Remember this thing that went around Facebook? Well, I think its a pretty accurate description of myself, so I thought I would share it with you non facebook folk. When I was on Plenty of Fish for all of 3 days (I was sick with swine flu and bored.. and rebounding..it was way too time consuming, and most of the guys were pretty brutskis..), this is what I posted for my profile.
1. I can rap almost all tupac songs. when my dog was hit by a car when I was 11, i cried to tupac "life goes on". how many brothers fall victim to the street, rest in peace young nigga theres a heaven for a g. it'd be a lie, if i told you that i never thought of death, my niggas we the last ones left.
2. I LOVED having braces, and still to this day think it was the best thing that ever happened to me. Or at least that I made happen to me.
3. I have never seen Star Wars, but yet I can program computers.
4. Fake Plastic Trees is the song I want played at my funeral, acoustic. I also decided to share this with the stranger standing next to me at Outside Lands while it was playing. He thought I was weird.
5. When I was about 10, I sold Canadian chocolate bars to the US through the internet (before ebay) and made thousands of dollars doing so. Lucrative business.
6. Popcorn is my favourite snack ever. With taco seasoning and melted butter. Mmm.
7. I have an addictive personality. I will become obsessed with something for a short period of time, and once I feel I have "mastered" it, I move on to the next thing. However, this rule has not applied to the Vancouver Canucks, and number 6 above. It does apply to basketball (gary payton and shawn kemp), final fantasy (the RPG game), etc.
8. I am the most insecure, secure person you will ever meet. Or maybe secure insecure person. Either way, I have recently become so self aware that it is almost to a fault.
9. I think more people need to become self aware.
10. I like to make homemade popsicles, but as just plain ice. I also love to eat ice cubes, and snowcones without the syrup. And snow.
11. I LOVE products, but have very little makeup. I pretty much have a shoppers drug mart worth of shampoo, mosturizer, toothpaste, facewash, handsoap etc... but when it comes to actual makeup, I have very few items.
12. I realized (shockingly) that I very well could be a hopeless romantic.
13. My idea of romance is extremely different than the social norm. Romance for me is more like watching a hockey game, going skiing, having a good conversation, dancing like fools, or getting drunk. Regular romance, like poetry, confession of love, slow dancing while aimlessly staring into each others eyes; basically anything they do on the bachelor, freaks me out and gives me a sick feeling in my stomach. Less cheese, more wine.
14. I LOVE TV. and it makes me feel bad when all the cool people talk about not having cable, and i feel embarrassed.
15. I am completely obsessed with board games. Catan. Scrabble. Risk. It's the way to my heart.
16. I stopped liking a boy because he was bad at Catan.
17. I stopped liking a boy because he was bad at Scrabble.
18. I still miss courtney every single day. 12/18/2002. I love you soulmate.
19. Because of 18, I put so much emphasis on friendships and I love my friends almost to creepy amounts.
20. Because of 19, I take it personally when people are flakey.
21. I never watched the show Friends when it was on, but now that its on too often, I watch it ALL. THE. TIME. I laugh outloud by myself, and it always cheers me up.
22. After 21, I feel like I need to redeem myself, shows-wise. I LOVE Dexter, Arrested Development, 30 rock, the wire, lost, peep show, the office uk, weeds, Calfornication.
23. My eyes change daily from green to blue and back.
24. I like being blonde, only for the fact that people automatically think I'm an idiot and underestimate me.
25. Surprisingly, this was really hard for me to write this much about myself. I thought I was so much more narcissistic than this! How dissapointing!!
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Sunday, January 3, 2010
2009, the years of highs and lows
A recount of my past year. All laid out, the highest highs and lowest lows in a year. I am hoping this will be therapeutic for me.. A test of my bravery. I'm hoping by the end of this I will be able to reflect on this year and see that I need to shift focus on the highs, and leave him out of my life, forever. 02 01 2010, RIP.
January
Rang in the new year with my best friend up at Whistler. I was hung, recovering from my NYEE rockstar partying ways and from snowboarding all day (hung again), so we went to a chill aussie house party. A girl took her clothes off and ran outside in the snow. Many guys took pictures. Weird. Still hadn't heard from him since Christmas eve, not even a Happy New Year babe. Nothing. He was my date to my work Christmas Party, he met my family, then disappeared off the face of the earth. I came back, he pretended nothing was wrong, we watched The Dark Night and hated it together, laughing and making fun of it. Then we did as we always did, as we were always good at. Amazing at it.
February
As always, is the worst, most boring month. My job was starting to weigh on me. I was so bored with the work I was doing, not challenged. Going through the motions. I hung out with him on Valentine's day, but it was nothing romantic. I pretended that's how I liked it. We went out with all our friends. He made out with me at the bar. He hadn't done that in a long time. It made me feel like he was finally proud to be with me.
March
The low. I can and never will forgive him for this month. The rollercoaster, the nonchalant attitude. The disappearing acts. It was this month that I was fully convinced that he was bipolar. Some days I was his girlfriend, some days wanted nothing to do with me. After I called him out on the rollercoaster ride, we had an emotional talk at Czehoski. I cried. In front of him, and the waiter. Maybe it was from too much to drink, most of it was frustration. He told me he didn't want to date anyone else, didn't want me to date anyone else, but that he needed to take some time to be single since we jumped into things so quickly from his last relationship (at this point we had been seeing each other since October, after a few months stint a year prior when he and his ex were "on a break"). After this talk, we kissed in the street, I pushed him away. I bawled when I got home. Part of it was too much hormones from the birth control I was taking at the time (it literally made me crazy), but most was because for the first time I felt that feeling that everyone talks about. Heartbreak. Instead of taking some time to sort out our emotional discussion, we continued talking all week.. then. Saint Patricks Day. The dreaded day. I had an interview (which I got and am working at still) the morning after, so I had planned on taking it easy with the fire water. We texted all day, he asked me what I was doing that night, to which I replied "Going to sweaty's." I was going with our mutual friends. The friends that introduced us. He continued to text me while he was at dinner. At dinner. I had a few pints, and remembered a friend saying "He is here! With.... her". I was ignoring her. Brushing it off, desperately trying not to be jealous. Then I saw her touch his arm. Saw her giving him eye contact. Saw her lowering the cut on her shirt and pushing out her breasts towards him. I was witnessing them finishing their date. He was out to dinner with her. He came there with her. After 4 days prior, him telling me he wanted to date no one else and just wanting me to give him space and time to himself, he had showed up to the bar I was at, on a date with another girl. Everyone was confused. None more than I, but the looks of pity towards me. HE BROUGHT ANOTHER GIRL ON A DATE TO THE BAR I WAS AT. How humiliating. You bastard.
To be continued..
January
Rang in the new year with my best friend up at Whistler. I was hung, recovering from my NYEE rockstar partying ways and from snowboarding all day (hung again), so we went to a chill aussie house party. A girl took her clothes off and ran outside in the snow. Many guys took pictures. Weird. Still hadn't heard from him since Christmas eve, not even a Happy New Year babe. Nothing. He was my date to my work Christmas Party, he met my family, then disappeared off the face of the earth. I came back, he pretended nothing was wrong, we watched The Dark Night and hated it together, laughing and making fun of it. Then we did as we always did, as we were always good at. Amazing at it.
February
As always, is the worst, most boring month. My job was starting to weigh on me. I was so bored with the work I was doing, not challenged. Going through the motions. I hung out with him on Valentine's day, but it was nothing romantic. I pretended that's how I liked it. We went out with all our friends. He made out with me at the bar. He hadn't done that in a long time. It made me feel like he was finally proud to be with me.
March
The low. I can and never will forgive him for this month. The rollercoaster, the nonchalant attitude. The disappearing acts. It was this month that I was fully convinced that he was bipolar. Some days I was his girlfriend, some days wanted nothing to do with me. After I called him out on the rollercoaster ride, we had an emotional talk at Czehoski. I cried. In front of him, and the waiter. Maybe it was from too much to drink, most of it was frustration. He told me he didn't want to date anyone else, didn't want me to date anyone else, but that he needed to take some time to be single since we jumped into things so quickly from his last relationship (at this point we had been seeing each other since October, after a few months stint a year prior when he and his ex were "on a break"). After this talk, we kissed in the street, I pushed him away. I bawled when I got home. Part of it was too much hormones from the birth control I was taking at the time (it literally made me crazy), but most was because for the first time I felt that feeling that everyone talks about. Heartbreak. Instead of taking some time to sort out our emotional discussion, we continued talking all week.. then. Saint Patricks Day. The dreaded day. I had an interview (which I got and am working at still) the morning after, so I had planned on taking it easy with the fire water. We texted all day, he asked me what I was doing that night, to which I replied "Going to sweaty's." I was going with our mutual friends. The friends that introduced us. He continued to text me while he was at dinner. At dinner. I had a few pints, and remembered a friend saying "He is here! With.... her". I was ignoring her. Brushing it off, desperately trying not to be jealous. Then I saw her touch his arm. Saw her giving him eye contact. Saw her lowering the cut on her shirt and pushing out her breasts towards him. I was witnessing them finishing their date. He was out to dinner with her. He came there with her. After 4 days prior, him telling me he wanted to date no one else and just wanting me to give him space and time to himself, he had showed up to the bar I was at, on a date with another girl. Everyone was confused. None more than I, but the looks of pity towards me. HE BROUGHT ANOTHER GIRL ON A DATE TO THE BAR I WAS AT. How humiliating. You bastard.
To be continued..
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Not so sweet grass spa
This afternoon, some of my female colleagues and I went on a spa trip to Sweet Grass Spa to use up some of our leftover extended medical benefits. I booked a 90 minute swedish massage, as did most, while some booked manicures. This place normally requires a membership (that is apparently along the lines of $5000 a year (!?)), but they have recently opened to the public. The whole experience, similar to their website, was lacking. Service was weak, my massage was not nearly hard enough (despite me asking for it to be harder many times -- pervvy minds look away), and the food was horrible. I ordered a "Quinoa and Cured Salmon Salad", and when it came, there was no Quinoa in sight, just lettuce with a few slices of cured Salmon (for the low price of $14). The wine wasn't spectacular either. The UV Steamroom was half broken.
Overall, I'm sticking with my tried, tested and true, The Elmwood Spa. Joshua is a hot hot RMT there, and he, more than once, made the thought of turning over cross my mind. Roar.
Overall, I'm sticking with my tried, tested and true, The Elmwood Spa. Joshua is a hot hot RMT there, and he, more than once, made the thought of turning over cross my mind. Roar.
I am a size 4
As those who of you who follow me on twitter know, last week I went on a fun date with Crooked Star. I had a massage, and was contemplating canceling the date as it was late, but then he suggested something I couldn't turn down -- "Would you like to come to Holt's with me and help me pick out my sister's Christmas gift?". He immediately heard the excitement in my voice when I said "yesyesyesyesyes", and cautioned me that this was only date number 8, and since I was a bad girl for the last few dates (read: grumpy, hungover and a bee eye tee sea ach), Santa isn't getting anything for me. That was ok with me, still fun to play and try on things. Holt's wasn't a huge success (it is IMPOSSIBLE to pick out for a girl you have never met, and all the things he was initially picking out were $600+ which was too much). So we go to Aritzia.
Now, let me start by saying I LOVE Aritzia. Everything there fits me so nicely, and I almost always want to buy every single thing I try on. We walk in and see an awesome boyfriend jacket and I tell him he must buy immediately for le soeur. Then the store clerk comes over and asks Crooked Star if he needs any help. The boy is trying to pick out a size and says his sister is about my size. Ok. That's fine. The girl looks me up and down and says "What size are you?" I say "a four." She looks me up and down AGAIN and says "no you aren't, I'm a four." This prompts me to look her up and down, and see that she is a twig who is most definitely a zero or even less. Her legs were skinnier than my arms. Twigs that I could snap. I shrug it off and say "well I'm usually a four in Aritzia clothes, but in designer clothes I'm a fatty for them so usually about a six or eight". She then says "Oh yes, Aritzia sizes are sized huge, so you probably are bigger". Lovely, merci beaucoup. Boy then asks Twig to try on jacket (big mistake on his behalf). Twig then removes her sweater, only to have a mesh see through american apparel tank on underneath, with only a lace mesh see through bra. I can't stop staring at her breasts, and even though Crooked Star claims he didn't notice them, I'm sure he couldn't either. Twig then puts on the size four, and voila, it's too big. Quel surprise. Puts on a two, still too big. Have a sandwich.
This is an absurdly long story, but it begs me to ask what the fuck is with the competitive nature of girls? I think it was obvious I was on some sort of date with this guy, and the girl continuously was trying to make me look bad in front of him. I see her every time I go in there (Bloor street, orange hair, even oranger face), and I am tempted to ask her what made her do that? Is it her own insecurity? Is she desperate to compensate for her retail job by making other girls feel bad? Guys are dicks enough as is, I don't understand why girls need to compete. We are on the same team, it's us against them, and we need to teach boys that other girls won't let them get away with wandering.. Not let them know that they can cheat anytime they want because there is an orange skinned retailer around the corner. People cheat, because they can.
And I am a four.
Now, let me start by saying I LOVE Aritzia. Everything there fits me so nicely, and I almost always want to buy every single thing I try on. We walk in and see an awesome boyfriend jacket and I tell him he must buy immediately for le soeur. Then the store clerk comes over and asks Crooked Star if he needs any help. The boy is trying to pick out a size and says his sister is about my size. Ok. That's fine. The girl looks me up and down and says "What size are you?" I say "a four." She looks me up and down AGAIN and says "no you aren't, I'm a four." This prompts me to look her up and down, and see that she is a twig who is most definitely a zero or even less. Her legs were skinnier than my arms. Twigs that I could snap. I shrug it off and say "well I'm usually a four in Aritzia clothes, but in designer clothes I'm a fatty for them so usually about a six or eight". She then says "Oh yes, Aritzia sizes are sized huge, so you probably are bigger". Lovely, merci beaucoup. Boy then asks Twig to try on jacket (big mistake on his behalf). Twig then removes her sweater, only to have a mesh see through american apparel tank on underneath, with only a lace mesh see through bra. I can't stop staring at her breasts, and even though Crooked Star claims he didn't notice them, I'm sure he couldn't either. Twig then puts on the size four, and voila, it's too big. Quel surprise. Puts on a two, still too big. Have a sandwich.
This is an absurdly long story, but it begs me to ask what the fuck is with the competitive nature of girls? I think it was obvious I was on some sort of date with this guy, and the girl continuously was trying to make me look bad in front of him. I see her every time I go in there (Bloor street, orange hair, even oranger face), and I am tempted to ask her what made her do that? Is it her own insecurity? Is she desperate to compensate for her retail job by making other girls feel bad? Guys are dicks enough as is, I don't understand why girls need to compete. We are on the same team, it's us against them, and we need to teach boys that other girls won't let them get away with wandering.. Not let them know that they can cheat anytime they want because there is an orange skinned retailer around the corner. People cheat, because they can.
And I am a four.
Monday, December 28, 2009
02 01 2010
A bit of change coming up in my life on this day. I move into a new apartment, much bigger and better than the shoebox I currently call home. Beyond my move, there is an even more important move happening on that day. He is finally moving to California.
After the many conversations, threats to my heart, etc etc, it is finally happening. I uncovered this after a drunken encounter with his good friend, in which said friend decided to be a total sleaze and try and put his hand up my skirt. This happens to me on a regular basis, where, for some reason when wearing dresses it seems to be interpreted as a call for hand up skirt. I'm wearing tights for christ's sake. Sleaze-bag. It was definitely unnecessary for me to email him after this encounter to tell him his friend is a dirtbag that I will never sleep with. This was after my work holiday party, and 239208 too many shots of whiskey, so who can blame me. However, what this did was open the flood gates of communication with him again. It was nice. We emailed back and forth all of Saturday night, and it was comforting to hear what was going on in his life at that time. Including the wee bit of news that he was finally moving. The timing couldn't be better.
Things with Crooked Star are going quite well, and this might finally be my chance to get over him finally and forever and be with someone else, without the worry of going back to him as always. It's a shame it takes someone leaving the country to forget about them, but it's also damn convenient. Never will I ever have that feeling in my heart, stomach, throat, toes, when you have the dreaded run in. Even worse, with someone else, a very pretty (yet bimbo-y) someone else.
What ever will I blog about once he is gone?
After the many conversations, threats to my heart, etc etc, it is finally happening. I uncovered this after a drunken encounter with his good friend, in which said friend decided to be a total sleaze and try and put his hand up my skirt. This happens to me on a regular basis, where, for some reason when wearing dresses it seems to be interpreted as a call for hand up skirt. I'm wearing tights for christ's sake. Sleaze-bag. It was definitely unnecessary for me to email him after this encounter to tell him his friend is a dirtbag that I will never sleep with. This was after my work holiday party, and 239208 too many shots of whiskey, so who can blame me. However, what this did was open the flood gates of communication with him again. It was nice. We emailed back and forth all of Saturday night, and it was comforting to hear what was going on in his life at that time. Including the wee bit of news that he was finally moving. The timing couldn't be better.
Things with Crooked Star are going quite well, and this might finally be my chance to get over him finally and forever and be with someone else, without the worry of going back to him as always. It's a shame it takes someone leaving the country to forget about them, but it's also damn convenient. Never will I ever have that feeling in my heart, stomach, throat, toes, when you have the dreaded run in. Even worse, with someone else, a very pretty (yet bimbo-y) someone else.
What ever will I blog about once he is gone?
Sunday, December 13, 2009
The wandering eye test
We all know it. You are in the middle of talking to your boyfriend, friend, husband, girlfriend.. then all of a sudden a girl wearing less clothing than you walks by. What once may have been staring you directly in the eyes has now been diverted to this subject of interruption. Somehow we have been brainwashed into thinking that this is completely acceptable, because it's just what guys do. Really? Is that really a valid excuse? It starts with a stare, then it leads to all other sorts of wandering. If a boy is with me, talking to me, in my presence, then he should be paying attention to me, not the random girl walking by.
He used to always do this to me. We would be talking and I would notice I have temporarily lost his eye contact and it is now directed towards whatever girl is walking by (half the time they weren't even THAT hot), and it would be for a very noticeable 2-3 seconds... staring. I just convinced myself not to be high maintenance and to just accept it. Sometimes I would even say "oh she's pretty eh?". WHAT WAS I THINKING? This is not okay. Maybe after years and years of dating, when you are finally trusting each other, but at the start? THIS IS NOT OKAY.
So let it be a lesson to you, boys, if you are on a date with me and your eyes are starring at someone else, you will not be getting a date number two.
Am I overreacting? Am I becoming a high maintenance b with an itch? Comment, thoughts!
He used to always do this to me. We would be talking and I would notice I have temporarily lost his eye contact and it is now directed towards whatever girl is walking by (half the time they weren't even THAT hot), and it would be for a very noticeable 2-3 seconds... staring. I just convinced myself not to be high maintenance and to just accept it. Sometimes I would even say "oh she's pretty eh?". WHAT WAS I THINKING? This is not okay. Maybe after years and years of dating, when you are finally trusting each other, but at the start? THIS IS NOT OKAY.
So let it be a lesson to you, boys, if you are on a date with me and your eyes are starring at someone else, you will not be getting a date number two.
Am I overreacting? Am I becoming a high maintenance b with an itch? Comment, thoughts!
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
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