1.31.2013

Misunderstanding.



Noun: A failure to understand something correctly.

Today someone asked me ‘Will it bother you if you’re single forever?’ To me, this question was similar to asking me if I’d be saddened if peanut butter vanished off the face of the earth (note to those who do not know me, I love peanut butter way too much).
Of course it would bother me!!! I did not start this blog to advocate that being single is the greatest way of life, although I’m sure some posts make it seem that way. I actually started this blog to express how hard it is to be single; let’s not forget that I have yet to write about the disadvantages of being single! I most surely want to find my soul mate and, although I’m unsure about marriage, I most certainly want a baby(ies) and to build a life with someone. For the record, I am not opposed to meeting someone and there HAVE been people I have fallen in and out (and may be still) in lust with. They just haven’t been THE one for me (and/or I was too chicken to voice my real feelings..oops), and unlike others, I refuse to settle. So in the meantime, considering I have all this time to spend with myself, I focus on personal goals and I enjoy being single and doing whatever the F I want. After all, if you don’t know how to be happy alone how should you ever expect to be happy with someone else? 

So to all of you who do not appreciate their own company, I have one word for you...
Merde!

1.29.2013

Best Friend.



Noun: the one friend who is closest to you.

It’s amusing to look back on how we used to view a best friend. When we are young, we usually think that we can only have one best friend. Often you will hear little children saying, ‘he’s my first best friend, and she’s my second best friend’. Even throughout high school we may not understand the true meaning of a best friend, which I dispute, is not as described in the definition above (web definitions you’ve let me down). As we mature we usually begin to understand what a best friend really is, usually by eliminating those which are not. We are frequently left with best friends who have stuck around for better or for worse, for richer, or for poorer, in sickness and in health.
Hmmm, now doesn’t that sound familiar? Who better to end up with than your best friend? I am blessed to have numerous best friends, and yes they are all equally my best friends. Unfortunately they are also all female and the majority of them are in relationships and/or married. Bearing in mind that I am not a home wrecking lesbian, how am I to romantically end up with a best friend?
I began assessing this dilemma in my head this evening during sushi with one of my best friends (the single one). We whispered in judgement about the boring couples surrounding us as they sat in front of each other without saying a word; that is exactly what I don’t want. We laughed out loud, very loudly, while eavesdropping on the male conversation going on behind us and almost choked on our food when we would evaluate how actually unlady like we are; perhaps this is why we are single? Despite the not so great sushi, it was a perfect date and I am confident that had we of been a male/female duo all the neighbouring couples would have been jealous of how much fun we were having and how much we enjoy each other’s company. They probably were jealous regardless.
If you haven’t figured it out by now, the massive set back in this situation is time. All of my best friends have been an ingredient in my life for eight to fifteen years already. A best friend takes time and even if I met him tomorrow, eight years from now would be way too long to wait...
Someone recently told me that by the age of sixteen, eighty percent of people have met who they are going to marry. My first reaction was why did I have to be included in the twenty percent of losers? And then the hopeless romantic in me took over and as I raced through all the ex lovers in my life I couldn’t help but think, never overlook what’s right in front of your eyes.
2 x Merde.

1.27.2013

Dimanche.

2 Days in Paris: final scene.


Perhaps my all time favourite scene of all time. You know it must be serious when you say all time of all time.
This scene and myself have a mutual understanding; that is all.



 

1.26.2013

GIRLS.

TV series: Girls is an American television series that began airing on HBO on April 15, 2012. Created by and starring Lena Dunham, Girls is a comedy-drama that follows a close group of twenty-somethings as they chart their lives in New York City.



At last I’ve jumped on the Girls bandwagon. I know I’m a full season late, but you’ll forgive me after I say that I spent my entire Saturday devoted to catching up. I’m not sure if I should be bragging about how I did nothing but lounge on my couch all day in front of my computer screen watching thirty minute intervals, but that is beside the point.
The point is season one, episode seven “Welcome to Bushwick”.  Of course I can say (like every other twenty something female) that I find it effortless to relate to this HBO series, as I think that was the point in making the show. This particular episode had me back tracking to all my past relations with the opposite sex and realizing that I rarely ever ask about them or their life. Weird, I know.  I know I’m flawed and I have issues with commitment etc etc etc, but I never realized that my lack of acknowledgment in personal questions could potentially hurt their feelings and/or make it seem as though I don’t care. Unlike Hannah, I don’t necessarily prefer the conversation to be about me, rather I choose to discuss topics which are neither delicate to me or the other person. It’s a defense mechanism I assume. Yet, after Adam’s rant:

“You never ask me anything, besides ‘does this feel okay?’ or ‘do you like my skirt?’ or ‘how much is your rent?’ I’m not gonna fuckin’ talk your ear off about shit you don't ask about. You don’t wanna know me. You want to come over in the night and have me fuck the dog shit out of you, then you wanna leave then write about it in your diary. You don’t wanna know me.

I can’t help but question, could I be the common denominator in all my failed romances?
To all the men I’ve loved before, I sincerely apologize if you ever thought I didn’t want to know you, I have a funny way of showing (or not showing) things.
Merde.
 

1.24.2013

Dating.



Present participle of date (Verb)
Verb: establish or ascertain the date of (an object or event)
Synonyms: time - rendezvous - period - day - appointment – term

One of my very best friends is also one of my few remaining single friends (also referenced in my post from Jan.17th). However, we are the complete opposites when it comes to being single.  for the most part, I will not take my time conversing with someone if I don’t think I want to pursue them (and I believe you can know this in sixty seconds or less), I know this is not beneficial in any way, but it’s just the way the cookie crumbles in my world. She will meet a new boy (sometimes two) almost every week and have a new date scheduled every couple of days. I do not date. I’m awkward and I tend to break out into hives in uncomfortable situations. So until I meet someone who is worthy of my hives, I live vicariously through her stories.
This morning I woke up to a text from her sent at 12:41 AM:

Lol
Can’t wait to tell you

I knew that last night she was meeting up with a guy she just met while out last Friday. She finally calls while I’m stuck in traffic on my way to work (what a great entertainment while being at a standstill on the highway at 8:30 AM. No sarcasm). Now, before I get into the story, let me start off by saying that alcohol is usually a factor when meeting these new boys. Obviously because you meet people when you are out and when do we go out without alcohol? As a result she doesn’t always remember every detail about the person she met, this sometimes causes very humorous situations. The guy she met on Friday was named Alex, that’s all she knew.
And this is her story:
Location: Plateau Lounge at the W Hotel, Wednesday night.
She was chilling in the DJ booth waiting for Friday night Alex to arrive. If you have ever been to the dub on a Wednesday night in the middle of the coldest week in January, you will know that it is not very eventful. She noticed an old friend’s brother as soon as he walked up the stairs. She was a bit confused to see him there but went over to say hi and ask him what he was doing there. It was random to bump into someone on such a cold Wednesday night. He was a little confused and responded with ‘what do you mean? You invited me here’. Similar to how I get hives, she turns beat red in the face when confronted with an awkward situation. It took her a good five minutes of red face and thought to realize that the friend’s brother was the Alex that had been texting her. How ironic that he would message her the day after she met Friday night Alex. She later read through the history and it all made sense, there was never any reference made to the Friday night meeting, and she had thought it was odd when he invited himself to her place as a first date. She clearly did not remember that she had added Friday night Alex as ‘Alex Confess’ in her directory. It all made sense now…

Turns out Friday night Alex hasn’t messaged her yet and she was stuck hanging out with older brother Alex who evidently has a crush on his younger sister’s friend.
Merde.

1.20.2013

Sunday.

Noun: The day of the week before Monday and following Saturday, observed by Christians as a day of rest and religious worship.
Sunday fun-day pictures. Any or all Saturday night stories will have to wait for Monday.

1.19.2013

French Bulldog.



Small stocky version of the bulldog having a sleek coat and square head.


I really want a French bulldog. They seem to be a perfect companion, which is something every single person needs. Once upon a time, after a rough how-will-I-ever-survive-without-him breakup, I managed to convince my mother to buy me a pug. I found the perfect puppy pug for sale and after the first visit it was love at first sight. 

That was almost four years ago. Now Sir Charlie the pug is no longer mine. Throughout the years the same mother who bought me the pug to ease my broken heart has kidnapped him for her own.  As I prepare to embark on a overdue move into the real world, outside the free comfort of my parents basement, all I want is a French bulldog. My thief of a mother formerly told me that when I move out she would buy me a French bulldog, incentive I assume. She has now changed her offer:

“I’ll buy you a French bulldog when you get into a serious relationship.”
Merde.