Concert Review/Shopping Channel?

I have to admit, I'm jealous of bands. Which is probably why I love them so much and have resigned myself to writing about them for the rest of time.

I saw Thornley and Three Days Grace last night. Smiled and nodded to the singer of TDG while scampering backstage after their tour manager (yes Megan that's right...tour manager! :P) Liam, whom I'd heard lots about before the show but had never actually met.

Anyway, I've read up on Thornley, and have listened to their songs on their website, but I wasn't prepared, in any way, for the amount of just total and complete (to re-overuse a word I consistently overuse) talent. I think I may have a new favourite band...Plus the bassist is hot.

Three Days Grace, whom I had completely written off after they guest-apeared in that Hilary Duff movie, were actually just...amazing. I definately have a new appreciation for them. And, let me just say right now there is nothing sexier than a man smoking a cigarette while playing guitar...absolutely nothing.

Seriously though, both absolutely incredible bands, had such a good night aside from being tired from shopping.

And on a side note, I think I may be a tad insane, I spent $60.00 on a t-shirt yesterday. Yes it's vintage...yes it says "Rolling Stones" on it in studded rhinestones, and fits me pretty much perfectly. And yes, it will be my new concert t-shirt. Perhaps also with a denim mini and flipflops in the summer...and sunglasses. And yes I will keep it forever (Stacy and Clinton I don't care what you say, it's staying!) but still...$60.00...for a t-shirt. Highway robbery n'est pas?

And on an end note, I am now the proud owner of converse sneakers after looking for a pair in my size for ages. Not in a punk way, in the, "oh converse's are just such an ironic statement that I must have a pair and wear them forever..." that is when I'm not wearing my new stilletto slouchy boots that I plan to buy.

Anywho this has been long enough and the gym is calling. Ta-ta! xoxo

Christmas and the little black dress...

Merry Christmas everyone! I hope everyone's holidays are going well.

Just a little free Christmas advice from me: While wandering throughout HMV this year, wondering how to spend that little gift card your parents gave you...buy Porcupine Tree's latest album: Deadwing!...even if you can't stand them, it in itself is an outstanding album. Alas, I cannot put it on my iPod and so am reduced to sitting around my cd player like they did in the days of yor...or three years ago.

That's it for me, just a holiday wish and imparting my musical tastes upon the rest of you. Now it's off to church...what can I wear this year? Hopelessly short little black dress or perhaps hoplessly fitted black pants and heels? ah the conundrums of making a fashion statement in the house of God.

...Little black dress it is.

Ps. Does anyone else (other than Erika because we've had this chat so I know I'm not completely abnormal) suddenly have the most X-rated thoughts in church? I'm not sure why, but knowing I'm not supposed to be thinking anything suddenly makes me think about parties, drinking, sex, if Jesus ever got into any mischief, and I can't help but think he did. After all, Jesus was cute back in the day. Which isn't blasphemy, it's just a fact.

A little rant from the T dot...

Alright enough with the emo posts...

First of all, hello from Toronto. I'm having a blast, have gotten lost going to Kitchner and Toronto multiple times, though ending up in Barrie was just tons of fun! (just kidding for those of you who have ever been lost in Barrie)

Anyhow, the next few days are pretty much devoted to family, given the Season...

I miss certain things about this town. The gym, much as I love the Y, is far superior here. I just had the best workout. My bed is more comfortable, my home is homier...and though I love my friends in Calgary dearly (so Megan, Erika, Jen and whoever else reads this? ...sooo nothing against you) but there' something to be said for a friend who looks at you and knows exactly what you're thinking. Lex, if only you read this...you'd be touched by that. (ha...ha)
There's so much else, but those are the things that come to mind off the top of my head.

And now, the inevatable Mr. Big update. Who knows, a great...six hours spent together, a great talk, a great hug. A great lukewarm sentiment..."who else is lucky enough to have their very own Victoria..." and yet, may I ask, what the hell does that mean, and what am I meant to say in response other than a "*cough* I um, well you know, um, care about you a lot *coughtrynottopassoutandorsaythewrongthingcough*" only to provoke the reply "I feel like you're holding something back..." well no shit Eintstein!

I would normally assume that I'm not seeing him again on this trip, given the fact that we generally see each other once. However, my grandmother being the little matchmaking vixen that she is (she loves Mr. Big dearly, I believe she might have blushed when they spoke...) lent him five; overboard(?), movies since they are both history buffs, and demanded that he come for tea. Now, I suppose this means I will see him again on this trip?...or perhaps not. But I can wait till June.

...PS. David Forsayeth will you please for the love of God get on MSN or call me? thanks! :)xox

Tell me what I'll never be...

Alright. So...I'm back. Hello. I apologize for the lack of entries and yet at the same time, it does my fragile ego good to know people read this!

Anyway, alas, another entry about love, just because it's an inexauhstible (sp? sorry it's late).

So, basically for the most part...here it is as blunt as it will ever be. I love the quirkily beautiful boy. I'm not sure if it's the 'till death do us part' love, but it's love nonetheless. And yet, for some reason, I know I'm going to fuck it up. I've almost resigned myself to it, because I'm not sure what else to do.

I'm starting to scare myself more and more, not because I'm unhappy. For the most part, aside from typical teenage angst, I'm giddy with happiness. I love my friends, my music, I know what I want to do with my life...I'm just content with where I'm going if not excited for the future. Anyway, just to clarify...I'm not sad about anything. But, I'm so insecure about myself that it's begining to annoy even me and I can't help it. I'll look in the mirror some days and not be able to see anything good about myself, look through a closet full ofclothes and feel a deep panic that I have nothing to wear because I'm too big to be seen in public...and I'm convinced that one day Travis will look at me and wonder why he is with someone so ugly. And I know this isn't healthy, and I also know that looks aren't everything and apparently Travis wants me in spite of whatever I see...

And for some reason, I can't stop these thoughts once they start. So I suppose it's just something I'll have to get over. I just sometimes hate going out because I'm so convinced people are looking at me and wondering why he's even with me.

I hate being that girl who's this insecure...because even as I re-read this I just know I'm being ridiculous because love has nothing to do with looks so why do I care?

However, I suppose at least I'm taking chances on life/love? There's this woman who I just saw a documentary on: Jen Davis. A photographer, who is so talented it makes me sick (in my current state...this is a compliment to dear Jen Davis and should not be taken as anything but...).
But her projects also make me really sad. She takes pictures of herself in poses that she wishes were her real life. For instance there's a shot of her in bed with a man's arm around her. But she 'knows' that's not a reality for her because she's overweight. Well, all I have to say is that, fuck her...she feeds my messed up theory because I wonder if she's right...maybe I don't deserve anyone either.

On another note, Mr. Big knows about the quirky boy. There was an amused crack in his voice as though now he can tell her how much he misses her without her reading into it. I do sort of have some satisfaction in telling him that someone cares about me, and how great someone else is. It's hard to explain sometimes, but I guess suffice to say you just...never get over your first love and sometimes, life can just make you into a petty little mess.

Dearly beloved, are you listening?

Oooooh dear. Dear, dear, dear, dear, dear, dear. Something scarily resembling real feelings might have begun on Thursday.



I think I'm in love with the guy in that Green Day video. Jesus of Suburbia. I love how miserable he is in the pursuit of love, and how, even though he's watching himself fall apart, he still helps those around him (drunk girl in the parking lot...never even said thank you).
It's sad that his grafiti words are so easily covered up; that his mark on the world was so easily forgotten.
It's sad that I'm overanalyzing a punk rock video in the desperate attempt to distract myself from school, work, family, writing the future and love....and then the phone rang....

Endless beginings....

She spoke to Mr. B yesterday. He wants a girlfriend. He's lonely. She's lonely for him. Not in the way she normally is, but in sympathy towards him. She's managed to get her feelings for him under control again (thanks in part to someone...and with the distance there's only so long she can pine for) and can speak to him now as a friend and be more there for him. She likes the way that is right now, because she doesn't want him to be lonely and it's easier to make him feel better without feeling jealous because he's met someone.
Some small part of her admits to feeling satisfaction at being the only girl he feels close enough to to talk to about this stuff. The other, better, part of her wishes he'd find someone who was good enough for him. Even if it's not her, she'd rather someone make him really happy.
Obviously this statement is immediately taken back if he does meet someone because that will be followed by an angry post demanding to know why it wasn't her...just a heads up.

Seeing quirky boy tonight. Excited?...maybe.......attatched?...of course not.

"Surgery might not be the key to fix the memory of you and me" - Boys Night Out

Alright, as the title of this post implies, she bought the Boys Night Out (hereafter reffered to as BNO) cd today. It's pretty brilliant, she has to admit. The gist of it (aptly titled, 'Trainwreck') is a collection of songs about a man who is insane and murders his wife while he was asleep, but he can't remember and still loves her so much. It's pretty heartbreaking, but the cd itself is brilliant. Especially song 7, she can't remember what it's called, but amazing song nonetheless.
It's the dead wife singing, basically, and she still loves him too but is obviously dead. Bit of a conundrum frankly.
Anyway, that was depressing, but she just had to give a quick props to the BNO cd, because it's just...well there are no words. She will google them shortly to see about concerts. And, no David, she/I (this third person business is too pretentious for words sometimes...damn you Elliot Grey for giving me the idea) wont make you listen to it, stick to Great Big Sea.

-Sidenote, the quirkily beautiful boy who shall remain nameless; lest he ever read this...is just complicated and she's not quite sure who's playing whom or if they both really mean anything they're saying. Scratch that, she's sure she means what she's saying, but not too sure what his actual feelings are. The dark side of sarcasm, you just never know when someone's being serious or not.

-Endnote: She spoke to Mr. B the other day...Jen, just have to say proves your point of being interested in someone while still caring about someone else.

End Blog Entry (it really needed an ending or she would have gone on...and she has a dentist appointment tomorow, bright and early on her only morning off.....mhmmmmmmm that's fair)

Early Saturday Morning...

A kiss goodbye in the early morning sun. She slipped on some ice while getting into the cab, watched fondly as he lit a cigarette.

She remains indifferent. She tells herself every day. There are no feelings beyond friendship. She hopes this is true.

The First Snowfall...

The first snowfall of the season. The first bitterly cold mornig where staying huddled under the blankets seems wise. (Perhaps sleeping in more than boxers and a tank top would have been wise too...)

The snow was beautiful, and the lights of the River Cafe sparkled against the flakes. It was a little wet to simply sit gracefully on her hair, and so after twenty minutes intead of looking slightly frosted, which she knows is a good look for her, she just looked like a drowned...something. Not the best second impression.

She's never been so incapable of flirting in her life. Her flirting genes (famously passed down from great grandmother to grandmother to mother to her...) failed her miserably last night.

She's pretty sure her grandmother flirts more with the gardner.

A little Matt Mays, a little pool, a little...

"You don't remember my name...I'm shocked!" she said, grinning, leaning against the pool table.

"Well, this is going to sound corny but do you want to know why I forgot it?" he asked.

"Sure."

"I was so surprised that you were actually talking to me, I missed it the first time you told me."



Really....good line? Genuine? The quirkily beautiful boy remains a mystery.

Goodnight Moon....

Alright, first of all in reply to the comments!

As much as I do agree with you guys (let's forego the third person nonsense for one entry shall we?) and I do think about telling him all the time, I just can't. Because if I do, it could jeopordize the whole relationship we've built on conversation and a genuine like and caring of each other. And I'm not willing to lose him because I'm too selfish to keep my mouth shut. It doesn't make sense to me in the sense that part of me does think that I should tell him, and that it's the most fair thing to do, but the other part of me knows that right now isn't our time...so why mess with perfection?...as imperfect as it might be, but that's life.

And now, on to the narrative:
When she was nine years old, she was visiting her grandparents at their home in the country. She loved winters there; how the snow swirled like she assumed Narnia or some other fantasy world might look. Every night she would hear the train passing through, and cuddle down in the bed her grandmother had put specifically in her room for her so she wouldn't have to sleep in the basemement alone.
It was a big house, sprawling across a huge backyard. Welcoming and spacious, but full of warmth. Every night, she would go through the same thing:
"Papa, would you come down to the basement with me to choose a book," she'd grin impishly, knowing that he would say yes because she was most important.
"Alright, but be fast," he would say, and amble down the stairs after her.
She would tiptoe across the cold floor, constantly ignoring her grandmothers insistance of slippers, and she would pick a book off the bookshelf in the room originally designed for her. The grandfather clock would begin to chime upstairs, and she would pick up the hem of her nighty and scamper up the stairs after her grandfather.
"'Night!" she'd say, throwing her arms around him, a hug and kiss. She never said 'good night' to him because he always said 'night,' and why would she want to be any different?
"Night, see you in the morning," the gruff voice which was always so gentle. She would normally say 'I love you,' but Papa was of the frame of mind that the more you say that, the less it means, so she would never say it out loud, but always think "I love you Papa."
At the end of that particular trip to visit her grandparents, there was a huge snow storm. She and her friend, Megan Weeks from across the street piled on layers of clothes and marched outside, ready to explore.
Half an hour before she was being picked up to be taken back to Oakville, she and Megan decided to make snowmen. Megan's first snowball fell apart, so being the younger of the two, she gave her first large snowball to Megan.
Megan finished her snowman first, and the other little girl was struggling to pile the second snowball on top of her first, for the head.
"Tory!" her grandmother called, "Time to go love!" so she ran inside, got her coat off and promptly burst into tears.
"What's wrong?" Papa thundered. He was never good with her crying, it upset him more than it even upset her.
"I didn't finish my snowman," she sobbed. This tradgedy, this admission of failure showed nakedly on her face as she looked up at him.
With a nod, with thoughts she didn't know of already running through his mind, he put on his sheepskin coat, hat and mittens and marched outside. No one knew what he was doing, she was still crying and explaining what had happened to her grandmother. She also bitterly regretted giving Megan her first snowball because now her own snoman would never exist.
Twenty minutes later, Papa came back in and pointed her outside, where her own mishsapen snowball had recieved a head, complete with eyes, nose and a mouth. Her new snowman had a hat, and a green scarf and was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen. Gleefuly, she ran out to look, and might have forgotten to say thank you.
And now, in Calgary, tears fall as she thinks of him suffering in a hospital. Even though he's home now, a hospital is never any place for her beloved Papa, the only father she knows. She hates that she can't tell him this, because she knows she'd cry on the phone and doesn't want to upset him more. She wants to be back in Oakville, to hold his hand so he's not alone and scared about what might happen to him. She wants to do so much for him, but can't do any of it.

All she can say right now is thank you.

The Unknown Familiar

She ate buffalo chicken wings for breakfast and had some green tea. She feels dizzy, like she always does after they talk because it seems so right and last night she knows he felt it too.
When goodbyes are awkward over the phone over hundreds of miles does it mean that this is the person you're never supposed to stop talking to? Who knows... she certainly doesn't.

The point is, she has liked people before. She has even thought herself to be in love, but when it came to the nitty gritty of getting over someone, she never had trouble before. It's been so easy just because she does get asked out relatively often and she always knew there would be something else around the corner. And yet, with Mr. B, who can tell by her lack of puncuation over MSN that something is wrong and tell her to call him to talk at 2 am his time, she just can't.

Yet, what does any of it mean; just a lie we tell ourselves to get through the night. Just someone who reminds us of home we keep around for those nights where we miss the familiar. They've kept themselves at enough of a distance for there to still be so much that is unfamiliar that it feels new, but she can still know what he's going to say next.

A contradiction that's kept them speaking year after year.

Wednesday Continued

An afternoon excerpt:

"Did you just turn 18?" she asks, trying to find a reason why his membership might be expired; this woud be one.

"Um, no, 15 actually," a raised eyebrow, a smirk. What a grungy little 15 year old has to be smirking at her about is beyond her, so she just raises an eyebrow at him and smiles.

"Maybe because you're membership just renewed..." and before she could finish telling him that his gym membership doesn't automatically renew itself until he's 18, the "new guy" remarks:

"HaHa, she likes the younger guys and she's lucky," laughing at his own wit pointing at the gold "lucky" printed on her t-shirt, which prompts the grungy 15 year old's slightly less grungy, albeit Euro trash in the making friend to nudge him and say:

"Go for it dude!" he begins to open his mouth to say something so she cuts him off fast before she has to turn down whatever he was about to say.

"Ok! so, just, you know get your parents to renew this for you," she practically throws a lock in his face and turns away, glaring at the new guy.

"How was I supposed to know he was gonna say something?" ...Does everyone have to suffer through this kind of person at work? Honestly, meeting him five minutes before and already he's trying to pimp her off to children. Where is the justice?

All because of a stupid birthday card...

Would she still want him if she could have him? ...so much to say and not enough room to type. So much to do, and too much distance to do it in.

"You're never going to find it, if you're looking for it...wont come your way," - the used, blue and yellow. How perfect. Even they know she's a lost cause.

The over-moneyed woman...

We've all seen her. She walks down the street with her artfully botoxed face staring you straight in the eye, because she thinks she's better. Well, we know she'll never really be better because given up a part of herself to the lie of pretending to be something she's not...35.

We know she's older, and while she's still attractive, something about the way she highlights her hair and the height of her heels makes her resemble that girl we all went to high school with who tried too hard to fit in.

We know she is a good person; a nice person. We also know that if she saw us get hit by a car that she would walk away quickly and the last thing we would hear would be the "click, click, click" of her heels.

We see this woman, wearing more designer labels than anyone really should be. Not because of any ethical beliefs, but because when you carry an Hermes tote, wear pearls with diamond encrusted Chanel logos on either side and flash Tiffany's left and right, it becomes tacky and worthless. That is the one thing the over-moneyed woman is not aware of.

And what the rest of us can hold over her oblivious, unnaturally coloured head...


Ps. this was just a mean rant because SOMEONE said I couldn't be published in her magazine because clearly it was too good for me.....anyway, allow me to be a bitch once in awhile, but my appologies in case I've offended anyone!

These boots were made for walkin'

Ok so that's stealing a song title, but you know what? She's indifferent. Anyway, it's fitting because this is not going to be a happy post. Nor a sad one. It's probably equal to what a sociopath might write, except that she's definately not that but it's fun to pretend sometimes.

Basically, another post about love, or lackthereof (really there are no spaces in that word she just checked...really!) And honestly she's not bitter at all about being single, she's liking spending time with her friends and hanging out etc. But there's always that nagging question: is it because of something she's doing?

Now, for those of you who know about her most recent dating mishaps (the bad kisser) to the scandals ('nuff said...if you know, you know.) Oddly enough, out of those two, if she could she'd take back time spent with the Mr. BK. (and yes Erika I'm laughing at own wittiness again in case you're curious!) anyway! she spent time with the old B to the K because he was nice, and opened doors and had cute dates planned etc, but really? she felt nothing, other than having fun with him, there was no spark really. On her part anyway and she feels badly about that, so when things ended, they ended with a sigh of relief as opposed to spiralling downward depressiong and ice cream binges. Is that a sign of being jaded? She hopes not, because she does still get that giddy feeling about some guys, albeit she also gets giddy thinking about being published or a new pair of shoes.

Does there really come a point where we feel the same way about men as we do our shoes? (Dear God I'm turing into Carrie Bradshaw...someone stop me) But seriously, take for instance EG/ME...he was like a beautiful pair of Manolo Blahniks, that are nice to look at but have no real depth to them (No offence Mr. Blahnik, they're beautiful shoes), and then you have Mr. BK, who is like a trendy pair of flats, that you may really like to wear but when next season comes and it's time to throw them away, you're pretty calm about it...definately no tears shed there. And then there are the scandals, the stilletto heeled boots. The tall black leather that zips up gracefully to the knee, that you'll always remember wearing, and remeber fondly...you don't even regret the pain your feet were in the next day....and Mr. Big...he unfortunately is the pair of shoes you'll always go back to for comfort, the classic stilletto that goes from day to night, the sneaker that goes from the gym to the...well please don't wear your gym shoes anywhere but the gym but you get my point...

...and the best part is there's always a new pair just around the corner to help you walk away from the last pair...

...As for Mr. Big (she prays to God and everyone else that he never ever reads this) there's really nothing she can do. She'd like to blame him but she's just as bad at keeping in touch and sometimes it's just easier to remember the last time they hung out instead of wondering about the next time, because that's the thing with him...you just never know.

Anyway enough of that.

"And if you want me back, you're gonna have to ask....nicer than that" - The Used

Ok, so just when she decides she likes the feel of the microphone in her hand, and in fact does not mumble...she get's nervous and fucks up anyway.

Alright let's not start this in the middle. After five hours of "well should I? shouldn't I? what should I say?" himming and hawing about whether or not she should audition to be the next Much Music VJ, she said to herself and her friends, "Well I'll just wait till next year," and she left campus.
On the train ride back downtown, she could have kicked herself. Whether or not she was going to do a good job, she should have tried out. Something she's always wanted to do, something that seemed so unnatainable was suddenly at her school in big orang letters proclaiming "Much VJ Search"

"Ok so I can do it next year, it's ok, it's ok," she told herself breathing through her defeat as she walked down the city street on her way home, "There's always next year, just...don't worry," she of course didn't believe that and with every step her heart sank a little more, mostly because she was just soooo unimpressed with herself.

So she did the only thing a girl could do. She called her friend and got her to talk her into going back by herself. The ride back on the train was filled with inner freaking out and not in a good way. This was pretty much just blind fear mingled with her trying not to throw up.

Cut to her actually walking up to the front of the line and being given a form to fill out by a really (dear GOD realllllly) cute guy who smiles encouragingly at the scruffy scruffy scruffy girl who probably looks scared to death.

Let's just take a minute to describe what she was wearing. In her defense she'd been up since 5 am, and definately looked it. She was wearing her tweedy flat shoes, Havanna cut 7's jeans, silver belt, her Faber band t-shirt (albeit from American Apparel) layered with a white long-sleeved T from american eagle. So, the least glamorous outfit possible and there she was.

After filling out the forms and being ushered into the "green room" (actually just the stage, and she couldn't help thinking that Faber and Hedley had been up there just two weeks before) Anyway, she "rock, paper, scissored" for first and ended up having to go second.

She walks around to the stage, gets in front of the camera and is handed a microphone, and she instantly decides she likes feel of the heavy microphone in her hand. She stands in front of the Much logo, and tries to look as casual as possible. The next two minutes is taken up with her rambling on about music, bands and being from Toronto/Oakville. She even said she wanted to represent the Millies out there...and then remembered she didn't in fact graduate from St. Mildreds, but it was too late to take back.

She has the DVD of her audition, and is pretty sure absolutely nothing is going to happen, but every night at 11:11 she's going to make a little wish for herself and see what happens. And there's always next year...

Mr. Big...

Mr. Big is the politically correct asshole. Because he never really does anything wrong, no one can really every be angry with him. He dances around the issue, and just when you think you and he have hit a point where you can talk about anything, where you talk every day...he disappears again.
Mr. Big is the best friend a girl can have, because when you least expect it, he is right there for you. He says the sweetest things when you're expecting sarcasm, and he holds your hand and tells you everything will be alright.
Mr. Big has intamacy issues, and laughs when he should be serious, even though you know he hears what your saying. His voice goes a little deeper when he decides to say something real for once. When he says that you know him better than most.
...and then Mr. Big forgets ever having said these things, ever having held your hand and you're left wondering if Mr. Big is a sociopath or if he simply can't let himself get attatched. Miles generally seperate you from Mr. Big, between metaphorical miles and geographical miles, it would seem that Mr. Big should stay a part of the past and never show his face in your world again.
And then you'll meet someone nice, someone great; someone who's perfect for you. And you wont even look twice at him because no one will ever measure up to Mr. Big, and you know that the best way to keep any small ray of hope about you and Mr. Big ending up together is to wait it out, pretend you don't care and don't, for the love of God ever say anything to him.
Mr. Big will hurt you again and again, and never know it until it's too late, and that's why every girl loves her Mr. Big, because when he says he's sorry and looks into your eyes with a lopsided smile and his hair covering one eye, you know what it means to care unconditionally.

Blurred until morning comes...

A week since it happened, hard to remember, impossible to forget. And why would she want to? it's possibly the most daring, out of character thing she'd ever done, and she wouldn't change anything. To say she was proud of herself might be slightly over-shooting; but, alright...she's a little proud of herself. And that's all she has to say about that. except for:
"Don't forget me"
"I wont"
"Promise..."
"Promise."
"What's the worst thing you've ever done?"
...a tear...oops.

Sitting, relaxing on a Friday night after a hellishly long week, deadlines upon deadlines upon production day upon deadlines. Feature, Newswriting, Urbane article, practicum placement, extra shifts at work, Yoga, 5am mornings, extra hot showers followed by extra cold water to wake her up, green tea, chai latte's, four hours production, interviews, gym...standing in the middle of the whirlwind and not knowing what she's going to do next year. She's never had so much direction and drive with such little motivation to get there. She's caught in her own paradox and loving every minute.

Oh Mariah Carey....

Alright...just a quick rant about Mariah Carey. I have to say, honestly...either go away forever or please for God's sake! join us in 2005! I am not at all debating the fact that she's talented, but her little formula of putting on next to nothing and frolicking in water and then straddling a microphone stand is just old. It's not 1990 anymore, I think she has enough people working for her to come up with something a little more original.
Secondly, the jig is up Mariah! there's no need to stand on bleachers with fifteen year olds pretending to be in highschool while we all know you're...well not fifteen. Or even 20. Your target demographic is grown up. Join us in adulthood wont you?

The conversation that never happened....

"well...."
"....well."
"here we are again."
"yes."
"there's nothing left you know."
"I know. I can't help it."
"you'll have to stop calling me. I can't handle it anymore."
"why not?"
"I'm afraid of what I might say."
"what do you mean?"
"you don't want to know."
"yes I do."
"no...you don't."
"you're smiling aren't you? ...don't lie"
"maybe. that's not the point."
"maybe it is."
"you can't do that anymore."
"what's that?"
"you can't get me caught up in this with you."
"i'm not trying to."
"what's her name?"
"who's name?"
"you know."
"don't be like that. you know I miss you."
"that has nothing to do with anything anymore."
"then....you're not smiling?"
"no...i'm not."
"I don't know what you want me to say."
"no, you never did, and now it's too late isn't it?"
"what do you want me to say?"
"nothing. just...nothing."
"you're smiling now aren't you?"
"....yes..." through her tears.

An evening spent in the middle.

"I'm freezing; who left the door open?" she asks the charming (read:possible asshole but she's giving him the benifit of the doubt) son of the groom.

"Well you could go get your jacket from the closet," he retorts with a patronizing smile.

First of all, she's pretty sure that he did see her walk in, and therefore knew that her COAT (not jacket) was in fact a Ben Sherman trench. Belted. Pink. And while it gave her a very modern Audrey Hepburn look with her sunglasses while walking through the rain to the wedding. In short, she was not about to go put it on and continue to mingle with people she didn't know.

"I could go get it, but...I don't know where it is," scrambling for ground under his horrible annoying smile, his eyes sparkling from the champagne. (By annoying she means he is actually extremely cute and it's such a waste that he must be such a jerk.)

"Hall closet...I'm going to get a some water. Want some?" meaning he'll come back to my table.

"Thank you, but I'm fine. Excuse me for a moment," she gets up and adjusts the top of her black dress for what seems the millionth time that night. How is it possible that she is falling out of her dress? It's a size two (TWO...she's pretty sure she's not a a size too but it fit) and yet constantly falling down. The paradox astounds her. But everyone does like the dress so she guesses it was worth it.

"That's a sweet dress," a random man in his 50's leers at her as she makes her way down the stairs to the smoking area, trying to be graceful in her heels.

"Thank you," because slapping him seems innapropriate.

An evening spent in the middle. Because she was too old to be swilling wine from the bottle with the thirteen year olds, and is too young to be talking about ...whatever it is the rest of the people are talking about. Though she did meet some great people, and also spent time with a friend whom she hasn't seen in ages. She did feel terrible because his girlfriend seemed to really dislike her but there wasn't a lot she could do about it.

Standing in a crowd of girls, pushing each other slightly. Everyone teetering in their heels, the bouquet is thrown. She was positive that she wasn't going to catch it so she wasn't even looking. She felt something heavy brush the side of her face before falling on the floor. *gasp!* ooos and aaaahs the bouquet had plunked itself right in front of her feet. Well....

well...

well....

She's 19 so she tried not to beam too much. Needless to say she failed. Grinning around the room, everyone hugged her.

Honestly. She's the worst feminist in the world because she's still sitting with the bouquet in her room and there's no way in hell she's ever getting rid of it.

The evening progressed with hiding out in the basement with two others. Playing charades in the dark and eating a lot of the leftover appetizers.

"You're going to end up marrying trew you know," a woman in red says, "He caught the garter. trew is eleven years old.

Laughter ensues at this, and she tries to save face, "Well I certainly feel like Michael Jackson suddenly," more laughter and everyone hugs her because of the wit. (Not even original wit...doesn't everyone make fun of Michael Jackson?)

The rest of the night progresses in a similar fashion. Meeting people, chatting, shaking hands. Hugging people goodnight.

Walking through the hallway of the hotel carrying her coat, heels clicking as she makes her way to her room.

Inside she changes and washes her face, placing the bouqet on the table, she flips on the TV and watches Stacy and Clinton save another fashion victim. She looks at the clock by her bed. 2:55. Her heart skips a beat and she almost calls him. Because, yes...she still does get scared by movies. Instead, she does the really dumb thing and takes out the bible she knows will be in the bed side table, and flips to the scariest part. She reads, and scares herself even more before putting it away and trying her hardest to go to sleep. For someone who is not at all religious she certainly has managed to scare herself to death.....before huddling down under the covers and falling asleep.

All in all though, it was a great night.

To quote anything here would be mundane, so we shall just say that this is Revived Blog, Entry #2

Alright, she cannot sleep again and has an 8 o'clock class. It's optional but she doesn't want to get into any more bad habbits this year. So she'll get to the point...
The problem with text messages are that one gets used to getting them frequently. For instance, the fact that one was sent to her the other night now seems to have set a precident mostly because she needs to be reassured that someone is still interested.
Secondly...there is no secondly actually. However; she has suspicions that she might be turning into something similar to Christain Bale's character in the Machinest. Minus the drastic weight loss, but there has to be something wrong with lying in bed for an hour thinking about the most pointless things. Perhaps she accidentally hit Hot Dad's monster child with her car and the insomnia is her way of dealing with it? Just kidding to the general public.
Thinking about what will happen tomorow when in reality if she falls asleep tomorow will come much faster. Too fast probably because we can't outsmart time. Maybe that's why she stays awake. If she doesn't sleep, then technically it is still today and tomorow isn't an issue.
She also can't really remember why she's started blogging again. Because it just gets her riled up. (and apparently riled is not a word that should be spoken after 8 pm because clearly she finds it hilarious to picture herself riled up by herself in front of a screen...be that as it may...) She knows that she's going to wear her hair in a pony-tail tomorow and worries about how it's going to effect her mood, because pony-tails tend to do that for some reason.
She's pretty sure (she should stop saying "pretty sure" but can't) that if she were on a TV show right now she would probably look like the cool alternative girl in her old high-school gym shirt and cropped white sweats; straggly hair and todays mascara slightly smudged under one eye. As it is she feels like the loser who is wearing her old high school gym shirt and the lazy girl who doesn't take off her make-up before bed. Funny how one person's alternative is another person's lazy.
She has a cut on her pinkie finger that she didn't notice until it was pointed out to her. It didn't hurt until she knew it was there.

Sound filters through the darkness and she wonders if she is the only one listening to this song. She's written over forty pages of poems and songs this summer, and she doesn't know what to do with the rest of the notebook or the words she's already put to paper.

She feels grown up, and scared. Sometimes thinking that this year counts for everthing and nothing all at once. Part of her wants to stay in Calgary and succeed at this life she's making for herself here. Yet there is that constant, overlapping voice that pushes Toronto to the front of her mind, making her desperate for her family and friends. Being bicoastal is an oxymoron because neither Calgary nor Toronto are on coasts, so she is simply caught in the middle. She knows she's changed over the summer. She's more and less secure about herself all at once and isn't exactly sure what to do.

Is she even a writer? Has she picked the wrong path to go down? Is it time to forget what might have been and concentrate on making the here and now the best it can be? ...probably but there's thinking rationally and being rational. She has found the two to be extremely different from each other and while she has mastered the thinking...the being continues to allude her.

The screaming of her music distracts her from the reality of these thoughts. It's really too late to be thinking them. Over forty pages and 21 new cd's later, her mind is so crowded with her words and others, she's not sure where hers end and theirs begin.

"Nothing's constant" she says, walking away. "nothing lasts, because the second something starts to feel permanent, like it might go somewhere, it ends."
"that's a sad way to look at your life," he says, smiles tracing the corners of his mouth
"if i hadn't started walking away, you would have, one of us would have left," turning, facing...confronting
"how do you know"
"watch me" she turns again and leaves him standing.
"i'm not following you...i'm not here to prove you wrong,"
"you're right...you're not here to prove me wrong; you just proved me right," a single trembling smile, a single tear traveling down her cheek, a single wave, turn and a single girl walking away, down the street and out of sight.

"i want to see you.." "really? prove it" "how?"
"i don't know" he traces his finger across the glass, "i don't know how to anymore."
"then I guess you don't want to see me, do you."
"i do...i do want to i just dont know why...so how can i do that to you again?"
"you'd find a way if you wanted to, these words are nothing unless you do something,"
"what do you want me to do?" "don't ask" "then how do i know?" "figure it out"

a smile reflected in glass..."stop talking to yourself" "you're talking to me," he points, fingers hitting the mirror instead of flesh, "stop rehersing and call"

dial tone...hitting numbers....ringing...ringing "hello?" "i want to see you" "when..." "now" "come over" ..."i miss you" "i remember" a click, voice...leave a message...a beep.
he hangs up and looks at himself. "told you..." told you...

She lies in bed with her laptop on...surprise surprise...her lap. Her hair is scraggly, glasses slide crookedly off her nose; legs curled underneath her and socks bunched around her ankles.
Her make-up is in slight shimmery streaks across her face from her somewhat pathetic attempt to make herself look healthy today. Failed attempt, she's snuffly and sick and has to work tomorow afternoon. She doesn't want to. She doesn't want to see him, because she's angry with herself for letting herself care. She doesn't care about him anymore and regrets it in the first place. (This is ammended if anything good happens with that situation but she doubts it)
She read someone elses blog today. Someone she knows, but wasn't friends with because they never really got along. Not for a lack of trying on her(my) part, or maybe because of...she never really liked sharing her boys...as horribly awful as that sounds so hopefully this wont get read by anyone. She does feel some satisfaction that she was bundled into the "her boys" section of the online photo album (who posts photos online? needlessly narcissistic).
Her nose is starting to sting from blowing it too much. She thinks she has sinus pain but doesn't really know where her sinuses are located and ...well duh therefore doesn't know if she has sinus pain. She's not sure if this blog is as pointless as that one she read today...is what she says as pointless as recounting shaving her legs in the shower before work? She likes to think that even if she were writing about shaving her legs she'd make it more interesting than "i shaved my legs because i thought my foot doctor might be hot and therefore wanted smooth legs"...first of all...she truly believes that a hot foot doctor is an oxymoron and therefore does not warrent shaving your legs before seeing one. And, just because she can, she's spent far more time talking about shaving legs than the other girl...just because she can. She hopes that if he reads this he just laughs at what a loser his friend is...but in a good way cause she thought about him while typing some of it.

She wakes up to a sunny day. Her throat is sore, her eyes are half open. She tidys her room and watches John Travolta. Stupid movie...can't stop watching it.

Blood flows like water,
blurring her thoughts,
heart pounding faster
as the lights around them
shine down.
Murky thoughts drowned in a haze of alcohol,
love blinding,
hate immenent,
power lost,
nothing gained.
Thoughts sped up
fast forward,
see everything,
blinded by her love,
drowned by her loss,
murdered by her decision to stand by and watch.

She can't sleep.
She sits up in front of a screen,
surrounded by darkness,
wearing a white t-shirt.
Hair messy from tossing and turning,
Ears ringing with music not yet listened to,
Memories fading,
past the screen and into the night.
She looks at her desk,
cluttered with things,
her clock sits next to her watch,
both vying for attention,
but she doesn't notice the time.
A bottle of moisturizer, her drivers liscence,
bracelets, books...a ring.
Cd cases and a lock she hasn't returned to the gym,
her space is so full, she cant even see the deep brown of her desk,
she would turn on the tv, but she already knows nothing is on,
would read that book but she knows how it ends.
Phsycic? ....jaded.

She seeks refuge in the only place she can. Her blog. She hates the word blog, it sounds like nothing but here she is pouring her heart out. Yet again, she's so confused and doesn't know what to think about him. She would email him and confront him about it, but knows that probably wouldn't be the best choice. She feels betrayed, and knows his betrayal wasn't on purpose, but at the same time that makes it worse.
Christmas party...he didn't say...coffee...he didn't say...made his February...rebound....breakfast....talks...emails.....jokes....wine....books....films....tshirts....nothing....reading into every look....her fault...empty....hugs....smiles....laughter....txts....an ommition can be a lie...and she hated a lie the most, so how does he live by that?
she's embaressed more than anything, believing that he could care, but then why would he? Why, because apparently three months, only three months ago he was in love. And she was thinking of him.
She loves being that girl who these people learn from, and each time they take a little bit more of her with them. So what happens when she has nothing left to give. This is pathetic, she's only 18 and feels like nothing.

Ok, so maybe she over reacted and that email wasn't exactly necessary. But her friends back home are important to her and she figured it was better to tell him as oposed to not saying anything and getting angry about nothing one day. Which, she supposes, is what happened today, she got angry ...really angry, over essentially nothing, but it was a lot to her at the time...and still is, she just has it in perspective now.

She wonders what to do. Why do people fall in love in the first place, why do they want to and what happens to them when they do.
She's not sure if she's ever been in love. She's said it because that's what people do, she's felt something like it, but not sure if she's felt IT before.
Sometimes when she thinks about forever, she see's someone's face, but she's not positive who it is.
"till death do us part" is a long time, and far away at the same time. She's not worried about that part, but she doesn't know who would love her until he dies. Who would want to witness her life just so she knows someone was there to see her live, to prove she had a life.
Maybe that's all it really is, a narcisistic way to make ourselves feel wanted, and if that's all love is she wants nothing to do with it, because she hates feeling like she has to have someone to validate herself as a human being.
At the same time she really wants a boyfriend these days, and she doesn't know why, because she's never felt like she wanted someone to be there for her before. Boyfriends have always tended to fall into her lap without her making much of an effort, so when she had a boyfriend, she had one, and when she didn't she didn't. Never bothered her before. So her question now is....where the hell is he????

Writers block is going to be the death of her. Like a doctor who get's queasy at the sight of blood, what good is a writer who can't write?

She hides so much behind her smile,
feelings she had before,
feelings she might have again.
Her wants for the future,
her fears of her past.
She's terrified of what might not happen,
She thinks so much,
forgets nothing.
She wonders what people see when they look at her,
wants to know what they think when they kiss her,
dies to be good enough for them
and part of her wishes she couldn't care less,
but she does and so she'll keep trying
to impress everyone who doesn't care,
casually ignoring those who do,
begging for love,
maybe never finding it
but always looking,
and so she'll smile,
and not let them know what she's thinking.

She reads blogs sometimes to see what other people write about. She reads them and wonders if people tell the truth. She knows she writes a mixture of lies and reality and wonders if they do the same. Her lies are her wishes, mingled with her life.
If people all lie in the stories they tell about their own lives, what legacy are the blogs leaving if theyre all half false? Proof of lives not lived and when we die, these will be floating around nowhere, being read by no one and we will be forgotten.

OK SERIOUSLY FOR THE LOVE OF GOD WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH HER...

..........maybe.......though she hates to admit it, like the movie he was telling her about, that night just meant more to her than it did to him. It's her problem clearly...and hers to get over. So now what?

She's content...she had a big day in court (damn those policemen, never letting her buy her drugs in peace...just kidding, she had a school assingment) the law fascinates her, and she could spend hours just sitting there listening to the lawyers. Just one more thing that makes her horribly dull but be that as it may, she still finds it interesting.
She's worried about her friend and is waiting to hear back from her. She doesn't have class tomorow and so she will work at home all morning. She's looking forward to it, she always seems to be far more productive at home...or at least in the past few weeks. She's trying to think of something witty to write but the words won't come...she used them all up trying to impress her grandfather; how pathetic.
She wore her hair wavy today...it's so easy to not have to straighten it and sort of empowering because she can just accept the fact that she's not attractive and get on with her day. Straightening her hair means she thinks it helps and frankly it doesn't. She's not sure why she thinks she's ugly. Her mother is so beautiful, and she know's she used to be, but for the past few months every time she looks in the mirror she just hates what looks back. She knows her grandmother was wrong and that it doesn't matter really how she looks, but she can't helping thinking: will he never love her if she doesn't get pretty? ...She's not being self pitying or anything, just thinking "out loud" even though no one reads this and it's the furthest thing from out loud. Annnnnnnyway...more lates.

She thinks about him, even though she's not entirely sure who he is. She pictures them at the restaurant, dancing under the stars. She wants to tell him everything.

She had dinner with her grandfather, mother and Bob tonight. It went well;but, she drank too much wine and feels dizzy. Her mother danced with her grandfather after dinner. The dimly lit room spun, and she realized that she would never have a dance like that. Tears ran down her face in their purest form...not crying for attention, happiness or sadness...simply crying because there was nothing else to do. She hid the tears from everyone, and realized that a part of her grew up tonight. She did not draw attention to herself, and feels better because of it (though the fact that she's writing it all down suggests that she's just as self centred as ever). She wanted to call him and tell him what she was feeling but she couldn't. She'll never forget the way her mother looked like a little girl dancing with her father. She'll never have a father to dance with.

Part of her wants to email him, just to see what would happen. But it is our choices that make us human, and the humanity in her would not want to risk the havoc that emailing him might result in. She wonders if he ever thinks of the hell he put her through. She thinks of him daily, but is not haunted anymore, just accepts what happens and hopes that one day she'll be able to tell the only one that matters what happened, and hopes that he'll love her anyway.

I sort of have a crush on Tiger Woods...who knew cause I hate golf. ...Just an added props to him for winning today.

She's thinking that maybe she's making this situation too complicated for herself. If she wants something to happen, perhaps she should just go for it and screw the consequences. She can't believe she's considering this, and puts it out of her mind.
She wonders how it would feel to kiss him, to have his arms around her for a moment. She's dreamt about it and played it out in her mind before but when it comes to actually doing it, she just can't bring herself to take the chance.

Her grandfather's visiting. She's happy he's here, she loves him so much. She adores his outlandish humour that's somehow coupled with quiet dignity. She'd do anything to make him happy. He told her mother she looked thin today and unexplicibly now, she feel not good enough since he didn't say anything to her about her appearance. She hates how shallow that sounds but it's true. She's never felt good enough around him, ever since he said she should suck in her stomach when she was six years old. She wonders how she can love someone so much when she never feels good enough around him...always desperate to make him love her even though she knows he does.

She didn't pay attention to her horoscope yesterday. Not sure if she believes them, she's not going to take them too seriously. If it was right, then she missed her chance, if it was wrong then maybe her chance is still waiting. She checked his horoscope too...it made sense because it didn't make any sense...just like him.

She's sad and a little tipsy. Those talks with her mom always do this to her. She feels like she missed something by not having a father, though writing that feels like such a betrayal to the other men that helped raise her. She loves her grandfather's and is terrified of losing them, ironically she lives half a country away and doesn't see either of them very often. She's never experienced a loss like that...and isn't sure why she's worrying about it so much now...must be the wine. She should stay sober for talks like that with her mother. She misses her family...she wants to talk to him and doesn't know where he is.

She's chilled, relaxed, stretched and sitting. She talks to her friends, she laughs and she had a pretty good day.
She's worried about school still but is working to fix things, she's excited to see him on wednesday, she hasn't seen him in such a long time...not since the summer.
She sings along to Damien Rice. She's trying to think of soemthing to write. Her hands are getting older; she can see the bones move as she types. When she breathes in deeply, she gets that hollow between her collar bones. She's almost 19 and she's taking control. She'll be successful, she'll figure herself out and she'll have a good summer. (she'll work on the long term later....)

She's confused. She doesn't know how to play this. Probably because this time she's not playing. So liberal, always thinking she has all the time in the world to love. How ironic that she's found it now and doesn't know what to do. All the confidence in the world is wasted. She knows it't not love, it's comfortable, it's laughter and possibility. It's new and might turn into something real.

Who does she write about?

She made new friends, she walked home, she listened to music, she worked, she ran, she wrote (she mispelled things) she was whistled at, she thought, she laughed, she had a cookie, she wondered, she smiled at everyone, some of them smiled back, some didn't, she picked off her nail polish after she swore she wouldn't.

She wishes she could have a do over. She shouldn't have said goodbye first. She shouldnt have done that at all, and now it's too late to take anything back. Obviously she's over reacting, obviously this red apple for some unknown reason tastes like it's yellow. Obviously this song that Damien Rice sings is not for her, but it could be. She knows she's over reacting. She feels too much, so much that she shouldn't be allowed to feel in the first place because she reads into it all. Teenage angst is over rated. She should be cool and calm and not freak out about everything.
Tomorow she will be calm,
Tomorow she will wait,
Tomorow she will accept what happens,
Tomorow she will try,
Tomorow she wont fail,
Tomorow will come for her,
Tomorow will last for 24 hrs.
Tomorow will be here in 3 hrs and 15 minutes,
Tomorow can't be avoided,
and when it comes she will put tonight behind her,
like he probably has.
But it's tonight so she will eat her red/yellow apple, and worry.

Excuse me, I believe you have my heart...may I have it back?
She'll sit, talking when she should be kissing,
Listening when she should be hearing
and giving when she should be taking.
She'll keep giving listening and talking until she's sure she should be doing otherwise.
She'll wonder instead of know,
She'll be fine, knowing she's not, until she knows what's happening to her.
She'll remember everything insignificat and forget all the important things they said. And when they're ready, there they'll be.

She stood across from him, not wanting to look up and move on from that moment. The warm light in the room made her confident and nervous at the same time. She let the nervousness take over and looked at her feet, letting her eyes move over the carpet to the the gleam of the window to the shine in his eyes. A tilted smile greeted her, a step forward and a hand that traced the outline of her face, a thumb that brushes away tears she didn't know were there. Life began to be real, the background swirled and her world was unrecognizable.

Her new favourite song (for the moment) is Cannonball by Damien Rice. It's like the perfect love song right now. Mostly because it contradicts things, "Love taught me to lie, life taught me to die"...Now that she thinks about it...maybe it isn't a love song, she's not sure what it is now so she's confused.
She dreamed of him last night, the rain outside makes her remember how she felt in her dream. Rain does that, makes you go back to the past where you felt safe. Sunlight makes you dream of the future. So right now she's thinking of the past. Which is fine, she likes those days....though she's not sulking about it, she's in a good mood, mostly because the rain isn't snow. It's like that day in Oakville she remembers perfectly, staring out the window at her magnolia tree, making a note that spring was finally there.
She recalls the scene in The English Patient where they run through the rain with Ralph Feines so he can feel it on his face. She almost regrets watching it because it's going to be one of those movies that stays with her forever...and she has enough of those.

The English Patient is, by far, the saddest movie she's ever seen. She's relieved she watched it with her friends because it was horribly depressing. She normally likes movies like that, the ones that prove love...but in some ways it was hard to understand their love, until the end anyway. Then she understood it, and now cant stop thinking about it...going to be a long day.

Maybe she...

She believes in love,
She sits here half dressed
waiting for it.
She knows she's young,
she has so much time,
But why waste it on the wrong people,
Just because?
Maybe she's a little bit lonely,
Maybe she's trying to create drama she doesn't need,
Maybe she's old fashioned (but probably not)
She knows she just wants to find out the truth so she can stop wondering.

She's sitting, sleepy...wants to go to the gym. Life is complicated and she's never had these types of problems before. She's never been out of the loop like this and she is tired of it but is scared to ask in case she messes anything up.
She loves the drama but hates the risk. She's never cared before but doesn't know if it's time to care now. She walks away feeling eyes on her, but not the right ones.

What? she thinks...what does she want? what is she thinking about.
She's thinking about him and wishing she were'nt. She's doing homework and talking to friends. She's thinking about her hair, her jeans. She's pre occupying herself with thoughts of nothing. She wants to clean her room but not until she's finished her work.
She wants to work but not until she's finished cleaning her room.
Excuses.

Moms

Her mother is turning into her grandmother. She moved here to escape the fiddling with hair, constant nagging, asking the most pointless questions...is it an Italian thing? Or just the women in her family?
She swears she'll never be like that.
She loves them both to death but honestly, for someone who has always been so high and mighty about not being like her mother, she's doing an amazing immitation of it.
It's like living with her all over again.
Lord love a duck.

From a day that she didn't particularly want anything to do with, she suddenly feels better. From an empty inbox, to "you have mail," from wanting everything, to needing nothing.

On a side note, she's getting her hair highlighted on Friday, blonde blonde blonde...again finally. Her Thursday classes might be cancelled...5 day weekend on the horizon. Life looks pretty good, live her life instead of waiting for the good part.

About a Boy

She likes them, they're funny, she'll talk and laugh and smile and toss her hair. Her eyes sparkle, she'll be sarcastic because she knows she can be. She'll play dumb until she feels like shocking them. She'll talk about lipgloss and clothes and then throw them off and talk about cars. She'll play her game because she can.

And then she'll turn around and walk away because there's only one of them for her.

Lalalalalalalalalalalala.



And that is all she has to say. Except that she watched A Clockwork Orange last night and frankly...most disturbing movie ever...other than...well that whole underlined sexual undertone in the disney Hunchback of Notre Damme was pretty messed up to but anyway.

You

Here it is...the first person entry.

Were you writng that about me?

You'll never read this

And I'll probably never ask,

And I know it wasn't about me,

But I'd like to think that it might have been,

That you said my name.

Yellow Apples and Moisturizer

She's tired, long week. Wants a yellow apple but doesn't want to go downstairs again. Should go wash her face...she just got home from the gym.
No one wants to read that it's pointless but it's what her life's been about for the past five minutes. She thought about him a little bit today. The crush is wearing off...dare she say it...replaced by feelings? Anxious instead of giddy, excited instead of nervous...this is what she's reduced to. Writing about it because she can't talk about it. Life isn't about talking, it's about sharing, and if there's no one there to listen then why talk?
She smiles and turns out the lights.

Where did spring go?!

She wakes up and it's winter again. She misses the seasons of Ontario, knowing what the weather would be like without having to listen to the news every morning. She misses the lake, and walking around downtown...she doesn't miss the past, but she would like it to be a part of her present. She'll be back soon enough, and when she is, she knows she'll miss Calgary, because that's just the type of person she is.

Night time

She's tired, she's eating an Oh Henry bar (the lack of self control astounds her...she takes a bite)
She flirted tonight, but not with the person she wanted to. Practice, maybe, but she still comes home to a messy room by herself. It was tidy earlier.
She's not sure what happened.
She worked out after work.
She has school tomorow.
She's listeing to The Used right now.
She's thinking about him and wonders if he thinks about her before he goes to sleep.

The Begining

She starts to type again, realizing suddenly that this blog idea is better when she's not talking in first person. She wonders if he's thinking about her, and wishing that he is. Not knowing is half the fun, the torture is waiting for it...anything to happen. Sometimes she feels like her life has no meaning that she's powerless to change anything. If she could tell the world one thing, it would be that it should love her. Weird, self centred...maybe...but then again she's the one writing about herself like she matters.

Wishing the person she cant mention were here with her...mentioning the person she wishes would come back. And then we all get on with our days, forgetting to wish, and wishing for dreams of each other to come true.

She thinks it's so funny to be taken seriously as she writes about herself like she doesn't exist. She thanks him silently for giving her the idea to write like this, seperating herself from all the drama that isn't real, but means so much to her. Sitting here, remembering a night that fades away from her thoughts but always in her memory. She watches the sun, lower in the sky now...missing him but not knowing who he is.

She wishes she could sing or play an instrument or something useful like that, since she basically lives for listening to music right now. She'll write about it someday she thinks. Stayed home to work on homework today, behind but she'll pass... think... hope...she'dbetter anyway. She wants a cigarette but she's in a towel and isn't allowed to smoke in the house. She doesn't even smoke normally but she still has the cigarettes they bought together. Her mother and stepfather keep taking them to smoke with their martinis at night but they don't like du Mauriers...so why are they stealing her memories of that perfect february night? She thinks it's ridiculous that they're trying to ban smoking in public places, but when she really thinks about it she agrees with it...and only says it's ridiculous to get a reaction out of people. She saw him smoke himself to death, watched him hang on for years and is still haunted by the sight of him lying on a couch waiting for a miracle...waiting to die. She can't decide if she's a hypocrite or just a pleasant contradiction of herself. Hopefully the latter because if not, she wont be able to look at herself in the mirror anymore.