Absolving by Resolving

I'm not much for making New Year Resolutions. I don't believe I have ever made a promise for change on any New Year's day from 1985 to 2010.

In 2011 however, I am changing my ways and joining the throngs of people who use a fresh start as a motivation for change.

Originality is not the goal I am reaching for with these resolutions. I'm sticking to the basics:

1.take writing class

2.get back to being fit(ish)

3. get some semblance of control over my finances

All three of these resolutions represent an area in my life that, upon reflection, I feel twinges of disappointment about. And self-regret, don't sit well with me.

Last year I never made an official declaration of resolutions, yet a lot of big changes took place. So I am thinking...imagine what I could do if I made this thing a big ol' public affair!!

2010 was bit of a "watershed" year for me. The year began slightly lost and wandery. But it came to a close with my feeling the strongest sense of knowing "who I am" than I've ever felt before.

I'm trying to avoid a "chicken soup for the first time resolution makers soul" moment here, but I figure I can't move forward without doing some kind of mini year-in-review.

In early 2010, a very good buddy and I sat around one night lamenting about life when suddenly we were both really taken with the mantra: "gotta do me."  From there, we vowed to focus on abiding by this "gotta do me" slogan. (sidebar: this happened a least several weeks before Drake dropped his first single of 2010...so no this watershed year was not inspired by Drizzy Drake)

For me this meant reducing "the bullshit" that was causing me to be narrowly focused on the current moment rather than thinking "big picture." Dwelling on the insignificant minor details of trivial issues was pulling focus from big plans I have for my life.

I decided I wasn't wasting anymore time screwing around (pun intended) with boys who don't give me, at the very least,  the stomach flip.

This resulted in me actually, really, seriously, dating: no one in 2010.

I also decided I wasn't going to put any effort into finding a boyfriend. Reasoning that I would like my romantic life to unfold in direct proportion to how relaxed I was in my approach.

Aptly,  this yielded: ZERO boyfriends in 2010.

All this being said,  I was damn happy in all of 2010.

I came to be a happier person because my focus shifted.
It took a considerate amount of effort but I steered away from a recently formed habit of seeking out attention to fill a space, to give me a "high" for now.

The attention, negative or positive was something I was creating to pass time & boost my self esteem.

Boredom & self induced voids, combined with being in a mental place where I didn't feel good unless some boy was making me feel good, was in actuality making me totally miserable.

So my mission was to become self-sufficient without being closed off.

If someone came along that felt like a constructive addition to my party of one, then so be it.
But I was no longer interested in situations that felt taxing or consuming.

I wanted internal sources to fuel my happiness, instead of vapid and flimsy relationships to give me validation.

I think sticking to this principle is why I ended 2010 with a glass half full.


Nope, no boyfriends materialized in 2010 but a clear-as-day sense of what I want the rest of my life to look like, man or no man, did.

With a de-cluttered brain,  room for real thoughts with real purpose gave way.

Ironically, my cynical thoughts about love and complete distrust in men retreated during this experiment.

Ever the guarded pessimist in matters of the heart, I am suddenly not so repelled by the possibility that a man might completely bulldoze me over and make me happy everyday for the rest of my life.

In 2010 my brain, outlook, and relationships got better.

In 2011 my skills, shape and bank account get better.

1)  I love writing, I don't do it as much as I should. This year I up my blogging by... 200%?!?
 (I know this is exciting but please calm down and keep reading) In 2011, I also get some sort of formal training in writing and maybe a lesson in spelling, and differentiating between homonyms too? Then, determine if can turn my skills into a money making MACHINE!!!

2) I love pilates. I stopped doing it. It's making me LAZY in all areas of life. I am never going to be a skinny bitch, nor do I want to be. Pilates tones me right up and gives me back my curves that I enjoy showing off. 2011: upping Pilates sessions also by... 200%!!

3) I bought a condo this year. This makes me an adult. So, it's time for my bank account to stop ringing hallow like a cavernous hole. I am the only 26 year old who does not have any kind of spending "budget." My version goes as follows: pay mortgage, then bills, then spend until the cashier at Urban Outfitters gives me a disapproving glance and loudly declares that the debit machine says "insufficient funds"

Did anyone notice that finding a boyfriend is not in the list of to dos for 2011?

That's because 2010 taught me that putting things like "finding a boyfriend" on a yearly to do list is a completely insane and backward thing to do.

A dude will arrive when he and I are damn good and ready.

Maybe 2011? Maybe not.

Maybe we will meet December 11, 2012 and spend one magical night together before John Cusack shows up and pulls the plug on this whole thing.

Until then: "I'm doing me." Right Drake?

My coworker/very close friend/future business partner/person who points out out the weird things I do and the true meaning behind it/ just pointed out that the only time she sees me blushing and giggling these days is when I am talking about my dog.
This is not a good thing, is it?

(for the record, I didn't dress him up and take this picture. My younger, cooler brother did-for proof of his coolness check out the first link in my links)

Motivational Video

So I find myself watching this Beyoncé video nearly once a week.

I'm not even a big Beyoncé fan, in fact, I don't think I own a full album of hers.

But on the night of the 2010 Grammys, this performance gave me maximum, full body goosebumps and I was totally captivated. (Until my brother pointed out how much the female drummer looked like Rhianna and concluded that "she must have held a female band member audition, found the one who looked the absolute most like Rhianna and then given her the most degrading position in the band" briefly breaking my trance like captivity to ponder the undeniable likelyhood of this scenario)

She is 3 years older than me and has done more in her 29 years than I will ever do in my entire lifetime. (not that any of my life goals have ever included singing in an S&M inspired outfit, to a room full of legends, including husband Jay Z in the front row) But she had her own dream and she made that shit happen!

So when I am having those "wonder women" days, those days when I can't stop patting myself on the back for "straight taking care of BIDNESS!!!" (A phrase I may be heard yelling from my desk from time to time, usually after a few too many Tall, Starbucks House blends)
I use this video to knock myself off my over-sized pedestal and realize that I ain't taking care of nothing in comparison to some people.

Conversely, when I am having a self-pity-my-life-is-shit day, I pop it on for a quick jolt of stimulation.

So Beyoncé: (I know you reading this guuurrrl!!) As a thank you, I'm going send you a video of my boss busting me, mid finger waving...ear phones full blasting...getting my weekly hit of Beyonce style inspiration up in my office!

Guaranteed to keep you motivated to stay up where you are!!

Hot Dog Sausage!!!!

4 o'clock. Friday afternoon.

The office is a buzz. There is even a bowl of caramel popcorn in the servery. It's summertime and the weekend is eminent.
The globe is at the most perfect angle to the sun/moon/universe.

I know I said a couple posts back that an official ban has been put on bloggin about men...but I am lifting the ban for a quick second.
Not to talk about men but about my boys, the homies that have made up my posse since I was 12.

Tomorrow afternoon I get to watch one of my best friend's Dad get re-married.

Niall's mom sadly passed away soon after we met in grade 8.

So I have only known the O'Doherty family as being Niall and his two ridiculously amazing siblings, with papa dukes at the helm.

Mr. O'Doherty is your classic, country Irish man who throws the wildest Christmas night party I've ever been to.

The annual event gets started around 10 pm on the night of the 25th.
You are greeted at the door with a shot of Stoli Vodka and a jar to toss your car keys into and it usually ends around 6 AM on the screened in back porch, surrounded by so many faces, some regulars, some you only see on this one night a year, belting out a rowdy, slurry, version of Molly Malone!

It is one of the greatest nights of the year and SO looked forward to by all who attend. And it usually takes me until about New Years Eve to fully recover.

Mr. O'Doherty is the definition of a stand up guy and I couldn't be happier that he has been lucky enough to find love twice in his lifetime.

What makes me almost as giddy as realizing that this kind of luck exists, is thinking about the fact that I get to spend all day tomorrow with my favourite dudes in the world! Eating good food, drinking good drink and dancing our asses off!

For years and years these boys played the most central part to all my plans.
From summer camp to Vans Warped tours to all those nights drinking in elementary school playgrounds.
First day of high school, first day of university, even with me on the day my big brother got married (drunkenly confessing that my speech brought them to tears but that they didn't dare actually cry)

I'm hard pressed to find a meaningful memory that they aren't a part of.

It's so easy to tell my girls that I couldn't live a day without them (and my GOD i don't even want to picture it) but its harder with the boys.

It was easier to drift further from the boys.

Boyfriends get in the way, girlfriends get in the way.

Jobs, distance, travel.

Life comes along and all the sudden you realize that you haven't had a good old fashioned "venga bus" party in a whole year. And that's a crime.

So I hope Papa O'Doherty has hired a DJ with a repertoire that includes at least one Venga Boys song, and if not he better have OMC "How Bizarre" as a back up...or else he is in for a world of pain.

I cannot wait until the wee hours of tomorrow morning, for the sun coming back up over the horizon, and for the sweet, sweet sound of my boys, who are now grown men, screaming "hot dog sausage!!!" into the sky, hoping a hot dog stand will materialize out of thin air.

Dont Call It A Comeback

Kayne just leaked a new track off his album and I've had it on repeat ALL morning long.


His track record over the last little while had me thinking that the Mr. West, responsible for getting me back into hip hop back in 2004, had lost his magic touch.

Between 808's & Heartbreaks (no hate, I respect that he put out a ballsy album but it wasn't true to form) and the Taylor Swift incident...I had pretty much thrown in the towel and settled for listening to College Dropout, Late Registration and The Graduation on an infinite loop for the rest of my life.

BUT his first single "Power" and now this latest leaked track with Beyonce has fully restored my confidence.

Kanye fell off the map for a while, rumour has it he interned at Fendi in Italy...

Whatever it is he did, it WORKED! and he is back with the familiar, fool proof, based up tracks and "did he just actually say that?" lyrics!!

So now with all my worries assuaged, I can go back to sleeping well at night...Thanks Yeezy!

PEEP IT!

Too Much Boo Hoo Not Enough Ha Ha

I've been writing this long, drawn out blog for over a month now.

It started off the same as always;
I got a bee in my bonnet about being dead inside, about not having it in me to crave relationships the way all my other girlfriends do. What from my past made me like this? and what in my future might this "disorder" affect?

Ordinarily, I get totally obsessed with exercising my demons in writing. My pulse gets erratic, my palms sweat and my general functionality is, temporarily but very noticeably, restricted.

As I worked on this latest attempt to publicly "therapize" my inexplicably warped view of relationships, it didn't feel it.
That necessary yet painful expulsion feeling was missing.

I thought long and hard as to what the cause may be.

I briefly dabbled with the idea of writing a blog on why I had lost the urge to write blogs...When it hit me:

I don't care anymore.

I'm fucked up and hey that's cool with me.

I want a man who doesn't exist.

I want a tall, dark, handsome, rugged man (like always has stubble, maybe doesn't even own a razor? type of rugged)

He wears a t-shirt and jeans during the work week, a tool belt on the weekends and his dog is his best friend.

He is super manly, like loves sports and meatloaf and beer and drives a truck!
He doesn't induce my claustrophobia panic attacks, he isn't needy, he isn't overly affectionate, he doesn't always have to be touching me, he doesn't mind that I am not all that lady-like, and he's not into PDA*


*sneaking off to do bad things in public places doesn't count as PDA. I'm talking gay PDA, like making out on a blanket in Trinity Bellwoods PDA.


Basically my dream man is the Denny Duckett character of Grey's Anatomy fame.
But Dr. Izzy Stephen's cut the L-VAT wire and now Denny is dead.
Dream Man dead = no point in stressing and trying to find him!! Liberating.

I am taking a hiatus from blogging about men.

I am taking a hiatus from talking about men on all platforms really.

I don't know if it's that the subject has been talked to death.
Or if it's because lately I find myself stuck in dimly lit corners of bars talking to silly boys of no interest to me, just so that I have something interesting to say at breakfast the next day.
Maybe it's the realization that intelligent, stimulating conversations that do not involve men happen every day!
Or I am realizing that the more we talk about them the more layered our fucked-up-ness becomes!!
More than likely it is because I am insanely self absorbed and don't have a man to talk about right now so I have lost all interest in the opposite sex (ding ding ding!!)
Maybe I am a lesbian!!

Again, I don't care!!!

Hiatus starts NOW...now lets see if I can make as far as the bathroom down the hall, without the mention of "those whom shall not be named"

Payce!!

Shoo Fuck.with.er!!! Dont bother me!

Fuckwith-er: (pronounced fuck- with-her) (noun);

A species of human which hurtles through life corrupting everything around him or her at break neck speed.

Typically a fuckwith-er can be identified by a debilitating "me" complex, similar to that of a terrible-two-year old, whose brain is not yet developed enough to fully grasp the broad concept of human interaction.

A fuckwith-er doesn’t appear overly dramatic to the untrained eye, but their obsession with themselves creates a similar fallout to that of a comet entering the earth’s atmosphere, burning everything it rubs up against.

Watching this species in its natural habitat can be most fascinating, as long as you’re not the person getting burned.

The fuckwith-er regularly confuses himself with a smooth operator. This confusion is heightened in direct proportion to the amount of drinks consumed, and it’s this aspect of his behaviour that is most entertaining to an observer.

In his mind he is a stealth manipulator, manoeuvring through a crowd with Clooney-esk charm and affability. Bystanders watch in awe, slack jawed, basking in the glow of his sheer brilliance. If you are an experienced and cautious enough observer, you may be lucky enough to catch him on a bathroom break, high-fiving himself in the mirror.

A fuckwith-er is blissfully unaware that, in reality, he is giving his spectators a sensation similar to what it feels like when watching an amateur magician lighting his own hair on fire during the pyrotechnical portion of his gig: a mixture of horror (‘cause of the hair burning part) and guilt (for wanting to laugh at this soon to be disfigured fellow).

I am lucky enough to be very close with one member of this rare species. For many years, my weekends have consisted of watching him fuck with anything and everything he can get his hands on.

Sometimes the motivation for his fuckwittage is clear: he is trying to get laid. But, more often than not, the motivation is buried so deep in his psyche that even he has no idea why he is acting so recklessly.

Back in February, my lil fuckwith-er screwed up SO badly, I was forced to quarantine him. I felt like a new puppy owner doling out my first dose of tough love, reminding myself that he needed to experience what it feels like to suffer the consequences of actions taken.

This past Saturday night I was feeling overly forgiving and decided I was going to see if this two-month absence from my life had any effect.

This little experiment proved only one thing: fuckwith-ers are hardwired to fuck with you for life.

Sure enough the evening started off fine, but by last call he had started so many fires among friends, acquaintances, and fellow bar patrons that the level of damage was almost impressive.

I waited for him to finish off with the classic closing scene: a traditional brawl with the bouncers... but thankfully this was narrowly avoided as he sailed into the night with his latest conquest (a friend whom I had begged him not to hit on.)

You see, once a fuckwith-er's targets have been set, all reason and judgement fades into a blurry mess of white noise resulting in severe tunnel- vision. Their field of sight is so restricted that they are barely even able to make out what their end-goal is. They just have this undeniable urge to disturb the shit and can’t rest until they can declare a job well done.

Still feeling the after effects of this weekend by hump-day has pushed me to design a new experiment for myself in which I weed out anyone or thing that makes shit worse instead of better...

Straight forward? Simple?

A pilgrimage, if you will, toward a mystical drama- free land... which more than likely does not exist.

I don’t wanna go all totalitarian dictator on everyone here, but I am declaring personal war on this kind of folk...

Shit, call it an official apartheid for all I care.

My life is now an F.F.Z. (fuckwith-er free zone) and I invite you all to join me and to swallow my propaganda whole.