Guest Blogger, Cherlyn Cochrane

Cherlyn Cochrane joins the list of only one other blogger; Chris Ferrell, who has guest posted twice on Morning Erection.
This post required a lot of soul searching and much reflection. It is not meant in anyway to illicit from you pity or judgement. Cherlyn is not only this month’s guest blogger but also my good friend so like I ask every month – please leave a comment and check out her awesome blog.
This post is a two pager. Be sure to click on page two at the bottom to continue.

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Labor Day, Alcohol and Aunt Kay

I’ve often asked myself in the past six months or so, “How did I get this way?” It’s one of those questions with either infinite answers or absolutely none at all. Most people can’t pin-point the exact moment or time when they shut down completely – I however, can pinpoint the precise moment.

Labor Day weekend is typically uneventful for most of us, and I can admit I have absolutely no idea the significance of the day other than the fact that I typically get the day off and get extra pay. My friends and I will find any excuse to get-together and drink, and this past Labor Day weekend was no exception. And now, it has its own type of significance.

The summer of 2011 wasn’t typical for me; I was going out with my friends more, drinking, staying up late and basically enjoying my college years (…after I had already completed college. I suppose I tend to do things a bit backwards). Normally that would sound like a rather good summer, but to be frank, I was anxious for it to be over. For whatever reason, 2011 was a year I decided I had had enough of being alone. After spending a good few months being rejected, I had dared to attempt online dating. My summer comprised mostly of me meeting new singles, trying to find someone I could stand being around for more than a day and who could stand being around me. So while I enjoyed going out, I was looking forward to the constant meeting of new people, the constant first (and only) dates to be over, and to move on – to change seasons to be obviously metaphorical.

A few bad dates here and there, I was starting to lose hope, lose confidence in myself. I was trying to arrange a meeting with someone I had been talking to for a while that sounded like a nice enough guy. After a few evenings of him not responding to my messages, I was in need of some comfort so I visited a friend’s house for a few drinks. This would be the start of my infamous Labor Day weekend.

I knew I’d be having a few drinks the following night, and was hoping to not drink too much this Friday evening. What kick started my drinking binge of the weekend was my friend’s Aunt Kay.

We sat outside on their back porch, it seemed only fitting to enjoy one of the last nights of the summer enjoying the warm air and blue skies while it lasted. It was my friend, her mother, aunt and I, sharing a few glasses of wine. The topics were nothing of relevance, films and music, normal topics. The artist Adele was brought up, as we and the rest of the nation was entranced with the single Rolling in the Deep. As I would learn to be in typical “Aunt Kay” fashion, she said bluntly, “She’s really pretty for a fat girl. You know CiCi, if you cut your hair, and wore some make up, you’d be really pretty too.”

I’m almost positive at this moment now she was probably trying to give me a compliment. The positive person in me wants to see the good in everyone and I would like to believe no one would go out of their way to make me feel bad. Another part of me feels like I did then, and that is embarrassed and ashamed of myself. I was sitting in the company with slender, beautiful, women, most of all being my friend, and I felt like a cow who interrupted their civil conversation.

This is what began my irrationality for the rest of the weekend. Though I don’t necessarily blame her for the rest of the weekend and my own resulting feelings, but when I think of this moment I do sour. The angry Scot in me hopes for another moment in the future where I can really stick it to her. That, or head-butt her.

For a few hours after that, I spent the evening with my friend in her room downing glass after glass of wine until I succumbed to a blissful numbness and tingling over my body. It wasn’t until about 9:30 p.m. that Tom, the guy I was talking to and hoping to meet, called me and wanted to do drinks that evening. He invited along my friend. Figuring there’s no harm going out for a little while more, the three of us went out for drinks.

I was nervous, and looking back I realize I probably should’ve met him alone. Sure, I was comfortable with my friend, but it’s better to meet someone new (especially in a date setting) alone. He wasn’t extremely talkative, making me more nervous. My friend did a lot of talking and I thought after a half an hour and a few shots things were going all right. He invited a friend out and we ended up bar hopping. When we got to the bar Emma’s, and he stalked off with his friend; my friend and I bought a drink and he started ignoring us. My friend and I went to the bathroom and then bought another drink. When we returned to where Tom and his friend were sitting beforehand, they were gone – he didn’t respond to my text messages or even have the courtesy to send me a message the next day.

For the second time that night I felt awful. There’s no feeling quite like feeling undesirable. I feel like I was rightfully upset, but I know I didn’t deal with it well. I had another drink, then another one. The bits and pieces I do remember involve two attractive black guys, kissing, fondling, and driving around. Luckily I made it home accompanied only by the hangover that would ensue.

The next day was the day of my friends’ party. They lived in Etobicoke, which meant a fair amount of travel time. To be quite honest, I really didn’t want to go. I knew that seeing my friends would be a lot of fun but I just wanted to mope around in my house. I sucked it up and went anyways.

I had been feeling kind of gross all day and decided I didn’t want to drink. I had about one drink for the first two or three hours of the evening. And as much as I love my friends, they can be a little pushy or moody when not everyone is drinking – I guess they sometimes think it’s like we can’t have fun without the alcohol. I ended up drinking more than I intended, at first to just shut them up, and then because I was getting drunk and I apparently don’t know the word “no” when I’m drunk.

My mood wasn’t the greatest, but I was pretty good at pretending I was fine – that is, until Tom sent me a text message asking for my friend’s number.

Now, that may not sound like a good enough reason to act like such a moron as I did, and it probably isn’t a good reason. But when you spend a good portion of your teenage years and now the beginning years of your adulthood being compared to your hot friends and knowing you’ll never be as attractive as they are, as skinny as they are, and as wanted as they are, sometimes you just can’t fake a smile on your face.

Continued on page 2.

Guest Blogger, Thoughtsy

Yet another wonderful blogger has agreed to guest for me. Her name is Thoughtsy and she has an extremely humorous blog that screamed ‘I want to guest post for someone”. I think I was the only one hearing those words yet still she willingly agreed to guest here. I sincerely appreciate it when someone takes time away from their own blog to help me and a guest post is a big responsibility and can be stressful for the guest. Thank you again Thoughtsy.
For my readers and any readers from her blog, Thoughts Appear, I ask as a favor to me please show Thoughtsy the courtesy of leaving a comments.

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I Am The Blue Wombat

Hi. My name is Thoughtsy, and when I grow up, I want to be a superhero. I don’t have a superpower yet, but I’ve always been a late bloomer, so it could happen any day now.

But for now I just watch movies and take notes. Recently, I watched The Green Hornet, and here’s what I learned.

Steps to Becoming a Superhero

1. Cut the head off a statue of your father.
2. Recruit the person who makes your coffee to be your sidekick. He’s smarter than you are. And he’s a better fighter.
3. Choose the “Green Bee” as your superhero name.
4. Realize your original superhero name falls short and does not strike fear into anyone’s heart…except for people who are allergic to bees.
5. Learn the words to “Gangster’s Paradise.” Sing it while you’re cruising for crime.

I can’t reveal the rest of the steps because I don’t want the steps to fall into the hands of a supervillian. And let’s face it: you and I…we don’t know each other very well yet. I figure you’re cool since you’re visiting Tom’s site, but still….

The movie did leave me wondering a few things, such as Why isn’t “La Cucaracha” a good superhero song? and What is a disco Santa?

The most important lesson I learned is that becoming a superhero is all about the sidekick. If you choose the right sidekick, you can just sit back and make the sidekick do all the work.

Sooooo…who wants to be my sidekick?

Guest Blogger, Mai Mergili

Read this post in Mai’s first language, German…

Please welcome my friend Mai Mergili from Pencil Pillow to Morning Erection’s monthly guest post. Mai has a great blog and I knew when I read it the first time I visited that I wanted her to guest post for me. She willingly and graciously agreed to be my guest here and in doing so has become my youngest blogger and my first blogger not on WordPress. It takes a lot to successfully run a blog and in creating this guest post I know it took time away from her blog. Thank you for taking that time, Mai.
Readers, as a favor to me please show Mai the courtesy of leaving comments. Thank you very much.

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Words Aren’t My Language, But Something Else …

The 7^th of October 2011, opening my Hotmail. “PLEASE MODERATE, Tom Baker commented on …”.

Sawasdee-ka,

That’s the way I begin all my blog posts, so here we go.

If someone told me I would make a guest post on a blog called “Morning Erection” six months ago, I would not have believed it and smiled insinuatingly. But on the said day, Tom commented on one of my entries, and then he subscribed to my blog and after that, he actually commented on almost every entry of mine, in such a constructive and sweet-natured way; what else I could do, except to agree when he asked me to guest post – and “Morning Erection” has got something so provoking and catches the people. The matter of fact that Tom has entrusted me an entry on his blog which was going to take place in almost a half year was a great honour to me who had just begun to blog and take photos. Before I knew it, it was already February and it took me a while to prepare a post.

I don’t have a clue what to write as a guest blogger, this is my very first time and words aren’t actually my language, you will see what I mean. But I agreed … on the one hand, because I like Tom and his blog, and on the other side, because he said that “I could be a model” (girls, let us be honest … that would also win you over).

Last week, on the way to the city with one of my friends, she asked me: “Tell me, do you prefer being in front or behind the camera?”. I had to finish smoking the cigarette first before I could answer “I don’t have the faintest idea”. Furthermore, she told me that I am doing it well in front, but also behind the camera, which made me smile. Of course, I couldn’t leave it at that and twisted my mind. Standing behind the camera has immensely various advantages; you can take a picture of what you like, from every angle and you can give proper instructions. You are the one creating the stage setting, writing the screenplay and choosing the right costumes – you’ve got the power! But who doesn’t want to be in the spotlight wearing nice dresses? Who doesn’t want to have nice prints of yourself being in a perfect designed coulisse?

1) I was born almost 17 years ago in Bangkok. My parents always tell me that already as a three yo girl, I always wanted to wear flower dresses and pink skirts. As proof, we watched the old videos of my childhood and looked at the photos and in addition to that, we recognized that I permanently forged ahead in the foreground (almost exhibitionisticly!). Unfortunately, or maybe also luckily, these two attitudes have continued taking shape and I devised a noteworthy passion for fashion and photography. My blog is my outlet and the opportunity to show what these things really mean to me and conveniently, these two things can be well connected. I don’t want to sound like a “vintage loving hipster girl”, but clothes are simply what represent you, and they show the world what you have decided and what you are or want to be. Yet fashion is not just going shopping and paging through the VOGUE, getting inspired and envying the 1,80m models and after all, you copy them.

Fashion is like drawing – in the end, original complete works come into existence. If somebody copied someone’s painting or if a writer stole someone’s idea, he would be doomed; why doesn’t fashion count then. It is the choice of shape, cloth and colour that something beautiful and transcendental arises.

Okay, this all sounds very serious, though I actually “rebel” against this rigid comportment, because first of all, I go shopping maybe once a month (at the utmost!!), secondly, meanwhile, I barely read fashion magazines and last but not least … I sometimes wear the same things three times a week. That’s the nice side of fashion, that is to say, there aren’t any rules (okay, in former time, you said “no socks with ballerinas”, but come on …). Thank God there aren’t any rules! What would world be if there were rules for fashion? Horrible! As long as you can do or don’t whatever you want, I am dedicated. But I would immediately lose my passion for this business if they said that you haven’t the freedom and right to decide anymore. Fashion is one of the rare things in the world which leaves us the entire freedom of opinion. I don’t randomly grab in my closet (sometimes yes, on really lazy days), but I deal with it really fluffily. I shake my head because of people wearing 15cm high heels at the airport or in school. “Shut up”, I say to the girls who quote magazines like JOLIE or GLAMOUR.

Your clothes have to conform to your life and not vice-versa. Everything else would be cramped and wanna-be-like.

2) Now let’s talk about the second aspect. Sometimes when I see myself with my clothes on photos, I have to swallow. I’ve got a huge self-confidence with a few scratches, which is just normal, apart from that, I would be a narcissist. But I mentioned that I am Asian. Nevertheless, I live in Germany, however, I visit my family in Thailand every year – but as soon as I see all the rickety girls whose mass density might be lighter than the air’s density, I would like to face palm myself or bash my head against a wall. Furthermore, there are those family celebrations and every time I don’t manage hiding and running away from my relatives, I have to have a conversation with them and sooner or later, they say something like “You are a pretty girl, but your legs … your legs … just look at your cousin’s legs, she has nice legs” – but when I look at my cousin who is like 1,65m but weighing 45kg, I would rather say “EHHHH NO?!”, although I am 10cm smaller and 3kg heavier. So, looking at pictures of you is like looking in a mirror. And then, there are people who look just brilliant on pictures – but there are also people, and these people impress me much more, who let other people look good on pictures and that’s the reason why I wanted to have a camera for my 16^th birthday. Of course, I cannot objectively say whether I have achieved my aim, but on the other hand, some days ago, I have already written a long article about how much this whole thing means to me, sentimental gibberish! So I blank the idea of success and non-success because that’s not the essential thing anymore.

The question is what happens if we connect the first and the second aspect, fashion and photography because they would add up to a great chance. A chance which makes it possible to express a lot and which is really exciting.

There is an answer to this question and well, whoever wants to know the answer … has to visit my blog! ;)

Normally I don’t write a lot like this. Normally, for me, it works totally differently. Let’s go the whole hog. A great compliment for Tom and his blog. I would like to say “THANK YOU” to Tom and to everybody who has stood it till the end. This entry is due to Tom and now, something less exhausting for your eyes!

Stay tuned for more,
Mai Mergili from PENCIL PILLOW