Siblings

My oldest brother has an interesting theory on how his, the middle brother , and my world views were shaped. You see my family went through a cycle...a cycle that is not uncommon to many families. When my parents were first married they had very little as they were just starting out. My oldest brother remembers this and remembers it well. The middle brother was too young to remember the tough times and remembers when money was plentiful. I remember this time briefly as well. But I also remember the decline of prosperity. I never lacked....but I also never had everything that I ever wanted.

The problem I saw was that the middle brother should also remember the decline. The oldest brother then explained that while this was true, you have to take into consideration that there are key times in a child's life that views are shaped. The middle brother had everything that he could ever want and therefore ended up with this sense of entitlement that is somewhat out of control. Which is very true...the middle brother is very much focused on money and material possessions. There is no give and take with him....it is all take.

The oldest brother also went on to explain why the middle brother seems to be hardest on his family. All his rage is directed to those closest to him and to everyone outside that family unit he is the greatest guy in the world. Why? Because at the time when his relationships were being formed that was when our parents where busiest with their business. So, according to the oldest brother, the middle brother bonded more with his peer group rather than his family.

It is an interesting theory. He explained it well...better than I have. I am often amazed at how different my brothers are. Needless to say they do not really get along. They tolerate each other. I used to be the middle ground. But the older I get the more I see the world through the eyes of the oldest.

j.

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A Message

Merry Christmas!

That's all....

j.

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It's Only Half a Day!


“It’s only half a day. I can handle that.” I thought as I stood staring into my bathroom mirror trying to decide between sumptuous olive and pink venus. In my world of justifications, I had decided going out was a necessity as I only had a half day of work to face the next day. And let’s face it, that half day of “work” would consist mainly of drinking bailey’s and coffee in the staff lounge, attending a reception put on my Human Resources, and putting a vacation notice on my phone.

So sumptuous olive it was… sumptuous, I adore that word. It was a good night. I got to spend some time with a friend that I haven’t seen much lately. I drank. I had a good bitch session. I danced. I drank. I looked at boys. I drank. I looked at boys. I talked about boys. I drank. I contemplated talking to boys. I danced. I went home. Fell into bed thinking “Thank God it is only half a day.”

So when my alarm went off, I groaned and cautiously opened one eye (cause if I opened two my head would have exploded), and hit the snooze button. Repeat 3 times. Halfway through the 4th snooze I decided that I better get up or I would be staying in bed. Afterall, it is only half a day!

It was halfway through the tooth brushing that I realized I was still intoxicated. The full on hangover wouldn’t hit till about 10:00. But why worry? Remember it is only half a day!

So now, halfway through my half a day, I am looking at my fancy gel wrist rest thinking that it would make a very good rest for my forehead. Half a day at work with a hangover feels more like a day and a half. What happened to the days when I used to party all night, get up go to work, and then do it all over again the next night? And let me tell you, last night was tame. I am officially old.

Despite the headache, queasy tummy, and cotton mouth…I have no regrets. I needed that night out. Just like I now need coffee and bailey’s…

Happy Holidays!

j.

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Is that too much to ask?

I recently read Chuck Klosterman's Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs. It is a collection of essays on everything from Saved by the Bell to serial killers. In the first chapter, This is Emo, he says:



But whenever I meet dynamic, non retarded [people]*, I notice that they all seem to share a single unifying characteristic: the inability to experience the kind of mind-blowing, transcendent romantic relationship they perceive to be a normal part of living.


But why Mr. Klosterman? Because we have been molded to believe that love and romance is a Disney movie. Boy meets girl (or vice versa); they fall in love even if they are only in each others presence for 5 minutes; they are kept apart by familial obligations, class, race, oceans, or whatever device they are using in the movies these days; a grand gesture is made or the conflict is miraculously overcome; couple lives happily ever after.

I think that Mr. Klosterman has a very valid point. The media has conditioned us to believe falling in love will be a fairytale. That our prince or princess will ride into life on a white horse, sweep us off our feet, and we will ride off into the sunset. Our expectations are beyond high. We want the fairytale...no, we feel we need the fairytale and nothing else will satisfy us.

Have I fallen victim to this perceived ideal of love? Perhaps. The more I think about it the more I want normal love. The kind of love that my parents have. The kind that keeps you real and together for 35 years. But I worry that I will never find that. I worry that me and my partner "will both measure our relationship against the prospect of fake love."

As much as I agree with Klosterman, I still have to hope that one day someone will sweep me of my feet. I don't expect him to ride in on a white horse and take me away to his castle in a far away land....but I do want him to make me feel like there is no one else in the world that I want to be with. Is that too much to ask?

j.


*Klosterman uses the word Americans.

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Regrouping

I can feel the weight lifting a little. All that was eating me up inside seems to be subsiding. I think there is a direct correlation between the reduction in stress and the pouring of thoughts into my journal.

A few months back, something inside me decided that it was easier to spend my time alone engrossed in my studies, lost in a book, wandering the shops in amongst strangers, or curled up on the couch with a DVD rather than face the world. Oh, I still went out...I still attended the scheduled events in my social circle. I just didn't go out of my way to initiate any of the said events. Normally, I am one of the key planners or instigators.

I was fed up with everything. Sick of hating my job. Sick of being annoyed by my friends quirky habits that were once endearing. Sick of dating. Sick of life. I saw no future possibilities, just more of the same.

Around my birthday I came to the realization that I was a year older and no farther ahead than last year. Nothing had changed. I was in the same job still not knowing if it would become a permanent position, I was still single (which I have since realized is not such a bad thing, if the alternative is being with the wrong person), I was still procrastinating about grad school, and, and, and...I felt no further ahead, in fact I felt like I had regressed.

So I retreated and have regrouped. I am trying to be more positive. As the year comes to a close I realize that I am not much farther ahead in life but I have learned a few valuable lessons. And those are just as important in moving you down the path as the big-stare-you-in-the-face life changing events.

j.

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Numbers

4 = The number of hours I studied for my Japanese final.

90 = My final mark. Shocking. I expected substantially lower.

2 = The number of classes I am taking next semester. Crazy? Certifiably.

0 = The number of letters recieved from Grad School. Sigh

j.

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Censoring

I know we all do it. We all censor to some extent. I have noticed lately that I have been doing a lot of censoring. My conversations , my blog...

There are just some things that are to difficult to say out in the open. Be it on here or to a friend over a beer. I think I am scared of some of what I am keeping behind the wall. Scared that it will hurt more once it is out rather than the way it is slowly eating up my insides.

I am sick of censoring. Sick of pushing it down and trying to ignore it. And the little bits of hope that slide my way only make it worse. I wonder if things would be different if...and what if...oh and who could forget...if only I had said this at that point... Sigh.

I wish I could spill it all. Let the word vomit commence but I just swallow it back down to let it rot on the inside...

j.

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Out of Practice

I was dozing on the couch under my fuzzy blanket when the phone rang. It was about 10:45 on a Friday night. It had to be one of my friends wanting to drag me out to a bar. It was. I can never say no to him. I told him to call our other friend and find out where we were going, all the while hoping that I might wiggle my way out of this. She called me 5 minutes later. Told me to get my ass off the couch and get ready....we were going dancing.

All prettied up I faced the elements (it was cold and blustery here that night) and went to pick her up from her company Christmas party. As it turned out it was just me and her. The friend that initially phoned me had got hung up at another Christmas party. I knew that this night out was going to be low key for me for 2 reasons. 1) I had to work the next day, and 2) I was quickly slotted into the role of babysitter as my friend was well on her way down the path of drunkenness.

It has been awhile since I have been to more than a cozy pub so I spent an inordinate amount of time staring at the drunken debauchery. I watched boys try to pick up girls by rubbing up to them on the dance floor and I watched girls jostle for position on the speakers to shake their asses to entice the boys to rub up against them. It was especially entertaining when boys would join the girls on their pedestal. If he was of acceptable coolness/hotness then the girls would allow the bumping and grinding to occur. If the male was of insufficient caliber then they would have their token gay friends rub up against them to scare them away.

Somewhere around midnight we were perched on stools as my friend was quite inebriated and standing was becoming an issue. I had noticed him earlier. He was the big manly type. And obviously an RCMP recruit*...the place was full of them. I thought I saw him glance my way. But dismissed the thought as quickly as it entered my mind. Besides I was occupied with by keeping an eye on my inebriated friend.

Shortly after I noticed the big manly RCMP recruit dude, or RD for short, someone tapped me on the shoulder and asked what time the bar wrapped things up. I looked at my watch and said in about an hour and a half or so. It was after I muttered this words that I looked up and realized that it was RD asking me this question. He gave a polite smile and said thanks. My drunk best friend then told me that I should ask what troop they are in. I protested as I did not want to appear to be a recruit groupie. To my slight mortification, she called them (RD and his friend) over and began grilling them on there training. Had I been drinking at her pace I could have cared less, funny how booze does that to you.

Somewhere in this I ended up in conversation with RD. It was a pleasant but nondescript conversation. We chatted about the happening spots in the city, the weather (sad I know but it as it was -40 bazillion most people here are preoccupied with it), my job, and all those safe and general topics you stick to when you first meet someone. We got distracted from our chat by friends and trips to the washrooms.

Near the end of the night he stopped and said it was nice to meet me and they were headed out. I smiled and said ya it was nice, see you around. And then I watched him walk to the exit. Yes, I watched him walk away without giving him my number or getting his. Idiot! The thing is at the time I wasn't sure he was into me. Looking back I figure he must have been interested. There were plenty of people around that he could have asked about closing time. Put all the subtle hints together and you have interest. And I let him walk away.

I am so out of practice....

j.

*Regina is the home of the RCMP training academy. The bar that we were at is what I would call one of the regular hangouts for recruits.

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