Tag Archives: Survival

Using the “N” word (in which I channel my inner mean girl)

Posted on April 25, 2012 | Leave a comment

Before you think I’m going to go in a completely different direction here, let me just say it:

No.

What?  It’s a hard freaking word to say.

I was having a conversation with the king of decent-enough-excuses last night and after asking an imposing question he said “uhmm… I can’t think of an excuse that doesn’t make me  sound like an idiot…” So I pushed.  Then say no, and don’t give me an excuse at all. ”No.”  Was that so hard? ”Yeah… it made me feel weird inside.”  And using an excuse wouldn’t have? ”Funny how that works, hey?”

I’ve been on this really strange language binge lately where I try saying things that get to the root of my feeling as opposed to pushing them down and frosting over them.  Instead of giving an excuse, I just give my answer.  Instead of saying “I don’t have time” (my go-to excuse) I say “It’s not a priority” and, as you can imagine, this doesn’t sit so well with people or with myself.

It’s been my excuse for years.  I don’t have time to see you is me saying you aren’t a priority.  I don’t have time to go for a run is me saying getting my ass in shape is not a priority.  I don’t have time to write this morning is me saying writing isn’t a priority of mine right now.

As soon as I told myself that writing wasn’t a priority, I sat my ass down and made it a priority.  Because that’s what it is.  The same goes for working out.  As soon as I told myself my body wasn’t a priority, I made that time.  Because this is the only body I get and you can be damn sure that keeping it in tip-top shape is a priority of mine.  As far as people go, if I have to bust out the “I don’t have time for you” excuse… well… that about says it all.  You aren’t a priority.  Sorry.

And that’s where it gets easy to be mean.  People do not seem to take kindly to you telling them they do not hold priority status (or that their cause, favour, problems or whatever else don’t.)  Which is why it feels better to give an excuse as a way to diffuse the situation.  But excuses are bull shit, and I think it’s kinder to just tell the truth.

No.  No.  No.  No, no, No, no, No, no, NO.

Do we have obligations?  Yes.  But I’m not calling them obligations any longer.  I’m calling them choices that I have made.  Did I promise to be a part of something that is taking up my Sundays for another two months?  Yes.  It’s not an obligation, it’s a choice I made that I’m now doing the best I can with.  Will I do it again?  That’s a choice I can make at  a later date.

I am beginning to feel like we complicate things solely based on how we talk about them, and if this is a quick fix, I’ll take it.  Maybe I’ll find spit on my next burger.  Or, maybe I’ll start to see some progress in the areas of my life that I have come to realize are the important ones.

What excuses do you make on a regular basis?  What’s the worst that would happen if you stopped giving them?   I bet you’d have more time for the things you’ve wanted all along.

xo & yw 

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Ex & the City (why it’s time to get out of Dodge)

Posted on April 2, 2012 | 1 Comment

If this city has ever been smaller than it was this past weekend, I’d have everyone’s Great Aunts middle names memorized.  Perhaps I’ve done my time in too many circles, perhaps there’s only 3 bars in the entire city or perhaps, I’ve been around the block 35 too many times, I don’t care.  Fuck this.

Letting go has gotten a lot easier for me over the years.  I struggled a long time with it initially, but now it’s as easy as dropping a cell phone in the toilet and getting into my car.  With this said, the people I had to let go of before I decided that I had nomadic tendencies and the inability to commit myself to a goldfish are still people who I struggle to cut ties with.  For the most part I do pretty well, but 16 cocktails into an evening and accidentally running into them at a dive bar will get me every single time.

Oh sure, I get over it again.  Usually because I have another double jamesons on ice and forget it ever happened (along with anything else that might have).  But sometimes, I’m furious enough about the irony of it all that I can’t help but throw something at the wall (this is the wall, btw).

Don’t look now, but he’s here.

Least favourite words ever to hear at my favourite bar.  No, no, no, no, no.  It’s bad enough we broke up eight times and I stabbed him in the face and he stabbed me in the face and it’s bad enough he still leaves me drunk voicemails and it’s bad enough I care enough about him to not change my phone number.  I do not need to run into my ex-fiancée when I’m out with my girlfriends.

So I obviously did what anyone who sees someone they were in a four year relationship with does:  I pretended I had no foggy clue who he was.  Seven awkward waves across the bar and zero-prospects in sight later, we had to leave.

Don’t look now, but he’s here.

Are you fucking kidding me?  No, no, no, no, no!  It’s bad enough I’m now drunk enough I don’t even look decent, it’s bad enough I’m still sending him under-the-influence text messages, it’s bad enough it’s been eight years and I still give a shit, I do not need to run into my high school boyfriend when I’m out with my girlfriends, drinking my face off because I just ran into my ex-fiancée!

So naturally, I did what any wounded soldier does when they run into the enemy: I told him he was an asshole and that he looked fantastic and that this made him an even bigger asshole.   One ‘lock myself in the bathroom stall and refuse to get out’ fiasco later, we had to leave.

We laughed about it the next day.  It’s not the first time I’ve run into either of them and it always makes for an entertaining brunch story.  Brunch turned into afternoon cocktails and, as usual, I forgot about the awkwardness of it all and moved on.

New bars make for new starts and I think we all thought Saturday’s choice was a safe zone.  Sixteen cocktails into the evening and going to meet someone at the door of my *new* favourite dive bar, I should have sensed the pattern immediately.  I didn’t even need the warning this time.  Smack.  Bang.  Shit.  IN MY FACE, AGAIN.

I’msorryIdontrememberanythingthathappenedlastnightsorryokaybye.

Punch the Universe in the balls & go dance & write yourself a memo in your blackberry that says “get the fuck out of Dodge, STAT”

Typical weekend in a big city.

xo & yw

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A game of Life: In which a 7 year old Doctor convinces me once and for all that education is not necessary

Posted on January 16, 2012 | Leave a comment

I come from a home that values education.  Kindergarten through post-graduate.  You work hard, you get it on paper, you go places.  I have never in my life questioned this.  I graduated High School, registered in University and have been plunking my way through it (albeit, on my own sweet time) since 2006.  I have some credentials to show for it and a very high caffeine tolerance. I plan to get my Masters, I plan to get a PhD, I plan to go to school to get all the credentials I can, because I think learning is awesome and can take notes like a madwoman.

However, I don’t believe education is necessary to get what you want in life.

I value education to the extent that I think you need to know which witch is which and why they’re different (their/there – IMPORTANT!)  You should be able to figure out what your annual salary works out to hourly and how to tell time on a “big kid” clock.  I value education to the extent that I think it’s incredibly sexy when a man can quote Chaucer and to the extent that when I go in to give birth (one day) I expect that the Doctor will be educated enough on the subject of “push!  PUUUUUSHHHH!” that me and my future baby will make it out alive.

But yup… that’s about it.  I think life educates better than institution and that with a little bit of grit, you can get wherever you want without sitting in a lecture hall five times a week for 4-7 years.  Unless you want to be my Doctor.

SO when, on Sunday, I was placed on “childcare” duty between the hours of 11am and 12:30pm and the kids decided they wanted to play “Life” I decided to test my theories on the board.  I chose “Payday” over “Pay for college.”  I got a job making $20,000 as a Sales Associate, spent $5000 on recovering after a snowboarding accident, lost my job and became an Entertainer and for a solid 10 minutes made $150,000 annually before settling down with twin boys, a husband who didn’t mind riding in a pink SUV and a job as a Mechanic (?) all the while, living quite comfortably within my means in an airstream trailer.

As I neared what I assumed to be the ‘mid life’ section of the board, I was given a choice: “the risky road” or “the family road.”  Seeing as my metro-sexual husband and twin boys were hypothetical, I obviously chose the “risky road,” which in all honesty is most likely what I would choose in real life, husband & kids or not.  The good news?  I didn’t end up having twin girls (which was an option).  The bad news?  I got sued for $100,000 by a 7 year old Doctor who assured me that by fixing her car ‘wrong’ I caused her to miss a surgery that ended up killing a man (I encourage the use of imagination while playing these sorts of games…)

BUT I got a raise and a pension plan.  I traded my airstream for a mansion after auctioning off a piece of artwork that my grandmother had in her attic.  I sued the 7 year old back for defamation of character and for ruining my mechanic business and then I sold what remained of the business and became an accountant and made $120k annually for another 3 years.  I retired early (at 40), put my kids through University while I sat sipping mint Juleps and bought an $800,000 hobby farm in Montana with ca$h money.

Sure, “Life” gave me a couple of bumps and bruises.  I wouldn’t have pictured myself as a mechanic living in an airstream with a submissive husband and twin boys, but in exchange, I spent time as a Hollywood star.  As a traveling salesperson.  As a number crunching executive.  I retired early and bought the horse I always wanted and I learned a valuable lesson:

You do the best you can with the decisions you’ve made and when in doubt, you can always sue someone for a hundred thousand dollars.

If that riveting news doesn’t convince you that paper doesn’t matter, I don’t know what will.

xo & yw & roll the dice

Photos taken in my front yard because it snowed, & this is AWESOME. xx

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