May I be blunt?
I think I'm a pretty alright person. I'm pretty good looking, I'm not horribly disfigured or anything, I'm averagely smart, I play a bunch of instruments, I'm sort of funny. I think I'm okay.. Average, if nothing else.
I tend to be of the belief that you will make ten times as many friends being interested in other people as you will trying to make other people interested in you. Makes sense, yes? Everyone likes to talk about themselves, so if you ask people questions, they'll answer them until there are no questions left to ask, and there are always questions left to ask. Living my life this way has done pretty well for me. Generally speaking, people like me. They're nice to me, I get invited to stuff sometimes, it's pretty okay. But no one gives a shit.
No one ever listens to me when I need it, no one pays attention to me, no one ever asks me questions.
No one bothers to get past the surface stuff because once you know my name, I just become someone that will listen to you.
I'm a total doormat. People walk all over me, all the time, and I'm too damn nice to do anything about it even though they're breaking my heart.
Tonight at the dinner table my mom asked me something to the effect of what it was really like growing up with my brother. My brother has enough personality for 12 people and enough dirty laundry for 30. I told her that it was like growing up with a fog horn for a sibling. You can't help but pay attention to him, because he was so loud, and had so much going for him, and was so smart and talented and great, so I sort of just hung out behind him and did my thing, and became a well rounded, well adjusted, listener.
These days his and my relationship are a little different. Apparently he's forgotten that his dirty laundry is a thing, because he seems to think that my dirty laundry is like... Week long trip in the Australian outback with one change of clothes. Really though. So not only does he pretend I don't exist when we're not together, but then when we are together he likes to make jokes (that aren't really jokes) about how I'm an alcoholic, and I have turned into the worst child. Pardon you, but let me introduce you to your 15 year old self. Having trouble communicating with him? That's because you were solidly inebriated from 2007 all the way through to 2009.
I also seem to be becoming a person easily replaced. Not even replaced, just forgotten. I have this friend I've had since I was very small, we've always been close. Last year, closer than ever. We were family. He has not talked to me in three months. How do you go from being so close to being nothing in three months? It's like I'm disposable. I'm a damn bed sheet.
Here are five things someone that is my friend knows about me:
1. I'm an excellent listener.
2. I really like to eat.
3. I always laugh at people's jokes, even if they're not funny, because it's rude not to laugh.
4. I watch a lot of TV.
5. I am stupid addicted to Starbucks.
Here are five things someone that is my friend SHOULD know about me:
1. I don't like hugging. It makes me uncomfortable. As does sitting too closely.
2. Books to me are this magical other world I live in part time.
3. My opinions are irrational 90% of the time. I don't know why I feel like that, I just do.
4. My favourite colour is yellow.
5. I get incredibly frustrated when people interrupt me.
Here are ten things I wish people (anyone) cared enough to find out:
1. I am absolutely shit bricks terrified of goats. That's part of the 10% of my opinions that are based on reality and past experience.
2. Church was a dick to me.
3. I'm really close to both my parents but in completely opposite ways: I talk to my mom about everything, every single day. I don't talk to my dad about many personal things, but he and I have so much in common sometimes it's like we're the same person. He is the best man I've ever met.
4. I think dogs are messy and obnoxious 90% of the time.
5. I hate being hugged, but I love cuddling. It's because no one pays attention to me, so when someone hugs me, and gives me that weird 4 seconds of attention, it feels so fake and staged and unnecessary, and like if you're really honest with yourself, you don't want to hug me either, you just feel like you're supposed to.
6. I get really overwhelmed when more than one person talks at once. Every time it happens I instantly feel tears rush into my eyes.
7. I suck at playing music. I'm really good at playing like 10 things, and making it up as I go.
8. I'm not very smart. I'm actually really stupid, I just study really hard and know a lot of big words.
9. If I could be anything in the entire world, I would be skinny.
10. All I really want in life is someone to want to marry me.
Three more for the road (and to lighten the mood):
1. I don't believe in dinosaurs.
2. I have a pretty serious Wendy's addiction.
3. I think people that call other people crazy are actually the crazy ones. I don't trust them.
Monday, 18 November 2013
Wednesday, 14 August 2013
The August Exodus
One of my great joys in life is airing other peoples' dirty laundry. Not necessarily dirty laundry even.. Just embarrassing laundry.
Last night after work I got to spend a few hours with one of my closest and dearest friends, Aulona. If you've been a follower for a while you'll know she's far from a new character in my life. My all-time-top-of-the-list favourite thing about Aulona is her lack of personal space issues. You're not really friends with Aulona until she does something uncomfortably personal in front of you. It's quite endearing really.
So Aulona and I ate an amount of Chinese food that would make normal people hate themselves. We sat in the empty restaurant for about an hour and talked, and laughed, and reminisced, and discussed how all either of us want in life is to sit in Chinese restaurants and discuss how much we dislike the people we went to highschool with (livin' the dream). Post Chinese food, we got back in my car, stuck in a CD and rocked out to Jesse Mccartney like only girls born 1992 through 1995 can. Jesse Mccartney transitioned into uncomfortably racist novelty rap, which took a smooth step over to less embarrassing pop and then an abrupt 180 to aggressively annoying country music. All said and done, I woke up this morning with a sore throat and the chorus of Beautiful Soul burrowing cranial pathways I never really wanted.
At the end of 12th grade, Aulona felt the need to run a little, and did. All the way to Ottawa, about 7 hours away from me. Every time she comes home, we party like it's 2011, and for however long we're together, we were never apart. Nothing's different, nobody's sad. For 3 hours, or 4 hours, or a whole day, everything's perfect. Unfortunately, last night, there was a bass drum in the back of my mind every few minutes telling me summer's almost over. Everyone's almost gone again.
I've always had older friends, which means every August since I was 15 has had a tiny undertone of goodbye. It sucks, we've all stood on the sidelines of the August Exodus and waved goodbye to our comfortable year, and at some point, we'll all be the ones on the move, waving and smiling, and trying not to look back. It sucks, for absolutely everybody.
To that end, we would hate ourselves for not taking those risks, finding the scariest path and running down it, and joining the August Exodus. Likewise, we would hate our friends for staying back for us, but it doesn't make it any easier. What makes it easier is nights like last night, where for 3 hours, no one's going anywhere but the parking lot of our highschool and an empty Chinese restaurant.
My message to those leaving is this: Goodbye, I love you, safe journey, stay in touch, and no matter where you go, if only for an hour, come back.
To Aulona specifically, I promise that when you ask to Skype me at 3 am to tell me how much everything in the entire world drives you crazy, I'll try my very hardest to look like I'm awake, and when you come home to visit me, you can tell me everything again over cosmos and I'll actually listen to you. I also promise, I won't yell the words to The Motto with anybody but you. Because that's special.. And a little racist, but it's okay.
Also, please don't leave me alone to sing Jesse Mccartney in my car by myself.. Because that's how crazy people happen.
Cheers, friends.
Last night after work I got to spend a few hours with one of my closest and dearest friends, Aulona. If you've been a follower for a while you'll know she's far from a new character in my life. My all-time-top-of-the-list favourite thing about Aulona is her lack of personal space issues. You're not really friends with Aulona until she does something uncomfortably personal in front of you. It's quite endearing really.
So Aulona and I ate an amount of Chinese food that would make normal people hate themselves. We sat in the empty restaurant for about an hour and talked, and laughed, and reminisced, and discussed how all either of us want in life is to sit in Chinese restaurants and discuss how much we dislike the people we went to highschool with (livin' the dream). Post Chinese food, we got back in my car, stuck in a CD and rocked out to Jesse Mccartney like only girls born 1992 through 1995 can. Jesse Mccartney transitioned into uncomfortably racist novelty rap, which took a smooth step over to less embarrassing pop and then an abrupt 180 to aggressively annoying country music. All said and done, I woke up this morning with a sore throat and the chorus of Beautiful Soul burrowing cranial pathways I never really wanted.
At the end of 12th grade, Aulona felt the need to run a little, and did. All the way to Ottawa, about 7 hours away from me. Every time she comes home, we party like it's 2011, and for however long we're together, we were never apart. Nothing's different, nobody's sad. For 3 hours, or 4 hours, or a whole day, everything's perfect. Unfortunately, last night, there was a bass drum in the back of my mind every few minutes telling me summer's almost over. Everyone's almost gone again.
I've always had older friends, which means every August since I was 15 has had a tiny undertone of goodbye. It sucks, we've all stood on the sidelines of the August Exodus and waved goodbye to our comfortable year, and at some point, we'll all be the ones on the move, waving and smiling, and trying not to look back. It sucks, for absolutely everybody.
To that end, we would hate ourselves for not taking those risks, finding the scariest path and running down it, and joining the August Exodus. Likewise, we would hate our friends for staying back for us, but it doesn't make it any easier. What makes it easier is nights like last night, where for 3 hours, no one's going anywhere but the parking lot of our highschool and an empty Chinese restaurant.
My message to those leaving is this: Goodbye, I love you, safe journey, stay in touch, and no matter where you go, if only for an hour, come back.
To Aulona specifically, I promise that when you ask to Skype me at 3 am to tell me how much everything in the entire world drives you crazy, I'll try my very hardest to look like I'm awake, and when you come home to visit me, you can tell me everything again over cosmos and I'll actually listen to you. I also promise, I won't yell the words to The Motto with anybody but you. Because that's special.. And a little racist, but it's okay.
Also, please don't leave me alone to sing Jesse Mccartney in my car by myself.. Because that's how crazy people happen.
Cheers, friends.
Wednesday, 15 May 2013
I Am Not A Noodle.
I attended my first organized yoga class this morning.
Let me first say how much I admire people who do this on a regular basis, because I won't be standing up again for weeks.
So I get to the gym. The sort of cute guy that welcomes me pretty much every time I go and makes me the occasional protein shake directs me to my classroom. On the way there, he turns to me and says "Is this your first time at the club?". Well fine then, I thought we'd been flirting with our eyes for the last month, but I guess not, jerk. Anyway.
I walk into the room and place my brand spankin' new yoga mat on the floor and spark conversation with the woman next to me, about my inability to actually do yoga, and I watch as this incredibly fruity hippy woman enters the room and hands me a yoga block. So we begin the class. Nothing too complicated, a sun salutation at lightening speed (I'm not kidding, this pace could also be described as breakneck, or ticket worthy) and some basic poses.
My entire life, every dance class, every stretch and every chiropractic appointment could not have prepared me for what came next. The little blond hippy asks me to place my FACE on the yoga block. I do. She then tells me to take my knees and rest them on my already shaking elbows and balance myself, in the air, ON MY FACE. Somehow, I do it, painstakingly. I can feel the sweat pouring off me and I suddenly become very aware of all of the blood in my body. I am made aware of this because 98% was coursing through my cheek bones. Literally I could feel my eyebrow hair growing because of this new found circulation.
As if this pose weren't trying my patience enough, hippy-mc-tiny-legs then walks over to me, kneels down and begins adjusting my neck! My face is still pressed an inch deep into the yoga block and she's moving me! She tells me to lift my head and I was like "hahahah, pardon you." Apparently she wasnt kidding, because she kept saying it and saying it and saying it until finally I say "I can't!". She got off her knees, giggled and walked away. I was honestly so confused.
What makes it worse is that during these insane poses, she tells you "focus on your breathing, breath into your toes". Two points. First off, I haven't breathed in twelve minutes, because if I do, I will fall. Second, I'm temporarily unaware of where my toes actually are.
I'm not even going to say that it was human pretzel-ish, because pretzels are solid. They don't move. She should have just asked upon entering the classroom, "Please prepare to change your entire view on motion from human, with muscles, to damp spaghetti noodle".
Let me first say how much I admire people who do this on a regular basis, because I won't be standing up again for weeks.
So I get to the gym. The sort of cute guy that welcomes me pretty much every time I go and makes me the occasional protein shake directs me to my classroom. On the way there, he turns to me and says "Is this your first time at the club?". Well fine then, I thought we'd been flirting with our eyes for the last month, but I guess not, jerk. Anyway.
I walk into the room and place my brand spankin' new yoga mat on the floor and spark conversation with the woman next to me, about my inability to actually do yoga, and I watch as this incredibly fruity hippy woman enters the room and hands me a yoga block. So we begin the class. Nothing too complicated, a sun salutation at lightening speed (I'm not kidding, this pace could also be described as breakneck, or ticket worthy) and some basic poses.
My entire life, every dance class, every stretch and every chiropractic appointment could not have prepared me for what came next. The little blond hippy asks me to place my FACE on the yoga block. I do. She then tells me to take my knees and rest them on my already shaking elbows and balance myself, in the air, ON MY FACE. Somehow, I do it, painstakingly. I can feel the sweat pouring off me and I suddenly become very aware of all of the blood in my body. I am made aware of this because 98% was coursing through my cheek bones. Literally I could feel my eyebrow hair growing because of this new found circulation.
As if this pose weren't trying my patience enough, hippy-mc-tiny-legs then walks over to me, kneels down and begins adjusting my neck! My face is still pressed an inch deep into the yoga block and she's moving me! She tells me to lift my head and I was like "hahahah, pardon you." Apparently she wasnt kidding, because she kept saying it and saying it and saying it until finally I say "I can't!". She got off her knees, giggled and walked away. I was honestly so confused.
What makes it worse is that during these insane poses, she tells you "focus on your breathing, breath into your toes". Two points. First off, I haven't breathed in twelve minutes, because if I do, I will fall. Second, I'm temporarily unaware of where my toes actually are.
I'm not even going to say that it was human pretzel-ish, because pretzels are solid. They don't move. She should have just asked upon entering the classroom, "Please prepare to change your entire view on motion from human, with muscles, to damp spaghetti noodle".
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