Dear Mr. Kelly ...

Dear Mr. Kelly:

I know you are probably getting bombarded with a lot of very angry emails from the residents of this city.  I wanted to add to that list in hopes that you’ll understand that you’re inability and blatant incompetency at handling this strike is affecting more and more people daily.  I don’t make a lot of money and the little I do make with my seasonal job is hard earned.  I’m a single mother of three children, not by choice but by chance.  I didn’t choose my situation but circumstances dictated that this was the life I was destined for.  I do not rely on social assistance nor handouts. Everything I own I bought with money that I earned by working.  My children know that when I’m gone twelve hours a day, leaving at 6am it is to make sure there is food in the belly, clothes on their back and a roof over their head. 

I was laid off from my job on December 23, 2011.  It’s seasonal and I expected it but I also expected to get called back come the spring.  It turns out that I could have been called back sooner but now my employer is looking at hiring someone with a more reliable means of transportation.  You see, my normal day when I’m working is to wake up at 4am, get ready for work then get my kids up at 5am to feed them and get them ready for the day and they are off to the sitter at 6am when I leave to catch the bus.  I catch the 80, transfer in Cobequid to the 88 to get off at Bedford Commons where I walk another 45 minutes to my office building.  Then at 5pm, I turn around and do the same thing backwards.  I have a decent job for the level of education I was able to afford and it pays me more than an average administrator so that my family and I can get by.  Now, that job is in jeopardy and so is the livelihood of my little family.  The only option I have now is to look for another job but in my field, construction and engineering administration, the jobs are few and far between so now I’m looking at taking two jobs to support my family.  And why is this happening to me??  Because YOU failed to resolve an issue that is affecting over 96 000 residents of the Halifax Regional Municipality per day.  Because YOU want to save $85 000 per day.  Because YOU refuse to bend on any concessions that are offered.  Because YOU refuse to allow an arbitrator in to resolve this situation for your and your council’s own greedy, book-balancing purposes with no care to the people who use the public transit system.  This includes workers, employers, students, seniors and so on. 

Oh, let’s not forget those transit employees who are standing in the bitter cold striking to get what they believe is fair.  Now that I see how willing they were to work towards a resolution with you, I have quickly changed my opinion of them and what they are doing.  Was it right to strike? Maybe or maybe not depending on the angle you look at it from but they sure as hell have a right to stand up for what they want and the changes they want to see.  Is it right for you to refuse to sit with them and come to an agreement?  Absolutely not.  You're refusal for binding arbitration or to even set a date for a meeting plus all these closed door council meetings and secretive decision making is questionable at best and not the way an elected government should behave.

What this city's council is doing is reprehensible.  You are turning your back on many of the voting public who rely heavily on this service without a care in the world about what is going to happen to these people if this strike continues.  People and businesses are losing money daily.  People are losing jobs or having to lose this semester of university.  People who need to see their doctors or get to a clinic are unable.  We don't all have money for taxis, we don't all have friends or family who are able to drive us wherever and whenever we need to go somewhere, we aren't all living within walking distance to the things we need.

You should be ashamed of how you are handling this but that's just my opinion.  As a resident and voter in this city, I have every right to tell you exactly that.

Sincerely,

Alyson

No Point Making Apologies ...

So here, let's sit down and set the record straight:  I'm not perfect.  I know, what a shocker eh?  I, as a mother and as a person, make mistakes on a daily basis and sometimes even at a rate of several WTFs per minute.  That's human nature I suppose, I just wish that we all could realize that.  Wouldn't it be nice if we all came to the conclusion that we're not all perfect, omnipotent sentient beings that roam this earth with infallable moral code and sense of right and wrong?  Honestly, I believe it's impossible considering it's the fallacies and imperfections that make ups all human and beautiful. I know I personally live life with my face in my palm and asking myself "what was I thinking?".  

I'm not 100% sure where I'm going with this, how this post is going to pan out but I decided to let my brain go and just write.  I guess my point is that I've been looking square in the face of judgement and finger pointing for a little while, at least that's what it feels like.  Any of you, dear readers, ever feel like you were at a heightened sense of awareness just because it felt like someone was constantly looking at you and criticizing every move you made?  Ohh paranoia but I'm sure you know what I'm talking about.  Living in a fish bowl or rather, a terrarium (I don't know about you but I can't breathe underwater).  We go through this at work, at home, with friends and family and neighbours and those crazy people in the grocery store who give you the side-eye when you threaten your children with leaving if they don't stop arguing with each other.  It's annoying and gets our backs up.  Some of us let it roll, some of it take it to heart.  None of us like the boss breathing down our necks when the pivot tables are having errors, our siblings looking at us over the rim of their glasses in wonderment of the next stupid move we're going to make or our friends shaking their heads as we reason with ourselves and make our excuses.  Sometimes we can almost feel the gossip oozing out behind our backs and the discussions of our behaviour without our presence to confirm, deny or defend.  Most of us just don't want to to know when that happens but we can't help our gossip "Spidey Sense" from tingling and whether or not we're giving the opportunity to defend ourselves, it doesn't hurt any less.

But it goes both ways!!  See, right now you're judging me for starting a sentence with "but" and I'm judging you for being so uptight that you'd really care about that.  My point is that as much as we hate feeling those fingers pointing at us, we do it ourselves.  We point our perfect fingers at the lesser people who we believe are totally f**king up (sorry for the lack of a better term there).  We decide what they should and shouldn't do behind their backs without them sitting beside us to either defend or discuss what is being said.  I bet the people we talk about behind their backs feel the gossip ooze coming from us.  My thinking here, my idiotic logic, is that maybe we should all just stop.  I'm trying at the very least, finding my sense of peace in my own little world with my babies and my animals but some  people will always make me raise an eyebrow.

But then we have to look at it this way:  would we want people to tell us exactly what they think all the time?  What would hurt more:  the gossip or someone in your face about your mistakes?  That's a tough call.  Sometimes I think I'd rather live in ignorant bliss about what people think of me or say about me and sometimes I think I want to face it.  Of course, my Ma used to say that I should just let people talk because if they were talking about me, they were leaving someone else alone and how very right she is.  So, we can easily discount the gossip but what about when you're faced with it and what about when someone angrily calls you on a mistake that you made?  How do we deal with that?  I know what I do, I turn and walk away.  There's no point in getting into an argument no matter how hurt we may be and until nerves are calm, there's no point in discussion.  Screaming may feel right in that moment but I know myself well enough that I'm going to make it worse if I stick around, especially if I'm hurt.  I know that making me angry is one thing and I can effectively recognize it and deal with it but hurting me is a completely different ball of wax.  I can quickly forgive being angered, I have trouble with forgiveness of being hurt. 

I guess my point is that I am who I am, I'm not perfect and nor do I claim to be.  I do the best I can with what I have and there are things that are important to me that may not be important to others.  My house is never polished clean, my laundry is never finished.  I've been known to manipulate and tell a fib to get me by.  I can be just as boisterous as I can be withdrawn.  I'm not thin, I'm not beautiful in the conventional sense plus  I've got scars and marks and wrinkles.  Most of the time I don't realize my stupidity until the mistake is over, it's never intentional or malicious but I can seem that way.  I'm aloof.  I can be flighty and hard to get to know.  I guess no one really does know me.  My relationships are usually fleeting because I can be demanding but sometimes much to complacent.  I'm a loner with a fragile ego, self-conscious but can sure as hell fake confidence when I need to.  I'm still coming to terms with who I am and discovering the process of becoming a better person.  I do what I feel is best with the little bit that I have and sometimes it doesn't make sense but hey, at least I'm doing something.

There, that's about it I think.  I make no apologies for the person that I am and dammit, none of us should.  We are all perfect human beings and by that I mean, we're all nuts.  Let's just remember our own flaws, deviations, mistakes and quirks before we appraise the value of another by their actions.  Maybe if we do that, we'll find compassion and acceptance, not anger or cynicism.

Drill Sergeant or Mrs. Cleaver?

I'd like to think that I'm going to look back at some of the things my kids do with a sense of humour and have a laugh about it all.  Does anyone have any idea about when exactly that happens?  Do I have to wait until they're grown and out on their own or does it come sooner?  I know the teenage years are out of the question for that to happen considering my own mother's curse of "I hope when you have kids they are just like you" is already coming at me in wonderful karmic justice and since my worst years were the teenage ones, I've concluded that I'm on a downward spiral.  Thank you Ma for reminding me all those years that what goes around comes around.  Those are your words of wisdom that ring in my head every time one of my kids tells me they hate me or I find that drawing on the counter in permanent Sharpie fine point marker.  That is my ultimate **face palm** moment; my mother's wish came true, it sure as hell came around ... times three.

I do have to laugh at most of what happens.  I went to the washroom earlier to find a really pretty purple line tracing around the trim of my bathroom door.  Pretty pastel purple and squiggly, the handiwork of a six-year-old girl.  When I asked the nervous faces of the little motley crew of children in my living room, a unanimous finger pointing indicated that my detective work was correct.  Plus the much too emphatic "It wasn't ME!" was all the proof I needed.  So, Little Miss Picasso was sent to her room for a time-out only for me to putter into the kitchen and find my son's birthday cake had gone through some sort of ritual sacrifice.  Once again, the work of a tiny, female Van Gogh with the help of her brother, Vlad the Pastry Impaler.

It seems lately that my pleas of "don't leave that on the floor", "dirty underwear don't belong in your bed", "stop ripping the legs off of your dolls", "leave that last sip of milk for my tea please", "stop hitting/kicking/slapping/screaming/whining/banging/pounding/throwing/tossing/spitting/grabbing/pinching/gouging ..." are going unnoticed.  No matter how many times I stress to not to make that face/grab that toy/throw stink eye/pitch attitude/put that back/take that out ... it falls on small, selectively deaf ears.  Please insert a mental image of me with two handfuls of my hair and boiling blood pressure.

Time Out has run it's course, it doesn't work anymore.  I almost mourn the many years that Time Out and I have spent together but, in true universal fashion, everything has to come to an end.  Spanking and I never had a good relationship, we kind of just stare at each other  Me on one side saying that any violence isn't worth it and it on the other saying, "C'mon, it'll get the point across.  Just remember 'Mom's Helping Hand' ".  Scolding, talking and the eventual barking like a drill Sergeant are all part of the Mommy Repertoire but they are failing me.  And yes, I know hollering is not a good thing but dammit, they sure as hell notice once I bellow and dearest readers, I haven't been referred to as "Roseanne" for nothing.  Along with my friend Time Out, Confiscation of Coveted Goods is also running away.  Taking the toys, the crayons, the fun away for a set period of time used to be my charm.  It worked so well the first few times that just the threat of La-La-Loopsy living in my bedroom for an undetermined amount of time would stop any radical behaviour (e.g.:  colouring the bathroom and some paper with a brand new tube of bright red lipstick).  I miss the days where threats of Time Out and Confiscation would work or a bellow would stop my animals, er, kids dead in their tracks.  

Now, don't get me wrong here, I don't punish and take without explanations as to why I did what I did.  I ensure that after the inevitable dramatics of some little drama queens and my son's wide-eyed shock and awe have dissipated, we have a sit down to discuss what they did and why they should not, can not and will not have a repeat (oooh, rephrase:  hope we don't have a repeat).  We talk about respect for others, adults, friends and most importantly, themselves.  Considering that their mother is a fledgling Buddhist, it's important that values of consideration, empathy/sympathy, understanding, non-judgement, acceptance, compassion, honesty and awareness are taught.  It may be in small doses but hey, I'm still figuring this shit out for myself too.  

I think there is also the unpreventable confusion of being raised by a single mother who happens to be working full-time from Monday to Friday almost twelve hours a day sometimes.  Some days it feels like I have evening and weekend custody with child care costs being a twisted form of child support.  I'm sure a lot of parents feel that, even in unbroken or blended families with two working parents.  Balance isn't easy, especially when you're lop-sided like me.  I have to try to balance the cookie baking, sweet as pie, fun-loving June Cleaver with the hard ass household dictator.  How the hell do I do that?  Wear fatigues and oven mitts?  Do I make up drill songs to the tune of songs from the Sound of Music?  Am I Mary Poppins who repels in from a Sikorsky C-148 Cyclone helicopter wearing a house dress and an apron instead of floating down on an umbrella?  Okay, you have my point.  Now just think, if that oxymoron role of easy-going disciplinarian is confusing and frustrating to me, how must it feel to them?  I need a resident psychologist, behaviourist, yogi, meditation specialist and a monk to give me all of the answers to the questions I have.  Blech and pout.

So, I'm told consistency is key and consistent I am, or at least doing the best that I can to maintain it.  I have all my fingers and toes crossed, insight meditation, loving-kindness meditation and the proverbial rabbit's foot at the ready in hopes that someday my house will find peace, harmony and Roseanne will be able to leave with Time Out.  I'm sure they'd make a great couple.

For now, I have to go let the girls know that dimes do not belong in their brother's nose.

Let the search begin ...

For a long time I've been looking into a mirror and wondering where I came from.  Yeah, I know that sounds a little silly but it's a normal thing to question in my circumstance.  You see, I have never known my biological father.  My mother had me very young, at twenty years old and my father, through either his decision or that of my grandparents, was never in the picture.  I've had conflicting stories as to what happened and it leaves me pondering what is the truth and what isn't.  Nobody talked about my biological father during my upbringing and I was too scared to ask.  

When I did ask at 16, I was driven out to Sand Lake for a quiet chat in the car over tea and told that he was the one who walked away and he was the one who gave up on my myself and my mother.  I was told that trying to find him was pointless and that all I would accomplish by doing so would be to break my parents' hearts.  You see, my mother was diagnosed with MS when she was 16 and, as a result of her disability, I was adopted and raised by her parents, my grandparents.  I never wanted to break their heart, I never wanted to hurt anyone but it still didn't stop my wanting to know where the other half of me was and where I got pale grey eyes when my mother's were so brown they were almost black. Why was I so almost blonde when my mother's hair was chocolate brown?  Why was I so short when my mother was tall?  Now don't tell me that it could have been from my grandparents because it can't be, it's impossible but that's not a story for right now even though it does tie into this one, it's not my place to spill those beans.

I was told years ago that I wasn't planned, I was an accident.  Years later I was told that wasn't the case and I actually was a planned and wanted child.  I was told that there was a hard time choosing my name.  Years later I was told my name had already been chosen long before I was born.  Years ago I was told that my mother didn't know she was pregnant until well into her sixth month but years later I was told different and that she kept her pregnancy a secret to avoid being forced into terminating the pregnancy due to her medical condition.  Years ago I was told the plans for my adoption by my grandparents were almost immediate but again, years later I was told that Child Services workers were at the hospital when my mother was in labour and ready to take me to an adoptive family with only my mother's pleads for her wanting so much to keep me being the reason I was allowed to stay.  I was told that when I was 18 and away at university my biological father tried to contact me but was told I wanted nothing to do with him and that couldn't be farther from the truth.  

There are many other examples of these things and it's hard to know who to believe.  Do I believe the women who became my default sisters through the adoption or the woman who was one of my mother's closest and dearest friends who admitted to holding these secrets until the time was right to tell me.  I'm sure, dear readers, you can understand my confusion and my want to be loyal but to which side?  I can't ask the parents who raised me, any of them, as they have all passed away.  My mother/grandmother lost a battle with cancer in June of 2000, my mother succumbed to MS in April of 2005 and my father/grandfather fought a great fight but lost to ALS in March of 2008.  I can't go to them now for answers but only hope that now they can look down and understand my want and need to find the other half of my DNA.  They know how much I love them, they know I would never try to replace them but I just hope they also know that I want to understand the other side of the story, the other side of me.

My whole life I felt as though my existence was a burden on my family but that's not the case.  Even if I was to be given up for adoption to a strange family, the decision was made for me to stay, even if it was last minute.  Regardless of those circumstances, I was taken in and loved by everyone.  My mother, my grandparents who became wonderful parents and three sisters (I can't call them my aunts, they're my sisters regardless of paperwork or circumstance) were and are an amazing family.  I think a lot of the feelings of burden were placed there by myself and not knowing exactly how exactly I fit into the dynamic.  I remember telling my friends at school that my "real" father had died before I was born.  My family environment was an anomaly in the early 1980s, I felt very out of place and very much on the outside of my circle of friends because of it.  I had to have a reason why I was different, so I made one up.

I do want to clarify before I continue that I had a great childhood.  My parents, all of them that I was allowed to know, did what they could for me and raised me well.  I wasn't easy on them, not by any means and especially not when I became a teenager.  I held a lot of confusion and anger with my family dynamic as well as a lot of other circumstances that don't need to be discussed here.  I had a great family, a loving and a happy home.  It was full of affection and gentle caring and I could not have asked for better.  So, please don't think of me as complaining here, I'm not.  I'm merely questioning some of the circumstances of my birth and why my biological father was not a part of it, whether it was his choice or he was forced out.  I have so many questions that for many years I was afraid to ask but now, there really isn't any reason why I need to hold back and ask them.  I am a grown woman with a family of my own, it's time I got the balls and started the search in earnest.  

Aside from using the excuse of wanting a medical history since I'm trying to build one for myself and my children, I want to ask him what his reason for walking away was.  I want to ask him the hard questions that I've been too afraid to ask for far too long.  I don't know if I can trust the answers that I was already given and I want to hear it from the horse's mouth, so to speak.  If I find him and I get turned away then so be it but at least I tried.  A big part of me is screaming to start searching now because I don't want to find him when it's too late and our first meeting would be me visiting his grave.  Part of me thinks that maybe since he missed out on my entire life thus far, that he might want to get to know his three beautiful grandchildren.  And can I believe that my children deserve to get to know their grandfather in some capacity?  Regardless of what happened thirty-one years ago, things change and people change.  If it turns out that he wants nothing to do with us then that's the way it will be.  I won't force anyone into trying to build a relationship with me or my family.  As disappointed as I would be if that were to happen, it would be another case of having to accept it and keep moving on.

I was given the name of a long-lost cousin to try to reach who could give me some clues to my father.  I found her, we talked and it was wonderful.  I was accepted by her with open arms and we chatted about my little family here and my father only slightly but she gave me the biggest surprise:  my father has five other children, three daughters and two sons.  Holy crap!!  My kids have a whole ton of other aunts and uncles!!  After some wriggling and with the benefit of having an amazing friend with a hardcore case of "get it done" OCD, we think we may have found my siblings.  They're beautiful and look accomplished and so happy.  I'm being completely creepy here because I don't even know if they know I exist and here I am looking at pictures of what may or may not be them.  Resemblances are uncanny though and a photo of a man who may be my brother looks way too much like my son to not be related somehow.  It's such a resemblance, it's eerie.  I haven't contacted them and I won't just yet.  I want to find my biological father first and hopefully talk to him about everything and ask my questions before I consider approaching my siblings.  I've never done this before, never really talked to someone who has and as a result, don't know the delicate etiquette of saying hello to someone who probably doesn't know you're their daughter or their big sister.

I keep hoping and having the fantasy of a wonderful reunion that answers all of my questions and brings on the beginning of what could be a great relationship with a side of myself that I've been questioning my whole life.  The side I was told to ignore ... but how can I ignore someone who, in one way or another, made me and regardless of relationship, is part of who I am?  There is a whole family out there that would be wonderful to get to know.  I was always an advocate of the more people there are to love in your life, the better especially when it's family.  I know I'm getting my hopes up and as much as I'm trying to be my usual self and expect the worst outcome, I can't help but wonder what it will be like, what it could be like.  I will say again, I'm not trying to replace anyone.  I never could but wouldn't it be nice to have the extra?  Maybe I'm greedy, maybe this is a selfish search but I just want to know ... everything.

So, readers, here are my questions for you:  where the hell do I start?  My long-lost cousin has all of my contact information that is hopefully going to be passed onto my biological father but I'm getting impatient and don't want to wait.  Do I wait longer?  Do I take the information I have and start making calls?  I know his name, his age, where he's from and approximately where he's living now.  I know people who may be related to him and the town where he's from is not a big town.  What do I say when I call and who exactly do I call?  Do I start where he's living now or do I start in his hometown where a lot of his/my relatives still are?

Am I completely insane for doing this??

Just for Sharts & Giggles ...

Yes, you did read that correctly, the title of this post is "Just for Sharts & Giggles".  Sharts.  That, my friends, is a scary word.  It is one that we try to avoid using in reference to ourselves because nobody on the face of this earth really wants to admit that they "sharted".  Really, who do you know proudly proclaims that they shit their pants while trying to fart?  Okay, some of us know that special someone who tends to share too much but we love them anyway.  We just make sure to add a helmet under their name on the Christmas gift list.


So, to get to how this little post got started:  this day seemed to be full of shit.  Well, the smell of it, talk of it and the finger pointing as to who left the smell in the bathroom.  It all started this morning with the smell of a fart on the bus and carried on through work with all of my asphalt boys blaming one another for the smell in the bathroom.  (Very important lesson to learn ladies:  when you're the only woman on a work site, no one ever blames you for the horrendous smell in the unisex bathroom).  The poop talk continued all the way to my son trying to get to the bathroom to poop only to have a little girl race him there so she could do her doody.  Get it? Doody = duty?  Nevermind, that was horrible ... and funny so, dammit, laugh.


Between all of that mess, there seemed to be an incessant talk about poop, farts and other things related to all things rear-end.  So, here's an ettiquette on farting, sharting and pooping.

Farting

Rule One:  Always blame someone else unless it's a distinct impossibility.  If you can't place blame, be proud of your emissions.

Rule Two:  Sounds of a passing train and a forklift are wonderful for hiding the sound of a fart but always check the direction of the wind.  If the wind is blowing directly in your friend or co-worker's face and you are upwind of said friend/co-worker, hold the fart or move downwind, otherwise they are going to taste the nitrogen and carbon dioxide.

Rule Three:  Asking someone to pull your finger is ALWAYS acceptable.


Rule Four:  Remember that if you can hear people having a conversation from 300ft away, they can also hear you fart.

Rule Five:  Farting during sex is inevitable and unavoidable.  Laugh and move on.  Sharting can be inevitable and unavoidable as well so be aware after you eat the extra spicy chili or the suicide wings.


Rule Six:  Make sure it's just a fart.


Rule Seven:  Keep in mind that silent is always deadly.  It's the secret 11th commandment that they all must be that way.

Rule Eight:  Don't light them.  Third degree burns on your ass brings new meaning to the term "ring of fire".  Try explaining that one to the ER nurse.

Sharting

Sharting doesn't have rules.  We don't shit our pants on purpose so there can't be a rules surrounding it.  When it happens, and it will, just pretend it was a really stinky fart and go to the bathroom.  While you are in the bathroom, throw out your bloomers (preferably wrapped in a plastic bag), wash your ass and pretend it never happened.  If you're home, take a shower but if you're out, it's okay to go commando just remember that the next time you feel a fart, excuse yourself and fart on the toilet just in case there's more to the story.

Pooping

Rule One:  No one wants to see a picture.  I don't care how big your turd was or what weird shape it was in or the fact that you managed to shit out Jesus' face, don't point your Blackberry/iPhone/Android in the toilet.  Aside from the fact that you're probably going to be going on a really nasty fishing trip, it's just gross.


Rule Two:  It is perfectly acceptable to bring your cell phone to the bathroom.

Rule Three:  It is always acceptable to blame the smell on someone else: your dog, your cat, your kid but never your mother.  Blame your father, he's usually guilty anyway.  In fact, blaming any man will work because most don't realize that the more they protest, the guiltier they look.  Plus, it's fun to watch the antics while you have a funny little stinky secret.

Rule Three:  Never accept blame when everyone else is blaming another person.  Unless you love the smell of your own scat and think everyone else should too.  Or, you're a sadist and thrive on olfactory forms of torture.

Rule Four:  "I need to shit" is perfect for getting out of any conversation but can be over-used.  Before you know it, you will have a doctors appointment and a trip to day surgery for a very large tube with a camera being shoved in your bum.  One word:  BARIUM.  **shudder**

Rule Five:  When answering the phone while on the throne, just keep in mind who you're talking to before you tell them where you are.  New love interest? No.  Old friend from highschool? Yes.  Boss?  Depends on how much you like them and your job.

Rule Six:  It is okay to hang onto whatever is closest to you while you pinch a nugget.

Rule Seven:  Don't hang on so tight it all falls down.

Rule Eight:  When you have to yell for toilet paper, don't tell the person bringing it what you're doing.  Their reaction when they pass it to you will be priceless.


Rule Nine:  Always look after you wipe.  Only you can prevent skid marks!

Rule Ten:  It is totally acceptable to use an entire roll of toilet paper to prevent skiddies.

Rule Eleven:  Never drop the kids off in someone else's pool and leave immediately after.  They will never look at you the same way again and it is impossible to ninja a poop unless you're a bonafied ninja.

Rule Twelve:  If you must take a steamer in a public bathroom, do so with class and dignity.  Stink up the joint and leave like nothing happened!


Well, that's all I can think of for now.  I hope you enjoyed this horribly written post and please, if you know of any other rules, please send them along!  And before anyone asks, not all of these are personal experience but mostly second hand knowledge.


Goodnight dear readers and please, read this on the toilet.