Tag Archives: …because you actually care

pro-choice, pro-feminism, pro-cats

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i recently bought this incredible patch from this etsy shop.

i take pride in dressing like an angsty teenager, okay?

when i showed this to my mother, the first thing out of her mouth was, “i just don’t want anyone to hurt you for what you believe in”.

which is totally fair- especially coming from my mama. but after giving it some thought… it really made me angry. not at her, of course, but that wearing a pretty little floral back patch with a cat on it could potentially put me in danger, simply because the words pro-choice and feminism were on it.

my first thought is this:

i’ve been chastised and judged based on my appearance for as long as i can remember- whether it be for controversial band patches sewed onto my clothing, or the tattoos inked into my skin: someone has always had an opinion. even as a young girl, instead of being congratulated or praised for having such a strong opinion, and standing so firmly for what i believe in, i was constantly in trouble. in the seventh grade i had to print out Rancid lyrics for my principal, just so he could decide whether or not i could wear their t-shirt in the school hallways- while the rest of the student body were allowed to wear 50 cent t-shirts, and baggy jeans below their butts. because apparently thirteen year olds promoting sex and drugs is much more appropriate.

and what about the religious fanatics on public transportation grabbing at my skin, throwing their rosaries in my face, and praying at my tattoos- begging god to save me from a life of sin.

or the ignorant teenagers that called me a freak for having purple hair and wearing a leftover crack patch on my denim jacket.

or the judgemental assholes who called me a nazi for wearing doc martens. here’s a little tip: educate yourself on the skinhead movement before you call someone a racist… because that’s a pretty strong accusation if i’ve ever heard one.

i digress…

i’d just like to know what in the hell makes it okay for pro-lifers to march the city streets with signs displaying pictures of an aborted fetus, and yet i can’t sport a back patch stating my personal opinion. i completely agree that abortion should not be used as a form of birth control, and if you’re taking risks, then you should be ready to accept the concequences… but accidents DO happen. and for some women, going through the process of aborting their child is their worst nightmare.

i know because i’m one of those women.

my pregnancy was an accident. i was using birth control, i was safe… and yet at seventeen, freshly dumped by my abusive, junky of a boyfriend, i found myself pregnant with his child.

i had a choice.

a choice! oh, what a world!

did i make the right decision? could i have made it work? am i selfish?

as a woman, this was the hardest decision i ever made. but i look at my life now, and i know at the bottom of my heart that i could not have given my sweet baby the life she deserved. a life with healthy, loving parents. a life void of fear and abuse. because how do you explain bruises to a child? how do you explain the binges and the anger and the terror and the drugs? i could barely save myself from the horror of loving m, how in the world could i have protected her from it?

do you know how hard it is to see a picture of a dead infant, when you’re still mourning the loss of your own? i’m very aware of what i did, and i will punish myself forever because of my decision, in some way. i certainly don’t need a constant reminder that i wasn’t fit to be a parent at seventeen. i don’t need to be reminded that i made the decision i made because the monster of a man i was selfishly, and stupidly in love with could have potentially been an even worse father than he was a boyfriend.

i’m not afraid to defend how i feel.

after the years of abuse i survived at his hands, i made the choice to save my baby from that same kind of pain. and fuck you if you can’t appreciate that.

the world is scary, and it can be ugly, and people are mean.

i spent so much time being angry, when i could have spent it opening my heart, and learning to love again. high shcool was a bust, and adulthood was and continues to be an endless road of self-discovery. and if there is anything i’ve learned at all, it’s how important it is to band together, as human beings.

and as for feminism?

i once read somewhere that feminism isn’t about man hate… it’s about woman love.

amen, sister.

it could have been very easy for me to hate all males because woe is me, and a man ruined me forever, etc… but i’m not that kind of woman. i have strength, and pride, and courage. and he just happened to be one bad seed in the crop of incredible men i’ve had the pleasure of meeting in my life. and women- WOMEN! need to stop hating each other!

there’s an incredible amount of jealousy, and insane amounts of pressure to be the ideal woman.

and what the fuck is that?

who decides what our roles should be? whether you want to be a busy business woman, or a raise a family and be a wife- or gasp! both! … just do it. do what makes you happy, and live the life you want to live. personally, i don’t want an enormous house, or a minivan in the garage… but i know i want to marry a good man, and make babies with him, and raise those little hipster babies with off-beat names not to be ignorant shitheads in society. that’s my goal… i want to raise a family, and love them with with every fibre of my being. i want to support who they want to be, and what they want to be, and everything they need to do to get there. they can be who they want to be, so long as they don’t hurt anyone in the process.

because that’s all this is about…

learning to believe in what we want to believe in without inflicting pain on other people.

and who decides that a size 0 waist is better than a woman with curves, or that long hair is better than short hair? every single thing about every single person can be beautiful, if you look at it the right way. nobody on this planet is built the same. some women have to work out seven times a week, and cut carbs from their diets just to fit into a size ten. other women get to eat cheeseburgers for breakfast, and they look incredible in bikinis.

who fucking cares.

my parents raised me to be tolerant, and to love myself first.

THE HORROR!

don’t get me wrong… i struggle sometimes. i look in the mirror, and i hate my stretch marks, or my thighs are too thick for cut-off shorts. but i was blessed with healthy hair, and great nailbeds, and tits til tuesday. while i have to work very hard to keep my waist small, other things come so easy for me. i’ve never shaved my armpits, for example. i just don’t grow hair there! it’s soft, like a baby’s butt, and i am ready for strapless dresses and bikini tops all summer. and yet, i can’t cut myself a break because of my big butt.

christ.

first world problems, AMIRITE?!

listen… all i’m trying to say is that everyone has a right to an opinion. maybe the delivery is what needs a little work- but whatever. express how you feel, and say what you mean! don’t hide, don’t hold back… don’t be afraid to be who you are- so long as you aren’t hurting anyone… because who you are is all you’ve got, in the end.

learn it! live it! love it!

appreciate the women (AND MEN!) around you. remember: everything is relative, and we’ve all had to overcome pain, or stress, or loss- in some way or another. love your friends, praise the strong women (AND MEN!) you meet in your life, and don’t get so hungup over the fact that they look better in skinny jeans than you do, or they have more money in their bank account, or they’ve reached a point in their lives that you haven’t reached quite yet.

because what do you know about my pain? the struggle to make it through every day? and what do i know about yours? instead of hating each other, get to know the women (AND MEN!) around you, and learn to love everything about them that makes them who they are. it isn’t always easy- but fuck, at least stop hating. that’s a first step, isn’t it?

because i may have a fat ass… but i have a good head on my shoulders, strong skin on my bones, and love in my heart to give.

so spread the love, (wo)man.

my backwards walk

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i don’t want be a bad woman
and i can’t stand to see you be a bad man. 
i will miss your heart so tender
and I will love this love forever.
- cat power

when i left m for the last time, i had this song on repeat for hours, and days, and months.

…it was my anthem. my reason. the only explanation i could justify in finally separating myself from the only life i knew. everything he touched turned to shit. he made me a bad woman by proxy. by the end of the four (worst) years (of my life), i didn’t recognize myself anymore. my family could barely speak to me, and i had severed ties with so many friends only so i could keep my secrets to myself. so i wouldn’t have to explain the bruises, or the holes in the wall, or the destroyed belongings, or why i felt like drinking every single fucking day. it wasn’t only to numb the pain, or to forget. i drank because when i was drunk, i felt alive- something i hadn’t felt in years. it was superficial, of course… but i felt it none the less. i was social, and i laughed, and i would dance, and i made friends, and broke hearts, and i would exude confidence that had been shattered by m.

when i met him, i thought i had fallen in love with my future husband. the man who was going to father my children, and make me breakfast in bed on mother’s day, and spend time with my family, and take care of me when i was ill. i thought our story would stand out, not because of its horror, but because of its beauty. its simplicity. i thought it would stand out because it was special. and it was- at first. it was all of those things, and so much more than i could possibly explain.

i was barely sixteen years old when i saw his darkeyes, and cotton candy pink lips for the first time. he was waiting for a bus, and our eyes locked for a few seconds, and i felt the wind get knocked out of my lungs. this man (so young then) was so quiet- leaning against a wall, smoking cigarettes, his entire body covered in tattoos. my heart stopped, and my palms got sweaty, and i had made up my mind- right then and there- that i was going to have this man. it was a feeling so fierce, i could barely shake it.

our paths didn’t cross for another five months.

and it was the end of my life as i knew it.

had i known then, what i knew now- i’d have trusted my gut.

… but i’m a heart girl, through and through, and although it’s been wrong (time and time again), i followed this coffee-haired, black-eyed, beautiful (so goddamn beautiful) stranger. we followed each other at a party- watching each other from the corner of our eyes, touching hands when we spoke, whispering into each others ears over the music. he had a mohawk, and i could taste the vodka on his tongue when we kissed that night.

that’s how i like to remember him, unfortunately. pure, and young, and gentle. the way he would hold my hand, or touch my lower back when we spoke, or the way he would kiss me- all day, every day. the first time he’d see me, and between sentences, before leaving. he’d kiss my mouth, and my forehead, and my hands, and my eyes. he’d kiss me just to kiss me. his voice, so sweet and so low- almost a whisper. and we made love, believe it or not. he would light dozens of candles in the basement, and we’d kiss every inch of each others’ body. we’d touch and take our time, and really love each other. he’s the only person i’ve ever done that with, actually. he’d drive me home, late at night… holding hands, and kissing at stop lights. he would run my baths, and make me breakfast in bed all the time. he would wash my hair in the shower, and take pictures of me all the time. he’d leave love notes by the bed, and he’d draw me pictures, and write me letters. he’d buy me cards- just because. he would tell me he loved me every single day. we’d lay on the beach in silence, for hours. we’d take walks, and shower together every morning.

he loved me…

a lot. he loved me harder, and stronger, and better than any man has ever loved me in my life. without question, or condition, or doubt. he lived for me- he told me every day that he lived for me. it’s difficult to be loved like that, so young in your life. to be sixteen years old and feel like i knew what the next fifty years of my life would look like- that i’d be this lucky in love for the rest of my life… and then have it ripped from me.

he changed over night.

i look back now… i dig deep for signs, or red flags. and i just can’t find them anywhere. i look back on the first year of our relationship, and i am shattered by confusion. this man- this young, incredible man who loved me, and cared for me, and took care of me every single day… he woke up one morning hating me. hating our life. hating the simplicity of our love and companionship. he woke up fiending for drugs, and wanting to fuck strangers, and taking out his aggressions on me- the only woman who loved him the way i loved him. and that struck me harder than his fist ever did- the way his heart loved me still, but his actions didn’t. the things he would say to me… i can’t even wrap my head around it sometimes.

just the thought of our bed
makes me crumble like the plaster
where you punched the wall beside my head
- ani difranco

i stayed for three years longer than i should have.

out of fear, out of survival, out of naivety and guilt. and when i finally left, i never mourned the loss. i celebrated the victory. after a few weeks of drinking myself to sleep, forgetting to eat and shower, and not even stepping foot outside of my own bed… after weeks of anguish and fear, i finally celebrated. i celebrated for days, and then weeks, and months, and years. i spent so much time being angry, that i forgot to be sad. i spent so many years celebrating the funeral of a monster, of the demon that was our poisonous relationship… that i forgot to feel pain and sadness over the loss of the year i’d spent with the m who loved me. i forgot to mourn the loss of my first love. the loss of the baby we almost had together. the loss of the life we’d started to build. the loss of my dignity, and self-respect, and confidence- things i am still working on, years later… trying desperately to rebuild.

i don’t know why it’s surfacing now- why all this pain has boiled over, and why i feel disconnected again. i don’t know why i feel the need to mourn now that i am finally safe, and happy, and healthy- trying to put my pieces back together after being derailed. but it’s happening and i can’t control it anymore. i can’t help but feel angry that my first love was lost, and that i’ll never have anything good to say about him. i can’t help resenting him. i can’t help resenting myself and the decisions i made not to have our baby, or build my own life with that child- safe from her father and his demons. and don’t get me wrong- i’m happy with every choice i’ve ever made when it comes to m… i didn’t have the tools then to understand what abuse was, or how to escape it. all i knew was that i needed to save myself, and it’s only when i was finally ready to be without him that i gathered the courage to stand up to him, and walk away forever.

and it makes me sick, you know… to feel sad over this. to miss (the beginning of) that love.

but now that the shock has worn off, and the anger has subsided… i’m left with this incredible sadness, and self-pity. i’m overwhelmed by anxiety and confusion. and i never want this space to be censored. i hope writing about m won’t ever stop feeling cathartic… but there are some stories i’ve burried so deep inside of me- certains things i’ve never had the courage to share, or the words to even describe things that happened- and i need now (more than ever) to purge those stories from inside of me. to rid them from my bones, and shove them in a metaphorical bag, and then set that bag on fire. i need to share my truths with a professional, so i can get some closure, finally.

real closure- not the kind where i tell everyone i’m okay, and i belittle him as a human being, and share his indecensies… i mean real closure, and healing, and finally closing a book that has been open for seven goddamn years. and i realise that a lot of my behaviours in life (and love) stem from surviving abuse- but i can’t let those behaviours define my relationships any longer. i can’t let my secrets dictate my happiness, or my future.

i just forget what that kind of blissful happiness feels like. i feel like i got the private screening to the unatural, disturbing ways of the human race, and i’m rattled. i’ve seen too much, and i’ve felt too much, and i know too fucking much about what it feels like to be torn apart at the hands of a bad man. and that makes me incredibly, and unforgivingly sad…

and i want to fix that.

changes

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woah, what a break!

i didn’t realize i could live without the internet so long, but alas. i don’t necessarily need to elaborate on the how‘s & why‘s i was gone for so long, but i am glad to be back. and because i am totally superficial, i have pictures of some of the changes i’ve made over the past few months!

first! i am no longer a fake ginger, i’m a brunette!

secondly, katie and i traded bedrooms. i missed my little olive room, and i’m happy with the final set-up!

 

 

i also borrowed a friend’s tv stand, and put my tv in the living room- i’m loving how it looks now!

i got my nose pierced

i got a new tattoo

how selfish of you to believe
in the meaning of all the bad dreaming
metal heart you’re not hiding
metal heart you’re not worth a thing
- cat power

and for health & moral reasons, changed my entire diet, and went vegan (i’m about a month in and feeling incredible!), i also just bought the cutest mug (found here)

and since i’m on a roll, i’ll go ahead and say i recently sprained my ankle and tore all the ligaments in my foot, basically. i only started walking again yesterday, and i am going INSANE. here’s what it looked like a few days in…

things to remember: i am loco in the head, and also crutches? THAT SHIT IS HARD.

i’m better now- i can h0bble around, and i wear a sock over my tensor bandage to leave the house. thank goodness for amazing friends (brad, mostly) for throwing me over their shoulder and driving my gimp ass around, taking me out to dinner regularly, picking up food so i don’t die, and also fetching just about everything i ask for, ever.

pros of not being able to walk: SITTING IN THE CART AT THE GROCERY STORE (!!!) like a two year old,

cons: everything else.

misery loves finding me and then fucking with my shit. real talk.

SCIENCE.

i got this thing, it rhymes with slouch.

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i’m a negative nancy.

i don’t really mean to be, i don’t think. i just kind of have a super dick outlook on, um, everything. i always assume the worst and i have the world’s shittiest luck in the history of anything ever.

see?

such a dick.

anyway.

on saturday my pops and i agreed to drive around different furniture stores that carried a couch that would fit through my apartment door. it’s not that the door is narrow, or anything, but it’s the attic of an old victorian, so there’s a slanted ceiling right where you walk into the door. which essentially means i’m not allowed owning any real furniture ever.

and not to be a prick, but i am a goddamned adult. i’ve grown out the futon thing (the only couch able to fit through the door, dammit). i’ve owned a $1,300 leather setional before, i am kind of above that. and i mean, the “couch” we have for the mancave is making me borderline suicidal. i like to sprawl when i watch my stories. i like to lay in my undernothings, with my legs on the top of the couch, and my body halfway to the floor. it makes absolutely zero sense, but that’s neither here nor there.

this story is getting more and more pointless.

so i’m in the car with my pops, and i says to him i says, “dad, we’re not going to find anything. the only thing i can get is a modular sofa (check it out, i’m super smart). you know, one where each inidividual seat comes apart.” and he was all, “you’re totally right, ellie belly banana rama, but the odds of us not only finding a modular sectional, but one that you can afford, that isn’t an ugly piece of shit are slim to none”, and i was all “fuckkkkkkkkkkkk”

i’m only paraphrasing slightly.

and not on the super elongated fuck, either.

so we were gonna go to the brick because i have a brick credit card, but those dudes are also dummies who give me false hope, so we first went into united furniture warehouse, instead.

i walk through the door, and the first thing i see is a sectional sofa.

that happens to be faux brown leather

just like my old one.

and oh my god, it’s frigging modular!

AND, AND, AND!

the sales lady gave me over 20% off everything.

these are the pieces that fit together to make the sectional.

you do the math

NOT BAD, HUH?

i saved over $200 or something ridiculous which means i can totally eat this week.

it’s not any of the couches i had my eye on, but it’s okay because at least i know these will fit NO MATTER WHAT.

and if they don’t i’m going to just go ahead and jump off my very own roof.

I MEAN, WHAT ARE THE ODDS!? the first couch i see?! in the first store i step foot into?! and the super adorable columbian lady who didn’t speak a lick of english offered me a huge deal right off the bat!?

i’m excited.

i GUESS.

oh! and delivery is may 7th.

in three weeks.

because the universe is a sadist.

what is my brain, even?

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WHY YES, that IS a real life window in my goddamn kitchen!

along with disgusting cupboards that will be updated, oh, NEVER.

but fuck, i have a window.

i’ll take what i can get, you know?

also, super un-funny yet true story:

what did this bra-less, makeup-less jerk do to herself at bootcamp!?

broke her butt.

how the hell does one pull her left ass-cheek? my guess is the millions of mini football runs and clock lunges that my sadist of a trainer forced me to do.

bless her heart, though.

she is totally going to make me skinny.

i feel like the only thing i’m going to eat this weekend is beer & fruit.

that’s a legit diet right?

r.i.p gut.

my life in iPhone pictures

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(an entire week in iphone pictures because i’m too fucking exhausted to attempt discussing house renovations or decorating. and also fuck my job, etc)

–

the majority of my friends live/have moved either to montreal, or toronto. those cities are bigger and more jam-packed with fun and activities and jobs that don’t make you want to kill yourself. personally, i know myself, i know my demons, and i know that a bigger city will only set me up to fail in ways i am not willing to accept. the party/drug/shitty scenes are way bigger in both cities, and ottawa just has the safety and limits i know i need. not to mention, my family is a within a super close radius which means they won’t LET me throw my life away, if i even tried. so you know, there’s that.

ANYWAY.

that being said, some of my favourite montrealers came to stay one night for some debauchery!

first, i went to breakfast with jonny, jesse, and kevin

then we went back to my house to drink 40s on the porch (punx with iphones!)

then jesse and i joined kevin & hans to get afternoon fades

then the boys did push-ups in the parking lot while tania bought beer

then we all headed to jonny’s, where we drank in the backyard, and then blew up the bouncy castle and wrestled in it (seriously, these are my friends, and this is our life)

then we went to ben & gary’s annual shit-show of a birthday party where i don’t remember much, but i think we had fun!?

i somehow got home with tania, and apparently took pictures of her and moose being adorable together

on sunday, i died a little when my babies went home, and spent the day watching movies with my lover.

on monday i headed back to this nightmare

DEATH BY ACCOUNTING.

and got ready for last night’s first class of bootcamp

which went completely amazingly, and ended in this:

which was completely fucking necessary!

my new favourite thing to do with the iphone (other than instagram, plants vs zombies, angry birds, and words with friends, duh) is take pictures of the fucking RIDICULOUS conversations i have via text message.

example number 1: important discussions with my landlord

example number 2: typical elle + dan banter

example number 3: anna and i discussing how long we’ve been friends (when putting me down as a reference for her passport for her trip to ICELAND! frigging jealous)

example 4: my boyfriend hates me

coming from someone who works in the industry, i was SO anti-iphone it was ridiculous. but if you really just want a dumb phone that is super fun to play with, that takes really good pictures and has amazing apps, then just buy it. it’s the best piece of shit i’ve ever spent money on. my wirsts hurt from all the games i’ve been playing.

so there.

such is my life.

wherein i lose all my street cred’ (and also, bring a barf bag)

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alright, let’s be clear.

i don’t really have any super strict rules in the house. just the regular stuff… flush the toilet when you’re done, stay on top of dishes and regular house-cleaning, don’t leave your shit lying around lest you want me to set it on fire, etc.

but there is one other thing.

no one, under any circumstance, is to bring something that crawls into my house. i mean, unless it has human d.n.a and came out of your vagina, then yes, bring that over because i want to kiss it and cuddle it and stare at it for hours.

but if it’s creepy, and it’s crawly, and its gestation period is shorter than nine months, or it morphs from some gooey little thing into something bigger, that flies, then get it the FUCK away from me.

people look at me and think i’m so tough, but i cry more than your little brother, and i think bugs are icky, and i think cats are like, SO adorable. my bedroom was painted pink until i was twelve, and i’m very sentimental about memories and keepsakes, and i wear dresses almost every day. i own more hair products than a salon, and i buy makeup every few weeks. i paint my nails every other day, and i say totally A LOT.

back to the point.

khala and anna came over last night so we could eat dinner, cuddle, talk about our boyfriends and how we force them to have sex with us, and watch a scary movie.

the girls got to my house and we made a quick batch of guacamole to eat while we made dinner.


“this is a festival of om-noms!” – anna

we made pasta, and heated up my mother’s homemade sauce. we melted butter and chopped up some garlic for garlic bread, and anna and khala got started on the berry crumble for dessert. the meal was almost ready, and we threw the crumble into the oven, when anna looked at the bowl we’d used to mix the rolled oats & flour, and the following sentence came out of her mouth:

“uhhhh… why are the oats moving?”

…

(are you seeing where this is going?!)

all three of us stuck our face into the bowl to observe, and saw LARVA inching around, and what looked like tiny baby silverfish the size of a grain of sand.

now, i’m not going to post a picture of a silverfish, because if i have to look at one of those things every single time i’m on my website, i’m going to slit my very own wrists.

so because i’m a pal, i’m going to give you like, eight seconds to google silverfish, and then come back.

…

I’M SO SORRY, I DON’T KNOW WHY I MADE YOU DO THAT.

oh my god my head is itchy.

uuuuuugh.

i think i screamed so loud i startled the neighbours and then i ran into a wall. it was just the furthest away i could be from the bugs! i am not rational when i’m scared. all of a sudden our entire bodies started to itch and i was hopping on my tippy-toes screaming about setting the bowl on fire and fuck it let’s just leave the apartment and dan can save everything when he comes home. oh my god.

we baked the crumble anyway so they would be KILLED DEAD. and then we threw the entire bag of rolled oats into a garbage bag, and then put that bag OUTSIDE MY APARTMENT in the staircase.

i couldn’t even look at the garbage bag, and i ran across the room when anna put the bowl into the sink to be washed out.

I AM SUPER SCARED OF BUGS, OKAY?!

baaarf.

in any case, we ate the super delicious meal, trashed the berry crumble, and spent hours on the couch pausing our horror flick so we could talk about our boyfriends’ wieners and how pretty they all think we are.

our boyfriends, not their wieners.

wait, what?

successful tuesday night.

also, poll: is it bad that for one split second i was like “WAIT, we can totally eat the crumble anyway, it’s basically protein?!”

note: either way it’s not something i could have done in my right mind because obviously they wouldn’t have died and then they would have birthed little spawn bugs into my guts and then i’d just have to remove the entire lower half of my body, starting under my boobs, because let’s be honest.

sigh.

FML.

the weekend

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how much fun was my weekend?!

SO MUCH FUN.

first of all, get a load of this:

the mancave has a couch, ya’ll. and granted, it’s totally tiny, but it’s actually pretty comfortable and it FIT THROUGH OUR FRONT DOOR, so you know, that’s good. i didn’t want anything fancy for the mancave because all we do in there is watch tv, listen to records, and get super drunk. we’ve had it all of four days and there’s already been a spill or five, so i’m glad we got something small and functional with removable covers so i can wash them bad boys.

so basically since we got the couch i’ve been doing a whole lot of this:

and this:

which is pretty fucking magical, in my books.

a good friend of mine is a designer and got to showcase her amazing collection at ottawa fashion week on friday. you may know her because when i was super shitty and homeless she let me get drunk and sleep on her couch every single day for four months until i figured out my emotions and money and grew the fuck up. she is pretty wonderful like that. she’s currently building her website (and starting some pretty awesome new collections- which means i’ll be hosting a giveaway within the next few months of some sassy lingerie). all this to say i was VIP on her list and even got to wear a vip necklace and sit in the first row to watch some babes model her 50′s/60′s style stuff. i also cried because i was so proud of her and i am a fucking mom like that.

i was under strict orders not to wear anything ripped or that has patches. so there goes like, 90% of my wardrobe, awesome. to make up for my insecurities of not being able to wear a jean jacket, i wore this:

fuck, i am so classy.

when i came home, a bunch of friends came over and we got pretty silly and stayed up til 5 in the morning drinking beer. on saturday i hung out in my undies all day because i was so exhausted. we had friends over again that night and did exactly the same thing. on sunday i went to breakfast with some lovelies, dyed my hair, and then went to the pub for a pitcher with some friends- which actually turned into about eight pitchers, deep fried pickles, and having to pee 100 times and losing the ability to walk like a normal human after pitcher number the fourth.

i don’t normally drink on weeknights anymore because i am really trying to be a real human being for once in my life but i was just having too much fun! anna and i headed to her house so she could pack me a lunch (thanks mom!) before we went out dancing.

grapefruit nutz are super humourous in my books

drunk anna’s lunch spread

“don’t forget your fucking apple!” – anna

i am a fucking five year old.

in any case we headed out to a bar and went dancing! and the second we got there i hear my name, and i turn to see m.

AWESOME!

i could have gone a million years without seeing that piece of shit, or hearing his douche bag voice. i smirked and said “nope!”, and walked away.

excellent!

i’m super mature.

so i brushed it off, and anna and i danced our little hearts out. thank goodness for amazing girlfriends. i walked home and dan was still up so i got to makeout with him until the break of dawn.

i for reals love my life.

except i definitely want to barf right now.

also look how cute moose the cat is when he gets a noogie!

this week i’ll be doing a whole lot of movie watching, laundry washing, and you know, being sober.

i can’t wait to take my pants off and nap.

zzzzzzz….

a piece of the puzzle

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i have a horrible memory.

there, i said it.

i can’t remember people’s names, or how we met, or what their siblings’ names are. i can’t remember where i left my keys, or if i took out the chicken for dinner, or if i fed my cat before i left for work. dan remembers our first kiss when i was fourteen. i didn’t even remember that it happened in the basement at my house. it’s really frustrating but i can’t help it- my mind goes a million miles a minute and i can’t even keep up with my own thoughts.

but every once in awhile a tiny, seemingly insignificant memory creeps its way into the back of my mind, and completely randomly pops up in my head. i can’t figure out why, or how it is that i remember it, but it happens. and it happened again this morning- when i was mindlessly brushing my teeth, and putting pants on for work.

a couple of years ago i lived in the heart of the city- on a hustling, bustling street in the middle of the market- minutes from fresh fruit stands, and seconds from the grimiest hookers in town. it was fun at the time- walking out my front door and stumbling into a bar, being only seconds from home when i walked those dangerous streets at 3 in the morning. me and jesse germs lived on the main floor of this tiny little house- barely big enough for the two of us. upstairs lived the market clown- he made balloon animals for strangers by day, and took care of his psychotic wife by night- just up the stairs from us.

a friend had told me about this house nearby, right behind the hospital. people called it the puzzle house. it belonged to the city and was scheduled for demolition sometime within the year. some friends of mine had actually broken into it once to take some pictues- i still get creeped when i think of how eerie and scary they looked. it didn’t have a regular floorplan- a hallway leading breaking off into specific rooms… your living room and dining room on your left, the staircase right ahead, and the kitchen at the back of the house… not this place. you couldn’t tell the back from the front on the outside, and on the inside, every single room was closed off. you had to enter one room, to get to the next, and so on. there wasn’t a hallway or multiple entrances. you had to enter the living room, to get to the kitchen, to get to the dining room, to finally find a staircase. and every bedroom was decorated like a nursery. it was totally freaky and really weird.

anyway, me, being the dillhole that i am, had to see it for myself. it was raining and i was taking the back streets toward the hospital. by the time i got there, it was dark and the entire house had been re-boarded and there was a sign for no trespassing. i guess the city had been informed that a bunch of degenerates were breaking into the house to take a peek. in any case we tried climbing everything and removing boards but we couldn’t- it was completely sealed off. which, at that point, freaked me out even more. why did no one want us to see this house? it was located on a nice street (all things considered), with established houses and big trees. you pay a lot of money for houses like these in the city, despite the hookers and drug dealers sharing your backyard. it just seemed off. i even googled the address to see if i could find news paper articles, but nothing turned up.

in any case, none of this is pertinent, really.

what did matter was when i was leaving the puzzle house, walking through the hospital courtyard, i completely randomly, looked back and up at one of the windows. there was a burn victim wrapped from head to toe in bandages, just looking out the window. i couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman, all i could see was their eyes- which were locked, completely fixated on me. we stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity, and i just turned and walked away.

a friend of mine lived near the hospital, so every time i’d go to her house, for weeks i’d walk by, staring up at the window so me and the patient could see each other for just a second. i don’t know why i felt the need to, i just wanted them to see something familiar, other than the bricks of the hospital wall. and one day, on my regular walk, i looked up and they were gone. just like that.

and i don’t know if maybe they got better and were moved to another room, or if the died. and that really fucking bothered me- it still does to this day.

it completely wiggs me out and i get goosebumps when i think of them, even now, years later.

thirty facts

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picture by julie hope

1. i have an irrational fear of the dark, i.e. i start having panic attacks and shut my eyes until i can turn a light on. i actually spent the better part of my teenage years sleeping with lights & the tv on… it’s a little better now, only slightly.

2. i fall in love with cities i’ve never been to. i think it started when i was sixteen and began reading the blog of a previously heroin-addicted twenty-one-year old living in portland. i loved everything about her- her wardrobe, her taste in music, the way she described her love life, and the beauty of her city. her self-destructive life was so appealing and punk rock- until it became my reality and i finally understood the sadness in her words.

3. i honestly believe the only reason i was put on this earth is to become a mother; my ideal job would be a stay-at-home mom.

4. i hate watching people eat peanut butter on its own. a lot of my friends open the little packages of it while we wait for breakfast at the diner, and it makes me heave a little. i don’t know why, considering how much i love peanut butter.

5. i’m particular when it comes to how my food is placed on my plate- especially with breakfast foods. when i get my plate at a restaurant, i rearrange it to my liking.

6. i get really emotionally attached to songs, and bands. if a song means something to me, i can listen to it a million times on repeat and not get sick of it (on my twenty first birthday, dan danced with me in my living room until well past 4 in the morning, singing “temptation” by new order to me, on repeat, for hours). i cry almost every single time i listen to cat power, i can relate to every single tegan & sara song ever written, and ani difranco got me through the majority of my relationship with m.

7. when i sleep away from home, i get separation anxiety from my cat.

8. my chest piece is one of the most sentimental pieces i have tattooed on my body. i thought of the idea when i was still with m- and i promised myself it would be completed when i finally left him. mission accomplished.

9. i talk about butts, farts, poo, masturbation, sex, and my vagina a lot. too much, actually.

10. second to being a mom, i cannot wait to become an aunt. like, my head will implode and so will the internet, the day i find out my sister-in-law is expecting. i actually decided against moving out of this city when my brother told me he was proposing a few years back.

11. speaking of my brother- he’s one of the people i look up to most. his strength, his determination, his charisma, his intelligence, the way he loves his wife… everything about him is remarkable. i love him to the moon and back. he makes me want to be better.

12. i can touch my tongue to my nose.

13. i have an unnatural obsession with pizza. i like it in and around my mouth. it’s true… ask the nine pairs of jeans in my closet that don’t fit me anymore!

14. i curse like a sailor.

15. there is nothing i hate more than cigarettes.

16. attempting to swim makes me really anxious. either i need to be able to touch the bottom, or i’m using some sort of flotation device. besides, what’s the point of being in a lake, the ocean, or a pool, unless i’m relaxing with a beer in my hand.

17. i can’t peel oranges.

18. i’m addicted to crime shows… mostly law & order SVU and criminal minds.

19. i’m a poor girl. i was raised a poor girl, i am a poor girl, and i have a feeling i’ll be broke until the day i die. i have this awful fear that i’ll work these mundane, mindless office jobs forever, and i’ll never even buy a house. it scares the shit out of me.

20. i’m a sucker for the banjo and the organ, big time.

21. i have a super goofy laugh. more of a cackle, actually. it’s really quite embarrassing.

22. my nipples are always hard… it’s the weirdest thing. i’m not kidding! ask dan- he always makes fun of me and calls me a weirdo.

23. i can’t sing. like, even a little bit. i KNOW i’m tone-deaf.

24. my biggest weakness? chocolate milkshakes.

25. i LOVE being photographed. lucky for me, i have a lot of photographer friends.

26. if i feed my cat in the morning without giving him treats, i feel super guilty. i’ve actually walked away, and then walked back to the kitchen to give him treats because it eats away at me. is that weird?

27. my biggest vice, other than being a lush, is procrastination. on a serious level, folks.

28. i have a huge hard-on for geeks. like, actual smarty-pants. a well-dressed person who loves to read, is well-spoken and articulate, who has a passion for writing, photography, music, and/or science? holy-fucking-swoon.

29. when dan wears a plaid button-up shirt, rolled up jeans, cherry doc martens, and slicks his hair back… my ovaries twitch a little and i actually can’t keep my hands off him. my boyfriend is like, really, really ridiculously good-looking.

30. i have this thing for female vocalists. whether it’s punk, indie, or folk… throw it on, and i’m a dancing, singing, cleaning-in-my-undies machine! i just can’t get enough of my girlie music. dan even got me a t-shirt of kathleen hannah (singer of bikini kill & le tigre) sitting in a bed on the phone, eating a cheeseburger. if that’s not love, i don’t know what is.

idea borrowed from the cutest little miss elycia