This is actually copied and pasted (and edited) from a comment I made on Heathers blog. I had another good chuckle over it and figure you may too. Oh, and feel free to add your own - PLEASE!
Ok, here I go... 10 oddest things about me. Or just the facts really.
1) Seeing as woman on a cell phone in her Mercedes this morning reminded me that my life would not be blissful if I could drive around financially care free. It's the things that cost nothing at all that I worry about. And that, made me feel good. Yeah, this is the kind of stuff I think about which makes it odd'ish.
2) I keep a reserve of at least a dozen toilet paper rolls. Hey, post war baby boomers used to hoard sugar. I don’t know what one has to do with the other so that makes it odd.
3) I have a strange fascination with conjoined twins and usually manage to catch a documentary on them when I'm channel flipping.
4) A leech going up a mans urethra on Eco-Challenge Borneo was all I could think about for two and a half days. I wondered and worried how they would treat that. I know how now.
5) I collect my favourite Dilbert comics and still find them as funny as I did when I first read them. Phil DeCube. Hahahahaha!
6) I have a strange and seemingly endless need to whip food from the work refrigerator into the garbage. Did I mention it was OTHER PEOPLE'S FOOD?
7) It has been scientifically proven that I can see things at a faster rate than the average person. Just ask Heather as I pull lint off her clothes.
8) I correct people when they tell me I look like Kate Jackson mentioning “Pre-cosmetic surgery, right?”
9) I want to push someone off their bicycle and have them get right back on without punching me.
10) Wherever I am I always have floss. Always.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Building a bridge and getting over it
Covering myself in soft things and people, shielding myself from the threat of another attack hoping against hope that the swarm won't come again. It always does. With precision timing when I'm vulnerable and have the tendency to pine, it swallows me. Whole.
This time, standing emotionally naked, I am prepared for it, expect it and defend against it knowing that this too shall pass.
The bridge will eventually extend to the other shore and fade into the horizon like the mirage it always was.
This time, standing emotionally naked, I am prepared for it, expect it and defend against it knowing that this too shall pass.
The bridge will eventually extend to the other shore and fade into the horizon like the mirage it always was.
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
Better late than never 'Dear John' Letter
Dear John,
It was my fault too, and finally, after two years I can say that now.
Be well.
It was my fault too, and finally, after two years I can say that now.
Be well.
Monday, April 09, 2007
Wanted: 2 bedroom open concept with no conditional offers
Post-breakup some women go out and get haircuts or a new pair of strappy sandals. Girls like Shan and I buy new cars and real estate.
Scrolling through the listings for condos it's hard to determine which one will feel like home so you need to visit. Gawd. I've seen a bachelor pad with painfully painted orange kitchen cabinets - occurred to me he may have been high at the time. Another with a fuse box above the bed - wonder what that controlled. A cemetery next door - at least the neighbors won't be learning to play an electric guitar at midnight. And of course, the frat boy house that had a very tangible hangover odor left over from a Thursday night fuck-we're-out-of-tequila-party. Tough to choose just one, I know.
The search went on... and then I found it. I set my heart on something that was currently unavailable and kind of in my area. Typical.
It's soo beautiful. Walking in I felt it was already my space. Crown mouldings, long hallway, ceramic tile, wood floors, big balconies... wow. I dreamily placed my furniture, hung drapes and picture frames, invited friends for bbq's, took long baths (which I rarely do but in that huge tub who could resist), curled up on the couch, made dinners, unpacked everything and woke up stretching in the morning sun in my brand new bedroom. Oh, how I want this.
Now that I have the best friends a girl could ever ask for, a family that isn't quite right but is alright, a passion for doing all things passionate, and a true desire to live as authentically as possible, isn't it about time my availability-luck changes? Yeah, I thought so too.
*** UPDATE ***
So I didn't get this condo... I got one that is far more me, a beautiful space that I can't wait to stretch out in knowing it is mine. All mine.
Sometimes we need to sit back and realize things aren't meant to be because we are meant for something better.
Scrolling through the listings for condos it's hard to determine which one will feel like home so you need to visit. Gawd. I've seen a bachelor pad with painfully painted orange kitchen cabinets - occurred to me he may have been high at the time. Another with a fuse box above the bed - wonder what that controlled. A cemetery next door - at least the neighbors won't be learning to play an electric guitar at midnight. And of course, the frat boy house that had a very tangible hangover odor left over from a Thursday night fuck-we're-out-of-tequila-party. Tough to choose just one, I know.
The search went on... and then I found it. I set my heart on something that was currently unavailable and kind of in my area. Typical.
It's soo beautiful. Walking in I felt it was already my space. Crown mouldings, long hallway, ceramic tile, wood floors, big balconies... wow. I dreamily placed my furniture, hung drapes and picture frames, invited friends for bbq's, took long baths (which I rarely do but in that huge tub who could resist), curled up on the couch, made dinners, unpacked everything and woke up stretching in the morning sun in my brand new bedroom. Oh, how I want this.
Now that I have the best friends a girl could ever ask for, a family that isn't quite right but is alright, a passion for doing all things passionate, and a true desire to live as authentically as possible, isn't it about time my availability-luck changes? Yeah, I thought so too.
*** UPDATE ***
So I didn't get this condo... I got one that is far more me, a beautiful space that I can't wait to stretch out in knowing it is mine. All mine.
Sometimes we need to sit back and realize things aren't meant to be because we are meant for something better.
Friday, April 06, 2007
Starting over, again, but this time in Egyptian cotton sheets.
Since I started this blog with 'sans hot pink sheets' and ended it in 600 thread count Egyptian cotton ones, one would think I got out unscathed or even better off. Not exactly, on both counts.
There it is, the numb feeling that accompanies a break up. The bizarre and somehow programmed headshake as you're suddenly jolted into thinking "What the fuck happened?" The breath that threatens to hold itself in until your lungs start to shake with primal need. The relentless questions that flood the mind of; what was my fault, what was his, will it always be this way, will I always hurt, will I forever be alone, am I, can I forgive, can I go back, if I go back will it be different... it is never different. Ever. It's the nightmare that keeps you alert midday, it's in the sideways look he gives you and you wonder yet again, is this it? This is it, isn't it. It's happening. And there we are, single again.
The end of a relationship always brings the necessary autopsy and leaves you wondering, what exactly was my part in all of this? I could play the blame-game and say it was all his fault, but the fact is there are three sides to every story - mine, his, and the Truth.
Here's how the report would read.
Visible signs of injury? Not to the naked or even most scientifically trained eye
Forced entry? Nope. A completely willing participant
Toxicology report? Plenty, though none induced from food, drink, or chemical sources
Cause of death? Under investigation
So again, what was my part in all of this anyway? I approach new love with reckless abandon accepting that I can get hurt at any time. I am a true believer in Happily Ever After and know that it comes with hard work, dedication, compassion and trust. Though it's not so easy to trust someone with your heart is it? To trust it won't be obliterated it in actions or with words. To believe that you can believe, safely. Like bike riding, I think I need a love-helmet.
There are millions of reasons for breakups none of which make perfect sense when your heart is trying to heal. You rationalize, beg, crave, miss, despise, romanticize, resent, and hope against hope that someone will change, grow, mature, love the way you love, and want the same things. You remember all the times you spooned, cooked, forked, and giggled. You seem to keep an entire Encyclopedia Britannica on the things you loved and wished you could go back and live in just those moments. The moments that were just 'us.' Life doesn't go that way.
There is victory in pain, in knowing we can and will move on. In seeing the Truth for what it was with all your warts and scars. All your baggage you hope to unpack with someone else one day. One day but not today. For now, I will revel here among my baggage, loving it because it is mine, going through it and keeping what serves me and leaving the rest. Living one day at a time in my Egyptian cotton sheets.
There it is, the numb feeling that accompanies a break up. The bizarre and somehow programmed headshake as you're suddenly jolted into thinking "What the fuck happened?" The breath that threatens to hold itself in until your lungs start to shake with primal need. The relentless questions that flood the mind of; what was my fault, what was his, will it always be this way, will I always hurt, will I forever be alone, am I, can I forgive, can I go back, if I go back will it be different... it is never different. Ever. It's the nightmare that keeps you alert midday, it's in the sideways look he gives you and you wonder yet again, is this it? This is it, isn't it. It's happening. And there we are, single again.
The end of a relationship always brings the necessary autopsy and leaves you wondering, what exactly was my part in all of this? I could play the blame-game and say it was all his fault, but the fact is there are three sides to every story - mine, his, and the Truth.
Here's how the report would read.
Visible signs of injury? Not to the naked or even most scientifically trained eye
Forced entry? Nope. A completely willing participant
Toxicology report? Plenty, though none induced from food, drink, or chemical sources
Cause of death? Under investigation
So again, what was my part in all of this anyway? I approach new love with reckless abandon accepting that I can get hurt at any time. I am a true believer in Happily Ever After and know that it comes with hard work, dedication, compassion and trust. Though it's not so easy to trust someone with your heart is it? To trust it won't be obliterated it in actions or with words. To believe that you can believe, safely. Like bike riding, I think I need a love-helmet.
There are millions of reasons for breakups none of which make perfect sense when your heart is trying to heal. You rationalize, beg, crave, miss, despise, romanticize, resent, and hope against hope that someone will change, grow, mature, love the way you love, and want the same things. You remember all the times you spooned, cooked, forked, and giggled. You seem to keep an entire Encyclopedia Britannica on the things you loved and wished you could go back and live in just those moments. The moments that were just 'us.' Life doesn't go that way.
There is victory in pain, in knowing we can and will move on. In seeing the Truth for what it was with all your warts and scars. All your baggage you hope to unpack with someone else one day. One day but not today. For now, I will revel here among my baggage, loving it because it is mine, going through it and keeping what serves me and leaving the rest. Living one day at a time in my Egyptian cotton sheets.
Friday, January 19, 2007
Me-date up-date
It was just the two of us that night, me and the symphony.
Parking right down the street from the Notre Dame Basilica in Old Montreal was easy when you get there over two hours early. I was right in front of a little Italian restaurant I heard rave reviews about so it was my first stop. I parked, paid the attendant and proudly walked towards the restaurant, cell phone in hand. I dropped it. You know flip phones right? Well, it was open. The two parts completely separated from one another and the only words I could muster was "oh fek." This was going to be a true me-date since I'd have to spend the evening totally alone, completely disconnected and couldn't text a soul. My out from my me-date was gone. You know those girlfriends you can count on to call a half hour into the date and dream up a crisis in the event you need to get the hell out?! Yeah. I shook my head and actually giggled to myself the entire walk into the restaurant.
Greeted by the hostess I requested a table for one. She led me to my brightly lit non-romantic table among a bunch of couples and proceeded to remove the second place setting at my table. The looks I got can't even be put into words. I think I got a few "you poor thing, eating alllll aloooone" looks but I didn't care. Part of me had an ego soo big thinking none of them would ever have the courage to do it so I sat. Again, proudly. Ordering a glass of wine, rib steak and escargots was incredibly satisfying. I had arrived. I didn't need that call from a friend, I was perfect company and felt like I was present, in the moment and loving every minute of it. That is, until I felt a repetitive tapping on my shoulder. I looked up to see a waiter not even looking in my direction trying to settle a PEPPERMILL onto my shoulder!!! Seems there was a shelf right behind me and that's where it lived and should have been returned to. Instead, he kept feeling around blindly sensing the thing was going to tip over but never actually bothered to look! I had to say "uhh, excuse me?!" Can you imagine!? He thought I was a shelf! Barely apologetic he left and I thought I would need more wine.
Sip sip sip.
I glanced around trying not to stare at the couples around me, most of which weren't even speaking to one another. Huge sense of relief, I'm having all kinds of conversations in my own head (which wasn't weird at all) and you know what, I'm a pretty good date. After all, I have no strange tics, have all my own teeth, I'm funny, charming, great table manners and have excellent taste in food.
I will confess, I did bring a distraction into the restaurant... a vacation planning magazine filled with pages and pages of all-inclusive resorts. I dreamed as I ate and drank and I couldn't tell what the couples around me were thinking. I didn't care. I finished my last bite, enjoyed the last mouthful of wine and walked to the Symphony.
I sat on a bench wide enough for four but it was only me. And, it was only me for quite a while since the other ticket holders were late. I got more looks there than the restaurant. Again, I didn't care. I was soo proud of myself that I could go to an event in my hometown and not feel out of place being in my place, alone.
Listening to the amazing Kent Nagano conduct the Montreal Symphony Orchestra was magical. But the icing on the cake was sharing the memory with only me on the ride home.
Parking right down the street from the Notre Dame Basilica in Old Montreal was easy when you get there over two hours early. I was right in front of a little Italian restaurant I heard rave reviews about so it was my first stop. I parked, paid the attendant and proudly walked towards the restaurant, cell phone in hand. I dropped it. You know flip phones right? Well, it was open. The two parts completely separated from one another and the only words I could muster was "oh fek." This was going to be a true me-date since I'd have to spend the evening totally alone, completely disconnected and couldn't text a soul. My out from my me-date was gone. You know those girlfriends you can count on to call a half hour into the date and dream up a crisis in the event you need to get the hell out?! Yeah. I shook my head and actually giggled to myself the entire walk into the restaurant.
Greeted by the hostess I requested a table for one. She led me to my brightly lit non-romantic table among a bunch of couples and proceeded to remove the second place setting at my table. The looks I got can't even be put into words. I think I got a few "you poor thing, eating alllll aloooone" looks but I didn't care. Part of me had an ego soo big thinking none of them would ever have the courage to do it so I sat. Again, proudly. Ordering a glass of wine, rib steak and escargots was incredibly satisfying. I had arrived. I didn't need that call from a friend, I was perfect company and felt like I was present, in the moment and loving every minute of it. That is, until I felt a repetitive tapping on my shoulder. I looked up to see a waiter not even looking in my direction trying to settle a PEPPERMILL onto my shoulder!!! Seems there was a shelf right behind me and that's where it lived and should have been returned to. Instead, he kept feeling around blindly sensing the thing was going to tip over but never actually bothered to look! I had to say "uhh, excuse me?!" Can you imagine!? He thought I was a shelf! Barely apologetic he left and I thought I would need more wine.
Sip sip sip.
I glanced around trying not to stare at the couples around me, most of which weren't even speaking to one another. Huge sense of relief, I'm having all kinds of conversations in my own head (which wasn't weird at all) and you know what, I'm a pretty good date. After all, I have no strange tics, have all my own teeth, I'm funny, charming, great table manners and have excellent taste in food.
I will confess, I did bring a distraction into the restaurant... a vacation planning magazine filled with pages and pages of all-inclusive resorts. I dreamed as I ate and drank and I couldn't tell what the couples around me were thinking. I didn't care. I finished my last bite, enjoyed the last mouthful of wine and walked to the Symphony.
I sat on a bench wide enough for four but it was only me. And, it was only me for quite a while since the other ticket holders were late. I got more looks there than the restaurant. Again, I didn't care. I was soo proud of myself that I could go to an event in my hometown and not feel out of place being in my place, alone.
Listening to the amazing Kent Nagano conduct the Montreal Symphony Orchestra was magical. But the icing on the cake was sharing the memory with only me on the ride home.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
