Me? Upbeat?

Okay, now THIS is where I'd gladly get energy from.

I have come to the realization that people think I am way more positive and upbeat than I actually am.

My co-worker, who is shockingly upbeat all the time, recently said to me, “If I ever need a blood transfusion, I would want it from you because you have so much energy.”

Okay, aside from the weirdness of the statement in general, I was shocked to hear him say that I have energy. Seriously. I tell my bed every morning that I can’t wait to see it that night. I will literally not do anything active that is not absolutely essential. I was supposed to have a meeting with this co-worker and I called him instead, because I was too lazy to walk to his office. I was tired after walking for an hour at Wonderland (aside from when I was dancing, because I am an amazing dancer).

A lot of people that see me only a handful of times think that I am perpetually awesome (which I am because it’s inherent, but I don’t always show it) and funny and energetic. Let me share a little secret with you: I can be one moody biotch. I say this not to paint an unflattering picture of my personality, but to express my surprise that people don’t see through me. Because unless I am a) first meeting you, b) drunk, or c) excited for something, I am usually exhausted and it shows. In essence, if I am tired, hungry, feeling fat, or if the wind blows the wrong way, I can go from pretending to be upbeat and charming to being my cynical, sarcastic self. And that transition, which occurs at an alarmingly quick rate and can be quite shocking, isn’t pretty. Don't get me wrong - I try to live life to the fullest and I think I can be pretty fun. But I am definitely a "glass half empty" kind of girl. In the best way possible.

It’s times like these when I realize how lucky I am to have people that love me despite my general lack of positivity.

Love,

M

Pet Peeve – A Daily Rant

I have discovered another one of my (many) pet peeves: people who don’t look at the “Occupied/Vacant” signs on washrooms.

I don’t know about you guys, but I always cringe at the thought of someone knocking on the door and me having to say “Occupied” or “Yes?” or, more usually, “Hello!” (why I choose to give a very cheery greeting, I will never know. It just comes out). So when I notice that there are signs on the doors indicating when I will be in there, it makes me much more comfortable (for the record? I really hate single washrooms for this very reason. They cause me anxiety).

Anyway, I was in the bathroom today (TMI?) when a woman knocked on the door. Um, excuse me, Ms. Abrasive Knocker. Did you LOOK at the door? It says “Occupied”. There is no need to knock in order to clarify that yes, indeed, someone is utilizing the bathroom. Would it say “Occupied” if no one was in there? No, because you, being an employee at this organization, should know that when the door is locked, the sign switches. When you knock, you’re just being annoying and extraordinarily unobservant, and no one likes that.

Now please, go the fuck away.

Thank you.

Love,

M

Eavesdropping - A Guest Blog

*SM has frequently been mentioned in this blog – what many of you hopefully realize from the sitcom post, in which she featured, is that she is freaking hilarious. The post below is courtesy of SM – you are welcome, beloved blog readers*

One of my favourite past times, besides people watching, is eavesdropping. Especially when you don’t get the full story and your imagination gets to play the game fill-in-the-blanks.

I was waiting for the train yesterday and I was stuck in between two new moms with their babies. For those who don’t know me, I am one of those horrible human beings that find babies cute from afar but repulsive and annoying up close. Anyways… The one trashy mom picks up her daughter and decides that her 7 month old wants to meet a friend. So, she introduces her baby to the other mom. They start talking about how much they weighed, how old they are, names etc. Generic baby stuff. I started to get a little queasy when the instigator lady started talking about her birthing experience. Even the new “friend” she just met was a little taken aback with the gory details. I decided that, for the sake of my stomach, I would stop eavesdropping. That is until the mom came out with this awesome trailer trash quote: “When they start teething just give ‘em one of those rubber cell phone cases…they love it you can go do your own thing for hours...”- Mom of The Year.

I thought THAT was entertaining until I got on the train. I found a seat and settled in, ready to put on my headphones and plug into some music until…”You are not comfortable with yourself…girls are just like guys minus the penis” - gay guy talking to gay friend.

HELLL NO! I can’t let this one slide. I need to listen more. I kept my headphones on to be a little more discreet, but I so wanted to intervene. Like, this friend was giving every profound quote to his friend. Kind of like “I sound super smart and deep so you should take my advice”. The sad thing is that I think his friend was okay with himself from the start, but his so called friend the therapist felt like he still need to throw out the quotes and advice: “Put a bunch of tape on your wall every morning, and when you wake up, peel one off and tell yourself ‘I am gay and I love myself’”. His friend couldn’t even reply. I have nothing against gays or lesbians – in fact, my good friend is a lesbian and I’m in her wedding party. What I do find hilarious are people who think they know it all.

After these two entertaining experiences, I have decided that I will play a little game with people. I know I’m not the only one who likes to eavesdrop, especially when the topic is juicy. So, I am going to have phone convos or actual conversations with friends and make up the most ridiculous story and watch peoples’ reactions around me. There will be no point to it really. Just to give those eavesdroppers something to go home and tell their friends about: “OMG! I was on the street car and this girl was on the phone planning her own funeral. SHE WANTS MARTINIS SERVED!”

I look forward to my ride to work tomorrow….

Sounding Smart

Okay, I’m not a dumb person. I may act ditzy at times but, when I have to, I can switch on the smart vibe and have an intelligent conversation (unless it’s about politics – no idea what’s going on there). But there are limitations to my knowledge, as I would assume everyone experiences. I can talk about literature and literary theory all day and love it. But when I get thrown into a conversation with genius doctors and they bounce around stats and clinical terms? Chances are you’ll find me looking more like this:

I was in a meeting with these doctors the other day, and I literally have no idea what they were talking about. So you can imagine my surprise when I was asked for my input.

“Malory, what do you think?”
“Um…about the, uh, the issue at hand?”
“Yes, do you have any input?”
*sweet Lord in Heaven, someone save me*
“Sure…”

I went on about something – I literally can’t remember what – but they seemed happy. I thought I avoided disaster until my husband doctor asked to speak to me and my manager. Naturally, I assumed he wanted to ask me about entering in a romantic relationship with me, and needed to inform my boss.

I guess he hasn’t got up the nerve to ask me yet, though, because instead he mentioned that he wanted me to write something specifically related to my job, and he would send me the article that he wanted me to comment on.

I read the article. I have no idea what it said. Legit. The notes I made along the side are “families need more say” and “patients don’t die here”.

How I’m going to fake my way through this, I have no idea.

Love,

M

When All Is Said and Done...

(Okay, whoa. That's a LOT of stairs to ask a dead person to climb. I wonder if Heaven comes equipped with escalators...)

One of the top sports writers for The Star passed away on Monday. Naturally, a number of his colleagues have immortalized him in words, recounting how hard-working, loving, and fun he was.

A really sad story.

However, it also makes me think: what would people say about me if I suddenly died?

You often hear about funerals that are filled beyond capacity for people who want to pay their respects to a friend – inside jokes are shared, tears are shed, and memories are remembered wistfully as times that were never really appreciated until it was too late.

Maybe it’s selfish to think about my own end in the midst of hearing of someone who has actually passed and who’s family and friends are, no doubt, trying to process their grief of losing a loved one well before their time.

But really – I can’t help it. My biggest fear (okay, not my biggest – space is my biggest fear, that shit is scary – but one thing that I’ve thought about that worries me) is that no one will show up to my funeral, or that people will show up and they won’t have any good stories to tell about how much fun I am (besides the fact that I thought so) or how empty the world would be without me (hint: VERY).

But seriously. While I obviously wouldn’t know who was there or not (unless I pull a Ross Gellar, which, believe me, has crossed my mind more than once), it makes me wonder if I’m making as much of a positive impact on the people in my life now - as much as they do for me - to have that carry over to when I have checked out.

I hope so.

Love,

M

This Is What My Life Entails...

(I'm not black. But many people think I am. Especially Rio. So I think I have to dedicate this photo to him. You're welcome, buddy.)

Garlic
For some reason, my co-worker decided that I would be able to run the cooking group for the clients by myself. I have made no secret of the fact that I do not know how to cook. Like, legitimately. Case in point: I was at the grocery store and the recipe called for 4 cloves of garlic. Okay, easy enough, I know what garlic looks like.

It wasn’t until I was chopping said garlic that the patient asked why I had bought 4 bulbs of garlic when there were about 8 cloves within each bulb.

They really should be clearer about what the hell a clove is.

Food Validation

I love food. This is also not a secret. But for some reason, whenever I eat a lot of food, I feel that I need to tell every God forsaken person that I come in contact with that I ate way more food than is considered proper. My co-worker? Told him. A cashier? Told her. And the one person whom I find I MUST tell and if I don’t, the world will collapse? My Mom. For some reason, her reaction will either make or break my emotional stability regarding my eating habits (yes, I have food issues. Yes, I have sought help for them).

“Mom, I ate, like 3 skittles, 4 chocolate chips, a piece of bread, AND a spoonful of peanut butter!”

…hahahahaha, ya right. It’s more like: “I ate a poutine, 3 chocolate bunnies, 2 Big Macs, and an apple.”

Because, really – who eats only 3 skittles?

Anticipating an Awkward Situation

I work with a really great guy, and he mentioned at one point that I should come and visit him and his family at their weekend home, which is by a beautiful beach and has been completely renovated.

Great, right?

Not for me. It is at that moment when I begin to anticipate the inevitable awkwardness that I will feel – and show – at being at a place I don’t know, with people whom I’m not completely familiar with. Because while many people will just go and have fun and shoot the shit, I agonize over what I’m going to say, whether or not my jokes will be funny, and what terms I’ll have to censor. I will most likely end up sweating profusely and for no reason, laughing at things that aren’t supposed to be funny, and divulging really personal information that no one EVER needs to hear about.

Sometimes it’s a bitch being so awkward.

Love,

M

Bye Bye Bella

Well, it's time. After 3 odd years of going by "Bella", I've decided that it's time to write using my actual name. I started using Bella because I didn't want to put my actual name on the internet (despite having it on Facebook and Twitter...I'm aware my reasonings are illogical). But now that I've joined a forum for 20-something bloggers and I'm on Twitter, using the name of a Twilight character just seems...well, a little pathetic.

This is a big change. Now my name is attached to my random musings and awkward posts. Bella's been a part of me for a long time, and leaving her behind feels like I'm leaving behind a part of me and growing up. This is harder than I thought.

That's what she said.

Okay, maybe not THAT grown up.

Love,

...Malory

My real name is so boring.

Crossing Personal Boundaries

(How I imagine it would have ended up...)

The other day, I was standing in line in a very busy Tim Horton’s, behind a number of construction workers.

As soon as I saw the bright orange vests with the yellow markers, I immediately looked to see if the men were good looking. See, construction workers are my kind of man. Not afraid to get dirty, good with their hands, hard-working (and that’s just in their job – can you imagine how that transcends into…um…other parts of life??).

Anyway, the guy right in front of me was fairly attractive but, strangely, that wasn’t the part that got me hooked. It was his sweater.

Instead of the usual coarse vest, he had on what I can only assume was a very warm fleece, CLEAN (very important with construction workers, as that doesn’t usually happen), orange and yellow jacket. And as I stood alarmingly close behind him, my mind wandered to how nice it would be to hug this attractive man in the warm, cuddly looking sweater. I imagined him leaving me in the early morning to do his manly job – in order to make money to buy me presents – but not before folding me into a warm, orange and yellow embrace. And, in my mind, it was heavenly.

It was at this point where he turned around and saw me staring at him, and he did a double take before turning slowly away from me. But that’s ok. I’m pretty used to that.

As I headed back into my daydream, I kept staring at his sweater, thinking of how soft it looked. And then something came over me. I reached out slowly, desperate to feel the soft orange material of my future husband’s sweater beneath my fingers.

“Oh God!” Thankfully, the sensible part of my brain overpowered the crazy part (which is quite a feat), and I very quickly retracted my hand (with a delightful little flail) before I landed dangerously close to being issued a restraining order.

Also, he practically ran to the counter when it was his turn. I thought that was a little rude.

Love,

Bella