Friday, May 1, 2009


I just had a great night. Band practice, went really well, I have been popping out songs like a 16th century Christian, and I might not even be accurate about that analogy. What I mean to say is, a lot had been getting done. Progress.

At the same time as progress, I am growing closer to all the band members. Here's a description of each's personality:

Grace (vocals): Awesome, crazy and a little off-the-rocker Romanian soultrain. 
Rose (violin): Still a lot to learn about Rose. So far spunky, determined, and has strange pet peeves, like that clicking noise Snoop Dogg uses in that song.
Rodrigo (guitar): Chill, adorable, amicable. Looks like Jimmy Hendrix.
Eric (bass): Just quit band, but I'll tell you anyways. Cute when you are really hammered, strange when he says more than three words in a row. Shared a bed with Grace and I. Nothing happened, except for Eric asking us if we were still awake over and over at 6 am. 
Betty (drums): Left the band. Can't say I am not happy she is gone, no matter how mean that is. But I can't apologize for simply not being able to stand someone for no particular reason besides her slack drumming skills and eerily resemblant personality to the annoying girlfriend of Andrew, my best friend that I love.


Pierre (composer/keys): Now here is a more pertinent character to discuss. Pierre is the "band leader", because all the songs are his, and the project is his idea and he is directing everything. And he can't seem to let a day pass without us remembering that. I saw my friend John tonight, at the train station, and he came to meet me while I was outside smoking a doob with Rodrigo and Pierre. As soon as John got there, Pierre went all alpha-male and became a huge douche. I can tell he is attracted to me, though he has a wife, but I am not going to get tangled in that situation. Besides that being a horrible idea on its own, I would never get involved with someone like him. He is the kind of guy that is really good at fooling people into believing he is the shit, but I could see through that right away. The thing is though, since I believe this project could take me someowhere great and the music is stellar, I would not back out for that sole reason, I can suck it up. And I look for the positive things about him, and there are many positive qualities, but overall, I see right through him.  And even worse, I cant tell he wants to sleep with me, not that he would, but I can tell he is attracted to me, probably for the sake of his own ego, a conquest. Trust me, I will NOT be conquered by him.

Now that that's out, I have some way more pressing matters to discuss. Andrew and I haven't been in contact for about 2 weeks, maybe a bit more, which is rare. I was getting pissed about it, and I almost caved and called him a few times, but I just told myself he would call me when he wanted to talk to me. 

And that's exactly what he did. He called me today, and I didn't answer. Here is his word-for-word voicemail:
"Hey shithead (for us, a term of endearment)... Just wanted to let you know my phone doesn't work at all anymore, it gave up... on life. Umm.. give me a call back at home if you can tonight... we have lottttssss to talk about... many changes in my life at this point. So I'll talk to you in a bit. Love you. Bye."

So here's the thing. Either he broke up with his girlfriend, or she's pregnant. And I swear to God, if that girl has Andrew's babies instead of me, I WILL need professional help. 

And I also swear that if Andrew's "changes" and many things to talk about aren't something fucking important, I will kill him for leading me on.

So nervous. We played a vicious round of phonetag after that. So hopefully we'll talk tomorrow. The suspense is going to slow time so much!


Wednesday, April 15, 2009


Over the last couple of days, I have been worried about my voice.

If you are a singer, you know what I'm talking about. If not, it is hard to emphasis just how paranoid a singer is about their voice. We become maniacal, obsessive, superstitious, and on-edge every time vocal problems lurk. And when vocal problems are nowhere near us, we are still maniacal, obsessive, and superstitious about those vocal folds.

I just spent about 2 hours googling things from Vocal Strain to Effects of Anti-inflammatory Drugs on Singers. I haven't had voice lessons for about 4 months! Holy shit! Longest time I have gone without them in my life. I have to get back to it!

Just a couple of problems: 1. The only teacher I trust teaches classical and that's not what I need right now.
2. I have no money.

But I am in dire need of some direction. After singing for so many hours last week, tired to body's end, after months of minimum singing (and any other activity), I let my voice slip to the point of "unsupported". Thanks to my improper technique, I have spent two days drinking water like a camel in a desert, barely talking, trying to avoid singing if I can help it, paranoid as fuck, and having nightmares about vocal polyps.

I will be okay. I will be okay. I will be okay.

I even bought a mini-vaporizer today. I decided that if I am going to ingest weed, I am going to do it the healthy way. And no weed before I sing, because pot, like most other things in the fucking world, changes the way the body (and vocal chords) function, react, sound.

Alcohol to be avoided also.

I am going to buy a humidifier for my room as well.

Oh yes, it is time for me to become the Ultimate Paranoid Singer (according to non-singing folk around me), or as I like to call it, the Ultimate Cautious and Healthy Singer.

Or pretty close to ultimate. I can't give up ALL my vices now, what would I write songs about?

Turns out this band is whipping me back into shape!


Monday, April 6, 2009


Do you ever feel like your the whirlwind of your life has suddenly stopped, and all you are left with is silence and your thoughts?

Now that my life seems to be going back on track, a new band, more hours at work, I somehow still look for holes to fill.

And my friendship with Andrew is now becoming a hole. I thought things would go back to normal with us after we had talked it out. Maybe that whole conversation we had where we decided everything was okay was the result of wishful thinking. Because I feel like things have changed. I can't just call Andrew without it seeming like I'm calling him because I have feelings for him. And he hasn't called me but once, to return my call yesterday telling him about the band. And I was in band practice, so unfortunately I didn't pick up. I tried calling him back tonight, but no luck.

And Facebook has once again proved it's evil, allowing me to find out information that I didn't want to know: Andrew doesn't think he will be making it to Montreal this summer (which means he isn't coming). He had talked to be before about possibly visiting, and I guess now he has put that on hold. I see that he is putting his girlfriend first. I understand that that is what he has to do for now, but I wish it weren't so. I wish it was the way it was before in so many ways, before I brought about this new wave of shittiness. And above all, I hope that things don't stay like this for too long... or forever.

To distract me from all the loneliness and holes, I have been receiving past-midnight Saturday night phone calls from this guy Percy, who I had a one-night stand with around October. The morning after we slept together, I realised that it wouldn't be going anywhere because I wasn't interested in my sober state. Luckily, he didn't call me for about a month, so I figured it was mutual. Instead, he suddenly started calling me sporadically, always really late on Saturday nights. Excuse me, but how insulting is that? The only time you ever hear from a guy after fucking them is on Saturday nights when they are drunk at a bar? I never even picked up, instead got a trail of loud, inaudible messages from the chap over the months. 

So this Saturday night, he called me again. (Didn't get the message after I didn't answer or return his calls the first 5 times.) So instead of hoping he would stop calling, I decided to pick up and give him a piece of my mind. I answer the phone, and get this, I can't even hear what the fucker is saying, and he can't hear me because wherever his drunking escapade is taking place is too loud. So at this point, I am livid. So I decide to end this once and for all.

I text him: "Yo. The only times I hear from you is late on Saturday nights. I don't appreciate or want that shit. You're ruining a good memory."

He responds: "Oook well im sorry i just wanted to see you again but just didnt no if u wanted watever its ok......... goodnight."

Cold-hearted-bitch me, didn't respond.

Percy: "Watever im sorry."

Me: "It's okay. Goodnight."

Percy: "But if anytime ur free would you like to do something? in all seriousness?"

And once again, I didn't respond.
If you are somehow confused as to my anger at this blubbering idiot, please listen and learn:
If you want to see a girl again, you call her in a sober state, when the sun is still shining, somewhere inside 2 weeks of sleeping together. You don't wait until you're drunk, horny, and expect her to be in the mood to plan a nice 2nd date. Women are not stupid, I am not stupid, and all that kind of behaviour says to me is, I.Only.Want.You.For.Sex.And.I.Forget.About.You.All.Week.Until.I.Am.Too.Drunk.To.Even.Get.I

So fuck you, Percy. I don't have time for immaturity.

And fuck you, Andrew. That's right, I said it. For not loving me back, for being whipped by your Oatmeal-Personality girlfriend, for not calling me anymore. I don't care if my anger is irrational, I am just so annoyed by the way things turned out. More than annoyed. It really upsets me to the core, that our friendship is changing for the worst.


Saturday, April 4, 2009

Music, Finally

After all the Men & Mary J, we have barely discussed the Music aspect of my life.

Reason being, Music was on the down-lo... aka not taking up a nearly significant enough portion of my life.

And now, I have found a purpose again. I've joined a band.

The process was so simple and yet I had never attempted it before. I kept complaining that I don't have large enough networks with people who play music, when it was right there, accessible by this box known as my computer: MontrealMusicScene.Com.

(Yes, I am endorsing them, because they just might have saved my life.)

I came across the site on one of my random Google searches the other night. I scanned it for a couple of hours, looking at wanted ads for singers. I came across only one that I felt worthy a reply. 4 days later, and I am part of the band.

Thank god. It is going to be such a great project too. Fusion of Indie and Jazz, geniously composed by a classically trained pianist. We are going to be 7 musicians, including one other singer with a child-like vocal inflection, a Betty-Boop appearing drummer, some Spanish influence on the guitar, a Violinist, Bassist, and the brains of the project on keyboards, splash of vocals and Ukelele.

And the sound is exactly what I would spend all day listening to. Which makes it a dream to sing.

So we are starting off by practicing, a lot. 4 days a week. But the show is going to be on the road... we hope. Ambitions: Gigs in a couple of weeks, touring this summer, and recording before year's end.

What more could a girl ask for?


Tuesday, March 24, 2009

Down Under

This blonde hair has been the emblem of change. I guess tampering with my own hair, reinventing myself if I want to get a bit dramatic, has actually allowed me to finally move forward.

On Saturday night, I went to a bar in Dorval (west of the island of Montreal) where my friend Shauna works as barmaid. She recently started this job, and I went with her a couple of weekends ago to keep her company and party it up. So this weekend, Shauna and her boyfriend decided they would hook me up with a friend, to be more accurate, an Australian.

Did I mention how weak in the knees an Aussie can make me? (Aka that tragically hopeless affair in December).

So Aussie Boy and I hit it off really well, in between bar chatting, smoking, drinking, slight PDA (aka him kissing me at the bar), and constant gossip from Shauna and her boyfriend everytime Aussie Boy's back was turned, telling me to "Go for it!" "He really likes you!" etc... Like my own personal cheerleaders.

But I didn't want to take him home.

Okay, that is a lie. I did want to. With his charm, his looks, his sense of humour, and let's not forget that drool-inducing accent and icy blue eyes. But I didn't want this to end up like it so often does, with a one-night stand when I may want something more.

A quick interlude: You may be thinking, "Wow. This girl really got over Andrew fast." And the funny thing is, it is sort of true. It was as if his rejection totally burst the bubble that was holding the fantasy of what might have been. It is liberating to know that although I won't be with Andrew like I might have hoped to be, we are back on the same page, on equal grounds, where we can both live our seperate love lives without any expectations from each other. And sometime in the future, if the time is right, maybe things will align, but it is okay if they don't.

Back to Aussie Boy. So the end of the night comes, we have kissed a couple of times, and it is clear not only from Shauna and her boyfriend's indications but from the way he looks at me that he does like me, and not only for tonight. So I decide I will take him home, but first I tell him that we will not be sleeping together. And he agrees to come anyways.

And if you are rooting for my self-restraint, I am sorry to dissapoint you, but we had sex. And it was really great.

And I don't regret it... unless it has been categorized as a one-night.

But I don't think it has. So now, we will have to see what happens.


Friday, March 20, 2009


So I decided I would die my hair platinum blonde tonight.

I didn't care that my hairdresser would go balistic, nor that my Grandmother wouldn't approve of the "unnatural" shade. I almost didn't care that I might be making a horrible mistake, which would need professional correction, because doing my hair was about self-liberation this time. Coming out of a catastrophy reborn, in new skin. New, imperfect, but self-made skin.

I didn't really think about it until today, but everytime my life undergoes a Natural Emotional Disaster, usually involving a BOY, I decide to cut my hair. I decide to cut my hair NOW.

Sometimes I will call my hairdresser, taking the more hesitant and logical approach:
"Yes, Anne..."
"I was wondering if you would be able to um... streak my hair."
"Okay sure, when do you want to see me?"
"Uh, do you have anything open today?"
"No, sorry Anne."
"Okay... um... how about tomorrow at 6?"
"Nope, can't then either sweety. I can only see you... Next week. Tuesday at noon?"
"Uh... I will check and call you back. Thanks."

After this first step, I will then proceed to the Pre-Impulsive Action step. (This is becoming more and more frequently the first step.) After the seeds of my "new look" obsession are planted, I use whatever way I can to find out the minimal and dire facts about how to attain The New Hair. Google Search, my friend Tara, Cosmopolitan...

Next step comes in 24-48 hours after the seeds have been planted. It is the Impulsive Action. (Cutting bangs, dying my hair...) In this case, it was the dying of my hair.

And it always turns out less than perfect, this time being no exception. I didn't know exactly who I was trying to look like or what I was trying to look like with this new color, I just knew I wanted it to be dramatic and new. Really, really blonde. For myself. Not because I think a certain guy would like me to look a certain way, or because I want a general population of admirers... just because I wanted to be different, a silent rebellion against everything people think they know about me.

And how did it turn out? Less than perfect, platinum blonde, but still smashing. And when I looked in the mirror, I thought I would like to be as sexy and unapologetic as Marilyn Monroe sometimes. And maybe now is a good time to channel that. A new look, a new outlook (even if it is just trying on someone else's shoes), and a way to move on. An attitude to try on that might lead me to find myself again.

Kill me for being corny, I don't blame you. I just feel like I am strong enough to move on from the Andrew situation. Like a new wind is picking up.


Tuesday, March 17, 2009


I have some really bad news.

I have discovered, yet again, that being your own personal cheerleader and believing in the power of love and soulmates, that all my wishful thinking was no more than wishful thinking. That all the arguments I have built to persuade myself that Andrew has feelings for me, all those puzzle pieces I have put together was not built on reality, but rather on fantasy and misinterpretation.

Last night, I received an email from Andrew, telling me that "I love you, you are the best friend i have ever had and most likely will ever have... but my love for you has always been and will always be that of a friend."

It gets worse.

He then goes on to say how much he loves his girlfriend, that she is the world to him, and that he is certain that they will end up together.

And then he tells me he hopes I will support him, but now he is afraid that everytime he says "I love you" or asks for advice about his inner relationship conflicts, that I will take it the wrong way.

Then he tells me that our friendship is indestructable, "but what you have for me and what i have for you is different to its very core", and for now, it is better to cease contact until everything sinks in.

So basically, I am a fucking mess of regret, sorrow, anger at him and myself. The way he wrote things, it was as if I would never get over this, and that he could never get over this, and that now our relationship is changed forever. Which is exactly what I least expected from my best friend, who I thought would be more understanding and less scared off if he didn't feel the same way.

So I read the email over and over again, and couldn't sleep. At five in the morning, I wrote him an angry text message, pretty much telling him I deserved a phone call, and he wrote back, coldly, saying he would call me this weekend when he could.

So now, I guess we are fighting.

I have never fought with Andrew. I mean, we have had disagreements, but never to this extent, where our actual friendship is at risk. I never thought this would happen with him. Maybe I was being stupid and naive and too lovestruck to consider all of the consequences. I thought the worst response I would get would be that he was happy now, but he didn't know where things might go with us one day. I just had it so set in my head, in my heart, for the past few years, that somewhere along the line, something was bound to happen between us. And to find out that that isn't even an option for him is just shattering.

It is strange because I don't feel like my heart has been ripped out, like I did last time I went through a break-up. This wasn't a break-up though, it is over before it ever could begin, and the implications of that hasn't really settled in. Once I get past my anger and enormous embarassment, once everything settles in I know I will realise that my whole way of thinking has to change. For years now, I have felt like Andrew is the perfect man, and I always wondered if we would end up married. He was like my plan B, and recently, my hopeful plan A. That feeling of excitement, of not knowing where our friendship could possibly end up, has added so many elements to it. Not that we were trying to court each other, quite the opposite; we were just ourselves, and by not trying to be anything specific, we became the most real, imperfect, honest and raw versions of ourselves when we were together. And knowing that a guy actually loved me when he saw who I was, and knowing that I loved him for what he was, started to make me realise that nothing could ever get any better than our bond. And he felt that way too, until his girlfriend came along.

And so now I am what I have always been to him, unevolved, just friends. But why? What is it that is missing? That is the hardest part, and that will be one of the most difficult things for me to figure out now; if that bond isn't enough to make it in terms of romantic love, what is?

I haven't even begun to try seeking answers to that question yet. But I know that I have a lot of soul-searching to do.

Sometimes I feel like I was just trying to fill a void with Andrew where he doesn't really fit. It just makes sense for us to be in love. And sometimes I feel like I am in love with him, but I know that it isn't really possibly, because for me, love is something that is built together. But the seeds were there. All I needed was a thumbs up from him, and I knew I would probably fall fast.

But maybe in my letter, my tendancy to romanticize and poeticise feelings came out too strong, and I scared him into thinking I was head over heels, which I sort of am, but sort of not. Because as soon as he wrote that letter, I felt like the feelings I did have were semi-extinguished. It is hard to explain. I feel like I can get over the crush, but I don't know if I can get over the fact that we will never end up together at all.

So I am caught between telling him everything is cool, and that I just want to go back to the way things were, without him worrying about the implications of what he is saying. And the other part of me knows that he will be cautious around me, and there is nothing I can do to change that now. But the last thing I want is for him to be cautious. The reason he is my best friend is because we have never had to be cautious, we could always be open and honest. And that is what I was trying to do in my letter. But I guess I blew it out of proportion, and now I am paying the price, by sabotaging his trust in me. By changing the way he views me forever.

And that is the thing I could never have been prepared for.

So maybe I made a mistake. Where do you draw the line between being selfish and selfless? Maybe telling him everything I did was selfish, because it helped me to find answers, but sent his world into turbulence. Maybe it was stupid, because things are so fucked up. And maybe it was right, because now I can stop thinking that every relationship I end up in will be doomed because Andrew is my soulmate.

But I really didn't want to know that. And I can't even tell you how that makes me feel because I am too busy logicising everything so that I don't have to think about the truth, that the things I have believed in for years have been shattered, and now I have to rebuild the fabrics of our friendship, and of my life, because I can't have him in the back of my mind anymore.

And I wonder, has a small part of me been so close to him since I have known him because I subconciously wanted something more?

And if that's true, what happens to our friendship now? The visits, the phone calls. Do they slowly cease to exist because they are pointless?

I don't believe that Andrew and I won't get through this. I know we will. But what will be left when we come out?


Tuesday, March 10, 2009


The craziest series of coincidences happened to me today. It was almost like a day to be superstitious, because little things kept pointing towards a bigger message today. And I took notice of them, today.

So here is what happened:

1. I had a dream about a boy, Andrew, my best male friend whom I desperately want to be with, who lives in Halifax. (A bit of a back-drop: I wrote Andrew a letter, which he received around last Thursday, telling him my feelings for him and that I want to be with him. He was gone all weekend to Percé, Qc (sort of close!), and his phone is disconnected, so I wasn't expecting a call from him yet.) I have been wondering over and over what he is thinking about the letter, and so in my dream, he was on his way from Percé to come visit me, to speak to me. Sometime after or during waking, I heard the sound of a doorbell. Being semi-nude, I took a minute to look dressed and then trotted towars the door. There was no one there! A ghost. A Coincidence, considering I was imagining Andrew's arrival at my door.

2. I continued on my day, feeling a slight pang of electricity in the air, like something was sort of shifting things. Movement. Flashes of memories. Andrew.

HAHAHA how corny is THAT?

real 2. I decided to go on the computer, and sat there considering whether or not to go on MSN, which I rarely do, and neither does Andrew. So something persuades me to say yes, and as soon as I come online, a box pops up: Alison. Andrew's girlfriend was speaking to me. Blinding flashes on the screen, all sent in 10 seconds.

"Hey, it's Andrew.

I'm so sorry I haven't had the chance to call you. My phone is disconnected until Wednesday, so hopefully I'll be able to call you then...


I mean hopefully it will be connected Wednesday :| ...

So I'll call you then :P ...


WHAT THE FUCK? You might be thinking to yourself, if you were me, and really fucken stoned.
How can I decipher this message? What does that (L) mean? The "I'm so sorry..." OH GAWD.

Anyways, I try not to obsess, but I'm fucking happy that at least he doesn't hate me for fucking things around and loving him, and possibly (L)s me too! So now I wait... til Wednesday?

Okay I sort of forgot about our point here, which is Coincidence. So here it is: How strange that the odds were very low that I would be on MSN, nor that he would be on MSN, nor that he would be on his girlfriend's account, nor that all of these things would Coincide at ONCE!

3. The last Coincidence: I was standing outside, smoking a joint, looking at the round moon, and for once in every year or so said a small prayer to God-if-He-Exists, and that prayer was: "God-If-You-Exist, please let Andrew want to be with me right now. Let us be together."
Corny, corny, I know. Forgive me. I was alone. I didn't think I would be telling you guys about this.
And I kept staring at the moon, because it was so fucken full and high, and what happened?


So then I thought of that Disney song, "When you wish upon a star, makes no difference who you are, when you wish upon a star your dreams come true." And I only realised that those were the real words as I wrote this out, I was fideling with them, and saying something like "... wish upon a shooting star, your wishes come true."

So that was a major Coincidence, that I was actually praying to God, and that a shooting star then flew by, which I then believed was part of that Disney song. So for me it meant that my wish would come true.

4. I lied, or rather I just discovered the real last Coincidence of today, so far. The day's Coincidences come around full circle, starting with a dream about a boy and then ending with a song about a dream come true. A dream about a boy come true, perhaps, on the night I saw a shining star. A shining, shooting star.

(I'm sorry that got so M.J. but I am so high and the possibility of love with the man of my LIFE is making me feel elated. In a hopefully ironic way.)

So if I were superstitious today, I would believe that those 5 Coincidences meant something.

Maybe I do, a little.

A girl has gotta hope. ;)


Thursday, March 5, 2009

High, how are you?

So I basically realised some shit tonight about weed.

You start smoking it casually, maybe once a year or two at a crazy party. Then you move up to every couple of months, and then that turns into weeks. But then something happens and you stop smoking, be it a boyfriend against it, loss of interest, whatever. And then somehow that little plant sneaks up on you again, growing right underneath you, poking it's spiky head at your toes and pinching you until you smoke it. And then the weeks turn into days, and days turn into hours. And then you are in and out of your high state, knowing it will come again soon, not quite wanting it, but still craving it. And then it just somehow works out, and you acquire the weed, you roll it, and you smoke it. You are probably with a friend when you buy it, and so you share it with them, and then you find yourself an hour later, high as fuck and ready to go home. So much for quality time.

It is so strange that the weed smoker craves this alone time. We dread smoking in some ways because we know it will start off great, and then drop us into a zombie-like state for hours. You can fight the feeling and do something, but it is always pulling at you. It is like a semi-paralysis; your body just tingling and shutting down, but very slowly, until the drug mellows.

But if you can fight the meltdown, at least for long enough to make it worth it, it's great. You become extremely creative; your thoughts train off onto a million tangents and you can somehow grasp them all at once and this makes your head semi-explode, in a good way. You can take these tangents and use them in conversation that spirals into itself, in song, in written words, and of course, in sex.

Sex when you are high, that is something. You feel like your whole body is melting and burning and bursting at once. I heard it through the grapevine that weed plays with your emotion centers in the brain, and I am sure that is connecting to the pleasure center, which is why we so enjoy pleasures like food (munchies), laughter, song, sex.

But then you get a little brain burn, where your whole intricately strung train of thoughts just *POPS!* out of your mind, and you feel sort of cross-eyed, and your mind is completely blank.


Tuesday, March 3, 2009

You probably often hear unemployed people complain. At that point, you or the person next to you probably tells the unemployee to their face or behind their back that being unemployed is easy; the Life: you get paid to do nothing.

At this point, I will bring up the fact that not all unemployed people are collecting any sort of money. Myself include.

See, I am not technically unemployed. I have a job... last month I worked 15 hours. So for the other 657 hours of February, and now the unworking hours of March, I spend my time:
1. Watching movies.
2. Getting high and watching movies.
3. Listening to music.
4. Playing music.
5. Getting high and then listening to/playing music.
6. Scrambling up $1.54 for a Tim Horton's Vanille Français.

This sounds WAY more fun than it is. Imagine waking up with absolutely no responsibilities, no plans, aka no goals or purpose. Almost every single day I wake up and stay in bed. This is not only excruciatingly boring, but it is bad for the body, mind and soul. No stimulation!

I hang around and wait for my friends to get home from work, and sometimes we chill, sometimes we talk. I then spend my evenings doing what I do in the day, all fucking over again.

This is the ideal life for some; the lazy life. I despise it.

"So do something Anne. Walk your dog."

First of all, my dog is a wild hooligan who cannot be controlled outside the fences that surround my backyard.

Second of all, it's fucking cold in Montreal right now. And icy.

I might be motivated to walk somewhere, if I had money to go buy something. Consumerism really makes the world go round, doesn't it?

So I am just sick of staying at home, alone, for the majority of my hours. Don't worry fair readers, I had a job interview today. Hopefully that will produce something.

I'm just fucking annoyed of being sedentary. I just want to go take a run. Thank you Winter.


big P.S: Booty Call Mike called me tonight. I didn't answer. :)

Sunday, February 22, 2009


Sometimes I get very emotional for no reason.

I don't know if it is because I am an artist, but sometimes I feel very hyper-aware of deeper issues flowing between two people. Tonight, I felt that with my sister.

Her name is Stephanie. She is beautiful. She is 19 years old, and she always has everything together. She finished college, works full time at an interesting and stable job where she is constantly given more responsibilities and promotion, and she always strives for more. She is a perfectionist. I am too, but in a different way. I am a perfectionist of the soul and mind. She is a perfectionist at keeping it together.

We were both born with different hair. I came out blonde, and she, brunette. Sometime soon though, my sister's hair lightened, and we both grew up blonde together. Blonde babies running around up north at our family's chalet, she would try and catch minnows with a net, calling for me to come join her, but I would be busy reading old comic books on the shore. I was in her room a moment ago, and I started wondering around, looking at her pictures, and I saw a picture of her at the chalet, in the water, caught off guard, as she so rarely is, and being caught off guard, she can only begin the strain of a smile. 

Stephanie is the youngest of three children. Our parents are wonderful but their flaws are obvious to us, now that we understand how alike our own flaws are. My brother takes after my mother in social manner, my father in humour and outbursts of frusteration. I take after my mother's personality, my father's humour, and possess an amplified version of many of their flaws. Through constantly trying to not become them, I have become a person somewhere in  between their obvious opposite and twin. And Stephanie, born admist all of the chaos and larger-than-life personalities of the rest of her family, was a shy and reserved child, interesting and captivating, and always careful to keep everyone out of her head.

I feel sometimes like I have some sort of superiority complex because I am an artist. It is so fucking pretentious for me to even call myself that, but I do, because I am, and I am at the point in my life where I accept that, and all that comes along with it. The incredible mood swings, dramatisation, out-of-control highs and desperate lows. The free spirit, the tight budget, the all-or-nothing syndrome approach to life. The insolence. My dad just called my name, and I answered: "Can't talk right now! I'm writing!" and he didn't attempt to speak to me again. It is this selfish absorption that I need to nurture a craft. When the idea hits me, it doesn't matter where I am or who I am with, but I have to get going, so I can write, or sing, or play it. And this leaves a lot of people in the dust. I feel bad about it, but I know I can't be any other way.

And in this selfishness, I feel like I have unconsciously pushed my sister into my shadow. She grew up with me there, always pushed a little bit aside, because I always needed more. Attention, music lessons, the best school, everything and anything to cultivate my "art". I never realised I was taking so much because I didn't just get many things I wanted, to me, I needed it.

Stephanie, on the other hand, is completely self-sufficient. She has always been that way. She never wanted to need anything or anybody. I don't know why she is like this, but maybe part of it is because she was so afraid of turning into my parents, or my brother, or worst of all, me. I am a year and a half older, and my sister drives me around, while I don't even have my liscence. She takes care of me. I hope that I take care of her in some ways too. Maybe I don't always have the money or the time, and definately not the car, but I hope that I help her feel special and get her through sometimes. 

But I don't think she really knows how desperately I wish I could be there for her. I always want to help her the way that I know how instead, by talking and being there and helping free her spirit. The thing is, I cannot think of one time where she has really been caught in a crunch. Car troubles, that is the only thing that I remember her ever needing someone to come pick her up for. And I clearly couldn't be the one to do that.

Stephanie never tells anyone what is bothering her. She walks around in a constant state of tension and intent, always a plan to be followed through. She writes to-do lists every day, more than once, on anything at all. She has to find order. Without order, she might fall into chaos, which I feel like I am in most of the time, and I know she never wants to be there. 

The other day, I was with my friend, and in the midst of complaining about everything I wasn't satisfied with in life, my sister came up. "She is so perfect. She has got it all together. She has the job, the perfect body, a beautiful face, the boys chase her, she has a car, she has a life, she's always busy. She is going to go so far in life, and I can't even seem to get my feet off the ground."

My friend replied, "You shouldn't compare yourselves. She has all that stuff, but when do you ever see her happy? I never see your sister and think that she is really happy."

And this made me so sad. Because I have been so caught up in my own woes and dramas, I have not realised before, in my whole life, that my sister has never really been happy.

This makes me sadder than anything else I can imagine.

I have always felt like a tag team with Steph. She's the younger, hotter, shy but warm under the surface sister. She's one of those Alpha Females. She can appear extremely cold, bitchy, indifferent, if she wants to be. This always puts her in the seat of power, and she has the maturity and skills to know how to use that power. I am the kooky sister, the bubbly, loud, ungraceful but spirited one. It has always been a thrill for our friends and others, comparing our smiles, our faces, our bodies, and then our polar opposite personalities. Despite our differences, we get along fabulously, sharing interests in everyday activities. Our ideas of fun on the social scene vary sometimes, but we still go out together. 

As we began our teenaged years, I started to bring her into my circle of friends. Bringing her out, showing her the debauched world, I really felt like her older sister. She was still breaking through her shell. Now she is a confident woman, full of her own projects and plans, and we joke that she is like my older sister now.

But I don't really feel that way. As much as my sister is tending to the surface of her life, polishing off the glass until it is clear and perfect, she will not be satisfied. She has too much left to learn, about how to let go, what it feels like to not be on top of things, to dance without caring if she looks good, to cry herself to sleep every once and a while, and to really feel what is going on in her life. It seems like she doesn't take the time to feel what she is going through, she is always so obsessed with getting to the end of the road that she misses the whole ride. And I don't want this for her. 

Because it IS the little things that make us happy. I am almost jobless, projectless, manless, and desperate on many counts, but I still smile and laugh, I live, I do things that I enjoy because I enjoy them and not because it is what I should be doing. I want her to realise this, because I am her older sister, and I will always be worried about her happiness, and part of my identity is her protecter and her teacher. That is how I am her older sister. Maybe I don't have everything on the surface pulled together, but I follow my heart, and maybe that will inspire her to follow hers.

Underneath all that perfection is a little girl. She is shy, afraid to fail, afraid what people think of her. She wants love and attention, and to feel like she is the most important thing every so often. She never wants to be let down, and so she never depends on anyone else. The only person she can really trust is herself, and if she makes her own mistakes, she will not have to blame anyone. She loves all those she keeps close to her, and she knows that if she works hard enough and spends enough time being productive that she'll have time later on to give them and her own family everything they need. She is the provider.

This girl is going to go somewhere, and that I never doubt, and no one ever will. She is strong, resilient, brave, and not afraid to take on any task. I just hope that she will one day stop long enough to hear what her heartbeat sounds like, listen to a song that really makes her feel that someone understands her, and really fucking laugh with a guy. Someone who will make her happy. Someone who will love her not because she's perfect, but because she isn't. 

It's okay to fail. It's okay to fall behind. After a while, life is going to stop listening to all your plans and it is going to spin out of control. When that happens, don't worry because you will learn to catch yourself. Just don't be afraid of falling down and laying on the ground for a minute before you stand tall again.

And don't be afraid to lean on someone. You can always lean on me, okay?

My sister dyed her hair brown this year. It is like when we were born again, the blonde and the brunette. We are so different, but we are so the same. I just can't explain how.

And someday, that hair is going to turn grey. Our bodies go, and our jobs end, and we are left with ourselves to face. I hope Stephanie will find someone who is going to be there, and who isn't going to care what happens to her body when it ages. But much more than that, I just hope she finds herself one day imperfect and can laugh at that.



Tuesday, February 17, 2009

Caught Green-Handed

So last night, the inevitable happened.

My mom caught me smoking weed. 

About a week ago, this might have caused me a heart attack, considering my mom is the angel of innocence and my dad is so against anything harmful I do to my voice (I'm a singer). But my uncle recently confessed to me that back in the glory days, my mom would engage in some less-than-kosher activities involving the plant.

So here is what happened:
I really wanted to smoke and chill in my room. It was 2:30 in the morning and my mom was still up, doing work on her computer. I decided I would risk it anyways, so I brought my kitten into my room and told my mom not to come in and steal her (she is doting on the cat like mad!) because she would disturb me and I was going to sleep. Lame excuse, hoping it would work, but considering my mother's usual refusal to listen to anything logic from her kids, she came barging in anyways to get the cat. And when she came in, I was sitting up in bed, listening to Sufjan Stevens, joint lowered and out. She pushed the door open, it got stuck on the towel that was jammed into the space, she looked down at it, sniffed the air, and said, "What are you smoking?"

And I said: "Nothing."


So then she left. And I was so surprised that she wasn't mad, wasn't upset, wasn't even shocked. I don't really know how she felt.

This afternoon my dad came to pick me up from the hairdressers, and I know he would eventually bring it up in some awkward way, and this is how it happened:

Me: "I think I am going to go to a concert tonight. One of those five dollar things. Maybe I will go to Sablo Café, you know, that reggea thing I went to twice. They had a workshop last night... but I don't know, I just didn't go."
Dad: "Were you smoking a joint in your room last night?"
Me: "Yeah..."
Dad: "How long has this been going on?"
Me: "Well it is only every once and a while, for the past few years now... like every normal teenager turned young adult."
Dad: "Where do you get it? Do you buy a baggie of grass or something?"
Me: "Dad!"
Dad: "What, I want to know! You buy it in a baggie?"
Me: "Dad, I am not talking about this with you."
Dad: "Why not? It's not like we're talking about sex."
Me: "I think this might be even worse."

And then we changed subjects! Whew. I got off the hook easy... so far. Because if I know my parents well, and I do, they will bring this up at random moments, use it as blackmail or guiltripping, hit me below the belt later on.

Oh well. Maybe they understand me a little better now.


Monday, February 16, 2009

Booty Call

I have a thing going with this guy named Mike.

He's a guy I was seeing in high school, a very brief seeing that doesn't count for much on the scale of one to life. He is attractive physically, but there is something that just didn't click. A couple of reasons:
1. He's an asshole.
2. He's full of himself.
3. He says the most bullshit things to sound smart.

During my high school days where I would take what I could get, but didn't know anything about having game, it went a little bit like this: Mike would show interest, I would return it, he would ask me to hang out, I was too eager, we would go out and make out, and then I would become needy and he would drop off the face of the planet. By the time he came back, I was so over it and would reject him, which would send him under and then have him surface again at a later time. And eventually, I would give him another chance, and he would let me down, and the cycle would start again.

So this year, Facebook's magical powers allowed him to randomly talk to me one day, giving some bullshit emotional apology for his past asshole behaviours. I don't buy anything that he says. I know that he always wants to get into my pants and that is it. But that just so happened to be what I wanted this summer, and so in my pants he went. 

The sexual connection was definately there. Not the most earth-shattering sex ever, but still good enough when I was lacking in action. 

And so then we began a game of cat-and-mouse yet again, years later, except this time it was for nooky and I really didn't care about him at all, and only mildly cared about him wanting me.

So now we have had sex four or five times, and everytime is the same thing. It is like buisness. He comes over or picks me up, we hang out for a bit and have conversations where we aren't really caring about what the other person is saying but just feel entitled to be heard because we are about to have sex with each other. We talk for as long as I can stand his annoying philosophies, and then we finally say, "Okay, let's do this."

So that is what happened tonight. He asked me to hang out, and I was not sure if I wanted to, considering my feelings for Andrew have been coloring everything I feel and do. I decided it might be a good distraction and good release, so I told Mike to come over, joking to my best friend that I would pretend he was Andrew.

It is very strange to have a sexual encounter with a person time and time again and to never feel more comfortable than the first time. That is what I realised tonight about Mike and I. We never know how to get the ball rolling, because our attraction is purely physical, which makes it mediocre to begin with. But it is physical on the most basic level, a warm, attractive body, not really my type but generically hot. When we speak, we don't really look at each other. I never really even looked him in the eyes tonight. We were sitting squished on my piano bench, and I didn't feel one tingle in my body. It was like there was zero chemistry.

Perhaps there is a quota on meaningless sex with a person. I think after a certain number of times having sex with someone you hold zilch affection for, it all becomes numb.

So we got naked, got off, and got dressed. And I knew right away that it should be the last time. I realise I have been settling, having sex with a person I have zero interest in whatsoever, a guy from my past that I will never get anywhere with. And instead of shrugging it off this time, it depressed me. 

Maybe it is because I am not easy-going about anything at this moment in time, but I just felt like I deserve more than a guy that just wants me when I am conveniant, and when he is conveniant to me. Friends with benefits is not necessarily a bad thing, but we aren't even friends! We just don't click, and we never will.


ps- While we were having sex, I DID imagine he was Andrew. Maybe that is what's so disturbing.

Saturday, February 14, 2009


I am starting to think it is time for me to get organized. I am sick of my inability to make decisions because I can't get my act together long enough!

Example: tonight is Valentine's day, that annoying fucking day that makes single people bitter, and even more bitter for letting it bug them. I try to treat it like a normal day, but somehow I can't escape the pressure to not sit at home doing nothing.

So I am too broke too go out, and nor in the mood with this ongoing tension headache, so I asked my single friend Ashley to watch a movie with me, hopefully of the non-love theme. Then I got an invite to go see a movie downtown with a friend and some of hers, and invited Ashley to do that instead. She declined; heavy pre-midterm study time. She encouraged me to go anyhow. I decided I would go, checked the train schedule, which just changed in January, and found out it sucked ass even more, and I would be getting to the movie late, plus I couldn't afford the 7$ train ticket nor find my mom's train pass, so now I am back at square one.

I refused two other invites from my girlfriends, ensuite of my pending money issues and headache.

So now, I feel like if I could have just organized myself earlier on, actually planned to get the train pass before my mom went out, I could have looked at the train schedule early on and made sure I got downtown. Instead I am stuck here with no car, no money, and no weed.

And no fucken boys.

My sister started explainging to me over supper that five guys had asked her out tonight and she had to reject every single one because she's working. And this did not upset her; she gained a sense of satisfaction from her independance and rejection-dishing skills. I, on the other hand, can't find a male friend or fuck friend in sight, never mind a real DATE. 

And so I sit here imagining what I might do tonight. I can actually feel minute movements in my brain moving one way and then the next because I can't fucken decide what to do EVER, and I always find myself stuck like this, shallow breathing, tense back, no plans. Here are my fabulous options:
1. Sit on this computer and job-hunt.
2. Watch a movie by myself, sober.
3. Watch a movie with my parents, sober.
4. Use the remainder of my funds to buy weed and watch a movie.

All of those things suck, except the last one is not so bad, considering it involves substance abuse. 

And my best friend is currently in Florida, so we cannot share our misery as usual.

But all I really want to do is spend the night with Andrew, jamming. Fat chance with him living in Halifax and all that. 

I have to go move there. Fuck it. I am actually happy when I am around him, even if he has a girlfriend. I just need to be there, doing what I want. I don't jam with anyone around here. I just don't know why I can't make it happen. It is so hard for me to foster new friendships with people who want to jam, especially now that I have no job or school through which I can network, no money to go out and socialize, and no home on the island of Montreal, where people can actually visit without it costing them loads of time and money.

Yes, I am feeling sorry for myself. And yes, I am trying to get off my ass and do something about it.

I have some job plans in the running. Hopefully I can save up enough money to go to Halifax for the summer. I want to be there. I need to be there. Not just for Andrew, for myself; for an escape, for the ocean, the music, the fresh faces. 

People say that running away does not solve your problems, but obviously those people have never just escaped being hit by a car by running away from it. Or running away from an abusive lover. Isn't running away from a place where I can't seem to grasp happiness a good idea, even if it is temporary? There will always be something else coming to bring you down, and then something following it to bring you back up. So what is the problem if I decide to run away until that gets stale, and then move onto the next thing? I think it's a good plan. 

Robert Frost said, "Happiness makes up in height for what it lacks in length."


That is what I am going to do. That is what I am going to plan on doing. As long as I have a plan, maybe I can get my feet back on the ground and work towards that goal, rather than spending so much time trying to figure out every situation at once and make it all perfect. 

So here is my plan:
1. Find a job. Any job to raise some money.
2. Pay off my credit cards.
3. Buy a plane ticket to Halifax.
4. Spend summer in Hali.

And then we will see where it goes from there. What is the point of trying to figure out what I am going to do about Andrew, career, life, all at once?

We'll see where this road takes me.


Friday, February 13, 2009


It is 3:22am.

I feel sort of tired, and can't stop thinking. 

I should seriously consider popping a natural sleeping pill every now and then. The only problem is, the only time I remember that I should buy some is when it is 3:22am and I can't sleep... again.

Here's what is on my mind:

Andrew. I cannot stop thinking about him. I tried to call him twice since I returned from Halifax 10 days ago, and still no word from the East Coast. And the thing is with Andrew, I never have to worry about when I should call him, how often, at what time. It never used to matter. We could talk for 7 days straight and then go for 3 weeks without speaking. There were no fucked-up dating rules about looking too desperate or anything. 

But now that I have opened up this can of worms, acknowledged the ambiguity of our relationship and having both expressed some kind of feelings, we have now been sucked into that realm of "Am I calling too much?".

And I hate that shit! I just want to talk to him, and now I have to be patient and wait until he has time to call me, or even worse, is ready to call me. Fuck. So I sit here every day of my mostly jobless life, suddenly trapped with no car or means of escape in the suburbs, overanalysing every last detail of what we said and did, and wondering what is going on in his head since I left. 

And that is the main reason I am so desperate to talk to him. I just want to know if he has been thinking about me; about us. 

I went to Cuba for a week this past summer, and while gone received 6 voicemails from Andrew. SIX! And he didn't call me for any reason, other than to fuck around and leave me numerous messages at a time, and to say he missed me. So it is pretty clear that as soon as I became unavailable, he desperately wanted to talk to me about nothing important. Just wanted to talk.

So how do I become unavailable? Should I play this game? I have a couple of problems, first being I don't have the necessary funds to fly down south just to play hard-to-get. And Murphy's Law says that he probably wouldn't take the bait just because it is what I am anticipating.

I could always disappear from Facebook, MSN, anything that shows that I am alive and bored.

But then again, if I am doing this with intentions of making Andrew think about me, does that mean he won't? Fucken Murphy. I hate that bitch.

So maybe I should take a break from Facebook and MSN anyways, because since I have come back home, they have been taking over my life. I sit there, hourrrrrsss on end, facestalking Andrew, his girlfriend, random kids I went to school with. I should spend all that time doing productive things like job hunting, playing music, socialising in REAL LIFE and perhaps excercising. Who knows, it might be good for me. So okay, I am going to do it, it is time to deactivate that account (temporarily of course). 

I have already deactivated my facebook once or twice, and I hate how those smug bastards refuse to let you do it until you select WHY. And they have the audacity and yet absolute wisdom to put as an option "I'll be back on Facebook later." They know they are a fucken drug. Unhealthy and unavoidably addictive. 

So now I will get right too it, facestalking for one last glorious moment in time before I deactivate. And I will pretend that I am doing it solely for myself and not so that Andrew will talk to me, so that Murphy doesn't come kick my ass yet again.

Wish me luck.


Monday, February 9, 2009

Home, Sweet Home


In the last couple of weeks, or rather days, a couple of things have happened that have changed everything.

1. I went to Halifax to see Andrew, my best (and very attractive male) friend of 5+ years. This confirmed my feelings for him, which lead to a talk. A restricted talk, considering he has a girlfriend, but basically my feelings for him were made known, and, get this, reciprocated! Maybe not fully- I have no one in my life right now, and this makes me sure that I want to be with him eventually. He has someone in his life, but he still has always wondered about us, felt more-than-friendly feelings towards me, and admitted that if we were to sleep together at this point, it wouldn't be wierd. Which is great when you are hoping with all your might that your friendship hasn't been shut into the "brother-sister" box.

2. Andrew also wants me to move to Halifax. Why? "Because you're my best friend, and it would be fun." So now I am very in limbo, considering the move. I told him I didn't think I could move there while he is in a relationship; it makes me too jealous. But I miss him so much and love that place so much that I am considering it, at one point in my life, or maybe a trial this summer. And so now I spend most of my thoughts thinking about Andrew and Halifax.

3. I moved back home! Ah! 

When I was in Halifax, I got a bird's-eye view on my life in Montreal. I thought to myself, what the fuck am I going to do with myself/my life? And how the hell can I pay for an apartment with scarcest of all scarce income? So I decided to move back to my parent's house in the burbs. 

And the thing is, so far, I am actually happy. There is a sense of relief that hits you when you have been struggling to keep something going for so long, stretching it to its limit and forcing yourself to come to the conclusion that you just.can'' 

And so I gave in. Just like that, I decided in a matter of seconds to return home, when for months before that I was despising the idea- the failure- that was looming inevitably ahead. 

This made me realise something. Or made me remember something I already realised: I have to do everything all the way, to the end of the rope, to see it's terrible conclusion so I can remember it and really know that there is no turning back. I don't like to make decisions, so I guess I force the outcomes on myself so that when I see everything crash and burn, it really has to be over, and I am relieved and will never doubt that I made the right decision. It is hard to have room for regret when you are always going down a one way street and hitting a dead end. 

You just have to turn around.

And maybe this takes more time, but I also like to hope and think that it builds character and wisdom. Cross my fingers. I hope I am doing something right because I don't know how to change at this point. 

So now I have to decide what kind of job to take, where to take it (suburbs, Montreal, Halifax!?), for how long, where to live, and on top of all that, if I should take the Leap of Faith for Love right now or in X time. 

My friend Kim tells me I put too much emphasis on getting everything perfect at once. I have such a hard time believing that all things will fall in their place though by me NOT trying my hardest. Just waiting for life to unroll properly. I think that is how it happens, but since I don't really have faith in any higher power, it is hard to believe that "hard work + effort = things working out" is actually false. It is more like "hard work + effort + chance = things working out". Or is it "not caring so much + chance = things working out". Well I have already exhausted my first two equations, so I think I will give the lazy one a try this time.

Can a perfectionist turn that voice in her head off and tension in her back release and just fucking live?

I'll try. But not before I think of the perfect equation for Letting Go.


Tuesday, February 3, 2009


My life is officially a 4.5 star romance film.

I have a soundtrack that goes with it, compiled of songs that Andrew and I listened to in Halifax, which now make me want to cry and crawl into a box and live there... because I am gone. I have been separated from the man that means the most to me in my life.

Listening to "Bridge Over Troubled Water" by Simon and Garfunkel makes any romantic sentence a lot more hard to write without added drama.

I can't even write anything right now because I want to go cry. All you need to know for now is that I am home, and I am sad as hell, and Andrew feels the same way for me as I do for him. 

Add the complications of distance and other life circumstances like careers, money, and a girlfriend. Let's not forget imagining a whole new life of uncertainty in another place.

"But I love you, and that's all that really matters if this is goodbye." Words from a Mark Knopfler/Emmy Lou Harris song written based on Knopfler's dream of a wife and husband in the midst of 911. Maybe it is pretentious of me to relate my less-than-earth-shattering love pain to that, but I really feel like life couldn't get any more disastrous yet better all at the same time for me. I feel it coming.

I just hope it comes soon. 


Friday, January 23, 2009


I'm really bored right now.

It is Friday night, 11:07, and I am all dressed up, sitting at home. I haven't been out in a while now because of my pending money situation, but I was making an exception tonight- I decided I would go meet my sister Angela and a couple of friends for the birthday celebration of an aquaintance of mine. Plans were dinner followed by many drinks in the Old Port. So I decide to be budget-savvy and skip the 40$ meal. Problem is, they are still eating right now, and therefore I'm sitting here waiting for the heads-up, too overdressed to join my roommates at a bar before. I think I might just go there if the girls take too long.

In the throes of boredom, I decided to call Andrew. He was at his girlfriend's house, who enthusiastically shouted ''Say hello to Anne!'' when he picked up. This just gave me the guilt-shakes. I hate the feeling that I might say something that will end their relationship. Because when it comes down to it, despite the fact that I am jealous of her and annoyed by her idiosyncrasies, I do actually like her and I think she genuinely likes me. Though she is probably cautious, she doesn't think I am the enemy that I am. At least that is what I have come to believe.

And so knowing that I am going on this trip in 2 days that might change the course of the friendship between Andrew and I, and might destroy the bond between the two of them, is starting to make me feel really bad. The worst part is, I don't even know if I really want to be with Andrew right now, at this point in my life. I am more afraid of losing him to someone else in the long haul. Maybe I should just see how things turn out.

But then again, as I have already realised, keeping my mouth shut for too long may lead to never taking chances. But if Andrew really feels the same way as I do, will he let things get that far with his girlfriend?

Maybe. He may just really think I don't have those kind of feelings for him, and push his own aside. Women tend to be better at deciphering their emotions, so maybe I need to give him the incite to decipher his.


My brain might just explode.

I think the only reasonable thing to do here is wait and see what the trip is like.

The only problem is, I don't know enough about love or life to know if things should always start out seamlessly. By voicing my feelings, will that just interrupt the flow of things.

Oh and another thing, Andrew has planned this night out for us (''us'' meaning him and his girlfriend and their posse) on the second to last night of my trip. Which means that saying anything before that might make things bizarre.

Oh my God, am I overthinking this or what?

Shit, I forgot to mention a huge fact- Andrew told me his roommate is gone, and now he wants me to move in for the 3 months until the lease expires. And then what? He leaves to move in with his girlfriend? I will not put myself into the same situation again- moving in with someone I have a crush on. NEVER AGAIN!


Wednesday, January 21, 2009


I have this really uncomfortable feeling right now... like I can't unwind.

I slept at my friend's house last night. Let's call her Kimberly. So Kimberly and I have been sort of like each other's significant other lately, considering we don't have boyfriends to plug into that void. It's really nice though. I go over, we roll as fast as possible, promise not to eat, smoke, talk for hours about our issues until we realise that we are fucking hungry and then we eat bagels with cream cheese and strawberry jam and cry the next morning.

I just wrote and rewrote a couple of things. I just don't know where to start to drain this tension out of my body and spirit. I am sorry if this is boring for you, this is sort of a selfish post in its probable incoherence. 

I have music on right now, and it is supposed to be calming, but I think I need quiet. And I think I need to laugh. 

Everything is just so serious right now. This morning I went to my old university to sell my teacher a used book, and the money I got from that is the only money I will have for a week. This is bad news. I never thought that things would get this drastic. Luckily I have enough groceries for the next couple of days, and parents whom will probably loan me a bit of money until I get back on my feet.

I am starting to feel worn down by all of my decisions. I have been telling myself that everything I have decided to do in the last few months have been growing experiences and character-building changes. I started university in Music and now have decided to change programs to Journalism, starting in September. And right before I started university I quit my stable job at the department store for a higher-paying part-time sales job where I travel to different stores. After the first week of school, I realised I was sick of traveling 3 hours a day and moved from the suburbs to Montreal, where I would spend 40 minutes a day traveling instead. In order to move out, I got a student loan of 5000$, which I thought would last me a year. Fat chance. With the cost of rent and school and vegetables, it is finished in half that time. To help pay for the groceries I got a second part time job at a restaurant, which went bankrupt a month after I started. At that restaurant I met Australia Boy, a rocker-stoner-chill chef who ended up showing me to the apartment he lived in with Tara, and they were looking for roommate number 3. So I filled the slot, and my instant-crush on Australia Boy materialised into a full-fledged crush by spending time together on the couch jamming and smoking weed together. When the restaurant went bankrupt, Australia Boy lost a lot of money, and so our growing relationship with each other was severed when he moved in with his girlfriend. Right before he left, I wrote him a semi-love note telling him I liked him and that I thought it would be a mistake for him to move in with a girl he barely liked... and he wrote back, saying; "Give me a second. We're going to start a band. Xx." After not hearing from him for about 3 weeks, my mary-j habit escalated. I don't blame him, but his own smoking habits and his leaving were definately part of the catalyst. So I sat there at home, smoking, watching 5 full seasons of Six Feet Under, a show about Death, and eating a lot of mac and cheese. When Australia Boy finally called me, it was because his girlfriend had left for Columbia for 6 weeks. I figured this was going to be the point where we would start something, thinking he had/would find a decent job and apartment and leave her. That turned into me being his mistress, something I never would have sunk so low to do before. I couldn't believe I lowered my values and morals because I thought sleeping with someone would propel them forward, towards me. Completely insane and completely cliché. I will never be the other woman again. And so things finally ended with him on Christmas Eve, when he didn't want to cook in the kitchen of his girlfriend's apartment with me because her roommates would see us. He suggested I go back to my place and cook alone. And so that's what I did. I spent Christmas Eve alone. I also spent New Year's Eve alone, broke, while all my friends went out, lying on my bed totally stoned out of my mind, until my parents called me at 11:00 and decided to come pick my sorry ass up. And that is when I called Andrew, and he told me I might consider a change of scenery- Nova Scotia.

Since I knew I was quitting school (for now) in November, I have been looking for jobs. I have been extremely unsuccessful. So far, I have a couple of things up in the air, but nothing is solid, nothing is gauranteed. I still need to go on interviews for all these potential jobs. I don't know if it is the recession, if it is me, if it is a sign to pack it up and move, either to Nova Scotia or back Home. And part of me hates the idea of going home. Of defeat. Not being able to support myself. Losing all the independance and networks I have made. I feel like moving out was such a good thing in terms of experiencing new things, living in the City, just growing up. But I feel like I am fooling myself now. I am not keeping up. And I am trying so hard. And I have no idea what will happen to me if I go from living like a "grown-up" to living with my family in the suburbs again, trapped in a small town with no car and a train schedule that rules my life. Part of me thinks I will hibernate and die of depression. The other part of me really misses my family. But I think seeing them every day will just make things go back to the way they were before, where you take everything and everyone for granted and get pissed about all the small things and can't stand your family. So I don't think I will move back. But will I still have the choice in a few weeks?

But being at home in the suburbs, where I am as I write this, always makes me feel uneasy. I get this weird pang in my gut, a mixture of emotions that I cannot define, though I have tried much. And normally I am ruled by my emotions. But this is indescribable, the only words that come to mind are nostalgia, guilt, missing, cages... ect ect ect. It is like two parts of me are fighting each other, the Independant Woman and the Little Girl. And the Independant Woman is being put to the test in more ways than she can count, with this incoming poverty and fucked-up, confused romance feelings for Andrew, with making decisions, because it feels like all the ones I have made have led me down the wrong path. I didn't picture myself as a broke, stoner, dropout, struggler. The Little Girl is crying for her mom and dad.

So what do I do now? How will I get myself out of this mess? 

I think this feeling of unease is Truth. I am usually very good at denial. But this Truth about all the things that could so easily come crashing down on me is already weighing me down, and the worst part is, I am not alone. I have a family who will take my back, but I just keep trying. Is this perseverence valiant, or pathetic?

I'll soon find out.



Wednesday, January 14, 2009

Be Hobos Together

So before I get to my plan, I will tell you this:

I quit the job at the café. A former employee ended up coming in and telling me that she quit because Ownerdouche is a perv. Apparently he 
a. touched her ass
b. asked if he could see her tits for Christmas
c. offered her 100 dollars to sleep with him
d. closed all the lights, locked the doors, and approached her, whereupon she fleed with her friend.

So that is the story I got, and with the prelude I got the other night, I wouldn't take any chances. So I asked my brother to come pick me up. Brother ended up coming, it was really cool, he hung out at my apartment with this friend and I. 

I wish I could have just quit with sass, like told the Ownerdouche that I was quitting because he is an old time stuck-in-the-past, egoistic control-freak loser perv, who offers his employees to protistute themselves to him for the past 49 years with no fucken repurcussions because the cops turn a blind eye to the slave labour and molestation shit that goes on there. It is one of the most corrupt places I have got to see, and when I am a journalist, I will find a way to dig out some of its secrets.

So I grabbed my money and left. Which brings me back to the dead end where I started from. 

Which brings me back to my dead-end new year's eve's phone call to Andrew:
Me: "So basically, I have no real job, bills up to my neck, a pathetic excuse for a broken-down romance, and I have dropped out of Music school."
Andrew: "Why did you drop out of school again?"
Me: "To go to Journalism school."
Andrew: "Well... we have a really great Journalism school here."
- Really?
- Yeah.
- Hmm... maybe I should move there. I mean, I don't really have anything going here right now. Maybe I will actually meet some nice guys and people.
- Yeah you should! Maybe you need a change of scenery. Move here for a year or so, see how things go, if you like it...
- And we can start our band! 


Why would he suggest that? Who really wants their best girl friend to move over to their province? Unless he is just trying to be nice... what would you think?

So I talked to my parents about it (whom are SO convinced that we are two of a kind). They suggested I consider it.

So I thought about it. I talked about it. I looked on Google Map. All this thinking got me thinking- why would I want to go? And the answer wasn't a mere change of scenery. I would have to be willing to pack up my life and move, where I have one sole friend, to an even snowier climate. And I knew it was because I wanted to be nearer to Andrew. And I guess so does he.

The next time I talked to him, a few days later, I mentionned that I actually had thought about his proposal. I told him of my plan to line up a job ahead of time, crash on his couch for a few weeks until an apartment was found, and then be there for the lovely summer season. He said, "Okay, but I don't think I will have my apartment in May, because my lease is over, and I think I will be moving in with Girlfriend."
"Oh really."
"Yeah. I think it would be the best option. I am there pretty much every night."

And then we hung up, and my chest started to collapse. He could not move in with her. What would I do? In the back of my mind, I always told myself that I would someday be around 25, single, and so would Andrew, and we would probably try things out, and it would probably work out, but only after we had our fair share of romances turned sour. Only when we were ready to really make a commitment. 

But this notion of them moving in together so soon brought my mind back up to speed on reality. Why should I assume that I would only want to be with him then? Why should I assume that life will just line up perfectly, and wait for destiny to happen to us? How passive. I realise now I have been so scared of any chance that our friendship would falter, and it has blinded me from the fact that I have feelings for Andrew. Maybe those feelings are cloudy, but they are surfacing, and now I have to do something about it. I realise that if I don't do anything, our lives will keep building in the opposite directions. Our bonds will grow stronger with the people around us, in our seperate environments, until we push down any feelings of what could have been between us if we had just lived in the same place. And I don't want that anymore. I am tired of waiting. Waiting for the next guy to come along, so that I can build a relationship with a huge seed of doubt in the foundation; the idea that Andrew is really the one. 

So I decided I would go there, talk to him, tell him how I feel. That these feelings are coming up, and that I don't exactly know what they mean, but I feel like our lives will continue taking these opposite directions, and I have to tell him the truth before that happens. And I will tell him not to answer me, but to think about it. To think about us.

This is why I feel like my life is a movie.

I never knew I was this dramatic until my roommates told me the other night. But I am going to embrace this drama, because it will fuel my passion and let me really express how I feel to Andrew. Hopefully.

So the night after I came to this realisation, I called Andrew to talk to him; see if I still felt that way or if it was one of those late-and-lonely epiphanies that turn out to be less than true in the harsh light of day.

Minutes into our conversation, he casually asks me if I might still move there. I tell him that I was thinking of planning a trip in a couple of weeks, to check out the area, apartments, the school. It is true, but it is not necessarily my priority, which I feel bad about hiding. But it is not intentional; I am just so used to hiding how I feel about Andrew from myself and from him that my first subconscious impulse is to alter my motivations. So he enthusiastically tells me how great it will be, and that he will plan some apartment visits, and that he will quit his temp job when I get there so that we can "be hobos together". I never knew that expression could be romantic.

And all this, he says in front of Girlfriend, who is bizarrely enough checking apartments for me online, right as we are discussing this. What the fuck?

This makes me feel even guiltier. I am so uncertain about spilling my heart, but at the same time, I know that my feelings have started to get in the way of our friendship. It is hard to not be honest with yourself or the one you... like a lot... for an extended period of time.

Oh my God, I just thought of the perfect song to play for Andrew. I am thinking of making a CD to play at supper, when I plan to tell him.

"Maybe I'm Amazed." by Paul McCartney.

When I was 18 or so, Andrew made me a Paul McCartney Anthology. That just might be the best present anyone ever made me.

So I decided I will go there. I am planning to leave two mondays from now, January 26th. I just need to be sure to mention to him beforehand that I want to see him alone sometimes. I have to give him some sort of indication that I don't want to spend every single day with him and his girlfriend. It is really about him.

And I have to tell him, no matter what. I have to go get this off my chest.

I don't expect a positive response, nor a negative one. He will probably be caught off guard, and I will tell him not to comment until he has thought about it. He will probably tell me we are just friends.

And whether or not that is true, in a matter of time, we will know. But someone has to take the first step across the line.

Fucken shit.


Tuesday, January 13, 2009


Sometimes, I feel like my life is a movie.

I am sure that, at some point or another, most people do too. All the bad things happen to you at once, and you (The Main Character) are sucked into a circle of self-doubt and reflection, complete with a 5-star musical soundtrack (courtesy of your "Sad Songs" playlist), when suddenly, a light bulb lights up in your imagination and you see The Light.

You now have A Plan.

So I will tell you mine, with a brief intro.

For about 5 years now, I have maintained a beyond-strong male-female friendship with an amazing guy. We met in high school, on a drunken night in the neighbourhood. He was friends with some of my friends, and we soon started hanging out. Let's call him Andrew, for protection's sake. 

He was MC in our school's variety show, which I was singing and dancing in. One night after rehearsal, Andrew and my best girl friend at the same came over to hang out. We all ended up watching movies, and cuddling like hippies. I never dared take an interest in him, I can't even tell you why I didn't, but I guess at the time I was just so comfortable being his friend. I never had to worry about anything with him. Our intentions were so innocent.

I guess the fact that he kissed my friend also had something to do with it. Or rather, she kissed him. Just like she had kissed so many of the boys in our school, without any of them being the wiser. And Andrew, after kissing her, knowing one of his friend's was madly In Love with her (ass), confessed his betrayal to his friend, like the good person he is.

My friend was furious at him afterwards. Things go fuzzy for a while after that, but I just remember getting closer with Andrew. We shared taste in music, listening for hours, showing each other songs we loved, making CDs and lying around listening to them, noggin to noggin. We would sit in the back seat of my parent's car, holding hands. But I never wanted to kiss him.

After we were friends for about a year, his dad got a job transfer to Halifax, Nova Scotia. I think just about every girl in our school cried, and a handful of guys as well. We hosted a farewell party for Andrew in the drama room, where the red-eyed crowd exchanged stories and tokens of rememberance with him. I gave him a letter, telling him how much I would miss him, and the rest of it is fuzzy. With the letter, a mixed CD, full of the most depressing songs we had listened to together, and some that we hadn't yet.

His father later expressed to me his Delight at listening to the CD with his melodramatic teenaged son,

Our innocent relationship only grew thicker and deeper with time. Over the past five years, we have visited each other numerous times, sharing music, stories, adventures, insights, and even beds, but never even kissing. Never an ounce more was added or taken from the pool of ambiguity we share together. And so things have always been unclear.

But I didn't realise that they were unclear. I accepted these romantic activities, and I accepted the most intense and curious bond I have with anyone without question. I never thought it was strange to want to hug a person so badly, never thought that it was strange that we never even tested a kiss, because he never said it was strange. And it just felt right.

Over time, we started dating in our seperate worlds. He would tell me of his stories, I would share my woes, and we would help each other try to understand the opposite sex's intentions. I felt like it was the best friendship- all of the insight, all of the fun, all of the love, without any expectations, or pressure.

Two and a half years ago, he found a girlfriend. I remember his description of her: "Anne, you would love her. She is just like you." Right down to our favourite TV show and stuffed animal. 

So a month later, curiously enough, I found myself a boyfriend. We even took a trip together to go visit Andrew and Girlfriend, which turned out to be quite a successful test of denial. Everyone got along seamlessly, as if the situation were perfectly normal- to have such a strong, sexless relationship with the opposite sex that never fades and instead grows. On the trip, my jealous, immature side came out when I got mad at Andrew and Boyfriend for hanging out playing Nintendo while I "rotted away alone". Boyfriend reacted as I would expect, with no apology and only a reason as to why I shouldn't care, and then retreated to the shower. When he was in the shower, Andrew sat down beside me, and told me he was sorry if I felt left out, and explained why he didn't think I would be bothered, and that it wasn't his intention. He gave me a hug, squeezed my hand, and we looked up at each other with that feeling that I so often feel with him - of holding back. Of wanting something more. And then Boyfriend came out of the shower, and we quickly let go, not as if we thought it was wrong, but just because we thought Boyfriend wouldn't understand how deeply our affections ran. 

A year after dating Boyfriend, he broke up with me. First break-up, big shocker, big mess for me. After a few months of sour behaviour and sulkiness, I decided to take a last-minute trip to Halifax, to escape; get my thoughts in order. And most of all, though I hated to admit it, I knew seeing Andrew would make me feel better.

When I got there, things weren't as wonderful as I had imagined. I thought of the good old days with Andrew, when being alone together was as healing and wonderful as medicine. This time, Girlfriend was in the picture. Every. Single. Day. I wondered if her friendship with me was completely sincere. We had bonded and gotten along when we met the year before, and she knew how important I was to her boyfriend, so she befriended me instantly. But there is a suspicious strangeness that I feel about her fondness for me; I feel she might be following the old rule: friends close, enemies closer. We must be an ideal for the post-Sex and the City era; Frenemies.

On that trip, I found myself slapped between a happy couple and my own anti-couple misery. It was not the best thing I have ever felt. But Andrew, no offense to men but sometimes you are all the same, was quite clueless.

The next time we saw each other was September 2008, a few months ago. Andrew came to visit, with Girlfriend of course. I had landed a musical gig at a department store, and he arranged his trip to coincide with the show, so that we could play together. We never had before, but we threw some covers and a few originals together, and played a great show. Our chemistry as musicians only further thickened the bond. And Girlfriend stood there, for each of the three sets, and watched us like hawks.

HOW CAN YOU BLAME HER? You are probably asking yourself. Okay, so far, you might be taking sympathy for Girlfriend. And so am I. Perhaps she is an obstacle in the trajectory of things to come for me, and it is completely bad-karma inducing to try and kick her out of the way. And plus, I really do like the girl.

But there is something about Andrew that has gotten in the way of every single thing I have ever felt for another guy. He is like this little voice in my head that whispers something, and I can't help but compare him to everyone I meet. And this is starting to get in the way with my life!

So I guess you can say, that somewhere in the ambiguity of our friendship, I have gotten lost. The innocence of the platonic relationship we once shared has vanished with time, experience, sex. 

And I wonder if he ever gets lost in it.

And from this loss, I have slowly started to crawl back up, collecting memories, feelings, realities. And the reality is, I think my feelings for Andrew run deeper than friends. 

And somewhere in all the confusion, I have hatched A Plan.


Friday, January 9, 2009

I Cannot Understand A Word

Thank god my dealer is on his way.

Okay. Maybe I should not start a post like that. It is just that, right before this exact moment, I got a call from my dealer and so it was on my mind.

I feel so horrible right now.

I started this job at a cafe in Little Italy. Knowing my desperation, Tara referred me to this job as barrista- where I could start off with no experience, learn how to make awesome Cappuccinos, and get some quick cash. She also made sure to warn me of what a douchebag the owner is, suggesting I stick around for 2 weeks, gain some experience and move on.

So last night was my first night. Ownerdouche was not so bad at first; I found myself just blanking out on his endless streams of broken French speech about his Glory Days when all the semi-celebrities gave a shit about his cafe. I would roll my eyes, nod now and then, and ask some random questions (in my own version of broken French) which he didn't understand anyways. I toughed out an evening of my best attempt to kiss ass just enough for him to not throw me out for some fucked up reason, as he had done to Tara. (He fired her for walking home with a client every night so she wouldn't get killed on the 25 min walk home after midnight).

So tonight, I came in, and found his behaviour more than just tedious. I could take the barking orders, the criticism of my mousse-making, I didn't give a shit. And I tried my best to block out his narcissistic speeches. But then he casually lifted my scarf, took a glimpse at my hidden cleavage, and said, "I've seen bigger."

And instead of slapping the motherfucker and jetting, my shell-shocked response was self-deprecating humour, "Well, there are bigger." Not only did I just lose a fucken billion points for women everywhere who are still victims of the male superiority complex, but I allowed myself to be exploited and made light of it. My response told him it was okay to objectify me, to look at a person your granddaughter's age with such disrespect, and to treat your employees like figurines.

And I don't know why. I just have a hard time reacting to such caveman behaviour. My tongue is trained in sarcasm. It is my defense mechanism to guys who fuck me over, parents who argue with me, friends who try to underhand me, and now to dirty old fucken men who deserve much more than a witty response. I should have punched him right in the penis.

I still took the ride home with him and the other worker, believing that he would not actually attempt anything, in fear of ruining his reputation since 1964. I figured he wouldn't be around that long if he had tried anything before. But then again, who knows? How many women were victimized like this, and instead of telling someone, kept it secret because they felt stupid at how they reacted? It is so twisted that as women, we take the blame for everything. There is an underlying problem that is rooted so deep into our psyches, still there since the beginning of man (or woman) kind. We feel like somehow we ask for it. By not kicking the guy in the balls or calling him out on it, we feel like it is our fault- as if we are open receptors to this kind of behaviour.

But I think I should change that. I should tell my friends, my family. I should just not show up on Monday.

Would that be an overreaction?

Allow me to also add that on the way home, once we were alone in the bloody jeep, I picked up on some strange topics he was trying to approach, that thankfully our language barrier broke. He said something about drinking with him, but working hard, about not flirting with customers, about his choice to not sleep with employees (or something along those lines), and some questions about my Romantic Life. He also wanted to go pick up newspapers on Mount-Royal and for me to tag along. "Si je voulais."

Um, no thanks.

Thankfully, as we pulled up to my apartment, my Mom called. (Chorus of Hallelujahs). This meant that I could thankfully skip the dreaded, akward Ciao Ciao Kiss Kiss on the cheeks that I feel is rude to not do to Italians. He had this fucken constipated look on his face when I was too preoccupied to give him the proper goodbye.

And all this, I did for slave labor- the fucken deevolutioned man's idea to not pay his trainees.

Fuck that. I cannot go back there.

But even as I write that, I feel this choking sensation fighting to hold on for a few more days; get some money which I so desperately need.

I could always go in there, suck it up, and just not let him win. Act distant enough to stay hired until I get get my ass out, but arrange for a lift home and avoid him as much as possible.

Don't worry though, there is a small light cracking through the dark.

My friend called me today about a job opening which her boss is very interested in me filling. It would be to work in cosmetics for a very prestigious line. So cross my fingers and hope not to die before than.

Please pray to the Astrology God for me.


Tuesday, January 6, 2009


So basically, I am verging broke.

I don't know if this economic crisis has anything to do with it, but probably. Everyone keeps talking about it, but do most people really feel it? 

I think I feel it. Or maybe it is just rough luck. But I can't seem to find a full-time job! So right now, I am working part time (a very sporadic part time) for a cosmetics company, to animate Special Events (basically I try to coarse as many people as possible to sit down and have their skin analysed or creamed up so that they buy shit and get a gift with purchase). 

Besides that, I just got a job at this café, a hook-up from my roommate. She says the boss is a control-freak prick, but that  I will learn to make the meanest café au lait and then kiss the place goodbye after 2 weeks. Not to mention it will help my constant stress over the money flow. That is the point of having a job, for most people.

So I also applied for a university mental-health study. They need some healthy young men and women. Hopefully I fall into that category. The study involves the taking of an anti-depressent (one pill) and some PET scans and so forth. The researcher sent me most of the info. I am not quite sure I want to voluntarily put myself through exams and blood tests and brain scans, which most people find extremely nerve-wracking and unpleasant. 

I guess this is why they say those études are for the desperate. When the desperados, hoping to cash in an extra X amount, discover the prodding that will take place and the weird rooms they will have to sit in for hours being watched, it makes you think twice about the lend-your-body-and-brain-for-fast-cash-approach and wonder if you should just answer an ad to do Erotic Massages.

And what if my brain is already damaged? Do I really want to know that shit? In my wildest dreams, they will sit in a room with me, showing me all the glowing membranes in my brain, lit up purple, red, green, yellow, blue, and explain how each color represents how extraordinarily gifted I am. That I have a brain that is very rare. 

Sometimes, our mothers and fathers cultivate us to believe that we are more special than most people. 

But who really wants to be smarter than everyone else? You would probably go insane, like that guy in A Beautiful Mind, thinking and analysing and giving the people you love more credit than they deserve. Thinking they understand their ulterior motives, or that they are complex enough to always have one. Dissecting relationships; taking every slightest hint of body language, speech, sex, and trying to figure out what the person really meant. What you really mean to that person, rather than just the simple things they tell you they feel.

I do that a lot. I think people are a lot more deep than they are, oftentimes. But maybe they are really deep!

I wonder what the pill would do to my brain for one day.



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