Week One: COMPLETE!

So I have just finished my first week of intensive scoliosis correction down in Florida. It has been an emotional (and physical) roller coaster. The first day hit me like a ton of bricks, as what I was experiencing was FAR beyond anything that I had ever imagined. Day 2 and 3 were emotional and painful and Day 4 was absolutely brutal. Yesterday, I was completely exhausted. My body was just done. I was in incredible amounts of pain and I was completely drained. At the end of Day 4, we took another set of x-rays, and I came back to the condo and crashed. Although sleep is barely sleep when every once of your body is throbbing. Today was my turn-around day. I felt so much better this morning. Especially after seeing my x-rays! That huge curve that you see in the x-ray below is a 43 degree curve. After four days, it's down to 34 degrees. Still some work to do for sure, but we are all so thrilled with these positive changes. My doctors say that now that my spine is finally moving, we will be able to get some deep changes next week. It has not been easy, but it's all worth it!

I can feel all the positive vibes and thoughts and prayers every single minute of every single day and I so grateful. I am so lucky to have such amazing people thinking of me and taking care of me. Thank you.

Fate

I broke up with my boyfriend and I'm getting a new spine. Shit. Life is crazy. I mean, it's crazy how things work out.

First of all, the spine thing. I have a scoliosis. A pretty bad one. Not the worst ever, but bad enough that I am thrilled and completely elated about the possibility of getting it corrected. I have been in contact with a great doctor in Orlando who specializes in scoliosis correction. I am going down in one week for 14 days of intensive care. I have my flights booked, my vacation property reserved (private pool, king size bed, oh yeaaah), and have paid my deposit for this pricey two weeks of corrective care. The whole thing is surreal. I think I might have a bit of an identity crisis. I mean, this is the body that I have known for my whole life. Now everything is going to change. Exciting. Terrifying. Life changing.

Second, the boyfriend thing. Apparently my crazy magnet has not been removed. I thought I was rid of it, as this seemed to be the real thing. But nope. Not quite. Pretty disappointed, pretty sad, but also kind of relieved. It's exhausting worrying about someone else all the time. And it's absolutely torture feeling like you're the only one invested in a relationship. All the exhaustion and emotional turmoil was not only making me irritated and upset, but also sick. Physically. It's crazy how your body physically responds to something stressful. Not a healthy situation. So enough of the crazy, on to good changes and an exciting new direction. Maybe I will ask Dr. Nalda if he can remove my crazy magnet as part of my treatment. I mean it can't be that hard, just a minor surgical procedure. Get that thing outta me... no more crazy.

Anyways, I'm planning on blogging my entire trip. It's going to be quite an adventure. Especially if I meet a hot American husband on the plane. Now wouldn't that be fate? A new spine and a husband all in one trip.

Sayonara, Scoliosis.

Thankful

After another delicious family feast, I am left feeling the need to write.  Plus, it's been over a month, and I am getting harassed by my followers (ie. ONE follower - my brother) to blog.  So, here I am.  With a full tummy, kind of a heavy heart (I'll explain why later), and a brain full of blog ideas bouncing around, I am lying on the floor with my laptop watching Dancing With The Stars.  Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.  

These family gathering always get me thinking: Where the F*#$ did I come from?  I really wonder.  How do I fit in with this family?  Did I come from the milkman?  Here is a little family tree breakdown as an explanation:

Specimen A: Papa G

Civil Engineer, Masters Degree, Ironman, hard-working, dedicated, non-emotional, introverted, traditional, conservative, kind of a nerd.

Specimen B: Mumma J

Community Health Nurse for ten years, incredible stay-at-home mom, now a coordinator at a Fine Arts school, loving, caring, would do anything for anyone.

Specimen C: Brother D

Typical middle child, smart, but vulgar, sarcastic, a bit of a womanizer, kind of an asshole and absolutely nothing like me.

Specimen D: Brother A

Typical youngest child, the life of the party, hilarious, witty, smart, also a bit of a womanizer, less of an asshole, but still nothing like me. 

{note: both Brother D and A also work at nightclubs, shoot stuff, and eat raw meat for breakfast, lunch and dinner.}

Other dinner guests tonight:

-Steve: family friend, the sweetest, most stylish, delicious man I know.  If only he liked girls.  We'd have adorable babies.  Just sayin'.

-Ellen: childhood friend from Grade 2, incredibly intelligent, beautiful, amazing, one of the best friends a girl could ask for.

-Mark: grew up with the boys, pretty much similar to them, just slightly more PG, less R-rated.

-Xander: another friend of Brother A's, there's still hope for him.  He seems sweet enough, here's hoping the boys don't totally corrupt him before his 21st birthday.

And then there's me, Specimen E.  I'm kind of the odd ball.  Always have been, always will be.  With extreme views about healthcare, with passionate opinions about relationships, with values and convictions strongly rooted in respect and loyalty, I often find myself feeling a little left out in these heated (wine-induced) conversations. 

Quite the recipe for an interesting dinner, wouldn't you say?  Thank God Ellen was there.  At least I had one person in my corner!  

Which brings me to the part about a heavy heart.  The person that I really wanted to be there tonight couldn't make it.  I could have had another person in my corner.  And the one person that matters a lot to me.  Kinda bummed, but I'll get over it.  That's another blog post entirely.  

Anyways, I guess this is my point for this Thanksgiving Monday night:  family is family.  It doesn't matter how big of an asshole Brother D is, he's still my brother.  When it comes right down to it, I know that they would do anything for me.  I know that when shit hits the fan, when things fall apart, or when there is a real problem, we all come together, we all support each other, and there is nothing that we can't get through together.  I guess maybe the sum of our family combined is stronger and greater than its individual parts.  I guess that's just what family is.

My Ovaries Ache

Yes, you read right. I said it. My ovaries ache.

Translation: I want babies. Don't tell people; this is not something to be excited about. This is causing turmoil in my life. And no, Wild does not know that I have baby fever. Way to make a new boyfriend immediately vanish. I'm good enough at that as it is. Hah. But he can't be oblivious... I mean, he must see how I instantly fixate on any child within a 10 meter radius of us, how all I talk about is my best friends new little baby who I can't get enough of, and how I literally attract them. I swear, I am a baby magnet. They flock to me. It's like I'm a much hotter version of Dora the Explorer. Or Barney. Justin Bieber? Or something. Nevermind, bad analogy. You get the point.

But anyways... back to the turmoil part. My biological clock is ticking. The ticking is interfering with my other clocks, and all this noice is getting irritating. And quite honestly, it's making me a crazy person. I have never really even believed in the whole biological clock thing. I always just thought it was a funny term that women used when they were getting tired of being in a relationship lacking commitment, or in another unsettling place in life.

Well, after a little research (very reputable sources: Wikipedia, etc.), I have confirmed that there IS in fact such a thing as a biological clock. In fact, all human beings, plants and animals have an internal clock that tells us when to eat, sleep, wake up... the list goes on. So it only makes sense that I have two monstrous clocks taking over my ovaries and wreacking havock on my emotions. Seriously people, I'm only 26, what's my problem?

I hate to have timelines. I feel like we all put so much pressure on ourselves to get things done by a certain time, to have this many credentials, to make this much money, to have this promotion by this time.... like really, we all need to chill the f*ck out and enjoy life. I have never been one to put timelines on the progression of my own life. I will get married when I will get married. I will have kids when I have kids. Putting a date on those events is lame. Not fun. And not healthy. Yet, here I am, having infant urges.

I think this will pass, though. It's just a phase. And realistically, I am in no position to have a baby right now (my boss would kill me). And really, it's not a bad thing that I am excited about being a mom (in the future), right? It just means that I know what I want for my life. My life work will be my family. I am here to be a sister and a daughter, but I am also here to be an incredible wife and an amazing mother, and I know that will happen sometime. I guess maybe I just get excited about the possibilities.

But for now....

Ovaries, you need to shut the hell up. Seriously. Let's not get in a fight now. I'm going to need you later.

Lifesavers

Girlfriends are the best. When shit hits the fan, when you're down in the dumps, when you feel like a fat, ugly mess, or when you are a complete emotional basket case, there is nothing that cures these symptoms quite like a good giggle with a good girlfriend. It's the small moments and the simple pleasures that make life so amazing. And it's so good to share those with friends. Boyfriends, too, yes. But to be able to sit outside on a warm, breezy Friday night and eat chips and salsa, drink iced chai's and laugh hysterically to the point of embarassment is absolutely priceless (my tummy muscles are going to hurt in the morning - no lie). I don't know if I could do this with a boyfriend. It just wouldn't be the same. And this particular Friday night moment was extra special because of the reminiscing of our numerous past moments of humour together. I don't know what it is, but together, we are like fun magnets. Strange things just always seem to happen to us. It's pretty much the most awesome thing ever.

My girlfriends make me a better person by knowing them.
CS- You are wise beyond your years, your honesty and kindness are immensely admirable. Your warm spirit lights up a room and there has always been something about you that just shines. You radiate goodness. I am lucky to be able to call you my friend.
JD- My rock. You are beautiful inside and out. You walk through life with such strength and grace and you amaze me everyday. I respect you, look up to you and love you so much.
EL- You are such a role model to me. I am so proud of you and am always in awe of all of your accomplishments. You have such a big heart and I am fortunate be a part of your life. I am excited to see you conquer the world. You're a superwoman.

I fall asleep with cheeks that ache from smiling, a tummy that is satisfied with salsa, and a heart so full that it makes me feel like everything is okay in the world. And how good is that?


"They say nothing lasts forever. Dreams change, trends come and go, but friendships never go out of style."
~C.B.

Never Send a Man To Do a Woman's Job

After an emotionally exhausting few days, I find myself left with a terribly negative thought pattern in my head. It's on repeat. It's on full blast... high volume. It's bad.

You're too nice. Such a pushover. Way too accepting. You did something wrong. You've been lied to. You're not good enough. What's wrong with you, anyways???

So after a good little cry on my way home from work in the rain today, I decided it's time for a nice positive uplifting blog post.

Ok, my cry may have been more than "little." It was more like an ugly cry. So ugly that that the guy stopped at the light beside me on Macleod Trail concerningly looked over at me and mouthed the words, "Are you ok?" You know what I'm talking about. Full snot streams out of both nostrils. Horrific looking mascara streaks down the face and neck. And that noise. That awful sobbing/gasping noise where your lungs are furiously trying to inhale enough oxygen and regulate your breathing patterns to get your body out of this extreme state of panic and hyperventilation. Come to think of it, I probably shouldn't have been driving.

But I'm fine. I just need a good cry every once in a while. Once it's out, life is good again.

ANYWAYS... this is supposed to be a positive entry. And it is! I am going to celebrate all the things that I do better than men. Actually no, I am going to celebrate all the things that WOMEN DO BETTER THAN MEN. Hence the beautiful, profound and poetic title of this post.

So aside from being better drivers, living longer, making smarter investments, and being superior communicators (I don't make this shit up, dudes. Its all fact - read the studies), we are also better at much more, maybe less tangible or quantifiable, but still equally as important.

-Worrying
Move over guys, this is our specialty. Maybe it's worrying about whether or not you had enough to eat for lunch, made it to work safely, or are having a good day in general. We have got it covered. And fuck yes, this is a good thing. I am tired of feeling bad about the things that I do well. And damnit, I worry well. And statements like "Don't worry, I'll be fine" are usually indicators to us to worry more, FYI jackass.

-Having The Flu
I think I have mentioned it before, but men are whiney little bitches when they're sick. Seriously, just give us all the sickness there is. The world would be a much better place if only women got sick. We suck it up, suffer in silence, take care of ourselves, and get better. Men sniffle, whine, complain and exaggerate about ailments, that to us, hardly seem worthy of mention.

-Planning
This is something my mom has always warned me of. "Sorry sweetness, you're going to have to plan this one. Don't wait for him to do it." And holy shit, is she right. Trying to plan a vacation, dinner party, or even a movie can literally be like pulling teeth when you are trying to collaborate with your man.

-Getting Shit Done
It's true. Whether it's paying a parking ticket, making reservations, buying groceries, or the dreaded, TALKING ABOUT FEELINGS, leave it to us to get it done. If we left it to them, the world would be a monstrous, uncommunicative mess.

-Caring
Ok, maybe that's a bit harsh. I know that men care. I just don't think they express how they care as well as we do. Or maybe it's how we care, the quality of care that's different.
But I am generalizing both parties. Maybe all women don't care like I do. So I will speak for myself.

I care whole-heartedly and with total and complete abandonment. I care so much that it hurts me sometimes. I care to the point where all I can think about is that other person, what they are doing, how they are, what THEY are feeling, and how I can help them. I pour my heart into caring. I will even care to the point of exhaustion, even when I know it will not be reciprocated, or know I will be hurt.

That is how much I care.

And not selectively. It's not a time sensitive, mood-dependant thing. It's there all the time. It's me.

So rather than feeling inferior, weak, or pathetic for my amazing caring abilities, I'm choosing to love them. And KNOW that they will serve me well.

Besides, I would rather pour my whole heart and soul into something I care about, give every ounce of who I am, love with every fiber or my being and end up completely and utterly heartbroken, trampled, ruined and devastated, than NOT care, NOT try, NOT put in the effort, and look back in regret, wishing that I had.

I think I'm Getting Old

And these are the reasons why:
-I really want a baby. It's creepy. Don't tell anyone.
-I think all the songs on the radio sound exactly the same. And I am particularly tired of people over-using the word 'shorty.' And I didn't know who Justin Bieber was until a couple months ago. How does one not know who the Bieber kid is? Seriously.
-I don't have cable. I frequently find myself watching TED Talks on the internet or reading consumer reports on environmentally friendly cleaning products. WTF?
-I constantly criticize other women's make-up. There is not a day that goes by that I don't want to walk up to someone and yell, "BLEND, woman!"
-I go to bed early. And usually do so drinking tea and reading a novel. Lame.
-My ideal Friday night (or Saturday night, or any other night of the week, for that matter): making dinner and watching movies with a certain special someone.
-I bought cellulite cream the other day. And I just laughed out loud when I typed that sentence.

And the number one reason that I know I am getting old....

I HATE STAMPEDE.

Ok, maybe hate is a strong word. But in my almost ten years of living in this fine city, never have I found myself feeling so bitter toward this annual boot stompin' drunken orgy.

Perhaps it's because I have had a wretched head cold all weekend and while desperately trying to fall asleep, all I can hear are YEEEEHAW's or car horns honking, or glass breaking on the pavement (Oh, the joys of living downtown). Or maybe it's because the annual occurance of this festive event seems to be an instant ticket for young men and women to turn into COMPLETE f*cking sluts. I guarantee it, more marriages are broken up during Stampede than during any other time of the year. What is it about putting on some trashy jean skirt, a cheap cowboy hat and some ugly cowboy boots that turns most girls into complete hussies? And men, why is a plaid shirt and tight jeans enough permission for you to treat women (even more) like garbage?

As I drove home along 17th Ave. tonight, I saw a girl wearing a shirt that read, "IT'S NOT CHEATING, IT'S STAMPEDING."

Great. Way to make a good impression:
"Calling all Dirt Bags! Yes, I am involved in a relationship, but since it's Stampede, and I will be completely inebriated all week and will lose all sense of judgment, I am hoping to destroy my current relationship by partaking in random sexual acts with complete strangers. I'm not too picky, I'd be down with an STD or two. In fact, I'd be ok with more than one guy too... The more, the merrier."

Yes, maybe I am reading a little too much into this, but come on.

Some other classy Stampede shirts I have seen so far (and it's what? Day 2 of Stampede?)

- Equally as repulsive as the above mentioned T-shirt, "Ride Hard, Ride Fast, RIDE ME."
- The OH SO ORIGINAL, "Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy."
- And the completely lame and stupid, "Cowboy Butts Drive Me Nuts."

Get a life, people.

Whatever, I'm old and bitchy. In my defense, I think my bitchyness has been augmented due to the immense pressure in my sinuses. But nonetheless, still a bit of a bitch.

Maybe I will see if I can get a certain special someone to get on his jeans and cowboy hat, and take me for a night out on the Stampede grounds. We'll ingest some poison (in the form of mini-donuts and corndogs), pay way too much for everything, deal with massive amounts of people, horrendous line-ups and screaming children, and then to finish the night off right, maybe hit up Cowboys or my personal favourite, The Roadhouse, to drink our faces off and ruin our relationship by going home with someone else.

Sweet, sounds like a grand time.

Happy Stampede, everyone! I'm sure I'll be over this once I'm feeling better. :)

A Collaborative Effort: Hot Sex For Sandwiches

Happy Canada Day. I am celebrating by drinking Corona's with my brother (Brother #2) while preparing to drive across the province for a family reunion this weekend. Oh, the excitement. After a few Corona's, and a harsh scolding from my brother about neglecting my faithful blog followers, we decided it was necessary to post a collaborative blog. For the record, the title was all him.

A few points we will be covering:
-Market relationships.
-An exchange of goods and services.
-How the dynamics of today's relationships have changed because of feminism.
-And my personal favorite - stretching and reaching.

Can you tell Brother #2 is a Sociology major? He's also a professional womanizer, a bounty hunter, a part time super hero, and an all around smart ass.

Let us elaborate:
Back in the old days, a market relationship was as follows: A man was more capable of killing a sabre tooth tiger with a stick, and a woman was more capable of raising children. Hence the "hot sex for sandwiches" term - a woman gives a man hot sex, he gives her what she needs to make sandwiches. I like to think of it like this - a man provides security and a woman gives him a family. Sounds vulgar and somewhat primitive, but I think Brother #2 has a valid point.

Feminism has changed the success of relationships because it has changed the dynamics, skewed the typical roles and totally f*cked up the polarity scales. Women are totally capable of self sustenance, and other than in extreme scenarios, don't really rely on men for security anymore. Men, on the other hand, have mostly become bonafide subscribers to the weekly issue of VaginaVille (a.k.a. pacification of man). For example, finding a man capable of kicking in the door to a burning building, killing six men with his bare hands, throwing a damsel in distress over his shoulder and heroically carrying her to safety is about as rare as finding that damsel in distress that will let someone take care of her, or for that matter, even needs to be taken care of.

This is an excellent illustration of why successful relationships always have a reacher and a stretcher.
A reacher: someone that is reaching down.
A stretcher: someone that is stretching up.
Ideally, the reacher and stretcher meet half way, and all is good in the world.
You can reach and stretch in different ways though. For example, Brother #2 always feels like he is the stretcher is the looks department in most of his relationships. However, the girls he is with are most likely stretching in other departments.

After another highly intellectual and insightful night with Brother #2, I am left thinking...
Maybe I need to channel my inner damsel. I mean, I'm not going to turn into a complete needy, high-maintenance flake. BUT... I am starting to realize that people need to feel valued for their skills, abilities and strengths. They especially need to feel valued by the person they are with. So I think it's ok for me to let down my walls a bit, to ask for help, to get a certain special someone to fix my car, and drop the "I can do it myself" thing. Besides, being a damsel in distress could be fun sometimes. Might take some getting used to, but here goes nothing.

Confessions

I have never really considered myself a girlie girl. I'm pretty low-maintenance. I mean, I went out in public today after hot yoga in torn sweat pants (I think they're men's pants, actually) and a baseball cap. I'm just not really the girlie type.

Or so I thought. I was clearly in denial. I had a MAJOR Carrie Bradshaw moment tonight. Let me explain.

It's a beautiful Saturday summer night and I am home. Alone. Doing laundry. Partly because I am feeling sorry for myself because a special certain someone is out in Vancouver for business all weekend. But mostly because I am a big nerd. I often require quiet nights at home to recharge and get my life organized. So, in my cleaning and laundry frenzy, I had a sudden urge to clean out my front hall closet. It's been a long time coming.

The shoes! Oh, the shoes! I almost sustained major trauma to the head, as they started to tumble off the higher shelves. "It's time," I thought to myself. Time to say good-bye to the glittery high heels I wore to my highschool graduation, the golf shoes that I haven't worn in about 4 years, the "WHAT-WAS-I-THINKING?" knee high black leather boots, and of course, several pairs of flip flops.

After gutting my closet, this is what I am left with:
A large laundry basket full of shoes to take to Value Village - 36 pairs.
And a semi-organized closet - 53 pairs.

That means that at 8:00 tonight, I had 89 pairs of shoes in my closet! I am shocked, appalled, and humiliated. I felt as though photo documentation was necessary.

The upper shelves, somewhat organized. 15 pairs.


The amazing little Ikea organizers. 31 pairs. And oh yeah, 7 more pairs on the floor of the closet.


The aftermath... I shed some tears as we said our good-byes.
Don't ask me about those zebra prints.


Anyways, all the falling shoes stirred up lots of old memories. Each pair had a story. So I'm still sticking with the idea that I'm not girlie. I'm just nostalgic. Plus, shoes are the perfect accessory. You can make a mediocre outfit fan-freakin-tastic with the right pair of kicks. And you never feel fat when trying on shoes. I have just always thought that every occassion should have the perfect pair of shoes. Even if the occassion is going grocery shopping or to the beach... there is the right pair of shoes for every activity and every day.

I don't really need all those shoes anymore though. I just need one pair. You know, that perfect pair that goes with everything, that you can take anywhere, that always looks amazing, that makes you feel invincible, sexy, powerful, that cushions every step you take, that is with you every step of the way... and that just fits. Kind of like the perfect man. :)

10 Things That Never Cross a Man's Mind

1. Man, I am SO in the mood for cuddling up in front of a sweet little romantic Gerard Butler comedy.
2. Two pounds up? Shit! I'm off beer for a month.
3. DAMN THIS HUGE PENIS! God!
4. I know the best way to resolve this conflict. Let's talk about our feelings.
5. OMG, I am so looking forward to vino and appies at book club Friday night with the boys.
6. Do I EVER need a mani/pedi!
7. Woa, that paisly upholstery on my antique chair totally does NOT go with the throw cushions in the breakfast nook.
8. I'm totally boycotting sex until she apologizes.
9. Babe, can you puh-leeease change the channel? This football stuff is getting old... I really wanna watch The Bachelor.
10. If I want us to date for about 2 years, get married on the beach in Hawaii, have a couple years to ourselves before kids, then have two kids with the last one born before 35, then F*CK, I need to meet the love of my life tonight!

Like I said, they may have the AHV... but we are definitely a little crazy.

Danger

Well hello there. It's been a while.

I don't have very many bad habits. I don't smoke, I don't chew my nails, I don't curse like a trucker (although some of my previous posts may indicate otherwise), and in general, I'm a pretty healthy person. But I do have two little secret bad habits. Well one of them is not a secret- it's my devotion to this lovely addictive substance called chocolate. And the other is tanning. I know, I know... it's bad. I don't go often, but when I do go, I enjoy every single second of it. There is something about it that makes me so happy. I just love having 20 minutes of uninterrupted time, no cellphones, nothing. WARMTH. A little Vitamin D and a nice golden glow are my primary motivators though. But as I was crawling into the tanning bed on this gloomy June night, I notice the 12 inch warning sign on the side of it that read something scary about ultraviolet damage. The fine print was every scarier. I'm not sure how I had never noticed this alarming caution sign before. But it didn't seem to phase me, as the temptation of 20 minutes of relaxation, warmth, and soft golden skin far surprassed the threat of skin cancer.

To me, embarking on a new and exciting relationship is kind of like tanning. There is a definite risk associated with it. As I climb into the cancer bed, all I ever think about are all the amazing, incredible outcomes of the dangerous experience. Yes, there may be a little voice in the back of my head that's telling me that the harmful UV rays that I am voluntarily exposing myself to could potentially turn my pretty freckles and moles into disgusting pustules and lesions, and that my covetted clear, soft skin could turn into a leathery diseased disaster, but that voice is never loud enough to make me put my clothes on and haul ass out of Fabutan.

At the beginning of any new relationship there will always be those little voices of doubt or fear, there will always be risk, there will always be overwhelming feelings of vulnerability, and there will always be the potential for the whole thing to blow up in your face and turn into malignant Melanoma. However, the possibility and dream of having an amazing realtionship with an incredible human being (or having sexy golden glowing skin) always seems to overpower the risks.

My advice for tanning and for life:
Forget about the warning signs. Screw the caution announcements. F*ck the hazard alarms. Ignore those insecure little voices in your head and enjoy all the good stuff. And even if you do end up having to get cancerous moles surgically removed or have to go through months of emotional turmoil to heal a broken heart, remember all those little good things that made you climb into the cancer bed or jump onboard a new relationship in the first place.

The Book is Lame

Very lame. I'm bored with it. The thought of talking to three new guys a day is, yes, getting much easier, but after hitting on gay guys, chatting up 18 year olds, scandalously flirting with married men, and dealing with one awkward moment after another, I think I need a break. I am still continuing with the assignments, and some of them are just as mortifying, if not more mortifying as writing my own personal love eulogy. I said I would see this thing through, and I will, but I needed a moment to rant.

Ok....
Now for the truth. I knew it would come out once I started writing. I like Wild. Why would I want to deal with Norbert, MILFhunter and FunGSpot69, when I have a perfectly hansome, polite, and respectful prospect standing right in front of me? Don't get me wrong, Wild is not perfect. In the limited time that we have known eachother, he has already exhibited a pretty bad case of AHV. However, at this rate, his positive qualities seem to outweigh his negative qualities. And like I said, being charming, sexy and almost totally irresistible really helps his case. But still, one step at a time. I will remain open to all possibilities and all oppportunites, keep my head on straight, be honest, and most importantly- be myself. I will enjoy right now.

This is a hard thing for me. And maybe for most women. See, this is my Crazy Virus starting to come out. I freak out about the possibility of this all blowing up in my face, about Wild turning into a real pr*ck, and about being disappointed. I hate being disappointed. I also over-think everything that was said or done in the past, think about how I have been treated in the past, or worry about how the man in my life has treated women in his past. I am now accepting the fact that I am having a mild Crazy Virus outbreak, and choosing to relinquish my crazyness from this point forward. It's not required when living in the moment. And living in the moment is the best moment EVER.

Enjoying here, right now, this very second... is like the best, sweetest, juiciest part of the fruit. It's like a piece of scrumptious, slurpy, summer watermelon. The good stuff, right in the middle. When you're eating the watermelon and it tastes so amazingly delicious, it's easy to get greedy, devour the whole piece, and get too close to the green rind. In your voracious state of mind, you eat some of that white stuff, just before the green rind. You know, that nasty, bland, and sometimes bitter edge. Don't get ahead of yourself... the reason it doesn't taste good, is because that's not NOW. Stay where the sweet stuff is. The bitter stuff only tastes like crap because you're not supposed to be eating it. And maybe in your haste, you chomp on a few seeds. The seeds are those little nuggets of the past. They are in the sweet stuff to remind you of who you are and where you came from, but they are not required while enjoying the present. Those sharp, black crunchy reminders of past failed relationships or break-ups will always be around, but there's no need to deal with them while enjoying the present moment. So my point is enjoy the present... the sweet, yummyness of life... right now. This is the good stuff.

I guess I should probably take some of my own advice.

Baggage

Everybody's got it. It comes in all shapes and sizes. Satchels, purses, over-sized suitcases, hockey bags, brief cases, backpacks. Louis Vuitton, distressed leather, Fendi, vintage, Prada. It could weigh 22 pounds, it could weigh 5 ounces. The point is, there is no escaping it. Where ever you travel, from continent to continent, or from relationship to relationship, there's always got to be some sort of baggage.

According to Canadian transportation regulations, all airline passengers are allowed two pieces of checked baggage each weighing no more than 50 pounds and with linear measurements less than 62 inches. Two pieces of carry-on baggage weighing less than 20 pounds are also permitted. So, how much baggage is too much baggage in a relationship?

I suppose it all depends on the situation. But let's just clarify, baggage isn't necessarily a bad thing, it's just a fact of life. Baggage becomes negative when you let your amount or size of baggage influence your future travel plans, or how you treat your future travel companion. I definitely believe that anyone with baggage is completely capable of being successful in a relationship.

In the past, I think I may have been blissfully unaware of what exactly baggage is. But my encounters with Wild, who is 7 years my senior, have made me realize that everyone is carrying around some kind of shit or another. It definitely looks prettier if it's contained in a $5000 designer handbag, but it doesn't change the fact that it's going to have to be dealt with sooner or later.

My conclusion for dealing with baggage is much less scientific than any of my previous conclusions regarding AHV, but I think it's still equally important. So here it is.

If you had the opportunity to travel to your dream destination with your dream travel partner, the place that you have always wanted to go, the one location in the world that would make you feel fulfilled, happy and complete for the rest of your life, would you really give a shit about the baggage? Would you care if it got stolen at the airport, would you stress if it fell out of the plane and landed in the Pacific Ocean, would you even really care if it made it to your destination? It wouldn't matter if your baggage blew up, it wouldn't matter if you never saw it again, it wouldn't matter if you had to lug that crap from Venice to Beijing. Nothing would matter if you were with the person you were meant to be with, going to the place you were meant to be going.

So... chill the F out, everybody. Deal with your baggage, decide if you want to carry it on, check it, or forget it. Accept this decision, and accept others who are dealing with their own baggage.

Happy travels.

Herpes

Now that I have your attention, I have an announcement to make (and no, I'm not engaged)...

I have made a ground breaking discovery. I have uncovered the truth about the virus that plagues so many. I have revealed a fascinating medical fact about men. I feel like the most brilliant female scientist to ever grace this planet with her beautiful presence. I have figured it all out. I'm going to be famous.

It is with great pride that I share this with all of you....

Assholes are like herpes.

Yes, it's a strange comparison, I admit. So, let me explain my findings.

First of all, all men are carriers of the Asshole Virus. Let's call it AHV for short. It's something genetic, I believe. Somewhere in their chromosomal composition, there is a little recipe for AHV. It's in all men. The thing is, much like herpes, any man can go on living a happy, fulfilled, healthy life while experiencing very few symptomatic outbreaks. Some men are actually able to lead an entire life without experiencing one AHV outbreak. However, this is extremely rare. There has only ever been one documented case. Most men, on the other hand, will have regular flare-ups. They may go for short or even extended periods of time leading loving, communicative relationships, but them BAM! AHV breaks out! Some men will lead their entire life with chronic AHV - red, inflamed, blisters of complete assholeness (not returning phone calls, acting like a whiney little bitch, selfishness, only communicating via text message, flaking out on plans, lying, cheating, drugs, abuse.. the list goes on). Not only are the outbreaks painful for the man experiencing them, but they are about 75% more painful and emotionally exhausting for his partner.

Much like Herpes Simplex, AHV is triggered by a few known things:
-Stress: a new job, financial worries, etc.
-Cold, flu, change in the immune system: we all know men are babies when they are sick. It only makes sense that they would turn into complete assholes too.
-Hormonal changes: when they are into someone, involved with a woman who they actually LIKE, love or care about... the hormones go wild. Yes that's right ladies, sometimes the worst cases of AHV are exhibited in men who actually care about you. This is terrifying.
-Trauma to the affected area: Trauma to the head- football, motorbike accident, you get the point.
But here's the really scary thing about AHV.... sometimes there is no apparent cause.

I've also discovered that once a man gets an outbreak or two, the outbreaks become less frequent and less often. This would explain why older men usually suffer less from AHV. AHV will usually present itself in adolescent men, and after several AHV outbreaks in their 20's, the symptoms seem to be less apparent in their 30's.

Now again, I'm not being a man hater. I mean, who am I to judge? Plus, this is all based on PURE scientific fact. And you know what? Nobody is perfect... women all have the Crazy Virus. The thing is is that women deal with this virus much more effectively than men deal with AHV. You see, I know when my Crazy Virus is rearing it's ugly little head. I know what aggravates it. I know when it's getting bad. I know how to control it.

So the point is is that all men have it in them. Every man is capable of being an asshole. Some are just better at knowing how to control it. And in some, you would never even know they had the asshole capabilities in them - their AHV may remain dormant their entire life. I guess what I'm saying is that it's not our job as single women to weed out the assholes, it's our job to understand, acknowledge and accept that all men, at some point or another, will have the tendency to be an asshole. I guess all we can do is try to control our own Crazy Virus, in hopes of finding a man who can control his AHV.

My team of scientists and I are currently working on a cure. I will keep you posted with my discoveries.

Yours in health.

26 Things I Love About Myself For My 26th Birthday

As I rapidly approach my descent into oblivion (T minus two days), I have decided that rather than dwelling on my commencement into the days of cellulite, grey hairs, and crowsfeet, I would celebrate all the wonderful things that I have to offer. This is going to be tough. I've been thinking about this for a few days, and I have only come up with three things. Jokes aside, I think this is important. I think we should all know what we love about ourselves. I mean really, if you don't love yourself, how is anybody else supposed to love you? And why would they want to? I'm no relationship expert or anything, but it's difficult to love someone who doesn't know who they are and doesn't love who they are.

So, my friends, I am going to try to take off my self-deprecating, sarcastic bitch hat and try this out.

26 Things I Love About Myself

1. I sing in the shower. Sometimes very loud. Usually Lady Gaga.
2. My ass. Ghetto booty, junk in the trunk, large and in charge... whatever you wanna call it, it's pretty awesome.
3. My acceptance of constructive criticism and my on-going guest to grow and self-reflect.
4. I love yoga.
5. I am a freakin' amazing cook . I can modify, create and spontaneously throw together some pretty scrumptious recipes.
6. I thoroughly enjoy my own company.
7. I look for the best in all people and all situations and whole-heartedly believe that we experience all the lows in life so we can fully appreciate the highs.
8. My enviably long, sultry eyelashes.
9. I adore, respect and look up to my mom, but am now a strong independent person that she adores and respects and looks up to as well.
10. I make a mess. When I cook, paint, or draw, I am left covered in flour, paint, charcoal and my condo usually looks like a bomb went off inside.
11. I often find myself thinking, "I have nothing to wear," when in reality, I have too many clothes to comprehend and at any given moment the re-inforced metal rod in my closet may rip its extra strength bolts out of the wall and crumble to the ground.
12. I stand up for what I know is right. Even if it's controversial or might get me in trouble.
13. My face turns bright red, my knees get wobbly and I get the serious giggles after ONE glass of wine.
14. My family and friends are the most important thing in the world to me.
15. I hate wearing shoes. Bare foot is the way to be, people!
16. I mean what I say. Always.
17. I'm kind of a domestic goddess. I'm also very humble. Hah.
18. I love babies. And I know I will be a fantastic mom someday.
19. I don't take myself too seriously. I have experienced far too many moments of complete and utter embarassment to take myself seriously. I am verbally and physically clumsy which always seems to create some kind of ridiculousness.
20. I get stuck in the car wash on a regular basis. I don't know what it is, but I think I must be cursed. I can't tell you how many times I have been stuck in the automatic carwash thingy honking my horn like a maniac as I wait for the dorky little attendant to come let me out.
21. My love for chocolate is perpetual, immortal, and enduring. Please refer to item #2.
22. I like to help people. Like, actually. I really do. It makes me feel fulfilled and happy.
23. I give RAD hugs.
24. I am always finding new ways to do things. I don't like to be in a rut. Whether it's making latte's from coconut milk or figuring out another route to work, it's always fun.
25. I can usually put a smile on someone's face. Even when they are REALLY grumpy.
26. I LOVE MY LIFE.

Not as bad as I thought. Now go and do the same!

I leave you with one of my favourite quotes:
"Love yourself, accept yourself, forgive yourself and be good to yourself. Because without you, the rest of us are without a source of many things wonderful." -Leonardo Buscaglia

It's my birthdaaaaaaay!!! Weeeeee!

Uh-oh

I went on another date last night. I was really nervous about this one. I have been a little nervous in the past, but just the thought of this date was inducing a serious case of the butterflies. I think it's because we had talked SO much before hand - through e-mail, text, phone conversations - that I was just SO excited to meet this guy. Let's call him Wild. You'll understand why in a bit.

So the itinerary of my date with Wild is far less exciting and juicy than the actual date and conversation itself. Because the conversation was AMAZING. A few reasons why: He did not possess ONE quality on my Douchebag List... not one. Thank the Lord. He successfully completed all of my First Date Etiquette rules...with flying colours, might I add. AND he fulfilled NINE out of ten Traits of Irresistible Men. The only one he hasn't fulfilled is the sexy wink thing, only because I haven't seen him wink yet. And really, the only person who can actually wink sexy without looking like a total moron is Richard Gere, so whatever, we'll let this one slide. So basically what I am telling you is that this man is a f*cking saint.

OR... maybe he's just had 33 years of experience of charming the pants off of girls. Yes, there is a 7 year age difference between us. Get over it, Mom. I am. :)

So after an amazing first date, I am left wondering, is this too good to be true?

I'm choosing to think that it's definitely true, and that this guy is the real thing. Besides, he knows the weird things about me and is STILL so into me. This is rare. Once guys find out that I won't eat chicken from a certain restaurant because it's pumped with antibiotics and hormones, or that I think vaccines are poison, or watch me ask the owner of the gelato shop why they don't have recycling bins to recycle the little plastic gelato cups, they usually go running for the hills. But not Wild. I mean we talked for a good 15 minutes about how he likes to buy the $6.50 eggs from Community and how his buddies all give him a hard time for eating expensive organic stuff. I like this guy. We also have a pretty sweet deal - he will teach me to dirt bike if I teach him yoga. See, that's where the Wild comes in - the dirt biking... this guy is definitely a man's man. And spontaneous and fun. And being tall, muscular and downright delicious with beautiful green eyes doesn't hurt either.

The bonus: we have mutual friends. He also knows my brothers. And also knows that there is a good chance that they will remove his testicles if he turns into an asshole. So, these are all good things. And I would imagine that I would be informed if he was a total manwhore.

Oh goodness, I really like this one.

Actually maybe I'm not feeling so well. I could be coming down with something. I mean, it's going around, isn't it? I think it's the flu. It must be the flu. Yep, that constant incessant butterfly feeling in my tummy has GOT to be the flu...

Right?

10 Traits of Irresistible Men

So I have obviously figured out what it is that I don't want in a man, but after another contemplative day, I have compiled a collection of traits that seem to be universally and undeniably sexy.  I don't know what it is, but a guy with these traits gets instant brownie points.  And makes me weak in the knees. 

A Great Sense of Humour

But not stupid humour.  Quoting South Park and Family Guy repetitively gets old real quick.  A guy with an intelligent, witty sense of humour who can make us laugh loud and laugh often, is completely and totally charming.  

Good With His Hands

Any guy who can build things, fix cars, play the guitar, cook or paint has instant points in the HOT column.  I'm not sure what it is, but knowing that a guy is good with his hands in other areas of life, might mean there's a hope in hell that he's good with his hands in bed. 

A Sense of Style

His own sense of style.  He doesn't need to try too hard or copy someone else's style, he just needs to be able to put together a somewhat attractive ensemble that reflects a bit of who he is. 

A Calming Vibe

If he's got cool written all over himself, and his gaze is calm, steady, and peaceful, his sex appeal will undoubtedly shoot through the roof.  Admittedly, women have a tendency to over worry about things we can't control, and having a man who sets us at ease by reminding us everything will work out in the end is completely, utterly and deliciously HOT.

Good Grooming

If he takes good care of himself, he's likely to take good care of his partner.  No need to get carried away with manicures, extreme exfoliation, moisturizing routines or over-waxing, but a clean-shaven, good smelling man with a great haircut is always a good bet.

A Sexy Wink

Not a loser cheesy wink.  A sexy sparkle in the eye type of wink.  Not obvious, not aggressive, no disgusting type of proposition.  Just a seductive little wink, with impeccable timing, and a tiny bit of shy mixed in there.  

Ample Displays of Affection

There are guys who reach out to their partner while driving, and those who keep both hands on the wheel.  Gents of the former group qualify as sexy.  It's amazing how many good looking guys are just a few points away from being downright handsome because they don't express their love and affection. 

A Handsome Manly Scent

Apparently our DNA compatibility dictates who smells good to us.  But any guy can augment his essence with a spritz of yummy cologne.  And remember, Axe is off limits.  

A Confident Walk

Don't shuffle, don't walk like you're on the runway, don't swagger, don't drag your feet.  Stand up straight, pull your shoulders back and walk with confidence, not with arrogance.   A good walk is always scrumptious.

He's Kind, Polite, and Respectful

Obvious, I know.  But SO important.  Seeing a man hug his mom, buy his sister flowers, babysit his nieces and nephews, open doors, and use the words "thank you" frequently is a totally wonderful sight.  

As another day in the lovely state of Montana comes to an end and I stare at my shopping bags full of hundreds of dollars of clothing, shoes and accessories, I find myself thinking, what makes women irresistible?  And more importantly, what makes me irresistible?  How do I up my irresistible quotient?  My Love Guru has lots to say about that in my current chapter of highly intellectual reading... 

The Land of the Big Sky

I'm currently down in the good ol' US of A partaking in some very thorough retail therapy.  For no reason.  The therapy was not required, but some how using that term makes us feel better about maxing out the Visas at Target.  

All these big open spaces, long, endless highways, and beautiful blue skies bring a girl to reflect a little.  So, here are my reflections on the last week.

Yoga Man e-mailed me after the incredibly awkward encounter at the yoga studio.  We went out for coffee last Tuesday night.  Not good.  He broke some MAJOR first date rules.  I have done some serious contemplating about first date etiquette since, and here is what I have come up with (pay attention, men):

1.) Don't be late - being late is the first indicator of disrespect in my books.

2.) Smell good and look good - in this day and age, there's is no excuse for looking shabby.  Iron your shirt, you slob.

3.) Open doors - duh.  

4.) Listen  - are you really listening when you have asked me about something I have already told you three times?  And oh yeah, don't talk to my boobs.  They won't respond.

5.) Pay - I think this is important.  After the first date, this rule may no longer be applicable.  But on the first date, the man pays.  That's all there is to it.  

Ok, so when you read over that list, there's really only five simple rules to remember.  And most of them might seem quite obvious.  However, it is shocking how few men actually follow all of these guidelines on a first date.  And not even just on a first date.  Shouldn't you always hold the door open for people?  I do.  And I'm not a guy on a first date.

Anyways, I guess it all comes down to respect.  I don't need someone to be my man slave, but I DO need someone to respect me and to treat me like a human being.  And a first date that consists of more than uncomfortable coffee conversation, a movie, or something equally as lame would be nice.  Is that too much to ask?

And by the way, the selection of hot, single men in Montana is limited.  Unless you're into Park Rangers, head-to-toe camo, or a guy that carries a gun that's bigger than you are.  

Cuddles, anyone?

Can friends cuddle?

I don't think so. Which is a shame, because I am a big-time cuddler. But I think friends cuddling is dangerous territory. My other friends seem to think it's ok. Maybe it's ok with clear guidelines and honest communication, but I think at some point, somebody is going to want to do more than cuddle. And there's a reason that you're only friends in the first place, so why would you ruin your perfectly functional friendship with a cuddle disaster? Cuddling is a slippery slope, I say. It's like a gateway drug. You cuddle one night, and the next night you're shooting heroine. Or screwing your friend. You get my point.

So, the moral of the story: practice safe cuddling. Communication is key.
I'm still not going to do it though.

And one more little tidbit of humour for this gloomy Tuesday morning. I will now decode and translate my most recent match.com message:

Hi Sweetie, [Don't call me sweetie, you jackass. You don't even know me. Not ok.]

I really liked your profile. [Really? Did you even read it? What did you like so much?]
You sure have the nicest smile I've seen in a long time. [LAME. Are you serious? That's the best you can do for a compliment?]
Let's chat. [In your dreams.]
I'll show you a good time sometime. [Yeah, I bet, you perv.]

Talk to you soon, [Mmm.. nope!]

Jonny
(username: FunGspot69)

And in case you've been wondering why I was such a negative bitch about this message, this is why, my friends! Anyone with the numbers 69 in their username is instantly disqualified. This username is especially terrible because those two digits are combined with the word "G Spot." Are you kidding me? Who comes up with this shit?

So I think I'm going to start a business. All hopeless, pathetic, clueless guys with no style, no social skills and absolutely no manners... please call me. For a small fee of $250 I will take your profile pictures, make you the best fucking online profile known to man, take you shopping for your date outfit, help you plan your first date, and send you on your way into romance.

Ladies, you can thank me later.

Exciting Weekend

Ok, here we go. So many thoughts to include in this post. What a weekend!
It's funny though, because I get all shy and think maybe I shouldn't blog about certain situations, but when I realize how much fun I am having and how totally awesome life is, I know I need to write.

I taught a hot yoga class on Friday morning. This man walks into the lobby in a hoodie, signs his name on the sign in sheet and as he is finishing writing his last name, I look up, make eye contact and am instantly stricken with complete horror. Which for me, translates into RED cheeks, heart palpitations and the feeling as though both legs will completely collapse beneath me. I know him. He knows me. We get silent and awkward as we stare at eachother for what seemed like 3 years. He then breaks the stare and quickly shuffles into the men's change room. I've talked to him on match.com. What are the chances that he would end up at my class? SO strange. Anyways, I didn't let my nerves get the best of me. I marched into that class, sweat up a storm, and taught my little heart out. (Sidenote: the man looks very good without a shirt on). After class I decided I had a few options. After prancing around in a sports bra (no make-up, crazy bedhead, super sweaty) in front of this stranger for 90 minutes, the option that sounded most appealing was to hide in the change room for 20 minutes and wait for him to leave... completely avoiding the entire situation. The option that I thought was most mature and logical was to introduce myself with a good firm handshake and thank him for being in the class. Very yoga of me, right? So I did. I walked right up to him and said, "I'm sorry, I should have introduced myself earlier. I know we know eachother. So great to meet you in person. I hope you had a great class." He was really nice, kind of shy, said thanks, and bolted out of there. Haven't heard much since. Perplexing. But awkward nonetheless.

So yesterday, I go shopping with one of my best guy friends. He's amazing. He will happily sit in the change rooms for half an hour as I try on a million outfits and give me the most honest opinions:
"Your ass looks huge."
"You can do way better."
"You look smokin.'"
"SOOO not you, way too girlie."
"I'd do you if you were wearing that outfit."
He's not gay, he's just awesome and honest. We tried to go on a date once a while back. No fireworks. We had the talk. And now we're friends. He shares his girl stories. I share my guy stories. And he helps me buy clothes. Pretty sweet deal, I'd say.

So after a great day with my friend (we're going to nick name him Flash - I always bug him about being too flashy), we say our good-byes and he leaves me with a great little pep talk for my date. Yes people, I had a date last night. Flash says, "flirtacious activities with lots of body contact" are best for dates. So, bowling, playing pool, mini-golf, that kind of stuff. He also told me to wear low rise jeans and a low cut top. See what I mean by flashy?

As I am getting ready for my date, I get an amazing text message from one of my most wonderful male friends. He is such a strong role model in my life. I value and respect his opinion and advice immensely (he has a girlfriend and kids, for the record). His message reads: "Be authentic. If he isn't authentic, run don't walk. Superior men spoil, protect and take care of their women. Always remember that. And most of all, have fun." I love this guy.

So off I go, to my match.com date. (This is technically the second date, we had coffee on Thursday night). We went to Starbucks, got a mocha and an orange blossom tea and had a nice chat. Then we went to the grocery store to get movie snacks to enjoy while watching Avatar. All in all, a great night. Pretty mellow, really comfortable, no awkwardness, no lulls in conversation, nothing creepy. Plus, the guy has got it together. Has a good job, owns a great house, nice car, motorbike, no creepy ex-girlfriend stories, no kids, no terrible habits. What I like the most about him so far: he's totally himself. And I could pick up on that instantly. And he encourages me to be myself too. It's also awesome that his name is not Norbert. Just sayin.
So I'd say, it was a success. We'll see what happens.

So my assignments for this weeks portion of my 90 day protocal include signing up for ANOTHER online dating site. WHAT THE F*CK, lady?! It's like a full time job filtering through all the winks, e-mails and matches on one site, how am I supposed to manage TWO?? I'm not sure about this. She says I need to get my two best friends (one male, one female) to write a paragraph about me to include in my online dating profile.

Next, I have to put it out there that I am looking for love. That sounds pathetic. "Hi there, how are you? I'm looking for love." Love Guru says I need to tell everyone I know that I am looking for a quality guy, be open to being set up, and date "outside of my type," giving lots of guys a chance. THEN, I need to date three guys at once for three weeks. Sorry, but I'm looking for a boyfriend, not for a part-time job as a whore. I don't know how to do this. Getting one date is hard enough, getting three seems nearly impossible. Plus, I'm not sure I want to. I talked to Brother #2 about this (as he seems to have no problem dating more than one girl at a time) and he explained some sort of 3-tiered system to me. I don't understand it enough to be able to explain it. His own explanation was a little convoluted. The general jist of our convo was that it's all fair until you start sleeping with someone. Then you need to start eliminating tiers. Interesting concept. We'll see how this goes. I'm so old-fashioned. And way too honest. A blessing and a curse.

Anyways, I would like to conclude this random mish-mash of thoughts by clarifying a few things. First and foremost, I am not a man-hater. My recent posts may have been a little negative toward our male counter-parts. I think men are great. I just think they're kind of weird. I guess maybe if I am calling men stupid, they are certainly entitled to think we're complicated. Maybe if they weren't so dumb, they wouldn't find us complicated though. Anyways, I digress. My point: I am, by no means, a man-hater. My second point to clarify, I don't NEED a man. I am completely happy, content, secure and stable being by myself. I enjoy my own company, I am confident and I am independent. I just feel as though the special moments in life are most enjoyable when shared with someone else. I think that my already amazing life would be exponentially increased in amazingness if it was complimented by another amazing (and handsome) individual.

xox

Brothers

So I think I have mentioned my brothers briefly in previous posts. However, they are both such strange, unusual and interesting specimens of the male species, that I feel as though they may deserve a larger mentioning. They are both younger than me, and they are both complelely different than I am. They both know I am blogging, and their responses to my recent douchebag list are as follows:
Brother #1: "Sister, this is f*cking hilarious. You're totally weird."
Brother #2: "I'm concerned. I think your douchebag list is describing me."

So, I'm not sure why, but both of my brothers are single too. That was sarcasm, in case you didn't catch it. But they seem to have no shortage of girls on hand. It's quite disgusting. But after a conversation with brother #2 today, it got me thinking... and it really made me realize something: Men are stupid. I know I should have realized this some time about 14 years ago (whatever, I'm a little slow), but it really resonated with me today. And I don't mean stupid in a mean way, just stupid as in THEY DON'T GET IT. They are just as confused as we are. We all play games. They are mean to us to get us to like them. They don't call back to keep us wanting more. You get the point.

So my two major learnings from my conversation with brother #2 are:

#1: I will play no games. If I don't like someone, I will tell them. If I do like them, I will tell them. I will return phone calls. I will be myself. I will be respectful and polite at all times (no matter what kind of Norberts of MILFhunters I encounter), I will not pretend to be something I am not in hopes that someone will like me more. And most importantly, I will hope that by leading by example, I will attract people of the same nature. Kind of a tall order, hey?

#2. Maybe I need to stop being such a stick in the mud and use some of their tactics. I mean, brother #2 has three dates this weekend with three different girls. He says there's no better way to get to know what you really want in a partner. He says, "it's all about options." He also thinks the zombies are about to invade, so maybe I should be careful about how seriously I take his advice.

Regardless, brothers are awesome. I think having men in your life is important. Having strong male figures to look up to is so valuable. Guy friends are great (except when you're cursed like I am, and they fall in love with you), and having brothers and dads who are honest and upfront is incredible. And knowing that they own firearms and will hunt down any asshole that tries to hurt me, break their legs and leave them wishing they never laid a finger on me is kind of reassuring.

They bring me back down to earth, provide those sometimes harsh doses of reality, and they keep me normal.
But really how normal could I be with brothers who fulfill almost all of the douchebag requirements?

Yikes.

Warning

I can't believe I am actually using the word "douchebag," as it is one of my most despised words in the english language. However, I feel as though my limited experience with online dating has really exposed me to a whole new realm of weirdos, assholes, pr*cks, and yes, douchebags. So I feel the need to share. Ladies, if you are seeing a man who fits into any of the following descriptions, you know what to do. Men, if one or more of the following desrcibes you, STOP. Or you may be single forever, talking about how many girls you've landed when you're 80... when you really haven't landed anything but a bad case of Erectile Dysfunction.

10 Signs You Are a Complete Douchebag

10. You liberally spray yourself with Axe Body Spray before dates. And you’re 30. Contrary to some amazing marketing tactics, there is no so-called Axe Effect from dousing yourself in this disgusting concoction. It’s going to take more than a stinky spray on deodorant to get you laid, or even get you a girlfriend.

9. You start bar fights over the best brand of protein powder. Or you start fights in general. This is not attractive, gentlemen.

8. The wallpaper or screensaver on your computer or cell phone is a naked girl. Grow up.

7. You wear Ed Hardy shirts, sunglasses at night or own anything that is bedazzled. Enough said.

6. You only watch UFC or wrestling.

5. You greet people by saying ‘sup’, or end conversations, emails, or messages with ‘peace’. Or you think proper english includes abbreviations such as 'def,' 'poss,' 'hella,' etc.

4. Your car makes more exhaust noise than a lawn mower on concrete OR you have testicles hanging off the back of your over-sized truck. I have a real problem with those testicles.

3. Your profile photo on facebook, myspace, or match.com is one of the following: the dreaded duck face (half-kiss/half-smirk atrocity), the shirtless picture taken in the bathroom mirror with your cell phone camera, any pose with your collar popped, or the less offensive but equally lame peace sign. This is about as stupid as it gets.

2. You loudly hock your spit on the sidewalk, allow doors to slam on the person walking behind you and act like a complete jerk to service staff – that makes you a douchebag PLUS an asshole. Good job. Do you want a gold star?

1. You treat girls like shit. The ultimate douche indicator.

Norbert

Chapters 2 & 3: Deadly Dating Patterns and Dating Games Men Play. Funny thing is, men have 6 more deadly dating habits/games than women do. Lucky us.

Anyways, after reading through all possible terrible dating patterns, I have determined my top 3.
1. "Just Buddies"
Warning sign: Getting dressed up and beauitful for a date makes you feel truly strange and uncomfortable, like you are not being the real you.
Story of my life. My guy friends like me. I awkwardly accept a date invitation.
The result is the equivalent of a natural disaster.
2. "Flame Out"
He is intimate, adoring and resistable from day one, and you feel out of control, like an addict who craves her fix: him!
Ok, so I may have a tendency to get a little bit carried away at the mere glimpse of potential. Is daydreaming about your bridesmaid dresses after 3 dates a little too much? Ok, I'm not THAT bad. But you get the point.
3. "Fade Away"
On dates you are not being spontaneous, quirky, or real, like you are when you hang out with your close friends.
SO been there. You see, I think I am a little weird. I feel strongly about certain things. I'm kind of a hippy. When I get stressed out, I stand on my head (it's a yoga thing), I wear flip flops when it's snowing, I think Canola Oil is the antichrist, I despise vaccines and most modern medicine, I use a Neti Pot (if you don't know what it is, look it up and you'll think I'm extra weird), and I am usually in bed by 9:30pm. See, I'm weird. So sometimes, I think I might try to hide my natural and beautiful weirdness by pretending to be someone I'm not on a date.
As helpful as my Love Guru's deadly dating pattern summary is, I really think she has missed the most crucial and relevant deadly dating situation. The one situation that plagues me the most. It's quite tragic. You see, I have a large, permanent, flashing fixture attached to my back that reads, "I LIKE FREAKS." Really, I'm not kidding. I am a weirdo magnet. And not my kind of weird, but the kind of weird that you would find at a Star Trek convention. I think I get myself into trouble because I really like to find the good qualities in people, I like to have an open mind, I like to be accepting of differences, I pride myself on being a kind, loving person. HOWEVER, I think this open minded attitude can sometimes turn dangerous. Being open minded to MILFhunters and Fatheroftheyear or Spok look-alikes is NOT a good thing.

Now, to rid myself of these deadly dating patterns. First, identify them and other secret negative beliefs. Then, write a loveless eulogy. Basically a eulogy for yourself that describes the loveless life you have led. One word, people: DEPRESSING. Not to mention humiliating... no way that one's getting posted. Now, write personal love intentions and make a commiment to yourself.

Ok, now the dating games men play. This is the good stuff... With examples like The shy Guy, The Geek, The Coward, The Peter Pan (afraid to grow up. Love it), The Trophy Seeker, The Player, or my personal favourite... The Pr*ck, this lady is speaking my language. But now what? I have identified my issues, dealt with them, and discarded them after pleasantly writing my own freakin' eulogy, but what about all the pr*cks out there? How do I deal with them?

As Carrie Bradshaw once said, "The fact is, sometimes it's really hard to walk in a single woman's shoes. That's why we need really special ones now and then to make the walk a little more fun."




So I guess all we can do is look hot, wear special shoes, and watch out for the pr*cks.

PS. I got a match.com message today from a guy named Norbert. Can you imagine yelling that name in bed?

Random Thought

So I read an article the other day about how Calgary is one of the most difficult places in Canada to be single. Apparently most of the men in Calgary are too into themselves to make an effort to impress girls and instead sit around waiting for girls to come to them. And maybe girls do the same sometimes. So really, we are all just sitting around thinking we are too good to talk to anybody, but nobody is talking to us, so we are all miserable. Awesome.

As I was driving to work this morning, I started thinking about this article and it really got me thinking about men in Calgary. Does Calgary have a "type" of guy? Does location play a big part in the type of people you meet? What are Calgarian men like?

As I was pondering the existence of my potential future Calgarian husband, a jackass in a horrendous, gas-guzzling, environmental atrocity of a pick up truck cuts me off. As I clench my steering wheel and glare at the back of his truck, what is staring back at me? A pair of balls. WHY, WHY do men hang balls on the back of their trucks? They look disgusting. That's the same thing as women having a pair of tits protruding off of the back bumper of their compact SUV. Like, really? Sure, you're really manly when you hang your own man parts from the back of your manly truck. I think it was the universe telling me I might have a hard time meeting the Mr. Right in the city of Mr. Testicles.




My conclusion:
If you have to hang balls on the back of your vehicle, it means you don't have any balls in real life.

Homework Follow Up

I'm quite proud of myself, I'm not going to lie.

Assignment #1- not going so well. I'm thinking I might try the sports route with this one. Maybe tennis lessons or a rock climbing class. Then again, these settings are prime opportunity for my clumsiness to shine and ample embarassment to ensue. Nothing like sustaining a sports-related injusry in front of my potential future husband.

Assignment #2- Talking to three new men everyday... this is WAY scarier than I thought it would be. And it's actually really hard! I mean, what kind of a conversation starter is appropriate for the Starbucks line up? A synopsis of my first day of saying hi to three new men: Man #1: Good looking, well dressed (a little too well dressed), tall. AND he was shopping at Community Natural Foods. In the salad dressing aisle. ALL very good signs. Good salad dressing is a staple in any refridgerator. So I stand beside him awkwardly pretending to be looking at olive oils. And because I'm incredibly lame, I point to the dressing he's holding and say, "That's a great one." Like, really? That's all I could come up with? Whatever, I was proud that I was actually even able to form a sentence. He responds extremely enthusiastically. Surprisingly. He then tells me it's his boyfriends favourite. Oops. I knew his khakis, loafers, argyle sweater vest and designer sunglasses were too good to be true. Man #2: Crash and burn. Said hi in the line up at Purple Perk (my fave coffee place). I made some small talk about the weather. He responded, laughed, got his coffee and that was about it. I wanted to nudge him and encouragingly whisper, "Buddy, this is where you tell me I'm the most beautiful woman you've ever laid eyes on and ask me for my phone number!" Man #3: Hottie in the elevator. GREAT conversation. Lives on the floor below me (not a good thing, but whatever, we can still chat). Pulls his hand from his pocket to take off his sunglasses aaaaaand.... WEDDING RING. Sweet.

Assignment #3- Ok, I didn't host a party, but I went to a great one! Met some wonderful people and heard some amazing live music. Not really prime opportunity to meet a man though. Plus, all of my "saying hi" encounters had exhasuted me. By this point, I was happy just to chill with my friends.

Assignment #4- (Insert creepy, climactic music here)... ONLINE DATING. Dear God. This is interesting. Ok, let me start with a few tips for anyone planning on creating an online profile.
1. DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT take a shirtless picture of yourself in the bathroom mirror with the camera on your cell phone and use this as your profile picture. Creepy basement pictures of you holding your cat taken with a webcam are equally as horrifying.
2. User names like HOCKEYfan, Muscleman, slysexystud or Fatheroftheyear do NOT attract intelligent, good-looing, single woman. HOCKEYfan means you are too absorbed in some neanderthal sport to peel yourself away from the television for one minute to pay attention to me. Muscleman means you're conceited and are overcompensating in the muscle department for a lack of size in another department. Slysexystud means you're probably NOT sexy and you are trouble, pure trouble. And Fatheroftheyear means your kids are your top priority and there's no hope in hell of me ever competing for that spot.
3. EVERYONE claims they are handsome, easy-going and funny. Be a little more original. Seriously.
4. Please take 5 minutes to proofread your profile before you finalize it. Spelling errors, punctuation flaws and poor grammer in general are not a good thing. I mean, I won't even give your profile a second glance if you don't know the difference between their, they're and there.
5. Be yourself. Stop trying so hard. Oh and one more thing. We're not idiots. When you say you're loooking for a woman that takes good care of herself, we know that means you don't want a fatty. Thanks.




Anyways, it's only Saturday night... I'm sure I will have many more man encounters before the weekend is over.

One onservation that I do have- it seems like the sunshine brings out all the lookers. It's weird. Driving down 17th today, there was hotties everywhere! They must hibernate in the winter.

Yikes..

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I'm THAT girl

I’ve got it all together. I look good on paper. I’m a good person. Responsible, reliable, considerate and caring. Not repulsive looking. You know, the usually crap. But I’m single.

My friends are getting married and having babies, my grandparents are starting to wonder if there’s any hope of seeing my down the aisle before they bite the dust, and my lovely, incredible mother is telling me that guys must be intimidated by me because I’m too beautiful. Gotta love moms.

Anyways, I’m technologically challenged, and to tell you the truth, this whole blog thing is still a little over my head. I mean, it took me about an hour and half to figure out the basics of editing my profile. I know, shameful. So then you might be thinking… for such a technology loser, what prompted the blog? And on top of that, I’M thinking...who do I think I am? Why is my life so exciting that people would actually read about it???

Here’s the truth. My life is not really that exciting. And the blog idea was prompted by the combination of a few things; the universe working in mysterious ways. The first incident: two Sundays ago, my mother and I are aimlessly wandering through the aisles of Superstore. Well, not totally aimlessly… I needed Brita filters. We get stuck in the book section and stumble upon this rather cheesy looking book, “Love in 90 Days – The Essential Guide to Finding Your Own True Love.” I laugh. This is NOT the kind of book that I usually read. My mom reads the synopsis on the back cover out loud, chuckles, throws it into her basket, and exclaims, “This could be it, my dear!” Quite the comedian. So there we are standing in the self check-out at Superstore at 10pm with a self-help book about finding true love, Brita filters, and Mini Eggs.

I got home and started thinking… if the contents of this book are anything like the title, this whole experience is going to be a freakin’ riot. Throw in a few extra ingredients: my clumsy demeanour, sometimes awkward sense of humour and impeccable ability to embarrass myself, and there it is folks, a blog! Here it is- weekly accounts of my experiences as I follow my 90 day protocol, partake in the “Meet a Man” assignments, get dating tips from my girlfriends, humourus pep-talks from my mother, abrasive and harsh reality checks from my brothers, and deal with all of the little daily adventures of single life.

I’m reading chapter one before I go to bed. Here goes nothing.