Well, you asked for it... (sorry Steph and Ian... ha ha)

Recently I have been suffering from a long, painful bout of the worst kind of 'Writer's Block'.  'Writer's Block' has always been one of those mystifying afflictions that puzzles me to no end.  I can always voice my opinion; there is no 'Speaker's Block;' so why do I have such difficulty putting these words down for all the world to read?  (I am thinking it is 90% laziness... ha ha)  Anyway, at such times, thanks to the marvels of social networking, all I need do is ask for a topic and before too long, something interesting will present itself - for good or ill (in this case, ill.)  Don't worry, those articles about trains, migration patterns of Great White Sharks, the evils of cell phones, and Australian magpies are coming... I'll get right on them... ha ha

ugh

 Today when I asked for help, fortune smiled upon me in the form of one Jordan Samuel Newhouse, who suggested I write about 'your adorable lovely little cousin, me :) and my out look on the world from ur perspective :P'  Well be careful what you wish for, dear cousin... your time has come.  (...and I'm not even going to mention your horrific spelling and grammar...)

I feel I have to offer up a bit of background information here... Jordan and I have been locked in a battle of wits (although it's pretty one-sided - Jordie being on the losing end, the poor little thing) that started when I was just finishing high school.  I was often enlisted to babysit this now-adolescent nitwit and his two lovely, beautiful, angelic sisters Lauren and Alexa.  What I remember most from the times we shared during this period is a relentless barrage of questions from Jordie whenever I saw him.  Which doesn't sound so bad, except they were THE SAME questions, each and every time.  The same questions, barked one after another, as if I was being drilled by some tiny, pre-pubescent Spanish Inquisitor.

'Why is your hair that colour?  How many tattoos do you have?  Why do you have so many?  Does it hurt?  Which one's your favourite?  Which one's your second favourite?  Are you going to get more?  Do you have a boyfriend?  What's his name?  Do you kiss him?  Are you going to marry him?  Can I be your ring-bearer?  Where does he live?  What does he do?  Can I see your tongue ring?  Does THAT hurt?'

It doesn't seem so bad, but it was brutal.  Delivered in rapid-fire succession with little time for uncertainty, the only thing missing was a dangling 100W light bulb burning a hole in my retinas.

As a result, all throughout my youth whenever I had the 'pleasure' of crossing paths with Jordie, I promised him that one day he would get his... one day I would exact my revenge and make his life a living hell.  I would one day strive to annoy and embarrass him every chance I got.  And I'm trying.  I don't see him very often, but when I do, I'm all over him like nobody's business, plus I try to harass him online at every turn.  And I like to think of myself as being pretty handy when it comes to sarcastic jabs and snappy one-liners...  but so far, I don't think I'm doing much damage.

The problem is, he LOVES it.  He lives to be teased.  For a while there I thought I was seriously off my game, but I've come to the conclusion that he just has some twisted hardcore masochistic tendencies, and I fear that picking on him is just giving him what he wants (and we all know there's no fun in that.)  Dear Jordan seems to welcome ridicule and laughter wherever he goes, and it's just too easy sometimes.  He takes all of the enjoyment out of flippant insults.  It is a sorry state of affairs.  I can't decide if he really lives his life like this, or what?  Is this guy for real?  Seriously?

The boy is obsessed with Lady Gaga.  He has a Lady Gaga party room in his basement; he plays her music nonstop; he would even DRESS like her if he could, I'm sure of it.  You'd think it'd be easy based on that fact alone, but no.  To poke fun at Lady Gaga is to engage in a tiring hour-long discussion about how fabulous she is and what breakfast cereal she might be enjoying that day or what she uses to get stains out of her gimp masks and kermit suits, and frankly I just can't stomach it.

He calls himself JEWHOUSE.  While he gravely assures me that there is no Antisemitism behind it (he's not that kind of guy), and that he has merely replaced the first letter of his last name with the first letter of his first name - because I guess this is something 'the kids' do these days - I can't help but sincerely wish that some lovely Jewish person beats the shit out of him on a daily basis.  (Jordie, I mean that... from the bottom of my heart.)

Jordan invites abuse and mockery in everything he does, and I just can't fathom it.  How can someone be so annoyingly ridiculous yet so unflappable at the tender age of sixteen?  Oh his poor, long-suffering parents.  If they had known such a cherubic little boy would turn out to be such a toad, they surely would have drowned him in a bucket before the age of two.  Most importantly, what does this nonchalance say about me?  Am I losing my touch?  I'm really going to have to step up my game here.  There has to be some way to expose his tender underbelly... no one is THAT good.

I must say though, I do admire his self-confidence.  He reminds me a little of me in that regard (which hopefully offends him greatly.)  At sixteen there was very little anyone could do or say to get my goat either, and there still is.  My goat just can't be gotten, for the most part, and I hope Jordie can say the same when he is thirty years old.  As much as I love to bug him, Jordan can be very funny and even witty, and we do have a lot of fun together.  But nothing seems to faze him; all of my half-assed attempts to wound his pride or make a fool of him fizzle out before they can do much damage, which is not a bad thing by any means... so there's that.  I guess.

seriously?

Mind you, I probably shouldn't sell myself short just yet; he does have it made in the shade.  Life is pretty sweet for label-clad, well-fed Jordan in his Ancaster mansion, with his swimming pool and his happily married parents and his doting MorMor there to put up with his constant crap all the time.  I would love to hear about how Jordie can't make his rent or can't get his crops in or doesn't know how he is going to pay the electric bill this month... 

Yep, it's pretty easy to defend yourself in this world and not let things bother you when you are young, male, 6'2", blond-haired and blue-eyed, with lots of friends and no shortage of cash.  I would probably admire his imperturbability a hell of a lot more or give him a lot more credit if he didn't have his affluence and popularity to back him up all the time.  In my humble opinion, it's much more commendable to stick to your guns and be yourself when you don't have the majority of Ancaster High School dressing like you, acting like you, listening to the same music as you, and living the same pampered, spoiled life as you.  Which makes me wonder if Jordie really is who he says he is, or if he's just another small fry swimming with the stream in a school of conformity...

I guess only time will tell.  Until then, Lord Gaga, I refuse to admit defeat, and I await your next move...

...even his MOM can't stand him...