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I was quite surprised at how a bit of sparkly material probably sweeped up into the eye shadow in the Chinese factory, adds a 40% markup to the price of the makeup. Even she was amazed looking at the 2 products together. One is black, and the other is black with glitter in it. Exact same product, with glitter, and a  40% higher pricetag.

Let’s put it in perspective. Imagine yourself buying a pizza from a local restaurant. You ordered two pizzas, and in making the 2nd one, the 14-year old cook drops it on the ground. This pizza gets an additional assortment of free toppings, but rather than giving you a discount for your now 15 topping pizza, you get charged $8 more. This is a great deal, you get rabies and a stomach infection and you pay an extra $8.

I never figured adding warehouse dirt would add so much to the price of makeup, but boy is she glittery now, and that’s all that matters.

But let us assume that everyone will have a girlfriend at some point (gay dudes don’t count, unless they affectionately refer to their significant other as girlfriend, but that’s beyond the scope of this blog post).

Now, aside from your house, crack shack, or friend’s house, where’s the place your girlfriend and you will be spending most of your time together? Your car naturally (or her car if you’re a freeloading cracker ass). If you must use the bus or public transportation for this, you’re either too young, or an accountant.

Now imagine if you will just how cool you thought you were when you just got out of high school and thought about buying your first car with a manual transmission so that you too could be a formula 1 driver and supposedly feel the difference in machinery and velocity when you change the gears instead of the car doing it flawlessly and faster than you. And then a few years later, you get a girlfriend. Oh boy, what happens now? You cannot change gears because you want to hold your girlfriend (assuming you love her: if you are a classic soggy cracker, then you are more concerned about your car and checking out other women around you). If you do decide to change gears, well then your girlfriend will be disappointed in you. If you stay in 1st gear during your trip, well then she’ll break up with you. You can see how there is no win situation in this case.

Sadly, many men choose their car over their girlfriend as I see other cars on the road with a male and a female head bobbing around potholes and road impurities. And I can spot a manual car with the lowered acceleration off the stop light, so I can determine that the couple inside is not sharing a moment of contact. His hands are on the gear shift, and her hands are giving him the finger.

And here I stand, being labeled a backseat driver because I drive a car with an automatic. Surely, based on conventional wisdom, I do not know what driving is, nor do I enjoy it in any way. But while other guys are getting a good first person view of their girlfriend’s finger, my right hand is in heaven as I’m holding her hand as we drive along.

Naturally, guys with pneumatic transmissions feel the same thing too, but I’m yet to meet a driver of a pneumatic car.

Usually I have no problems writing a blog entry. The words seem to come to fruition once I have a topic in my mind. But talking about the love of my life puts memories in my head and I find myself sitting here smiling and reminiscing rather than actually writing.

But let me begin and perhaps try to find any pros and cons to our relationship.

Love – it can mean different things to different people, likewise how there are many different aspects of it. The love I share with Catherine is unique. It is a rare bond where we feel love for each other at all times. It’s really quite esoteric. For many crackers, and I presume other races too, love is typically one-sided. One person loves the other more, while that love is never fully reciprocated. This isn’t love. Until I met Catherine, I was ready to accept this single-handed approach to love. Thankfully, I did not, and I met the love of my life, whom I will live out the rest of my days with. These are all pros, and I can’t find any cons with our love, so I will move on.

Beauty – I am amazed every day I see Catherine. She looks alluring, even in the most simple of garments and admonishments. I cannot help but feel like a child  who is eagerly awaiting another bite of ice cream with awestruck eyes which sparkle and engorge like moons every time I see her. She is the woman I have always wanted, but never thought I was worthy enough to have. Every day I feel as if whoever allowed us to meet, must have sent me to the wrong address, as surely I could not be with such a stunning person as her. Usually God/nature enjoy a good laugh, which means I end up being the butt of most of their jokes. But it seemed that for once, I have been granted my wish and I will do anything in my power to make it last. Again, these are all pros, but there are some cons in regards to beauty. She often can pinpoint supposed blemishes on her skin (which are microscopic, if they exist at all) which is rather weird since she also tells me she has poor eyesight. Since she can see the impossible, I wouldn’t be surprised if she can see through time. She also enjoys telling me that I know nothing about beauty and vanity, which I believe is absurd, since as I talked about previously on this blog, if I did not know what beauty was, I certainly would not be going out with Catherine.

Personality – Have you ever had that urge to put krazy glue (or some other equally sticky substance that claims that if used in large enough quantities, it can even stop the earth from spinning) between your fingers to prove them wrong and that your fingers cannot get stuck together? Only to have to end up in the emergency room afterwards with the doctor unwilling to help you, as you belong in the same place as the man who put his penis inside a vacuum cleaner hose and got it stuck in there. That is the kind of personality match Catherine and I have. She will push me to do the impossible (or at least try and laugh at my failures), but will be there with me in case I likely crash and burn. This is principally the main reason I love her; she simply makes me a better person. The only con I can name, would probably be her penchant for worry. A little bit of worry is understood (and frankly, I wish I worried about the little things), but sometimes she can get carried away and lose sleep over it. This is not really a flaw, but more of an observation really.

Well there I have it. If you made it thus far, you will see the reasons why I am madly in love with Catherine. And for those who cheat and take shortcuts and skip to the end (the very same people who ruin a game of Monopoly by rigging the property purchases), should just know this: I love Catherine, my girlfriend very much for a variety of reasons. But most importantly, I love her for loving me, which surely makes her crazy, as loving me can really be difficult.

Well, apparently my provider, Rogers Wireless thinks otherwise. It’s really amazing the technology that takes into sending a text message. If I want to sent my girlfriend an e-kiss, it requires minimal input on my part, and a quick press of the send button. Now the magic begins. Riding on fairy dust, my digital embrace leaves my phone and quickly rises to the heavens, where God him/her/it self licks it for good luck. Then God pushes it in the direction of the recipient and the message glides gently on a cloud until it reaches the destination.

See this is perfection in poetic form. But I had a recent escapade where it seems the fairies delivering my message turned to smoking crack, and the clouds thought I was too ugly. I am not even going to mention God’s reaction, except to say that my basement flooded from the rain outside; no doubt God’s tears of laughter as he/she/it enjoyed mocking me.

My text messages did not go through. See this would be ok and all if I was asking my mother what time it was, not realizing that my cell phone has a clock on the main menu. But when I needed to quickly get in touch with my girlfriend, this aniquated technology failed me. This is the same as a rock stopping to be a paper weight. As long as there is gravity, the rock isn’t going anywhere.

Ah, but wait! After twenty minutes of agony, I start to receive messages back from my girlfriend. Naturally the tone of the messages goes from cheery to pensive to violent to debilitating. She had every right to blame me too, since she relied on antiquated technology. Imagine if she went to read a novel for fun and all of a sudden the book disintegrated. Yea, it’s hard to imagine, but book binding has been perfected by now, and we can rely on it.

So here I was stuck in a corner with no exit. Fairies failed me, and God was out playing tricks on the elderly.

Thankfully my girlfriend has enough sense to understand that technology, even something rudimentary like this can fail. Otherwise I would be sitting here writing this entry about how it sucks to live alone.

While this isn’t exactly earth-shattering, as many women (and in some cases, mothers such as mine) read this magazine, I can’t help but wonder just what the difference between textual porn and visual porn really is. Safeway does not sell Playboy or Jugs in the magazine section, but yet Cosmo can get way with titling that claims in bold letters ’63 Tips to Make Your Guy Feel an Explosive Orgasm’. Now this is an actual claim that Cosmo lives up to, as they literally blow their opinionated load on sex tips. This is in stark contrast to some magazines that only have catchy titleage in order to entice the consumer to buy the magazine on a whim, and later realize that there is nothing about that topic inside the issue itself.

At this point, everyone is thinking that I’m not quite right by reading Cosmo and that it’s for women and that I shouldn’t delve into what they think about. But that view is classically white, and to be frank, quite incorrect. I respect women and consider them vastly superior to men, both intellectually and emotionally (I will not mention physical beauty, since this blog goes beyond bosoms and derrieres). That is why it’s inspiring for me to read a women-only magazine and see just how well a magazine run entirely by women and focusing entirely on subjects that matter to women can fare.

Well, I am sad to say that I was very disappointed with what I came across. But I should have expected this, just like how I should have brought a helmet and elbow pads to a Sephora grand opening with my girlfriend Catherine. Women can be cruel beings, and are particularly crafty and quick in making fun of other women, while behaving like man-eaters towards males.

Not only does Cosmo tell women that they are basically inferior unless their natural skin matches the heavily retouched cover model, who no longer looks like her original self after her digital form has been altered on so many computers before going to print, but Cosmo also tells women that they are all poor at love making, look inferior without a certain bag a nameless but still somehow important celebrity wears, and have no ability to understand the principles of savings and money management. Now the last point irks me the most, especially since I’m an accountant, but the smartest accountants I have met were women, since they are naturally more diligent and focused compared to their male counterparts, who are quite satisfied with creating paper airplanes from receipts, rather than expensing them properly.

But, before I get off topic once again, let’s revert back to the original problem with Cosmo. It takes the creativity out of relationships. A close personal relationship with someone should be a journey of discovery and exploration. An institution where the relationship participants trust each other enough to try new things and push boundaries, both sexual and non-sexual. Certainly if all women adopted Cosmo’s tips, there would be no more creativity in the bedroom, and even less outside it.

Women are highly evolved, creative creatures. To have a magazine, written and edited by women, treat other women as banal and bluntly tell them that they are boring in bed and have no idea how to dress themselves or put on makeup, is humiliating. It’s humiliating to me, and I am a man who should not be reading such a magazine in the first place apparently.

I have not even started to talk about the emasculation that is fervent in magazines such as this one. But until I write about that, let’s just say that I won’t spend my free time drinking beer with my cracker friends, nor figuring out the best move to defeat a video game boss, and let alone reading Muscle & Fitness.

Now my parents are simple, immigrant folk. They prefer their salad fresh, with as much arugula as possible, their oatmeal warm with a hint of cinnamon, and their persimmons roasted briefly, kissed with an aroma of cedar smoke. Well naturally, taking up after their simple tastes and pleasures (did I also mention that my parents participate in croquet matches and enjoy hosting tea parties for esteemed ladies and gentlemen? Maybe not, I’ll save it for another post) is part of growing up for me, so you can imagine my surprise when they asked my girlfriend and I to choose a restaurant. Catherine and I (my girlfriend) prefer full flavoured food. This notably leaves most white food off the menu, as conventional white food is about as tasty as deep fried baking soda. Her and I prefer food with an edge. Our tongues would much rather be raped at gunpoint by flavour than to live out our lives playing shuffleboard in an old folks home of bland tastes. Therefore, you can possibly imagine the surprise on my parents’ faces when we decided to go to our favourite Indian restaurant.

The food was just the way Catherine and I like it – tasty and flavourful. We both let our tongues get carried away by an eclectic blend of spices. We literally enjoyed the destruction at the hands of the gun-toting flavour rapist.

But let’s shift focus for just a moment. Let’s move on to the conversations we had with my parents and my girlfriend whom I already consider part of my family and is the woman I will marry.

I kept to myself most of the evening, letting Catherine ask questions that she wanted to break the ice and look sociable. I pretty much hunkered down and focused on the bread in front of me, with the occasional splurge of water to bathe my teeth in. She would occasionally nudge me to say something, which I usually met with a very awkward “so….when does the hockey season begin? This year’s teams look might impressive, don’t they dad?!”.

After saying this, I could literally feel my girlfriend’s eyes defiling me as she gave me such a stare which immobilized me. I knew exactly what she wanted to say to me, but couldn’t since we were in such an estranged setting. I could at this point feel my balls retracting back into their long lost cocoon inside my abdomen as Catherine’s eyes would eat them alive if they caught them.

My parents did nothing to aid the awkwardness. Instead my father, who lost so much weight he looks like a diseased dried prune (or if you will, imagine a dried prune sitting in the sun, so it dries even more), and my mother whom believes puffy pirate shirts are still in fashion, proceeded to answer every one of Catherine and mine’s questions without a current of sarcasm. The problem is that they answered it so bluntly and asked no follow up questions, which made starting a conversation difficult.

As a sidetrack, allow me to offer a better explanation. Let’s imagine the following scenario: two prisoners are introducing themselves to each other for the first time since they will be sharing a cell together. One of them introduces himself by saying “hello friend, my name is Charlie, and I am a rapist!”

The other fellow says coolly “that’s ok, so am I. I get top bunk!”

Charlie says “I actually rape men, and will enjoy looking at your sweet ass from below!!”

At this point it’s safe to say that this conversation is dead in its tracks. Kind of like the one my girlfriend and I had with my parents this past weekend.

The rest of the dinner went fine, but I am already beginning to plan our wedding in a place that has most of the things that my parents are allergic to, so they cannot really make the trip there, or better yet, will be so teary eyed and runny nosed that they won’t remember a thing and won’t have time to ask questions. Wait, if they get teary eyed from the allergies, it might even look romantic, as it will seem like they cried from happiness for their son’s wedding. But nobody needs to know the truth.

Now I fancy myself as an intelligent man. I mean I can understand world politics, have an opinion on personal finance, and can bake up a storm, but makeup seems to totally defy any of my perceived intelligence.

I have always believed and publicly admitted that women are far smarter and superior than men. I tell this to my girlfriend not only because she can kick my ass physically as she’s in way better shape than I am, but because she is far superior to me in every way. She adds logic to my life, a logic that I sorely lack.

But, back to makeup (I am constantly told by my girlfriend that the preferred term is cosmetics, so I will try to use that term from now on). I am always in awe when I pick up a magazine and briefly sift through it while waiting in line in a store, or  as an excuse to avoid a person whom I might know that is coming my way. Most magazines that advertise makeup, oops cosmetics, literally tell women that they are unattractive, old and have poor skin and complexion. If I try the same tactic to complete strangers, my testicles would no longer function as a result of blunt force trauma, and my voice would be in the upper echelon only briefly discovered by Celine Dion.

Even more amazing is the dedication women put into vanity. The fervor-like qualities exhibited by women as they rub various toxins on their face is nothing short of remarkable. After seeing women go through their morning routine and all for vanity’s sake, suddenly going to war and getting decapitated does not seem like such a bad fate. And because they go through this voluntarily, it adds credence to the notion that women are sadists.

I have learned so much about cosmetics thanks to my girlfriend. I now understand the need for primer, the fact that certain foundations can come in mousse form, and that there is an innate difference between the different brands of lip gloss.

This should serve as a warning for any man foolish enough to think that he’s more intelligent than a woman. This is a common thought of some white men whose education consists of counting the number of dead possums found on the roadside on the way to work as a forklift operator. Learning about the different aspects of cosmetics is difficult and not as easy as just putting color on a face. If it was, we would all look like clowns who had their makeup done by blind, quadraplegic midgets.

But the point of this entry isn’t even the facial itself or the image the word conjures up, but rather the conversation that occurred during the act.

While my girlfriend was being ‘worked’ on, the Chinese baker (affectionately named that because she will be kneading my girlfriend’s face) starts asking her questions.

“do you have a boyfriend?’ the baker asks.

“Yes I do” my girlfriend responds.

“Is he white?” the Chinese woman asks again.

“Um…yes?!?” my girlfriend responds.

Quick interjection: yes, my girlfriend is asian and i’m a cracker myself. But that is not the point of this post. Back to it we go…

“Don’t worry, you’re still young, you’ll find a proper man who will take care of you” says the baker coldly, while kneading my girlfriend’s face and grating her skin like a slice of mozzarella.

Now before this becomes a racism post, which are far too overrated and only used to generate buzz and hits for online blogs, let me explain that I am not disappointed by the woman’s ignorance, but rather by the blatant stereotyping by a woman whom I haven’t even met.

As surprising as it sounds, I am not a brick layer, and my ideal Friday night does not include beer and pool tables. I am educated, I am well-versed in many of the finer things in life such as balloon animals and semi-amateur fishing. For her to assume these things about me is insane, but instead of blaming her directly, I will do something which has become a staple of this blog. The person, or people, to blame for this behaviour are naturally whites themselves. It is their fault for allowing this image of slothfulness and disinterest  to be perpetuated by foreigners and people of a different race. Many whites are like the stereotype, and they should really value education and hard work.

Rather than realizing that you’re content with being a drain on society, don’t be a soggy cracker, and do something productive.

Now the point of this post is consumerism, especially in terms of cars, and even more explicitly between 2 automobiles: the honda cr-v and toyota rav4. For the uninitiated, the honda cr-v has a regular hatch that opens upwards like an ordinary automobile. The rav4 on the other hand has a hatch that opens sideways and towards the right.

Do you see the obvious deficiency in this design? By allowing the door to open only one way (and stupidly only towards the right) toyota’s engineers have delivered a vehicle of poorly thought out design. To make matters worse, this same design oversight has been in effect ever since the rav4 hit the north american market a decade ago!

Now why would anyone purchase the rav4 in the first place when a cr-v is more useful even if looked at nothing else other than this major feature.

The answer is easy: consumers are sheep and purchase products based on brand alone. But in the case of toyota vs. honda, two very well respected japanese brands, this daft consumerist attitude should really be non-existant.

Well I never said north american whites were smart to begin with…