The Things that Keep Me Up at Night

Folk Fest was awesome. Not only because of the music (The Avett Brothers are Gods of the Stage, Men of Magic with notes that surge life into this cold cold heart) but also because Folk Fest (drum roll please)

is the other Mecca of DILFs.

Two words people, family event. You want to up your chances of running into men with children, go where the children are at. You want to up your chances of running into hot men with children, go to where there's good music and family friendly beer gardens. Viola, DILF central.

Unlike the other kingdom of DILFdom (San Fran) however, these DILFs are actually with their children (and most of the time their wives). Consequently I ran into a sudden and cruel realization.

Being around children scares me.

Don't get me wrong, the children themselves don't scare me. It's the people that have children that freak me out. The breeders. Those hip attractive young people that decide to go the conventional route, get married, have babies and yet still enjoy good music and booze (on occasion).

Seeing these people (read, often the mysteriously allusive twenty-eight year olds) is like having a nightmarish flash forward because one day, my ovaries may turn against me and cause me to want to become one of them.

One day I may find having a conversation about all the barely used baby products you can acquire on kijiji interesting.



I do not look down on these people, in fact I may even look up to them. They have undergone a life changing experience which causes them to re-access their priorities and establish that now their own self-satisfaction is no longer number one.

I want to be my number one forever. I love me. I am awesome and I want to continue to be so self-absorbed that I never for one minute consider causing my own self grief for the betterment of another. I want to be a being controlled by instincts, searching for whatever want that may grab me at the time.

But this will change. I'm no fool, I know that one day my ovaries may softly whisper to me "it is time, my child, for you to do what you have always been meant to" and thus I will become a living, breathing uterus searching to fulfill my biological obligations. I will still be crazy, but now I will have a reason for it.

I do not want to have a reason for my irrationalities. I like the type of crazy I am right now.

Please, almighty, let me become so horrendously cynical and jaded that my ovaries shrivel and dry up before my biological clock starts ringing.

Should this happen I will be the best non-related aunt in the world, I will corrupt my friends children in all the coolest ways possible while simultaneously teaching them the kind of responsibility that their parents cannot. Like to drink as much water as one does moonshine, and where to buy the best hand held battery operated devices and that most often a firm handshake and an introduction is just as good as what you think is an awesome pick-up line.

I have a purpose on this earth people, and screwing up my offspring is not it.

'DILF of the Week'

Michael Franti is one hunk of sweaty, dread-locked, guitar stroking man my friends. The tarp I crashed on Friday was two feet away from his dancing box (a plywood box in the middle of the field where Mr. Franti graced us with his presence mid show) and if it hadn't been for that giant security guard in front of me I would have kindly groped dear Michael and asked him to "dance on my box".

Yay Folk Fest.

A Visit from Uncle Red

Alright, it's time we talked about it. That seemingly hormonal force that none of us know how to classify or deal with, and some of us won't even acknowledge.

The Man Period.

It exists people, so help me god it exists. Ladies, you know what I'm talking about, the sudden mood swings, the abrupt irritability, the marijuana (or meat) cravings - everything that afflicts us gals during 'that time of the month' but without reason. If Bio 30 taught me anything I know that men do not have 'seasonal' hormones, there's no biological reason for them to be pissy one minute and fine the next.

Yeah yeah dudes, I know what your thinking "even if it does exist (which it doesn't) only serves you ladies right".



I'm not pretending that pms isn't the stuff of nightmares. You're not alone in your fear, I don't like the fact I turn into a irrational blood thirsty monster according to the moon cycle either. But here's the thing gents, the female period is predictable. It happens the same time every month. The man period (or manopause in those older gentlemen) can strike at anytime. Most often when the individual not being afflicted by pms (i.e. me) is in good spirits, and then you whiny non-vaginal bitches have to swoop in and ruin my good mood.

You know how often good moods happen to me people? Weigh my love of sarcasm alongside my natural cynicism and take a good guess.



Give me a cane and a medical degree and I'm practically you-know-who. A good mood should be nurtured, cherished even - not crushed by this gigantic biological conundrum like a dorito under the ass of the two-ton teen.

I here by sanction that men, like women, have the privilege of being totally irrational for up to a seven day period once a month. But, must make clear of this time period so women, like men, can fuck right off till it's all over.

I'm all about gender equality people.

'DILF of the Week'

In honor of the Calgary Folk Fest (which I am more then stoked for) I present to you, The Avett Brothers. Yeah who knows if they're really 'DILF' material. But the point is, they know how to rock a beard.

What's sexy my friends? Body hair and music.

But especially body hair.

The Straight Dope

Have you ever read 'The Game' by Neil Strauss? Me neither. But looking it up on wikipedia gave me the idea to let you all in on the short non-gender/orientation biased version:

It's not that fucking hard.



Introduce yourself, smile, eye fuck if you can manage it without looking creepy. If the conversation flows, pursue it. If it doesn't, say "nice meeting you, have a good night", smile again and walk away. If the conversation doesn't flow and that person you're attempting to mack on is hella attractive, get to the point (but be polite you perverts).

People will instantly react in one of three ways: 1. Be interested/on the same page, 2. Be repulsed and give you and obvious 'ew' signal, or 3. Be so freakin' confused that they can hardly formulate sentences in awe of your nonchalant confidence.

I usually get #3, and then they clue in to how attractive I am and go with the flow.

Now, I know what you're thinking "But Ella, you're a fucking babe. That shit doesn't work for just anybody" and dudes you're right, I am a fucking babe. I have, however, looked the same since I was fourteen (excluding some boobage) and things have only in the past year started going this well for me.

That is because, in the past year I have realized (and applied the realization) that shit only happens if you make it happen. Ladies, gentlemen, seriously. This is not a fucking buffet, you have to work for your meat.



And yes, sometimes you will end up getting rejected, but the more times you go up to a person, the greater chance you have of getting a yes, and the more yes's = the more convinced you will become that you are God's gift to women/men and anyone who says no to you're sweet ass is potentially missing out on the best night of there life (or at least some interesting conversation).

I mean seriously, wouldn't it be easier if people just were upfront about the things they wanted? Second World War would've been over in as long as it took to tell Germany "I appreciate you're honesty, but being racially dominated by a bunch of cultists isn't really what my country is looking for right now. I'm flattered though" and Germany would've just said "You're missin' out babe" and moved on to Austria or something.

History and innuendo, What more could you ask for?



Back to topic, have you seen Neil Strauss? Dude's got an egg head and he wrote a book on his experience as a pick-up artist in training. We can only assume the guy got laid. And this 'Mystery' guy, was apparently big into D&D before he came upon his skills.

These people have sex, on a regular basis. There is no reason why you shouldn't too.

No 'DILF of the Week' because I made a post a day and a half ago... go watch an episode of californication if you need your fix. David Duchovny is a sex addict and he plays a sex addict, who could ask for a more accurate casting job. Seriously people, it's like porn for your mind. Or at least porn for the part of your mind that loves drug addled sex addicted writers drowning in booze and the problems they've made for themselves.

Ok, it's porn for my mind.

"I was looking for post-its!"

Despite my deadbeat lifestyle I've got this job. This cookie cutter, temp job where I plunk numbers into a computer that was top of the line in 1995 and try not to bang my face into the monitor every time it freezes (approx. every 3 min and 28seconds).

I work in an office, and before you go imagining me in a tight black pencil skirt bending over to pick up that pen you've dropped (whoops!) I should let you know it's non-profit. Consequently everyone who works in this office is paid less then usual and (excluding myself) either learned English as a second language or are obese. Yes, they're all lovely polite friendly individuals but I want something to look at other then that torturous IKEA clock.

I want to work in the kind of office where everybody starts drinking at eleven, where men slick their hair and wear tailored suits and women hide sexy lingerie under their business casual. I want to walk into the break room and see people talking about stocks around the water cooler.

I want somebody to have sex on the copier.



I want to have sex on the copier.

But my life isn't an episode of Mad Men. It's as if payment for gender equality has come in the form of florescent lighted cubicle drudgery. It's not even reminiscent of office space because everybody is so bent on (heaven forbid) working.

So here's the essential question, in this daily routine full of doldrums are you 'allowed' to flirt during the 1 minute it takes that perky robot to create your cup of caffeinated sludge? According to my temp contract a good little office worker does not "become personally involved with individual(s) at [a] client office". I took this to mean no hanky panky with those temporary coworkers.



But when have I ever in my young life acted in accordance to the polite standards that surround attraction. I stand by the fact that refusing 'never say never' is like asking the universe to fuck you in the ass, so we'll see what happens.

'DILF of the Week'

Yes my friends, that is a man-gina. That is also probably the only man that I will ever find attractive doing the man-gina. His name is Jason Beghe, he played that writer on that one episode of Californication and this is what I will always remember him for.

Just let it happen.