“Isn’t It More Exciting, When We Don’t Have Permission?”

Hey blog realm, happy Friday’s eve!
I hope you’ve all had wonderful Thursdays, mine’s been an extension of Wednesday; however, it has been truly fantastic and I wouldn’t change a thing (besides maybe the snow that’s beginning to fall…). Vega came home from recording last night around 11, and we spent a few hours just enjoying each other’s company on the couch with Visa; me reading Reddit and he playing YouTube DJ with some fantastic metal tuneage. We eventually moved on to him showing me some of the basics of what his job as a producer is (the technology is fucking nifty and it seriously fascinates me…he’s wickedly good at what he does (albeit too humble to admit it), and we had some musical nerd out bonding time) before we realized that it was 3 in the morning and we were starving. He made a deee-licious pork and veggie stirfry and we noshed watching Buffy, as always.

The Buff-athon lasted until this morning when he had to return to the work-realm, and I whipped up brekky, made lots of coffee, and cleaned some. It was nice, to spend the night just talking and snuggling and enjoying each other’s company and to begin the day on a high note. After the dishes were done, I rocked out a hellish workout, took a shower with my masn (not too sure if I emerged cleaner or dirtier following that one), and am now snuggled up on the couch with my netbook, the pooch, and the Vega, who has just finished work for the day. I’m in a fantastic mood. This has shifted to being the norm rather than the exception, and I am loving every damn minute of it. In  fact, I’m looking forward to a lifetime of it, and I consider myself exceptionally lucky to be able to say so.

So that’s where I’m at; however, I do digress, as I’ve been promising some more meaningful Mia-musings as of late and have yet to deliver. I just want to make a cup of coffee first, so while I do that, enjoy this picture of an adorable seal pup.

Don’t you just wanna snuggle him? Don’t club him, snuggle.

Ok, ok, so I should know by now that I should just end posts when I say shit like that. It’s just after noon here on Friday now..I got distracted last night with a walk down to the hippie grocery store for dinner-making supplies (Vega cheffed up spaghetti bolognaise, t’was fabulous), and by some Buffy before we passed out at 9:30. This morning started at 10:30 with Visa whining for brekky, so I hauled my lazy bones outta bed, fed ze poochie, and set about making coffee and brekky for Vega and I. It’s a beautiful sunny day (little chilly, but hey I’ll take it), so after I finish this post I’ll be taking Visa for a stroll then attacking my WOD (fun little kickboxing circuit today methinks) while Vega works a bit. This weekend…well, who the hell knows for sure, but I think it’s safe to assume that there shall be good times ahead. I woke up on the right side of the bed again today. Such a good feeling.

Now once again I digress, and should get back to the true point of this post, which was to elaborate a bit on the things that have been giving me soupy-brain. I should preface this bit just by saying that I don’t want you, readers, to assume that any of this is inherently a bad thing. For the first time in a long time (even moreso than I felt in the 506) I feel that I have both very little control over and at the same time, complete understanding of the thoughts in my head.

I think the majority of this garbled thought stuff commenced last week around this exact time when the KFP sent me that Facebook message. Instantaneously, it was a fight-or-flight moment, but that shock wore off rather quickly and left in its wake a very unsettling jumble of nonsense in my wee head for which the immediate cure was a decent amount of beer, which effectively allowed me to forget for the evening. That said, since last week I’ve been trying to make sense of the realities of my past, of the years I spent with the KFP lying to myself and to everyone who cared about me that yes, I was happy. I don’t know how the fuck I did it, I really don’t. I was miserable under his control; too young to even be able to realize it, too stupid to do anything about the situation until it was already too late. Now, it wasn’t all bad..I do believe to this very day that he did care about me somewhat, and there were the happy times in-between the chaos; however, in the end those happy times were what made it easy to leave (besides my dog. I miss my dog)–I wanted the happiness to be the defining factor in my life, not the broken bones and the fear and the overwhelming depression that eventually made it nearly impossible for me to get out of bed for weeks at a time. I’m still a little bit shaken over the fact that he’d even try to get me to talk to him again after everything he put me through; which does, in fact, make me a little bit ashamed of myself–I’m so much more than justified in telling him to fist himself with a cactus and never bothering to even open his messages ever again, but the fact that he got under my skin like that? Disturbing. Part of me almost wishes that he could see me now; in love and loved truly and for the right reasons, happy from the depths of my soul. Call me vindictive, but that would be the best revenge. Clearly, my silence and absence has not drilled the point into his thick skull yet.

The second thing that’s been bugging me this week? Welp, Maother Wallace is back up on her underhanded “let’s piss Mia off” podium with one of the most obnoxious tactics I’ve seen yet to date. One of my (many, many, many) cousins got married in Panama recently, and while I had wanted to go, I simply couldn’t afford the trip, accomodations and et cetera involved, so I did the adult thing and regretfully, didn’t attend. She, my father, Brother Wallace and Brother Wallace’s girlfriend (we’ll call her Little Lady from here on out) of course went; which actually makes me happy as hell, I wouldn’t expect nor want anything less for my cousin on her big day. All fine and good by me..until Mother decided to send me not only one but THREE emails full of pictures from their vacation. Sorry Mother, if I wanted to fucking see it, I’d head on over to Brother Wallace’s Facebook and browse his pics. We haven’t spoken more than her prodding via text and my sarcastic replies in fucking months..why she’d assume that I’d appreciate these emails is so far beyond my realm of comprehension that I can’t even begin to tell you how annoyed her display of vulgar narcissism made me. It hasn’t been something I’ve been willing to think about much lately (I’d much rather live in the here and now and revel in my happiness); however, even throuhg the happiest of my childhood memories, this exact feeling is what I remember the most of. Every happy family vacation has the overtone of me somehow being this massive fuckup–somehow, I always managed to piss her off, to drag the tone of the trip down from relaxation to hell. In all honesty, I would rather wait another decade and vacation on my own terms than to ever go along with them ever again–there really is no way to relax and unwind when you’re constantly perturbed by the sensation that you’ve somehow already fucked everything up. Again, call me vindictive, but I look forward to the day when I can send her unsolicited emails full of pictures of my happiness, to which she was never invited in the first place. Silence is powerful; this much I’ve learned, but I’m just about ready to throw my successes in her face. I am weak that way and I’m the first to admit it. I want her to hurt as much as I have been made to over the years–in fact, I want her to know firsthand what it feels like to have to deal with a pathological narcissist. It isn’t funny and it isn’t fair; it’s made me stronger having been through it, but it’s also worn me down to the point of desired retribution. The sick thing is that no matter how fucking hard I try, I’ll never be able to make her bleed like me, she’s so damn sanctified in her own head that whatever I try to accomplish in “showing” her what I’ve felt will always and forever be overshadowed by her ability to spin things in her favour and never take responsibility for her actions. It’s sad, really, that this much older than I woman will never be able to truly act her own age. How we share genetics, I will never know. What I do know for sure; however, is that I will fight every day for the rest of my life to consciously never become even a shadow of the woman I call Mom. It’s a damned shame and it hurts like hell, but it hurts a LOT less than when I used to bend over and take it.

It’s funny to me how these two prevailing trains of thought have left my head in such a spin. I was trying to explain it to Vega a few days ago–it isn’t like there’s one specific thought that’s bugging me in particular; moreso, it feels like all of these fragments, these half-thoughts, these years old experiences that I shoved down down down into my soul are finally starting to make their way back up into the conscious part of my being. The thing that’s weirding me out isn’t necessarily any one of these thoughts or bits of memory; rather, the sheer volume of things making their way back up. I always knew on some level that one day I’d be slapped in the face with the shit I didn’t bother to handle at the time, but it’s happening in a much different manner than I always thought it would. Maybe, just maybe, I have gotten to the point where I’ll finally just be able to let this shit go. As much as I fantasize sometimes about what I’d say or do differently in those situations if I could go back knowing what I know now, I’m much happier knowing that I can’t go back and that they’re over and done with. I have some mass graves to dig and some major grieving for the people and places and times I’m laying to rest in my head; and I’m hoping that with time, love and support from Vega, and just a little more strength than I think I have in my soul, I’ll be able to do just that.

Life is good, and I can say that with absoluite certainty and even more pride. Thanks in large part to Vega, I’m starting to not only see myself in a different light, but to accept that this isn’t just a passing, fleeting phase in my life; rather, this is who I am and how I should be seen, treated, and accepted as. Somewhere deep inside of me, I’ve always known this (otherwise I wouldn’t have spent the better part of my existence trying to find it and fighting hard for it), but it’s a strangely difficult thing to accept as the truth. As much as it pins me to admit, I’m afraid. I’m piss my pants terrified that I’ll fuck this part of my life up now that I’ve accomplished what I’ve always longed to achieve. I am 99.99% sure that this is just the remainders of the nagging voice my Mother implanted in me trying to (once again) break my brain and make me crawl back to that shell of a person I used to be; however, there is that 0.01% of me that I have to consciously ballgag and ignore on a daily basis, and I can’t wait to stake that through the heart and rid myself of it, too. I’m kind of done with that bullshit in my life. In fact, I’m kind of done with a lot of bullshit in my life, nowadays it’s alllllllll about moving forwards and forgetting the nonsense.

Sorry for the rambling, readers. I’ll step down off the soapbox now, and admittedly I do feel a shitload better having gotten all of that off my chest. The crazy thing? I’m still in an absolutely spectacular mood. Vega has been working away while I blog, we’re enjoying my YouTube DJ skills (on the docket today, plenty of ’90s alt-rock and some early ’00s metal for good measure) and Visa’s been giving me plenty of puppy snuggles to keep me warm and smiling. This was truly the point that I wanted to make–prior to the recent swing over to overwhelming positivity in my days, all of this thinking would have absolutely broken me down (in fact, even in the 506, I spent many days huddled up in bed paralyzed by uncertainty when I’d get all think-y); and now, here I am in the depths of some major processing with a massive grin on my face and some crazy happiness going on. Things do come around and make sense, eventually (Kid Cudi reference anyone?); you just have to exert some patience and fortitude of spirit in order to get there. I’m seeing things from a very different vantage point as of late, and I like the view from here.

On that note, I’m gonna go and run a brush through my hair and take Visa for a stroll before the weekend begins for Vega and I. Have a fantastic remainder to your day, readers–and make the point to take some time for yourselves this weekend. We all deserve that much!

For now,

Wallace, out.

Happiness is Vega, Visa, and (Vegan) Pizza (Or, “This Post is Better Than The Rap Stylings of Krispy Kreme”)

Editor’s Note: not too sure what the fuck kind of caffeine withdrawal WordPress was undergoing earlier, but following initial publication of this post, it was then deleted, then replaced with a grumpy Wallace-rant, then Vega saved the day and managed to email me the original post; so, after much ado, below is the post I’ve been trying to post all day. Thanks for saving my sanity and making me smile as always, my lovely Vincent.

Hello readers, and my apologies for having dropped off the face of the blogosphere for the past few days. I hope everyone’s been taking care of themselves and making time for plenty of magical tea and sporadic bouts of happy dancing (in public, natch. It’s so much more gratifying).

I should mention (before my Swiss cheese brain forgets) that the last post was written on a flight very very late Saturday night/very very early Sunday morning, and I do apologize for the delay in transferrence from Wordpad to WordPress–I do indeed look forward to the day where wi-fi is standard on domestic flights. I didn’t forget about you beauties, and I appreciate the encouragement/making sure I hadn’t dropped dead emails I’ve been receiving this week through the EIB email. I’m still alive and blogging, I promise!

I have so much to say I barely know where to begin. So I’m actually going to finish my coffee and have a smoke before I attempt to blog.

Alrighty then, I am caffeinated and ready to try this again. At this very moment, I am happily sprawled out in the company of my lovely Vega (he’s so damned cute when he’s working, and I have a nice view of his very sexy back from this angle) and his dog Visa (with whom I have forged a for-life friendship thanks to a couple of epic walks and plenty of tummy rubs), and I cannot think of a happier place for this girl in the whole wide world. Less than a week ago I arrived here, and at the same time new and exciting, there is a remarkable amount of comfort in this new Mia-homestead…in fact, in a strange way it feels that I’ve always been here. My namesake says it best in Pulp–“that’s how you know you’ve found someone truly special; when you can just shut the fuck up for a moment and comfortably enjoy a silence.” Serious truth in that; evidenced for me most clearly by the fact that right now, there is a more-than-comfortable silence in the air that I wouldn’t trade for anything in the world. I can hear myself think, feel myself relax; and with every second that passes in the forever that has begun for me and Vega, I seem to be finding new levels of awesome being reached.

Anyways I digress, it’s been a busy few days and I have some fun stories to tell. Sunday morning I arrived in the 403 and was simply elated to see Mr. Vega awaiting me at the arrivals gate. Needless to say, there was running into his arms and much hugging and kissing and overall adorable us-ness that ensued. Eventually, luggage was acquired, cab was found, and we made it to Vega’s shortly after 2 am. I’ll save the details on the kinky adventures for another post (those always seem to require their own..simply too much to try to cram into a Mia-verse update), but let’s just say that there was much celebrating to be had. Eventually, we passed out (in each other’s arms again! YES, back where we belong; that is, together, natch) and I slept like a champ next to the man I love. Pretty sure I smiled the whole night through, and definitely got the best snooze I’d had since he left the 506.

One of Vega’s best friends, we’ll call her Veggie (she’s a vegan and I really don’t know her all too well yet, so bear with me on that one), had been hearing more than plenty about me and had invited us for a late lunch/meet and greet/let’s make sure Vega’s fiancée is up to snuff gathering at her and her boyfriend’s (we’ll call him Chef, he’s rather passionate about cooking and again, I don’t know the guy very well, so bear with me) place Sunday afternoon, so we peeled ourselves out of bed just after 3:00 pm and got ready to hang out (and in my case, hopefully impress rather than terrify Vega’s core group of friends). A short half hour later, another one of Vega’s close friends, we’ll call him Mouth (guy likes to talk, super interesting chap) picked us up to head over and nosh and chat and such. It was a lovely afternoon full of wonderful food (Chef made us all vegan pizza, which was fucking superb by the way; and Mouth provided vegan chocolate ice cream and something called “bliss balls” (think bite-sized Lara Bars covered in almond slivers..nom!)), plenty of laughter, and some folks with whom I hope to forge good friendships with in the time to come. Hopefully, they all felt the same way too..I am definitely an acquired taste. Eventually, we said our bye-for-now’s, and Mouth dropped us back off at Vega’s. We spent the evening drinking magical Chamomile tea and watching Buffy and snuggling on the couch. It was, in a word, perfect. Perfect day.

Monday was back to work for Vega day, and I spent it doing some odd-jobs round the house, taking Visa for a lovely hour-long jaunt around the neighbourhood (may I say that it feels awesome to be back in a place where I not only recognize the street names, but know my way around), and reading the rest of The Hunger Games (which, by the way, was nowhere near deserving of all the goddamned press it got…SO underwhelming and SO super-teenaged-girl oriented it actually kind of broke my brain a little bit). Vega and I then enjoyed a well-deserved Buffy marathon on the couch with some mead (he also makes his own liquor..seriously, there is little that my love can’t do heheh) and dinner (chickpea chili, also made by Vega and despite his protest, I think it was rather delicious) on the couch with the intention of turning in early and fixing our sleep patterns. Beta called early early Tuesday morning wondering if she could bring some folks over after she was finished work (she is kitchen staff at a local pub; wouldn’t have been until after 4 in the morning easily), and although Vega and I took refuge in the bedroom with Buffy and smokes and mead, we still ended up staying awake early enough into the wee hours of the morn (addendum, she never did show up) that we called it an all-nighter.

Post-too-much-mead, it was brekky time, so we nommed, then Vega hit the work chair and I indulged in a shower before taking Visa for another nice walk around the town. When we returned, Vega and I had one of our famed endless chats about the world and enjoyed each other’s company and somehow, a few hours flew past before we realized that we were hungry hungry hippos. He and I walked down to the nearest pub for a burger and a pint (and the half-assed watching of a terrible hockey game…I mean, C’MON Flames…) before heading back home to continue our Vampire Slayer marathon and couch cuddles before beddybyes.

17 hours later, we awoke well-rested and having missed Wednesday almost in its entirety. When we finally rolled out of bed, we had brekky for dinner, then Vega got cracking on his workload whilst I cleaned up the crazy-ass mess my luggage had made (I had no hand in it, I swear) all over Vega’s bedroom. A couple hours later, my lovely love had showed me how to do some basic basics to help him with his work-pile (I “helped”! haha) whilst he attacked another project. A while later, we ordered some nom nom pizza (butter chicken plus pizza equals frackin’ win) and started watching Battlestar Galactica (gotta break it up with Wheadon sometimes..we both love Buffy, but there is a limit to the 90s goodness)–which is fracking awesome, and makes much more sense watching it all in order. We’d intended to go to sleep at a normal time; however, 17 hour marathon passouts kind of fuck you for a normal sleeping patter; ergo, another all-nighter was called. I’m not particularly complaining–a night spent snuggling with my man watching sci fi and drinking hot chocolate is always a winning combination in my books.

And here we are, post-brekky, Vega working away, Visa snoring on my lap as I indulge my blogging habit in the comfort of the living room and the knowledge that coffee is currently percolating in the cafétiere. Once again I’m uncertain if the minutia of my life actually interests any of you; however, I am completely to the point of not caring. Life is more than good at this point. In fact, Life is fracking fantastic, and I’m totally revelling in that knowledge today (also, my fiancé just brought me a hot cup of that aforementioned java, and the delivery came with kisses and a hug..so I’m on cloud nine is more like it). All the uncertainties, all the frustrations, all the negativity I’ve been carrying around is nowhere to be seen–I think I left it in the YYZ airport. Not complaining. The only kinda-downer is the fact that it’s snowing and it was +12 degrees yesterday; however, one really can’t complain about that in March in the 403. At this point, I’m looking forward to a shower, a possible walk with Sir Visa, working on yet another long-ignored blog post, a possible ab workout (we’ll see about that one..having a slight flare right now) and more sci-fi marathon goodness with the love of my life this evening. If we manage to normalize our sleeping patterns a bit tonight too we’ll be super-winning!

The overall point is that everything is actually falling into its right place. There’s lots of new normal happening right now, and it is so unspeakably wonderful that it’s being balanced out with more than a little bit of forward momentum for both myself and Vega. Life’s already better together..we’re going to end up with plenty of happy memories in Calgary, and I’m pretty sure that moving to the 250 is truly only going to be wonderful for us, both as individuals and as a couple. Lots of adventures coming our way. Lots more to come in the rom-com we call our lives.

On an extreme tangent, I’d like to introduce you to the world’s greatest (or shittiest, but he is still the best in that category) rapper, Mr. Krispy Kreme. Seriously, do yourself a favor, take five, and click here for the best laugh you’ll have all week. Not sure whether to applaud the kid for creativity or smack him for lack of using a DAMNED KLEENEX, but either way, Vega and I approve this message.

I’ll do my best to get that other belated post up sometime today; however, right now, I need to go hug my love, have a smoke, finish my coffee, and take a shower.

Wallace, out.

Life and Other Four-Letter-Words (Or, “Curses!”)

Another balls-out Beast Mode day in Wallace World. I’ve not only regained myself; I’ve started once again building UP day after day. Stagnancy is death, as far as I’m concerned, and I was getting far too still for my own liking for a few days there. My life has been defined by perpetual motion, and I’m simply not comfortable being a body at rest. it’s good to be back in the full swing of things, it’s good to be back.

It was a somewhat challenging day; but it was a good one overall. Woke up at 12:00, stayed in bed reading until 2:30. I missed getting lost in books, and I thoroughly enjoyed being warm and comfy in bed (with a nom nom brekky Boo cheffed for me! win.) with Lady Chatterly and no agenda. I felt my brain fall back into place; my soul, instantly happier. Books are still my best friend.

When I did finally peel myself out of my cozy little cocoon, I was somewhat diminshed by the details of my friend’s death. It was not a cool way to start my day, so I came downstairs shaking and made coffee and had a few smokes. Two big cups of Joe and a bottle of water later, I was happily upstairs again, getting myself amped up for a workout, when a good friend of mine, Scissors (long story), sent me a pic text of Sunshine’s new girlfriend (let’s call her Woof, she’s a DOG). Well. Woof’s thong-clad ass (mine is much, much nicer, by the way), covered in sharpie reading all kinds of seriously demeaning shit that Sunshine himself wrote. I had an hour long conversation with Scissors, and ended up slightly crestfallen. I don’t care, but it does hurt, realizing that I gave Sunshine my best and seeing that he’s perfectly contented by a common whore with less brain cells than a stick of celery. I do; however, take serious comfort in knowing that he’s nothing more than fuel to my fire, as I went down to the Pit PISSED right off, and ready to give my workout 110% (my ass is fabulous 1/2 because of genetics, 1/2 because of squats and lunges) and to burn off some rage. A year ago, I would have crumpled. He exists solely to make me stronger these days.

Killer workout was indeed had today. I’m ready to up my weights tomorrow, which is an awesome feeling, and I am definitely gaining height with my plyo jumps. I actually smashed a lightbulb with my hand today doing burpees, and found it in me to still do decline pushups with a gashed palm. Again, a year ago, I would have said fuck it. These days, I see it as nothing more than a battle scar from the war I am waging on my less than perfect body parts. I emerged from the Pit 1.5 hours later drenched in sweat and burning with adrenaline. There is truly nothing better than killing a HIIT circuit on Hump Day.

After a gratuitously long, hot shower, I had my first meeting with my new employer (phone meetings are great. I was already in jammies.), and got my schedule and all that good junk. I’m excited to start on the 26th, and the first 4 weeks are completely non-committal training. Just beautiful, and exactly what I’m after. Benefits after six months and everything. I was more than happy when the meeting ended, as I hadn’t eaten post-workout and my tummy was more than grumbling.

And then, I had to use my willpower not to snap when I got to the kitchen and realized that literally ever pan was dirty from brekky still, and I could not make food until I cleaned. I have no problem cleaning, but I’ve done practically all the housework in the past 3 weeks. Once, just ONCE, it would be nice if I didn’t have to clean, then cook, then clean. Anyways. I took a deep breath and did what needed doing then whipped up a wicked salad and a seared pork chop for boo and myself, then we sat down to eat and watch some TV and chit chat for a bit.

This is where the 4-letter-words come into play. Fuck, shit, damn, hell. All curse words. For me, the biggest insult, the worst word you can call me is “LAZY.”And I was called this term when I told Boo my elation at snagging the 1-9 shift instead of the 9-5. I’m not lazy because I sleep later than she does. I’m not lazy at all. And I’m super fucking choked at the fact that I am seen as such, when I do five billion things a day that benefit not only me, but the household. Take food prep for example, I got chewed out because there were no more carrot sticks. There are two bags of carrots. Why do I always have to cut them into stick form? Lazy. Pfft.

That’s another 4 letter word that’s defined my life; FOOD. I have a much healthier relationship with food these days; however, it’s still a struggle. I am learning, but I tell ya, it’s still a conscious effort  to see food as a “fuck yes!,” rather than just a “FUCK.” I’m trying to replace the vernacular definition by embracing healthy habits, which takes WORK (another 4-letter word). I put in the WORK, I am not LAZY, and I can enjoy FOOD (see where I’m going with this?).

Then there’s LOVE. This one’s a 4-letter word only because of the scars I now carry from what I previously thought love was. I’m lucky in my relationship now that it is more than reciprocated, and that the definition has completely shifted for me; however, the tiny piece of my heart that still hurts when I think about my mom, or KFP or Sunshine makes me bitter, and sometimes I wish I had a switch that would turn off my capacity to feel towards them; but, alas, I am human. I suppose there’s a hidden silver lining in the fact that the tiny bit of negativity attached to the word for me keeps me humble and awe-filled and amazed at the LOVE that I get from my Vega. I still don’t fully grasp that this is my life, my love, my happiness, my story. How’d I get so lucky?

The last four letter word for today is TALK, and I believe that it’s cheap. Now pardon me for talking and sounding a hypocrite (I suppose this blog truly only is talk), but in my real life, I put in work at all things in all aspects as much as I humanly possibly can so that I can be more than my words; so that I can be defined through my actions, my motion. Jealousy has been rampant this evening and directed at me. However. It’s just TALK. And I choose to act instead. We all fall behind, we all talk sometimes, but it’s the willingness to do more than flap your lips that makes the difference. I’m always willing to help those that want to help themselves; however, you can’t make people want to change. and I suppose that’s just LIFE. Frustrating as it is.

Anyways, enough word play for now. On a VERY FUCKING AWESOME NOTE, my Vega has officially booked his flight and will arrive in the YFC at 7:05 pm on February 15th. I am over the fucking moon, and I cannot WAIT to see my love, to breathe in his scent and look into his eyes and hold him and kiss him and be with him. It no longer feels like just a nice dream anymore, now that his trip is booked and finalized it feels super fucking real and even more exciting than ever. I’m the luckiest woman alive, to have met my soulmate and to have realized it and to get to revel in him oh-so-soon. Vega, I adore you, and I am so much more than looking forward to seeing you, love. I am literally reeling. It’s Thursday tomorrow, then Friday, then a weekend, then 4 days, and then we’ll be together. YAY!!!

On that note, I’m going to enjoy the remainder of my cup of tea (magical tea!), a square of 85% dark and brush my hair before I skype-date the handsomest man in the world (did I mention that he’s mine? fuck, I am lucky.); however, the night is young and I’m feeling pensive today, very well might have another post for you all later.

Wallace, out.

“Survival is the ability to swim in strange water.”

So, I’m writing this from my favorite post in my home; center cushion of the big couch, Sarge to my left on the loveseat playing COD, Boo to my right working (Woooooo! She can work from home now instead of having to trek to Bradmore’s!), Wonderpup curled up sleeping in front of the fireplace. Caffeination is the name of the game currently (I’m on cup #4 for the day and feeling much more human), and I am enjoying feeling rested after sleeping well past noon today; DOMS are kicking in full-force, and I’m loving every second of it. I’m getting myself back, slowly it seems, but the Wallace I know and love myself to be is still in there.

Last night, we had entirely too much fun here at the Brothel playing MarioParty 2 on the N64 and laughing our wee arses off. Sarge’s neighbor, Kripke (so nicknamed because he reminds me to a T of Sheldon’s professional nemesis from “The Big Bang Theory”), came over to join us, and it was a much needed and totally PG evening full of enjoying each other’s company and reminiscing about the wonders of 64-bit gaming. It was also a nice distraction for me; as Vega was flying home from his conference last night, and was thusly only able to text intermittently. All in all, relaxing and joyous use of time.

Around 10:00, Boo and Sarge went up to bed, and I settled in on the couch with my netbook and some crappy TV for background noise with the intention of writing a post; however, my head was swimming and I ended up sitting and getting lost in my thoughts. Sometimes, I revel so much in the simple pleasure of meditation. There is something so comforting about just letting the thoughts come and go as they please sometimes; I usually moderate my own thoughts, in order to avoid any unpleasant repercussions in public situations.

A yoga instructor from my past (aside: I believe in yoga much the same way I believe in magical tea) taught me all about meditation; he used to reserve the last 25 minutes of every class for shavasana (corpse pose) and personal meditation. I was going through a period of personal hell at that time in my life, and I remember that the first few times I took his class, I entirely missed the point of the exercise, I would lay there and have this jumble of thoughts and basically spend 25 minutes trying to figure out how to not think.

One day, a particularly bad day, I came into class with mascara streaking down my cheeks (had just literally gotten into a screaming match with my mother; can’t remember what over, but I remember this was a particularly nasty one), and my instructor took me aside before class to ask if I was alright to proceed. I broke down; straight up lost it, and told him that all I wanted was to take the class and find some peace and if he would please just be patient with me and set me up in the back of the room so I could get through the next two hours of stretching and burning and breathing and sweating.

This was not to be the case; said my instructor, as he stared me straight in the eye and told me that I was welcome to stay, but if I stayed, I was to be dead center of the room. “In life as in yoga, dear girl,” he said, “you get only what you put in. You have been putting too much time in allowing negative energies to consume your soul. Stay, be centered, and take from the good energy in the room. I promise, if you give yourself to the class today, you will leave at least feeling a little bit better.” I gritted my teeth and decided to take the risk. To expose myself to this opportunity, despite the feeling of vulnerability I had walked into the studio with. I took a deep breath, unrolled my mat in the centre of the room, and began class with everyone else. Surya Namaskara, or the Sun Salutation, was the name of the game for warm-up that class. That’s always been my favorite series of asanas, as it allows the body to become warm and to feel strong. We repeated it the customary five times, and then moved into some inversion work, and then some strenght work, and then, it was time for shavasana. This time, I was in the frame of mind to listen to my dear instructor, to fully give my energy to what he was offering. We started the pose in a darkened room, heat raised slightly, on our backs with our knees supported. His instructions were simple. The task at hand; not so much. We began by relaxing our muscles, toes upwards. We allowed for a few momwnts of enjoying the heaviness as we began to sink into the floor, to sink into relaxation. And then, the mental aspect began. He had this beautiful way of getting us to be aware of our breathing; to envision a silver ring floating above us, and to allow that to be the visual for our breath. The ring was to spin without pause, and we were to allow our breath to become that infinite spinning circle; each exhale seamlessly becoming an inhale, each inhale giving way to a breath out. A few more minutes of this, and we began to feel the power of the exercise at hand. This is the point in meditation where I normally lose focus and lose the healing powers of controlling your physical by way of breath and your mental by way of thought. This time, I listened to my instructor. His instructions were to allow the thoughts to ebb and flow; however, to not put any conscious effort into thinking about them. Rather, we were to be consciously focused solely upon making that silver ring spin.

When you successfully sink into a meditative state, you stop being aware of your surroundings, stop hearing the room around you, stop feeling your heavy limbs on the floor. This instance was the first successful meditation I’ve ever experienced, and all I reember to this day of the experience was the chime that signalled the end of the exercise, the “snapping to” that comes with it. I had tears streaming down my face and the biggest smile on my lips. It isn’t always about thinking about things; we do enough of that consciously day after day. It’s moreso about allowing your mind the license to mull over these thoughts without allowing the conscious to create extra fears or worries or bullshit emotions. Emotion is the human condition. Beign able to control said condition, is truly the path to settling your emotional wounds.

I will never be able to thank that brilliant man enough for teaching me the basics on how to achieve my own personal state of mental stillness. Every time I sit to meditate, I throw some good karma up to the universe in gratitude for that day, for that instructor, for the first of many cathartic meditative experiences I have had since that first one.

At this point I am going to save this as a draft and go for my daily does of sweat. Back in just over an hour.

WordPress kind of freaked on me and deleted the addendum paragraph I had typed after my workout AND un-published this post, so I’m going to stop this one here and publish; fold my laundry, then write y’all another post. Sound good?

For the moment,

Wallace out.

“Like a walk in the park/ Like a hole in the head” (Or, “Why I Love Cleaning House”)

Once again, it is much too late to be awake, and once again, here I am. I apologize in advance for a self-indulgent, overly shitty post.

…The above sentence was as far as I got into my post last night before passing right the fuck out. I have stupid arthritic fingers and took some meds for the pain (as I type this, my right knuckles and joints in my index and middle fingers are so swollen I can barely open a damn door), and I must have passed right out after that–my netbook was still on beside me when I got up this morning, and Jeff Mangum was still playing on a loop. My hands are so unbelievably swollen and sore this morning. It really isn’t fair, this whole arthritic hands bullshit thing. Sarge is the best friend to have around with all of this though; he cooked me a bad ass brekky (bacon and eggs for the fucking win), fed me some more painkillers, and sent me back up to bed. I’m considering getting him to open the back door (haha, back door) for me so I can have a smoke, how unbelievably lame is that?? Anyways.

Painkillers are awesome. Just thought I should throw that out there. I’ve gone from swollen and painful and useless hands to happy floaty can’t-feel-my-face numb in less than 20 minutes. Blogging is fun again.

I also have a super duper sexy avocado, banana, and honey facemask on as I type this. I am delicious right now. All willpower in the world necessary right now not to literally eat this off my face. 🙂

Anywhore, yesterday was a total cluster of awesome wrapped in a little bit of holy hell insanity. Woke up and went to Freddy with Sarge while Boo went with Bradmore to pick up her best friend from Moncton (we’ll call her Solo, she loves beer pong). Sarge and I had a wicked brodate; picked up a $50.00 BBQ (kijiji score), then went and got me winter boots, him a PS3 headset, and some red Solo cups (beer pong and flip cup partay), before coming home. We had an awesome chat; mostly about myself and Vega, some talk of him and Boo, and a lot of laughing over the Swizz situation. Then we got some ‘za and nachos, and sat in the living room in front of our nifty new fireplace (yes, yes, it’s electric, Vega. Still cozies up the room!) while he showed me videos of him firing off a Howitzer that shoots projectiles larger than my damn leg. I’m so proud of him for having come this far in the military. He doesn’t give himeself enough credit for being talented, smart, and an overall badass.

While we were sitting there awaiting the return of Boo, Bradmore and Solo, Swizz came in the front door, stomped up the stairs, grabbed some more of her shit, stormed down the stairs, out the front door, and sped off. I don’t believe I have ever heard Sarge laugh as hard as he did after the front door slammed shut. Peace, lady. It was horrible while it lasted and we are all so very glad it’s over.

After we mowed down some pizza, the terrible trio returned, myself and the ladies made ourselves look sexy as hell, and we began to party hard. A bottle of tequila, half a bottle of vodka, and some beer pong later, we went to Dooly’s for pool and a pitcher (well, most of us. Bradmore bitched out before we even made it to the bar), where I got a nice little buzz on, met a friend of Boo’s who was way too interested in me, and danced my ass off (there is no dancefloor at Dooly’s; I do what I want haha). Eventually, we were ready to head back to the brothel we call home, and that’s precisely what we did.

Upon our return, things took a slight turn for the downhill for everyone. Boo had gotten a little bit too smammered and puked alllll over Sarge’s bedding, Sarge was in turn grumpy as hell, and Solo passed out on the couch in the living room. Myself and that aforementioned interested guy (we’ll call him Cuba, he likes a stogie here and there) were left alone and drunk munching, so we whipped up some epic nachos, and had another beer. Things were awkward in the house with Sarge grumbly and everybody else way too drunk to function, so we had a smoke and said goodnight.

After Cuba left, Sarge and I hauled Solo upstairs to his bed to drunk cuddle with Boo, and Sarge took command of the couch to catch some well-deserved Z’s. At this point, I was sober, lonely, and kind of in a funk (my sure-thing lay turned into a nothing, I was texting my Vega and missing the living hell out of him, and I really just didn’t feel like being alone), so I did some dishes, smoked a half pack, then went upstairs and took a shower. Finally, I landed in my bedroom, comfy but still kind of down, and settled down with the intention of writing this very blog post and enjoying the sounds of Neutral Milk Hotel in bed. Vega was at a rock show and we’d agreed on Skyping when he returned; however, I was apparently just exhausted, and ended up passing the fuck out, netbook still in my lap, cup of magical tea completely untouched. I was legitimately upset with myself for missing out on hearing my Vega’s voice before I slept last night. That started the day off on a slightly bitter note (Vega, I’m sorry my love. I really did try to stay awake).

When I woke up this morning, Sarge was his usual smiley self and had brought me a delicious brekky of eggs and bacon in bed; so I took my plate, headed downstairs, and enjoyed my food with some epic conversation (mainly filling the others in on what they had done the night prior) and a pot and a half of coffee. Then, Bradmore, Sarge, Boo and Solo packed into Bradmore’s car to take Solo back to Moncton, and I enjoyed some much needed quiet and solitude in the house.

I spent all afternoon listening to dubstep, doing dishes, cleaning the floors, and generally enjoying engaging my neat-freak and sorting my thoughts. I think best when I’m alone and cleaning. Something about the smell of Lysol and the action of scrubbing allows me to sort my thoughts; and I guess today, I realized how difficult a time I’ve been having allowing myself to feel the things I’ve repressed for so long. When I was doing dishes (dishes first because I hate them), I was ANGRY. I was cursing and screaming and finally just venting all of the rage I’ve felt towards so many people for so damn long (yes, I talk to myself. All the time.), Sunshine, KFP, my parents. I reamed them out for the ages; I was literally SHAKING with the negative energy pouring out of my soul. Finally I finished the dishes, and went out for a smoke before attacking the floors.

When I started to sweep, I began to feel a soul-crushing heaviness; a sadness like I’ve truly never experienced. I started to think about all of the broken, empty loneliness I’ve felt for most of what I remember of my life. I swept and cried tears for the ages, thinking about how I felt as a kid–never smart enough, never truly welcome in my own family or my own home, never pretty enough, always walking on eggshells. That led to thinking about how lost I felt when I moved out; how scared, how sad I was, seemingly walking the Earth on my own, always trying and failing; always getting by, but never getting ahead. I excused myself from myself when I was done with sweeping for another cigarette. The neighbours must think I’m batshit crazy; the girl from Alberta who smokes with mascara staining her cheeks from the sobfest they must have heard.

When I came back inside, I readied the mop, and I scrubbed the floors while thinking about the relationships I’ve been in during the past few years. I felt so much shame, so much guilt for allowing myself to become a whipping post for so many assholes. I was the “old lady” for the KFP, the backbone of his involvement in the club, the “yes” woman who did as told and took the fall so many times. I was the ATM in the relationship with Sunshine; the woman who had been so broken that he “fixed me” by doing absolutely nothing and watching me work my ass off, watching me cook and clean and take care of his ass–what the fuck else was I expecting? I’d already been through so much, struggled and broken into pieces and become so hardened, while he lived an easy life at home with his mama, never having to lift but a pinky finger. And yet; I held on to these people, these bullshit “relationshits,” for the simple fact that I was too afraid to be alone. After I left my parent’s house, I literally put myself through all of this in the simple name of settling for less than what I am truly worth. I settled for being treated like shit, because as far as I was concerned, that was all I deserved, and all I’d ever get.

I went outside after this and chainsmoked another half a pack of cigarettes before heading upstairs to clean the bathroom. Between the nicotine and the physical release of so many years of pent up tears, I was starting to feel my breathing slow and my head clear. I started on the shower, scrubbing the tiles back to their bright white, and finally beginning to give myself a little bit of credit for how far I’ve come. I guess I’m still horribly understating this to myself, because I still have to consciously try to give myself credit for this. I scrubbed and scrubbed and began to laugh; I have walked through both the fire and the rain and felt so many times that my life would never amount to more than just that, being some sort of cosmic joke, some sort of pathetic waste.

I am so, so much more than I ever imagined I could be. I am no longer angry, nor sad, nor guilty; however, I am human, and for the first time in a long time today, I reminded myself of that. I repressed so much while I was in the depths of getting through the shit, that it was a huge relief on my soul to finally let it out; exorcize the demons for the last time. I am proud and I am humbled. On a personal level, I am grateful for all of the negative things I’ve finally began to release from my life–without them I would still be incapable of seeing the good things that are coming into play. I finally finished scrubbing the bathroom and sweeping the stairs, and I had just put the mop and the broom away when my room mates made it back from Moncton.

I revelled in their smiles, their genuine gratitude for my having cleaned the house, the genuine excitement in our being reuinted after but 3.5 hours apart. I am finally starting to learn to feel comfortable with being a part of a perfectly dysfunctional little family unit. We’re all coming from very much the same place, and we’re all working towards very much the same goal. We’re all afraid to let people in, but we’re all learning to do just that; and I do truly believe that this time, we’re all letting the right ones in. There’s so much evidence of this that my inner scientist cannot dispute what I am hoping is the truth.

I’m part of a household that wants to be healthy and happy, that laughs together all the time, that’s cried together and lifted each other up moreso in a week than anybody has done (at least for me) without any expectation or request for return in my whole life. We’re still in the process of removing dead weight (swizz) and we’re still hitting our stride; however, for the first time in my life, I look forward to being at home.

I’m watching my best friend fall head over heels (slowly, cautiously, as Sarge is both of those things by nature) for a woman who brings him up. I’ve finally seen my Sarge laugh and smile and be sweet and open and unafraid to be in love with someone, and it makes me happy as hell to watch his love story with Boo begin to unfold.

I’m becoming the best of friends with someone who makes me happy to be alive, and who is reminding me that I can, in fact, have a friend who is a girl whom I don’t want to murder. She indulges my feminine side with silly home made face masks and she also allows me someone intelligent and of the same sex off of whom to bounce fears and thoughts and brilliant schemes. It’s been good for both of us to find this comfort in each other, and I am truly excited to see where this friendship takes us.

And then, there’s the utterly incredible joy I feel in realizing what it is that I truly have with my Vega. He and I are definitely both killing some demons and bad habits in ourselves from our previous negative relationships just in being with each other, allowing ourselves to revel in a relationship that is, quite frankly, amazing.

(brace yourselves, I’m about to wax poetic. Those with diabetes of the brain might want to refrain from reading the following, because I am feeling rather sweet.)

Last night was an interesting one for Vega, too. He had gone for dinner the night before last with some of his best friends, and I am honored and humbled to say that they seem to approve of me based on both what he told them, and because he (according to them) has the same glow about him that I do right now. This led us to have a pretty epic conversation about how his feelings and relationship with Beta seem to be settling intoa much happier, platonic place. I don’t hate Beta; however, I do feel that she’s an idiot for letting go of the opportunity to be as happy as I am right now (I AM NOT COMPLAINING, bee-yotch, I win, as far as I’m concerned).

Yesterday, he had a heart-to-heart with Beta (I don’t know the ins and outs of it, nor do I truly want to), and it seems that she is coming to terms with Vega being happy with me in his life. I can’t be happier to report that, or the fact that she apparently is calling me his girlfriend, instead of his drunken relationship mistake. Not that I usually get caught up in that kind of thing, but I know she had up until this point been generally down on Vega about the whole thing, which upsets me because she is unfairly getting herself wrapped up in our happiness, and even more unfairly so, taking away from his enjoyment of the newfound goodness by making him feel less than deserving of this newfangled glory. I am not ridiculous, and I certainly don’t expect her to ever truly like the idea of me, or of us for that matter; however, it’s a general annoyance in my life when I watch people rain on other’s parades. All that aside, I am happy to hear that she is coming around, and happy for her that she is finding her own joy in relationships that are healthier for all involved. Full circle happiness for all those involved.

He’s also coming to be much more confident in himself; and in turn, in announcing to the world that we’re as happy as we are. This is one of those things that the two of us are so similar, and yet, so very different about. I’m a “shout- it-off-the-rooftops-at-passing-strangers” kind of girl, my Vega is a much more reserved, shy kind of guy. Again, so similar, but so different. It makes me smile to know that he is finally at peace enough with himself that I’m not going anywhere (unless he asks me to; in which case, I will, but I really hope that day never comes) to slowly begin whispering the news to passersby. It’s relatively unimportant to me whether or not people know. That isn’t the issue here. It’s moreso the comfort levels we both have in being solid and being a couple (a hugely non-tradtional, awesomely randomly matched from the stars kind of couple) to be able to define what we have in a social norm kind of way when people ask. To be perfectly frank, it puts my mind at ease knowing that we can define us. My world is ruled by semantics. This is a necessary definition.

Equally strange and exciting in our relationship is the fact that Vega and I share relatively identical, bizarre, and somewhat underground sexual tastes and kinks and fetishy-likings. I am nowhere near as experienced as Vega is in all of this; however, I’m rather quite excited about the new experiences we both have awaiting us sexually. There is such a difference between having sex and making love. In our relationship, for now at least, we are in an open status of dating, he is free to have sex with others as I am too (see previous posts for my $0.02 on the necessity and basic instinct involved in sex); however, the idea of him dominating someone else sexually upsets me as much as the idea of me getting sexually dominated by another upsets him. I don’t feel the necessity to get too much more intimate with you, dear readers, about my sexual life; however, I will say this. Having sex is a benign thing. No problems with both of us taking care of those needs. Making love, well–we love each other, so I’m not too concerned about that happening with someone else (and I hope vice-versa). The new things I am learning about D/s relationships is that they involve a huge about of invested respect, trust, and knowledge of the other person. I’m pretty sure there is going to be great catharsis in a lot of what we have ahead of us; and I am pretty sure this will make our already tight as hell bond(age! haha. had to, Vega) that much more solid. I’ll be pretty devastated if he feels any other woman is that close to him on that intimate a level…but I’m pretty certain he means it as much as I do when I say that he’s the one for me. And I’m pretty sure he needs to get his ass on the plane so some seriously awesome sexy time can finally be a reality. You can really only get so creative over skype.

Beyond the sex, and beyond the kink, there is something just so…visceral about my certainty in my bond with Vega. My day is instantly remedied within minutes of talking to him, and being able to say I’m his is the ultimate trophy. Even from 4 provinces away, I feel like a prize on his arm. He is so genuine in being happy to have me (as I am likewise), that I cannot dispute the fact that if this were a game, this relationship thing, we would have tied for first. We won. I have a hard time wrapping my head around how lucky I feel in landing here in my life. He’s so custom fit to my needs, my wants, my everything. How is it that I, Mia Wallace, have pleased the universe enough to have had this incredible (hopefully life) partner fall out of nowhere and totally blow all of my expectations out of the damn water? How is it that he feels the same about me?

I do believe from the bottom of my soul that we will never truly come to terms with the crazy circumstances that brought us together, and (not so) secretly, I hope we never do. There’s a certain je ne sais quoi that the magic of not understanding brings to this already magical relationship. I mean, how can we come to accept that any slight variation of these insane circumstances would likely have meant us never being us?

I met the guy online. We both just wanted to get laid. If I’d not had a coffee at 4:00 that afternon, I would have been too tired to go. If Beta hadn’t have gone on her date, I probably wouldn’t have been invited over. If he had been an axe murder, I likely wouldn’t be sitting her writing right now. If Dune hadn’t been noticed sitting on his bookshelf, we likely never would have had our first epic conversation. There are so many tiny little things that could have gone so drastically differently that would have led to this never unfolding. But they didn’t; and here we are.

I do believe the term is “soulmate.”

I do believe I have found mine in Vega.

I do believe he feels the same.

I am grateful and happy and the luckiest girl in the world. I win, life. I win at love.

For now, I am going to call it quits on this post, go takea shower, and prepare to (actually, I swear my love) Skype my dear Vega. I still have a lot of shit to shovel in my life to truly say I’ve dealt with things up to this point; however, I think this is a pretty good start.

Painful, confusing, scary, as it is, I do feel that I can heal my soul. It’s just going to take cleaning house to get there.

Until next time,

Wallace out.

The Sense in Nonsense

So, I’m sitting here in the living room with Sarge and Boo, Swizz is in the kitchen making raspberry turnovers, and Dee’s on Skype chat with me. My life makes both no sense and total sense right now, and I’m completely overwhelmed, both in positive and negative aspects of the term.

In all honesty, I thrive in the chaos. When my life is still, I sit and await the next shitstorm. My existence has been marked by so many ridiculous circumstances, I’ve accepted that stillness–calm–is probably never going to be the tune to which I sing.

Last night was a complete and total clusterfuck. Keep that in mind–I use the term with frivolous purpose and in (kind of!) jest.

Sarge wanted me to have a good welcome to Oromocto weekend kickoff, so after he got home from work, we got our liquor run out of the way (vodka and gin and beer, natch), then came home and started tying them on. Made myself as pretty as I could manage, then myself and Sarge piled into Sarge’s truck, pumped some gangsta beats, and made our way to the local watering hole, Dooly’s.

Upon arrival, I celebrated the fact that pitchers of beer are $10 here and shots were 2 for 1, played a really flukey round of pool, and got our drink on with Swizz and her man and a few randoms. Got a good glow going, and then (DUN DUN DUNNNNN) I finally met Boo, officially and for real. Shes both exactly what I was expecting, and definitely not; however, she’s alright to drink with and I’ll give Sarge that much.

We went pretty hard on the drinks and by the 5th pitcher and 7th round of shots, we all piled into Sarge’s truck (i swear to drunk officer, the driver was TOTALLY sober…), and came back to home base, where we continued to make a dent in the 40 of vodka and the 26 of gin that are currently near empty (well, the vodka’s almost drained; I’m the only gin lover here) and then–CLUSTERFUCK.

Boo and Sarge went upstairs to have sloppy drunken sex, and then, they got waaaay too loud for mine and X’s (Swizz popped the joint and spent the night at her man’s place) liking, and X has some messy emotional stuff with Sarge, so I did the best friend thing and made some witty ass comments (I crack myself up) way too loudly from the bathroom and they promptly ceased (gotta say Sarge, I expected you to keep that Boo a-bouncin’!! Slightly disappointed there. haha if it were me I would have yelled back and kept on going!), then X and I went for a smoke (her one to my 5), and when I made it back inside, I snagged my netbook and sat down to Facebook chat Mr. Vega. I ended up calling him because I was wasted and missing his cute self, so I settled in on the couch (had been forewarned that Sarge’s room was occupied,) for another drink and a chat with my favorite bearded wonder and some drunken blogging (apparently difficult with a clusterfuck happening concurrently). All I could hear from upstairs was banging around and cats meowing (I still don’t know that I wanna know), but I was happily distracting myself with the Vega when all of a sudden, Boo was drunkenly laying her head on my lap (I HATE THIS, ps. Massive pet peeve) and trying to get in on my conversation. I’d had enough so I took my drink and my Vega out with me for a chain smoke sesh on the back stoop.

And then, my life got instantly more amazing in one fell swoop.

Vega also had a glow going (from what I can assume was some wicked craft beer), and we were having a giggly and sweet and totally warm and fuzzy conversation about things–like his new blogging habit–and then, he said what I’d been feeling (I hadn’t yet put it into those words, even for myself) and thinking about being able to put into a sentence. See, Vega’s in the midst of his own messy relationshit stuff with his roomie/lover/whatever (Beta), and I kind of met him at a turning point time in all that. He and I have so much chemistry and shit in common and all around awesomely good karma around us right now that (I won’t speak for Vega but I believe it’s reciprocated!) even though from the outside looking in, this is CRAZY (I mean, I’d think we were batshit nuts if I wasn’t directly involved), but from the inside looking out, I have to say I feel sorry for the rest of the world. To have somebody tailor fucking made for you fall into your life from a one off internet dating site date and end up not only head over heels, but in complete sync with that person has got to be a one-in-a-million happenstance, and much like the rest of my life, the unexpected has once again proven phenomenal. It’s funny how I end up putting in prudent efforts to “do what I’m supposed to be doing,” and yet, the risks I take every day that others tell me I shouldnt be end up being the most fulfilling and worthwhile. The beautiful random chance of things is just awesome, and I feel that if people took more risks, we’d all be as happy as I am right now (that said, perhaps it’s a good thing the rest of the world isn’t as reckless as I…). I forgot what it is to be this thrilled about existing (sad, sad thing to admit); and now that I have it back in my life, I’m going to fight not to let it go.

But I digress. Mr. Vega and I have pretty similar views on pretty much everything, and the gravity of him saying the three little words Rom Coms are made of was not lost on me; even with both of us buzzing and reeling from the comfort in hearing each others voices from opposite ends of the country. We’re both jaded and broken and in a lot of ways afraid of love, I think. But the one thing we both agree on is how perfectly the word encompasses the crazy bond we have. It isn’t the typical love story, that’s for sure; however, neither one of us is a typical person. There was (and, as much as I hate to admit it, still is) a good amount of fear that he’d awake sober and very much not in love; however, my Vega proved me wrong, and is very much still (if not even moreso now) reciprocating the adoration in kind and very plentifully. In fact,the notion of falling more in love with someone makes sense to me, after falling for Vega. I’d always wanted to understand that for myself but until now, had never been with someone whose love for me seems to be taking the same course. I’m so lucky, Vega. I hope you know I’m 100% honest in saying and feeling that.

Anyways. When I got back inside from the longest smoke break ever, all three of my housemates for the evening were fighting and I didn’t want to deal with it so I overtook Sarge’s room and dirty skyped my bearded one all night long. We were up until 8:00 am my time, and it was worth every second.

This afternoon (12:35 pm NB time,) Mater and Sarge came and gave me a grand wake-up call, and we got dressed (HUNG THE FUCK OVER so I looked like hell, but whatever, nobody knows me here), and we went to Subway for some food (did my best to be paleo friendly–totally had some cheat items, like the honey oat bread my BLT was on, and the granola and yogurt parfait, but still a balanced meal), then it was a road trip to Fredericton to go get me a bedroom set. My mom and I had been talking yesterday and she had offered me out of the blue to go to Sears and choose something not ridiculous that she’d pay for on her Sears card, and I decided to take her up on something that I never thought she’d offer to me. So we got there, and I found a super comfy ass bed on sale, and I called her, as per the agreement.

She basically did an about face, and said that the only way she’d do it is if she could come and visit Sarge and I next weekend. Sorry, mom. You gave up the right to have ultimatums on my life a long motherfucking time ago. I’m not saying I DON’T want to see her, but if we’re truly going to start things again, she has to learn to let go of her need to micromanage me. She also said some unbelievably cruel things to me and made some wickedly misplaced value judgements on my life, and it ended with me telling her where to stuff her god damned mattress, handing the phone off to Sarge, and bursting into full-on ugly tears in the middle of the goddamned store. Mater is awesome and she walked me to a bench and gave me the best hug in the universe, and Sarge followed shortly after, Mother firmly put in her goddamn place, and they did the best friend thing, got on kijiji, and started finding me a bed! I needed a coffee, so I went and got a good one, and by the time I got back the universe once again patted me on the back and told me that I’m doing the right thing by lining up a never used, much NICER mattress in Oromocto for $100. So we loaded up, dropped Mater off at home to be hung over, and Sarge and I went and got me a comfy as hell, originally $1500 cloud of a bed from a really nice guy who was thrilled as hell with the pittance I gave him.

When we pulled into the parking lot at home, it was the first time Sarge and I had alone in a few days, and I burst into tears and anger and unbelieveably sad ranting about how broken and shitty and terrible my mother makes me feel. What he said touched my heart.

“You’re doing this on your OWN terms, Wallace. You have a family. I’m yoiur family despitr the incestuous relations, and you’re my family too. You’re strong, beautiful, and capable. I want to see you happy, and even if it breaks my heart to have to say it, your mother simply does not deserve to be in youtr life. It’s okay, babe. You’ll get through this. And I’ll be here to make sure you do.”

Then he gave me a hug, and we hauled my new bed into my new room. Being able to say that makes me feel at peace. Not even KFP or Sunshine gave me nor wanted to give me my own space to think, to rest, and to heal. Sarge is truly a beacon of light sometimes. Him and Dee are all the family I need. I’m pretty lucky to have them two.

Then, Swizz came home and she made me laugh as she always does, and Mater made me smile, and Sarge rearranged the living room to make it more comfortabloe for all of us, and I re-re-re-re-re-read Vega’s blog entry from last night, and I felt my heart get less broken. I love my family of friends. Fuck blood ties. The people who CHOOSE to stick around are the ones who mean the most.

Boo then called Sarge, and him and I headed out to go pick her up, and get me bed sheets and a winter jacket from the local discount store. $60 later I have bedding, a new winter coat, hangers, and a sense of absolute peace.

We came home and Sarge did his unbelievably big-brother like thing and made me hoover some KD and hot-dogs (at this point, I was emotionally so drained and physically so fucking hungry and hung over that i decided to say fuck the diet for the night), we played some Black Ops II, and drank the rest of the vodka and some of the gin, and laughed and talked and did what a family should do…enjoy each other’s company, and put the fucking bullshit aside.

Boo and I are also forging a totally superficial, but totally welcome, frivolous and shallow understanding of each other. We will never be friends, at least, not true friends like me and Sarge, or even myself and Swizz, but it is nice having someone whom I can call up to go get my nails done with and not have any obligation of anything more serious than that. It’s a nice privelege.

Boo went home a few hours ago when I was about 1/4 the way through this post, and since then, Swizz, Mater and Sarge have all fallen asleep. Vega and I are texting away as per usual, and I am in the weirdest, most unbelievably welcome headspace.

I am almost down to my last dime, I have no job, I don’t know how to get anywhere in this town, and I’m pretty well up in the air right now.

My mom’s words about me liking to start myself up in shitty situations and then run away, leaving me shittier and more broken every time, keep running through my head like an unwelcome mantra tonight; however, I’ve come to a very different conclusion than I usually do.

Normally when times like these come up in my life, I find myself mulling every detail and being absolutely sadistic over the what  if’s and the why not’s . The maybe’s and the never will’s.

Maybe I am flighty and irresponsible and crazy and whatever else title you want to lay on me; however, I’m also coming to a point of self-recognition for the fortitude it has taken me to GET to this point.

Perhaps, I am finally coming to the conclusion of my personal struggles and am finally reaching a point of self fulfillment. I’ve made so many mistakes, had so many people treat me like so much less than what it is I deserve. Up until the last few weeks of my life, I would literally beg the univere to pay me back. To finally throw me a rope.

I have so much more than that.

I have friends who genuinely  love and worry about me, I have to see that after days like this where they not only make hour long road trips for me, don’t allow me to take blame for things that I didn’t do, and still manage to help me accomplish my goals (today, bed; tomorrow, univers). They see how far I have come and what I want to accomplish and how shitty certain parts of my life are, and thanks to them, I see it too.

I have a new start in a beautiful new place, and I can’t say I’m going it alone; however, I certainly owe nothing, not even an explanation, to anyone for that.

I have a brilliant, terrifying, amazing, awesome chance to have a long, happy, fulfilling, thrilling rest of my life with an unbelievable man who loves the shit out of who I am–I don’t have to edit myself for him, and that is insanely meaningful and intimate and beautiful–and he inspires me to aspire for so much more than I knew I was worth.

My life is uncertain and crazy and sometimes it overwhelms me in negative, burst into tears in public kind of ways; however, with the love I have surrounding me from so many beautiful souls, I am learning to love myself, too.

All the people who tell me I can’t, or that I shouldn’t, or that I don’t deserve it seem to inspire the ugliness in me, and for that, I feel sorry for them. I have learned to be fierce and fearless and to chase the things that inspire me to be overwhelmed by the possibility that is my life and me living it to the fullest.

If you’re reading this and wagging a finger at my silliness and flightiness and irresponsibility, I hereby uninvite you from reading my thoughts any further. You are but negativity and safety and not taking the leaps I define my existence by landing.

Life is nonsense.

If that doesn’t make perfect sense to you..

..well, I guess you’ll never know the joy that is seeing your life from another part of the world, lost, broke as hell, surrounded by true friendship, and on fire for the future with the man you love beside you every step of the way (even if he’s 4000 km away).

I love my life. Pain, fear, and scars be damned, Vega and I have a brilliant future ahead filled with new adventures, amazing friends, and much more love than most will ever know.

Until tomorrow,

Wallace out.

Comfortable Silences and Epic Conversations

“Mia Wallace: Don’t you hate that?
Vincent Vega: What?
Mia Wallace: Uncomfortable silences. Why do we feel it’s necessary to yak about bullshit in order to be comfortable?
Vincent Vega: I don’t know. That’s a good question.
Mia Wallace: That’s when you know you’ve found somebody special, when you can just shut the fuck up for a minute and comfortably enjoy the silence.”

“Pulp Fiction” (Quentin Tarantino, 1994)

I’m in the craziest, best, most welcome place (mentally, emotionally, and (soon to be) physically, that I have ever been in my whole entire goddamn life. I didn’t think it was possible for a girl like me to ever feel this much elation, gratitude, and excitement about my life. In fact, a few months ago, I would have slapped you across the face and told you to quit lying to me if you’d told me that it was even a possibility for me to truly feel this way…and yet, here I am.

I slept a GLORIOUS sleep last night. According to Sarge, he fell pretty hard in the shower this morning, and I didn’t hear a thing. He actually woke me up at noon when he came home for lunch. Always such a nice way to wake up, well rested, fresh from a good dream (about Vega last night, it was a good freakin’ one), and Sarge’s kind eyes the first thing I see.
I look forward to Sarge coming home for lunch. With Swizz and Boo around, we don’t get much quality best friend time to bullshit and laugh and enjoy just being here together in a good place with all of our good best friend-ness and inside jokes and general silly awesomeness. It’s only a half hour, but there is a lot to be said for a half hour with your best friend. He brings me calm and I bring him thoughtfulness. We just make each other’s lives easier by being in them. I’m so proud of the man he’s become. It’s such a turnaround from high school, and yet, he’s exactly the person I remember. Time definitely changes people. What I’ve learned is that the people worth keeping around don’t change, they just evolve–take and apply the good, and drop and change the bad.

I also love that I’m finally able to focus on my fitness and my health as I have always wanted to. I’m being disciplined and accountable and serious about this to myself, for myself. For the first time, my motivation is ME. I’m not concerned with anyone or anything but how I feel. I’m also taking on the Paleo Diet (barebones: no grains, dairy, sugar, or legumes, nothing processed–I have a lot to learn and am phasing it in as balls deep as I can afford to right now), and I’m feeling really, shockingly good–despite eating much, much more than I am accustomed. My old ED ways make me do a double take when I see my plate piled high with veggies and protein and healthy fats… but the truth is, working out as I have been and intend to keep on doing with greater intensity, I HAVE to or I’ll never lose any fat and gain muscle. It takes fuel to keep the fire burning, you know? I’m really baby stepping with the paleo, and I slipped on the grains/dairy already this morning (had 2 pieces whole grain toast this afternoon along with some fat free cheddar and a fried egg (eggs and bacon are in the Paleo plan, so I’m STOKED on that) for lunch), but I have consciously not eaten anything dairy or grain or sweetened since then–and I’m loving it. I miss cheese, that one is gonna be hard, but the idea of filling my tummy with 2 cups of veggies instead of 2 bags of chips will be an easy substitution. I’m looking forward to this, truly and genuinely.

After Sarge left to go back to work, I cleaned up the dishes, went outside and sat on the back stoop, and enjoyed the beauty of the place I’m in over a cigarette and a phone chat with Dee. I miss Dee so goddamn much. I really do. That said, she is amazing and keeps me grounded even 4000 km away. If you’re reading this, Dee–I love you, girl. I love that we’re keeping the friendship alive and kicking and I simply wouldn’t have it any other fuckin’ way. Also, Baby Daddy? Let me know. I know people who know people. That asshat ain’t safe if he crosses you, lady. 🙂

After the chat, I got geared up and rocked a seriously badass workout. My last few workouts in the 403 felt so…half assed, even in giving my all. Today, I set up my equipment and ROCKED a reaaaaally sadistic abs circuit, then a ridiculously brutal weights/cardio interval circuit, then some yoga. Then I ate a delicious and paleo friendly dinner cooked by Sarge and Swizz.

After dinner, we all piled into Swizz’s SUV and made a trip to the Oromocto “Mall” to get some essentials–healthy fats in the way of almonds (whole, unsalted), some soy milk and a yoga mat for me–then home again. The two of them watched a movie while I studied my new diet plan. I’m nerding so hard on Paleo…I love my nerdy side. After a while, I had a lovely phone call with Dee while I made a paleo friendly snack of a scrambled egg with veg and meat.

Swizz went to bed right away when Sarge got home, so we enjoyed a drink and an episode of the Chapelle show on the couch while we plotted tomorrow night. We’re gonna hit up a locar bar and he’s gonna show me a good time in my new hometown with some soon to be new acquaintances and some good old fashioned beer pong. I’m looking forward to getting a good glow going without having any expectations besides lots of beer and 2 for 1 drinks.

I also get to meet Boo tomorrow, should be interesting. I must say, she’s not what I was expecting, at least in the pics I’ve seen. Sarge is a serious cutie with a seriously awesome streak. She seems somewhat drama laden. I’m not being bitchy. I’m being protective. Sarge is my best friend. I can’t not tell him when I think he can do better. BUT, I can’t have a true, fair opinion until I meet her, so just hold tight until tomorrow and I shall regale in full my $0.02.

Now, me personally, I think I’m seriously smitten with Mr. Vega. We’ve been chatting non fucking stop (Vega, I wouldn’t have it any other way) and the amount I like this guy is seriously freaking me right the fuck out. He’s just…perfect for me. He’s freakin’ adorable, and smart (oh baby, please, talk nerdy to me), and funny as hell…and he’s the right amount of badass and sweet and he’s just…he’s making me feel like a high school girl with a stupid crush; however, this is so goddamn much more than that. He’s 4000 km away, but I keep falling more and more for who he is, and how he makes me feel, and what he brings to light about myself for myself. When I’m talking to him all the hurt and the pain I went through with KFP and Sunshine seems somehow laughable–everything he sees in me, how he makes me BELIEVE these things…Sunshine, KFP, you two were blind. And I now find that laughable. Idiots. I was the highest caliber woman either one of you two fucks will ever have had the pleasure of having.

He’s also just as wounded and broken and unsure of himself as I am, and it’s the craziest form of therapy, knowing that in some way shape or form (well, maybe not knowing, assuming with good reason) that Vega takes the same comfort in my company as I do his, and it’s just this big overwhelming ball of new, exciting, positive energy between us.

He said to me earlier that he worries I’m just rebounding from the assholes with a nice guy, and that I’ll lose interest. Vega, you’re crazy. He’s such a fascinating, multi-faceted, shining light of a man. There are simply not enough days in this lifetime available for me to live with him as a part of my existence to ever get bored, and he’s the kind of person that I highly doubt would ever purposefully push me away or drive me out.

It is killing me not being able to go sit with him in person right now, but for the type of people the two of us are, I think we’re both feeling closer than we would if the geography were to be different. I am admittedly totally head over heels with Vega, and his sexy ass helps a lot with the crushing part, but there’s a pretty profound emotional connection.

Much like our pseudonym’s sakes, we have come to a point where there are things we are admittedly not ready to tell each other, but there’s a comfortable silence there.

Vega, you mean a shitload to me. I’m not going anywhere.

For now, this girl is going to go have a cigarette, continue texting my Vega, and try to not let my heart palpitate too hard.

How is he even REAL?!

Sweet dreams, more is always coming.

Wallace out.

12:17 pm, YYC time; 3:17 am YFC time. Jet lag is a BITCH.

Having one of those “head is swimming, can’t focus on one thought” kind of nights; ergo, here is my advance apology.

First of all, to all that have taken the time to read–thank you. It still astounds me that y’all actually gave me that much time of day to do so. My inner literary snob is embarassed; however, my ego says just wait until I publish my book.

Onwards, as it’s already well into the very early morning here. This 3 hour difference is far from the largest time gap I’ve ever had to breach; nonetheless, it’s enough to get in the way for sure. Not that my sleep patterns have ever been anything close to or even approximating normal. That’s item #11236 on my list of things I’d like to do out here, normalize my relationship with sleep. I’m hoping it will come along naturally with the better diet, increase in workout frequency and intensity, and overall better general health. Crossing my fingers.

Anyways.

First full day in Oromocto was a massive success. Last night, Sarge and I settled in to watch an episode of Futurama in bed at like 10:00, and I barely made it 5 minutes into the episode before passing out. Woke up ten minutes later because the subconscious remembered my glasses, which Sarge had taken off of me, gave him a peck on the cheek, and I was DONE like dinner. According to him, I snore like crazy. I call BS, and blame it on mild sickness. Either way, (I’m adorable regardless!) I had a brilliantly pass-out sleep for the ages. Made up for all the sleepless nights with Sunshine, for sure. Woke up to an empty house at 11:00, made a waffle, and had a cigarette. Then I passed out for another half hour, until Sarge texted me. He came home for lunch (I made the sammiches today), then he headed back to base for a short afternoon (he gets sports days sometimes where he literally gets paid to play floor hockey. Hockey. Paid. Goddamn do I love Canada.), so I decided to get inspired and cook dinner for Sarge, his roommate (again with the tough as shit to decide on nickname, Swizz (for Switzerland due to her neutrality on all issues), but I’m not sure it’ll stick) and I prepped dessert and then made more coffee.

Sarge showed up at like 3:00 this afternoon (even the military sees hockey as something one can only play so much of in a day), and he did his Sarge thing and poured us both a still vodka and juice. We hung out for a bit and played some COD zombies (umm…hello. HOW THE FUCK HADN’T I PLAYED BLACK OPS II YET?!), and munched some nachos, and somehow ended up having a quickie.

Well.

Like three minutes of one. ThenSwizz showed up, and we promptly ceased, and I bolted to the shower.

In the span of that shower shit went down for Sarge.

Swizz told his latest boo about us having some fun and she FLIPPED. Like, FLIPPED. They weren’t dating yet at this point (oops, spoiler alert), and I found the whole thing hilarious.

Swizz then went to the gym, and Sarge and I finished what was unfinished, then I went back to cooking dinner, and Sarge and I talked about everything, as we always do. he always makes me feel so much goddamn better. He’s also as happy I’m here as I am, I think. We’ve always been such close friends–it’s such a friggin blessing to have grown up, and to still have each other. Now, even more poignantly so; rather than saving me from being locked in lockers, he’s literally freeing me from my AB shackles by being a stable and gracious enough man to lift his best friend up when she’s down. I’m not in love with the sarge…but I do love him with all of my heart. He means the world (and if you’re reading this Sarge, you are the BEST best friend. Always and forever. And I love you in the damn Bulldogs jersey!).

Then shit got really interesting.
Sarge ended up in a relationship with his new boo, to put the BS to rest mainly (i think). He obviouly likes her, but this was almost highschool in the proceedings of how the relationship came to be. I haven’t even met the chick yet, but it seemed entirely too important that their relations be made Facebook official for my liking. Like…date first? I don’t know. Maybe I am just a cynical, grumpy old bitch hey? haha. I’m looking forward to meeing this new boo on Friday. I have a feeling she ain’t gonna like me…not my problem! Perks of being single, #234. No “you can’t do ___________, you can’t talk to___________” issues to work out for this girl 😉 I do feel somewhat guilty that Sarge is sleeping on the couch; however, he told me that he absolutely would kick my ass if I fought him on it. Again–less than 12 hours dating and he’s on the couch. I must say, I dig this single thing way too much. I also must say, a quickie has never caused me so much trouble before! Ha!

Relationships are so weird.

I’m finally trying to re-build with my blood family (no promises there, just a really prudent attempt); funny, 4000 km solves a hell of a lot.

Sarge and I have been relegated to platonic friends without benefits but still awesomely awesome roommates who have known each other so long that we can converse without saying a word. I am not complaining for a second. I love my best friend. It’s going to be interesting watching him and Boo work shit out. It also kind of sucks that quickies and cuddling are out; however, there are plenty of military hotties out here for me to ogle and make use of. It also takes away the guilt factor on my end, and adds some serious fun for the two of us in that none of his friends or roomies have know him as long as I have. We have a LOT of inside jokes that are just way too fun right now, And, Sarge is still Sarge. He’s still badass. Case in point:

Wallace: “What if boo wants me on an airplane?”
Sarge: “Then she can get on a plane and get the fuck gone. You’re staying.”

My best friend in a nutshell. Bitches be trippin if they think I’m trying to “steal” him. Part of him is always mine. That’s what happens when you have a friendship like ours. He didn’t even have to ask me if anything was wrong a month ago; he just knew. Much like I know how he needs me here, too. Much like we both know that if either one of us truly wanted to be dating the other, we would be.

Rambly post is rambly, I’m sorry. I haven’t dealt with chick drama this caliber since high school. There is a really, really good reason why I only have the one female friend.

Anyways, SEX. and RELATIONSHIPS. And IMPORTANCE.
Your thoughts, oh my dear readers?

All three of those things are partly what’s causing my head swimmage tonight. I’m gonna stop here for a minute for a smoke. Then, the meat of this sandwich of a clusterfuck of a post. I may be too embarassed to publish this one.
Also, gotta try to not wake the sarge. If we were cuddling I’d not be smoking, but alas, his Boo says boo to cuddles with moi. Obviously she’s never cuddled with me. There is a reason the Sarge enjoys it so much haha.

Success. Cigarette achieved. Sarge still sleeping. I am the best room mate ever! Not really. But damn close.

Anyways, to continue my tangent on sex and emotion and exclusivity and relationships. Today’s been a weird one in that regard for me. Watching this whole thing with Sarge unfold and a new key player in my life are both putting some things in freaky perspective for me.

First of all, the new character–I’m calling this one Vincent Vega (Mia Wallace’s dancing partner from Pulp Fiction), because he and I can more than comfortably shut the fuck up for a minute and comfortably share a silence, and we can also have the craziest, best conversations ever. So. Vega.

Vega and I have technically only met once, but I feel like I’ve known him for YEARS. He’s a fiercely handsome (tall, nicely built, inked, bearded, dark red-headed, lightly freckled specimen), intelligent, witty, nerdy, well-read, well-spoken, musically and artistically inclined man who just CLICKS with me. He’s gotten right the hell under my skin, and even 4000km away, he’s a major part of my life. We definitely aren’t dating, but there is some serious emotional involvement going on.

And the emotion is more intimate than the sex, so far anyways. There’s a definite and measureable difference between having sex and making love; we’ve had sex, but I’m in love with talking to him. It freaks me out, especially with the fact that I had sworn off meaningful relationships; and here I am, in one of the most meaningful relationships I’ve ever been in. For me, sex is purely physical. Not worth getting jealous over. Not worth the bullshit involved in getting emotional over it.

Emotion; however, is entirely different. If I were to find that he was toying with mine, I’d find and entirely new use for my cigar cutters. That said, he’s been beautifully, brutally open with me abiout things he hadn’t been open with himself about before. I am, for the first time, actually in the beginnings of a good relsationship; we’re taking it slow and talking for now. I may or may not follow him out to beautiful BC when I’m through with NB. For now, I’m here to sort myself, and he’s there sorting himself, and if it comes to be that we’re together as more in the not-so-distant-but-still-far-off-enough-to-make-me-kinda-sad future, I will be thrilled, and I know he will be too. He means a shitload more to me already than Sunshine ever did, and I must say, I’m hoping he gets the chance that Sunshine wasted. I’m hoping he doesn’t disappoint me, and keeps on being a brilliant friend, a great lay, and someone who I can’t imagine my life without now. Again–not dating him, but laying the proper groundwork for something meaningful, even if it never happens to be more than a kickass friendship (hoping the giddy high school kid in me gets her satisfaction, seriously. This guy has ME giggling. Go the fuck figure).

On the flipside, there’s what I’m watching with Sarge and Boo unfold, and I’m not in the least jealous. I’ve fucked him plenty and he’s still my best friend. Why? We separate emotion from physical acts. Mind blowing, I know.

And then, there’s Boo. Yes, they had a “thing” going when Sarge furloughed in Calgary and seen me in December. Yes, they had a “thing” when we got back. Now, REALLY?! You HAVE to be his girlfriend and you HAVE to put rules on the guy’s head about what he can and can’t do in his own house when you don’t even live here? If you know Sarge, you know he really likes her (he IS on the couch on her request); however, if you really, REALLY know sarge, you know this isn’t going to last. I have an inkling that 3/4 of the reason he made it “Facebook Official” is so that he can enjoy making it unofficial in the future. I’m not trying to be a massive bitch (although I totally sound like one), but I’m slowly realizing how much I am not the same as I was in high school–I’ve become a woman, mainly due to experience–but it makes me crazy when I see these literally childlike happenings in relationships. Sarge knows better than to let this get out of hand, and perhaps my tune will change after I meet her, but I just can’t stand the drama. It’s just so damn much work. Is this fun for people? Am I broken? I just don’t seem to have the necessary moving parts to be popular with the girl crowd. Which would be why 99.275% of my friends are guys. Women suck; and yes, I am aware that my mysogyny is a contradiction for the ages.

I think for now, I’m gonna stick with my rather profound new relationship 4000 km away, and whatever casual, meaningless, physical gratification I happen to acquire in the meantime. I do enjoy the physical part of having sex. The difference this time, I’m not getting emotionally involved and caught up in making love until I find the right time, person, and circumstance under which to do so. For right now, to quote a favorite band, “I’m not in love/but the sex is good.”

I’m not in love.

I love the idea.

I love the conversation.

I kind of hope that one day, I can love the Vega. He’s definitely proving worth it.

Watching Sarge, all my mistakes in previous relationships seem clear as day, and they`re all variations on a theme. Sad, hey? Sad that a girl as smart as me is so damn blind soimetimes.

Also unfair that I fell for Vega less than a week before I left. I guess, if we manage to build something truly meaningful from here, then I can be twice as excited in 18 months, when I will revisit my path and my adventure’s course..

Vega, If you’re reading this, know how genuine I am in saying I miss you.

I’m also spent and it’s 5:27 here now.

I’m going to sleep to dream of Jack Rabbit Slim’s.

If you don’t get the reference, quit being a rectangle and watch some Tarantino already. It is, of course, your loss if you choose not to. But again, sleep now.

Rambly post is rambly.

</end ridiculous verbosity>

PS. A foot rub isn’t in the same ballpark as sex. It isn’t even the same league.

Jules has you on that one, Vega. I’m just glad that my real-life one agrees with Jules in this regard.

Wallace out.

somewhere overtop Ontario, AC flight 838 6:41 YYC time 8:41 am YYZ time

ooookay, it’s starting to feel really, really, really fucking real now. I’ve finally realized how exhausted I am after 22 hours awake and traveling–and finally, the first half of the last leg has arrived and is underway. Here I sit, Asher Roth on my iPod, biding my time at crusing altitude, beneath us nothing but the Great Lakes and the prettiest sunrise that ever did exist. Charging up the iPhone on the Acer (which, miraculously, still has half its charge from yesterday afternoon despite my prior heavy usage), finally realizing that this is my new real. This is my life–I am in fact the pretty girl in seat 10C with the shit eating grin on my face that I cannot pretend to even be trying to fight off. The jitters and nerves haven’t been anywhere near the relief and excitement I am beginning to feel. This feels so right; despite being flighty and crazy and totally gypsy-style of me.

I am literally the luckiest girl in the entire freaking universe. Managed to fly without valid photo ID and not have a layover in Pearson (well, 2 hours is really not a layover, as far as I’m concerned) because Sarge’s little brother (Jet Set) works for Air Canada, and was gracious enough to use one of his buddy passes to fly me out. He’s beside me right now trying to sleep–as soon as we get my baggage and get me into a cab from Fredericton to Oromocto, he’s en route to YYZ again, then YYC, then to Frankfurt to pick up their big brother on Thursday morning. So basically, I got treated like freakin’ royalty the whole way here because I’m well-connected; and, I got to hang out with a badass. Jet Set is a great travel buddy–understands the need for both the “keep us both going conversation” and “fuck off leave me alone sleep time quiet,” that are so inherent to travelling.

Then, I get to revel in the fact that when I land, I’m getting my bag, getting a cab, and taking (what I am told is an unbelievably beautiful) ride to the place I’m now going to call home. Sarge is working until 4:00, which gives me a few hours to catch up on some Z’s and take this whole new reality in. I have my own house key to the new digs on Iroquois Avenue (Sarge’s gift to me for Christmas this year, besides the obvious “let’s actually make this whole thing happen” badassery,) and I have absolutely no idea what the plan is for the rest of my day, besides not going in the snow by myself–Sarge has forewarned me that he’s dug some trenches in the backyard and they apparently got hella snowed on the day before yesterday.

For the record, Sarge and I aren’t dating, and we sure as hell aren’t exclusive (I was actually just informed of a budding relationship on his end. I’ll have an opinion on the matter after I meet the chick he’s got a hard on for. We’re good enough friends at this point to reserve the right to opinions, Sarge and I.), we have (and very likely will again) slept together, and I’ll be the first to admit that he’s sexy as hell, but it’s kind of the ultimate win situation–I get to retain terminally single and lovin’ it status with the security of having my favorite military man as my best friend, roommate, and workout buddy. He and I both get the security of freedom, and the freedom of security. For those of you who don’t know the backstory of Sarge and Wallace, I’ll regale it another time; however, we’ve been friends for longer than either one of us would like to admit, and I think we’re both pretty excited to see what kind of trouble we’re gonna get up to together in a new (well, new to me and new for us together) province. In a lot of ways, despite any romantic involvement we may have had/may in the future have, Sarge is one of the few people in the world I truly consider my family. He stood up for me hundreds of times in high school, was one of the only people who came to visit me in Lethvegas, and is now making more than a few simple moves to help me move across the damn country and in with him to make sure that my life has the chance to get better, not keep going down the tubes.

Me and Dee (my best female friend in the world and my now-ex-roommate, also somebody who deserves her own post) were discussing when this would all feel real last night when I was awaiting Jet Set. She said I’d have a bunch of moments when it all suddenly started to feel real; I said I didn’t think I’d feel it until I unlocked the door in Oromocto.

I think I’m truly feeling it for the first time right now, more than halfway through this shitty little flight to Freddytown. As I soar through the sky, I can’t help but realize the gravity of all these decisions and moves and moving pieces and fragmented bits and the insanity and the grace and the relief and the everything else i’m thinking and feeling and coming to terms with right now.

I’m so unbelievably lucky to have such a selfless, amazing, beautiful family of friends. Without them, I’d still be sitting in the YYC, dreaming, hoping, waiting for a break like this.

My netbook is about to die, and I have to get myself ready to touchdown in Fredericton.

I’ll update as soon as I’m home and settled in OROMOCTO!!!

Holy fuck
Holy fuck
Holy fuck

shit just got so damn real.

FUCK YES!

Next stop, Iroquois Ave…

Wallace out.

Calgary (well, somewhere in the air above the YYC), January 8th, 2012 12:55 am

“Today is the first day of the rest of your life.”

That phrase used to piss me off so royally. I still find it trite and somewhat horribly overused; however, for ther first time in my life, it truly seems to be the case. Here I am, my entire life fit into my Coach Poppy purse, my pink and black TNA carry-on, and one military issue duffle bag; aboard Air Canada flight 146, somewhere high above the clouds en route to a new start in a tiny city called Oromocto, New Brunswick.

I still don’t think my head has caught up to what is happening, entirely. Exactly a month ago to the day, I agreed to take up an amazing friend of mine up on an incredible offer–just when I thought my life was falling to pieces for good; he swooped in and offered me a chance to come sort my head and my heart out on the opposite side of Canada. It’s absolutely insane for a person to pack their entire existence up in a month and disappear to a place they’ve never been. I must be absolutely criminally batshit–I have done just that, and I am so ecstatic (despite all the uncertainty, nerves, exhaustion, fear, sadness, et cetera) that I truly do feel that I’m caught in a dream. I don’t catch a break often; however, the universe has certainly shone some incredible grace to me the past few weeks. I keep looking around this plane waiting to wake up. I’ve probably taken 100 pictures (of course, of completely asinine things, like my luggage on the belt, the XL Timmie’s I inhaled post-security and pre-flight, and the stupid smile I can’t wipe off of my face) of the journey so far just to prove to myself that this is REAL. This actually IS MY LIFE!!

For the first time in my whole entire adult life, I am being completely selfish and doing something that is exactly what I want to be doing. I have never been more sure and more scared shitless. 2013 is going to be my year; even if all I accomplish is re-gaining control of my own happiness. I am literally throwing all caution to the wind…and I’ve truly never felt more at peace.

I’m going to put my netbook away for a Diet Coke and washroom break. I’m always so paranoid about spilling shit on my electronics when I fly…Back soon.

Much better. Some aspartame and an episode of “Community” to help keep me awake and pass the time. Flying has changed so damn much since I first remember traveling. Besides the CRAZY ASS SECURITY these days (I managed to fly without valid photo ID…however, everybody now has to take off their shoes, electronics are all turned on and swabbed with their bomb-detecting shit, and you have to strip down to base layer, belts off and everything. I remember when only every like 10th person would have to take off their shoes, and when you could waltz through security with a full Nalgene bottle. But I digress.), every single goddamn seat is equipped with a TV, and a pretty decent selection of movies, TV and satellite radio options. I remember flying to Punta Cana as a 10 year old and being simply mystified that every seat had a TV screen, It’s so strange to see these things come into the norm. I have missed the allure, the luxury of flying. No matter how economy the seat, there is always something to be said for the grandure of floating 14,000 feet in the air; knowing that your life is taking you somewhere completely geographically different; when beneath your feet, the rest of the world is going about their day to day lives.

…I suppose I do have a tendency towards the verbose; and perhaps I’m guilty of romanticizing this whole thing, but to be frank, are you the one who’s coming to the realization that their hometown is no longer home as they fly cross country in the middle of the damn night? Yeah, didn’t think so. So roll with it.

So I suppose the next two hours of this flight should truly be devoted to telling the story of how it is I’ve come to be on this AC flight, completely throwing all common sense and caution to the wind. I suppose it all truly begins about 5 years ago when the Kung-Fu Panda (hereafter KFP–remember, pseudonyms only in the blogosphere) waltzed into my life. I can guarantee further posts about his involvement in my life, but for the time being, a very brief summary:

Girl meets man (older, mysterious, handsome, involved with some seedy shit man), girl and man fall in love, girl moves in with man (in large part to aid in the severance of blood family ties), man teaches girl about a certain “underground” lifestyle (in which he is heavily involved), girl becomes heavily implicated and respected within said lifestyle with man even moreso implicated and much more respected within said lifestyle, business >man and girl’s relationship, girl thrown down a flight of stairs (breaking three ribs), girl flees; man remains, girl becomes single woman with no place to go besides back to her parent’s house, where she has not existed by choice since elementary school.

And that, in a nutshell, was late 2008 through late 2011, and my relationship with the KFP in one very grammatically incorrect, fragmented (and yet run-on) paragraph. That, even in brevity was unbelievably painful. But; once again, I digress.

So, I lived with my mother and father (alright, brief history there–my mother had me to get her Canadian citizenship, and my father never wanted children. I left home when I was barely 15, due in large part to my mother’s alcoholism (she’s a NASTY bitch when she’s wasted), and an incident when I failed a math test, and in a rage, my dad went to smack me with a belt; missed, clipped me in the side of the face with the buckle, and shattered my jaw into over a dozen pieces. I don’t believe that it’s anybody’s lifelong aspiration to leave home for the first time and have one’s jaw wired shut concurrently…gotta say, I don’t miss those days.) for a total of 78.5 hours before I was ready to claw my damn eyes out. By the grace of Jeebus, one of my high school crushes (and the guy who used to get me my then-illegal cigarettes for less than anybody else) replied to a Facebook message I’d sent him, and we agreed to meet up for a Friday night shitkicker with the whole old crew of high school derelicts. One date turned into two, and then we were awkward room mates, and then eventually boyfriend/girlfriend (mainly, I now see, a convention of convenience).

I am having a hard time nicknaming this one. We’ll call him Sunshine for now, until I can come up with something either more cynical or more clever. Sunshine works on a few levels (think hard, my Alberta born and bred friends), I think it may stick. But we’ll see.

So, myself and Sunshine enjoyed a rather lighthearted, romantic and playful “honeymoon period,” if you will. When we started dating each other, Sunshine was still unemployed after having broken his hand badly on a bus shelter three months earlier (should have seen the red flag then, he was wasted), and we were enjoying the benefits of living at home with his mom and step dad in their cozy new condo. For the first couple of weeks, we enjoyed lazy, late mornings full of dubstep wakeups, first thing’s first bong rips, lots of sex and laughter, much kissing and cuddling and him taking care of his poor broken new girlfriend, and I basking in the glow of somebody wanting to treat me like a princess instead of throwing me down the stairs.

I don’t want to get into the story of Sunshine and I at this very moment; however, there’s probably more I have to say about him than I do the KFP right now. Long story made short, I don’t think our perspectives will ever be truly aligned. He’s a “gangster” who has never seen more than a QP, a “man” who’s never lived away from his mama, a “badass” who’s more blind to consequence than any felon I know. I don’t think he knew how to handle a woman whose alias has made the papers more than a few times, who’s lived in flop houses and posted major bail, who left home a scared little girl and raised herself into the clusterfuck I now call a woman, who stands behind her word regardless of the associated bullshit. It became a power struggle (not even kidding–it almost came to me pulling out some old newspaper clippings to put the, “yeah bullshit you’ve done/seen/known that” claims about my life,) and it became exhausting. I won’t call him lazy, because he wasn’t; however, near the end of things, he could justify choosing to take weeks and weeks off of work (the car was always broken, or he was sick, or sore, or tired, or stressed, or whateverthefuck else lame excuse was the flavor of the week) to stay at home for days on end playing Black Ops, or Runescape, or Socom–most of these days, not changing out of pyjamas, or going outside, or doing anything the fuck at all. All the while, I held my 50-odd hour a week job as the office manager for a fiercely successful used car dealership (that place has damn chapters of my life attached to it–those stories are definitely to come), working out for an hour every day, usually cooking dinner/cleaning the bedroom and washroom/doing laundry, and paying for his car, his insurance, his cell phone, and our rent to his parents.

So no, obviously I wasn’t tired, or stressed, or kinda pissed that I was spending all this energy, time, and money on him for absolutely no return.

I’m not one of those girls who needs a man to be by my side 24/7. I agree with space and I agree with separation. I do not agree that a woman as good looking, hard working, and all around awesome as I should have to beg for the attention of my partner (or ever, ever again hear the words, “…but you were sitting there the whole night while I played Socom, of course we’re spending time together”), nor should I ever have to downplay the strength and experience I’ve acquired in order to put the head of an insecure mama’s boy at ease. I am still pissed at you, Sunshine, if you’re reading this.

The evening before I left him, Sunshine watched me pack my essentials and some clothes into a couple of those re-usable grocery bags. Not a question of “where are you taking all of your jewellery?” or even, “what the fuck are you doing?” was asked. After he fell asleep, I wrote him a letter and pretended to sleep until I had to get up for work. I tried to talk to him in the morning, but there was no way he’d wake up early to talk to me. So, note on my pillow, then bags on my shoulder, then off to work I went.

That was a Friday.

The Monday previous, one of my most amazingly upstanding, closest, handsomest friends, (here referred to as Sarge), called me up randomly on my work phone number. He kind of walked out of my life two and a half years ago when he moved to Quebec to pursue basic Military training. He is now a gunner, and is finishing his heavy artillery training. Hence, Sarge (even though he’s totally technically not).

Anyways, the conversation basically went like this:

Sarge: “Canadian Military looking for a Miss Mia Wallace?”
Me: “Errr… Am I being court marshalled for something?”
Sarge: “Totally fucking with you. I had a feeling something is making you much less than happy with your life. Talk to me, beautiful.”
Me: <insert big ugly crying. Like full on nasty crying at my desk.>

After letting me talk (I love the Sarge for that; he always knows when to just let me talk), the Sarge giggled (as he always does), told me to suck it up, and offered me a solution–come to Oromocto, spend the next 18 months there with him as a friend (with benefits didn’t really have to be specified) while he finishes his course, sort my head and my heart, and basically, have a much needed and very overdue vacation from the stresses of my daily YYC life.

Coffee break! Almost to the YYZ…

I’m probably going to tail off on the real story here because I hate getting caught in the middle of a thought and having to stop; we’re about to begin descent and I know the super-bitchy flight attendant is gonna tell me to shut down the netbook as soon as I get into the meat of my tale; so for now, end of part 1. Expect more brain-dump bullshit that I don’t expect anybody to read, though.

…Airplane coffee is always so disappointing, I think that cup should tide me over to Toronto, but I’m seriously craving a Timmy’s fix right now. There’s something about measurable amounts of caffeine that get turns my crank so much more than the hot brown water that Air Canada tried to pass off as coffee just there.

WOO BEGINNING OUR DESCENT! First leg of this multi-legged adventure is finally about to come to an end. Next stop, Pearson International Airport; Toronto, ON. Post layover, Fredericton, NB; and then a cab ride to Oromocto. Then…

Then I guess it might just finally feel real.

3:33 am–3’s my lucky number, three 3’s and the begininng of the rest of my life. Fuck 11:11. I made a wish just now. 5:32 am in the T-dot. My location, my time zone, my surroundings–all completely new. One fell swoop. This is definitely one of my more batshit crazy schemes. I astound myself with my unbelievable levels of insane sometimes. I also have more fun, adventure, and purpose in my life than 90% of the calculated, “together” people I know, so I guess it’s all really just a trade-off in the end. Postal and entertained with one’s life vs. calculated and bored fucking stiff? I’ll take the former. Tough choice really.

I love the feeling of descent in a plane. This flight’s been kinda bouncy and turbulent, which I do enjoy way too much in moderation (it’s like a rollercoaster ride, complete with the terrified faces of fellow passengers!).

Netbook needs to be turned off now; more when I’m bored in the T-dot.

Wallace out.