Eight Arms to Hold You

So I've been finding a rather high number of spiders in my apartment this past while. Really, I live in a basement apartment, so what can I expect? I am generally ok with spiders, they don't give me the heebie jeebies, and I don't desire to squash them every time I see them.

I pretend that spiders know what I am saying to them. I tell them we have an agreement. You stay out of my way, and I'll stay out of yours. Don't scuttle across the living room floor when the lights are on, and don't creep up the legs of the bed to where I am sleeping. Up until last week, this understanding, as far as I was concerned, had been met.

Once or twice over the past few months I had spotted a huge mother of a spider zip along the floor when the lights were on. Big and black and hairy (ok, I am am making the hairy part up) and fast like lightening.

Maybe it looked like this. (There are too many spider pictures to choose from, and not enough time.) I'd say it was less brown and more black.

Anyways, point being, the big spider broke the rules, but since it quickly dashed under the bookshelf it was safe.

My crazy thinking makes me have weird notions. Some spiders, well I don't mind them at all. You know those smaller ones, with the yellowish bodies and spindly legs, and they generally stay up along the ceiling corners? They don't seem to want to bring any harm at all, so when I see them, I tell them to scoot off to where I can't see them. I don't mind sharing my living space with them.

But these big guys who are so obvious in their whereabouts...not so much. I had noticed a little yellow spindly spider had taken up residence in the bathroom. She had started a web in a corner beside my standing cupboard. I had a notion to be a homewrecker, but decided to let it be. Really, what was the harm? Two days later I notice that another spider - big ol' spider - had taken over the web. The little one was no where to be seen!!! What? Spider homicide?? I was irked that this big spider had bullied the little spider out of it's home OR that it killed it. Yikes. The world of the arachnids is a brutal one. I reflected in my heart and only found a stone cold answer. Yup. I did away with it. All I could think of was it was big and it was going to get me somehow.

Imagine my chagrin when the very next day I am blow drying my hair and I spotted an even bigger spider!!! This was the mother of all spiders!!!! You know on Harry Potter, the big spider Aragog...yeah, we're talking big here. Ok, obviously not that big. But a big spider on the terms of a house spider in Canada. It's body might have been equivalent to the length of a nickel, but more oblong. Ick. My cold heart told me what to do. All I could think about was this big ol' spider having free reign of my apartment and running all over. I took care of business.

I pulled aside my laundry basket, tissue in hand (that's right, I'm tough, I can handle the killings with a kleenex) and got to task. As I move the basket further to make sure that there wasn't another huge mofo waiting for me I see this wee little one come running out in a jagged little path.

My heart panged for a moment. What if I just killed it's mother!?!?!? This spider who really wasn't going to do me any harm who just lost it's life because I'm a nut has little babies who now have to grow up without a mom.

Uhhh...and then I remembered oh right, we're talking about spiders here. I don't think they have the same bond I have with my mom. And for Pete's sake, if there is one baby there is bound to be a hundred. Crap. That's a lot of spider killing coming my way.

Why can't they just listen and stay out of sight?

Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Gym?

I would like to say that I am growing by leaps and bounds. I would like to say that every day I am moving in a new direction.

I would like to say a lot of things, but I cannot tell a lie.

No. Today I realized something. Faced with panic and over-awareness , I rushed myself to end the frantic pace I was running. Or rather, that I was walking very fast on -- on the treadmill.

Today I went to the gym. The co-ed gym. I have been a regular gym goer for quite some time now, but I strictly have attended the ladies only gym. Me and the ladies, breaking out a sweat, minding our own business, worries cast aside (mostly). I have purposely avoided the co-ed gym for many a month because, well, I am afraid of the co-ed gym.

Yes, that is right. Afraid.

I am quite positive it has something to do with my neurotic fear of the male kind. (Have I not mentioned this before!?!? Where have you been??)

From the moment I got out of my car, my pulse started to race. My new apartment is so utterly close to this new, shiny gym that I thought hey, why not? Now my beloved ladies gym is all the way on the other side of town. And this one, well...it's so close. You see my logic.

Where was I? Or yeah, racing pulse. I opened the door to the mega gym of sweaty men and women -- the endless rows of cardio machines drumming out my heartrate with every footfall of every person. Eek. It was a bit much.

My nerves were trying to take over and make me turn around. But I persevered. (You should be proud.) I changed into my gym clothes, I filled my water bottle and I stepped on the treadmill. I tried to refrain from looking around but everywhere I looked, there they were. Men in stretchy shorts and damp tshirts. Walking around like kings (oh wait, is that any different than usual?) I became aware of my own attire -- an older tshirt, black cotton pants that were mildly too short (stupid dryer). I saw the other ladies looking all confident in their Lulu Lemons. Way out of my budget but I desperately wished they weren't. Hmmm...oh confidence. I know you are in there somewhere.

I tried to occupy my mind. I wonder how much energy could be generated by these people on the treadmills? Enough to power the building? The city block? Or just my cell phone?

Ok. I felt like enough time had ticked by. My typical route would have been to go on the weight machine circuit. Pump some iron and all. The panic in my throat was catching my breath, and I found myself making a beeline for the change room (this is where you start to be disappointed in me.) I quickly changed and scooted out the door into the pouring rain. Sigh. Life was so much better out here!

I don't know. The ladies gym is just so...safe. I'm chicken, what can I say? I'm afraid of the big bad co-ed gym.

Are You There, God? It's Me, Margaret

I do make jest of my relationship with the big man upstairs (as is evident by that statement. Well played, Melissa, well played...). The fact of the matter is, though, that while I believe and have very positive feelings about God, Jesus and the gang, I know very little about how it all came about. A little part of me wishes I did, but another part of me is satisfied to keep going the way I have been.

Just last night, sitting around the table, there was an even balance of regular church-goers, and Sunday couch potatoes. Me being the couch potato, I found that I would explain and defend myself and my lackadaisical efforts to the others. And my friend kept asking why do I do that, in not so many words.

It got me thinking.

Am I regretful of what I don't know? Do I feel that I missed out on something? Why must I justify this?

To be sure, I am always impressed with people who have a strong faith. Strike that. I am always impressed with people who have a strong, loving and positive faith. Perhaps I have a twinge of jealousy, knowing that they have such a strong connection and confidence, and I do not. But I don't do anything about it to change it.

Instead, I give my action figure Jesus a high five before bedtime, and stand him back up, should he be knocked down. I smile at him and say thanks. Sometimes I nod my head at him and say "word to your mom." That is how I roll.

I suppose that when I am with someone who is all confident, I feel I need to voice that I am not a heathen. Just to be sure. Just to convince myself.

Twenty...nine.

You would think by now that I would have realised that no, I can not completely control life. There are too many influences and people around me, that no matter how hard I try, I can not control them.

Not to suggest that this is a post strewn with negative notions, but rather, it's a realistic idea. I firmly believe that I am in control of my own life, that I am the Queen on the chessboard, not just a pawn to be moved around and taken out for the will of someone else.

But still. Twenty-nine is just a couple hours away and where am I? I seem to have been struggling with the 'where am I?' endless question for quite a while now, if you have failed to notice. And let's be obvious, I think we all have noticed.

While I seem to be floundering a bit, I also seem to be feeling that something is making sense. True, I wish that it entirely made sense, especially at moments-from-twenty-nine, I recognize that I am not the only one in my situation.

In my foundering-like ways, I looks for signs to tell me that I am at least heading in the right direction. Two days ago, I experience the best sign of all time.

There I was, zipping along highway nine at eleven o'clock, singing along to Johnny Cash's version of "Personal Jesus." The words "reach out and touch faith" were spilling out of my mouth as my eyes landed upon a shooting star stream it's way across the night sky. A grin grew across my face and my thoughts settled and heart warmed.

It was my sign that something was right. That I just need to be patient and let it all fall into place. I may not be where I thought I would be, but that's ok, it's on the way.

Uhh...PS

I don't know if you noticed, but apparently I am having trouble making up my mind with the layout of this blog. It seems that I am changing it every other day. I think, however, that I have just decided this one is a keeper. I love that it is exactly the same one I had before I started changing it all around with the exception of the colour.

Yes. I do drive myself crazy.

Verbal Spasms

It seems that I suffer from a neurological disorder that only appears when I am approached by suitable bachelors. And by suitable, I really mean when just about any guy approaches me to strike up conversation.

All intelligence and the ability to string together sensible sentences seems lost.

Saturday night I was invited to a bachelorette party. I didn't know the bride, however, my roommate to be, Jen, asked if I wanted to come along. Sure! Why not!?! How could it be anything but fun??

A bus full of ladies pulls up to my house to cart me off downtown. Full of giggles and glee, they gift me with an item they all have--a glow in the dark penis shaped straw. How can you have a bachelorette party without fake penises? You just can't. It's like it's the law of pre-wedding parties or something.

We arrive at the bar, penis straws in hand, and the rounds of drinks begin. We all toss aside the plain little black straws that come with our cocktails and sip away on plastic penises. So lady like.

The time came to dance ~ and we could not dance with out our special straws. So there we are, waving them in the air, having a great time. And this striking man comes over to me, I don't even know what he said, but of course it was about the straw. In what I think is humour, I tap the top of the straw like a mic and ask him to repeat the question. He stares at me, says "I'm not talking into that" and walks away.

Well sir, if you ask me about the penis in my hand, you are going to have to actually deal with the impending answer and the way I present it to you.

We continue dancing and drinking. Hours later, back on the dance floor, Jen excuses herself to the ladies room and hands me her straw for safe keeping. So there I am, keeper of the straws. And the striking man comes back over. I think to myself, "Sweet lord above, I have a chance to redeem my coolness!!"

But no.

He makes a crack about the straws, and asks why I now have more than one. And what do I say?? WHAT DO I SAY???

I say "Oh, it's 'cause my friend is taking a leak."

Really, I might as well have said "I carried a watermelon." Just call me Baby and assume the world is full of Johnny's.

Dear lord, will the verbal spams not end?? When will I say something reasonable to entice fine fellows into further conversations!?!?!?!


*On a side note, I would like to point out this is my 100th post :) If you are reading this, Thanks!!! And I hope I've made you laugh just a little! Hope you stick around for my 200th post!

Growing....Growing....Grown up

The facts of life have been hitting me hard lately. They have slapped me in the face and stated so clearly "You are a grown up" that there is no denying it.

I have been waffling through life for several years now, accepting my responsibilities but not really taking notice of them. Now I am staking them as my own--taking claim on what is mine and what is expected of me.

And it makes my heart race. Both in panic and in excitement.

During the past few months, I feel like I have shed my 'kid status' skin. And that the decisions I am currently in the midst of--such as quitting my job without having another one lined up, and packing up my life and moving to Toronto--that while on one hand seem irresponsible, on the other hand....make me feel like a grown up. I am taking the steps I want to take, I am taking control of the direction of my future. I have been overcome with some inexplicable self confidence that feels great.

One thing that has opened my eyes is the continual application to jobs. I have revamped my resume so many times now, and sent endless cover letters, that with each revision, I have found a little more value in my work experience each time. When I spell it all out in letters to head hunters, I read it again and think wow....I should be able to get a rather good job with all these things I've done!! I should not be thinking in terms of applying for administrative assistant jobs, I should be aiming higher, I deserve better, I can do better.

And feeling like that, makes me feel less like a kid and more like an adult.

But not everything is coming up roses. There are also negative situations that make me realize I'm not a kid anymore. Having friends who are not only getting married, but having friends who are also getting divorced--or at least, separating. That is a decision that one does not come to lightly. This is a grown up situation, and it's sitting right in front of my face. In fact, it's picketing around in front of me, signs so blatant and large--Deal with the facts, Melissa, you aren't a kid anymore and neither are your friends. So we all have to face life together, taking one stride at a time, and each step is farther away from those youthful days when what mattered most was who liked who, and what you and your bestest were going to do that weekend.

What else screams I am growing up? My new concern over my bank balance, and my sudden urge to get a control over my ill spending habits. About a year and a half ago, maybe two, I suddenly lost track of my good budgeting skills, and haven't managed to find my way back. Summer time never helps either, it's just too easy to spend spend spend in the summer. I have pull back on those reigns.

But alas. I will only look forward, and balance out the good and bad as best I can. I will accept this new found adulthood graciously.

Mostly, anyways.

A Date for the Date

While September is still a ways down the road, I am starting to experience a bit of panic. (Not over my impending move, which I am thoroughly delighted about.) But rather, panic of whom I am going to bring as my date to my brother's wedding.

In a combination between my poor skills of staying in touch with friends, my continual moving around, my neurotic theory that men are the plague and thus I must stay away from them or I will die a horrible death ~ a theory that I have worked very hard to lay to rest ~ and finally, my inability to say intelligent things to guys I meet, has resulted in one thing: I no longer have friends of the male variety.

Meaning I don't have anyone to act as a backup date should I fail to get a real date.

And apparently my friends feel that I just might not get one either. In fact, my dear friend Sophie feels so strong about this, she pimped off her friend Justin to me last night. She called me shortly after 9pm (shortly after she and Justin finished chugging a carbomb), and in an excited glee told me that she found my date. Justin came on the phone, and in his dazzling Aussie accent, told me that he was available for weddings and parties, and will keep the whole of September available just for me. He said it would be nice if we could meet before hand to work out the details and you know...get to know each other a bit. But that I should know he's easy going, not easy.... I was tempted to ask him if he charged a fee...

He then proceeded to give me his phone number and email address, as if he was serious. So now I ask myself, IS HE SERIOUS??? Which leads me to the thought of 'Well maybe now I have a backup...' As if I am contemplating this. As if I am contemplating Sophie's second hand date.

Wow. I need some options here folks. While I would be content to show up at the wedding with one of my girl friends, I don't really want put fuel on the fire over suspicions of which way my sexuality swings. I don't really date very much (uhh, see the reasons listed above) and when I do, I don't bring them around my family, because honestly, why would I do that? So I am always bringing a girl friend to things and it makes my family wonder. Even though I tell them, it doesn't seem to matter...grrr...families!!!! And then there is the option of going alone. Also a fine idea until I consider the guest list and cringe at the thought of my brother's weirdo friends hitting on me all night. Sigh.... So who do I have to ask? The boy....I could ask Jon, but that situation ended bizarre and while we claim to be friends, I just don't know if he would come.

I could just ask him to pimp out his friends....

What did you just ask??

Age is a tricky thing.

Here I sit at 27, a world of opportunity still presented before me. I am currently in a transition in concern to employment, and in my living arrangements~preparing myself for a move. All is good, things are going the direction I want them to.

Yet I get stuck on the age factor. A lot. No, not just a lot...ALL THE TIME. I did not ever think that I would grow up to be that person who worries about this. I think things like 'dear lord, I'm 27 and I haven't found a career yet,' but more often than not, I think 'dear lord, I'm 27, still single with no prospects in sight.' I can't believe I am that girl who thinks in the singledom vs coupledom process. Not to say that I don't enjoy being single, because I do, I'm having a fab time with my friends. And they are all (ok, most of them) single to, so it doesn't seem like a big deal.

However, I would like to point out that in the past two weeks, I have been asked a question three times I had not yet encountered in my 27 years. And it's bringing about the 'dear lord, I'm 27 and single' feelings in a not so nice fashion.

"Do you have any children?"

Do I have any children????? WTF!!!!!!! Usually I get asked "Are you old enough to be drinking that beer?" because I surely don't look like I'm 27. (Or behave as such). Do I have any children??? So now my neurosis over being 27 will evolve to 'dear lord, I'm 27, single, no prospects of marriage, and will have a withered up uterus in no time and not be able to have any children at all by the time I do get married....'

People should first ask "Are you married" before they ask if I have children. I know that marriage first is not always the case these days (my brother is a prime example), but still, be polite and ask. When I say no, assume there are no children.

Do I have children....sheesh. I don't even know if I want children. But I don't want a withered up uterus, I want the option to be there. Oh people.....how they distract me and make me think crazy things.

The Curse of Women

Some people might think that "The Curse" that the female population experiences has something to do with a biological clock.

I would like to argue this point, and say NO, the curse is not a monthly situation. The monthly situation is merely a fact of life. Instead, the curse that many of us face is an overwhelming experience of emotions. ALL THE TIME. And these emotions can range from the negative to the positive, in all aspects of life.

Case in point:

Prior Blog about the bitter bus. Did I really need to get so worked up about those things that I was a miserable lout for days? No I did not. I just let my emotions get carried away.

Case in point:

Boys. Girls sometimes do things they think are silly and excessive, and then fear that they have ruined any further chance of a relationship with a particular guy. Such as the drunken email I sent out last weekend. Here I thought that I might have weirded Jon out too much that he was going to never speak to me again. And when I didn't hear from him for a few day, I panicked and thought DAMN!! But really, he was just busy. When we did talk on Wednesday, all was cool, all was fine, all was flirty. (Thank heavens.)

Case in point:

I just said thank heavens.

Now I am full of glee again about Jon. Just cause we talked and flirted. You would think he asked me to move in with him I am so happy.

Case in point:

Serious weirdness going on at work right now. I am jumping to the conclusion that we are all getting laid off. I am analyzing every little thing that the managers are doing as evidence that I am right, and freaking out. (As are some of my co-workers). One of our Accounts Recievable Collectors got let go this morning. Now I am in a tumbling spiral in the thought that we are all next. Not looking at the proper facts of the workload has gone down for our collectors on a regular basis so there is no longer need for two.

I think you see my point, and will clearly agree with me.

A touch less dramatic

Well, I have been 27 for 3 whole days (and then some) and I have not spontaneously combusted, nor been eaten alive by random wildlife. It appears my fears can be put to rest now. Just like every year, it really doesn't feel much different than the last.

And suprising, I think that my 27th birthday celebration was one of the best I've had in a long time. Nice and relaxed, surrounded by friends.

A good start to the year of doom.

Now let me reassess the doom issue and it will all be ok. It will be a year of natural progress...mostly good, just the regular amounts of doom, nothing over the top.

Much better.

Impending Doom

It's coming any day now. Actually, it's coming in 23 days. My 27th birthday. Yikes. It is like this dark cloud that is rolling in, and instead of being full of rain, it's full of TOO MANY BIRTHDAY CANDLES!!!! A blazing glory...oh wait, not glory....a blazing inferno that reminds me I should stop behaving like I'm 20.

Really, who worries about being 27? Turning 30 and freaking out, I can understand. But 27? Just weirdos like me, I guess (and as it turns out....some of my friends! Ah ha! So I am not alone in this panic-stricken moment!!). My brother is turning 29 tomorrow--he says today is his last day of being young! Lol!! So is he freaking out too, or just trying to be funny....? Damn these days that pass too fast.

Back to 27. Focus on me. Screw my brother and his moment of EEK! You know that age you had when you were a kid of when you thought your life would be all in order...well 27 was my age. Actually, I lie. First it was 25. But when I was 21 I upped it to 27 in an attempt to be realistic. And now 27 is staring me down like a giant bull elephant who is contemplating picking me up with his trunk and throwing me into the crocodile infested watering hole. (Do you love the image of that? Just think about the little birds that hang out on the butts of the hippos who are also floating in the water....oh wait, do hippos and crocodiles hang out together? Would the crocs not eat the hippos? Where is Steve Irwin when I need him??? Oh right, in heaven, where I will be when the crocs get me...).

Reality. I need to focus on reality. There are plenty of folks who have turned 27 and did not spontaneously combust or get eaten alive by crocodiles. (In fact, I think it would be safe to say, almost everyone who has turned 27 has not faced these problems). Plenty of folks who are 27 are not married, work in jobs they hate, make enough money to get by and not much else, and drink excessive amounts of beer. So really, I should stop freaking out and realize that life is what I make it, and just because I don't have the things I thought I would have by now....it's not the end of the world.

Nah...I like the drama and I really do like the complain. It keeps things exciting. So....27--impending doom--I'm putting out flyers on this.

M