i just wrote this whole little rant about being happily childless thank you very much and wordpress ate it.

fuck.

well, i guess if you wanna know what i think you can read my brain or ask me or some time i might type it all out again… shit.

i think i am going to make my own website!

oh hi.

wow. it’s been ages since blogging occured. not that i don’t splash my little life all over the internets-just have blogged it for a while.

 

clearly i failed to write 52 short stories. it’s ok. i wrote 13,000 words of a novella (i think) but it makes me sounds like an asshole who is always talking about their NOVEL… so i won’t talk about it.

dating is crap. who cares.

i’m losing weight. getting fit. drinking gallons of coffee. that’s cool.

summer is upon us! today i feel overwhelmed by yo’ mama jokes and the spinning of the earth on its axis. i feel some friendships changing and i am starting to lose my place in where they fit. adapt or die? maybe i just feel sad because it’s time for me to bleed? either way, this room i’m in is oppressively hot and i am shrouded in polyester.

fringe begins soon!

holy lord.

that has some pretty serious religious implications doesn’t it?

not the intention though certainly the correct feeling to describe my brain at the moment. 

lots of writing projects, big plans and dreams, and the pretty stark realisation that i need to make some changes in my life. my health isn’t what it should be and i know it’s my own fault. 

THIS IS SO WHINY! 

and there is the ol’ personal life. i’ve been doing the whole “internet dating” thing and JESUS CHRIST… what is wrong with people. 

dudes, lemme tell you some stuff.

1) “hi”, “hey there”, “u r cute”, “let’s fuck!” and similar are not appropriate intros. 

2) do not lie about your height. the hope in getting into all this is that you might find someone to actually MEET and if you say you’re 5’10” and you’re 5’6″ i will notice. my height says 5’7″ because i am… 

3) when we do finally meet please SPEAK. charm me, impress me, make me give a shit about what you have to say. 

4) if you don’t speak to me please don’t press the lip part of your face against the lip part of my face at the end of the night. it’s rude and really unpleasant. also, only snooki calls it smushing, i prefer it if you would kiss me rather than just smush your face to mine. it’s weird… 

5) someone who says they are looking for casual sex is not a “sure thing”-don’t be a fucking asshole. i don’t owe you sex or anything even remotely resembling sex. if you think a woman owes you anything that’s probably why you’re still single. 

…and ok, is it REALLY too much for me to ask for someone exceptional? no. it isn’t. so fuck off. jesus. i am so bored by all the men. the best ones i know all have really nice wives. 

 

#26

we sit on a park bench and we smoke and we talk about the weather and our cats and our shoes and who spent more money on the other’s birthday present and the truth is, when i look at you now, after all these years i want nothing more-NOTHING more-than to punch you.

is that awful. i suspect it’s probably awful. i used to love you and i’ve become exceptionally good at pretending i still love you. god. there isn’t even a child keeping me here. i think i just really love the shoes you bought me for christmas last year and you always order just perfectly for me when we go for sushi. i’d hate to have to look for that all over again.

so, park bench and cigarettes it is. it could be worse, i could have to have sex with you…

30.

the age, not the story.

i turned 30 and i’m writing something to submit somewhere and it’s fiction and it’s long-ish, longer than the stories on this blog anyway and so i’m comitting to that and perhaps a pause in the stories for a moment…

i turned 30. on september 11. 10 years after far too many people died and i turned 20, i turned 30. 3 days after i turned 30 i got a new job. i real job. one i go to every single day of the regular work week. at that job i use my vast freelance experience, the skills acquired during my degree and my diploma, and my brain. it feels good to use my brain to create something that will hopefully insprire and challenge my colleagues in this province of beautiful and passionate artists. i like it.

and i got some money to hire friends who are smarter than me and better at this playwriting thing to tell me how to fix my play and then act in it and direct it so maybe i can sell it and then people will watch it. that would nice, wouldn’ tit. (say that fast, i like it).

but something feels off at 30. at 24 days into 30 i feel grown up (to an extent) but i feel like i am failing myself in some way. i do not care for myself the way i should. i eat poorly and too much, i don’t floss or stretch nearly as much as i should, i self medicate with advil and antacids, and i stop for a week and then start all over. and when confronted with that truth i hide. i’m 30 and i am afraid of myself (sometimes). just sometimes.

but i am making a promise. when there is a little cash in the bank changes will be made. i realise it costs zero dollars to make change (pun!) but the things i want to do cost money. and my poverty usually means that when i pay for something i tend to stick to it a little harder. it will be hard, harder than a new job and using my brain and writing plays. all of that is easier than making sure i care for me.

i so rarely get all sentimental and honest and shit but sometimes-at milestone times-at 30-what else is there to do?

#25

…and this one’s true.

KMFDF

my first sexual experiences weren’t the stuff of legend or of trauma. sure, a little baggage from my teenage years may add sexy mystique to my current romantic situations or, maybe not. regardless, i had spent a lot of time kissing and other-ing with other girls and hadn’t ever really thought much about other-ing with boys. there was the french canadian first kiss and crushes here and there, sure, but i will forever remember the day that i definitely and forcefully wanted to FUCK a boy. don’t ask me his name because i’ll never be able to tell you, and it doesn’t really matter anyway. she was there, and i remember her name, and she wanted to hang out in her room but he was there and he was wearing KMFDM t-shirt.

the truth is, i’ve never listened to KMFDF, even now, more than twice as old as i was then and all i know is that they are some sort of industrial goth band thing. so there he was, KMFDF, he had brown hair and glasses and was possibly the most usual looking person i’d seen all week. he was my age and certainly not smarter than me but his tshirt told me that there was something mythical about him, something bad ass and different from all the boys i saw every day-all the boys in their tear-aways and basketball shorts and bad skin. i imagined him taking my hand and telling me it wouldn’t hurt, and sliding on top of me and kissing me and sneaking his hand down below into the unknown parts…and i WANTED it.

KMFDF.

nothing ever happened between us-i was too shy and he was wearing a KMFDF t-shirt and i was really only like nirvana at the time. it was a lifetime before a boy knew me the way i desired that boy to know me once upon a time. but goddamn it! i’ll never remember his name (kyle?) but i’ll never forget that first glowing, bright ache-not ever.

ad hoc risk

goodness i’m behind.. i’m really fucking behind and like my pal over there at permanently plural  i’d be lying if i didn’t admit that i was slightly disappointed in myself. i am not going to make a effort to catch up and write some crap that feels rushed and forced. instead, i’m going to catch up at the end of the year. when i hit weeks 50 and 51 i’ll start to panic. in the meantime… 25.

in other news: baby bears drinking from baby bottles is the CUTEST!

the grand romantic gesture

i’m behind on the stories and i have a lot of work to do for my fringe show but i gave my self a little break and went to see “crazy stupid love” with my mom and it got my brain going a bit and i need to write those things before i can work on lighting cues.

i like romantic comedies, i do. i like them because they are silly and formulaic and totally escapist. i like them because they are full of people i want to have sex with. HELLO RYAN GOSLING! and i also understand that they are UTTERLY unrealistic and i am ok with that. “crazy, stupid, love.” wasn’t so much a romantic comedy as it was a comedy of sorts about love but it made me realise something… i have never watched a movie about love (or sex) for that matter that i felt was for me; that i could identify with any of the main female protagonists…

this isn’t to say that i don’t believe in love because i do. i do completely! and i’ve been in love 4 times for real but i just can’t indentify. i don’t want to get into details galore about my personal life because it’s boring and irrelevant but for once, one time, for once i want to watch a movie in the big theatre having paid $12.50 and whatever for popcorn and see a comedy about love or a romantic comedy  where i feel like it’s for me. for a girl who doesn’t look at love in the same way that other people do. just something a little… “alternative” maybe.

that’s all. i thought i had to rant. i could rant. but i can’t. i won’t. that isn’t the point of blogs… that what beers and dear friends are for. blogs are for posting hot pics of ryan gosling so if you didn’t click the link HERE YOU GO!

mmmmmm!

#24

stunts always work best when the people involved are really really into it. the first time i jumped out of a building i was NOT into it-and i suppose this isn’t too too surprising since i am ABSOLUTELY not a stunt person. my mom pushed me out of the window of our 7th floor apartment. it’s a long story and mostly it’s boring to everyone except me, my mom and the police. i guess the ER doc thought it was a little interesting too since he’s the one that called the cops. it’s too bad that he did because i was thinking about asking him out on a date-he had that noah wylie ease with the george clooney sexiness. i don’t go to the doctor a lot so the only ones I can easily relate to are the ones on TV.

basically it was all just a mess and the whole thing taught me that i didn’t want to be a stunt woman because falling out of a building fucking hurts.

#23

dear joe,

it isn’t so much that i’m addicted to you, i just like it… a lot. like, so much so that i think we should just stay in this bed all day; so much that i think we should black out the sun and close our eyes and feel our way towards each other; so much so that i think we should die, right here in each other’s arms.

i’ve got it all planned out joe. we’ll have a romantic dinner: eat and eat and eat; and then when are full we will make love until the ocean of desire we feel for each other finally retreats into sleep. when we are sated (and this might take years) we will each reach to the small porcelain cups i have set beside us on our bedside tables and hold them between our thumb and index fingers, slowly (every so slowly) bringing them to our lips. the drugs are quick and we will feel no pain. all we will have time to do is kiss quickly goodbye.

dear joe, please die with me. if you don’t i swear to god i’ll kill myself.

i love you.

gentlest love,

isabella.