I am about to do the unthinkable.

It will likely get me in trouble, and I'll likely lose some Facebook friends along the way. I am about to defend…(drumroll) ...Twilight. There is a point to this, however, so if you don't want to read about Twilight, feel free to skip to the conclusion.

Now, Twilight’s protagonist Bella is often accused of being the worst kind of anti-feminist for the following reasons:

1. Bella is clumsy

Really? Being clumsy is anti-feminist? But…I’m clumsy as fuck. Once as a kid, I fell flat on my face from a standing position, for no reason whatsoever, and knocked my teeth out. Another time, I crashed my bike into the only existing tree on a wide, flat path. I have spilled vast amounts of food and drink on almost everyone I know. And I doubt this has anything to do with women's rights.

2. Bella’s boyfriend is jealous and possessive

Yeah, he’s jealous because Bella spends a lot of alone time with her best friend. Her best friend happens to be a hunky dude with a prominent 8-pack who constantly professes his love for her.

What happens if we turn this around? Women of the world, are you telling me that you would not be annoyed if your boyfriend went every day to visit his best friend the Victoria’s Secret model, who never wears any clothes around the house, who has threatened to kill you and who routinely begs your boyfriend to leave you for her? I’m sorry but no one is that understanding.

3. Bella needs men to defend her at all times

Okay people, this is a fantasy story. All the other characters have superhuman powers. All of them. You’d never expect some puny human to compete with the X-Men, would you? Or a Muggle to defeat Voldemort? She gets A's in science class, but she can't kill a vampire? What an outrageous antifeminist! Geez, cut the girl some slack.

To be considered a feminist, do you always have to be better than everyone at everything (i.e. be better than a vampire at killing)?

Today at work I asked a tall man to help me retrieve a heavy box from a high shelf. Then, to get my computer fixed, I called a professional who actually knows how to fix computers. In my desire not to injure myself or break stuff, I guess I accidentally became anti-feminist.

Also, it’s not just male superhuman creatures that defend Bella. It’s female superhuman creatures too. Just sayin’.

4. Bella is focused on/heartbroken over men

Okay, women (and men) of the world. Have you ever been strongly drawn to someone? Did you fall in love with them and wish that you could just curl up with them and forget about the world for a while? Did you lose such a person and feel devastated, knowing that nothing would ever be the same?

If no, then great. Good for you. You may continue judging the rest of us.

If yes…well, why not give Bella a break?

5. Bella doesn’t want to go to college and work for a living etc.

That’s right, because she has the unique opportunity to be transformed into a millionaire immortal with super powers.

This critique always reminds me of those people who say “If I win the lottery, I won’t keep any of the money – I’ll give it all away and keep working 60 hours a week.” That’s great, I admire you, but I’m not so pure-hearted. If I win the lottery, sure, I’ll give to charity...but I’ll also sail around the Mediterranean on my massive yacht. Does that make me anti-feminist – or just a greedy individual?

I feel that there’s plenty of time for Bella to follow noble intellectual pursuits once she is financially set for life and impervious to all diseases.

6. Bella doesn’t abort her fast-growing nightmare baby

Yeah, okay, the baby plot is wack. It is really the one thing about Twilight that is difficult/impossible to defend.

On one hand, it’s a woman’s right to choose. And if she chooses to go ahead with a terrifying bursting-through-the-stomach birth, then who am I to tell her she can’t?

However, inventing this plot device in order to show a female heroine refusing an abortion, well, that’s undeniably icky. You got me there.

I guess my point is: I demand the right to be clumsy, the right to be bad at some things and good at other things, the right to be head over heels in love with my significant other, and the right to blow this pop stand when I win the lottery – and still be considered a feminist, unlike poor Bella here.

Backpacker deathmatch

Remember the old warning: never discuss religion or politics at the dinner table? I would like to suggest a third topic to avoid: international travel.

Why, you ask? Travel is harmless! You went away, did cool things, and now you want to share your adventures with the world!

But, if you’re not careful, travel talk can divide a group faster than you can say "Lonely Planet." For some reason, if you put two or more backpackers in a room together, you end up caught in a death spiral of ridiculous one-upmanship.

Take these two absurd conversations, in which travelers are desperate to prove: “My trip was more authentic than your trip!”

Example 1: A girl, let’s call her Robyn, enters a hostel kitchen somewhere in Germany. A young guy also enters the kitchen. His outfit screams “backpacker” or “that dude with a guitar on every college campus”–complete with dreadlocks, a hemp sweater, and several tattered string bracelets.

Guy: “How long are you traveling for?”

Robyn: “3 months.”

Guy: “Wow, 3 months, that’s…cool (in a tone of voice that suggests it’s not cool at all). I just left my house one day and I’ve been traveling ever since. I don’t know when I’ll go back (stares off heroically into the distance).”

Robyn: “Huh. Wow.”

Guy: “Do you have a Eurail pass?”

Robyn: “Yep.”

Guy: “I didn’t get a Eurail pass. I would just feel so…restricted, you know? Sitting with tourists, going exactly where the train wants me to go.”

Robyn: (Blink blink) “Right.”

Guy: “How did you find this hostel?”

Robyn: “On the Internet.”

Guy: “Pfff. The Internet. Me on the other hand, I prefer to get off the tourist trail and just...go wherever life takes me. Really get to know the country.”

Robyn: (flinging microwave lasagna in his face) “You’re touring a foreign country for fun! Guess what? You’re a tourist! How do you like that? Huh? Tourist!”

That last part may not have happened.

Example 2: Four people are sitting around a table at a party. Two of the guys have been on trips recently, and someone unsuspectingly asks one of them about theirs.

Guy 1: “Yeah, I just came back from Poland.”

Guy 2: (Eagerly jumping in)“Cool. I just spent a month in Cuba.”

Guy 1: “Oh, I spent two months in Poland.”

Guy 2: “Cool, but the people in Cuba, man, they’re just so laid-back and the country is just so beautiful.”

Guy1: “Yeah, the people in Poland are sooooo laid-back too, and I made such great friends and became fluent in Polish.”

Guy 2: “Oh that’s cool. Yeah, I picked up a lot of Spanish too and toured the country with a traditional Cuban band.”

Guy 1: “Yeah, I met this really cool family in Poland and they took me in and adopted me as their son.”

Soon they are raising their voices and speaking at the same time, as their listeners look from one to the other, trying to make sense of this crazy word salad.

Guy 1: "And there was this drink called -"

Guy 2: "The music, man, the music was really - "

Guy 1: "-THE CULTURE-"

Guy 2: "-JUST SO MUCH HISTORY, REALLY INCREDIBLE - "

Unfortunately, this last bit did happen.

Don't get me wrong, I love travel pictures, travel stories, all that stuff. But somehow travel talk always becomes a competition. I am not immune. On my last trip, when someone asked me, "Is this your first time away from Canada?" - I was ready for pistols at dawn, too. "I'll have you know that I spent FOUR months in South America..."

Confessions of an Unfriendly Vancouverite

You've probably heard (or said ) something like this before:

“Vancouverites are so cold. It's so hard to meet people in Vancouver!”

I always thought I was the exception to this rule, a friendly Vancouverite, open to meeting new people and having conversations on the street. However, on a recent trip to Cuba, I realized that I am the worst kind of cold-hearted, jaded Vancouverite.

Walking down the street in Cuba, I would always stare straight ahead with a stony expression and walk briskly toward my destination. Then, I would look back and notice that my Australian and Irish tourmates were stuck 3 blocks behind me.

One guy would be kindly consoling a local artisan: “Listen, your sculptures of big-breasted women are really very nice. Although I can’t buy one today, you should really keep up with your art – you’re really talented.”

Another woman would be calmly explaining to an eligible bachelor, “I’m really very flattered by your catcalls, and you seem like a nice guy, but I’m not able commit to anything serious right now.”

And I realized: they have an urge to be polite to their fellow man, no matter what. And I do not.

This epiphany led to further self-reflection. Turns out I’m guilty of a number of small crimes. I didn’t respond to this really long e-mail from an acquaintance in my editing class. One time, a girlfriend and I told some guys we had to go to the bathroom – and then we left. When someone approaches me at a bar or in the street, I often pretend I don’t see or hear them.

When did I become such a terrible person?

My theory is this: Vancouverites are used to getting the cold shoulder. So, when someone is polite to them, they think they’ve hit the jackpot.

One time in 1^st or 2^nd year university, I was naïve enough to engage one of those charity canvassers in conversation. I told them that, due to my financial situation, I couldn’t commit to monthly donations, but it was a great cause and I would love a brochure or some more information.

This, predictably, led to me being chased down Main Mall by a hippie: “I'm broke too, but I can always find money for the children! Just tell me WHY you won't help the children!?”

So, now I turn up my iPod, stare at a fixed point on the horizon, and VOILA! No more hippie chases.

More recently, my weird letter-writing neighbour invited me for coffee. I politely accepted, hoping to clear up any misunderstandings between us. My politeness opened up the floodgates: “Oh, you go to boot camp? I like exercising too – hey, do you like hiking? Let's go hiking together EVERY DAY! And we can grocery shopping together every week too, and I'm home most evenings – let's cook together and watch movies together and...”

It's just a vicious cycle of awkward. I become cold and standoffish to avoid being pushed into things I don't want to do. However, the “pusher” only becomes pushy to overcome the coldness he or she encounters from Vancouverites every day. So I become even colder to combat the increased pushiness....and so on, until we achieve the strange phenomenon known as “Vancouver.”

And yet – on several occasions, I have stopped and talked to strangers, and found it very rewarding. In fact, some of those “strangers” became my best friends. So...I guess I don't have a conclusion here, but....yeah.

Release your inner misanthrope!

I saw an article the other day which I can’t find a link to, so you’ll just have to take my word for it. It was “3 Weeks to a Better You.”

Sounds innocent enough, right?

One of your tasks to better yourself was to go on Facebook, read through your News Feed, and delete everyone who wrote or posted something negative.

Well, okay, but…

Am I the only one who is skeptical of “wellness plans” that involve slashing and burning your way through your social network like some sort of Facebook Attila the Hun? Deleting everyone who is not currently useful to you?

That asshole doesn't like his job/lunch/current surroundings/government? The nerve of that guy! DELETE!

That bitch is complaining about her splitting headache? How dare she? DELETE!

What happened to patience, or empathy? The ability to tolerate, and even like, someone you disagree with? The ability to stand by a friend who is going through a rough patch, without condemning him or her as an “energy vampire?”

There is a bizarre misanthropic undercurrent in self-help these days, which goes something like this:

“Once you have rid yourself of all those pesky energy-draining stimuli (a.k.a human beings), you will achieve your full potential!!!”

Meanwhile, my new favourite author Emily White argues that true self-fulfillment doesn’t come from isolation at all. Rather, humans as social animals reach their full potential only with the give-and-take support of a community (made up of close friends, significant others, relatives, or even…online contacts).

Read the book – it’ll rock your world. And make you think twice about choosing solitude as the path to enlightenment.

http://www.lonelythebook.com/

On women as buzz-kills.

Frank the Tank: I told my wife I wouldn't drink tonight. Besides, I got a big day tomorrow. You guys have a great time.

Student: A big day? Doing what?

Frank the Tank: Well, um, actually a pretty nice little Saturday, we're going to go to Home Depot. Yeah, buy some wallpaper, maybe get some flooring, stuff like that. Maybe Bed, Bath, & Beyond..

You've seen and heard this story too many times: Boy meets Girl. Boy stops hanging out with his buddies. Girl forces Boy to do dull home improvement projects, and forbids Boy from ever watching sports or playing video games. Boy strives to escape Girl's constant nagging.

This concept of a man's life ending once he enters a relationship is everywhere! I saw a commercial today that summed it up perfectly. I couldn't find it on Youtube, so I'll have to give you a synopsis:

The gist of the commercial was “Absolutely everyone is coming to our massive Toyota sale! You never know who you'll run into!”

Enter a husband and wife, dressed in matching polo shirts and looking like total lame-o squares. Suddenly, a scruffy man runs up to the husband and exclaims, “Thrasher! I haven't seen you since high school! We're getting the band back together – you in?” The wife then glares daggers at the husband. The husband cringes and refuses to the join the band or give his old friend the time of day.

Geez, no wonder guys don't want to get into relationships! Apparently we women are bigger buzz-kills than Buzz Killington! We're kind of a mix between your mom, your elementary school principal, and your parole officer. We exist only to ensure that you never do anything awesome ever again.

Or not. In fact, I've never met any woman like that. The women I know want to travel. They want to go bungee jumping. They want to be in the front row at concerts. They want to share a pitcher with you while cheering on the Canucks. And they are quite happy to forget about stereotypes, and skip that lame trip to Bed, Bath & Beyond.

Trust me.

Girls' Night Out!

Loyal readers, welcome to another installment of "How Socially Inept Am I?"

As part of a generation raised on Sex and the City, I'm supposed to have a close-knit posse of girlfriends and walk around arm-in-arm with them, Cosmos in hand, constantly laughing hysterically.

But I don't have this posse. I've never had this posse. I started hanging out in co-ed groups in Grade 9 and never looked back. The all-girl parties I attended (with a few exceptions) always felt like veiled interventions: "I guess Robyn is technically one of us - maybe we can save her and make her less weird!"

Doing the co-ed thing is great; however, I recently realized that my guy friends outnumber my girl friends 5 to 1. That's getting a bit ridiculous. So, I decided to go bowling last night with 12 other girls, no boys allowed!

I knew I was in trouble the moment I walked in. I had just thrown on some old jeans and battered Converse sneakers, because who dresses up to go to Rev's Bowling in Burnaby? Apparently, everyone. These girls had each spent at least an hour on their hair. They were wearing knee-high boots and sparkling with jewelry. I had never seen so many flawless manicures in one place. If I ignored the sound of bowling pins falling over, I could imagine I was at a Hollywood premiere.

And everything they did took forever. Before a girl bowled, she had to pose for a Facebook photo with the ball. And then we'd do a team photo. And then the team in the next lane would notice we were taking photos and join in. Then, she would bowl. If she hit anything at all, our team would all scream, jump up and down, and hug each other. We'd dance to the background music. Maybe we'd take a celebration photo. The bowler would say how relieved she was that she hadn't broken a nail - because she almost broke a nail that time! A lively discussion would follow about our favourite places to get nails done, and harrowing tales of botched manicures. And then - OMG someone's taking a photo!

Near the end, I was physically exhausted. I had lost my voice from all the screaming. More than anything, I wanted to sit down, order a drink that wasn't pink, and talk about what would happen if zombies attacked the bowling alley.

I was at that bowling alley for literally 6 hours. And I left early. The others were probably there for at least 8 or 9.

Is this the sort of thing that's supposed to come naturally to me? Because it doesn't - I went home and slept for 12 hours straight. Mission to find Sex and the City-esque girl friend posse - FAIL.

Winter is here...

…and my co-workers are complaining about it. I don't feel sorry for them, though, because I know that they, like most North Americans, secretly love to be cold.

Case in point: my office is blessed with large, old-fashioned bay windows that open into a lush and picturesque backyard. Now imagine that it is April or May in Vancouver . The rain has stopped, the sun has come out, the birds are singing. It is 18 or 19° C, and the office is slightly warm.

Do my co-workers throw open the bay windows and allow Mother Nature to caress them with a gentle, cooling breeze? No. They crank up the A/C to the point where I seriously consider bringing gloves and a toque to work. (I actually did have to wear a fleece for most of August.)

And have you noticed that North Americans have a strange obsession with travelling to the hottest places on Earth and transforming them into the coldest places on Earth?

Take Las Vegas , for example: “Hey, I know! Let’s all go to the Mojave Desert and build hotels with heavy-duty air conditioning systems so that no-one ever has to break a sweat!”

Another example: a few years ago, I went on a Greek Islands cruise. I foolishly assumed that travellers to the Greek Islands would be prepared for heat, or at least a reasonable level of warmth. However, my roommates kept the A/C cranked so high that I didn’t sleep for an entire week. The sound of my teeth chattering kept me awake. I tried putting on every tank top and pair of short shorts I owned (which I had packed assuming that I was going on a FREAKING BEACH VACATION and not some sort of arctic survival simulation), but somehow it didn't help.

So, I have a business proposition, if any of you want to jump on board. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you:

The Winnipeg Luxury Eco-Resort: Enjoy Air Conditioning that’s Crisp, Cool, and All-Natural.

Sandals Iqaluit: Finally! A Beach Resort Without all the Damn Heat.

It’ll be a huge success, I swear! And then everyone can leave the hot climates to people like me who actually WANT to warm up!

Worst. Pick-up Line. Ever.

So I was at a bar the other night with a large group - some people I knew and some I didn't.

One of the guys sidled up to me, smiled, and said, "Has anyone ever told you that you look like Meredith from The Office?"

For those of you unfamiliar with The Office:

I just stared at him in shock, wondering if I really do resemble a raging alcoholic cougar in her late 40s.

He noticed my confusion and horror. "You know, the blond one...the accountant..."

"Ohhh," I said. "You mean ANGELA."

Somewhat better...aside from the fact that I apparently give off prudish, neurotic cat lady vibes.

Needless to say, I am still single.

So guys, next time you're trying to be smooth, leave The Office references out of it! Please and thank you...

This just in!

http://ca.news.yahoo.com/s/afp/101111/health/health_us_brain_internet

Studies show that people are happier while having sex or talking to friends than they are while sitting at home alone or working.

Well, thank you Dr. Obvious! Fun stuff makes people happier than boring stuff!

But apparently it's more complicated than that. According to scientists, we are unhappy while doing boring stuff not because it's boring, but because our minds are wandering to the future or the past, rather than being present in the “moment.”

My weird neighbour gave me a similar lecture the other day. My problem, according to him, is that I don't exist purely in the moment. For instance, when I'm washing the dishes, I should just “be” washing the dishes. When I'm waiting for the bus, I should just enjoy waiting for the bus.

Now, I'm all for living for the moment. So many people say to themselves, “I'll travel after I'm rich; I'll have fun once I've bought a house,” and they probably shouldn't do that. Just as they shouldn't text constantly while on a date, etc.

But honestly, life was a hell of a lot simpler when we didn't have to be ecstatically happy ALL THE DAMN TIME! When we could admit that hang gliding over Rio de Janeiro is actually a more enjoyable experience than riding a packed B-Line or working on a spreadsheet.

I just don't understand ultra-wellnessy people. When I'm doing something boring, I try to find something LESS boring to do. But according to them, this is not the route to happiness. True happiness comes from embracing the boring activity and learning to love it.

Whatever.

Often, wellness gurus will blame Ipods and other electronic devices for taking our attention away from the “wonders” of the present. But really, I don't think that's the issue here. In the olden days, while waiting on a drab street corner for the horse-drawn stagecoach (late AGAIN), one passenger would likely have turned to another and exclaimed, “I say Bartholomew, waiting for this horse-drawn conveyance is indeed tiresome; I wish I was at a merry country dance instead!”

And he was not suffering from a deep psychological complex brought on by modernity. He was simply saying that some things are boring and other things are fun. And that's fine!

And really, I dare you to go find an actual enlightened guru who enjoys waiting for the #25 bus as much as he enjoys having sex. Well, actually, don't. That would be one creepy dude.

'Cause I don't feel like dancing, no sir, no dancing today..

I did not go clubbing this past Hallowe'en, although I was invited. A number of factors led to my decision:

Artificial lineups.

You know when a club is empty, but they keep everybody outside for 40 minutes anyway, just so it looks popular to people driving by?

Expenses.

$20-$25 to get in.

$5-10 for coat check (unless you are some sort of top-secret fembot prototype who does not have nerves, and therefore can stand outside indefinitely wearing a minidress).

$7-$8 for the most basic drink they have.

$20 - $45 for a cab home.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I like spending money in order to have fantastic experiences that I will treasure forever. However, at a club, there is:

Little return on investment.

Some prudish Vancouverites avoid clubs for fear that they are hotbeds of drunkenness and sin. However, it is impossible to get drunk in most Vancouver clubs – and I've tried.

First, you have to justify the expense of $7 for a beer or rum-and-coke. Then, you have to wait at the bar for half an hour (or defeat several sharp-clawed, spike-heeled enemies to get to the front of the line). Then, by the time you get your drink, your friends have disappeared and you spend the next half-hour looking for them. So, it’s really an hour’s commitment for that one drink. But what if you want two?

The few people who are drunk likely pounded large amounts of hard liquor right before they walked in the door. They are on a completely different planet from you – no wonder they seem aggressive!

So, you can’t drink, you can't talk to anyone, and you've probably lost most of your friends in the crowd anyway. So what do you do?

You dance.

Now, some people really love dancing. They enter a separate world where all their cares melt away. I am happy for them. But I am not one of them. Just when I think I’m hitting my groove and looking hot, someone helpfully says, “Oh geez, are you okay?” or “You can stop doing the robot now.”

The only environments in which I can dance are 80s nights or synth performances by giant dinosaurs. Then my horrible dancing is retro, ironic, and therefore cool.

When I was 20, I did like the club atmosphere: “Wow, I’m here with my girlfriends, dancing at a club, just like all those trendy women on TV!” But, then the buzz-killing mid-20s rolled around, and I suddenly realized, “I’m paying $75 to dance, stone-cold sober, with girls. And... I’m a girl.”

So, in conclusion, I would rather go to a pub. Get comfortably sloshed at the same pace as my friends. Talk. Play pool. Laugh. Eat greasy food. Mingle. Listen to live music. You know, fun stuff. Social stuff. Not-being-groped-by-old-men stuff.

So I read this random article on the internet...

...which has convinced me that I am completely and utterly screwed.

I'm sure you've heard it all before. The theory goes that:

a) Women are naturally attracted to older, wealthy men. Because these older men possess power and status, women are instinctively drawn to their ability to protect their future children.

b) Men are naturally attracted to "fertile" women much younger than themselves.

Sure. The only problem is, I'm the exact opposite. I run screaming from anyone over 30. The more symbols of power and status that men try to cram down my throat, such as fancy cars or tales of board-meeting domination, the more I am repulsed by them.

My violent aversion to the powerful older man isn't a new development, either. When I was in Grade 6, all the girls in my class had crushes on the Grade 7 boys. Meanwhile, I fell head over heels for a Grade 5.

This is all just more evidence that I have no mothering instinct. I have never sought out a provider for my future children. Instead, I have selfishly pursued my own pleasure.

That's okay, nothing wrong with that, right?

Well, according to this article, the men I'm attracted to (my age or younger) are all busy pursuing "fertile" 21-year-olds. Wonderful.

So it looks like I need to develop a sudden appetite for gray hair and crow's feet...or else embrace a life of celibacy. Hello, old friend.

Unfortunately, chivalry is alive and well.

A few weeks ago, I took an informal poll of my friends: “Is it okay to dump a guy because he hates reading?” The answer was overwhelmingly “Yes!”

Now it’s time for another poll: “Is it okay to dump someone because they’re too chivalrous?”

What? Too chivalrous? How can that be? Well, here’s the situation:

We were heading into a restaurant downtown when a young, attractive woman walked by, attempting to wear a sweatshirt as a dress and failing quite spectacularly.

“Whoa, check that out!” I exclaimed.

Mr. X looked at her for a few seconds, thought for a while, and seized my shoulder. “Robyn,” he declared passionately, “I didn’t notice ANYTHING.”

Barefaced lie # 1. He was staring at a girl without pants on for a good 15 seconds. Now, it's true that his intentions in lying were chivalrous. However, I'm used to hanging out with people who are straightforward, and consider it fair game to comment on whatever falls within their field of vision.

Later in the course of the evening, the topic of music came up. I mentioned that I had Katy Perry's "California Girls" stuck in my head. To fully illustrate the depths of my torment, I launched into an off-key imitation of the song, in a whiny nasal voice.

Mr. X leaned across the table, gazed at me with plaintive puppy-dog eyes, and said, "You sang that really well." WHAT?

Now, I know my sarcasm. There was none in his voice. Therefore,

a) this was some sort of attempt at seduction. But, could he really find nothing to compliment me on without resorting to barefaced lies?

b) he was so convinced of my unearthly feminine grace that he truly believed I sang well.

Either way, it freaked me out. So, just for fun, I offered to pay for dinner. I don't usually insist on this, but I wanted to see what would happen. At first, the hyperventilating, twitching, and panicked babbling were amusing, but after 5 minutes, I wondered if I should be calling 9-1-1. Was this the first case of Death by Feminism?

The good news is that I traumatized him badly enough that he hasn't called me back, and I can get on with my life.