132. Maybe it’s because I’m friendly.

I have a bad habit of falling in luv with my friends.

I’ve never had that instant spark with a dude, you see. My attractions are always a slow burn. A tiny, minute ember that eventually warms into a wee flame, & that then flares into a full-blown conflagration, & then, before you know it, I’m consumed.

This is a problem. & I’ll tell you why.

It all started with my best guy friend from high school & it’s been a steep slope since then. I just… I become friends with a guy, & we hang out a couple times (in the most severe case, we moved in together–that was a mistake & a half), & then as soon as I’ve been sufficiently friend-zoned I start to have feelings for him. It’s a pattern that I fall into every single time. By the time I realize I actually kinda dig the dude, it’s too late. We’re friends now. We’ve shared gross, intimate details. I know too much. & besides that, I’m one of the guys.

You don’t date one of the guys.

I don’t know how to not be someone’s friend–I don’t know how to be someone’s potential girlfriend. I have this tendency to get immediately close to people & with guys that means i’m herded straight into the quicksand of romance: the friend-zone. I’m never the girl guys want to be with; I’m always the girl guys talk to about the other girls they want to be with. Because I am a great listener. & I give awesome advice. Because I’m a great friend. 

Ugh, it sucks. It doesn’t suck to have friends who trust me & look to me for guidance–that’s pretty great. Don’t get me wrong: I like being that person people turn to in times of need. What I don’t like is when a dude I am finally romantically interested in babbles to me incessantly about the beautiful girl(s) he wants to be with. This happens to me all. the. time. 

& I don’t know why. 

For other girls I know it just seems so easy. They put out this sexy, charismatic, babely energy that makes men swoon. I just don’t get it–what do they have that I don’t? (Other than boyfriends/fiancés/husbands/random men falling at their feet of course).

I’m not completely sure. But I think it has to do with confidence & being slightly unattainable. you know, not being so GOD DAMN NICE & FRIENDLY ALL THE TIME.

(Sorry for shouting.)

I need to push past the pleasantness & uncover my sultry alter-ego: let my not-so-nice side out for a bit & see what happens.

132. Maybe it’s because I’m friendly.

131. Maybe it’s because I’m in Vancouver.

Said gal pals.
Said gal pals.

I’m taking my relationship struggles on the road & enjoying a few well-earned days of rest in Canada’s favourite West Coast city.

It’s been a stressful year, so me & a few gal pals made the inter-province trek across the prairies, through the mountains, & straight to the ocean-adjacent metropolis. The trip down was a confused mix of majestic & terrifying–driving the Coquihalla for the first time can be jarring, but driving the Coquihalla for the first time in a horrible rain storm without windshield wipers can be really intense.

Take it from me.

I digress.

We made it to Vancouver & so far it’s been amazing. This city is different from what I expected in all the right ways. It’s very laid-back–I feel like time works differently on the West Coast (& I love it–most people are well aware of how poor my time management skills are) & it’s also very, very… open(?) for lack of a better word. There’s a surprising amount of space in Vancouver compared to the other big cities I’ve experienced–I dig it. & the collision of nature & urban living is everywhere. Standing on the balcony of a friend of a friend’s place it was obvious: look to the left & you’ll see downtown Vancouver’s tetris-block cityscape; look to the right and it’s the Rocky Mountains.

It was sublime.  Also… the ocean.

Oh my god, the ocean. We went down to the beach & just seeing it so blue & beautiful brought me to tears.

The Ocean

Sigh. That’s my one big beef with Edmonton… being landlocked. It’s odd: I didn’t grow up anywhere near the ocean but I am constantly feeling the pull towards the salt-watery mass. Being on the coast just feels right. 

So, if anybody needs me in the next few days (or possibly for the rest of my life) you know where to find me: soaking up the rays (or just plain getting soaked) on one of Van’s many beaches.

Gal pals on the beach 2

131. Maybe it’s because I’m in Vancouver.

130. Maybe it’s because I’m disgusting?

My car is in a sad state of disarray, & I’m beginning to think it’s a problem.

There’s a sack of garbage in my trunk, a half-eaten McDonald’s snack wrap bouncing around my backseat, & 4-day-old, obviously-leftover potato salad riding shotgun. As my good friend kindly pointed out to me last night, the state of my car has crossed the messy-filthy threshold–it’s gone from a minor mess to a major disaster. My car is disgusting & so am I. &, um, last I checked, nobody’s going to want to date disgusting.

I’ve always been a messy person (as I’m sure my mother will attest) but it’s never been this bad before. I mean, yeah, I’ll let the garbage pile up in my backseat… & maybe I’ll neglect to toss out an empty coffee cup or two, & there was one time where I forgot about an almost-empty yogurt container for, like, a day. But putrescent potato salad in the passenger seat… well, that’s just gross.

It’s official: I’m a pig.

My car is an extension of myself–its current state of disarray is informed (to some extent) by everything that’s going on in my life right now… & vice versa.

One should never discount the validity of a clean space. I need to get back to basics–take care of my car & take care of myself. Get rid of the garbage cluttering up my life, kibosh the shit I don’t need & create extra space. You know?

Garbage perpetuates garbage; space encourages growth.

Oh, & if I manage to nab a man in the process that’d be okay too.

130. Maybe it’s because I’m disgusting?

129. Maybe it’s because I’m sick.

I’m dying.

I’ve been battling some sort of illness for the last couple of weeks–a friend of mine insists it’s merely the common cold, but there is nothing common about it. I know, I know… I have a tendency to be a touch dramatic when I’m sick but (trust me) this is a super strain & it’s trying to kill me.

I haven’t been sick like this since I was in the third grade, & it’s hit me when the rest of my life is completely falling apart so I’m not handling the situation very well… to say the least. I mean, I’m  scouring the ends of the Earth for a summer internship, scrambling to finish the never-ending pile of assignments, neglecting to sleep/eat on a regular basis &, now, on top of it all I’m fighting off a crippling case of laryngitis.

Why?! I feel like my body’s working against me right now–I’m being physically betrayed by my own self. It’s ridiculous. & I’m very upset about it. Because as much as I enjoy sounding like Bonnie Tyler, I also wouldn’t mind feeling like a human again. I think it’s on it’s way out (thank god) but for now I’m going to continue popping cough drops like candy, drinking my weight in herbal tea, & crying until I feel well again.

129. Maybe it’s because I’m sick.

128. Maybe it’s because it’s just not meant to be. 

Maybe there isn’t a key for every lock. Maybe I’m never meant to meet a man & fall in love & live happily ever after. I might just have to get used to being alone forever & I guess that’s okay.

I mean, that’s what happens when you repeatedly fall for emotionally unavailable people… Right? If you’re hung up on a dude (& when I say hung up… I’m talking the can’t-think-a-thought-without-thinking-about-him, wondering-if-he-thinks-I’m-pretty-slash-smart, desperate-to-talk-to-him-every-second-of-the-day hung up) who is still in what he thinks is love with an ex-girlfriend… You’ve got to face facts.

Sigh.

There’s no way I can compete with a ghost–the absolute image of perfection that no longer exists but is still alive & well in his mind. I can’t beat that, & I shouldn’t have to. So, I’ll bury these feelings deep down inside where I keep all the rejection, lack of self-love, & reminders that I’m not good enough & just enjoy being his friend.

Because the worst part is that this is a dude who is so amazing… so funny, charming, & intelligent that I know how lucky I am to even be in his life a little bit. I can’t have it all, but who can? So, I’ll suck it up and just be happy with what I can get.

128. Maybe it’s because it’s just not meant to be. 

127. Maybe it’s because I just have no idea what I’m doing.

This is embarrassing. I don’t know what’s happening to me: I can’t think, I can’t sleep, I can’t eat… which is how I know something is really screwing me up.

I have been feeling this confused mix of happy/excited and scared/anxious for the last week or so, and it wasn’t until  recently that I realized what the fuck was wrong. I was driving myself home and it hit me like a god damn bus–I’ve got a fucking crush on somebody. I haven’t experienced this in so long, I had no idea what to do with myself… I still don’t. I’ve just been bumbling around trying not to look like a complete idiot, &, for the most part, succeeding (I think).

I haven’t felt this way since I was a teenager… this excited-to-see-somebody-for-no-reason, googly-eyed glee that I just can’t control despite my best efforts has really messed me up–in the best way. I feel… comfortable around him. He just–he makes me laugh. &, now,  all of a sudden, I have this uncontrollable urge to shower on a regular basis and do my hair, or wear pants that aren’t made of luon. It’s weird. I’ve started noticing stupid shit like the colour of his eyes (I like to think of them as cornflower) or how his nose flares out when he smiles (I find this adorable, by the way).

The point is… I don’t know what to do. Do I tell him? Do I Hansel & Gretel this shit & drop hints? I guess, it’s 2015… does that make it okay to ask a guy out? Or do I just bottle this emotion deep down inside and forget how to feel? I have no idea. I am so confused.

SOS: Please send help.

127. Maybe it’s because I just have no idea what I’m doing.

126. Maybe it’s situational?

I had the best night that I’ve had in a long time–maybe even ever–this past Friday. It’s been a while since I’ve really let loose, let my hair down, turn’d up, or whatever the kids are saying these days… so it felt fantastic to go out to the clubs and get a lil’ crazy. Even though I was enjoying myself sans alcohol (this old girl can’t party like she used to) it was nice to get out & socialize. 

I loved it. I made normal conversation, witnessed a mind-blowing, gravity-defying dance-off, made abnormal conversation, met new people, and topped off the night with a good deed done right: driving three incredibly inebriated fellas home.

This is where shit got really real: between one of them running away, the other repeatedly attempting to ask my friend Celia out on a date (unsuccessfully–sorry Eric), and the third falling face first into a brick wall, I definitely had my work cut out for me. None of them knew where we were going, two of them were barely conscious, and Eric, well, he was more concerned with romance than actually getting home at any point in time.

Eventually, over a chorus of “Is this a cab?”, “Celia! CELIA!”, “Um, why are you doing this?” and  unbridled screaming, I managed to make it downtown–no thanks to any of the buffoons in the back seat. From there we made it to their place (after much ado about everything) and, despite their very best efforts (somebody, I won’t name any names here, couldn’t possibly understand why giving me his keys would be a good idea…), we even managed to get inside the building.

It was fun–even the shitty parts of the night left me laughing. But, given that this is one of very few interactions I’ve had with the opposite sex in a long while, it makes me wonder: how can I ever hope to meet somebody if the guys I am interacting with are too drunk to even remember who they are, much less who am?

Maybe if I spent more time around sober men (or even men in general) my chances of romance wouldn’t seem so slim.

126. Maybe it’s situational?

125. Maybe it’s because I’m lame?

I was never a popular girl.

I was always picked last in floor hockey, & usually first out in dodgeball, & I spent a lot of my lunch hours eating alone. I was kind of an ugly duckling–I didn’t grow into my looks until way later in life & by that time I’d solidified a set of awkward social skills that made it near impossible to maintain & create relationships. I was forever trying to strike a balance between trying too hard & staying aloof–people either thought I was a needy nerd or a mean bitch. I made terrible jokes that only I ever thought were funny, dressed weird & was chubby, & I either was overbearing to the point of annoyance, or overwhelmingly shy. I could barely make friends, so having a boyfriend was completely off the table.

That was then, though, & this is now. Since my time in Edmonton’s public school system, I’ve managed to level myself on the fulcrum of social norms & niceties. It’s allowed me to formulate a somewhat-social social life, but my dance card is still never quite full.  It doesn’t bother me (usually) because I’m happy with the friends I do have–they are great, & they make my life full, & they support me (sometimes from all the way across Canada–here’s looking at you, BFF) when I’m overwhelmed & crazy. I’ve also managed to maintain a romantic relationship or two in the years since my embarrassing attempts at courtship in grade school, & that’s boosted my confidence in that area. But sometimes it can take the slightest nudge to push me over the social precipice–to remind me that I’m still just not that cool. 

We were picking groups in class the other day–I’m talking a university class here, with people I’ve gone to school with for 3 years & who I know by at least first name & probably on a more personal level… everybody knows everybody, just to give you some context. So, we were picking these groups & nobody picked me.

It was like tenth grade gym class all over again. But somehow more hurtful.

No matter how hard I tried to tell myself to calm down, it’s no big deal, it doesn’t even matter, the little voice in my head wouldn’t stop reminding me that I wasn’t good enough, smart enough, pretty enough, or popular enough for any of these people. Nobody wanted me–still.

Ouch.

I wanted to disappear. I was immediately conscious of all of my faults: the fabric of my leggings stretched translucent over my thunder thighs, the two zits on my chin that refuse to be camouflaged, the greasy hair tucked under my frumpy toque. I felt dumb, inadequate, unwanted. I didn’t have enough good ideas or constructive critiques to be welcomed into a group of my peers. I was overtly aware of everything wrong with me (physically & intellectually) & so was everybody else. All I wanted to do was curl up & die. Instead, I relied on my other mode of self-defence: aggressive passive-aggression & semi-public tears.

Looks like I may not have outgrown all of my childhood idiosyncrasies… the least of which being my lameness.

Maybe nobody wants to be with me because sometimes I don’t even want to be with myself.

125. Maybe it’s because I’m lame?

124. Maybe it’s because I’m so great.

A friend commented earlier this week that she has absolutely no idea why I’m single.

“You’re just so funny!” She said, to which I replied:

“I know. I’m great. I just don’t get it.”

At the time it was nothing more than a flippant comment, but looking back now it makes me wonder. I mean, I don’t really think there is anything terribly wrong with me (despite the long list of possible problems here). I mean, I’ve got my flaws–don’t we all?–but overall I’m really not that bad. I actually am pretty great… maybe even too great.

I rarely get the chance to pump my own tires on this thing & I think it would be a nice change, so let’s just talk about how awesome I am for once. 

I’ll start with the basics: I have a job, which is good. I have friends–also good. I know how to drive & I even have a car. I am educated, attractive, kind, & healthy (as far as I know). I’m patient (unless I’m hungry) & I am not high-maintenance (although my Instagram may suggest otherwise–don’t believe everything you see on the internet, folks).

Now, let’s get into the nitty-gritty. The really important shit: I am soft, but firm–physically & emotionally–like a perfectly ripe plum. I know how to use a semicolon & favour the oxford comma, & I read books that aren’t Twilight or its sexy alter ego 50 Shades of Grey. I have a sense of humour, I love documentaries, & I enjoy long walks in the River Valley. I own a lava lamp, which is equal parts relaxing & fun–just like me! Oh, & I also know how to use Microsoft Office products which is a bonus in any situation, really.

I am not damaged goods–I might be the complete opposite. & maybe that’s why nobody wants to be with me–I can imagine the thought of dating somebody as fantastic as me can seem pretty overwhelming.

So, to all the guys out there: please don’t be intimidated. I am human, just like you! & I’m honestly not that great once you really get to know me, anyway.

124. Maybe it’s because I’m so great.

122. Maybe it’s because I’m lazy?

It’s the tail end of Reading Week & I have absolutely no desire to do anything. Ever again.

After 6 weeks of non-stop intellectual activity, the past 7 days of doing nothing has been a blissful break. I’ve been living in the lap of luxury–& by luxury I mean laying in bed watching Netflix & neglecting to shower.

It’s been awesome.

Even getting myself to string a few sentences together for this post has been a struggle–my brain is just out of it. It’s had enough. It doesn’t want to think anymore, & who can blame it?

I was just so tired. I needed a break & I’m really glad I got one… But it seems to have backfired a bit. Instead of feeling refreshed & ready to go back to school, I’m even more exhausted than I was to begin with.

I have no desire to leave my bed, or bathe, or even move in general, & that isn’t creating a lot of opportunities for romance–as you can imagine. My newfound lethargy & overall slothfulness, combined with a week of inactivity hasn’t really made me any more attractive to the opposite sex. This isn’t shocking to me, but right now, quite frankly, I am too tired to care.

I’ll deal with romance next week, maybe, if I can muster the energy to look like a human being again. In the mean time, I’m going to continue marathon-ing Bates Motel & eating macaroni & cheese straight from the pot in the comfort of my own bed.

122. Maybe it’s because I’m lazy?

121. Maybe it’s because I love food.

I like food. Yeah, I know, who doesn’t right? But I like, really like food… if you know what I mean.

I’ve always enjoyed it–all of it. I love salty, sweet, & all the beautiful flavours in between. I like fast food, slow food, cheap food & even the not-so-cheap stuff every once in a while, too. I groan with pleasure watching the assembly of my submarine sandwich, I drool in anticipation at the sound of sizzling bacon, & I have planned my life around Brewster’s Bavarian beefdip on more than one occasion.

Sitting down to a mouth-watering meal is a feeling rivalled only by digging into a delicious dessert, & don’t even get me started on how I feel about calorie-filled cocktails or savoury Starbucks beverages–it’s so satisfying. I know what I like, & I know it’s going to be tasty… if you ask me, feasting on my favourite foods is the ultimate gratification.

It’s been brought to my attention that maybe this is a touch unhealthy–that perhaps my relationship with meals is mildly inappropriate. My gross obsession with grub may be getting in the way of having a normal relationship. Could it be that my preoccupation with all things edible is getting in the way of some romantic satisfaction?

Maybe. I have been spending more time stuffing my face than fraternizing with eligible bachelors, & that’s definitely not doing my love life or my body shape any favours. I guess I could try & keep the snacking to a minimum, but what kind of life would that be?

Maybe I can fall in love with a man who shares my love of food–give myself the best of both worlds. I’ve heard you’re not supposed to mix business & pleasure, but food & romance should be okay.

Love me, love my appetite–am I right?

121. Maybe it’s because I love food.

V-Day

Well, here we are again. Another year, another February 14–the bane of a single girl’s existence. Right?

Valentine’s Day is an interesting holiday for us on the single-side. When other people are holding hands, buying flowers, & preparing themselves for other date-like, romantic activities, we singletons soldier on. We buy bottles of red wine & tubs of Ben & Jerry’s & watch 10 Things I Hate About You repeatedly & eat our feelings in the form of heart-shaped pizzas–or maybe that’s just me.

I’m trying not to get too hung up on Valentine’s day this year, to be completely honest. I mean, I love cheap chocolate & useless stuffed animals just as much as the next girl, but I’m not going to get bent out of shape if I don’t have a secret admirer dumping them on my doorstep. I think I can survive a day or two without a bouquet of carnations crowding my desktop, or a sappy Hallmark creation asserting a man’s allegiance to me. It’s all so… insincere. & I’m kind of happy I don’t have to deal with it this year. Now, I am not pledging that love isn’t real (for once), & I am definitely not trying to belittle relationships. Love is great, & relationships are awesome. What I am saying is this: not only is Valentine’s Day a big ol’ waste of money, but it’s phony too.

I know, I know. It sounds cynical, but just stay with me.

I find it frustrating when February 14 rolls around & my social media is flooded with affirmations of love on one side & pitiful claims of loneliness on the other. This drives me nuts because, guess what, Valentine’s Day is just another day. It’s no different than the day before it, or the day after it. So, the people that are over-the-top in love–cool, I’m very happy for you. But I already knew that. The same goes for those that use V-day to publicly complain about their lack of significant other. This isn’t new information, to me, or you, or anybody else.

So, instead of feeding the beast & complaining about my single lifestyle, I’m going to spend my Valentine’s hanging with the people I love, working my way through a bottle of wine, & slicing sausage for a tasteful meat & cheese tray–& I think everybody else should too…regardless of relationship status.

blowing kisses

Happy Valentine’s Day readers!

V-Day

120. Maybe it’s because I’m not likeable?

I’ve been thinking, & I’ve come to a conclusion about my dating struggles. It’s so blatant, I’m surprised I’ve never thought of it before.

Maybe the reason I’m so overwhelmingly single is because guys just don’t like me. I am just un-likeable, plain & simple. Well, I mean they like me–they just don’t like-like me. Always the friend, never the girlfriend–you know what I mean?

I’m the girl who you message over Facebook, ensuring that I petition my pretty friend to make an appearance at my birthday party. I’m the girl who doesn’t get directly invited places, but I can tag along if I want. I’m the girl whose shoulder guys look over at the bar, bypassing my face for the beautiful ones behind it. I’m the girl who is never ‘the girl’. I’m the best friend in a romantic comedy, except for this is my own life.

I am just not girlfriend-material. I’m the girl who’s friends with the girls who are girlfriend material. I have gotten to the point where I usually don’t mind… but this is the tail end of an entire week where nothing I do has been good enough.

I try to make up for my faults–I do: I am funny, I am (reasonably) intelligent. I am caring. I am helpful. I am (reasonably) independent. But at the end of the day I just don’t have what it takes. I don’t fit the mould. & that sucks.

This is coming at a time where it feels like everybody is coupling up. Three women I work with are getting married, the rest of them are either living happily-ever-after with husbands of 20-or-more years or just stumbling into an amazing relationship, with an amazing guy, who they never saw coming. As is always the case: if I had a nickel for every time someone told me I’d fall into a relationship when I’m least expecting it, well, let’s just say my university education would be bought & paid for a long time ago.

& then there’s me. I feel more alone when it seems like everybody else has got a hand to hold, or someone to snuggle them at night–I actually tried holding my own hand the other day, just because I’d forgotten what it felt like…that is the level of sad I’m dealing with right now.

People are always telling me: it’s gonna happen when you’re not looking. Like, as if, one day I am going to be walking along, minding my own business, & just trip over the love of my life. You know? That isn’t going to happen. That’s not how life actually works. The reality is that there isn’t somebody for everybody. There are people who are alone forever, & at this rate I may be one of them.

So, if anybody needs me, I will be throwing myself a pity party & crying into my pillow–ah-lone.

 

 

 

 

120. Maybe it’s because I’m not likeable?

119. Maybe it’s because I’m a perfectionist.

I’ve been running a little highstrung lately–but what else is new? I can’t even remember the last time I felt relaxed: between school, work, & my poor attempt at having a social life, I haven’t had a lot of down time.

& now I have the added stress of researching, applying for, & actually landing a summer internship.

It’s a lot for me to handle.

I know, I know. I’m catastrophizing–my life isn’t that bad, or that stressful, or that crazy right now. If I were on the outside looking in, I would probably think that I had it made. I mean, I’ve got a job, I’ve got friends, I’m getting an education… objectively, life is good.

But, being that I am a perfectionist, I am always striving to improve, to be better–to be the best. I am constantly in a state of never feeling good enough, I hold myself to this unrealistic standard, I torture myself into creating the highest quality work I can possibly produce, & although this pushes me to elevevate everything I do to the next level, it is also exhausting. 

Which is probably why I will be alone forever… If I can’t meet my own standards, why would some guy even want to try?

Anyway–back to this internship situation: I can’t just settle for any old summer job. I don’t want an internship… I want the internship.

So, the search is on. I’m dusting off my research skills (& begging multiple professors) to see what kind of kick ass internship I can track down… wish me luck, readers!

ps. if anyone out there on the world wide internet is interested in an intern, let me know!

119. Maybe it’s because I’m a perfectionist.