Seems to me too many people are all shame-filled about their ADHD. What the fuck is that about?

Here, take your stereotypes and shove it. Know what my ADHD doesn’t make me do? It doesn’t make me run around like I’ve had 42 coffees and have been mainlining coke and adrenaline, all right? It doesn’t mean I freak out on people. It doesn’t mean I can’t have a conversation with you. It doesn’t mean I can’t get to appointments punctually. It doesn’t mean I can’t be an awesome employee.

What it DOES mean is, I have organizational challenges that negatively impact my life and leave me predisposed to feeling overwhelmed and constantly daunted by the life in front of me. But that’s biochemical. It doesn’t mean I don’t BELIEVE I can do it all.

In fact, I’m getting really pissed off at the idea that I should somehow not admit I have ADHD, like I should hide the condition and pretend I’m “normal”.

Fact is? Without my ADHD, I wouldn’t be the writer I am. I wouldn’t have the wide range of artistic abilities with the keen scientific grasp of logic and philosophy that I have in spades, man.

The paradox of ADHD contributes greatly to the paradox of me — my odd mix of sensibilities, unpredictability, humour, quirky observation, talents, and wicked attention to detail.

Without my ADHD, I’d just be another person seeing the world through ordinary eyes. For whatever grief and challenge my ADHD put on me, its reward is the madcap swirl of perspective and hobbies that I live my life enjoying.

If you follow my crap on Twitter, you know I don’t shut up a lot.

I’m not on Twitter to be current on all the links or friendy-friendy with everyone. I’m there because it’s an extension of my writing. I record the minutae that I see around me, I comment on everything, I say things I probably damned well shouldn’t, and I probably blurt a lot of things most people barely have the guts to think and never say. Again, my Twitter stream is here.

Without my ADHD, you’d probably hear about me being in bank lines and eating Cheerios for breakfast, and not much more. The irrepressible impulses I get and the spontaneous outbursts I often have are just part of my “condition”.

In addition to that madcap swirl of thoughts? I’m also a fantastic cook, a wildly original home decorator, able to wield power tools, and garden, great at speaking, and more. I’m versatile and creative in pretty much every area of my life. I come up with original solutions to tricky problems at work and home. That’s part of ADHD, too — versatility, inventiveness, creativity, impulsiveness. It’s often all good if one can manage the other stuff.

Let’s face it, people. We’ve got to take the good with the bad with anything in life, but there is SO MUCH good that results out of the supposed “bad” of ADHD that I can’t tell you I wish I didn’t have this condition.

I LIKE the quirky, odd, strangely bright girl that my ADHD makes me. I like the fact that I surprise myself and make myself laugh with my observations of the world, but that other people seem to enjoy it too. I wouldn’t ask for anything else.

I may not be my ADHD, but my ADHD has helped to shape me into a more unique, more interesting person than I likely would have been otherwise.

Moral of the story? Don’t fight who you are. Make yourself the star of a play that suits your style in life.

It’s taken me a long, long time to realize that the things I used to hate about myself are the reason that all the things I love about myself are so strong. I’ve spent my life hating that I couldn’t get past my disorganization to get to a place of success. I’ve spent my life knowing that I’ve got a wicked sharp mind, an understanding of the public most people in some industries wish they had, and a way with words they can’t teach in school. And, yet, here I sit. All because I never knew how to control the one side of my life so I could maximize the other.

Learning that the two can, and do, play well together, but that I need to coach it out of myself, has been a fantastic lesson. I’m still learning and it’ll take a while before I successfully put it all together in a way that yields the results I want, but… it’s coming.Knowledge is power, and I’ve got the knowledge now.

Knowing my ADHD is such a gift helps me ignore the more “cursed” aspects of it. Understanding how much of “me” wouldn’t be a part of me without my ADHD? Helps me really decide that I need to learn to control it, because I fucking love the good it contributes to who I am.

Welcome to my journey.

There’s an app for everything!

Like iPeriod.

Men, before you go “ACK, NO, NOT PERIOD TALK” — think about the brilliance here. AN EARLY WARNING SYSTEM. A bitchy-factor crystal ball! All for you! You wanted it… they invented it.

What if you KNEW when your wife’s period was due? What if you could plug into your little iPhone what days she’s being REALLY bitchy for no reason, and your iPhone could track patterns and warn you about when to expect her moody days, when her cycle will start, and when you should be worried?

iPeriod is making a lot of women very happy because they finally have a more scientific way of knowing when Nature’s Course Will Run, and also because it’s teaching us more about how cycles work — not really something we’re ever taught by Moms, schools, or doctors.

If men think our periods are confusing, wait’ll you try living on the other side of one.

Either way, this app is fucking brilliant. Its applications for women AND men are fantastic. I wonder how much simpler it’d make some marriages if guys could just check their iPhones and go, “Uh-huh. She goes on the rag on Saturday. Jesus, now it all makes sense.”

Personally, I think the Vegas rule should apply to PMS too.

What happens during PMS, stays in PMS. After all, we all know PMS is easily one of the stupidest fucking phenomena around. I mean, it’s a DEFENSE FOR MURDER! Let’s not kid ourselves here. BOTH sexes can prepare for the Stupid Asinine Parade of Shitty that comes wrapped up in the guise of Women’s Bodily Mechanics? Wow, well, both sexes COULD use a little less randomness with that crap.

Perhaps even MORE encouragement for men to be interested in this? Well, any SAVVY guy knows a women is most, um, aroused and horny the day before a period arrives. Imagine what that kind of powerful knowledge might do for the average undersexed suburban husband, huh?

I open mine up today and an alert flashes that tells me it looms in a few days. I can cancel things if I want, plan my work week as well as workouts in anticipation of it, and just generally be aware that, yes, I’ll be increasingly short-tempered for no reason in the next few days, and now I can plan ahead to try and out-think the stupidity of PMS.

But if I was a man, I’d be just as thrilled for the early warning. At least I could hide or arrange a golf-day with buddies.

iPeriod, saving sanity one cycle at a time.*

*Worth noting that the same developers have come up with iPregnant, worth investigating if you’re expecting.

Do YOU follow me on Twitter? Why don’t you? You can, and you should. Do so here.

I’m not much of a reader anymore, though, so the book has woefully sat there in the pile of “things I really do want to do, but wish I had the time to get around to” and NOW is the time. Some 25 pages in, I’ve scanned over the book, and while it may not be something _I_ will sit down and read in one sitting (let’s face it, it isn’t Harry Potter), I think it covers a fantastic range of topics and I’m really looking forward to being inspired by the way she tackles some of them.

So far, I think Herbenick hits all the right notes that most women need to understand about sex — it’s not just “well, if you put this here, it’s great”, but it’s not rocket science either. It’s mostly about overcoming your shit, being comfortable with your body, and being more confident about what sexuality is and requires.

Basically, it’s about reading books like this and learning more about yourself. I’ve found myself nodding about 20 times, just in reading the little I have and scanning the rest of the book. I’m pretty comfortable in thinking it’ll be one I’m happy to recommend. Too many sex books focus on too few areas, and too many expansive ones don’t talk about things in an accessible way. I think this falls in the middle.

Which, when it comes to sex, I find is a pretty good place to be. Let’s see where it goes. Instead of a traditional “review” posting, I’ll be writing a few posts based on the book in the coming weeks, and will review aspects of it in each.

Meanwhile, I’m off for Thanksgiving turkey! Happy Thanksgiving, Canada!

More happily, TiVo ate some Breakfast Club and is serving it up fresh for me this morning — one of those few movies I can recite more than half. It’s surprising how many of those movies I can recite are of the John Hughes Library.

I  _am_ the John Hughes Generation. I’m so sad he passed away before 60, and bitter he stopped his brilliantly insightful teen movies when he did, back in the ’80s. I always wanted to go through college with John Hughes as my guide. Thank god Cameron Crowe peaked when he did. I’ve not yet written about Hughes’ death, though, and have been meaning to say a few words.

Everyone in my crowd has their own John Hughes memory. This is the biggest of them all, for me: The Breakfast Club.

It was a June day back in 1985. None of my friends (overstating it: “classmates”, not friends)  had seen this movie “The Breakfast Club” but I was sure they’d like it. And to show it to ‘em, I had the biggest, baddest party of them all. A slumber party!

Every girl in my class was invited. And… unbeknownst to Mom & Dad, so were most boys; I had hatched a master plan. It was a Saturday, we’d hang at my house, then we’d all head down to the FunFun Park… (I kid you not, I grew up a block from a park called The FunFun Park — explains a lot, no?) …and all the boys would meet us there. We could play for an hour or two (ahem, play) and then go back home, do our girl-thang.

It was the end of grade 7. We were all 12-year-olds and we were each just discovering that the opposite sex wasn’t so icky after all.

I invited many kids that day, but I had not invited Danny.* He was the goat farmer’s son. Guess what he smelled like? Yep. Mm, goat — HAWT.

We were in Grade 7. Seriously, kids that age a) don’t shower like they should and b) tend to be mean to those who don’t fit in. I wasn’t immune to being a cunt then.

At school, the chatter was to a minimum about the party — most kids knew it was hush-hush. If parental units heard, Bad Things Would Happen. This was The Big Ticket. Our first attempt at going parentless, the summer before high school.  Whatever trouble could we get up to, out there, at the FunFun Park, sans Parental-Types?

I had visions of being the mastermind behind many a first kiss. SMOOCHIES galore! Oh, the excitement! Only two days left and my parents still hadn’t gotten wind of my brilliant scheme.

Then Danny phoned.

While I was literally washing my hair.

Mom took a message.

Ever so destructively helpful of her. Typical.

“I was just wondering what time we were supposed to come out there for the party at the… FunFun Park?”

“…The party? At the FunFun Park? There’s no party at the Fu… Fu–!!”

God help me. Oh, the tirade it unleashed. My mother was not one for letting a lesson go unfelt. And by “unfelt” I mean punctuated with several whacks to one’s tushy. Sheepishly I hauled my tenderized ass to school that Friday and told everyone rather dramatically “DANNY WRECKED IT. FOR EVERYBODY.” At least it wasn’t MY fault.

My party! Destroyed! All by the GOAT FARMER’S BOY. Dammit! Foiled!

So now it would be — sigh — a movie-and-popcorn-and-stupid-girlie-stuff night. No boys. Damn you, goat farmer’s boy!

The girls all still came over, gamefaces on. We’d have fun anyhow. (Damn you, goat farmer’s boy!)  Cake was had. We behaved. Then, 13 of us crammed into my bedroom for the night’s movies, and pajamaed up and readied for swoonery: The Breakfast Club and Rebel Without A Cause. I was a discerning pubescent girl.

The Breakfast Club blew our minds. All that teen angst and the hotness and the — RRR! — god, we loved it. I fell hard and long for the baddest boy of them all, John Bender. Oh, how I swooned. I watched it several times before returning the VHS on Sunday afternoon.

For me, The Breakfast Club became a foundation for who I would become. To this day, I don’t apologize for what I am. I don’t fit into any “typical” holes. I’m an acquired taste, and I really don’t care. I don’t have to justify who I am to anyone, and more importantly, I won’t. Hughes taught me that in both the opening and closing voiceovers of The Breakfast Club.

But that’s not all John Hughes schooled me well in. Among other things in life I learned from Hughes & his movies –

• Love, in all its stupidity, is a really big thing, and when hearts swell or break, it’s SUCH a big thing it’s probably worth writing a movie about, or at least a song.
• Whatever happens, it’s really, really important that it happen when there’s good music playing, because a good soundtrack makes everything all better.
• Image is everything but can also be uniquely you, because Molly Ringwald looked fuckin’ hot in that quirky Pretty In Pink dress. Ducky kinda worked it in his own hot-dorky-way too.
• Story is eternal, human struggles are common when they’re matters of the heart, and the geeks shall inherit the earth or at least the really hot chick every now and then (especially when they can rig serious equipment in their bedrooms when the folks are outta town).
• Bad boys are hot, but they will break your heart. So will the good guys, though. (I blame you, Ducky.)
• If you’re stuck somewhere and have time to kill, marijuana might be fun.
• If you’re REALLY smart, you’ll ask for a computer for Christmas, because look how well it worked for Ferris.
• Always know at least one good dance move, and have a big bag ready-packed, because you never know when you may have to jam.
• Insecurities are like dustbunnies; they’re hiding everywhere, and everyone’s got ‘em.

We’ll miss you, John. Thanks for the memories.

So, hey… what’s YOUR memory?

*All names have been changed to protect the identity of children of goat farmers.

The province of Alberta, here in Canada, has opted to make matters of sex, sexual orientation,* and religion OPTIONAL for their students. Parents can yank their kids out of school when they disagree with the premise at hand. [Story here.]

Religion? Okay. Fine. I’ll give you that. Make that optional. I not only understand having strong beliefs on faith, I respect it. I do not, however, understand refusing to listen to other views, not having faith in your children to be intelligent enough to hear more than one viewpoint, or shutting down education when it seems fit,  because I feel that teaches children that the teachers and education itself are not credible.

But on matters of sex? Sex education?

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

Seriously! Are you?

Because I’m of the understanding that I pay ridiculous taxes on EVERYTHING in my life, as well as absorb considerably more expensive cost of living, all so I can enjoy the privilege of being Canadian… and have access to a universal healthcare system.**

Whether it’s cancer caused by HPV during sexual contact, infection of AIDS or HIV, unwanted pregnancies, or even the murder of doctors because they administer abortions for those who’ve “accidentally” gotten pregnant — all these things can only improve with a more educated populace that understands how the causes are spread and what they can do to prevent it through safe practices.

Allowing people the choice of remaining ignorant when it’s MY tax dollars cleaning up after their messes? Not cool. Nuh-uh.

Worse, though, is that these things — sexually-transmitted diseases or unwanted preganacies — are big contributors to social ills of many kinds.

The cycle of poverty perpetuates through ignorance and young, inexperienced parents who are often undereducated before they give birth, and who struggle just to get by, often having to make compromises that other parents may never face. Our already overtaxed medical system bleeds with the stresses placed upon it through demand and limited resources. Unpreventable diseases work our system to death. We’re going to ignore the prevention of easily-preventable ones now?

Education is THERE to do the job many parents fail to do at home. It’s there to ensure children learn to read and how to socialize, that they have broad horizons and perhaps more opportunity than their inheritance might allow. It’s there to ensure children have access to all that society offers, and not just some hand-picked universe that keeps the “other guy’s beliefs” outside so as to preserve some naive homogeneous old-school delusion of what society ought to be.

Children should be forced to learn about sexual contact. They should be made to understand the consequences of their actions, and not in just a fire-and-brimstone rhetoric kind of way.

Let’s teach sexual education to all. It’s important. It’s not whimsy. STDs and unwanted pregnancies don’t just affect lives, they change our society. Teach kids that. Show them how it usually turns out when 15-year-olds give birth, or what AIDS looks like in late stages. Give them realistic consequences and show them the destruction that can be wrought from badly chosen encounters.

Let’s not romanticize sex, at all. In education, let’s tear it down and make it science, psychology, and sociology. Let’s be brutal. Let’s be real. Let’s take the delusion of “sex only happens when you’re in love” out of the equation and realize it also happens when you’re drunk — so maybe getting schooled might be wise.

Let’s not be optional.

Skirting these issues hasn’t been working out for us. STDs are on the rise across the board after having education shaped by moralistic do-gooders who think “abstinence” is any real kind of solution under a New World Order sought by George Bush — and don’t kid yourself, it’s not just in the US, but around the world via the US policy to not give funds to most organizations that refused to teach abstinence-only. Ignorant asses like that still believe in the rhythm method.

Educate the kids, but don’t skirt the issues. Don’t just dally with the information, shine a million-watt floodlight on it so there’s absolutely no misunderstanding: Casual sex is a dangerous game, and sex should never be considered something to do for kicks just ‘cos cable sucks and Pammy’s party got cancelled.

As adults, we choose and we live with our choices. But the presumption is that we know what we’re choosing. And we all know what a fallacy that is.

Most adults could use sex education. Kids are there, ripe for the knowledge.

And here we go, failing them again. Well done, Alberta. You’re continuing your legacy of horrific social governance. Let’s not even mention eugenics, shall we?

*It’s too big a topic to throw on top of this one, but sexual orientation — as long as kids are still committing suicide and hate crimes continue, opting out of discussion on sexual orientation should NOT be legal.

**Before someone wants to get their asshatty combative panties in a twist and turn this into a debate about universal medicare, don’t even fucking bother. I will OWN you. I both feel that the Canadian Medical System is partly responsible for my mother’s death while being grateful she died in this country. I fully recognize and understand all the flaws of this system, I feel it needs improvement, and I would take it HANDS DOWN, seven days a week and twice on Sundays, over the United States. Enough said.