Loser

I'm feeling like the biggest loser right now. The tax refund I just received recently, and the one I was planning on putting aside for a rainy day, is gone. Already. Well, there's about $100 of it left - but that might as well be zero.

I didn't realise I had spent so much this month until my credit card statement arrived. Fuck me. My financial planner would weep - if I actually bothered to see him anymore. I won't tell you what I spent my money on. Not junk since I purchased what I did for a reason - but that could be a moot point if others are asked.

Seeing the bill today made me realise - in all its black and white glory - that I'm living almost a thousand dollars a month beyond my means and I am ever so slowly, but oh so surely, drowning in debt.

My mum has started making jokes about the money they've loaned me as "being written in water". Well, it loses something from the translation but it's probably more close to the saying of things being written in the sand. What it really means is that the Mum & Dad Bank is no longer holding its breath to see its loans repaid anytime soon. If at all. I think that's what cuts the most - to know that my parents have come to believe that about me. And they're right.

Rain money gone. Credit card still not zero.

"Hi, my name is Joshua. And I'm a fucking broke arse loser..."

Directions

It's been a while since I was able to knock out something completely fresh and on time for the gay and lesbian publication I write for. But this week, I did it.

I guess it helped that my Editor had given me some form of direction on what to cover (he usually gives me free rein, which probably doesn't help since I'm both too imaginative and indecisive). The next issue will be "green" themed, so he asked me to write something about the environment.

So, I did. I wrote about eco-friendly condoms.

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Loving Up the Environment

Once the realm of serious environmentalists and well-meaning but misunderstood tree-huggers, being eco-friendly has now become an everyday reality for all.

Gone are the days of bleached white paper products made from old growth forests as well as those once-ubiquitous throwaway plastic bags. In their place are plantation-harvested and reusable alternatives. And this environmental awareness hasn’t only been limited to simple consumption of paper or plastic but also to other products we use day to day.

How about slipping on a pair of sustainably grown underpants made from bamboo and hemp? Or applying those biodegradable plant-based moisturiser and hair products? Or even drinking your favourite fair-trade wine and latte? Being green conscious is now de rigueur.

Is it any wonder that this would also affect those things we use in a more pleasurable manner?

In the world of prophylactics, the humble condom is king. Used properly, it can prevent not only the transmission of AIDS and HIV but also prevent other sexually transmitted infections and diseases. It can even put a stop to unwanted pregnancies. Something daughters of American republicans may not be aware of.

But did you know that the environmental effects created by condoms can make the carbon emissions produced from China’s plethora of factories seem like mere puff of smoke?

Condoms are manufactured from different materials, with most being made of latex. Latex condoms are biodegradable; a plus for the environment, but the use of casein, a milk protein, in its production is of some concern with certain groups, mainly the animal rightists. Vegans will be hard-pressed to slap this on their meat. In addition, the use of essential condom peripherals such as spermicidal and lubricants can further hurt the environment as these products are likely to contain preservatives and synthetic materials.

And here’s another eye-opening titbit you can share over your seafood dinner: latex does not biodegrade when it is under water, which is why you should never flush used ones down the toilet. Imagine how poor Nemo would tackle one of these! And what of the wrappers? Most are made from foil that will neither break down nor can be recycled.

Nope, the safest bet in getting rid of used condoms, apart from flinging them over your neighbour’s fence, is to place them in the garbage ready to be made into landfill.

It’s enough to make little green Johnny think twice about having eco-nookie.

Enter condom manufacturers like Glyde and Condomi. Both companies are now producing an alternative rubber that has the environment in mind as well as the thing in your pants. Made from plant-based materials, they claim their product not only to be eco-friendly but vegan-friendly, too.

And they’re not the only companies jumping on the green love band wagon. A Brazilian manufacturer claims to have a “male preservative based on eco-friendly extracted natural latex from the Amazonian rainforest”. And in China, used condoms are being recycled into hair bands! There are also oils and lubricants now being made from soy-based organic products and even a website that claims to donate fees to a campaign to save rainforests for every condom purchased.

Now, that’s what I call loving up the environment!

Well, that's one way to reuse those rubbers.
This dude pwns Project Runway.

Bright Lights

Writing a new résumé recently (I lost my old one in the big data wipeout of 2005 – damn Windows!) gave me an excellent opportunity to look back at the way my career employment had unfolded over the years. It's provided me with some interesting insights I hadn't considered before.

In the last decade, I've had eight different job roles with five different employers. Out of these five employers, one is a multi-national finance company, two are independent private businesses in retail and fitness, and the rest are community organisations who employ me as a freelance writer. The multi-national offered the most in terms of benefits and numeration and yet it was the job I enjoyed the least, nor lasted longest in. Office politics made working there difficult as well as the inflexibility of the role. The independent businesses meanwhile were the most flexible but provided the least in terms of career opportunity or growth. And the community-based entities, well, they pay the least but the ones I find most enjoyable and rewarding.

The reason for writing a résumé has to do with something I've been kinda pursuing in the last couple of weeks. A few spots have opened up with a local community TV show and at the suggestion of a friend, I applied to screen test as one of the presenters. Along with being interviewed in front of the whole cast and crew, scripting a segment for the show, pitching a story idea and doing some impromptu acting, the résumé was the last necessary requirement and formality to round off the whole audition process.

I guess on top of being a personal trainer, writer and radio broadcaster, I can now add TV presenter to the list of things I do that takes up my time. Yes, I got the job!

It's strange to think that a background in sciences (graduated with a Genetics and Microbiology major) has led to careers in finance, fitness and even, the media industry. I guess sometimes you never really know where the wind – and the bright lights – will take you.

Crying Game

So I decided to take the plunge and finally got myself a new pair of contact lenses. (I broke my glasses recently after accidentally sitting on them. Evidently, they couldn't stand the weight of both my arse cheeks.) I would have been wearing them a long time ago if not for the unfortunate false-start experience I had years before.

At about the age of eighteen, I purchased my first pair of contacts. The completely artificial and totally unsuitable blue coloured lenses were chosen more for their cosmetic appeal rather than their ability to help me better see. I was trying, with all my baby poof delusion, to channel my inner twink at the time. They didn't last long. After getting one of the lenses lodged in my eye overnight and having the other pop out on to the dirty floor of a public bus, both got ripped on the third day when I tried cleaning them. It was an expensive exercise in vanity.

So, you can understand my hesitation.

But buoyed by the thoughts of warm sunny weather ahead and hoping to wear my Ray-Ban aviators AND actually being able to see, I thought it was time to give the soft lenses another go. So last week, I got them: plain and uncoloured. Everything was going well - I even managed to put them in without too much hassles - but then came the third day when I ran into a bit of a problem.

Feeling suddenly like I had sand in my eyes, I whipped off the lenses only to find that a small tear had formed on one of them. Back at the shop to get a replacement, the optometrist decided to also give my eyes a quick once over to see how they were adjusting. After poking and prodding to the point of feeling like I was being eye-raped, his diagnosis proved unexpected. I have dry eyes, caused by blocked tear ducts. Apparently mine were so full of built-up gunk that I wasn't producing any tears at all. This resulted in the tearing since there was a lack of the wet, slimy film needed for the contacts to work effectively.

In all honest, the prognosis shouldn't have come as a surprise. It's been a very, very, very, VERY long time since I've had a good cry. Who knew being a heartless, unemotional bastard could actually be bad for you?

Mister Optometrist had one simple advice to fix the problem: place a warm cloth to the eye area when showering. Sound, sensible and bound to work, right? Probably.

But just to be sure, he also had a few unorthodox prescriptions on top of his conventional one. He also suggested, amongst other things, blinking very fast in succession, cutting up a bunch of onions or even watching a few mushy movies to force the tears to come. PS I Love You, Titanic, Beaches, While You Were Sleeping. These are allegedly great flicks for bringing on the water works. I doubt if it'll work for me. I didn't shed a single tear when I saw the Notebook. The only person in the whole theatre filled with men, women, young and old; all sniffling.

No, if I am to get crying and clear this blockage, drastic measures are needed. I think I'll need to watch endless re-runs of this – or better yet, participate in it:




Here's hoping that mere watching will work.

Have You Noticed...

...that this blog hasn't been updated in more than two weeks?





Yeah, me neither.

Angel No Food, No Cake

Are you there, God? It's me Joshua.

I've just had the worst week of my life and I spent seven days wearing a donut on my arse after I impaled it as a child. But that's not what I want to talk to you about.

I've been battered, Lord. Both physically and mentally, and now I'm feeling totally exhausted and bruised. This must be what one of those little Chinese ladies feel after a night of "Five-Dollar Sucky Sucky" specials.

It all started really with the onset of spring and some well-meaning but totally misplaced good intentions of undoing the horrors of the past winter. You see, I've put on a bit of padding – the kind that a bear in hibernation would be totally jealous to have. Mother's cooking and her magic pantry have been much too good and well, before you know it, I'm starting to look like a great candidate for John Goodman's body double.

So, in preparation for the warmer weather ahead and if I were to have any chance of wearing the skimpy polka-dot speedos given to me last Christmas by my still single 50-something year old Uncle (don't ask, it's a touchy subject), I have to shed this weight and be my fabulous sexy self again. And quickly.

So, what better way than a week-long detox?

Out went the sweet chilli and sour cream chips that I devoured by the bag fulls, the blocks of Crunchie chocolates that I munched on with so much glee and my midnight snacks of apple pie with ice cream and caramel custard. No more coffee and alcohol either. Instead, I've been subsisting on steamed vegetables, fresh fruits, protein bars and lots and lots and lots of plain tasteless water.

It only took until the afternoon of the first day for the headaches to arrive and there they've stayed for the last four days. The caffeine and sugar gods are no longer being appeased and I guess this is my just desserts. So to speak.

If the constant poundings in my brain weren't bad enough, then came the indigestion on the second day. Thanks to the combination of water and fibre I've so suddenly ingested, I was more bloated than a bloat fish stranded on Bloat Island in the Kingdom of Bloatdom. Honestly, Lord, I have never been so full of gas in my life, and you remember that episode with the helium tank. What's worse is the ensuing release of said fermented gases. Oh the smell! I should have come with one of those biohazard warnings. Really, I felt very sorry for my family. Even the dog was disgusted.

The fifth day proved the most challenging of all as the bloatedness gave way to cramping. And boy did it hurt! All that crystallised salt along with the sugar cubes and fat blobs being pushed oh-so-forcefully and yet so efficiently through my lard infested insides. It was certainly doing a number to my otherwise delicate constitution. I have an all-new respect for the girls who all have to go through this feeling each and every month and to mothers for the, well, mother lode of cramping ever. How do they do it, Lord? That's probably why you made sure they had higher pain thresholds than us blokes.

The sixth day is nothing to write about. It was full of shit.

And so we come to the last day. And how glad I am to have gotten here. There were moments during the week when I felt like I wouldn't make it, when I thought I would break, when I was tempted by the Devil and all his vices to quit. Especially when Mother decided to cook one of her famous feasts: deep-fried wonders, succulent roasts and sticky sweet delights...................

But I persevered, God. I persisted. I pushed through. I made it. And it's all because of you. And the Angel you sent to watch over me.

So, thanks be to you, oh Lord.

The Good Food Angel: off to her next victim, erm, charge.