I tried going to sleep a bit earlier tonight. Well, a lot earlier, at around 9. I got in maybe 2 hours before the thoughts in my head woke me up.

I hate waking up in the middle of the night. There’s nothing really you can do without waking someone up and your head won’t shut up about every little goddamn thing. You start questioning just about anything you can question and start playing what-ifs constantly. It’s a pretty ridiculous situation.

I suppose I’ll go and argue with people on the internet. It’s an easy way to kill time without doing anything productive, and there’s never an end to argument partners.

“Yeah whatever, everything you just said was just total bullshit. Everything I just said was just total bullshit. We’re make this shit up as we go so we have things to throw at each other”

If you want people to recognize something other than your gigantic breasts, you need to stop having such gigantic breasts.

About 2 months ago, I was robbed. Or more specifically, almost robbed. I was selling a phone on craigslist and received a call from a woman who was interested. We made arrangements to meet that night in front of the hotel I live at (it’s half hotel, half apartments, but I always say hotel because it makes me feel like I’m some millionaire rock star who only live in hotels). The meet was for 7 and I was pretty happy to be selling it, as the previous couple attempts didn’t work out.

Around 7:20, I get a call from the same woman telling me that she had gotten a bit lost, her friend dropped her off about a block away, and asked whether we can meet somewhere in the middle. I said sure and walked down the alley nearby to find her. It was dark, I was tired, but we had no trouble finding each other.

She seemed relatively normal, like any other late-20′s woman, although she could have been in her late 30′s, it’s hard to tell given how much makeup she had on. Had I been paying closer attention I would have noticed that her face revealed years of drug use and not just the usual cougar-trying-to-pass-as-lamb outfit.  Nothing seemed out of place, she talked about how she was buying the phone for her friend and started negotiating the price.

That’s when her friend showed up with a can of bear mace.

It hurt.

Actually, for the first minute or so, it just felt like sunburn. My adrenalin was kicking in and even though I went blind and couldn’t breathe, I could still run. So run I did, mostly into walls and poles but eventually into a Holiday Inn nearby. I managed to cough out what sounded like “hal me”, which they correctly interpreted to be me wanting them to call the cops.

They must have thought I was stabbed or something (the oil based chemical was a darker color and it was everywhere), because that’s the first thing the paramedics asked me about when they arrived. I figured the whole thing would just fade after 10 minutes but they seemed worried that my lungs still weren’t really kicking in all that well. I had apparently inhaled a lot of it, which made it really hard to breathe and I had saliva and snot running all over my face by this point– it’s really hard to control your bodily fluids when your body is trying to get that stuff out.

Between the burns and difficulty breathing, I marveled to myself that the sensation is akin to drowning while being set on fire, which then made me wonder if God is trying to tell me something about my lifestyle or sexual behavior or something. They ended up shipping me to the hospital since being in Canada we really like to milk that beautiful universal health care.  I felt kind of bad for the paramedics though, since they were coughing and sneezing just by being in the ambulance with me, but they were such amazing pros throughout. I was kind of proud to pay taxes at that moment, which is likely the last time I’ll ever feel like that.

By the time we arrived, I thought the worst was over. The pain continued and I still couldn’t see but I could at least breathe.  The nurses put me in a bathroom and handing me a shower hose. No one wanted to touch me (understandably, even just brushing past you’d feel the burn on your fingers), so I was largely naked, blind, and in an excruciating amount of pain.

That was when God came back down to slap me around a little bit more. Apparently bear mace is made out of an oil substance, which means combined with water, travels wherever the water flows. On my body, water flows downwards from my chest towards… my nether regions. I like to think that I’ve been toughing it out by this point, but that was when I started crying like a 8 year old girl and making promises I can’t keep to any higher power that would listen. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemies, and even the thought of it makes me limp in oh-so-many ways.

Eventually I crawled out of the bathroom and they “irrigated” my eyes by sticking rubber tubes into them and running water for about an hour, during which time the police took my statement and chatted with me about crime rates and food. The cops were actually really friendly folks, and gave me a ride back home in the back of car. I gotta say, while I know that the back of a police car is designed more for containment than comfort in mind, the amount of legroom is non-existent. It makes sitting in economy on a plane feel like the Ritz-Carlton.

The whole experience really isn’t so bad, and if you ever hear me tell the story in person I’ll probably exaggerate and make myself sound a lot more badass than some regular guy who got bear maced then cried in a hospital bathroom. After the hospital I looked like I was high, with bloodshot eyes and wobbly legs. Here’s a picture of me right after the incident:

I promise, I did not take any drugs prior to this photo (except the anti-inflammatory at the hospital).

The pain would eventually go away after a couple days, and was mostly from the chemical transfer than anything long term. There were no damage, the perps didn’t get anything (I was holding onto the phone the entire time), and the pain was really only bad for a few hours. What really affected me was just the sense of security around where I lived.

Earlier this evening I went out for dinner at a restaurant with fantastic pho and mediocre lemongrass chicken (if you’re in Montreal let me know and I’ll tell you the address, it’s really the best I’ve had here and I’ve tried a lot of pho). Leaving the building, I had to go through the parking lot about 2 minutes away from where I got jumped. I’ve come into the habit of carrying around a retractable baton with me when I go out at night, not because it makes me any safer, but it just makes me feel safer. It’s kind of like having a second cock, I’m not surprised people carried swords around town back in the day.

Anyway, as I’m walking through this largely deserted, completely isolated parking lot where there were no witnesses or cameras nearby, I was approached by a man asking for change. He tried to explain that he’s not a vagrant, he has a job and just need some change. I told him I didn’t have anything for him. I didn’t say it, but I felt that sense of anxiety for a few moments. I wrapped one hand around the baton in my pocket and quickly ran through escape scenarios in my mind (it worked out the first time, after all). I knew he probably meant me no harm, but I still felt the same sense of dread I felt right after getting hit in the face last time.

What I should have told him was that I’m not comfortable talking to him, and that I’m armed, and that I’m worried about him attacking me. But I couldn’t voice it, simply because this was one of those times where the truth makes no sense to anyone but me. I simply told him that he should go talk to the reception at the hotel who occasionally will help out people who need a bus fare or something. He nodded and moved along.

I didn’t say much about it, but for a good half an hour the rest of the night I fantasized about the various ways I could have kicked that man’s ass if he whipped out a knife or something. I’d glance at my girlfriend and say “You better be prepared to die tonight for what I have, because I’m prepared to die to protect it” (it sounded cooler in my fantasies), and I’d swing out the baton in a really intimidating manner as I learned from a self-defense class specializing in baton combat that I took after getting maced. I’d yell in as loud a voice as I can and charge at him while looking bad-ass, and we’d fight and I’d win and he would go to jail.

In reality I have no idea what would happen, but for that half an hour tonight in my head, I was a goddamn superhero.

Every once in awhile, I’m just going to take the first person on my facebook status list and talk about them. Today, the first person on my list is a guy named Ben.

Ben and I met back in my second year of college. We really don’t know each other very well, or at all. I think we met a total about 5 times and shared maybe 20 minutes of actual conversation. But I’ve also judged the shit out of this guy.

In fact, I’ve probably spent more time judging Ben than I actually talked to him. I judged him not because he was a dick, actually, but because he was an outrageously nice guy when I met him. I judge him because he makes me judge myself a little bit for not being a better person. I also judge him because at the time he felt outrageously bland, which I think is just unfortunate. Of course, he probably wasn’t actually bland but this is just from the handful of minutes that I met him.

Ben was leading some Taiwanese culture club at McGill, and the first time we met he was signing me up to be a part of the club. I still thank him for that because it was later on at one of his club’s parties that I met my current girlfriend.

During that meet, Ben was standing next to a short, rather angry looking man called Kevin who I have much less opinions for. It’s hard to talk about Ben without talking about Kevin, because at the time it was rare to see Ben without seeing Kevin. Those two at the time seemed to have a closer and more intimate relationship than they did with their respective girlfriends.

Come to think of it, I’m fairly certain at some point I suspected that Ben and Kevin were more than friends, which is really not unaccurate as they seemed more like brothers. You probably thought I was going to say lovers, which wouldn’t be too far from my other suspicion, but again, I really don’t know these two guys AT ALL. I just judge them.

Anyway, Ben was very enthusiastic and after I paid the $5 membership fee, invited me to this and that event, all of which were a little bit on the Asian side. I rationalized to myself that it was a good way to meet people, which is true. Ben was really relaxed, albeit a bit boring. If Ben had a flavor it would probably be vanilla, except without much sugar. So his flavor is pretty much just a scent.

I don’t remember much from the first few times we talked. The conversation consisted of boring and more boring. I talked about the weather and he talked about the Taiwanese club. Anyway, like I said I had met my girlfriend at one of these events, and we ended up going out for coffee. The next time the Taiwanese club had an event we decided it would be fun to go and pretend we don’t know each other.

The event was fairly entertaining. We pretended to meet each other for the first time and pretended to flirt for the first time. We (naturally) left together and Ben came up and asked my girlfriend if she was alright. On one hand I felt like he was being a dick considering his chances at cock-blocking me, but on the other I was actually pretty impressed that he was genuinely looking out for his friend.

That was pretty much the last time I interacted with Ben directly, although later on we’d trade words here and there through the internet. I liked Ben. He would later on become a photographer, which is nice. I always thought his photos of other people are somewhat bland (to be fair, I don’t know anything about professional photography, so my opinion is pretty redundant), but the fact that he went after it is significant and worthy of praise.

This has been an interesting exercise in honesty. I don’t really consider how judgmental I am of someone, especially someone that I barely know and rarely even get to think about. To actually discover what a judgmental asshole I am is a pretty revealing feeling.

It really makes no sense for us to bullshit one another. I mean, you don’t have to be unreasonably honest (well, I do, but that’s because I’m doing this challenge thing), you just need to declare your intentions more often. We have such an obsession to hide our intentions most of the time that’s become counterproductive.

You ever meet people who are compulsive liars? I used to be one. It actually doesn’t feel good to be a compulsive liar because you end up being afraid most of the time. I lied about stupid things like my age or my height or whether I was present at the crime scene the night that house was burgled (ok, I was joking about that last one). You get used to being afraid. You’re afraid people will judge you. You’re afraid that people will find out the truth and judge you for lying. You’re constantly afraid so you lie more to feel less afraid. There are so many layers of messed-up in that cycle that it would take an army of psychologists to get through it. It’s really quite stupid.

Becoming more honest means you have to let go of a lot of your defenses. Most of those defenses are what keeps you feeling comfortable at the end of the day, but it doesn’t really actually protect you. It just creates a cycle.

Here’s a strange analogy, but lying is kind of like smoking. I smoked for several years starting in highschool because I wanted to be cool, and smoking made me cool. Anyone who tells you that smoking doesn’t make you cool never went to my high school, because it really does give you this kind of rebel mystique. But I kept smoking out of high school for several years because I got into the cycle that looks like this:

What most smokers knows, but ultimately doesn’t really feel, is that smoking isn’t just good at stopping cravings. It’s also very good at creating them. You’re not magically addicted on your first cigarette, it’s gradual, and every time you smoke you’re simply saying to yourself: this will give me the desire to want to smoke in about…. 45 minutes. Then in 45 minutes we’ve forgotten that we were the ones that caused the sensation to begin with, all we know is we’re really jonesing for a goddamn cigarette. If you’re a smoker, think of it this way: have you ever woke up in the middle of the night from sudden smoking pangs? Probably not, you probably went some 7 hours without craving for a cigarette once, right? Because during that 7 hours you didn’t give yourself the drug that makes you crave a cigarette.

It’s just like that with lying. Every time you lie, you’re creating the need for you to lie again. It will then add on itself forever until the day you decide you had enough. When you quit lying, you also quit having to make yourself lie. It’s really very much like being addicted to cigarettes, except lying doesn’t really make you cool.

(Picture somewhat related)

The first day isn’t even over yet and I’ve found that being honest is harder than I remember it to be. Just in this afternoon I ended up having several extended (read: emotional) conversations where I had to explain what I say after I say it. It creates a lot of misunderstandings.

For instance, my girlfriend asked me to find a picture for her work. Pretty simple, straightforward request. This is how it would have played out yesterday:

GF: Hey, I need you to find a picture of a man in a 50′s style suit.

Me: Sure, would this work?

GF: Yeah that’s perfect, now upload it here and copy that link to here for me?

Me: Done.

GF: That’s awesome, you’re like the bestest boyfriend ever, let me make you bacon and chocolate pancakes in gratitude!

Sounds great, right? Well instead, here’s what our conversation sounded like this afternoon:

GF: Hey, I need you to find a picture of a man in a 50′s style suit.

Me: Ok, but I don’t really feel like it, though I’ll do it because it would get you off my back and then I can go back to browsing reddit. Also, don’t you have like assistants that do this kind of crap work for you anyway? I feel like my time is more important than theirs and there’s this hilarious picture of a giant snow-penis someone’s sister made (see above). By the way, I dislike the way your head hovers above my shoulder, it makes me feel very pressured.

GF: Wait, what? What do you mean? I’m not hovering above your shoulder. I never hover.

Me: You’re hovering right now! I hate it, it’s a very strange sensation. I feel judged, like I’m working too slow.

GF: I’m not judging you, I just need to see the picture you find and then tell you where to upload it.

Me: I know, but I feel judged. And as a result it’s seriously impeding upon my work. I get concerned that things don’t move fast enough. Now I have performance anxiety from the supervision.

GF: Look I’m not judging you or supervising you, I just need a goddamn picture.

Me: Well when I hear your tone I feel like you’re judging me. I do, however, realize logically that you are not judging me, I just have to express that sentiment.

GF: I don’t have a tone.

Me: Look I think you don’t realize you have a tone but I feel like you do, and it’s really not that big of a deal, the head hovering thing, I just have to voice it. I don’t even mind it all that much because your shampoo smells nice, but sometimes it makes me feel like I’m being watched by my boss or something.

GF: Well I wasn’t doing it and I don’t like that you think I was supervising you. Do you think I’m bossy?

Me: No, well, ok sometimes you are kind of bossy. When we work together on certain projects you’re kind of bossy. It’s ok though because I don’t mind it. Well ok I do mind it a little bit (this is me going back to undo a half-truth, by the way), but only occasionally where I feel like I just want to be left alone to do my part of the work, those are the times where you are bossy. It’s not that big of a deal, though it does kind of remind me of my mom.

Oh no I dee-en’t.

Every man knows that I have just crossed into the forbidden zone. I know I have crossed into the forbidden zone. She knows I have crossed into the forbidden zone. I’m fairly certain that goddamn cat on my computer screen knows I’ve crossed into the forbidden zone. When you’re honest, sometimes you cross that zone knowing full well the consequences of your actions. Well, this goes on for 40 minutes. 40 goddamn minutes where I have to express my thoughts and then try to explain why my thought doesn’t necessarily mean anything significant.

You know how there’s a moment, a brief yet incredibly significant moment where your brain is telling you to stop whatever it is that you are doing, and perhaps re-think your life’s choices? It’s like a giant ringing bell in your brain and feels a lot like the fight-or-flight response when you see a mountain lion staring right at you. That signal is an evolutionary trait, developed through millions of years of selective breeding where those that stopped survived unscathed to fight another day, and those who did not have that signal made a reference to their mother in front of their girlfriend and as a result were not able to pro-create and pass on their far-too-honest genes. Well, being dangerously honest means to fully embrace that beautiful life-saving signal, putting on a big smile, and then saying whatever it is you’re not supposed to be saying.

Telling the truth takes a lot of time and skill. I have a lot of practice to do if I’m going to survive the year.

It’s like a genie. Ask and ye shall receive, except instead of wealth and endless glory I can only offer answers to your questions. If you ask, I promise to answer. The only rules are you can’t ask about other people’s truths and you can’t ask for my credit card information.

Starting today, I’m going to do probably one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done: to tell the truth.

The rules are pretty simple: No lies, ever. No white lies, ever. No lying by omission (that means suggesting something that isn’t true), ever. If I think something, I gotta say it. Voice every hidden intention, call out every piece of bullshit. Be unreasonably honest.

There’s been a few references to this idea for awhile. A movie came out not too long ago called The Invention of Lying about a world where everyone told the truth all the time. A psychologist created a form of therapy called Radical Honesty where you used the truth as a way of alleviating your stress. The TV show Lie to Me featured a character who practiced total honesty at a company where the goal is to determine if people are lying. Lying has become so ingrained in our society that we’re starting to crave something different.

I was a very good liar because I grew up with a culture of liars. Except it wasn’t called lies, it was called being polite. You told people things that you don’t believe in so that it makes them feel better, or you told people things that weren’t true so they would like you more. I also grew up learning that if you told the right combination of half-truths, people would give you what you want– some people get what they want because they look prettier, I got what I wanted because I could talk better. In fact, I got so good at it that when I was in high school I’d have classmates and teachers tell me I’m amazing at persuasion. Give me any argument and I could talk you into agreeing with me.

Even in high school, my dream career was to become a lawyer, and eventually go into politics. If there was an opportunity where I could talk someone down, I was on it. I joined student governments, debates, and even started my own school newspaper so I could operate a little bullshit mill. In college I studied politics, English, psychology, and management. Even out of college, I continued to obsessively study psychology and persuasion. From hypnosis and NLP to various sales techniques, I wanted to master everything. For income, I worked in marketing and started a company teaching communication techniques. I had become a master at bullshit.

The funny thing is, I’m not at all a shady person. In fact I’m far more up front and direct than most people you’ll ever meet. I just believed that it would be easier for everyone if people are better at choosing the truth to present. What I didn’t realize at the time was that it was mostly just for protecting myself. After you realize your own motivations for it, the meaning changes entirely. It doesn’t just change how you view your own lies, it also changes how you view every lie.

I started to realize we are surrounded by lies. It’s everywhere, nobody tells the truth anymore and nobody expects the truth anymore. So I made a commitment to become more honest. It took a few years for me to actually figure out how to do that. Then around the last couple of weeks of 2010, I got a pretty interesting challenge.

Instead of just being more honest, how about be unreasonably honest all the time? It would make for an interesting experiment, if nothing else. So here we are, the first day of the experiment. I’ll be keeping records of what I experience here on this blog, and also take any questions anyone might have. I promise I will answer every question with total honesty.

Here we go!

Is it a lie? Then don’t say it. It’s a pretty straightforward rule. This can be big lies or small lies. If it’s not true, don’t say it.