I knew not wanting kids or marriage would bite me in the ass.
Apparently, it leaves me with a sea of men who are willing to play me like a harp.
Case and point: the man with the hipster mien who I met at the bar a few weeks ago.
Cue the collective gasp (yup, I can hear you).
Yes. I met a guy. In a bar.
The thing that all relationship gurus will tell you is the precursor to crying out your misery on the bus while random people stare at you, checking your phone 100 times a day when he mysteriously goes AWOL, and spending countless hours at work Googling him to see if maybe he's been in a car accident (yes, that is TOTALLY why he's not responding).
Not that I've done this. Just sayin'.
But when I met this guy, (we'll call him Hector...) he seemed so nice.
I was at a friend's going away party, and it was quite frankly the last place I'd ever expect to meet someone. People always tell me "It'll happen when you least expect it." But my retort to that is "Well, what happens when it happens, but it doesn't actually happen?"
Hmmph.
Anyway, I digress.
So there I am, suddenly sitting across from this guy, who kinda reminds me of Steven Hyde from That 70's Show. Except dark haired and green eyed and cuter.
There was a connection made, and at the end of the night he told me "You should come back here next Friday." (this is a premonition of things to come).
I gave him my phone number in lieu of a promise to return, and then basically forgot about him.
Ok, so maybe forgot is a strong word. But in no world of mine did I ever expect him to call me.
So imagine my surprise when on Friday eve I get a text message saying "Hey."
Of course, this is not the romantic declaration every girl dreams of, so I took a look at the text (and unrecognized number) and thought "Fuck that," and ignored it.
15 minutes later another one, this time saying "How's that for a vague opening?" Huh?
Intrigued I asked "Who is this?"
"Hector."
"From Smiths???"
"Yeah. Took you awhile..."
From there we bantered for a bit, and I was greatly dazzled by his humor and he by my repartee.
It took two weeks for us to make a date. I was off to Nanaimo on the weekend he first contacted me, and then we subsequently injured and induced illness upon ourselves at the same time the weekend after that.
When he did contact me, it was in a grey area. At 9pm on a Friday eve. I was in my pajamas, talking to my Grandma. He invited me to meet him at 11:30 at the same pub we met in.
Unsure as to whether it was a bootycall or not, I decided to go anyway. Yep, I'm that naive.
So meet we did. And it was a seemingly good date. He plays guitar, as do I. He loves English, as do I. He doesn't believe marriage is important in today's society, neither do I.
But there were red flags zinging themselves into existence and planting themselves in my brain during the process. Red flags I was not aware of until much later.
Such as his many girl friends. And when he told me his friends are jealous because he has no trouble meeting women. And when he mentioned he plays soccer. And when he said he goes to this bar ALL the time.
You know, I'm only female, reader. Listening to my gut is how I survive....except for when it comes to matters of the heart. So two weeks after the date, here I am, wondering what is going on.
Ignoring completely the signs that I, the "smart" girl, who keeps her heart close, is being utterly played out by a player.
It's not like he hasn't contacted me. Sure, there was the "Hey old-fashioned" text that I received last Friday eve at 9pm. And the volley of text messages on Saturday night, when I was drinking and not sane of mind.
And then on Weds, when he replied to Tues text message. But things are moving glacially.
I could pass him on the street and not know who he was at this point.
The only thing I have are witty remarks and empty words.
So what to do?
Sunday, 24 March 2013
Wednesday, 1 August 2012
Of Faces
I've been thinking about beauty lately, and how our society molds us. I know the power of a face. I know the pleasure of being called beautiful and the despair at being called ugly.
We have so little say in this window that the world uses to judge us by, that sometimes it hardly seems fair when others use it against us.
We've all got things we dislike about ourselves. Some of us think we are fat, we hate our arms, our legs, our hips, our thighs and the list goes on and on.
My secret dislike? My face.
I read an article once, about a mother who had a son with a birthmark on his face. She wrote of how she hopes that he will not be judged for something that nature gave him. That everyone would be accepting of him and love him for who he was, not what he looked like.
I wish I could have told her that that was true. But I've been on both sides. I don't talk about my insecurities too much. I find people who do to be obnoxious "fishers." But this is my one true dirty little secret. If I could change anything about my entire self, it would be my face. I got my Dad's nose, which is surely too masculine for a woman. My eyes are brown, the most boring color of all eyes. I got smacked in the face once by a kid in elementary school, who socked it to me with a clump of rock filled dirt. It shredded my lips and after they healed it gave them a bit of a lopsided look.
I suffered greatly with acne during most of my teen/young adult years, and ended up with scarring as a lasting reminder. And to add insult to injury, I have a mole right above my mouth. Not a Cindy Crawford "beauty mark" but just a plain old ugly mole.
Nothing works to hide it. Enhancing it by darkening it makes me shudder, as I'm not even a fan of it. However, a dermatologist once told me that removing it would leave me with a large scar, extending from my nose to my lips, so I live with it.
Once when I was working, an old man came up to me. "Hey, you should have that checked for cancer."
I told him thanks for his advice, but I do have a good dermatologist.
"Well, you could have it removed. Won't win any beauty contests with that on your face."
To this day, I can hear those words uttered, and to this day, it devastates me. Not because I think I'm any beauty queen with something to lose (lord knows we've already established that), but because I was so struck that someone could have that much disregard for another's feelings. I don't go around thinking that I'm hot shit. I'm just a normal soul. I wanted to yell at him "WHY? Why do you think that I need to be brought down so low? I wasn't high to begin with!"
It hurt bad. I went home and barely made it onto my back porch before the tears came. My mom and dad were working in the garden at the time, and they saw me slump, saw the tears on my face. I explained what had happened to my mom, explained how I felt so hurt by someone who shouldn't even have that power. How it was ok though; he was a crotchety old man who didn't know better. But when those words came out, I knew I didn't believe them.
My mom was quiet for a moment. Then she hugged me, and she simply said "Danielle, you are beautiful inside and out. You are the only one who doesn't see it."
That didn't totally put to rest the feelings I had, but it helped. It helped me to overcome the hatred of my face that I felt. It helps me everyday when I have someone look at me a little funny, or makes a comment. I know who I am. I know who my friends are. I am loved for who I am and not who I look to be.
My face could be changed. The mole could be removed, my nose shaved down, contacts put in to color my eyes. But there is this great part of me, a HUGE part of me, that feels that I'd be selling out. Selling out the history of my genetics, and those traits that make me different. The history of what has come before and what genes shape who I am. I have young cousins who are girls, and I noticed the moment when their perception of self changed; when baby fat becomes just "fat," and when they gain a sense of vanity where they will never be good enough. I want to tell them that sometimes different is hard, and it makes you doubt yourself. But sometimes in a world where people are changing their faces to conform with societies idea of "perfect," you have to believe that maybe "different" is your"perfect". And maybe you are exactly how you should be.
We have so little say in this window that the world uses to judge us by, that sometimes it hardly seems fair when others use it against us.
We've all got things we dislike about ourselves. Some of us think we are fat, we hate our arms, our legs, our hips, our thighs and the list goes on and on.
My secret dislike? My face.
I read an article once, about a mother who had a son with a birthmark on his face. She wrote of how she hopes that he will not be judged for something that nature gave him. That everyone would be accepting of him and love him for who he was, not what he looked like.
I wish I could have told her that that was true. But I've been on both sides. I don't talk about my insecurities too much. I find people who do to be obnoxious "fishers." But this is my one true dirty little secret. If I could change anything about my entire self, it would be my face. I got my Dad's nose, which is surely too masculine for a woman. My eyes are brown, the most boring color of all eyes. I got smacked in the face once by a kid in elementary school, who socked it to me with a clump of rock filled dirt. It shredded my lips and after they healed it gave them a bit of a lopsided look.
I suffered greatly with acne during most of my teen/young adult years, and ended up with scarring as a lasting reminder. And to add insult to injury, I have a mole right above my mouth. Not a Cindy Crawford "beauty mark" but just a plain old ugly mole.
Nothing works to hide it. Enhancing it by darkening it makes me shudder, as I'm not even a fan of it. However, a dermatologist once told me that removing it would leave me with a large scar, extending from my nose to my lips, so I live with it.
Once when I was working, an old man came up to me. "Hey, you should have that checked for cancer."
I told him thanks for his advice, but I do have a good dermatologist.
"Well, you could have it removed. Won't win any beauty contests with that on your face."
To this day, I can hear those words uttered, and to this day, it devastates me. Not because I think I'm any beauty queen with something to lose (lord knows we've already established that), but because I was so struck that someone could have that much disregard for another's feelings. I don't go around thinking that I'm hot shit. I'm just a normal soul. I wanted to yell at him "WHY? Why do you think that I need to be brought down so low? I wasn't high to begin with!"
It hurt bad. I went home and barely made it onto my back porch before the tears came. My mom and dad were working in the garden at the time, and they saw me slump, saw the tears on my face. I explained what had happened to my mom, explained how I felt so hurt by someone who shouldn't even have that power. How it was ok though; he was a crotchety old man who didn't know better. But when those words came out, I knew I didn't believe them.
My mom was quiet for a moment. Then she hugged me, and she simply said "Danielle, you are beautiful inside and out. You are the only one who doesn't see it."
That didn't totally put to rest the feelings I had, but it helped. It helped me to overcome the hatred of my face that I felt. It helps me everyday when I have someone look at me a little funny, or makes a comment. I know who I am. I know who my friends are. I am loved for who I am and not who I look to be.
My face could be changed. The mole could be removed, my nose shaved down, contacts put in to color my eyes. But there is this great part of me, a HUGE part of me, that feels that I'd be selling out. Selling out the history of my genetics, and those traits that make me different. The history of what has come before and what genes shape who I am. I have young cousins who are girls, and I noticed the moment when their perception of self changed; when baby fat becomes just "fat," and when they gain a sense of vanity where they will never be good enough. I want to tell them that sometimes different is hard, and it makes you doubt yourself. But sometimes in a world where people are changing their faces to conform with societies idea of "perfect," you have to believe that maybe "different" is your"perfect". And maybe you are exactly how you should be.
Set me free..if only for a moment
Sometimes the world seems to be going to shit.
Most days I try to step back and put life into perspective. Am I starving in Tanzania? Nope.
Am I suffering from cancer? Nope. Ok, so not too much to complain about then.
But I'm a firm believer that even if I am positive and try to put bad days behind me, sometimes I do have to embrace them. Because you know what? It's my life, and it does mean something to me, and it effects ME.
It's MY party and damn rights I'll cry if I want to.
This week has been all over the place. I'm involved with a guy.....but not. He doesn't text when he says he will, never calls, doesn't make an effort and I'm TIRED of it. I'm trying to detach myself and pretend I don't care, which is basically as easy as trying to get the plastic off of a CD. It's impossible.
Work is boring and I'm making mistakes because of it. All play no work makes me a daft girl. So instead of checking numbers, I'm checking Facebook, and this leads to mistakes all around. Oh, and I got a Blackberry. Now I know why they call it crackberry. Addicted....
This morning I woke up feeling calm. The sun was shining through my bedroom window, and sorry, but any sunny day is a good day for me.
I got up, cleaned the house by 9:30am, and then sat out on the porch for a little while.
While out there, I heard a loud screech and chortle. My ears know this sound..it's the sound of an Eagle!
I looked up, and there above me were three baby eagles circling around the trees in the ravine that edges our backyard.
They tentatively coasted on the updraft, wobbling a little bit like a baby taking first steps. Every so often they would give a screech, which I can only imagine as delight of being in the air. They obviously hadn't been flying long. As I watched them, my heart swelled in wonder. I marveled at these beautiful birds, and their courage. They set foot out of their nest, hundreds of feet off the ground, with no safety net, and throw caution to the wind (literally). What rewards they receive for being brave and putting themselves out there. Seeing these babies experience flight and their delight was touching. It made me think of all the times I'm afraid or unsure of pushing myself, and how I should do it more. Sometimes it's worth it. Sometimes the benefits outweigh the risks.
Eagles risk certain death when they jump out of the nest.
All I risk is a broken heart for a time, or homesickness, or failing. All things that can be healed or that can be learned from.
So I'll try to start being like these eagles....brave and free, and see where life takes me.
xo D
Most days I try to step back and put life into perspective. Am I starving in Tanzania? Nope.
Am I suffering from cancer? Nope. Ok, so not too much to complain about then.
But I'm a firm believer that even if I am positive and try to put bad days behind me, sometimes I do have to embrace them. Because you know what? It's my life, and it does mean something to me, and it effects ME.
It's MY party and damn rights I'll cry if I want to.
This week has been all over the place. I'm involved with a guy.....but not. He doesn't text when he says he will, never calls, doesn't make an effort and I'm TIRED of it. I'm trying to detach myself and pretend I don't care, which is basically as easy as trying to get the plastic off of a CD. It's impossible.
Work is boring and I'm making mistakes because of it. All play no work makes me a daft girl. So instead of checking numbers, I'm checking Facebook, and this leads to mistakes all around. Oh, and I got a Blackberry. Now I know why they call it crackberry. Addicted....
This morning I woke up feeling calm. The sun was shining through my bedroom window, and sorry, but any sunny day is a good day for me.
I got up, cleaned the house by 9:30am, and then sat out on the porch for a little while.
While out there, I heard a loud screech and chortle. My ears know this sound..it's the sound of an Eagle!
I looked up, and there above me were three baby eagles circling around the trees in the ravine that edges our backyard.
They tentatively coasted on the updraft, wobbling a little bit like a baby taking first steps. Every so often they would give a screech, which I can only imagine as delight of being in the air. They obviously hadn't been flying long. As I watched them, my heart swelled in wonder. I marveled at these beautiful birds, and their courage. They set foot out of their nest, hundreds of feet off the ground, with no safety net, and throw caution to the wind (literally). What rewards they receive for being brave and putting themselves out there. Seeing these babies experience flight and their delight was touching. It made me think of all the times I'm afraid or unsure of pushing myself, and how I should do it more. Sometimes it's worth it. Sometimes the benefits outweigh the risks.
Eagles risk certain death when they jump out of the nest.
All I risk is a broken heart for a time, or homesickness, or failing. All things that can be healed or that can be learned from.
So I'll try to start being like these eagles....brave and free, and see where life takes me.
xo D
Question Period
A few questions I have asked of myself lately...
First one is why do people believe their own hype?
When I started an online PR course, I realized that in today's society, you are only as good as the degree you hold and the job you carry. It's almost an intimidation tactic.
"Oh, you have a Master's degree in Science? Well I have a Phd in Neurology."
You have a degree. I get it. So does the person beside you, and the person behind you, and the person in front of you for that matter. It's knowledge. Everyone has it. Anyone can get it for a price. It's not exclusive to just you.
That's my little dig at these people. It comes from a place of inferiority and I'm not afraid to admit that.
I just wish that people would spend less time leading with their degrees, and lead with a little more heart.
2. How do people survive in the wilderness?
Sounds like a weird question, but lately I'm obsessed with wilderness reading. My list has so far included:
Spilsbury's Coast by Howard White (as narrated by Jim Spilsbury)
Adventures in Solitude by Grant Lawrence
A Curve in Time by M. Wylie Blanchett
Diary of Wilderness Dweller by Chris Cjazchowski
I'm so intrigued by people who can make it on their own in remote places. The last novel I have listed is about a woman who hikes into the Coast Mountains, and then builds herself a cabin and an eco-tourism business by a lake. It's inspiring and terrifying all at once. There is something that appeals to the solitary soul inside of me when it comes to these stories. Sometimes when I read them all I want to do is to transport myself there, amongst the trees, the ocean, the quiet, the animals. We spend so much of our lives in the city being inundated by need of materialistic goals and possessions; what would it be like to give that all up and lead a different life? Not many have the courage, but to me that is the greatest test of a person.
3. Why do all girls want to be models?
I'm a cynic when it comes to modeling. This could be because of my own ill-fated experiences with it as a child. My mother forced me to go to "modelling" class when I was 13 years old. She claimed it was to help me with my shy personality, to teach me about taking care of myself and looking my best. Every Saturday for 2 months I trudged up to the top floor the The Bay building to wait for the instructor to lead me and 9 other girls up to the roof, where we spent an hour in a portable listening to lectures on beauty. This encompassed everything, from how to wear eyeliner, how to walk in heels, how to wash hair, and cross legs while sitting. For those keeping track, you line only your upper lid on the outside to make your eyes look bigger, place the ball of your foot down first when walking in heels, use a dime sized amount of shampoo for a whole head of hair and never cross your legs when sitting; only cross them at the ankles under your chair.
It was like etiquette school, only heavy on beauty. I was a gangly, tall, long haired, awkward girl, and had zero interest in sitting through these lectures. I made friends with one other girl there, who had short hair, was a tad on the chubby side, and was as miserable as me. I remember we rolled our eyes when there was a draw for a makeover, and of course, the most beautiful, modelesque girl in the course somehow got chosen for it. She was perfection. Tall, thin, beautiful skin and hazel eyes, with hair that I could only dream of having.
It didn't seem fair.
At the culmination of the program, we had to participate in a fashion show, where they chose items from the Bay for us, and we had to go down the catwalk and strike a pose for our family and friends.It was demoralizing. Well, that and I had to wear black velvet overalls with a pea green jacket. Hideous. I was never destined for that fate it seems. I grew up, grew out, and never looked back. But nowadays all I see on Facebook are photos of girls in their underwear, mugging for the camera in a sexy pout, or posting professional photos of themselves. I just don't understand.
I'm as vain as the next person, within reason, and do post photos of myself on Facebook. But they are by no means professional, nor are they photos I've taken of myself in my underwear with my iPhone in a bathroom. It seems as though social media has made a narcissist of us all, ten fold.
First one is why do people believe their own hype?
When I started an online PR course, I realized that in today's society, you are only as good as the degree you hold and the job you carry. It's almost an intimidation tactic.
"Oh, you have a Master's degree in Science? Well I have a Phd in Neurology."
You have a degree. I get it. So does the person beside you, and the person behind you, and the person in front of you for that matter. It's knowledge. Everyone has it. Anyone can get it for a price. It's not exclusive to just you.
That's my little dig at these people. It comes from a place of inferiority and I'm not afraid to admit that.
I just wish that people would spend less time leading with their degrees, and lead with a little more heart.
2. How do people survive in the wilderness?
Sounds like a weird question, but lately I'm obsessed with wilderness reading. My list has so far included:
Spilsbury's Coast by Howard White (as narrated by Jim Spilsbury)
Adventures in Solitude by Grant Lawrence
A Curve in Time by M. Wylie Blanchett
Diary of Wilderness Dweller by Chris Cjazchowski
I'm so intrigued by people who can make it on their own in remote places. The last novel I have listed is about a woman who hikes into the Coast Mountains, and then builds herself a cabin and an eco-tourism business by a lake. It's inspiring and terrifying all at once. There is something that appeals to the solitary soul inside of me when it comes to these stories. Sometimes when I read them all I want to do is to transport myself there, amongst the trees, the ocean, the quiet, the animals. We spend so much of our lives in the city being inundated by need of materialistic goals and possessions; what would it be like to give that all up and lead a different life? Not many have the courage, but to me that is the greatest test of a person.
3. Why do all girls want to be models?
I'm a cynic when it comes to modeling. This could be because of my own ill-fated experiences with it as a child. My mother forced me to go to "modelling" class when I was 13 years old. She claimed it was to help me with my shy personality, to teach me about taking care of myself and looking my best. Every Saturday for 2 months I trudged up to the top floor the The Bay building to wait for the instructor to lead me and 9 other girls up to the roof, where we spent an hour in a portable listening to lectures on beauty. This encompassed everything, from how to wear eyeliner, how to walk in heels, how to wash hair, and cross legs while sitting. For those keeping track, you line only your upper lid on the outside to make your eyes look bigger, place the ball of your foot down first when walking in heels, use a dime sized amount of shampoo for a whole head of hair and never cross your legs when sitting; only cross them at the ankles under your chair.
It was like etiquette school, only heavy on beauty. I was a gangly, tall, long haired, awkward girl, and had zero interest in sitting through these lectures. I made friends with one other girl there, who had short hair, was a tad on the chubby side, and was as miserable as me. I remember we rolled our eyes when there was a draw for a makeover, and of course, the most beautiful, modelesque girl in the course somehow got chosen for it. She was perfection. Tall, thin, beautiful skin and hazel eyes, with hair that I could only dream of having.
It didn't seem fair.
At the culmination of the program, we had to participate in a fashion show, where they chose items from the Bay for us, and we had to go down the catwalk and strike a pose for our family and friends.It was demoralizing. Well, that and I had to wear black velvet overalls with a pea green jacket. Hideous. I was never destined for that fate it seems. I grew up, grew out, and never looked back. But nowadays all I see on Facebook are photos of girls in their underwear, mugging for the camera in a sexy pout, or posting professional photos of themselves. I just don't understand.
I'm as vain as the next person, within reason, and do post photos of myself on Facebook. But they are by no means professional, nor are they photos I've taken of myself in my underwear with my iPhone in a bathroom. It seems as though social media has made a narcissist of us all, ten fold.
Thursday, 23 February 2012
Roommates
Sometimes I wish I could live outside in a tent.
Yes, I really do. If I lived somewhere warm, and there was not the eminent threat of being robbed or murdered, I would set up a tent and I would live in it. As it is, I’m sorely tempted to pack up my belongings and go live in my grandparent’s barn. At least there the only roommates I’d have are sheep (and sheep really aren’t picky about who they cohabitate with).
People, on the other hand, are decidedly more picky about who they live with.
I’m an easy going gal; most of the time. But I have a few of my own stipulations, at least when living with girls. I don’t like picking up beer cans unless I’ve actually hosted the party; (and I'm talkin' 100 beer cans, not 3) which leads me to say I really don’t like cleaning up your alcoholic friend who drank 3 cases of Lucky, and who yells at me while I’m trying to talk to my mom on the phone. I'm not going to make your boyfriend a sandwhich when he asks me to, because really, that's YOUR job not mine, I have better things to do(yep, that happened). I don’t want to fight your friend, regardless of how “tough” he thinks he is (also happened). If I want to cry at my party, let me cry. Don’t let all your guy friends in my room for the most awkward moment of their lives (and mine) when I’m bawling. It does not make me feel better. Also see: Do not let your guy friends try to make it better by asking me out on dates during this time (oh yeah....THAT happened alright).
It's the little things really.
(I must make note, that I had two great roommates who graciously continue to be my friends to this day, my dirty silverware and laundry be damned. I ain't perfect! )
But if you think I’m picky, well, people looking for roommates in this town have a whole other set of standards. So far I have determined I must be vegan/vegetarian, physically fit, gluten/wheat free, must love music, be proactive and socially aware, environmentally conscious, super clean, have a positive attitude, and enjoy gardening. These are not exclusive of each other, might I add. Apparently you have to be the package deal. Or there is the other end of the spectrum, guys looking for female roommates in exchange for "free" rent. Riiiiggght.
I just want someone who isn’t an alcoholic, drug dealer or party animal. Is that too much to ask?
So here is where I stand.
I like meat. I don’t eat a lot of it, but I sometimes have cravings for the Keg’s bacon wrapped blue cheese steak like you wouldn’t believe.
I eat fairly healthy, but I would never dictate that those who live with me must as well. I’m NEVER opposed to someone bringing me a bag of cheetos and I won’t turn my nose at a Big Mac.
I work out, but not religiously and I will NEVER have a 6 pack.
I have been known to throw things away when they should be recycled.
I listen to crap music sometimes (although in my world that’s hard for me to define as I like most everything)and I watch crap tv.
Don't wake me up in the morning. If you love all things positive, you aren't going to like the negative things I say when I hear your chipper voice announcing the breaking dawn.
I have a sister who doesn’t know who Stephen Harper is (she couldn’t visit me at these people’s houses.... not socially or politically aware, that one!)
I care a lot about the environment, and spend a lot of time outdoors, but I also am in love with my car. I. kill. plants.
But, to make up for that, I probably could show you something really cool/gross/scientific (depending on the person) that is growing in my room. Yeah....neat is not my middle name.
So this leaves me still floundering and unsure on my search. IS anyone out there a regular person anymore? Will someone take on a non-neat freak, goofy, at times bitingly sarcastic gal with the aforementioned character flaws?
Yes, I really do. If I lived somewhere warm, and there was not the eminent threat of being robbed or murdered, I would set up a tent and I would live in it. As it is, I’m sorely tempted to pack up my belongings and go live in my grandparent’s barn. At least there the only roommates I’d have are sheep (and sheep really aren’t picky about who they cohabitate with).
People, on the other hand, are decidedly more picky about who they live with.
I’m an easy going gal; most of the time. But I have a few of my own stipulations, at least when living with girls. I don’t like picking up beer cans unless I’ve actually hosted the party; (and I'm talkin' 100 beer cans, not 3) which leads me to say I really don’t like cleaning up your alcoholic friend who drank 3 cases of Lucky, and who yells at me while I’m trying to talk to my mom on the phone. I'm not going to make your boyfriend a sandwhich when he asks me to, because really, that's YOUR job not mine, I have better things to do(yep, that happened). I don’t want to fight your friend, regardless of how “tough” he thinks he is (also happened). If I want to cry at my party, let me cry. Don’t let all your guy friends in my room for the most awkward moment of their lives (and mine) when I’m bawling. It does not make me feel better. Also see: Do not let your guy friends try to make it better by asking me out on dates during this time (oh yeah....THAT happened alright).
It's the little things really.
(I must make note, that I had two great roommates who graciously continue to be my friends to this day, my dirty silverware and laundry be damned. I ain't perfect! )
But if you think I’m picky, well, people looking for roommates in this town have a whole other set of standards. So far I have determined I must be vegan/vegetarian, physically fit, gluten/wheat free, must love music, be proactive and socially aware, environmentally conscious, super clean, have a positive attitude, and enjoy gardening. These are not exclusive of each other, might I add. Apparently you have to be the package deal. Or there is the other end of the spectrum, guys looking for female roommates in exchange for "free" rent. Riiiiggght.
I just want someone who isn’t an alcoholic, drug dealer or party animal. Is that too much to ask?
So here is where I stand.
I like meat. I don’t eat a lot of it, but I sometimes have cravings for the Keg’s bacon wrapped blue cheese steak like you wouldn’t believe.
I eat fairly healthy, but I would never dictate that those who live with me must as well. I’m NEVER opposed to someone bringing me a bag of cheetos and I won’t turn my nose at a Big Mac.
I work out, but not religiously and I will NEVER have a 6 pack.
I have been known to throw things away when they should be recycled.
I listen to crap music sometimes (although in my world that’s hard for me to define as I like most everything)and I watch crap tv.
Don't wake me up in the morning. If you love all things positive, you aren't going to like the negative things I say when I hear your chipper voice announcing the breaking dawn.
I have a sister who doesn’t know who Stephen Harper is (she couldn’t visit me at these people’s houses.... not socially or politically aware, that one!)
I care a lot about the environment, and spend a lot of time outdoors, but I also am in love with my car. I. kill. plants.
But, to make up for that, I probably could show you something really cool/gross/scientific (depending on the person) that is growing in my room. Yeah....neat is not my middle name.
So this leaves me still floundering and unsure on my search. IS anyone out there a regular person anymore? Will someone take on a non-neat freak, goofy, at times bitingly sarcastic gal with the aforementioned character flaws?
Saturday, 18 February 2012
Welcome
This is new.
Transparent. Scary. Exciting.
You won't get it all, but you'll sure get a lot.
This is me, leaving anonymity behind, and starting with a fresh foot forward.
Let the sharing begin!
xo D
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