Well, I've been trying to write several posts for the past two weeks and ended up with nothing but half drafted paragraphs and poorly expressed thoughts. However, I will force myself into writing all about my 18th birthday, the day that ended all the mineur jokes at the gym and also means that I can no longer wave my age around like a white flag doubling as an armor against all the overly aged creeps everywhere.
My fingers feel slightly sluggish and my eyes are beginning to close, but I will tell you all about it.
Firstly, I had my first kickboxing class at my new kickbox/taekwondo/MMA/fitness gym and I love. I am in love. Completely.
I also met Alex, whom I'd actually met before, but barely spoken to, and we hit it off quite nicely. He's on the competition team, so I'm hoping to train with him and get back up to speed in Tae Kwon Do.
We then went shopping for a little bit, and went back to the hotel to get ready. I put on fake lashes for the first time, and let me tell you, all my haters can fly away to the batting of my kick ass eyelashes when I flutter my eyes, because I looked amazing with them on.
We ended up going to Le Rouge, a semi-classy bar, and skipping the whole line, because we were seven pretty girls in heels and dresses, and that's like Jesus In A Bottle to clubs.
My sisters bought me my first legal club drink (I'm pretty sure it was a Sex on the Beach, but it might have been a Long Island Iced Tea, I'm not really sure at this point.) Here are experiences, in no particular order, that happened to me:
- went to put my empty drink on a VIP table behind me. Guy caught me. Asked me to dance in exchange for putting something on his property. I told him the glass was now his property but I was out. Got pulled back in the dance circle by a friend.
- Feet were killing me so we sat at a VIP table. Got up on the benches and danced, as well as one of the girls I was with. Was asked by security to please not do so. Girls from the table came back from washroom as the guys there were offering the friend I was with and I a shot. Dirty looks were exchanged. We left before it got ugly.
- Was dancing. Reconfirmed I do not know how to dance.
- Was dancing, a guy kept petting me from behind, from ACROSS the dance floor (is that a thing that people do now???). Turned around to politely ask him to fuck off (using the words "Please fuck off") only to find him giving me an intentionally creepy smile and a finger-wiggle wave. Looked him up and down, did my "yeah ok, maybe in your dreams" face and turned back around. Too bad, though, he was good looking and tall, and when I saw him again later, he looked normal.
- Was comforting a girl from the group outside as she had lost her ID and $160 in the club. A guy passed by and whistled, eyeing us up and down. I'm pretty sure my voice cracked when I yelled "FUCK OFF YOU ASSHOLE" at the top of my lungs. Alcohol and my bad temper do not mix well, apparently.
- Another guy passed by and said, rather more politely, "You guys looks smashing." I responded with a "Thanks, but right now is really not a good time.". You have to give me credit for being polite where polite was due.
- Took a taxi back, as half of the group had already left. We left about thirty minutes after. Got to the hotel, only to find the girl with the key (who had left in the first group) was no where to be found. Lied down outside the door. Security found us. Didn't really know how to deal with it. Asked us to go to the lobby. Friend was livid with anger, not only at the girl who was supposed to have the key, but also with security. Frankly, I felt safe about it, because if it were the other way around, and another group of people was loitering outside... We ended up getting back into the hotel room at about 3am, where I slept in a bed with three other girls.
-Woke up to my big toe nails feeling like someone had tried to rip them off using plyers, my skin between my toes and the balls of my feet cracked open, my hands hurting like crazy (but that may be the kickboxing) and, wait, for it, my dress neatly stacked in my bag, my shoes in their shoe bag and my braces in. Look at me being responsible. I also, did not make out with anyone or grind up on any strangers (although I'm actually really really really bad at grinding as I don't have any rhythm). So, I guess I really am an adult now. Or not a slut around my sister's friends. I'm not even sure. All I know is that it's good news.
Highlight of the night: a table of VIPs found out it was my birthday and offered me a shot. At this point, although I am usually a super light weight and had had three coolers, two shots of Sambuca, a Sex on The Beach (I think that's what they got me) and a Long Island Iced Tea (that my sister ordered for me as a second drink), I was not even drunk in the slightest. The conversation went a little bit like:
"It's your birthday, right?"
"Yeah!"
"Well, you have to have fun on your birthday, right? If ever you're thirsty, come see us! It's open bar for you, but only for you!"
Then, whenever a new member of their group would learn that it was my birthday, it would restart:
"It's your birthday?"
"yeah!"
"Have a drink, and pick a drinking partner!"
And that's how I ended up with four free shots of a drink I can't identify but was delicious, two Jaggerbombs, and three glasses of a drink I don't even know what was in it, but was delicious. That's also how I ended up so drunk I made three phone calls I shouldn't have made, but that's another story in it's entirety.
I'm now off to take a shower, as I'm wearing the same bra I had on yesterday and it smells of sweat, perfume and booze, and also a nap, because I'm dying. Then, I will go to the gym and pray que je me casse pas la geule sur un tapis roulant.
Good night y'all, and here's to being able to legally drink vodka as I am forced to do adult things like laundry and tax incomes.
Vero
Sunday, 13 July 2014
Friday, 20 June 2014
How Bout We Stop Being Retarded: A rant.
So I saw this picture on facebook once too many times, here's what I have to say about it.
I am not proud of being a woman. I'm not non proud of being a woman, either. It's just that I don't see the point in boasting that I have a higher estrogen level and lower testosterone level. A biological eventuality is nothing to be proud of. The same way that I am not proud of being blonde. Or being tall. Or having ten toes. I literally had a 50% chance of having a second X chromosome. Had the coin flipped the other way, I probably wouldn't of been proud of being a man, either (although we all know or can guess the origin of the word "cocky" so I can't really affirm anything, actually).
I'm proud of being intelligent, though. I'm proud that I've read my way through life. I'm proud that I know how to work well. I'm proud that I can think. I'm proud that I can sometimes put my fears to the side, and do something that I was afraid to do (for example, going to the bank. Those people are super snooty and scare the crap out of me, but I need to manage shit because apparently that's how adults act when their mother isn't around).
I am proud of my resume. Of the fact that I have the Queen's Jubilee prize for making a difference in my community. Of the fact that I am driven and I can go get what I want.
So can we please stop with the "I'm so fucking entitled about what differenciates me from another group of people when I've done nothing to deserve to be entitled about it."
You want to be proud of being a woman? Be proud of being a mother. Be proud of breaking the glass ceiling. Be proud of redefining stereotypes. Be proud of being a motherfucking human. You don't get to be proud about that extra chromosome. You don't get to be proud of being a dipshit that pulls doors instead of pushing them, of doing simple math on your fingers, of "hiding your pain". I've seen countless men do it. I've seen countless children do it. You don't get to be proud for insignificant moments that don't define being a woman, at all. You get to be proud when you've proven yourself. End of the line. Show me that you can go above and beyond others, and you can be proud. Because I can guarantee there is someone out there who can do double the things you do before the microwave beeps.
Sunday, 15 June 2014
Hipster
I kind of understand them. Hipsters, I mean. There's something in knowing that you didn't jump on a band wagon. In knowing that this one thing that everyone loves, you loved because you loved it, not because you're trying to fit in and agree with the society that surrounds you. In knowing that when you loved it, it was yours. Maybe not your own creation, your idea, your brain baby, but hell, you had a bigger part of it than you do now.
It feels like you're sharing an inside joke with yourself. You know that knowing little smile you give your friend when someone else mentions something that reminds you of an inside joke you have with them? Well, it's like a little joke with yourself, a little mental nod when someone mentions an event that reminds you of your favorite book, of a quote of your favorite movie.
It's like a "Hey, I'm culturally advised enough to know about this, and no one else does." Call me condescendant, but I love the feeling when the whole world explodes with obsession over something, I can smile dans mon fort interieur and know that I've known for way longer than them that this thing in particular was cool.
But stop waving your stupid starbucks frappucinos and your lens-less glasses in my face. You're not a unique snowflake, stop acting like you are when really, you're just like every other self-entitled idiot in the world.
Also, I read the Fault in our Stars the actual year it came out, so stop telling me how awesome it is, I know.
It feels like you're sharing an inside joke with yourself. You know that knowing little smile you give your friend when someone else mentions something that reminds you of an inside joke you have with them? Well, it's like a little joke with yourself, a little mental nod when someone mentions an event that reminds you of your favorite book, of a quote of your favorite movie.
It's like a "Hey, I'm culturally advised enough to know about this, and no one else does." Call me condescendant, but I love the feeling when the whole world explodes with obsession over something, I can smile dans mon fort interieur and know that I've known for way longer than them that this thing in particular was cool.
But stop waving your stupid starbucks frappucinos and your lens-less glasses in my face. You're not a unique snowflake, stop acting like you are when really, you're just like every other self-entitled idiot in the world.
Also, I read the Fault in our Stars the actual year it came out, so stop telling me how awesome it is, I know.
Friday, 30 May 2014
My tattoo
Ok so here goes. I'll give yous a quick run through of my tattoo, because so many people ask me that I may as well send them to this page.
I designed the concept about a year and a half ago: "I can" in black, with the apostrophe and the "t" written in white ink. If the white ink doesn't look like a scar enough, I'm getting it cut into my skin. The idea behind is is that I've gotten rid of the negativity. I still have the scars, but once I stop being pessimistic, everything is possible.
It only became more important for me to get it once my friend committed suicide. It reminds me that the easy way out is often actually the hardest, maybe not for me, but for everyone else.
It will also by in my own hand writing, not only because I've always pictured it like that, but also, I like the idea that it is my idea, not a quote, not a robot that typed it out. I want the "I" to be written in that distinct way that I make mine, because it is my struggles, mine.
It took me a long time to get the placement right. It's such an original idea (no, dearest brother, I didn't get it from Pinterest. I'm sure someone else thought of it before me, but I actually did think of it myself, all on my own), I didn't want it on my wrist, and it's too small to get it on my hip, which I have a weird obssession with (my second tattoo will definitely be there). Same with my rib cage, and I hate the shoulder placement.
My chest has always been a sensitive spot for me, but it became even more so when a friend of mine tried to take advantage of me: he held me by the throat, his hand stretching to my chest. I therefore figured my chest was a good idea. The collar bone really attracted me, but it's too high to hide it easily. I had to figure out where to put it, and right between my breasts was like the worst idea ever.
It will therefore be right above my left breast, not as a sexualized idea, but rather because I can hide it easily if I chose to, but I can wear a low-cut but not slutty shirt and show it off.
I've picked the left side because the left side of the brain is the logical hemisphere, and seeing as I am the most un-emotional person I know, and that logic got me over every struggle I've experienced, it just wouldn't make sense to put it on the right. I'm also right handed, so if I were to write it on myself, it would have to be on the left.
There, you have it. So to all of you saying that it's a stupid idea, I know. I know to you, when I say it out loud, it's cheesy and I may regret it in some years. That's ok. It's in an area that I can hide it if I chose to, and it's a reminder. It's supposed to be there in the moments when I want no one to be there with me.
So just wait till I get it before shooting me a disbelieving look.
I know I can't wait.
I designed the concept about a year and a half ago: "I can" in black, with the apostrophe and the "t" written in white ink. If the white ink doesn't look like a scar enough, I'm getting it cut into my skin. The idea behind is is that I've gotten rid of the negativity. I still have the scars, but once I stop being pessimistic, everything is possible.
It only became more important for me to get it once my friend committed suicide. It reminds me that the easy way out is often actually the hardest, maybe not for me, but for everyone else.
It will also by in my own hand writing, not only because I've always pictured it like that, but also, I like the idea that it is my idea, not a quote, not a robot that typed it out. I want the "I" to be written in that distinct way that I make mine, because it is my struggles, mine.
It took me a long time to get the placement right. It's such an original idea (no, dearest brother, I didn't get it from Pinterest. I'm sure someone else thought of it before me, but I actually did think of it myself, all on my own), I didn't want it on my wrist, and it's too small to get it on my hip, which I have a weird obssession with (my second tattoo will definitely be there). Same with my rib cage, and I hate the shoulder placement.
My chest has always been a sensitive spot for me, but it became even more so when a friend of mine tried to take advantage of me: he held me by the throat, his hand stretching to my chest. I therefore figured my chest was a good idea. The collar bone really attracted me, but it's too high to hide it easily. I had to figure out where to put it, and right between my breasts was like the worst idea ever.
It will therefore be right above my left breast, not as a sexualized idea, but rather because I can hide it easily if I chose to, but I can wear a low-cut but not slutty shirt and show it off.
I've picked the left side because the left side of the brain is the logical hemisphere, and seeing as I am the most un-emotional person I know, and that logic got me over every struggle I've experienced, it just wouldn't make sense to put it on the right. I'm also right handed, so if I were to write it on myself, it would have to be on the left.
There, you have it. So to all of you saying that it's a stupid idea, I know. I know to you, when I say it out loud, it's cheesy and I may regret it in some years. That's ok. It's in an area that I can hide it if I chose to, and it's a reminder. It's supposed to be there in the moments when I want no one to be there with me.
So just wait till I get it before shooting me a disbelieving look.
I know I can't wait.
Friday, 2 May 2014
Love
I don't think I've ever been in love. I've had some pretty serious crushes: I was on and off with a guy for a whole two years, never able to fully get over him until lately. I *really* liked the guy. But I don't think it was love. I had a six month crush on some guy in 6th grade. In my defense, he was really good looking as an 11 year old. I think, though, that any amount of things may make me fall in love, someday.
I think that if I was making chocolate pudding at four am and he walked in and said "Is that chocolate pudding?" and I would say "Yes, would you like some?" and he would say either "No, thank you, I'm tired. I'll go back to bed" or "Yes please, I will sit down with you and have some pudding and maybe a light conversation", I would fall in love a little bit. Because you know how many people would say "Why are you making chocolate pudding at four in the morning?" ? Too many people.
And I think if he understood that my idea of a perfect date is nachos and video games at two am, I would fall in love. Because I don't like going out. I don't like PDA. I don't like people around us seeing how I would look at him. So even though I suck at video games and have MAD gamer rage, if he can watch me fail at shooting people and scream profanity at a bunch or random strangers while trying to manage a string of melted cheese, I would fall in love.
I think that if I was shivering and he gave me his sweater, I would fall in love. Because I fucking love oversized sweaters. And probably his smell.
I think if he knew that when something that I obsess over (like school. Or nerdy things.) is going badly, my world is suddenly all gray and I hate everything, I would fall in love. Because it would mean that he listens.
I think if he was the type to sit and do his own thing while I studied or read, quite in silence, I would fall in love. Because there's nothing better than having a connection with someone without having to talk.
I think if he knew how to make myself feel better about a body I hate and a personality I'm desperately trying to fight, I would fall in love. Maybe because a part of me is trying to love myself. Maybe because I need to know that someone doesn't see my flaws. Maybe because it's so nice to know someone thinks you're great. I just know that if someone manages to make me fall in love with myself, I would have no choice but to fall in love with him.
This is all theoretical, of course. I don't actually know what will make me fall in love. And it's not something I'm rushing towards. Looking forward too, maybe. Because I was trapped in a emotion void for so long that letting myself feel and show emotions is the most refreshing thing I've every tried. So, I'm looking forward to it, but I don't want to run head first into it. Because that's stupid. And I'm not stupid. And if he sees that, then I'm sure to fall in love with him. I just know it.
I think that if I was making chocolate pudding at four am and he walked in and said "Is that chocolate pudding?" and I would say "Yes, would you like some?" and he would say either "No, thank you, I'm tired. I'll go back to bed" or "Yes please, I will sit down with you and have some pudding and maybe a light conversation", I would fall in love a little bit. Because you know how many people would say "Why are you making chocolate pudding at four in the morning?" ? Too many people.
And I think if he understood that my idea of a perfect date is nachos and video games at two am, I would fall in love. Because I don't like going out. I don't like PDA. I don't like people around us seeing how I would look at him. So even though I suck at video games and have MAD gamer rage, if he can watch me fail at shooting people and scream profanity at a bunch or random strangers while trying to manage a string of melted cheese, I would fall in love.
I think that if I was shivering and he gave me his sweater, I would fall in love. Because I fucking love oversized sweaters. And probably his smell.
I think if he knew that when something that I obsess over (like school. Or nerdy things.) is going badly, my world is suddenly all gray and I hate everything, I would fall in love. Because it would mean that he listens.
I think if he was the type to sit and do his own thing while I studied or read, quite in silence, I would fall in love. Because there's nothing better than having a connection with someone without having to talk.
I think if he knew how to make myself feel better about a body I hate and a personality I'm desperately trying to fight, I would fall in love. Maybe because a part of me is trying to love myself. Maybe because I need to know that someone doesn't see my flaws. Maybe because it's so nice to know someone thinks you're great. I just know that if someone manages to make me fall in love with myself, I would have no choice but to fall in love with him.
This is all theoretical, of course. I don't actually know what will make me fall in love. And it's not something I'm rushing towards. Looking forward too, maybe. Because I was trapped in a emotion void for so long that letting myself feel and show emotions is the most refreshing thing I've every tried. So, I'm looking forward to it, but I don't want to run head first into it. Because that's stupid. And I'm not stupid. And if he sees that, then I'm sure to fall in love with him. I just know it.
Thursday, 1 May 2014
School's out
Wooot! I finally wrote my last exam, way back this morning.
I wish I could say it went well, but none of them did. I was so confident for bio, but I checked my answers (they're mulitple choice and the answers are posted right after the exam) and for some reason, I did pretty terrible. I blanked in chemistry and I didn't study nearly enough for math.
This was the semester that I was supposed to pass, but that didn't quite work out as planned. The worst part is that I was so excited, so motivated. I'd done my homework all year, had studied, knew everything.
I'm just so tired of blanking on exams. Which is why I'm considering corrective therapy. Apparently there are therapists at my school, so I'll be talking to my counselor about it.
Veronik
I wish I could say it went well, but none of them did. I was so confident for bio, but I checked my answers (they're mulitple choice and the answers are posted right after the exam) and for some reason, I did pretty terrible. I blanked in chemistry and I didn't study nearly enough for math.
This was the semester that I was supposed to pass, but that didn't quite work out as planned. The worst part is that I was so excited, so motivated. I'd done my homework all year, had studied, knew everything.
I'm just so tired of blanking on exams. Which is why I'm considering corrective therapy. Apparently there are therapists at my school, so I'll be talking to my counselor about it.
Veronik
Tuesday, 29 April 2014
Getting back
So yesterday I actually shared my blog address with a friend of mine, and it got me reading my posts. I'll be writing more, right after I write my exams... One tomorrow at 8:30 am, one at 7pm and one at 8:30 on Thursday. The school said they can't switch anything, because it's not three in the same day, even though it does fit the 24 hours slot, which is something that MOST other universities adhere to. Thanks for nothing, UdeM.
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