Believe It or Not...There ARE Advantages to Being Female...

First of all, I should apologize to Bella and the very few (if any) readers besides our parents for my hiatus. Bella has done a good job making up for my lack of writing creativity in the past few extremely busy weeks.

Onto the topic of rockin’ females!

Time and time again, the infamous quote that goes something like “MENstrual cramps, MENtal illness, MENopause…ever notice how all of women’s problems begin with men?” leads us to believe that men are the luckier of the sexes. Not only do they not have to deal with the misfortune that is a menstrual cycle and all of its lovely affiliates (i.e. child birth…), or, when they’re older, deal with menopause. Sure, they may have to put up with the rapid mood swings and hot flashes, but compared to being physically agitated by the symptoms, I think it’s safe to say that they’ve got it pretty good. Men don’t have to worry about what their hair looks like on a bad day – usually it’s so short there’s only so many different ways it can go. Once you get into longer hair, bed-head, blow dryers, straighteners, and ten different types of brushes become part of the daily repertoire. Nor do men have to care about masking the smallest of imperfections on their face, or making their eyes ‘pop’, or their lips ‘pout’…or whatever you want to call it. Arguments between the sexes occur on a regular basis as to who has it worse off. However, I have recently discovered that being of the female sex has wicked awesome advantages, too! Let me explain…

I work at General Motors; a HUGE proportion of the workers are male. When I am in on Mondays and Fridays, I am the only female in my group, which consists of approximately 30 people plus 3 students (myself being one of them, the other 2 being males). Now then, not only do I get more shifts than the other students (strictly due to seigniority and the odd bribe), but when I am on a job I get more attention than one can possibly fathom. I have team leaders that came from across the group just to say “hi” or to chat and see how the weekend went etc.etc. I tend to feel sorry for my partner, as other than on breaks, the full timers don’t go and “visit” their coworkers. On my shift on Monday I had 3 different team leaders come and talk to me, on top of 2 people I didn’t know, and a few other coworkers of mine. Makes me seem pretty popular, huh? Not really. It’s just the estrogen at work, which seems to help with passing the time rather quickly. During these conversations it is pretty obvious that the main underlying agenda is for them to “make a pass” at me. Naturally, who would have thought otherwise? Recently I was told that Guy A was “single for the week, as the wife and kids are at the mother-in-laws *wink wink*”…uhm, thanks…? But no thanks. Another time I brought in Amish Friendship Bread for the group…and I got told that I was lucky that Guy B wasn’t married. Hallelujah. It’s all fun and games though. Or at least that’s what I tell myself. Being female in a primarily male dominated atmosphere does have another advantage, though. When it comes to the actual work itself if I goof up (which rarely happens…I mean, come on, it’s me afterall) either my partner or team leader will be around to fix it before I can even say anything. If it’s a full timer or a male student…they’re pretty much on their own until they ask for help.
Females 1: Males 0.

A more recent example is equally awesome, and can be connected to other experiences in life, too. Today I bought a BlackBerry Tour, the same phone Dadda Heidi had bought less than two weeks ago. While in the store, the male sales associate helped me set up my e-mail account so that it goes to my phone, as well as put all of my SD, SIM, etc. cards in my phone. Then, as I was going to pay, he goes to the back and brings out a skin for the phone, “Pink?....or black?” he asks…I say “Black” of course…nothing pink will ever touch my phone/Internet/texting device/new life. Meanwhile, in my head I’m asking myself, “Oh dear, what is this thing going to add to my already rather large bill?” Moving on, he goes back again and gets a 2GB SD card, “Oh dear, do I really need this?” I think to myself again. I get the amount which I had to pay, which worked out to ~$282. “Hm, Dadda Heidi said he had to pay closer to $300 for his…” I thought to myself…but I wasn’t going to ask questions. When Dadda Heidi originally came home with his Tour it was in a black holster, so I thought that maybe they replaced the holster with the skin and memory card. Off I go with my new BlackBerry to meet back up with Dadda Heidi, happier than a pig in poop.

I see Dadda Heidi, and the first thing he notices is the nice black skin my new phone is encased in. “What did that cost you?” he asks. “Uhm, nothing?” I respond. He asked if I bought the SD card, and replied that indirectly, it had been given to me. After that he got frustrated. He had to buy his own SD card, and did not get a skin for his phone; he paid more for his phone, and received less. SUCKER!!! Later on I found the black holster in the BlackBerry box. Score! The girl that sold my dad his stuff gouged him, whereas the sweet, sweet guy who dealt with me gave me some pretty awesome (free) deals. Looking back, apparently V-necks are a females’ best friend. I should keep that in mind for the future.
Females 2: Men: 0

This can probably be extrapolated to situations with the police and tickets. I have never experienced or tried this out, and I don’t plan on it anytime soon *knocks on wood*. Guys, just hand over your drivers license and registration. Girls get a little more leeway on this…providing it’s not a female cop…then you’re screwed either way.

So ladies, when you get down about the so called crappy life of being female, think of the advantages that pay off (however small in comparison to the disadvantages). It’s not the whole world that’s against us, just a large proportion!

Ciao!
- a very texty Heidi

Self-Inflicting Pain

I'm a big fan of tattoos - I love them on guys (provided that the guy isn't completely covered in them) and I love getting them. Actually, let me rephrase that. I don't enjoy getting them - really, they hurt like hell - but I love having them on my body. So far, I have three. The first two are a shamrock (which Momma Bella and I got together, and is a replica of the charm that my Grandma wears on her necklace), and an English rose and intertwines with a heart (a symbol of my time that I lived in England). I love telling people that I have tattoos because I'm really not the type of person that one would assume to have any.

My latest tattoo, which is only about two weeks old, is the saying by which I try to live my life: "Live. Laugh. Love." One of these days, I'll get around to taking a picture of it. Getting that tattoo was one of the more painful experiences that I've gone through in my life, and it made getting my other two feel like having a feather lightly caressed on my back.

I took Momma Bella with me to get my tattoo so that I would have someone there to help me through the pain and to laugh with at the craziness of voluntarily having something so painful done. She was with me for my other ones, too, so she knew the drill.

Craig, who did my tattoo, was absolutely wonderful. He's very talented, especially since I changed the design that he had made about two minutes before the appointment. After telling him where I wanted the tattoo to go - the side of my left foot - he took one look at the design and said, "Oh, that's gonna fuckin' hurt." I must have looked at him with sheer terror, because he quickly laughed and said, "I'm just kidding!" He then went on to explain that he was super tired and hadn't got much sleep the night before, so I can't say that I was too calm going into the appointment. (Of course, he was just saying that to get me riled up - it worked! - because he did a fantastic job). To add to that, another artist came up to see what I was getting and promptly said, "You're getting that on your foot? Yeah, that's gonna fuckin' hurt." I was almost in tears and Craig hadn't even started doing anything.

Well, the guys were right. The tattoo fucking hurt. Mommy Bella let me squeeze her hand the entire time and kept reminding me to breathe (sort of resembled how I imagine she'll be when I have a baby), which helped immensely, though any joke that she made really didn't have any sort of affect on me. By the end, Mommy Bella couldn't even extend her hand.

Craig was wonderful through the whole session, always asking if I was okay, if I needed a break, and trying to keep me laughing. Everytime he went close to a nerve, my leg would jerk but, in his words, he "must like [me], because [he'd] be yelling at anyone else right now." I told him that I would cry if he yelled at me.

The tattoo looks fabulous, though I'll apparently have to get it touched up quite a bit. Not looking too forward to that! It was totally worth it, though - I love it!

In a shameless bit of promotion, I got my tattoo at Sinful Inflictions in Whitby, which I would highly recommend to anyone wanting to get a tattoo. **Disclaimer - this website scares the hell out of me, but it's got all their information on it!**

Love,

Bella

A City Girl in a Wilderness Setting

I've never prided myself on being a camper - in fact, it's safe to say that being out in nature 24 hours a day with bugs, dirt, and no electricity or running water is not my favourite situation to be in. I camped a good deal when I was younger because my Dad loves it and my Mom went along with it, but as soon as I grew old enough to realize the joys of an easily accessible toilet and showers, the camping excursions ended.

Well, this past weekend I went camping with my friends to experience the more adult side of camping - for me, the drinking and telling inappropriate jokes part. We ventured up to Algonquin Provincial Park where we had a really nice campsite that Heidi's friend secured for us, and proceeded to pitch the tent. I was pretty confident in my ability to set up the tent, as Daddy Bella had taught me the night before, but about 2 minutes into the setup I ended up standing beside the tent while Heidi and our friend set it up. Worked for me!

Perhaps one of the most eventful things to happen this weekend was my experience with fire. Daddy Bella supplied us with a lantern that is gas powered or something like that, so I thought that I would add a little more light to the campsite by turning it on. After many attempts at lighting the lantern, our other friend took over and discovered that I hadn't even turned the lantern on (however you turn on a gas lantern), so if the flame wasn't catching it was because there wasn't any gas to ignite a flame. Oops. This revelation came after I decided to fill the lantern with more gas because I thought it may have been empty, and then I spilled the gas all over the place because it was full. Oops again. Pretty excited to have the lantern ready to go, I put the flame into the hole where it's supposed to connect with the gas and, well, it did, except that the flame also connected with the gas on the outside of the lantern, causing the actual lantern to go up in flames, along with gas residue that had dripped onto the picnic table. Major oops.

After screaming and throwing the lantern onto the ground, I blew out the fire on the picnic table and started to frantically throw dirt on the fire (Heidi said to put dirt on any gas that spilled on the table - obviously I missed some spots - so for some reason I thought dirt would also put out the fire). That didn't work. Eventually, I just stood there watching the flames engulf the lantern, trying to get it to stop with my mind, apparently. Thank goodness for our buddy, who ran up and threw water on the lantern and turned it off (I didn't want to try to turn it off, the button or whatever it was under the flames!). Essentially, if it wasn't for my friends, I would have burnt down the forest.

Add to that incident my igniting my marshmallow on fire, and I was not allowed around open fire or anything that could potentially be set on fire for the rest of the weekend.

I have to admit, though, that camping WAS fun. The not showering/smelling bad part was not so much fun, but hanging out with my equally dirty and smelly friends in a chill setting and laughing and talking was pretty awesome. This, however, does not mean that I will camp all the time (that's directed at Heidi). I was extremely worried that my nails were going to break, and that stress is not something I can handle on a regular basis.

Love,

Bella