Sometimes I feel like I’m trading in one kind of crazy for another…

Before, when all the shenanigans were happening in my head and I was still working 18 hours a day and not sleeping, some things were easier for me.

Okay easier is a huge misconception….. They felt easier but it was because I was completely bonkers and disassociative.

People would ask me before an interview or a presentation why I didn’t seem nervous. And I would smile and them and calmly explain that I was nervous. But that no one else needed to know that because it wasn’t ME getting up in front of people, answering questions and socializing.

Nope, not me. It was the imaginary character of myself that I created. One that had more confidence than I did, that knew things I didn’t and was suave and cool and that could start a conversation with anyone at any time.

A long long time ago I realized that my natural introvert tendencies (reading, writing, sitting by myself and daydreaming) painted a big target on my back at school for bullying and that as an adult, the outspoken, we’ll dressed and personable people ended up successful.

So at a super young age I learned to watch the behaviours of people cooler than me and emulate them. I recreate my own personality over and over again so that I fit in, made friends and got ahead.

I did whatever it would take to be accepted and liked.

I continued this into my career. Pushing as hard as I could to match the best, trying to get ahead.

And, of course as we all now know, I crashed. And I crashed hard.

I had spent a lifetime creating an image of myself that just wasn’t me. The only problem being that I now have not a fucking clue who I am. As you can imagine, it’s a bit frustrating.

This has caused a NEW set of crazy – I’ve developed social anxiety disorder! Being in public or at functions makes me want to run away and hide. Things as basic as dinners at other peoples houses feel like torture because I no longer know what to say or how to behave. And so I end up being super awkward, realizing how awkward I am and then panic. It’s been super effing fun. Really. People must think I’m a drunk and I want to be all “nono nono it’s not the booze, it’s the identity crises mixed with my antidepressants! I’m not an alcoholic, I’m just insane.”

See why I’m bad company? And why I’m terrified to go back to work?

And just as importantly, I need to figure out wheat the fuck I want to DO once I have a better idea of who I am, because I’m not sure that being good at corporate sales is enough of a reason to BE in corporate sales.

I would much rather write, for myself, for others, and if I’m honest, for profit.

So I am turning to you folk who know me better than most – have you got any ideas on where to turn and focus my life?

Any pearls of wisdom?

And if you tell me to just do what makes me happy I will stab you because I have only just figured out what happiness actually feels like for the first time and I’m still trying to figure that whole thing out.

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A totally random thank you post… but also proof that therapy works cause I started out feeling guilty and now I’m all happy and grateful. SCIENCE MOTHERFUCKERS!

Do you ever get that feeling like you want to do something? But the second you start doing it, you feel like you should be doing something way more important? Like working, or saving the world or actually changing the toilet paper roll rather than just stacking the new roll on top of the toilet?

Cause that is me. All the time.

I just put fresh sheets on my bed, curled up on the couch with Manfriend while he watches hockey and decided I wanted to write a post. And the second I opened my computer all I could think is “WHY AM I NOT SPENDING THIS TIME SOLVING WORLD HUNGER?!” Or something to that effect.

But instead of using the internets and its magical powers to learn all the things in the world, I use it to look up pictures of puppies, literary blogs and generally torture myself by reading about strange and rare illnesses that could potentially kill me in a million different terrible ways.

I can’t be the only person that feels guilty about this right?

The internet is the single greatest tool ever created, an ever changing source of incredible information. And I’m just using it to make myself either laugh or cringe in horror at the weird shit that nature does. I feel much the way I imagine super would feel if he only ever used his super powers for mundane shit. Like his xray vision to check out boobs and his super strength to help friends move apartments so he can get free beer. Forget the world saving stuff, HE JUST WANTS TO HAVE SOME DAMN FUN!

I think this is why I have such a hard time writing sometimes. Somehow, I’ve convinced myself that writing isn’t a nearly noble enough pursuit. Especially when I tend to write about why I sympathize with the badguys in video games and other generally random useless stuff.

There are days when I want to reach through my computer to you and shake you, just shouting “WHY ARE YOU HERE?!?!??!?!??!” and then desperately thank you for coming here. With some sort of sexy dance or a candle light dinner or a gratuitous photo of my feet. Whatever floats your boat really.

So this is a big thank you for being here. And letting me do this weird random and infrequent writing thing because I have no idea what else I would do with my time since I’ve CLEARLY not yet solved world hunger. Or the mystery of where Lindsay Lohans dignity went.

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If you guys could all chip in so I can buy myself a bubble to live in, that would be great

I think you all know by now that I am a pillar of grace and elegance. My every movement is like a goddamned ballet. Which is why I basically win at things like Yoga and snowboarding. Natural fucking talent.

(if this is your first time here that sentence is loaded with sarcasm. Also, how the hell did you get here? You were googling hookers weren’t you. Well we don’t have any. Yet.)

So I figured that an activity like gymnastics was probably something I should introduce to my repertoire. It’s right up my alley – Bendy things and not wearing real pants. I would like to say in my defence that other people, PROFESSIONAL people talked me into this. We were going to trampoline our faces off and get in shape while having fun. I would just need three or four sports bras and a roll of ducktape to ensure that I didn’t give myself another concussion with my boobs. EASY!

One of my best friends from the City was up visiting and I was psyched to show her how much fun Collingwood is and show her my new, more athletic life. She’s a badass soccer player and paramedic and is basically sort of a hero.

I went full Johnny Weir fabulous – fancy Blackmilk tights (Mom – DONT GO TO THE SITE! you don’t need to see what I waste my money on. And your money. And the money of the mean guy on the subway whose wallet I stole. Just kidding. But you forgot about the expensive nylon!) leather jacket, badass boots and a take no prisoners attitude.

The forty or so 8 year old thought I was cool as fuck. Thankfully I was about to prove them very very wrong.

We settled into a corner and waited for the kids classes to end and the adult free gym time to start up. I’ve got to admit that I was pretty impressed by these kids. Everyone was capable of walking in straight lines and seemed to have reasonable hand eye coordination. I mentioned this to my friend who looked at me and asked me if I ever spent any time around seven year olds and I had to admit that I did not. In my mind kids go through three stages – Baby, Confusing amorphous period where I can’t distinguish their age and Teenagers. Everyone from age four to ten looks the same to me. One day when we have kids I’m going to be that mom who accidentally takes someone elses kid home and ends up in jail for kidnapping and my kid will still be waiting at kindergarden for me to come get them.

So like I said – the kids had to clear out. But I am impatient. I wanted to impress these kids with my skills damnit. Being awesome is pointless if there isn’t an audience. Duh.

And thus, the trouble began. We had to warm up. The others did some light jogging to get themselves all limbered up. I, however, can’t run for all the gold in the world. basically, it results in all my joints exploding. And since we were in a gymnasium, the floor was that weird springy floor that gives a bunch and then springs you up again. Again, not great for running when I’m already mostly useless at it.

I started to remember, much like I usually do, that I once took gymnastics as a child and struggled horribly with it. I think my joints don’t like all these opportunities to move. It pisses them off and then I start to panic.

In my panic, I defaulted to my usual method of coping – act like a goddamned moron. So I started to skip. And the skipping was fine because skipping is easy (the moving forward, dancy kind. Not the rope, dear-god-why-does-this-feel-like-a-whip-against-my-fucking-shins kind). An innocent bystander remarked that she loved that I was skipping. FINALLY validation!

In my infinite wisdom as a conversational genius I asked her if she had heard of Prancercize (if you haven’t for the love of god GOOGLE IT NOW). She said no. And because I care about education, I decided to demonstrate.

I was half a skip in when I landed on my left foot, rolled it outwards AND THEN INWARDS and fell to the ground. Laughing hysterically because the pop I had heard in my ankle was, for some reason, effing hilarious to me. The laughing must have thrown everyone off because they were just standing there – strangers staring in confusion and my friends just shaking their heads, not even a little bit surprised that I had fallen.

When the laughing wore of, the hyperventilating set in. And so did the swearing. So much swearing. I’m pretty sure we should all be impressed that I didn’t enter the gym by kicking the door in and shouting “The party is HERE MOTHERFUCKERS!” and highfiving everyone.

With still about 20 children within listening distance. I think it was the swearing rather than my pain that sprang people into action. It’s like they don’t want small children to hear someone chanting “fuckity fuckfuck fuck” at their after school activities. Who knew.

I was once again grateful for travelling basically with my own emergency crew – they checked me out thuroughly, asked me to try and put pressure on it and when I could, but only barely, they declared it not broken.

Do you know what sucks when you have a brutually twisted ankle, and what I learned later was an out of place tendon that would eventually pop back in to place in public and force me to shout “cunt” in front of a sweet old lady who I’m pretty sure was impressed with my command of the english language? A springy goddamned floor that makes every step a perilous adventure in joint instability.

I begged them to leave me there to die. They could go pick up manfriend and he could visit me at the site of my demise and I would remind him that once I was gone, if he ever sought out happiness I would haunt the fuck out of him. They said the sight of a decaying corpse would scare the children and that it was against health code.

It was around this time that they realized they had forgotten to get me to sign the liability sheet and the gym owner started to panic. I tried to explain that if I survived the walk back to my car, it would be a miracle I remembered to file my taxes this year and that getting all the required paperwork together to sue them seemed like a lot of work. I asked for my $5 back and they acquiesced. I figured that with the $5 I could bribe one of the children to kill me quickly rather than let me slowly die of shame on the mat.

The good/bad news is no one let me die so I am now dealing with an extremely impressive bruise due to rolling my ankle BOTH ways and I’ve now introduced a whole new set of people to the majesty that is Prancersize.

I’m pretty sure this is the kind of thing that gets you sainted.

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VIDEO POST TIME! Cause Urban Minerals is amazeballs

So I have this friend (real, not imaginary) and she has this company thats fucking awesome called Urban Minerals and its a makeup company. She does mineral foundations in a bajillion different colours and one of them totally suits me and YAY!

Shes having a sale this week (GO QUICK AND BUY) and she sent me some samples to try and if I liked em, she asked me to blog.

But I SUCK at multitasking so I decided to video blog my testing a new colour cause my old one totally doesn’t work for me anymore and I need new makeup.

A few things – 1) Don’t judge me for the dirty table behind me. Yes it has beer on it. Shut up. 2) My only criticism of this product is that its not as effective when inhaled. Who knew right? 3)My boobs look amazing.

So yes, I received a free sample. Not so that I would blog for her, but because she got tired of me wearing makeup that was trying to kill me. SO THERE WORLD.

Not that I’m opposed to reviewing things….. but most people aren’t cool with all the swearing and the whatnots and shenanigans….

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I’m reading way too much into video games…

So I’m sitting here, playing games on my iPad and watching Manfriend play Batman -Arkham Origins and I can’t help but start to wonder about the back stories of the hired thug characters.

You know the ones in superheroes movies and video games? Bad hygiene, large, carry weapons and get their asses kicked pretty easily? Why never say shit except “oh shit, it’s (insert hero name here) – run”Those guys.
Cause in the video game it doesn’t ever really seem like they’re actually doing anything wrong.

I mean yea, they’re dressed like hobos and seem like they don’t bathe. And sure, these eight dudes are loitering in a warehouse and all of theme are carrying lead pipes (seriously, video game programmers, enough with the lead pipes. No one even makes anything out of lead anymore. Are these dudes having these pipes custom made?lead is fucking dangerous when ingested.)
But batman sort of just swoops in and hangs out creepily in the rafters, being all broody and you hear Alfred’s voice tell him that these must be (insert boss bad guys name here) and they’re clearly carrying lead pipes which is a really bad sign. If you take them out maybe you can find said bad guy.

So batman swoops in and just beats the living shit out of these guys. They’re all fat and slow and being all “holy shit it’s the batman!” And batman is just crushing their faces in and stealing their lead pipes cause his 90 year old butler has a thing against people who don’t get their hoodies dry cleaned after every wear.

I mean think about it from the thugs point of view. Here he is, hanging out with his seven best friends trying to put together a fantasy football pool so they can distract themselves from their shitty lives when suddenly this guy in a cape just starts throwing lunches and stealing the custom ordered lead pipes you guys just bought for your off broadway revival of Stomp: The Musical and you can’t really fight back against this roided up rich guy cause unlike him you aren’t loaded and have to take every shitty job you can find just to feed your 11 illegitimate children so Yea, sometimes you take a shady job. But that doesn’t mean this armour wearing asshole has the right to break both your arms. It’s not like these shitty jobs leaning on trucks are paying you benefits and fucking Timmy needs goddamned braces and now you have these two broken arms.

I mean shit, you can’t even resort to your backup job- giving closeted truckers handjobs in the highway restaurant bathrooms -cause you have TWO BROKEN ARMS.

Is batman going to buy your kids braces? Is he going to pay the hydro for your three babymommas? No!

I mean yeah you’re a fucking thug but you’re not a goddamned animal, you take care of your responsibilities and your ONE day a month where you hang out with your shitty friends to talk baseball and maybe get out of this shitty life through a love of the arts and some motherfucking tap dancing on garbage pails with some lead goddamed pipes and some rich fucker is just running around destroying your livelihood and 19 million dollars worth of public property.

I mean Jesus, he just blew up franks car by throwing a fucking bomb on it. What kind of asshole runs around wearing a cape and throwing bombs????? 

Franks toddlers fucking car seat was in that car! Now franks going to have to wrap his kid in bubble wrap again. 

See…. These things are why I’m on medication and can’t play story driven video games. 

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