(F**k a) Silver Lining (Part Two)

My first clue that all was not as wonderful in my relationship as I thought it was came around Christmas time. For any of you who are newcomers, I have a very large family of step siblings, and every year at Christmas it can be quite the task to see everyone. And that’s when I’m single. When I’ve been in a relationship over the holidays, it has always been tricky to find a balance. And for Christmas 2017, this was even more so going to be the case. My dad and step mom and all my siblings and nieces and nephews had planned to go to a city one province over, about 4 hours away, to go to a hotel and do some skiing, and getting some shopping in over Christmas.

I really wanted to be with my love and his kids for Christmas. They felt like my family by that point too, but the trouble was that the kids had to return to their mom before we would be getting back from our trip. So, after a lot of figuring plans out with my mom’s side of the family, I ended up spending Christmas Eve and Christmas morning with him and the kids, before heading out of town. I wanted our first Christmas to be perfect. I spent weeks searching for the perfect gifts for his kids, and I even spent a good month knitting him a Doctor Who scarf. (Of course he likes Doctor Who…he’s British) I printed off pictures of him and his kids and framed them, since he kept saying he needed to do that, and never did, and I picked up some of his favourite British cookies to add in as well.

We had a nice supper together, and then I noticed something. He had home baked cookies on his counter top. He wasn’t a baker by any stretch, and they definitely weren’t store bought. I asked him where they were from. He told me that they were from a friend of his, who also has kids, she brought them by. She. She brought them by. The she part hit my stomach like a ton of bricks. But, he didn’t make a deal of it, and it was Christmas, and I thought to myself, “You’re over reacting. He loves you. He is not that kind of guy. He would never cheat on you.” So I ignored my gut, and pressed on, trying to enjoy the rest of the evening as much as I could. But I could feel a slight distance that I hadn’t noticed before.

In the morning, I wanted to wake up next to him, with him wishing me Merry Christmas as soon as we both woke up. I wanted to feel his warmth beside me, and to have him tell me that he loves me. Instead, I woke up as he was getting out of bed, where he went to the living room and I could hear him make a bowl of cereal for himself. I got up, got dressed, and went out to see him, but the warmth wasn’t there. It wasn’t the loving, warm, Christmas morning I was hoping for. And soon it was all about his kids (as it should be) and his parents whom were watching the gift opening over Skype from England. I felt involved, but as an outsider. But I knew that day wasn’t about me, so yet again I thought to myself, “You’re overreacting. He loves you. Today was about the kids. Let them have their day.” And yet again I pressed on.

I pressed on through my time away where his texts were few and far between. I pressed on on New Years Eve when I felt like I had coerced him to go to my dad’s for supper, and then felt stupid when I texted him after he and the kids left my dad’s to see if I could go back to his place for a bit, because he hadn’t invited me over, but his 3 year old daughter did instead. I could feel that something had changed. But every time I acknowledged that something was up, I kept telling myself that I was overreacting. Again. And again. And again.

In the new year we stopped seeing each other all the time, his excuses being that he was busy with work. He got this new promotion in December, so I was ok with not seeing him as much. Because his job was important. Of course his job was important. So little by little distance grew between us. We stopped having sex, we rarely spent the night together, and our evenings were usually cut down to 2 hour chunks before he would leave my place, or I would figure it was time to go home if I wasn’t staying over. I knew the distance wasn’t good, but I just kept convincing myself that we were just going through a rough patch, that things would settle down.

In mid January we hit a point where I thought it was the end, and then another where I thought we would be ok. It was around this point that he decided to go out of town for a night away with “an old buddy” he claimed to have, even though he and I hadn’t spent a full night together in months. That day, I snapped. Our first really big fight, and because I never saw him anymore, it happened over texting. That should have been it. I should have just ended it then. But, of course, I downplayed it, told myself I was being over dramatic, and too overbearing. He loves you, I kept telling myself.

Once in awhile he would do something that would reinforce the idea that he loved me. After that night away, he and I planned a full day together. A full day without work, without the kids, just him and I. And you know what happened that day? My niece was born that day. My beautiful baby niece who I was so excited to meet decided to come a week early, and now I had to choose whether to spend the day travelling to meet her, or to wait a day or two and spend the day with Henry instead. So I chose to meet her, and he came with me. It was the best of both worlds, although I felt guilty that I was changing our plans that day. I felt guilty and a little frustrated that that day of all days would be the day that baby was born. How ludicrous is that?

And the denial and the excuses, and the telling myself I was crazy went on for weeks. Then, 3 days after our mundane Valentine’s Day, everything fell apart.

It was a Monday night (it was a holiday Monday, Family Day if you can handle the irony there) and we had just come back from dropping his kids off with their mom (she lives 2 hours away, so we met at the halfway point for drop offs) On the way back to town, we decided to go somewhere for supper. We went, and it was fine, but he was busy on his phone through a lot of (claiming to be reading stuff about his soccer team) and I was just kinda trying to ignore it as much as I could. After we were done eating, we went back to his place. It was still early, so I followed him up to his door. When we got his his door, there was a heart shaped Valentines streamer on the doorknob to his front door. Weird, I thought, and he looked kind of puzzled by it, but he said that it must belong to the neighbour kid (he lived in a basement suite and the lady upstairs had a kid) and again, I thought nothing of it.

We went inside and sat on the couch for a few minutes watching tv. I got up to go to the bathroom, and when I came back out, he was putting his jacket on. He had this weird look on his face. I asked him what was going on, and he told me that he had gotten a text or a call (I don’t remember which he said) from his ex wife and that something had happened with his son. He wasn’t sure what, but he had to leave right away. I hurriedly put my jacket on, and left with him, him not saying so much as a goodbye, and me telling him to let me know what was going on. I got into my car, and watched as he pulled out of the driveway, and drove down the street and out of sight. I sat in my car for a minute feeling like this really was weird. I was also concerned for his son. What could have happened?

I put my own car into drive, and started to head home. I only lived 5 minutes or so from his place, but about half way home my gut was screaming at me that all of this felt weird. That he had been acting strange for weeks now, and that this didn’t feel right. Something didn’t feel right here. So instead of going home, i finally, FINALLY listened to my gut, and I drove around, back towards his house. But this time, I went down the opposite end of the street that I usually came down. And sure enough the first thing I saw when his house came into view was his vehicle parked back in his motherfucking driveway. The second thing I saw was him, across the street from his house, standing next to a car parked in front of the neighbours, with another woman. I drove past them, and parked a couple houses down just in time to see the two of them walk into his house with his arm around her waist, through my rear view mirror…

To be continued my blueberries. This is one of the hardest stories I’ve ever tried to tell, so I need to do it in smaller doses. I’ll be back with the finale soon.



Just Keep Going On

I’m not entirely sure when exactly my life became the script of a really poorly written sitcom, but here we all are, she writes as she continues to eat the half of a chocolate pie she pulled out of the fridge for breakfast, as she is too damn lazy to make eggs, obviously trying to illustrate the point she was trying to make.

This is where I am at now.  Comical levels of sadness. So comical in fact that I could actually be Sadness if anyone ever did the live action version of Inside Out.  Which is a vast departure from the state I was in the last time I put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard as it were) to write my story.  The last time you and I were together, I was sitting on the beach with Chuck, so happy to have a wonderful, beautiful new boyfriend.  I was enjoying our time together, and enjoying having someone in my life that I liked.  Of course, because it’s me, and my life after all is a sitcom, that feeling of joy didn’t last more than a full month after that.  I’m not sure if it was the sleeping with someone else that ruined it for me, the fact that he slept with someone who found out she had Chlamydia, or the fact that he couldn’t figure out why  I didn’t want to stay with him because of those two facts (he had apologized for cheating after all, AND he got me meds to take just in case I had gotten Chlamydia from him, and hey, he at least told me he cheated, he didn’t have to, so isn’t he a great guy, and can’t we just work things out?) and then proceeded to essentially stalk me for the following month till I threatened to go to the cops.  I’m not sure which of those three things really made me not like him.  I mean he’s obviously such a catch, I should have just been thankful that he wanted to be with me.  *eyes roll so far back into my head that I go blind*

After all that I took a little break from dating, haha, just kidding, no I didn’t, I got back onto Plenty of Fish and Tinder almost immediately, and by December, I had started meeting new people.  It was pretty slow going, not much to write about, until I got a message from a ghost named Max.  He sent me this really long message, apologizing for being such an asshole to me, and asked if I’d like to meet him for dinner sometime.  I messaged back laying down the law that if we were going to hang out again it would be on my terms.  So we did, and it was like a year had not passed.  I got the same feeling I had last year when we had spent time together, and it wasn’t actually until we were having sex, that I felt different.  Yes, I slept with him, can we save the judgment (I’m projecting here, I know this, shut up) for later in this post? Cause I’m betting you are gonna need all the judgment you got for later.  Anyways, when we were making the sex it was like my brain woke up and reminded me of how he treated me last year.  I started to give myself shit, like all he has to do is say he’s sorry, pay for your meal and buy you some really fancy expensive yarn (yes, he did that, and it’s beautiful and I can’t decide what I want to make with it) and you are back in his bed, and feeling like absolute garbage? What in the actual fuck is the matter with you?  So needless to say I left his place very unsettled and unsatisfied.  We saw a movie together a week or so later, and then after that you know what happened?  History repeated itself.  I just stopped hearing from him.  Again.  Because if I’ve learned one thing in this life it’s that if you do something you know you shouldn’t be doing, the universe or whatever the fuck will show you exactly why you shouldn’t have done that thing.

Which brings me to right now.  Yes there have been more funny dating stories that I could share, and a few more that are less than hilarious, but since we are talking about letting in blasts from the past when you fucking know better, and since it’s fresh in my brain, we come to last night.  After a few months of less than impressive dating stats, I wrote a big longwinded post on Facebook about the woes of dating, specifically online dating.  I was doing my best to keep things as light and funny as possible, but I obviously came off almost as dark and depressed as I have been lately, because no more than 5 minutes after I hit post, I received a text message from the infamous Erik.  If you don’t know who Erik is, then who even are you, and how did you find this tiny little blog in the most random corner of the internet?  Now, hearing from Erik is nothing new.  In fact, I’ve been hearing from him here and there a lot since Kevin and I split.  We’ve only seen each other in person a few times, but every few weeks I get a text from him, just him saying hello, or telling me something he knows I’d find interesting or funny, like a couple months ago, when a former football player I used to enjoy was working on a production he was involved with.  Our interactions have been very friendly, and while I am always painfully aware of our past whenever I see him or hear from him, overall I think we have made it to this place beyond the awkward where we can maybe actually be friends. With or without the benefits.

Last night he could tell I was down.  And no matter what the motivation to message me was, he was the only person who reached out to ask if I was ok.  He saw through the sarcasm of my post, and could tell that things maybe weren’t as lighthearted and humorous as I was trying to make it seem.  He took what could have been an awful night for me, and made it into a really fun night by doing something not many people in my life can do for me right now – he was just there.  All we did was text, but we chatted about everything from old Simpsons episodes to the thought of having kids one day to him telling me I should audition for a production sometime.  We even cleared the air about what happened between us.  He told me he still feels guilty that he couldn’t give me all the things I wanted with us, and I told him that it’s nothing to feel guilty about, that you can’t force yourself to love someone when you simply don’t.  We talked for almost 4 straight hours, and it was probably the first time since we met over 10 years ago that we actually opened up to each other like that.  Regardless of how I’m feeling today about it (slightly confused, and mad at myself that my heart still skips a tiny bit when I see his name appear on my phone) I’m so glad that it happened.  I’m glad someone, even the most unlikely person was there for me when I just needed to talk to someone.

So judge away.  I know I’m judging me.  And I know I’ll never learn.  But at least with me not learning, it gives me a reason once every 6 months at least to come back and work my shit out here.  Thanks for sticking around a little while longer with me.


For the Longest Time

If you would have told me a year ago that these days I’d be contemplating getting back on the dating scene (and let’s be honest here, when I say the “dating scene” I really mean the online dating scene) I would have thought you were crazy. I would have called you a bad four letter name, and went about my life, blissfully in love, and hopelessly unaware that that was indeed going to be a reality these days. If only I had a time machine.

When you break up with someone, timing is usually everything.  I mean nobody wants to be the asshole that dumps someone during a funeral, or while they are getting open heart surgery or something.  That’s a total dick move.  Don’t do that. Luckily for me, the timing for most things in this break up lined up so perfectly that I am wondering if this sadly is what was meant to happen. It happened well before our 2nd anniversary and Christmas and Valentine’s Day, which would have been awful to look back on and realize that Kevin wasn’t happy with me during those times, or was only suffering through them with me so that we could break up during a less devastating couple of months. It happened before I had booked my flight for the trip to Vancouver we were planning for his friend’s wedding, as well as before I dropped big dollars on the perfect Christmas gift I had found for him.  Only by a few days mind you, not even 3 days before we broke up I was pricing both flights and gifts out online.  It also happened during a time when work was slow enough that I was able to take a couple days off to cry it out and get my shit together to move. And as luck would have it, the absolutely affordable, newly renovated basement suite in Lucy and her boyfriend’s house became vacant at the same time I was in need of a new home. I even lucked out when it came to finding free furniture and getting help to move all my shit into my new place.  All things considered, the timing was as good as I could have ever hoped considering the circumstances.

But that is really the only place where time is on my side. In so many other ways, I need to be patient, and wait for things to happen when they are ready to.  And as anyone who has ever read anything here can tell you, I am by no means a patient person. I want to be ready to start dating again.  I want to already be at the point where I rarely think about Kevin, and when I can get butterflies in my stomach about a new guy.  This stage of the break up hurts too much.  I’m not a fan of it.  But there are so many reasons why I know it is too early to even be thinking about dating someone else right now.  For starters, I’m not 100% sure where Kevin and I stand. Sure, the door was left open for the possibility of getting back together, but I’m going crazy already waiting for him to come to me and say, “hey, I’ve been thinking about us a lot and I think breaking up was a big mistake. I can’t picture a future without you.” Even though I have this feeling deep down that knows that the likelihood of hearing Kevin tell me that is about as likely as Robert Downey Jr. seeking me out because he’s always wanted to meet an obnoxious, overweight, dating blogger whom he’s never even heard of. In my heart I know that this break up is probably very permanent.

The second reason is that I get legitimately ill when I think of what dating someone else will be like.  I’ve been around the block enough to know that dating is absolutely awful, and my long term memory is good in that I remember what the guys I met before Kevin were like.  It was one of the reasons why I fell in love with Kevin in the first place. He was different from the rest of the guys out there.  So the thought of having to do that all over again, and meet all those same kinds of guys is super discouraging.  I mean really, what if I get back out there and don’t meet anyone else?  Then what?

The third biggest reason for waiting to date is that I am absolutely not ready to see Kevin date anyone else.  I know that it’s inevitable that he will find a new girlfriend, but the thought of having that happen in the next few months breaks my heart more than anything else.  Do I want him to be happy? Sure.  But would I rather have him alone, and pinning for me, at least until after I’ve long since moved on?  Abso-fucking-lutley.  Call me a selfish bitch all you want, but I guarantee most if not all of you would feel the same way under the circumstances.

So now the only thing left to do besides cry and eat my weight in chocolate, is to patiently wait for when I’m actually ready to move on to the next thing. I have about a million reasons why I want to move on today, but I think for now I’m going to wait.  I don’t know how to do this ex-girlfriend thing anymore than I knew how to do the girlfriend thing in the first place.  I guess there is a learning curve with all of it.  I just wish this was a class that I never had to take.


Tick, Tick, BOOM!

86 days, 13 hours and give or take a handful of minutes. This is how much of my 20’s I have left. I have just over 3 months till my big 30th birthday. I had big plans for this one. I mean, I’ve been known to have big plans for all of my birthdays, but this one I figured had to be the biggest and best.

Tick, tick.

What my plan originally was, was to gather all my close friends (like all 5 or 6 of em) and organize a weekend trip to Vegas. That way I could do a few things at once: I could cross Vegas with my friends off my bucket list because I have never been there before and I would be guaranteed a good time for my birthday, because hello, it’s Vegas! A good time is supposed to be guaranteed! But, Kevin gently made the very valid point that if I have a hard time getting people to come to my birthday when it’s just going for a delicious and reasonably priced meal a few blocks from my house, well then it may be unrealistic to expect anyone to travel to Nevada for a weekend. If I did Vegas, there is a very good possibility that it would be an even bigger let down than last year. And it’s not like I could blame anyone for not being able to (which is just a polite way of saying not wanting to) come. I’m sure any of you in your mid to late 20’s and older can attest to the fact that finding time to set aside for friends and family is sometimes incredibly difficult. Work, dating/significant others and kids seem to be taking up everybody’s time. Most of the time it feels like there just aren’t enough hours in a day to be had. So it’s really no surprise that my birthday celebration wouldn’t be high on anyone’s priority list.

Tick, tick.

This birthday is looming for a few different reasons. I’ve been feeling old for awhile now (working with teenagers at a high school will do that to a person) but with every ache and pain I get, or anytime I play the nostalgia game and realize that I haven’t had a legit telephone land line in well over a decade, or that “Wannabe” by the Spice Girls was released 19 motherfucking years ago (and I vividly remember hearing it on the radio for the first time, and then later trying like nobody’s business to record that song on a mix tape with as little radio DJ talk) it makes me feel really, really old.

Tick, tick.

I’m also panicking because I am not in the place I was hoping to be by the time I turned 30. Sure I have a job I love, I finally have an amazing boyfriend by my side and all that, but there is still a lot I don’t have that I wanted to by the time I turned the big 30. By 30, I was expecting to be a full fledged writer, or a rock star. You know actually getting paid to write, not getting just 3 hits on my blog daily, or being a high profile rock goddess, not just reserving my singing to the shower or the car. I was expecting to be married long ago by now, (to either a regular guy, or one of the Backstreet Boys) not just having celebrated my very first anniversary with my first ever long-term boyfriend at 29. But mostly, I thought by now I would be a mom. Out of all the things I thought I’d have or be by the time I turned 30, this was the big one. And the closer I get to 30, the more disappointed and discouraged I feel, and the more the fears of never getting the chance to have kids scream their way around my brain.

Tick, tick.

It’s hard not to think about. Really hard. These days I literally cannot go 24 hours without seeing a pregnancy announcement or “bump” photos on Facebook (one of the many ways in which Facebook and a lot of people on Facebook fucking suck). Hell, some days, it seems as thought that’s all I see on my Facebook newsfeed. My family is no better; a lot of my cousins and step siblings have been procreating for years now. In fact, a cousin of mine and his wife just announced over the weekend that they are expecting in August, my 25 year old step-sister is due with her first child in 2 months and I am guessing that it won’t be long after my older brother and his fiancée tie the knot in May till they are knocked up too. Even my job is no help. But that’s my fault really, what do I expect when I started to work in a high school in a daycare set up for young moms getting their high school education? Don’t get me wrong, I do love my job, and I find working with teen moms and their babies really rewarding, but I can’t help it that I secretly find myself jealous that these immature, fresh faced 17 year olds get to have these beautiful babies, and I, ragged and old, do not. Granted I wouldn’t have wanted a baby at 17, that would have been a motherfucking nightmare, but still.

Tick, tick.

I want it to be my turn now. I want to have kids before all my eggs dry up and fall out, and I want to have kids before I’m way too old to keep up with them. I don’t know if you guys know this or not, but taking care of children requires an astounding amount of energy. Energy which I am already having trouble mustering some days, and I’m still relatively young. I would like to have kids of my own before I’m old enough to get the senior’s early bird specials. I want to have kids because my biological clock is ticking so goddamn loud that some days it is literally all I can fucking think about, and that makes me absolutely loathe being a woman. Why can’t Mother Nature just send a text once in awhile like, “Hey there. I don’t mean to interrupt what you are doing, I just wanted to let you know that I have this basket of eggs here for you. I’ll wait a while, so no rush, just something to think about. No pressure. K thanks, bye!” That approach, at least for me, would be much more welcome.

Tick, tick.

Instead, I’m over here in a panic, being pulled in a million directions every time Kevin and I get even the slightest bit close to one another. I want kids right now, but not right now. What? Well, Kevin and I aren’t ready for it. We have only been dating for 13 months. I don’t think our relationship is prepared to add a baby to the mix. I still feel like I don’t know if I’m girlfriending properly half the time. I want a baby, but not at the expense of my relationship with Kevin. This is what sucks about waiting so fucking long to find a great guy to date. It’s far too early in our relationship to be even discussing this, but it’s getting a bit too late in my life not to be. I’m caught between a rock and a hard place. The rock of course being my vagina, and the hard place being…well…nevermind.

Tick, tick.

So, for now I am just going to have to do my best to silence that annoying clock, and hope that when the time is right for Kevin and me that everything will work itself out. Now if you’ll excuse me I have to get back to my regular, run of the mill life, taking care of other people’s kids and whatnot. Oh, and probably bring Kevin to the hospital, as I am sure he probably had an aneurism while reading this.



Ch, ch, ch, ch, Changes

Wow, back two weeks in a row? That must some kind of record or something.

Actually, this isn’t a post. It’s more of an announcement.

Calm down. It’s nothing huge. I’m not going to tell you that I’m pregnant, or that I’m getting a sex change. Although, I imagine my readership would probably increase if I was either one of those. But no. This is a much smaller announcement. It may shock my tens of readers, my dozen of ones who stop by every few months to catch up on my newest post, but oh well. Actually, I doubt it will shock anybody. I’ll be lucky to get a “Oh, that’s nice.” from it.

After last week’s post, I got thinking. My thought was that one post in almost 2 months is simply not good enough. I need to write more. The problem with this blog is that it’s a dating blog. I started it while I was hopelessly, desperately single, and it became my outlet for all my bad date anecdotes and tales of woe. It was cathartic and therapeutic, and helped me see my love life from a different perspective, because I was able to go back and re read, and to a greater extent, re live those moments and really try to understand what was going on there. I can’t even begin to explain how this little blog, with it’s very small but awesome following, has changed my life. You wouldn’t think such a tiny thing would have done that, but I’ve gained more positives from this little “hobby” than I have ever gained from an actual job, or my career.

Now, as any faithful reader has seen, since I found Boyfriend, I haven’t been writing as much. Like I said last week, it’s partially because things are going well so I don’t have much material to write about there. Mostly though, it’s because I want to keep my relationship relatively private. I’ve seen relationships fall apart over shit that is said on the Internet. It’s ridiculous. Dirty laundry, and personal details are not for the likes of Facebook and Twitter. Am I on the social media sites? Absolutely I am. But I don’t post much on these, and when I do, I try to be funny, and entertaining, rather than a dramatic attention whore.

I obviously save that part of my life for this blog. Now I realize how hypocritical it is to say that I don’t air dirty laundry on the Internet, seeing as though the kind of dating details I’ve posted here have not always been well…not always appropriate for a public forum, but there is a big difference between writing anonymously about guys that even my close family and friends who read the blog don’t know, and writing these personal and intimate details about my boyfriend, who all my family and friends know. It’s more real. It’s way more personal. And I have way more to lose with Boyfriend than I ever did with any of the guys who came before him.

So I’m left with a dilemma. Do I stop writing about dating? Do I shut down the blog, and say until further notice that’s it for now, it’s been a slice, and let that be that? Or do I keep going the way I have been, and write once in a blue moon because I have nothing to write about?

I think I have a better solution. I’m going to stop writing about dating Olivia, and just write about being Olivia. This way, I can write about whatever the hell I want, and whatever comes up in my life that I want to write about. So that’s what I’m doing. A little bit less relationships, and a little bit more every thing else.

Just thought I would announce it. Not only to avoid confusion, but also to have a half-assed entry for this week.

I’m so damn clever.


We Found Love in a Hopeless Place

Lakeview, in a lot of ways, is a very hopeless place.  Almost a year and a half of living here, and I’m still not totally sold on it.  A lot of things bug me about this place, the traffic, the snow removal (or lack thereof), getting around downtown (or getting around most places in the city, really), the lack of things to do on any given Saturday night, the lack of all my friends to spend most Saturday nights with and just most things in general.  Most of my negative feelings towards Lakeview are because I still miss Riverview, and I miss the friends and the life I had there.

When I moved here, I told everyone, including myself that it would only be temporary.  I would live here, close to my family for a little while, work in some new places, with new people, try the dating scene, but for a limited time only, you know, to “shake things up”. Then when I was sick of my family, bored of my work, and getting absolutely nowhere in the dating scene, I’d pack all my shit up, and move my ass back to Riverview.  I’d go back to the familiar, comfortable job I had, I’d find a nice place to live, possibly in my favourite part of the city, within walking distance to that river I love so much, back to my active social life and be back in a life that contained all the things and people I need to be happy.

A year and a half ago, I never for one minute believed that my idea to move back would change, but figured that the only way it would change, is if I found something (someone) to stick around for. It’s amazing how quickly things can change.  In the past 2 months my world has been flipped upside down.  And in the very best possible way.

Yes, this is yet another blog entry about the boyfriend.  What?  When you write a blog about being single, and one day you wake up and you aren’t single anymore, what are you supposed to write about?  Butterflies?  Panda bears?  The Bachelor?  Yawn.  No thank you!

It’s just amazing to me how much has changed, how much I have changed in the last 2 months.  For example, I used to love sleeping in my bed.  No matter where I was sleeping, whether it was in a hotel, a friend’s guest bedroom, the comfiest couch your ass has ever had the pleasure of meeting, whatever, my bed was always the place where I got the best sleeps.  Now, my bed feels empty with just me, I can never seem to get comfy, and more often than not I toss and turn like a motherfucker, and end up sleeping like shit.  Where do I get the best sleeps nowadays?  Boyfriend’s bed.

I also used to love my alone time.  I enjoyed the time spent by myself watching tv, or reading, or hell, even writing (notice how often I missed a week of blog writing when I was single, compared to nowadays).  All me alone time was great.  I loved it.  I looked forward to it.  I craved it.  These days I sit at home by myself for a half hour, and wonder how long I should wait before I text Boyfriend to see what he’s up to, and if wants to do something.  I have yet to turn down an invite to go over to his place; no matter how badly I need to do laundry at my house, or how many days it’s been since I’ve been home.  I literally spend more days staying at his house than I do my own.  And you know what?  I love going over there.  And you know what we do together when I’m there (besides the sex)? We watch TV and chat, and sometimes I read or do some writing over there too. It’s literally no different than what I would do at home, I just do these things with someone else.

The biggest way that I’ve changed is that being in a relationship, and all things to do with a relationship doesn’t freak me out.  In fact, the fact that it doesn’t freak me out, freaks me out more than anything, if you can somehow follow that insane logic. I used to be terrified of letting myself give in to liking, or dare I even say, love someone that I couldn’t, or just wouldn’t enjoy being with someone in that way.  I used to pride myself on being so independent.  And even when I met someone that I liked, who I could have shared my life with, I always put those walls up, and protected my “me time” even if I wanted nothing more than to be with someone.  Now, I realize that being alone was good, and that my independence all those years was good, because I had to be independent, I didn’t have any other choice, and the guys I spent time with back then sure as hell didn’t deserve all of my attention, because I got none of theirs in return.  But now I know that spending time with someone, especially when that someone is awesome, and loves you, is even better.

That’s right.  The “L” word.  Fucking rights I went there.  And I’m not even sorry.  I know it’s only been 2 months, and many of you may be thinking that it’s too soon for that (I know I keep having that thought cross my mind every once in a while too) but I don’t care.  I always used to think that all those chick flicks I love so much were full of shit.  Nobody can possibly fall in love so fast.  And while it’s true, I still don’t think that two people can truly love each other after only a week, which most romantic comedies try to get us to buy into. However, I do believe now that it doesn’t always take that much longer.

Granted, I don’t know much about love.  I’ve never been in love with anyone who has been in love with me back, at the same time.  Dave #4 told me he loved me once, but it was when he was completely shitfaced and it was right after we had just had a screaming match in the middle of street outside his house at 4 in the morning.  I loved him, I could easily have said I love you back, but I didn’t.  I wasn’t going to have the first time I said those words out loud be to someone who wouldn’t remember it the next morning.  I’m glad I didn’t, because the next morning, sure enough, he indeed hadn’t remembered that I was even with him the night before, let alone his declaration of love.  And for the next month and a half that we dated, I didn’t hear it from him ever again.  Because he was sober.  And because I don’t think he actually ever loved me.  He loved the fact that he could get laid whenever he wanted.  I’m pretty sure that’s the only reason why he had a girlfriend in the first place.

That’s how I can tell this time, it’s different.  I feel different with this one.  Boyfriend seems genuinely into me.  He takes care of me and treats me with more respect than I’ve gotten from any guy before.  He gives me something to look forward to everyday. And, for the first time since I moved here, I have something (someone) that makes me want to stay here and put down roots.  Sure, Lakeview’s traffic and snow removal still drives me batshit crazy, and I don’t dare drive downtown unless I absolutely have to, and I will always miss my friends and the life I had in Riverview more than anything.  But if anything was going to make me enjoy living here in Lakeview, it was going to be meeting an amazing guy. This amazing guy.

Although being in the same city as the Riders is also a quick sell for me.  Whatever works I guess.


Being Olivia


Last week, I broke my resolution to take a break from dating, and signed myself up on the dating site again, for the hundredth time in recent memory.
I didn’t regret this decision until a couple days ago. I had gotten the usual messages from the same kinds of guys that I have heard from in the past, nothing has changed since the last time I was on there. I know how this rigamarole goes. I’m used to it.

Nothing out of the ordinary happened, I gave 2 different guys my number, I got the brush off from the first one after we made plans to meet, and I met the second one on Monday. We had fun, he was cute, I wanted a second date, and he just wants to be friends. So again, nothing new there.

But today, it all hit me. I was sitting on the break room couch, next to Jason, reading this text from this guy telling me that he wants to be just friends (because apparently that’s all me and any guy will ever be) and something snapped. I waited till Jason went back to work and I quietly went into the staff bathroom to have a good cry.

Because honestly, what the fuck is wrong with me? Will I never learn? (Obviously not.)

So, a few minutes later, I calmed down, wiped the tears from my eyes, left the bathroom and just as fast as I could sit on the couch, my fingers were quickly logging in to my dating account, and promptly deleting the account I had created only a week ago.

I do this every few months. I get fed up with it all, and say to hell with men. Since this blog started, I’ve done this at least 3 times. Don’t worry, I annoy me too.

What I realized is that I don’t really know who I am. And what I do know about who I am, I’m not sure I like. I have a hard time just being me, and an even harder time sitting around waiting around for my knight in shining armor to show up.

And let’s face it, you all don’t know much about me either. You know I’m obnoxious, you know that even though I claim to be such a writer that I sometimes can’t spell, and that I am awful at proper grammar. You also know that when it comes to men I am completely handicapped.

But you may not know that my first love isn’t writing, but is music, and that long before I started writing this blog, or even my novel, I wrote song lyrics. I even went so far as to save money to record a demo. A demo that actually got half recorded before I pulled the plug because I chickened out. Before that happened though my music producer/friend invited me to sing on the Christmas album he recorded with his other artists that year. So if you get ahold of my iPod around Christmas time, there is a delightful version of me singing “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus”. I love singing so much in fact that I even auditioned for the ill fated Canadian Idol, but I didn’t even make it past the first round of auditions at the freaking mall. I’m glad nothing came of it, in fact I am proud that I actually went through with it.

Speaking of music, I don’t know if you all know that the Backstreet Boys are my favorite “band”. Sure, when I’m on a date and get asked about music, my favorite band is always the Beatles. Which is true. I love the Beatles. They are arguably the greatest band of all time. But deep down in my heart I know that they come in second place to the Backstreet Boys. And yes, I know how ridiculous that makes me.

If you follow me on twitter (@dating_olivia) then you already know that I love my Canadian football. Fuck hockey. I mean sure, I’ll watch hockey when there is nothing better on, or the brief 1 or 2 series that the Canucks are in the playoffs every year, but I’d much rather watch football than hockey. I watch CFL, not NFL though. I’d watch the NFL too, but I can’t decide which team to cheer for. I’m a home team kind of girl, and know more about football than some of the guys I know.

My favorite movie is Wayne’s World, my favorite TV show is Gilmore Girls and my favorite book is “The Truth About Forever” by Sarah Dessen. My favorite season is spring, because that is when my birthday is, and my favorite flower is the lilac, because we had lilac bushes on the farm I grew up on, and anytime I smell that it reminds me of being a kid. It smells like home to me. My favorite number is 28. I have a 28 in almost every sign-in name I’ve ever had online, and I even had that number when I played soccer briefly in high school. Why 28, you ask? Well, Nick Carter’s birthday is on the 28th of January, and seeing as though he was my favorite Backstreet Boy all those years ago, it made sense to me then that my number should be 28.

It’s starting to become much clearer why I’m still single isn’t it?

I’m a random person. I always have been. I’ve never been still for too long, and I’ve never had any consistency in homes, towns, friends and obviously men in the last 28 years. That’s me. I love it, while hating it all at the same time.

I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to just be me, but I can try. People keep telling me that nobody will ever love me if I don’t love myself first.

Fuck do I ever hate when people are right.



Yup.  That just happened.  Now you know a little more about me.  See you next Wednesday, blueberries!