life, the universe, and donna

Wait a sec. So you’re telling me that the Twilight Teenage Vampire Posse can’t go to class when students are pricking their finger ever so slightly to get enough blood for a slide… and yet, they manage to be around several hundred girls who are on the rag for a week every month?

Oh come on! Forget when Bella trips and cuts her hand open, does the girl not have a menstrual cycle? Damnit, I wish Jasper would just eat her already.

Update: AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA oh god, I’m dying!

Btw, for the actual “answer” that the author obviously tacked on when she realized she had some pretty serious plot holes is… this. Uh huh. Sure hope nobody at their school ever falls down or gets a nosebleed. Maybe they should skip gym class, too.

Really? REALLY??

So I finished reading Twilight this weekend. It wasn’t my fault, Kimli made me. My tiny, not-even-remotely-done revenge was to get her the “Eclipse” cup at the movie theatre on Friday. Take that, Kimli! Now you must drink from Edward’s elongated head! MWAH!

Wow, I suck at revenge. I’ll come up with something…

It was, I’m loathe to say, better than I was expecting. This is because my expectations were SO LOW that it’s impossible that ANYTHING could be that bad and actually get published. Admittedly, I’m still surprised this got published, and I’m horrified that so many people fall for this shlock. And really, really sad & disappointed at how many young girls are using this, even in the tiniest way, as a framework for how romantic love works.

Young girls: This is not how romantic love works. This is how a creepy, abusive stalker worms his way into your life. This is how you get hurt. Abuse is hard to spot, and hard to stop, and “But I love him” is not a good enough answer. Neither is, “But he loves me.” Yeah, he does, and he’s STILL abusing you. You BOTH have problems, and you need to Leave Now, and Get That Shit Figured Out. Alone.

Er, sorry. Touchy subject.

I almost used the word “emotional vampires”. Hah. Because they suck on your emotions, get it? Get it? Hey, with ideas like that, I could write my OWN bestselling novel aimed at needy teenage girls, except mine will be about how the girl said “Fuck no!” to the creepy stalker vampire hanging out in her bedroom every night and everybody lived happily ever after, and Old Bella told stories about this guy she dated briefly in high school, and holy crap what a nightmare HE was.

Anyway. So, it was better than I was expecting. Twilight is surprisingly engaging, and it’s an easy read. For such a thick book (and one that I refuse to read on the bus, I don’t want the smelly bus hobos thinking I’m an intellectual idiot, and I don’t have my “I’M BEING IRONIC” t-shirt yet) I only seriously started reading it last night, and got through it in a couple of hours.

But the plot is pretty dumb (which I already vaguely knew, having seen the movie — shut up, I wanted to see what all the fuss is about, and with Rifftrax, it’s effing hilarious) and the characters… oh god, the characters…

The characters in the movie are … boring. Hell, the movie was boring. Other than the Benny Hill vampire-running-through-the-forest bit (which was hiLARIOUS) and the vampire baseball (ahahah, VAMPIRE BASEBALL! Just the words make me giggle hysterically to myself. Vampire. Baseball. I DARE you to say the words out loud without giggling. Just try!) But really, there isn’t a single likeable character in the whole book. Edward? Creepy stalker. Jacob? Ok, I get that he’s just a bit character now, and the whole werewolf thing won’t come about until a few books from now, but he’s … a boring jittery kid. Bella?

Oh, Bella.

Jesus christ on toast. A more suicidal, masochistic, martyring idiot I’ve never come across. Teenagers of the world, I have a hint: When a boy wants to take you into the woods and STRONGLY RECOMMENDS that you tell someone where you’re going and who you’re with… it BEHOOVES YOU TO TAKE HIS ADVICE. Seriously, this is where a “safe call” is a really great idea. Look, nobody would think it’s a dumb idea, when meeting someone say, on the internet, to have a pre-arranged phone call to a friend at a specific time, and if you DON’T get that call, to call the police and give them all of the details about who you were with, where you were supposed to go, and when you were supposed to be back. 99% of the time if the safe call doesn’t go off, the problem will have been mundane — lost phone number, cell phone died, got distracted, whatever. But you still HAVE THE SAFE CALL.

And quite frankly, if the person you’re going with says you should have said safety precautions in place SO THAT HE HAS LESS INCENTIVE TO KILL YOU… really, telling him very clearly that nobody knows where you are or who you’re with, and you’re not expected back until very late? What. The. Fuck. I get that she’s trying to prove her love for the guy, but even supposing that she very strongly cares about him and wants to show that she trusts him, he VERY MUCH WANTS TO EAT HER. Why is she tempting him like that?

“Hey baby, I know you’re trying really hard to kick this heroin addiction, but secret heroin that nobody will miss wants to go for a walk in the woods with you.”

And… I just don’t get why she loves him. Because he’s pretty? That’s about all I could get (although admittedly, the description of the huge bags under his eyes all the time… yeah, wow, the junkie description seems pretty accurate. Is heroin chic back in and I missed it?) Admittedly, having someone totally into you is appealing, but … uh … I want someone to be into me, not into EATING me. It’s just a crazy quirk of mine.

Eesh.

The most interesting part of the book? Carlisle’s backstory. Yes, that’s the part I enjoyed the most: a side-characters backstory from 300 years ago. But then I have a hard time taking a character named “Carlisle” seriously.

Anyway. I’ve only just started on book 2, but so far it’s “omg, we’ve only been dating for 6 months and I know I’m only 18 and all, but let’s do something far more permanent than marriage because I love you soooo much!”

I’m trying hard not to judge, because I might have gotten engaged to someone I’d only been dating for a few months when I was 18, but you KNOW WHAT? You can GET OUT of marriage, if you absolutely have to. And hell, there are such things as LONG ENGAGEMENTS. It’s hard to change your mind once you’re SUCKING BLOOD. Idiot.

And even better is that “I KNOW SO MUCH BETTER THAN YOU AND I AM BREAKING THIS OFF FOR YOUR OWN GOOD.” Yeah, the last person who tried that bullshit on me got their ears blistered. How about dumping her because she’s a whiny self destructive little twit instead? Granted, book 2 would have been much shorter if that were the case.

Pity.

So… my mom has cancer. I mentioned this. And it’s effing scary, but you know, we find ways to cope. Often with black humor. It’s hard to make jokes about cancer because people look at you like you’ve suggested the Jews had it coming. How can you say that about your MOTHER? Well, in my defense, I come by my sense of humor honestly: She started it.

Anyway. So if anything I say comes off as flippant or horrible, it’s because that’s what we do when we’re scared and uncomfortable.

So, Mom’s going through chemo right now, and that’s yet another thing that totally blows. It’s reportedly like the worlds worst hangover, without the fun of getting drunk first. Luckily, thanks to advances in research (donate today to help out!) there are much better anti-nauseants so at least it’s not weeks of worshipping the porcelain goddess. One other side effect of chemo is the severely compromised immune system.

I’ve ranted about immuno-compromised people before, in the VACCINATE YOUR DAMN KIDS rant. Or my second favorite, DON’T GO OUT IF YOU’RE SICK. Vaccinations aren’t just for you, they’re for the people who CAN’T be vaccinated because their immune systems are trashed. Infants, the elderly, and chemo patients are right up on that list. And if you work with or associate with any demographic known for being immunocompromised, get a damn flu shot too. I’ll be getting one this fall. I’m not risking it.

Anyway, my point is: If you have a cold, you are not welcome at my parents house. You’re not really welcome at mine either, because I don’t want to get sick either. I would like to visit my parents as much as humanly possible. Keep your germs to yourself, please.

So the handwashing and other such preventative measures are in full force in the house of McFayden. Of course, there’s one other factor to take into consideration: Carol Ann is eight years old, and everybody knows that eight year olds and those germ factories they go to every day are, well, germ factories. It’s summer vacation right now, but still — eight year olds associate with other eight year olds, and all eight year olds are germ factories even if they’re NOT holing up in big brick germ factory containment fields for 6 hours a day.

They’ve had to get pretty strict with her. Wash your hands. No drinking out of Mom’s glass. No putting your grubby hands in Mom’s food. And worst of all, no hugging.

I like hugging. I’m a fan. Admittedly, Mom’s also had major surgery recently that makes this hugging thing a little less comfortable, but still. My mom is sick and I’m scared and I would really like to hug her and keep her safe from disease because MY HUGS HAVE THAT POWER, DAMNIT. Oh wait, no, it’s the opposite. I might not be eight, but I too am a (somewhat less effective) germ factory.

No hugs, no handshakes, no hacking up hairballs or sneezing most sneezily in Mom’s presence. Allergies? Take an antihistamine. If the sneezing stops, c’mon in. Otherwise, eff off. But we’ve come up with a solution:

Fist bumps.

Who doesn’t love fist bumps? They’re even better than a hug, cuz they make us look cool. Or something. Ok, we might be the least cool people in the world, but by golly we have immune-system-saving fist bumps, and that’s awesome.

And really, who could resist this?

Fist bumps all around!

Ok, boys and girls, in the unofficial, not-even-a-damned-javascript poll, poll of the century:

Sideboob or Underboob?

To provide my family with a bit of privacy, I haven’t spoken about this publically before. But, with my mother’s permission, and to give a bit of background as to why I’m doing this… well, it’s time to speak out.

In May 2010, my mother was diagnosed with triple negative breast cancer, a rare and aggressive type of cancer that doesn’t respond to the usual treatment and has a higher chance of recurrance. Thanks to this, she’s been about halfway through chemo treatment and received a mastectomy in June.

It sucks. It sucks really hard. My mom? My mom is awesome. I freaking adore her. We don’t always see eye to eye, but if there’s anyone in my life who I want to be when I grow up, it’s her. People occasionally remark on how similar we are (especially when I answer their phone… no, no, it’s Donna. Not Pat. Donna.) and I take that as the highest compliment.

She’s done some pretty awesome things. She raised me, for one. Sure, she had some help along the way (my Nana was another Amazing Woman in my life) but she was a 24 yr old divorced single mom with a barely 2 yr old squalling kid in ’81 with no job and few resources, and she managed to turn that around into my suburban childhood that never wanted for anything. Well, except maybe one more Barbie Doll, but luckily she knew when to tell me no, too.

I think I turned out pretty well, and I know I owe most of that to my mom.

Last weekend, I volunteered for the Weekend to End Women’s Cancers, and … well, I’m not the most rah rah kumbaya let’s all hold hands kind of girl, but something about watching those 1100 people walking 60km to raise over 2.4 million dollars for cancer research was inspiring. So many of the people I met were incredible — from teenage girls walking with their mom, to an older gentleman with a pink ribbon incorporated into his full sleeve tattoo, to a 7-week postpartum mom leaving her 4 kids at home with their dad for the weekend so she could do the full walk, to women my age in mid-chemo. And I started thinking… if THEY can do it, why can’t I?

The thought stuck with me all weekend, from helping out with tent assignments, to cheering people through the finish line, to participating in the closing ceremonies.

And I considered how much recent research has helped. Some people think that breast cancer has such a high survival rate that maybe the funding should be sent somewhere else… but they didn’t even know about the type of cancer my mother has even ten years ago. Without this research, and the subsequent altered treatment options, her survival chances wouldn’t be nearly as good as they are today. That’s huge. For my mom, and for my step-father, for Carol Ann, and me too.

So, in August 2011, I’ll be participating in the Weekend to End Women’s Cancers, a two-day, 60-kilometre walk through the neighbourhoods of Vancouver. I’m both terrified and excited, and ready to take on this challenge. I’ve committed to raising $3000 in honor of my incredible mother so that I can do this walk, which seems like an awful lot of money so … if you’d like to help, I would greatly appreciate it. Even if you’re not able to donate anything personally, I’d love it if you would send this link to other people and spread the word. Not just for me, but for the millions of women who will be affected by breast cancer in their lifetime. And for their friends & family, which pretty much includes… everybody ever.

There’s no cure for cancer. And, for a disease of mutation, it may not ever be possible to actually cure it before it morphs into something else. You know how they decide if you’ve been cured or not? When you die of something else. Harsh, right? But it’s damned treatable, and I’d like it a lot better if nobody had to die from this awful disease. British Columbia’s made some great advances in treatment and care, thanks to The Weekend… let’s keep that up and make it even better.

Please visit my page at endcancer.ca to donate.