Tuesday, November 30, 2010

I'm Not Here To Feel The Bones Of Some Forgotten Saint. I Know Who I Am & I Know Who You Ain't

This past Saturday, my friends and I were at our usual bar. Hanging out in the same ol' spot, a guy walks by that a couple of us recognize.

The Ex Doppelganger.

The Ex Doppelganger is a guy we've seen before; he looks like a shorter version of my ex from years ago. It's not just a slight resemblance, it's so dead-on that it quite literally creeped me out.

And so, as we're talking about the uncanny resemblance and trying to avoid his eye, he comes over. Go figure. He starts talking, doing the usual bar night pick-up approach. Eventually I just can't take it - it feels too much like the Twilight Zone. So I tell him.

"I'm sorry, but you look exactly like my ex and it's really creeping me out. You have to stop hitting on me and my friends. This is just too weird."

Sometimes I think I need to wear a sign.

Did he listen? Nope. Instead, he used it as an "in", thinking somehow I'd be more attracted to him because he looked like someone I dated in my early 20's. Between talking to me and my friends, he kept popping up to try again. I was annoyed, and he quickly learned how to turn annoyance into anger.

"So maybe I look like your ex, but aren't I much prettier?"

I was dumbfounded. "What? Are you honestly calling yourself pretty?"

"Look at me. I bet I'm much better-looking than that guy, don't you want to give me a chance? Think of how good we'd look together."
 
So... maybe I kinda lost it at this point. I'd had it. In front of everyone in that part of the bar, I called him out for being an arrogant predator who didn't know when to leave a girl alone. My friends backed me up - we were angry. At this point, he decided to tell us that he had a girlfriend. One who didn't know he was out trying to pick up other women.

Nice guy.

I'll spare you the rest of the details, but let's just say that The Ex Doppelganger (TED, for short) became not-so-well-liked by most people in the bar that night. Once his mythical "charms" were rendered useless, he left.

So let my story of creepy TED be a lesson to you all - men with over-inflated egos, an inability to listen when a girl asks them leave her alone, and a girlfriend sitting at home while they're out trying to pick up other ones... they're not so good, Al. And I've met too damn many of 'em.

These dudes ruin things for the good guys (who, I promise, DO exist. Somewhere).

And now you know one of the (many) reasons why your Shambled Rambler is a single chick, and why she doesn't always enjoy it.

Indeed.



Saturday, November 27, 2010

I'm So Mad To Love You And Your Evil Curse

I just received an email from a very sweet man, thanking me for an old post I wrote on my other blog. So, since that old post made more than a few people take the time to message me, and since that blog attracts a different readership than this one (and, y'know... since it's Saturday and I'm lazy), I've decided to re-post it here.

-----
The Orange Post-It (April 16, 2010):

I recently came across a post-it note that I had taped to my desk at the radio station.

A co-worker and friend had told me about an old saying her elder relatives had taught her, so that she would use it throughout her life.

It was in Hebrew, but she had her grandfather translate it for me.

Once translated, the crux of this old saying was that you could judge a man by the way he handles:
his anger,
his drink,
and his pocket.

Meaning that if a man had a bad temper, drank too much and was not wise with his money, then you were smart to keep looking.

But if you found a man who had all of these under control, then he was a good man worth keeping.

So roughly a year ago, on this orange Post-It note, I wrote:

"His anger,
his drink,
& his pocket."

I did not want to forget.

For me, I think it's a great indicator for who you want in your life in general. Friends, lovers, male, female... everyone. Including myself.

I want to know that I am always in control of

my anger,
my drink,
and my pocket.

Perhaps this orange Post-It note needs a new place to remind me.
-----

Thursday, November 25, 2010

I Can Be Your Liar, I Can Be Your Bearer Of Bad News

I'm having a hard time wrapping my head around the fact that it's already November 25, 2010.

Where did the year go? I think I missed the fall. And the summer. Oh, and spring and winter. Those too. Everything happened in shitty slow-motion, yet I somehow lost track of it all.

Luckily I have this hand-dandy blog to serve as my own personal time machine. (Not as sweet as a DeLorean, but we can't all be as McFly as Marty.)

Drank too much and can't remember a specific night?
Look at your blog!

Blocked out a memory but need to use it against someone evil?
Check out yer blog!

Wasted your youth and want some way to get it back?
Sorry, honey. You're pretty much screwed.


So, my Blog Time Machine allows me to look back and see how my November of 2009 went and then compare it to November 2008, etc. I can always re-read and see how things were in my "old" life. Ah, memories of stuff 'n junk. And my awesome dogs.

I also see that, while all the crap around me has completely changed, I'm still the same ol' me. Good, bad or ugly.

Hell, maybe next year I'll use my Blog Time Machine to look back and say "Man, I was a weird chick back then", and then hop in my jetplane en route to my personal island. You're invited, too. Bring beer.

(And while my other blog won't be an especially fun time machine, I have briefly stopped neglecting it. Briefly.)

So... where would your (Blog) Time Machine take you, boys and girls?



Tuesday, November 23, 2010

We Are The Smile Of Light That Brings Them Rain

I'm well aware that many of my readers come here for reasons other than my questionable wit, non-existent charm, and slightly impressive facial expressions. Some of you come here for the other bitch.

*Ahem*

"My Daisy brings all the boys to my blog, and they're like... you have a cute dog."

(Sorry, had to.)


Today is Daisy's BirthAversary.

We rescued her two years ago today, and I've decided to make it her birthday as well.

No, I don't have the power to "create" birthdays randomly for people (unless of course I birth 'em), but it seems that crackheads neither have the ability to count, nor the thought to write something down on a handy-dandy invention called a "calendar".



If you're confused by that, read this old post. It explains how we got her, and how sad her situation was. And why you should maybe kinda possibly stay away from crack.

We assume she's around 5 years old now so, for all intents and purposes, this has become her 5th birthday as well as her 2nd anniversary as my best girl.

To celebrate, I'm taking her to get all prettied up and pampered. Whether she likes it or not.


It's no secret that I'm fairly obsessed with my dog, but I have good reason.

In the two years since we got her, a lot has happened. Mostly difficult and sad. It's well-documented that I've had some pretty low times.

But through it, she has always brought a lot of happiness to me and everyone around. She is honestly the most loveable dog I've ever known, along with Jack. She's my best friend, and my family.

I realize how uncharacteristically sappy I may sound, but I don't care. D is my partner in crime, always.



Happy BirthAversary, girly.

You're the bee's knees.


Sunday, November 21, 2010

You Can Hear Happiness Staggering On Down The Street

Gather 'round, children. Today we're going to discuss a nasty li'l creation called the "cigarette" and my long-term relationship with it.

I hope you packed light, cuz you're now entering Flavour Country.


For many many years, I've been some form of smoker - usually just occasional. Then in my early twenties I dated a heavy smoker and hung around a lot of other smoke-fiends. That led to me smoking more.

I am weak-willed, and smoking is a very social thing that non-smokers never understand. I've met some of my favourite people and had some of my best conversations outside over a cigarette.

There's a strange unspoken bond between people who smoke.



Fast-forward to 24 year-old me, in a serious relationship with a non-smoker. So I cut down quite a bit, save for nights out and social occasions. Over the next couple of years I didn't smoke much at all (partially because I couldn't afford to, partially because I'm just such a nice girlfriend... nah, that can't be right).

Then 2010 happened. Stress kicked me in the ass and made the smokes my dearest friend again. When I found myself alone in my apartment most of the time, I could usually be found on my balcony. Shivering my ass off, smoke after smoke, staring at the CN Tower and wondering what the hell I was going to do with my life.

Fun stuff.



It didn't stop. I was smoking daily again. I was so unbearably sad and completely angry this past year, and it just made me smoke more and more. I can vividly recall many times where I'd be crying my eyes out with my head in my hands, puffing away on a cigarette like it would somehow fix my life.

It didn't, of course. So I did.

Things started falling into place recently, and one day I stopped and realized "Hey... I haven't had a cigarette in a week". As of right now, I have the same pack I bought before Halloween.

That, for a smoker, is huge.

I haven't fixed everything that was wrong, but I'm not in the same place I was. I'm not using cigarettes as a crutch. That may not mean shit to you, but it's fairly monumental to me.

Now lets just hope that the next guy I date isn't a heavy smoker... or this somewhat smokeless chick is screwed.



Thursday, November 18, 2010

I Want To Watch It Come Down

Could it be... the return of the vlog?

Indeed it is. After a hiatus from ye olde video blogs, they're back. Without a vengeance, mind you.

This week we're doin' it Big Lebowski style (expect random quotes), going on a march of the pigs with our nine inch nails, meeting my cousin from BC and her manfriend and his manfriend, and talking about underwear while hearing a tune from two sibling plumbers.

And oh yeah - we're playing with balls.

Ya dig?

(The voice audio is a bit quiet. Blame the machines, not me. The MACHINES!)

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

Carve Your Heart Out For Keeps In An Old Oak Tree

When I was younger, I used to write songs. Oh yeah. This is one of those posts...

I had always wanted to be the chick singer in an awesome band. The concerts I held in my bedroom were pretty amazing, but no one (aside from my band posters and stuffed animals) would ever know that at the time.


I liked metal. I liked classic rock. I liked alternative, punk, progressive, grunge... all of the rock and/or roll goodness. So many bands to love, the majority of which had male frontmen. I wanted to one day be among them, prove that chicks could rock just as well. (My headbanging skills are unmatched to this day. I mean it. I'll own you.)

But when I was a pre-teen, I realized that guys my age didn't want girl singers, and that girls usually stuck to pop groups. So I started one.

Yep. I started an all-girl pop group.

I wanted to make us "edgy", and I wrote all the songs - picked parts for the other girls, fixed up the harmonies, all that crap. Because I had a crazy popular website at the time, I used it to find group members. Girls from all over were sending me demo tapes, and I had to pick which ones made it.

I shit you not. I was young and insane. Needless to say, I decided to forget about it after all that work. Screw pop, it just wasn't my thing.



I never did join a real band. I sang randomly with a few through the years, but left it at that. My guitar (named Ziggy Stardust) is pretty neglected because I've never learned to properly play it. I always said once I mastered the guitar, a band would be born. And it would kill your face with awesomeness. Or... um.... it'd be.... good 'n stuff.

And now? I sing all the time. To my dog, and to household appliances. Loudly. I only sing in public when half drunk and hogging the karaoke mic. As for my guitar - still can't really play it.

But I will. I have talented teachers all around me who will make sure of it. And I may never start that asskickin' band, but that's cool. As long as I can bust out some acoustic singalongs at any given moment... then I'm satisfied.



Til then, I'll stick to karaoke-ing the 70's classics and serenading my dog.

'Scuse me while I go take a blowtorch to all the old cassettes featuring yours truly belting out tunes.  All evidence must be destroyed.


Sunday, November 14, 2010

My Envied Lady Holds You Fast In Her Gaze

I've exhausted this subject already, but it seems I need to bring it up once again.

This post is for you.

I'm sure you know who you are.

You may not realize it, but many others know too.
My friends know who you are. Your friends have started noticing the odd "coincidences".

You said you wanted to be like me, but I didn't realize how much you meant it. Holy hell.

You take what you read and you adopt it.
You repeat my words and pretend they're your own.
Take things that I'm known for and pretend you are too.
But when you involve people and things that are close to me, it gets beyond personal and pisses me off.

You are trying too hard to come across as something, no, someone you are not.

But hey, if it's working for you, then go ahead. Keep doing it.

Continue to show up at the places you think I'll be.
Copy my tastes and follow everything I say and do.
Change who you are completely.

But you will never be me - and why would you want to be?
Instead, you're that girl who is too afraid to be herself.

For that, I truly pity you.


On the other hand...

If you're so damn set on being a bastardized and badly-executed version of me, let me assist you in your journey.

I'll gladly send you:

an ex boyfriend from years ago (hope you like booze and babysitting)
an ex best friend from kindergarten (she'll eat your crayons)
a lock of my old blonde hair (how very Single White Female)
my depression & anxiety attacks (enjoy! yay!)
my personal wannabe stalker chick (... scratch that one. oops.)

Wait by your mailbox for all those Kris-related things. And while you're waiting? Do me a small favour.

Grow up and get your head outta your ass.

Thanks. I feel better now.



Thursday, November 11, 2010

Listen To The Girl As She Takes On Half The World

It's another day where my brain is at a loss for blog topics, due to real life keeping the grey matter busy. Busy doesn't always equal "superfuntime blog fodder", and so I turn to my fallback.

Formspring questions & cell phone pictures.

You knew it was coming.

Shazam!


Does playing hard to get ever work?

Can't say for sure, as I've never played it. I've BEEN hard to get because I sometimes need convincing, but playing hard to get is for suckas. Unless it works for ya.

It can bite you in the ass, though.

Sometimes two people want to be together, but both play hard to get because they don't want to seem weak. They hope the other person will admit their feelings first. It's a power struggle due to stubbornness and can result in those two people never ending up together. Shame, really

Moral of the story? If you want someone, tell 'em.

What a novel idea!



2010 is almost over. What is one thing you've learned this year?

Aw, hell.

It's no secret that that has been a particularly nasty year for me. Murphy's Law was in effect for most of it. (Y'know... everything that can go wrong will go wrong). You, my dear readers, had to suffer along with me for whichever parts I actually shared on here. Be glad I didn't write about them all.

But what have I learned? Hmm....

I learned that I'm awesome and will never again let people make me believe differently, nor will I let them screw with me again. I learned that being alone has its merits. I learned that change can't be avoided, so ya gotta embrace it. I learned that Daisy will kill any small animal she's permitted to catch. I learned that I have an insane capacity to love, and I'm not ashamed of it. Mock me if you will.

Guess that's more than one thing. So i also learned that I still suck at math. 



Are you in love yet? We're waiting for it.

I'm always in love. Whether with something or someone, it's always there in some way. (No, I don't love "lamp". But I might've had a passing fancy with "ceiling fan".)

Yeah, yeah....I know what you're asking. Oh, the love life questions. I will always get exactly what I'm after, somehow. But these things take time and this roller-coaster ride isn't quite over.

So don't start planning my wedding yet.

Unless ya wanna pay for it.


Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Silent And Cliche, All The Things We Did & Didn't Say

I write emails that I never send.

Sometimes when I'm over-emotional, insanely hurt and angry or just need to get things off my chest, I write an email to whoever might be involved in that particular scenario.

In my many different email accounts, I have draft upon draft of saved, unsent messages.



There are some to boyfriends, exes, old friends... even one to the father of an ex when I was worried that his son was drinking himself to death after our breakup. I was right to worry. Wonder what would've happened if I sent that one.

I keep them to myself for many reasons. It's tough to realize that you can't save people from themselves, or keep them from hurting you. They don't want your help. I doubt I'll ever learn when to turn my back on those who meant something to me, no matter how much they may have put me through. In hindsight, I'm quite naive in that respect; some of these people no longer matter to me in the slightest.

Maybe there's a saved email addressed to you.

Maybe you'll never know how I really feel, or how your actions affected me. How I cried until I couldn't see the words I was typing, or smiled while writing sweet words I would never send.

Maybe it really doesn't matter.

Reading them now often makes me sad. Even the happier ones. Pointless to wonder how they would've been received, and much too late to find out.

So they sit.

And they wait for me to read and remember what you'll never, ever know.




Sunday, November 7, 2010

All Your Life You've Never Seen A Woman Taken By The Wind


Meanwhile, back at the ranch... I mean Niagara....

I'm happy to report that Daisy did not forget me at all. In fact, it took quite awhile to calm her down after I walked in the door. I wish more people would get that excited to see me. You got that? Yeah, I'm talkin' to you.

Just try not to pee on the floor.



From here, I've continued my Toronto apartment hunt. This means that people in my house can hear frustrated expletives coming out of my bedroom at random times.

Are you tired of me talking about apartment hunting? Yeah, me too.

Better hope I find one fast before I lose all my readers to boredom. Am I too late?



On a very off-topic note, I received an email from a girl who follows my blog, and all she typed was "What are you looking for in a boyfriend?".

Considering it's been awhile since I've blogged about dating or boys or relationshippy crap in general, you'd be surprised how often I get random emails and messages asking me what I want in a dude. I don't know if you're all matchmakers or you're just generally curious... but I've gotten in-depth on the subject already: Here and here.

But if you want the short version?

All I really want is to be crazy for a guy who is crazy for me.

Simple. Tell your friends and neighbours. Surely they're all dying to know.

.... bah, maybe not.

Friday, November 5, 2010

Then You Said The Emotions Are Dead, It's No Wonder That You Feel So Strange


Tomorrow I head back to Niagara.

Two-week stint done.

If Daisy has forgotten who I am, I'll cry. I mean it. I'm really good at crying, I listed it as a skill on my resume under "putting my legs behind my head and racing around on my ass" and "swearing inappropriately during conversations of a serious and subdued nature."




Some of my St. Catharines folks have asked me what I've been up to while here. And if I was happy.

Let's see here...



I've hung out with some friends. I've eaten poutine. I've gone to The Rhino more than once (surprised? anyone?). I've sat in this basement apartment contemplating stuff 'n junk. I've walked and played with Daisy's old boyfriend/my old JRT son. I've made microwave dinners on the stove. I've walked a whole friggin' lot. I've stressed and worried. I've used Arcade Fire's "Suburbs" album as my soundtrack during this stay, because every word of it seems to ring true to me.

I...y'know.... worked.




I should also mention that I've looked for apartments. This has proved insanely difficult since, yet again, no one accepts dogs.

Come on now.

Daisy is quieter and nicer than I am. She also drinks less and hasn't adopted my keen knack for whining.

So smarten up, landlords. We're awesometastic tenants.


So what happens next, you may ask?

I can't be entirely sure. I think I'll be right back in the good ol' Big Smoke.

But for all I know, I may just be left to exist in my hometown.

I dunno. I'm not psychic, man.


All I have is tonight.

And it had better consist of more than sitting on my laptop eating Pizza Pops and packing up two weeks worth of clothes.

It's been a slice, Toronto. I'll surely be back in just a few.

(But do me a favour and make a perfect apartment available for me and my li'l bitch, ok? Thanks.)

With that, I say goodbye.

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

Sometimes I Can't Believe It, I'm Moving Past The Feelin'

Second week of my two-week stint in Toronto.

Am I back for good? Am I not?

Nothing is for sure just yet.  The feeling is not unlike being blindfolded and spun around.

Dizzying, kinda exciting, yet slight nauseating. 

Needless to say, I've been preparing for either outcome. Apartment hunting like crazy and coming up without many options. People often suggest I look for a roommate, and I've tried. No one's situation really welcomes mine. They don't want Daisy. They don't allow meat in the house. They don't like semi-cool chicks name Kris who randomly yell phrases in Spanish ("Verde estas buenos!!!").

But I'm ok with that. I'd much prefer to be alone.


Forget my online self. Forget my blog that gives you a wonky li'l glimpse of my life, forget every social media outlet and the bullshit I may spew on it. In true reality, I'm a pretty private person. I like my own space, my own things, my own life. 

I like being alone.

I want to be alone.

(Except, of course, when I'm in love. Time spent with a significant other falls into my personal existence. Why do you think I'm so damn picky these days? )

So my posts have lacked much substance because I'm too busy planning my life. Actually, my life has been planning me. Controlling sonofabitch that it is. 

Here's hopin' I become better at decision-making and something solidifies shortly so I can go back to being awesome with some semblance of routine and kick-assery.

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