Giving Thanks

I’ve written before on this blog that I think it’s very difficult to be happy in the present. Usually people only recognize happiness by looking back over their past. Not that we’re necessarily always unhappy in the present, but it takes a bit of time and reflection to realize that perhaps we should have been more grateful, more content, more satisfied with what we had in the moment.

I think this because I experience it on a daily basis. Very rarely do I just enjoy the present, savour it, relish it and experience the joy that is coursing through my body. Instead, I am always looking to the future or mourning over the way things once were.

But you’d think I’d have learned my lesson to be content with the present, because after all, isn’t the present where I’m supposed to be?

I’m thinking about this because I am about to make another detour in my life’s course. More specifically, I am about to move out from Tammy’s condo in Calgary and into my own basement suite in Cranbrook. And this has gotten me thinking about my life here in Calgary with Tam as my roommate.

Miss Tamara Lee is what made my life in Montreal a fantastic experience. She is one of the reasons I cherish the time I spent at McGill. And even if my hopes and dreams for my degree haven’t panned out, my friendship with her certainly has. We lived together for three years out East and I really truly enjoyed every minute of it.

Well, kind of. Looking back now I realize I did. But at that time, I distinctly remember Tam and I moaning continuously about our lack of boyfriends. We sighed, we whined, we fretted. And we always lamented that our lives would be a trillion times better if only we had boyfriends. Boyfriends to entertain us, boyfriends to get us firewood/ice cream/presents. Boyfriends to take us for dinner. Boyfriends to go for walks up the mountain with. Boyfriends, boyfriends, boyfriends: WHERE ARE YOU?!

I think most single girls of that age are very similar. We all want to be in a couple. However, because both Tam and I had boyfriends for probably only one percent of the time we were together at McGill, we instead leaned on each other. We became “Super Roomies” which involved us making some hilarious, often pathetic but nonetheless endearing memories. From day trips to Ottawa and Quebec City to cross country skiing on the mountain to martini swilling evenings on St. Laurent, we had a ton of fun. I just don’t think we truly realized or appreciated it at the time.

So it was with absolutely no reticence that I took Tam up on her offer to become roommates again last January. I remembered all of our fun times and thought it would be a blast again. And it was.

Well, kind of. See, the thing is, this time around it’s been different. And the difference is, we’re older now and we both have serious boyfriends. Why, even our conversations now are different. Instead of bemoaning the lack of men in our lives, we’re just bemoaning the ignorance and idiocy of the two guys that we got.

But it goes beyond that. We’ve watched perhaps three movies together over the past six months, gone out partying together once, and gone for bellinis twice, a far cry from our “do everything together” mantra that we lived by in Montreal.

But this is to be expected. When Tam wasn’t teaching at night, she was with her boyfriend. When I wasn’t in Crannie with Adders, I was on the phone with him. Boyfriends change lives.

And the thing is, having a boyfriend is as wonderful as I always anticipated it would be (although a GAZILLION times harder too). Boyfriends DO buy you ice cream and presents and fire wood. They do take you for dinner. They do entertain you. And beyond that they are (usually) wonderful and delicious and cuddly.

But what I realize now too is that boyfriends are kind of like having a baby. They take up a LOT OF TIME and they change your life irrevocably. It takes so much energy that I never anticipated maintaining a relationship, especially when you’re the type of girl like me, Tam and Charkins. We invest. And therefore we watch and fret and tend to our investment VERY VERY carefully.

So yes, it was different with Miss Tamara Lee this time around. No longer were our Saturday nights filled with peanut butter M&Ms and “Sex and the City.” No longer did we take an afternoon to go shopping. No longer were we scouting for new restaurants to go try out.

And while I realize that this is nothing to be sad over – hell, we both finally got what we wanted: BOYFRIENDS! – it does make me appreciate all the more the time that we did get to be single and just have each other, our girlfriends, to rely on.

I’m grateful now in a way that I never was before that I didn’t have some guy distracting me while I was in high school because maybe then Char and I wouldn’t have the relationship that we do now. We certainly wouldn’t have all the fantastic memories that we made then.

I’m grateful now that I never had a (serious) boyfriend in university because I wouldn’t then have gotten to experience that special time with Tamara Lee and create all of those special memories with her.

I’m grateful now that I didn’t have a boyfriend right after I graduated because I know how I felt when I first fell in love with Adders and wild horses couldn’t have dragged me away to Europe at that time. So if I had indeed met Adders, would I have still gone away to Europe for five months? Doubtfully. And that makes me so grateful that I was single so that I had no problem with heading off on that amazing adventure with my best friend.

However, I am ready now for the commitment a relationship takes and am so thankful that at last I finally do have a fantastic and special boyfriend. I’m just so happy that he showed up when he was supposed to, not when I him wanted to. Otherwise I would have missed out on my girls.

So Miss Tamara Lee, I just want to say thanks. Not only for putting up with me at my worst these past few months and walking and talking with me for hours about this boyfriend of mine, but thanks for even before that. For being that girlfriend that everyone wants to have in college and for creating with me a friendship that is strong and true, with or without the men in our lives.

As for enjoying the present, I am leaving for Cranbrook today. And I am happy. Right now in this moment, I’m so very happy.

The More You Know

So we can add another disorder/ailment to my mix of many. I think I'm obsessive-compulsive. I don't know this for sure but (a) look at my family history - I've got me some fucked up genes; and (b) I've heard that those who suffer from OCD have this love/compulsion to fill in every list or form that comes their way. That is so me! I mean, I even enjoy filling out my medical chart whenever I drop in at a different walk-in clinic (which is more frequent than any of you realize!). Seriously, the only survey or form I don't like filling in is a job application but that's only because I've filled out fifty frillion in the past 6 months.

The point is, I love filling memes out so here's another one (hope you're not bored to tears).

Accent(s): 100% pure Canadiana. Seriously, I think I have a fairly normal western Canadian accent, although I’ve been told more times than I care to remember that I say the word “iron” oddly. Also, “leg” but c’mon, it’s just funnier the way I say it.

Booze of Choice: Diet Coke, Diet Coke, Diet Coke. Oh, wait. Booze? Err. Well, how about getting me some Diet Coke WITH alcohol? Actually, that’s not true. My favourite alcoholic beverage is a Green Apple cooler followed by about ten more.

Chore I Hate: Dusting. Ugh, ugh and more ugh.

Dog or Cat: Neither. Sigh. [plaintive look at Adders that clearly says, “Please? Pretty please?”]. Another sigh.

Essential Electronics: Although I love me my Mac laptop named Candy Apple and my Canon Powershot digital camera, this question beguiles me. How about essential lipsticks instead? Because that is a question I know the answer to…

Favorite perfume(s)/cologne(s): I think my favourite one was “Her.”

Gold or silver: Silver. Or diamonds. You know how it is.

Hometown: Technically, Calgary, Alberta. Emotionally, Cranbrook, British Columbia. Wishfully, New York, New York.

Insomnia: For what feels like centuries now, I have been a poor sleeper. Once I’m asleep I can usually remain so (unless Adders is in the bed with me and then I’ll wake up fifty frillion times). But actually FALLING asleep is a nightmare.

Job Title(s): Official Representative of The Universe Hates Me Company.

Kids: Zero, thank the merciful heavens.

Living Arrangements: Well, that’s all about to change. Right now I’m still roomies with roommate extraordinaire Miss Tamara Lee. However, I’m about to go at it alone (in 1, count ‘em, ONE day!) (although there will likely be a certain guest that will be at my house frequently. But this guest should always remember that he is just that, a guest, which means that he should clean up after himself and not spray down the bathroom with water when he’s wetting down his hair nor throw his shirts in the drawer in a crumpled heap).

Most Admired Trait: I'm very good at keeping calm. My name means “Peaceful” and it couldn’t be more dead-on. [pause]. HA HA HA. Uhhhh, seriously? Admired trait? Ahhhhh, well, ummmm. I’ve never been in a car accident? Whew, uhhh, I’m good at scrubbing toilets? Gee, ahhh, I’m good at making fun of you? THAT’S IT. There it is. I am fucking good at making fun of you. Preferably behind your back.

Overnight Hospital Stays: Once. With Molly. For almost three weeks. Hell. Pure. Agonizing. Hell. But all the attention was orgasmic!

Phobia: Well, spiders, obviously. And I’m a hypochondriac, so basically my phobia is that I’ll acquire any and all illnesses and die, likely in a very gruesome and dramatic way.

Quote: Ok, this quote has absolutely no bearing on my life, but I think it’s just beautiful and considering that I’ve bitched my ENTIRE LIFE about living in Crannie, but here I am moving back there, I think it is quite appropriate. It can be found on a sign beside the highway as you pull into Radium: “The Mountains Shall Bring Peace to the People.” Awwww. Always makes me long for home.

Religion: Christian. Kind of. I’m like a half a cup of Christian, and another half cynic.

Siblings: One neglectful older brother, one self-righteous equally neglectful second older brother, and one recently acquired sister-in-law.

Time(s) I Wake Up: 6:30 – 7:00am (shudder, shudder). 9:00am if I’m lucky on the weekends.

Unusual Talent/Skill: None. Whatsoever. Nothing. I’m talentless. Unless you count driving standard whilst drinking a Diet Coke, chatting on the cell phone and trying to put a different Celine Dion CD into my car stereo a talent. If so, I’m fucking gifted.

Vegetable I Refuse To Eat: I’ll eat any vegetable. Although for reals? I really, really, REALLY don’t like baked potatoes. Why does everyone make such a big deal about them?

Worst Habit(s): Picking any bump on any piece of any exposed skin on my body.

X-rays: Dental, ultrasounds, foot/ankle. WTF is this question anyway?

Yummiest Food I Make: Hello? Have you tasted my banana cake? It’s pure goodness. I also make tasty chocolate cake. And fantastic chili. And that, my friends, is pretty much it. But I’m cute, so it all works out.

Zodiac Sign: Libra. Did you know that my sign is the only one in the Zodiac that isn’t an animal? Which means I’m special. And hot.

A New Future, A New Fight

So progress is being made. At least, that’s what I’m hoping. No, no – not on the parent front. The little foray into healing that we attempted there seems to have deteriorated rather quickly. No, what I’m actually talking about is things between Adders and me.

I think as relationships go, Adders and I have a rather good one. We genuinely enjoy being with each other (which, I know, seems like a given in any relationship, but it is important nonetheless), we make each other laugh, and, well, he still makes my heart flip flop with just one flash of that smirk (or one goofy email sent to Charkins). I love him and he loves me.

BUT. We have not had a good past 10 months. And this would be because of me. Obviously all of the stress that has been taking place in my life has taken its toll in our relationship. Sure, relationships do change (wow, could I say the word relationship any more times?), and it would be naïve to think that regardless if any of this “other” stuff hadn’t taken place, we’d still be in the lovey dovey spot we were last summer. But still, as Addy and I are fond of saying, as a couple we’ve been merely existing or even clawing to exist, since I left for Vancouver last September. In no way have we really moved forward.

But that’s fine. We had a TON of shit to go through. And in many ways, it was perhaps better for us to go through what we have. We’re definitely stronger as a couple, more trusting, more intimate and more knowing of whom one other is, warts and all. And I’d rather have all my illusions be stripped away now, than have to do this later on in life. In fact, it’s kind of a reassuring to go through hell with a person and then come through on the other side and look over at them and say, “Wow, I DO still like you!”

But I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that half of our battle this past year was with me and my own insecurities rather than just the issues with my mother. For a while there this past winter and spring, I was breaking down every single weekend. I was constantly accusing Adders of not loving me enough, not doing enough, not caring enough, not being there enough. I felt like I was bleeding to death and he wasn’t giving me a large enough transfusion. Weird metaphor, I know, but oh so true.

And indeed the truth was that he couldn’t do enough. There was no end to my needs and wants and desires and desperateness. So every weekend was fraught with this, my clinging on to him and my double life in Cranbrook with every inch of my being. I mean, looking back now I can scarcely believe that I joyfully, happily, willingly got up at 4:00am just so I could spend a few more extra hours at his side.

I don’t want you to think it was all bad. Because it wasn’t. We wouldn’t still be together now if we also didn’t have a lot of fun on those weekends too. But many times it was unbearable and it seemed that our never-ending fights just revolved around the same re-occurring theme of me screaming: why don’t you love me enough?

And then suddenly things changed. At the beginning of June, Adam forced my hand (which is really the only thing that can be done with me these days), we found an apartment and plans were set for me to move back to Crannie.

And now everything in our relationship has shifted. Suddenly we’ve become filled with new hope, new promise, new potential. We finally feel like we’re moving somewhere, moving forward, building a future. And I am so excited to finally be here. Right here. In fact, I have waited my whole life to be at this moment, to have found someone I love and who I want to share my life with and to begin this wonderful journey of building our very own story.

Adders and I’ve talked about this, more or less, over the course of the past month, about how joyful we are and how we hope things can FINALLY get back to some semblance of normality. Of course, we’re changed, irrevocably so, but hopefully we’re changed for the better.

All I know is that things feel different. And the proof is in the pudding. Because last night, Addy and I had our first HUGE MAJOR ANGRY SCREAMING BAWLING NAME CALLING fight we’ve had in months and it had NOTHING to do with how much he loves me or anything of that sort. In fact, it really had nothing to do with us.

And while it was a really bad fight, one that I’m still a bit fragile and emotionally bruised from (the same goes for him, I’m sure), I’m also relieved to know that we’ve made it to the other side, that we’ve conquered the mountain that was the past 10 months. I’m so very happy to know that we’re actually capable of fighting about other things other than just us, as ridiculous as that sounds.

I’m also relieved that even though I was still ready to punch him in the face when I hung up the phone, we were able to end the conversation with simple “I love you’s.” And I didn’t even say, “Do you really mean that?” and make him reassure me 22 times.

Because making him say “Yes, I promise, I do love you, for always” 13 times instead of 22 is definitely progress, wouldn’t you say?

Two more sleeps, you guys. I simply can’t wait…

13 Things You'll Never Hear Me Say

1. Do you have it in any colour besides pink?

2. I'm too thin, aren't I? Like, is it just me or do I look sickly? Yeah, I really need to gain some weight. And, oh my God, where has my ass disappeared to?

3. Honestly, Adders? You say "I love you, Courty" way too often. Simmer. I mean, God. Stop being so clingy.

4. Ugh, not another head rub.

5. No, thanks, no bread for me. Yeah, and no cheese either.

6. It's too hot outside.

7. I think I'm going to start getting up an hour earlier every morning. You know, to pray.

8. Maybe there is such a thing as too much Diet Coke.

9. I agree, "Gone With the Wind" is way too long.

10. It would be great to get another zit on my face. I love looking like I'm still going through puberty.

11. I did the speed limit the entire way here.

12. At times I wish my boobs were smaller. I mean, they get in the way so much.

AND...

13. Nahhh, I don't feel like a Quarter Pounder. Let's go to A&W instead.

I Ain't No Tammy Faye

Okay, so flashback two years ago. Charkins and I had just returned from what we affectionately dubbed The C.C. Rainbow Tour, our grueling and sometimes fun but often exhausting trip through Europe (if you aren't musical-movie literate, you probably won't get that we got our trip's funky name from the movie "Evita." Except for the C.C. part, those are just our initials. And the name of the company we had planned on starting. The company that would sell the funky belly rings we designed. And uhhhh, some other stuff. Like, well, ummmmmm, pink stuff. Maybe some yellow and purple stuff too. It's not too hard to figure out why our company C.C. -which used hearts instead of periods in between the initials, very clever, we know - never got off the ground). Anyhow, so yes, two years ago Charkins and I went traveling in Europe.

We left Canada at the end of January during a cold spell that was so frigid that with the wind chill, temperatures reached -40 degrees Celsius. We arrived in London, England to temperatures not that different. However, because we were planning on staying abroad for five months, we knew that we had to pack for both hot and cold weather.

So where am I going with this? Namely, that Charkins and I packed A LOT of shit into our REI rolling backpacks (BTW, if I have ever made a genius purchase in my life of many, many, MANY purchases, it was that backpack. Luckily, Charkins and I refused to listen to my brothers and instead listened to our lazy selves and bought the backpacks with wheels with the option to transfer into a pack (which we did all of twice) (wheels, we thank thee) (metros throughout Europe, we despise you) (oh, and ALL MEN IN EUROPE, WE ARE YOUR SWORN ENEMIES. HOW ABOUT HELPING TWO GIRLS WITH THEIR GODDAMN BAGS DOWN THE FLIGHT OF A ZILLION STAIRS, HMMM? MAYBE? WE WOULD HAVE SAID THANK YOU IN OUR CUTE CANADIAN ACCENTS. GOD, YOU EUROPEAN MEN SUCK. GIVE ME A HOCKEY LOVING CANADIAN REDNECK WHO HELPS GIRLS WITH BAGS ANY FUCKING DAY)).

***whew***

Right. Back to the story (again). So, Charkins. Me. Europe. Heavy, packed bags. But the difference between Charkins' and my bag was that while my bag contained about 50 pounds of makeup and 2 pounds of clothes, Char's backpack held 2 pounds of her own makeup AND clothes, and 50 pounds of my clothes and miscellaneous shared things (awwww, Charry! Remember our little hot water heater? The one we bought in, was it Malaga? And then it didn't work in half of the outlets in Europe? And I had a hissy fit in Florence over it? Good times, babe, good times!). See, I packed a ton of shit. Which isn't all that surprising if you know me. I mean, I've been moving back to Crannie for a good few weeks now and I STILL haven't transferred all of my stuff over. Anyhow, half of the stuff I brought to Europe was "pretty" but unecessary stuff - perfume (????), makeup, more makeup, oodles of tampons, and makeup. Oh, and black high heels. And nylons. And maybe a bit more makeup. And even some back-up makeup. Plus, hair products. Lots and lots of hair products, and maybe I even stopped to buy some more in Madrid because I was scared I'd run out.

But here's what's ironic. For the first half of the trip, I actually used all of this shit (well, except the black high heels, which I used exactly one time on Valentine's Day in Seville when Char and I got wonderfully drunk off some delicious sangria and went to a flamenco performance all gussied up). Each day, even if we had a goddamn train to catch, Char and I BOTH would dutifully shower, do our hair, put on makeup, including MASCARA AND EYE SHADOW, and then put on the same sweatpant outfit that hadn't been washed in roughly 19 days.

Looking back now, and even gazing through my pictures, I'm all, "WTF? Who? Why? And most importantly, how?" Like, why did we go through this process of beautifying ourselves each and every day when we knew no one and were completely anonymous? And besides, didn't we realize that once we put on our grungy, dirty clothes everyone thought we smelled and looked hideous anyways? And lastly, how in God's name did we even muster up the energy to do it every day? Like, trust me when I say that Europe was exhausting. Seriously, it is absolutely draining to take an eight hour bus ride with weird, bizarre people through a snow storm and arrive in another city in the pouring rain where you don't speak the language on a Friday night of a busy long weekend and when one of you is already prejudiced against this city and oh my God all the hostels and hotels are full and we are going to have to sleep INSIDE our backpacks on the street corner but that is not an option because OUR BAGS WEIGH TEN BILLION POUNDS SINCE THEY ARE FULL OF THE MAKEUP THAT WE CAREFULLY APPLIED THIS MORNING!

So it just blows my mind that we did this each and every day. And I have proof! Pictures! With us wearing eye shadow! EYE SHADOW! Now, to be fair, it was clear from the get go that everyone in Spain hated us. HATED. US. In one restaurant the waiter asked me if I would like jam with my toast. To which I quickly replied, "OH MY GOD, I LOVE YOU. I'LL HAVE YOUR BABIES JUST BRING ME SOME STRAWBERRY JAM." To which he promptly served me a slice of toast. Aaaaand some uncooked thinly sliced Ham. So the fact that Charkins and I tried to look presentable and pretty each and every day was just our way of trying to get those fucking Spaniards to like us.*

*Note: It did not work. They hated us. Despised us. And got back at us through their food. And their complete insolence in refusing to understand any word we said, whether it be in English or Spanish. But we hated them too. Which is why when any one says a derogatory thing about the French and their supposed arrogance, I just sniff and say, "Well, you OBVIOUSLY haven't traveled to Spain, you ignorant fool."

But part of me isn't all that shocked that Charkins and I applied full-on makeup each day. I mean, if you had looked at my previous track record in university, you would have seen this coming. While everyone else in my English classes at McGill showed up to class looking like they just rolled out of bed, I would always arrive with makeup. ALWAYS. Even if I had been up all night studying for a final. Never did I wear sweat pants to class. EVER. And rarely did I even wear my glasses. So it's not that surprising that Char and I tried to carry on this same allegiance to looking "presentable" while we were in a land of mean strangers.

But finally our senses kicked in, or maybe it was just the exhaustion of it all. Or maybe it was because things soon became hopeless - we were gaining weight (which to this day, I still don't understand how. I mean, granted we were eating about 4 pounds of chocolate per day EACH and our diet did consist 99.9% of white bread and cheese with maybe a yogurt thrown in when we were feeling a little flush in the wallet. But still, the stress people! And the dragging of HEAVY bags! And the tantrums! And the touring, oh God the touring of all those ruins and churches and wow, let's just go back to our hotel room and sleep because this is boring, no? All of this should have combated what we ate. But no, instead we got fat). Plus, our skin was a mess (I guess I should count myself lucky. Stress gives some people cancer; isntead, it just gives me the skin of a 14 year old). And my hair had lost any of the shiny brunette luster it had once possessed and was now the colour of "meh" with highlights of "ugh." So by the time we made it to Greece, we had lost the will to make ourselves pretty. By the time we arrived in Italy, we had lost the will to barely cleanse ourselves (and let me tell you, this was an ENORMOUS feat for me to convince Charkins that she wouldn't spontaneously combust if she didn't shower twice a day). And by the time my mother and Grams flew in and met us in Germany, well, let's just say that when they pranced around in NEW CLEAN TRAVELING CLOTHES AND FULL-ON MAKEUP, it made our eyes twitch.

However, once back from Europe, after I shed the weight and redyed my hair blonde (which, OH GOD, is life ever better as a blonde, baby!) and bought some new summer dresses, I was feeling back to normal and going back to my makeup every day habit. Because when you look coiffed, you feel good.

Which is perhaps one of the reasons that I have been so depressed since January. Because people? I just don't care anymore. I've gained weight. Don't lie, I know I have. I have cellulite now. Trust me on this. But the biggest thing is? I wear mascara maybe twice, tops THREE, times a week now. Seriously. My glasses are my closest friend. And as for dressing myself, I don't even care! Like, I will wear anything to avoid having to wear something that requires me shaving my legs. When did I get this lazy and apathetic? And more, importantly, how did I get like this? The answer is: I don't know (although I think being stuck in two useless lame-ass jobs where no one even notices you while doing long-distance with the boyfriend has something to do with it). All I know is that those extra 15 minutes of sleep in the morning make this no makeup/no contacts/hair in pony tail/wear what's ever on the floor/shower twice a week thing TOTALLY worth it.

Well, it does when I'm able to shake the feeling that I look like an ugly used up whore.

Boredom: Can It Be Your Friend?

No, I'm not dead. I'm just lazy. You know when you get so bored, you become almost lethargic and don't feel like doing anything? That is what this job does to me. You'd think I would blog on a daily basis because, hello, it's something to do while I'm chained to this desk for 7 hours a day. But nope. That's simply too much work. Instead, I prefer to drink Diet Coke after Diet Coke interspersed with frequent pee breaks, staring out the window, sighing and writing extremely whiny emails to Charkins. The thrill that is my life. Can't you just feel the excitment?

Which makes me wonder - is this just what working is about? Is it supposed to be this mind-numbingly painful and boring? Unlike my previous place of employment (quick shout-out: FUCK YOU, COCKSUCKERS!), my present job actually requires that I do work (fancy that!). The problem is that the work is equivalent to watching paint dry or being forced to view an episode of "The Red Green Show" - there are no words to describe the agony that results. All I know is that I hope the rest of my life isn't spent at jobs like this, jobs that make me want to weep with misery and that slowly suck the lifeblood out of my veins.

I know, I know. I shouldn't complain. There are worse jobs. I could be a denturist, which would involve working with my hands, making piddly things, which would then result in me constructing a horrifying object that doesn't even remotely resemble a set of teeth, which would then result in a law suit when said object paralyzes a patient's mouth, which would then result in me being unemployed and broke.

Or I could be a psychology professor. Which would involve me speaking in public ON A DAILY BASIS, which would then result in me speaking faster than the speed of sound, shaking like a leaf and flapping my arms around, which would then result in my class snickering at me, which would then involve me crying in front of them, which would then involve general horror and humiliation for the entire universe.

Or I could be an employee at RBC. Which would involve, well, actually that job seems rather good. In fact, it seems to me that basically all this job involves is writing emails saying, "Ooooh, I'm so important and busy" but really eating wonton soup every day and going for facials with co-workers. Also, frequent pizza lunches. And co-workers who are as pretty as moi. Yeah, that's right, Charkins. I think you got it made in the shade with lemonade what with your food, and more food, and nice friends, and your "cheque-writing." Cha!

You know what's funny, though? Remember when I was all, "Maybe I should become a doctor?" And now, like 8 months later, I'm too lazy to even change my underwear, muchless pick up a book? Riiiight. That was craziness. That was me not living in reality. That was me being like my mother. Besides, let's not forget that I hate (a) blood; (b) humanity; (c) humanity's blood; (d) helping humanity and its blood.

I don't hate kittens though. I'd really like a kitten. And Charkins thinks I should get one. Why? Because folks I am striking out on my own. Yes, I'm moving. Back to Cranhole actually. All because Adders finally stuck a gun to my head and say, "Either you move back here or I'll kill you the next time you have a meltdown." So basically, what choice did I have?

I'm moving in to this great basement suite. Well, I hope it's great, I actually haven't seen it yet (it's all on your shoulders, Addy...). But I'm really excited; well, you know, besides the fact that I'm going to have to turn tricks in order to cover rent each month (but hey, at least I'll have something to keep me entertained when Adders goes hunting).

But yes, I am returning to my hometown, something I never thought in a ca-za-tra-million years that I'd ever do. DO YOU UNDERSTAND HOW MUCH I LOVE YOU, ADAM PETER MAGRO? HUH? DO YOU???!!!!

Adders and I are hoping that despite the fact that my move will result in me being closer to the epicentre of all that is stressful and insane in my life right now (read: my mother), it will nevertheless improve my general well-being overall. That's what we're hoping. Frankly, I have my doubts and think that the focus of my meltdowns will simply change from "Why don't you love me?!" and "I'm leaving, I hate you, but I love you and I don't want to leave and why aren't you stopping me?" and "Why don't you love me?" to "Oh, my God, why don't you EVER pick up your pants?" and "For God's sake, turn off the tap while you're brushing your teeth" and "Wow, are those dishes going to wash themselves?" and "Whaddya mean you're not spending the night here tonight? What do you mean you want a break from me? How dare you! I am sooooo NOT like Monica from Friends!" But hey, let's be optimistic, shall we?!

Anyhow, the deal is that I'm moving back on June 29 (come faster, June 29th! Faster, I say!) and will likely be working at the law firm I was the receptionist at for my summers in between university terms. Which means that my job boredom shows no signs of waning.

How do people get jobs they love? How? I mean, I did everything right, no? I went to a fantastic university, studied my ass off and yet here I am at 24 going back to be a goddamned receptionist. Universe, I hate you. Hate you so very much.

Wow, do you realize that there is absolutely no rhyme or reason to anything in this entry? Like, there is simply NO POINT to what I'm writing. Basically I'm just trying to whittle the minutes down to 4:30pm when I can leave and head off to my slaughter at my Grandma's (wherein she and Naron* will give me their two cents on what I should be doing with my life. Looking forward to that, because God only knows how much I want my family's opinion on my life choices at this point).

*Naron is the equivalent to Bennifer for my bro & his wife. But ya'll probably got that without me having to explain. I'm just pedantic that way.

Actually, I am entering into a complete week of suckage. For not only do I have to go to this completely painful dinner tonight, but this weekend, I am also meeting with:

(Cue scary music. I'd prefer the Darth Vader music from Star Wars. But if not, any general scary music will do. Should be truly frightening though. Ominous too).

MY MOTHER!!!!!

AAAAAAUUUGH! I know! Scary, huh? It's taking place on Saturday. And since ya'll know the whole long sob story that has gotten us to this point, I won't bother repeating it. Let's just say that a meeting is taking place, I'm the one who arranged it, and I am quite possibly the BIGGEST PERSON IN THE UNIVERSE (I mean that figuratively. As in, I'm the bigger person in this relationship. Did you get that? Or was the metaphor too vague? Can I even consider that to be a metaphor? I have to pee).

I am not looking forward to this meeting but at best I will leave having a new relationship with my mom, a relationship with new boundaries and new respect. At worst, I will leave with one helluva story to blog about. See? I can be optimistic, finding the bright side in all situations!

But the week of suckage doesn't stop there. Oh, no. That's because I have TWO job interviews this weekend, and like the majority of the world's population, I despise job interviews. It doesn't help matters that I have been to 275,390 of them since January of this year. But whatever, I'm a trooper.

So yeah, that's all my news. I was also going to post about how I'm supposed to be saving money and yet I can't seem to stop buying things and I realize now that I have a big bad problem which is going to become a MONSTROUS problem when I'm making next to nothing this summer and having to pay New York City-like rent for my apartment. But, fuck, I did need the eye cream I bought today. And since I'm allergic to my mascara, I needed a new one of that too. And ok, so maybe I didn't need the new People magazine. But as the former-official-number-one-Brad-Pitt-fan-on-planet-earth I felt somewhat compelled to pick up this week's issue. I know, I'm bad, Addy. No need to yell at me. And I swear, the spending stops here. As in right after I buy some pretty things for my new apartment!

Oh, look! It's 4:20pm. If I go drag out my pee break, it'll be time to go. Well, kids, I'll write again soon. It's been a dream.

Save Us, Blair Witch!

You know what I’m not very good at? Coming up with topics to write about on this blog. And suggestions don’t help either because as soon as I hear one, I feel all this self-inflicted pressure. Bleh. Point is, I realize that I haven’t written on here in ages and while I wish I could say it’s because I’ve been so busy at my new job, that would be a bull-faced lie. And I’m not a liar. Unless I’m over-exaggerating a story to make it more interesting. Which really makes me not so much a liar but instead a fucking good story-teller! Which I’m not. Hmmm, a quandary. Anyhow, so yeah, work is not what has kept me away (as Adders once said, how do I get these jobs that require me to do absolutely nothing besides sit at my desk, pick lint off my clothing and refresh People.com fifty trillion times a day? And the answer is, I fucking don’t know but if I did, I would stop the source immediately because OH GOD THE BOREDOM). And while part of it has been the stress (Lordy, Lordy, the stress. But that’s okay because things are about to change. For the better. Starting Friday. Unless, of course, it’s horrific news and then things will change for the worse and I might throw myself into a fast-flowing river and Adders will have to jump in and save me and then we’ll be even more stressed out and OH GOD, HAPPY THOUGHTS! That’s what I need right now. Well, that and my period), it’s mostly because I have had no idea what to write about.

I mean, over the past few weeks, I would have loved nothing more than to post an entry filled with me whining and complaining about my current ongoing journey through hell but (a) you’re all sick to death of hearing about it, and (b) well, I said in my last posting that I would try and be grateful for the good stuff in my life, rather than constantly focusing on the shitty aspects. But that new leaf? I wasn’t so much able to turn it, but at least I’ve refrained from letting the world wide web know that.

So that left me with basically nothing to write about. Because as great as the story is of me being stalked by the Kwokman and Tamara Lee hoping and praying that I’d bear his Kwoklings (how the hell do you spell that?), that story is much better told in person where you can get an exact visual of the size of his head by watching me spread my arms as wide as they’ll go.

So yeah, I was left with nothing to write about. Until two things happened:
Brad Pitt had a baby girl and gave her the ugliest moniker in the history of the universe (and yes, Adders, it is a trillion times worse than Apple. It is too! It is! Shut up).
Adders and I went camping! The night after watching “The Blair Witch Project” for the first time! And I almost got eaten by a coyote! And the lake was the creepiest body of water I have ever spent time near! And there were horses! And drunken festivities! Oh, and a minor (okay, okay, make that MAJOR) meltdown on my part!

So as you can see there is FINALLY something worthy to be discussed other than me just saying, “I hate my life. I’m scared I’m pregnant. Have I mentioned that my mother has crumpled up my heart into tiny shreds of little heartness? I’m lonely. I’m heartsick. I hate long distance relationships. FEEL SORRY FOR ME!” At last there are stories to be told and baby names to be discussed (because if you want to know a not-so-secret Courtney-ism about me, it’s that I am and always have been obsessed with baby names. Not so much adult names because I will immediately forget yours if I just met you two seconds ago. But I am so curious about the process of how one picks out their child’s name. Not that I want to be doing that until a MAMMOTH amount of time from RIGHT NOW has passed).

So first things first: The Pitt-Jolie Spawn. Her name? Shiloh Nouvel Jolie-Pitt. First of all, I hate double last names. Yeah, it might be sexist, and yes, I understand that those first two kids were Jolie’s first so it made sense for them to have her last name, but people, for reals. Just get one last name and be done with it. I mean, I too would rather have the last name Jolie over Pitt (except being from Cranbrook, everyone would then assume that I’m related to the Jolie family that resides there and considering they are a white-trash, trailer-residing, McDonald’s stealing, 24 kids producing bunch of redneck weirdos, maybe I’d stick with Pitt afterall) but still. Sheesh.

But it’s not the last name that really irks me. Even the middle name Nouvel, while exceedingly pretentious considering that I doubt Brad nor Angelina speak any French, is somewhat okay. But Shiloh? Why? Why do they hate their baby? Shiloh is the name of a hotel. Cheap, ugly, Motel 8 style hotel chain to be exact. Furthermore, since when are Brad or Angelina Jewish (Shiloh apparently means “Peaceful One” in Hebrew). Blech. But most importantly, it’s just an ugly name. Period. Maybe I think that because I knew a Shilo back at that prison-camp (i.e. Pentecostal private school) I attended and she not only acted like Satan but looked like him as well, but still – DO NOT LIKE THAT NAME.

Grapefruit or Blueberry would have been better. ‘Nuff said.

Now for the camping trip. Oh, the camping trip – what fun and horror all at the same bloody time.

So here’s the deal: last Saturday, Addicus and I were desperate to get out of town and considering we had just bought a new tent (and by we, I clearly mean he paid for it and I complained about it’s lack of space and that it wasn’t pink in colour), we thought it would be fun to go use it at this little lake we had discovered near Koocanusa while out dirt biking a few weeks ago.

After stops at the grocery store (good decision) and liquor store (bad, BAD decision), we headed on our merry way. We were a mite concerned that it would rain but the sun was still shining and we are hardy East Kootenay folks – the wilderness is our element!

Our last stop was at the trailer at Koocanusa. Where Courty promptly loaded anything and everything we could possibly ever need on an overnight camping trip into the back of the truck. Aluminum boat: check. Motor: check. Folding chairs: check. Mammoth table: check. Kitchen sink: check, check and check.
Then what seemed like a trillion hours later we finally arrived at the camp spot and it was lovely. We chose the more secluded spot because (a) hello?! If you’ve ever been camping with Charkins and me you know that it’s all about concealment. If we could camp with an enormous invisibility cloak, that would be ideal. (b) It WAS prettier down there (the lake slowly forms a wide slow moving creek (where we camped) and then narrows into a faster moving river/creek. So it was nice because we could hear a little water fall and this made a terrific substitute for my much-needed white noise to help me sleep.

Problem was, as soon as we set up the tent, we noticed the most atrocious smelling scent in the air. I can’t even explain – it was disgusting. Somehow the creek had managed to produce this green slime/sledge that had built up on the opposite bank and OH GOD it was gross.

But the tent was already up, the vodka had already been broken into and besides, as Charkins well knows, one is willing to forego absolutely anything in order to not sacrifice precious seclusion. So we made do with the smelliness.

It was after we had settled in and unpacked that Adders began to comment on all the deer. And then commented some more. He kept commenting until I was ready to take the ax and club him over the head with it. I mean, yeah great, there are lots of deer splashing around in the water two feet from our tent, but wow?! Are you from Alberta? You’d think he doesn’t kill these animals on a regular basis, much less SEE them.

To distract Adders (“Look there’s another one! And another! Holy shit, I’ve now counted 24 deer! This is insane! And I’m never going to stop talking about it. Ever”), we decided to go fishing on the lake. Now, let me explain. The lake where we were camping? It’s called FISH LAKE. So obviously a person would assume that, like almost every other body of water that can be found in the Kootenays, it must contain fish. I mean, its name practically guarantees it.

Problem is, the “lake” didn’t ever get any deeper than calf-high and the only living specimen it contained was green slime and raunchy smells. No fish. Not one. Nothing. Of course, this didn’t stop Adders and me from making a few half-hearted casts with our rods, even though God only knows what disease we’d catch from actually eating anything that came out of the water.

While we were fishing, we noticed that the trappers cabin halfway around the lake seemed to be occupied. Which, fine. Glad we chose the more secluded spot. But it was then that the 23 dogs that the people brought out started barking. And never stopped. In fact, they may still be barking at this very moment.

Sigh. So we headed back to our camp spot, and while Adders did what boys do while camping (you know what I mean, they just meander. They never sit still. They’re tying something or fiddling with another thing or climbing here, there and everywhere), I cozied up to the fire with my Cosmo magazine (because I’m a Fun! Fearless! Female! Yea for me!). Just as I was reading about how to “Pleasure my man ALL over because who cares about your own sexual satisfaction, it’s all about him. It’s ALWAYS about him, thank you for liberating us so, Cosmo, suddenly I heard a crash! bang! boom! And suddenly a deer across the narrow stream from us SWAN-DIVED head first into the water, no word of a lie. While I sat there absolutely flabbergasted because hello? Am I interfering? Sorry, I didn’t know this is where white-tail deer practice for the Olympic Summer Games diving competition, I noticed that a coyote was right on its heels, but had stopped at the edge of the water. Well, no way in hell was that deer getting out of the water now, so it swam down the stream with the coyote following it by the shoreline. It was at this moment that I looked over at Adam, who’s eyes were as bug-eyed as I’m sure mine were, and bee-tailed it over to his protective arms. What?!!! Those arms would totally defend me from coyotes! Besides, Adders is a tough (sexy) (masculine) (rrrrrowwww) wilderness boy, even without his gun to help out!

Anyway, Addy then wonders why I am now FREAKED out and I start shrieking about the coyote, so now Add wants to go chase it and starts going down the shoreline himself. Meanwhile, the pursued deer has managed to swim to the shore and make his getaway, and the coyote, perhaps on catching the scent of us humans, has made himself scarce.

So wow. Near-fatal-coyote-attack, but whatever, let’s have another drink and then go get some firewood.

That’s when two horses show up beside our tent. Yes. You heard correctly. HORSES. Now I’m not so much scared of horses but when they just mysteriously appear and the one is a little TOO friendly, it freaked me out. But I was drunk so instead of acting scared, I just acted really drunk and laughed uncontrollably at the sight of the horses hanging around our campsite.

And then a dog appeared. And wanted its belly rubbed. And then a baby beaver swam its merry way beside us. And then every single deer in the entire province of British Columbia came out for Happy Hour at our campsite (Woohoo, everybody, the green slime sledge is on half price tonight! Who wants a pint?!). And then it started to rain.

Now by this point, Addy and I were already completely smashed and Phase I of Operation Miss Courty Must Have A Breakdown Because Our Weekend Wouldn’t Be Complete If THAT Didn’t Take Place had already occurred. Adders had lost at cards and I had eaten enough M&Ms to ensure that I’ve reached my chocolate quota clear to the end of the year.

So we decided to head to bed. And then it started to rain. And pour. And then Phase II got underway during which Addy silently prayed for the Blair Witch to show up and kill him, because that would be preferable to now calming down an increasingly hysterical Courty.

However, because he is Patience Exemplified, Adders was able to knock some sense into me and soon we passed out. And yet I woke up what felt like 15 minutes later to the scariest animal noises EVER. You could hear the “deer” splashing around in the water, stomping their feet and running through the woods. On top of it all, there was the constant drip of the rain on the tent and this one WILDLY ANNOYING crow who would have to give his two cents on everything throughout the entire night.

Needless to say, I didn’t sleep a wink. Adders? Well, if its loudness was any indication, his snoring was in competition with the downpour outside. And so, the next morning we got up, scarfed down some muffins and hurriedly made our way back to Crannie (we didn’t want to be late! Phase III was about to begin!).

But the ironic part is, that as much suckage as our little trip sounds like, it was actually a lot of fun. And so I was a bit disappointed when Addy said on our way back into town that he just wanted to stay home this weekend and take it easy. “Why? It was just too much work to go camping for one night?” I replied. His answer? “No, I’m just so sick of driving every weekend.”

And to this very day, the ghost of Adders now haunts the highways outside of Cranbrook, serving as an excellent reminder to guys everywhere to not say such stupid insensitive things to their girlfriends who drive EIGHT FUCKING HOURS EVERY WEEKEND TO SEE THEM! Ahem.

The End.

P.S. There are some truly great pictures (and even better videos) of the aforementioned camping trip but since I am posting this from work (see how hard I work? Do you see?), they are alas not here. Perhaps, if ya'll are lucky and I'm not knocked up, I will post them later...

P.P.S. You know, if anyone wants to send some non-pregnant thoughts my way, well, uhhh, I'd appreciate it. Full-scale panic mode is now in effect, which invariably means countless more suffering not just for me, but for you all too. Isn't that a sobering thought?