I'm a Gamer!

So Christmas is done. I'm honestly not sad about it. I'm actually a little bit glad. Not that I didn't have a good Holiday - I had a great one with my family and we spent lots of time with each other. It's just that there are so many movies and songs depicting the magic of Christmas, and I just don't feel it anymore. And that's not why I don't like it very much. I don't like it because I feel guilty that I DON'T feel that magic of the season. I try too hard to find that Christmas spirit that I end up exhausted. And drunk.

Anyway, I did get some lovely gifts, including gorgeous boots that I've wanted for a while and a Wii! So on boxing day, JL and I went out and purchased some new games for our recently acquired gaming stations (she received an xBox Kinect). We went out at 530am with JL's Dad, who was privy to our shrieks of laughter as we tried to entertain ourselves while waiting in line in the cold. We also tried to make friends with the others in line, but they didn't seem to want to be friends with us. Which is just rude and wrong because we are fun.

I bought the normal "girl" games like Super Mario Brothers and Glee Karaoke (girl games or little boy games...I'd like to not focus too much on what my choices say about me), but I also purchased SpyGames and Call of Duty. Why? Because they sounded really cool. And also because I want to a) be a spy and b) join the military. The games seemed like a good way to fulfill these goals.

I have yet to play SpyGames. But I did play Call of Duty. And...I sucked. I threw grenades at everything, ran INTO my fellow soldiers, and it took me 10 minutes to find the supply crate. It was embarrassing. And I was by myself. The men in the game - and this wasn't even online - were chirping me. Which I found to be very rude. They don't KNOW me. And I'm new!

I played it for 10 minutes and went back to Mario. It was too hard (that's what she said). I think I need lessons.

I also bought The Sims so I could create another life for myself. We don't need to talk anymore about that.

Love,

Bella

'Tis the Season

I had to write this post now because I'm at work tomorrow afternoon and tomorrow night I will be drunk. For Jesus.

Romance
 
I feel like, for Christmas, I should keep this post festive. Since Christmas is a fairly romantic holiday, I thought that this post from textsfromlastnight.com not only shows what true romance is, but how much it's missed by most people.
 
“Giving me the bigger bowl of ramen isn’t considered romantic.”
 
I completely disagree, and I will tell you why. Romance isn’t candlelit dinners and roses every week. Romance is spontaneous. It’s giving someone more of something while you go with less or without because you would rather make them happy over yourself. It’s laughing at a shared joke that’s been between you two forever, knowing what they’re thinking just by looking at them, or doing something for them that they always have to do themselves. I think sometimes people expect way too much out of another person – movies depict romance as running through airports to declare their love, writing a poem (barf), or setting up a room filled with flowers and wine (well, that part’s okay) and candles for one purpose or another. Honestly? I think that’s kind of lame. I’m not that kind of person, and it would make me really uncomfortable to be in that situation. Give me the bigger bowl of ramen any day.
 
Christmas
 
When I was little, Christmas was magical. Now that I’m in my 20s, I seem to have lost that excitement. It feels like just another time of the year now, no matter how many carols I listen to or how many Christmas movies I watch. But I think that because Santa isn’t around anymore and gifts are less exciting because I pretty much know what I’m getting anyway, I finally understand that “true meaning” of Christmas. We made up cards for all of our clients and delivered them to every person in the couple of weeks leading up to Christmas. A lot of them don’t have family, and they certainly don’t receive Christmas cards. To see the surprise and joy on their faces was literally one of the best moments I’ve had in my time in this position. I caught a different side of the Christmas mood – one that’s about giving back. I did go into the units dancing, though, so I’m pretty sure they all think I’m weird. But that’s cool. They wouldn’t be completely wrong in that assumption.
 
Merry Christmas, everyone! I hope that it's everything you wish for and more.

Love,

Bella
 
 

Texts From Last Night - The Message You Should Have Never Sent

My favourite site on all of the Internet is textsfromlastnight.com. I will give you the top five reasons why in this post. You are welcome.

5) They make me laugh. Out loud. Mostly in awkward places. I'm pretty sure that I should stop reading them when I'm at work, if not for the fact that I burst out laughing, then for the fact that I should probably be working. At work.

4) (I think I should have actually thought about 5 actual reasons that aren't different variations of "it's funny", because now I'm having trouble with this list). I can relate to the awkward texts that are sent to the people that you really shouldn't be talking to. Kind of like on Whitney, when her friend says she drunk dialled her ex-husband saying she hated him and still has sex dreams about him. Been there. It really is confusing for all involved. Including my friends who I cry to about it.

3) I am so thankful that I am not half of those people. As funny as they are, as much as I sometimes wish I could be as witty as they are or get as many guys as those chicks do, I do not want to be the girl who has to send someone a text of "I didn't get this from the chlamydia fairy. You should get tested." Because as much as I like to make people laugh...that's not how I want to do it.

2) I wish I was friends with half of those people (the other half, clearly). Most of the texts seem to be from people that are in University, and because I didn't have the University experience like most people have, I like to live vicariously through them. They just all seem to have so much fun. I want to go back just to party with all of them. Like, someone that writes "What a dumb baby whore" has GOT to be a fun person.

1) Half of those people (huh...I think I need to work on my math skills...) could BE me. Not the sluts, obviously. Or the drug addicts. But the one who sent "Just put your hair in a bun. We're going out to drink, not to impress people" is totally my twin. Actually, the amount of quotes from that site that I send to my friends - okay, to JL and Rio - because they are so much like us is shocking. And do you know why? Because my friends and I are AWESOME.

Initially I had written down the top ten things I like about the site, but I ran out of ideas after the first one I wrote. By the way - the however many minutes of your life that you spent reading this? You're never getting it back. Sorry.

Love,

Bella

A Very Random Post About TV

(Also? Searching "new girl" gets some odd results.)

Does anyone feel far too invested in TV? Like when it’s the start of a new week, you get really excited because new shows will be on and you can’t wait to see what your favourite characters will be up to next? And when it’s a repeat – like Castle was last week – you feel as though your day is incomplete?

I love TV. There, I said it. I watch it a lot and sometimes I become too invested in the characters’ lives. This morning I’ve watched Whitney and New Girl and have laughed along with them, wished I was there, and decided that I share more than a little bit of similarities with the main characters. And I've fallen in love with the men in the shows. I think I feel like I’m actually a part of the characters’ lives. Like they’re my friends. I think I need to get out more. I need to learn that I am not Whitney or Jess, nor will I ever be. And if I move in with 3 men, chances are I won't fall in love with one of them and become best friends with the others. It probably would have an ending much more sinister. And I don't want to be a victim that would be found on Castle. No, I want to be Beckett. Which is why I once went to an information session on how to become a cop because I thought that, naturally, I would become a detective and work with a man like Castle and we would fall in love and I would be super cool and run around in 4 inch heels with a gun.

Oh, see? I did it again. My life is not a TV show. I am not exciting enough for that. But I think I would make a fantastic actress! In what other job can you be all kinds of things in a lifetime? That's it, I'm moving to LA.

Ahem. In review, I tend to get carried away with...well everything. Especially my TV watching. And poor CD got the overflow from that today, as I shared the funny stories with him, and I’m pretty sure he’s humouring me by laughing along with me. Bet he didn’t count on this side of me when we became friends. Heart you buddy! (I also told him he was going to be in this post, so I had to give a shout out).

Also, I need to stop talking to the characters on the TV shows. I just told Nick to kiss Jess. Guess what? He can’t hear me. None of them can. That shouldn’t make me sad. But it does. I think I’m living vicariously through them. I might need to start therapy again…

Love,

Bella

Dear Love: You Suck

I was sent this quote by a fellow blogger and friend and, after we bonded over the trueness of it, decided that one of us must write about it. I’m not sure my cynicism will help me compose this post, but it sure as hell won’t hurt.

Perhaps I should preface my rant with the disclaimer that, while I suppose I could say that I’ve experienced love, I can’t say that I’ve ever actually told someone that I love them. Because that’s terrifying. And after reading this, I’m pretty sure I’m really smart for doing that. It’s a weird emotion, this thing called love. I fight it, for some reason (I should maybe go back to my therapist…) and I don’t actually let myself fall in it. Not completely. Because I don’t like to fall. I don’t like that feeling of not being in control. Falling inevitably means that you’re going to get hurt. You never plan to fall. And I guess that’s what this quote is about. That it happens when you least expect it. And it hits you in the God damned face, so even if you fight that stupid emotion, it’ll still find you (even when it’s too late…thanks a lot, Love). It’s like the bad guy in horror movies. He always finds you.

Oh, speaking of falling – this one time I fell down in front of a bunch of people at school. That sucked. A lot. I wasn’t cool to begin with, so it really didn’t help. Plus, I was running like a numpty because my shoes weren’t on properly and I’m fairly certain I was wearing flowered pants. Not entirely sure.

Ahem. Falling sucks. That’s my point.

Why do people have more power over us than others do? Why does that one person – that one normal, everyday person – have the ability to turn us into blithering idiots, jealous head cases, and possessive psychos? I’m logical to a fault. I’ve always prided myself on being a steady, non-girl when it comes to men. But then all of a sudden one person can turn me into a fucking crazy person, jealous and annoying and needy. I hate that girl. Who wants to be her? I sure as shit don’t want to be. I make fun of those girls. So when I find myself acting like that, I basically want someone to punch me.

Okay, so I’m cynical because love has never really worked out for me in the past. Sue me. It’s exactly how it’s portrayed by our buddy Neil. It’s soul crushing. You are allowing one single human being to have your heart, and you’re trusting them to never break it. Dude. I’ve tried to do that. And it backfired. And the worst part? Just because that person stops loving you, doesn’t mean you stop loving them. So you’re forced to act like everything’s okay, and maybe act like you don’t care that they’ve moved on with someone else and are saying the same wonderful things to the new person that they’ve said to you. And even when you are able to move on and put that love in the past, it changes you. It makes you a little more cautious, a little more unable to trust someone to have your heart again.

Love sucks. It’s stupid. Whoever invented it was mean and stupid and probably really popular and had, like, 30 people at once loving them. Or they were super lucky and fell in love with someone that loved them back forever and ever, or at least until they were 30 and died because no one lived that long back in those days. They’re probably buried together and everything. Lame.

Commitment doesn’t scare me. Relationships don’t scare me. Even marriage doesn’t scare me. Those are all excuses. Love scares me. Because when you fall in love, you can get hurt. Bad. And I am NOT that emotionally stable to handle that kind of pain. And maybe worse than getting hurt? If you happen to fall out of love with someone that still loves you, you can break their heart. I don’t ever want to break someone’s heart. I would never wish on someone that kind of crushing, I-can’t-breathe kind of pain. And I don’t ever want to be the cause of it.

So, in review. Love stinks. It’s hard and it does not, in my experience, turn out very well. Even if it is all sunshine and rainbows for a bit, you’re always wondering if it’s going to last (or is that just me?). Hope this wasn’t too depressing for y’all. Go grab some ice cream and a sappy movie and cry your eyes out. I suggest The Notebook. Real people with tear ducts seem to find that emotionally moving. I’ll have to take their word for it.

Love,

Bella

Love Padlock

Stupid ↑.

Today, while taking a break from work (okay, I didn’t know what I was doing), I decided to read the news. You know, to keep apprised of the important goings on in the world. About the Royals. And Ellie. Anyway, I came across an article (I’d post the link but that takes work to find and I don’t care to put in that work) that made me question humanity. There is a fad going around the world right now that has couples buying locks, engraving them, and attaching them to bridges to prove their eternal love. Or something gay like that. Seriously? Does anyone share my incredulity and sheer disgust at this latest mechanism to prove one’s devotion? A padlock. On a bridge. I don’t know about you, and maybe it’s my terror of commitment, but using a LOCK to show my love for someone basically shouts that I’m locked into the relationship and can’t get out even if I wanted to. Because I’m LOCKED IN. I’m already panicking and it’s not even me. “Hey Honey, want to show how much you love me by engraving a stupid saying on a padlock and attaching it on a high bridge in the middle of the city?” “Can I jump off the bridge after?”

That’s all from me tonight. I just had to share. You’re welcome. Or I’m sorry for wasting the time it took for you to read this (depending on how slow you read).

Love,

Bella

PS They are called love padlocks, hence the title. Love padlocks!! Seriously?!

I Bleed Blue and White

So I'm sitting here before kickboxing, enjoying a delicious Southwest salad (ok, it's good, but I would much rather it be a burger and fries), and watching an episode of The Big Bang Theory. I switched to Leafs TV to check if I had it (woohoo new PVR!), planning to go back to Big Bang. And then something happened. Something that even this Leafs fan wouldn't have expected.

I kept watching it. And like, actually watching it. (Whoa...hello blue eyes. Who IS that? Help. I need to know. I need to start stalking him in the hope that he will start following me on Twitter, realize how charming and witty I am, and marry me. Seriously. Anyone?). Ahem. Anyway, I actually got excited when the newscaster guy said Reimer will be playing tomorrow. I KNOW a player! M always asks me to name players on the team, and I was never able to in previous years. Now I can. I'm almost tearing up.

I've always loved hockey, and have always been a Leafs fan. But I feel like I've turned a corner this year. Of course, it helps that I find hockey players damn sexy. Right up there with military men, fire fighters, and cops. I would disregard any and all morals for those men. Not really. But probably.

Love,

Bella

Love, Actually, Is All Around

Can someone please tell me if this new font is readable? I got bored of the one I had and thought this was a cool change ‘cause it looks like actual writing, but I need other people’s inputs. Because this blog is for you, my fans. And by fan I mean person who came across this blog while looking for something else.

"I am Colin, God of Sex. I’m just on the wrong continent."

If you ask any North American woman, chances are that they will gush about the attractiveness of the English accent on a man (or woman…I don’t discriminate). And it’s true. Just as Colin Frissell, from Love Actually, naturally, states - English women don't understand the adorableness of an English accent. But put me in a room with a Canadian man and an Englishman, I will probably gravitate toward the Englishman (and if he’s Scottish? Gravitate doesn’t even begin to describe what I’ll do). So all you British men? Call me.

"To me, you are perfect."

Also from Love Actually. See? This movie is amazing. (Disclaimer: there’s some nudity. Just…I don’t know how old you are…). Who doesn’t want someone to say this to them? I mean, it’s no secret that I’m pretty cynical and more of a guy when it comes to love than a woman. But I would love for a guy to say this to me (preferably one that I am also in love with. Because if I’m not in love with that guy, then it could get pretty awkward…). It’s just so simple. And lovely.

Ok, I’m done.

"Well hello, Mr. Fireman."

On Friday night, I arrived home from one of my girlfriend’s and was very tired, so I decided to lay down in my trundle bed. I promptly fell asleep. I was awoken an hour and a half later by my smoke detector freaking out. The rest of the night played out as follows:

10:30pm – Smoke detector starts screaming. Sit straight up in bed and stare at the detector for a second. Very disoriented. Jump up and smack smoke detector. Stops screaming. Can hear it going off in the hall but decide that it can’t be anything serious and get back in bed. What? I was tired!

10:40pm – Smoke detector starts screaming again. Jump up and smack it. Does not turn off. Walk around in circles for a minute, trying to decide what to do. Grab chair to stand on and rip detector off ceiling. Press reset button. Starts making other weird noises along with the screaming. Cover ears. Decide covering ears isn’t effective. Jump off stool and run around apartment trying to find pants. Locate pants. Run into the hall.

10:50pm – Firemen are walking the hallway. Hair is all over the place. Shit. Yell out “my fire alarm is freaking out!” Hottie Fireman comes to my rescue. Upon entering apartment, Hottie Fireman notices that smoke detector is hanging from its wires. “I, um, tried to turn it off.” I then notice that there is a pair of underwear on the floor in my room. Very visible to Hottie Fireman. Must learn to put dirty clothes in basket in closet. Very embarrassing.

10:55pm – Hottie Fireman goes and gets other firemen. Quickly throw underwear and other clothes into closet. Three firemen come back. Hottie and two oldies that are not hot. Still. They ask me what happened. I explain, realizing then how dumb I sound. They examine the hanging smoke detector. Decide that it is very old and needing replacement. Then Hottie puts it back in its little holder thing on the ceiling. Old Fireman tells me to vacuum the detector (yeah, because vacuuming the smoke detector is something I’m going to do. I barely vacuum my floors). “Will it go off again, Mr. Fireman?” “Probably. Ok, have a great night!” Um…

It did get fixed, but the rest of the story is uneventful. Also, Hottie Fireman wasn’t married. I checked his hand. Maybe he will marry me. I love him.

Love,

Bella

Please Stop Annoying Me

Happy People

(This is my definition of happiness.)

I seem to write a lot about happy people, and how they annoy me. It’s not that I’m not happy – I am. I just don’t see the need to be overtly happy to the point that it is annoying to everyone in one’s vicinity. Okay, annoying to me. I know people – a person – that are very happy. But not in a subtle way. It’s almost offensive, this happiness. It’s so in your face, so desperately happy that it borders on fake, that it actually makes me more negative as a result. I get that you enjoy your life. That’s amazing, and I am very happy for you. But please don’t feel the need to talk to me all the time about how amazing the sun is, or sing to yourself as you bask in your happiness. Because there are some of us that don’t appreciate it, and some of us that actually prefer sarcasm and cynicism (CD and I had this discussion today, and we both agree that it’s much more effective in life). It’s not because we’re unhappy – I’m actually able to be sarcastic and cynical BECAUSE I’m happy. I can see the bad in things and twist it into something funny. And I can make fun of myself. Which I think is hilarious (and if you don’t, then suck it). But maybe my problem is that I act super cheery sometimes when I first meet new people, so they’re super cheerful, and they think that’s the real me. And they’re ACTUALLY really cheery and think they’ve found a kindred spirit. But they haven’t. And it’s exhausting trying to keep that façade up. I was in an overly good mood that day, okay? It doesn’t happen often. It’s just…if you’re always cheerful, chances are that you’re annoying someone. Keep it to yourself. And stop singing when there’s no music. Thanks.

Love

(If you feel as though you might throw up after looking at this picture, it's okay. I understand. Let us feel sick together.)

I’ve heard great things about it. It’s wonderful. Or so people say. (Apparently I’m more cynical than usual tonight). And like…I get it. I get how amazing it would be to have someone that will love you forever, unconditionally, without judgement. Like in Twilight. Edward really loves Bella, and it’s super sweet and we all wish that we will one day find that type of love (if it really exists). Look, I’m not a stranger to the love thing. And it’s great. I guess. But like…MUST all you loved up couples show it in public? You don’t need to touch constantly. You don’t even need to be near each other all the time. They know you’re there. Unless you’re going to high five them for an awesome joke, stroke their hair/arm like the other couple is doing in an effort to make fun of them and make that couple feel awkward, or touch them in a way that gives a little prelude to what’s going to go down later that night, just don’t. It’s weird for all the other people around (and I have people that think similarly to back me up – thanks Rio). It’s especially weird for those with relationship issues. So just…stop it.

And on that happy note, I’m signing off. I have some romantic comedies to watch.

Love,

Bella

Remembrance Day - 11/11/11

I always find it difficult to write about Remembrance Day, not because I don’t know what to say, but because I have so many thoughts and emotions about it and I don’t know how to convey them to show how much this day means to me.

It’s my fear that people don’t understand the magnitude of what Remembrance Day means as a Canadian. The truth is, without this day and the history behind it, our lives would be catastrophically different. Anyone who values their life, the ability to do whatever and be whoever they want, and the freedom to speak their minds can do so because of the sacrifices that our men and women have given for this great country.

My feelings on Canada’s stance towards immigration are no secret. If you come to this country and are allowed to live here, you are damn lucky and, as such, must conform to OUR ways of life. Those who abuse that right and complain about our national anthem, the focus on Christian ideology, and the perceived lack of respect for different cultures are disrespecting not only the foundation of our country, but the lives of those who fought for that very right to complain. My anger and disappointment in the Canadian government stems from the fear that those who have given their own lives, freedom, and sense of self will ultimately be in vain. It is our job to ensure that that those sacrifices will NEVER be in vain. That they will never, ever be forgotten.

The men and women of the Canadian military not only suffered physical wounds or died for their country, but they also live with the mental scars that war etches in their minds. Post traumatic stress and depression plague more service men and women than is widely known – just because physical wounds heal does not mean that the mental wounds of witnessing death and destruction heal, as well. The effect of war does not end with Armistice Day – just as we still reap the benefits of their sacrifices, so too do the military men and women feel the impact of all they saw and did. They suffered so that we don't have to.

Bravery comes in all forms. For every single person who fought and continues to fight, their families and friends are left behind to get through each day with the fear that, one day, they might hear their worst nightmare confirmed – their loved one is never coming home. To be strong in the face of that fear is a battle in itself.

I don’t know if I will ever find the words to show thankful I am to our veterans and active duty military personnel, or how proud I am to be Canadian. I can only hope that each and every Canadian never forgets the sacrifices that Canadians before them gave so that we can live free.

Lest we forget.

Love,

Bella

Hockey Night in Canada

Hockey is the sport of Canadians. Has been for years. It brings friends together and puts them at odds for a few hours when they’re cheering for opposing teams. It’s healthy competition. There are commercials showing the unity of hockey fans, and indulging in hockey and beer is basically a Canadian rite of passage.

Which is why, when I see an article in the Toronto Star about the Punjabi community being up in arms because the CBC – the CANADIAN Broadcasting Company – has ceased the production of a Punjabi broadcast of Hockey Night in Canada, my stomach rolls and I can feel anger rising in my chest.

The Star article states that the “move has South Asians across the country up in arms.” Are we in South Asia now? No? Then why the fuck should hockey – hockey! Of all things – be broadcast on a Canadian network in Punjabi?

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t actually have a problem with landed immigrants that contribute to Canadian society, and I’m honoured that they see Canada as a safe place away from the turmoil that plagues so many other countries. I know I’m very lucky to have been born here. However, I do expect that when people immigrate to my country, they learn English – I don’t care that Punjabi is “the fourth most-spoken non-official language in Canada after Chinese languages, Italian and German” – because it’s our NATIONAL language. And you’re in our nation. They’re lucky to be in a country that lets them voice their opinion, because if I were to go to THEIR country and try to enforce my beliefs on them, I would be punished. Celebrate your culture on your own, and speak your own language among your fellow people if you must. But in my country, you speak my country’s language.

Canada is so careful not to step on the toes of new immigrants that we’re losing any sense of culture that we once had. The broadcasters of this show claim that it “‘has made the community feel more Canadian,’ and helped new immigrants connect with the culture.” And it’s in Punjabi. Does no one else see what’s wrong about this? Hockey is Canadian and part of our culture, yes, but if you want to “connect” with our culture, speak our God damn language. That’s all I’m saying.

Well, right now. I could say much more. But that would be getting too far off topic.

In other news, one of my clients used cheesy pick-up lines on me. Being my client, I obviously brush them off. But I would actually implore more guys to use that type of pick-up lines in a funny yet endearing way. It’s actually rather sweet.

Or maybe that’s just me…

Love,

Bella

My Life...This Week, Anyway

Ghosts, Goblins, and Ghouls

Fearfest at Wonderland is always exciting (I guess – this is the first year I’ve been there, but it was pretty exciting). I’m not one who’s usually good with being scared – I can’t even watch scary movies without a pillow in front of my face and hyperventilating – so I’m not sure why I thought Fearfest would be a good idea for me. In any case, my friends and I ventured to this place of horror a couple of weeks ago for some good natured terrorizing.

Now, I know this stuff is fake. I know it’s all makeup on the people and that the stage of the theatre is not actually a haunted swamp. But I seemed to forget all that when I was in the dark recesses of the bayou and creepy creatures were jumping out at me. My poor buddy was so often clawed, yanked, and thrown into the people that jumped out that he was more scared of me than anything else. Apparently my survival instinct is to throw my friends in front of danger to save myself. So I learned something new about myself that night. But you try being calm when those buggers chase you out of the house. You’re never safe.

When I went back the next weekend with Rio, I was still terrified, though I didn’t push him into anything so much as I just smacked him whenever something scared me. So, basically, I’ll give up my friends for my own safety or just hit them in sheer terror. They are so lucky to be friends with me.

Rio was also delighted to have been the blatant object of affection for about 4 different girls, a fact that he took great pleasure in pointing out and also pondering aloud, “Why aren’t you being checked out by anyone?” Well I don’t know, bud, why don’t you ask someone for me? I think his favourite moment was catching a vampire chick off guard and speaking in an English accent to a ghoul (he’s special). I, however, was not up to par with his awesomeness that night, which he was not shy about stating when he told me that I needed “to get up to his level.” I may have smacked him a little harder the next time something “scared” me.

Work Isn’t Meant to Be This Fun

(This picture has nothing to do with the post below and everything to do with the fact that Alcide is damn sexy).

It’s no secret that I love the people I work with. They’re hilarious, sweet, and just overall really awesome. Today, for example, one patient screamed when she saw it was me saying hi to her, and then hugged me. Like, seriously? How does that not change someone’s day from bad to good? (While also scaring me a little, because I really wasn’t expecting her to actually scream). Another patient and I bonded at the fact that we both used to frequent an infamous bar in town - her 21 years ago, and me only about a year ago. How cool is that??

I’ve been feeling pretty blah the past few days – probably down to the weather – and whenever I go onto the units and talk to my clients, more often than not I leave feeling revitalized. That’s not to say that I don’t ever feel drained from having more challenging conversations, but even those situations make me realize how much I have to learn and how much they can teach me. Because really, as much as I’m here to help them in their recovery, they help me and teach me more than I could ever do for them.

I’m not sure where I was going with this. I still don’t. Basically, I love them. But would I try to protect them if zombies were trying to attack me? Probably not. Every person for themselves in that situation, friends.

Love,

Bella

People I Love...and Those I Don't

This picture has nothing to do with the post. I just really want to go to Arizona.

Client Interaction

Working with my clients is honestly the best job that I could ask for right now. I get paid to hang out with them.

Obviously, I can’t share too much information about my work or my clients, but I can’t NOT share the little tidbits from them that make my day – at the expense of myself.

“I like your earrings – your watch is really tacky, though.”

Client: “So, when you were depressed, was it because you didn’t have a boyfriend?”
Me: “What? No!”

Me: “You’re a really good artist.”
Client: “That makes me want to take you to my room and show you all my other pictures.”

Me: “I like your picture.”
Client: “Thanks. Wanna buy it?”
Me: “Um. No.”
Client: “Then why are you standing here wasting my time? Move along.”

Client: “Are you poisoning that again, Shelley?” (I was making her some hot chocolate).
Me: “I’m not Shelley.” (I have no idea why my first response was to correct the name and not discount her belief that I was trying to kill her).
Client: “I know who you are, Chris.”
Me: “I’m not Chris!”
Client: “I don’t give a shit who you people are, to be honest. You’re shit under my feet and I should piss on your grave for murdering my father.”
Me: “…do you still want your hot chocolate?”

Client: “I hear they’re sending you to maximum security.”
Me: “To work?”
Client: “No, as a patient.”
Me: “What?! Who have you been talking to?!”

Client: “Your hair is much better when it’s straight.”
Me: “Did it look that bad the other day?”
Client: “No, but…it looks way better now.”

Kickboxing

My mom and I decided to buy a Wagjag offer for kickboxing. Tonight was our first night. We got there when a children’s karate class was going on, and there were kids everywhere. For someone who is just now warming up to the idea of having a kid of my own (in the future! Not now. Jesus, not right now), all the little children were a tad overwhelming. Which showed when I exclaimed “my God, they’re everywhere!” Oops.

Anyway, this ladies kickboxing was full of young, tired mothers (I have no idea if they actually were; I’m just making an uninformed assumption) wearing pink shirts and pink gloves (PINK. At a fucking martial arts centre). Their stances were terrible and they hit the bag like they were afraid of breaking a nail. Look, I’m all about femininity (if you ask my friend Rio, I’m only a little bit manly – thanks buddy), but when we’re supposed to be boxing, it’s not the time. Add to the fact that the owner is a really annoying chick who needs some serious dental work and a personality overhaul, and my Mom and I were rolling our eyes and scoffing at people the entire time. It’s hard to be so perfect, but we manage.

I was standing there rolling my eyes when some guy walked into the centre. With eyes that were, seriously, icy blue. I looked at him, breathed “whoa”, and quickly hiked down my shirt. Fairly certain he was the husband of the annoying chick, so all the more reason to seduce him. Right?

Love,

Bella

I'm Back!

I didn't realize that I hadn't been online (online here, anyway) for almost 2 months. To all my fans out there, I'm so very sorry. I know how empty your lives must have been without my witty insight and intellectual conversation, and I just feel terrible that I've been the cause of that unrest.

My lack of writing hasn't been a result of a lack of anything interesting happening in my life - quite the opposite, really. I've actually been living in the real world and haven't had the chance to sit down and write anything that would be worth reading. I'm very much of the mindset that I will only write things that are funny (however subjective that might be) and insightful, and I know I wouldn't have been able to provide that. There have been many things that I've failed to mention over the summer, so I'll try to rectify that now. I just can't promise this is going to be at my usual level of hilarity - but there's plenty of that to come in the next few days.

I never mentioned anything here about my trip to England and Scotland with my mom, which was one of the most fun trips I've taken. We drank at pubs every night, were admonished for taking pictures of ourselves in fascinators in department stores, and ate ready made sandwiches at midnight in a grocery store. We slept until noon after a big breakfast and watched sleazy British talk shows. We met lots of Brits and became the most popular people in almost every pub we attended (okay, two. Small ones. But still!) But the best part was spending time with my beautiful Momma.

I got a new job at the psychiatric hospital where I'd been volunteering. I get paid to hang out with my patients and implement programs and activities for them. How cool is that? I've already had my watch been called tacky by a patient, saw one of my patients walking around with her purse strap around her head, and am only referred to as "hot chocolate" by another. The latter could be taken as quite flattering if I was actually black and not known for giving all the patients hot chocolate on Sundays. But whatever.

Hm. I really thought there was more going on than that. I guess not. I've just been really busy with making the change in jobs and attending conferences and meetings (I love saying that - makes me feel so important). I won't take so long to write again, and I promise my next post will be much better thought out and much funnier. You are welcome.

Love,

Bella

Some Important Life Lessons

Assembling an Exercise Machine Is Not Simple

I bought an elliptical for my apartment, in the probably misguided attempt to exercise more. It was sitting in my hallway all weekend, after struggling with my friend to bring it up the two flights of stairs to my floor. I decided last night that I would finally get it set up. Thought it would take maybe half an hour…that was at 8:30. By 10:00, I was sitting on my floor amidst Styrofoam, plastic bags, and parts of the elliptical that weren’t labelled with the numbers but really should have been, because how am I supposed to know what #42 looks like when the diagram is clearly much smaller than the actual machine? At one point I spent 10 minutes looking for a nut that I lost in the disarray, a fact that made me dissolve into hysterics at the amazing “that’s what she said” opportunity (yes, I was alone). When I finally succeeded in piecing the elliptical together, 2 hours and 15 minutes later, I hopped on to give it a whirl. But the little knobby things on the pedals hurt my feet and the machine itself felt weird, so I got off it pretty quickly.

This purchase may not have the effects that I intended…

Love Struck People Are Annoying

On a normal day, I’m not entirely fond of happy couples. Some may say that I’m jealous, and those people would be correct. But on early morning subway runs when it’s really crowded, and I’m exhausted and more prickly than usual about love, that last thing I want to see is a happy couple wrapped up in the throes of love – and each other – kissing rather loudly than I really think is necessary ever. And I couldn’t even move away from them because I was sandwiched in and no one would return my exasperated glances, which I thought would allow me to make a connection with someone and we could laugh about the disgustingness of this PDA, but apparently no one else seemed to care. And my husband was, like, all the way up the car so I couldn’t even use that moment to bond with him, although if I was in the position of the McKisserson’s with my husband, then I probably wouldn’t stop at kissing. But I would at least try to be a little more discreet.

Side note – there was a girl handing out frigging fliers for a bridal show on the weekend. Do I HAVE a ring on my finger, young girl? No. So move along. Thanks.

Swimming in Niagara Falls Is Not Recommended

(Does this LOOK like a place where you should challenge your balance on a frigging railing?!)

So apparently people are just dying all over the place at Niagara Falls. The latest victim being an international student from Japan or something, which…ok, it’s sad and stuff for her family because they probably thought she could get them green cards once she was over here, and also for the friend that saw her go over because you KNOW she’s going into therapy when she’s older. But come on. How the hell are you falling INTO Niagara Falls? It’s not like you can’t see them. It’s not as though you’re just walking and then all of a sudden you fall in, like “oh my, where did this HUGE 7th wonder of the WORLD come from? I did not see it whilst I was walking – I must have been distracted by the mist and the hoards of people and all the SIGNS!” There are railings for a reason. Yes, they are pretty. However, they are also there to prevent people from slipping and falling into the watery abyss below. So if you’re climbing over those safety railings to see better (because this natural phenomenon IS quite difficult to see from behind a, like, 4 foot railing), you’re sort of putting your own life at risk. Not to mention that there are signs. SIGNS. Why are those even necessary? It should be common sense that you don’t scale a railing that is designed to KEEP YOU OUT and prevent your death. And now people are saying that the railing should be bigger. WHY?! So we can accommodate the idiots that think climbing to the edge of a fucking waterfall is a smart idea? Truthfully, I think that if you’re going to do something that stupid, maybe you deserve to plunge to a watery death. Or at least a watery accident. But that’s just me.

First Impressions Are (Hopefully) Not Always Correct

I had to get my, um, everything renewed today as I was unaware that having a car and a license and, you know, HEALTH meant that I had to keep all my registrations updated. Essentially, I couldn’t drive, couldn’t go to the doctor, and had an expired vehicle. Oops. I spent the entire evening rectifying this situation at Service Ontario in Toronto, where, had I not known better, I would have thought I was at an immigration office because of all the foreign people yelling out in languages that I could neither understand nor identify. And there was a rather obnoxious smell in the air. But my questionable mood changed when I was told that I was ‘very photogenic’ by the nice man at the counter, who I know was lying because have you SEEN my pictures? And then another counter man (yes, I had to see two, that’s how screwed up my stuff was) asked if I was a singer. I could have kissed him (except not because…ew). I was feeling pretty good about myself until the security guard told me to exit the doors – right in front of me – by turning the handle and pushing. That’s when it hit me – did they think I was special?!

Love,

Bella

These Are The Best Days Of My Life?

Train Husband

(Train Husband looks like Mike Fisher. Yeah, he's sexy).

Mr. Bella’s blatant disregard for me is amazing. He literally has no idea I exist. Like…I feel like Mia in Princess Diaries when people sit on her because she’s virtually invisible. Except now, I just think his inability to notice my existence is hilarious. Instead of being upset that he isn’t falling in love with me, I’m going to find humour in the fact that he literally has no idea I’m on the train, let alone how amazing I am and how cute our babies would be. Because they would be frickin’ adorable. But that’s fine, Train Husband Man. I don’t need you.

Okay but call me.

Old People

Old people are wonderful. Really, they are. But when you’re the youngest in a group of 50 by a good, say, 30 years (and the person that is 30 years older relates to you because you’re both the “young ones”), you start to dread the day when people talk to you as though you’re a child and you feel like cattle as you’re being herded into the theatre to watch a play about a little British boy who would rather dance than box. Which, if I must say, is a bit of a kick in the teeth to the ladies in the audience that would rather box than dance. Dancing isn’t for everyone, ok?! Like…some people just aren’t good at it and like to express their feelings through punching rather than creative movement, which also leads people to believe that I can beat them up and even though that I don’t really want to give that impression, I kind of enjoy it. But anyway. There was one unbelievably good looking male ballerina (ballerino?) that was literally all muscle and whose lower region looked amazing in his tight white pants, and who I would definitely dance with if that dance happened to be the horizontal tango. And maybe if he wouldn’t wear those pants in everyday life because, truthfully, they’re pretty gay.

Where was I? Right. Old people.

So they all look the same. Like Asians. I momentarily misplaced my Grandma in the throng of the little Q-Tips and finding her was next to impossible (it’s okay, I did find her…okay, she found me). They’re all short with white hair and I swear they all wear the same clothes. They should have different hats on with identifying factors sticking from the tops or something. I’m just saying that it would help.

Classiness

I’m all class, ok? Like…maybe it doesn’t always come across because I swear and shop at Wal-Mart, but I am. It’s just…I live in a small town. We don’t have posh restaurants and stuff like that. So when I go out for drinks with work people and we go to a really nice place that they claim isn’t “really nice” but overlooks the city and everyone is wearing black and is really pretty and I have on shoes from Primark and my hair is all flat and the drinks are over $10, I’m pretty sure they can tell I don’t belong there. Not that my work friends care. They’re literally some of the best people ever (love you guys!). But the other patrons that are snobby because they spend all their time shopping in Yorkville and being all cranky because they think they’re king shit, they can probably tell that I’m faking it. I try, though. I sat on the super cool couch thing that is meant for casual relaxation, but I fell backwards on it because it was too damn soft and had to resort to sitting on a stool while trying to cross my legs, but ended up just sort of sticking out my top leg in a rather un-lady-like fashion. I also ordered a fancy drink, but I sucked it back in about 2 minutes (I also ate the pineapple garnish, which I’m thinking now isn’t something that’s done…). Eventually, I just ended up sitting with uncrossed legs and drinking Bud Light from a bottle. All class, baby.

Couples on Dates

I was not part of the couples that were on these dates, but then I don’t think that was a necessary disclaimer. Because, well, it’s me. Anyway, I went to a Thai restaurant to pick up my takeout order that I intended to enjoy on my couch as I drank wine alone (and was rather looking forward to it, actually), and as I entered the restaurant, every single person looked over to see who was walking in (which I know is a natural response, but come on people). I, as always, took a quick scan of the restaurant while praying that I didn’t know anyone there, and realized that every single god damn table was occupied by a couple on a date. And there I was, walking in with a Bulk Barn bag of chocolate going to pick up my single dinner. And all I could do was laugh. This is my life.

Love,

Bella

Wednesday Wonderings

Popularity

(These are the two that like to point out my loserdom. Pots calling the kettle black?)

So, basically, if you don’t know me well you might think that I’m super popular and spent my teen years partying with all my friends while drinking and dancing and doing whatever else teenagers do. For those of you who do know me well, you’ll know that none of the above is true. I went to the movies with my one friend and worked at a library. I wish I could say that all changed in University and I became the most sought after girl in my year and spent every night at a different bar fighting off all the men but secretly enticing them with my hair flips and winning smile. But I, again, watched a lot of movies with my best friend and studied in the library. Which is kind of unbelievable, right? I mean, I’m a lot of fun. And, like, I make really good jokes.
 
The thing is, it takes someone in your life to bring out the awesomeness, and to that I give credit to ED, who noticed my introverted personality and vowed to, in her words, corrupt me. She introduced me to wine, straight vodka shots, and completely off the wall, hilarious humour. Without that girl, I wouldn’t have been able to tap into my own humour, nor would I have been able to let go of my inhibitions and be outgoing. If I’m awesome (which I am), she’s beyond that.
 
Of course, I will always have my brothers to quickly remind me that no, you are not cool, you are actually kind of a loser. Last night, when I asked M if I could date one of his friends, R piped up with “well, first, he’s probably not interested…” Later, when we were watching a movie with a particularly pathetic and lonely character, M stated that I “could totally date him.” It’s a good thing I love them.

Tequila
 

…makes her clothes fall off? Not more so than any other alcohol. Makes her fall down is more appropriate. I woke up on Saturday morning and discovered a sizable scrape on my shin, and do you think I can remember how I got it? Nope! JL said it got it when walking home from the bar, which makes sense. I just wish I could remember. Fall down, go boom.

Patients

I hadn’t been at the hospital for a while, and I was really missing my patients. So when I went back yesterday, they did not disappoint. One of my regular visitors came in for a chat, and would literally not stop staring at my boobs. And not just a quick glance every few seconds. Blatant staring for, like, 30 seconds at a time. I didn’t know whether I should laugh or smack him.
 
I had a few conversations with patients that can only be truly appreciated in a word for word recount.
 
Me: Hi, Kim! How are you today?
Kim: My name isn’t Kim, honey.
Me: Oh, ok. What is it?
Kim: I can’t tell you; it’s top secret.
Me: …alright.
 
Patient 1: How long you been here, man?
Patient 2: 50 years
Me: What? How old are you?
P2: 51.
P1: You’ve been here since you were 1?
Me: I…okay. How old were you when you came here?
P2: 20.
Me: *Sigh*
 
Hungarian Patient: I have spirits in my house.
Me: That’s…I’m sorry?
HP: One of them touches me in a way that I don’t like to be touched.
Me: Dear god.
 
Love,

Bella

I'm So Much Cooler Online

This is it. Today is the day that I finally broach a taboo topic, that I finally discuss the one thing that everyone does but no one admits to: online dating.

People join online dating sites for a number of reasons, some of which may include busy schedules, desire to meet someone away from a bar setting or, and this is my personal favourite, they are just too damn awkward to initially meet someone face to face. I fall into the third category. It’s much easier for me to get to know someone, and have them get to know me, when I’m not concerned about what I’m wearing, what I look like, or if I have a booger hanging out my nose. It’s also very easy to weed out the players (for the most part), the stupids, and the schmoozers (who, for some reason, take quite a liking to me).

The players, well, they are fairly straight forward – they post photos of their abs, have self portraits taken in a mirror, and talk about how much they love working out and good sex. And yes, they emphasize the “good” before sex, as though it’s necessary. Hey there tiger, I think we all do – it’s really not imperative that you outline it in an online dating profile. It’s all about mystery, big guy. Let’s try to keep some.

And then you get the schmoozers that think that writing messages such as “hEy ThErE sExIi, U dA bOmB” will magically cause a woman to hyperventilate at the mere thought of meeting him in person, or choose the ever popular “sup” to woo his latest love. “Sup”?! You have one message to endear yourself to this stranger, and you choose to write “sup”? What do you even say to that? If you’re going to write a message to someone – which DOES take a lot of courage, I’ll give you that – try to make it creative. Or witty. Or hell, a sentence with more than one or two words. Just give it a try.

My favourites, though, are the stupids. Mostly because they make me laugh when I’m sitting alone on a Saturday night, contemplating getting a couple of cats while scrolling through profiles and reading the two messages that I received that week. A lot of the messages are just absolutely grammatically horrifying. They don’t know the difference between their/there/they’re (although I’ve been caught in that once – after claiming how much you hate incorrect grammar and extolling the virtues of being an English major, it’s a very awkward mistake) or your/you’re. “Your pretty”? Your pretty what? Finish the sentence…oh, that was it?

I’m honestly not a snob – I make mistakes just like everyone else. But the amount of head shaking that these men generate from me is worrisome. It’s not one or two mistakes – it’s using a phrase or WORD for Christ’s sake that changes the entire meaning of the message to one that was meant to be complimentary but ultimately resulted in being an insult. Case in point: one man – and this is the only specific reference I am going to make – wanted to chat because he was “dying of brain stimulation”. Dying OF brain stimulation? So, what, you want me to provide you with some mind numbing conversation about chewing gum? Poor guy. But really – if you want to impress someone by trying to sound smart, at least make sure you’re using the correct preposition. And it might help to have a dictionary or thesaurus open next to your computer. Flip through it every once in a while. Just…it might help. That’s all.

Love,

Bella

Mid Week Musings

Escalators

(Amen)

I never thought I had a fear of escalators. I take a little long to get on (that’s what she said), but that’s just good sense. You have to respect the motion. Last week, though, everything changed. I was going to lunch with some girls from work and we were laughing and talking and just generally being awesome and making everyone around us jealous of our good time. We proceeded to the escalator, I checked to make sure that I was getting on a fully formed step, and we began our descent. I was being hilarious (naturally) until I tried to shift my leg and realized that I couldn’t. I was stuck. STUCK in the stair of the escalator. I nonchalantly tried to pull my pant leg out of the area where it was stuck and, when it didn’t come free, panic set in. “Guys, I’m stuck. I’M STUCK!” “Stuck in what?” Let me mention that they were both laughing hysterically at my misfortune. “I DON’T KNOW. The stair?! Oh my GOD!” *begin frantic tugging on my pant in perhaps a more exaggerated manner than was necessary, but YOU try being stuck in the frigging escalator stair* At this point, I was envisioning my pants getting more and more stuck until they ripped or I had no choice but to remove them, and then I would end up in the middle of the concourse with no pants on and my train husband would probably walk by and he would laugh and I would just be there, just there with no pants on. And as much as I would like to be around him without any pants on, that is not the ideal situation for that to happen.

Subway

(Not exactly the type of dancing I had in mind, but I could see it happening. It's not like I haven't tried to do it before)

There is something about the subway that makes me want to break into song and dance (which I could probably do and receive no reaction whatsoever, as there are some weird ass people in Toronto that all the locals are totally used to). Every dance/romance movie in the world is based on an affluent classical dancer falling in love with a down and dirty street dancer from the wrong side of the tracks. At some point, these couples almost always are on the subway going to auditions, parties, or the poor one’s apartment that he (it’s almost always the dude) shares with his 10 siblings, abusive father, over worked mother, and their five cats because, for some reason, he feels it’s important for her to meet the family even though the shock (and, probably, the stench) is too much for the girl to bear and the guy feels ashamed even though it was totally his idea to go there and they break up until the end of the movie. Ahem. Sometimes there is even a dance scene ON the subway car. So, basically, I feel like I am in one of those movies and I am traveling not towards the train station, but towards an audition that no one knows about with a group that is totally not my usual scene but that I will of course rock and everyone will see what a beautiful dancer I am even though I am from the street or, conversely, that I can totally get down, yo, even though I am classically trained.

The End of the World

(If the end of the world is upon us, it better be representative of "The Day After Tomorrow". Complete with being trapped in a library with Hottie McHotterson, aka Jake Gyllenhaal)


I can’t not mention the "end of the world". Come on. On Friday I saw a guy walking around with his kid and holding a sign that said “Judgement Day is Tomorrow”. Yes, expose your son to your radical beliefs at an early age. That won’t scar him at all, nor will it severely affect his ability to make any friends. Hell, some guy spent his life savings on posters advertising "Doomsday." Hey buddy? If you're so sure the end is nigh, then maybe give that money to those of us that could use it for, like, shopping and stuff.

Honestly, I don’t know a whole lot about Judgement Day except for what Dean Blundell told me on the Edge, which is that Jesus is going to rise and take the believers and followers or whatever to Heaven and leave the rest of us on earth (think post-apocalyptic world like in The Road, which is terrifying because I neither want to be eaten by someone else, nor do I want to eat another human) until October when he destroys the whole world. Basically, the picture I have in my head is that Jesus or God or whatever is Ariel’s father in The Little Mermaid with his stick thing that like blows things up. Or something. I don’t know, I didn’t research it. I’m just beyond glad that I didn’t take the crazy ass preacher to heart and profess my love for every guy I think is attractive or eat my last meal of all my favourite foods (although let’s be honest, I do that every Friday night). Because after 6pm I would be stuck here on Earth with a man that doesn’t love me but who is overly aware that I love him (there would, of course, be a considerable amount of seduction involved during my confession, and it would not necessarily be pretty) and just hugely fat because I ate enough pasta, wine, and chocolate to last me an eternity. Literally.

Love,

Bella

Husbands, Lost Loves, and Crazy People

(My New Crush)

Train Husband

Last week, my curiosity as to where Mr. Bella works got the better of me. I decided to nonchalantly follow him through the subway to find out which line he took (what? I was going on the subway anyway). Turns out, he takes the same line I do, he just gets on closer to the end (which coincidentally is a much quicker way for me, too – learning something new AND standing in close proximity to my husband!). At this point, I felt somewhat like Phoebe when she is stalking the guy that used to stalk her because he thought she was her sister and she hides behind the garbage can…never mind. Anyway, when we got on the subway, I basically peered at him from the corner of my eye for about 10 minutes when…drum roll please…we got off at the same station! What are the chances?! (And no, I didn’t just jump off when he did – I did have a job to get to, thankyouverymuch). I tried to follow him all the way to my office but he walks too fast…as in he may or may not have been running, fearful of the clip-clip of my heels as they descended upon him…

Two days later, I offered to let him go ahead of me on the train, despite the fact that there was no one behind me and letting him go was fairly pointless and perhaps a little stupid. I also waved him on with my hand still in my pocket, so I may have resembled a penguin. He said thank you, like the gentleman he is, and I said you’re welcome. Well, I said it in my head. It came out as “mmcomeshmm.”

He loves me. He’s just unaware of it right now.

Something Borrowed

When telling M that I wanted to see this movie, his reply was that it looked stupid and it was just all about infidelity. I told him I love infidelity.

Okay, so that’s not entirely true. But I do love the sort of movies where the people that are CLEARLY meant to be together but aren’t eventually end up hooking up. It’s just so…I don’t know…satisfying? I think I loved this movie so much because I saw myself in the main character. She was kind of shy, kind of mousy, with brown hair and glasses. She had everything set up perfectly for her first class and then ended up dumping all of her pens on the floor. It was just so me (yes, I am aware of how conceited that sounds). So when she fell in love with the guy she met at school but was terrified to tell him and he ended up with someone else, I felt like I was watching every single moment that happened to me unfold on screen. I can’t count how many times I’ve liked a guy but couldn’t imagine telling him because really, why on earth would he want me? And I don’t say that for sympathy or pity. I honestly could not believe that he would want me when there are much prettier, smarter, and funnier (well, maybe not funnier) women out there. So I would play the friend, encouraging him to approach other girls and talking about other guys to him. And what ended up happening? Exactly what I “seemed” to want to happen – he ended up with someone else, and I wound up hurt and confused. But it wasn’t his fault. Not in the least. It was my fault for not telling him how I felt. Not to say that he would reciprocate the feelings, but at least I would know. Rejection may hurt for a while, but knowing he has someone else and always wondering what if? That hurts much, much more.

Uncensored Mental Patients

This is exactly how it sounds. I volunteer at a psych hospital on the weekends, and I get to hear a lot of, well, everything, from the patients. These people are some of the sweetest, funniest people I’ve met, even if they aren’t trying. Most of them are really confused; they’re very lost souls that just want to talk. So I provide that.

And they provide me with entertainment.

The other day we were talking about working out and how none of us are particularly happy with where we are in terms of health. Most of them think I am amazing, which is part of the reason I enjoy it there so much (kidding!). So when I said that I wasn’t happy with myself, one lady piped up and said, “Oh no, you look great! I mean, you could lose 20 pounds, but you look good…” Um…I…okay…

One of my patients even protects me in the other 6 worlds that are in this universe as he loves me “unconditionally”. He also speaks to me through his mind. I’ve yet to converse with him through such mediums. But, you know, maybe one day…

Perhaps one of the best conversations I’ve heard in a long time occurred between a young girl and a guy in his 20s:

Guy: What’s a surrogate?”
Girl: When you have a baby for someone else.
Guy: Oh. I thought you were a surrogate.
Girl: Well, I thought I was. [Thought?!] But I asked my boyfriend if my baby was mine or Natalie Portman’s, and he said mine.
Guy: Well, she’s got to be yours. She looks just like you.
[Yeah, because THAT’S the reason]

My GOD I love these people. Even if some of them are cops, mafia heads, or developing a super race.

Love,

Bella

Top 4 Socially Awkward Situations for this Socially Awkward 20-Something Year Old

(An idea totally stolen from Cracked.com)

Changing in the Locker Room
Where, for the LOVE of GOD, do you look when you are in a room filled with middle aged woman walking around with their boobs all out and then they try to talk to you and all you can think is “those are your boobs”? And what is the protocol when you are at the gym with a person you don’t know very well and you have to change in front of them? Like, I don’t want that person to see MY boobs. But YOU try changing in a tiny toilet cubicle when you can’t put your feet on the ground because…ew, and you’re kicking the cubicle walls and people have to ask you if you’re “okay in there”. And then you scream “YES I’M FINE” when really you just want to leave and never come back because you’ve been scarred for life and everyone knows you as the girl who has conniptions in the bathroom stall.

Doing Anything in the Bathroom
Why do people think it is okay for them to have a conversation with you while you’re peeing? We all know what is going on, don’t even try to pretend that you can’t hear the DISTINCT and UNIVERSAL sound that is peeing. It is not normal to have a conversation about the weather when one or both people are answering nature’s call. And what about when there is more happening than peeing (you know what I’m talking about, don’t make me say it)? Especially when you are in the bathroom with another socially awkward person and you’re both sitting there waiting for the other to FINISH UP ALREADY so that you can do your thing in peace. And then you realize that you are both waiting for the other person to finish because you both have to do that embarrassing thing that isn’t peeing and it becomes a sort of stand off between you two until someone gives up and leaves to go find another empty bathroom because they can’t stand the awkwardness of you both sitting on the toilet doing nothing. And during that time before one of you leaves, you CERTAINLY don’t want to let anything go because you actually recognize the shoes of the other person and realize that it’s your co-worker that totally gushed about your shoes and how amazing they are because you’re so stylish, so you KNOW she’ll know it’s you, too.

Riding on the Train
This isn’t much of a surprise, is it? But it’s still a really awkward situation when all you want to do is catch up on some sleep on the train because you get up at the God forsaken hour of 5:30am and you can’t control the way your body moves, what your face looks like, or how deeply you sleep (haha, it started to sound a little sexual there). Because more often than not, you WILL wake up with a jump and gasp and flail your arms about because your body knows you are sleeping in a foreign place and your subconscious is concerned about you not waking up in time for your stop. And you may even end up kicking your legs out to full extension, which then makes your entire body jerk and you narrowly miss the person in front of you and you can just TELL that everyone in your vicinity is desperately trying not to laugh because they are staring too hard at their hands for it to be normal. But then if you don’t wake up and some super nice person gently nudges you awake, you still wake up with a gasp and a shriek of “oh GOD” because you realize that the train is empty and it’s really embarrassing and then the nice person that woke you up is clearly wishing she hadn’t because she doesn’t know what the hell to do with your reaction. So you just try to stay awake as best you can by listening to music and reading, but you still end up with your head rolling all over the place and you know what, you just have to deal because those trains are amazing at lulling you to sleep.

Sweating When You Shouldn’t
I don’t know about anyone else, but I sweat a lot during any sort of physical activity. And I don’t mean a vigourous CrossFit workout or running to the candy store before it closes. No, I mean walking up the stairs or carrying some files to the file room. I just sweat all over the place and it’s really hard to hide. Especially when I can feel it dripping down my neck and I know that the person I’m talking to is trying not to notice but I can SEE their eyes following that tiny bead of sweat as it makes its way down, and when I try to discreetly wipe it away, they’re judging. I can tell. And I know they’re thinking “man, that girl sweats a lot! What’s her deal? Now it’s dripping down her forehead” and you’re still having a conversation but now you’re not thinking about what you’re saying, you’re just willing the sweat to STOP PLEASE, which makes you more nervous and makes you sweat even more. And because you stopped thinking about what you’re saying, you’re now talking about the embarrassing date you had with that guy the other night when the conversation should be about work because, after all, it’s with your BOSS. Or maybe the person you’re talking to is just a good friend or a guy you’re interested in and you’re sweating because, like, it’s hot, but it’s not noticeable because it’s thankfully stayed out of eyesight, but then this person tried to hug you since they love you or whatever. And you know they’re thinking “oh, that’s disgusting” but they can’t really say that and then YOU don’t know what to say so you both pretend that there was no sweat. But there was. And they will never forget it.

I feel awkward just writing this all down. I feel like I’ve given everyone a look into the dark recesses of my social awkwardness, and now things will never be the same again. But that’s ok. It’s alright. Because it needed to be said.

Love,

Bella

Some Random Thoughts...Musings, If You Will...

(This is my happy place that I venture to a lot in my mind. One day, I will go for real...)

Here are a few things that I can’t help but mention today. I don't know why.

Children
I'm not a huge fan of children. Gasp, shock. Whatever. There are a select few that I love, but they are the exception. This, however, is not the case for most women (aside from my Mom). It seems that the normal reaction for them is to coo and gush and talk like babies in those extremely high pitched voices that I only reserve for puppies and bottles of wine.

Reputations
I don’t know if people in general like me or just think I’m weird. I ger an awful lot of weird looks. And that's fine. I mean, I laugh at weird moments and tell jokes that don't often make sense to most people, but if they think I'm crazy and want to make fun of me, they can at least let me in on the joke. I like a good joke. I can handle it.

Looking Cool in Front of a Hot Guy
Whenever I try to share a joke with a hot guy, it never turns out how I want it to. I mean, I've been in situations where he'll say something, and my process will literally commence as follows: “Is he joking? Is that a joke? I can’t tell. If he’s joking, then I should joke back. But what if he isn’t joking? What if he’s serious and he’s actually disagreeing with my [utterly hilarious] thoughts about [insert mundane topic here]. That would be pretty stupid but it might happen. Oh wait, he’s smiling. He’s looking like he expects a witty comeback. It was a joke! Quick, say something cute! The "something cute" usually involved poking fun at him and then giggling. And he'll laugh. And then I start planning our wedding.

Acting like You Know All about a Sport to Impress a Hot Guy
It's common knowledge that most men like sports. And most Canadian men like hockey. As such, I decided to do a crash course on the teams in the playoffs (all I knew is that the Leafs didn’t make it) to find out who was first and what players played on which team. You know, just in case a hot guy wants to talk about hockey. Unfortunately, I recently asked a very attractive man what team he picked in the fantasy draft. I didn’t realize you picked players and MADE your team. (Which, now that I think about it, makes much more sense than my way of just picking an already established team. Because that wouldn’t be fantasy. That’s all reality, baby). So he asks if I mean which players are on his team, and I of course act as though that’s what I meant the entire time. I figured that if I just kept acting like I knew what I was talking about, maybe I would get myself invited to watch the games with him. At his house. In his bed.

The Arrogance of Blogs
See all of the sections above for a first hand account of what I mean.

I was thinking today about taking a blogging course that teaches one how to write a blog for fame and profit. And then I got thinking about how the conversation with the teacher would go, should he single me out for my beauty and ask what my undoubtedly witty and intellectually stimulating blog was about. What would I say? What could I say besides “it’s a blog about my non celebrity life that discusses issues such as my love for chocolate, my adventures on the train, the embarrassment I undergo whenever speaking to a male, and the pain I put my body through during CrossFit. It is, admittedly, a shockingly self absorbed space of redundant facts; a recollection on my normal, mundane life that I feel people should not only want to read, but which should deliver to me a copious amount of money and worldwide fame.” Because really? What else is a blog besides a place for even the most modest person to talk purely about themselves, their beliefs, and their values and then want people to be interested in it? A place to canvas for issues relating to the greater good of people? Yeah, sure…

Happy People
I met this one really nice lady at the hospital I volunteer at who is very sweet but who I think might turn into that creepy alien lady like in that movie when she asks the girl about her unborn child and then goes crazy. It’s called Legion (I didn’t know that, I had to ask CD – also, it’s not about aliens. That’s what happens when you don’t watch a movie but try to reference it). Anyway, this lady is very positive – almost oddly so, as though she’s living in a perpetual state of high-ness (granted, she IS a mental health patient, but still). According to her, every day is special because it has something unique to it, so she loves every day. I love this lady, but her positive outlook on life is seriously messing with my pessimist views. But she always calls me beautiful, so I can’t be annoyed by her too much.

Now, there is another volunteer who does not call me beautiful, so I can be annoyed by her all I want. She talks with such a high voice that I jump when she says things. No one is that happy, okay? Don’t pretend like you’re that excited to see me. I know you’re not. Mostly because I am not that nice to you.

Stupid People
A guy called me once asking to speak to someone that they had just tried to call. I asked if they had been connected to that person’s voicemail. He said no. So I asked if that person’s voicemail had told him to press zero and that’s how he got to me. He said yes.

Honestly?

For anyone that does read this blog, I hope you know how much I appreciate that you do.

Love,

Bella