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A meme (in part stolen from Vesper) because I’m in the mood to post but have nothing worth saying at present:

1) What is your favourite word? billion. BILLion. This changes all the time though. Top five favourite words: billion, lackadaisically, encyclopedia, aluminum, existential.

2) What is your least favourite word? again I have a couple – ‘node’, and ‘schedule’ when it’s pronounced in that ssshedule way.

3) What turns you on creatively, spiritually or emotionally? reading and being with the people I love.

4) What turns you off? narrow-mindedness and condescending attitudes…and crazy stupidity. Most people in other words.

5) What is your favorite curse word? fuck. It’s the only good curse word. Exceptionally versatile.

6) What sound or noise do you love? the swooshing sound of my boots in fallen leaves. I’ve loved that sound since I was a kid – I still go swooshing through piles of leaves whenever I can. I’ve pissed off so many people with that…big piles of leaves just scream to be kicked about, particularly the ones that have been carefully pulled together with hours of raking. I can’t help it.

7) What sound or noise do you hate? anything crying – cats, dogs, kids, adults, etc.

8) What profession other than your own would you like to attempt? singer, painter or prime minister. Actually, almost anything that isn’t my current profession: Starving Student.

9) What profession would you not like to do? anything concerning the following: killing animals, working directly with pesticides or harsh chemicals, the military, or outer space.

10) If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates? This assumes that I would be arriving at the pearly ones as opposed to the flaming ones (although I’m of the mind that if heaven exists, it’s either very relaxed in its membership or unbelievably dull). I’d like to hear “I’ve reserved a cloud for you next to Eleanor Roosevelt”.

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Ok, so about two weeks ago I had another horrifying experience. Well, not horrifying so much as irritating – highly irritating. I was sitting in the Library Pub, sipping a Guiness, and listening to A. get very excited about Canadian foreign policy and it suddenly occured to me that I have spent the last fourteen years of my dating life (read ALL of my dating life) dating the wrong men/women. While this may seem like a “why-hello-there-Captain-Obvious” moment, it’s really not. I mean of course they haven’t been the right men/women because I’m not with any of them anymore. But there’s more to it than that, and this is where I become irritated.

Over the years, I have convinced myself of a few basics concerning what will make me happy long term; basics which, I admit, became my foundational dating criteria at age 12, and which were revised only slightly at age 18.

Rule #1: Guy/girl must be tall. Preferably 6’0 or taller.

Rule #2: Guy/girl must have darker hair/skin than my own (which isn’t exactly difficult)

Rule #3: Guy/girl must not be emotional because frankly, I have enough emotion for five people and therefore need someone to balance me out. The colder the better.

Rule #4: Guy/girl must be interested in completely different stuff from me, from career to hobbies so that a) I can learn more, b) there is no feeling of competition (see Cruise/Kidman), c) alone time is more possible.

Rule #5: Guy/girl must not be too nice. None of that gross romantic commitment crap for me. No sir. Bad guys/bad girls are all I want. I like the danger. Also, guy/girl must not take life too seriously (read guy/girl must enjoy bevvies, and does not need to have any ambition beyond breakfast as long as they can have a good time).

These rules were not established in any real formal way to begin with, but over time have become my sometimes sub-conscious, sometimes not-so-sub-conscious dating yardstick. Not everyone has met all of the above rules, but they’ve all certainly hit 4/5. As is obvious by this rule list, the guy/girl in question could have been a tall, dark, skateboarding alcoholic. Or a tall, dark, brooding, cold, guitar playing drug addict. Or any of the idiots listed in post entitled “where are you?” (May 2006). Or whatever.

Awesome. System. Ezmy.

I’m not sure what’s more irritating to me: the fact that I’ve wasted an exorbitant amount of time forcing myself to make it work with people who are so obviously wrong for me OR the fact that I was shallow/stupid enough to overlook a guy/girl just because they were blonde, under 6’0, interested in the same stuff as me, and nice. Holy lame-ass batman.

This all occured to me while sipping my Guiness and listening to A., who fits NONE of the aforementioned criteria and who is unbelievably fabulous (and hot), get excited about the same stuff that I get excited about and follow that excitement with a niceguy “you’re fabulous” compliment. This + four ridiculously good weekends = wowza. Fack the asinine rules.

So yes, ezmy is taken. And no, not every post from here on out will be sapsters.

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About a year and a half ago, I had a horrifying experience. I was holding on to my cousin’s baby son (holding on = carrying like foreign object) at the annual New Years open house in Mission BC and I suddenly felt the desire to procreate. The moment lasted just long enough for me to ponder over whether or not I had left my drink unattended. I searched frantically for my wine, considered a cigarette, and quickly thought about my favourite selfish things such as $400 shoes, sleeping in, and red wine.

But the feeling didn’t really disappear. Instead, it became this irritating little voice in the back of my head, one which whispered things like “your best child-rearing years are passing you by” and “awww” whenever it saw tiny people in strollers. I started involuntarily sighing whenever I saw kids doing the top-heavy diaper walk. I compared the cost of a PhD to a child, and even though the child came out way over, I still thought the kid made more sense. I started worrying about law school and time lines, and would I be able to stay home, and would I be able to pay for their college, and what if I couldn’t find the right guy to do this with, and would I consider sperm donors and AHH. In other words, I went bonkers.

And I was confused. What about my dreams of waking up everyday to a dry martini, cigarette, and sexy pool boy? Of travelling my entire life and never settling down for longer than a couple of years? Of fabulous dinner parties and becoming prime minister and so on and so on? Argh.

It’s been almost two years now, and apparently this crap isn’t going to go away – evidence of my new found love for children may be seen above. And the worst part is, I think I might actually be ok at it. The motherhood bit. Further, I think I might – gasp – enjoy it. Shut up Nic D, Aynsley, and Melissa. I am aware of how ridiculous the idea of “Stoner” having children is. But when screaming kids don’t turn one off the idea, one is screwed.

I’m totally screwed.

Don’t read into this too much however. I’m not going to start running into the streets, attacking men and demanding their sperm. Nor am I going to start stealing children. Nor am I going to go find me a husband and get hitched. Nor am I going to pull a Jolie (although if I had the money, I’d consider it). Nope, I’m going to go get myself a PhD and stifle my baby sighs. This post is merely an indication of how irritated I am by the fact that I may actually be growing up. Ew I can’t believe I just wrote that.

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“…I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story.

From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn’t quite make out.

I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”

Don’t worry, I’m not in the bell jar (for once). Am still exceptionally happy. But my mind is very busy. So much to do…so. much. to. do.

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1) There have been few moments in my life where I have considered leaping on a stage and attacking a man or woman simply because their voice is so hot. Friday night, I had one of those moments. Buck65…all I can say is wow. Just…wow.

2) I would like to say ‘thank you’ to Ann Coulter, for being the foolish, awful wench that you are.

Ezmy is happy.

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*for Dana, Niki, Mel, Reuven, and my family: I’ll be back in BC for the end of July and part of August…and I’m sorry. Friggin Nova Scotians are smooth talkers.

:) miss you guys

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When I was 19, I looked at my surroundings and said “this stinks”. I was in a dead end coffee shop job, was going to university and failing everything, and was drinking/smoking way too much. So I took my life savings of 1000$, purchased a ticket to Toronto (biggest city I could get to that was far away from the folks and didn’t require me to speak French), and dropped out of school. The entire thought process took about 1 hour. I had the ticket the next day.

When I was 22, I looked at my surroundings and said “holy mother of god this stinks”. I was in a dead end coffee shop job AND bar job, was going to hairschool and hating it (millions of bloody perms every day), and was drinking/smoking way too much. So I applied to a university I’d never heard of, in a town I’d never seen (there’s more than one town in Nova Scotia?), and decided to major in a subject I knew nothing about (political science). The entire thought process took about 1 hour. I put my notice in to my job before even finding out about the school.

Both of these decisions were snap decisions and they are the only two decisions I’ve ever made just for me. They both resulted in some awesome friendships, some crazy life experience, and some exceptionally tough times. But I felt good about them.

So when my next big move was planned back at Christmas time, I felt odd. I had never really planned these things before. And it didn’t feel right. As May approached, it really didn’t feel right. I love my apartment, I love my friends, and I love this town. I don’t look around and say “this stinks”. I look around and say “wow, I’m happy”. Yesterday I realized that my lease was up in two weeks and I had no desire to pack let alone leave.

So.

I’m not leaving. I called my landlord and extended my lease until my October graduation. I unpacked everything I had packed. The entire thought process took about 1 hour. And I feel comfortable again.

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Well, I didn’t make it. So I’m sure my fellow blogger pals will understand if I take a few more days off to figure out my nonsense.

I leave you with this little update on my life: I learned that David Mangle plays an interesting trombone, and that the words to “oh when the saints go marching in” should NOT be remade into a political song. I realize now that I love Dr. Dennis with the passion of a thousand burning suns, and that I’m an academic-for-life type of person- even if right now it doesn’t seem that way. I also learned that my back is hilarious for a number of reasons, that poliscigeeks kick unbelieveable ass, and that the Port Williams parade is the funniest when seen in the rain. I feel sorry for the Port Williams princess. I know now that life is going to keep dishing it out and I also know that I’m going to keeping throwing it back in her bitchy face. Take that! And finally, I have learned to relax. After all, it could be worse. There could be snakes.

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2 1/2 days….good god I’m nervous that I’m not going to make it. And holy crap but do I want to sleep.