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

We're Coming to a Television Screen Near You

(I couldn't find a picture of two girls and a guy at a sleepover. Probably because that never seems to happen without...well, you know. Well it DOES, Google Images.)

The following conversation occurred between SM, Rio, and me after a night of drinking. We had a full out sleepover, with the three of us lying on different makeshift beds on my living room floor.

SM: “We could have our own sitcom, we’re so funny.”

Me: “We totally could. Let’s make it happen. We have to know who would play us, though.”

SM: “Paul Rudd would be him, obviously.”

Me: “Obviously.”

Rio: “I’m okay with that.”

*Begin talking about something unrelated as we apparently got bored with the situation*

Rio: “Okay, but who would play you guys?”

*Thinking about it lasts two seconds before we get on something else*

Rio: “No! Guys! Listen! We have to decide this.”

SM: “Wow, okay. Who would I be? Can I be Zooey Deschanel?”

Rio: “Does her personality work?”

Me: “It’s not about personality – it’ll be OUR personalities, we just need people to look like us. Zooey would totally work.”

Rio: “I think Paul Rudd’s personality would work really well for me.”

Me: “IT’S NOT…okay, who would be me?”

Rio: “I want to say who I think but I think you might get mad.”

Me: “This isn’t a good start, but you have to say it now.”

Rio: “Meryl Streep.”

He was right. I got mad.

Love,

Bella

My Parents, The Comedians

Everyone has people in their life that make them laugh just by being them. Sometimes it’s friends, siblings, or co-workers. For me, those people are my parents.

As they arrived home, they were sitting in the car in the driveway with the windows open, chirping at each other about something before they got out of the car. My mom then exited the car rolling her eyes and my Dad greeted me with “thank God you’re here”.

The following conversation occurred yesterday on their porch as my Dad was icing his aching knee and my Mom and I were relaxing after moving furniture (because we are amazing). We were chatting about things unrelated to tomatoes.

Dad: Did you know we have a whole jar of sun dried tomatoes in the cupboard?

Mom [to me]: Your father just comes out with things and expects me to be able to follow his thought process. The other day he told someone that he “has a hip”.

Dad: You have to put it in context. If I were saying that to a chiropractor, they would know that I meant a bum hip.

Mom: You were talking to an airline.

Dad: They know about these things for people they have to accommodate! [To me] Your mother always gives me a hard time.

Mom: I will punch you in the knee.

Mom [to me]: Dad booked our flights on Friday when he was tanked. I have no idea where we’re going.

Dad: The grass is growing.

My parents are awesome.

Love,

Bella

Irish Eyes are Smiling

It's St Paddy's Day people! The day for those who aren't Irish to pretend they are, and those who are to be even prouder of it than usual (like me, even though M says we aren't. He has no idea. He thinks he's Matthew McConaghey).

So go out, drink the drinks, and be proud to be part of the potato eating, whiskey drinking, brogue talking folk from the Emerald Isle.

Bottoms up!

Love,

Bella

Parenthood

(This is how I would be if I were ever to become some child's mother. Also, how I would be at work if they would let me.)

It has come to my attention that, if I choose to enter into the terrifyingly sticky world of parenthood, I will be either the worst mother ever, or the best. Probably both.

Why I Will Be the Worst Mother Ever

1. I’m not a huge fan of most children. I’m assuming that, to be a parent, one would have to have a certain appreciation for tiny people that are always dirty, make your house smell weird (seriously, a home with kids has the smell of dried milk), and grow up to be inconsiderate jerks.

I can say this because I was a child and I did grow up to be inconsiderate and moody for a certain amount of time. More moody than inconsiderate, but I was still pretty self-centred. I think I’d probably like my own kids, though, because I would raise them to be awesome and I wouldn’t let them be dirty and have toys.

2. I won’t let them have toys. See above. Toys get in the way and mess with the décor of a house.

3. I can’t understand a word children say. This would probably make me mad and cause me to stop listening to them altogether. Which I’m pretty sure isn’t a good thing to do.

4. I don’t like loud noises. Kids are always loud. They scream and they can be obnoxious little buggers. I don’t want that around me. That’s just annoying.

5. They’re small. I’d be afraid of stepping on them and/or running them over.

Why I Will Be the Best Mother Ever

1. I would let them do whatever they want because I'd be doing my own thing. To adults, this would place me in the “Worst” category. To me, children, and my patients, it places me in the “Best”.

I get really mad when people don’t let me do what I want. Thus, I would not want to tell children what they can and cannot do. How do I know what’s right? They would just have to be quiet while they do it and not cause disruptions either at home or in public places, because I hate when kids do that.

Further, when I ask my patients why they do some things they aren’t allowed to do, they respond with, “Because I like it.” Fair enough. I move on. When I ask them to stop playing poker and they say no, I say, “Okay.”

This is why they love me and I’m pretty sure staff hates me.

2. I’m funny. Yes, I am. Maybe not to you, but kids find me hilarious. So I’m pretty sure my kid(s) would just be laughing and having fun and eating cupcakes (I love cupcakes) all the time. And who doesn’t want that? As long as they weren't in my way while doing it.

3. In my head, my kid and I (which I have via sperm donor because I’m not sure any man in his right mind would voluntarily have a child with me) are best friends and we go on trips and shopping and are super close and they think I’m awesome. And I really like when people think I am awesome. I don’t know how this makes me a good mother…

So, essentially, I would have a kid if I could pick when I wanted it around me and when I didn't, and only if it was well-behaved, smart, funny, and clean. Without me having to do any of the things needed for that to happen.

This list clearly conveys that to outsiders, I would be a terrible mother. But to children, I would be an awesome mother because I am fun. Until I don’t let them have toys and make them wear a car air freshener around their necks to avoid the weird milk smell.

Also, let me stress that I do not have children, so please don't contact Children's Aid on me. Thank you.

Love,

Bella