When it Rings Will You Answer?

One and One and One is Three

Not With a Bang but With a Whimper

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Through hazy eyes

She saw the world

Not how it was

But how she thought it should be

She doesn’t remember

The moment it happened

She doesn’t remember

Giving in

Through clear eyes

She sees the world

Exactly how it is

Written by whenitringswillyouanswer

March 29, 2014 at 5:22 PM

So You’re 30

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So you’re 30 years old, emphasis on the old. You’re not one of those “have your shit together” 30s either. No, you don’t have a mortgage, spouse, kid, career, or whatever the fuck they’re counting as ‘adult’ these days.  I mean, hell, you don’t even have a goldfish, let alone a dog or cat. The thought of being responsible for another living thing terrifies the shit out of you. You lost your keys at least seven times last month alone. You’d tie your mittens to your coat if you didn’t fear being socially ostracized. It’s getting bad enough that the singles’ table at your friends’ weddings has turned into the kids’ table. You my friend, are an embarrassment. At least that’s what you are starting to believe about yourself. I am here to tell you that it’s all bullshit.

Ask yourself this: WHO THE FUCK CARES?

Maybe you had a life plan and it went awry. You had the guy or girl of your dreams, were on the right path career-wise and had your eye on that Siberian Husky litter down the street. Then your company was investigated by the OSC, your girlfriend/boyfriend left you for the bartender at your favourite pub, and the Siberian Husky puppies were all claimed. Suddenly you’re in the same spot that loser friend that never even finished university is in. What happened? Life happened. It’s shitty, but hey, you’re alive and still have time to turn it all around. Quit belly aching. You had it all once, who says you can’t have it all again? Look at Robert Downey Jr., everybody loves a good redemption story. Just don’t Lohan this shit. Plus that bartender will totally cheat and you’ll either get to be the supportive shoulder or laughing, judgmental finger pointer. It’s never quite as bad as it seems.

For those of us who never bothered with the life plan and still don’t know what the fuck we are doing, life isn’t all that bad either. We have the freedom to sit in our pyjamas and type idiotic advice blogs (while alternating between cutesy and creepy subreddits) until four in the afternoon. Some times people even read these things. I mean, your life must be pretty fucked up right now if you are taking anything away from this, but it could be worse. If you are reading this, you have access to the internet, so, I mean, yay porn, right?

I think I’ve lost the original intent of this post. I turned 30 and freaked out. I just wanted to swear a lot and pretend that everything will be okay. Truthfully, I actually kind of believe that. “The future is unwritten” as Joe Strummer would croon and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Thanks for reading and I apologize profusely for wasting your time. Please enjoy this Cyanide & Happiness comic.


Written by whenitringswillyouanswer

March 13, 2014 at 11:10 AM

I Want to Hold Your Hand

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“What is it exactly that you want from me? Dating? Because I have to be honest, I don’t really do the whole somebody’s girlfriend thing.”

“Dating? Girlfriend? No! I just want to hang out with you. Lots.  I want to get to know everything I can about you. I want to know what you love. I want to know what you hate. I want to know what words make your nose crinkle. I want to know what makes you smile so that I can be the person who does that thing that makes you smile. I want to maybe one day try to kiss you and hope that you kiss back.”

“That sounds to me like a fairly unerring definition of dating.”

“That’s crazy talk. I want to take you to dinner and to movies and out for gelato. Honestly, I want to eat so much goddamn gelato with you. I mean, just because I want to hold your hand while we walk through Little India in search of the perfect naan doesn’t mean I want to date you! Who am I, Clark Gable?”

“It’s just too soon for naan.”

“Forget the naan! We’ll have Thai instead. We don’t have to call it anything. Let’s just be. Hang out with me. Do it. Do it. Do it.”

“I do love gelato.”

“Never trust a person who says they don’t love gelato.”

“I don’t think I could.”

“I’m breaking you down. I see a smile and exasperated acceptance on the horizon.”

“Is this how you get all your not dates?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve never wanted to not date someone as much as I want to not date you.”

“ONE gelato. For now.”


“I better not regret this gelato.”

“Who could ever regret gelato?!”


Written by whenitringswillyouanswer

February 20, 2014 at 9:32 PM

I had to share this.

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My cousin Julie just shared on Facebook with us a poem our Grandmother had written for her Grandchildren (we were many). My Grandmother passed when I was just 7 or 8 and I haven’t got many memories left of her. What I do remember was always feeling safe, warm, and so very loved by her. Reading this today brought all those feelings flooding right back. I miss her even on days I don’t realize it.

Beloved child of mine
you are loved
my life
my destiny
I will never leave you
the darkness around you
will not destroy you
my weapons are of light
And nothing on earth
or universe
can penetrate your spirit.
You are mine.
-Remelda Young

Written by whenitringswillyouanswer

February 7, 2014 at 5:16 PM

Dear Cadence

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Cadence sat alone on the floor. Situated in the corner of her room, legs pulled up into her chest, she rested her head on her knees and sobbed. She had no idea how she had gotten there or why she was crying. The only thing she knew in that moment was an overwhelming sense of sadness and that she had been here before.   Nothing of any particular significance had happened that day. She woke up, went to school, ate lunch with her friends, answered three questions correctly in class, and stopped to chat with crossing guard on her way home. When she arrived home, she kissed her mother and father, patted her husky on his head and went upstairs to her room. It was only when she closed the door behind her that the weight of the world came crashing down on top of her. It was an unbearable weight that forced her to the ground. That was when she sought solace in the corner.

As she continued to sob, Cadence thought of every happy image that she could muster. She thought of her mother and father. She loved them more than anything in the world. She thought of the day her parents let her pick out Orwell, her husky. She thought of kissing Jessie Hopkins behind the Social Studies portable. She thought of her best friend Kyla. They’d done everything together and had never been in a fight. She thought of rainbows and kittens and warm woollen mittens, but nothing could stop her steady stream of tears. She was convinced that she was broken. She wanted to scream out for help but had no idea how to explain to anyone what was wrong. If she told her parents she was sad, they’d ask her why, and she would have no answer for them. She just was. She couldn’t handle someone telling her to “buck up” or that her life was wonderful. She knew her life was wonderful. That fact made her feel even worse for being sad. She scolded herself between each sob.

There was a knock at her door. Cadence ignored it at first hoping that the person on the other side would take the hint. She didn’t want anyone to see her like this. She had cancelled plans in the past to avoid the inevitable questions people would have if and when she began to cry uncontrollably. Most days she wouldn’t, but the days when she could feel it coming, she just wanted to be alone. There was a second knock and then a third. Cadence couldn’t move and she wasn’t sure she wanted to any way. There wasn’t a fourth knock. Cadence felt a small amount of relief but a larger feeling of regret crept in.

Ten minutes passed when a piece of paper slid beneath Cadence’s door. She looked over at it with an intense curiosity. It seemed as though her body was going to allow her to move just enough to pick it up. She slid herself out of the corner far enough to reach the note. She picked it up and read it.

“Our dearest Cadence,

You are not broken. We are here for you when you are ready to talk. We will ALWAYS be here for you.

Your loving, devoted, ADORING, parents.”

 Cadence held the note tight to chest and closed her eyes and breathed. She wasn’t ready yet, but she had hope that she soon would be. The weight of the world was too much to bear for one person. She knew that now.

Written by whenitringswillyouanswer

November 16, 2013 at 5:32 PM

The Reluctant Pumpkin

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Casey didn’t like Hallowe’en. One might even say her dislike for the day bordered on hatred. She thought it silly to dress up as something or someone who you’re not. Her parents tried to encourage her to be more open to the idea. They said she could be a princess, a firefighter, a zombie, a zombie firefighting princess! Anything her heart desired, they promised they would make it happen. The only thing Casey’s heart desired was to be left alone. Her parents were not able to make that happen.

Casey’s parents LOVED Hallowe’en. They were two peas in a pod (literally one year) when it came to the holiday. They looked forward to October 31st the other 364 days out of the year and when it arrived, they went all out. They spent countless hours planning their costumes, decorating the house (both inside and out), and singing silly songs. Casey had a particular distaste for a certain French song her parents would sing called, “C’est l’Halloween.”

This year Casey’s parents decided to throw a Hallowe’en party for all their friends. Casey was not looking forward to having her house filled with vampires, zombies, nurses in questionable attire, and the like. She begged her parents to let her spend the night at her Grandmother’s house. She was mortified when her parents told her that her Grandmother would be attending the party dressed as a wolf dressed as a grandmother.

Casey threatened to run away if her parents pressed her to dress up. She knew that they knew she was bluffing. What was the point of running away? She’d be out on the street surrounded by those same vampires, zombies, and inappropriately dressed nurses. She’d be swarmed by little devils and was certain she’d see a wrecking ball or two. She decided to stay where she was and protest the evening silently. Her parents may be able to make her dress in a costume, but they won’t be able to make her speak. No sir. She would show them.

Later that evening the guests began to arrive. In walked former President Bill Clinton and his wife former Secretary of State Hillary Clinton, or as Casey better knew them, Aunt Carol and Uncle Darren. A zombie, a werewolf, and two angels were next. There were no other kids yet and Casey didn’t expect any to arrive. She was always the only kid at these things. She hated that almost as much as she hated Hallowe’en itself. When you are the only kid somewhere, you become the focal point of the evening to every adult in the place. Hallowe’en was even worse because they would all have to tell her how cute she looked even though she knew she looked silly.

Casey couldn’t believe the costume her parents had made her wear. She was a pumpkin. A PUMPKIN! How embarrassing, she thought. Casey wove in between the various ghouls and ghosts, trying to remain inconspicuous. She had yet to say a word but no one had really taken notice, which was a good thing, but they all thought she was just being shy or that she was intimidated by all the scary costumes. She most certainly was not.

Casey’s Grandmother arrived as promised, a wolf in Granny’s clothing. She hugged Casey as best she could but couldn’t get her arms all the way around her pumpkin. She assured Casey to not be scared as she was still Gramma May underneath. Casey nodded in agreement and her Grandmother handed her a Baby Ruth and told her not to tell her parents where she got it with a wink.

Casey’s parents were dressed as Scrabble letters. Her dad was the letter I while her mom was the letter U. They tried to tell her that the costume had to do with something called a pick up line that her dad used back when he first met mom at school. She didn’t know what a pick up line was nor did she care. She was just glad that both her parents were fully clothed this Hallowe’en.

Casey parked herself on the living room couch. She couldn’t see very well over top of her pumpkin tummy. Various costumed grown ups would pat her pumpkin and tell her how great she looked and how she was the cutest pumpkin that they had ever seen. Casey nodded and smiled every time. She was bored. The adults looked like they were having all sorts of fun with silly games and lots of wine. It was still early but Casey just wanted to go to bed. She felt a tap on her pumpkin but couldn’t see who it was. She shuffled on the couch to get a better view and standing in front of her was another little pumpkin.

Casey’s heart fluttered. That little pumpkin was a boy named Luke. He smiled and said hello. Casey smiled back but remembered her silent protest and merely waved. Luke pointed over to his parents who were dressed as Alice and the Mad Hatter and scrunched his nose while sticking his tongue out indicating his embarrassment. Casey giggled and did the same after pointing to her own parents and Grandmother. Luke laughed and Casey followed suit. Suddenly she wasn’t bored anymore.  Casey still hated Hallowe’en but she supposed under the right circumstances she could see why it might be fun. The reluctant pumpkin had found a new pumpkin friend.


Written by whenitringswillyouanswer

October 31, 2013 at 6:26 PM

Embarrassing Throwbacks: “One milk, two sugar”

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***I found this in a notebook. I wrote it eight years ago. It’s so terrible I felt the need to share.***


I asked her once if she was happy. She looked straight through me and answered simple and true, “one milk, two sugar.” She was lost, that much I could tell. So was I. When I asked her where she was from, “one milk, two sugar.” I asked her where she was headed, “one milk, two sugar.” There was something about her that kept me asking questions. Mesmerized and unable to walk away, I longed to hear her voice. It was small and timid yet towering and terrifying. I felt as though I was a small child starved for his mother’s apathetic ear. Completely willing to walk to the end of the world for a simple nod, pat on the back, or a wink of an eye. Anything but, “one milk, two sugar.”

What was it that she was looking for? I couldn’t stand it. She was damaged and I couldn’t fix her. I was helpless and at the mercy of this tragically flawed figurehead. A shining beacon for the lost and broken. She turned to me and grasped my hand and said, “one milk, two sugar” and I understood.

It’s been eight months since I’ve seen her. I haven’t heard from her in ten. Her voice still resonates deep within. “My darling boy, the world may beat us down and our loves may break our hearts and leave us but we’ll always have the afterlife to meet for tea and make things right. One milk, two sugar.”


Written by whenitringswillyouanswer

October 27, 2013 at 7:16 PM


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