Random Channel Surfing

I tried to think those feelings away.

2012-01-29T00:26:00.000-08:00

Best Intentions

2012-01-28T13:18:00.001-08:00

She means well. It was never her intention to hurt the girl in front of her; she only wanted her to be happy. As happy as she feels when she looks at her husband; the happiness bubbling in her chest the moment she rises in the morning, continuing through to night when she lays down next to him in their bed.

She just wants her to have what she has. She's tried setting her up numerous times, but she's too picky. Takes one look at the boys, men, guys in front of her, panic registering in her green eyes before she excuses herself.

She idly wonders if she might be gay. It would come as a surprise to her; her oldest, dearest, singlest friend has had her share of beaus. But she's been single for the past three years and does she not crave the feel of a man's body?!?!

So she'll keep pointing men out. Keep encouraging her to go home with them at the end of the night. Keep bragging about how wonderful her life with her husband is.

She just wants her to be as happy as she is.

She means well.

2012-01-22T22:41:00.000-08:00

Here's what he knows about her.

She eats an apple everyday. Often leaves the cores abandoned on the kitchen counter -- little reminders that there's a new body in the house.

She never leaves dirty dishes in the sink; makes them all feel really guilty for not cleaning up after themselves. He'll playfully hold his dirty dishes high above her head, but she always insists she loves doing the dishes. Who's he to argue with someone who'll willingly clean up after him? Yeah. No.

She takes really long showers every morning. She sings as she cooks. She's obsessed with making lists and leaves them laying around their apartment. She's intelligent and observant. Thoughtful, even.

He has a hard time ignoring her most of the time, but on days she wears a dress or short pants, he can't tear his disobedient eyes away from her legs.

She has really toned calves.

He can't stop staring at her calves and he knows she's noticed. There are times he'll look up to find a bemused expression on her face and others when it's amazing she hasn't spontaneously combusted from her flaming cheeks.

But the most important thing he's learned about her is that she doesn't know her own mind. She'll be smiling and friendly and flirtatious one minute, but the next, she'll transform into this overemotional, angry and easily irritated chick. He doesn't get how there's a switch somewhere inside her that makes her go from sane to loopy.

She's an enigma of sorts. Keeps him guessing at every turn.

He convinces himself that's why he can't stop thinking about her. He's a bad liar.

I don't want to be ready.

2012-01-21T23:50:00.000-08:00

Not yet, at least.

2012-01-19T22:11:00.000-08:00

He's always whistling.

The happy boy with the dimpled smile and tousled sandy hair. She knows - without a doubt - that he's in a bad mood if she doesn't hear him whistling first thing every morning. It's like a mood thermometer; helping her gauge how he feels.

She's often surprised - delighted, really - when she wakes up to hear him whistling in the kitchen. Hear his whistle coming from the bathroom, sounding over the rush of water. Hear his whistle from his room as he dresses. It comes as a surprise, even if he whistles all the time. And every time she hears his whistle, her heart pinches and the flutter in her stomach bubbles up into a laugh. It's just so surprising, the way he makes her feel.

He just makes her happy.

He's just so infectious.

One of the best things about being happy is that the reaction you have to songs that used to make you bawl is now peace.

2012-01-17T20:16:00.000-08:00

The only exception to this rule is Coconut Records' "West Coast".

Guess I'm over a lot of things then, eh?

Spoiled

2012-01-15T13:49:00.001-08:00

It's amazing when I discover another truth about me.

I try to be as self-aware as possible; forcing myself to delve into parts of my personality that I'm not quite happy with and learning to work past the ugly aspects of my personality, but sometimes I don't see all of my flaws for what they are.

For some very obvious reason, I don't want to admit to being spoiled. It's not even that I'm spoiled, given that calling someone spoiled places the blame on exterior forces (in my case, my parents and sisters), when I think I've spoiled myself. I have. I coddle myself. Don't do things I don't want to do, despite knowing how much it will benefit me in the long run. I hide myself away. Preferring the comfort of being alone than forcing myself to interact with others.

Guess now that I've realized how terrible my influence has been on me, I'll have to change that, eh?

melts

2012-01-11T22:13:00.000-08:00

Fudgeroo

2012-01-06T18:01:00.000-08:00

I forgot all about my aspirations of writing a novella to submit to The Malahat Review.

Meh.

Impulsive

2012-01-04T22:42:00.000-08:00

I'm not what you would call impulsive. If anything I'm more spontaneous than impulsive. Oftentimes I'll do something only after weighing the Pros and Cons and examining whether it will affect me in the long run. Being impulsive isn't in my nature.

I mostly think before I speak (unless I'm hurt...); mostly keep my money in my pocket; mostly take careful, measured steps while walking.

Saying all of this, I'm not going to force myself to make more spur-of-the-moment-change-my-life-forever type of decisions, but rather, will try to be as adventurous as I can.

Starting with an Advanced French class.

So it is written.

So it shall be done.

Yes.

My tickets for Foster the People and Tokyo Police Club came in the mail today!

2011-12-22T00:27:00.000-08:00

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOT

2011-12-21T21:35:00.000-08:00

She doesn't mean to say the things she does. But somehow the words slip out and she sees it all in her eyes: I thought you were supposed to love me regardless of what I looked like, momma.

She drops her daughter's gaze and continues picking up.

"You know I'm right," she says. "If you continue eating the way you do, you won't fit into your prom dress. And it'd be a shame."

She walks to the door, thinking that the only thing that's shameful about their exchange is the way her little girl's cheeks got red and she self-consciously adjusted her body, hiding her body.

"I love you," she promises, leaving the room immediately, lest she heap more doubt and self-hatred.

Whoever said being a mother was easy? They were lying.

2011-12-15T23:40:00.000-08:00

How irresponsible would it be if I never come back from Montreal in June? Like, on a scale from one to ten, where one is "model daughter/friend/employee" and ten is "irresponsibly immature and self-centered"?

'Cause I can see myself "missing" my return flight home.

Going to see Foster the People and the Tokyo Police Club in MONTREAL in June.

2011-12-15T08:07:00.001-08:00

Life. Made.

Sometimes, like the times he does something surprisingly sweet, I think I'm falling for him.

2011-12-10T22:03:00.000-08:00

But then I remember that I fall fast and hard like a rock you'd throw into the water, quickly sinking deeper and deeper. I remember that falling never, ever creeps up on me all of the sudden. I remember that I know - without a sliver of doubt - when I've fallen as soon as it happens, but can never see it coming. I remember that I can't stop it from happening and it literally leaves me short of breath like those times someone jumps out of corners to scare me. The feeling is exhilarating and frightening and, yes, even addictive.

When I remember how I fall, I know I'm not falling in love and I can breathe a bit easier. Because falling in love has never been a positive experience. It's always ended and it's always hurt and it's always meant

months

and

months

and

months

and

months

of hurt.

It's a blessing and a curse when you're not blind.

2011-12-10T18:13:00.000-08:00

Being self-aware enables me to really know myself. My thoughts and fears and desires. Even the ones I wish weren't mine.

But it would be easier to live in denial. To ignore that I'm so stubborn I often ruin things that I love. To forget how much I fear the sting of rejection. To deny that I do want someone that knows me inside and out in my life.

After all, there's truth to that old saying,

"Ignorance is bliss."

Tonight, tonight...

2011-12-09T14:50:00.000-08:00

It's Janis and Wyatt's annual Christmas party. I'm quite stoked, actually. It will be great seeing my girls. Not to mention all our other friends, hahaha.

What I'm most pumped for, though, is playing dress-up! I know I could dress all girly and do my makeup and hair all fancy whenever I want to, but I never have a reason to. My mother would say that that's silly. That we dress the way we want to and you should dress up if you feel like it.

I agree with my mom. Really, I do.

But it takes so much energy.

And this is that awkward moment I let you all in on a secret: I'm a scrub.

Truth. Bomb.

Nervous Laughter

2011-12-09T14:46:00.000-08:00

He knows he's done for the moment he sees her.

Wrapped in a towel, apologizing for walking in on him in the kitchen, flushed and embarrassed, hair a mess of curls, he's frozen.

"S'okay," he says, smiling, laughing really, at the sight of this flustered girl. His lips keep twitching, a nervous habit, and the laughs just keep coming. This girl will hate him by the end of the night, he worries.

She manages a weak nod and makes a direct beeline to what he guesses is her room.

"What's so funny, man?" asks Mitch, coming back from getting his jacket.

"I think I just embarrassed your sister," he answers, trying so hard not to burst out laughing, again.

December 7, 2007

2011-12-08T09:21:00.000-08:00

Famous people aren't allowed to be cute.

2011-12-07T22:28:00.001-08:00

Bitter Coffee

2011-12-05T10:02:00.000-08:00

She hasn't seen him in over three years. She remembers their last encounter - she didn't know it then that it'd be their last - with the bittersweet aftertaste of someone who's left too many things unsaid. And it frustrates her.

Her cowardice. His silence. Her love for him. His indifference. All the would have beens and could have beens outweighing what she knows deep in her heart are should have beens.

She sighs, stirring her coffee and reveling in the fact she's in New York. It only took her three years, but she's made it. She slings her back over her shoulder, secures the lid on her to-go cup and stares at her feet as she exits the Starbucks. She should have paid attention to where she was going.

"I'm sorry," a masculine voice says, taking all of the blame.

"No, it was totally my fault," she has yet to look up as she brushes the drops of coffee off her jacket. She knows it's hopeless; knows you can't brush liquid off of clothing, but she tries. This is her favourite red jacket and to have it ruined...

She finally looks up and comes face-to-face with familiar black eyes. She slowly registers the blush on the apples of his cheeks and feels her own skin warming under his gaze. They've never been officially introduced - he was the friend of a friend of a friend; the friend of the cousin of another - but they were never oblivious. They exchanged few words in the past. They knew of one another. (She knew all about him, in fact.)

"Hi," he says, his awkwardness making her cringe inwardly.

"Hey," she smiles, despite herself. "Dylan, right?"

She's never been brave, but now is her chance! Fate is intervening. She never did intervene three years before; never gave her the chance to make this boy's acquaintance. At last, Fate was stepping in.

She only hopes it's not too little, too late.

"Yeah," he answers, shifting awkwardly on the balls of his feet. "I'm sorry, I know I know you, but I don't seem to remember your name."

Ouch.

"Molly."

"Right, Molly." He gives her a warm smile and if she wasn't embarrassed already, she's sure her face would be bright red. "This is weird," he says, laughing. Whether he's laughing at her or the situation or even the fact her face could melt a hunk of ice, she doesn't know. All she knows is the guy of her dreams is standing before her.

"Yeah," she laughs. It's breathy and quiet and she has to clear her throat before she can continue. "I didn't expect to bump into anyone familiar."

"Do you live here?" He asks, having mercy on her. Anyone can see how uncomfortable and awkward she feels. She's great at small talk, but right now, standing next to this perfect boy with kind eyes and gelled back hair, in her dirty red coat and red face, she can't bear to speak.

"No, I'm here visiting a friend. Uh, you... do you live here?"

She peeks up at him through her thick lashes, chastising herself for being nosy.

"Yeah, I moved here after graduation. I'm writing, actually. Got a job."

As if he's just realized he's sharing too much with a near-stranger, he gives a slight shrug and smiles.

"Wow. Congrats," she says, her voice lame and not at all happy for him. Realizing how surreal this situation is, she pastes on a smile. "That's really impressive, actually. I never took you for a writer..."

If she could, she would shoot her own foot.

I never took you for a writer? Really? Does her mouth want to make her come off as creepy? She closes her eyes and shakes her head.

"Not that... I mean, I would've assumed..."

He laughs. Not a cruel or mean sound, but honest and amused.

"I understand. All those times we saw one another, we didn't really know each other."

"I always pegged you for a science/math guy." The words are out of her mouth before she can stop them.

Another laugh.

"I always pegged you for a psyche or English major," he counters.

Now it's her turn to laugh. She shakes her head, bites her lip and sighs.

"Nope. Boring BEd."

"A teacher?" His eyebrows are raised.

"A high school teacher," she amends.

"So you're a patient person, I take it," he says with another honest and amused laugh.

"My younger siblings would beg to differ, but apparently." She smiles at him, staring deep into his eyes.

"Excuse me," someone says, lightly pushing her aside. It's then she realizes that she's back inside the store. She idly wonders how they migrated inside; she'd thought they were still at the exit. She hears him clear his throat beside her, as though also just realizing where they are, and she pretends to look at her watch.

"Um, wow. Look at - look at the time!"

"Right. Sorry for, uh, distracting you," he apologizes. His eyes are all but apologetic and she's able to detect the playfulness behind his gaze. She laughs, nods once and holds out her hand.

"It was nice to see you, Dylan."

He stares at her outstretched hand and takes it in his. It's warm, dry, and it covers all of hers.

"Yeah. Definitely."

She slowly - reluctantly - withdraws her hand, and smiles. She walks to the counter, taking a handful of napkins, for the road, and gives him a small wave when she turns to leave.

"Wait," she hears him call out.

She turns on her heel and quirks an eyebrow.

"Why don't you join me?"

Join him? She stares at him, unable to respond and he mistakes her silence for a refusal.

"Forget it... you're probably busy."

"No, I'm not!"

"You're... not?"

"I'm meeting with my friend tomorrow. Tonight I'm wide open. I mean, I'm free."

She scratches her ear, a nervous twitch she's had since she was a child and holds her breath.

"Great," he says, biting his bottom lip.

"Great."

This is the first time she's seen him in over three years. She walks over to a table and sits, waiting for him to join her. She thinks back to their last encounter and sips from her coffee. There's no more bitter aftertaste in her mouth. She no longer feels frustrated at her inaction or his obliviousness.

Everything happens for a reason. Right?

He soon joins her, laughing about something the barista said and she feels her mouth quirk up into a smile. She sighs, sipping her coffee and reveling in the fact she's actually sitting with him. It only took her three years, but she's made it.

Do I Fear, Fear Itself? Or Is There More to It?

2011-12-05T00:24:00.000-08:00

While going through my email, I saw a slew of emails from my former program advisor at school. She'd forwarded us some information on a contest for a novella.

Now, I've said this millions of times before, but I'm a coward. Yellow livered. Rubber spined. Squeamish.

The fear of rejection for something as sacred as my writing is terrifying. And I know. Okay? I know. Every single one of my professors warned us that we'd face rejection more times than we can count. They guaranteed it. And it's that certainty that cripples me.

Why would I, a girl who for all intents and purposes avoids the very idea of confrontation, submit myself to rejection? It goes against my very character. But the braver, determined side of me is pissed off at my unwillingness. It's losing patience and has started pacing and glaring in my direction.

I get it, Self. I get it. I should fucking woman up (HA!) and face my fears.

Just because failure is certain, doesn't mean I should let fear dictate what I do and don't do.

Besides, I'm at a good place in my life. I really do feel happy. I feel healthy. I feel loved.

Why not attempt a shot at feeling successful?

All right, Self. I'll play. I already know the worst that could happen.

Y'know when everyone you know insists you're wonderful and amazing and have nothing to worry about 'cause your happy ending is just around the corner?

2011-12-04T01:04:00.000-08:00

And y'know when you keep insisting you're all right and happy and beg them to stfu, but they keep repeating that you're wonderful and amazing and have nothing to worry about 'cause your happy ending is just around the corner?

Like...

Why can't they take a hint?

It's really weird, but I'm happy. Really, really happy.

I'm not restless and frustrated and disillusioned and angsty. I'm not miserable and lonely and annoyed. I'm not listening to sad music and journalling in my personal journal and comparing my life to the lives of others.

Even when I was in Montreal, I can honestly say that I wasn't as happy as I am now. I don't know what it is. Maybe it's the fact that, despite the stress, anger, frustration and monotony of my work, I feel appreciated. Or maybe it's the fact that, despite living at home and being perpetually single, I'm at peace with myself.

Then again, I could owe it to the fact I do not have any romantic aspirations at all at the moment. Usually, this is around the time I'm scrambling to find/meet/fall for someone. This is the time Marcela gets desperate.

And for once, I'm not playing that game.

I'm happy being single.

It's liberating. And for once in my life, I honestly hope nothing fucks this up for me.

CONCERTS! CONCERTS! CONCERTS! CONCERTS!

2011-11-17T11:24:00.000-08:00

I have three -- THREEEEEEEEEEE -- concerts lined up for December.

That means that I didn't meet my concert quota for 2011. Boo.

BUT, on the plus side, I still had fun at those shows! :)

I came to a really scary conclusion yesterday...

2011-11-11T11:59:00.001-08:00

And it's scary only because it shows me how fucked up my coping mechanisms are.

I realized yesterday that I tend to eat in relation to my heart.

When I first fell in love, I was healthy. Eating the right foods, exercising... taking care of myself. But after my heart was broken that first time, I stopped eating. Literally. I lost my appetite and became afraid of ingesting food. For some twisted reason, I thought that eating would make things worse. And for the following three years after that incident, I struggled with an eating disorder.

The second time I fell in love, I took even better care of my body. I felt good. I loved eating and was afraid of skipping meals for fear of falling into my old patterns.

But when it came time for the inevitable end... my eating habits changed.

I was lucky I didn't fall into another eating disorder, but it's very telling to me that every time things don't go well romantically, I stop eating. Add to that the fact that there are times in the past I've used eating as a rewarding system of sorts. And the fact that weight loss usually leads to a fear of eating.

The way I see it, not eating, to me (at least), is an addiction. One I continue to struggle with. One I'll probably always fall back on when things are out of sync.

And it's scary. Knowing I don't always feel like eating.

It's scary. Knowing I have to force myself to eat if/when I lose weight.

It's scary. Knowing that I'll probably always struggle with my eating habits.

2011-11-03T11:42:00.000-07:00

She had her suspicions.

Come to think of it, she always did.

Sometimes his gaze would linger on her, his eyes traveling up the swell of her breasts almost shyly, as though his gaze was one sweet caress.

Other times he'd lightly push up against her in their crowded kitchen, muttering an insincere apology.

And then there were those times he'd walk around their small apartment, wearing nothing but his boxer briefs, smirking whenever their eyes met.

It flattered her, sure, that her hot as fuck roommate found her attractive, but she didn't know how to proceed. Was it, for all intents and purposes, really a good idea to approach her roommate and confront him about their assumed mutual atraction? Would that ruin the naturally comfortable rapport that they have? Or, would it really work in their favour if they gave in to their animalistic urges and had coitus in the kitchen... the way she imagined whenever she felt the heat of his body pressed against her back?

It was a real problem and things only seemed to be getting worse the day that he moved in.

Thanks to him, there was a real tangible shift in the apartment. As though a ticking bomb had been turned on and every second brought them all closer to the moment when a choice had to be made.

She only wished she'd never have to make that choice.

Change was bad enough without the added pressure.

That awkward moment where I'm worried more about a fictional character's first time, than I ever worried about my own.

2011-10-31T01:52:00.001-07:00

ennui

2011-10-24T16:50:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I get this overwhelming feeling that all I'm doing is in vain. Like every single thing I write is crap. Like I'm never going to fulfill my dreams.

It doesn't help that I seem to be seeking validation for the things I write. I used to write because I enjoyed it, but now? The joy comes from people praising my words. The use of a period or comma. What the hell happened to me?

blah blah blah

Sorry for hosting another segment of the Marcela Loves Whining!

There's a slight chance I might go to Vancouver next month for the Grey Cup.

2011-10-19T18:28:00.000-07:00

I mean, NBD.

Not like anything will come of it... but still. I iz excited.

2011-10-16T23:48:00.000-07:00

Ojala no me importara. Pero si me duele cuando no le importo a la gente.

Ojala fuera asi de talentosa como otras. Pero estoy llena de ideas comunes.

Ojala

2011-10-16T16:54:00.000-07:00

I can't help but idealize people in my life, so when they finally do something to disappoint me, I find it unbearable.

I'm:

2011-10-12T21:04:00.000-07:00

An ego boost in a diminutive package.

2011-10-08T14:47:00.001-07:00

Pros

Money
Health benefits
Money
Good work environment
Money
I'm doing something that was in my field of study
Money

Cons

I feel restless
I feel underappreciated
I want to write, not edit, dammit!
Too busy to take any breaks
Working overtime... again
I feel trapped
My job is making me second-guess my abilities as writer
I resent my boss
The mess at work makes me feel like I'm in over my head

So my friend Janis and I were holding hands on Saturday night.

2011-09-27T11:30:00.000-07:00

Nothing coupley, she was just warming my hands up.

Anyway, we went to order a slice of pizza at Funky Pickle and the dude behind the counter asks if she's paying for both slices.

Janis turns to look at me and says, "Guess he thinks we're together. I guess we do sound like a couple with me ordering right after you!" to which the guy answers, "Oh, you guys aren't together?"

No. We're not.

Point is, I think it's ridiculous that just because she ordered immediately after me - and that we're holding hands - people ~assume that we're an item. Are women not allowed to be affectionate with one another? If so, I must have missed the memo...

My Muse Has Stage Fright: A tale by Marcela

2011-09-26T11:46:00.001-07:00

Once upon a time, there was a really anxious text editor who was crippled by her feelings of inadequacy.

She thought she was not fit for writing. That she was not suited for proudly bearing the title of "writer." That she was better off doing something like editing, instead.

It was nonsense, really, since the girl was a fabulous text editor and she had a real imagination. The problem was, that whenever inspiration struck, she'd put her hand to paper, but her fingers would cramp up. Her mind would go blank. A fine sheen of sweat would grace her forehead and her body temperature would rise exponentially.

It wasn't really her fault, you see. For her darling Muse, Darla, was too chicken-sh** (pardon the French) to let Marcela's finger muscles relax. To let her mind drift away on a paper sailboat. To let her body feel calm, cool, collected.

So, one day, Marcela did the unthinkable.

The unforgivable.

The most dramatic thing an aspiring writer could do.

She fired her Muse!

At first Darla was outraged. Aghast. Completely broken and depressed. She packed her bags, lifted her pointy chin, and left Marcela's overcrowded heart. She knew when she was not needed and she knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that Marcela would crawl back to her sometime.

The days soon turned to months and Darla hadn't heard from that fickle wannabe writer. She'd sought out employment in other avenues. McDonalds, a call centre in Mumbai, but no one needed an anxious Muse for anything. It seemed that Darla's overly nervous nature was not something people were in want for.

Darla was at the end of her rope! There was only so much she could do and Muses depend on love and fulfilment to be fed and she was starting to starve. Already, she could see the fine bones pressing against her abdomen and Muses can only survive six months without nourishment.

So, she did what she had to do. She checked in on Marcela.

Marcela sat at her work desk, poring over modules. Editing as best as she could. But without her muse, she no longer found joy in working out the puzzles in the written word. She no longer felt fulfilled and proud after she edited a particular humdinger of a sentence!

Darla set her chin and approached her. To say Marcela was surprised is a drastic under-exaggeration for she wept with joy when she saw her old friend!

"Darla my darling! I have missed you," she cried (more or less, for Marcela wasn't as expressive as that...).

"And I, you," Darla sobbed.

"Oh, but darling Darla, you are nothing but skin and bones. What has happened?"

"I have not had any nourishment. No one to inspire and no one to help has left me quite famished for creativity."

Marcela looked guilty. She had done this to her lifelong friend. The one who'd inspired her to write countless children's stories. The one who'd helped her map out the novel she was yet to write.

"Darla, I'm sorry," she whispered, clutching Darla's ice-cold hands as though her life depended on it. And that very well might have been the case, for Marcela knew she needed her Muse back in her life, in order to feel happy and fulfilled every day of her life. "What can I do to have you back in my life, again?"

Darla looked deep into Marcela's deep brown eyes and gave her friend a watery smile.

"Write something?"

So, with a smile on her face, Marcela sat down and wrote this story to tell. Darla might still suffer from bouts of insecurity and inadequacy, but she and Marcela have come to an understanding.

It's better to have a Muse with a serious case of stage fright, than none at all.

Sisters&Brothers

2011-09-24T22:36:00.000-07:00

The 24th Annual Edmonton International Film Festival started this weekend and I went to the screening of Sisters & Brothers, which was written by Edmonton-born director, Carl Bessai, who was all kinds of happy over having the movie screen in his hometown.

I was very proud and happy to watch the film. Not only was the entire film improvised and low budget - something that was clearly obvious, given the limited shooting locations - but it was extremely well-acted and well-executed. The stories flowed seamlessly and the tone of the film was never lost on its audience. Funny scenes were funny. Sombre scenes were sombre. And hella awkward scenes were hella awkward.

Now, our boy Cory? Extremely enjoyable to watch. Basically, he and Dustin Milligan played two brothers. Older brother Justin (Cory Monteith) has found fame being a Canadian mega movie star in Hollywood, while his younger brother, Rory (Dustin Milligan), has recently come back from Africa after a failed attempt at fame. When we talked to the director after the movie, he informed us that Dustin and Cory came up with the concept for their story by basing it on their life experiences. Dustin's character on the CW's 90210, Ethan, was cut after being in one season, while Cory's stint on Glee has brought him fame and fortune. In the film, the brothers have a really close relationship and you can see how well Dustin and Cory get along in real life because they're so chummy on-screen.

I have to say, though, that as much as I adored Dustin and Cory's Rory and Justin, the rest of the characters were equally lovable. The other stories centre around other sibling-type relationships. There are two half-sisters who rely on one another (but hate to be related), an only child, and a co-dependent brother and sister. There were moments in the film when I felt a prickle in my eye and, I have to admit, there were also moments in the film where I couldn't deny how Canadian the film really is! I know Cory said that he was proud of the fact the film wasn't "overly Canadian", but if you're familiar with the kitschiness of Canadiana, you'll definitely see it.

All in all, the movie had some hilarious one-liners (care of Dustin and Cory), some heart-wrenching moments (care of the entire cast), as well as some awkward moments (mostly care of Amanda Crew) and the film's tone had natural shifts. Like in one the climactic scene between Rory and Justin, where both brothers are hashing out past wrongs, Rory turns to three groupies who'd met Justin at the airport and who he'd invited over (and with whom he was looking to score...) and told them, pointblank: "He used to get cold sores!" It was extremely well-executed. The timing was impeccable and Cory's character's response of "Uh, he was-he was joking about that," was so adorably hilarious that the entire theatre burst out laughing.

During the Q&A portion with the director, he actually told us all that he's looking to release Sisters & Brothers, the third installment in an improvised trilogy about families, along with the two preceding films Mothers & Daughters and Fathers & Sons on iTunes as a three-pack. Bessai also said that he hoped that iTunes release would be worldwide and not only restricted to Canada (which means you International Cory fangirls would get to buy them, too!).

Also worth mentioning is the fact that it was Cory, not Bessai, who coined the term Montourage. Bessai went on to talk about a particular shot (which happens at the very end of the scene), when he was shot the scene between Dustin and Cory from the exterior, and people mistook him for a paparazzi taking pics of Cory. People started crowding around him, snapping pics and ruining his shot with their flash! He also let slip that he might collaborate on another film with Cory. Let's hope it's shot in Edmonton next time, all right?

eleven years.

2011-09-21T19:49:00.001-07:00

Eleven years ago today, I had my heart broken for the first time. It's a bit surreal how detached I am from a pain that ultimately caused a shortness of breath I can never fully get over, as well as an eating disorder, which, luckily, I was able to overcome thanks to therapy and the world's best support system.

But when I think back on that September morning, when I remember how sure I felt that everything was going right in my life - after all, I was living in a real-life John Hughes' movie - I pity myself. And self-pity? One of the most pathetic feelings a human can experience, let me tell you.

But the boy was worth it.

I remember knowing him better than anyone else. Seeing him through these completely naive, but very discerning pair of fourteen-year-old eyes. I knew then as well as I know now, that what I felt for him was real and special and pure and once-in-a-lifetime. But I do wonder, especially now that it's been eleven years of failing to breathe from time-to-time and eleven years of replaying bittersweet memories, if I'll ever fully recover. If I'll ever really get over him. Over it. Over the pain and the fear and the shock.

I hope I get over it. Truly I do. But what I pray for most of all, is that I never forget that I was the only person who really saw him for who he was and who he could be. That I'll never forget those times where it was just him and me and nothing - not his rising popularity or my affinity for reading - stood between us. Where I was the first person he told that he was switching schools. Where I was the only person who knew he hid behind his "funny guy" mask.

Because it's nice to know that when I fall in love, it's all fire and certainty. That I never waver. That I know.

Even if they don't deserve it. Even when I don't know anything else about myself. Even when my heart is lying on the ground, wailing and hurting and cut open and bleeding, it's better to feel the rush of that pain, than the numbness of anorexia. And I know I still struggle. I know. But at least I know I don't want that. And that's enough for me after eleven years.

But I really, truly do pray and wish and hope with all of my aching heart that he's doing well. That he's found what he was looking for eleven years ago. And that he's happy. Because he was hurting eleven years ago. He was lost. And he did want to be true to himself. He just didn't know how.

There really is no sweeter relief than crying.

2011-09-16T16:42:00.001-07:00

Passive-aggressive people should take anger management.

2011-09-16T15:18:00.000-07:00

2011-09-12T15:14:00.000-07:00

Oh, boo. Boo, boo, boo, boo-bee-boo.

It's that restless time again. And, predictably, I'm currently suffering from the "Woe is mes". Ugh. It's pathetic and aggravating and I'm so unbelievably annoyed by my antics. It's just being insecure isn't something you can turn off. If it were that simple, I wouldn't be writing here right now.

Anyway, I'm restless. And angry. And really bloody jealous.

2011-09-07T19:21:00.000-07:00

It's in desperation that you go to his house.

It's been days since you've seen him and the distance is making you question your sanity. Your once dignified anger has dissolved into painful regret and no matter what you do, you want to make things right.

Damn him! Damn him and his soft eyes.

Damn you. Damn you and your weak heart.

happy birthday.

2011-09-05T23:36:00.000-07:00

It's sad that I still remember, isn't it? You'd think that after ten years, I'd forget...

music takes me back.

2011-09-04T15:02:00.000-07:00

One note and I'm transported to specific events in my lifetime. It's like magic.

Blah.

2011-08-18T09:00:00.000-07:00

What I hate most about my current state is that I feel like I can't do anything.

Can't keep a friendship.

Can't write what I want.

Can't communicate.

Can't make pretty things.

Can't inspire those around me.

Can't and, therefore, won't fulfill my dreams.

It's a terrible state of being and I hate when I get like this. No amount of pushing and doing will give me confidence and will give me courage. I'm weakened and pathetic and I feel as though I should just throw in the towel already.

How I wish I was stronger.

(I don't know what I'm doing...)

2011-08-02T21:30:00.000-07:00

She was getting tired of the pitying looks; eyes pinched and lips drawn to form a frown. She hated that look; hated giving it, seeing it, but mostly, she hated receiving it. She didn't need their pity.

Her sister had been dead for over four months now and she was doing better. It was easier getting up in the mornings and she no longer felt like the world was slowly closing in on her, collapsing over top of her. Life went on, she soon learned, whether she was all alone in the world or had her sister for company.

Not Really A Nightmare

2011-07-14T23:09:00.000-07:00

Usually, I dream of people I've seen once in my life. It's random stories not really belonging to me, and only sometimes, do I make a cameo appearance in my own dreams. It's always been this way.

Once, I even watched Disney's The Jungle Book in its entirety as I slept.

My dreams are just... random.

There was a time in my youth when I was boy crazy; every boy, man, dude that crossed my path was carefully regarded and studied. I just really liked looking at them. As creepy as that sounds. So it follows that I would crush on several men in my lifetime. Feel the rush of seeing them, replaying our encounters like a never-ending loop.

But I have fallen in love twice. A product, I'm sure, of my propensity for "boy craziness", combined with my annoying ability to form sentimental attachments to anyone who's open and earnest.

And of those countless crushes and two men whom I've loved, I've only dreamed of one; but the sad thing is, my dreams unsettle me because they shine a light on an aspect of my identity that I really dislike. That I dread. That I wish I didn't have.

My insecurities.

Because these insecurities are as much a part of me; shaping me and hindering me all at once. It's an odd way of looking at them, but it's true. I mean, I am what I am because I hold back or repress or am ashamed of certain aspects of who I am. At the same time, all of that holding back, repressing and shame have made me who I am.

But every time I dream of him, the pedestal on which I've placed him seems higher and imposing; he looks down his nose at me, judging me from on high or, most recently, I can't help but compare myself to the girl he's chosen.

And it hurts. And it unnerves me. But most of all, I obsess over it.

I can't help replaying both dreams; realizing, ashamedly, of course, that I don't like myself enough to give myself a fair chance at love.

Isn't that tragic?

And, I mean, I really, truly don't want another man to love. I want to be simply me. Simply me and loving myself (and my friends and family) above anything else. But I definitely do not want the only "romantic" dreams I dream to be lightly dusted with self-loathing. To leave a bitter aftertaste on my tongue.

I want the "romantic" dreams I dream to give me a feeling of utter elation. To leave me feeling breathless and hopeful and scared (the good kind). All at once. Because that's how he made me feel. I don't like associating him with negativity. It's not fair for him and it's not fair to the sweet memories I will always carry in my head and heart.

It's easier to live in a world of fiction, than admit that your life is, well, crap.

2011-07-11T23:31:00.001-07:00

Funny how, while you may not particularly value someone's opinion, when they voice a negative opinion of you, it still hurts.

2011-07-08T23:17:00.000-07:00

I've had an incredibly great day today. I've felt happy and full and thankful.

The rain tends to do that to me. It's been raining all day and my smile has kept growing with every gust of wind, every drop of rain... Something about rainfall relaxes me.

So while I'm incredibly annoyed at my brother-in-law, I can't deny that I'm happy.

But, just because I'm happy doesn't mean I'll soon forget his words.

Oh, boo.

I'm a Montreal Cliché

2011-06-09T22:49:00.000-07:00

J'suis plus que pathétique.

Demain, la célébrité que j'aime le plus au monde va être à Montréal.

C'est à dire que deux des personnes plus beaux au monde (selon moi) vont être à la même ville.

Merde.

Fuck. I'm just so fucking EMO right now.

2011-06-08T18:53:00.000-07:00

FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK

2011-06-08T18:50:00.000-07:00

Have you ever felt so discouraged you don't know what to do anymore? Like, you could be weepy and depressed, but there's a part of you that knows you literally have no right, so you spend all of your spare time wallowing in self-pity so that no one in your life knows the extent of your issues?

That's me.

Right now.

And it's so stupid because no one should measure their self-worth by others' opinions. Let alone the success of others.

//embarrassed.

Wonderful. I'm one of the dozens of girls who fell for you. Congratulations, Mr. Perfect.

2011-06-08T17:34:00.000-07:00

Yes, I'm bitter.

Yes, I'm angry with myself.

Yes, I'm fucking angry at you.

I try to forget about you and your fucking perfect perfection, but every time I log onto facebook (something I rarely do), the reminder of your flawlessness is ever present.

So. Congratulations because every single other guy I ever meet will probably never measure up to you.

You with your sweet words.

You with your scary intellect that intimidated me sometimes.

You with your 6'2" stature that made looking at you feel like looking up at someone on a pedestal.

You who spent his evenings at home. But only when I did, too.

Why can't I ignore all of this?

I'm prone to forgetting--more like living in denial,really--so why can't I forget you? Why was admitting that I had fallen for you so much easier than voicing my fears? Why couldn't I deny you?

I hope I never fall in love again.

2011-06-07T22:26:00.000-07:00

Feeling insecure about my appearance and things like that is totally okay. Well, it's not okay. I mean, I don't relish feeling insecure, but it's a fact of life. We're not going to love the way we look 24/7, nor are we going to be happy with what we're given. Would I like smaller boobs? Hell yes. Would I rather be 5'5" than 5'? Definitely. But can I change those things? Nope. (Unless I got a breast reduction and/or wore heels every day. No, thanks.)

And to be honest, I don't really want to. I am what I am. And, in the event that I meet an incredible man someday who'll love my huge boobs and tiny stature, I know acceptance starts with me (cheesy, yes, but very true).

But when I start doubting my dreams?

I don't think my heart can cope.

Again, I'm scared. Scared I won't fulfill those dreams, scared that I'll miss my chance, scared I'll never do what I want to do. Just scared.

And I know that it's irrational.

I mean, it's cyclical, right?

If I don't overcome my fear and fucking WRITE, I won't know if I can do it. And it's not that I can't write. I was accepted into a very competitive writing program and took four years of professional writing. I mean, I can write better than the average person. But... just because I can write, doesn't mean I'm extraordinary.

And that, dear readers, is where the fear comes in.

I'm fucking pathetic.

Can you still consider yourself a "writer" if no one likes or actually reads what you write?

2011-06-06T21:17:00.001-07:00

2011-06-03T20:07:00.001-07:00

She didn't think heartbreak would feel numbing.

She'd always assumed it would feel like she couldn't breathe.

Or a heart attack, at least.

The Nicest Thing

2011-05-29T21:24:00.001-07:00

The nicest thing a guy can ever say to you is "you have beautiful aspirations/dreams". That right there proves that he values your mind more than anything else because it shows that he believes that you are fucking capable of meeting all of your goals and that he believes in you.

I really wish he'd stay our of my mind.

2011-05-29T13:52:00.000-07:00

Seriously, whenever I read things in which Jay or Eon say that things are "better than ever" in the band, it makes me sad. How bad were things when Pat was in the band?

2011-05-25T22:09:00.000-07:00

She's in a cafe, trying to get some work done before she has to go to her afternoon class. She's sipping on her chai latte, diligently copying the notes she borrowed from last week's class. She hates depending on someone else, but when you're as weary about illness as she is, a tickle in your throat warrants staying home in bed. There's no use risking a cold, or worse, a flu, for the sake of education, right?

She's currently highlighting an important part of the text, when she hears the first few bars of the one Travis song she's never been able to erase from her iPod. The one song that holds more meaning than any other song because it represents him and her and what they shared that entire year and it's all just too much for her in that moment.

But instead of changing the song--scrolling to the next one or even shutting the damn thing off, as she's done in the past--she sets her highlighter down and listens to the words one last time.

God. She's such a fucking masochist.

2011-05-17T12:31:00.000-07:00

I love my best friend Mel (she's the one who introduced me to Glee, after all--actually, it was more like she conned me into watching Glee for the first time, saying it would give us something to talk about during our weekly phone calls. But she quickly lost interest in the show, while I'm still completely obsessed...Thanks a lot, Mel...), but boy is she scatter-brained!

Before I went to Cali, I called to see how she was doing. Mostly, I asked "When are you coming home" and "Will you be free for my sis' wedding." The girl said, "I dunno when I'll be home, but yes. I'll be there for the wedding. I'll get back to you, though, on my return dates, kay?"
Weeks have passed since then.

No note.

No email.

No facebook message.

Nada.

She texts me today to ask if we can chill.

MELISSA. TODAY IS GLEE DAY! YOU KNOW I'M NOT FREE ON TUESDAYS!

2011-05-14T19:09:00.000-07:00

Chantal's engaged.

I wonder if I'll get invited to the wedding.

I was reading my old journal entries today and ... I miss her. She was a great friend. A bit disloyal and a tad too wrapped-up in popularity, but she was good to me. Especially when it mattered.

I hope she and Tarek have a wonderful life together.

2011-05-06T20:00:00.001-07:00

Dunno whether to be thrilled or... apathetic. Or terrified.

I keep losing all of this weight and it's cool and all, but I'm so worried that I might start counting calories again. That's how it started last time. I lost an enormous amount of weight in two weeks and I... couldn't... wouldn't... stop.

Weight loss is like an addiction and that... that terrifies me.

I just bumped into my best friend's little brother...

2011-05-01T15:34:00.000-07:00

... and the kid got HOT.

I feel dirty. Hahaha!

Young, dumb, full of cum.

2011-04-12T21:10:00.001-07:00

I met with the girls tonight, since Nix and I are off to Coachella and Jenn's birthday (BIG 2-5!!) is the 18th. We all met at Janis' apartment and her parents were there; I haven't seen Mr and Mrs B since Janis moved out, so it was nice to catch up a bit. And, incidentally, we got a nugget of wisdom from Papa B when he heard Nicole's gripes about dating in our twenties.

"Young, dumb, full of cum."

Then again Mr B has always been a firm believer that the four of us should only date guys 28 years old or older.

I think it's ageist, to be honest, but the man swears that, being a male himself, most men don't grow up until they're 28 and even then, it's sketchy.

~~I'm happy I'm not his daughter.~~

2011-04-06T22:11:00.000-07:00

Is it normal to feel sad as often as I do?

I'm a fairly happy, cheerful, optimistic person, but there are times... oh, lordy. There are times when all I want to do is cry. And cry. Cry. Cry. Cry. Cry. Cry. Cry. Cry. Cry. Cry. Cry. Cry. Cry. Cry. Cry. Cry. Cry. Cry. Cry.

And you could argue it's hormonal, but sometimes, if I'm being 100% honest, I know it's 'cause I'm lonely. I feel as though I know every one in my life as well as I know myself--if not better. I know their fears. Their aspirations. Their favourite colours. Their biggest fear. I know how to read them well and can tell when they're upset; know the right things to say to make them smile; know the wrong things to say to hurt them (which if I'm being honest I have never done. I'm grateful to be a naturally kind person--and I honestly don't mean this in a self-absorbed way. I am lucky. Not everyone considers others' feelings...)

But no one knows me that well.

Not even my own parents.

And maybe that's why I'm self-aware.

Because if I didn't know myself as well as I do, no one would really know me. They wouldn't know that I still think of him--and have recently started thinking of him, again--wouldn't know that I don't send my stuff out to newspapers, etc for fear of rejection; wouldn't know that I push back and procrastinate so many things out of fear; wouldn't know that I sometimes lie because I worry about making them fear about my emotional state.

I'm just a sad sad case right now.

Also a very fearful person. I wish I was brave and didn't feel the hollowness in my heart that consumes me late at night. I wish I wish I wish.

Don't genies grant three wishes? Where is mine? I could really use a wish right now.

2011-04-06T22:04:00.000-07:00

Des fois elle se sent comme si le monde entière est contente sauf elle.

Des fois c'est comme si elle n'a pas de raison pour y être contente.

Et des fois, elle ne veux que d'autre chose que de pleurer. Pleurer jusqu'au moment qu'elle est aussi de contente que les personnes qu'elle vois à la télé ou sur l'autobus.

COACHELLA COACHELLA COACHELLA

2011-04-04T11:20:00.000-07:00

I'm leaving in ten days. Ten glorious days. It's scary, but exciting and I can't wait to spend 9 lovely days with my most favourite person in the world: Nicole. If you could only understand how much this girl means to me, how much her friendship has helped me grow, how much we've grown since we first met one another in the second grade, you'd understand how much I love her. She's funny, self-aware, attentive and loyal. She's my best friend. It's funny, but most of my life-changing experiences have happened with her; she really is the Steve to my Doug (the Butabi brothers are our spirit animals). I can only hope that this trip to California adds to our memories. *SQUEAL!*

Random confession

2011-03-28T20:05:00.000-07:00

One of my absolute favourite things is reading reviews for other people's work. Reading how happy or inspired or awed someone feels after reading a particular work of literature fills me with happiness, inspiration and awe.

There are so many naturally talented people out there and --- and oh, how I wish I were one of them.

ferme ta gueule

2011-03-25T16:11:00.001-07:00

fuck my life.

2011-03-24T21:30:00.000-07:00

It's the worst feeling in the world when you realize you're not as over someone as you thought you were.

And maybe I'm not quite over him because he was my first, well... everything. Kiss... love... everything. It does suck, though, because he never felt an ounce of what I felt for him. I know he liked me, sure. I know he thought I was the--and I quote--"nicest girl in the world" and that I made him want to be a better person. But what he felt for me? Nowhere near what I felt for him.

So, when I realized I was over him--that I'd somehow gotten him out of my system--I felt free and managed to feel actual butterflies swooping erratically in my belly for someone who's name wasn't... well, his. I started dreaming of someone new.

That made me happy and I felt normal. What girl doesn't get over the first guy who breaks their heart, right? (Masochists, clearly. But not normal girls.) And I mean, it SUCKS that he--the second boy I loved--also broke my heart, but that was more bearable because I had something else to blame it on, so I didn't feel nearly as pathetic as when he broke it. When he broke it. One clean, swift break; numbing. It wasn't until Sam asked if I was "all right" that the pain started. Oh... that terrible, terrible pain in my chest that made it hard to breathe. That made me wish I was anyone else but me.

Gah. I'm pathetic!

The second time my heart broke, I knew what to expect so I promptly gave myself three full days of mourning. Did it work? No, but I felt as though I had purpose and control. Discipline.

But this entire week has been dedicated to him.

And it's not fair. I don't even know when or how or why these thoughts ~~feelings~~ resurfaced. I saw one of his look-alikes last month. But that was ages ago. And seeing the look-alike did nothing for me. No butterflies. No chills. So why does he insist on pervading my thoughts NOW?

I hate it. I hate how unsure I feel. Am I still in love? Will I ever get over him? I wonder how he's doing. Oh, please be okay...

I hate him, to be honest.

Still.

Wherever you are, dillhole-moron-who-shattered-my-heart-into-a-million-pieces-and-made-it-so-so-so-hard-for-me-to-notice-other-guys-and-is-probably-to-blame-for-my-cynical-approach-to-love, I hope you're doing well. I hope you're safe and that you did something with the brains you were given. 'Cause I know you said you were dumb. I know you always teased me and my "keener" ways, but you didn't do terribly in any subjects. You were just too caught up in what Ryan and Mike and everyone else was doing to care about improving your grades. And I get it. We were little. Maybe not physically, but definitely intellectually. So yeah. I hope you went to college and are working somewhere where the employees all have "spinny chairs". I know you always wanted one of those.

It's silly to think of you, but I do. Not nearly as often as I did in high school or college (thank God), but I do. And, luckily, my thoughts of you aren't romantic. Anymore. It's just disconcerting that I'll probably always carry you in my heart in some way.

Fucking perfect, right?

You probably never ever wonder what's up with me, but I'm still reminded of you every so often.

It just sucks because my pride hurts. I feel really insignificant and that is a terrible feeling.

2011-03-23T06:43:00.000-07:00

She hasn't eaten a full meal in... god. She doesn't even know. All she does know is that her annoying friends keep leaving snacks in her locker and that her Health teacher has been eying her curiously all month long.

So what, she screams in her head. I lost over ten pounds and all people can do is worry? This is going to help her feel better. This is going to boost her confidence better than anything else. This will guarantee her happiness.

And as she measures out a quarter of milk and fists a few bits of cereal in her hand, she suddenly loses her appetite.

It's not so much about how she looks in the morning, she tells herself, but the fact that she's learning discipline and sacrifice. If those around her don't realize that, then they're the ones with the problem.

Ever since I was a little girl, I can't stand seeing people get upset.

2011-03-20T22:29:00.001-07:00

It's as though the person --- be they a friend, acquaintance or complete stranger --- who's upset or distraught is connected to me emotionally. And it makes sense. I'm beyond sensitive and my heart always breaks whenever I identify with someone's sadness.

I just wish that suffering wasn't necessary. But then I remember that if we only felt happiness and joy, we wouldn't really appreciate or understand how beautiful those emotions are.

It's cliched, I know, but it's something I don't think about often.

Anyway, it's bedtime. Early day again tomorrow ;)

"Grab his penis."

2011-03-19T15:06:00.000-07:00

OK.

So I realized that I'm too old for the bar. When I went out with my friends for Dave's 26th birthday, I knew I wouldn't last long. And it's true. I got there at 9:00 and went home by 11:45 with a pounding headache. Granted, I've been working ridiculous hours at work (6:00 to 8:30 most days... kill me... please.), but at the same time, I was out with my friends. People who never fail to light my days with sunshine and make dull situations FUN.

Anyway, our group played pool, drank beer (coffee for me) and the bar got progressively crowded. I started noticing that the dudes were cute, but young and was bemoaning the fact that I was tired when I should be up for some fun times at a bar, instead of craving the comfort of my bed. I mean I'm 25, not 50!

So, after my ranting, I had to go pee, so I made my way to the bathroom, only to be stuck in a crowd of people on my way there. So, I'm pushing my way through, saying my "excuse mes" and "pardon mes" as I pass, when this one kid stops me. Literally stands in front of me. I look up at him and note that he's tall, his blond hair is nicely styled and he looks around 21. Dang. "Wow, you're hot!" is the only thing he says. I smile and say "excuse me" veering to the right and try to push through, when one of his friends stands in front of me.

"No, you should hear him out," he tells me.

I frown and try to smile, since I'm totally confused. If this kid likes me, he can speak to me and not hold me hostage.

"Sorry, I really have to get through."

Another one of blondie's friends is on my left now and smiles.

"Come on. Grab his penis."

"GRAB HIS PENIS"!? GRAB. HIS. PENIS.?!?!?!?!?!?

I glare at the three morons and that is when I reach my boiling point. I push blondie out of my way and keep going.

Seriously. Do these lines work?!

It starts as envy, then turns into fear.

2011-03-04T12:43:00.001-08:00

A Quarter of a Life and What Do I Have to Show for It?

2011-03-03T21:15:00.000-08:00

An understanding of three languages

A degree

A single published article

A group of friends who make me feel complete

A heart that's felt the wonder of love twice

A heart that's felt the dull ache left after (two) heartbreak(s)

A successful recovery from an eating disorder

There's probably more to this list, but at the moment, I don't feel much like celebrating. I'm not, in any way, ready for my 25th birthday. I thought I would have a lot more to show for my 25 years of life than what I have now. Wow. I sound like the world's biggest brat, but it's the simple truth.

And that's not to say that I don't appreciate all of the things I've been through and all of the wonderful things I've learned or obtained in my life. I'm thankful for every single blessing I have. But at the same time... at the same time... it's so easy to feel nothing.

When will I grow up? And I mean really grow up... Not this bullshit that I call "maturing" where I'm too chicken-shit to talk to guys or too anti-social to plan a fucking birthday party. God. I'm so pathetic. My girls keep texting and emailing, trying to see what and when and where we'll do and go and see, but I can't bring myself to care.

I wonder if this is a "me" thing or if every single human experiences this crippling feeling in their chests.

You know what really sucks?

2011-03-03T10:13:00.001-08:00

That absolutely terrible moment when you find out that the boy you cared about so so very much is now dating a girl who's equally obsessed with the band you introduced HIM to.

I know I shouldn't care... I don't own Bedouin, but the fact that she likes--nay, LOVES them makes my heart hurt.

I curse you, facebook. You let me in on things I shouldn't care about.

2011-03-01T09:49:00.001-08:00

Just found a bunch of emails from Tamara in which we listed why HP rules over Twilight.

We didn't finish our list, but here are the reasons.

Reading over these, I miss her even more.

Reasons Why Harry Potter Trumps Twilight - Part III

2011-03-01T09:45:00.001-08:00

Hermione didn't need to jump off a cliff to get Ron's attention.

The Yule Ball was a million times better than a lame high school prom.

Butterbeer, Chocolate Frogs and even Hagrid's rock cakes sound more appetizing than deer, bear or mountain lion blood... *shutters*

In Harry Potter, all wizards and witches have access to magic. In Twilight, only some vampires have magical abilities (mind-reading, psychic abilities, mind "blocking", fire/water/earth/wind control... you know, the usual) which APPARENTLY stem from some connection they had when they were human. What kind of human can control the elements?!

Harry evolves throughout the whole series in a way that when he acts like a prat in Book V, readers are still inclined to show understanding. Bella remains a prat throughout the "saga."

Speaking of "saga", "The Harry Potter Series" is not a pretentious title. "The Twilight Saga" is ridic and full of undeserving slef-flattery.

"The real difference is that Jo Rowling a terrific writer and Stephenie Meyer can't write worth a damn. She's not very good." Wise words, Stephen King.

A lightening scar is more bad-ass than "sparkly skin."

Harry Potter is not just a love story.

In terms of the immortality/mortality theme, Harry Potter's presentation is more imaginative and astonishing. Twilight's is... well it falls flat, really.

Reasons Why Harry Potter Trumps Twilight - Part II

2011-03-01T09:44:00.001-08:00

Mrs. Weasley is a strong, proactive mother, while Esme is a weak, passive mother.

Harry Potter readers did not have to be taken by the hand to understand the series' ending. Twilight readers, however, were given a play-by-play by Edward. Gee, thanks for thinking we're morons, SM!

Fred and George Wesley: funny, loyal, brave redheaded twins ♥
Jane and Alec: sadistic pawns of the volturi... creepy.
Quidditch v Baseball. Come on, Stephenie. Make up your own sport.
Harry is not a possessive, creepy (albeit SCRUMPTIOUS!) stalker.
Ginny Weasley can live without Harry. And does, for a good portion of the series.
Harry Potter is getting its own theme park in Orlando, Fl. What kind of theme park could Twilight offer? "Here, stand in the rain in a dumpy town in Washington. Enjoy!"
The villains in Harry Potter all have a backstory. The villains in Twilight are simply surly, bloodthirsty vampires. Yay, imagination... NOT.
There are numerous modes of transportation in Harry Potter, including apparition, Port Key, broomstick and Floo Powder. Twilight characters prefer "driving" and "running". What's up with that?
JK Rowling's world includes new terms that are strictly applicable to the wizarding world (aka, the Harry Potter Series). Stephenie Meyer has a 50-word vocabulary, comprising such gems as "velvet", "beautiful", "dazzle" and "silky". *rolls eyes*

Reasons Why Harry Potter Trumps Twilight - Part I

2011-03-01T09:43:00.001-08:00

If you get a paper cut, a wizard will use "Episky" to heal it... a vampire will try to suck your blood.

Harry Potter makes people happy. Twilight makes people insane; no one broke up with her boyfriend because he "wasn't her Harry."

There is an entire wizarding world in the HP series, while Twilight has vampires hide in the human world... or hiding in caves... or hiding in Volterra... Lame.

Wizards protect Muggles. Vampires eat them...er, the muggles, I mean.

It's much less frustrating following Harry Potter around, than Bella Swan.

Speaking of Bella, Hermione Granger is a strong role model for young girls; she stands up for herself and her friends, and does not let the boys boss her around. Bella is... well, she's Bella. She's anti-feminist and is the poster girl for the worst abusive relationship in history.

JK Rowling advocates good morals and values. Stephenie (that's really how it's spelled) Meyer hammers her readers over the head with hers.

JK Rowling does not ONCE use the word "velvet" to describe someone's voice.

Even from the grave, Harry's mom is much more influential and guiding than Bella's mom.

Harry fights for his friends. Bella cowers behind hers.

2011-02-27T21:21:00.000-08:00

She'll be the first to admit it.

Even though she doesn't let her romantic notions get out of hand--she keeps dreaming within the confines of her own dreams and keeps her fantasies on paper--she does indulge in watching romantic scenes and happy stories play on-screen and in books. It's the outlet she has allowed herself; pampering her sensitive soul with scenarios of happy couples.

She doesn't know when she detached herself from her own reality, but she realizes its what's best for her. She doesn't get over-excited anymore. Doesn't cloud her mind with visions of snow-white castles perched on a pristine hillside, her handsome (and brave, intelligent, compassionate, passionate, sensitive and affectionate) prince at her side. She's practical. A realist now.

But there are moments in her life, when she sees the happy expressions on a man and woman's faces--peering into one another's eyes like their lives were dependent on it--that the ache she's associated with her unhappiness returns.

It starts in her pinky finger; a throbbing ache that feels as though she jammed the tiny finger in the door or drawer, like she has countless times before.

The ache soon travels to her other fingers--growing in its intensity with every finger it overtakes. By the time her entire hand is numbed by the pain, she slowly realizes that her knee caps have that same dull pain.

And when she realizes that that numbing pain has traveled south, that's when the pressing pain in her chest becomes unbearable.

That's when she realizes she's fooling no one---no one, but herself.

She remembers the pitying looks on her happily married/affianced/committed friends and she immediately resents their happiness. She doesn't need a man on her arm to feel worthy. Doesn't need a man on her arm to have children, either! Advances in medicine have allowed women (infertile, single woman and lesbians alike!) to become impregnated sans the help of a man.

Not to mention, she's successful! She's wealthy! She could be the next Anjelina and adopt a darling young baby from Cambodia or India or even Canada! Really, does she need a man to feel whole?

And as she lays in her large bed, she dreams a new dream: she's a mother. She's happy. Surrounded by children of all shapes, colours and sizes. She's the United Nations of single mothers!

That's right. Who needs a man?

Not I.

DECISIONS

2011-02-22T09:18:00.000-08:00

So, Coachella is definitely a go... BUT, Nix and I still have to decide whether we're flying back on the 20 or 23, seeing as we're heading to Oceanside for some fun.

Did I mention we'd fly back in a private plane.

That's right. Private. Plane. Like... wow.

2011-02-21T15:36:00.000-08:00

Last night was fun.

2011-02-21T14:44:00.000-08:00

I have a small-ish group of friends and we see one another frequently. These are the girls who've seen me at my best and worst, who know my fears and dreams better than anyone, including myself.

But one thing they're in the dark about is my writing.

It's not that I don't want them to cheer me on or that I don't dream of the day when they buy my first paperback and brag to their other friends about me (hahaha, I'm such a narcissist!), but I do dread the day when they see how terrible at writing I am.

I feel like a sham 90% of the time I tell people I'm a writer. I don't think I deserve the title. And maybe that's why I resent editing so much. I know that try as I might to break into the writing industry, there's a small likelihood that I won't fulfill this dream.

What then?

It's stupid and insecure, but it all makes sense now. I now fully understand why I trust people I meet online with my "little darlings" (that is to say the things I write) when I hesitate to share my stories with those closest to me.

It's so easy to feel insignificant and unimportant at the age of 24 (almost 25!) when it was so easy to believe that the things I wrote were magic and that the dreams I dreamed would soon be realized only a few years ago.

What changed? Did moving to Montreal and falling in love with both a city and a boy screw me over? I mean, HE believed in my dreams. He thought they were wonderful and big and that I would achieve them.

When did I stop? And is there a way in which I can go back to being the fearless version of myself? The version that not only believed in the power of positive thinking, but was convinced I would make it?

BAH. BAH, I SAY! I need to stop being so negative.

2011-02-12T21:44:00.000-08:00

His smile.

His hair.

His hands.

His scent.

His laugh.

His voice.

It was unfair that after all of this time, she still thought of him. Still woke up feeling empty and alone when she turned on her side, only to discover that their encounter had been in her dreams.

She wipes away a stray tear and berates herself for crying. It's been years since they last spoke. She has no say, no claim, no anything in his life.

He never chose her. Never would choose her.

It was her fate and the sooner she understood this, the easier her life would be.

At least that's what she keeps telling herself.

quick drabbles

2011-02-06T01:07:00.000-08:00

Angst:
She lies in bed, sobbing uncontrollably. He didn't come home again.

AU:
He strummed his guitar and looked out into the audience, hazel eyes meeting green.

"To the darlin' in the yellow dress, meet me backstage after this song?"

Crack!Fic:
He looked up from deep in the sea and watched as her yellow feathers skimmed over the water's surface.

Crossover:
"I don't need you to rescue me, Quinndependence," he grumbled as she set him down on the ground.

"I'm sorry you can't take help from a super, " she quipped before flying out into the night.

Death:
It wasn't supposed to be this way. They were only 16. She was healthy.

Parent aren't meant to bury their young.

First Time:
He brushed a strand off her face and looked deep into her eyes.

"You okay?" he breathed.

Fluff:
They were in a crowded room, shoulder to shoulder in a crammed space. She felt a calloused hand wrap around hers and gave a quick squeeze.

Humor:
"Cougar Fabray Puckerman. Has a ring to it, right?"

She elbowed him in the ribs and glared.

Hurt/Comfort:
She fell into his arms as soon as he opened the door.

"They kicked me out," she sobbed into his chest.

Show-related:
"How many balls can he fit into his mouth," he asked her one day in rehearsal.

"You're a pig," she said with a smile.

Smut:

He traced the contours of her body, creeping his way up her side. She shuddered under his ministrations.

UST:

"Do you love him?" He demanded.

"Did you ever love me?" She retorted.

I miss I miss I miss

2011-02-01T09:02:00.001-08:00

Embarrassing Confession

2011-01-30T02:06:00.000-08:00

I really like Glee.

But lately, even with my love for this show, I can't bring myself to watch certain episodes. It hurts too much.

I wish I was writing the show---not because I'd do a better job, but because I'd be watching the story unfold the way I want it to.

*sigh*

I'm so mind-blowingly pathetic.

But such is life.

2011-01-26T15:31:00.000-08:00

She feels the rage in her heart and doesn't care when she yells at her mother, hurling insults at her.

She knows that her anger is unwarranted (her mother was talking to her sister in-law and she shouldn't have gotten involved), but she remembers the things she used to say. The condescending tone. The advice to "eat less" and "to take a long walk after dinner, lest she want to roll."

She glares, hating every part of the woman in front of her, and she rushes to the bathroom. She feels the anger swelling in her chest. Feels the muscles in her stomach contract as she leans forward. Feels the acid crawl up her esophagus. Feels the vomit spring from her mouth.

There's a reason she was angry after all.

I'm sick. I didn't go to work. I have a SHIT TONNE of modules to edit. WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY?!

2011-01-25T10:38:00.000-08:00

Why did I have to get sick right now?

HAPPY THOUGHTS HAPPY THOUGHTS HAPPY THOUGHTS HAPPY THOUGHTS

Think HAPPY THOUGHTS.

2011-01-22T19:54:00.001-08:00

I don't know what to do.

I know I should do one thing, but a large part of me just wants to throw in the towel and give up. Is it even salvageable? Should I even bother?

There's too much to fix. Too little incentive. Too much animosity. Why fix something that's been broken for so long?

Falling in love: the after-effects

2011-01-17T22:48:00.000-08:00

Even though I'm over him, it still surprises me when I can remember all of the things I felt for him.

The rush. The nerves. The unadulterated bliss I felt swell in my chest as soon as I saw him.

Not even the knowledge of his political leanings saved my heart from falling.

I hope he's doing well.

My Childhood Hero

2011-01-07T22:10:00.001-08:00

First post of the new year.

2011-01-05T22:50:00.000-08:00

So 2011 is upon us and it's weird... I feel as though this year will be my LAST year to get all my loose ends tied and finally make my dreams come true. Guess the reason for this is quite obvious: my plans for moving to Montreal in 2012... NEXT FUCKING YEAR!

Like... REALLY.

Mont-fucking-réal! I can hardly wait...! I love that city more than is natural. And to live there? After years of wanting this more than any other dream... It's unreal.

So this year, I'll be buckling down. Crossing those Ts and dotting those Is... Ensuring that nothing will detain me from reaching my dream.

I can't wait!

2010-12-30T21:47:00.000-08:00

Today's just one of those days, y'know? Like, you're so happy, you feel like you could laugh and cry... like you could run a mile or fall asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow.

But at the same time, there's this really sad part inside of me that feels so empty and scared and... sad.

My sister is engaged. She and her fiancé made it "official" today and I am so elated and I just want to smish her face all day. All she's ever wanted in life is to meet the perfect guy (for her) and make babies. And now her dream seems to be coming true. Honestly, she deserves this happiness and I always want her to smile like she was smiling today and I want to meet my future nieces and nephews and travel to Europe to see them...

Oh, right. See? That's the problem. Once they get married, Pily is moving to Germany with her husband.

EUROPE.

So yeah. I'm beyond selfish. But I'm so scared. No more Pily to hear me bitch and moan about Glee... no more Pily to go for a coffee with... no more Pily to have movie marathons with. And... Who's going to go to the next horror movie premiere?!

I've never been big on change and knowing that my life is about to change drastically terrifies me. I feel like my throat is closing in on itself and like I just want to laugh and scream and hug everyone and push them away simultaneously.

Oh... the life of a walking contradiction sure is tough.

Confession

2010-12-14T09:44:00.000-08:00

I don't feel all that pretty. Ever.

My nose is crooked and I think my eyes are too small. The shape of my face is wonky (it's neither circular nor heart-shaped... It's like a blob, really) and my teeth annoy me to no end.

But, I know that my perception is my own. When people look at me, they won't see what I see and vice-versa.

Oh, perception. Why must you trick us all?

"The" song -- Honestly. I'm obsessed.

2010-12-14T08:42:00.000-08:00

Deal breakers:

2010-12-13T11:27:00.001-08:00

Issues that cause a relationship to fail.

I only have one deal breaker. One. Uno. Un. It's a bit judgmental and definitely not nice (not to mention I'm never going to meet a guy in THIS province), but I can't help it.

My deal breaker is I could never be with someone who doesn't share my political views.

I can't help it, though. My family? We're HYPER-liberal. The way we see it, if a policy or practice will benefit the vast majority, in particular those who are defenseless, then why wouldn't we agree with it?

If a guy votes PC (Progressive Conservative) or Conservative, it's an instant turn off.

See? Judgmental.

Of Christmas Parties and Friendship

2010-12-12T22:42:00.000-08:00

I met a cute boy this weekend.

He's really affectionate, and genuine, and ambitious, and humble, and considerate, and funny, and kind, and hardworking, and... wow. I know I romanticize guys upon meeting them (which is why when I fall, I fall fast and hard and the landing normally leads to months spent in an emotional coma, but that's neither here nor there), but I feel as though my impression of him is correct. After all, he's best friends with two of the sweetest, most genuine, most adorable guys I've met in my life. Don't fall for him. Don't fall for him. Don't fall for him.Don't fall for him. Don't fall for him. Don't fall for him.Don't fall for him. Don't fall for him. Don't fall for him.Don't fall for him. Don't fall for him. Don't fall for him.

I kinda hate myself right now. Not gonna lie.

2010-12-02T00:04:00.001-08:00

She realizes she's in love when she can't forget the feel of his hand brushing hers. The hairs on her arm are literally standing and it looks like her arm is swimming with goosebumps. She's embarrassed that he has this effect on her, but whether he sees it or not, she doesn't know because this sudden realization cripples her. Makes it impossible for her to meet his eyes.

"You okay?"

She licks her lips, trying to bring some moisture to her parched lips. When did it become hard to swallow? When did it start to feel as though the walls were closing in on her?

She finally meets his eyes and nods. He quirks an eyebrow, but chuckles softly.

"A'right," he croaks and she realizes this sound is turning her on. It feels wrong. It feels weird. It feels repulsive. And those butterflies infesting her stomach? Yeah, they're not makin' it any better.

Why does falling in love fuck everything up?

2010-11-16T14:05:00.000-08:00

It had been a long day at university. Too many assignments and too much work to do at his internship... he was swamped.

He lugged to his computer and signed on to his university account. He was expecting an email from his Prof concerning his dissertation on the importance of physics in aviation. Sighing, he typed in his information.

He rubbed his stomach absentmindedly and enjoyed the calm in the apartment. He smiled a bit, remembering the last time he was home alone. Looking at the computer, he clicked on his inbox.

The first thing he saw was her name. He blinked once. Twice. Shook his head and clicked on the name; his heart pounding hard against his chest, making it a bit hard to breathe. Realizing he'd been holding his breath, he forced himself to breahe in and out; the air coming in out in a shaky sigh.

Hey,

I haven't talked to you in a while. How's life? He could almost hear the way her soft voice hesitated before inquiring after his life. She'd always been on the shy side. Things are pretty ho-hum back home, but good news! I'm moving back to the city next month! :) He smiled at that. He knew her dream was to live in the city--that she feared getting chained to her hometown and would never reach her goals. Good for her, he thought with a smile. That's kinda why I'm writing, actually. I was wondering if you or the guys know someone who's looking for a roommate? You know I'm clean, dependable and pretty awesome, if I do say so myself. ;) He knew she was joking, but he couldn't help, but agree. She was an amazing roommate. She paid rent on time, washed everyone's dishes, cleaned... he'd never had a better roommate. Anyway, if you (or the guys) could help me out, I'll owe you big. Thanks.

He read the short email three more times, trying to absorb every letter. Every punctuation point. He tried to calm his beating heart and slow his breathing. He looked down the hall again, fixating on the door that led to her (former) room. Heaving himself up, he walked towards it.

Pushing the door open, he remembered how she would tiptoe towards the bathroom every morning, startling whenever she heard his voice call from the kitchen. Or the way the four of them would congregate outside her door, chatting before they all turned in for the night. He knew the guys would never admit it, but they all missed her.

He peered into her (former) room. No more knick-knacks. No more laptop in the corner. No more frilly curtains. No more... her.

Is it creepy to miss someone you hardly knew, he wonders idly, shutting the door. He walks back to his computer and types out a reply.

I'd love to help. :)

Random Channel Surfing

I tried to think those feelings away.

Best Intentions

I don't want to be ready.

One of the best things about being happy is that the reaction you have to songs that used to make you bawl is now peace.

Spoiled

*melts*

Fudgeroo

Impulsive

My tickets for Foster the People and Tokyo Police Club came in the mail today!

Going to see Foster the People and the Tokyo Police Club in MONTREAL in June.

Sometimes, like the times he does something surprisingly sweet, I think I'm falling for him.

It's a blessing and a curse when you're not blind.

Tonight, tonight...

Nervous Laughter

December 7, 2007

Famous people aren't allowed to be cute.

Bitter Coffee

Do I Fear, Fear Itself? Or Is There More to It?

Y'know when everyone you know insists you're wonderful and amazing and have nothing to worry about 'cause your happy ending is just around the corner?

CONCERTS! CONCERTS! CONCERTS! CONCERTS!

I came to a really scary conclusion yesterday...

That awkward moment where I'm worried more about a fictional character's first time, than I ever worried about my own.

ennui

There's a slight chance I might go to Vancouver next month for the Grey Cup.

I'm:

So my friend Janis and I were holding hands on Saturday night.

My Muse Has Stage Fright: A tale by Marcela

Sisters&Brothers

eleven years.

There really is no sweeter relief than crying.

Passive-aggressive people should take anger management.

happy birthday.

music takes me back.

Blah.

(I don't know what I'm doing...)

Not Really A Nightmare

It's easier to live in a world of fiction, than admit that your life is, well, crap.

Funny how, while you may not particularly value someone's opinion, when they voice a negative opinion of you, it still hurts.

I'm a Montreal Cliché

Fuck. I'm just so fucking EMO right now.

Wonderful. I'm one of the dozens of girls who fell for you. Congratulations, Mr. Perfect.

Can you still consider yourself a "writer" if no one likes or actually reads what you write?

The Nicest Thing

I just bumped into my best friend's little brother...

Young, dumb, full of cum.

COACHELLA COACHELLA COACHELLA

Random confession

ferme ta gueule

fuck my life.

Ever since I was a little girl, I can't stand seeing people get upset.

"Grab his penis."

It starts as envy, then turns into fear.

A Quarter of a Life and What Do I Have to Show for It?

You know what really sucks?

Reasons Why Harry Potter Trumps Twilight - Part III

Reasons Why Harry Potter Trumps Twilight - Part II

Reasons Why Harry Potter Trumps Twilight - Part I

DECISIONS

Last night was fun.

quick drabbles

I miss I miss I miss

Embarrassing Confession

I'm sick. I didn't go to work. I have a SHIT TONNE of modules to edit. WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY?!

Falling in love: the after-effects

My Childhood Hero

First post of the new year.

Confession

"The" song -- Honestly. I'm obsessed.

Deal breakers:

Of Christmas Parties and Friendship

melts