The Most Awkward

I'm single. I mean, SO single. I've been single for the better part of a decade. Longer even. My last serious boyfriend was in the year 2000. I have since dated and had flings and things, but nothing that I would count as an actual relationship. So in my opinion, this makes me the most single person I know. The Most Single.
Since sobriety, I've actually pretty much stopped dating altogether. Being sober means being cognitive when you're with other people and when it's new and forced, I become the most awkward. It's just not fun. So I don't do it anymore.
This freaks people out. I've met some super awesome people in the last few months, and they all said they wanted to set me up with someone. And I've pretty much turned them all down. I don't know how to function in a setting like that, so I just avoid it. I know, I have issues. A lot of them.
So this thing happened where I was in an airport having lunch before a flight. I was just sitting there eating and chatting with my cousin when I looked over and this dude was staring at me. He must have read a manual or something because when I made accidental eye contact with him, he slowly broke into this almost creepy smile. He was kinda cute, looked younger than me, and alone. I'm sure he was harmless, but I looked away quickly and then avoided looking in his general direction after that. Except when I was looking for our server to get the bill and get out. Then I accidentally made eye contact again and it happened again. He went from straight faced to this slow grin. It was so weird. We left shortly after and I never saw him again.
The thing is, I read a lot and there are always these cute meet stories and I'm always like, yes, IF I were in that situation and the guy was that hot, then for sure, this is how I want to meet someone. But in real life that doesn't happen. So say I was not me. Say I was a normal person. What does a normal person do in a situation like that? Smile back, for one. Then what? I don't get it. I'm bad at human interaction.
This may be a lie, because I have a lot of friends and family that I'm close with, and clearly I have no issues interacting with them. Let's rephrase. I'm bad at stranger interaction.
But you know what? I'm okay with that.

Remember me?

Sometimes I find myself reminiscing about the "good ol' days" - which really means those times I used to drink myself into oblivion and all I did was party party party all the time. The bright spot is that when I'm telling the stories, I can control which ones I tell and what I reveal about my sordid history. When I'm with other people who have stories, luckily the only people I'm ever around who were there during those times, have good memories too. The few times I was in dark places, and weird situations, whoever I may have been with at the time, those people are no longer in my life. So I can have these stories told and be okay because I know nothing really terrible will be revealed.

The truly odd thing about it all is, it almost seems like I'm telling stories about someone else. Like all those things happened to a different person. And in a way, I suppose they did. They happened to someone who was not who I am now.

If you ask me why I stopped drinking, I can tell you a lot of different reasons. I was out of control. I was angry all the time. My body was not functioning at full capacity. I didn't like who I was. I didn't like how I felt. I didn't want to be my baby niece's drunk auntie. But ask me why I was drinking so much in the first place, and I have nothing. Sure, I enjoyed the taste of certain drinks. I liked to sip whiskey hot in the winter. I liked a cold margarita in the summer. I liked having wine with girlfriends. I liked shots of Jager to keep the party going. But why did I need to drink more than 10 shots of Jager in a night? Why did I need to go out almost every night of every week so I could get plastered? Why did I put myself in dangerous situations? Why? Even I don't have the answers. But I am constantly grateful that I made the decision to stop drinking and the strength that I have found to stay sober for the last 5.5 years.

I don't think of myself as an extreme sort of person, but maybe I am. Because I went from drinking too much, to not drinking at all. From partying every night, to being a totally chill homebody. From being a crazy social being, to this hermit state.

This isn't regret or wistful nostalgia. It's just a reflection on how much a person can change in 5 years, or from one decade to the next. And at the heart of it all, maybe I am the same.

"Not all those who wander are lost." - JRR Tolkien

Blah Blah Blah Blah Blah

I recently had dinner with a girlfriend, and she has been writing again. I'm really happy for her. I'm also insanely jealous. I want to be writing every day. I wish I had something worth writing about every day. She has focus and a goal though; ultimately she wants her writings to be a book. I have no such aspirations. I just want to write. I want to be able to write about a kid named Dumpling or rant about inconsiderate strangers. I used to write about boys, but ever since I stopped dating, I've had no new stories. I also am kind of glad for that because some of those boys were f**king crazy. If I kept on that path, I may not be here today to write about my survival.
I want to go on adventures and write about them. Why didn't I journal my trip to Bali? It was such an amazing experience. And yes, I remember it all in my head, but someday maybe I'll forget little things and then I could have read about them.
Or what if I start to lose my marbles? What if I need my future life companion to read me journals of our life together and that time we met at a carnival and then after overcoming obstacles like my parents disapproving of our love and my having almost married Lon, and then choosing him instead and some kissing in the rain?
Journals are good. They're therapeutic. Maybe I ought to get one.

Hello Again, Maybe (Or, WTF Hockey!)

I realize it has been a long time since I posted anything. In fact, it has been a long time since I've written anything. I haven't used a journal, my blog, or any other medium for writing in so long that I was beginning to think maybe I've forgotten how to write. But the thing is, you can't forget how to write unless you forget how to form sentences and use words and stuffs. And then if we want to be really honest, it's not that I have forgotten how to use sentences to speak thoughts, it's that I have been writing in 140 characters at a time and lost the need to post these long and random paragraphs to regurgitate all the excess blurbs that are in my brain.
So here I am, encouraging myself to write something. Maybe this writing will lead to more writing and then in time, maybe I'll even be able to be my old creative self again.
I just wrote this whole paragraph and then deleted it.
So I guess this will take time. Or I'll just keep deleting stuff. I do that a lot. How am I going to write anything if I keep deleting it?

So while I'm here, my most recent bouts of anger are toward the NHL, the NHLPA, and sad to say, the Vancouver Canucks.
I love the Canucks. I used to live and breathe the Canucks. I have an Ice Pak, I humiliate myself for my Uncle's club tickets, I agree to go with anyone who asks me even though I have an Ice Pak and get free clubs. I once saw Trevor Linden on the street and I shamefully ran out and asked for a picture, shaking the entire time I was in His presence. My friend was once neighbors with Kirk McLean and I kept hoping to catch him in the elevator (I didn't, but we got a picture with him at a game once when he was doing a signing. Swoon.
And then the Lockout of 12-13 happened. This wasn't supposed to happen. After the last Lockout and with more money and new fans to lose than ever before (and it seems a lot of old fans too), one would think that this is the Lockout that they would have worked their asses off to prevent. But no, there were no proposals, meetings, or negotiations prior to the season starting. There was silence. And then the season got closer and the proposals started going out. And they were preposterous. Both sides asking for things that they must have known they weren't going to get. Both sides trying to get bigger slices of the revenue pie. There was a lot more to this CBA than money. I know that they will say that there were other things in the bargaining process that weren't necessarily monetary. But the biggest issues were about the money.
On both sides are people who make more money in a month than I may ever see in my lifetime.
They had the nerve to try to appeal to the fans to try to make the other side the bad guy. But you know, it didn't matter. It didn't matter to me who the real bad guys were. In my eyes, it's about ME. I'm the fan that has been faithfully following my team through ups and downs and 300 goalies come and gone to the goalie graveyard because of all the loser "fans" who quickly turn on the goaltender when the whole team loses playoff series together. I'm the fan that has spent so much of what little money I make to go to the games in my Ice Pak, to bring my friends when the rest of my Ice Pak isn't in town, to buy food and drinks and snacks at the overpriced concession, and buy merchandise, SO MUCH MERCHANDISE from the Team Store. ME.
So now that hockey is back and all are rejoicing, I can't help but feel bitter still. Of course I'm not giving up my Ice Pak, that would be silly. But I didn't wait months and months for a resolution just to go to a game that I had to pay for and watch my team get destroyed because they weren't as conditioned as the opponents. And I don't feel like your $1 concession items or 50% off merchandise are things that benefit me. These are things that benefit the owners, the people who make the money off the purchases. I mean, think about it. How much does it cost for soft drink that comes from syrup + soda water? Not a whole lot since Costco sells a hot dog and pop for $1.50. So $2 for the same thing in the arena is outrageous. And now that the homestand is over, it'll probably cost $10 for a hot dog and pop. Just think about the mark up and how much the owners are profiting.
I went to all 3 opening homestand games and all I got for free was the crappy scarf everyone got at game 1. But I don't care about this scarf. I want a free game or a free jersey. This random picking of people to give things away too, and I haven't been one of them. We have 4 seats in our Pak, I want 4 free jerseys. Signed. WITH LOVE. Or 4 free tickets. In killer seats. Or a meet and greet with our favorite players, the Sedins and Kesler.
But I know these things will never happen because at the end of the day, no matter what they're giving away, I will not be chosen as a recipient. Except maybe by pure chance, and that would be okay, but it isn't the same as the organization saying hey loyal season ticket holders who are not corporations, loyal Ice Pak owners who are real people, we appreciate you. And we're sorry that we fought over your hard-earned-and-given-up-to-us money. And considering how much they've been giving away to random people on the street and at the games, why would that have been so hard?

My Gramps

This was the speech I made at my gramps' funeral. I meant to post it sooner, but then I didn't.

My name is Holly, and I am the second daughter of Hayley, the second daughter. I have a lot of memories with Grampa. But a time that is special to me was when I lived with Gramma & Grampa when I was little. Mom was working at the factory back then, so I had to go to Happyland, which was not as fun as it sounds. Grampa used to take me in his big ol' Caddy. On good days, he'd take me with him to Chinatown instead and I'd hang out while he played mah jong. Car rides were pretty awesome. As child safety wasn't in yet, I got to ride in the front seat with him. He'd reach over and squeeze my leg. He liked to do it harder and harder until you complained of the pain and then he would laugh. I used to try and hold out as long as I could but eventually he always won. Days with him were way better than days with all those kids at Happyland. Grampa would make me sandwiches that he cut into 4 strips because it was easier to eat that way. He also slipped me money when no one was looking. And even though my mom ended up with it all back then, he continued to do this every time I saw him in the years that followed. One time more recently I went to see him in the home with Uncle Willie and he kept asking Uncle Willie to give him money. Uncle Willie finally gave in and gave him $10, and Grampa proceeded to gift it to me. When my mom was working, sometimes while I was still sleeping, Uncle Willie or Uncle Wilson would come into my room and grab me then dump me in Grampa's bed. I would scramble to climb out- I was terrified that one day he'd roll over and that would be it. All the early stuff I can remember is from my time in LA living in that house. I loved Grampa's bobble head dog in his car. I loved being allowed to go anywhere with him. I loved sneaking into him and Gramma's room and looking at the pictures on his desk. I loved the way he stood with his hands folded over his belly all the time. I visited him as often as I could but I think the best times we had together were back then, when he was my babysitter, my chef, my chauffeur, and my best friend.

A girl walked into a bar... Ouch.

Wow I haven't posted anything since last August. I want to say that it is because I am too busy having a life and being cool, but the reality is probably more along the lines of I was really sad for a long time after my grandfather passed away last August, and then I was very uninteresting. Not that I have anything interesting going today that warrants posting...

In December, I celebrated 3 years of sobriety. It came and went very quietly and wasn't exactly a celebration, but I patted myself on the back and said, "Good job, Holly." After all, my own validation is all I need these days.

In February, I was at a birthday party. Instead of having someone bring me a juice like I normally do, I went to the bar myself and ordered. After telling the bartender what I wanted, I inhaled. In that moment, I wanted a drink more than I have at any point in the last couple of years. Was that my first time standing at a bar in 3 years? Was it the overwhelming odor of booze in the air? I don't know, I can't recall. Whatever it was, I felt weak. Then the bartender I guess was hearing challenged because instead of a Cranberry Juice, he poured a very not juiced up Vodka Cran. WTF buddy. I told him my order 3 times too. But I couldn't stand there anymore; I quickly left the bar and handed off the drink to someone else and took some time to inhale and exhale. I guess it doesn't matter how long I'm sober for, once in awhile, I'm always going to want to drink something alcoholic. And all I can hope is that I'm always strong enough to not take the drink.

I'm not here unless you text me

Talking on the phone and I are not friends. We used to be. There was a time back when I was a teenager when I could and would talk on the phone for hours. And hours. And hours. I don't even know what we talked about. I can't remember to whom I did all this talking. All I know is, I couldn't live without a phone on my ear.
Fast forward and I stopped talking on the phone as years of drinking and partying took precedent. Then I didn't have time to talk on the phone as all I had time for was partying! And studying. And sometimes working. Regardless, I was just way too busy to chat about nothing, and texting was good for "on the way" and "i'm outside."
In the meanwhile, I also advanced from my big grey pager to my less big purple pager and then my little black pager, followed by a couple of huge cell phones, a couple of smaller cell phones, and now I'm onto my 4th Blackberry (fried phones, dropped phones, water damage. No fault of RIM's). I'm so in love with texting, BBM, and e-mailing that it's my main form of communication. When the phone rings with a call, I look at it and evaluate. Mom's ringer is the Imperial March and I'll pick up. Unknown numbers, don't pick up. Someone I know, depends what I'm doing. And when it's not someone I'm related to or one of my best friends, I usually say "Dammit!" right before I hit the green button and say "Hello."
I don't even know when I became this person. My friend that I've been talking to on the phone lately comments on how comfortable I sound. He thinks if he keeps calling and making me talk to him then I'll ease back into phone talking. I don't know yet if he's right. I am undecided as to how I feel about finding out.
Communicating is so prevalent in my life and yet the only time I really want to talk to anyone is if they're in my presence. Even then sometimes I am not in the mood. There are people that I talk a lot around, and people that I don't talk at all in front of. With most people I don' t know well I do not speak much. Maybe that's why when I am comfortable I end up talking so much. I don't know what my problem is, but if you have ideas, please do not call me to talk about it. BBM 4ever.

where's the leather duster??

So I love Jim Butcher's books, The Dresden Files. I wasn't sure I would at first b/c Harry Dresden can't raise the dead like Anita Blake or have an awesome pixie sidekick like Rachel Morgan. All he has is a leather duster (spelled to block bullets yo!), a staff (covered in runes to kick your ass!), a blasting rod, and a shield bracelet (accessories are manly!). Because the cool thing about Dresden is that even though he's not a sassy kick-ass chick who deals with the supernatural, he's turned out to be a sarcastic kick-ass wizard dude who deals with the supernatural. He doesn't need to tap into ley lines or rely on sex to get his mojo going. He's got awesome sidekicks and his vampire isn't trying to eat or seduce him. He has awesome pets. He even has an apprentice. Everything about Dresden is cool.
So when I found out there was a TV series, I was pretty excited to watch it. Then I found out it was only 1 season and not renewed. And Lt Karrin Murphy, petite and kick-ass blonde, now Connie Murphy and she's Latina. Haven't seen her akido skills either. And Bob the skull has a body?? And where is Mister? The Blue Beetle is a Jeep? No Gentleman Johnny Marcone? Evil Justin Dumorne is Uncle Justin Morningway? The most notable however, WHERE IS THE LEATHER DUSTER??
Sometimes when books are adapted, changes need to be made in order to make the screen version flow more smoothly or fit better into time restraints. But if you're going to take something beloved and adapt it, don't screw it up. Because it just makes the fans mad. I'm still watching the series just to see what else happens. But I do not like it very much. Adaptations should be done like Games of Thrones - beautiful sets, fantastic actors, and the author involved in the process. This show sucks.

i heart tv

I'm all puffy eyed because tonight I watched the criminal minds episode where prentiss leaves the show. following that i watched the second game of thrones episode. i think it's twice as emotional because it's acted well and it's characters i already know and have set feelings toward. I know who will go on to do what things and it makes every little scene leading to it all the more intense to watch. and I had all these feelings already the first time I experienced it so round 2 brings it all back in a rush. and I cry more watching tv than I do in real life. I get engaged and involved in the fictional tumult of these peoples- fine these characters' lives. maybe I'm crazy. but I do love my tv.

brothers are dumb

my brother is a little bitch. he's the baby of the family and the only boy so he is spoiled, lazy, and thinks he's entitled to shit that he hasn't earned. he has spent his entire life in someone else's shadow, always striving but never being good enough. and he will never be good enough because he doesn't try hard enough. he puts in the minimal effort required and then he quits. everything he has ever tried to do, he has quit for some bullshit reason or another. he's stuck in a bullshit relationship where he does not wear the pants and instead constantly takes his gf's abuse. she puts him down in public, belittles him, and makes him feel like he's stupid and worthless. as a result, he has allowed himself to believe that he is stupid and worthless. and because he believes this is so, he now consistently acts stupid and worthless. normally i don't really care. i mean, if you want to be a failure at life, that's your problem. but now his useless behavior has spilled over and affected me so i'm all angry and shit. and i don't really get angry much these days because sober me doesn't find as much to be angry about. but he makes me angry. and being angry makes me... frustrated. because i don't know what to do with it. i have no one to yell at because he is not here. i have to resist the temptation to break things because that is immature and childish. i can't scream because that would make the neighbours call the police.
when i was an angry person, i was also a raging alcoholic. i would get angry and then i would drink. and then i would drink until i no longer felt anything and it was wonderful to be free of emotion. feeling the way i do now, it's like it all makes sense why i kept drinking. i was angry because of drinking, and because i was physically and mentally exhausted from pushing myself to maintain the party lifestyle to hide the drinking problem. in addition, the excessive drinking kept me from getting proper rest even when i was able to sleep. so i was angry because i was drinking, and drinking because i was angry. and now i'm just good and properly angry and i don't know what to do with myself. i can't drink it away because i refuse to let one little shit ruin my progress. i think i will do laundry. maybe that will help. stupid little miserable human being. blah.