The Luck of the Irish!!!

So, I'm in love.

Legitimately, wholeheartedly and with all the power I can muster!

I saw him today for the first time in months. My heart skipped a beat and my stomach dropped to the floor. I think I may have started to blush. My pulse raced and I saw my future flash before my eyes.


Like Shakespeare would say "All's Well that Ends Well"

God, I can't stop thinking about him.

It's kind of platonic love, though. Like he's only sexy because he's just such an amazing person but not in a way that turns me on. I want to just spend my life in his presence. That would be enough. I could even get married and have kids with another guy so long as he's going to be around.

He won't be though so I'll just have to accept that.

But his name is Stephen Crawford and I want him to follow me!

By the way, this is how I feel.

Eggs

I'm trying to finish an essay. And as weird as this may sound, I keep imaging myself chasing after the essay, who is running around in a forest somewhere with its pants off and cackling at the top of its lungs. 

I'm not sure why. Sometimes I just get these thoughts in my head and for the most part they're pretty amusing.

I guess it's because I'm having such a hard time writing the conclusion that I picture a stack of paper, just out of reach, scampering through the woods like a raving lunatic. But maybe the essay is metaphor for me, considering how I've been feeling a little like a psych-ward patient lately.

People can only go through so much before they start to crack. I'm that egg you're hard-boiling that's starting to ooze icky white stuff.

 

My luck might be changing though. This morning I woke up, thought I'd lost a library book and then the email I got from the school library saying the book I'd put on hold (the one I thought I'd lost) is now available for me to pick up. I know it's small and kind of irrelevant now that I've chosen a different play to read but it feels nice that something good has happened.

But the pressure is on now and I've got basically 2 weeks to figure everything out.

I hope my bitchy blog fest is over. I hope the next time we talk/you read/I write I'll have something great to tell you!

Donaudampfschiffahrtsgesellschaftskapitän

I've decided I'm not going to buy a lottery ticket. The day a Guelph Townie wins something in Tim Hortons' Roll Up the Rim to Win contest is the day I crawl into bed (or in my case, the couch) with head phones on, two or three episodes of Lost loading and a cup of steaming hot sympathy clutched between my hands.

The stream of bad luck seems to just keep on giving.

But you know what's great? Everyone in the movie Alexander having an Irish accent. Nothing says authentic movie about the Greeks like one with horrible Irish accents.


Thank you Oliver Stone for turning this day around. It may be a bad movie, it may have Colin Farrel in it but I feel a lot happier just knowing that something like this exists.

I'm done blogging now. I'm very tired......if I wasn't slamming down on the space bar so hard this entire blog would be one big word.

Kinda like German.

"Some German words are so long that they have a perspective."

4 8 15 16 23 42

So I've been sick for about 2 weeks;I had a fever today and a horrible headache; got a prescription from my doctor for an antibiotic I have to take twice a day for the next ten and slipped on some ice and scraped my knee.

Tell me, please, has the bad luck run out yet?

Because I'm getting a little tired of feeling this way.

Don't get me wrong....that Thursday over-night til Friday morning hospital stay was just how I wanted to spend my time. Please note I'm being sarcastic.

Something awesome just happened though. Well, I thought it happened but I may have gotten excited prematurely. The thing is, I thought the space button on my keyboard had started to function normally again.

It'll be nice when thing like that don't excite me. I need some excitement.


Badly.


I'm going to buy a lottery ticket tomorrow.

It's isn't secret, it's isn't safe....anymore!

Life is a funny thing.

The movement of it is never steady and you bump or glide or trip through it, no matter what you do.

But what's so great about life is those special little moments that you're always preparing for.

Like when you're dating someone and you know that it's love and all you can do for days is go over and over how you're going to tell say "I love you". And until it happens you never know what to expect.

Or like when you're thinking about losing your virginity and all you can think about is how it's going to feel and who it's going to be with. And until it happens you never know what to expect.

Or like when you want to tell your mom you smoke pot but you can never think of the best way to tell her until the day she asks you and you can't find it in yourself to lie. And until that happens you never know what to expect.

Well it just happened. And it was nothing like I expected.

She wasn't mad. She wasn't upset. She was worried about my brain.

She smoked pot. She knows how wonderful it is. She knows that, if anything, it enhances your brain and makes wonderful things happen. So, all I can say is "you've got nothing to worry about, Ma!"

It feels no different between us now. I said I would be careful, left out how much I actually smoke, didn't mention that I'm considering buying a vaporizer and we parted ways amicably.

And now the cat's out of the bag.

A little awkward. Not how I was imaging her finding out. She asked me, you know. And I tried to lie but she saw right through me. So, not gonna try and lie twice!

But the moral of the story is that my relationship with her hasn't changed and she'll probably never ask me about weed again. So I have nothing to fear anymore.

Next step: tell my dad.

OR NOT!

The guy has got himself convinced that he's never touched pot. But I'd like to remind everyone (and him, on the off chance he's reading this) that being a 20-something in 1969 with a fro and bell-bottom jeans makes him the perfect candidate for pot smoking.

                                                    This is him, actually, with his girlfriend Daisy.
                                                          I think all the pot he's denying to 
                                                              have smoked has made him 
                                                                 forget what he looks like....


But I'd still rather he never found out. He's kinda nuts. Obviously.

He'd be more upset than my mom. No doubt about it.

Anyway, peeps, now half of my parents know the truth.


When will you suck it up and tell your parents something secret about yourself? It feels kind of awesome!

LaFou, I'm afraid of been thinking...a dangerous past time, I know!

A while ago, like around the beginning of February, I blogged about being on "the brink of caring about school".

Apparently I'm taking drugs that I don't know about?

Because I'm not on the brink of anything but suspense because I've just restarted watching Season One of Lost. So whatever the hell I was talking about back then, back in Rebecca's-Gone-Koo-Koo Land, please ignore. Because I'd be lying to you if I said school was a priority to me.

OK, sometimes I care. Sometimes I'm like "hey, this isn't so bad" but, maybe, 85% of the time I'm just like "Finish my degree in Theatre in the mid-70s or ACE as a major in Doing Nothing?" You guess which one I'm doing exceptionally well in.

I like theatre and I think I'd like to pursue my 11 year old dream of being a teacher. I don't know why I want to stay in school when I hate it so much but I'm hoping that I can help kids (like me) learn to love something about getting an education.

Just not cut out for this academia thing. I'll take plain ol' living over higher education any day. And don't tell me that it's hypocritical of me because I'm in a higher education situation because, if anything, being at university has made me feel less intelligent.

I've always been good at forming thoughts. Now when I try to read all these dense, boring, dry, mildly-mildly interesting theories on theatre I think there's something wrong with the machine upstairs. I'm not as bad as this

but university has got the rickety ol' wheels of my brain a' turnin' and maybe, just maybe, I'm just not meant to be here.

And now I have "Gaston" from Beauty and the Beast stuck in my head. If you know anything about anything about Disney movies you'd know why I have that song stuck in my head. Look up the lyrics.

I'm going to go now. Lost is waiting.


Puff.

And she's back!!!

Hi.

It's been a while.

Sorry.

Well, surprisingly not much has happened since the last official "here's what's going on in my life" blog.

I suppose I've come to terms with the inevitable but that don't make it any easier knowing that in a few short weeks he'll be gone.

Yes, Chotchy is leaving. And it makes me sick to my stomach.

But on the bright side, as far as I can tell, Aubs is coming back to live with us and Meg is staying! So I guess, like they say, every cloud has a silver lining?

I'm still going to miss Chotch a lot. A lot. Ugh!

But I made a pledge with Kate and Rancho-Relaxo that we'd make the best of the next few weeks and I'm trying my hardest to stick to it!

Having the worst cough in the history of coughs doesn't make it very easy though, lemme just tell you! I've actually bruised my ribs coughing. Who does that? My abdomen muscles hurt. What is that? If it didn't, you know, suck so much to cough I'd say it's helping me get that 6-pack I've always wanted.....





HAHHAHHAHAHAHA. Oh god. I've never wanted a 6-pack. I'd be happy with a 2-pack but even that's asking a lot. I couldn't even get in ONE swim a week this semester. Even with Manu as motivation.

Oh well. I blame it all on the weather. I'm cold-blooded. I've decided. I bet I could get some sort of test done to prove just how cold-blooded I am. Honestly, nothing makes me happier than warmth. And I came up with a theory....



Cold on Cold is Bad but the opposite is Rad!
Cold is the enemy when you are cold but warm is your best friend. Like cold water when you're washing your hands is torture when it's September through 'til March. But warm water is a gift.
And warm is the enemy when you are warm but cold is, obviously, your best friend. Like a hot shower in the middle of the summer is gross but cold (or luke-warm) water is, truly, a gift.

And I'm always cold. And the water I wash my hands in is always cold. And the walls beside my....."bed" (I use the term loosely) are always cold. And therefore my sheets are always cold.
But if I lived in, say....anywhere, really, that has a daily and nightly temperature of anything between 15 and 30...I'd be happy. And not sick.

And able to fulfill that pledge I was talking about.

I'm still having fun. It's just not as.......let's say.......induced....as I'm used to. Actually have not taken my "vitamins" in a long time (stupid, stupid cough) and the last time I drank was St. Paddy's day when I had a fever and no real inclination to party.

I had fun though. Oh, don't get me wrong. St. Paddy's day this year was not as big a bust as last year's....maybe because I just wasn't looking forward to it at all I didn't build it up and then wasn't let down when it turned out to be an OK to Shitty Night?

Although I'm learning things about myself through drinking. Odd, I know. And no, I'm not an alcoholic. I'm just a selfish friend. And no, not in the "I don't want to share, you suck" kind of way. In the "I just want you, my best friends/flat mates, all to myself!" kind of way. I just don't want to share anymore.

See these people?

.........

OK. I was going to photo-shop a picture of the people I want ALL TO MYSELF but it's 3 am, I'm lazy and tired and I figure "who really cares?". The only people who're going to read this, anyway, are Sam, Nadia and possibly Manu. And then if other people read it I might offend them because they're not included in the picture and then I'd have some explaining to do and things would just get weird for everyone.

I think you get it though.

I love my people and I don't want to share. That's that.

And that is that for this post. I hope you enjoyed.

PS: To all the random people who, like, stumbled upon my blog or some shit like that.....Hey, it's nice to meet you!

Tales of Catan

Be Warned: this tale is NOT for the weak of heart.

Once upon a time there were four friends who sailed across the Great Ocean to the mysterious and undiscovered island of Catan. Their dream was to build up great cities and settlements connected to one another by long roads, to farm wheat and sheep and to mine in the ore and stone mountains of Catan. But it did not take long for the four friends to realize that what was most important to their survival, on the island, was the accumulation of resources so they could each build bigger, better and faster. So within months the four friends had split up and had begun building their own settlements along mountain ranges, beside wheat fields and on the edges of forests. Each chose a colour to represent their settlements and the once peaceful, untouched Catan was now dotted with brown, green, orange and red roads, cities and settlements. They sent news to the outside world asking for help and offering good homes, lots of food and water and an endless supply of resources. Not long after that people arrived and chose to help whichever one of the friends they thought was most prosperious and strong. Soon one of the friends had a large army of knights, another had the longest road that touched the most land, another had several cities looming over the island and the fourth had such an abundance of wheat and wood that they could trade and build as much as they desired.
And so Catan was no longer peaceful. It was no longer untained and pure but inhospitable and cold. Several successive droughts destroyed sheep herds and wheat fields, the collapse of a mine in the mountains ended one of the friends' accumulation of stone and ore and soon the friends were no better than bitter enemies.

Then one day, as the sun rose of over the mountain tops, one of the friends hammered the last of his nails into the last and largest of his cities and declared himself ruler of Catan. His army was too strong for anyone to resist, his cities and roads to expansive and wealthy and the three friends dragged their tired legs to his capital on the beach and bowed down to him, prisoners of his will.

For years he ruled successfully and his tyranny went unchallenged. Until the day he died no one dared question his power but in the months after his death Catan exploded into an island of never ending war and crippling devastation. Now it is a waste land of broken roads and burnt down cities....so let this be a lesson to those who wish to sail across the Great Ocean in search of Catan. For you will only find terror and unhappiness on the island that once meant so much to those four, fool-hardy friends.

The End.

There's a glimmer of hope in the form of a BFF

I'm pretty worked up right now because something I didn't expect to really happen is finally making its way into my life. And it's one of the hardest thing I've dealt with in a long time.
Oh, and not to mention I'm really confused about something that is just so indescribably complicated that I can't even make sense of it never mind share it with anyone.
I can just blog vaguely about it. Which I plan to. In very little detail. Giving absolutely no indication whatsoever of what I could be referring to.

I can at least say that I channeled this intense energy into the beginnings of a story and that I'm feeling really productive, if not slightly emotionally drained, 3:55 am-style.

Every once in a while I get overwhelmed by a desire to write and it shouldn't matter what I'm doing or what time it is because if I feel inspired, I feel inspired.

Probably adding to all the other things I'm feeling right now is how unbelievably hungry I am. Lack of real nourishment since Wednesday afternoon is unhealthy. And yet, I'm doing nothing about it.

All I can say is, while this week hasn't been bad it certainly hasn't been good. It's been confusing and tiring and I'm so happy that Nadia is coming to visit for the weekend. I need her.

Goodnight, blog-o-sphere. Thanks for listening.

Big Baboon Bums

You know what I never, ever want to deal with?

Looking like a celebrity. I just can't imagine walking around all day long looking like James McAvoy, for instance. Unless I was actually James McAvoy. Otherwise I would want to totally avoid having any similar facial features to really, really ridiculously good looking superstars.. It just wouldn't be fair, you know? For two reasons:

#1. You've got everything going for you (i.e. good looks) but you're not a celebrity or making the kind of money that the real James or Leonardo DiCaprio or Megan Fox are.

#2. People would be totally crushing on you all the time because you look like some celebrity who, in the game of Who Is Way More Awesome, is way more awesome.

Lately, I've been really focused on looks, haven't I? That thing a while back about Matt Damon (not like it's even, really a thing), the thing about James Franco yesterday and now this thing about James McAvoy. It's only because I keep seeing this guy in the library who looks exactly like him. It's kind of all sorts of great.

But the thing is, I think I've been single long enough now that I'm really only focusing on how a person looks as opposed to their potentially really lame personalities because well...it's fast. Take studious James McAvoy: he's probably nowhere near as nice as I'd like him to be but I'd still really like to talk to him (and definitely love to look at him).

As long as he never has half a goat's body and doesn't try to lull me (literally) into a false sense of security and then betray me to The White Witch, I'm pretty OK with a guy who just looks like a really good looking celebrity.

It sounds unbelievably shallow, I'll admit, but let's be serious: we all judge books by their covers. It's an unavoidable thing about being human. We like to pride ourselves on our ability to see inside a person and like them for who they are and not what they look like but we are all just animals.

And baboons really have no problem shaking their blue bums into the faces of potential mates so why should we? I mean in the end or at least at some point in your relationship with a person you have to be physically attracted to them. So if library-going James McAvoy has a really nice metaphorical bum but he's kind of an all around jerk otherwise I may have to just set aside my pride and let instinct and the will to survive the next few single months take over.

On another, but related, note: Sam doesn't have any celebrity crushes and I don't understand why. In a game of Would You Rather? it's impossible to give him any sweet celebrity situations. I have like 4 or 5 crushes. Am I honestly more of a dude than he is? We've both been single for a while now so what's up? Why doesn't he watch movies with hot celebrities in them just because they have hot celebrities in them? There's nothing wrong with that, I think. Maybe he just wants to be serious-er?

If I was going to get serious about finding a boyfriend I wouldn't be spending all my time crushing on cute movie stars and actually start looking. But only looking, like literally just looking at attractive people is a lot easier than the other kind of looking, like you know? Going out and dating people.

God, it would be great if I looked like a celebrity.

I'm joking.




Only sort of.