Random Channel Surfing

Tonight's the night before I fly out to Montreal with the girls and their fellas. Half of me is restless and anxious and fighting the hiccups, while the other is blissfully aware of how blessed I am to be going on this mini vacation. Seven days of mischief and laughter. Seven days of music and feasting. Seven days in the one other place on the planet where I truly feel at home. I can already smell the rain on the pavement and I can already imagine how wonderful our time there will be. How did I ever get so lucky?

My dad always says that you have twice the number of problems if you get angry with someone. Problem one is that someone wronged you. Problem two is that you chose to get angry or upset with this person. For the most part, this piece of fatherly advice is easy to follow. But there are days -- my god there are days -- when anger is the only emotion I can feel after someone unintentionally or intentionally does something to cause me harm. And I don't know what's worse in these instances; would I rather someone harm me on purpose, or would it be easier if they did it without any intent to hurt me? No one on the planet is 100% pure goodness, or 100% pure evil. It's harder for some of us to be kind and tolerant and good sometimes, while it's some people's default. The same can be said about those of us who find it harder to be cranky and intolerant and mean -- no one is all faults and no good traits. And I think that's why it's hard for me to understand

Wearing red lipstick does make you more visible. The correct terminology to use here is probably "noticeable", but for a shy girl like me, you definitely feel visible . I mean, let's be honest: you can't hide when you're sporting a bright, bold colour on your lips. People point it out sometimes and those who don't see you often may just say, "You're wearing more makeup than usual!" as though wearing lipstick is the same as slapping on three coats of foundation. [Cue eye roll] Wearing red lipstick teaches you how to properly apply lipstick. When you commit to wearing red lipstick every day for a full year, you need to learn how to properly apply it. That means that I learned the importance of investing in lip liner and actually used it. I learned how to apply lipstick so that it was long-lasting, so that the colour was bright, so that it was as bold as I was pretending to feel. (I only half-kid.) I also learned how many coats to apply, where

I don't like giving people the satisfaction of knowing how much they hurt me, so when I act angry or distant, act apathetic or annoyed, it means that I'm hurt. So hurt, I'm embarrassed -- and the shame that I feel for being so wounded, is what makes me behave this way. I just thought you all should know.

Summer 2013, I was obsessed with this song. Now every time I hear it, I feel a really weird sense of sadness. It's not that last summer was sad -- not in the slightest. I actually have really happy memories of it. Rather, it's that I miss last summer so so so so so so much, that listening to this song makes me ache with a weird sense of longing. Nostalgia is a powerful drug, my friends.

I've written my first short story for my 2014 challenge. You can read it here . And I'm writing this, basically, to express the discomfort I feel for having written it. Most of what I write is at least partially based on events that happened to me; I'm not used to writing things from someone else's perspective. I've done it in the past, sure (several times on this blog, even!), but I'm more at ease when I'm writing about things that have actually -- physically and truly -- happened to me. So it was weird when I started about a dude who was literally dumped the day before his wedding. And it's not that I take issue with the subject matter, but it all felt so f   u       c           k               i                  n                      g forced . All that to say, I'm really happy that I'm challenging myself this year. I can only hope that with time, I'll feel more inspired and less... well, phony when I'm writing about t

He supposes he should be grateful to her; after all, if she hadn't called off the wedding, they might be on their way to an unfulfilling life where he loved her exponentially more than she could ever love him. Right? Because the fact is this: He always loved her more than she could ever love him. And it's true what they say, love is never equal. One person will always ( always ) love more. And he was happy being that person; she deserves that level of devotion; she deserves that kind of commitment. And she seemed to agree up until 13 hours ago. Thirteen. Unlucky number 13. If she hadn't confronted him on the eve of their wedding, he would have continued assuming that she was happy and sated. But no amount of love he feels for her will ever be enough. No matter how fiercely committed he remained to her, it never measured up. The imbalance was too great and she felt the enormity of it all on her slender tan shoulders. She knew, much sooner than he did, that they w

Seeing as my oldest sister is married to an American gentleman, I've celebrated the Fourth of July in the US more than once. It's an amazing  holiday; people wake up early, head over to the parade and (publicly) drink beer at 7 in the morning sans judgment! I mean, what's not to like about it? But, other than the few times I've spent the Fourth in the US, I don't have much cause to partake. Canada's own birthday is three days earlier and, well, I'm not an American. All that to say, despite the fact it's a "Party in the USA", I will not be celebrating the U-S-of-A, but will  be celebrating Brazil's victory over Colombia! Yes, dear reader. Today is the start of the World Cup's Quarter Finals; Germany will face France and Brazil will face Colombia. I'm terrified to see who will come out as victor in the Brazil/Colombia match, but I'm loyal to the Yellow and Green, so a large part of me is convinced that Brazil will come out on

I read somewhere -- probably on pinterest (I'm hyper-addicted to that site) -- that if a writer were to write a story a week, the likelihood of him/her writing 52 bad stories is very low. So I've decided that starting next week, I'm going to write one story per week. Now, this is the part where I warn you all that these stories will likely be random, romantical, and awkward -- just like me. But a challenge is a challenge and I'm determined to write a story a week until July 13, 2015. (I picked that date at random; it just seems like as good a place as any to end my 52 story challenge.) Also, seeing as June 16, 2014 marked the end of last year's challenge ( wearing red lipstick every day for a year ), I will update this blog with a post on my feelings regarding my year of brightly coloured lips. Oh la la. Poisson rouge, indeed. Now that summer has finally decided to make its stay permanent, I feel a lot lighter. Summer is usually a happy time for me, despite the