134. Maybe it’s because all the good ones are taken?

Where have all the good men gone? Seriously, does anybody know?

I mean, I have my theories: it could be an evolutionary problem (good men are going extinct!), a geographical issue (they’ve all migrated somewhere else for the Winter… & Spring, & Summer, & Fall), or, the last & most likely option, maybe they’ve been snapped up already by some lucky, lucky ladies who I am trying not to hate.

I have never thought that meeting the right guy would be easy. But I honestly didn’t think it would be this hard. I’m getting sick of the dating game… It used to be fun but now it’s just tedious & sad. I’ve spent so much time already sifting through men trying to find the apparently elusive nice guy in a field of assholes.

Actually, I’m not even just looking for a nice guy anymore… I’ve lowered my standards (once again) & now I’d settle for any dude that isn’t completely boring or a total misogynistic pig.

Yeah, believe it or not, that’s the bar. Those are the kind of guys that I meet.

Boring assholes who think it’s okay to objectify women & very rarely have a sense of humour or a brain. &, yeah, I’m not giving any more guys like that a chance… it’s not worth it–trust me.

I just don’t know anymore. I don’t know if there’s any good guys left. Maybe there is & I’m looking in the wrong places, or maybe there is & they don’t want me, or maybe there isn’t & I’m doomed to be alone forever. I just¬†don’t know.¬†

What I do know is that a ton of effort goes into dating, & relationships, & all that couply bullshit is never as maintenance-free as it looks. & I don’t have a problem with putting the work in… I’d just like to meet somebody who’s actually worth it: I’d just like to catch some sort of break & meet a guy who isn’t a complete jerk.

Is that really too much to ask?

134. Maybe it’s because all the good ones are taken?

Maybe it’s because I forgot!

It turns out that in my old age I’ve started to become a bit forgetful… & kind of confused sometimes. It’s embarrassing & inconvenient, especially when I forget something as important as my weekly date with my readers. This past week for me was absolute craziness (I started a new job & stuff) & putting together a blog post completely¬†slipped my mind.

I know, I’m the worst. I’m sorry. Please forgive me?

Luckily for me, it’s the long weekend (Happy Victoria Day fellow Canadians!) & I’m sure all of you were way too busy enjoying an extra day off to be too concerned. You can’t be too mad when the sun is shining, the birds are singing, & the BBQ is grilling something delicious–right?

The point is, I’m still alone & I promise to be better next week & for as long as I don’t have a boyfriend (indefinitely or forever–whichever comes first).

Thanks for being so understanding: you guys are always the best!

Maybe it’s because I forgot!

133. Maybe it’s because I’m stuck?

It feels like everybody I know is moving right now.

You know, buying a house, renting a place, building a condo… all of my friends are relocating. They’re moving forward–they’re onto the next stage in their lives. & I’m not moving at all, it feels like. Especially not in the traditional sense of the word (I might actually have to live with my parents until I die).

A quick peek at my Facebook says it all: engagement announcements, housewarming party invitations, photos of babies in various stages of development. I scroll through updates on old friends¬†starting new jobs, getting accepted into law school, building homes in safe neighbourhoods… going on expensive trips, leading lavish lives, being real, functioning adults. & then there’s me: sitting at home binge-watching episodes of¬†Teen Wolf¬†& Googling Jonathan Taylor Thomas.

I mean, okay, yeah, I might be getting a little dramatic here–apologies, apologies. I do more than watch terrible teen dramas & research the lives of child stars. I write–sometimes. & I read¬†all the time.¬†& I am always learning new things from the things I look up on the internet that aren’t about babely actors from the 90s. I also spend a lot of time outside–running, walking, hugging trees, talking to plants… the usual outdoorsy stuff. I also spend a lot of time with all the beautiful, wonderful, patient people in my life–gabbing, complaining, experiencing, doing karaoke… all very normal things that everybody does with their friends (right?). & right now I’m taking a spring class (Social Psychology) & I’m on the cusp of starting a kickass internship with a kickass organization & I’m trying to pull together a semi-impromptu anthology, so my life is¬†very¬†full.

It’s just full of different things, I guess.

I might not be getting engaged/getting married/having children/being a functioning member of society. But I’m also¬†definitely¬†not interested in doing any of those things (barring the functioning member of society stuff–that would be alright).

So, yes, I am not moving. Physically I’m rooted here, alone,¬†entrenched¬†in a quagmire of homework, Netflix, & half-finished stories… but that’s okay. Something tells me I’m stuck exactly where I need to be.

133. Maybe it’s because I’m stuck?

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/fianc√©s/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.


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¬†I¬†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.


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.