Random Channel Surfing

Most people have a "type". They're into tall dudes, or redheads, or prefer a little T over some A. I used to think I had three types. There was the type who looked like First Him (which, surprisingly enough, included Second and Third Him--both of whom physically looked like First Him). There was the type with dark hair, hazel eyes, and rosy cheeks (I called this my Gilbert Blythe type and I think it's the type I physically like the most). Then there are redheads--I like gingers. 'Nough said. But I'm also starting to notice that I like certain personality types, too. I like friendly, enthusiastic guys who make jokes. I like guys who whistle when they're doing mundane things. I like guys who drum on countertops or their steering wheel. I like guys who start up a conversation with the person next to them in line. I like guys who notice little details and comment on them. I like guys who make whoever they're speaking to feel like they're the on

He opened his eyes (every morning), turned on his side (every morning), and lovingly gazed out the window (every morning). Every morning, he was greeted with the sight of three little birds on his windowsill. Singing sweet songs, a message to him and you, and even me. Songs about the happy feeling that bubbles in your chest. Songs about taking every day one second, minute, hour at a time. And every morning, he smiled to himself knowing that every little thing was going to be all right. Knowing he was going to have a damned good day.

A month ago, I was so overwhelmed that I felt like my life was falling apart. I was overwhelmed, frustrated, and feeling like I had managed to dig myself into several holes .  But that was last month. March--despite it being my birth month--was a complete dick. April seems to be takin' it easy on me, which is unsurprising because that's been a pattern for Aprils in the past. And I don't want to lie; I am feeling overwhelmed and rundown (still), but I've actually managed to accomplish quite a lot these last few weeks. In fact, I'd argue that 2018 has been non-stop list crossing--even in March. I mean, I've managed to secure a job, plan out future blog posts for my side blog ( Salty Fashionistas ), get published in a local rag ( !!! ), and plan some time in my day-to-day to write. I'm feelin' pretty good about myself right now. I said last month that I anticipated that my 32nd year of life would be easy-peasy since year 31 was full of so many back-to

Ten years ago, I was in the middle of planning my temporary move to Montreal. I was both excited about the move and anxious about living away from my family and friends. It was exhilarating and I was very optimistic about the temporary relocation. When I talked to Nicolas (the guy whose lease I was taking over) on April 4, 2008, I didn't have a clue that I would undergo as much as I did when I lived in Montreal. It might not seem like a whole lot to an outsider, but Montreal living was my first real taste at complete solitude. It was the first time I took a bite out of life and understood what it meant to be an adult. It was also the first time I fell in real love. I've mentioned my past loves on this platform. From First Him through to Third Him, I have detailed how my love for these men shaped me into the woman I am today. Well this post isn't going to be about them. No. This post is going to be dedicated to that moment in time when I genuinely felt in love with mys

I have been on the other side of 2017 for four months as of today. Four months in which I've met wonderful people, have become a part of interesting organizations, and even started new ventures. It's been interesting and wonderful and cripplingly terrifying all at once. Tomorrow I start a new job. One that I interviewed for and have kind of, sort of, maybe been dreaming of since I was in school. It's a writing job. An honest-to-goodness, pinch-me-I'm-dreaming writing job. Part of me is terrified at the prospect of starting this new job, but another part of me is sort of blasé. I mean, why get excited about this when I can't guarantee that it will go all right? It seems like this year's theme is: Just when things start going right, I hit a bump in the road and it all goes to shit. I can't trust things right now. Life is trying to teach me a lesson and I'm confused and unsure and I don't know which steps to take. One thing's for sure, though.

Meeting him was a calm sea after the storm. the quiet moments after a gun blast. Meeting him was the salve for her burn. the refreshing cool water trickling down her trachea. Meeting him, meeting him, meeting him. She was the raging sea -- waves crashing, tide rising, despair and moaning washing onto shore. She was the pulling of the trigger -- taut, then unwound, the crash, the boom, the crackle and thunder. She was burning, pining,  desperate for him. She was parched, thirsty,  needing his sustenance in her life. He was all this and more. She  was all this and more.