Tag Archives: sarcasm is my only emotional defence

another one about cats, sort of.

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i am at a point in my life where a relationship with someone means a lot more than drinks at a lounge, or excellent conversation over dinner. it’s more than a few adult sleepovers, and someone to pass the time with.

i’m young. i have a life ahead of me… one full of possibilities and opportunities and escapades. i’m not naive in that respect. i know i have so much to learn, and incredible people i have yet to meet.

but i also know what i want.

and i know i’m not about to start dating someone i can’t picture a future with- and i know that a lot of that can only be determined when you start a relationship with someone and get to know each other. really know each other…

so let’s go ahead and get this shit out of the way :

i’m obsessive, i’m compulsive, and i wear my heart on my sleeve. i like routine, romanticism, and relaxing nights in. i could watch movies for six hours and not get bored. i’ll clean up after you while you’re still in the kitchen. i’ll get really irritated over little thing- not changing the toilet paper roll, or leaving dirty dishes in the living room. i hate clutter, i like clean lines, and i think it matters whether or not someone will put a poster in a frame. i fold blankets after i use them, i wash my towels regularly, and i don’t make my bed. i hate negativity, it hurts my feelings when someone won’t take as much interest in my hobbies, as i do theirs. i gag every time i brush my teeth, i need to shower every single morning, and i’m almost 100% sure i snore when i’m drunk. i smoke weed in bed, i’m horrible at mornings, and i need coffee a few times a day to function. i like holding hands, i think kissing is important, and i need to have a lot of sex. i think having similar diets and a love for food are important. i’m extremely close to my family, i talk to my parents every day, and i constantly feel like i’m making up for lost time with them. i want to get married, i want to have kids, and i want to be the best at both of those. i am hyper-sensitive, i cry easily, and i think it’s as important to say how you feel as it is to show it. i hate holding back, i can’t stand second-guessing myself, and i don’t like feeling weak. i have baggage – a fuckload of it. i need to be with someone who isn’t so fucking terrified of the feelings inside of my heart. i need to stop being afraid to say what i mean. i need to  stop settling on relationships that hold me back- emotionally and physically. i’m trying desperately to heal (on my own terms, without using bandaids), and every time i feel like i’m almost there, the person i am dating knocks me back down five steps because they get scared of something real. they worry too goddamn much.

people obsess over the little things- the things we hate, the things that drive us completely bat-shit crazy. fuck, i could write a novel about all the irritating, selfish things michael would do that made my skin crawl : chewing with his mouth open, the way he would look at me when he didn’t find my jokes funny, every time he texted ‘mhmmm’, if he didn’t agree with something. christ man, funny is all i’ve got- cut me some slack.

i digress.

we meet people and fall head over heels stupid for each other until we find enough reasons to hate them and leave. it’s a fucking cop-out and we’re all guilty of it. two (of the many) reasons michael and i broke up, according to him : pressure (what if i moved five hours away from home to be with him, and it didn’t work out), and love (he honestly didn’t think anyone was capable of loving him).

yeah?

we’re back here? quantum mechanics again, really?

you guys. schrödinger’s cat. there is a cat, in a fucking box, and the cat can be thought of both alive and dead, but you will never know the answer until you lift that fucking lid, look inside of the box, and find out for your fucking self if the cat is breathing, or not.

and for the record, 95 percent of the time, the cat will be dead as shit. but everyone is so goddamn scared to open the lid and find out, so we all quit before we even give it a chance. we’d rather avoid the heartache, and the effort, and the potential misery all because we are scared.

OF A HYPOTHETICAL DEAD CAT.

(if i’ve lost you, the cat is a metaphor for a relationship).

so that’s my piece. i’ve said it. i’m angry, and i’m irritated that i keep putting so much love, effort and faith in people so quick to throw it all away when things become real.

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.

baby, let your heart out

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i don’t mean to be so cryptic, but there are a lot of things happening right now.

i haven’t even attempted to look for work, and i have been coasting for months, now. i’m not sure how i feel about it, except that i am certainly not at peace with anything yet. it’s been frustrating because i thought i was more aware and capable of my feelings. when i finally left my job, i was in a terribly dark place. i figured the more time i had off, the easier things would start to feel, but i was horribly wrong. i have so, so, so much time alone with my thoughts- all this time alone with myself. you have to be pretty okay with yourself as a human being if you’re going to be spending weeks at a time trying to keep your body & mind busy enough not to slip back into a place you don’t want to be.

am i there yet?

i don’t think so…

but i was laying in my best friend’s bed, drinking coffee i can’t afford, listening to news stories i probably should give more of a shit about, and i said it- “i never want to fucking work again”. he laughed, as always. but i was serious. the idea of getting back into a routine, working a job that doesn’t stimulate me or make me adequately happy- it fucking terrifies me. i know this is my life, and it’s up to me to make it incredible and wonderful, but i am so stuck. i don’t have the motivation to do something remarkable. how pathetic is that?

to be fair, sobriety hasn’t been an issue. i haven’t gotten absolutely fucked up wasted in weeks, and i feel pretty proud of that. i attended my super good friends’ wedding, had a couple of drinks, danced my heart out, cried a little, and felt pretty excited about the entire event. which, hello… people are getting married, and i haven’t crawled into bed to cry for six days straight, so you know… progress, etc.

and at the break of day
after all the stars are gone away
we can get high and watch T.V.
with our big fat red hearts hangin’ down to our knees
- royal city

i have this irrational fear of change. my best friend is leaving for the winter and my heart is heavier than a ton of bricks. teeter-tottering between the weight of my insides nearly bursting at the seams, and having them shrink to the size of a penny when i think about the months i’ll spend without the one person in this world who understands absolutely every single feeling in my heart- it kills me. i hate that i won’t spend afternoons alone with him in his bedroom, just talking. i can’t begin to wrap my head around the idea of him not living down the street, not being a phone call away. i’ve let myself get too close, and i worry things will change when he leaves. i worry i’ll lose the most important bond i have with someone in my life right now. he’s my person. the person i call when i am happy, or sad, or mad, or bored, or crazy, or worried, or messy. the person i can sit next to, and feel one hundred times better just by being next to him. i’ve had to cut our hangouts short because i am overwhelmed by the lump in my throat and the way i constantly have to fight back the urge i have to cry whenever i am around him. i know he needs to go, and i want him to be happy, and healthy, and i want him to do the things that make him happy. i am just horribly selfish when it comes to loving someone, and wanting them near. i’m anticipating an ugly goodbye (a snotty, teary, horrible messy goodbye- on my behalf, obviously), but i can only hope that he’ll come back to the city with a whole heart, and hundreds of stories to tell- as he always would. and hopefully like, presents, and stuff.

i love the sound of the rain falling down
i love it when your eyes look directly into mine
- royal city

that being said, i think i have too much time on my hands- which is funny because i have been so ridiculously busy these last few days. i know things will sort themselves out, and when things are less hectic i’ll be able to enjoy things more successfully.

in the meantime though? i’ll work on my composure, and consistency.

i promise.

i think?

self worth

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human skin can be hard to live in

- seabear

 

i’ve been having a hard time.

don’t get me wrong- i’ve been having an incredible summer and a hell of a good time with my friends, and family… from mexican fiesta themed bachelorette parties, to family picnics by the waterfront, to barbecues and slumber parties, and more ladies’ nights and living room dance marathons than i can even count. i have the most amazing support system- the constant emails and phone calls from my mum & pops, the text messages from my brother, the goodness in my friends’ hearts and their willingness to give and to love and to be there for me… i can’t even wrap my head around it sometimes. a friend dropped in last night to give me oral numbing gel for my tooth ache because he knew my EI money hadn’t come in yet and he couldn’t stand the idea of me sitting around, doing nothing about the pain i was in.

that’s the kind of people i have in my life.

and i am so grateful for them, for this time off, for the strength i had in myself to finally make these changes in my life.

but i am still struggling.

sometimes i have to remind myself that i’ve come a long way. that i escaped a dangerous life with an awful man and survived his abuse and our lifestyle. without a penny in my pocket, or a chance in the world- i dusted myself off, and set off to build a new, healthy life. i got an excellent job with zero experience and no education, hopped from house to house until i found a safe place to call home- all while keeping my head above water. not a single person knew of my struggles because i wouldn’t show my scars. “i am strong, i am independent, i can do this”- this is how i got myself out of bed in the mornings. i was barely eighteen years old.

and i get it, you know.

i’m an easy target.

i’m young, i have fucked up one hell of a lot, i have put my family through torture and hell, i am covered in tattoos, i struggle with money, i have been pulled from my own bed- pulled from depression and drinking, and i’ve been told to fucking smarten up and be a real human being because this life business is HARD.

despite all of the bullshit, though… at least i could always say i was capable. i was capable of a good life, with healthy people, and a nice house, with good furniture. and i had a job.

jesus christ, i had a job!

a job i could keep, a job i was good at, a job that allowed me to fully furnish the houses i’d been hoping to and from. a job that allowed me to eat, and play, and be a real adult for the first time in fucking ever.

wait, adults say “in fucking ever”, right?

whatever.

i am not struggling with the time off, or the copious amount of naps i have been allowing myself to take in the middle of the afternoon, thank you very much.

i’m struggling with the lack of income, and what that has done to my independence.

i am no charity case. and although i love surprises and dates and all that fun stuff… i don’t like when people feel obligated to pay for me. i was perfectly capable of paying for my movies, or my food, or my antibiotics, or my mothers’ birthday presents. but when i can’t participate in menu items for a cottage weekend getaway, or i have to skip out on certain activities because my bank account is at -$7.32, and i have one toonie left in my wallet, and i’m wondering how the actual fuck i’m going to eat next week because i still don’t have a clue as to when EI will come in… that scares me.

and i’m brought back to a place where i don’t like being.

to the attic apartment of 148 breezehill avenue, where i am barely seventeen, and i haven’t eaten in weeks, and my junkie boyfriend is out on a binge, fucking the girls from the shop, and leaving me to fucking die. a place where i am sitting in the corner of the living room, under a wall of broken plaster, listening to ani difranco on repeat, trying to get the courage to finally call my mother and ask her to save me.

i know that isn’t the case, anymore. but the thought of not knowing, and starting from scratch again… it scares the living shit out of me.

as for these last few days… i have to laugh off the bullshit comments about being a punk rock warrior. i have to try not to be offended when people are shocked if i turn down an opportunity to drink when the cold, wet cans are staring me straight in the face. and i have to get over this whole idea that leaving my job was a bad move. i have to shrug off the comments about my relationship with dan going down the shitter…

but here’s the thing.

fuck everyone.

(adults can say that too, right?)

yeah, fuck ‘em.

i’m not sorry.

i’m not sorry i fucked up with m. i’m not sorry for a single tattoo on my body. i’m not sorry the drinking was a problem, for years. i’m not sorry my relationship with dan ended, and he had to move out, and i’m not sorry i was still fucking him after we broke up. i’m not sorry that i’ve had moments of weakness, of desperation, of chaos, or sadness. i’m not sorry for quitting my job. i’m not sorry for being fucking human.

here’s the thing with acceptance and self-worth.

i’m fucking horrible at it.

a good friend made a joke at my expense, and how did i deal with it? i came home, took off my tights, turned off the lights, blasted daniel johnston super loud, and fucking bawled my eyes out for an hour.

ADULT LIFE!

i’m not used to this. i’m not used to dependence or zero income, or feeling this helpless. it’s awful, and it’s fucking with my head, the way it fucked with my head then. the freedom was incredible, at first. i sat in the park, blowing bubbles, drinking beer from a coffee cup, watching my friends play street frisbee at midnight, dancing until 4 in the morning, going to the beach all day, having iced green tea in summer dresses at two in the afternoon at my favourite coffee shops, drinking mimosas with breakfast, stuffing my face with pretty people at restaurants’ soft openings, chatting all afternoon on the porch…it’s been so liberating.

and now i’m all, “fuck”.

because the money is gone, and so is the glamour, et all.

along with my confidence & independence.

and so now, i wait.

for money. for an epiphany. for a job opportunity that will blow my socks off.

—

post script:

i am no longer fucking my ex-boyfriend. he returned my glasses, and i gave him back his computer, and we haven’t spoken in days, and i am feeling free and happy and strong. i know now, more than ever, that i want a future- and it most certainly isn’t with him. am i mourning the loss of my best friend in the entire world? hell yes. will i get over it? totally.

on, and up.

 

lately

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i should probably just rename this blog “progress reports of a girl who takes one step forward, and ten steps back”, or better yet “little elle: why bother”

HA! i’m funny.

this is what the mancave looked like a few weeks ago…

this is what it looked like after dan lived in here for a few weeks when we decided to break up

it’s mostly empty, now. i have to put my table in storage, and lug the couch out to the sidewalk, and vacuum up the millions of dust bunnies the hundreds of records were hiding, but yeah… it’s fucking empty otherwise.

i took monday & tuesday off to clear my head and cry a whole bunch, because i really haven’t cried much since dan and i broke up. i bought some paint and tomorrow i’ll switch up the blood-red walls for a dark brown colour, and move the rest of my belongings in there. i don’t want to sleep in “our” room, anymore. it was really hot last night, so i got naked, and slept in the living room with the lights and tv on. there aren’t any sheets in on my bed and both rooms are a mess so i just wanted to be away from all of that.

my buddy is coming by tonight to take a look at the place and see if he wants to live with me. i think it’d be a pretty great fit and it would totally be a fresh start. not to mention i’m terrified of living with girls again, so i hope he loves the place and movies his shit in immediately. living alone again is nice, but not when your best friend has just left you and your heart is heavier than a ton of bricks.

in any case… i’m kind of excited to start fresh in some ways. my closest friends all living a few blocks from me and it’s been so nice to enjoy this weather. i originally took the time off to help dan pack but it got too emotional, and he was too drunk, so i fucking left.

i’m not going to lie. i spent weeks being a complete asshole to him. i refused his hugs, and made fun of his new shirts, and called him a drunk when he cracked another beer. i played angry feminist punk super loud in hopes he could hear the lyrics and hurt, if only for a second. i figured watching him leave would be so much easier if i were angry. he took most of it good-heartedly, as i’d expected, because i still think he’s the nicest person in this entire world.

we were waiting for his buddy to show up to help with the move, and in the meantime we were sitting in the living room together, making small talk. he showed me a skit from kids in the hall, and i got up.. walked to our room, sat on our bed, and bawled my fucking eyes out. i don’t know anyone who loves kids in the hall as much as dan does, and having that be our last moment together just made it seem so much more awful. i already miss his goofy laugh, and the way he says my name. when dan realized i was crying in the bedroom, he came in to comfort me. he rubbed my shoulders and apologized, and that was that. “don’t think i’m not bummed, because i am so fucking bummed”, he said.

when he came back upstairs to grab the pippen jersey i bought him for christmas and his pbr mug, he was drenched in sweat- dripping from his face, and arms. his white german shirt was almost completely see-through and he smelled like a keg. and despite refusing to hug him for weeks, when he said goodbye for the last time and put his keys on the coffee table, i ran into his arms, and pulled his wet body against my little summer dress and cried harder than i ever have in my entire life. i squeezed him so tight i could feel his heart beat against mine and every time i thought i was ready to let go, i caught myself pulling him in closer, and closer. i wanted to tell him that i loved him and i was sorry, and i hoped i could look at him again without wanting to die, but i figured it may be a little too dramatic for a goodbye hug that was already so gut-wrenching.

i went to bootcamp that night, and almost threw up on my yoga mat. when i’m sad, i get super icky and throw-upy and it’s terrible. he called me right as i was on my way home and we chatted for about ten minutes. he told me he figured out how to set up his air conditioning unit, and that he’d go out and buy nail clippers to cut his toe nails because they were so gross… and i always forced him to cut them when he lived with me. he’s settling in, i guess. he’s moving again in a month so he’ll be sleeping on a floor for a bit. i don’t like that. i hate it, even. anyway… i guess it’s not my place to tell his story anymore. that chapter of my life is closed, and it’s time to move on.

and through all of this? thank goodness for this… all of it:

late night wine & strawberries on my porch

summer dresses!

silly friends


hanging out in the park & blowing bubbles


friends who visit from out of town

midnight street frisbee, in the heart of the city

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.

who lets me have a credit card, round 2

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I AM OUT OF CONTROL.

we just have a lot of shelves and nothing to display on them, OKAY?!

first of all… little russian dolls, only instead of russian dolls, they are FREAKING ROBOTS! which is so adorable i can barely even handle it. hi, i’m a twelve year old boy, apparently.

side note: i am also obsessed with owls, so my brother & SIL brought back little russian dolls à la owl, HAND-CARVED in wood. they have little mini baby owls inside of them. SO CUTE.

secondly, i got 10″ wire letters… D for dan, and MYSTERY LETTER for me, because unless you don’t listen to anything i say, elle is my pseudonym so my crazy junkie ex-boyfriend doesn’t find me. it is, though, linked to my real name directly. ouuuu, FIRST HINT!

HOW MYSTERIOUS.

it’s super cheesy and lame, and i’ve always hated when peolpe had FAMILY, or LOVE, or HOPE, or any of that bullshit on their fireplace mantles, because i am an asshole like that… but in all honesty it’s actually quite cute, and i take it back immediately.

crap, i’m a frigging softie.

D + MYSTERY LETTER sitting in a tree.

or in this case, on a shelf in my living room.

and last but not least, a little bright red runner/rug to tie in the colours in the kitchen. because how frigging adorable is that?

dan actually just texted me this:
“are you a shopaholic?!”

legit.

i think i’ve been watching too much big love. nicky’s spending habits got the family $60,000 in debt in season 2.

oh wow, look who needs a life.

i’m not allowed near my credit card for like, a month, okay?

steak & a blowjob

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so apparently march 14th is steak & a blowjob day? it’s essentially valentine’s day for men, which, first of all… is total bullshit. i’d take a slab of meat and some oral sex over flowers any day.

does that make me a bad person? or a dude? both?

whatever!

dan was at work all night so i went to value village with khala to spend money i don’t have on shit i don’t need. but because dan spent four hours in the kitchen on valentine’s day making me gnocchi, i kind of had to oblige.


one t-bone steak, a beer glass shaped like a naked lady, a senators t-shirt, traisnpotting on vhs, and a whitesnake tape (because, HAHA, whitesnake)

the funniest part? i didn’t even make the steak because he got home from work so late, and i fell asleep while we were watching big love so he didn’t even get the blowjob.

best girlfriend award 2011? CHECK.

dan is in love with an asshole.

anyway, i spent the majority of the time at value village cruising the baby section because i’m a fucking sadist like that. i do, however, like to live vicariously through jessi because she is a babe, and has basically the cutest family on the history of the planet, with baby number two on the way.

so because dan would set me on fire if i brought home baby stuff for us, i just buy it for my friends.

behold, the tiniest converse EVER?!

…to give you an idea of how little they actually are, they fit in the palm of my hand, and i am like, four feet tall, so they are essentially the smallest converse shoes to ever exist. AND they’re cream on the outside, and red on the inside, so they could be for a boy OR girl so they’ll suit the bean regardless. success.

and just while i was leaving the baby aisle because my ovaries nearly exploded out of my very own body (i’m super descriptive, right?), i turn and see this:

BE STILL, MY HEART!

it’s definitely too big for nolan, but he’ll totally grow into it and be the cutest nerd baby ever.

oh hi, i’m blogging about other people’s kids.

time for coffee number twelve.

with a side of heart attack.

who lets me use the internet?

progress report the, uh, third?

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a lot got done in the mancave last night!

essentially all that’s left to do is get a couch and a wardrobe for all my clothes… other than that? DONE. i promise i’ll have real pictures when i do before and after shots, but in the meantime this is a super late, super dim picture of what was done lat night:

i set up my sewing area… hung up some pictures of me with my favourite montrealers, and set up my machine on a little black table… i used to have a pretty wonderful sewing table, but i sold it when i moved. all of my sewing stuff and fabric is in a box in one of the cubbies in my expedit bookshelf in the bedroom. HIDDEN! just the way i like it.

secondly, we mounted dan’s milkcrates onto the wall to use as bookshelves, or in this case tape shelves. secondly, we mounted the DVD shelves to store all our movies, tv series, and dan’s video games. i also hung the pippen jersey i got dan for christmas last year. also, that yellow car? LOVE. it used to belong to some old friends and i’ve brought it to just about every single apartment i’ve lived in. i just can’t part with it. and on the wall next to the curtains is a picture of dan and i in our halloween costumes last year, and a few (less naked pictures) of the shots julie took of me for valentine’s day.

it’s not much, but to be fair, the mancave looked like this not a week ago:

now, the kitchen is yet to be painted, but i still managed to make a cute little curtain for the pantry. the colours of the kitchen will be mocha, red, and black mostly… so the fabric i chose is a nice cream colour with hints of black and red. it’s totally shanty and crooked, but whatever! i did it super quick and you can’t even tell that i didn’t measure or pin it.

and our kitchen window is being installed TOMORROW! holy shit ya’ll, WINDOW PANES. frig, yes.

and also, i piled all of the garbage bags and empty boxes in the hallway next to the door so tall you can’t even walk by. do you think dan will take a hint and take it out today on his day off?! i’m a passive-aggressive jerk-off like that, okay? it’s how i get things done!

dan is super lucky to be in love with an asshole.

AMIRIGHT?!

want, need, must have

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… i’ve got my eye on you, motherfucker.

now all of you, pray to the internet lords that someone in this here city will buy my (new) old couch so i can afford this one. i really miss sitting in my undernothings watching criminal minds somewhere that ISN’T my boudoir. and for serious, if dan catches me eating dinner in bed one more time, i think he actually might disown me.