Thoughts From the Dirty City

Sephora just opened up shop in my neck of the woods. I knew it was dangerous so I avoided it like the plague. But after a not so great couple of days and a general feeling of unnecessary yet overwhelming anxiety I said screw it. The plan was to stock up on some basics and not get roped in by all the pretty pretties lining the shelves.

But then a little voice inside my head told me to stop being so sensible and just treat myself to something really special. I usually try to ignore the little voices in my head, but on this occasion I let them lead the way.

Enter my new favorite makeup thing:

I’ve never been a fan of lipstick. Chapstick, yes. Lipstick, no. It just feels all wrong and gross. But lately I’ve been experimenting with lip stains. Most are crap that taste like a chemical wasteland and wear off in about 20 minutes.

This stuff however…AMAZING. It’s super sheer so it just gives a tiny pop of color. Add on a few layers and it glams up for that “hey I’m wearing makeup” look.

I was skeptical of using it as a cheek stain fearing it would make me look like a rag doll with big pink dots on my cheeks. But with a bit of advice from Sephora’s bomb ass makeup artists (and a new and much loved arsenal of makeup brushes) I think I’ve got the hang of it. Blended properly it gives just enough color without actually being noticeable.  I am officially swearing off all powder blushes.

Did I mention I also may have splurged on some new makeup brushes? LeSigh. This is where the “indulgence” part really kicks in. Makeup brushes, they are expensive, but oh-so worth it. Especially my new foundation brush. I swear the thing is made of unicorn hair or something. I’ve never had a foundation brush that blends so perfectly. They call it the airBrush, and it too is pure amazing. It also does double duty applying the cheek stain – hence the lack of big red dots on my face.

Did I really NEED any of this stuff? No. But sometimes you have to do something special for yourself and indulge a little to remember not everything in life is a total crap sandwich.

Be good to yourself.
Be good to others.
And remember, nothing goes better with a total crap sandwich like a margarita and a smile.

Before I start this little story, let me just say, my Dad compared me to Bridget Jones today. He has no idea….

So, last night I decided to dye my hair. I had bought the dye weeks ago but wasn’t sure if I should do it or not. Around 11pm last night I decided to just go ahead and do it. But my better sense set in as I was perusing the directions and I decided to wait until today when I was more awake and wouldn’t eff it up.

This morning I woke up super early and couldn’t get back to sleep. Halfway through my first cup of coffee I decided I needed a shower. Then I remembered my plan to dye my hair. Since they say it’s better to dye your hair when it’s dirty it seemed only logical to just go ahead and get it done with.

Away I went. Half asleep, gloves on, coffee in one hand, hair dye in the other.

I’ve dyed my hair before (many times), but never when my hair was this long. So I was surprised when I used the entire bottle. Usually there is a bunch left over and I have to deal with disposing it without staining everything in my path. I figured it was a plus….easy disposal of empty bottle.

This was also the moment I started to think about what a waste of time this all was. I have brown hair that was left slightly rusty from a year of going red. The dye was really just to even out the brown and get it back to my natural color. I figured I would rinse it out and not be able to tell I had even done anything. Oh well…at least hair dye makes my hair super shiny!

As I stood fuming up my bathroom I realized this down time was the perfect time to start my french lessons. (Hello, if I’m moving to Paris for 6 months I better learn the language!) I know, super productive for early Sunday morning right?! Pat on the back to me.

About ten minutes into the lesson it struck me I had no idea how long the dye had been in my hair. Oops. So I did the only thing I could…I guessed. I figured it would be like baking, if I started to sizzle it was probably time to rinse. Anyway…I guessed and gave it another 15. How much harm could a few extra minutes do anyway?

After rinsing and conditioning and repeating I stepped out of the shower and checked out the results. Black. Yup. As it turns out a few extra minutes will take a medium to dark brown straight into 90′s goth me mode. Ugh. Oh well. It wasn’t too bad. And dye fades. Not that big a deal. At least I couldn’t complain that it wasn’t noticeable!

I fully admit that after drying it I had no motivation to feck with it any further and proceeded to pull it up into a ponytail. And that is how it stayed all day. Up up and outta the way.

About half an hour ago I pulled out the ponytail and was finger combing through it when I noticed something odd. A reddish patch. Oops again. Guess I missed a piece even though I used every drop the kit came with. It seemed like a small piece so I figured no big deal…but I went to the bathroom mirror just to be sure.

Not good.

There is a fairly large patch of hair that doesn’t seem to have been hit with the same level of dye the rest of my head was. Awesome. And I discover this as I’m heading to bed to get a good night rest before launching into a new week. Frick. Frick. Frick.

It would seem I have two choices:

1) Leave it patchy and go with the whole “I’m too punk rock to care” thing (I’m not entirely sure I can pull this off)

2) Stop at the store after work tomorrow, buy more dye and try to fix the damage. (how bad is it to re-dye hair the very next day…especially when you may have accidentally left the initial batch on a bit too long?) (this is gonna end well, I can feel it)

At this point I’m not sure which way I will go. Regardless, I’m pretty sure I will have my hair up at work tomorrow until I can get a second party to weigh in on the situation. It’s hard to see the back of your head no matter how many mirrors you use.

If you see a post next week about the how cruel the world is to bald chicks, you will know what happened.

Ugh. Oh well, at least I tried.

This is my life. And yes, it makes me laugh…a lot. And no, oddly I’m not that upset. It’s just hair and I’ve done far worse damage before this. I mean honestly…I had bangs once!

Maybe I can just go with calling it calico…the ultimate cat lady look for ladies that are allergic to cats and tend to prefer dogs.

Earlier today I was talking to a friend about dreams. Not the kind you have when you are sleeping. The aspiration type. The “someday I will” type.

I realized that it had been a long time since I really let go of all my sensible ways and allowed myself to dream big. And I don’t mean winning the lottery or finding the means to independent wealth (though I wouldn’t be apposed to either.) I’m talking about something else…

Way back when I used to be a total dreamer. It seemed completely logical to me that one could drop whatever it was they were doing and spend a year traveling the world (for example)…without thought as to how one would actually fund such a trip. The how’s and why’s just never crossed my mind. It was all just possibilities…

But lately, my dreams are a lot more down to earth.

Reasonable.

Doable.

Crap.

Don’t get me wrong. There is nothing wrong with having sensible goals. With knowing you want something and working towards it. But those are goals, not dreams. There is a difference. You start with a dream…and turn it into a goal. When you’re just daydreaming about all the possibilities, there shouldn’t be limits.

It wasn’t a conscious decision to become so sensible and logical (for those that know me and snickered at me calling myself logical…stfu). It just sorta happened over the years. Being a grown up takes it outta if you aren’t careful. So, I’ve decided I’m taking the dreamer back. It’s time to cut loose and allow myself the liberty to dream big. Without regard as to how’s and why’s and without any thought as to the likelihood that these dreams are impossible.

And on that note…

I’M GOING TO MOVE TO PARIS FOR 6 MONTHS!! (someday…)

Smile big y’all. Anything is possible.

Sometimes I wish I lived in a big city. A place where public transportation could easily take me where I needed to go. But I don’t. I live in Akron, where public transportation seems to exist only as a last resort. On top of that, I commute to work. This means that public transportation is wickedly impractical (as in it would take more time to get to and from work than I would actually spend working). So, like most in this area, I own a car.

Most of the time, I LOVE owning a car. It offers a certain sense of freedom. As horrible as it is for the environment, I fully admit that there are times I love nothing more than climbing behind the wheel and just heading out to cruise around, clear my head and occasionally see and find things I didn’t previously know about. As great as that freedom is, sometimes, owning a car is just bullshit.

This weekend was one of those “bullshit” times.

For a while now my car has been leaking…something, and making a funny noise when I make a turn. I looked under the hood and the only fluid that was even slightly low was the power steering fluid. I figured this was good news as power steering isn’t something that will either A) kill the engine if it goes out, or B) make the car not drivable. It wasn’t great news, but I figured it was far better than some of the alternatives (read – OMG please please please don’t be the transmission.)  I also figured, since it was the fluid that controls the steering this was probably also the cause of the noise.

A little voice in the back of my head told me I was being delusional, but I decided to tell that voice to go fuck itself. Until that is the little voice was validated by my dad (who knows more about cars than anyone else I know). According to him, that noise could be a lot of things…few of which are good none of which should be ignored.

Sigh, time to head to the mechanic. NEVER a good thing. Even when there is nothing wrong and your just dropping the car off for basic upkeep stuff, it still sucks royal. When something is actually wrong it doubly sucks. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if I had a trustworthy mechanic I knew I could take my car to. One who would tell me what is wrong and the cheapest possible way to fix it. Not one who tells me everything little thing that COULD be wrong and basically wants to strip it down and rebuild the whole damn thing (Midas).

My usual plan of action in these situations is to take it to a place like Midas (because they do free inspections) then take their list of insanity to my dad (who knows about cars) and ask him what on that list ACTUALLY needs to be fixed or repaired. I try to prepare myself for worst case scenario, because with cars that is usually the way it goes.

Saturday morning I did just that. And the news was not at all what I was expecting. The leak…not power steering. My car was leaking oil from the plug. Not a big deal really. Plugs go bad…and are cheap and easy to fix. Midas wanted almost $70 to replace the plug and give my car an oil change cause you can’t do one without the other. Now, I don’t know what kind of magical unicorn horn plug they were planning on using but that quote is just criminal. Thankfully my hero had taken me out to breakfast while Midas was doing it’s thing and was sitting with me when I got the news. He laughed and said we can go buy the stuff to do all that for $20 and fix it that afternoon. Like I said, hero.

But that leads me to the real reason I was having them look at my car in the first place. That funny noise coming from the wheels when I was making turns. Obviously it was totally unrelated to the power steering leak, as there was no power steering fluid leak. Nor was it the CV joint, which is what I was fearing it would be. Nope, it was the axle. Which according to Midas was completely blown. Again, this is Midas so who the hell knows how bad it really is. Either way, a bad axle is nothing to eff around with. Especially when you spend an hour a day on the highway. Bad news bears is what it was.

But, first things first. That cursed oil leak. Normally this kinda thing isn’t all that big a deal, but when the plug is so worn you can spin it by hand really bad things could happen. Again, nothing to ignore. So off me and my hero went to do the quick fix of putting in a new one. Aside from having to make two trips to find the cheap oil and a place to buy the plug it was going pretty smoothly. That is until it was time to put in the new plug.

More bad news. It wasn’t the plug. The oil pan itself had been stripped. Ffffffuuuuuu – igures. This could only mean one thing. The last people to change my oil had over tightened it and sent me on my way without fixing it or even notifying me it had happened. Way to go Valvoline. Awesome.

In the midst of all this my mom had been calling for updates and reminding me of other things I was supposed to have done but had put off. When I told her there was more bad news all she could think was “enough, it’s time to buy a new car”. Back and forth we went about this and that and buying a new car not being an option. I know she meant well and was only trying to make things easier/better for me. Her heart was in the right place. At that moment it just pushed me to that breaking point. Trying to figure out what to do with the problems in front of me that I had no idea how to fix, and convincing her that a new car wasn’t an option (wishing more than anything that it was) I snapped. In that moment I just crumbled. It was bad. And totally unnecessary. But it happens. I’m no good at having too many questions and not enough answers. But I pulled myself together. My hero patched up my car with a temporary fix and got it drivable. Dad said he could fix the oil pan the next day. It was all going to be fine.

But something irked me. That something was Valvoline. They charge an assload of money to do a reasonably easy job. If anyone should be fixing this mess it should be them. So Sunday morning I gave them a call, and as expected they pretty much told me to piss off. The dude listed a few possible explanations that would make this not their doing, all of which were bullshit. I called him on his bullshit and made it known I wasn’t going to shut up about this. He said all he could do was start an investigation report and let me know what the find in the next few days. Not helpful. I said I would be fixing my car by then and even though they wouldn’t pay for someone else repairing it I was still going to see it through and at the very least expect them to cough up an apology. I did this with a lot of very colorful language.  A few hours later the manager called back to ask me a few more questions…I lost it. I was beyond irritated. He finally caved and asked me to bring the car in to see what they could do. In the end they fixed it that afternoon and were very apologetic (without actually admitting fault). But whatever…FINALLY something went right and at least one of my problems was fixed.

I came home content that things were turning around and realizing more and more that these little minor set backs in life that while irritating aren’t really worth spending too much time fussing about. A realization that extends far beyond just car trouble and emotional meltdowns. In the long run it all works out. You just do what you have to do to get over the little hurdles along the way and only give them as much time and attention as they absolutely require.

As I was relishing my new found calm and resolve to just do what had to be done and not stress or think about it all that much when I heard a noise. A somewhat welcomed noise. It sounded like rain. I love rain, so I walked over to the window to check it out. Nothing. All quiet outside. Hmmm. Odd, I definitely heard rain. It was raining in my bathroom. And a bit in my kitchen. I had to laugh. I mean really, wtf. It was the perfect “ffffuuuuhhh” to end the weekend. On the plus side, whatever was causing it to rain wasn’t my problem. That is one of the small benefits to renting. I got on the horn to my landlord and got to laying out some towels. He called back a few minutes later and told me the peeps in the apartment above mine had overflowed their toilet and it took them a while to get it to stop. Yup, it was raining nasty toilet water in my apartment. Oddly, I still just had to laugh. It was gross and not something I WANTED to deal with…but ultimately not a big deal. The rain stopped, the clean up commenced. Either my epiphany to not sweat the small stuff really had sunk in or I was just all tapped out of the ability to give a shit. Either way, I found it more funny than anything else.

Today I get to deal with the remaining problem of my busted axle. I found a local mechanic who came in with a reasonable quote for the repair. The shop is right down the road from me and has been around for 50 years. This is great on so many levels. One, they are a local small biz and I’m always in favor of supporting them over big corporate chains. And two, it’s walking distance from my apartment! This means I can drop it off and walk home while it is being fixed. HUGE plus in my book.

Yeah so, to make a short story long, I guess what I learned from all this is that shit is going to happen. You can make a big deal of it or choose to just muster through as best you can without letting it get to you. Obviously this is easier said than done, and I’m sure that there will be some shit in my future that causes me to sweat. That too is unavoidable I imagine. That is life. But for now I’m glad I’ve calmed down and seen the situation for what it is. No big effing deal. A minor inconvenience that will be history in the very near future.

PS – my poor neighbor was SO embarrassed and overly sorry about the minor plumbing mishap. I felt bad, but all I could say was “no worries, shit happens.” This did not make her less embarrassed. People are so weird about this stuff. (Myself included.)

Where titles are totally unrelated and I say more than I’m comfortable with…but am saying it anyway.

I’m an anxious kinda girl. For the most part, I’m okay with that.

There are lots of kinds of anxious. One for every emotion I’m capable of having it seems. There is “happy anxious” and “sad anxious” and ” >:{ anxious”. (for those that don’t know me that well, the last one roughly translates to “stab. stab. stab.”) And on most days, that little bit of anxiety hanging on to all my threads doesn’t really bother me. It’s like a low hum in the background. Part of the noise, but not really disruptive in any way.

Background noise.

Except…. (holy crap, I do not like talking about this)

Once a month, every month, since puberty struck, the volume gets turned up on my background noise. The anxiety consumes me like an emotional wrecking ball of hell. I always thought it was just PMS and I was just being much more of a cry baby than most people. I thought it was normal and did everything in my power to ignore it and “just stay positive”. (hahahaha. Like that works. Mostly I just pretended I wasn’t collapsing in on myself in a fit of “whoa is me”)

For three (sometimes 5 – ugh) days a month I feel like an alien enters my body. My thoughts and actions are not my own. Well, they are mine, but it’s like they are being dictated by a 13 year old girl. It’s like I’m watching myself from the sidelines. Rationally thinking through all the overreactions and meltdowns but powerless to stop them. My head can see through the fog, but it can’t seem to reach that part that keeps my emotions connected to rational thought in any way.

A few years ago I finally fessed up to my OB/GYN. She scrunched her eyebrows together and asked me to tell her as much as I could. When I had finished and she had asked a few questions, she told me it was PMDD and that she was switching my birth control. I got all “huh?!” and “isn’t that just PMS”. She said a lot of big words that basically amounted to “No. Not really.” But I was reassured it was pretty common and that the meds should get me back to feeling like myself.

Ah, the magic meds would make it all better. Except they didn’t. They helped. Sort of.

It’s like I became a lot more hurky-jurky with the whole deal. Some months I was okay. Some I was not. And when I wasn’t, I REALLY wasn’t. It seemed like when it was bad, it was worse than it had ever been.  I convinced myself it was all in my head and that knowing about it and thinking about it was the reason it was getting worse.  Le sigh. Like that kinda thinking ever really gets anything fixed (true or not).

So…on to my family doc. She asked the same round of questions my OB/GYN asked. Agreed with the PMDD theory pretty quickly and asked if I was interested in anti-depression medication. It wasn’t that I was adverse to taking it…it was just…well, it seemed silly to take something EVERY FUCKING DAY FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE to fix something that only plagued me a few days a month. Being that she is awesome, she totally understood and just wanted to make sure I knew my options.

She also offered me xanax, but with great caution and warning. It’s addictive. You will develope a tolerence to it. Etc. Etc. Etc. Here is the thing. I DON’T LIKE PILLS. The idea of taking the xanax freaked me the eff out. (for many reasons that I wont get into here) But of the two…at least I could just take it as needed. But because I don’t like taking them, sometimes I don’t even when I obviously need them. (Ever had a real full blown anxiety attack? If so, you know what I mean when I say “NEED” them.) I know this needs to change. If I need them, I should take them and not feel bad about it. At the same time, I don’t want to need them and am trying to find alternatives to lessen (if not eliminate) the necessity.

I hate this about myself. I hate that I have the issue. I hate that I have such aversions to the things that could help me. I hate the way it makes people close to me feel. I hate that it makes me say the word hate so much (something I’m really trying to let go of). Maybe that is part of the problem. The hating it. The trying to deny it’s happening. Maybe if I just learn to embrace it, and be okay with it I will be better able to deal with it.

I think in general, if I eased off myself and just loved myself a bit more a lot of things in life would be easier.

I have been thinking about the upcoming New Year quite a bit lately, more so than I would like to admit. I have been looking back over the last years (years) and deciphering what it is about my life that needs changing. What issues need resolved. I know this is nothing new, and in fact almost everyone starts to spend a bit more energy pondering the rearview mirror this time of year.

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The other day I took a walk during my lunch break. I was just wandering around taking in my new surroundings and not really paying attention to where I was going (shocking I know) and got myself good and turned around.  I jogged a few blocks hoping to run accross a street i recognized to no avail. I was lost.

I scoped out the passersby looking for the least menacing character I could find. I spotted an older, nice looking gentleman with a dog (people with dogs always seem more trustworty). I asked him if he could point me in the direction I need to be.  He didn’t look up or make eye contact of any kind, or even make any gesture as to what direction I should head. He just calmly started giving me highly detailed directions. It seemed off, but whatever he was going to get me where I needed to be.  It wasn’t till about half way through his directions I realized he was blind….yup…I had to get directions from a blind man…

Gandhi said “the world has enough for everyone’s need, but not for
everyone¹s greed”

What, you thought I was going to make some kind of joke or something?

by Gillette Burgess

The Goops they lick their fingers
And the Goops they lick their knives:
They spill their broth on the tablecloth
Oh, they lead disgusting lives!
The Goops they talk while eating,
And loud and fast they chew;
And that is why I’m glad that I
Am not a Goop, are you?

In keeping with yesterday’s post, I have decided to revisit my youth a bit. When I was little I could recite this poem by heart, but still made my dad read it to me every night before bed. If I think back on my childhood, this poem and the book it came from is one of the first things that come to mind. Just thinking about the detailed wood cut prints that illustrated each of the pages makes me smile.

I would love to recommend the book, but it has long been out of print. It is called “The Children’s Book of Literature” and is a large collection classic children’s stories, poems and fable’s.

And, just in case you are wondering: I AM actually a GOOP. Always have been, always will be.

My Resignation:

This letter is to inform you that I am hereby tendering my resignation as an adult. I have decided I would like to accept the responsibilities of a child again.

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From iGoogle How to of the Day

I was intrigued when I saw the title of today’s “how to of the day” I don’t consider myself an angry person, but who couldn’t learn to be a little more understanding. I was hoping for something really inspiring to make me want to call those mean girls from high school and tell them they are pretty and I didn’t mean all of those horrible things I said. Instead, I wanted to send iGoogle a message telling them where they could shove it. Too harsh? I don’t think so.

Theirs is a 12 step process, that alone should have been enough to prevent me from reading on. Read more

First there was in vitro babies, next on the list, in vitro chicken nuggets. No, really. I’m not kidding. Scientist have spent years working on a viable meat substitute that is in fact meat. Last month in Norway in international symposium met to discuss the issue. With the world facing a food shortage crisis the new science of “growing” meat in a lab instead of the farm seems to be the solution of choice.

The ecological effects of farming for meat are well known. Not to mention the countless ways the end product can end up containing any number of diseases. Meat grown in a lab would eliminate all of the nasty side effects of farming for meat, as well as producing a safer product for human consumption. They are even talking about ways to eliminate certain types of harm full fatty tissue and incorporate other more beneficial fats like Omega 3.

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So I got signed up to get a quote sent to me each day. I’m not entirely sure how I got on the list, but I figure since they aren’t trying to sell me anything I might as well keep getting them. Not to mention the entire email is never more than a sentence, even I can handle that much.

Today’s quote was: “The best ad is a good product” from Alan H. Meyer. It was the first quote I had gotten that actually applied to me and my daily life. Usually they are proverbial nothings like “A good appetite never wants sauce.” Is that supposed to mean something, cause if it is it was lost on me.

Anyway, back to Meyer and his musings. I have only one thing to say to this guy and that is “shut the truck up.” I say a great ad is all you need.

Especially if it is designed by me

A note to all office employees,
I know you are being polite, and I am not trying to minimize your efforts at being a good samaritan, but seriously for the love of god stop holding the door for me. Every morning I get to the office and about half way between my car and the door someone spots me and decides to be nice and stop to hold the door for me. I know it sounds like a really nice gesture, and I am sure I should be thankful instead of resentful but it really isn’t helping me in any way shape or form.

It always happens when I am just far enough away that it would seem rude to continue walking at my normal pace. Obviously said person at the door is a nice person, one that holds doors open for other people, so I don’t want to be rude and keep this person waiting. But each morning it seems that before I have even finished my coffee I am jogging in dress shoes. In all honesty a door is not that hard a thing to open, and it isn’t like I am caring arm-loads of goods from my car to the door. It’s just me, my bag and my coffee. I am 100% sure that I am proficient enough at being upright as to remain that way while opening a door. And if I do happen to fall, or have a mishap I wont blame you, and it will certainly be entertaining.

So please, I beg you, don’t hold that door. Just turn and smile, if I am really that close give the door a toss to keep it open while I head in. I wont think you are being rude, I promise!!!

Friday, March 28, 2008 the commercial hunt for 275,000 baby harp seals began. I got an email from The Humane Society of The United States notifying me of the situation. I was honestly a little confused when I read the email. I distinctly remember this practice being banned in the 80′s. So I did a little bit of research and it turns out that I was right, sort of.

In 1983 the the outrage over what was happening to these animals brought the seal hunt to an end. Europe banned the trade of fur from newborn seals and much of the world stopped looking assuming the problem had been solved. The hunt continues though. Hunters have found a way around the import ban by waiting until the pups are 12 days old before clubbing them. See, there is no ban in place of seal skin, just “baby” seal skin.

In 2006 legislation began to be drafted by European Parliament banning the trade of all seal products, regardless of the age of the seal. Studies are currently being conducted to provide a foundation for such a ban. The findings of these studies are by no means surprising. Seals are often killed ineffectively, meaning that the initial blow to the head doesn’t render them unconscious, as it is suppose to. Many times these still fully conscious pups are hooked, dragged to the boat and skinned alive.

Regulations state that after “stunning” the pups (rendering them unconscious) they are to be bled on the ice before being transported to the vessel for processing. As barbaric as it sounds, this is the most humane method of hunting for pup fur. Yet this is rarely the way the kill goes down. In most cases, even the supposed “humane” scenarios, it takes several blows from the club to knock out the struggling pup. They are then transported to the boat to be processed, the lucky ones never regain consciousness. The carcass is then tossed back on to the ice to rot. There is no market for seal blubber, and the young pups offer little meat.

I know that many people are going to make the argument that these hunters need to make a living and feed their families, and I completely agree. Truth is, the boats and crews that make these trips are local fishermen. It just so happens that the seal hunt takes place in the fishing off season. The money they make off the pup pelts is a very small fraction of their annual income. Income that can be made up for with other government programs that are already in place.

The hunt is not only a tragedy for the seal pups, it is also an incredible and unnecessary risk to the humans involved. Already this year three fisherman have lost their lives to the icy waters. This truly is a no win situation for all those involved.

The commercial seal hunt is the largest slaughter of marine mammals on Earth. To learn more, and to help put an end to the hunt visit The Humane Society’s website at: www.hsus.org