Arabic saying (via sketchedsali)
We went to a buddie’s place for dinner last night and I drank a fair bit of red wine. I also made a super tasty lasagna for dinner. I need a bigger lasagna dish though, mine was only two layers of pasta deep. But the sauce I made last week combined with the mozzarella melted into this lovely flavour and even better texture. All in all a success.
But right, the wine. Around 4am I woke up with a splitting headache, rolled out of bed, moawed down on a few advil, and I went back to bed. The boy - I hate calling him that, but I won’t use his real name for obvious reasons, so I think I’ll just pick different names each entry. So Fernando had to be up early this morning, and without thinking I rolled out of bed, put on pants, and walked across the street to Coffee Time to pick up two large cups of black gold. Came home, poured coffee into coffee pot to keep it hot, a started making, not just a sandwich, but an entire lunch for Fernando while he sat there fucking around on the internet, eating his breakfast. I cut the cheese, mayoed the bread, chopped up carrots and cucumber, fuck, I even pre-sliced a peach for him.
He said thank you and gave me a big kiss, but really? This is how I spent my morning. So I peeled off my jeans and curled up back in bed when he left, taking back a lost half hour of sleep that my hung over brain was demanding.
Am I the worst? Am I a pushover, one of those sappy, awful, pathetic girlfriends who falls over themselves to make their boyfriend happy? Or am I just a great roommate who helps out when Fernando could use a hand? I guess I feel kind of bad as he is working 9 hours a day and I won’t be able to pay my share of the rent this month.
And yet last night in bed, everything was flawless. It was passionate, exciting, fun, and ended with us both saying “I love you.” So I guess I shouldn’t be too worried. I worry too much.
I just worry so much.
Went back to bed after the boyfriend left this morning. Meant to just lay there for another couple minutes until I felt awake. An hour and a half later, the boyfriend came back to use our washroom to poop, and woke me from one of those terrible super realistic dreams. I can’t remember the details, but it mixed people from my family and my terrible job, and I was trapped in some ridiculous apartment building, and some sort of chemical was melting my hands - yeah, it wasn’t pleasant.
I was angry when he woke me, but not with him, with myself. Now I’ve only had 45 minutes to lounge in my pjs, drinking coffee, fucking around on the internet, and it’s already 1115. Blerg.
I’m still feeling lethargic, my uterus has decided to try to kill me from the inside, and I’m broke.as.shit. But I found a way to stream NPR on the boy’s computer and at least my angry uterus assures me that I am not preggers, so that’s always a good thing. And there’s plenty of coffee and the roomie did the dishes, so I guess life isn’t so bad.
I have pooped 4 times already this morning and have to go again, but better out than in right? Oh dear, now I’m blogging about bowel movements. Yikes! Time to put down the computer.
Don’t attach yourself to anyone who shows you the least bit of attention because you’re lonely. Loneliness is the human condition. No one is ever going to fill that space. The best you can do is know yourself… know what you want.
White Oleander (via melancholicdays)
All of my friends, and I mean every one of them, complains on a regular basis about the number of weddings they get invited to every year. They complain about how much it cost, how creepy it is that their friends are getting married, how long/boring/lame they are, how annoying it is to get dressed up, how great it is to get hammered for free.
I on the other hand, have never been invited to a wedding. I have been a plus-one before and have been to two (yup, two) family weddings and they were both in the summer of 2003. Since then I have only been to one wedding and it was as my friend Jenny’s date. I can’t even remember the bride and groom’s names.
It’s not that people I loved aren’t getting married - facebook assures me all of the time that they are. The engagement photos, the wedding photos, the stag and doe photos - they litter my newsfeed. It’s just that I never get invited.
Now this is 100% my fault. I move, I always have. The longest I’ve ever stayed in one place is five years and that was Whitehorse: I was 13 when I left. I am great at making friends, at being a great friend, and then at accepting that friendships are often finite and that this doesn’t mean they weren’t beautiful. We were friends in a certain time and place, helped each other through the rough times, laughed during the good times, vegged on the couch and watched bad movies during the hung over times. And I’ll always love them: but I always leave.
I made a comment to my boyfriend that he wouldn’t need to go home as much now that all of his friends are getting married and having kids - it won’t be the same. A little shocked and disgusted he retorted “I still want to be their friends. These are dudes I’ve known my whole life and I plan on knowing for the rest, regardless of whether we play in the sandbox together anymore.” Okay, not quite that articulate, but something to that extent.
And bam. It hit me. Lifelong friends: I do have a handful. And they are the best. And if they ever got married I am certain I would get an invite. I can’t imagine that 2/3 of them (read 2 out of the 3) will ever get married, but I for sure have a spot in the 3rds wedding party. But apart from that…
I nearly had it all though. I have been so close to having that tight network of friends before, and then it always finds a way to end - usually awkwardly. A good friend of mine from grad school, perhaps my best friend, got married this last summer. We had all the same classes, lived across the street from one another, and shared a penchant for studying with a beer in one hand and a joint passing between the other. And when my epic cross-continental adventure was winding down last spring, I paid out of my ass to go and visit him in Latvia where he and his fiance were spending the summer.
I remember when he proposed, I was the first to see the ring, she and I threw him a surprise birthday party right before I left in December and I was on the short list of invitees to their originally planned destination vacation: I couldn’t wait. I have rarely felt so genuinely happy for another person, he was beside himself with excitement and so was I.
And then on my last night in Riga, he broke up with me. I know, can’t believe I am saying that. While his lady friend would never say anything, apparently she was not a big fan of our cross-gender friendship. And fair enough - in the very early days of our friendship we had crossed that line one drunken evening. It never happened again, although I would be lying if I didn’t admit that for a few months I held out hope. But then we settled into our friendship roles and I couldn’t imagine going there with him again - I loved him like I love my best lady friends. I am surprised she tolerated me as long as she did (and she is amazing by the way, I wish them the best), but apparently it really is hard for dudes and gals to be friends.
And so I left central Europe and learned through facebook of his new puppy and his eventual nuptials. But after our parting of ways, I let go of all of my friends from grad school. There have been a number of weddings, including what must have been the most fabulous of all gay weddings (he’s French canadian, he’s a sassy Columbian - it must have been loud, drunk, and unforgettable). But alas, I learn about all of them through social media.
So next time you get an invite to yet another wedding, keep in mind how cool that is. Someone cares about you enough that on today, their “biggest” day, they want you present. They want you in the photos, they want you as a witness, they want to share their love with you and ultimately thank you for helping them become the people and the couple that they have become. That’s pretty fucking special.
- Put one word after another. Find the right word, put it down.
- Finish what you’re writing. Whatever you have to do to finish it, finish it.
- Put it aside. Read it pretending you’ve never read it before. Show it to friends whose opinion you respect and who like the kind of thing that this is.
- Remember: when people tell you something’s wrong or doesn’t work for them, they are almost always right. When they tell you exactly what they think is wrong and how to fix it, they are almost always wrong.
- Fix it. Remember that, sooner or later, before it ever reaches perfection, you will have to let it go and move on and start to write the next thing. Perfection is like chasing the horizon. Keep moving.
- Laugh at your own jokes.
- The main rule of writing is that if you do it with enough assurance and confidence, you’re allowed to do whatever you like. (That may be a rule for life as well as for writing. But it’s definitely true for writing.) So write your story as it needs to be written. Write it honestly, and tell it as best you can. I’m not sure that there are any other rules. Not ones that matter.
After making muffins yesterday, I turned my attention to those cookies I made the day before, the pie crust cookies, and tried to come up with something to top them. So I thought, Chocolate Raspberry Ice Cream with warmed peaches. Well I ate most of the raspberries while cooking, so it just turned into chocolate ice cream, but mmm, so tasty. I tried a new recipe, which I linked to here. But instead of putting in chopped up chocolate, I cut the sugar by about a 1/4 cup and replaced regular milk with chocolate milk. The result is a creamy, soft, delicious chocolate ice cream. The 1% chocolate milk did add to the ice factor, so I would recommend stirring often and well.
And then friends just started showing up and before I knew it my kitchen was full (four extra people makes it uncomfortably full). We ordered a shwarma pizza from the hole-in-the-wall down the street and then ended up at what we thought was a bluegrass concert and turned out to be Greenpeace’s 40th birthday party.
We ate some delicious hippy food, had a few drinks, made friends with some randoms, and then went to catch the last subway. The boyfriend had fallen asleep on the couch watching Conan (the barbarian), and despite my most half-hearted attempts, I couldn’t get him to move. So I hit the bong and passed out instantly. He crawled into bed confused sometime around 5am, kissed me on the cheek, farted loudly, and passed out: easy to see why I love him so eh?
This morning he even shut the door before going out and turning on the radio, which was very much appreciated. Eventually I stirred from my slumber (had to pee), and joined him. I love sitting beside him on the couch on weekend mornings, in our pjs, drinking coffee with our laptops on our laps, casually trolling the internet for interesting news or funny pictures of pugs in costumes. It is exactly what I would be doing on my own, but it’s nice to have someone to share it with. .
Breakfast was quick and easy, bacon and cheese omelet as I realised that we don’t have any bread, so my options were limited. But I cut up some fresh peaches and still had a few raspberries left, so it was salvageable as a legit meal(and anything with bacon is good).
And that’s it. Now I have to figure out what to do with my day, whether that be my laundry or nothing at all - I haven’t decided yet. I do have to work later, but I need the money, so no complaining.
This feels more like a diary entry than most of my entries do, but felt good to write, so I’ll end it on that note. Food is good, friends are good, love is good - all in all I would say life is pretty good right now.
I’ve been making a list of the things they don’t teach you at school. They don’t teach you how to love somebody. They don’t teach you how to be famous. They don’t teach you how to be rich or how to be poor. They don’t teach you how to walk away from someone you don’t love any longer. They don’t teach you how to know what’s going on in someone else’s mind. They don’t teach you what to say to someone who’s dying. They don’t teach you anything worth knowing.
Neil Gaiman (via skeletales)
One of the single greatest authors of all time. Ever.