And I Wanna Be Everywhere Twice This Machine Is So Mature It's So Much Your Type

I am 27 years old and I have to close my eyes while having blood drawn. It's not enough to avert my eyes; no, I have to squeeze them shut and turn my head and count to 100 - out loud - and remind myself to breathe.

I am 27 years old and I cry when the old lady in the next room openly mocks me for being such a baby about having blood drawn. I think hateful things about her and then later come to the realization that yes, being old does give you free reign to be an asshole, a privilege I intend to take full advantage of once I am shriveled enough.

I am 27 years old and I still take my mom with me to the scary doctors appointments. I say it's only because she insisted that she drive me and it means that I won't miss as much work because I don't have to use public transit, but that's a lie. My mother's fretting allows me to be calm, something I am incapable of when I'm alone.

I am 27 years old and I still get an Easter basket full of chocolate treats (from the Easter Bunny, of course); I still cover my ears and shut my eyes during the scary parts; I still laugh when one of the pups humps the other pup; I still worry about what other people think of me; I still call my dad when things get rough; I still eat a disgraceful amount of mac & cheese; I still look up to my older sister; I still dream about what I want to be when I grow up.

This week has been a bit grim, peeps, but your stories of your own terrible, horrible, no good, very bad days are making me smile (not that I'm laughing at your misfortune ... promise!) Keep them coming - the winner of the mooooosetash cupcake toppers will be announced on Friday.

What If I Just Flip Flopped? Down Is The New Up

Friday Faff: Confessions

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I bought $42 face moisturizer.

I tend to be casual about my appearance (I go months without a haircut, pulling my hair back into a ponytail to hide the split ends; I forgo wearing makeup to work if it means ten more minutes of sleep; I wear yoga pants - often - even though I do not do yoga) but the one thing I am vain about is my skin. I've noticed a lot of dryness in my skin lately. Horrible, flaky dryness. I know I should rehydrate my skin from the inside out but I drink a lot of water and nothing changes. So I bought $42 face moisturizer. I'm not sure how I feel about being someone who spends $42 on moisturizer. The Clinique lady promised that the moisturizer wouldn't spoil for 2 years so really it's like I am spending $21 a year on face cream. That's less than $2 a month. Still. $42 is almost half of my monthly transit pass.

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I rode the motorcycle.

I know. I KNOW! Only five months ago I was all ranty ranty about the motorcycle. After the initial rage and fretting cooled down, though, I was left with curiosity. I wanted to experience what all the fuss was about; I wanted to see why he loved the motorcycle so much. Then last Monday, Shawn picked me up from work. He thought he was being wily, offering to pick me up from work knowing that I would assume he'd be driving the car, then showing up on his motorcycle with a brand new helmet for me to wear. We rode home and I felt what he feels on the bike. I now understand why it appeals to him. I'm not a fan by any stretch of the imagination, but I feel less anxious about the situation. I'm not sure that I'll ever get back on the bike but I'm not ruling it out either.

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Day 19 of my month of photos:


The Vancouver Art Gallery (or VAG. Seriously.)
Vancouver is experiencing beautiful weather right now. The sun is shining, the sky is clear (and blue! as in, not grey! in February!) and the cherry blossoms are blooming.

These Are My Confessions

Neither Shawn nor I have ever cleaned our oven. We moved into our condo over two years ago. There is a patch of black sludge at the bottom. Our smoke alarm randomly goes off when we use it. The oven remains uncleaned.

December 16th was the last time I went to karate. At first I could justify it: the dojo was closed over Christmas and then I had my surgery. Now? Now I'm just lazy. And fat.

I am obsessed with well-groomed eyebrows, mainly because I have no idea how to make mine pretty. I pluck out the unibrowy bits but my brows never look awesome. If I see someone with great eyebrows, I stare. Inappropriately. Like, if I'm talking to someone with great eyebrows I will be unable to maintain eye contact because I'm entranced by their brows. Someone, please, put me out of my misery. How do I get great brows? I've tried having them waxed and threaded; I was not impressed by either and not just because it was ouchie.

I shout at the television when I watch hockey.

Music is a huge part of my life. I listen to music every day. I love listening to my favourite bands but I also love discovering new music to love. I love making playlists for myself (I have playlists for dog-walking, cleaning, commuting, driving - trips under an hour in length and trips over an hour in length, etc.) I love making mixes for my friends. I do not love live shows. I feel like a music failure, like I'm not fully supporting the artists I love because I don't go to their live shows. I used to love going to shows but my anxiety and hatred of large crowds has prevented me from going to any in the last few years. This will all change in April when I go see Muse perform. I'm putting it on the internet so I can't change my mind. I love Muse, I've never seen them live, Shawn and I have ground floor seats = I am going to that show no matter what.

I cannot spell tomorrow without spellcheck. I always double the m. Shame.

I think it's disgusting that Shawn puts jam on his grilled cheese sandwich but I think it's completely normal that I put pickles in my peanut butter sandwich.

Alright peeps, this is a safe place; what are your confessions?