"OMG. Isn't it so sad that Ryan Phillippe and Reese Witherspoon split up?" the Best Friend asked.

"What???" I practically shrieked, followed by a quick intake of breath as if I'd been the one who was breaking up.

She called me during Prison Break, I might add --- which would be a totally unforgiveable sin if it had been anybody else. People should know not to disturb me when my stories are on.

Okay, okay. So "stories" kinda implies I'm, like, a soap watcher, which I'm surprisingly not, given the amount of TV that I watch, but maybe that's precisely WHY I don't watch soaps...where would I even get the time?

For a minute, I was like, "Who is this?"

I actually thought it might be Soap Opera Girl with the latest goings-on in The Situation At Home, It seems like everybody opens with, "Heyyyy" as if I'm supposed to know who the hell it is. I don't, okay? I'm good with the names and the faces (though I pretend otherwise), but with the voices, I'm not so good. Oh, and I don't like to be touched, so if anybody ever snuck up behind me and covered my eyes and went, "Guess who?", I'd be screaming, "I. Don't. Like. To. Be. Touched!!!"

It's sort of like this guy at work who always says, "Good morning" and I always think, "Who are you?"

But, anyway...where was I? Oh. Right. Ryan Phillippe and Reese Witherspoon had announced their split and I was like, "Shut up! No way!" as if they were close, personal friends. (As The Best Friend and I often do with celebrities...though, this might just be indicative of how truly lame we are...though, I suspect we all suffer from a bit of lameness...some are just better at hiding it than others.)

The Best Friend was just surprised that I hadn't heard this first. I remember the time I asked her what she thought of Nicole Kidman's wedding dress and she gasped and said, "Nicole Kidman got married?" And I gasped and said, "Where've you been living? Under a rock?"

You know, Reese Witherspoon and Ryan Phillippe seemed like a good couple...though, when you really think about it, when we're all just peering into a relationship through tabloids and entertainment news shows like Entertainment Tonight, we don't really know shit about what really went on in that relationship.

You just look at a glamorous couple on the red carpet, both sparkling in their blondeness, and you can't help but sigh and think, "That's the life."

One thing I did say to the Best Friend was this: Reese Witherspoon isn't like Jennifer Aniston or Nicole Kidman, both of whom seemed fragile and you felt really sorry for what happened to them; I mean, you feel bad about what happened to Reese's marriage, but you also get this underlying sense that she's one of those people who's too strong and too put-together to suffer anybody's pity.

That woman can do anything she sets her mind to --- and ultimately, I think that's why she makes a better role model for young girls than other actresses.

---

Reese Witherspoon and Ryan Phillippe Split: Witnessed
Tuesday, October 31, 2006

By Roger Friedman
FOX News

I hate to say it, but I actually witnessed the split between Ryan Phillippe and Reese Witherspoon. The Hollywood couple officially called it quits Monday.

But two weeks ago, they came to the opening night party for Ryan's performance in Clint Eastwood's "Flags of Our Fathers." It was not a pretty scene. Reese was packing away cosmos and chatting happily with just about anyone, but it was clear she was peeved about something.

The party took place in the rooftop penthouse suites of the Soho Grand Hotel, and what I saw next was something I decided not to print at the time. The couple went out on the roof terrace and had a knock-down, drag-out fight. It looked like something from "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?"

My line of vision was partially blocked by a big exhaust pipe, so at different times during the fight they were obscured. But then Ryan would appear, disgusted, on one side of it, and Reese on the other.


Suddenly, Reese stormed back inside, crossed past me and headed for the elevator. Ryan followed in hot pursuit. Thus, their security guards assigned for the night went running after them, thinking that they were leaving.

After a couple of minutes, though, clearer heads prevailed. The couple came back from the elevator with security in tow. Perhaps they'd forgotten that many members of Ryan's family, including his grandmother, were still in the room, oblivious to what was going on.

All of this was alluded to in our Oct. 17 column. I referred to their marriage as "tempestuous," trying to err on the side of good manners. It was obvious from their heated exchanges that the couple was in trouble. But no one really knows what goes inside a marriage; maybe fighting was part of their deal.

In retrospect, however, Ryan and Reese already knew it was over when they came to the "Flags of Our Fathers" party. They had already committed to it, and Phillippe's family wanted some kind of celebration.

The sad thing is they are both nice people. But they are also young; Ryan is 32, Reese just 30. They could never have calculated her stratospheric success.

But actresses tend to hit their stride early, with tougher times after 40. For men, it's the opposite. In five years, Ryan could be a perennial best actor nominee.

But the early 30s — with the exception of Leonardo DiCaprio, thanks to "Titanic" — is the hunker-down time for most young actors. They're too young for the good roles and too old for the teen ones.

I'm sure the tabs will be full of stories of infidelity. This column has already gotten calls about it. But I think, in the end, there are no villains for Ryan Phillippe and Reese Witherspoon. It was just too much too soon.

So you know what I don't get?

They didn't really come out and say it, but I got the sense that they think I was the one to blame for not wowing The Dud.

And really, maybe I'm just a colossal bitch, but the way I see it, if you have zero chemistry with somebody and you have no intention of ever seeing them again and you personally feel as if any more time spent making bullshit chit chat with them would be precious minutes shaved off your life, then it's perfectly okay to cut the polite small talk to a minimum.

Why must I continue to talk to this person?

My sister's friend actually accused me of acting weird about everything by seemingly losing interest the second The Dud opened his mouth to talk. She did concede, though, that there was zero chemistry and that The Dud was embarrassingly socially inept and seemed almost rude.

Yet, I get this underlying sense that, because I'm rapidly on my way to becoming a woman of a certain age who's still not with anybody that I must do everything that I possibly can to sink my hooks into any man that's presented to me and just hold on tight for dear life.

I mean, if we're going to get bitchy and mean about it, let's face facts: that's exactly what my miserable little matchmaker did. She had told my sister many times over that she would settle because she would be damned if she finished graduate school and found herself alone.

You take one look at her with her new boyfriend and you just know that they're two people who are together more out of desperation than a genuine like for each other.

And I'm sorry but I'm just not that desperate.

I'd rather shrivel up and die alone than settle for someone.

And you know what? I actually had fun on my birthday for once and I realized that I liked my life the way it was...if I find a great guy to spend my days with, that'll just be icing on the cake.

---

So, last night, I had this dream that something happened and my teeth had fallen out --- not all of them, but enough to make me look like some demented hobo --- and I was freaking out 'cause I couldn't find a dentist to fix it.

Anybody who knows me knows that I have this freakish pride in my teeth.

I think I have perfect teeth.

My dentist always says so whenever I have to go in for a cleaning.

"Beautiful!" he always says.

So, please, forgive me if I have a certain vanity about such things.

But anyway...in the dream, I kept sticking my tongue into the empty spaces and it hurt and I could taste blood.

Woke up a little panicked and quickly ran my tongue over my teeth to make sure they were all there and then sank back into bed, feeling relieved.

It was like the time I dreamt I'd given birth to twins when I was in high school and I dreamt my parents were so disappointed in me that they stopped talking to me. I didn't have a crib for the babies and had to put them in a cardboard box next to my bed.

Woke up that time peering over my bed, wondering where the babies were.

I don't think dreams really mean anything, but sometimes, they kinda freak me out 'cause they feel so real.

I know that if getting to the racetrack wasn't such a hassle and if I, ah, wasn't lazy, I'd probably be out there every weekend.

It's crazy addictive -- especially if you win on your very first race.

And, okay, so the win wasn't a big win because I did the minimum bet, but when you win, you still think, "Oooh. Free money."

And from that second onwards, as soon as the horse seemed to sprint out of second place and pulled into the lead out of nowhere and I was screaming, "AHHHH! I won!!!", what was essentially a non-date was over.

I say "non-date" because there are certain things that need to happen for something to be considered a date.

I don't even consider group dates to be real dates.

If a guy doesn't have the balls to properly ask you out, then fuck it. That's not a date.

But the point here is that I was more focused on the horses and the racing than I was on getting to know The Dud any better.

Why do I always get introduced to duds? You know...guys who are nice enough, but who you would never ever in a million years want to be with? I mean, as my friend said, "He's nice in that, I-feel-sorry-for-him way."

And that's exactly what it was.

Memo to self: will stop buying clothes effective November 1.

Correction: will not buy any more clothes for a month.

When in a lousy mood, I will do breathing exercise and calm my ass down. I will not go out and buy even more clothes --- especially since I have way too many clothes anyway. I don't think I've even worn the same thing twice since I started working at my new office...and that was in August.

Maybe part of the problem is fixating on how I'm going to rebuild my wardrobe so that it's mostly "classic" pieces that I can mix and match. But the thing is, sometimes, classic can look pretty boring and that's why I have to buy accessories.

Okay, and the thing is, I used to read this blog written by a girl in New York who was the consummate shopaholic. She lived this seemingly perfect life with her perfect boyfriend and all she ever wrote about were the places she visited, the restaurants she dined in, the shoes that she bought, and the bags that she wanted to get.

Sometimes, she'd even take pictures.

And while, at first, I thought, "That's the kind of life I want", I soon realized that she's actually kind of...well...not that interesting.

Maybe it's the angst and the depression and the struggle to lead an authentic life that makes somebody interesting. But that's just personal opinion...I mean, we kinda tend to identify more with the people who struggle, you know? Maybe it's because they're saying those secret thoughts we have that we don't tell others 'cause we don't want their pity.

The Toronto Star launched The Relationship Challenge back in February, following 20 singletons from a diverse demographic in their adventures in dating --- or rather, their attempts to date.

Judy Steed, the feature writer, had this to say:

We wanted to find out what it's like on the front lines in a world of speed dating, Dinnerworks, Meet Market Adventures, Lavalife, Stroll in the Park and on and on.

Don't know why, but I felt this flare of anger. Like, WTF? She's trying to make it sound like, "Oh, this is a completely foreign world to the likes of most of us. Won't it be oh-so-fascinating to watch this pathetic group of people fumble around, in an attempt to avoid dying alone?" I felt like these people --- who were really very brave --- were being examined with a microscope with a slight air of, "Oh, poor them."

It just irritated me.

But then again, I know I'm reading too much into it.

I tend to be resentful in general.

It kind of bummed me out to learn that, out of the 20, only two had managed to find themselves in long-term relationships.

Yet, The Star tried to put a hopeful, optimistic spin on things and Steed writes:

Others are rejuvenated, exploring new friendships and interests, coasting on a buoyant surge of self-confidence, eager to do the networking that generates a wider web of connections.

A few are disheartened, if not disillusioned, by the experience. Being stood up or lied to is no fun.

Last night, flipping between an old episode of Six Feet Under and a new episode of Brothers & Sisters, I found myself watching a scene in Six Feet Under from Season 5's "The Silence" where Ruth forces herself to go to an aquaintance's party and she feels so completely out of her element. She makes awkward chit chat with a man who finds her so boring, he just walks away. And when her friend tries to cheer her up and says they should mingle and try and find her some nice eligible bachelor, Ruth says (on the verge of tears, but never spilling them):



No, it won't be fun. I am seven million years old and I have this emptiness that won't go away. I have done everything and been everywhere. And I am still all alone! Everyone gets to find someone just like that (snaps fingers). So I'm done. That's it! I just want to be left alone so I can shrivel up in peace! Please!

I love Frances Conroy. She just totally owned that scene and I really felt for her, because that's the kind of thing that every single person who's still struggling to find that someone feels.

And sometimes, even after you've resigned yourself to the fact that because you refuse to settle and will most likely be single and alone for the rest of your days, it still leaves you feeling lonely...which you hate to even bring up, because even if you've got your family and your friends, there's that one place inside your heart that's left vacant for that someone you want to be with, and have kids with, and grow old with.

Sorry about the cross posting here, but I'm too tired to write something different:



I was flipping through this book when I came across this passage:

Depression's pain is significantly multiplied when it is disbelieved by others. Emily first dragged herself out of bed to see an internist, who insisted there was nothing wrong with her and repeatedly asked, "Why are you doing this?" Similarly, Emily's mother expressed the familiar pull-yourself-up-by-your-bootstraps mentality:

After this experience my mother and I haven't been as close...You know, she was so unsympathetic, and it really, really hurt me and made me mad. And I remember saying to her, "Do you think I'd be doing this if I could snap out of it?"

It was like, "Wow" because I'd been feeling that exact same way the last couple of days.

I'd actually talked to a couple of friends about how depressed I was feeling and all I got was, "You're NOT depressed. Trust me. You're not" or "You've got to snap out of this, 'cause this woe-is-me crap is getting tired."

It just made me really mad, you know?

Like, how many times have I been there for someone else --- patiently listened and advised and been a shoulder to cry on for someone else?

I know this is just a bad spell I'm going through and all I'm asking is for someone to listen to me for a change.

And it just hurts, you know? It makes me feel even more alone than I do right now.

I was telling my mother tonight that there's just something so humiliating about allowing yourself to have feelings for someone only to have the door slammed shut in your face again --- to see that he's with someone else and you're just another person...a nobody.

She agreed with a lot of my friends --- that I spend too much time being unhappy and worrying about being single and alone. 'Cause, you know, even though I know that I'll be okay, it's not enough to wipe out this really lonely feeling that actually hurts.

When I told my mother that if I only knew that I was destined to be alone for the rest of my life, then at least I'd be able to force myself to come to some sort of acceptance and peace. But I heard my voice catch and felt that annoying stinging in my eyes --- and I was so goddamned pissed off with myself for allowing myself to feel this way. It just makes me feel weak and pathetic.

But I guess this whole thing has taught me that it was always better to pretend to be okay --- 'cause nobody wants to see me being sad and glum. I'm just supposed to be the fun, funny girl who's everybody's best gal pal.

You know, I realized today that I don't know how to count.

Or add.

And subtract and multiply and divide.

Let's just say numbers aren't my strong suit --- which would explain the (useless) degree that I eventually got while doing a four-year stint in postsecondary education. (Gosh. That sounded like I did time in prison, didn't it?)

It's a good thing I didn't open my mouth to say anything, otherwise, I'd just come off looking like a complete dumb ass.

In my old age, I've learned to control my big fat mouth --- to a certain degree.

So, anyway, today was one of those days where I really didn't feel like going into work. (Though, some would argue that this is how I feel on most days.) But even if you don't "feel" like going into work, there's really no choice in the matter, is there? Not if you like having money to, you know, pay the bills and have food to eat and clothes to wear...you know...stuff like that.

The thing is, getting to the station today, they were giving away stuff...and you know how much I love "free".

Okay, granted, that probably makes me sound like some unbelievably lame cheap ass, but you know what? I'm slowly coming to accept the fact that this is my life and I should just accept it and friggin' move on.

---

Don't ask me why, but I monitor the moods of this guy at work. No --- I don't have any romantic interest in him. He's gay.

I don't know why, but he just seems really sad to me and a part of me kinda identifies with that look he has on his face.

Sometimes, I think that there are all those people out there who feel alone and like nobody sees them or cares about them...but I know it's not true.

Sometimes, you've got some weirdo like me, who actually wonders how you're doing and wants to ask, but I kinda feel like it's not my place 'cause we're not friends.

Maybe I should ask, anyway.

---

In something totally unrelated...

There are times when I sit down to write in this blog and I'm just seized with this paranoid fear that maybe someone I know --- and it doesn't even have to be someone I'm close to --- will read it. And so, I start writing in generalities and after awhile, it's like, "Holy shit. I have nothing I want to write about. I must be really boring."

And the whole "boring" tag is something that nobody in their right mind wants to get stuck with.

I like that new show, Brothers & Sisters.

Okay --- so, it's a tad bit predictable...but you know what? So are real people in real life.

I don't know. There's just something about this show. There was that one scene where Kevin, the token gay character of the show, explodes at his mother, played by Sally Field, out of frustration when he accuses her of ignoring the fact that he has a life of his own.

It got me thinking about how my own mother's like this --- and I think it's something you kind of fall into when you're really close to someone and you're single, so they just take it for granted that you'll be their plus one.

I don't know.

The older I've gotten, the more I realize that a lot of the things that my mother does is out of love --- because, being Chinese, she's not the type of person who's gonna come up to me and give me a big ol' hug and say, "I love you." Actually, I don't remember her ever saying, "I love you"...which might seem really sad, but you know what? That's just the Chinese way.

If any of you have watched The Last Kiss, you'll remember a scene where Tom Wilkinson's character, the father of Zach Braff's girlfriend, tells Zach that saying "I love you" doesn't mean anything --- it's the actions that prove you love somebody that counts.

And I totally got that.

So, yeah, I know that a lot of the things that my mother does comes from a place of real love...but...and yes, I realize I might seem like a dork for quoting from the many TV shows that I watch, but I have to go back to what Denny said in that answering machine message on the last episode of Grey's:

It turns out, sometimes you have to do the wrong thing. Sometimes you have to make a big mistake to figure out how to make things right. The stakes are painful. But they’re the only way to find out who you really are. I know who I am now. And I know what I want.

Sometimes, I just want to tell her, "Let me make my own mistakes. Quit telling me how to live my life."

And the thing is...I know that she understands that I'm unhappy a whole lot and that she wishes something good and great would happen to me for a change, but the thing is, I'd still rather bump along, making those mistakes and getting disappointed and being unhappy on my own and know that it's my own doing, rather than me going along with what she wants...'cause then I'll blame her. And you can't blame someone else for the way your life goes.

It's all about stepping up to the plate, in the end, isn't it?

There's a ghost in the women's washroom.

Or that's what a lot of women are starting to think.

The faucets in the washroom are activated by sensors, so they don't turn on unless you wave your hands underneath them.

A couple of times, the water faucets have turned out all by themselves at the far end of the washroom.

It didn't freak me out or anything.

When someone mentioned it, I was like, "Oh yeah. That happens sometimes."

And then she went, "I think it's a ghost."

I stared at her.

"Oh. Right. 'Cause that's the most logical explaination for it."

It turns out she's not the only one freaked out by this. Someone else has been dragging another person with her to the washroom to --- I dunno...stand guard or something?

Someone joked, "You've got to speak to the ghost. Tell it to go to the light."

Seriously, if you die, why the fuck would you want to hang around on earth for? Why not just move on?

Geez.

If you say anything with enough authority, most people will believe you.

And in some cases, sometimes, it's easier to believe the lies you tell yourself --- like you're okay with the way things are going in your life --- 'cause the truth's too hard to take.

Isn't it weird, how, no matter how many times we tell ourselves that we don't care anymore, it's still a lie? 'Cause you don't even really need to dig very deep to find it --- that pain that comes from hope being snuffed out.

Soundtrack for today:

Ballad Of A Bitter End - The Poems

---

It turns out, sometimes you have to do the wrong thing. Sometimes you have to make a big mistake to figure out how to make things right. The stakes are painful. But they’re the only way to find out who you really are. I know who I am now. And I know what I want. - Denny, Grey’s Anatomy

---

Woke up, lying on my stomach, and feeling unbelievably parched.

And maybe a little drunk. Still.

Sometimes, it's like you feel like you need it just to get through the night --- 'cause really, I don't want to talk about who's engaged and who's pregnant anymore. I don't really give a shit, you know? And no, I don't want to hear about how it seems like "everybody else" is getting married and how this seems to be "the age" that everybody else was settling down --- everybody else except for us, of course.

Don't you ever get sick of talking about the same old thing over and over again?

It's just goddamned depressing 'cause you just wind up feeling like you're the one who's stuck, standing still, not moving forward.

Ugh. Whatever. I don't want to hear about it anymore.

So, the thing is, there was this article in the Toronto Star's business section today about the 50 best companies to work for.

Needless to say, the company I'm at now wasn't on that list.

Such is my life.

Not that it's a crap company to work for or anything, but it's not on that "best" list.

But one of the places listed is a place where someone I know works.

I don't know if I'd really call her a friend or not. This is how my life works: lots of people consider me their friend. In a lot of cases, they think I'm their best friend. But I just consider them people I hang out with on occassion and who use me as a pseudo-psychiatrist.

I think the pseudo-psychiatrist part is what makes me so attractive as a friend. Someone who'll just sit and listen and listen as if everything you've got to say is really fucking interesting.

Sometimes, it is.

But anyway, I guess I was a little pissed off with the universe 'cause I started in on the whole: How come a miserable excuse for a human being manages to find someone to love her AND get a great job at a company that's listed as one of the 50 best places to work? What the fuck?

Okay. Okay.

I get that life is unfair.

I get it.

I learned that at a very early age.

I don't like it, but I know that this is the way of life and really, there's no use in complaining about it. I mean, what's the point? Complaining isn't exactly going to get you what you want out of life. Nobody's gonna go, "Oh, well, since you're complaining so much about this, I'm going to give you a little something to make you shut up for awhile."

That's just never going to happen.

So, I'm sitting here, this afternoon, trying to play pseudo-psychiatrist on myself, trying to figure out what to do next.

I mean, yes, I fully realize just how whiney I seem in these posts. Trust me. I get it. Sometimes I nauseate myself.

*sigh*

It's like...I'm gonna be 28 in the next couple of weeks. Shouldn't I know what I want to do with my life by now?

Not only that, but...I mean, I don't want to be like The Best Friend, who seems to think you have to wait for things to happen to you. I think that if you wait, you could be waiting forever.

*sigh*

Life blows.

It totally sucks shit.

So.

I think I might be ready for a change.

The funny thing is how, sometimes, you just have to get to that point where you're so sick and tired and disgusted with the way your life is going before you can mobilize yourself into action.

The problem is to keep the momentum going.

Sometimes, I suspect I'm just too lazy for real change and maybe my main purpose in life is to just wait for death.

*

I've been listening to Alanis Morissette's Precious Illusions. Who knows? Maybe it's the whole birthday angst happening and that's why I'm feeling the way that I am.

Someone at work told me that, while she might be living a lie, it's not too late for me to go and find out what I want from life and figure out where it is I'd like to go.

I guess that's why Alanis' words kinda struck a chord with me right now:

You'll rescue me right?
The exact same way they never did...
I'll be happy right?
When your healing powers kick in

You'll complete me right?
Then my life can finally begin
I'll be worthy right?
Only when you realize the gem I am?


But this won't work now the way it once did
And I won't keep it up even though I would love to
Once I know who I'm not then I'll know who I am
But I know I won't keep on playing the victim

These precious illusions in my head did not let me down
When I was defenseless
And parting with them is like parting with invisible best friends

This ring will help me yet as will you knight in shining armor
This pill will help me yet as will these boys gone through like water

But this won't work as well as the way it once did
Cuz I want to decide between survival and bliss
And though I know who I'm not I still don't know who I am
But I know I won't keep on playing the victim

These precious illusions in my head did not let me down when I was a kid
And parting with them is like parting with a childhood best friend

I've spent so long firmly looking outside me
I've spent so much time living in survival mode

*

So the thing is, I kinda realize that there are some things I have no control over --- like making Mr. I-Think-Could-Be-Right have any feelings for me --- and there are some things that I do...like I could go back to school and do something else.

The question is...do I want to?

Or am I just too comfortable being stuck where I am?

I don't know.

I've just gotten really used to looking for things that'll seem right in my life and not looking for things that might make me happy, 'cause, somewhere, somehow, I managed to convince myself that not everybody gets to be happy or gets what they want, so it's just better to make due with what you've got.

But is that even really true?

I think that when you become a mother, there's this switch that turns on in your brain --- this switch that makes it impossible for you to speak without nagging.

And really, that's all I've gotta say about that without imploding.

Though...to be fair...I'm always on the verge of imploding.

People drive me nuts.

Not just my mother.

And to think, I was seriously thinking about a career switch into counselling. I actually thought I'd be good at that --- God knows I play pseudo-psychiatrist to enough people. But then I realized that I don't really like people.

There's this older woman at work --- everybody thinks she's this sweet little old woman just 'cause she's short, speaks in this soft voice that borders on babyish and looks like she's about 100 years old, though in reality, she's probably just 56 or something.

I was paired up with her on the first day for job shadowing and I seriously wanted to slit my wrists within 20 minutes of hanging around her.

She's what I call "fake nice."

You label people "nice" when there's absolutely nothing interesting you can call the person. It's a lazy person's useful, catchall word to describe others they don't exactly like, but they don't hate, either.

Me? I'm a person who slots people into three areas:
1. Hatred
2. Indifference
3. Obligated to Love

Okay. So maybe that's not exactly true. I do have friends, after all. And I do find myself charmed on occassion by a whole slew of people. But usually, I'm able to quickly size someone up and slot them into one of the three categories --- usually, just the top two.

So, the old lady?

She. Drives. Me. NUTS.

Her "sweetness" just comes off as meddlesome and borderline retarded. Seriously. She'll go on these tangents that have no bearing to what we're talking about. And at the same time, she quite enjoys standing there, prolonging bullshit small talk to unbelievably annoying lengths of time. I mean, it's not quite as bad as Knows-It-All Girl from the previous job --- I mean, that woman was so obviously socially inept that you couldn't help but forgive her 'cause you knew that, despite the fact that she'd found some idiot to marry her, the reality was that nobody really genuinely liked her and that while she may have had many, many aquaintances, she didn't have any real friends.

But back to the "sweet" old lady...what's with the touchy feely crap? I don't like to be touched by strangers! (This said in a slightly hysterical voice.)

And why the hell doesn't she lift her fucking feet when she walks? Oh my God...every time I hear her shuffling over, I just want to scream, "Lift your fucking feet."

Today, at a morning meeting, they told us we had a training session with Marble-Mouth-Woman for three hours after lunch tomorrow.

I sighed loudly and heaved my shoulders before rolling my eyes all the way into the back of my head.

And this was in front of the new team lead.

Winter hasn't even started yet, but I'm already feeling the effects of S.A.D. It's supposed to rain for the rest of the week. Somebody please kill me now.

So, when I was six years old, I was at Chinese school one Saturday morning when I bent down to tie my shoe lace, which had come undone.

When I looked down, I noticed this pretty diamond ring lying on the ground. Or at least I thought it was a diamond ring. I mean, at six, you don't know the difference between diamonds and cubic zirconia, you know?

And unlike my friend's mother, who told her to never pick up anything off the ground, because, you know, it could be, like, bait from Satan and likely to be evil --- this will all be explained later if you continue reading through this tedious story --- I picked it up and took it home.

And unlike other kids, who are bound to lose stuff like that, I was careful. I kept this ring nestled in my jewellry box and only took it out to admire.

But then, I started noticing a pattern.

Every time I took it out and looked at it, something bad would happen --- andwhen I say bad, I'm really talking about the stupid, run-of-the-mill break-your-heart, hurt-your-feelings type stuff that comes part and parcel with most childish love affairs.

I started thinking of it as the "bad luck ring".

Every time I took it out, something would happen with the boy I liked at the time.

Sure, it could have probably been explained by any number of things, but I chose to believe it was bad luck associated with the cursed ring.

Yesterday night, I was laying out my outfit for today and going through my jewellry box when I found the ring.

I decided it was time to get rid of it.

Okay --- so while I'm not a believer in leprechauns and fairies and I normally turn my nose up at the notion of luck or fate or destiny, I do believe that paranoia can make you believe pretty much anything.

I'm almost 28, damnit. Two years from 30. A little bit closer to dying alone in a pit of my own filth, only to be discovered by my neighbours when the stench of my rotting corpse becomes too unbearable to ignore.

Sure. My lack of a love life probably had nothing to do with the bad luck ring, but last night, I decided I needed to get rid of it.

End of story.

(Or so I thought.)

When I told C about it and about how I planned on leaving it somewhere --- like in an ash tray or maybe on a park bench for someone else to find, and thereby, transferring the shitty luck in the love department over to someone else.

She thought it would be better to leave it in a church, thereby neutralizing the evil stemming from the ring.

So, that's what we did.

We went to a church at lunch, left it in the second pew and the hightailed it out of there.

But then N, in an email, said, "How the hell could you bring a thing of evil into the Lord's house?"

I might not be into organized religion, but like I said before, I'm paranoid.

After a lot of back and forth, I was sufficiently paranoid enough to firmly believe I was damning my soul to hell by leaving the evil ring in a church. I didn't know what I thought would happen --- like the church would burn down as a result? I don't know.

All I do know is that I abruptly left my desk in the afternoon, pretended I was going to the washroom, but instead, took the elevator down to the main lobby and then hightailed it back to the church, frantically looking for the cursed ring.

Unbelievably, it was still there.

"Look, Frodo, the burden of destroying this ring is your responsibility and your's alone," C said melodramatically. "You're going to have destroy it with fire."

I didn't like being called Frodo, but I was beginning to identify with him.

"Yeah, but didn't they have to toss it into, like, a volcano or something to destroy it in the movie?" I asked. "Where the hell am I going to find a volcano in Toronto?"

Everybody at work thought the whole ring story was hilarious --- how I was convinced it was now not only tainted with bad luck but actually cursed.

I kinda thought that if I tossed it somewhere, I'd run the risk of having the bad luck transferred to someone else --- and like Earl, I do believe that karma will come back and bite you in the ass.

To make a long story short, I was washing my hands in the washroom when it hit me: dump the ring into the sanitary napkin receptacle 'cause nobody's gonna be digging through that and getting their hands on the ring. And if that stuff gets incinerated, then isn't that the same thing as tossing the ring into a volcano?

I was so impressed with myself, that I would have given myself a high five if I could.

But I didn't.

What kind of nerd did you take me for?

I've accidentally locked the key inside a chest that my grandmother gave to me before she died.

Well, she gave me the key before she died.

I've been using the chest to store all of my old diaries.

And now...well, they're all locked inside. But maybe that's a good thing. Having access to them is like trying to grope through the past, trying to figure things out and hoping to change things when you simply can't.

The thing that bugs me, though, is that the key and lock are so intriciate --- not your standard lock and key. They came from China and the key is actually two separate pieces --- sort of like pieces to a puzzle that you need to know how to use in order to get the fucking thing unlocked.

So, it's just frustrating, you know?

That's an overriding theme with me these days --- that vague sense of frustration that I'm trying to ignore. Just move on, try not to dwell on things you can't change and focus on what you can...if you want to.

The key lies in "if you want to."

We usually forget that we have a choice in everything we do. We like to pretend we don't.

You know what I hate?

Sometimes, I wake up and get this really excited feeling like something's about to happen --- and you feel this sense of hope, 'cause it feels like anything's possible. But then...well, nothing happens, even if you try and open yourself up to things you would have normally said "no" to.

And then nothing happens and you just wind up feeling disappointed and thinking, "What the hell was that all about, then?"

There are some days where I'm really, really afraid that I'll wind up reaching the end of my life and thinking, "What a fucking waste."

And the thing is...I don't even know what'll make me happy anymore.

Like, I thought my life was going to be a certain way, and then it turned out it wasn't. Things I worked for, that I thought I wanted --- I learned I didn't really want them at all. And even though I'd like to have someone in my life, sometimes, I question whether I'm even meant to have somebody there...I mean, how can you explain my failure to connect with anybody?

Yesterday morning, my sister and I were just talking, lying sideways on the bed, with our legs propped up against the wall. Just for the hell of it, we decided to make a list of all the guys I'd gone out with and after I reached the end, I kinda thought, "Wow. And out of all those people, I didn't connect with any of them. Do I have standards or am I too picky? Or maybe it's me. Maybe there's something wrong with me."

It doesn't matter if your friends think you're great, fun, funny, smart, down-to-earth and nice --- that doesn't count for shit, 'cause it's not about meeting people, per se. It's super easy to meet people. Meeting the right person is the key.

And maybe that person doesn't exist, you know?

I hate it, hate it, hate it when people go, "I don't get why you're still single."

What the fuck are you supposed to say to that?

You either come off as bitter, depressed, lonely or just a liar who's pretending to be happy being single.

I mean, let's face it --- even if you're okay being single, most people don't believe you'll be okay until you've found "the one."

You know what, though? I mean, it's okay. I think I've gotten to the point where I've pretty much resigned myself to the fact that I'm probably never going to connect with anybody.

When I say that, though, I'll invariably get the standard:

"Oh don't say that! You'll find somebody! It just takes time."

Okay. Yeah. Sure. Whatever.

It's gotten to the point where I think, "Why do I even say these things out loud? I mean, it doesn't make me feel any better and I know what other people'll say to me, in an attempt to make me feel better."

The truth is, I don't know if I'm capable of hoping anymore. Maybe 'cause I'm so jaded and bitter. But who knows? Maybe it's all in my mentality, you know? Maybe all of this anger and bitterness will just make it impossible to be in a position to fall in love.

And the thing is, even though it sounds like I'm just ranting about being single and alone, I don't know if I really feel lonely anymore.

I've just sort of resigned myself to certain things.

That's why, when I got to know this guy and I started thinking, "I can actually see myself with him --- in that grow-old-with-me way" I took stock of the situation 'cause it fell into that predictable pattern of my life: unavailable and probably uninterested.

But maybe it's because I've gone through this whole thing so many fucking times that makes it easier to just let it go.

No sense in following through, setting myself up for disappointment and humiliation. No thank you. I've had enough.

You know what?

I seriously wonder, sometimes, if maybe I did something in a past life or something -- like maybe I was a complete prick and that my punishment in this life is to understand how it felt on the other side of the coin.

If only life made some weird sort of sense in that way...if only I understood, maybe I'd have an easier time accepting the way certain things are.

There are things you have control over and things that you don't --- like whether you'll meet somebody that you will fall completely in love with.

It's like that new ABC show, "Six Degrees." There are millions of people out there and who's to say that the right person for you hasn't wandered past you at some point --- someone you could have easily met but chance kind of seperates you. Maybe you run and grab the train while it's at the platform but the other person misses it. Maybe you're on the same train and one of you glances over but the other person's absorbed in a book. Or maybe you both notice each other, but you don't have the nerve to get up and go over to talk to a complete stranger.

But then again...that last bit...it's a choice, right? You choose to stay silent, hoping the other person will say something, and then the moment just passes you by, lost to you forever.

Life just sucks.

I'm listening to Travis' Writing To Reach You:



"Whatever's in my head won't go away," Fran Healey sings.

I get that.

Sometimes, I get the sense that certain people only connect with me better when I'm depressed, too. Like, when you're okay, maybe you're not worth as much to them.

Just a random thought that's been criss-crossing my head lately.

*

It's Thanksgiving in Canada today.

In the next couple of weeks, it'll be my birthday.

I've never been the type who enjoyed celebrating my birthday --- and it has nothing to do with the whole getting-older thing, either. I'm gonna be 28. Not exactly old, but not exactly young, either. But age is just a number. I'd like to say it doesn't feel any different from being 25, but the truth is, the older you get, the more shit happens to you and it just changes you --- some of it in small ways, some of it in really big ways.

You know, there are some days, where it's like, I think I've gotten really good at not caring anymore.

Sometimes, though, I just wonder if I'm just saying that...you know, to console myself. To make myself feel a little bit better, when the truth is, I don't feel better. I just feel the same. But the same is better than feeling worse, right?

So, maybe what I'm doing is just pretending.

Watched The Last Kiss last night --- I kinda found it depressing...mainly because I could identify with where the characters were coming from. Just that general sense of settling, you know? Like, every day is the same and you're hoping for something to change, but it's like, no matter how hard you try, nothing happens.

Who knows?

Maybe we're just not trying hard enough.

I don't think anybody was really in the mood to be out, but sometimes, you force yourself to get out there 'cause the only thing worse would be to sit at home, feeling even more trapped by your own life.

Sometimes, I get the sense that we're all just looking for some form of distraction to help us ignore what's really eating away at us.

And on the one hand, I know that what's bugging me isn't really a big problem, per se.

Sometimes, we find ourselves fixating on things that we're better off just forgetting about.

I don't know. Maybe I just enjoy being unhappy on some weird level.

Trust me --- I know how bad this sounds, but I just didn't think I could handle someone else's depression.

I didn't even have the energy to try and make her feel better 'cause I didn't see what the point was --- whenever someone's tried to make me feel better, I've always wanted to tell them to just fuck off. And the thing is, I really don't think I know where she's coming from --- even if she's my best friend.

Sometimes, you think someone's better off where they are now, in spite of how crappy they feel and that just makes it all the harder to understand why they're so upset.

07Oct06 006
Originally uploaded by Anonymous Writer.

Listening to Corinne Bailey Rae's "Put Your Records On" now. Spent the afternoon outside --- it was just one of those days where you feel okay and you kinda pause and think that maybe it's not just about feeling okay...maybe you are okay, you know?

And even though nothing extraordinary happened today, you want to remember it anyway, 'cause when are you going to see a sky that exact shade of blue and see those autumn leaves pop with colour?

And now I'm on the couch, alternately watching a downloaded episode of Project Runway and writing in here. I really think I like Jeffrey, even though everybody thinks he's an ass for the way he treated Angela's mother. Okay. So, he was an ass, but I still like him, anyway. But I guess the fact that he's gone from being a suicidal junkie living out on the streets to being one of the finalists of Project Runway is kind of inspirational.

Then again, I'm a sucker for tales of redemption. I like the notion that you can hit rock bottom and still attempt to redeem yourself --- 'cause people who just give in to their depression and just give up...well, there's really not a whole lot I can say to that. I mean, on the one hand, I kinda know what it's like to be scraping rock bottom and feeling like your life's not worth shit and that it'd be better for you and the rest of the world if you just didn't exist anymore.

But I think that those who struggle past whatever crap they're feeling and soldier on are...well, you can't help but feel a bit of admiration for them.

When they had to go and design a dress out of trash, I thought Jeffrey's piece was a whole lot more interesting and creative than Michael's.

Michael's probably going to win it, though.

Out of all the books that John Irving's written so far, my favourite is "The Cider House Rules."

You know how, sometimes, you'll read something and it'll just stay with you forever? Well, there was this one line where Dr. Wilbur Larch muses, "When you lie, you feel as if you've cheated fate --- your own and everybody else's."

You wanna know why that stayed with me?

Because, among other things, it's helped me spot a liar.

I think it's just pathetic and sad when people feel the need to lie to make themselves fit in and sound more interesting.

I think with age, I've just become one of those people who just doesn't give a shit anymore. That's why I don't care if people know that I'm alone or that I've come so far from where I used to be...or where I should be.

People make mistakes and maybe they end up in places where they really shouldn't be in, but even if you don't like the way your life's going, own up to it and take responsibility for where you're at now, instead of trying to paint a rosy picture of where you think you should be --- 'cause you sure as hell ain't.

Is there anything more exhausting than pretending to work?

So, with one project finished and another one ready to be launched, there's that in-between phase where you're just sitting there, with your head down, furiously typing at your keyboard, pretending you're hard at work, 'cause as one team lead said, pretense is everything.

There were moments today where I seriously wanted to kill myself --- just take a pen and ram it right into my neck.

People often tell me I'm melodramatic.

You know what I've noticed?

Most people don't know how to hold a conversation.

Or maybe I just talk too much --- about anything and everything.

This misleads people into thinking I'm friendly --- which I'm not. I'm just incredibly nosy.

What's sad is when you start talking to someone who obviously has no friends and then they start clinging to you for dear life 'cause you're now their one and only friend and for the first time in their life, someone's actually listening to them and seems interested in what they have to say.

I actually hold that dubious honour of being the "one friend" to a lot of people.

Sometimes, it can feel a little...difficult. Because sometimes? Sometimes you just don't feel like listening to other people's problems.

But anyway...so there's this guy at work that I've started talking to. We're not friends or anything. I mean, I'm not gonna brandy around that word for every person who walks into my life. But the thing is, he invited me to his birthday thing and at first, I thought everybody in the department was invited, but it turns out they're not. So, on the one hand, it's like, "Yay! I'm popular!" but on the other hand, it sort of feels like being back in school 'cause sometimes, the people you hang out with aren't exactly "popular" (but hey, if they make me laugh, then they're okay by me) and if they're not invited somewhere and you've fallen into the habit of having lunch with them, then it just gets weird, you know?

God. Isn't it stupid?

It's not exactly a problem. I mean, I know what real problems are --- me and my chronic pain issues, occassional bouts of depression, and ongoing existential crises are "problems."

Did I mention that this one guy once left a comment in my other journal about how it was good that I wrote 'cause it helped me work through my issues and how, I wasn't like everybody else, 'cause most people didn't have issues like I did.

I was like, "WTF?"

A part of me felt like, "If I knew who this guy was, I'd claw his eyes out with my bare hands."

And while I get that, on occassion, I might get a comment about how I'm "funny" (I get that more in "real life" than online) I was kind of insulted that he found my rantings about depression funny.

But, whatever.

Sometimes, you've just gotta tell yourself that the online world isn't even all that real.

When I finished a "medium" Sudoku that probably took me way too long to complete, I wanted to jump up onto my desk and prance around a bit, singing, Queen's We Are The Champions --- except I pictured myself in a leotard with pink leg warmers and a bandana, for some reason, and when I got to the part where they go:

We are the champions...
No time for losers
'Cause we are the champions
Of the world

I'd point to the people I didn't like at work 'cause, for some reason, they'd all be gathered around my desk like at a concert or something (not because they wanted to know who the crazy person singing wildly off-key was). And then I'd melodramatically pump my fist in the air when I got to the part that goes "'Cause we are the champions" (deep breath) "...of the world!"

But I didn't.

For one thing, I can't sing. I'm like on the level of William Hung and I have the good sense to know that the world around me isn't exactly deaf.



*

A part of me is beginning to suspect that I'm so anti dating that maybe I really do want to be single for the rest of my life.

Haven't been on a date since May.

And you know what I told a guy last night?

"Um, I'm gonna go now, 'cause..." (and I really couldn't think of an excuse, so I told the truth) "...I want to watch TV."

I mean, c'mon. Gilmore Girls was on!

I loved, loved, loved Lane's hilarious take on just how bad sex is. I mean, where else but on Gilmore Girls would you get a full on rant about how sex isn't all that it's hyped up to be? That it's not like it is on TV, where a man basically just gets on top of a woman and she instantly starts moaning like all it takes is to have the weight of a man's body on top of you to achieve orgasm.

Okay --- so, I realize that it's kinda pathetic to crash a retirement party for someone you don't even know just 'cause there's free food, but such is the life of an office drone. Hell --- when someone suggests it to you, it won't even cross your mind that maybe that's just...oh, I don't know? Really pathetic and stupid?

You know what I hate?

When you think that someone likes you, but you're not sure, and that person is someone who's nice enough, but the mere thought of having to lay with said person is just so off-putting that it kinda gives you an ick feeling all over your body so you wind up behaving in a sort of assholish way in an attempt to completely turn that person off, when there's the distinct possibility that they don't harbour any romantic feelings for you at all.

You know...that sort of thing.

You know what I hate even more?

When you start liking someone that you can't really have --- say, your team lead who happens to be dating someone else, but you can tell that the girl's a skank ho who's really high maintenance and who's probably really bad for him, but because you're the super cool girl, you're not going to do anything about it 'cause if a man is really so stupid as to put up with that shit, then he's not really the man for you, but seriously, why the fuck do all the skank hoes get all the great guys?

Depression's a bitch.

No. Don't say anything. I'm just so fucking sick of hearing anything these days. I'm sick of people. I'm sick of my life. And I just wish I never got this way...'cause when it starts, it seems like it's never gonna stop.

So, Nuit Blanche, which means "White Night" was being touted as a "contempory art thing" where, from sunset at 7:01 p.m. yesterday until sunrise at 7:15 a.m. today, downtown Toronto had this free, city-wide event featuring more than 130 contemporary art projects.

The first Nuit Blanche was launched in Paris in October 2002 and now, Toronto has joined Brussels, Rome, Riga, Montreal and Madrid as a Nuit Blanche city.

I was kind of surprised that there wasn't this sort of thing somewhere in the U.S., but when you think about it, why would New York even need something like this, when the city's pretty much alive 24/7?

Yesterday night, though? Not exactly the ideal weather for a dusk-til-dawn, outdoor thing. It probably didn't help that I was out near Lake Ontario for most of the afternoon and felt like I'd frozen my ass off.

The thing is, I'm not much for contemporary art. It's just not my thing.

I thought the "wishing trees" along Philsopher's Walk between the Royal Ontario Museum and one of the U of T buildings was kind of cool --- I liked the way the trees were lit up and there were scraps of paper with printed "wishes" attached to the branches.

The tag line was, "A wish made at night may be answered at dawn."

If only wishes really came true.

I don't know when I stopped believing in making wishes...maybe around the same time I tried to crush out any ounce of hope I might have about...well, anything.

The stupid thing is, whenever someone else starts talking about how down they feel or how unhappy they are, I feel compelled to put things into perspective for them and try and make them feel better. Why is that? It makes no sense, 'cause I know I hate it when someone tells me things like, "Don't say that! Of course, it'll happen!"

Yeah, sure. Whatever.

I just wish people would quit saying that, you know? It really bugs me. I just want people to be real with me.

Life sucks. Let's just move on with it, okay?

It's weird how I'll think I should be doing one thing or how I'll want to be somewhere, and then I get there, and I realize that I don't want to be there at all.

I found myself standing there at the Edward Johnson Building, at the U of T's Faculty of Music, listening to this interactive performance on a presure-sensitive sound/water sculpture/instrument. The concert was called "Night Music".

So, I stood there, and I realized that I'd just rather be at home, being boring and nothing doing anything horribly interesting.

Why do I even care if other people find me boring or not?

Sometimes...I just feel like I'm really tired of pretending to be this fun, funny girl who's up for anything. The stuff I write in my journals? Most people who know me in "real life" don't know even a little bit of the stuff I post in here. And it's because I'm good at pretending. I pretend all the time --- that I'm okay, mostly.

I wonder if I pretend in the hopes that one day I'll believe the lies that I tell myself.

I liked Fujiko Naya's fog installation...though, attempting to take a picture of it with my shitty camera didn't produce the best results. I sort of wanted to disappear into that fog...'cause sometimes, even when I'm surrounded by people, I feel strangely invisible.