(Insert Super Long Title That I Had To Delete Because It Was Super Long) Blah Blah Blah....Something....CAFFEINE!

Well hello there.............

Welcome to the first of what will likely be many posts chronicling the moving tale of my struggle with my severe, sometimes tragically debilitating, addiction. An addiction to one of the most commonly used drugs.....

Caffeine. 

Seeing as I get insanely loquacious in the instances in which my resolve fails and I overdose on this substance (that most normal adults seem to be able to handle but causes me to react in the way I imagine the average person reacts to cocaine), I occasionally remember to stick my laptop in front of my twitching hands so that it can be documented. I have now decided to start posting such ramblings for your entertainment. Here is coffee relapse numero uno, enjoy....?

Hiiiiiii.......

So I may have fallen off the "no-caffeine" wagon.

Just a bit. Like a little teensy bit. Like just a little itty bitty teensy bit. Just a bit. 

Actually...it was more like getting forcibly flung off the "no-caffeine" wagon at highway speeds, rolling down the gravel hill of cravings, and landing face down in the muddy ditch of epic failure at self control.

But you know, close enough. No need to obsess over logistics.

And daaaaammmmn it feeeeeeeels gooooooooooooooooooooooood......


I like, seriously love you, Tim Horton's iced cappuccinos, you motherfuckers are my best friends...........all three of you...

Dating Rant

Okay. In the context of my talking about my sister’s recent nuptials, someone had some "helpful advice” today about my long-standing singleness, indicating that they seemed to consider it an unfortunate and pitiable circumstance, and one in need of repair. Well meaning, yes, but...grrrrrrr…

I need to rant. SOOooooo here goes…

Really?...Really?…Is that all you think there is for me? To wait around like a helpless Bridget Jones in suspense for my “Mr. Darcy” character to come save me from my humdrum existence? As though, if I didn’t have self-worth before a man came along, I suddenly will once he does? As though the most worthy use of my time, my main focus in life should be my appearance and not having any annoying mannerisms so that I can appear attractive to men? Acquire men? …..please men?

Who are these men to me, that I should need to please them? Tell me, what credentials do they have, what are their qualifications, that I should rank their opinions as ones that count? Are they psychologists, that they should be fit judges of whether I’m “normal” or “weird”? Are they career counselors, that I should hum and haw and fret over telling them what I actually dream of doing with my life, and be embarrassed of my present job situation? Are they world-class musicians, that I should be terrified to sing or play my instruments in front of them? Do they teach table manners at a finishing school? Are they dieticians or nutrition experts? Why should I be terrified to enjoy my food with wild abandon in their presence? What attributes do these people possess, besides a penis, that I should bend myself to their whims?  Why should I worry that I laugh too easily, speak too loudly, dance too crazily, daydream too frequently? Why fret about my hair being too short and my sentences too long? Why should I worry that I sound “too smart”, too “intimidating”, too “unapproachable”?

I can’t seem to flirt. You know why I think it is? I cannot reconcile myself to the fact that in order to get a guy to ask me out on a date, I have to begin under the premise of behaving as though I am significantly less intelligent than I actually am. If your jokes aren’t funny, I’m not going to fake a laugh. If I honestly don’t care what your favourite drink is, I’m not going to ask. You won’t catch me flipping my hair and twisting a strand as I try to catch your eye – I’ve cut it way too fucking short to flip, and if you’re not looking at me already, then what’s the point of trying to make you? I won’t hold your attention anyways.

The fact is, I am single because I have yet to date a man that seems capable of treating me any better than - or even on par with - the way I treat myself in my alone time. Why would I waste my time with someone who makes me feel shittier and lonelier than I do when I'm alone? I have yet to meet someone that can make me feel even close to as good as I feel when I’m totally alone, doing my own thing. What do you mean, I should date more? I date all the time. I'm friggin good at this dating thing - I take myself on better dates than any man ever has! Myself and I go swing dancing. I take myself out to random films at the gorgeous old theatre, and out for long walks in the rain in the park. I go on picnics with me. I go to concerts I like, I serenade myself with songs I enjoy. I may even work myself up to buying myself flowers sometime. God knows I already buy myself enough chocolate.

So forgive me if I’m not ready to dump myself for a fella just yet. :P

Yayyyy "Excuse-to-eat-guacomole-til-I-throw-up" Day!

Happy Cinco de...

Why greyhound makes me wish I looked like a weepy crackhead...

I am presently sitting on a greyhound bus waiting for it to leave, and I have come to this conclusion:

I wish I was scarier.

I wish I looked creepier or more intimidating so that I'm not the perceived "safe person" that the late boarder chooses to sit beside when she has to pick seats. All the scary dudes and bawling crack addict ladies have lovely, spacious benches to themselves. They can stretch out their twitching legs and drool wherever the hell they want without reproach. Creepy people get plenty of room in their personal bubbles. You'd think because I'm considerate and keep to myself I'd earn the karmic right to have space to sit cross legged like I want to but nooo, because the fundamental, default features of my appearance - five foot three, blue eyed, short blonde hair, thick rimmed, bookish glasses, not bawling, bleeding, smelly or swaying where I stand/sit - make me look like a nice person, I don't GET to. Harrumph. I'm very grouchy right now.

I'm really not that nice you know. You may have made a very grave mistake. I might fart. And I wouldn't even feel bad.

Ugh. She just reached across me to plug in her cord.

She just reached across me to unplug it again. We've only been moving for three minutes. MAKE UP YOUR MIND.

What lengths do I have to go to to look like a shady travel companion?? I have skulls on my bag, my wallet AND my scarf! I'm wearing my faux leather jacket! I held my unusually sharp elbows at rakish angles to demonstrate how easily and carelessly I would probably jab her in the ribs if she sat down. I look like hell - I have dark circles under my eyes, my mascara is probably smeared across what is no doubt a bitchy expression because it's twelve fucking forty one and I've been awake since six and I'm not a night person and I want to be asleep in my bed right now. I even fixed her with my broody, frowny, "don't come near me 'cuz I might jab you with this mechanical pencil I'm holding" gaze as she glanced at me and evaluated my suitableness as a six hour seat mate. What's it take to look unapproachable??

Maybe I should start crying uncontrollably. That seems to work for the crack ladies.

Apparently If I could resemble a box of human blood that would be good. Boxes of human blood have tons if leg room. I don't know what the hell boxes of human blood are doing sitting in the first bench you see when you board this bus, and I really don't feel like it bodes well, but I tell you one thing - no one is sitting anywhere NEAR the boxes of human blood...they've got more space than the smelly, stoned-looking guy in sweats with the bruised knuckles and the shiner.

Maybe the driver's a vampire and that's his breakfast smoothie.

Maybe they're all vampires....

OH MY FUCKING GOD WE HAVEN'T EVEN PASSED THE CITY LIMITS HOW ARE YOU SLEEPING ON MY SHOULDER ALREADY?? Woman, I AM NOT A PILLOW! Sweetheart I may have a haircut like a man but assure you I don't swing that way. I am not your tall dark stranger to lean on while you sleep. You are like nine inches taller than me, this isn't going to work. And your hair smells alarmingly of smoothies. Maybe if I tilt my phone so the glare from the screen shines in your eyes you'll wake up...

After considering my own commentary on this situation, and realizing that she has probably noticed me leaning as far away from her as physically possibly while typing furiously into my phone as I shoot unpleasant looks in her direction, a new and alarming thought has occurred to me...

...what the hell kind of level of unstable and crazy are the creatures in all the other seats if she thought she'd be safest next to ME?