The only reason I won't kill myself is the pain it would cause my father.

Why do people love weapons? Collecting pistols? Swords on the mantle? I could be good with a bo staff. I think I'd need training if I bought nunchucks. Right now I just collect bedazzled machetes but they are purely decorative. In an unrelated matter, I wonder why violence is ever present in my life.

Remember when we had cool places like Rubber Rainbow? It was a condom store on Denmen in the West End and was always so much fun to visit both for the fun of the novelty stuff and the lessons about all the different kinds of barrier protection. It had a fun atmosphere that made talking about safe sex really entertaining. Now I can go to a drug store for a few big brands and limited advice or a sex shop that had a few specialized items amongst toys or clothing and inconsistent levels of service. Does anyone remember Rubber Rainbow? Any memories or stories? Any other unique places that can't be replaced by the chain stores and staff who aren't personally invested? Specialty places before the artisinal movement were so great at times.

I know they all spent Saturday night together without me. I stayed in bed and watched Dr Pimple Popper. I prefer when friends want my company.

You demand “your rights”? But ... While I’ve go to work day in day out for the past 30 years, I can’t help to wonder what do you actually contribute that gives you “equal rights” to the people that actually work?

There was a time in the 80s when saxophone was equated with sexuality. Nowadays, maybe not so much. Autotune?

My fat body shouldn't matter to anyone but myself and, if I choose, my medical professionals. How I choose to treat my body is my business and your opinions don't mean I need to care about how you feel about my business. Why are you so mad at my flabby belly? Because you aren't turned on by it? You are inexplicably disgusted? Because you think I owe you sexuality or looking attractive. I don't owe you anything. I don't care if you're mad because I could be someone you can look up and down and fantasize about if only I ate some celery. I know this because I was once hot and treated like shit for it. If I have to choose being dismissed for being eye candy or being dismissed for being unfuckable, I am going to choose the one where I get to eat pizza weekly and enjoy walks instead of crossfit. You shame me to get skinny and I know from experience that when I get there you'll just shame me for absolutely anything else (my clothes, my voice, my taste in partners, my hobbies) and we all know there is never a hot enough that escapes all judgment. People hide their criticism behind concern and say they worry about my health and they bring up the burden on the medical system. That argument is pretty transparent when you consider that I don't get to tell people with high stress symptoms to change careers or people who skateboard that they might get injured and should take up painting instead just because I am worried about their well being and the cost on the medical system. It is a standard that is completely based in fatphobia. Times have changed. I don't have to rely on a man to fall for me and take me under his wing so I can be protected from society. I can earn my own living without trapping a husband with my figure. For the last few decades I can even bank and manage property without needing a cosign from a man. Incredibly I don't need external validation to confirm how absolutely rad I am because I love my own company. Your leverage to force me to perform attractiveness has weakened and I'm taking advantage of that freedom. I relish in your anger that you can't objectify me. I love your rants about my cellulite ruining yoga pants for your viewing pleasure. I laugh at your entitlement that you think I'm here for you at all.

Having really hard time moving on from this recent breakup. There's no hope in the relationship unless some miracles happen. Maybe it just happened out of nowhere, really quickly, without any warning. Still shocked .. love is slowly turning into anger while my whole-self is melting away. I'm not sure what I'm feeling. Am I still waiting on the person, what would give me the closure I need?

If you want to stop having sex, all you have to do is move in together. If you want to stop talking to a friend, just have sex with them.

One of my favourite old pairs of blue jeans wore through and now have a rip in the knee. I need to put a patch on it now. It was pretty cold this winter, I really don't understand why people would do it on purpose!