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Thursday, 6 November 2014

Hexy life hacks volume 1: Snoring.

Hex in the city isn't exactly known as an advice or "life hack" blog, but I'm thinking it's time I share some of my very own unique hacks that help me out with the little annoying bits of life, like your boyfriends snoring problem. Ok, like my boyfriends snoring problem. Maybe don't tell him about this entry, leave that to me. 

I hear so many women and gay men bitch about their mans snoring problem and it seems obvious that men are way worse than most women, but then there's that one woman who's log sawing sets off car alarms and knocks paintings off the wall. So not just you guys, but you know, men are most likely to be heard snoring loud and clear from across a house. Here's my learned tips and tricks to quiet a snorer. You're welcome.

1) Grow one toenail long and keep it that way. Let it grow beyond the free edge of your toe. Now, if you're worried about ingrowns I'm also an esthetician and I'm here to tell you you're better off with longer toenails to avoid ingrowns. Anyways. Grow it out and use it as a weapon against night time nose noise. Don't be too violent about it, slowly poke him in the lower calf, thigh or anywhere fleshy, and just push a little. The trick is to push until he rolls over to his side, that is the goal to all my tricks really. He will eventually wake slightly, thinking he must have rolled over on to a sharp object that shouldn't be in the bed, but he will be too tired and out of it to look for that object, it could be as simple as some kind of washer, screw, shit, even a nail, but if your guy is less handy it could just be a rogue potato chip, and he will roll over and deal with it tomorrow. But whatever you do, you mustn't let him know that you keep one toenail sharpened just for him, or he might just cut it when you are unsuspecting, say, sleeping. 

2) The slow yet persistent kick. This ones the most obvious; kick him until he moves! But it's not as simple as it sounds. There's an art to it. At least an art in being gentle about it. I like to start my kicks light, and do it with the inhale of each snore-producing breath, rhythmically and consistently with an end goal of him rolling the fuck over. My favorite technique is the "pendulum". Lie with your back facing the snorer and slowly kick your leg closest to the snorer forward (away from snorer) then bring it back so you have a little momentum. Control your speed and force, and up both if this fails to move snorer within a minute or two. 

3) The tickle. I like personally the ear tickle, because like the toenail trick it makes the snorer think there's something annoying on one side so they move to the other. Use whatever you want to give snorer a little annoying tickle, a feather would work splendidly if you have one near, but you do run the risk of being busted with a feather in your hand in the middle of the night and there will be questions. So use anything handy, like your own hair if it's long enough to reach, but if the snorer has long hair themselves you can use their own hair as a weapon against the snorer. I recommend being subtle about this too, you don't want to wake them suddenly holding a lock of their hair. Questions there too.

On a bad snoring night I may use one or all three of these tricks, but once you get the snorer on to their side you are going to need to keep them there or they will just roll back over and start up the sawing again. Here's my methods:

1) Knee behind butt. Or how about bones under butt. This is exactly what it sounds like, if they roll away from you which they most likely will since you are trying to create one inhospitable side of the bed for them, immediately bend one leg and put your knee just under snorers butt. They will try to roll over but will immediately be forced to not. Cause, uh, you're sleeping there man. I repeat, "you're sleeping there." You must never give away the fact that you're awake. Snore a little if you have to, you must make them believe you rolled into that position and are sound asleep. It doesn't have to be the knee, it can be any body part but the more bony, the better. 

2) Sew a tennis ball in the back of his nightshirt. K I've never tried this, mainly because I prefer to be a sneaky bitch over an obvious one. And the poor, broken and defeated man that puts this hilarious looking shirt on, my best guess is the snoring is just the foamy head of a tall beer of deep seeded marital issues, but I still think it is a hilarious and most likely effective tool against snoring. 

3) The "earthquake". If he's on his side and starts to turn back to a supine position, immediately start shaking the bed violently. I like to stay as still as possible while rattling the bed from my knees down. Again, don't give away the fact that you are awake. Stop the rattling as soon as he's even mildly roused, and again fake sleeping. Lie still. All he will know is that he must roll away from whatever is shaking over there, or it will backfire he will spring up in a panic thinking you are having a seizure, you must yourself decide if it's worth looking crazy or not, if it's 2am you're wide awake and work in the am, I would say it is worth it. 

Like I said, you're welcome. I hope that you'll think of these tips the next time your snorer is keeping your eyes glued open and annoying the shit out of you. 

BUT if these tips sound too mean, you can always grab some earplugs, go lie on the couch and read a nicer persons blog. 

Nighty night sweet translucent angels.

-E.






Thursday, 16 October 2014

Pumpkin weigh off

K so this is a little late, but better late than never! Plus it's still October, it counts.

Here is the day me and my pal Jessor went to the glorious PUMPKIN MOTHERFUCKING WEIGH OFF!!! 

I found out about it and immediately told all my friends and family that would listen, and anxiously awaited a good month and a half for this day, had pumpkin socks all ready to wear and a party planned after, because watching people weigh off giant freak vegetables really gets me thirsty for a good beer drinking binge with my buddies, who can all appreciate a big beautiful pumpkin. 

Jess and I arrive in town and it appears there's no where to park, why? Because half of fucking Alberta is here to get in on this pumpkin party! It was fucking ridiculous. Searched for a spot for 20 minutes and once we did, we got out and started walking to where we saw people, but there was people everywhere. We asked a couple of bitchy locals (never ask an angry looking woman for directions, especially in a small town) where was the actual weigh off happening, and one nasty looking witch goes "Wayyyyyyyyyy on the other side of town in the agriplex, hurrrumphhh." Let me just quickly point out she was probably 300 pounds. Made it sound like we would have to get back in the car and drive a ways, but this is a small town, how far would we have to go? 

Well we start walking back towards the truck and see a friendly looking firemen, and I say "Excuse me, where are they weighing off the pumpkins?" He says "follow me ladies I'm heading there right now!" Well Mrs. Mean fat and disgruntled meant 3 blocks when she said "across town." But what more can you expect from someone who probably drives the block distance to the grocery store? 

We arrive at the pumpkin weigh off and this shit is NO JOKE. There's a Ferris wheel outside with food stands and a farmers market and we get inside this building and there's people up to the ceiling in there, farmers and kids, weirdos like Jess and I, I see my parents neighbors and a women we went to high school with, people dressed in all orange and even some kind of creepy pumpkin clowns, like I said. No joke. 

We were a little late so I think we missed the heaviest watermelon and longest gourd, but fuck that, we came for the pumpkins goddammit! And pumpkins we got! 


The boys in the orange jumpsuits carried some of the pumkins on stage with a moving blanket, up to about 600-700 pounds worth of pumpkin! 


The bigger ones were lifted on stage with a forklift.


Shitty pic, but you get the idea.

Best part: we got to go pose with the freak gourds afterwards!!!! It was basically a dream come true.


Now here I am with the heaviest squash, she weighs a hefty 700 pounds or so. 


JESSOR WITH SQUASH


Jessor with the runner up. This fucker weighed around 850 pounds of glorious pumpkiny deliciousness. But in the pumpkin world bigger is truly better, more to love. And I lovvvve me these huge ass pumpkins.


GIANT PUMPKINS ARE SO METAL!
Note the look on that child's face behind me. I was so excited I probably yelled something that offended her little ears and she probably didn't understand how an "adult" could get so excited over a huge pumpkin. Stupid kids.


Another big'in, this guy had to be around the 700 pound mark as far as I remember. The look on my face gets stupider and stupider as I get more and more drunk off the sight of these gigantic beautiful gourds. 


Jessor creepily stroking the winner pumpkin. She weighed a hefty 1210 LBS!!!!!! That's right, over 1200 pounds of pumpkin! That's a real BBP or big beautiful pumpkin! Quite the sight to see in person.


Me and the winner. I live for moments like these. We went home with a deep sense of satisfaction. Them pumpkins did not fuck around. It was truly beautiful. I cannot wait for next year. If you want to come the more the merrier, next year I would love if someone wanted to drive me so I could partake in the beer gardens, where there was apparently going to be pumpkin moonshine. I left smiling knowing that there's a town that values pumpkins as much as I do. A town dedicated to pumpkins. The pumkin capital of Alberta, and it's right down the highway from where I live. 

My life is fucking awesome.

-E.






Wednesday, 10 September 2014

I'm so much cooler on the internet

Oh jeez I've been a tewibble tewibble blogger.

If you didn't know me you'd probably think I was a flighty bitch, who doesn't really have any real direction in life and the attention span of a small animal... and you would be almost correct.

What the fuck is this blog about anyways? It's got so many personalities if I ever end up in jail for some sort of atrocity they'll use this as a profiling tool.

Last year I barely blogged all summer too, because, well I had better things to do quite frankly. I'll admit that the majority of what you read on here is only written because I was fucking bored, probably stoned and needed to get up on my soapbox, I probably called all my friends and got no answer, left them creepy messages spoken in foreign languages about chicken delivery or threats to carve their name into my arm and make them watch me bleed unless they picked up the phone, and lawd knows when I smoke a doobie I need my microphone, I can talk up a motherfucking tsunami! This blog is that microphone, ok now you know it.

Did you really think that I could rant like that without any assistance to blind my judgement and unrestrict my word-flow?

Also this blog has become somewhat of a lie. Hex no longer resides in the city, she lives in the middle of nowhere, and life has changed a great deal. Hex on the farm is obviously what this blog should be renamed, but who changes the name of their blog after 3.5 years?

But really it wouldn't change that much as a blog because Hex is still Hex. You can take the Hex out of the city but you can't take the City out of the Hex. It's funny because though I lived the young adult city lifestyle for the last decade, I come out here and love it so much it feels like I belonged here all along. And what "here" means is THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE. Not in a city or a town, no neighbours, solitary. I of course have my man and my kitties, but solitary with them.

People have let me down so much just in general as a society I no longer want to be living in close proximity to any. That is bad. But it's the truth. I couldn't just live in the middle of one of these towns out here because that to me would almost be worse, no anonymity, everyone will know your story and what you buy at the drug store, if you drink too much, that you had chlamydia, and if you write bad cheques. No really, theres a list at the grocery store by here on the tills that reads "DO NOT ACCEPT CHEQUES FROM THE FOLLOWING PEOPLE:" With First and last fucking names.

The further you go off the highway, the more it starts to resemble scenes from The Hills have eyes, the weirder the people, and the intelligence level takes a fucking nose dive. Common responses to questions posed to Sales clerks in these towns are:

"Huh?"
"I have no idea"
{stares into space} "uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh"

What baffles me is that with this many dumb dumbs everywhere I call or go for any reason, I can't get a fucking job to save my life. WTF is that about? I have decided I am not inbred enough, theres no other reason. Oh maybe because my last name is not one of 5 Ukrainian names from 'round here neither.

Life is different out here. It's slower paced, you dump your own garbage at the dump, you burn the rest of it, and there are tire piles up to the sky. There's big fuzzy caterpillars that you don't see in the city anymore.

You can shoot a gun or blast fireworks, burn whatever shit you damn well please or crank the death metal to 100 and roam around in your underwear, which I prefer to do all simultaneously. Love it.

Everything for me has been dandy out here except the job hunt situation. I worked briefly at a golf course 30 minutes away but had to quit that nonsense, and then been on other interviews after repeated emails to the same employer, haven't gotten those, it's enough to make you very discouraged, look at yourself like WTF IS WRONG WITH YOU? Why can't you get a fucking job?

Well I have decided to go back to school for Medical Transcription. I can do that from home. Plus I get to decipher medical jargon all day, love it. That actually is fun for me. I've seen so much of my own I am really practically a certified doctor without any certification! Next best thing is data entry of doctor speak. And guess what.... you can do it from home! Thats right, I wouldn't even have to go out and work side by side with some idiot that only got the job cause she knows so and so's cousin uncle.

I am starting school the SECOND my books get here. I couldn't be hungrier for information and knowledge since my last shitty job, working with the public just is not going to work for me ever again. I am done letting people crush my soul slowly but surely through all my years of serving the public and no more my friends, no more. I need to be using my brain more than just figuring out the best way to deal with a jerk with a chip on his shoulder demanding money back. I'd like more of a challenge than smiling for the public offers me.

Don't think I haven't found my ways of getting even with these soul crushers through the years though. If you're sneaky you can at least have yourself a little bit of satisfaction. I had a couple of shitlists, wrote down the name or even just a description of the asshole, something like "Ugly crotch nosed piss face, your dicks so small it's an innie, may your wife cheat on you and your house burn to the ground." Those things I really wrote down. It helped me to just let go, instead of taking home all that shit and letting it destroy my evening, I'd get a list of 5 or so shitty people and my wishes for them, and leave work and burn the list or flush it down the toilet.

It always helped me go back to work day after day and endure the assholery.

Take that how ever you want it, if you think it's crazy you really don't know me do you.

Hey, that was fun, ever so random, and kind of hurt my fingers from typing since it's been so long. I will leave you with this equally random tune, because I am totally on a Scorpions kick right now.


http://youtu.be/GY3BTyLh8vQ

-E.



Friday, 13 June 2014

13


HAPPY FRIDAY THE 13th!
My lucky day. 
It's also the full moon, which only happens on Friday the 13th about every 30 years or so...so my dark familiars are stir crazy. It's 11pm and the sun is just going down now, but I'm staying up to see the moon. I love the power of a full moon, I believe it stirs my creative juices and feels like a new beginning.



Watch out for them full moon Friday the 13th werewolves, oh and of course Jason.

-E.

Thursday, 12 June 2014

Sandcastles

I'm going to get all Cancerella on you here. 

I like cancer blogs yes, but only ones that aren't' just a big pity party or sorry attempt at awareness, I like cancer blogs that have raw feelings put down with no filter for others sake. 

This guy was diagnosed with Leukemia at the age of 17 and survived to go to medical school. His latest entry took words that were in me but I haven't been able to even find these last 3 years, and everything that he says about stereotyping cancer patients is 100% true.

Well I am not going to rewrite what he wrote, I'll just post ya the link. It is worth reading till the end. 


Everyones experience with cancer is different, but a lot of things seem to be universal. 

"Everyone says I am so brave but I don't feel brave."

Now I suppose for me, I don't think I felt brave or weak, I was almost stoic instead for the majority of the time. Some kind of survival instinct kept me calm. I don't hear this from every cancer survivor I've spoken with but I do hear it from some. For a lot of people the worst of it hits later, after all the surgeries and treatment, keeping your chin up for the sake of others, because they wouldn't want to know how you really feel. Cancer patients lie all the time when they say they are "ok" or "good."

It's just for you, so you don't have to feel uncomfortable, or sad, or helpless, because in my experience I didn't like seeing people afraid for me. It felt like one more thing I didn't have energy to worry about.

So much about the experience of cancer can affect loved ones more than the patient even especially during the time where you are waiting for surgery and treatment. Once I was on treatment I slept most of the time so I didn't have much time to think about my mortality but those around you are, even if you say you are fine.
I know that even though we don't have to, patients put on a facade for loved ones and strangers alike. You smile even though it hurts your face because you don't even have the energy to do that let alone raise your glass of water to your mouth and people can tell you are ill but because you are smiling you are badass. 

Ok I would like to think I just am badass anyways and I would also like to think that slaying the cancer was all me, but the truth is I am just one of the lucky ones so far. I did my year of interferon. I had a team of great doctors. My body has fought off the cancer these last 3.5 years. That's it. I didn't kick cancers ass on my own.

There were plenty of badass, brave, strong, cancer slayers that are dead from their disease now.

One part about this entry I really relate to is feeling like others expect you to act grateful to have survived. When you look at the alternative, yes, you WILL feel lucky to be alive, thats a given, but inside I hate that I even had to have cancer at 27. I hate that I haven't gotten to live this part of my life like a normal young adult. I hate that I will always have that anxiety about every change in my body. Every lump and bump and every bad headache. The fear is living and real and if I had to choose the words on how I feel about this disease ripping my body and life to shreds for years I don't think the word "grateful" would be it.

"It's not easy being grateful for the worst thing that's ever happened to you..."

If you don't stand tall, smile, and proclaim you are grateful to be alive and that you're BRAVE, people look at you or will even say, "You should be more proud of yourself for that!"

It's not a personal achievement, it's the luck of the draw. Your string was not cut today, that is it.

You hope it won't be cut tomorrow either.

One thing that I've noticed is that life will never be the same, and the after effects of cancer are like rippling waves on sandcastles on the beach. You can build up, make progress to move away, get stronger, and then the tide comes in and dissolves your castle to nothing. 

I'll probably always live with some fear, I'll always have anxiety about my health, I will always see the world and everything in it differently than most around me because of my melanoma. The one thing I can do is transcend, I can keep building my sandcastles. That is my choice in the end and no one else in the world can do it for me. 

-E.





Sunday, 8 June 2014

A Sunday rant

I feel a RANT coming on!
Maybe it's the Lockup marathon on MSNBC I've been watching but I'm feeling irate about the world and the shit people do and say. That's not new but I can't always channel all that anger into this blog or people would think I'm totally psycho. Also I don't always have time to write when there's a bee in my bonnet.

FIRST OF ALL and this one may be make some say WTF but this is my fucking blog and you are welcome to write your own WTF blog. 



If you know me, my bestest friend I've ever had in my whole life and the only one I know will be by my side no matter what is gay. Ok that's just him like saying, "my best friend is a heterosexual." Well he would most likely call me a breeder but that's really a joke between me and my bestie.

If the subject of sexuality comes up, and I'm talking about my best friend I will absolutely mention that he is gay. But I rarely just say "John's gay" I'm more likely to say "my best friend and his boyfriend" and let people figure it out on their own. 

What drives me crazy is people "bragging" about having gay friends. It's like they think they won the tolerance prize and almost wear that gay as an accessory. 

This weekend is pride and I'd love to be celebrating with my bromosexuals, but living an hour away and having to return a few hours later doesn't make it easy to show up at the parade and inevitably end up in the beer gardens. 

This time of year is when everyone wants to brag about having a gay friend. Suddenly a gay aquiantence becomes their "gay bestie" and you hear the word gay gay gay over and over again and Facebook is just an awkward place to be. 

He's your FRIEND not your GAY FRIEND.

That pisses me off. You know these people put the G word in front of the word friend want to:

1) look cooler because if a gay man will be seen with your ugly ass you must be beautiful. This just simply is not true.

2) Make you believe you are not a bigoted piece of shit. You could very well be full of hate but use one "normal gay guy" as your mask of tolerence. I hate hearing that word out of self named "fruit flies."
By the way the word is defined as:

tol·er·ate
ˈtäləˌrāt/
verb
  1. allow the existence, occurrence, or practice of (something that one does not necessarily like or agree with) without interference.
    "a regime unwilling to tolerate dissent"
    synonyms:allowpermitcondoneaccept,swallowcountenanceMore
    • accept or endure (someone or something unpleasant or disliked) with forbearance.
      "how was it that she could tolerate such noise?"
      synonyms:endure, put up with, beartake,standsupportstomach, deal with


Ok now of course there is the flip side where all you can sometimes hope for is "tolerance". I get it. But I have been working with, friends with and around gay men for a long time, and haven't seen one straight man outwardly discriminate against a gay man once. There has been the rare one who made cruel jokes about a gay man behind his back, but no more than women deemed sluts or fat or fat sluts or "weird" guys that look like they sit in front of a computer jacking off all day and wash their hair once a month... People will find a way to make jokes or discriminate about just about anyone. 

I think overall today's society is pretty blind to things like ones sexuality, but if you ask me "tolerence" is not the word I want to hear used. I don't know what I'd rather hear but "tolerating" isn't enough. 

We need to blend together without worrying about who likes to suck dick and who doesn't. It's really no ones motherfucking business anyways.

Ah that feels good. Seriously though now people, can we just relax and stop making people wear labels? It's bullshit.

I myself have been labeled by a few people here and there for my penchant for heavy metal music. It's almost like a stigma. Here's a list of the things people have said to me about my taste in music and my response to it:

1) How can you listen to that isn't it mostly just noise?
 
"I don't like noise, I like music."

Then they get a scared look on their faces and say:

2) But aren't all the lyrics about death, mutilation, murder and satan? I can't even understand what they are screaming!

"I thought you couldn't understand what they are saying?"

3) aren't  all the lyrics super negative and angry?

"Yeah I'm sure some of em are, but I'm not exactly there to read too deeply into the lyrics, I like virtuoso musicianship and some of today's best musicians play metal, and a band could have lyrics about baby killing but if the guitarist can shred ill probably buy their record."

This next one actually made me mad, and this is a real quote from an ignoramus who will remain nameless:

4) You are what you listen to and if you listen to "negative" music you are a negative person. 

"So if you listen to douchey music, or fake music with no real instruments, does that make you a fake douche?"

Infortunately in that persons case they really were the music they listened to.

What about people who listen to gangsta rap more than anything else? These people have no business saying shit all about metal lyrics. A lot of the music they listen to is about pimping, selling drugs, killing people and objectifying women, so what does that make them if their music defines who they are as a person?

Overall my taste in music doesn't affect most people's opinion about what kind of person I am, but some actually define me by my taste in music. Get over it. Some of my music you may really not like, but how in fuck is that my problem? There's no need to confront me on it. Its not I listen to metal to piss you off. I ask that you shut the fuck up and keep it to yourself what horrible negative music I listen to, and go troll somewhere useful, like the westboro baptist church of zealots or something. But you probably are a wannabe member of that cult if you hate my music that much.
 
Oh I dislike a lot of music myself, but never have written off an entire genre because of a few horrible representatives.  I don't love ALL metal ever written just as I don't love all classical music I've played on my violin. It is all completely subjective. I have songs from all kinds of genres. I have Leonard Cohens discography and know all his songs. I have some Dolly, some Mariah, some Yokam, even some Britney. All serve their purpose in my iTunes library.

One genre I believe has become totally bastardized and pretty much ruined is country music. It used to be about pure and stunning vocals and fun inventive fiddle, and deep guitar you can feel in your gut, something could affect your emotions and make you feel at home, but today's country is the worst shit on the planet I'm sorry. Some country singers are mixing rap and pop and then throwing a dash of "rock n roll" on top of it, and I shudder when I hear Toby Keith's voice. And when I see his face I shudder again.

I hate it, but you'll never hear me start a debate with all "new" country music fans about their choice in music. Just because you listen to music that is pretty much all about chevys, women in tight jeans and 
Red solo cups doesn't mean you are a redneck Toby Keith wannabe. Or does it?
Maybe those ignorant idiots want to be Toby Keith and sing like tools but that ain't my problem. 

I really don't give a shit enough to slap labels on people's foreheads. It takes time and zeal which I just do not have. I can think of better ways to spend my time. What matters to me is the quality of the person inside the T shirt of their favorite band, regardless of the genre. 

That's my moral message for the year. 
May you listen to whatever you want and have sex with whoever you want. Just no barnyard animals, children or dead people. There's no way I can "tolerate" that.


-E. 















































































Wednesday, 28 May 2014

A hairy situation

So just a quick one with a few pictures, and blurb and maybe one link to a song. 

Melanoma took a lot from me, it changed me on so many levels. Once I was diagnosed stage 3 I was ready to fight hard and not give up, but I wasn't prepared for what treatment would do to my identity. After four months my hair started to come out in huge clumps in the shower, it got thinner and thinner and broke off on the ends, shortening it by a lot, until I broke and just cut it off.

To say I was devestated was an understatement. Slowly over the course of my treatment more and more hair disappeared and I started to feel ugly. I didn't recognize myself anymore; my identity was stripped away cruely. 

I dealt with it ok, in my way, by investing in lots of inserts of different colors, even had fun with the different colors and styles I could play with. Fake hair was probably the best investment I made in my well being while on a horrific and life-ruining treatment. After interferon I had a scary look of baby hairs growing in with straggly fly aways, brittle and straw like stressed tresses and it seemed like every day I looked in the mirror and hated what I saw. They say hair isn't everything but it can be to a 20 something cancer patient who loses 2/3 of that hair. 

Every once in a while I snap a pic of the progress to see how far I've come. I credit the increased growth as of late to no more bleach, no more dye, expensive salon product and limited use of heat styling tools. There's a hashtag on Instagram- #LongHairDontcare but mine is #longhairICare. 




I'm happy.

It'll grow back they said. Well, it finally did. And I couldn't be happier. I finally feel truly myself, and siscors: no thanks. 😃

Since there's no songs about hair that I like, I'll just post a quick hair metal band tune, one of the best of the hair metal tunes ever, and I know my friend Jess will be rocking out to this one.



Thanks for reading my weirdos, stalkers and loves. Without you I would care less about most everything in this wild world.

-E.