So glad you've come...

Welcome to Tigressland, my own personal little corner of the Internet where I hang out expressing my views about the smaller things in life. No controversy here (I'm saving that for the book lol) just the everyday minutiae that add up to my rather unpredictable, but always fun, life! So pull up a cushion and come chill.....and follow! We bloggers love it when you follow ;-) ~Tigress

Thursday, 30 April 2015

"Snoop Maximus"

The elders of the house have all deserted to various locales around the country so I am hijacking the computer again. She really needs to change the password though...I feel “Maximus_Is_King” would be suitable.

Well isn’t that poetic.....the juniors have had their first trip to the vet.

I am smiling.

Now they will not be able to reproduce. I see no issue with this (neither do they at present as they have no idea what’s actually happened) as I feel more of the little furshirts would just be even more annoying than these two already are! But it is funny how one trip to the vet can change your life so dramatically. 

I went there once...and came back with NO BLOODY TESTICLES!!

This means no little Maximi! Now THAT is a tragedy.

But that’s the thing with females of the species, nothing goes missing in these operations, or if it does nothing that can be seen from the outside. No mark of their femaleness slashed and emptied like shucking oysters (Mine were decent sized oysters by the way...just saying).

It’s just all very thought provoking.

Now while I must admit, I am getting used to these two little interlopers hanging around I was not impressed with whatever the hell they came home from the vet in; scared the living bejesus out of me. Massive great cones around their heads...other than looking completely ridiculous, they also looked like occupants of another planet.

...that unfortunately I couldn't send them back to.

But I digress.

I just about had conniptions. And I made a point of going nowhere near their little hooverish heads. (Though to their credit, I'm damn sure we got better cell phone reception while they had them on.)

The purpose of these apparatuses was to stop them getting to their stitches. The little goobers still managed it though and also drove the human female of the house demented by licking the inside of their cones repetitively in the vain hope that they might eventually make fur contact and have their bath complete.

After 3 days of this attempted bathing, the cones came off. The little clean freaks are now washed and order is restored to the household. And I can finally bloody sleep in peace without that infernal woman bellowing every five minutes: “Shiraz and Merlot! If you don’t stop licking the inside of those God damned cones, I'm going to takes the things off and jam it up your little furry arses!”

Well now....aggressive much? (And wholly ineffective as it turns out.) Must have been that time of the month. Maybe she needs a trip to the vet.

The most delightful thing about them all being clamped, chipped and vacced though, is that soon they can sod off outside. If the whim takes me, I may even sod off with them

I know, I know, you’re all thinking I have gone soft, but this is not the case. I am merely changing my approach. It is much easier to manoeuvre (thus corrupt – and possibly export) my little furry minions if they think I am friend rather than foe. 
I'm actually achieving success here already. Merlot has now learned to scratch at doors. For some reason the humans all looked at me when this first occurred! I just gave them my: “Well you brought them here” look. I don’t think they were impressed.

Then there was the time that I taught Merlot how to jump up the water feature and walk along the fence to freedom. One night out on the town, pre being fixed, and next thing you know, they’re inside cats. Oops, sorry ‘bout it.

Well the elders did install the little twerps here, it’s not my fault that some of my awesomeness is rubbing off on them. It’s only to be expected.

Just so long as they know who the boss is

And that’s all in the little things I have found: commandeer a sleeping spot here, piddle in a litter tray there...they know the story. 

I may not have testicles but by crikey I still know how to work the ladies.

"Snoop Maximus"

Has quite a ring to it really.

Thursday, 23 April 2015

ANZACs forward march!

Tomorrow (25 April, 2015) in Australia and New Zealand we will celebrate ANZAC day. This is something we Aussies and Kiwis do every year to commemorate our fallen soldiers, particularly those from WWI. These soldiers, called ANZACS as an acronym for Australian and New Zealand Army Corps, landed at Gallipoli to fight the Turks back in 1915 and it must be said, really put their all into it. This campaign was the first major military action of Australia and New Zealand as independent dominions, and is often considered to mark the “birth of national consciousness” in the two countries.

Tomorrow marks the 100 year anniversary of that ‘birth’. 100 years since our troops landed in a foreign land to do their bit against the 'enemy'; 100 years since the commencement of eight months of fighting that would lead to the deaths of 44,000 allies including 8709 Australians and 2701 New Zealanders; 100 years since we joined the apparent world Fight Club that is International Politics.

So did we win at Gallipoli? Hell no, got our asses kicked, but we tried damn it! And Turkey was most gracious about it all and buried our dead in carefully tended cemeteries as a nod to the effort of the challenge. But overall it wasn't a howling success.

And a hundred years later I'm not sure the message has got through. Are we are honouring our fallen in a way they would appreciate? Don’t get me wrong, a dawn service is a suitable and oft powerful remembrance, but I can’t help but think that we altogether ignore what they were fighting for: the ultimate goal of peace. Though it has been said that fighting for peace is like f**king for virginity (and that’s not far wrong), you can’t ignore the intent if you’re going to commemorate the people who fought for it.

After a century, one would like to think that we have found other ways to work toward the ANZAC’s goal, but the stats aren't looking good. While WWI cost approximately 31 million deaths (not including Spanish Flu fatalities), the so-called ‘War to end all Wars’ was quickly superseded by the Second World War (1939 – 1945) which cost the world up to 85 million human lives. Considering the world population only went up from 1.8 billion in 1914 to about 2.2 billion or so in 1945 it’s easy to see that a fair amount of human capital went six feet under just in those two conflicts.

And other countries haven’t exactly toned it down either. With major conflicts in Africa, Asia and the Middle East ....things don’t seem to be improving a whole heap.

And neither are attitudes of intolerance that fuel the wars in first place, those of disdain and hatred toward human beings different to our self. For example, as of 2013, 74% of Russians (predominant religion Orthodox Christian) believe that homosexuality should not be accepted in society. Also, according to a 2014 study, 25% (mercifully down from 48% in 2011) of Australians hold ‘anti-Muslim’ views (not surprising considering the media bias of the country) despite the fact that many Muslims are fighting hard against the extremists within their culture themselves and embrace Australia’s way of life significantly. And then there are white cops shooting black people and generally not helping the case of all the genuinely good white cops out there.

And then there's the parts of the world that are now just a war torn mess (Syria and Gaza spring to mind here).

Instead of world unity, we are still just trying to create more distance between an imagined ‘Us’ and ‘Them’ even when ‘them’ (for an Aussie or Kiwi) could be a child refugee in Syria or a hard-working, tax-paying next-door neighbour.

Is that really what the ANZACs got their asses shot off for? So we could sit here 100 years later doing the same shit, just in a different bucket?

I can’t help but feel that we have f**ked this up a little.

Maybe tomorrow, instead of just looking backwards, we should also look forward. Look to (and actively pursue) a future where we make an effort to smile, communicate and understand the world from another’s point of view before we judge and discriminate. A future where we recognize that different countries’ laws and cultures are specific to that country regardless of the dominant religion (For example Jordan, Mauritania, Palestine, Saudi Arabia, Indonesia and Turkey are all 90%+ Muslim countries but all have very different cultures and worldviews on certain issues, just as Croatia, American Samoa, Republic of Congo, Iceland, Puerto Rico and Greece are all 90%+ Christian counties but also have very different cultures and worldviews)

Maybe we can look towards a future where every single one of us makes an effort toward the global peace the ANZACS were fighting for. Whether it is donating to Amnesty International, schooling yourself open-mindedly about world politics and disseminating information, or even simply knitting blankets for Syrian refugees. 

Do something.

But if you want to keep it really real for ANZAC Day, how about donating to causes that support the rehabilitation of homeless and mentally ill war veterans that rarely get discussed in the media. Help the people who put their asses on the line (just like the ANZACS) to fight for people to be able to live in peace. Whether the motivations for the wars are just or not, the soldiers do what they are told to do and often pay a very high price for doing so.

While it is commendable to remember those who have died for your is even more important to remember those who fought and lived.
Have a great ANZAC Day everyone.

P.S. Here are just a few of the many organizations that can help you help others



Learn (along with many other sources...keep looking)

Help an Aussie or Kiwi Veteran. or (how to help or get help for a veteran in Australia) or (how to help or get help for a veteran in New Zealand)

Friday, 17 April 2015

On tears and motherhood

Well it was all good until we got to the departure gates.

To say I held it together would be somewhat of an exaggeration, but we were doing ok, Lil Blondie and I. But I can comprehensively say, nothing kills you more than watching your tearful child go through those gates with only an air hostess and seven other kids she’s never met for company. As a mother, you start to question who you are and every decision you've ever made in your life.

And walking back to the car was a hazardous experience as well, as I couldn't see through the haze of tears, but I knew I had to get a grip because I had highways to tackle to get home. And I knew the Kevman would be there, waiting for me on Skype, to tell me it’s ok and I'm not a bad mother for choosing to live in another country from my youngest child. In reality though, there wasn't a lot he could say to allay the temporary grief that is now part and parcel of my parenting life.

It had been a grand three weeks, though; we visited Fremantle, went bowling, Lil Blondie tried her hand at golfing at the driving range (wasn't too shabby either for a first time eight year old) and we also took the resident Gypsy Niece with us to go pottery painting. Shopping was also done and a fair amount of game playing, Uno and Monopoly Deal being the favourites.

Lil Blondie getting her golf game sorted.

But come the final day more cuddles than normal were had; brave faces put on and reminders given of what awaited the youngest member the family once she got home: her Daddy, her cats Bella and Trix and all her school friends. Mummy would be fine I said: “And before you know it, it will be next school holidays and you’ll be back here again!”

And Mummy will be fine...maybe tomorrow, or the next day when the Kevman flies in from his island. But for right now, I'm busy trying to pull positivity from the fact that I'm snivelling and missing her little blonde head and goofy grin; the droopy morning look and the dementedly excited look of one about to go somewhere exciting; the mess in the room; the insanely repetitive Animal Jam tunes emanating from the office....ok maybe I don’t miss that...but basically everything that reminds me that I'm a mother..

I miss her

And reconciling one's heart and soul with one's head is never easy.

But this is be reminded so profoundly that I love my kids so terribly much. The power of the World Wide Web enable unprecedented contact in this increasingly fragmented world and I know she is cared for well in her New Zealand home where she belongs. I have never been an emotionally connective type and struggled greatly with the intricacies of balancing single parenthood with a full time career and an ever degenerating body. Ironically, I know I am a better mother now. The time I spend with my kids is able to be devoted completely to them and I have time to build a rapport and share humour with them as opposed to going through the motions of a very stressful existence and having it rob me of all that happy parenting can be. In many senses I am very lucky.

Now, like a metaphorical light bulb smashing, shards piercing my consciousness like vaccination needles, I realise completely why I have chosen to write about this today: to remind myself that I made a good decision coming here and I should never allow myself to slip into the gendered abyss of guilt that can come with being a mother intentionally separated from her children. Her father is a good father; we were never that great as husband and wife obviously, but he provides well (better than I could) the day to day stability and calm she needs for a healthy life.

I am the rebel, the adventurer, the alternative. I always have been and I like to think I am the fuel for my daughters’ dreams, the catalyst for them believing that anything possible if they keep exploring and believing all the while being a decent person and doing the best they can.

I refused then, as I do now, to let society’s ideas of what a perfect mother should be dictate my parenting role in my children’s life. I played life (and still do) by my own rules, ones that work best for me mentally and physically and thus, by extrapolation, are best for my girls. The way they love me back is confirmation enough that I am on a perfectly acceptable track.

And if I do this daughters will grow up knowing they have the right to live exactly the same way.

Thursday, 9 April 2015

It's impossible to be fully booked.

I have come to the conclusion there are some situations where restraint just ain’t gonna happen.

For the most part, I can make it around a supermarket with only minimal dodgy shit making it into the trolley. And when I see my beloved at the airport, I can restrain myself from leaping into his arms in such a fashion that he will require a surgical truss for the next three months. And usually, I can say no an extra piece of cake.

I cannot, however, walk into a book store and simply ‘look’.

You stick so many stories, ideas, and smells of adventure in one place and I can guarantee you that I'm gonna want to take some home. Not that I necessarily have time to read all of these books, but OMG:


Who’s with me here??

There’re rows and rows of ‘em in these places: big ones, small ones, skinny ones, fat ones, fiction, non-fiction, ....everything from gardening to Grumpy Cat. How is one supposed to resist God damnit! 
Let alone if they have a sale on....that’s just silly talk.

I have given up. I have come to the conclusion that if I go in, more than just me will be coming out.

I guess it’s understandable though, when you think about it; my first word was “book” (like, actually) and I grew up with a ton of ‘em. I can’t say I ever saw my parents read much but I know it happened. Dad was quite the Wilbur Smith and Brian Callison fan when it came to bed time reading. Mum was a bit of a late bloomer and has only been into the novels for the last 15 years or so starting when I bought her Frank Mc’Court’s Angela’s Ashes as a gift. But my reading was always strongly encouraged.

I sense a trip down memory lane coming here...

Yep, here it comes....

I remember my first school-age book infatuation being with the ‘Twistaplot’ book series, in particular “Train of Terror”. You know the ones, where you read a few pages then had to choose which path (storyline) to take (“Pick-a-Path books were similar): Choose to buy the hamburger, go to page 48 (where you promptly choke on it) or choose to walk away and go skating, turn to page 91 (the option that lets you live for at least a few more pages.) These books taught you the hard way, to be prepared for anything let me tell ya.

Around the same time I also consumed the series of 6 ‘Meg’ mysteries by Holly Beth Walker and then The Hardy Boys series (none of this girly Nancy Drew crap for me) and developed a firm ambition from there to be a police detective. This did not pan out obviously, but was probably my first real occupational goal as a child. I collected almost the entire series of Hardy Boys books the way my own child was later to collect ‘Goosebumps’ books. I even read their survival handbook and became a firm follower of the TV show...subsequently developing a fairly decent crush on Shaun Cassidy. We were totally dating...but he was usurped by Simon Le Bon a year or so later before I could ever let him in on the deal.

It wasn't just the books I read to myself, however, that were memorable. At times I recall being read stories, chapter by chapter, at school. I was exposed to several Roald Dahl books this way but also heard an exceptional tale written by Robert C. O’Brien called Mrs Frisby and the Rats of NIMH. Mandatory childhood reading right there I say.

Marilyn Sachs (Amy and Laura and Laura’s Luck) and Judy Blume were other authors I investigated in my youth. But the books I really got a kick out of for a while were anything where you had to work something out, Encyclopaedia Brown being a good example here.

Moving on, I concurrently developed a love of both horror and animals stories, though fortunately, not in the same storylines. Before I get to them, however, a few other random reads rate a mention.

One stray book I read, relating to neither of the above topics was Fire and Hemlock by Diana Wynne Jones (who also wrote Howl’s Moving Castle among other children's fiction). This book was just odd but I loved it very much and still have fond memories of it to this day.

Another, that had me in fits of hysteria, was I Want to go Home by Gordon Korman, which relates the story of two boys at Summer Camp, one of which (Rudy) is trying permanently to escape. It’s just gold.

Relating back to the horror genre, in high school (age 12/13+ in New Zealand) I developed a complete addiction to teen horror writer Christopher Pike who had the ability to freak you out like no one else; The Chain Letter series and Road to Nowhere are firm favourites of his. There was also one ending with an evil spirit getting trapped inside a blind parrot which sticks in my it would, I guess. This obsession (with Christopher Pike, not blind parrots) later translated to a keen following of Dean Koontz as an adult and also the reading of several Stephan King books (Needful Things is one of my favourites here, far better than the movie).

Along the animal lines, one of the best books ever written, in my humble opinion, would have to be Richard Adams’ Watership Down. The world of Hazel, Fiver, Bigwig, Kehaar and the many other animals on this journey is just absorbing from start to finish. I cried like a baby both times I read the damn thing and would recommend it to anyone, adult or child, for the rest of forever.

The White Fox by Brian Parvin was another favourite as well as anything else dogsledding/Iditerod/Arctic oriented.

It was about mid high school that I started to appreciate autobiographical works. I read Scot Free, an hilarious personal account of Alastair Scott’s foray from the Arctic to Mexico while wearing a Kilt; The Autobiography of the Reza Kahn Pahlavi (aka the previous Shah of Iran before the Ayatollah Khomeini got in there) and another that you may find odd or even hypocritical for a professed animal lover...

Death in the Long Grass by Peter Hathaway Capstick is one of the best books of the hunting/ranging genre you will read. Recounting tales from his time as a white hunter and game ranger in Africa in the sixties and seventies, Capstick entertains with humour and action packed stories, all the while reminding the reader that you respect all of Africa’s occupants or you die. While some of his stories did involve escorting trophy hunters (something that declining animal numbers and growing ethics just can’t support these days) a lot of his work was also sorting out rogue animals and culling populations when they exceeded what their environment could support. He was an advocate for safe and responsible hunting and a staunch enemy of poachers. This book is pure ‘unputdownable’ reading pleasure.

As I got older, regardless of whatever other stuff was going on in my life, I relished in the fact that I could always retreat into a book. From trying out a few of Dad's Brian Callison books (The Auriga Madness and Trapp in World War Three  being especially excellent), to consuming epics like Gone with the Wind or thought provokers like Catch 22,  I was always able to escape my world into that of someone else’s.

My horror bent later shifted to crime with a love of Patricia Cornwell and while her protagonist, Kay Scarpetta is an appealing one to me, my favourite part of any of her books will always involve Kay's niece Lucy Farinelli; she is just queen of intellectual, helicopter-flying badassery.

I also lean socio-political at times and consequently highly recommend Douglas Rushkoff’s Life Inc (originally a required text for a university paper I was doing but now seriously one of the best books I have ever read)  as well as Us and Them by Australian ‘respected journalist and media commentator’ Peter Manning. The latter should be compulsory reading for every Australian and goes a long way to addressing the media's part in creating an Islamophobic nation.

Today my interests are broader than ever. While I have knocked off several of the 1001 Books You Must Read Before You Die (The Handmaid’s Tale –Margaret Atwood; To Kill a Mockingbird – Harper Lee; Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas – Hunter S. Thompson; The Catcher in The Rye – J.D. Salinger; Supercannes – J.G Ballard [another favourite] to name a few), I also like to frequently kick back with a little of what’s currently popular or an amusing autobiography. I just tend to go with what appeals on the day I start a book.

So what am I reading right now? Well I have just finished The Rosie Project by Graeme Simsion... delightfully entertaining, I must say, and have moved on to Aldous Huxley’s classic Brave New World. 

What it'll be next is anyone’s guess!

So what’s on your nightstand at the moment? New titles come at me!!

Thursday, 2 April 2015

The Church of Facebook

I love social media. The intrinsic power it has is awe-inspiring; not only can you share interesting and relevant information and articles easily and swiftly, but you also relate your own personal slant while you’re at it. You can quiz your friends about movies, restaurants and food or pick their brains about sports or recent media or political occurrences.

Or you can share memes.

Millions and millions of memes.

Now before we write off the humble meme as a mere token of Facebook frippery, an embellishment to our page designed to make us appear humorous, enlightened or informed, it must be noted that some are actually rather good. I have frequently encountered memes that are both well presented and intelligently written. I have also encountered others that have been complete and utter shit.

Now Facebook is a fabulous place but if you believe everything you read on it you’re going to have a hard, and probably depressing, time. Many memes I have read are biased, judgemental, stereotypical and/or just plain stupid. And in the interests of being a helpful citizen...let me warn you of a few.

(I will refrain here, despite the title of my blog today, from commenting on religious memes as everyone is entitled to their own opinions of what they think God’s supernatural powers are, and if I get started on all the hate fueled anti-Islamic propaganda about, well shit’s just gonna get real....I created this space for people to escape controversy and that includes me, so I’m gonna stick to the non-religious stuff.)

The first meme that springs to mind is a gender one. I don’t consider myself so much a feminist as more of an advocate for gender equality. The meme goes like this:

 “Yes, I'm a woman. I push doors that clearly say pull. I laugh harder when I try to explain why I'm laughing. I walk into a room and forget why I was there. I count on my fingers in math. I ask for food and then don't eat it when I get it. I fall in love too fast with someone who doesn't actually love me back. I hide the pain from my loved ones. I say it is a long story when it's really not. I cry a lot, more than you think I do. I care about people who don't care about me. I try to do things before the microwave beeps. I listen to you even though you don't listen to me. And a hug will always help. Yes! I am a woman! And I am proud of who I am.”

I wish the person who wrote this a lifetime of squeaky chairs and naval lint.

“I push doors that clearly say pull” I have seen my father do this, along with many other penised members of the community. Next

“I laugh harder when I try to explain why I'm laughing.” Soooo gender specific...not. Next

“I count on my fingers in math.” The only time I use my fingers to count is when I am showing someone how to count to one....while demonstrating how much I don’t like them.

“I ask for food and then don't eat it when I get it” Where the hell did this one come from?? I paid/asked for it, you can bet your damn patootie I’ma gonna eat it! Don’t eat it....don’t ea...who is this clown?

“I fall in love too fast with someone who doesn't actually love me back” Again, about as gender specific as your average (adult) electric toothbrush.

“I hide the pain from my loved ones”: Ummm, so how often have you heard a person saying their male partner/relative needs to ‘open up’ or ‘talk to somebody’ about something he is dealing with? If we were going to lean gender biased on this point, wouldn't you think it would be the other way?? So how about we simply smile and move on before people actually do and miss the point of my rant entirely.

“I say it is a long story when it's really not.” This is simply a ploy utilized so one doesn't have to waste time talking about something that either one doesn't want to talk about or that one feels the other won’t fully understand or relate to. It is basically an idiot shield. Idiots come in both genders....and so do people who utilize this phrase.

“I cry a lot, more than you think I do” Any crying disparity can largely be explained by hormones though if you are crying a lot, you should get checked for actually. While there may be some small substance to this particular stereotype it is hardly a feature that would make me rave about being a woman. Just saying.

“I care about people who don't care about me” Your choice...doesn’t require tits and a vagina to choose it. Talk to any man who has been rejected or cuckolded but who is still in love with the subject of his affections. I am sure he will relate to the above.

“I try to do things before the microwave beeps.”I looked on YouTube. I found: “10 Things to do before the microwave hits zero”…guess the gender of the star. Next.

I listen to you even though you don't listen to me” Oh c’mon! This is the story of some guys’ lives! Don't even go there people.

“And a hug will always help” A hug helps everyone. Why do you think men have been so drawn to team sports over the years? For one reason they are allowed to touch and be affectionate without being thought effeminate. Delightfully, this is now changing in everyday life. Everyone needs hugs, men included, don’t be a bitch.

“Yes! I am a woman! And I am proud of who I am.” That’s nice dear *pat pat*. Now how about just trying not to be an idiot and being proud of that.

While I do understand the need for a certain feminine rebellion (we still do not have equal pay and working conditions in some professions and gender bias is still rife in media/advertising representation), this is hardly the way to go about it. This sort of crap just reinforces unfounded stereotypes, both male and female (for by suggesting these are women only traits we are overtly excluding men from being allowed to identify with them) and really needs to just staahhhpp!

Number Two (before I blow a gasket)

“The best sign of a healthy relationship is no sign of it on Facebook.”

What a complete crock of shit that one is. What this one should read is “Don’t put all your happy shit all over Facebook because my relationship is shit/in a precarious place, my partner would never do that for me and I secretly wish he/she would sometimes, or I don’t have a partner and I'm jealous.” 

Some people are very private and keep their stuff themselves.....their prerogative and I totally respect it, but I have waited a long time to be in such a fantastic relationship and you can bet your ass I'm gonna share the joy. I don’t do it to piss anyone off or to shove it up all the single people, I do it for the following three reasons:

1) We see enough miserable/boring shit on Facebook: someone hates his/her job, someone hates someone else, someone had lunch, someone had a shit holiday experience, someone got divorced, whatever...We want to show people that sometimes stuff goes right, that happiness is still a possibility, that love is a real thing and if treated with respect, can last (hence why the Kevman and I still post fluffy shit on Facebook a year later),

 2) We have received a lot of positive feedback about it, people are so glad to see us so happy, it makes them happy. Some of my friends have even private messaged me to that effect based solely on a romantic post. People love feeling happy, even just vicariously. I love being able to facilitate that.

3) We love publicly praising our significant other. While much of our posting may make others happy, the things we post are primarily for each other...that is, they represent our feelings toward the other and we are more than happy to broadcast to the world that we think and feel these things. We enjoy showing the other that we would put our reputation on the line for them and are proud to be in a relationship with them. We both enjoy verbal affirmations, it’s as simple as that.

So far as I'm concerned, as long as both parties enjoy and interpret these public displays of affection as love then there is no reason not to share your happy relationship on any medium you damn well please.

The third and final meme I’d like to question goes something like this: “When you don’t have to worry about what you say, you know you’re with the right people”

Let’s just take a moment here. If you consider ‘the right people’ to be people who don’t tolerate your shit, call you out on unfair statements, let you know when they are hurt by something you've said and are not afraid to disagree/debate with you, then yes, I believe you are with the right people.

But if you consider ‘the right people’ to be friends who just appear to ‘get’ where you’re coming from with your statements, don’t take offense, and back you up wholeheartedly, we could have differing opinions of what ‘right’ means.

My personal belief is that you should always surround yourself (actually or virtually) with a wide variety of people who have varying knowledge bases and broad ranges and lengths of life experience. To only surround yourself with people ‘like you’ creates a perfect fermentation environment for fear, hatred and bigotry. These forces then swell to varying degrees against anyone or anything different.

So if the ‘right people’ are those who challenge, stimulate, appreciate and respect you and your uniqueness, then as you were Sir Meme, go on through. If, however, you’re suggesting that everyone should have a little posse of like-minded minions to unquestioningly support their belief systems, then step aside and let the real memes through.

Ultimately, the point of all this, is to show that you must always question what you see, read and hear. Just because someone is tech savvy enough to write a group of words into a 
computer program, does not mean they are smart enough to read the tacit, or even obvious insinuations contained within them. While piss-poor grammar and spelling are often a sign of questionable meme thinking, I have seen perfectly written crap also circulate the Facebook world at a swift rate of knots. All I ask is that you please try and trip it up where you can. Thanks.

Well that is enough of my opinions on the world....go forth and have a jolly spiffy weekend!!