Movember

Movember, the month formerly, and currently, and indefinitely, and globally, and legally known as November, is the newest 'Thing Liked By Me'. I like Movember because it is the month that differentiates the boys from the men. The mo' capable from the mo' challenged. The Mo’ ture, from the imMo’ture.


Movember, which takes place throughout the month of November, requires men (and well endowed women) (and ladyboys) (and young ethnic boys) to grow out their mustaches to raise awareness (please mo'nate mo'ney HERE) for prostate cancer research.


For those of you who were unaware of this initiative, you can now sleep soundly knowing that the recent influx of pervert staches is for a good cause.

I used to think that there just happened to be a lot of people who all of a sudden developed speech impediments when naming the month of November. Like when my little sister used to say “Mo” instead of “No”, or “I’m Foxy Pleoplatric, and I’m a whole lotta woman!” instead of “I’m Foxy Cleopatra”, or when I would ask my parents for “Pocklate covered Farnies” instead of Smarties.

I was initially skeptical of Movember, because it seemed to cross over into ‘hipster’ territory- a cause for which I have no support. Since its inception, the Hipster movement has brought mustaches to the forefront of men’s faces. They have become the quintessential uniform of hipsterocity (See also: plaid, corduroy, side parts, Siddhartha). Unfortunately, Hipsters* were being viewed as weapons of non-prescription glasses destruction, and had tarnished the mustache's good name. 

Look, all I’m saying is that people don’t kill people. People with mustaches kill people.

To add to my hesitation, I didn’t really get what the relevance of growing a mustache to raise awareness for prostate cancer was. Mustaches are not exclusive to men, while prostates are (See also: Menopause, Jewish women). I felt as if the ‘pink ribbon’ of prostate cancer should be something a little more unique to men- like, always being wrong. “Every time you’re wrong, donate $1 to prostate cancer research”.

The final reason why I had a hard time submitting to the Movember cause was because of what HGTV has told me time and time again. LOCATION, LOCATION, LOCATION. Your prostate can be located through your anus, not your upper lip**. If you really wanted to raise awareness of prostate cancer, wouldn’t you want to show off your prostate? Create a "Hole-In-One" day at the office? Hovember? I don't know. Something a little more related.

Thanks to my vivid imagination, I quickly realized why this would never work and decided to learn more about the initiative. Thanks to my darling hairy BF who was jumping onto the Movember bandwagon himself, I experienced a shift in my mo'tives.


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Mustaches. The flavour savor of our father’s generation. The facial marking of history's greatest mass murderers saviors. The cleft palettes' best friend. Forever.


My boyfriend accepted Mo'sus into his life. But nobody said it would be easy for me.


Like a fluffy little caterpillar, the mustache slowly crept into my livelihood in the form of a 5 o'clock shadow on my boyfriends face.


By 6:00pm he had a full stache going, and for a second, I thought I was with another man. This excited me, until I realized that I was, in fact, with another man. I grabbed my belongings, embraced Stephan one last time, and rushed back home to see my boyfriend.


Phew. His mustache was still in its pre-pubescent phase.


But by the next morning it was a full out porn-stache. I didn't know if I should run for dear life or hop onto his bicycle and speed away. I chose the latter, until I realized that I actually jumped on his face, and was holding onto his handlebar mustache.


There was no escape. I had to look at the big picture.
Here's the bigger picture:
Notorious B.I.G. was wrong.


Mo' money, Less Problems.


Mo' money allows for mo' research. Mo' research leads to mo' trials. Mo' trials leads to mo' solutions. Mo' solutions leads to less problems. Mo' money, less problems. 


You'll probably all go out this week for breakfast, lunch, dinner, coffee or late night drinks. And not one of you (except for you, you cheap mo'fo) will bat an eyelash when it comes time to pay the bill. Some of you might go shopping, some of you might catch a movie, some of you might buy a couple extra sweets at the grocery store.


I'm not forcing you to do anything, but don't do nothing.


If this isn't the cause for you, find a cause that is. People spend money so easily when they can reap immediate benefits so as to alleviate the guilt felt by swiping their credit card. I'm guilty of it myself. But once in a while, I try to do something . I try to do something that makes me feel like a decent human being.


And the best thing about it all,  is that the feeling lasts a whole lot longer than a 2 hour movie, a 40 minute meal, or a 60% off sale.


Suck on that, Biggy.


*The good news is that people from London, ON don't know what Hipsters are.
**Girls, we don’t have one of these. Don’t go looking for it because it will waste about 3 hours of your time, and will leave you feeling vulnerable, disappointed and alone.

Cuba

Before I begin, I should clarify that while Cuba has made my “Things Liked By Me” list, I probably won’t go back there anytime soon. That being said. I like Cuba.

I must admit that prior to my departure to the land of filth and rummy, I had my doubts about the quality of my impending trip. I kept being told that Cuba was such a terrible place to go to, so I turned off the TV, and stopped listening to Khadr.

What a downer that guy is.

The reviews on tripadvisor assured me that as long as I have low expectations and am willing to settle for mediocrity, than I will have a good time in Cuba. That was right up my alley, so I booked the trip.

As the plane descended in Cuba (as an aside, that sentence would be considered dirty talk to the BF), I was shocked by all the lush vegitation in the country. It was beautiful and green, like Kermit, but silent and deadly, like a fart.

We landed in Cuba and everyone clapped because we didn’t crash (I’ve since decided to applaude myself every time I make contact with anything, ever. This blog is taking very long to write because I clap between each letter). Everyone clapped again when the flight attendant announced that there was a very special passenger on board sitting in seat 11F by the name of Lavi who just celebrated his birthday and got his pilots liscence. What a little liar. But you can read about that HERE.

Cuba was hot as hell, but I figured that I better get used to it. Not Cuban heat. Hell heat.

Listen up: forget about Cuban cigars and cuban rum --- Cuban humour is where it’s at.

I should have known that Cubans were characters before I even landed in Varadero- I mean, Fidel pretty much just pulled a huge “NOT!” on the entire civilized world. “I’m an evil man- NOT!”.

Pretty much.

Cuban men compare everything in Cuba to ‘the womans’.

‘The womans’, oft referred to simply as ‘women’ in English speaking countries, can be used to describe nearly each and every element of Cuban life.

The Sunwing representative on the way to the hotel informed us that, “The weather is like the womans- bery unpredictable!”, while our tour guide to Havana exclaimed that, “The ocean is like the womans- beautiful, but dangerous!”.

This Havana tour guide was FUNNY. He asked us if we have ever seen the Cuban Ferarri. The one with the sunroof? Seating for two? One horsepower? Then he pointed to the horse drawn carriage.

He also joked with us about the guns he keeps in his trunk, and the cemetary of dead, poor-tipping tourists of his.

Joker.

He took us to see his friend on the side of a road who owned a bar with two caged monkeys who drink beer, smoke cigars and dance. He also drove us through torrential downpour without working windsheild wipers and zero visibility. He took his hands off the steering wheel to wave at the camera.

The all-inclusive component of the resort provided us with quite the social commentary. All-inclusive resorts allow those around you to open up about the most private, intimate details of their lives, all under the influence of Mr. Pina and Mrs. Colada. I say ‘others’ because I am not stupid enough to tell people the shit that they told me. 

Also, my dad told me not to talk to strangers, and if I have to, then I should lie.

I had an old redneck man tell me that he was really good at 'the sex'. I threw up in my mouth a little.

I overheard an Italian man telling a women to leave her husband.

A girl telling a married man she was abandoned at the age of 5.

A man telling nobody to fuck off. The same man apologizing to nobody for his foul language.

Some lady started showing pictures of her children to my BF. The pictures were of cats and dogs.

There wasn't much to do on the resort at night, except drink and go to the disco. I participated in some of the nightly entertainment on the resort. To have a better understanding of what the nightly entertainment entailed, think about the nightly entertainment that you would see on a cruise, or at a dinner theater, and then show it to a child, and have him reteach it to a group of non-English speaking semi-talented adults, while blindfolded and earplugged. In one of the nightly entertainment shows, I had to dance like a Spanish whore and dry hump the stage. Technically I didn't win, but it was rigged from the start when they put me up against a Colombian. 

Cuban food is comprised of ham, ham and ham. Each meal was one seasoning away from having taste. I spent a week eating solidified air, but I didn't get constipated until about day 4, so that's pretty good. I ate a beef burger which was definitely made out of prisoners of war, and spicy chili sauce that was actually a squirt of fake ketchup. I ate a lot of beans, and sung the tune in my head each and every time I ate them. Cuban ice cream was pretty good, but I think it's fake ice cream. Bread was delish.

We bought some fake-real-fake-real-fake-real Cuban cigars from our waiter who asked us if there was "anything" we needed. Now I just need a place and 3 free hours to smoke one of them. 

Off to find it. 

Adios!

P.S. The #1 reason that the Cuba trip made it to my "Things Liked By Me" list was because of who I got to spend it with. Duh.