Love and cigarettes

I’m listening to The Perishers right now, I’m not sure if that’s passe yet (or even, heaven forbid, more passe than saying passe), but I’m sure someone will tell me… the more sympathetic ones private messaging me about it, and the tough-lovers commenting. Is The Perishers the point of this blog post? No, but they could be, pending them not being passe, of course.  I am listening to The Perishers because love, and the reverse of love, seems to be in the air.

I am not in love, before you jump to any conclusions.

I am, however, surrounded by people who are in and out of love. A good friend of mine was turned down for no apparent reason today, for example. Another good friend of mine is in a relationship that’s almost been going for a whole year. Montreal smells like love and cigarettes, and I seem to only be indulging in the latter. I am not in love, but I am in, something. I don’t know what kind of a relationship it is, or what it will become, but I do know that I am in it and enjoying it. How vague, right? Ever the no-name-namer (that is the scientific term, I believe), I will continue on that path and leave you hanging unless you know me. 

But back to love, heartbreak, and cigarettes! The band Renee and I are in, yet to be renamed, will have a lot to sing about and strum to very soon as we are both in some sort of relationship limbo. You know, I write songs often, granted a lot of them aren’t very good, but I write them often. I have never shown anyone a song I’ve written, ever. Except that one time when my mother found my diary, photocopied it, and passed it out to the immediate family, but that’s another story. I let Renee sing a song of mine and I sat there mortified as she looked over the lyrics. I don’t know what copyright laws are in place if I post it, but I will anyways. You may hear this song very soon, maybe not introduced by Ryan Seacrest, but you never know, do you? I’ll leave you with a song, and come back tomorrow (or rather, later today) possibly with hard hitting news… because I cover such hard hitting topics here… like Lindsay and Sam.

“Friends”

I wake up in the morning,

your name pops into my head.

I tell myself that story,

but your name never really left.

 

I pour myself some coffee,

black, I’ll take it black.

Slip back into my dreams,

back, I take it all back.

 

And you shouldn’t be writing love songs to your friends,

no, you shouldn’t be writing love songs to your friends.

We all have these feelings,

doesn’t mean we should act on them.

Yeah, you shouldn’t be writing love songs to your friends.

 

Pick up the morning paper,

and the headlines have no effect.

Reaching for my lighter,

just trying to forget.

 

I see you on the sidewalk,

I see you in the mirror,

I see you on your bad days,

I see you and I quiver. (repeat)

 

And you shouldn’t be writing love songs to your friends,

no, you shouldn’t be writing love songs to your friends.

Sometimes I get so happy,

you can’t read what’s in my head.

Yeah, you shouldn’t be writing love songs to your friends.

 

And I try not to think you have such an effect on my life,

but I’m not really kidding when I call you my wife.

I know it’s disconcerting;

trust me, I do.

But I just can’t help thinking,

about the prospect of me and you.

 

I’m happy in the morning,

when we’re under the covers.

For the first thirty seconds,

I forget that we’re not lovers.

 

And you shouldn’t be writing love songs to your friends,

no, you shouldn’t be writing love songs to your friends.

We all have these feelings,

doesn’t mean we should act on them.

Yeah, you shouldn’t be writing love songs to your friends.

 

‘Cause I love you,

yeah, I love you,

and you wonder why I’m alone?

Sometimes, 

when I’m with you,

I forget I don’t have a home.

 

I’m happy in the morning,

when we’re under the covers.

For the first thirty seconds,

I forget that we’re not lovers.

 

And I shouldn’t be writing love songs to my friends,

no, I shouldn’t be writing love songs to my friends,

but I can’t help these feelings,

and I’m not sorry for them.

I shouldn’t be writing love songs to my friends,

but I mean every, every single, every single word of them.

If you didn’t already know, I’m a sap.

Advertisements

The perils of: Being a serial chaser

I love the chase, so much so that I will chase for prolonged periods of time. When I say prolonged periods of time, I am not speaking about hitting on the girl at the show throughout openers and continuing through the main act, I am, unfortunately, talking months. I know that I posted about people who become friends just because they want to get with the other person, and I am by no means condoning such behaviour (shame on you!), nor am I admitting to being a hypocrite. I don’t befriend people and scheme until they love me, because that’s creepy. And I, for one, am no creep… Anyways, sometimes people just catch you off guard, you know?

“Hey pretty lady drinking that Pabst, be mine!”

That’s pretty much my thought process, and clearly only classy broads (and Jesus) drink Pabst. As I am clearly a classy broad and a Pabst drinker, I remain that this is a logical and well-founded train of thought. In fact, I am becoming quite the classy writer, as I am smoking my last cigarette (of the pack, silly), drinking Pabst, catching up on Does it Offend You, Yeah? and blogging. It seems that I have yet to kick my old habits.

Classy.

Classy.

Okay, end of that tangent. Back to the chase! I am one of those people who can admit to being in love with falling in love without feeling bad about it, which is why I’m such a chaser, and, consequently, why I live in fear of the dreaded LBD (lesbian bed death for all those who aren’t in the know). When the chase is over, I celebrate (see photo above), but where I go from there remains a mystery. I have yet to have a steady girlfriend, not that I’d be  a bad one per se, I remain that it’s because I’m beyond picky, but I’m sure the fact that I’m a chaser (not to be confused with a chubby chaser) plays in somehow. 

See, now I look like a bad person. So, let me trip over myself a little bit more in an attempt to tie up all loose ends. In love with being in love? Check. Must I always chase people for months? No, that’s not the case. Most of the time, people chase me, which I find weird in a flattering way. Have I ever fallen victim to LBD? No, but my bed is not exactly a hive of sexual activity these days (again, I’m picky). What else? Do I always drink PBR? No, sometimes I drink Mill St Organic, Heineken or Stella, Corona if I’m having Mexican. Sometimes I even drink wine (just not the depanneur variety).

Are there any other serial chasers out there? And who can give me some LBD insight so I can avoid it at all costs (much like the plague, or my course work)?

“Potential girlfriends”

As per usual, I am going to be sketchy with relationship details. Why? Self-preservation, of course. And I know you all only read this blog because you want us to be together forever (with the exception of the Sirois clan), so I don’t want to let anyone down. I know these posts are annoying, but at least they make me feel a little less like I’m lying to you; I’m keeping you in the loop, just not every gripping detail.

Women make me crazy sometimes. I can say sometimes with quite a degree of certainty, as women never come to me in ones. No, they all, somehow, become attracted to me at the exact same time, and it’s frustrating. Why can’t they just, you know, spread out? If you are into me right now, let’s schedule something.

Coffee two months from now? Fantastic.

Again, as per usual, I have fallen in love with the most unattainable person possible. Now, I may have been a little rash with that comment; I did not fall in love with a gay man, nor did I fall for a straight woman, so there is (technically, but I’ll get to that) hope. I am used to falling for the unattainables, I don’t know why that is, and I really wish I did so I could, you know, stop it. But I have never fallen for an unattainable who fell for me too.

“Wait, how are they unattainable if they’re presumably a gay lady, who happens to have fallen for you?”

Good question. First, yes, she’s bi. Second, there are complications. But it is so weird loving someone  before you date them. I should be used to it, I suppose, but still, so weird. I have lost my appetite. I barely sleep. And sometimes I can’t stand to be within two metres of her, not because I dislike her, but more so because I don’t trust myself.

Anyways, I’m in love. But it would seem the gay cupid, who I presume looks a lot like Portia de Rossi naked, strikes not with a single arrow, but with a slew of them, all at once, and conveniently places me in a room with all the people at the same time. Thanks, Portia de Rossi lookalike. I have too many women, and I don’t want to get with any of them, because I’m in love with someone else. 

It’s a predicament. I wish my appetite would come back… it would seem love is best suited for those who can fast for prolonged periods of time. Or for those who choose drama-free mates. I am neither of those.

TMI (that you always wanted to know)

I know, I know. Two posts in one day, I really have to stop doing this. But, I just feel connected today, and to be honest, usually I don’t feel a thing. I’ve been nursing my leg back to working order today, and I’ve been spending so much time with myself recently, that well, there’s been a lot of time for me to think things over. This isn’t my coming out story, this is my coming out dilemma. Actually, I don’t know what this is going to be, so if you want to stop reading now, I won’t hold it against you.

    The first person I ever loved was Alice, I knew I loved her because she became my entire world. It sounds silly, because she was my first best friend, too. I was 3, she was too, our mothers met somehow and we had play dates set up. I knew her for 4 years, and she was the only person in the world to me at that time. Back then, I never could put two and two together. For me, it wasn’t I like girls it was I like this girl. And that was how I thought for a while. A lot of girls have come into my life since her, and yet it was still hard for me to put it all together.

    It was Becky in 3rd grade, it was Catherine, it was these people, and more that made me enjoy life all that much more. Catherine was a serious friend, we would go for long walks, and talk for hours. I fell madly in love with her in the 6th grade. She used to sit really close to me, and I would stop listening to her at times just to ponder what would happen if I were to kiss her. At that point, she was just a girl that I liked. I mean, lots of girls like their friends? 

    For a short period of time, I was in love with Dani. She was the first girl who I had a gut feeling liked me back, you know, that way. We were touchy-feely, and while she was terribly self conscious and a little bit immature, I fell in love with her quirks. She would sit in my lap, and play with my hair, and rest her body against me as I held her. At night we would laugh, and laugh, and she would fall asleep in my arms. Her and I drifted apart after a while. I think that we were both drowning in what ifs and we couldn’t even talk about it to one another for fear we’d scare the other away. After Dani, Ellie came into my life. I knew her through Dani, and we all became friends. But Ellie, Ellie is beautiful. Ellie was the first girl I ever seriously kissed. Followed two seconds later by Dani, mind you. But the first girl I kissed none the less. We were polar opposites, but we got one another on a way I don’t know how to describe. She was so boy crazy, and I thought I could change her. I was so wrong and it tortured me near every day. She went from one guy to the next, in a way that made me think that she was so impartial to men that I had a chance. She would hold my hand, link arms with me, tell me all her secrets, and we slow danced once. When it was her and I, there was no one else. No one mattered to me when we’d watch movies in her basement. I laid in her arms and she held me under the blankets. She would squeeze me when something of note happened, or when she got happy when we talked. She made me feel. And that is a hard thing to do.

    Then I went away, I left Toronto and I met a girl or two. Fran came into my life first, I think she is one of the most beautiful people I have ever met, inside and out. When I first met her, I hated her and she hated me, we became friends instantly, I don’t remember how, or why, but I’m glad it happened. While I was away, I grew up, the five weeks I spent out there have shaped my life more so than the years that have passed. I grew up with Fran, We did everything together, and when she held my hand, I was on top of the world. She held my hand everywhere we went, so you can imagine how those five weeks felt. We did everything best friends do, I know everything about her, and on the last day, before we all had to leave, I wrote her a note. It said that I knew that I wasn’t the easiest person in the world to understand, and I vowed to let her in on every facet of my life, because I wanted her to be that intimate with me. I was willing to put everything on the line for her. I told her I loved her. I meant it. I kissed her. I meant it, too. But when she pulled away, I pretended like it was nothing. The pitter patter went away. I realized that I loved her, no matter if she didn’t love me, and it came back. I still consider her one of my best friends, even though we don’t talk like we used to. I know her better than anyone, and I get phone calls late at night from her, saying she can’t talk to anyone else about what’s just gone on. Even if I haven’t talked to her in months, I know her best. There was another girl at camp, she was the first girl who I really pursued, her name was Grace. We had no friends in common, she wasn’t my type, but she was gorgeous, and she was damaged, and she sparked my interest because she was just such a challenge. She was one of those people, that you can almost see the wall they put up for fear of being hurt. I loved her every flaw. She opened up to me, we walked through the woods together, and we talked candidly about anything and everything. I don’t know if I loved her, but I know that if she and I were to ever date, she would be the last girl I ever date.

    And now? Well, there’s not much to tell these days. now that I’m out, I’m a little bit frazzled. I don’t want to meet you in a bar, or at a dance party, or in a dimly lit room, a bottle of patron in both hands. I want to meet you in a coffee shop, I want to meet you at a poetry slam, or the gallery show, or in a tiny book store, while you take the last copy of exactly what I was looking for. But most of all, I want to meet you, and I want you to want to meet me too. I’m so tired of chasing people, hoping they’ll change for me, when such a huge part of me knows they’re not going to change.  I don’t talk about feeling often, truly, it is very hard to bring emotion out of me. I seal myself off in such a way that I am perfectly content in most every situation. I’m not afraid of dying, I’m not afraid of failure, I’m not afraid of rejection, I live in fear of nothing. I don’t know why that is, or if it’s normal, I just know that’s how I am. And that’s probably how I’ll always be.

I just changed all the names, and they’re in alphabetical, so no clues. And out of respect for my coming out story/dilemma, there are no ironic links or comical pictures, weird…

Thanks.

(First posted: 25/08/08)