Men Fingers

I was looking through my old online diary and I found some pretty cool things.

First of all, this is a letter I wrote eons ago about dating:

Dear Life,

I haven’t spoken with you in a while. I suppose you’ve been wondering where I’ve been. I am now in [the states], staying with my Uncle and [Aunt] and their daughter […], whom I suppose you also haven’t seen in a while. It is warm down here. And there are palm trees. Which is nice. […]

Anyway I’m sending you this little note because I was wondering if you had given any consideration to that whole “love” thing. I was just wondering because I’m sort of still single. Its been a while. A long time, actually. Actually, my whole life. Pretty much. Actually, not pretty much, just entirely. It was my whole life. And I’ve kissed one guy. Which was boring and I was drunk. I think I can count on one hand the amount of guys that might have ever liked me at one point or another, and I think I can use the other to count up the guys I have liked. On my imaginary hand, I can count up the number of guys I have been associated with. So… yeah. I was just wondering if you had any plans whatsoever in store for me. It doesn’t have to be anything fantastic… just a nice guy, maybe with glasses and a bit of a tan, not too stocky not too skinny, maybe a little piercing somewhere, like on his eyebrow or around his mouth… we could meet in a bookstore, and he could be buying Tolstoy, and I could be buying Karamazov, and we could bond over Russian literature, which would be ironic because I don’t like Russian literature at all, but it would be something we could laugh over in the months to come, when we are still together and laughing about it while I cook him a stir-fry in his apartment which has a beautiful queen bed and a great view of the city. He doesn’t even have to know what a bassoon is, or even like classical music, but because he’s a nice guy he would come to my concerts anyway and tell me my solo was wonderful, not mentioning that it made his ears ache. He would probably skate, and try to make me skate, but I would refuse to so we would end up going to the rink anyway and he would pretty much carry me around like a crutch because I’m kind of a horrible skater, and to make it up to him when we got back I would make hot chocolate and smores and we would cuddle up on the couch and watch TV or a movie. When I would introduce him to my mother of course she would have misgivings, because he has a pierced eyebrow and is some crazy arts student or something, and because he is of course 24 and I am just 18 but once he started talking to her he would charm her, not because he is the kind of person that would go out of his way to do that to a girl’s mother but because he just is the kind of person that makes your mother happy because he feels just right, and holds open doors and picks up cheques and will interlink elbows with you and hold your bags and call you taxis. We would never get married. We would travel to all kinds of strange places, and we would get into all kinds of trouble, especially when I introduced him as my brother and we would start fooling around in front of hotel guests who would feel quite disturbed by us. We would drink all kinds of sugary tropical drinks on the beaches of exotic islands and make love in the sand, under the stars and listening to the sounds of the waves lapping up around us, the night as pure as the stars that glisten and the wonderful glow of dormant life filling the void of the crystal darkness with its indescribable beauty. We would go out to a cabin in the woods, and when it snowed we would go outside and make snowmen, with snow penises made out of carrots and snow breasts out of pine cones, and act like children and kiss sloppily, as if we were in the sixth grade and our friends had dared us to kiss each other behind the wall and we really had no idea what we were doing. I suppose at one point when we had been together for so long that my mother had abandoned all hope of us getting married, we might decide to have a child, so we would have two, and we would name one some great welsh name, like Gavin or David, and we would have a daughter and he could name her if he wanted, but I would push some family name for a while and that would at least make me feel like I was doing my duty. We might adopt, if it suited his fancy, and it would, and we would get an older child, who was well-mannered, and finish putting her through school and get her through college, and we would raise the others well and end up going into our own old age rather happily, still unmarried and traveling and getting into trouble but devoted, and we would maybe break up once, just to scare the kids, but we wouldn’t be able to pretend for very long, maybe a few days, before we just couldn’t stand it any longer. He would retire and collect old cars, and I would go to the theater and we would grow lots of onions outside our front door, and in the back I would grow all sorts of vegetables and fruits and I would make jams and preserves and I would go to the market and sell them, and they probably wouldn’t sell terribly well because I’m not a very good cook but I would go anyway just to see the people that came. I would write a book and get published, and we would get visits from our children with children of their own, which I wouldn’t really like but I would pretend to, and the love of my life would bounce them on his knee and tell them stories and sing and carry on like a lunatic, and I would love him so much in that instant that I couldn’t breathe. He would die before me, and it would break my heart, and I would stay in our house, for years and years, until I died myself, and we would be buried in the shade of some great tree not an arms reach from one another, with the words j’ai aime, one each, on each of our tombstones, and if it is a sin to love out of wedlock, God would forgive us for it, because we would never have strayed, and our hearts would have been married, bound in love, and not in ceremony and law.

Anyway, if he could be like that, that would be nice. More or less, really. Those are approximations.

So, yeah, if you have any ideas, please get back to me, I’ll be receptive.

Love always,

M

Cool, eh.

Secondly, voila my list of male requirements: I found this later on in my diary. It was pretty much a response to an idea this woman wrote about in a magazine I’d read… she’d made this extensive list about her ideal male counterpart, and years later she was having a spat with her new bf, and showed him the list. He was shocked because it was exactly true- it was him on her list. Almost like she’d pre-ordered him. lol

1) Smart
2) Not cynical
3) Simple in character
4) Good sense of humor
5) Good listener
6) Healthy…
7) … but not a health freak.
8) Loves traveling
9) Loves discovering (e.g. new places, new foods, new people)
10) Loves music
11) Not judgmental
12) Supportive
13) Has attractive facial features
14) Can drive
15) Not overzealous
16) Knows when to stop
17) Has a strong imagination
18) Can do basic things around the house, like fix leaks, paint, assemble… cabinets?
19) Can cook
20) Loves to swim
21) Can speak several languages
22) Wants to have children
23) Wants to raise our children in a multilingual setting
24) Has a sense of romance
25) Is intrigued by nature
26) Enjoys hiking, the outdoors
27) Thinks about others
28) Despises easy-listening music
29) Is willing to do things he doesn’t like because he understands that it’ll benefit him in the long run
30) Thinks owls are cool, would like to have a pet owl
31) ADORES literature
32) Is confused by Dickens
33) Has a thing for depressing Russian literature
34) Understands the value of money
35) Does not understand the hype of the United States/ California
36) When someone writes an article that piques his interest, he will write in to the newspaper on how he feels about it
37) DOES worry about personal grooming, but does not take it too far
38) Doesn’t have an obsession with cars
39) Doesn’t have a family history of senility
40) Likes biking
41) Collects random hobbies frequently, like collecting old stereos, stamps, chairs
42) Is not a heavy drinker
43) Does not do drugs, or approve of doing them (although is not judgmental towards those who have done it before and have stopped)
44) Understands that possessions are not worth possessing unless they have personal value
45) Likes the smell of onion fields
46) Adores animals
47) Had a pet dog as a kid that died when he was still young, always wanted a dog but hadn’t gotten one until we were together
48) Wants to marry me and has never regretted it
49) Supports Gay marriage
50) Supports vegan/vegetarian lifestyles

Some things, obviously, are more important than others, haha.

2 years ago  /  0 notes

Goodbye SZU

I no longer have a car.

I was blessed by getting, for absolutely no reason except the kindness of the giver, a car, just under a year ago. I started learning how to drive a little while beforehand, but circumstances did not permit me to get my full license until this summer. My brother had just gotten his license a week or two before I, and was driving the car. Once I had my full license, we began sharing it.

Two days ago, I had the car. I took it to the car wash, I cleaned it top to bottom, inside and out. I put in the new mats we had just bought, shined up our newly repaired windshield. I enjoyed the freedom of driving it anywhere I wanted, driving it well. I loved how easy it became to what I wanted, when I wanted- without transit, without weather, just me and my wheels.

Yesterday, I got a phone call while at work. My brother was on the line. He told me that the car was wrecked. No one was hurt but the car was ruined beyond repair. It was totalled. He had been driving, and hadn’t paid attention to the road. He hadn’t seen a stop sign, and driven through. He had collided with another vehicle, destroying it, and causing it to hit another vehicle going  the other way. That car has some pretty bad damage to it.

Insurance will cover their damages. But it will not cover ours. Our car is ruined. And without the means to pay for repairs, or a new car, it means that now, I no longer have a car. And that experience I only just began to enjoy is now no longer mine to have.

It wasn’t until that very day that I actually got my official license card. How ironic.

2 years ago  /  0 notes

Compulsive toe-rats

So I’ve been reading this book that I feel is actually geared towards me and what I’m actually looking for. No, something I’ve also been searching for, in a way that is intense and crazy. Its a book that deals with compulsive eating and that’s what the problems always been- that its never been that I’m overweight, its that I’m unhappy with it. That I’ve been searching for a satisfaction through percieved need for perfection, and its a satisfaction that can never be. (wow, I’m really veiny right now) If you’re reading this, I’m taking it that what I have to say must, to some degree, mean something to you, in whatever way. Think about this- the author quoted another book that said something about society to the tune of “we are in a society that constantly wants, and wants, and wants. and yet we are never taught to appreciate what we have” sa-tis-fac-tion. We are NEVER taught about satisfaction. It’s never been something that I’ve ever really thought about because its never even occured to me that satisfaction is anything that can ever really be gained. We’re taught to want new cars, relationships, bodies, blenders, hair colors, burgers… but which of these ever promises satisfaction? There are always new cars to buy… and why would they try to convince us that we can be happy with our good ol’ Honda Civics when we can spend our money and trade in for a better car the next year? And the one following?

And then, when we are miserable, a King amongst empty treasures, unloving gold, silent silver, cold crystals, we don’t understand. We still want, but we never have what we’re looking for. Because we don’t realise that what we wanted was to be happy- by having a beautiful car, or by making others approve of us for having a great car. We wanted to satisfy ourselves by these means- and we lose sight of what the thrill initially was.

But then, how can we be satisfied? How can we re-teach ourselves to be satisfied properly? I don’t know. But I’m trying. And knowing why I’m not happy has to be a heck of a lot better than being miserable and not knowing why.

It’s also put a huge perspective on dieting. On some nights its like I’m possessed by some demon, some terrible, maniacal force that fills me with a savage desire to destroy myself…. and I’ll eat anything, everything…. chocolate, cookies, ice cream, peanut butter, anything, everything, I’ll devour it, nations, people, the world, I want to have it, I want to have everything. And I’m so furious with myself and so overcome with hatred for myself for doing it and being it and everything possible, that I won’t stop, can’t stop… and then I’ll puke it up because its my band-aid for it, that’s all I can do, is try to fix it the best I can, by purging it- literally ripping myself apart to tear out what “evils” are within. This is a terrible, emotional process in which I lose all control, everything, anything. I’d put it on par with cutting. I never feel more frantic and savage and self-destructive than when I’m mid-binge.

After bingeing, I will try to make up for it. By purging, by dieting, by working out… like trying to use an eraser to fix an error. But its an error that is scored deeply into my heart, one that I can’t erase, can’t hide. It’s become a part of me, a scar that is a deep memory I can never lose, because its not just a physical place I went, a conversation, a deed- its a part of me, that is unleashed, and terrifying.

Dieting is the wrong way to handle this, and I understand exactly what happens when I binge and I try to “fix” it. I tell myself “this is wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong”… because it will make me fat. So why am I doing it? “Because I’m wrong, wrong, wrong” so I force further restrictions upon myself, punish myself for being wrong. Which leaves more room to commit misdeeds, so I punish myself more for it. I just tighten the noose around an already fragile situation, in which I embue myself with even more room for terrible deviations. Dieting is that noose, or that tightening of it. When I diet, I think that I- a human being, a creature, a soul, a brain, an emotional person, a woman, everything- I can be reduced to calories in, calories out. How is that right? How is it that, when I commit such a raw and hidden act of personal will- one so powerful that it is completely incapacitating- I reduce it to such a mechanical equation? It must be understood that it is the expression of a need for indulgence. I am so starved for something- I don’t know what- that I need to have it, and that becomes food. Maybe I am starved for tasty foods. Or maybe I’m lonely or frustrated and there’s nobody there to be with, or no way to express that frustration. Bingeing is the act of a person who has nothing else they have left to do except just that- binge. Hating myself isn’t going to fix the fact that I’m devastated by whatever.

Sometimes, when I’m really nervous, I get sick. Or when I’m upset about something that’s coming up, I get cranky and act all sorts of bizarre. When this happens I have to focus hard and think about what it could be that’s upsetting me. And, when it occurs to me, it makes sense. It’s a matter of getting in touch with myself.

I have realised that I don’t want to be thin. I’ve never wanted to be thin. In fact, if people liked me the way I was, I’d be happy with it. The only reason I wanted to lose weight was so that people would like me more. For a few reasons.

1) So that people would like me better. People are more open towards attractive people. People give them more opportunities, jobs. People think they’re funnier, more skilled, everything. But I don’t want the perks alone- that’s just the scientific side of the equation. I just want to please. That’s what I come down to- a desire to please others.

2) So that I could have the chance to do all the things I feel uncomfortable doing. Tanning in a bikini. Dancing at clubs. Buying pink lingerie.

But mostly, it was all about that one golden day in which I felt perfectly happy about everything I ate. And you know? That was yesterday.

I can tell you everything I ate yesterday. But I won’t. Its not the point. I ate everything I ate and I was happy when I went to bed. I looked up at the ceiling, and thought with amazement that I was not thinking of “making up for” what I ate. I wasn’t disappointed with what I ate at work or anything. I was happy. I was bubbles and champagne and pink fluffy slippers and sunlight on a field of wheat. I was happy. And I mean really, truly, absolutely, happy.

I haven’t actually been happy in years. Every “happiness” was tainted with disappointment, with shadows of doubt lingering always. When I was a Christian I was focusing on God and Jesus and on being happy, but all the while praying for something that I was never given. I’m still pretty mad about that. And I don’t think that if there was a God that loved me in this world, he would have let me suffer this long. No, that’s not right. If there is a God, he is not the Christian God, or he is not what they say he is for the reasons they say he is. If there is a God, he loves me for me. For everything I do and say and try. But I cannot believe everything people imagine about God and the world. It makes me mad. I don’t understand. I was so thirsty… so wanting…

Christians advertise love and acceptance and community, and God and forgiveness and freedom and healing. They can offer none of these things. At least they offered none to me. I went to church and was barely remembered. Of all my friends who knew I had an eating disorder, no one checked up on me, asked about me, offered a hand. God never stepped in, as far as I’m aware, to miraculously cure me of my obsessions- imagine me, tear-streaked, kneeling on the floor, begging, imploring, with pants and laboring groans and a breaking heart, for relief, any sort of relief, and getting none. One time is too many. Now imagine, three times a day for over three months. I got none of the advertised benefits. I slipped away like a shadow. No one even checked.

I’d rather be a heathen who cares for others completely- as advertised above- then a Christian, abandoning himself to an imaginary world of psychadelic love and miracles, ignoring the darker parts and putting on the blinders. Let whomever say what they will. I am not interested in debating this. This is my personal experience. This is what I saw. Take it or leave it.

Anyways, I’m going to try to keep up with some more blogging and see how this goes. Here’s to getting satisfaction! :)

-Maggie

2 years ago  /  0 notes

Dark-roast Nabokov-fee

My last entry was pretty hyper and ridiculous, so I thought I’d tone it down a bit.

Cobs has pretty much just been labeled as “no-go” in my books, I can’t believe I waited a whole week to hear a pretty obvious outcome. I mean, I enjoyed my week off- really- but that time could have been tempered a bit with resume-dropping. Gah.

I’m also not as sure about my career anymore. Earlier this year I was wondering about being a conductor… but now I’m thinking about getting my MBA after (or maybe even before) getting my MMus. While I love music entirely, I’m feeling a bit like I could use some extra punching power in my degree, money-moving, idea-generating… by the time I got my degree and stuff, who knows… I know the place I could come to, to get the music scene going, and I’m just the right kind of obstinate sort of fool to get things in motion :) (or, more succintly, bully them until these such things transpire)

And when I think of myself in the future, as a bassoonist… doesn’t it seem strange? When I love books, and literature, and learning… to become a professional musician…. I don’t know. Sometimes it gives me the heeby-jeebies.

My mom yesterday asked me in what I would term as being a tone not far removed from desperation if I would ever just… just go on and get married to one of my close guy friends, as if it were an obvious or easy thing. I saw a Guy I Once Knew drive down the road and still felt the sting, as if he were in there laughing at me, or ignoring me, or with someone else, and the fact that every single idea is almost as raw as it once was is sufficiant for me to safeguard against anything and everything. I would not advise my mother to wait for any grandkids from my side of the things.

I like listening to my recital. It makes me think that I sound OK and might be pretty good. I don’t mean to be either demeaning towards myself in that self-effacing, selfish way most people use at one time or another to incite the obligitory comments that inevitably follow, or overly prideful. But the fact that either of these can be seen as sins is idiotic. People are trained to be so afraid of every fucking thing that they can’t do a goddamn thing anyways. I always feel like I have to rationalise both my joy and my dismay, like an equation worth satisfying. I always try to do exactly what’s rational. I don’t know if thats right or that’s wrong but either way you’re fucked if you have to do that for everything in your life.

Sometimes it feels like being a good person isn’t enough, because nobody remembers you three generations down for being a good person, but people will remember you forever if you’re a good orator or a great thinker or writer or composer or whatever. But everyone needs a piece of you- no one would remember Shakespeare (or Sir Francis Bacon, if you prefer) if he hadn’t given them something, regardless of what could have been a splendid sense of humor. Nobody seems to give a damn unless you give them a little bit of you. And everyone feels entitled to a bit of it.

This post is quickly disintegrating into me grumbling about everything.

Here’s my youtube post:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a—3q4fOL5g&playnext_from=TL&videos=ANj04gfCs84

That one made me laugh for ages! :)

-m

2 years ago  /  0 notes

Narcoleptic Owl-Machine

I’ve decided that all the titles of everything I post should be completely irrelevant to what I’m writing about, and more like the title I would give my album, were I in an edgy, hipster band.

Soooo I’m in Calgary and being uninteresting in general. Waiting to hear back from work to see if they’ll hire me, and thinking about actually doing something active or whatever but then deciding that sitting on my butt all day is one of the spoils of being done school, and my god-given right as a sometimes lazy but mostly frenetic person. I had cookies for breakfast. Cookies and hot chocolate. Someone is going to need to save me from myself. But not too soon, I hope.

I also believe that every time I post I should put up one of my favorite youtube videos at the end. So, thats one good thing I’ve got going for me.

Question of the day: If you were a badger, how would you get to work? Would you still drive, or would you prefer something a bit more badgery?

Speaking of driving, I’m so looking forward to getting my license. I have three more lessons with Tommy, my francophone (but very decent anglophone) instructor, then I plan on driving for maybe a week or so before taking my road test. And yes, I plan on passing it the very first time, and doing very well at it. Then, I am going to actually use my car that since getting his license before me, my brother is using to get to school in the morning, instead of walking 15 minutes. Hellooo? The only places my brother goes to is, um, school, and between houses. I see issues in the future. And he’ll have it for most of the summer to go to work, so I don’t see myself having much use of the car in the future. Sadface.

In two and a half hours I am having icecaps with Lisa Clare! <3 <3 <3 My favorite Lisa Clare in the entire world (and thats so definetly including the 17 others living in the states)

Now, time for youtube:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X2F4EFYM_MA&playnext_from=TL&videos=kVl1A4JCpW8

AWWE!! (I have to admit, I’ve seen that like, twenty times, and been paralyzed by a severe fit of the AWWEEESSOOOKAYUTTEEEEEEEAWWWWWWW!!!)

:) Cha!

-Maggie

2 years ago  /  0 notes