally awesome because they sell totally high-quality pieces at totally low prices! "The other stores price this blah-blah-blah-E2-clarity-blah-blah diamond ring at $5200, but we have it listed for $3000!" Whatever, it's still more than free, which is what I'm all about.

I guess the kicker is when the owner of Genesis Diamonds, Boaz Ramone, says the title of this post. "My accent is always on value." Don't you see, guys? He's playing on the fact that he's foreign! And that no one understands him because of his crazy, foreign person accent! But don't focus on that! Focus on the pricing! And the value! Blech.

I'm sure the economy has caused jewelry stores quite a downturn. But I just don't have much sympathy for them. They're just pandering to the people who think buying shinies for their significant others will completely take out the need to actually say, "I love you," or do anything that requires thought. Hell, if you're going to buy me a freaking tennis bracelet, costing about $1000, just give me the cash and I'll do something better with it ... like paying of my student loan. Nothing says I love you like no debt.

Anyway, I'll leave you with this from last year's Christmas season because Sarah Haskins is composed of pure awesome: