The Adventure Of The Electronic Candles: A Valentine Tale

The housekeeping lady was on her way out as I pulled up the straps of this sparkly red bra that I haven't even worn yet. She must have caught a glimpse of me, because I vividly remember picturing my best friend walking in at that precise moment - making me look like a full-on lesbian. I could have let the thought slide, and carried on with the day's harmless plans, but no. I needed some spice to freak the sh** out of her, and that's when the idea struck me. 

I entered the living room, blasting some old-school Britney, while suddenly recognizing just how much I love myself. I was about to slide into these really cute jeans, but it was too late by then and the idea manifested entirely by that point. I lit up all the electronic candles in my apartment, which is approximately twenty-two and then turned up the fireplace channel to add some additional spark. I pulled on these thigh-high stockings with lacey ends and left the cute jeans I speak of resting on a chair. 

I put on matching sparkly-red panties and for awhile, I just sat on my sofa waiting for her knock at the door. I started to feel restless swiftly, as within five short minutes, I felt like what's-her-name from Sex and The City, when laying on the damn table, covered in sushi, or something. That's when I decided that I'd wait for her in bed, underneath the sheets, and surrounded by electronic candles. Before sliding beneath the sheets, I quickly composed a playlist filled with everything from cheesy classical pieces, to steamy masochistic rock music. 

A knock on my door interrupted my thoughts at last. Thanks to this door opener I own, I rested beneath the sheets comfortably as the door swung open and I waited for her footsteps to appear along the floor of my apartment. 

"Hi," I smiled sneakily. 

She looked utterly petrified, in a comical way of course, but it was obvious she wanted me. Just kidding. 

After putting our clothes back on. Well MY clothes back on, because nothing happened I swear, we went out to eat the greatest red velvet cake of life itself.

I ordered green tea with my dessert which happened to taste tropical, and as requested by my tastebuds, asked the waitress if I could buy a box of it. 

"We only order it for the restaurant," she told me, "But you can probably find it online." 

Feeling as if the universe was on my side, I entered this ordinary grocery store just around the corner from this place we were at, and as I rolled down the tea isle, there it fucking was, hopelessly waiting for my purchase! Then I bought myself a colouring book and magic markers and made my way back to my electronic-candle-filled apartment. 

Happy Valentine. 

May all your days be as splendid as mine was. 

Wherefore Art Thou, Toronto?

Somewhere in the heart of the city, I lost a portion of the butterflies that Toronto used to fill me with. I used to dream of residing in the midst of it, surrounded by chaos and the bad-asses that roam the streets at lunch hour, and then once again at five'o'clock. I would leave my glamourous apartment in a polka-dotted outfit and round Armani shades, and I would make some trips to cute little boutiques, and bakeries, and breakfast bars, and book stores. Occasionally, I would gather the girls, and while sipping martinis just briefly past lunch hour, we would exchange disturbing details of our love lives that range between the plots of a hardcore porno, and an intense thriller with moments of comedic romance. Just kidding. Sort of. 

I would embark on some solo adventures, smile at strangers, and have long Starbucks dates, just gazing out the window and watching the stylish but pretentious folks on Yonge street, who I'm probably no different from by now. I would splurge on expensive chandeliers and blouses, and on the occasion that I decided to stay in, I would drink champagne accompanied by truffles, before I dived into my white platform bed with the subtle spring breeze greeting my skin. My sheets would smell of lavender as always, and the tender grey walls would make napping feel divine, even if a sleep during the day could never find shelter in my heart. Then I'd awake an hour later and spend the remaining hours of daylight lounging in the prettiest panties ever, and pulling Pascal off my book shelf for a tender mind massage over a glass of wine. 

When my hedonist alter-ego made her way out of the shadows each night, I would spend my energy on my lover and we'd get lost in gently tugging at each other's egos on long walks in the cemetery, and many other things that I don't dare mention. He'd be an escape from my chaotic life as I balanced university, a job at a rehab hospital, and the newly developed anxiety over grown up life. But despite being in a momentary and euphoric love, the future would be out of our hands, and my only concern would be how he'd creep up behind me next, and what tactics he'd use to make me his proverbial b****. The beauty of it all is at the core of our conscience, we would genuinely care for each other. 

What made it so lovely is I'd awake on Sunday morning, visiting my parents as per usual, and the darkness of what I created would blur to the splendid Sunday afternoons of coffee, and lunch, and shopping trips, and conversations with my two fluffy dogs. Then Monday would come at me, wrapping me into a familiar cycle of important meetings, and research papers, and ladies' nights, and fancy lounges, and a very steamy love affair, that, combined with everything else, was exactly what I craved. So that was that - the picture I painted in the centre of my eccentric mind came to life in the heart of the city. It was like Toronto transformed me into a single thirty-year-old with a glimpse of what life is like in Sex and the City. And despite all of this, it seems as though the spark has been missing, leading me to fantasize about a German countryside. 

The chaos has spread over me like an infection, poisoning my desire for some laid back days on which I continue lounging in panties, but the expensive, silky bath robes do not matter for a moment. I chill out on my oversized chocolate brown sofa, watching seven episodes of Lost in a row, and thinking of how awakening it would be to live on an island for awhile. Well, not that extreme. Sunshine doesn't do so well in the sand, but I'd be lying if I told you that I haven't been dreaming of a German countryside, in a cottage-like home, surrounded by complete quietness, except when the birds decide to chirp. I wouldn't be in and out of meetings constantly, I would just sit in a sun chair in my adorable backyard, writing to the world of whatever came to mind. 

I'd spend months at a time there, freeing my worry-filled mind with thoughts of nothingness combined with serenity, and if the day happened to come where boredom finally captured me, I'd hop on the next plane back to the heart of the city, to begin my hunt for chaos once again. But before I'd catch a flight to Toronto, I'd hop on an old school train and observe the countrysides of a foreign land. I'd make impromptu stops in small villages and have authentic cappuccinos in the cutest German cafés. I'd also befriend an old person who happened to speak English and we'd exchange stories for awhile. I would listen more actively than speak, and then I'd make my way to home sweet home, somehow discovering that my love for Toronto has been rekindled. 

I would realize in that instant that Toronto is my one and only, and we'd live happily ever after, until chaos whispered filthy things to me and stole me away for awhile. And even if I was stolen away, Toronto would take me back with open arms each time, because my presence in its heart would be vital to its existence. The chaos whispering in my ear would lure me away into distant lands that vary from Germany to Dubai, but Toronto would be the only unchanging variable. Toronto would always be my one and only. 

Study Cycle

I don't do well with waking up when waking up is followed by four-hundred pages of exam review and info-cramming. It is for this reason alone that I plugged in my phone to the sound system in my living room and chose the loudest and most annoying alarm to drag me out of bed before noon and initiate nerd mode. 

The following timeline chronologically illustrates my study cycle. 

1. Alarm of the apocalypse

The alarm goes off at 10 AM, causing the walls around me nearly to collapse. I jump out of bed and into Sunshine, (Sunshine is my wheelchair) stopping the apocalypse, seeing as it is three weeks early. The thought of returning to bed briefly crosses my mind, but no, that would be lazy and unproductive - I jump in the shower instead. 

2. Let the crisis begin.

I wrap myself in a crisp white towel and make my way to the kitchen. I manage to construct the greatest bagel of life itself, with a side of blueberries and a tall glass of coffee. (Yes, glass.) I glance over at the table, compiled of the books that await my brilliant mind, but my peripherals reveal to me my white platform bed that could totally use my company. So lonely it looks, and I dive in with no further adieu. 

3. Three hours later…

I awake beneath the crisp white sheets. My phone reads 1:30 PM and in my mind, I've already died once. I drag myself to my olive green bathroom, accurately brushing my teeth and putting some clothes on at last. I make the second glass of coffee and figure there is time to kill. 

4. The big comfy couch

Seated on my big comfy couch now, I open my laptop and then play the nonstop Christmas carols I long awaited. Briefly glancing at the notes I made last night, I open my textbook with a newly developed enthusiasm to get this sh** done with. I manage to scribble three letters down before I decide that the time has not yet come. 

5. Thoughts in my head

I start to think about the ball - the ball that is fast approaching, and the stunning, flawless dress I shall wear. I begin the online search for long diamond earrings with a hint of emerald green, and as I peer at the clock, it reads 3:43. I take a sip of the now cold coffee in front me, and say hello to an existential crisis. 

6. Existential crisis: part one

Remembering the chapter I covered in such great depth last night, my panic-mode disappears temporarily and I think of the person I am seeing and wonder why in the right mind he has not written me…yet. It crosses my mind to write him first, but the thought rapidly changes as I think about the ball once more, and the mermaid look I intend to take with me. 

7. Existential crisis: part two

Intrigued by the idea of the mermaid look, I make my way to the bathroom for a hair and makeup experiment. Flat-ironing each strand of hair on my scalp, I pull it back with clips and then experiment with tender grey eyeshadows and very intense mascaras. Then I organize a study playlist consisting of Beethoven, but realize within seven minutes that this actually terrifies the sh** out of me. I hop on Facebook, phone my mother-goose, and part of me wishes I was out right now. Part of me wishes I'd pursue my novelist dream and spend my days writing, while part of me is dreaming of a bad-ass position somewhere in marketing, or public relations, or linguistic something…the battle between art and logic fiercely tug at my conscience as the burning desire grows in me to rip the books awaiting me. 

8. Existential crisis: part three

A strong sense of hopelessness fills me as I think about the other children in my program and the progress they have made with info-cramming. As the feeling of utter uselessness drips all over my sense of self, I open my fricken' textbook and start off nice and easy. I encounter some basic definitions and come across the definition of Facebook, which my communication theory glossary defines as 'You know what this is.' Just when I think the crisis has ended, and I am ready to own the sh** out of this exam, my mind scolds the son of a b**** who wrote this lazy-ass, unprofessional excuse of a definition. I make my way to the kitchen for a tall glass of well-deserved green tea. 

9. The end of a crisis?

While leaning over my sink via Sunshine, holding a tall glass of green tea that is now only half full, the realization greets me that I paid my own tuition this year. Moreover, how awful can a communications exam be, when I owned the sh** out of much more complex subjects in philosophy and humanities. I decide the time has come to own this exam - but first, I jump into another shower and put on a  silk bath robe, because who the hell studies when they don't look good? Upon showering and changing, I manage to find a peaceful playlist that facilities my info-cramming skills, and six hours later, nerd mode is fully initiated. 

10. Fours hours later

It has been four hours since nerd mode has successfully launched. I am now half-way through my info-cramming session and my peaceful playlist has reached its end. The fireplace channel and electronic candles aren't a bad choice of substitution, however, worries are beginning to build up over other and more personal matters. In partnership with the fourth glass of caffeine, I declare that sleeping is not among my intentions tonight. I hereby declare myself a slave of stoicism [tonight].

Thoughts in a Princess Bed

I picked up my stuff and left that day. The last thing I recall is the frustration building up over Sunshine’s fragile condition, followed by his disappearance altogether. I picked up my stuff and made my way to the place I used to call home, six months ago - add or subtract a day or two.

In between doggy-time, and arguing with a brother that’s a walking cliché, I was analyzing my life, as per usual, and reflected on many things, starting with my growing desire to spend time coloring pictures with magic markers.

While laying in my four-poster princess bed surrounded by the red walls that I don’t miss that much, I also began to ponder the whereabouts of the order and clarity I so deeply admire – that is when there aren’t twenty-eight-thousand items on my worry-list, but how can I not worry about twenty-eight-thousand items, when I happen to be a Virgo-child with a constant need to fix, fix, fix, and improve – just about everything.

This is what I thought about:

-My desire to go on a hunt for a new fragrance – something sweet, something sexy, something…bold with a touch of Virgo-child perfection.

-My excitement for the fall; the changing leaves falling by the day, the cold crisp weather accompanied by the season’s fashion, hot cups of tea and philosophical discussions, pumpkin-flavored-everything, and the chance to wear the never-ending-collection of coats in my closet.

-The return of ‘Sunshine’ in the week that follows, and all the things I’m going to do when I have my life back as it was – a shopping spree, a night out to an extravagant lounge, a breakfast with the ladies, a solo adventure down Yonge street, a date to someplace ordinary like a museum followed by something rather strange, and a train trip…somewhere to the middle of nowhere.

-Returning to school with a clearer picture of where I am headed, minus the useless electives that I haven’t quite enjoyed, except that philosophy course that has improved my conversation skills and overall understanding of humans.

-An intervention in the area of romance and the abrupt decision I made to never shed a tear for another guy again. Ever.

-The feeling of fulfillment returning to my apartment, with a newly-discovered appreciation for days spent in a towel, and the self-made earthquakes in my building, thanks to Spice Girls blasting through the speakers.

-The very pretty book I bought, filled with all sorts of fairy tales, that I intend to read each night before bed time.

-The overall sense of satisfaction, butterflies, and non-stop thrill from having a special someone a part of my life in the last X. 

The Resurrection Post

I’ve abandoned the psychotic habits of sharing the ramble-tones of my everyday existence in the format of ups, downs, and all-over-the-places. Lately, the realm of adulthood has consumed me and my stress levels, making me wonder how I’m still managing to roll around the earth, free of a heart-attack, or possibly something worse - let’s save this six-month history book for the brighter days ahead. I feel that the time has come to resurrect this blog.

In case you are unfamiliar with my story-times, I’d like to remind you that I’m anything but ordinary, and the fifteen-thousand-dollar wheelchair I drive has little to do with it. My goals in life are somewhere over the rainbow as we type, and yet I am genuinely convinced, that one of these days, I will take over the world be the happiest girl alive.

Even if I tried to be, I am not like most people. I am easily bored, and I take pride and excitement in dissecting you piece by piece to unveil the depths of your mind. For this reason, I also happen to be single, but on the occasion that I am not single, I am probably and wholeheartedly consumed by a son of a b****  as sane as I am.

Last year, I transformed the mall into my place of worship and filled my closet with the sparkly, shiny, never-ending collection of clothes, but I’m pleased to type I’ve changed my ways, and these days, my time is invested in understanding people, and mastering the art of conversation.

I am somewhere in my early twenties, but am nothing like the others. I fill my evenings with jazz and philosophy, accompanied by a glass of red wine, while I lay on the sofa with the peachy walls surrounding me, in nothing but a towel. I have this theory that I’m the goddess of words, and every now and then, I believe it too.

I’m inspired by the city, as I always have been – the crazy, chaotic city filled with the bad-asses that roam it - restlessly. I’m inspired by the quality of conversation when it’s skillfully structured, and I’m inspired by the frigid air of winter, just as it greets my skin, mid-way through November.

I’m inspired by particular odds against me, but above everything else, I’m inspired by the look on your face as you delve deeper and deeper into my pleasantly eccentric mind.

Welcome. Yes, I am back. 

Me, Myself, And The Four Walls Surrounding Me

Well, my wheelchair managed to land himself in the E.R. for the third time in a month, so once again, it’s me, myself, and the four walls surrounding me. What makes this experience unbearably tragic is that according to the statuses on my facebook friendlist, it is summer outside, or something. Either that, or everyone knows that I’m stuck at home and they feel a heart-aching desire to [ insert tear-drops here ] NEVERMIND.

If I so desperately wanted to escape the four walls surrounding me, I would probably use the spare-chair I was loaned for the week. However, I’m pleased to declare that I have not yet reached that level of desperation.

It’s not that these few days off are no good for me – I have three-million-and-eighty-two items on my to-do-list and this wouldn’t be a shabby time to get cracking on them. This occurred to me this evening when I was contemplating what I should do with the remaining hours of the day. My options looked as follows:

A) Work on my portfolio which consists of fifteen essays, each four to five pages in length.

B) Pack up more of my belongings so I’m ready for the move this weekend, stress-free.

C) Play with the puppies, courtesy of my two fluffy dogs who accidentally procreated three months ago.

To tell you the truth, I was sort of in doubt, so naturally, I picked ‘C’ and before I knew it, I spent about X hours with the same puppy, which I swore on my clothes I would not get attached to. In the process of holding it like a baby and making direct eye contact with it, I came to the shocking realization that perhaps I do like kids and maybe my infant-hating whatevers are simply a defense mechanism for X, Y, and Z. Needless to type, I have buried myself deeper in the stages of attachment. 

Topsy-Turvy Nothingness

I’ve been meaning to tell you a story or two for quite some fricken’ time now, but my week consisted of absolute nothingness after my wheelchair broke down and I was confined to the four walls surrounding me, sort of.

I was going to post quite a few things, actually. I was going to post a ‘Ruin it With Cinderella’ and then I was going to rant about my topsy-turvy love life. I was even going to post a Valentines Day special, but I became so occupied with my evening of bubble baths, champagne, and chick-flicks with the company of my fluffy white dog. After that, I was too busy enjoying nothingness so I never got around to doing any stories at all. 

My week hasn’t been exciting or adventurous at all. To top it all off, I was slightly offended when the spare-chair I was loaned for the week nearly had me sitting on the ground with its low-height seating. I am actually pleasantly surprised that while reaching the cupboards for dishes and whatnot, nothing fell on my head to make me more disabled.

In brighter news, my wheelchair arrived today after about X days, and I’ve never been so happy to see him. He looked a little bit dusty when he rolled in to greet me, so I’m still sort of worried that he was treated neglectfully at the shop. I’m taking him out to celebrate our reunion.

Verge Of Anorexia: A Few Things to Note

I can’t think of a story to tell you that’s even mildly entertainful, and that’s usually because things are going really well with little to no failures in my daily existence. However, the other day, someone told me that I’m really skinny considering that I don’t walk around and whatnot, and asked what my secret is for staying on the verge of anorexia. That’s when it occurred to me that maybe you don’t know enough about me aside from my terrible spending habits and random adventures, so I decided to whip up an entry consisting of random facts.

-Skin-and-bone syndrome is a gift I take for granted.

I don’t really eat a whole lot, if you wanna know the truth. On average I eat two meals a day, and nine times out of ten, they’re home-cooked. But I'm not the type of person to count my calorie intake because I love food. I eat all types of meat, and I can eat boxes of chocolate on a typical weekday, not to mention the daily triple-triples I consume. Also, I have a sacred attachment to salt. 

-My favourite show is the Fireplace Channel.

I haven’t been into TV for a very long time. Apart from an occasional movie or a wicked home design show, my screen is always on the fireplace channel, or Jazz F.M. in the summer time. Everyone who knows this thinks it’s a waste of a flat screen TV. It’s not my fault that there haven’t been any good shows since Full House and Even Stevens.

-'Ruin it With Cinderella' is not based on the failures of the dudes I’ve been with.

Not all of them anyway. A lot of the stuff I write in those posts are things that I’d envision to be ridiculous and absurd, but if you must ask, then yes. Every now and then, those posts contain personal stories. I will never specify, so unless you’re lucky enough to know about my romantic encounters, you’ll never know the difference.

-I feel that this blog can be easily misunderstood because it is highly sarcastic and exaggerated.

I am aware that I come across as ridiculous, spoiled, and somewhat irresponsible. I am not as strange as I seem, and my life is pretty fricken' successful thus far. Anyway, I thought I might address the fact that I have real goals aside from spending money and I'm not too far from reaching them.

-I’m not crazy about kids.

You know that instant reaction most people get when they see a child? The “OMG, sooooo cute!!!” Yeah, well I don’t get that – I don’t know why, I just don’t. A lot of the times, I find kids to be sort of annoying, and stuff. However, there are certain kids that I develop attachments to, but it’s not a love-at-first-sight thing. It grows out of an emotional bond, and if you want me to be honest, it’s pretty rare for me. Maybe I’m a sociopath, or something. Do I want kids? I think I want one, and I was dead serious when I said I was going to adopt a Russian baby. Why Russian? I'm not sure. It just feels like that's what's meant to be. Probably gonna name him Dimitri! The reason I want to adopt is not because I can't have kids of my own - I just don't feel like giving birth, to be honest. 


-My best pieces of writing do not live on 'SYSTEMATIC ERROR.'
They live under my bed in a fancily decorated box, and the only way you would access these is if you ever meant anything at all to me. This blog is just something I do for fun, and it isn't meant to have deep intrinsic value. I have a collection of other things I have written and they're a lot less hyper, to say the least. I'm compelled by the art of words and you'd probably be surprised to find some of my darker pieces. Eventually, I'm going to form it into a novel of some sort, but I'm secretly afraid to publish because due to the nature of the things I have written, I would probably be analyzed as a f***ed up person, or something. 


-Every winter, I cheat on my wheelchair. 
I love my wheelchair a lot, but every winter, I have an affair with the snow. I've developed an odd attachment to winter despite the inconvenience it has in store for me, and at least once a year, I like to use my crutches to walk in the snow for a few minutes, even though my chances of slipping and breaking my neck are pretty fricken' high. It's fun. And crunchy - you should try it sometime. 


-Gloomy skies and Mondays make me the happiest girl ever. 
I think Mondays are fantastic, and it's because I love the way my weekdays are structured. I have the perfect mix of school and work, and it's right to the point where I don't want to shoot myself from anxiety. Also, I think gloomy skies are sexy as hell and if I ever run into Prince Charming, I'm going to get married on a grey, gloomy day when all the trees are dead and a little bit snowy. 


-I am always paranoid about something.
I don't sleep enough, because even in my deepest form of sleep, I'm ridiculously worried and paranoid about something stupid that doesn't even matter. Most of the time, I worry about the ideas I'm going to wake up with, because I know that I'm crazy enough to do whatever my heart desires. 

Cheap Cologne

  

By 8:31 my mind was elsewhere. I could hardly find in me the strength to stay awake, let alone the concentration to pick up any of the four-billion words the professor blurted out. I tried to distract myself with facebook, twitter, and blogging, but to my unpleasant surprise, all of the above failed and I contemplated suicide followed by dropping out of University. Right in that order.

It is not a usual habit of mine to b**** about school or the number of books I have to read. I don’t even b**** about the seven-page essays that I did the night before due-date and shamefully scored an ‘A’ on. I don’t b**** about the 90 kilometer walk roll in outdoor traveling, and I don’t even b**** about being stuck in useless electives. The reason I don’t b**** about these things is because I am starting to develop a profound love for education.

But I must admit, that every now and then, it would be nice to avoid the contemplation of suicide at 8:30 in the morning, after I’ve rolled to the other side of campus in frigid weather conditions and pitch black dark an hour before. Also, I am not a grade three student and I don’t wanna learn about the group of seven. I want to analyze and dissect complex philosophies, novels, and concepts, and I want to write. More than that, I want to be away from the children that bathe in cheap cologne at six in the morning and then strongly insist on sitting next to me. 

X, Ontario: Thoughts I Encountered This Evening

I woke up with a terribly bruised elbow, and that is how my year began. To most people my age, the discovery of a surprise bruise would mean one of three things:

A) A wicked party the night before consisting of half of LCBO’s alcohol.

B) A catfight gone bad, probably over a brainless boy or sh**-talking.

C) A sexual encounter, ridiculously rough, likely with a stranger that was met at a club two-and-a-half hours ago.

To me, the bluish-purple bruise only signaled to one thing; utter confusion combined with excruciating pain. Let’s leave my new year’s eve story for another day.

It has always been my bucket-list-item to go on an impulsive train adventure, so this afternoon, that is exactly what I did. I picked up a there-and-back ticket to X, Ontario and got on a train right at 4:10 p.m. That was right after I picked up a hazelnut coffee, that I kind of wished was a triple-triple instead, and the cutest bottle of coca-cola I have ever laid eyes on.

I made my way to the concourse, or whatever it’s called, and I hopped rolled on the train with my two beverages, whilst chasing the sunset and feeling temporarily liberated from the thought of waking up at 6 a.m. tomorrow. I was thinking about a lot of things, particularly about the notions of romance that are attached to trains.

That is when somebody in X, Ontario crossed my mind, (which is not where I traveled to this evening) and how his company would have filled my tummy with butterflies if we philosophized over a glass of wine and a wicked make-out session exchange of thoughts, concepts, and witty banter. I also thought about how much more romantic our philosophizing would be, if the train journeyed through Russia, on an old train that probably isn’t even accessible, and my wheelchair itself is more high-tech. 

Then, I started to think about train-riding turning into a regular hobby of mine, once I live on my own, as the peace dominating my worry-filled mind was nice for a change. I thought about the idea of changing Universities, since the thought of rolling around outdoors in minus-fifty-degree weather was making me uneasy, and of course, full of anxiety. I also envisioned running into Holden Caulfield on the train ride, and wondered how he would describe our encounter in Catcher in the Rye, Part II.

Suddenly, the train came to a stop and I arrived in X, Ontario. As I departed from my seat, I made my way to the train station’s waiting area. I smiled at some strangers, purchased a third beverage, which was by the way, a large triple-triple, and I was sort of wishing I had purchased a ticket to Montreal, instead. Then I waited about X minutes for my train back to Toronto.

As I rode my way back into the transformed sky of darkness, I text-messaged some people that I craved to converse with, and received an odd glance or two from the lady sitting across from me, but I wasn't offended – I was in the company of three beverages, and I would have thought I was a psychopath too.

The next thing I did was glance at my wheelchair, which I got out of, by the way. I happened to glance at it because I thought about new year’s eve and the friend-of-a-friend that reminded me not to forget my wheelchair after checking out of the hotel. I was sort of thankful for running into such thoughtful people, because imagine how my life would be if I actually forgot it!

The very last thing I did before arriving in Toronto, was observe my bruised elbow for awhile, and come to the shocking discovery that it is in fact a burn I woke up with. If I collect my memories in order, I will tell you that story another time.

It's Not You, It's Me

Dear 2011,

It brings me great sadness to kiss you goodbye as the final week or so of your presence, crumbles in my little hands. Actually that’s a filthy lie. I’m happy to get rid of your unproductive, procrastinating, money-spending ass. Nonetheless, I’d like to thank you for the things you had to offer in our relationship, such as:

-The arrival of my bad-ass German wheelchair after its X-month delivery process.

-The electronic-sticky-notes that brought me back to sanity after a post-apocalyptic state. (See ‘Variable Ex’ in Story-Time.)

-The dumping of my psychology program for Communications.

-The super-cute clothing items in my drawers that still contain price-tags.

-All the stupid sh** I bought like fancily-decorated-boxes, piles of sticky-notes, polka-dotted aprons, fancy wooden spoons, organic baby powder, and so on.

-All of the useful stuff I bought, like my white fur coat, fairy-tale mirror, extra drawers for my clothes, leopard bedding from Hong Kong, strapless tops in X colors, apple-flavored-laptop, blackberry, and much more.

-The finality of my artificial black hair after a seven-hour encounter with hydrogen-peroxide.

-The opportunity to live downtown in bad-ass central!

-The super-power to detect poisonous people in my life.

-A very special encounter with someone quite spectacular. 

-The X dollars I dropped at the mall this summer, amounting to X times my tuition fee.

-The new fluffy sugarplum that moved into my house and ruined precisely X pairs of shoes, one purse, and two Givenchy lipsticks.

-The twelve pairs of sunglasses which now reside in my drawer.

-The job and bank account that made all the splurging possible, in partnership with the company of my friends and other loved ones.

Anyhow, it’s not you it’s ME. And I happen to have my eyes on something new, who goes by the name of ‘2012’. Oh, the things I’m gonna do to it! 

Four-Word-Essays & Tall Cappuccinos

I was looking forward to this weekend, you know. That is, due to the many mishaps I’ve stumbled upon in the last two weeks, and whatnot. Last week, I made my way to work in the hopes of finally talking to the bad-ass med-student I’ve had my eyes on for X. 


I was a little more than flattered, when he initiated a conversation with me, chatting about little things here and there with some subtle flirting in between. My romantic encounter was going rather smoothly, until he decided to tell me that he is in fact a co-op student straight from high-school. As my-little-heart sank, I made my way to Second Cup and ordered myself a tall cappuccino. 


Then I realized that I had an essay due soonish, so I opened up a word document on my shiny new apple, after I took X minutes learning how to right-click. I got about four words done until I was swiftly interrupted by my favorite Christmas carol of life itself. I would tell you which one it is, but I don’t feel like it right now, so I don’t think I will. 


The next thing I did was reflect on my life in rather profound ways and come to the realization that I am making wicked progress on the road to happily-ever-after. That was until this weekend arrived and my wheelchair decided to possess one of my wheels in demonic ways. To make it ironic and whatnot, I’m pretty sure that today is international disability day or something like that, and it was a handicap day indeed. 


That said and all, I finally got my essays done, so I’d like to thank my bad-ass wheelchair for the encouragement. All of this aside, I don’t want to type too soon, but I feel I have BIG NEWS coming soon. May the holiday cheers bring you luck, and love, and tall cappuccinos!

XOX

Cookie-Cutter Existence

I am the goddess of essay-writing. I’m in love with words and I’m in love with writing, and if compiling a bad-ass argument is part of the task, I get all excited and passionate as if I’m writing wedding vows, or something. Naturally, my self-esteem was destroyed last week when I scored a C fricken’ minus on this paper I wrote for a course I’m taking.

A lot has happened that I haven’t written about. The reason I have not written is because not only am I busy as hell, but I’m also going through life-changing, eye-opening stuff, and nine times out of ten, I just don’t feel like telling you about my thoughts, feelings, and adventures these days.

The only thing I wanted to share with you is the C fricken’ minus I scored last week, and some other things on my mind.

-   The cold, frigid winter on its way, accompanied by the Christmas carols that will fill my-little-heart with delight.

-   The twelve pairs of sunglasses I eagerly await as they make their way towards me in a FedEx box.

-   The puppets I’m surrounded by, stuffed with a simple thought process and blinded by the purpose of their cookie-cutter existence.

-   The cookie-cutter goal I gave up to ever give birth to kids of my own, and the abrupt decision I made to adopt a Russian baby.

-   The fact that nothing uncomplicated and ordinary interests me anymore; my undying need to feel corrupted, entangled, and prone to chaos.

-   The anniversary of my singleness and the road to happiness, character, depth and education that I’ve been so lucky to multiply, deepen, and refine.

-   The loss of words I’m facing as I come to understand people more and more by the day.

-   The sharp intuition which leads me to believe I’m heading towards something extraordinary.