Quote of the day- New Years Eve edition

"Celine Dion is basically the White Canadian Puff Daddy."

(I leave it to all of you to brainstorm the similarities. Alcohol may help the process along. And, please, spare me the update on Puffy's latest name.)

Resoluting.

Perhaps it is just sitting under a ceiling full of glow-in-the-dark stars, harkening back to my days of compulsive diary writing, that leads me to want to write so urgently again.

The other day, the Duke, doing a random Google Reader check, said "I didn't know you were blogging again."

"I don't know if I am," I replied.

Blogging, in its current form, doesn't seem to just be about writing anymore. It seems to have exploded into this bundle of networking, commenting, twittering. And I just can't do that right now. I used to literally dedicate hours in the evenings to this endeavour, and those are hours that simply don't exist anymore.

Over the holidays, I have spent a little more time online than usual, and read a lot about the latest round of blogging drama. I don't care to place myself in the debate, but the fact that it even exists is what kind of made me flee for the hills for a little while, despite having a lot of love for writing and the people who do it. I'm 28 years old now, dammit. The idea of secret undercurrents behind the writing is ridiculous and bloody exhausting. The fact that I have let my feelings get hurt over some of this stuff in the past is even more absurd.

Perhaps, ironically, by virtue of blogging, I know myself a lot better now, and one of the things I know is that I will absolutely, without a doubt, need this outlet again. With the moving across the country, alone, to somewhere I will potentially know very few people, this space will be essential. Even now, without it, I find my head swimming a bit too much, and my text messages are getting far too long to be practical. And I know that there are still a lot of wonderful "portable" friends here that will provide that slice of home when I'm feeling lonely.

Until then, though, I'm trying to get back to just writing. Simple as that. Because I sometimes find it sad that I got so caught up in comments and statistics, and lost that spark.

So, my secret 2010 resolution is to blog on my terms. To write because I want to write. And read because I want to read. Not because it has been a week since my last post or because my reader is too big or my funny posts get more comments. Only because I have something to say, or I want to hear what you have to say.

That can't be that hard, can it?

The big city girl and the magic hammer

I grew up in a small town.

The type of small town where everyone remarks how oppressive and smelly big cities are.

The type of small town where you don't know everyone, but you surely know everyone in town by two degrees of separation.

The type of small town where the bus driver yells at you for standing up before the bus stops because you may get hurt, instead of yelling at you for not being at the door yet.

The type of small town where locals frustrations about the state of a particular road are headline news, and people rally around the cause of saving an old oak tree.

The type of small town where a friend's father declared me to have become "big city" when, a year after leaving, I showed up for my sister's graduation ceremony wearing a skirt I'd purchased at a garage sale. (I'm convinced it was because of the size of my earrings.)

And I live in a big city.

I ride the bus standing up with a coffee in my hand, go everywhere with headphones on, belong to a yoga studio, am fond of assorted martinis and am pretty good with chopsticks-- but I like to pretend I am not "big city".

I ran some errands downtown the day after I arrived home for Christmas, including one for my mother. She told me that the hardware store had some sort of innovative new hammer, that had a weird angled head that was meant for small corners. She said they would know what I was looking for if I described it to them.

They did not know what it was.

In fact, the second worker's words were, "Sure, we have a hammer that goes around corners. It's right over there by the striped spray paint and the sky hooks."

Even when it was determined what she actually meant (some out of stock multipurpose tool), I could hear them roaring, aisles away. "A hammer for around corners!"

I left, my tail tucked between my legs, and promptly ran into an old family friend, who also burst into peals of laughter when I recounted my story. "Was your mom pulling your leg? Did she actually tell you to ask about a hammer for around corners?"

So now I'm the big city girl who doesn't understand that you can use a hammer on both sides of a corner.

Dammit.

I might as well show up at the co-op decked out in bling, Dolce & Gabbana and stilettos.

A late Christmas wish

Merry Christmas all. I hope to be seeing a little more of you wonderful people in the New Year. Until then, though, below is a really important post from a really wonderful person that I really hope you all take the time to read. Sometimes love and good wishes are the best thing we can do.

***

My name is brandy. And I have a blog.

And a plea.

I use my blog to showcase the crazy I meet everyday, share the stories of the kids I teach and document my love for tequila, dairy products and the abdominal muscles of Ryan Reynolds. Rarely do I talk about personal issues on my blog- as personal as the dude that I adore (who I actually met through my blog- single ladies, let that be a very good reason to blog, the possibility of meeting someone as wonderful as my man), but I need your help. And it involves my dude.

He's a guy who made math comics for my class, so they would love learning about addition. He's the kinda guy who sends my friends gift cards when they are having hard times, who remembers every story I ever told him, who was the first person I celebrated with when I got a teaching job. He's the guy who sent flowers to me at school- dozens of my favourite pink roses just because he loves me. He's a guy who has spent a year patiently explaining (and re-explaining) everything there is to know about football during the important games when silence is preferred. He's made me word puzzles and comics and stayed up late playing Scrabble with me (even though I beat him almost every time). He's listened to me cry about school and family and jobs. He is everything I never knew I needed and everything I always knew I wanted.

The holidays have hit us hard. He's recently been told he may have something called multiple myeloma- an incurable cancer, that gives a person an average of five years of continued life. Though this news has came as a shock, he continues to be exactly who has always been- spending his time worrying about me, rather than worrying about himself. He's the most selfless individual I know- (he stayed late on Christmas Eve to work, so his co-workers could leave early) and a post like this would never be something that he would promote or encourage but when I'm overwhelmed and feeling helpless, the blogging community has always given me tremendous support and comfort, two things I desperately need at this time.

As I write this, the future is uncertain and we aren't sure what's happening. He'll need to see an oncologist soon, to verify what's going on in his body. My hope is that everyone who reads this think positive thoughts and if you are a person who prays, could you add him to your list? (You can refer to him as 'brandy's hot awesome dude'). If you don't pray, please keep him in your heart.This cancer is only a possibility and I believe that the prayers and positive thoughts of people can make sure it never becomes a reality.

I want to give a big thank you to the blog owner who scraped their original blog plans and graciously put this up. My goal is to get as many people as possible to see and read this post. If you are reading this and want to help, copy and paste my plea into your blog or send a link through twitter, so more people can keep him in their thoughts. I would be so very grateful (even more grateful than I am to my friend who first showed me the picture of Ryan Reynolds on the cover of Entertainment Weekly. If you haven't seen it, google it. You. Are. Welcome).

I realize this all sounds dramatic, a Lifetime movie in the making- but this is life. Right now. And I'm throwing away any hint of ego and am humbly asking for you to pray or think kind thoughts. If you are able to pass this on, thank you and if you know anything regarding MM- please email me (my email is on my blog). This isn't a call for sympathy or a plea for pity. It's just one girl hoping you can think positive thoughts for the person she adores. If my current heartache provides you with anything, let it be with the reminder that life is short, love is unbending and no one knows what could happen next. Maybe it is silly, but I really do believe that positive thoughts can make a huge difference. Thank you for reading this and if you haven't already? Please tell someone you love them today.

I did.

2009 in photos.

So, 2009 hasn't proven to be the best to me in terms of words.

But just because I didn't write it doesn't mean it didn't happen.

Five

My hypothetical future new life has become a little more concrete. Specifically, there are now five alternative lives floating out there in space and in my daydreams (or six, if we consider failure one of them. But let's not do that, okay?). This is a little more reassuring, I suppose, although I think it is an odd life when five choices seems somehow concrete.

So, yes, five interviews in five cities in January. Five airports, five beds (and/or couches), five hospitals or clinics. Five imagined realities. Probably more than five sleepless nights.

Remind me what I said about breathing again.

On keeping on breathing

I always have the best of intentions.

I really don't want to put anyone through the tedium that is complaining about being overwhelmed. Complaining about stress is so brutally cliched, like saying that you aren't good with names, procrastinate sometimes or don't always get enough sleep.

Everyone is stressed and nobody is actually good with names.

I'm fully intending to act as though I am 100% content, to practice what I preach, per se, by not letting the stress determine my actions. I'm acting happy to try to convince my body that I really am happy.

I'm drawing smiley faces on foggy windows. I'm humming made up songs. I secretly tap my toes in my shoes when riding the bus. I randomly buy butternut squashes on sale for extraordinary cooking plans. I'm overusing exclamation points in my text messages.

These things help, in their own little way. Any of these beat moping around. I can't handle being lazy for that long, anyhow. Unproductivity doesn't suit me. Another cliche has proven true- yoga has been a life saver. It turns off my thoughts pretty thoroughly, which, trust me, is a miraculous feat.

It's not even that I'm at all depressed. It's just that my brain can't keep up with everything that is going on. A lot of it, in fact, is kick-up-your-heels good news-- internship interviews, weddings-- there's just so damn much of it. Looking at my summer, I just wanted to hyperventilate. What do you mean I'm a bridesmaid twice and I have to move myself and my boyfriend to separate locations across the continent all in the period of a month and a half? Even my mom, the queen of acceptance, in an email yesterday told me "You are such a busy girl, it is just the way of your life at this time, but I am sure you sometimes want to pull your hair out."

Yes, it may be tempting to grab the roots and yank sometimes, but instead, I will drink tea and watch too much Food Network.

Oh yeah, and breathe.

Decisions

Some decisions always have the potential to be of great consequence.

Like where to go to school.

Whether to take that job.

Whether to kiss him.

Whether to wear a condom.

Whether to tell the truth.

Whether to break up with her.

The funny thing about these decisions, is as much as we may dwell over the countless future possibilities implied in each choice, the one we make almost always transition into fact so easily. It becomes hard to even imagine having stayed in that city or having said no.

Then there's those other decisions.

The ones you don't even know are decisions until after the consequences become apparent.

The ones you don't even consider unless something out of the ordinary results from them.

The ones that never seemed worth contemplating until regret came into play.

A month before my high school graduation, my friend Mal died in a car accident.

I remember feeling guilt over a decision I'd only even hypothetically made-- the morning I found out, her and I were set to meet during our spare period to discuss a project. I had considered asking her to reschedule so I could go tend to my boyfriend, who was sick at home. Of course, I never got to ask, yet I felt remorse deep in my guts about my secret thought of asking.

My misplaced guilt had nothing on that of her best friend, though. Before the accident, the two of them had been hanging out, perhaps out for coffee-- the details are long lost. Mal dropped off her friend at her house, before continuing on less than ten minutes down the road, where she collided with another car. And her best friend suddenly felt as though she'd made the most horrible mistake by not inviting Mal in for tea, to use the washroom, anything to just postpone her leaving for a single minute, that minute that could have changed everything. The funny thing is that if the accident had never happened, she would have never again considered why she didn't invite Mal in.

It seems that whenever there is something with unintended repercussions, one can't help but put all the decisions leading up to it, the ones you didn't even know you were making, under a microscope. I've wondered at times what if I hadn't picked up the phone, had another drink, walked in another direction, said something a little differently. I don't just do this with regrets. Today, as we lay on the couch, I surmised about all the haphazard choices that led up to that moment-- my last minute decision to go to a casually mentioned concert to get some space from obnoxious house guests, my choice to stand where I did in a sea of hundreds, to turn around at that exact moment.

It is mind-boggling that so much significance could come from a split-second choice.

I love the smell of hypocrisy in the morning

You ever get the feeling that some people just want to know they still have an effect on you?

So. The Ex.

The long and short of it- we dated for 6+ years. He was a bit of an alcoholic, and I was a bit of a pushover. We pretended that we were going to stay friends after we split up, but it mostly ended up in his new girlfriend stalking me, apologies (with seemingly ulterior motives), and awkward silences. I last saw him around a year and a half ago, and apparently we both, without saying anything, knew that despite there never being a big angry blowout, it was time for us to both stop pretending. And thus, outside of the occasional text message from him every few months, we stopped talking.

It was actually pretty comfortable to stop pretending we had very much to say.

In February, the first call in months. He asks me to be an apartment reference, for he is moving in with his new girlfriend, the one he met a month and a half earlier, who thankfully is his age and doesn't make a hobby out of sending me passive-aggressive emails. I agree out of some sort of obligation I don't even understand, given the fact that he needs me to serve as a reference because his rent cheques always bounced, leaving me to patch things up with our landlord. I never get a call.

After that, a few weird comments on Facebook, that I can only assume occurred when he was drunk, as they are nonsensical and disappear by the next morning. One is about our dead cat.

And then nothing for close to a year. Last month, I noticed that Facebook suggests that he and I should be friends, revealing that he has deleted me. Sure, I had a little righteous indignation swelling up at first, pretending as though I should have been the one with the right to delete him-- after all, he added me!-- but then, relief. For now I don't need to know anything about him, and he doesn't need to know anything about me. I can be finally be really angry, indifferent, whatever, without him popping up randomly every once in a while-- online or in real life, now that we live in different cities.

I realized several days later that for the first time in nearly 10 years, I didn't wish him happy birthday. I didn't even remember it was his birthday.

And, a week after his birthday, a mysterious text message on my phone from a number I don't know. "Hi Princess, just wanted to say a quick hello, hope you are well."

(yes, foreshadowing sucks on this one, but at the time, I was genuinely clueless)

I rack my brain for the origins of this number, and then, feeling somewhat guilty about not recognizing it, text back: "Hi! I feel like a jerk, but I lost a bunch of my numbers, so I have no clue who you are."

I text the Duke about this mystery message, and how awkward it is to have to figure out someone's identity. Without skipping a beat, he writes back: "I bet it's TheEx."

Two seconds later: "Haha, I'm hurt! It's your favourite ex."

Who, now, apparently wants to catch up.

And has tricked me into responding with his new cell phone number that of course I would have no way of knowing.

And knows that, while I may not had responded to his initial message, had I know, I'm pathologically incapable of being even a justifiable asshole, and have to respond once a conversation has been "officially started".

And, the whole time, I'm thinking that to delete me on Facebook and then to want to catch up weeks later is just the kind of hypocrite he is.

And I just play it cool, because I don't want him to know that I noticed in the first place.

Fuck.

Does anyone want to give me some lessons in justifiable assholishness?

Things I do that may or may not be really odd

Yelling at my boyfriend while I'm sleeping.

So a few nights ago, I got home rather late from a concert, and the Duke was hard at work studying for the GREs. He wanted a little tutoring on some of the math concepts, so we chatted for about an hour. When I crawled into bed, I cursed in my head a little, because I realized I was going to less sleep than I had planned before my early morning and long workday. Not too big of a deal, though, as I have functioned on far less sleep.

... or maybe it was a bigger deal than I realized, as about an hour later, I started sleep-chastising my boyfriend. I apparently sternly told him that he should not keep me up when he knows I have an early morning, because now I was only going to get five hours of sleep. One especially weird things about it-- I was seriously dead asleep, yet when he looked at the clock, at that point, there was exactly five hours until I had to get up.

Being overly concerned about my massage therapist.

Recently, I decided that all the blood, sweat, tears and muscle knots created to submit my internship applications early warranted a little spoiling- a full-body massage, to be exact. As I was booked fairly early in the day, I briefly considered not having a shower, as the copious amounts of aromatherapy oils used tend to leave my hair in need of a second washing when I return home. But then I felt like I would be an asshole if I left my legs unshaven, for my massage therapist would be forced to rub my oiled-up stubble. So I had a shower anyways. It was only later that I realized that two day leg stubble was probably far less offensive than many of the bodies she rubs on a regular basis.

Making up characters when I'm playing computer solitaire.

I make the red Queens and the black Queens yell at each other in my head in different voices. They are actually quite catty. The Kings are generally pretty calm and focused throughout the game, while the Jacks act like frat boys, eager to get up on the Queens.

Talking to inanimate objects as though that is somehow more sane than talking to myself.

"Oh, no, I was just talking to the ketchup!"

Using up valuable brain power contemplating various ridiculous scenarios.

For instance, what would happen if I somehow acquired another person's sense of smell, so I was smelling what they were despite being miles away? Or if a stranger from across the world somehow hacked into my sense of vision, how long would it take them viewing the world through my eyes to figure out what city I lived in?

Cleaning while in the shower.

I keep a Magic Eraser behind my body wash, just in case the urge to clean strikes me whilst nude. I like to pretend it is because I am trying to conserve water by doing multiple tasks at once. Really, it is just because I'm neurotic, and some days I just want the soap scum to be gone.

So, what's the verdict? And what do you do that is equally odd?