My Saturday night started off very well. A good friend was in town, and to celebrate we popped open wine, marvelled at my shoes (pictures. soon. promise.) and discussed everything from The Hills, to Don Imus with equal passion. We laughed, we drank and I went out smelling of vanilla, glossed with my lipglass and doused in the “look at me, I’m bloody fantastic!” confidence that comes with a 4 drink minimum or a really good hair day.

We went to a lounge where the music was loud and the people were polished. There were camera shots and tequila shots. There were hugs to old friends and numbers exchanged to new ones. It started out being one of those nights where you hope you see everyone you ever knew because they would see you at your best- laughing, happy, surrounded by friends and wearing killer footwear.

An unfortunate circumstance found me having to state my relationship status repeatedly (or lack of relationship status to be more accurate). At first it was fine, I can throw in a joke about it, can say all the reasons I’m glad I’m not currently coupled like an animal on Noah’s ark (the commitment! the chance of drama! the fact I would have to shave my legs on a regular basis!), but it didn’t stop. I had to keep saying it over, and over and over again.

I’m single.

And the kicker? I’m not casually dating, not currently on the fence about a particular guy, not even secretly lusting after someone.

I’m just… single.

It was in that moment that I noticed everyone who wasn’t single. I noticed the couples suctioned to each other- sweaty from dancing with hands interlaced. The ones smiling at the dancers antics knowing they would go home together and have something to talk about. The ones whispering secrets and stories no one else would ever hear.

Suddenly, I felt something that stirred my insides and left me shaken. A feeling that crept slowly up my throat and left a bad taste in my mouth. Suddenly, I felt being single wasn’t fun.

There’s the idea that singleness equals carefree road trips with red toes out the window. Of random sexual escapades that would make even Samantha blush. Of spur of the moment splurges, weeknight parties, drawers filled only with expensive knickers and complex nightgowns with strings and bows.

And sometimes being single is like that. It’s lovely, and exciting and causes you to skip into your office or strut in the coffee shop. You feel independent and lovely and find yourself going on trips or applying for jobs you would have to think twice about if coupled.

And sometimes being single isn’t like that. It’s heartbreaking and lonely and causes watery eyes when you realize that when you wake from a bad dream, there’s no one to tell. And you find yourself on a Saturday night wearing your best shoes, surrounded by too many people, feeling far too alone.

I’ve been subbing grade two this week. There is one particular girl who has captured my heart in a way that something you love so much you almost hate can. She’s a tattler, overly emotional, the first one to complain, the last one to help clean up. She’s constantly chatting, is bossy, and talks at a volume so loud, I’ve considered buying the entire class earmuffs to save their little ears. In short, she’s me- 17 years ago.

She screeched in with her hello’s this morning and followed it up with …

Girl: Miss V! Miss V! I got to tell you something. Really big news!

Me: Sounds exciting! What is this news? (For the record, the last ‘news’ she shared with me was that she recently touched the leg of a dead moose and it made her feel ‘weird’. Don’t ask for more details because trust me, neither of us has the time. Needless to say, I tried hard not to giggle..)

Girl: Well Miss V, I’ve been trying to get my first kiss for a while and I almost caught it!

Me: You almost caught a kiss?

Girl: Yes. I got Matthew on the floor of the bus before the bus driver started yelling. I’m going to get him today though and then I will have it.

Me: Did Matthew want you to kiss him?

Girl: I don’t know, but I need to do it anyway because I’ve got to get my first kiss from someone and he’s the best at Sparkle (a spelling game), so it’s got to be him. Plus, I really like him a lot and I don’t care who knows it.

(I put on my teacher hat and try to gently discourage a follow up to this near-miss first kiss when Matthew enters..)

Girl: Hey Matthew. I’m going to catch that kiss at recess. I just missed your lips, before but I’m going to get you still!

It’s in this moment where I realize how different my little friend and I are. Though we are both loud, chatty and prone to hurt feelings, I would never have the nerve to try to catch a kiss from a guy. Chasing’s just not my style. I suspect despite all the talks, warnings, and ‘looks’ from the teachers, she will get her kiss. And it will be great because she wanted it, she went for it, and she got it.

Her first kiss will be exactly how she wants it to be.

I can only cross my fingers for Matthew.

When I was little my mom would get upset because I would always put my hand near the stove. Despite her warnings, I would do it- because I could and it was MY hand (I was a charming child). Of course, I would get burned. Normally one burn is enough to teach a child, but I was not a normal girl. The fascination of a heat that warmed me before it hurt me would drawn me back again, and again. Eventually, I grew out of the fascination, just as one grows out of old clothes with faded logos or songs that have lost their meaning and my parents breathed a sigh of relief.

I find myself near a stove again. And I know what will happen before I touch it. It will hurt. This time it’s not my family telling me to stay away, but my friends. My smart friends who know about particular stove top burns and how slow they are to heal. How slow I am to heal. And this time, I really want to listen and I know I should, but I find myself wanting to be warmed again even if it hurts. I find that their kind words and gentle warnings are the rock, paper, scissors but my foolish heart is the atomic bomb that beats them all.

I find that I’m six years old again.

It will hurt. More than before. Because it’s not a stove anymore. And it’s not my hand.

Note- Okay, so I just re-read this and realized it sounds like I’m getting initiated to join a gang of angry bikers with bad facial hair or have decided to give crystal meth a try. I assure you it’s nothing that dramatic. I’m just… a sap.

I had a great post planned. It was going to be funny and discuss really loud grade 2 children and how they are learning about numbers in math.

However.

I can’t write about it because I’m still freaking physically exhausted and emotionally bankrupt a tiny bit weepy from damn American Idol. It was the “Idol gives back” episode and I should have known to crack open a new box of kleenex when Ryan first appeared wearing his ’serious face’.

Let’s recap…

Carrie Underwood singing “I’ll stand by you”, while taking African children to put flowers on a grave? Sob

Simon and Ryan watching 13 kids lay down on a dirt floor getting ready for bed? Sob

Being told that a baby that the camera crew picked up on the way to a clinic who had malaria (which is CURABLE, people) died before getting treatment? Sob

Every picture they showed of HIV orphans crying big fat alligator tears? Sob

Annie Lennox singing “Bridge over Troubled Water”? Sob

Because I’m working on not worrying, I decided the only way I would feel better about all of this is if I did something. So, I ordered another Gap t-shirt and another package of one bracelets. I’ve also decided that instead of buying 5 fat and glossy fashion magazines each month, I’ll buy 2 (it’s the same stuff in each one anyway), and donate the difference. It’s not a lot, but it makes me feel better.

Upset that kids are dying from CURABLE disesases? Go here. As for a post about numbers, I will leave you with one I’m not soon to forget: according to Malaria No More, this CURABLE disease kills 3,000 children everyday. 3,000 doesn’t sound like a lot until you start thinking of everyone you know. Do you know 3,000 people total? Imagine all of them gone tomorrow.

3,000 kids a DAY

And it’s CURABLE.

I’m going to get off my soapbox now.

Three Words/Phrases I Say Too Often
1. Seriously!
2. Imagine!
3. What the hell am I doing?

Three Addictions That Make me feel like I’m 14 years old
1. “The Hills”. I. Cannot. Get. Enough.
2. Facebook
3. Harry Potter mania. New movie annnnd new book this summer? Screw December, I think July is going to feel a lot like Christmas!
4. Going to see J.T. in concert this August. (Because really, what’s a better way to celebrate my 26th birthday?)

Three Quirks that make me feel like I’m 84 years old
1. I refer to my legs as my gams
2. I just bought a $63 tube of eye cream
3. I think most people listen to their music too loud

Three Things/People That make me swoon
1. Anyone who is a)male b)in possession of an accent c)single
2. Pretty new shoes. Especially ones on my feet.
3. Seeing other people in love. Since, the last time I was in love man had just invented the wheel and the consensus was that the world was flat. It’s been a while, friends. But I love seeing other people in love. Especially old people. It’s just so darn cute.

Three Recent Purchases That Made Me Happy (Because yes, I’m the girl who gets happy by material objects. It takes more than personal fulfillment and rainbows to get me to smile sometimes…)
1. New shoes (pink satin with a 3 inch heel. Peeptoe, with a bow. Cuter than a baby panda)
2. “On Beauty” by Zadie Smith. If I ever wrote ONE sentence similar to how she writes, I would die completely fulfilled.
3. Elizabeth Arden Mediterranean perfume. (I smell radiant. sensual. captivating. A modern expression of sparkling radiance.- Well, at least that’s what the box says it will be like…)

Three words I commonly misspell
1. accidentally
2. Mediterranean
3. misspell

Three of my best Halloween costumes
1. A ninja turtle (we went as a group. I was the orange one…)
2. A paperbag princess
3. Ashley Olsen (Trout was Mary Kate)

Three things I do exceptionally well
1. write in fragment sentences
2. distract small children and get them away from open windows so they can finish their schoolwork
3. give speeches

Three things I do not do exceptionally well
1. time management
2. hold my tongue
3. hide my excitement

Three people I would love to be for a day
1. Zadie Smith
2. Karl Rove (I would love to see what his typical day is like. Does he really rub his hands together and laugh wickedly when he has an evil plan? I’m curious)
3. Jon Stewart (the man is hilarious)

Three people I would not want to be for a day
1. Ann Coulter (karma is going to get her and I don’t want to be around for that)
2. Ann Coulter
3. Ann Coulter

Happy Wednesday!

I’m a girl who worries. A lot. I have lost countless sleeping hours wondering if the relationship is going to work out, if I’m going to get the job, if I parked too close to the curb, if it’s going to blow over, if Angelina really doesn’t love Shiloh, if he still remembers me, if I hurt her feelings, if a Canadian team is going to win the Stanley Cup, where Heidi is going to live when Spencer breaks up with her, where my extra set of keys are, if I’ve accidentally had gluten… and quite frankly, it leaves me tired.

So I’m going to throw myself into worry boot camp. For the rest of the month, anytime I start to worry about things I can’t control, the people I can’t change and the acts I can’t erase, I’m going to stop. Then I’m going to channel Dr. Phil/Oprah/The Secret and anyone or anything else that’s about positive thought and has sold a lot of books and take my worry and replace it with a great thought about how freaking fabulous I am. Because really, if everyone I know is signing up for a boot camp to improve their assets before summer, I’m going to sign up to improve mine. And I can’t think of a better place to start than with my brain.

What I wish I would have known 5 years ago, at age 20

- Dude, your house is going to burn down. So when you go away for that one weekend to visit your brother, take your journals with you.

- You know how you pride yourself on holding on to grudges? You shouldn’t. Because you aren’t holding on to the grudge anymore, it’s holding on to you, like a shackle. And every year you continue being angry, sweet girl, it just gets harder to remember why you are so angry in the first place. So back down, grow up and move on.

- Sunscreen. Wear it.

- You will meet a boy and he will be everything you didn’t realize you wanted. But, you will break up. You’ll contemplate a breakdown on the side of the highway and then much later, it will be the cause of a breakthrough. You will realize that sometimes, what someone will do to you- will have nothing to do with you. That their mistake doesn’t have to be your fault.

- If a guy tells you he’s a jerk, he’s a jerk. If he tells you he’s interested, he’s interested. If he tells you he has a girlfriend but that he loves you, - run.

- Getting your degree with be the easy part. It’s what you do AFTER you have it, that’s challenging.

- You are smarter than you think you are.

What I wish I would have known 10 years ago, at age 15

- You know that girl in your highschool that you think is perfect? The one who always wears the Calvin Klein jeans and looks like she’s just walked out of a toothpaste ad with her ever smiling grin? Yeah, she doesn’t know what the hell she’s doing with her life either.

- Don’t worry. You will fall in love. I promise.

- Boys have feelings actually. And treating them poorly is bad form, and your mom raised you better than that. Plus, karma is going kick your ass in a few years with a string of bad dates and boys who think the word “tits” is a completely respectable term to throw out upon meeting. Be nice.

- Being rebellious doesn’t make someone more interesting. Don’t feel bad for not sneaking out and driving around town sipping strawberry wine with girls who have secret tattoos and hate their parents.

- Step away from the hairspray. Your bangs are now officially a fire hazard.

- He’s not being mean to you, he’s flirting with you. Flirt back.

- You are prettier than what you think you are.

What I wish I would have known 20 years ago, at age 5

-Listen sweetheart, you’re mom has something called a ‘hobo’ purse. In fact, because your mom is a shopaholic she has a ton of them. And they are just going out of fashion so she’s going to donate them to Goodwill. DO NOT LET THIS HAPPEN. One day in your future, those bags will become insanely popular again and you and your mom will reminisce over them. Save the bags!

- That’s it. You are pretty much perfect.

So I’m lucky, in the random sort of way. I win random contests, accept random prizes and am STILL getting random cheques in the mail from the government of Canada who I think must really have a crush on me (Bre, if I can’t find a way to spend them, I will send them your way, as you mentioned).

However.

When it comes to winning stuff based on talent, or skill, or personal effort other than writing my name and phone number on a piece of paper… not so lucky. Other than winning a handful of horse competitions and public speaking awards in my youth, the last time I really won something meaningful was grade 2 class president.

I’m still a little vague on what the presidents role in the classroom was, and considering I live in Canada, I now think class prime minister would have been more appropriate… but I was glad I was victorious. I wish I could tell you I won through hard work, determination and a *speech that moved my classmates to tears. (Actually, I think Daniel was crying in the third row because he had peed his pants at recess and was embarrassed, but that’s just a hunch.) but, upon reflection I won the same way most politicians do- empty promises and vague declarations of a better tomorrow. I told them if they voted for me I would be their best friend, figure out a way to cancel math class and (this was what sealed my victory) make sure that we could chew bubblegum whenever we wanted.

Thankfully my teacher was great and said that everyone could chew gum for the day that I won and was awarded my black construction paper crown with navy and silver glitter glue decoration. I suspect she allowed the gum chewing because she realized any public, grade two or otherwise, would lynch a newly elected official who broke her biggest promise on their first day in office.

Up until yesterday, that had been my biggest win. So it was a happy surprise when I found out that I had won a ‘thinking blogger’ award, bestowed upon me by the always lovely and entertaining Jennifer. I haven’t quite decided what to do with it, perhaps print it off and put it on a mantel. Or hang it over my bed so it’s the first thing I see when I wake up. Or maybe, just maybe, I will put it on the side of my blog and so I will have a reminder that I should perhaps write about more than Snoop Dog and loincloths.

In the spirit of discussing great blogs, or blogs that are entertaining reads, I will throw a shout out to my new favourite blog. Perhaps you think I’m a biased because she is Fabulous, and maybe you are right, but I don’t think so. I just think she just has a unique voice and interesting tales that are worth sharing.

And to celebrate my win, I’m declaring it bubblegum Thursday. So find some bubblegum, blow a big bubble and relish the thought that you, as an adult, can now chew bubblegum whenever the hell you feel like it, instead of waiting for a classmate to promise you the dream of one day being able to.

*As stated in a previous post, my mom did help me write my speech. It was good, made my teacher laugh and I’m pretty sure I was the only candidate who spoke of ‘classroom rights’.

(Oh, and we just take a moment and marvel at the fact that I posted a picture? Or something similar to a picture? I swear, one day soon I will learn how to get that strike through font…)

I have a certain conversation on a weekly basis. My view is constantly changing and the topic never grows old for me. I imagine one of the first conversations on the topic of guys and girls being ‘just friends’ went something like this…

Mary and Sarah sit in loincloths eating raw meat…

Mary: Sarah, we missed you yesterday at dinner. We played hangman on the cave wall, ate burnt leaves and drank from a muddy puddle. It was wonderful! Where were you?

Sarah: Oh, Jacob and I went rock picking and then he speared something, which we quickly ate to avoid having to share it with the tribe.

Mary: You went with Jacob? Alone? Sarah, I have to ask, do you covet Jacob and want to bear his children? Do you wish to look under his loincloth?

Sarah: No Mary, Jacob and I are just friends.

Mary: Just friends? Is that possible?

Sarah: Why wouldn’t it be?

Mary: I’ve just never imagined that people with fitting parts could possibly be just friends. Are you sure this can happen?

Sarah: I think so… I mean, I don’t think I want to run into the bush with him and I don’t think wants that either. I think we are happy just spearing animals together and seeing who has the most impressive grunt.

Mary: Fascinating. Man and Woman. As friends. This needs further discussion, but for now let me pick the bugs out of your hair. I’m starving.

End scene

In the early 90’s my mom’s mantra was “Learn about those computer things! They are the future! By the time you are in college everything will be on computers, we will all wear tinfoil jumpsuits and you will have a flying car, isn’t that exciting?!”.

Sadly, I didn’t learn about computers. I decided that my high school elective should be cosmetology, because spending 80 minutes three times a week fully mastering the art of washing hair made much more sense. I’m happy to tell you I can now rinse shampoo with the best of them, and if finger waves ever come back in style, I can totally hook you up.

Computers however, baffle me.

I’m a devout follower of “if you want it bad enough it should just magically happen”, which is why the last time my computer started acting weird, I assumed I would be able to fix it. Because I wanted to. I spent a day pushing keyboard buttons I forgot I had in alternating combinations, ALT & CTRL & F6, ESC & SHIFT F9, & QWERTY- just because it’s fun to type. I ended up deleting my entire hard drive.

Despite my lack of computer skills, I started a blog. I figured it was not really about computers but more about ideas, and I do have those. In abundance. And for the most part, the posting of all my ideas hasn’t been that difficult. Minus the fact that I have no idea how to post pictures and it took me a good two weeks to figure out how to link anything because I was too mortified to ask anyone. Oh, and that little trick you all do where you write in the strike through font… yeah, that causes mini explosions in my brain from extremely painful thought.

But complaining about what I don’t know isn’t what this is about. It’s about sharing what I DO KNOW. *And sweet goodness, I just discovered site meters!Half a year into blogging, and I now see that there’s a way to keep track of who is reading what I write. And I have to say, it’s bloody fantastic! Whoever thought of site meters should get some sort of genius award. Like, a life size statue of chocolate. Or all of your money. People in New Zealand and Chicago, Atlanta and London… are all reading.. this? That’s so crazy. I mean, I knew obviously, that the people who commented weren’t all my neighbours, but seeing it on a map how far away some of you are, well, it made me think that I should attempt to write something interesting sometime soon.

Give me six more months and perhaps there might even be pictures!

*I’m saving this sentence into my memory bank as proof of my nerdiness next time I start to think I’m more diva than **dork.

** I secretly like being a dork. It’s less pressure.