The Numbers Game

Rewind back, for those of you who are not regular readers of my blog.
At the beginning of the year, I came up with a resolution to "expand my social circle". In order to do so, I would have to go out, be social, meet new people, and acquire 2 phone numbers every week.

The purpose: if you meet x amount of people, about 20% of them or so, will turn out to be decent human beings that I might be able to hang out with.

The jist of the game so far: I started seeing someone and therefore have been slacking.

I've been surviving based on some drunken weekends about a month ago when I went above my "quota" and have been using the numbers on reserve.

Now: last week I HAD to get my 2 numbers, because the "backups" have run out. I failed at this.

The punishment: Outstanding #'s x 2, + current week's numbers
(2 that I didn't get, x 2 = 4, + the 2 for this week..... 6 numbers)

That's what I'm trying to do this week. I was supposed to go out with my friend HomesliceW/Butta' today. I "skirted up" and was ready to have a decent time... even in my tired haze. But I wasn't feeling the "hardcore" show he was taking me to, and ended up at comedy.

Best pickup line ever: "Are you a comedian?" -no. "Are you dating a comedian?" -no. "you're here with someone though, right?" -dude, I'm just hanging out. "And you're so pretty doing it!" -haha, thanks. (wait for it) ... (ready?)
"Listen, I'd continue talking to you, but you're either gonna slap me, shoot me down, or end up giving me a fake number. I'm just happy to be sitting beside you"
-blank stare- ... It's been like an hour and a half and I still have no response to this.

But hey, 1/6 numbers for the week, good huh?

sad.

I don't remember getting sad many times in my life. I mean, I'm a spoiled brat, so tears would flow anytime I didn't get my way.... and there's those few times when "loved ones" would shed tears, so I would do so also, out of obligation... but not much more beyond that.

But at some point in time during my teenage life, I remember getting upset enough that I hid myself in the closet. I was crying, but was embarassed about it (I'm tuff) and therefore I felt the need to hide in case anybody came into my room.

That is how I feel today.

When 5 Year Olds Can't Fix it All.

I remember back to the time when I was learning to ride my 2 wheel-bike. I'd love to say that I was the type of kid that just took it upon myself to learn, and with my attitude, I'm quite shocked that I didn't. But I was daddy's little girl, and if it was going to take hours upon hours of daddy running around the school parking lot, holding the back seat of that bike, that's how it was to go down. And when I got hurt, it would break his heart to see me upset.

I'd fall off my bike and give an over-exaggerated reaction to my scraped knee. (Much like screaming bloody murder when my father just threw me into pool to "teach me how to swim". Way to risk me drowning dad). Being too young to curse at the world for doing me such an injustice, I would cause a scene by crying and yelling. In turn: daddy's heart breaks, and I get a multitude of bandaids, and kisses to fix the pain. I get some ice cream on a cone, and I get to stay up late watching tv... until it's all better. (I got whatever I wanted)

When I last saw my "5 year old boyfriend", it had been after my first time ever going to a ski hill to learn how to snowboard. I had fallen so many times that my whole body felt like it was burning and all I wanted to do was lay as still as possible in an alcoholic state of contentment. He, on the other hand, wanted to play, jumping on me and yelling in my ears. I was in too much pain to be nice to him, but I told him that I was dying.
"You're dying?" he said... "for real?"
"no, not for real. I just really really hurt myself" I told him.
He looked at me with all the concern a 5 year-old can look at you with, not knowing how to fix it. Then he got an idea. "I could fix it" he yelled as he ran out of the room.
I smirked to myself, loving his enthusiasm for wanting to make things better, and relishing the 3 minutes of silence he gave me by leaving the room... but then he came back... with a popsicle!
"My mom said I could give you this... where does it hurt? I'll kiss it better!". He said, and he did.
Then he invited me to his racecar bed to watch Pirates of the Caribbean. It was a good night.

To this day I find myself panicked when someone around me is upset. I don't know how to deal with pain or genuine anger. And god-forbid someone be disappointed... how the hell do you fix that? Fuk'd if I know! But this is what I have learned, though I don't want to accept it.
-When something hurts, a bandaid and a kiss will make it all better. But when someone is hurt, fake bandaids and 100 kisses will not.
-When you're upset that someone's upset and you want to make yourself feel better, and ice cream is not around... chewing ice will not help you either. You need the real deal.
-Pouting is also a gimmick, and not everyone reacts to tears.

See normally when someone is upset, I say "Fuk em". It's not an emotion that I like to instill upon myself, so I'll avoid it at all costs. But in recent cases, I find myself joining them in this god-awful state. And then, with two people upset instead of one, how do you fix that?

defective.

What first brought me to Alberta, was the promise of a management position, at a hotel on a hill. I was to work at a giftshop, (in my head it was a marketing-related position), in which I would get to delegate work to others (score!). My attitude shone through quickly, and I was soon known as the "mean" manager, and totally unjustifiably so.

I remember one day, as I was sitting in the assistant managers office, gossiping instead of working, I got a sharp pain in my chest. It was a stabbing, squeezing kind of pain. (Probably something to do with the multitudes of alcohol I had consumed on a regular basis during the summer). You'd think that it was something to do with my heart, but it was located on the right side of my body, rather than the left. I walked up to our front desk manager, detouring away from "work" some more, and asked with legit concern, while holding my chest "Hey Vans, if my heart's on the left side of my body, do you think my Evil side is on my right? It really hurts!" She gave me the coldest stare I've ever witnessed on her face, and flat out replied "I thought your heart was your evil side"... for a second, making me even more concerned, before we both burst out laughing.

I'm reminded of this story now, because the other day, when feeling like a mean person, I started looking for my heartbeat. I've never been able to find my own pulse, let alone anyone else's, but I thought a heartbeat would be different. But even jumping jacks in the living room to wake it up, don't seem to work, and I find myself laying in bed at night, very still, trying to hear or feel it, with no result.

In the movies they always say that when you fall in love, you're supposed to "give your heart to someone". I've never been in love, but maybe it's because it's all related somehow. Why would I need to give my heart to anyone, if there's no proof that it even exists, or if it does, that it's not defective? I mean, I believe the organ does exist within my body... that's why my left boob is slightly more elevated than my right, but I don't think it does anything: like beat.

Fantasy World.

So, I was walking through Central Park just the other day... talking with a friend about relationships and such... then he asked "how long have you known him?" and I replied "It's been like, a day". Thinking I was kidding he gave me a distraught look asking "you're kidding right?" to which my response, with a glazed look in my eyes as I stared up into the sky, was "no... and tomorrow, it'll be two days!"
That didn't really happen to me. It happened in the fairytale Enchanted... but what's wrong with believing that? What's wrong with having only positive feelings on the subject? Spare me the whole "it's not realistic" bullshit, cuz I don't care. The movie being so far fetched, I still adore it, because it allows you to be happy over the little things in life.

What I want to know, is why people are so obsessed with reality? Why it's so important to consume yourself with all this information about how many murders or suicides happen. How many people unjust-fully die. Why fill your head with such worry? (See "Why Worry" song by the All American Rejects). Doesn't anyone believe in fate anymore? Like, if I was gonna die tomorrow, it would happen. Whether it be being hit by a bus or falling off a mountain, or being shot by some asshole... almost like Final Destination styles?

And why is that I seem to know the people that take reality so seriously? Where are those daredevils that rock climb and whitewater raft and not really think about not surviving? I would never climb a mountain if the thought running through my head was "you're gonna fall". No one would continue going higher. I wouldn't wanna skydive from a plane (totally doing it this year roomie) if I was thinking "my parachute is probably not gonna open". And I would not be trying to climb to cloud 9, if I knew that cloud 1 was a bit worse, but a lot safer, because the fall wasn't so great. Yes all those examples had to do with heights and I don't know why it turned out that way. I just think people should be happier in the moment they're in, that's all.
Oh, and if you're not... alcohol helps.
***please drink responsibly and don't end up like me last Friday night***

...something coming soon...

Maybe my promises mean more than the ones that are posted on the walls of our house. Maybe.

the 9am job...

far from a 'real' job, and yet, just as inconvenient with a 9am start ect ect. How long do you think that'll last? and who's gonna post blogs in before noon for the lunchtime amusement of others?

my phone's crapping out, maybe it is iphone time... give that to me alongside a vehicle and see what happens!

Lies.

While driving by the not-yet-open liquor store on 14th/20th, I was thinking out load about getting a job there... You know, close to home, something I'm interested in... I was told that if I worked there, I could steal liquor! ...and I laughed. One of my "issues" is that I can't lie. I'm horrible at it, and therefore don't do it. Can you imagine me working at a liquor store, loving Jack as much as I do?
The manager: "Jack's your bf, right?"
me: "hell yeah
Manager: "all of our Jack is missing"
me: *shrugs*
It would never work. Since I can't lie, I could never steal, so I wouldn't.. unless Iwas bored of the job and didn't mind gettting caught.

But it's been said that when people lie often, they get so wrapped up in their lies that they can't even keep track of them anymore, and end up thinking most of the stuff they say is true. I lie to no one. I try to be as blunt and straightforward as possible - even if it hurts your feelings. And liars piss me off. Whether it's being done deliberately or not, I will not stand for it.

I live in my own delusional world thinking that people are good and that nothing bad will ever happen to me. That I could travel the world and hitchhike with randoms, to sleep in people's houses whom I've just met, and give everyone a chance. One day that might come back to bite me in the ass, but I'M AWARE of that, and therefore aren't lying to myself... just avoiding to acknowledge the worst.

But the delusions that others undertake, the ones they perceive as happiness within their own lives, well those lies have to stay within their heads! As Jillian from the Biggest Loser stated once "I know you're wrong, and you're lying" and because of that, we just will not get along. Especially in a stupid lie, I just want to back-hand-front-hand-back-hand slap you! ...Or just ignore you all together. Those are my thoughts on liars, I can't put up with it, because it WILL upset me. And I'm a very happy person!