Thriving on the Dramatic

As a viewer, I would pick Aidan (also, hello Hotness). But in real life? I know I would pick Big.

I recently joined the Sex and the City bandwagon - which I realize was really more popular, like, ten years ago, but I'm a late bloomer, okay? - and obviously the girls unearth some very thought provoking issues in each of the epsiodes. Naturally, Carrie uses her and the girls' experiences to write the column that women everywhere relate to. I know I do, which is why I decided to write my own column about one of the issues that really resonated with me. Except this is just a blog. That I don't get paid for. So it's not the same at all.

Anyway. Carrie is dating Aidan. Sweet, lovely, sexy Aidan. Loves her, and isn't afraid to tell/show her. Carrie, in usual woman fashion, is still hung up on Big. Asshole, arrogant, hurtful Big. You would think that Carrie would be so relieved to find someone as wonderful as Aidan after Big's drama that she wouldn't give Big another thought. But she does. Aidan isn't dramatic. He's easy. Big is confusing, infuriating, and frustrating - but intoxicating. Carrie was burned bad by him, but she still wants him, which leads her to the question that I ask myself daily - when it comes to men, do we thrive on drama?

More often than not, I hear my girlfriends talk about the "chase" - oh, he's not interested? Challenge accepted. Do we like the chase of getting a man's interest, and grow more interested when he doesn't show interest in us? When a man is easy and doesn't make us guess, wonder, and guess again, do we lose interest? That thought is terrifying.

Big would never let Carrie meet his mother, keeping her away like "some kind of leper" and it infuriated her. Aidan wants her to meet his parents. And she automatically retreats into her shell and thinks it's too fast (which, okay, if it was the second date, then it would be too fast. Been there. We also have to use logic in order to decipher what men are just apeshit crazy and clingy). But the issue that Carrie focuses on is the fact that Aidan gives her exactly what Big won't, and suddenly she starts acting like Big. What is that?

It's like the drama keeps it exciting. Eventually, Carrie and Big get it together, but it's still dramatic. There's still hurt, anger, and emotional ups and downs. But what really makes me wonder about my own sanity is that I get it. I get that she would rather have the drama than the ease. Which, you know, makes me feel pretty good about my future.

I could really use a Cosmo.

Love,

M

Topics I Will Never Blog About

This is me.

I have to apologize to my readers - all 3 of you (kisses!). I haven't been writing much lately, and I will tell you why:

Because I have nothing to say.

No, seriously. I mean, I could write about my daily adventures to the mall (aka my place of work) and the work that I do, but that would just be boring. Also, I'm not entirely sure what I do.

So, knowing I needed to get my shit together and start writing more frequently or risk losing the minimal interest that people have in this blog, I decided to ask Google for some blog ideas. My thought was to use the ideas suggested to write a humourous and thought provoking post that would tug at heart strings while simultaneously entertaining and engaging my readers.

What I found were, like, 101 of the gayest ideas I've ever heard. So, naturally, I picked the dumbest ones and decided to criticize them in this post. So I guess it gave me something to write about, after all. Google, you're so awesome like that.

Run a contest. I'm pretty sure contests are supposed to have prizes. Which...no. And also, what would I do a contest for? The most awkward and embarrassing sex story? Actually...

Giveaway. Much like the whole contest prize thing, I'm not really on board with that. I could probably give away like...something from Dollarama. And then that would involve shipping to the winner of the giveaway and that's just too much work. But hey, don't get me wrong - I get that people love free stuff. I'm one of them. Once, I signed up for a credit card because I liked the t-shirt they were giving away. No, for reals. I did. I still have the t-shirt, too. It was from my University. Cha gheill!

Criticize a blog or person. Oh, hey, I'm doing that now! That's fun. Let's just continue, shall we? The suggestions under this topic are to make sure that your arguments are well thought out and firmly based in fact, and to avoid random ranting as it is pointless. HowEVER, I'm firmly dedicated to random ranting and going off about things that I have little - if any - solid information about. So I don't think this works for me.

Tell a personal secret. Yeah the fuck right. I like to keep my actual personal life relatively private. Sure, I'll make jokes and tell about things that happen to me with the people in my life, but like HELL am I going to start telling secrets on here. That's for when I'm rip roaring drunk and feeling extra lovey and share-y. Duh.

Write an inspirational or motivational post with famous quotes. I don't want people to hate me because I'm being all happy and inspirational and all "life is beauty-ful, yay!" I say that because those people bug me. You know, the happy and optimistic ones. Gross. (Unless of course you guys want some happy and inspirational posts, in which case I will Google those quotes SO fast).

Write down all the thoughts you had in your mind today. Umm, that's for Twitter, y'all.

Write down your monthly budget and personal expenses. This one makes me laugh. I don't have a personal budget. Because I don't have any money. Because I don't know how to budget. You see where I'm going with this? I COULD write a blog about how much money I spend on things that I don't need and/or already have - makeup, shoes, purses, candy - but then my parents might read it and I would get in trouble. Sad face. (Yes, I am an adult. Yes, I make my own money. And yes, sometimes I have to answer to my parents about my money because when I run out, they need to bail me out. Daughter of the YEAR. Also I love my parents).

Alright, I should probably do some work now. Kisses, hugs, and rainbows to all.

Love,

M

Gambling with Grandma

Sometimes my heart hurts from how much I love them

I need to preface this post with this tidbit of information: my Grandma is the coolest Grandma ever. And okay, maybe I’m biased. But she is. Just like my Grandpa is probably the unintentionally funniest guy I will ever meet. So instead of Grandma knitting sweaters on a Saturday night, she goes to the casino.

Yes, I was the DD. No, I didn’t have anything else planned on a Saturday night after taking Benny down to the lake for our weekly date. I never said that *I* was cool.

Another thing I should mention: Grandma is a seasoned slot machine player. Seriously. She has the casino card and the plastic springy thing to attach to her purse so that she doesn’t lose it. The woman does not fool around.

Grandma got settled on one of her favourite machines and, after watching her play for a few minutes, I decided to wander around the casino. The thing about wandering around a new place is that sometimes you wander into places that aren’t really meant for you. Like, for example, when I was little and video stores were still around, I ended up in the adult section of the store. My Dad didn’t realize it until I disappeared – I’m not sure if he was more afraid of what I would see or of my Mom finding out that I had got in there under his watch…probably equally both.

It happened again at the casino (except I didn’t end up in the adult section – I don’t know what kind of casino would have that…) when I wandered into the Chinese section. No, seriously. There’s a Chinese section. And guess what? They’re all Chinese people there.

I didn’t realize where I was until I was in the middle of the room and realized that there weren’t anymore fellow round eyes in my vicinity and Chinese characters everywhere (the words, not the people…although them, too). And I was clearly not welcome. They all seemed to stop playing and just look (albeit squintily…too far?). I backed away slowly and paid more attention to my surroundings after that.

Next I decided to try my hand at Roulette. After trying to put half my chips on black and half on red (not allowed, incidentally), one of the casino monitor guys had to assist me in whatever the hell I was trying to do. I did win $20, and that was enough for me (shout out to TF, who told me what to bet on since I was useless).

That was about enough time on my own at this point, so I went in search of Grandma who was doing her thing on the slots. We had decided to leave at 11:30pm, and it was nearing that time. As I approached, I was met with, “How about another half hour…?”

Badass, Grandma. Badass.

Love,

M

Slumdog Millionaires

“I’m going to Google a list of things that we should take camping … This list is fantastic! And reminding me why I never go camping…”

This should have been our first clue.

JT and I were discussing the items we would need to bring on our big weekend at the Boots and Hearts country music festival. We had decided to camp, eager to experience everything the event had to offer. There was just one problem: neither of us knew the first thing about camping; the outdoors; or how to survive without plumbing, showers, and real food.

Let’s paint a picture, shall we? JT is a Toronto born, Jewish lawyer. The least pretentious person you will ever meet, but also not one who is very accustomed to outdoorsy activities. I was raised in suburbia and dislike nature, bugs, dirt, and sleeping outside. A princess, one might call me (no, seriously, I’ve been called that a lot).

We were excited. Country music and an obviously hilarious experience trying to camp? Some quality time with one of my most favourite people in the world? What’s not to love?!

 

Adorable. And very excited. This was very early on.

Oh, that’s right. We had to sleep in a fucking tent for 4 nights. In a field. With a million other people.

 

In a TENT?!

We arrived at our campsite. Basically a square of field that held enough room for the van we took and our tent. Spirits were still high!

We pitched the tent with assistance from our much more seasoned neighbours, and after we realized we had no idea what the hell to do with the second part of the tent. Great, done! Let’s get ready! Still happy! Still excited!

 

I tried to take photos and videos but he caught on to my plan and then I had to help.

I took a bathroom break. That’s when things went downhill for me. I literally almost cried as I sat squatted precariously over the toilet. The thing about being a woman and using the bathroom is that squatting sort of…pitches your head forward. So not only are you avoiding the seat, you’re also trying to avoid head butting the door of the port-a-potty or, alternatively, turning your head so you’re fucking nose-to-“nose” with the urinal. I basically got my ass out of those damn things at a dead run as soon as I was done. Think I scared all the people waiting.

"This is like a slum." - JT

The concert itself that first night was great, albeit terrifying. For the whole weekend, I think I was turned into JT in a sort of protective stance from all the rowdiness. (I do hate how this whole post makes me sound, but it was just…it was MADNESS). We lasted 5 minutes at the dance party and were in the tent ready for bed at about 12:30am.

And that was when JT broke. The tent was on a hill and, as he exclaimed that “all my blood is rushing to my feet”, he had an epiphany: “I totally did not know this was camping.” As we took in our surroundings – and JT gripped the flashlight for dear life – we went into hysterics at what we were doing. We tentatively decided to screw the camping idea and stay at my parents’ house for the remainder of the weekend. The night was a mess of people running by our tent, partiers at 3am, and car alarms going off right outside our tent. Oh, by the way, we are 50 years old.

I was worried that JT may have a change of heart in the morning and want to stay, and I was determined to do so with a smile on my face if that was the case. And more alcohol than I would have ever consumed in my 26 years.

Miserable.

He woke up, and once he figured out the zipper on the door to the tent, looked at me and said, “Ok, first, we need coffee. And then we need to figure out how to get the fuck out of here.”

I had never heard sweeter words. We were gone within the hour.

We are never, ever, ever doing that again.

 

I could not have experienced that with anyone else. So lucky to have this guy in my life.

Love,

M                                                                                                                                                                    

Customer Service

(I apologize for the lacklustre title. It was supposed to be longer and then I ran out of witty things to say).

For someone who willingly went into Human Resources – the people part of business – I really do hate people. Okay, customers. But those are the people that I have the most contact with, on account of avoiding public places and interactions with strangers when I’m not on work time.

 

Their stupidity, their rudeness, and their overall sense of entitlement are shocking to me. For some reason, standing behind a counter means that I’m not human and that these people can say whatever the fuck they want to me, regardless of how it will make me feel. Whatever the hell happened to “treat people the way you want to be treated”? Golden rule, assholes. Let’s try it some time.

 

I get that the customer is always right. I do. Retail depends on consumerism – if people didn’t buy the products, the company would go under. But we’re still in society. We’re all still people that have to communicate with each other. The people behind the desk are no better or worse than those handing over the money. So why do others feel the need to take their frustrations out on someone who is just trying to give you what you want so you can move the fuck on? I honestly don’t get it.

 

Don’t get me wrong – when the cashier is super rude, I totally understand that the customer is rude back. I would do that, too. But I KNOW I’m not rude. How do I know this? Because I’m absolutely exhausted from acting like my purpose in life is to make that customer happy. My voice raises two octaves when speaking to customers, and I’m the sweetest God damned person you will ever meet. I annoy myself constantly.

 

But when I get the rude people who have had a bad day and take it out on me, the people that won’t leave the store when it’s closed because it’s “not a big deal”, the fucking wackos that think retail is all a big conspiracy and I’m taking their information so I can either stalk them or track all of their purchases and send them to the government, or the incredibly stupid ones that ask me something ridiculous and it takes every ounce of strength not to ask “is that a serious question?”, it makes me question society. And worry for the future of humanity (that’s mostly the stupid ones).

 

Obviously I’m not perfect. I’m sure I’ve asked my fair share of stupid questions, gotten exasperated with a cashier over a miscommunication, and stayed later than I should have in a store. But sometimes, I just need to vent. And it’s my blog, so I can say what I want.

 

I hope this doesn’t get me fired.

 

Love,

 

M

 

 

Public Pools Are Not for the Socially Awkward

Sometimes I just get a need to be submerged in water.

Wait. Let me start that again.

Sometimes I just really want to go swimming. 

That’s better.

I’m a self-proclaimed (based in Astrological fact, might I add) water baby. Sometimes I just need to chill out, take an hour, and sit by the lake and reflect. It’s very dramatic of me.

The other day was a day where I wanted to actually be IN the water (tehe, so many innuendos can come from this, but I will refrain. I’m trying to be mature, you know). Because our pool is basically dead – with, I’m assuming, very much alive bacteria – and I didn’t feel like contracting some weird disease, my only other option was the public pool at the local Community Complex (I guess I could have gone to the lake, but I live near Lake Ontario. Which…no).

My first mistake in this endeavour was wearing a bathing suit that was more suitable for the privacy of my backyard, and not at all appropriate for an afternoon of public swimming. The top is a little, ahem…small, so there were a few times I narrowly avoided a wardrobe malfunction (and maybe a few times where I didn’t and just didn’t realize it).

In my defence, I was expecting the pool to be relatively empty. It was a hot summer day – shouldn’t people be outside in pools? NOPE. (Which I guess is why I was there, too…shut up). Children. Everywhere. Just all kinds of children swimming in every part of the pool everywhere. I tried to ignore it. I did. I walked over to the 17 year old lifeguard (who I’m pretty sure couldn’t even save me if he wanted to) and asked, “Do I need to do some sort of test before I can swim in the deep end?”

“How old are you?”

“26.”

“No, you’re good.”

…I knew that. I was trying to be funny.

So off I wade into the pool, my posture extremely rigid as I tried to create some semblance of a flat, not beer bloated from a weekend binge, stomach. Head way up – chin protruding. Shoulders way back and down. Stomach sucked in abnormally. Nailed it!

Also – I have to admit this: I tried to be sexy. Like for the 17 year old lifeguards. In my mind, I looked like this:

Until I realized that I’m not a very sexy person and the whole swim-up-from-under-the-water-and-surface-with-a-sexy-look ended up more like this:



Suffice it to say that I lasted about 2 minutes until it got too weird in there. Even for me. So I went to the hot tub where I was alone (yay!) and tried to swim in there (which basically entailed paddling back and forth rapidly and in little circles because, let’s be honest, hot tubs aren’t really meant for swimming). Eventually I grossed myself out enough with the thought of all the people that go in this hot tub and how many potential germs there were, and I got out.

My public swimming adventure lasted a total of about 10 minutes. But my reputation as the weird girl who flirts with teenaged lifeguards and swims alone in a pool of children will last forever.

Love,

M

Just Another Day with Some Creepers

This photo has nothing to do with the topic of the post. But a photo of the...topic...is too weird to post. Even for me.

Sometimes I meet people that really stick out in my mind, you know? Some are really influential, some are really funny, some just have that personality that is so crazy and fun that I can't help but remember them.

And some are just really fucking creepy. Obviously, we're talking about the latter here.

I invite you to read the conversation that took place between me and one of those sneakily creepy men - you know the ones I'm talking about. They don't look all that creepy, they don't say a lot of creepy things - but when they pull out the creepiness, it almost knocks you over.

Creepy Man: I'm moving here to be with my girlfriend.

Me: That's great. I'm sure you guys will be very happy.

CM: She's as into this stuff as I am *gestures to book in hand*

Me: *Thinking it's anime or some weird comic that I don't understand and don't care to* Well that's even better!

CM: Yeah. She does the tying, I do the reading.

Me: Oh, cool! (I wasn't really paying attention to the conversation at this point, obviously).

CM: You should come out some time.

Me: Wait...what? Come out to what? What are we talking about?

CM: I guess you could say it's a sort of...sensual bondage.

Me: OH WOW REALLY EH THAT'S AWESOME! *High pitched and yelling*

CM: I guess it depends on what you're into, though...

Me: Uh. Well. You know what, as long as you found someone who's as into it as you are then that's all that matters, right? Hahahaha! (This is me trying to act like I wasn't completely fucking terrified).

CM: Oh, there's more than just us. It's a whole community!

Me: Alright sir you have a great day okay?! Hahahahahaha ok bye bye then! Bye!

So. That happened. I obviously handled it exceptionally well. Because I'm very mature, you see.

Oh, and the book? I glanced at it a bit more thoroughly. It was a cartoon woman on her knees with her arms tied behind her back.

Love,

M

Reflections

This post is a result of my current reading material, Yoga Bitch, in which the main character tries to find a deeper connection to life than skepticism, cynicism, and coffee. Sounds about right!

There's a part of me that feels like I need to do, be more. More intellectual, more thoughtful, more creative, more insightful. I read books by authors that seem to have such intense, deep, colourful views of their experiences, and it makes me want those too. I want to be so moved by a novel that I've actually read as opposed to one that I know I should be moved by because my degree tells me I should and I skimmed it during my studies. I want to describe experiences and situations using adjectives and colours. I want to write thought provoking material that really makes me look at my life. I'm trying to do that even now - I choose my words carefully in the hope that I'll sound like these writers that I want to be like.

And this is what I mean. I constantly think that what I do and who I am isn't good enough - and not in a depressing way (well, sometimes it's depressing, but that's only when I'm having a pity party and I let myself dwell on past situations that made me feel not good enough) but in a way that makes me think that I need to be okay with who I am. Stop wanting to be prettier, smarter, funnier (well, I probably can't be funnier), thinner, happier, less quirky and scattered and awkward and sarcastic, more "normal". But Dr Suess had it right when he said that you have to be yourself because the people that matter don't mind, and the people that mind don't matter.

 

I need to stop dwelling on the people that perpetuate my insecurities and wondering why they don't think I'm good enough, and start focusing on those that appreciate my quirks and weirdness and myself in general. Because how else am I going to develop a sense of self security if I keep letting people and situations dictate how I feel about myself? I'm the only one with complete control over that (does this count as being insightful? It feels insightful).

 

I'm not particularly deep, or intense, or mindful. I don't have grandiose plans, nor do I know how I want my life to end up. I'm restless, scared, immature, selfish, shallow, untrusting, guarded. But I'm also nice, thoughtful, smart; I love my friends and family fiercely, and I love with my whole heart when I trust someone. I might be guarded, but when I love, I love hard. But I do want to be more honest, and not with others (though I could probably work on that - one step at a time!). I need to be more honest with myself - who I am and what I want.

 

Right now I want a snack. That's a good start, right?

 

Love,

 

M

 

 



Mindy and Danny NOT Kissing In a Tree

Aah I love them. But he doesn't like her hand on his shoulder. So why would they kiss?!

So Mindy and Danny had a moment. A really uncomfortable, awkward moment.

At least that’s how I felt.

The entire episode I was on edge, because I read a comment somewhere about Danny and Mindy and a potential “thing” happening. Well, it almost did, and I was physically uncomfortable watching it. I’m talking backed as far into the couch to get as much distance as possible from the TV screen (you know, because I was practically in the room with them) with my hands over my mouth, taking breaths in rapid succession (in hindsight, I may need to look more into the way I handle uncomfortable moments on TV – it hardly bodes well for my actual life…).

I don’t know why I had such an intense reaction to the two of them, but I’m going to wager a guess that it has something to do with the fact that, in real life, those two getting together would never happen. It just wouldn’t. He can’t stand her most of the time, and she thinks he’s too serious.

I love them both. I love the dynamic between them because they’re so funny together, and they’re clearly pseudo best friends. But they don’t work romantically. (Why does every friendship in television have to end up in a relationship?!)

This captures them perfectly. And it captures how they should stay.

There are a lot of TV characters that I hope will get together – Nick and Jess, for instance. They are meant to be, and I was so so happy when they finally made it happen. But Mindy and Danny are too opposite to even entertain the thought of them being together. He’s too uptight, and she’s too much of a hot mess (I say that in the most loving way possible).

I can only hope that this was just a moment of weakness for them both – Mindy is at a crossroads with Casey and potentially changing her life to head for Haiti, while Danny is in a relationship that is moving too fast with his ex-wife. They were seeking familiarity, and the two of them are nothing if not familiar with each other.

It was just a hiccup. Next season, things will be back to normal. Because I could not take seeing the two of them kiss. I could not. Just…ew.

And it’s at this point that I realize how invested I am in a television show. Well done on the
writers’ parts. Not well done on the part where I live my own life and have my own experiences that aren’t lived vicariously through fictional characters.

I’m still working on it.

Love,

M

Mother Like Mine

Beautiful Momma

The Band Perry’s new album has a song dedicated to their Mom – Mother Like Mine – that, when I listened to it on the train home from work, I started to cry (yes, on the train). It captured my own Mom so perfectly. My Mom is, and forever will be, my ultimate best friend, my biggest fan, and my safe place when life gets hard. This post is dedicated to my beautiful, strong, loving Momma.

A Blind Believer in All I Dare to Be

I have changed my mind about what I want to do and be in my life so many times, and my Mom has supported me wholeheartedly though every single one. She has let me make mistakes that she knew I had to make – even though she saw the outcome before I even made them, but knew I wouldn’t learn the lesson until I went through it myself – and never once said, “I told you so” (which, trust me, she could have said A LOT). She’s my biggest cheerleader, and I know I wouldn’t have done half the things I’ve done in my life without her encouraging me, and being there no matter what the outcome. She just wants me to be happy, which I am so grateful to her for.

She Takes the Midnight Call; She’s the Bravest of Us All

For as long as I can remember, my Mom has always made it known that we are to call her if we need her no matter the time. And I have – she was up with me at all hours when I was in England and having many freak outs, and she would sit with me while I was in tears on the phone. She’s the glue of our family, and our strength when things get tough. Even when her heart is breaking, she’s the one that still, without fail, manages to keep things together for her family. We’d be no where without her.

 

We All Need Her, But No One More than Me

I guess it’s a bit presumptuous of me to say that I need her more than anyone else in my family, but the bond I have with my Momma is one that I will need for the rest of my life. She’s my comfort and my voice of reason. No matter who comes into my life, she will always have a place in my heart that no one can fill but her. When times get tough, it’s my Mom I go to. I need her more than I probably should in my mid-20s, but she’s my Mommy. I’ll always need her.

The Dishes Would All be Cleaner

This one is just fun, but like seriously – how is my Mom’s house always so clean and good smelling? She has the Midas touch of making things homey.

 

No One Would Ever Wonder if Somebody Wanted Them

Cue the waterworks. It was this line that hit home for me and what really captures the essence of my Mom. No matter what I’ve gone through – the heartbreaks and the insecurities – my Mom has provided me with such unconditional love that I have never, for one second, felt like I was alone in the world. When I hit rock bottom of my depression and didn’t know if I could go on anymore, it was the thought of my Mom’s love that pulled me through. She has never let me question her love for me – my childhood through to this day has always been filled with I Love You’s and Momma hugs, and I will be forever grateful that I have a Mom that is so selfless and so loving. I know how lucky I am to have a Mom like mine. Her kids are her world, and I owe everything to her.

This one’s for you, Momma. Thank you for being you.

Love,

M

Not Made For The BIg City

Yeah, it's pretty, whatever. I hate humans.

I’m back in downtown Toronto for a month while I complete my placement – the final step before my program is done and I never ever ever have to go back to school.

(Fast forward 10 years when I decide, for fun, to do a Master’s in English Lit. To my future husband cat, please, at that moment in time, talk me out of it).

Ahem, so anyway, I’m in the same building that I was, right in the swanky part of Toronto. Things I have noticed in my week of being here:

-          All of the men are gay. Or at least dress like they are. It makes me uncomfortable that they can…fit…everything in those very tight pants. It makes me wonder if they have anything to fit…ya know? Many of my girlfriends talk about how sexy the downtown men look in their fitted suits as though they’re in powerful, executive positions. Meanwhile, I’m looking past them at the construction workers like, “Oh hey there, you ruggedly sexy man, you…” (Except I don’t say that to them…anymore).

-         Everyone is very small. I don’t mean like in weight, although that’s true. I mean in stature. The tiny, albeit lovely, girl next to me was sitting at my desk next to my extra large Tim’s cup and I couldn’t help but notice that she was about the same size as it. Like a giant’s cup next to a normal sized person. Naturally, I’m the giant. I was wearing heels the other day that, halfway through it, I had to remove them because I was acutely aware of how much fucking taller I am than everyone. The woman I work with is at the height of my boobs. Which…is probably pretty awkward for her.

-          A woman in the office looks and sounds like the Asian chick from Pitch Perfect. YouTube that shit. And then wonder how I don’t laugh every time she speaks (ie. I do).

-         I am acutely aware of myself when I’m in this city. Of how much I’m not used to the city life, and how much I feel like I don’t belong here. It’s very strange. But I’ve never been AS self-conscious (well, that’s a lie, but at least in the last few years) as I am when walking through these streets. Maybe it’s all the people. Maybe it’s their fashion sense and general aura. But when I’m here, I’m counting down the hours until I’m back in my small town. Even more, I find myself wishing I was going home to a farmhouse on a bunch of acres away from people and where it’s quiet. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the definition of anti-social. Nice to meet you (although probably not that nice).

-         Any desire for fashionable clothes and big diamonds is gone when I’m here. Yes, even big diamonds! What is happening?! It’s like I’m so against becoming a Torontonian that I go the complete opposite direction and try to make myself as simple as possible (and I’m a relatively simple person). The other day I called myself a farm girl. And then I laughed to myself. I’m not a farm girl. I have worked on a farm, but I don’t live on one. Who am I?!

-          I have a crisis of identity when among large swarms of people. Does this mean I’m agoraphobic? I hope not. I’m going to book a therapy session just in case, though…

 So those are my thoughts after my first week at placement. I’m clearly learning LOTS!

Love,

M

Best Early Birthday Ever!

Captures his personality perfectly.

I’ve written about JT before – my amazing travel buddy that I met while studying abroad in England, and who, aside from my family, is the only person who has truly seen the depth of my moodiness before I figured out what was going on (like, I’m talking before meds!) – and still stuck around. Whenever I talk about him, that’s one of the main things I mention. Very few people would put up with the shit I pulled!

One of the first trips we took together in Scotland - don't we look great?!

I’m so lucky to have him in my life and to count him as one of those people who will make me laugh, have my back, and no doubt make any endeavour we take on an adventure. This past weekend was no exception.

My birthday is in July, but since JT will be out of the country on the date (and before that, studying for the BAR – which he will ROCK), this weekend was an early birthday celebration. I didn’t know what it would entail or where we were going – he planned it all out – including the phenomenal meals that he made FROM SCRATCH (yes, ladies, he cooks) – but when we arrived at “Activity 1”, I wanted to cry.

It was a shooting range. A range where you shoot. GUNS. How did he know? By an offhand mention of it on my blog. Are you kidding me? Amazing, right? Unfortch, we couldn’t get in because something broke down in the range, but I was able to soak up the atmosphere, the men (oh, those MEN), and look at all the guns. I was in heaven – redneck heaven (my favourite kind). We’ll go back for his early birthday (though how I can ever top the surprise of that is beyond me).

 

Friends forever *love*

Activity 2 – a back up in case we needed it – was nothing less than horseback riding. He planned gun shooting AND horseback riding. Dear god. I can’t even make this post about anything but how much I love this guy. I don’t quite know why I got so lucky to have a friend like him, but I’ll be forever grateful that I do!

“Babies get colic.” “But we don’t put babies down…” – Talking about how colic is fatal for horses. A snapshot of his humour. I never stop laughing!

JT, this blog is all for and about you. Thank you for being you!

Love,

M

Getting Weird Last Friday

I hope the Workaholics guys would be proud.

You know those nights you go out and you think it’s just going to be a low key chat with a good friend over drinks? JL and I planned for one of those nights. And then shit got real.

(Let me preface this story by stating that, while for many people “shit got real” may encompass being arrested, ending up in another province/country, or ending up in an orgy, JL and I have never been THOSE kinds of girls. So for us, this night is as unplanned crazy as it usually gets when frequenting the neighbourhood pub. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. Also, shout out to JL – love you, chica!).

Friends since we were 14!

This weekend marked the end of what I’ve endearingly termed “The Week from Hell” (solely because I procrastinated the shit out of everything and had to work my ass off all week trying to knock out projects that I could have been working on all term. But where’s the fun in that?). So, to celebrate, JL and I decided to have a girl’s night at our “local”– no, seriously, I went there and the waiter asked if I wanted a Guinness, because I always get served by him and always order the same thing. Which, actually, I kind of love – they know me there. They know my manly drink. Famous in a small town and all that.

Full disclaimer – which should not come as a shock to anyone that knows me remotely well – I develop crushes on any semi-attractive man that I come in contact with that does not show me the slightest bit of interest. So this one rather good-looking waiter in particular who I always get – and who does NOT indulge in any of my best attempts at flirting – was my latest challenge in trying to see how I could get into his pants engage him in conversation. The stars must have aligned for me on Friday because he finally cracked a smile. Maybe it was because my hair was curly.

Right. Back to the story. So I went to the bathroom at one point – during which I spent some time playing on my phone (you know you do it, too) – and when I left, my Future Husband (aka cute waiter) asked if the lady in the bathroom was okay.

“Uh, I guess?” (How would I know? I was sending hilarious texts to my one other friend that wasn’t at the bar all my friends). I told him to come and get me in five minutes if she wasn’t out and they were still worried (good Samaritan? I think so!).

Apparently they were still worried, because he came back and said, “I will buy you a beer -- [thought he was asking me out – he wasn’t. Why does that keep happening?] -- if you go and check on the lady in the bathroom”. Poor JL was left alone – again – while I gallantly headed to the Ladies’ room so FH would think I was super awesome and nice and cool to check out the sitch. Where I was met with a middle-aged woman lying on the floor.

Nap time.

“MA’AM! Are you okay?!” (What kind of question was that? She was lying on the fucking bathroom floor. Of course she wasn’t okay). I helped her up and guided her to the little couch (yeah, we get a couch in our bathroom– sorry guys) and had her lie down while I dramatically ran out of the bathroom and exclaimed, “Not okay, WE’RE NOT OKAY!” Simon, the other bartender, springs into action and calls this woman’s daughter while FH grabs some water – with lemon, which I’m not sure was necessary but a lovely touch – and I bring it back to the lady, who will henceforth be known as D. Turns out, she wasn’t, like, dying or anything. She was just very drunk. I kind of think she may have been on the floor taking a nap, which…can’t say has never happened to me crossed my mind. We had a wee chat while she sipped her water and I told her that this happens all the time (what? She was probably embarrassed. I had to make it seem like it was normal – also I was pretty bombed myself), at which point she told me I was beautiful (love me some beer goggles) and would I like to meet her son? Naturally, I said yes (ONLY because I was trying to keep her happy, thankyouverymuch) and I was told how much I would love him. Eventually, we had rallied enough to stagger out of the bathroom – me holding D up and trying to make it seem like we were just best friends walking out of the bathroom with our arms around each other as best friends do, obviously.

JL stared at me and D with mild confusion, horror, and hilarity as we settled back at the table. There are very, very few people with whom I could experience this situation, and I’m so glad it was my girl JL. She and I entertained D for a while until her daughter came, from whom D escaped and ran back to me and rather aggressively asked for the 100^th time if I wanted to meet her son. I told her we would meet back at the bar another night and all have drinks together. That appeased her, and she left for home – and a rough next morning, I’m sure.

Love,

M

PS – I also mistakenly drank out of D’s water glass after she left, and did not realize until JL said, “Uh, Mal, that’s D’s glass…”. Now, one would think it would be better to simply and delicately spit the water back into the glass. I am neither simple nor delicate, and I was mortified that I drank her water, so I followed my drunken instinct…and spit it out on the table (well, actually, I just sort of opened my mouth and let it pour out itself. Sexy, amiright?). Which FH saw. So…can’t go back there for a while…
 

The Day I Thought My Pharmacist Was Asking Me Out

It's 10am and I've already had what I sincerely hope I can say is the most awkward moment of the day today. Seriously.

 

I went to pick up my prescription from the pharmacy where my Pharmacist Crush works. He's lovely. He's a brown dude (I know, right?) and looks all smart in his lab coat and glasses and has excellent teeth and I love him so much. So, anyway, I obviously walked into the pharmacy like this:

 

 

My future husband comes up to me, calls me Mal (MAL! Like we're FRIENDS! Because we are. The best of.) and says, "Are you free tonight?"

The Universe stopped. As did my heart. So I whispered - whispered, Jesus Christ - "I think so..."

"Great, because I didn't get a chance to fill your script. Could you come back tonight?"

"OH YEAH SURE NO PROBLEM!" This is in caps because I'm pretty sure I yelled it in an incredibly high voice.

"Thanks, buddy!"

Did my pharmacist just friend zone me?

Love,

M

Maybe This Time I'll Learn My Lesson

On Sunday, after looking through pictures that SM and I took on our day of activities on Saturday (which involved trying to try on Tiffany's diamonds - everyone knew we didn't belong there and did not speak to us - and doings shots at a bar at 4pm, where we felt much more among our own people), I decided that my forehead was really high.

I did not like that. So I decided to take matters into my own hands.

I'm not so great with money management (read: I suck at it) and I always spend money on things I don't need, and I don't spend money on things that would make sense. For example: I will buy a Lululemon headband for $20, but I will not shell out the same amount to go to the hairdresser to cut my bangs (probably because I bought the God damn headband). Do you know what this means? It means that I used nail scissors to cut off my own hair in a very noticeable way. The bangs are at the front of my head (obviously). They are not inconspicuous. Bangs are not meant to be. They are also not meant to be cut by anyone other than a professional with anything other than actual hair cutting scissors.

I didn't care. I chopped 'em off (this is not the first time - seriously, I do not learn my lessons). They were more noticeable than I intended. Maybe I wasn't expecting short strands of hair that hang on my effing face to be so prominent.

I left them, thinking that I would revisit them after my shower when my hair was wet to make sure they were straight. They weren't. So I cut them again, while wet. Did you know that wet hair appears longer than dry hair? I now have bangs that, to me, look something like this:



She just happened to be black. This was not intentional.



I think this is probably more prominent than my actual bangs look, but I kind of feel like this is what I look like.

I also hate my new bangs. I should have learned from SM, who also cut her own bangs, and who I laughed at for doing so, that bangs are not always the best choice. I now cannot see everytime I put my head down.

Does anyone know how to make hair grow several inches in approximately 1 day?

Love,

M

Boxing with Prince Harry

Did I mention that I wear pink boxing gloves and crystal earrings when I work out. Seriously. Laughing stock of the gym.

Alright, I didn't exactly box with Prince Harry. But the owner - against whom I had to spar because no one else showed up to class - is a more muscular, manlier version of him. With an adorable smile. While that may sound like a great situation, the 15 year old girl inside of me - the one that comes out when I try to speak to an attractive male between 25-35 - wanted to run away.

When I got to the gym, he immediately asked where I had been for the past couple of weeks. (The answer? Drunk). I considered replying with: "I am intimidated by your appearance and overall stature, so I didn't want to come in because it was uncomfortable to me". But I didn't want to make him think I was weirder (or at least realize that I'm weirder) than I seem. So I went with the nonchalant, "Oh, you know, I've been around." Win.

For 45 minutes, I was forced to catch his punches, duck his jabs, and throw my own. I was sweating profusely, breathing hard, and making weird faces while exclaiming "Jesus!" in reaction to each one of his punches. And then I told him that I didn't want to work out in front of the mirror "because, ew...". But he would occasionally smile and give a pity laugh whenever I tried to make a joke. And that was enough to make it an excellent workout for me.

I'm going back tonight.



I mean, come on. Look at him. So cute.

Love,

M

Why Lying Can End Up In Planning Your Own Wedding

I've started to wear my diamond ring on my left ring finger at work because I want to deter the creepy ass mofos that seem to mistake my pleasant demeanour and welcoming smile for attraction to them. And these are not attractive men - they are old, have a few screws loose, or are just generally weird. I sure get some winners.

Now, don't get me wrong - I'm certainly not propositioned by men for my number/dates all the time, nor do I often wear an "engagement" ring to keep all the men at bay (I usually need all the help I can get to just to get one to talk to me at bars, etc, on account of apparently giving off a "get the fuck away from me" kind of vibe. It just comes naturally, what can I say. You know, it's either that or no one is interested. ... Haha, no, that can't be it). However, there have been a couple of times when I wanted a way to get a couple of weirdos off my case without having to blatantly say no (which I'm not that good at to begin with...that doesn't make me sound very good...).

Anyway, the other day I was working on cash, and a very nice lady commented on my ring (which IS very pretty...I should think so, I bought it myself. For myself.):

Very Nice Lady (VNL): Your ring is beautiful.

Me: Oh, thank you! *Big smile*

VNL: You look pleased with it!

Me: Mmhmm! (Hindsight: should have, at this point, shut down the assumption that I was engaged. I did not).

VNL: When is the big day?

(Now, here is the point where you might think to yourself, “Malory, this would be the opportune moment to explain, without getting into detail, that you are not engaged and are simply wearing a nice ring”. And yes, that would have been the logical answer. But I don’t think logically, because I am a woman).

Me: October.

VNL: Oh, lovely!

Me: Yes, we’re excited! (Oh, I kept going. I spoke in “we” form. WE!)

VNL: All the best to you both!

Me: Oh, thank you so much!

And that is how I became engaged to be married in October of next year. It was a special moment.



This is pretty much what the ring in question looks like. Without the wedding band, of course. That will obviously come in October.
 

Love,

M

 

Being An Adult Is For Boring People...

Shamelessly stealing from one of my favourite sites that makes me happy every time I pay it a visit. And today - a rainy, miserable, depressing Monday - is one of those days that I need it the most.

So anyway, this pretty much sums up my weekend - during which I did nothing productive but wouldn't change it because my best friend and I sat and ate and laughed away most of Saturday night and Sunday. I know she would agree with this.

When I reflect back on my actions of this past weekend...

 

Pet Peeves

Me at most customers. Inside my head, anyway. I'm incredibly sweet on the outside. It's exhausting.

I have a mid-term today, which means that although I haven’t blogged in a long time, today is obviously the opportune time for me to get back into it. I’m giving up taking a break from studying in order to bring to you a list of things that have been annoying me the last few days – or at least have been way more noticeable due to the sense of impending doom that comes with mid-terms. You’re welcome.

1) People that talk at the back of their throats. Makes my skin crawl. Clear your damn throat and speak properly. Or not at all. Preferably the latter.

2) Parents that think it’s adorable to let their children talk at the cash register to me as I’m checking them out, but I can’t understand what the fuck they’re saying and just stare at the kid until the parent translates. Also, parents who let the kid hand the toy to me to scan, and then they start having a God damned conniption because they don’t have their toy anymore. Simmer, child. Jesus.

3) Parents who talk to their kids really loudly in public so we can all see what a great parent they are and how happy their kid is. You don’t look like a good parent, FYI. You look like an asshole.

4) People that don’t speak loud enough, especially at the cash registers. I cannot hear you. When I say “Pardon?”, please adjust how you’re speaking. If you keep speaking quietly, I’m going to pretend I hear you and do what I want.

5) People that have other language accents – I can’t understand what the fuck they want and they don’t understand me because English isn’t their first language, which…not my fault, PS. I want to hug the normal Canadians when they say words.

6) People that don’t hate other people. Come on. You cannot love people so much that you inherently see the good in everyone. That’s just wrong. And annoying as fuck.

7) People that comment on how fast I eat. This should actually be number one. Why the hell people feel the need to comment on the speed at which I eat my food is still a mystery to me. Mind your own fucking business.

8) People that think that because I don’t have their life – which is a variation on weddings, babies, cooking, cleaning…the boring shit, to me – that I must be unhappy or feel like something is missing. And sometimes I just want to say that, actually, your life makes me sad. I’m much more content with MY life – as crazy as it may seem to outsiders – than I would ever be with theirs. So put that in your pipe and smoke it. (Except for right now…I don’t love the school part of my life…so I’ll give them that).

9) Girls that post “selfies” all the God damned time. Could be because I don’t do that on account of looking terrible in photos and they look great that I don’t understand the draw, but Jesus H women…settle down on the selfies.

Ah, good times were had writing this. I feel much better about my pet peeves. Still terrible about the mid-term, though.

Love,

M