awkward smiles and drunk confessions…

School starts in exactly a week. A week. Whoa.

When I was younger, I used to get so excited for the idea of going back to school because it was a new beginning and all the other crap that had happened before was instantly erased, as though it had never even happened… okay, so maybe that’s not true. But it was honestly what I believed, and gave me hope that maybe this year, things would be different, better. I’d get a new hair cut, but some new clothes–or try to figure out something to do with my old clothes–and spend the night before trying to figure out how to look perfect. Maybe television had skewed my perspective, but I honestly believed if I could just look perfect then maybe things would be different, maybe life really would be like tv.

The summer between grade 9, and middle school, and grade 10, my first year of high school, was when the change really happened. Grade 9, I had found myself weighing the most I ever weighed: 168 pounds. By the time I had started grade 10, I was 108 pounds. Over the course of the summer I had lost 60 pounds and people instantly noticed. This time, it was almost like I really was a different person. People could barely recognize me. A new beginning, a new start. But even then, things weren’t how I imagined and High School wasn’t how I imagined. I guess my expectations of starting over brand new were… silly. This is High School were talking about.

Anyways, here I am again, a week away from back to school, and I have that same excitement I always get. My mind drifts to this year, and what I’m going to wear on the first day, and how exciting everything is. I have the itch to clean my room–actually, it’s more than an itch, I just have to get around my allergies–and to get organzied, and to watch Buffy the Vampire Slayer. For some reason, that has always been my back to school show of choice. I wonder what that says about me? At least I’m no longer wishing that school was like on Buffy the Vampire Slayer… kinda.

Even still, I have that silly excitement, a whole curiosity for how the year is going to go. I could gush for hours about everything–Andrew and his own apartment, my awesome classes, attempting to have more of an active, healthy, social life…

Instead, I’m going to put on Buffy, get out of bed, and start to clean my room. Old habits die hard.

Last night, I was driving home from the bus stop with Andrew, planning on writing a completely different entry. You see, last night was a friend of mine’s 19th birthday, and I didn’t go. I was going to write about that… but in a flash something else happened.

We were driving down the main street, just about to turn onto our street, when my Dad suddenly tried to stop the car, we lurched forward, and we ran over something. I had no idea what was happening–my Dad had tried to stop, but everything happened so fast. When I turned around to see what my Dad had run over, I got a shock. It wasn’t a garbage can, which was my first thought, but there was a tiny little white dog lying just where we had driven. Immediately, my Dad pulled over, and the three of us jumped out of the car, rushing backwards. There was another, much larger, black dog circling the much smaller other dog in the middle of the road.Thankfully, there had been no cars driving close behind us.

To be clear, I have huge dog fear, especially big black dogs. This one weighed about as much as me, maybe even more, but immediately I called him over and he came running, taking a seat at my feet. Although you could tell he was scared, he was a sweet dog. Dad stood over the other one, and Andrew was directing cars because we weren’t sure if the little white dog was okay or not. Almost as soon as we had pulled over one of the city trucks had drive by, and–not knowing what had happened–had pulled up in front of where we were standing, just to make sure that people went around. Andrew was on the phone with animal control, trying to get them down to where we were. Neither dogs had tags on them, so we had no idea where the dogs were even from. A couple women walked by, asking us if we were okay, assuring my Dad that it wasn’t his fault. There was no time to react.

We stood around waiting for a while, wondering when Animal Control would show up. A couple women came out to talk to us, one because she had seen what happened from her window and thought the person who had hit the dogs had driven off–Dad had taken the car home, because it was literally a 20 second drive to our house, and we had been taking up a lot of room on the road–and we assured her that, no, we had stuck around and were just waiting for someone to help us. Another women had brought the big black dog some water, although he didn’t want it.

The whole night was just so sad. I love animals, I love dogs, and it makes me so sad. There was nothing that we could have done, but it still is so horrible. All I can do is think about the poor dog owner, who is probably calling around wondering what happened. I think about my Dad, who loves animals, and you could tell was upset about the whole thing. Even after he knew the poor little white dog was dead, he was gently petting her, apologizing and feeling bad. And the poor black dog, who lost his friend and seemed so scared. And, all I can do is think about what if it hadn’t been the little white dog. What if it had been the black dog? None of us had even seen him until after we had pulled over.

Rest in Peace poor little white dog.

So I have a confession to make…

No, it’s not the fact that I’ve been up since before dawn, again–apparently the only time I ever get real sleep is when I’m on vacation. Maybe I need a permanent vacation?–but a little more trivial than that. I love Gossip Girl.

I know, I know. It’s a show about spoiled, label obsessed girls who drink and do drugs and sleep with each others boyfriends. What could be appealing about that? There is nothing romantic about that kind of life style. Once upon a time, I had tried to read the books, but only got to the second one because, well, I just didn’t like it. Mostly, I found it hard to relate to the characters. When I read a book, I like to be able to picture myself as at least one character (which must be why Sarah Dessen still remains as my favorite author… I can read her books in mere hours). There needs to be something I can relate to, and when reading Gossip Girl, there was nothing.

But for some reason, the show… I can’t help but love it.

A lot of it has to do with the writing and character interaction, which reminds me of my much loved (and missed) Veronica Mars. And the characters are fun. There is something about the show which just draws me to it, and I love it. Even though it’s totally out there, and I could NEVER afford that lifestyle, I just love to watch that show and dream about what it could be like. Oh, and I just love Blair Waldorf. Sure, she’s a bitch, and spoiled, but she’s amazing and fierce. And even though I could never pull off half the things that she wears, I just adore her fashion. Honestly, if it were written in any other way, if it had stuck too close to the books, I probably would have hated it. But… I just can’t hate it. It is my guiltiest pleasure.

So naturally when I love something, I convinced Andrew to sit down and watch an episode with me. And naturally, he protested for as long as he possible could. To be honest, he judged the book by the cover–he figured it was just a show full of spoiled brats who spent too much money. So we watched the first episode, curled up around my laptop, and… he still figured it was the same. Spoiled brats. Expensive clothing. Watched a couple more episodes, and he was still unswayed. And then it happened… he got it.

Okay so Andrew would probably kill me if he knew that I was spilling his deep dark secret to all the Internet but: Andrew loves Gossip Girl. And no, it’s not just a trying-to-please-the-love-of-his-life thing. We were out walking one night, and as we were walking back to his place, I asked him what he wanted to do. “Want to watch a movie?” He didn’t say anything. There was a look on his face, hard to read. “What?” He laughed slightly and then shook his head. “Nothing. I can’t say it.” After much coaxing, and a promise that I would never tell–oops–he finally revealed: “Uh, I was wondering if we could watch what we watched last night?”

It took a minute for me to get it and then the great realization: “Oh, you mean Gossip Girl?” He nodded, embarrassed. There was some dancing, on my part, and some blushing, on his part. See, I know him better than he thinks!

We’ve finished the season–in Dalhousie, actually–and we’re BOTH excited for the new season to start. It’s like Veronica Mars all over again, which was another show I adored, and he didn’t really watch, but once he watched a couple episodes… got it. We watched the episodes together, loving every moment. I’m hoping that we will once again have a show again. We can hide in his room, curled up around his computer, watching the adventures of the upper east side.

It will be our little secret.

Oh: and happy 4 year, 10 month anniversary to my dear, Gossip Girl loving boyfriend. Yes, even after all this time, we still celebrate every month. ♥

Food and I, we have a very love/hate relationship.

Once upon a time, we had the perfect relationship. I loved food, food loved me. There were no problems. But eventually it started–our fights were small at first, nothing serious. There were ups and there were downs, but I never stopped believing that we would make it through these rough patches. Now, I’m not so sure. I think that food and I are going to need some serious counselling if we have any changes of making it.  Our relationship is in rocky water, and even though some days it seems like we have the perfect relationship, it’s all smoke in mirrors. There is a storm brewing, trust me

And so, in order to preserve what is left of this relationship, I’ve decided to become a freshaterian.

You might be wondering what the heck a “freshaterian” is. Well, the truth is, I made it up. But, basically the snazzy name is just my way of trying to make things more exciting, food wise. Spice things up. The truth is, the five days I was away in Dalhousie, I’ve never felt better and food and I were getting along better then ever. We haven’t been that happy in a long time. There were no sleepless nights, no fights with my stomach. No problems. And what was different in Dalhousie then at home–the way I was treating food. There were few nights when I wasn’t eating fresh, whole foods, especially lots of fresh fruits and vegetables. Clementines and I are now in full blown love. I had tons of energy, I felt happier. And so, in order to keep this vacation going, I need to keep my food habits going. No junk. Nothing packages. Just fresh, whole, real foods.

Don’t get me wrong. I mean, there are certain foods I love. But the fact of the matter, at least right now, these foods–ever so called healthy pre-packaged foods–just don’t love me. And if I’m going to commit fully to getting healthy then I’m just going to have to wish farwell to these foods. Maybe it won’t be forever. Maybe some day I’ll understand my body even better, understand how to be able to be healthy, and indulge once in a while. Right now, however, I’m going to have to trade in my favorite treats for healthy treats, Swedish Berries for Strawberries. Sounds easy in theory, but I know that when temptation strikes, I’m going to have to be strong, to say no, and try not to feel sorry for myself.

You know, I think food and I, we’re going to make it.

We might just live happily ever after… in our gluten-free, dairy-free low fat castle in the sky.

You know what the lame thing about going on vacation is–coming home. Don’t get me wrong, I love my home, I love my friends, but I have to say the last five days have been amazing. Just being away, relaxing, and showing Andrew around was awesome.Even though the train was two-and-a-half hours late arriving at the station to pick us up, it was fun taking the train. Andrew had never taken it, and I hadn’t taken it since I was about eight. It was a fun adventure, and it makes me really want to travel with Andrew more often.

And now… now it’s back to the real world. Back to work in the morning for a super long day which should be just so exciting.

It’s not that I don’t like my job. I love it. It’s just the whole being there for ten hours and training someone else thing I don’t love. It is not going to be fabulous, and if I’m still sane by the end of it–well, that will be questionable. And then another eight hours working on Saturday.

Is it crazy that I’m glad that school is almost back in session? Probably, but then again, this is going to be a pretty exciting year. Introduction to Film. The Creative Process. Listening to Classical Music. The History of Rock and Roll. For the first time in a long time there is something so exciting about going back to school. Not just because this is my forth and final year–at least for this degree–but because I’m doing these amazingly creative classes.

I’m starting to feel like myself again, and it’s a wonderful feeling.

In about an hour and a half I’ll be on the road, headed towards my first vacation since… god, 2 years? That sounds about right. And so, for obvious reasons, I’m pretty darn excited. It may be only been five days, but it’s going to be five days free to do everything and everything. And, even, better, I’m going to have wonderful company in the form of my love. And I’m going to be given the opportunity to show him my favorite place in the whole wide world.

This is the place that has inspired the town in many of my stories–again with the mixing the real world with the fictional world–and I can’t wait to show him actual places I’ve mentioned in my stories. It’s a small town, with not many people, but it’s such a wonderful place. As much as I adore the city… there is a magic about Dalhousie. And I’m so excited to be able to share that with Andrew. Okay, so it’s going to be a super long drive and the music my grandparents listen to is… questionable. But it’s not the trip, darling, it’s the destination.

There are so many things I’m excited for: taking pictures everywhere. Our own private beach to lay about on. Swimming in the very cold water off said beach. Swimming at the local indoor pool, which I used to go every time I was there when I was kid, and can’t help but just adore. And there are other things… taking him to Dixie Lee Chicken. Making him having a cone of ice cream at the ice cream shack near by. Playing in the park. I want to share everything with him–I want to show him exactly why this place means so damn much to me. I want to show him the fossils on the beach, take him to the dollar store, everything. I want to do everything. It’s going to be a very busy four days.

And then there is the other part–the getting away from bad influences thing, a chance to just relax and think and try to really figure what I need to do out. Away from the city, away from everything. My mind is going to be a heck of a lot clearer without having to worry about things like work, or school. For a couple days I can just relax and breathe. It’s been a while since I’ve felt like I’ve been able to just breathe. This summer has been more about holding my breath, not thinking, and jumping right in.

I’m bringing my baby (my computer) up, hoping that maybe I can write some entries out while I’m up there, although I’m not sure my grandparents present internet situation. Last time I actually visited (which, if I’m not mistaken, wasn’t even summer. It was the winter before, and it was for a funeral… as you can see I’m a very caring granddaughter) they were still on dial up. Oh… dial up. But I won’t let it stress me, because this trip is not about stress. This trip is about relaxing, about spending quality time with Andrew, about showing him the place where we will (someday) be married.

And taking pictures. Lots and Lots of pictures.

You know, I had pretty much given up hope on this little blog of my mine. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to write in here–I did. It was just that whenever I tried whatever I wrote came out sounding… I don’t know. Just not right. I’m a fiction writer. Everything I write is fictional, characters I create, lives I create. Okay, so most of what I have written is based on actual events, but even still, it’s been edited, sculpted, into something else and someone else. The truth is… you can’t edit real life. Well, I suppose you can, but then it’s no longer real, it becomes something else entirely. By the time you’ve finished, you’re in a completely place than where you started.

It was a friend of mine who has inspired me to try and start writing more. She keeps a fabulous little blog, and after reading it, I was so envious of her, that I was inspired to try and keep something simular. Way back when, she and I actually bonded over our own internet diaries. That diary has been long silenced, but the need to write hasn’t. And as much as writing out my emotions through the lives of my characters has been great, I have this sudden urge to be me. To write about me. No new characters, no editing. Just, I hope, the honest to god truth. Right now, things are about to change. I can feel it in the air, like before a storm. And I’ve never been more scared in my life–not knowing what is about to happen. So there is no time like the present to start anew. And, I hope, that sharing whatever the future may hold in this little, insignificant online journal, can help me figure out exactly what it is I’m searching for.

So here I am, at the beginning. And the beginning of the story has always been the hardest for me to write.