The Sorry, Not Sorry

I’m Canadian.

So I apologize… A lot.

I’m also a woman.

So I feel like I need to apologize a lot for that too.

I forget to text my friends back.

I bump into people.

People bump into me.

My kid gets sick so we have to cancel plans sometimes.

My stomach makes very loud noises that sound like a long, dry fart (but are definitely NOT farts) in meetings right after lunch.

And whenever I say no to something I can’t (or don’t want to) do, that’s my fault too.

I feel like I’m always saying sorry.

I know people that apologize more than I do (they know who they are), but I recently noticed that I apologize way too much.

And I tend to apologize to people that don’t really deserve my apologies… You know: jerks, jocks, people that work in “sales”.

You know what?

THERE WILL BE NO MORE APOLOGIES!*

Seriously.

THERE WILL BE NO MORE SORRIES!**

And you can stuff your own sorries in a sack.

I WILL NEVER SAY THE WORD SORRY (OR ANYTHING REMOTELY RESEMBLING AN APOLOGY) EVER AGAIN!***

I might write it out, but I’m definitely not saying it.

I WILL NOT ACKNOWLEDGE THAT I DID ANYTHING WRONG EVER AGAIN!****

Why should I acknowledge doing anything wrong when I never do anything wrong? I’m not saying that I’m perfect, but I pretty much am.

I WILL NEVER ACCEPT RESPONSIBILITY FOR MY ACTIONS!*****

Because guess what? I’m not sorry, and I never will be.******

I know I’m funny, but I’m not kidding.

#NoRegrets #NoRemorse #NoApologies 

+++

* Unless they are warranted.

** Unless I really, really mean it.

*** Unless the person I’m apologizing to only speaks English, and “lo siento” is not understood.

**** Unless I did something wrong and then I would definitely acknowledge it.

***** Unless, of course, I need to accept responsibility for my actions.

****** Unless I am.

I see that you’ve read all the way to the end. That makes you my new best friend. Please let me know ASAP so that I can let my previous best friend know they have been demoted (they never read all the way to the end).

 

The Werewolves

January is a real buzz kill… because your buzz is killed… and because you are very likely back to “real life”, and back to work, and most workplaces and organizations frown upon their employees being buzzed (so you have to be all sober and get on with it).

Isn’t it just the worst?

December is FULL of that merry, cheery feeling. You know… where, for just a moment, you feel like everything is going to be okay, and peace on earth is possible… (and we’re not “living” on some god-forsaken, climate emergency, melting ice caps, turtles eating plastic, burning rainforest, oil spills, garbage island, Trump, terror attacks, mass shootings, raping and pillaging, hurtling toward oblivion kind of planet).

You know, that feeling.

But then it’s over.

And January is a cruel, cruel reminder that what you just experienced during the month of December was LIES.

During the month of December many people behave in a way that is totally dishonest and fraudulent. They pretend that they are good people (giving to charity, letting people merge in front of them while driving, sending Christmas cards, smiling), but the moment January 1st rolls around they go back to who they really are.

It’s exactly like Michael J. Fox in Teen Wolf (minus being the hero of the school’s basketball team).

Because here’s a fact: most people are jerks.

Peace on earth? Ha.

Goodwill toward men? Only if someone is filming it and posting it and hashtagging it so all their friends can see their #gooddeed #4change #volunteer #poverty #hunger #humble #giveback #dogood #philanthropy #goodperson I want to be on @theellenshow

BUT (and it’s a big one)!

What if… everyone, everywhere… tried really, really hard to be good and nice and kind and loving and complimentary and generous and compassionate and courteous and sympathetic and neighbourly and eleemosynary and benevolent and gracious and gentle and tolerant and friendly and thoughtful 24/7/365?

What I’m saying is: Let’s always be werewolves. (It’s an implied comparison, but if I must spell it out:) Let’s always be good people. 

I know it would be hard (for me; because I’m definitely a jerk) but I’m willing to give it a try… But obviously only if everyone, everywhere also tries.

I’m not going to put in all this extra effort to be a good person if everyone, everywhere is also not going to put in the extra effort to be a good person.

Are you with me?

 

 

 

 

 

The Merry, Cheery Feeling

The song, “I Wish It Could Be Christmas Everyday” by Wizzard played on the radio today, and I thought to myself, “heck yes!”

But, I soon came to my senses.

Sure, if it was Christmas everyday there would be no work, lots of sleeping in, holiday noggin’, boozy brunches, loads of presents, stuffed stockings, dancing, Christmas cocktails, more dancing, pajamas all day, dysfunctional family dynamics that make for good stories, Tofurkey, mashed potatoes, Home Alone, and festive cheese balls.

At first!

But soon you would have no job, no money, and probably no place to live. You would definitely not have any money to buy presents, and neither would anyone else. You’d show up to every party empty handed, which would be extremely embarrassing. You would likely sink into a deep, deep depression. You would hear Mariah Carey’s, “All I Want For Christmas Is You” IN YOUR WORST NIGHTMARES. You would be wishing for one day off of the relentless, punishing Christmas chaos, if only to get sober, eat some vegetables, and wear a proper pair of slacks. (Home Alone may also wear thin everyday for the rest of your life, but I doubt it.)

So, no, I don’t wish it could be Christmas everyday.

BUT (and it’s a big one), I do wish people would be as nice as they are at Christmas everyday*. That would be wonderful.

I think they call it festive cheer? It’s that merry, cheery feeling.

When you feel it, for just a moment, you feel like everything is going to be okay and peace on earth is possible… (And we’re not “living” on some god-forsaken, climate emergency, melting ice caps, turtles eating plastic, burning rainforest, oil spills, garbage island, Trump, terror attacks, mass shootings, raping and pillaging, hurtling toward oblivion kind of planet).

That festive feeling makes people do crazy things they would never do the rest of the year. I’ve seen strangers embrace. I’ve seen people pet strange dogs. I’ve seen people stop for pedestrians. I’ve even seen people share a sandwich. It’s really something.

I wish that merry, cheery feeling could be everyday.

But it can’t, so enjoy it while it’s here.

 

+++

* Most (not all) people are nice during Christmas. Some people are flamin’ hot jerk-wads every day of the year. And those people know exactly who I’m talking about. It’s them, and their stupid faces.

 

 

 

The Cookie

I was at a café the other day, enjoying a well-deserved (and hot!) cup of coffee and a piece of toast (which doesn’t sound very exciting, but it definitely is when you have a child, and when it’s Flourist bread).

Anyway, I’m enjoying my coffee and toasted bread, when a couple sits down next to me. They were very much in love. Well, actually, the gal was very much in love with the guy. She was very touchy feely; almost inappropriately so, and he allowed it.

The guy was traditionally good-looking: tall, with an even face, strong jawline, and an expensive haircut. He’s not the type of guy I would ever go for (I’m into “manwich bunwiches” and big brains), but I can see why someone might want to “have coition” with this guy.

The couple had ordered an assortment of cookies, and they began to eat said assortment of cookies. The guy went to town on a chocolate chip, almost inappropriately so. The gal took a bite of a hazelnut raspberry and then began coughing. Maybe it went down the wrong pipe? Maybe it was lodged in her throat? Maybe she was having an anaphylactic reaction? Maybe she doesn’t drink enough water and her throat is always dry? Whatever the reason, the gal was desperately trying to contain her cough, covering her mouth with her neck scarf and shielding her face from view. The gal was embarrassed. Very.

I need to stop here.

Why do we feel shame and/or embarrassment when we fail to chew and swallow something easily? Why? THIS IS A REAL THING. We’ve all been there… Eating a cracker, and then suddenly it surprises us and is way more dry and/or anhydrous than we anticipated, and it gets a bit lodged in the ‘ol trachea, and there’s that moment where you’re not sure how it’s all going to go down (life flashing before your eyes, regretting decisions, etc), but you give your friend a thumbs up sign anyway, because you see the look of panic on their face and you don’t want to upset them further… But why? Why are we embarrassed about it? The body is a miraculous and strange fuselage. The fact that we don’t die every day is a miracle unto itself.

Back to the story.

The gal is coughing, then fully choking, and then it all goes eerily silent.

(Meanwhile, I’m watching horrified, and googling “Heimlich+maneuver.”)

And, guess what?

The guy is still eating his cookie (it’s a big cookie). He didn’t even look over at the gal. Not once! It’s admittedly a delicious cookie, but come on.

The gal starts coughing again, has a sip of water, and then collects herself. She’s still flushed from all the hubbub as she looks over and slaps the guy on the arm.

“What?”

It’s too late.

The love is GONE.

They finish their cookies and depart, like two ships in the night (or, like two people who are no longer in love).

Here’s my advice: Find yourself someone that would slap you on the back if you’re choking on a cookie.

Unknown.jpeg

 

 

The Appreciation Awards

It’s been a crazy few months.

All the months are crazy (don’t even get me started on July!), but these last ones have been particularly bonkers.

So many people have shared with me that they are feeling some kinda way (sad, depressed, discouraged, confused, scared, and other difficult and/or unpleasant feelings), and to be honest, I’ve been feeling some kind of way too.

This journey we call life is full of ups and downs, and without sounding cliché (but I’m definitely going to)… It’s the people that are with us on this journey that make all of the difference.

They support us, lift us, encourage us, and raise us up…

And not only when we’re making a cheer pyramid (in real life too).

When Josh Groban wrote, “You Raise Me Up” he was referring to a cheer pyramid.

Yesterday I had a big realization.

We tend to only show our love and appreciation for the wonderful* people in our lives during major life events (birthdays, babys, weddings, funerals, illnesses), but perhaps we should do this more.

With this in mind, I have created the Family & Friends Appreciation Awards

It’s a small, nationally televised awards show where winners receive small trophies made of solid gold, and have the opportunity to make a 60 second speech before being played off by a live band.

Did I mention it will be hosted by Ryan Seacrest?

JK (just kidding).

I sincerely and truly wish I had the opportunity to present each of my wonderful friends and family with a solid gold trophy to express my appreciation, but alas, I cannot.

Instead, I will present the #FFAppreciation awards via Instagram (almost the same thing).

Follow @kimberlymanky on Instagram for ALL the latest appreciation news!

 

+++

* The jerks can ‘F’ right off.

The Thanking

I am feeling thankful today.

Canadian Thanksgiving is a week away, and I am starting to feel a little stirring of something.

I also looked back at all of my #blessed instagram posts and realized there was a bunch of things to be #grateful for.

I also remembered that we are all living on a giant, spinning rock that is 4.5 billion years old, and is the only planet known to harbour life (not to mention the gravitational acceleration and magnetic field that keeps us grounded – pun intended), and while we (scientists, laymen, and laywomen) try to understand it, we can’t really understand it, and we should all just be relieved for every day we don’t float off into the ether. (I mean, how on earth do we just go about our day, and go to work, and come home from work, and make a nice curry, and sit on the sofa and watch Jeopardy, knowing that we are all just a handful of hydrogen, carbon, nitrogen and oxygen particles, and this is just one big cosmic coincidence???!!! The world is a miracle, and you are a miracle, and the fact that you’re reading this is a miracle.)

I am grateful for all of these things.

I’m also feeling very thankful/grateful/indebted/beholden/obliged to everyone in my life who has taken the time to share with me, teach me, open my eyes, and change my mind.

Thank YOU.

I grew up in a small town. My parents both worked full-time. I watched a lot of TV. We were white, and we knew a lot of other white people. While I had a decent education (dinosaurs, legumes, Mesopotamia), they weren’t teaching empathy or diversity in the 1980s.

I sometimes feel embarrassed because for a long time I didn’t understand, or even try to understand other people’s experiences. I assumed* that everyone I met had the exact same frame of reference, beliefs, and background as I did (Cheers; passive Christianity; two parents, one sister).

I was ignorant (unaware, unknowing).

I’m still ignorant about many things, and many people’s experiences, and a lot of other isms (an “ism” being a distinctive belief, cause or theory, or an oppressive and especially discriminatory attitude or belief), but I aspire to be more aware and more knowing (and kinder, and gentler, and just a better person all around).

Some people think they know everything (spoiler alert: they definitely don’t).

I am no longer one of those people.

I know that there are A LOT of people who know A LOT more than me, and I want to learn from them.

To everyone who has shared their feelings/opinions/favourite songs/life-changing movies and/or TV shows/prized recipes/beliefs/life experiences/lunch with me…

Thank you.

+++

* Quite WRONGLY.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Advice

A lot of people (at least one*) have asked me how I became such a successful woman.

(I think it’s very important to note that success means different things to different people. To some, it might mean: “the accomplishment of one’s goals“. To others (that own a dictionary) it might mean: “the attainment of wealth, position, honors, or the like.” And still, to others it might mean: “a performance or achievement that is marked by success“. In the broadest terms, I think “success” means that you’ve convinced everyone that you’re a baller, and you have a hot car (Toyota Prius, or similar), and whenever you need to pay for something you pull out your Michigan bankroll).

If one person is asking how I became such a successful woman, I am sure there are literally thousands more that aren’t asking (but definitely want to ask) how I became such a successful woman, and what they can do to become similarly successful. They’re probably looking for some advice, but they don’t want to bother me because I’m so busy and so successful.

Lucky for everyone, I am quite the philanthropist/humanitarian/altruist/do-gooder… Because I am always giving, and bestowing, and bequeathing, and endowing. (People have actually said these words to** me: Gracious, kind, compassionate, forgiving, selfless, noble.)

So, here it is… Kimberly Manky’s magnanimous advice*** for becoming a success:

  1. Walk quickly.
  2. Always have a serious look on your face.
  3. Get a pair of glasses. Don’t put them on. Carry them around in your pocket until asked a question, then rest the left stem on your bottom lip with forethought.
  4. A. H. A. P. O. P. W. Y.**** (Always have a piece of paper with you. Carry it everywhere, and wave it around every once in a while. It’s good if there are lots of handwritten scrawls, like you’ve been taking lots of notes, but a printed piece of paper also works.)
  5. G. A. B. (Get a blazer.)
  6. After every 20 minutes spent looking at a screen, look at something 20 feet away for 20 seconds (to prevent eye strain).
  7. Sleep with someone powerful and/or wealthy. (Once you’ve earned their trust, learn everything about them. Find out about their family and friends, and where they live. Find out their favourite foods, books, and movies. Read their texts, emails, and grocery lists. Make them fall hopelessly in love with you. Then, once they are completely enamoured with you, turn the tables and threaten to reveal their dark secret to the world if they don’t do exactly what you want – i.e. cast you in a movie, fund your start-up, marry you, etc.).

You’re welcome.

 

+++

* Yes, they thought I was actress, producer, and former model Rene Russo. And yes, they were drunk.

** To me; not about me. 

*** If there is one thing that I’ve learned it’s that people love getting advice – especially unsolicited advice. So give it freely, whenever you have the chance, especially to new mothers. They love that.

**** I like using acronyms because it’s easier to remember.

 

 

The New Phone, Who Dis?

I just got a new phone.

It’s an iPhone 8, which (in case you didn’t know) features a retina HD display, 4.7-inch (diagonal) widescreen LCD Multi-Touch display with IPS technology, 1334-by-750-pixel resolution at 326 ppi, 1400:1 contrast ratio, true tone display, wide colour display (P3), 3D Touch, 625 cd/m2 max brightness, dual-domain pixels for wide viewing angles, fingerprint-resistant oleophobic coating, support for display of multiple languages and characters simultaneously, display zoom, reachability, AND it’s splash-,water-, and dust-resistant!

I don’t know what any of those things are, or what they do, or why I need them… But I have them, and that’s what’s important.

Getting a new phone is pretty great. You can tell people about your new phone. You can show people your new phone. You can smile smugly (wherever you go) with the knowledge that you have a brand-spanking-new, state-of-the-art, cellular telephone!

But! The best thing about getting a new phone… The “New phone, who dis?”

I knew I needed a new phone*, but I mistakenly thought it was to make phone calls and text, and look up the location of the nearest pharmacy.

Nah… It was to make use of the “new phone, who dis?”

Now, when people call or text me, I can either:

  1. Write, “new phone, who dis?” which implies the following: “Sorry, I got a new phone and I wasn’t able to import my contacts, so I don’t know who you are. By the way, I got a brand-spanking-new, state-of-the-art cellular telephone” (BURN).
  2. Ignore them completely and then when I bump into them in person (and I’m sure they’ve seen me so I can’t run away), I just tell them I got a new phone and I wasn’t able to import my contacts, and I apologize if they’ve tried to contact me (BURN).
  3. Import my contacts so I know who is calling, and respond to texts and phone calls appropriately (BURN).

Either way, BURN!

Thank you technology!

 

+++

* Because I dropped the other one, and it was cracked and leaking fluid, and making my ears ring and my eyes water.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The REAL Most Terrifying Thing We Have All Accepted As Okay

Okay, we really need to talk about this.

A few weeks ago I talked about restaurants being THE MOST TERRIFYING THING THAT WE HAVE ALL ACCEPTED AS OKAY, but I’m going to need to take that back.

There is something way, way worse.

No, I’m not talking about botox, escargot, or global warming. Those things are indeed terrifying, but pale in comparison to the thing we need to talk about.

Hotels.

And motels!

And hostels!

And B & B’s.

And cabins.

And chalets.

And mangers.

And ryokans.

And onsens.

And some castles.

Basically, any sleeping place where you don’t live.

(It’s INSANE when you actually think about it.)

What the actual F@#$?

You go to a strange building, let yourself in with a key, enter a room where hundreds (if not thousands of others) have been “accommodated”, remove your clothing, handle a remote control that has been touched by many others (not to mention: door handles, the telephone, light switches, blow dryer, and the in-room menu), watch some TV, and then get in a strange bed.

Here’s where it gets f-ing weird.

Other people have slept in that bed. Other people have laid their heads on that very same pillow. Other people have snuggled up in those very same blankets.

People with lice. People with halitosis. People that drool. People that leak from other body parts. People that don’t wash their undercarriage. People that have unwashed dreadlocks*. People that have weird pillow fetishes (see: Ryan Gosling pillow case). People with flaming cases of herpes.

All kinds of people… Complete and total strangers… Have all slept in that very same bed.

You know when you go into a hotel room and the sheets are tucked really tightly around the mattress, and you have to pull it loose? And sometimes you accidentally pull the sheets too hard, and you catch a glimpse of the mattress… And your humanity slaps you right in the face (I like to compare it with a near-death experience), and you realize how insignificant you are, and how we are all just a collection of atoms, and how that mattress has seen some things**. 

FYI: here is what’s living in hotel mattresses: skin cells, human hair, bodily secretions, fungi, bacteria, dust, dust mites, lint, insect parts, pollen, cosmetics… and more.

[insert barf emoji]

How do you know that these total and complete strangers haven’t licked the remote? You don’t.

How do you know that these total and complete strangers haven’t put the remote control in their bodies? You don’t.

FACTS: Bedspreads rarely get washed, and 81% of hotel surfaces have some fecal bacteria. (These are facts.)

Apparently, the first facilities offering accommodation to travelers were in ancient Greco-Roman culture and ancient Persia. Japan’s Nishiyama Onsen Keiunkan, established 705, was recognized by the Guinness World Records as the oldest hotel in the world. 

So this disgusting nonsense has been going on for quite some time.

How are you okay with this? It’s not, not, NOT*** okay.

I mean, IF it’s a brand new hotel, and you’re the first one staying there, and it’s 5+ stars, and you brought a blue light to check, and you know for a fact that the workers that built the hotel didn’t sneak a nap in the bed, and you know the proprietor, and the hotel has hospital-quality ventilation and purification… Then maybe.

But if not, wtf?

This person doesn’t care if you get E. coli from the remote.

+++

* I stand corrected on dreadlocks. Apparently they are cleaner than regular hair IF washed regularly.

** You don’t want to f%$#ing know.

** Triple negative bringing it around back to being a refutation.

The Lettuce

It started a few months ago.

I noticed that I stopped caring.

I mean, I still care about some things: babies, husbands, friends, family members, hygiene, etc.

But I don’t care about a lot more things: what people do, what people say, what people think, what people may think about me*, etc.

Maybe it’s motherhood? Maybe it’s being on the cusp of middle-age? Maybe it’s the perspective that comes from living for 40 years on this earth? Maybe it’s reading Mark Manson’s The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck? Maybe it’s Maybelline?

Whatever it is… Something made me realize that a lot of the $hit I used to care about doesn’t actually matter. And so it started mattering less and less**.

I have a limited amount of f*cks, and I need to save them for something important***.

I was shopping at Welk’s General Store the other day and a lady came in demanding to speak to the manager. She was fuming, pacing, pursed lips, hands on hips: ready for a fight. I wanted to pull her aside, give her a Sisu Stress Rescue, and tell her to calm the f*ck down. Instead, I just hovered nearby. The manager came over, and the lady said (and I quote): “I called an hour ago and I was told that you had lettuce. I rode my bike all the way over here and you don’t have any lettuce.” The manager politely apologized for their lack of lettuce, but the lady wouldn’t drop it. “I rode my bike all the way over here! Do you mean to tell me you had lettuce an hour ago, and now you have no lettuce? You sold out of lettuce in an hour? I don’t believe it. You never had lettuce!” She then stormed out of the store.

(I have a feeling it wasn’t about the lettuce.)

This woman is using up a lot of her f*cks on f*cking lettuce.

Let this story be a lesson to all of us…

 

 

+++

* I know me. I know my heart. I am not mean-spirited. I don’t do anything with bad intentions. I mean well. I’m just doing the best I can. If I hurt you, I didn’t mean to. If you want to get weird about it, that’s okay. If you want to let me know what I’ve done to hurt you and try to make things right, even better.

** This is a work in progress. (I am a work in progress.) But I have noticed that I care a lot less about a lot of things.

*** Things I consider important: someone I love dies, someone I love is sick, someone I love needs me, injustice, etc.