in which I mope

I made the grevious mistake of reading my travel journal from my trip to Europe, and now I am wildly jealous of myself. It’s very depressing.

Lately, I’ve been struggling against the urge to sell everything I own and use the proceeds to purchase a plane ticket to anywhere. No, Susan, I have to tell myself, nothing you own has any value. Keep your cheap ass shit and find another way to get overseas. Anyway, you kind of like some of it.

I have a theory that I was too well-behaved as a teen, and now all the latent bits of irresponsibility and rebellion are bubbling up and trying to make me do crazy things. And I can’t think of a really good reason not to do them. Well, the need to pay rent is a good one, but if I could scrape together the funds, I would put my stuff in storage (read: my parents’ basement), and take off into the wild blue yonder.  Adventure awaits!

This is why I am half-resigned to the idea that I’ll be waiting tables again in a month or two. My contract at work is up in a week and a half, and while the job is better than many I’ve had, I don’t know how badly I want another contract. It basically took over my life for very little money, and while I accept the idea that you have to start at the bottom of whatever career, I resent the fact that I’ve got my foot on a ladder I’m ambivalent about. And at least when you wait tables, you can stop doing it when you leave for the day. And the money is much better–that ticket could be mine in a matter of months.

 

best mood-ruining text ever

I finally got around to checking out “texts from last night” and I have yet to stop laughing at this: ’in retrospect, sexting while high was a mistake – I meant to say “I’ll fuck you stupid, baby” but of course I said “I’ll fuck your stupid baby.”‘

 

luckily, it’s becoming harder to remember why I was that into him to begin with

I think I’m going to have to give up on trying to sleep with this guy again. The distance is more than inconvenient, yes, but the most damning thing is that he uses L33T-speak in text/msn conversations. Unironically. I wince every damn time. I fly my nerd flag pretty proudly, but there are limits.

Besides, evidence is mounting that he may, in fact, not be as into me as I’d like. The distance makes it hard to tell. But, you know, you get passed by for lasagna once, and it just makes you kind of wary of what other pasta dishes could be closer to his heart (or pants). For the record, other similarities to Garfield include gingerness and sarcasm. Those are points in his favour, yes, as is the fact that he doesn’t appear to worship the ground I walk on, but I’m spending way too much energy trying to parse out the hidden motivations behind random text messages, and not enough energy on finding someone else to fuck.

Sadly, it takes a lot to make me want to have sex with someone. I’d probably be promiscuous if I weren’t so picky. One of my BFFs is trying to get me to go out with her boyfriend’s friend. Apparently I used to serve him when I worked at PM, and he thought I was the mother-fucking shit. I wouldn’t have recognized him if you were passing around a police sketch of him (one of my few failings as a waitress was my total inability to care about repeat customers unless I loved or hated them, and even then it took me a long time to recognize them by face rather than drink order). I finally had a non-beverage related conversation with him at her birthday party (and still could not remember ever seeing him at PM), and while he seems like a pleasant individual, he also seems like he’s… thirty-seven (his exact age is unconfirmed, but definitely 35+).

I’m twenty-six, and very immature. I’m okay with a huge age gap if the guy seems close to my own (im)maturity level (I still regret not taking up with that 38 year old yacht captain last year. I could be sailing the Greek Islands, footloose and fancy-free right now). Marriage, children, and responsibility are a big no-no. I am so scared of commitment that I can’t even commit to a nicer apartment. My biggest desire right now is to make enough money to fund a trip to Thailand to live in a kick-boxing camp for a few months. Me dating a older man with a government job and actual plans for the future is a recipe for heartbreak, and not mine.

Also, I remain skeeved out by men who fall for women who are contractually obligated to be nice and bring them beer and food.

 

these are the years when I’m supposed to be going to weddings… but my close friends ain’t the marrying kind

One of my high school friends recently got married. I know this through Facebook, naturally–there was an epic and ridiculous falling out with this group of friends soon after we all separated for university, but furthermore, her new husband asked me out once, while they were broken up for a few months (I know, I’m a succubus), so it wasn’t like I was sitting by the mailbox, waiting for an invite.

Anyway, I briefly perused her wedding photos, as you do when you’re killing time by messing around on FB, and while they were lovely, I couldn’t help feeling somewhat disappointed. It looked so stiflingly traditional. And she’s taken his last name. Could it be that the alpha girl of our clique–the one whose biting sarcasm kept us all in check, whose tastes lead us from Brit boy bands to punk rock shows and a short flirtation with the rave scene, and whose whims dictated what we did on any given weekend–was at heart, a raging conformist?

But looking back on high school, maybe it isn’t that surprising. I escaped the Great Wedding Craze of ‘01 by dint of not taking the Family Planning class (you had to budget out a wedding for yourself, among other joys), but for a few weeks there, it seemed like all my girl friends were carting around Modern Bride and deciding to skimp on the caterers to afford a froufier dress. I just kind of had this idea that they’d all grow out of it.

 

oh well, it’s not like I have time to meet men anyway

One of my coworkers likes to declare certain days of the week as theme days to dress up for (there’s a select group of us who are in on this), but I’m rarely in the office to join in. I randomly got today off, but if I hadn’t, I would have had to chose between hats, “splash of colour,” and lipstick lesbians as my theme (and dress appropriately, without telling everyone else which I’d chosen). There was some confusion over the definition of lipstick lesbian. Tracey defined it as the ultra-femme half of a lesbian couple, and that to really make your outfit work, you should have a butch sidekick.

It was at this point that I realized that lately, I’d make a great butch sidekick. My thought process went something like this: “Wait, do I come across as a lesbian? I do have short hair, keep things in my pockets, wear a vest–oh.” I sure did pick a fantastic time to chop off all my hair. I’ve been on set for work all week, and there is no time to run back and forth between my purse and actual work that needs doing, so I have keys, pens, my Blackberry, my data stick, lip balm, and various extras all secreted on my person. So, for the pockets, I’ve been living in jeans and my bright orange retro ski vest. I also do a lot of heavy lifting–among other things, I’m in charge of getting camera equipment from the office to my van every morning, unloading at the location, re-loading it in the evening, and then unloading it at the office again.

Soon after this realization, I pulled out my iPod, which was helpfully paused on “Pink Triangle.”

 

adventures in shopping

You know what I just do not get about the suburbs? In those mega plazas, they always make it such a g.d. maze to get in and out. Is that actually going to make someone decide to stick around and purchase more? “ROAD RAG–is that a PITA PIT?! Snack attack!” Maybe they’re banking on people becoming so pathetically lost and hopeless that they’ll be easy prey for marketing schemes. Or they’ll start to slowly starve until they have to shell out for some falafel.

I’m working for a television show at the moment, and it’s required me to do a lot of grocery shopping. A LOT. And I’ve been trying to get ahead so that I won’t have to go to a 24 place at the end of every shoot day to do the next round. So, at the moment, of the edible food in my fridge, there is more show food than actual groceries for me. Of the inedible food, sadly, my stuff still has the advantage. I forget about yogurt, alright? And now I’m too scared to open some of them.

It’s pretty certain that there are people around the GTA now who think I’m a total psycho. Well, it was certain before, but now it’s doubly so. I recently bought a whole whack of obscure seeds and health food ingredients at Bulk Barn… and approximately four hundred mini chocolate bars. And I just purchased 48 of the 100 chocolate chip muffins I’ll require. I cleaned that No Frills right out of those muffins. Somebody is going to have the mega sad face when they can’t find any more.

And now I have to go get some nicotine patches. I don’t know if it’s going to be worse or better than the times Rach has sent me to get her actual cigarettes; whatever store I go to is invariably out of the kind whose description I laboriously memorized, so I look like a total idiot asking what other brands are similar, etc, before I call her on her cell and further hold up the line.

 

aloha, fellow humans

Some of you may know me as the blogger formerly known as Suzie Hearts Toronto. I have, however, quit the semi-pro blogging world, and am back to being a rank amateur. But on the bright side, I get to write about whatever the hell I want, without trying to relate it to dating, AND I can escape the guilt of not posting every day. Screw you guys, I’ll post whenever I want.

I wouldn’t even be posting right now, if my plans for the evening hadn’t been postponed. So I’m sitting here, all dolled up, wondering what to drink next. And wondering if the weather is still too cold for open-toed shoes. You know, the big questions.

 

hey, what?

Settin’ up my blog.