Happy Bleck Day

Now, let's be clear on something:

I've always disliked Valentine's Day. Always. I've always been against it, whether I'm in a relationship or not. So this bitterness is not due to my recent trauma.

But I hate today. It is crass, and commercial, and sets up all sorts of unrealistic expectations, not to mention it brings out the worst in people. I have seen people who break up with someone based solely on not making a big enough deal of this day. I have seen people treat their significant others like crap most of the rest of the year, and by throwing money at the stereotypical red roses, jewellery and chocolate, feel they get a free pass to do so because they've made up for it. It makes me ill.

Additionally, I hate the whole idea that all women want the same things, that I'd be placated and impressed if my man brought home the generic gift mentioned above. Actually, if he did that, I'd be a little unimpressed, thinking he didn't know me all that well.

So, here's a little primer for any potential future mates of mine when it comes to V-day:

I don't like diamonds.
I hate red roses.
I loathe all the cuddly-wuddly crap like bears, and hearts and the like.
I don’t relish the idea of making this one day into some huge relationship test.
And lastly? I'd be far more impressed if you came home on May 5th with a bottle of wine and some alstromeria.

I can't concentrate

On anything.

Seriously. I can't think about anything for more than a few minutes before my mind wanders to a certain person and when I'll next be able to spend time with him. I start cleaning the house, and soon I'm daydreaming about our next conversation. I try to read a book, and I'm suddenly overcome with images of his face. I write emails to friends, only to lapse into reviewing our last meeting. I shower, and well, you know....

This does not bode well for next semester, does it?

Busy, busy, busy

So much going on in Mabel's life right now.

There is baking to do, decorating to take place, family events to attend, frequent "Why you suck" meetings with the parents, various get togethers with different groups of friends, out of town guests to see, and finally, and most importantly (to me, at least) a certain person to spend as much time with as is humanly possible.

I need a vacation.

Mabel tries to prove to everyone yet again she is insane

In case you weren't already on board the "Mabel is a crazy person and probably should be locked away from the rest of humanity, lest her insanity infect others" train, here is something that might convince you.

So, I have this burgeoning new relationship. We talk all the time, usually around two hours a night, send lots of emails, and copious amounts of text messages. Despite busy, and usually opposite schedules, we see each other every chance we get. Everything seems to be going really well. This weekend, with him being ultra busy due to house guests, we didn't really talk on Friday and we didn't talk at all on Saturday. And instead of being a normal person, I'm freaking out. Before you say anything, yes, I realize that not talking for such a short period of time is normal, and I wouldn't have a problem with it, other than missing talking to him. Except I'm totally overly analytical about this stuff, and I worry that there might be a reason other than being busy. Last time we saw each other, I think I might have done something not good. It wasn't on purpose, and it wasn't mean, but I don't think it was great. I don't want to go into it, but suffice to say, I did something not totally awesome, and now I'm worrying that while he said it was okay (and was completely fantastic about it) at the time, that now that he's had some time to think on it, he's reconsidering everything.

So, I'm a crazy person, right? Why is it that I can't just accept that he likes me and he's busy? Why do I need to think something must be wrong? Well, there's the part where I'm insane and over-think things, but there's also experience. In the past, when I've dated guys and they've stopped talking to me as frequently as they used to, it always meant something was terribly wrong. But because I never thought something was, I'd track them down, thinking nothing was different, only to find out I was getting a dump-o-gram in the mail. And yes, that's a true story. This means that even though I'm sure there's a valid, normal and totally fine reason we haven't talked, my brain starts freaking out when I notice a few minutes have passed without him calling or replying to my last text message. I'm doing my best to keep from obsessing over this, and I keep talking to people to reaffirm that nothing is wrong. And I know I won't say anything to him when we talk next, because I don't need him to know that I'm such a freak.

I'm sure this will all blow over, and maybe I'll learn that we can not talk for a few days and everything can still be as super-fantastic-amazing as it was before. I'll keep you posted. And no, I'm totally not going to obsessively check my phone for texts now. Stop looking at me like that.

Things I've learned recently

1) When deliriously happy, I don't post.

2) I'm deliriously happy right now. Insanely so.

Cautiously optimistic

That's what you should label me.

Recently, someone came into my life in a big way, and with the force of a mack truck. After much discussion, we decided to meet up this past weekend. I was worried it was going to be awkward, or the chemistry we'd had wouldn't hold up in person. I shouldn't have been. I just had one of the best weekends of my life.

Now, there are some potential obstacles, and they are in no way small ones, but there is interest on both sides to keep this going. I have no idea if it will work, or what will happen if my school crush shows interest (he asked me to study with him on the weekend. What does that mean?) but for the first time in a long time, things are looking up for Mabel in the opposite sex department. Maybe.

Pardon the pop culture reference...

But I'm bringing flirting back.

Not in general, of course, as I realize that it never left the world at large. But I'm bringing it back to me.

I used to be a terrible flirt. The term scandalous would be an apt description of the way I flirted when I was younger. Didn't matter if I liked the person, as long as I got attention and no small amount of desire from the target. Now, being older and wiser (they do come hand in hand, right?) I know that I went too far back then. And yes, there are examples that illustrate this, but no, you can't hear them.

In recent years, I'd gone too far the other way and somewhere along the line, I lost my ability to flirt. I think it had a lot to do with confidence. I wasn't the person physically that I used to be when I was flirting (with immense success, I should point out) and I didn't feel like people would respond positively to my attempts. We can all agree that rejection sucks, and so I stopped. But with all these changes I'm going through, I'm trying to like myself more, and to see myself as I used to. Or, more importantly, as I actually am.

Enter the internet.

I've recently found a little group of friends (no, not you Stormy, but hi!) to chat with. Most of the people are guys, and with so few girls, there tends to be lots of random flirty comments batted about on both sides. And probably because it is the internet and I don't know these people, and because they can't see how I look, I found I was able to flirt again. Intensely. A lot. To the point where I blush at what I'm writing due to the innuendo, and am amazed at my ability to get in a good line. And the thing is? They are flirting back. And now I remember why I used to like it so much. It is a great way to show off my wit and verve, and I think that's always been the strongest part of my appeal. Oh, the physical part of me was fine, but I knew I could nail 'em with my personality. I guess I had forgotten how to showcase that part of me, due to an extreme dislike of the way I looked.

And while I know that none of this will come to anything (and I will likely never meet the people I'm spending all this time with) I think it has given me a great gift. I can flirt again! Thanks should go out to the one commenter in particular who has done a great deal to make me blush and show my drollness and spirit. I couldn't have done it without you. And I really appreciate it.

Now, if only I could do it in person, and with someone I'm actually interested in having a relationship with, I'd be all set. But give me time, and I think I'll master this. Next step - trying it out on my crush?

The hell?!?!?!?!?

Last night, we didn't have curling (lousy bonspiel, ruining all my fun) so my curling buddy and I went out for dinner and a chat about the exciting fact that at least one hot bartender is back this year, and about our respective crushes.

We went to local pub, midway between our places, and had a lovely time. Good food (deep fried cheescake is awesome, yo!), good beer, good conversation, and good hockey (cram it with walnuts you stupid Habs!). All in all, a great evening. We got our bill, paid it, and left the pub. As we were crossing the street, someone kept calling out "Ladies!" We ignored them, as they couldn't be talking to us. It turns out they were. Our server was chasing us, saying we hadn't paid the whole bill, and wanted to talk it out in the middle of traffic on a major street. She said we hadn't left enough, and she could show us, so we followed her back in, and she gave us the folder with our bill and money in it. There were two twenties, a ten, a five and some coins. Not enough to cover the bill. However, we had a problem with this.

The problem? We counted the money three times, and there is no chance that we'd both count a five as a twenty THREE times. Different values in Canadian money can clearly be seen, unlike American money, where you have to look close.

The other problem? Neither of us had a five in our wallets at the start of the evening. My friend had three twenties, and I had a twenty (fresh from the bank machine) and a ten. And as we never asked for change, how the hell did a five get in there?

We know we put $70+ in the folder, and left, so the only thing we can think of is that someone (either our server or someone else on staff, or maybe another patron?) switched out a twenty for a five, and hoped we'd be nice (read: gullible) enough to put more cash down. And the fact that she'd be all "But I can show you!"with something she had left sitting out where anyone in the pub could access it doesn't prove anything. So, when faced with a five instead of a twenty in the folder, we did the only thing we could see doing. We gave her another twenty, grumbled and left.

What was supposed to be a relatively inexpensive night turned into a hugely annoying, very expensive night. I'm never going back, and I'm ever so pissed.

To ease the pain, we went back to her place and downed a bottle of wine.

Really though, what else could we have done?

Tips for putting the fun in academia. And by fun, I mean alcohol.

Starbucks Hazelnut hot chocolate topped up liberally with Frangelico is an excellent way to get through class.

It is tasty, and helps dull the pain of scholastic pursuits. Plus, it is odour-free, so no one can tell you are boozing it up. No one, that is, unless you start acting drunk. Like by adding your own "The way I see it" statements to your cup, in which you slag the stupider members of the class, show it to your friend and then the two of you giggle like idiots for five minutes straight. Over and over again.

(title credit to Stormy.)

Mabel is sad

Tragedy.

Today, on the best day of the week, when I have class with my crush, and when I should be happy beyond belief, I am sad.

I got a phone call earlier letting me know that he won't be in class today. How am I supposed to get through class now? My whole week is ruined.

The only possible silver lining is that I'll have to arrange a private tutoring session with him to impart what we learned today. In a candle-lit room, at night? I can dream...

I've reached a conclusion

I was looking over the posts on this blog, and man, recently it seem I am one depressing Mabel.

Where are all the jokes about the crotchular region? The sass? The tales of hilarity? Have I been reduced to lovesick moaning and weight-loss stories? Am I that predictable? Gah.

I'm making a solemn vow to try to be far more entertaining and far less moony.

Maybe I'll even figure out the songs for Chemical Schlong's new album. Stay tuned!

A bizarre development

I've had new jeans sitting in my closet for a while now.

They didn't fit for a bit, then they did, but I had to get them shortened as my legs aren't 3 miles long. Before having professionals do this, I wore them a couple of times, not coincidentally on days that I see my crush, after having tucked the extra material under with some safety pins and thread (I'm like a female MacGyver. Gimme some bubblegum, a match and a piece of twine and I'll hatch you a kickass centrepiece) but I finally took them into the tailor to have them professionally shortened. And after getting them back, I put them on to discover something.

These awesome jeans, which were just right, are now a little big around the waist. Even though I've got them the "right" length, they start to slip down, and the bottoms drag on the ground without the aid of a belt. I thought I'd finally gotten past the need to wear belts with my pants in order to keep 'em up. Belts don't scream sexy to me. And at least one day a week, sexy is very important.

Maybe I can take up a pants collection. Anyone care to contribute?

Exciting news!

For me, anyway.

I was going through my closet, trying things on to see what is too big and I can get rid of, and what items finally fit me again. And there were amazing results all over the place. Tops that I bought because they were ridiculously on sale (even though they didn't fit at the time) now fit me perfectly, and look awesome. Dresses I used to wear but then stopped because they started to look heinous (and then stopped fitting) are now wearable, if not completely awesome.

But the best part? This gorgeous clingy velvet dress I bought ages ago and love to pieces, finally fits again. I put it on, and looked in the mirror, and couldn't look away. I looked fantastic. I haven't liked the image in the mirror for as long as I can remember, so it was quite a shock. I spent the evening walking around the house in it, not wanting to take it off.

Now I just need to find a place to wear it. Any ideas?

And then there were two

I have decided that the main purpose of Facebook is to allow all your exes to track you down again. Oh sure, there will be some contact from ex-classmates, and old friends, but mostly, I think it was created so exes can rekindle some sort of contact.

Of all my major relationships, there are only two exes who have not tracked me down to date. One of whom was fairly intense, and possessed stalker-like qualities, so I'm pretty surprised he hasn't found me. He must not be on Facebook, I guess. And the other? Is an immature jackass who dumped me via letter. He was so self involved that he probably doesn't even remember that we dated. Other than that, all my exes have tracked me down and want to chat. Why? I mean, I know my ex from the 7th grade who is married with three kids is genuinely interested in what I'm doing now, but why is the lazy, ex-bouncer of a local frat-style establishment interested in me? Urgh. The only upside to all this is that since most of them have already made contact, there shouldn't be any more surprises on that front.

But, I do think I'll have to post a new, hotter picture of myself. Yes, I am that shallow.

Oh yeah, it's love!

My classroom crush is apparently far more intense than I thought.

Yesterday I actually volunteered to point out something to the prof that would probably lower the mark I had received, in order to get him the mark he deserved.

Think about that for a minute. I was prepared to offer up my scholastic acheivment for this guy. If that isn't love, I don't know what is.

Now, he refused my offer, and upon further analysis, my mark wouldn't have been lowered even had I taken up the cause, but I was totally willing to get a lower mark for him. I know, I can barely believe it myself.

Forget crush...

...I'm completely head over heels.


Thank you, gods of the classroom.

He is everything I ever wanted in a classroom crush, and just keeps getting better. He makes going to our class worthwhile, which is impressive, considering the prof is a rude man whose writing resembles chicken scratch and who answers every question with "Read the book!" Yeah, he's that good. He is worth every inconvenience thrown my way. Even my douchey advertising group, where no one seems to be able to follow simple instructions, or keep from yelling at me when I suggest we should actually do the assignment as requested. Yup, I'm willing to put up with that much. I know, pathetic...sigh, but you haven't met him...

Sigh.

Kick the daughter returned today for a nice little mini-round. While infrequent, this is not unprecedented. These mini-rounds, when they take place, occur not long after a major blowout. They take place because another major session would be uncalled for, but something must be done to break my spirit and keep me in line. Mini-rounds are always out of the blue, and usually serve to upset me more than the big ones. Today was no exception.

I discovered that my ever supportive parents (or, to be fair, maybe only one of them) think I'm lying about my marks and my name being on the Dean's list. I was actually asked for proof. That's right kids, though I am long past the age when taking your report card home to mom and dad was required, apparently my not doing it indicates that I have been mendacious. I think this is thought to be true only because I know my parents (well, again, at least one of them) disapproves of my choice in program and school, and would take some sort of sick pleasure in me not doing well as it would prove this notion right. It sounds awful, but I've come to know how their minds work.

I'll say it again - anyone want to trade lives with me?

Sigh.

My prayers have been answered

And it's about damn time.

The gods of the classroom have finally smiled upon me and granted me someone to gaze at while in one of my classes. And he's smart, personable, and age-appropriate. Plus, he wants me to do group work with him to boot.

I think I've finally got me a schoolgirl crush!

There's nothing in the world that I love more...

...than a round of "Wow, you are such a sucky, sucky daughter". Man, that never gets old.

Now, to be fair, I did totally deserve part of it, and was both expecting and accepting of that portion of the afternoon's entertainment.

But the majority of the last two hours were highly uncalled for.

The part where my weight issues were mentioned, even though it had nothing to do with the reason I was being called to the carpet? Awesome. And the part where my current success only served to prove just how terrible I had been for lo those many years? Fantastic. Oh, and the part where some event - which, IF true, would be both extremely odd behaviour on my part, and extremely minor in importance - gets highlighted as a textbook case of all that is wrong with me? Delightful. But the best part, bar none, was where the fact that I had no recollection of such an event (nor was I able to picture myself acting in such a manner) only further illustrated how wretched I am, as I didn't even care about how awful I had been. The fact that I would swear on all my shoes and makeup collection that it never happened is not even brought into the discussion. It happened. And to think of questioning it is tantamount to doing it again.

Sadly, this type of thing happens with alarming regularity. Some story is brought up where I behaved in a manner that is completely out of character and ridiculous, and while I have no memory of this ever taking place, I am told it is a perfect illustration of whatever flaw of mine we are picking on today, and it does not surprise them at all that I would block said behaviour from my memory. Now, I'm not perfect by any stretch of the imagination. I've done many things I regret in my life. But I'm pretty damn sure that I have not done these things that even when reminded, I have absolutely no memory of, though I am able to recall all sorts of details of stuff that occurred on the same day as the alleged action.

And now, as I always do after a brisk "Kick the stupid, smartass daughter" session, I'm going to get in the bath with a bottle of gin.

Why my clothes are making me sad

As I mentioned before I went to drink the last of my stash of gin (horrors! To the LCBO, post-haste!) my clothes are making me terribly unhappy. Let me explain - no, wait, there is no time. Let me sum up.

I have been doing my damndest to fight my way out of a huge (no pun intended) battle with food issues and a weight problem. It has been the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, but I’m finally getting a handle on it.

I’ve had issues with food since I was 11, when I hit puberty, and my parents translated my lack of complete scrawniness with me being fat. Eating in front of them, even eating healthy food, became all but impossible, and being a typical teen (with an additional nod to my stubborn self, as that seems to be holding up long past twenty) I crammed food in my mouth in private. I’d down a litre of ice cream in 30 minutes, hiding in my room. I’d stash chocolate behind my stereo for stuffing down later.

I would like to note that despite this atrocious behaviour, I was still not fat, but my parents wouldn’t relent. I was forced into one weight loss program after another, made to undertake one exercise regime after another, and generally made to feel awful about myself. A couple of times, when a program started to look at the emotional reasons for me eating, my parents pulled the funding, as they didn’t like the fact that I wasn’t just being told not to eat. And no, I’m not imagining that, they actually told me why they didn’t like the program. I started to believe I wasn’t worth much.

Things came to a head when I left home once I had a steady job (my boyfriend at the time didn’t support me leaving, despite knowing what it was doing to me to stay there, which tells you something about how much I hated myself, that I would date someone who didn’t support me trying to get myself into a better emotional state.) and no longer had to hide my eating. I had no control, or idea how to handle this newfound freedom, and my issues with food took over. I gained a crapload of weight, and finally was fat. My body now looked the way my parents had always implied, and I no longer resembled the person I had just a few years prior. I spiralled into a really awful place physically and emotionally. I hit rock bottom, and after a few years of the bottom, and not wanting to see any photos of myself, I finally decided to face up to what had been going on.

But unlike earlier attempts, this time I did it on my own, for myself, and I actually looked into the reasons for my issues with food. There are still miles to go before I sleep on all of that, but now that I am aware of the reasons, I’ve been better able to deal with it. I started to do things for myself instead of shoving food into my gaping maw. When I was employed, if I was feeling crappy, first I started buying higher quality ice cream or chocolate, and taking my time eating it instead of inhaling it. Then I phased food out, and I’d buy a new eyeshadow, or mystery novel, or bath stuff in lieu of the food crutch. I found an exercise regime I liked, and stuck with it, by doing it on my own time, and not beating myself up if I missed a day. I taught myself to cook, so that gobs of pasta and cheese weren’t my main meals. I decided to try a new sport, curling, which it turns out I love and am actually good at. I even started to feel better about myself, and eating “good” food in front of my parents was possible again. And yes, I lost (again, pardon the pun) a tonne of weight and my body started changing, but for the better this time.

Some time last year, I was actually able to eat “not good” foods, such as bread, potatoes and desserts other than plain fruit in front of them. This was a monumental achievement, as back when I was in high school, and was asked by my aunt if I wanted mashed potato with my thanksgiving dinner, my parents actually answered for me, in front of my entire extended family, that no I didn’t.

All this is good, right? Well, yes…but.

Despite all the good progress, I find that when I look in the mirror now, all I see is all work I have left to do, and then I get depressed that with all the work I’ve done, I’m still so freaking far from my goal. And I can’t go out and buy a little something to make me feel a bit better. Hell, even a nice treat of a non-fat latte is beyond my means.

Plus, with all the changes, my body no longer fits the majority of the clothes I own, unless they are from pre-blowup days, in which case they might be no longer appropriate for my life, or might be a tad worn out looking. So, now that I’m trying to get employment and generally feel good about myself and the new path my life has taken, getting dressed is depressing. I can’t afford an entire new wardrobe, so am forced to live with minor adjustments, such as a very occasional new piece, or taking pieces that are now too big, but otherwise are still wearable to the tailor for altering. Again, as these things cost money, I tend to do them very rarely, and I’ve found that when the altered pieces become too large again (which they have) instead of feeling good about the progress, I feel crappy that once again my clothes make me look gross, and it feels like I’ve not done anything.

The long and short of it is that I’m starting to slip, and I hate that. I actually found a way to fit ice cream into my budget earlier this week, and if I’m honest with myself, I ate it to feel better. Gah. If only I could afford therapy, I could talk to someone about this, but sadly, we don’t seem to have this kind of option at my school. And no, I can’t talk to my parents about financial support for that. Now, you might be surprised that I still have a relationship with my parents, based on how they handled the situation, but I’ve been able to forgive them, as I know they only did what they did out of love. Misguided, harmful love, but love nonetheless. But I'm not in a place where I can openly discuss this with them. I hope to be at some point, but not yet.

Wow. That wasn't all that short, and it was kinda depressing. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go look at my closet and weep.