Following Through

There has been way too much almost in my life .

Almost on the honour roll;
Almost a great musician;
Almost in the best shape of my life;
Almost grown up;
Almost out of the red;
Almost in love;
Almost a success story;
Almost  happy with what I'm doing with my life;
Almost great.

Almost doesn't count.

The Persnickety Dater

A couple weeks ago I went on a date that, as far as first dates go  was positively top drawer.

A date, that at the very least, temporarily restored my faith... but still left ample room for some classic unabridged cynicism!

This date showcased all the hallmarks of a well suited match, yet this didn't stop me from recoiling back from my plate full of brunch the next morning when a friend observed that she had a "good feeling about this."

"pffffft...gimme a f &*king break" was my mouth-full-of-home fries response to that thought.

Even though I had just been regaling the table with how I spent the previous evening with a very cute, apparently smart,  and almost suspiciously polite boy (hell I might have even called him a man,)
my friends' positive reactions still seemed worthy of my immediate dismissal?

I  then ended the play-by-play of the date by concluding that: "I guess it's only downhill from here?" Then feigned confusion by the synchronized eye roll from entire table.

My mother's biggest fear is that I am "too picky" when picking my men. She clutches to this theory because the only other plausible explanation for a single  26 year old daughter is lesbianism, and she isn't ready to face that yet.

Funnily enough though, I do remember one point on this particular date where I  was nodding my head enthusiastically on queue with the conversation going on, yet  internally I was thinking:

"I am sooo not picky... look at me go! I am totally willing to entertain the idea of maybe going out with this guy again. My mom is crazy!!!"


This guy was interesting, he was flattering, he flat out refused my money when the bill came, the took me out to a great bar with an awesome DJ, introduced me to his friends who just happened to be one of my favourite rappers (for a detailed reenactment of my realization of who this friend actually was, please contact me directly!) when the evening came to a close he walked me out,  hailed me a cab, opened the car door for me and gave me a delightfully juicy kiss as we both agreed that we had had a really good time and should do it again.

And I sailed off into the night, patting myself on the back for not being "picky?"

Turns out my paranoid suspicions of his politeness might have been coming from the intuitive rather than crazy side of my brain as, after a few "confirming desire to see me again texts," this boy has disappeared into thin air. This is not to say his manners at the time were not coming from a completely genuine place. My decision that he is rude is mostly based on my own bruised ego.

I  have done my personal best at not letting the classic girl-who-doesn't-get-a-second date syndrome kick in. Including; finally nailing down a definite date with another boy with whom I had been planning to have drinks with but had been constantly rescheduling with or last minute canceling on with for weeks.

This man was a lovely creative artist type:  cute in that nice and shy kind of way, had the most genuine and contagious laugh,was a great conversationalist, showed me his impressive artwork, shared my blind devotion to Kanye... really, a "whole package" sort of dude. 

PLUS this guy is interested.

This guy has followed up with me several times. This guy already wants to know when I am free next. This guy has done thoughtful things like send me web links to things we discussed while we were out together.

So what is wrong with me that I don't feel like this date was as promising as the last?

Is my mom right?

Can I only be interested in someone if every minute detail of them is completely in sync with my ideal?

Am I picky?

Or am I exhibiting the classic symptoms of an age old stubborn flaw in my personality in which I confuse a man's interest with desperation, which then leads to my imagined but certain loss of all independence, which then leads to my complete loss of interest?
Or is it as simple as chalking it up to "chemistry" and the lack thereof?

I will go out with this boy again and not just for the simple and childish pleasure of proving my mother wrong.

I want to go out with him again because, while this wasn't a date that I would deem of "dream date calibre,"
I cannot discount that I found myself wholeheartedly,  shoulder shaking, slapping my knee laughing with this person and anyone who can make me do that, might even have it in them to make this picky girl happy.

The Night Q-Tip tweeted me

This weekend I experienced the almost holy experience of what it is to have a perfect Saturday in Toronto.

The Sun came out of hiding and blazed high in the sky without cloudy interruption for an entire day!

I met friends for brunch in the morning and we spent the afternoon meandering along a bustling Queen West; Picking up a few prints from a local artist, browsing the racks of quaint boutiques filled with Toronto designed dresses.

As magic hour fell over Toronto and downtown's stainless steel buildings reflected the sun's golden glow, I split off from my friends and made my way to the Lightbox to watch Beats, Rhymes & Life. (A Tribe Called Quest documentary, premiering at the Hot Docs Festival.)

This was the highest of  highlights, the apex, of my Holy Saturday.

Not  because I got to spend 98 minutes watching one of my favourite groups on the big silver screen at a state of the art theater.

Not  because I swiped an extra VIP pass from work and got to treat my little (but whole foot taller) brother to an experience that I knew he would be just as geeked about as I was.

The doc became Saturday's highlight because it is at this event, where my true love intersected perfectly with my job, that I had an awakening.

Unfortunately, the actual message within the documentary was by no means the source of my inspiration.

The bulk of the film  focused on issues like front men Q-Tip and Phife Dawg quarrelling over who would be be the Michael and who would be the Tito of A Tribe Called Quest. Displays like a trivial argument that gets these life-long friends so agitated that family members need to intervene and restrain them, seconds before climbing on stage to a worshipping crowd, left me sad and bewildered.

Watching the drama within A Tribe Called Quest nfold  felt nothing like I had felt as I got as I neared the corner of King & Peter and the Lightbox came into view. As I got closer to the venue and realized people were lined up around the block- not even for a Tribe concert but for a documentary film about their favourite group... Now that was inspiring!

So even though filmmaker Michael Rapaport (yes, Phoebe's cop boyfriend on Friends) chose to focus on the more negative story lines, I still came away from this experience invigorated by the support of this city's hip hop community.

Between the "yeah, I've been there" laughter that crept through the crowd as Busta Rhymes recounted the  teary phone call placed to his friend Tip after giving Midnight Marauders a recent spin: "We was crying up in the car 'cause the shit was that crazy!!"

And the communal goosebumps caused by film's superbly mixed soundtrack blaring from a sophisticated sound system.

I had a moment.
I was grinning from ear to ear in the very back row as I experienced the bliss-inducing view of a sold out theater, lit up just enough by the images on the screen, to reveal the synchronized head bobbing when the bass line on Check the Rhyme dropped in.

For a little more than an hour and a half I was completely in my element surrounded by other enthusiasts and loving every second.

I get straight up giddy in the presence of people who love hip hop enough that they'll line up for hours to be temporarily closer to it. My pulse quickens in the presence of like minded people, as I am a bit of a lone wolf within my pack when it comes to obsessing over the music closest to my heart.

Just last week my BFF stared quizzically at me as I offered her a completely unprovoked explanation as to why, in my opinion,  Frank Ocean is covering uncharted territory on his Nostalgia, Ultra LP.  To my spontaneous rant, she responded: "You've got problems dude..."

I get teased at a parties when the token backpack rapper shows up because before the night is through, I will have manoeuvred my way into a conversation with him. They jest that it's my pick-up line, which is made into an even bigger joke by the fact that these conversations seldom lead to anything but arguing about whether or not Kanye peaked on College Dropout.

I will admit that I am shameless in my pursuit. If I detect someone on my radar who wants to actually sit down and talk about rap music with me, I will go after them without abandon.

Walking home after the film with my big-little brother, I spontaneously declared that I might be in the wrong industry. "Nothing jacks me up like music does!!!"

My bro then made the interesting point that we had just experienced the perfect harmony between what I know and what I love.

It was his point of view that got my wheels turning and led me to boldly tack an addendum onto my blog of months past, in which I itemized 3 resolutions for 2011.

*Addendum:

 4) Erasing the barrier which currently exists between doing what I know and doing what I love.

I am unsure as to what exactly this means, but I do vow to blaze forward on a path with the purpose of shifting away from thinking of my work as being as being a means to justify an ends, and toward being an end justified by my genuine drive to get there.

My brother and I eventually went our separate ways into our Saturday nights.
As I got back to my apartment, I slid open my patio door so that warm summer breeze could flow in. I cracked a beer, and logged onto Twitter.
As I mulled over my new ideas, I simultaneously tweeted my thoughts on the film as well as the total and undeniable basic truth that this film proves: "@QtipTheAbstract is ageing like a fine ass wine!"
 
I sank back into my couch and let the wheels in my mind spin off some more.
But just as my thoughts started to form into ideas of how I might marry what I know to what I love, my blackberry notified me that I had a received a tweet:

:)

I don't know what will happen, or how this "move" will play out.  But I am suddenly totally devoted to the idea of "staying true to my heart, and following through" and seeing where that might take me.

Dumb finding

I have just been stood up on a date I never agreed to go on.

How you ask?

Well this requires a little back story.

A few Saturdays ago I was  dancing up a storm to some quality hip hop in the cavernous basement of a bar when a gentleman came up to me and asked me what I was drinking.

"Pabst Blue Ribbon" I said, then he disappeared.

A track or so later he reappeared, handed me a Pabst Blue Ribbon and before I had the chance to thank him, he disappeared again.

I was puzzled but not all that fussed. Plus I think the DJ threw on "Lions of Hip Hop" so I was immediately distracted.

A short while later he re-appeared in my orbit.

"So you buy a lady a drink then don't stick around long enough to ask her her name?" I said.

"Sorry...I didn't want you to think you had to talk to me just because I bought you a drink"

This response threw me off and drew me in.

 And so began an hour or so of dancing and chatting.

I wasn't reading to much into this because my expectations of  men  had been  significantly lowered through a recent string events.

The previous weekend had held a  Friday/Saturday double header and on both nights I met a different guy.

Friday: at a Queen West bar, I was approached by a guy who said he has been watching me all night (I knew this as I had been watching him too, giving all the "come over here and talk to me" eyes I could muster)

He went on to give me a very flattering speech which he then concluded with "but my buddy is waiting for me outside so I gotta go"

Did not ask me my number, not even my name.

I was dumbfounded.

Saturday: at a party, strong & authentic Cuban rum  was being passed around by party goers fresh  from the sunny island and socca dance music was playing so loud the house shook.

This obviously lead to the inevitable late night dance party.

Again on this night, there was a stranger with whom I was vibing with.

4 30 a.m. rolls around, he has to work in 4 hours, tells me its nice to meet me, gives me a quick hug and moves on to his goodbyes with the others.

I was thrown.

Maybe I had entirely misread the situation ?

While waiting for a late night/early morning cab, my friend (and friend of the stranger) suddenly remembered "oh ya, so dude told me I should bring you around more often and he me wants me to give you his number"

Dumbfounded again.

What is wrong with these dudes that both of them had met a girl they liked, yet failed to do anything to get the girl?

What  is wrong with me that I am  attracted to these dudes?

This brings us back to the cavernous basement of  this bar.

Dancing, dancing, chatting, chatting...waiting for the moment when my favourite track comes on,  "hey this is my favourite track too!!!" he'd say.

Then we would stop and look at each other and see our life long happiness in one another's eyes.

This moment would be interrupted with him saying something like "I left my coat unattended on a table upstairs and its kinda expensive..soooo..seeee ya" POOF! Into the night!

BUT


This doesn't happen.

The bar closes down.

The ugly lights come on.

The friends I came with put on their coats.

I start in with  "my friends are leaving so I should go"...to which he replies
"cool...um, do you think it would be OK if you gave me your number?"
"sure" I say too quickly, cheeks burning bright red.

I very carefully and thoughtfully recite my number (I have a friend who drunkenly gave out her parents' number instead of her own, and I fear I may one day do the same)

As I give him my number, I realize he isn't putting it anywhere.

He didn't program it into his phone, he didn't write it down.

I just recited it into thin air with a quizzical look on my face.

He then takes my hand, plants a kiss on it says it was lovely to meet me and he will " be remembering that number"

A little dumbfounded again, I fight back the urge to say "um..well...what if you don't?! Wouldn't this be a whole lot easier if you just wrote that down somewhere?"

But more so, I'm chuffed with myself for having broken the recent trend of guys bating, hooking and then choking before reeling me into the boat.

Monday (Valentine's day Monday to be precise) rolls around and a strange number shows up on my call display.

I pick up, and it is the Rain Man himself.

He did remember my  number.

We chat quickly, I ask him where he is calling from, he gives a wafflely answer and moves on to something else.  He asks if he can call me later in the week.
Sure.

Curiosity gets the best of me and I google the strange number.

Google says "a person calling you from this number is calling from Google Voice Chat"

....dumbfounded.


"Um, omg. He is totally homeless" one of my girlfriends chirps through wine tinted purple teeth.
"A homeless dude with a computer and internet connection?"
"um, heeeelllo??..Internet café!!!"

My other girlfriends then proceed to simultaneously dub him "no-known-address" and "g-chat."

Later in the week the weird number shows up again . I ignore it.

I am scared of what the reason for his using Google Voice Chat might  be.

Later in the evening, strange number shows up again...now I am weirded out that he is calling with such voraciousness.

Ignore.

Later on, another unfamiliar number calls, but this one starts the same way as the phone numbers in the neighborhood I grew up in do.So I pick up.

Busted, it's"G-chat."

He explains that he had tried me a few times earlier in the evening  but assumed I wasn't picking up due to the unknown number.

"Ya, I don't  pick up weird numbers. What is the deal with the your weird area code??"

"Well, to be honest, I don't have a cell phone. I lost mine before Christmas and I decided I wanted to experiment and see what life without a cell would be. I call it 'cell-therapy.' "

Hmm.

"So this is your land line then?"

 "No I don't have one of those either.I was thinking you would pick up your phone if you saw a Toronto number so I came down and used the pay phone instead! Damn its cold out here! Anyways, what are you doing this weekend?"

"ummm, I am kinda busy actually"

My mind is now reeling as I grapple with what kind of man, in a time where 7-11 sells cell phones and phone credit for under twenty bucks,  stands in a phone booth and calls a girl?

He is a drug dealer and his line is tapped by the dudes from the fucking Wire.

He IS homeless and is using the pay phone outside the internet café.

He is married with children and his wife examines the details of each phone bill closely.

We end up chatting for a while and despite the scenarios running through my mind, he makes me laugh a couple of times and doesn't come off as that crazy.

Eventually I say I have to go, but that we should try and do something next week.

"OK, ill call you. Pick up when the weird number shows up on your display!"

I make a strange noise that mildly resembles giggling as I remember that this man is calling from one of the few phone booths left in the city and quickly hang up.

I tell this story to one of my guy friends who asks the question:

"if this dude had a phone would you think twice about this?"

"well... no..but the point is he doesn't have a phone!"

"oh who cares?!! he 's in between phones! he's a kooky free spirit! Its not a big deal! Stop acting a fool"

I  tell the story to a girlfriend and she says "are you doing the thing where you automatically stop liking a dude because he is actually showing interest in you?"

I take this in and make an about-face.

I am now an open minded person, accepting of all people and their communications preferences!

Weird number calls back.We decide we will grab a drink sometime in the next week:

"cool, well I'll call you- (as if there is a choice) and we can set things in stone"

"okay, talk to you, um...then?"

Later this week, weird number calls.

I send it straight to voicemail. I am back in the office after several sick days and am in over my head playing catch up.

He leaves a message:

"Was thinking we could maybe do drinks tonight? I will give you a call back around 6:30 'cause you said you are usually home from work around that time. Hope you are having a nice day. Talk later"

I am immediately annoyed by the fact that I cannot call him back on anything to let him know this won't work for me.

Today is the first day that I have not spent 95% of it, horizontal.

My muscles have atrophied during my illness.

Walking from my desk to the photocopy machine requires a five minute cool down.

And when people speak to me it sounds just like when my hairdresser is washing shampoo out of my hair and simultaneously asking me to fill on what has happened in the 6-8 weeks since my last appointment.

My only solution is to wait for the 6:30 phone call, explain my predicament and suggest we do drinks tomorrow or over the weekend.

I feel guilty but remind myself  that this was a "last minute invitation to which I am not even able to rsvp."

I get home, throw on my pjs in an effort to keep my resolve strong.

I throw in laundry, I hand wash and hang my delicates.

I throw on the stove, wash the dishes, make a salad.

My BFF calls, we chat about our respective days, I tell her "no-known-address" is calling soon and I am going to have to rain check his invite, again.

"So this is never gonna happen" she says.

We hang up.

Its 6:30.

Its 6:45. The chicken strips that go with my salad are ready.

Its 7:15. I'm done eating, Ben Mulroney is pretending not to be gay on the TV screen.

Its 7:30. Cojo declares Nicole Kidman worst dressed at the Oscars.

Its 8:00.

It's 8:30.

What. the. FUCK.

I am enraged.

I can't help but think, what if I had got that message and decided to be reckless? What if in spite of my feeling under the weather I had rushed home, showered. tossed on something casual cute then waited...Waited...WAITED.

I WOULD have been stood up. And COULD have been very upset about it.

Dumbfounded. Confounded. Perplexed.

I have just been stood up on a date that I was never going to go on??

For me this whole thing lost steam when google informed me a man I didn't know just called me from his computer.

Yet I forged on thinking I was just being a pessimist! or closed minded!

I heard the well meaning platitudes of those in my life worried about my  descent into spinsterhood and muffled my own instincts.

The fact is, I think I should be allowed to maintain at least the minimum requirement of phone ownership when fielding potential suitors.

OK fine, I am going to be 27 this year and no closer to finding a husband than I was when I was 12  and video tapping Backstreet Boy appearances on the Rosie O'Donnell show. But...

Does this mean I should  be entertaining offers from the type of dude who calls me from a payphone and asks my answering machine out on a date? NO!

(right? you all said no too right?)

A friend follows up on my potential date with "no-known-address" and I fill her in on the whole debacle.
"Maybe his internet was down?" she offers tongue-in-cheek.

Maybe moments after leaving me a message,  police raided his grow-up and  the quarter meant to finance our "setting it in stone" conversation, was put toward calling his lawyer?

Maybe this man  is an Island who cannot withstand the pressures of being accountable to other human beings So he has freed himself from the shackles that come with telephone ownership, and is thus no longer at the mercy of those pesky phone calls from those wondering why he didn't show up when he said he would!

Whatever it is that prevented him from following up is not the point. The point is this person should have been disqualified the moment it became clear that he was unreachable.

My girlfriends and I have a saying "if it smells like cheese, its probably cheese."

This smelled, looked and tasted like cheese.  Yet there I was ready to take a big ol' bite.

Dumbfounded.

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!!