there's gotta be somebody

For the most part, I really enjoy being single. I do. I'm single by choice right now, because I like the solitude and independence and emotionally, I'm not ready to give someone that part of me again.

...but sometimes, I just think it'd be damn nice to have a boy around. A boy that smells nice, that will run his fingers through your hair or hold your hand on the couch during those moments when solitude seems a bit too lonely, even for a wandering heart.

you could turn and stay

Why not?

That's my new motto in life. It's coming after a tough 2 months spent teetering in heartbreak, rehabbing an injury, and just...generally in a bad place. Emotionally and physically. 2010 started off by kicking my ass.

But, so many times I'm my own worst enemy. I become the self-fulfilling prophecy because I always think so negatively, and always assume that things are going to happen to somebody else instead of me. Admittedly, I do chase the impossible. Often. Too often. And sometimes I get it, sometimes I don't.

But hell, somebody has to be the exception, the surprise. Somebody has to obtan the impossible.

So why not me?

I spent the month of January chasing after a boy that would keep giving me just enough to keep me holding on. I hate that. I keep promising myself I'd never do it again, but when it comes down to it...frankly, liking somebody is thrilling. It makes life exciting.

Boys can be real jerks and toy with you. I'm not sure he did it intentionally--he seemed a little too dense to be malicious--but hockey players were never any good anyway. He was fun to like. Unpredictable. It didn't work in the end--it usually doesn't. And it ended the way my past two serious interests have ended--things sort of fizzled out on his end and there wasn't much I could do. But he was fun. I really enjoyed getting excited when I knew I'd see him, or just relishing in the loveliness that is really, really liking someone.

And hey, the boy's gotta fall for somebody sooner or later. Why not me? I'm an amazing catch. Gave it a shot. Didn't work. No hard feelings.

In retrospect, I think he would have bored me after awhile.


There's a lot going on right now that I'm trying to sift through. Maintaining a positive outlook on it all is hard (especially since it's not natural for me). Somebody should have warned me--like really hammered it home--that growing up doesn't suck, but the decisions you have to make do. Because a decision means that ultimately, you are going to miss out on something that you want, because you decided you wanted something else more.

You're still missing out.

I'm moving to Halifax this summer. By all means, I shouldn't. But I need to leave Montreal. I love the culture and history of this city, but it seems so poisonous after awhile. It's time to go, just for the summer.

I get that a lot. Sometimes, I just need to leave. I left last week--went to North Carolina. It helped me get my head right, step back, take a breath, and figure shit out. Every few weeks, I need to pack up and just go.

I'm working two jobs just to be able to cover rent while I'm there, so I can only work one job to cover food and expenses while I'm there. If I get accepted into grad school, I will either have to take out a student loan or defer for a year, just to get the money to pay for it.

But my gut is telling me to be in Halifax this summer. There is something or someone there, waiting to happen to me. And gut instincts never make sense, and often times they put you in a predicament in the present moment.

But they are almost always worth it.

So I'm going for it. Because my gut is telling me that I need to be there. And it doesn't make sense, and it will put me in debt if I get accepted into grad school...but something is telling me it'll be worth it.

if you're wondering if i want you to

Driving to Nova Scotia this summer changed my life. I think about those drives every single day. Every day. And today, I realized something.

Those drives were the happiest times in my life. Looking back, there is not one time in my life where I have been more elated.

Waking up at 4AM, packing up the car and heading out onto the road. I had a special playlist I made--it was 18 hours long, just in case--and I listened to it on both trips. Watching the sun start to rise in my rearview mirror across Quebec at 6AM was a pretty sight.

I love every single moment of those 4 fourteen hour drives I did. They were incredible. I remember every gas station I stopped at. I'd never let the tank go lower than 1/4, since sometimes the gas stations were few and far between. I'd get out, swing my torso side to side to crack my back, shake out my legs and start filling the tank. I'd yawn and give my joints a few cracks, getting loose again. I'd reach into the back seat, pull out my 10-cup thermos and fill my travel mug with another shot of coffee--then it was back in the car and off I went.

I remember the 10-mile stretch of construction in Eastern Quebec that slowed me down a bit. It seemed to go on forever, winding up a dirt mountain with no rails. I passed a town called "St-Louis de Ha!-Ha!" and proceeded to crack up over it. "Sleeping Sickness" by City and Colour was playing on the radio.

I slipped into New Brunswick without ever really being sure when I did, since all I saw was "New Brunswick Tourist Information" on a street sign. Some highway signs in New Brunswick are blue. It seemed calmer than the ugly green Quebec insists on using.

My GPS lost signal for two hours crossing through New Brunswick. On my first trip I panicked, but when it did it again on my second trip, I knew to just keep going straight. I was on the "2" autoroute, and as long as I kept seeing that, I knew it would turn into the 104 in Nova Scotia and then I'd be "home."

It's weird, but that's how I consider Nova Scotia. It feels like home.

New Brunswick has winding roads through deep pink, red and orange rock formations. I had been driving for about 7 hours already, only halfway there, when I noticed what was surrounding me. My ears popped a lot, since it's so hilly and just beautiful. The speed limit there was 110, but I cheated and stuck to 118. It's not that I wanted to get to my destination faster, but with a leg propped up against the door to stretch my hips, the sunroof open and my sunglasses on, I wanted to go faster. I turned my iPod off driving through New Brunswick. I wanted to hear the wind.

There's a good stretch of about 70 miles through New Brunswick with no gas station or rest stop. Throughout the entire thing, on my left was blue, beautiful ocean and trees. Just nature. The giant rock formations on my right were red and orange and pink, leading you up the mountains and back down again. There's not a trace of civilization in sight.

I like being the different licence plate. I still saw a fair bit of Quebec licence plates when I just crossed into New Brunswick, but as I got deeper into the province, it became all New Brunswick and Nova Scotia plates. People would honk and give me a thumbs up on the highway. When I stopped for gas in Moncton, NB, the guy beside me whistled.

"Helluva drive, eh?"

I laughed. I wasn't even halfway done yet.

At 1:00PM I had already been driving for 9 hours. In the early afternoon, I tend to get really sleepy. When I gassed up I pulled to the side, reclined my seat and lowered the windows to take a little nap. I love long drives, but they're hard on the eyes sometimes. After resting for 15 minutes, I was refreshed enough to keep going.

I hit Nova Scotia after 10 hours of driving. The entry to the province is presented by a big lighthouse and flower arrangement. The road suddenly turns light red, and the 2 autoroute becomes the 104 and has a little Scotland flag underneath every sign. The road sign said Amherst, and I was confused since I had seen an Amherst in New Brunswick. I thought I might have been going to wrong way, but the fog cleared up soon enough.

I remember the road signs approaching Cobequid Pass, telling you to get your $4 toll charge ready. I paid mine with a roll of quarters. Once I passed through, I had no idea which part of Nova Scotia I was in...I'm still not sure.

Even after 10 hours, I felt like I could have driven 10 more. The air is different in Nova Scotia. It's vibrant. Vivid. It's incredible. It smells like ocean and trees.

After another hour of driving on the two-lane 104 East, I started to recognize some towns that sounded familiar. Lower Sackville, Bedford, and finally, Halifax.

Before I knew it I was, somehow, driving right through Cole Harbour. I'm not sure how I pulled that off, but it happened on both trips and it doesn't make any sense. The route that I was driving, I should have ended up smack in Halifax. Instead, I ended up across the Harbour in Dartmouth and had to cross the Angus L. Macdonald bridge to get into Halifax.

The bridge toll is 75 cents. There are four lanes and the fog makes it a little scary at night, especially since I had to make a sharp right turn at the end of the bridge onto a road that quite literally spits you into the middle of busy downtown Halifax.

At 8:30PM Montreal time--9:30PM Halifax time-- I remember pulling up to the hotel and reluctantly handing the valet my keys. He put my luggage on the trolley, closed my trunk, and let out that low whistle when he saw my licence plate.

"What've you been driving for a week? Jeez!" he laughed heartily.

I wish I had been.

I don't remember much about the drives home, mostly because I was sad to be leaving. I always ended up leaving Nova Scotia later in the morning than planned because I over-accounted for the hour I'd gain on the way back, and simply because I just didn't want to go back. It poured rain at some point during the drive.

I remember stopping at a Tim Horton's when I was at the most northern tip in Nova Scotia, nearing New Brunswick--I think it might have been Truro. After walking back to the car with my bagel, I popped the back hatch and sat cross-legged in it, watching the cars whirl by on the highway. I had a few sips of coffee and a cookie dough cupcake I saved from Susie's Treats on Dresden Row. I had gotten it that morning because I knew I'd need a sugar rush.

I remember pulling back into my driveway after 14 hours and feeling like I had just driven 14 hours in the wrong direction. I shouldn't be in Montreal. This is not home.

One moment will stick with me forever. It was at 10:30 at night, on the Halifax Harbourfront near where the ships dock. I was polishing off a Sugar's maple fudge ice cream cone, sitting on a bench. I was all alone, it was dark out save for a few lights lining the harbour. The lights reflected off of the ocean below them, casting an eerie yet comforting glow. I listened to the sound of the small waves. The air smelled like saltwater and summer. This is home, I thought, this right here.

And then, the three words that haunted my entire second trip came into my head in a manner so clear that I thought somebody had spoken them aloud to me. I haven't told a soul what those three words were. But when they happen, I will.

Those drives, those trips, changed my life. They are the happiest times I've ever had, alone for 14 hours, with nothing but open road and a faraway concept of home.

I can't wait to move there this summer. I think a part of me will die if I have to fly there.

meet me halfway

The holidays always make me a little melancholy. In a world that seems to be made for coupledom, being single is not only annoying, but it's completely impractical.

the more I analyze and try to figure out what I want, the more I realize the type of relationship--the only type--that I could survive in probably doesn't exist.

I want things from all ends of the spectrum. Companionship. I want somebody to run their hands through my hair, somebody that knows how I take my coffee and surprises me with one in the morning.

But I don't want somebody who has to constantly touch me because I like my own bubble of space, and I can't stand being snuck up on. I don't like it when somebody comes up behind me and puts their arms around my waist--it makes me so squeemish and visibly uncomfortable. I want somebody who is okay with being physically affectionate only when I'm okay with it.

I'm just not sure how what I want could ever jive realistically, I have too many "things". My friends know to never whisper in my ear or touch my neck, because for some reason, those two actions cause me to irrationally lash out. My parents used to tickle my baby fat as a kid and no matter how much I kicked and screamed for them to stop because I hated it, they just thought it was funny. Pretty sure that scarred me for life. But try explaining to your significant other why you just wolloped him in the face because he got too close to the area.

I think the biggest issue is that I want companionship--a relationship, even though I choke on the word--on my terms. And as soon as somebody else is involved, it can never just be your terms.

And I've always been far too stubborn to compromise.

climbing up on solsbury hill

I don't believe in monogamy.

That's not to say that I don't believe it exists, but rather I don't believe it works.

This is not to excuse cheating by any means. Cheating is a cowardly, dirty act and shouldn't be excused under any, ANY circumstances. I don't care how horrible your significant other is, break it off before you stoop low enough to cheat.

I don't believe in monogamy because people lie. More to themselves, which is probably more dangerous.

People lie to themselves that they're happy, satisfied. They lie and tell themselves that hey, it's okay to settle.

For awhile now, I have been surrounded with hockey players from the NHL and various other pro, semi pro and minor leagues. Hockey players can be great friends that will always make you laugh, but as trusted significant others, there's probably no worse scum out there.

I hate to generalize. But it's hard not to, when it's all I see day in and day out. There may be a few good--truly good--guys buried in the boondocks of the hockey world. But until I meet them, I'm entitled to generalize. I've seen enough to earn the right to.

Guys that you think are good can fool you. I've had some fantastic, intelligent conversations with ones that I thought had good hearts, a good head on their shoulders, only to have them come to me the next day and let me know that a newspaper might be publishing a sexually explicit photo of him and 3 other women in a comprimising position, taken the night before and please not to let his wife see it.

These men have wives. Kids. Families.

And they lie.

It's a little unnerving that so many of the wives know about the infidelities and hang around anyway, for the money. Almost every married NHLer has a pre-nup clause where the wife gets a few million if he's caught cheating. A few extra million if they have kids.

I'm no sap. I'm not even a romantic. But I've gotta feel something if I'm going to stick around--and that feeling has nothing to do with money or gold or luxury cars.

Then again, the people you choose to hang out with are a reflection of yourself. A guy who is no damn good isn't going to have a great woman at his side. he's going to have his female equal.

Being in that world jaded me.

People lie.

And yeah, maybe it's worth the try anyway. But to me, it isn't. I'm not going to jump off a cliff if I know my parachute isn't going to open.

It can be even simpler. The girl that falls in love with a guy she's been dating for 2 weeks. She's lying to herself, and to him. But hey, lying to yourself in that case is better than sitting down and trying to figure out why you form attachments so suddenly, almost desperately.

Because nobody wants to think about that. That's not pleasant. It's much happier to smack the "love at first sight" label on it than try to figure out what the hell is making you lie to yourself.

The girl that "chooses" to be single because there's no prospects right now. She's lying to herself. She's not choosing to be single--she's being forced to be single, and it drives her so nuts that she lies and pretends it's voluntary.

People lie. And until they stop, monogamy, relationships, trust isn't going to work.

I don't believe in forever, because I've never seen it. And if you
do believe in forever without ever having witnessed or experienced it, then guess what?

You're lying.

it's my biggest wish

I love baking for people. It was something I started a few years ago. I was never much of a baker, my cakes and cookies would somehow turn out gooey in the middle yet completely burnt on the bottom. When you're not good at something, you tend to give it up.

I poured my heart into it, and slowly I developed the baker's knack. The knack for altering recipes if something doesn't seem quite right, a knack for decorating, and more importantly I reached a truce with my oven when it stopped ruining my delicious endeavours.

Baking slowly started to make me very zen. There's something lovely about mushy butter and bright colours for frosting, about the whir of an electric mixer and licking the wooden spoon. Something about the smell of cookies or cakes in your house. About meticulously placing eery sprinkle and non-pareil so that it looks just perfect. I've never been a good artist, but decorating the treats is my favourite part.

I love giving them to people, too. It gets to a point where I just have far too many cupcakes and cookies lining my counters--more than I could ever dream of eating. When I used to travel with the boys on the team, I'd bring them all of my baked goods and they'd annihilate everything in 30 seconds flat. They'd get buttercream all over their silk ties and have chocolate smudged on their noses, but it made them so happy. It's what earned me the affectionate "Cookie" nickname. They all swear that my chocolate chip delights are the best.

I still pop in to practice every now and then and drop off some boxes of treats. I love the look on their faces and their groans of approval. One particular player was recovering from shoulder surgery when we visited him in the hospital. When the nurse had left, I gently pushed a single chocolate cupcake with raspberry buttercream into his hand. He bit into it and swore it was the best thing he had ever tasted. Moments like that make me happy.

If I didn't have a career goal set in stone, I'd open up my own bakery. I am completely blissful when covered in flour and concentrating intently on tinting the frosting to just the right colour. It makes me zen. I've been known to spend entire days in the kitchen, spending hours alone on decorating a mere dozen cupcakes. I'd open up a chocolatier and pastry shop, all in one. I love making my own chocolate truffles and chocolate cake and turnovers and it would just be so joyous.

I could spend hours in bakeries. Because of my insatiable sweet tooth, I try not to for obvious reasons. But I love ogling the bright pastel colours of crisp Macarons, or wanting to lightly squeeze a dense chocolate brownie to judge the degree of squishy. I love staring at decorated cakes and smelling the butter chocolatines.

It's all so wonderfully decadent.

i used to be love drunk, now i'm hungover

So much negativity lately. A torn hip labrum that put me off the running map for 2 weeks is giving me a heavy heart.

Bring on the cold weather and the ticking time limit on my days of running outside, and it's almost torture.

Fall is my 2nd favourite season, but I dread this time each year because it means one thing: winter is on its way. I appreciate all seasons, but the darkness of winter gets me every year. I go to class in the morning and it's pitch black, and return from class in the evening with the same gloomy view. So much darkness isn't good for the mind.

The thought of turning 23 on Friday is bumming me out, for the mere fact that I'm wondering where the 7 years went from the time I was 16. It's crazy.

Crazy to think how much I've changed...and how much I haven't.

To beat the blues, it's time to acknowledge the little things that count. What makes my day, each time:

(*) That first sip of piping hot coffee in the morning.
(*) A heated blanket.
(*) Sour candy.
(*) A nice-smelling boy.
(*) A big, comfy sweatshirt.
(*) A banana split. With exta chopped nuts.
(*) A huge swig of ice cold Gatorade after a tough workout.
(*) Running as fast as you can for 100 feet.
(*) Warm rain.
(*) Being barefoot.
(*) Running barefoot.
(*) Oozing into consciousness without an alarm.
(*) Gooey pizza eaten straight from the box.
(*) Steaming coffee served in dark mugs.
(*) A pumpkin spice latte, with whipped cream, from Starbucks.
(*) Fun socks.
(*) The smell of coconut.
(*) Flip-flops.
(*) Ice cold beer.
(*) Big, dangly earrings.
(*) Driving standard.
(*) Thunderstorms.
(*) Salty ocean air.
(*) Warm muffins with butter.
(*) Staying in bed all day.
(*) The smell of fabric softener on clothes.
(*) The post-race meal.
(*) Worn-in, muddy cross-country spikes.
(*) Smores.
(*) A morning stretch and back crack.
(*) Hugs.
(*) Nothing but open road and a tankful of gas.