Family Bondy...

So I'm going to Disney World with the family in less than 3 weeks. My Dad and Step mom are paying for everyone to go and be all family-bondy.

Me? I'm thrilled. A free trip to Florida where I'm confident there's no snow. I will have just finished up with my first big event at this job, and believe me, I can already use the break.

The families will break off into little grouplets and I can hang with whichever one I choose. If one gets old, I can take off and hang with another. Such is the beauty of Disney shuttles and cell phones. All I have to pay for is the odd meal and any shopping I want to do (and really? How many Mickey ears does a girl really need?)

And the best part? Guess who I get to see when I'm down there?! Britt and Hilly have graciously agreed to meet me on the Sunday. How lucky am I? (insert excited *squee* here).

The only problem so far has been my darling brother. He's trying really hard to make the best of it, but well...he sucks at it.

First he was upset because our father wouldn't pay for his girlfriend and daughter to come too. He was all outraged that Dad seemed to differentiate between "married" and "not married" couples. Perhaps it's because we meet a new woman every year or so? And guess what? They've broken up. My Dad? Genius. My brother? Kinda clueless.

(Thank God - because he was threatening to have her and the daughter come anyways, and stay in the room with us. Hell no. Like I want to sleep with some random 9 year old).

Then he was upset because he wanted to go golfing with the other boys, but the BiL's weren't into it. So he threw a little hissy about that. Fine.

But the things that annoys me the most? The parts that actually amuse me, because they annoy me the most? Are the facts that a) he was so traumatized that when I told him that I was leaving for a few hours to meet Britt and Hilly (translation in his mind: scary people from the internet) and b) he wants to leave the resort and go to an outlet mall and for some reason I have to go with him.

Now I know that I've portrayed myself as all girly girl on here- but hanging with my brother in an outlet mall? I think I'd rather slit my wrists. Apparently though, because I'm the other "single" one on this trip, it means I'm his little beck and call girl. Seriously? In what kind of bizarro world is the brother forcing the sister to go shopping?

The main issue with my brother is that he feels that he's being forced to go on a vacation that is not one of his choosing. His happy vacation is on a resort in Mexico. He thinks that since he doesn't have kids, Disney is a ridiculous place for him to go. (What's my excuse exactly?)

Me? I have NO interest in Mexico. I don't think they have enough Mayan ruins and day trips to keep me amused. Disney isn't my first choice, but I'm cool with it. Had I unlimited funds and time? Off to Europe I would go. First to England/Ireland/Scotland, then to Russia and Norway and Turkey, then off to France and Italy....

So this is my poll to you, my darling readers - what would be your preferred vacay: a hot resort sitting on a beach having drinks served to you OR less hot, lots of activity, touring around, seeing things, etc etc.

Ahh to be rich. Le sigh.

Guess where I am today?
Partying over at the coast with one of the other Canadian Princesses!
Why don'tcha stop by???

The Meek Simply Vanish Into Nothingness...

You know people are kind of funny. It's so easy to get angry at someone for a perceived slight, yet so difficult to show compassion when you see that same person in pain.

If you get angry at someone for something they've said, it implies to me that on some level, you actually care about what that person thinks. Yet, if you care so much- why can't you reach out when you see that they could maybe use it?

It's inevitable that if someone approaches you and tells you that they're upset that you'll deal with it accordingly. Yes, it's kind, but it's also easy and temporary. Taking that extra step to check up on them and approach them when they're not directly in front of you? That's what being a friend is. It means that you actually think about them when you don't have to.

This blog has gotten me into trouble more than once. Once I had legal action threatened against me, and I unposted all of my archives. I could probably start re-posting the less inflammatory ones, but who wants to take the time to go through a year and a half of archives to do so?

Once I had an ex-boyfriend essentially call me a whore because of something I posted and stop speaking to me. It was quite hurtful and the final straw in an on-again off-again so-called friendship. He tried to apologise to me later but he had hurt me so much that time that there was nothing he could do to get my good opinion back. The best he can expect from me now is cordiality.

And then there were the friends that I lost just this past year. I wrote about how they had hurt me and how I reacted to it. They didn't know how much they had hurt me, and when they caught wind of the post, they decided to stop talking to me. I apologised, told them I understood their anger and tried my best to gracefully let them go.

I accept responsibility for my actions. I've mentioned before how I am constantly monitoring what I do, and say and how I behave. I constantly gauge how people are feeling and how they might react to what I have to say before I say it. I rarely say something that I regret because I think too much. But this constant monitoring? It's also a constant reminder that one day I AM going to screw it up. One day I'm going ot miss a cue that tells me that I shouldn't be doind or saying something, and it's going to blow up in my face.

People lose friends all the time. People stop speaking with their exes. People do things that cause them to get sued. I am hardly unique in this.

But the frustrating part is how easy it was for those people to let me go.

How easy it was for my ex-manager to go from thinking that I'm an awesome employee to thinking that I'm the root of all evil. To not caring that her actions caused me to leave a job after seven years and not once try to ask me why.

How easy it was for my now married-with-child ex boyfriend to accuse me of being a whore and simply stop speaking to me because what I was doing was so hurtful to him.

How those friends who didn't like what I said about them on this blog, because I was hurt, to just let the friendship die. It meant so little that I was upset and made an error in judgement by posting something about them when no one in the world knows who they are.

When I've posted about things that make me sad, and how I don't think living is worth the effort - something like this isn't worth reaching out for, except by complete strangers who don't even know me.

I wonder if I haven't done it to myself. I can be too mild and accommodating. I can be too obedient and independent. Surely someone like me doesn't need anyone.

Why is it so easy to get hurt and angry about something so little? Do people perceive themselves as being so perfect? Does my track record not mean anyting?

People go out of their way to help some friends who are constantly in a state of crisis, or are truly heinous human beings. But someone who is typically good and responsible and caring seems to be measured on a different scale. Something that I would do that is maybe not stellar, could be considered positively angelic if done by your drugged out unemployed friend.

It's just disappointing to come to realize that my existence in some people's lives meant so little that I can be so easily dismissed. Perhaps I should find some way to being a more dynamic, demanding presence. That way people would find it more noticable if I were gone.

Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep...

I've been having some weird nights lately.
Not kinky or any kind of fun like that weird, just weird.

Like I'm itchy. Everywhere. I wake up scratching constantly. What the eff? I'm going to wake up one morning and think I killed someone when I find blood all over my hands and sheets cause I've scratched myself raw.

And then there's the weird ass machine thing that my upstairs neighbour has. Now I know he's a strapping single lad, so I'm pretty sure that it's not a life support machine of any kind, but whatever it is, it's annoying. It'll come on at the most random times, and it's loud enough to vibrate my floor. It only goes for less than 10 seconds, but it stops with a weird thumpy sound. The other day it was going on every 10 minutes, then every five, then every three. Was it in labour? Should I run up there and offer to boil some water and practice breathing with it?

And then there's the dreams. Seriously - can I just shut them off please? Do they really serve any purpose? Why can't I have sex with Jensen Ackles dreams? Or eating chocolate cheesecake dreams? No, I have to re-live either the most mundane parts of my day, or have the same conversation with my ex-boss or other ex-people over and over again. For the love of God, I really don't want to have to go to therapy and talk about this.

And for some reason? I can't seem to get comfortable anymore. I don't know how I've managed to sleep for the 33 years prior to this, but now? I can't seem to lay in any way that doesn't make my arm fall asleep (while I'm NOT asleep) or prevent me from breathing. It's really a good thing that I sleep alone, cause the tossing and turning? WAY cliché and irritating.

And then there's the whole white noise issue. I've slept with a fan since I was - well as long as I can remember. With the same fan the whole time. It's old. And it developed a rattle. So I used to sleep with it on the lowest setting. But when the rattle began, I found that going up to the next setting helped. Eventually I was on the coldest setting. Could I buy a new fan? Maybe. But of course I'd rather spend that money on shiny things and just find myself curled up in the foetal position, bundled up under all my blankets when I wake up every morning. Scratching.

Should going to bed really be this much of an adventure?

xo

I Wanna Re-Set My Biological Clock

March and April are the big birthday months in my family. The past two weekends have been all about parties for "the boys" since two of them turned 40, and well, you couldn't ignore the other one.

Next up is me. 3 weeks from yesterday I will be 34. Not a terribly momentous age, but still it gives me pause every time I think about it. You see, 35 is a magic number. It's that number that means that you're entering the danger zone if you ever want to have children.

And yes, if any of you have some quizzical glances at your screen because of that comment, I don't blame you. I'm sure I've indicated more than once on here that I don't want children. And I mean it. But you know, being told that it's risky to have one in a little more than a year? Well, I'd be stupid not to ponder that just a little bit.

For as much as I've been kinda whiny on here about my single state, most of the time I really wouldn't have it any other way. I am independent, and kind of eccentric. I like my own space, and I really don't want to ever be accountable to anyone for even one moment of my time.

However, as much as it's quite easy to have a baby without a husband or even a boyfriend, it's just a wee bit gauche to do so. And hard. And since I like my sleep and my money and my time, I'm still pretty sure that I don't want one anyways. I sometimes enjoy my visits to babyville. Other times I don't. So I certainly wouldn't want to live there full-time.

But. What if I change my mind? What if I feel this way mostly because I don't have a vision of anyone helping me with it? Eccentric? Yes. Making up imaginary boyfriends in my head? No.

And I'm sure that this exact same post has been written a million times by a million different other women in their 30's, but you know...whatever- that means it's topical.

And it's not like I don't get it. I do resent that from the women I know who have babies. Even my very best friends have gotten that superior and knowing look on their faces around me. Like I couldn't possibly understand what it's like to be a mother. I can't know what it's like to create life. To give nourishment to another little creature from my breast. To have someone love me unconditionally and be completely dependent on me to keep them happy and safe. To feel the weight of responsibility that falls on a person knowing that they are tasked with the enormous job of making this person a happy, moral bearable member of society. To feel the fear that you might screw it up. The anxiety when they're sick. The longing when they start to grow up and become more independent, yet at the same time, the pride that you've given them the tools to do so. I've obviously never felt that level of exhaustion coupled with inexpressible joy.

Clearly I don't get it at all. Le sigh.

And yes, a part of me does have a biological clock. And while I wouldn't say that it's ticking, it does give a tiny little chirp every once in a while.

So I wonder. Am I being lazy and irresponsible for not actively seeking out a partner? What if I have serious regrets when I hit 40? What if I start beating myself up for not begging everyone I know to set me up with all their single friends? What if I kick myself for not working the internet dating circuit more relentlessly?

Am I being naive for hoping that it happens in a less contrived way? For having faith that somehow if it's meant to be, it will happen? Or is it a case of the universe only helping those who help themselves?

And do I really want to kill myself to do this in order to satisfy some clock? To work at finding a willing sperm donor when I'm still not sure- but based on the idea of "but what if I have regrets?"

Ugh. I kinda resent all men who can keep fathering children until death right now...

xo