Wednesday, April 24, 2013

She Let's Her Hair Down

Guys don't hit on me.

A bold statement if I've ever made one.

Well, it's true.

My ex, we will call him Jay, once told me that I am severely unapproachable. When someone speaks to me out in the wild, I instantly have a 'get away from me' and 'don't touch me unless you want to lose a hand' vibe going on. This may have been the case seven years ago when I was living in the city and cultivated a harder exterior after one too many run-ins with yahoos and wack-a-doos on the street.

These days, I like to think I'm softer. Not only because I've let my workout regime fall to the wayside, but because I've grown up a lot. I've matured. And I stopped shaving my armpits and have embraced a nice frolic through the dewy morning grass. One of those last things isn't true. I'll let you decide on your own because I feel all readers should be involved in what they are reading to some extent.

For example, I'm not going to tell you my surroundings or what I am wearing as I type this because I firmly believe you have enough of an imagination to come up with that information on your own. In actuality, you really shouldn't be thinking about what I am wearing or where I am while I write this. It has nothing to do with the content of the article, nor does it make reading it any more enjoyable.

Back to the subject at hand. I like to think I'm not so unapproachable.

Still, guys don't hit on me. Probably because I don't play the damsel in distress very well. I have the whole, I can do it by myself thing going on. And apparently, self-sufficiant women, do not great lovers make. Or so people mistakenly think. Because I am a fantastic...let's not go there.

The truth is, men don't ask to pump my gas, carry my groceries, or query over whether or not I want to partake in a sampling of food or beverages with them. Probably because I am so happy in my current relationship status they already know I'm not available to them. Still, it's because of guys not hitting on me that I am aware of when I am being noticed more than usual. When something doesn't happen, like never ever, and then it starts to happen, you see it. Like, for example, if you never hear birds outside your window and then, one day out of the blue, you hear a sparrow singing his little singsong. You'd take note.

Well, today, I got all sorts of attention from fellas. Ones driving by me. Workers at the grocery store. Random teenagers I let cross in front of my car instead of running over and making pavement paint out of them. Smiles. Nods. Waves. Hellos. Weird starts to conversations like, "There are so many cereals out there, hey?"

Here's the thing: I'm only doing two things differently in life these days.

1. Wearing more dresses
2. Letting my hair down

With the nice weather comes the dresses. In fact, I have waited a very long time for Spring to roll its lazy ass around so I can indulge myself in wearing clothes that I frankly shouldn't be wearing. I mean, I can't bend over in these outfits. And if I do, I better be wearing cute underwear. While this could totally be the reason I've been drawing the attention of Harry, Larry and Bob, I like to think guys don't really notice clothing. I mean, you could seriously ask my Sidekick what I wore on any given day and I doubt he'd actually be able to tell you. Likewise for any dudes I've ever had the pleasure of running into. They'd be able to tell you if my boobs looked good in a shirt, but wouldn't have a clue what was actually on the shirt.

So, dresses to the side, I also got this amazing new shampoo and conditioner from this salon and it seriously rocks my locks. I have been letting loose and leaving the elastic band at home. This crap smells so good, I want to eat it. I catch myself sniffing my hair at awkward moments. No, really. I'm one of those weird hair sniffer people.

Thus, in conclusion, men like it when women wear their hair down. I can only surmise that my lack of attention was due to the fact that I always, like every single freakin' day, wore my hair up in a messy sort of bun. Now the curly tendrils are tickling my back and the air has shifted. Perhaps it makes me more approachable, or maybe guys just like the looks of long flowing hair, either way, I think I've just cracked the attraction code.

Or perhaps I am mistaken and spring has simply sprung.

Monday, April 15, 2013


One might think to themselves, what a strange blog title. A number. Six thousand seven hundred and thirty-four. 

What could this possibly mean? asks my adorning fan. 

Is this a code? Does it need to be broken? Surely there must be some deep meaning within this number to unlock the untold wonders of the world and deliver unto the masses the truth of life and why we are all here. 

Alas, it isn't so grand. This number will not change your life. It won't make you richer, prettier or more intelligent. No one will write a book or movie about this number. Actually, with all this hype, it's kind of boring what this number is. Unfortunately, I've already come this far, so I kind of have to continue. 

This is the number of reads I've had on my most popular post on this here blog. 

Crazy, right? 

And you won't even guess what the subject matter is of my most popular posting either. 

The Exorcist. 

No, really. I'm not pulling your leg or making a joke. It truly is. 

This strikes me as hilarious. I mean, I have poured my heart and soul into some of the articles here. I've talked about love, my insecurities, detailed my journey through the jungle of life, and still, the most popular post on my blog is about exorcisms.  

This is a lesson learned, my fair writers, bloggers and creative creatures. If all you want is hits and numbers and stats, just post about the Exorcist. The mob will come flocking. Still, I find myself sitting up at night pondering this fascinating factoid. What is it about The Exorcist that people feel compelled to Google fifty times a day? 

Let's break this down and get all up in the numbers and stuff. I posted E Is For Exorcism  on October 6th. It is now April 15. This is about six months. If we do the math, which I've always hated doing, this breaks down to around 1122 hits a month. Given there is about thirty days in a month, this works out to being 37 hits a day. All for exorcisms and the wonderment of demons invading bodies!  

It leads me to believe there are a lot more possessions taking place on a daily basis than any of us could ever imagine. This is both frightening and fabulous. See, it's terrifying because none of us want to see anyone's head spin around or have them impale their naughty bits on a cross, a la Regan in The Exorcist  The sheer thought of a demon sneaking into your body and holding court is more than a little unnerving. But isn't it fabulous to know you live in a world where these are the things people are concerning themselves with. 

Even more interesting, a lot of these hits are coming from Singapore and the Philippines. Which only confirms that I most likely won't be planning a vacation to these destinations any time soon. Well, not without a bucket of holy water and a silver cross. 

Okay, so I just took the time to do the actual math. It's been 192 days since I hit the publish button for this, which works out to 35 hits a day. Of course, for all I know there was a group possession on a holiday weekend and three thousand of the original six thousand seven hundred and thirty-four were accumulated then. It worries me that people were in search of help to expel the demon from their loved ones and instead of finding do-it-yourself step-by-step possession instructions they found my cheeky blog instead.

This informative post has been brought to you by my over-thinking and general absurdness. 

A Little Yoga Never Hurt Anyone

Tuesday, April 9, 2013

It Isn't Love

Every single day of my life I see, read, hear  pieces and blips of people's relationships. With all this social media in our lives, we get a front row ticket to a lot of intimate moments, private thoughts, flirting and romantic philandering  We see the saccharine beginnings of new love and, most horrifying for the soul that has been wronged, the unhinged ends of tainted relationships. Both of these can be fairly embarrassing,  not only for us, the person witnessing it in the comfort of our pyjamas at eight o'clock on a Wednesday as we consume a pint of chocolate chip mint ice cream, but for the parties involved. Maybe not in the moment but, most likely, after the fact.

You hear so much about love and how it is supposed to make you feel. The elation. Being one with the person. How you don't get bored looking them. Electrifying kisses. Never feeling alone. Having a best friend and amazing lover in one. There is a list and it goes on and on and everyone can tell you when it is love. When you are head over heels. one wants to tell you when it isn't love. It's like people are afraid to speak up and say, "You shouldn't be feeling that way." I see it in status updates, tweets, Instagram photos, and text messages. We want to offer support and a shoulder to lean on when times get tough. Yet, we are terrified to tell it like it is. No one wants to be the jerk who drops the truth bomb. It's hard to be honest when someone's bleeding heart is making a terrible mess of their Facebook account.

I know they will regret it, probably in a year when they've picked themselves up and put themselves back together again. To be honest, I came very close to being one of these people. As it is, I share a lot of personal details here on this blog, especially through my journey of self discovery and trying to figure out who I am and who I want to be. I know the feeling of looking back and shaking my head over the miserableness I felt. Thankfully, I have yet to have an emotional breakdown on any social media platform, I like to keep those contained to the privacy of my own bedroom or, at the very least, a local park.

But wouldn't it be nice if someone, somewhere, could help us out in the moment. Instead of telling us six months later, "Yeah, you should never feel that way." Well, how about we talk about when it isn't love so we all have a reference point as to what isn't okay.

It isn't love when you are left alone to wonder where your girlfriend or boyfriend is. When they don't tell you where they are going, fail to come home or check in when they know you worry. And it isn't love when they go without a goodbye and come home without a hello, especially for long periods at a time.

Sure, it may seem ridiculous to say it, but we take our loved ones into consideration. When we extend ourselves and truly fall in love, that person becomes our family. Our point of contact. An in case of emergency call person. They are are our 'go to'. And we consider them, what they need and want. If you are not being considered, it isn't love because love is, above most everything else, considerate. You count. And you should feel like you count.

It isn't love to feel like a piece of furniture. Disposable. The same as the aged and battered recliner they have had around forever - familiar and boring. Serving a purpose but never really being seen or used to your fullest potential. Great to have around when company comes over but kind of in the way most days. Love doesn't make you feel used or abused. You should feel important. Wanted. Cared for. Wood polished. Cushions fluffed. And a bunch of other sexual innuendos that pertain to furniture.

Your body. Your face. Your entire being should be accepted as is by the other person and appreciated in the same way. It isn't love to be constantly guessing what the other person thinks of you. Trying to dress nice and not getting a compliment. Waiting to simply be noticed. It isn't love to feel as though you should hide a part of your body or a fragment of your personality. To doubt you wit, intelligence, attractiveness when it comes to your partner is wrong. Holding back isn't love.

This is hard to admit, because I've been there before, but it isn't love to lie next to someone and wonder where they are because it's so clear they aren't sleeping with you. To feel alone though a body is literally two feet away. And to be afraid to wake them, to talk to them, to ask to be held. This isn't love.

Need isn't love. Wanting is. You don't need anyone other than yourself. And you don't need to feel needed. You needed to feel wanted. Like they want to be with you. To hold your hand. To talk. To share everything no matter how silly or inconsequential it seems.

Use your senses. And if you feel as though you aren't being seen, heard, tasted, touched or smelled then it isn't what you want. Love commands all the senses.

It isn't love to be a shadow. To follow. Stalk. Sneak about. It isn't love to read emails. Hack Facebook accounts. Snoop text messages.

To feel unsupported isn't love. You should have dreams. And no matter how ridiculous they may seem to yourself or others, they should be supported by the one you love, the one who is supposed to love you. They should be interested in what you do. They should care.

More than anything, it isn't love to feel sad and alone. To be broken. And doubt the person you are or the one you are becoming. You shouldn't lose sight of who you are or where you are going. The anger, pain, self hatred isn't love.

It isn't love to have your wings clipped. It is love to fly.

It isn't love to wonder where you stand. To feel like a secret. Hidden away. Uncertain whether you should post a picture or write on their wall. Curious to who they are talking to online. Unsure of their relationship status. You should do as you want and relish that the other person will appreciate what you've done and celebrate your relationship. A relationship is like a car. You shouldn't be in the backseat.

It isn't love to hurt constantly. Fear has no place with love. You must know if you let something go it will come back to you or else your nails will start digging in and scars will form. One must give but also take - without both you can become empty. If you are always giving and feel as though there is nothing being given to you, it isn't love.

Sometimes we are the rule, but once in awhile we are the exception  You are exceptional.  Special. One of a kind. Original. Never let anyone tell you otherwise, not even the one you love because...if they do. It isn't love.  

In the end, do not allow yourself to be held down by what isn't love. Open your heart and mind. Allow yourself to be guided by what love is.

Wednesday, April 3, 2013

Enter The Boy

Currently, right this very moment, I am at the ever-so important part of my book where I have to introduce the boy. You know, the boy the girls will all swoon over and fall head-over-heels in love with. Because you want the reader to like the love interest. Actually, when it comes to Young Adult novels, you want the reader to love the love interest. To pine over him. To toil over him. To dream about him. To scrawl his name on their books and fantasize about him. Okay, maybe that's a bit on the creepy side.

Still, you want the love interest, the boy, the dude, guy, hero to be likeable and cute. And different. He has to be different. What sets him apart from all the other love interests in every other Young Adult book? 

Don't get me wrong. Not all YA novels HAVE to have a love interest. 

Well, except, I wrote one that doesn't and no one seems interested in a girl power novel without a romantic subplot. Most frustrating. 

But I am not ranting about the books agents don't want of mine. No, I am talking about introducing the boy. 

How many of you have fallen head over silly heels for a fictional guy? A lot, I bet. Whether it is Mr. Darcy, the beast from Beauty and the Beast, Edward Cullen (not my type at all), Peta, Patch or Wolverine (just me?) there's been some made up dude who has piqued your interest. I know. Because I know. Sometimes you just can't help it because they are so well written and they have all those qualities you want to write home about when you're away at summer camp. 

And we all know the great traits for your male lead to have to endear girls to them. Smouldering eyes. Dimples. Tattoos. Scars. Wicked smile. Low slung jeans. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah.

In the past, I like to think I've created some amazing guys. Probably because I like my characters how I like my coffee, strong and dark. No, not really. I don't even drink coffee. Though, I do tend to fall in love with the dudes I make up.

The truth is, I try to make them real. Flawed. A bit dark (because no matter how kind and lovely a person is they always have a darker side to them.) Generous. And, most importantly, they don't staunch the female heroine. Ever. They don't try to limit them or take away from her strengths. This is important to me because I like, above everything else, strong female characters, of which I have created at least ten. 

Some are even ruthless. 

But, enough about my women, back to my men. 

More than anything, I like my guys to have a sense of humour. They have to be unique both in their behaviours and the way they appear. It's the first scene and set up that I find most important. It's how the characters meet and interact that will sell the reader on the bloke or turn them off. It's my job to make sure the guy is well-rounded, charismatic and endearing. 

A big job. 

Basically, I have to craft a dreamboat. 

Luckily for me, characterization and fleshing out my dudes is actually something I excel at. Not trying to toot my own horn here, but if you had the chance, you'd fall in love with my guys. All of them. They are all lovely in their own uniquely flawed and fantastic ways. 

Yes, I did stop writing to post this. And now, back to creating a boy girls will swoon over. No pressure. Ha.