7.22.2014

TRIALS.

Noun: a person, thing, or situation that tests a person's endurance or forbearance.
Turning thirty really isn't so bad when you celebrate as though you are eighteen with twelve years experience; which is precisely what I did. I escaped the everyday reality of Montreal with two best friends and arrived by the pool at the Sheraton in Toronto at approximately two PM. Seven hours later I was already hung-over. Meaning I was drunk, slept and woke up with a hang over by nine PM on Friday night. Dirty thirty never sounded so accurate.


7.17.2014

THIRTY.

The number equivalent to the product of three and ten; ten less than forty.
Once upon a time...
Truthfully, it was it last July, precisely one year ago. After celebrating yet another birthday single, I made an agreement with myself. If in three hundred and sixty-five days I was still alone when turning the big three O, I would run away for a year. Apparently I thought I could turn my life into Eat Prey Love.
Sunday, July twentieth, is my birthday and I am officially saying au revoir to my twenties. I honestly imagined this commemoration to be more discouraging. Especially considering I am nowhere close to where I thought I'd be when turning this age. The public school curriculum really needs to incorporate teaching young people not to grow up with so many time limiting expectations. My assumptions always had me married (potentially with a baby?!) by thirty. In retrospect, I am quite satisfied with that not being my current reality.
I like to think that everything happens for a reason and fate is true. Besides, it makes it easier to accept that I am turning thirty and still residing in my parents basement; it definitely would be the perfect time to escape. However, although I am (still) officially single, there is someone who has reminded me what it's like to feel those butterflies in your stomach sensation again. For once, I'd rather stick around to see what happens rather than run away...

6.19.2014

Sobriquet.


Noun: a person's nickname. 
Somewhere between seventeen and twenty I predominantly stopped referring to the males I met by their true names. Instead I elaborated on some rather obvious aspect regarding their character, mannerism, nationality or look; voila a nickname was born. It just seemed easier when explaining a story to use a detail orientated adjective as an alternative instead of repeatedly clarifying who so and so was. This became a regular thing amongst my friends and I and to this day is still used on the daily.

A glimpse into our repertoire: