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!