Love Sucks

You know in the movies when the girl tells the boy that she loves him, there’s a big music crescendo and the lights go dim and the screen gets a little fuzzy.  And of course the boy says it back to the girl.

Actually, in the movies I’m sure the boy says it first.

Well, my story is nothing like that.

My story? ... Oh, MY STORY is a little different.

I’ve never been in love and up until recently had never loved someone. 

Of course I love my friends and family.  

But a man?  Never.  

The relationship I’ve had with this man has never been simple.  It’s actually not even a proper relationship.  He calls it a friendship and whenever he says that it makes me cringe and I feel like screaming into a pillow.

Anyway, I told him that I loved him.  And it wasn’t romantic and it wasn’t lovely and there wasn’t any music in the background, it was just horrifically embarrassing and I cried.

But it’s ok, he didn’t see the crying because it was all done by text.

Yuck right?  Who tells the first person she loves in a text message?

Me.  

That’s who.

I knew that he didn’t love me.  But it was something I had carried around with me for months and my closest girlfriends all knew and I felt like I had to get it off my chest.  And although it’s nice not to have this secret anymore it doesn’t make the outcome any better.

He told me my sadness and despair of loving someone who doesn’t love me is good.  Because at least I’m feeling something.

I would actually like to argue that fact but I fear there would be lots of yelling and profanity.

And APPARENTLY, as he so kindly pointed out, we can’t always get what we want.  If Ross and Rachel never got married and Princess Leia and Luke Skywalker never got to have sex (despite the fact they were siblings) then why should I get what I want?

... Are you confused?  Because when he told me that, I was.

Ross and Rachel DID get married.  They got married on a drunken night in Las Vegas and if anyone was a true fan of the show they would know that the series ended with them being together.

And of course Princess Leia and Luke were never going to be together.  Why would she want Luke when she could have Han Solo?  Mmmm a man with a Wookiee, now THAT’S my kind of man!

In the past month I’ve cried enough tears to give Niagara Falls a run for its money.

My flatmate is buying stocks in Kleenex and I’m pretty sure the neighbours are sick of hearing my yelling.  Although admittedly my rants have turned quite humorous and I perform them in the kitchen for my flatmate while she giggles ferociously.

The truth is that love sucks.  But sometimes people get lucky and they find someone who will return their text and tell them that they love them too. 

I guess I’m left trying to figure out why.  Why I’m always the friend and never the girlfriend.  Why I really felt like God had brought someone special into my life and told me to love him.  And why someone would want Princess Leia and Luke to have sex, because that’s just dirty.

I suspect all these questions will go unanswered.

Fat Shannan

I used to be fat.

Honestly, really really fat.

And I say that not with a grin on my face but with sadness because for me, being fat was sad.

Being fat was never an option for me.  I came from the womb that way.  It just kind of happened.  It didn’t help that my brother was obscenely skinny and I always looked bigger because he looked like an anorexic child.

My parents tried everything.  They denied me food which just caused me to steal food from my Mom’s kitchen and hide it in my bedroom.  There was a time when my Dad was convinced that water was making me fat so I went thirsty for a little while.

From a young age my Mother would drag me to Weight Watchers or EasySlim.  And by young I mean in Primary School.

They really did try hard to fix me.

I was an active kid - dancing, swimming, tennis, netball.  But it didn’t seem to make a difference to my body, and when puberty came along everything just got worse.

Unfortunately I wasn’t one of those fat girls who was also phat.  I was just fat and unhappy and self conscious and scared.  I coped by being an amazingly good friend, I threw myself into friendships but ended up being used, the fat happy girl was always the one that  got called when they needed a lift home.

I pursued theatre with a passion because on stage I could be someone else.  But it’s hard to be someone else when you’re always getting cast as the fat funny girl.  Or the old funny lady.  Or not cast at all but instead being asked to be in the backstage crew.

I got really good at being funny.  I hoped that my amazing sense of humour would mean that people didn’t notice the size of my belly.

When I was diagnosed with a medical condition at 19 my Mother was so happy she almost  kissed the Doctors.  It was weird because she had felt such guilt for me being fat.  She felt like it had been her fault and that she was being a bad mother by not being able to make me skinny.  Finally there was a reason for my weight problem and it wasn’t for her lack of trying.

Knowing the problem and being able to fix it are two different things.

I vividly remember a specialist looking at me and telling me I was going to be obese for my whole life and that I should just accept it.

I remember thinking that I didn’t think I could live if it mean weighing 123 kilos.

So in my 20s I tried every high protein, low carb, no dairy, soup only diet under the sun.

I starved myself.  I drank only liquid protein shakes morning noon and night for months at a time.  And I joined gyms, did dance classes and even learnt tae bo.

And some of these things worked, but the weight came back on.

Thankfully I don’t weigh 123 kgs anymore.  Today, I weigh 81 kilos.  And I feel like a different person than the girl I was 10 years ago.

But sometimes, unfortunately I still have those moments where Fat Shannan’s fears still come through.  

Wanting to be slimmer wasn’t JUST about looking better.  Of course that’s part of it, and anybody who says it’s not is lying.

But for me it was such an emotional, spiritual, psychological thing.  I used my weight as a reason why I didn’t do things.  When I was 16 I went on a camp and I had the opportunity to go surfing, but when I got there I was too scared to put on a wetsuit (convinced there wouldn’t be one to fit me) so I pretended I was sick.

And that’s just one example, there would be a hundred more just like that.

There are so many things that I haven’t done because I was scared, because I was fat.  And even though now I’m not FAT I still use this excuse, it still becomes a reason why I don’t do certain things.

And, well, I’ve made a bit of a decision.

I’m going to stop doing that.

First on the list is white water rafting .... 

What Would John Do?

I wish I was like John Lennon.

Years ago I when I was young I never really appreciated him, I remember reading about him and just thinking he was trying so hard to be weird, to be different, to be difficult.  I was too young to understand the genius of this man.  

Now when I think of Lennon I think of a poet, a peacemaker, a philosopher, an anarchist, a bloody genius!

I think it’s safe to say that there aren’t many artists today that can write like he did.  When he was in The Beatles he and Paul McCartney wrote amazing lyrics, my favourite being “All you need is love”.

These simple, simple words:

“All you need is love, love is all you need”.

If Taylor Swift wrote these lyrics in 2013 I would think she was being pretentious and fake but from Lennon and McCartney it’s just the truth.

The ending of The Beatles must have been a sad experience for fans of the group but Lennon’s solo career was outstanding although unusual.  In fact for me, his solo career makes more of an impression on me than his time with The Beatles.

His lyrics are all so purposefully written.  Events were happening in his life, in our lives, in the world and he was using that moment to write a song.

He used his popularity to make people stand up and pay attention to matters that perhaps wouldn’t have garnered the attention otherwise.  He used his oddness, his weirdness to try and make people understand.  
In 1969 he and Yoko gave a press conference in a bag, they called it total communication.  The idea was simple, remove the ability to see what the person looked like (young/old/black/white/long-haired) and focus solely on the ideas and opinions of the person.

When you watch the interview it’s incredibly odd, ridiculous even, but the idea behind ‘bagism’ is remarkable.

Lennon’s time living in the USA caused such a stir that the American government tried to have him deported as he was seen as a menace to the Nixon government.  His anti-war messages of peace were seen as a threat.  Let me say that again his ANTI-WAR MESSAGES OF PEACE were a threat!  

He was singing songs about peace, about how the war could be over and he was seen as a danger to Nixon’s reelection campaign.

Today, I wonder if we have forgotten the messages of this man.  Are we too busy buying televisions and big houses and trying to climb the corporate ladder in our jobs that most of us don’t like to remember some of the simple important truths?

Love, peace, family, friendships, imagination & individuality.

I’d like to think that John Lennon changed the world.

But the truth is that our world is still at war.

People are still focused on loving money instead of loving each other.

And those who view the world differently than the masses are persecuted.

If John Lennon were alive in 2013 what would he do?

I hate .....

I hate the fact that I have to go to work tomorrow.  I loathe having to drag myself into an office to sit in a hallway, not even a cubicle, and stare at a boring grey wall while I tap tap tap on the keyboard and try and pretend that I’m happy to be there.

I hate that there are homeless people in Vancouver.  Hell, I hate that there are homeless people in the world!  Why are there so many rich people and still so much poverty?

I hate people who spend thousands of dollars on a handbag.  NO accessory is worth that much.  Anybody willing to pay that much for a bag clearly has more money than brains.

I hate that I don’t like rollercoasters  I want to love them.  I want to be that person who gets a thrill from them but I’m not.  They scare me and I honestly feel like I’m going to die.

I hate boy children who cry.  They make me feel uncomfortable.

I hate that sex sells stuff.  You know what should sell stuff?  INTELLIGENCE & FACTS!  And I don’t mean an intelligent looking sexy girl wearing glasses telling you the facts either.

I hate that it’s been 5 months and my toenail still hasn’t grown back.

I hate that good people suffer.  But I hope that their suffering just makes them even gooder.  Yes, I said gooder, get over it.

I hate that we don’t have enough faith in each other.  We need to believe in our friends dreams and ideas even if we think they’re crazy.  They ARE crazy!  But I think YOUR dreams of getting married to your highschool boyfriend and living 5 minutes from your mother and popping out 3 babies is crazy and I still love and support YOU!

I hate when shops advertise something as .99c  

I hate that I can’t sleep too close to a wall because I’m weird about things being near my face.

I hate the movie Avatar.  I finally watched it and it’s not that great.  What was all the fuss about?  Blue people with tails?  Come on!  Oh and while I’m on the subject, I hated Brokeback Mountain too!  There I said it!

I also hate;

Racism, capitalism, dictators, intolerance, dentists, comic sans and the TV show Extreme Makeover.

I think I’m done.  It’s time for some ice cream and a lie down.

Peace x

I don't have a boy story, so here's 25 things about me!

Perhaps this is a little narcissistic but it’s my blog so I guess I can write whatever I want ... and I don't have a boy story (that I feel like sharing) right now.

Recently a friend told me that they enjoy my blog but perhaps those people who don’t know me personally might want to know more ... About me.  And looking at my stats I can see that I have people reading my blog from all over the world.

So here is a list of very important information about me.  Shannan.

• I have an obsession with finding the right watch & have subsequently bought the wrong watch multiple times.  My father is exactly the same in this regard.
• I know how to salute, about turn and march in a colour party.
• I have an unhealthy desire to meet a hippopotamus in the wild.
• I chew my lip when I’m thinking.
• And bite my fingernails all the time.
• Sometimes when I'm nervous I fart ... silently.

• My sense of humour is occasionally very off kilter.  I have mastered the art of uncomfortable dead mother humour.
• I volunteered in a youth organisation for 15 years.
• I love baking but don’t really like to eat it.
• I can tap dance, sing songs from ‘Annie’ and memorise a monologue in an afternoon.
• The only thing I learnt from high school was how to tie a windsor knot.
• Sometimes I have conversations in my head before I have them with the person.
• Speaking in public doesn’t scare me but I always shake like a leaf.
• When I was a teenager I wanted to work in a library.
• I laugh at my own jokes.
• And re-read funny text messages when I’m feeling low.
• I have an email folder with emails from my dead mother but I don’t read them.
• I write poetry when I’m really depressed but it’s always about dead people.
• When I was young I wanted to be an Olympic long distance swimmer but puberty destroyed my dreams.
• Sometimes I snort when I laugh.
• I don’t brush my hair every day.
• I love true crime novels.
• I want to spend the rest of my life telling stories about other people.
• I can’t just say “No” I have to say “No No”.
• I had to learn how to spell narcissistic just for this blog.

With friends like these ...

Veronica: “What are you doing?”

Shannan: “I’m lying in bed drinking strawberry milk.”

Veronica: “How much strawberry milk?  It’s not a 2 litre bottle is it?”

Shannan: “Nooooo ... I’m not THAT pathetic”.

These are the sorts of conversations that good girlfriends have.  They make sure that when you’re ‘eating your feelings’ that you’re really not going too overboard, they encourage you to have a drink to forget a bad day but they’ll also tell you to get your fat ass out the door and go running.

It’s a fine line sometimes with honesty in friendships.

Recently Veronica decided to break up with her boyfriend of about 6 weeks.  She had been a little not so sure about him at the start but Betty and I had encouraged her to pursue it.

We’d said all the right things:

“He seems like a nice guy”

“I’m sure his dreadlocks are very clean”

“He has a 4 year old kid? Fantastic, you like kids!”

“Dude he has a job and can afford to buy you beer, he’s ticking all my boxes!”

And he was a lovely guy and they were having a nice time but she just didn’t feel like he was the right fit for her.

She said to me, “But everyone’s met him and they all like him”

“You haven’t asked me what I think of him”, I said.

And so she asked me.

And without even pausing I said,

“I think he’s beige (boring) and I don’t like his teeth”

BOOM!

There it is.

Friendship at its finest.

And also its scariest.

It’s that awkward moment where you’re being incredibly honest with your friend because you really want the best for her but you know that what you say might totally backfire in your face.

Recently I had kept a secret from a good friend of mine.  And she had read my blog and contacted me and said “We need to talk”. 

I waited until we all went out on the Saturday night and we’d had some shots and drunk some beer and played a very dodgy game of pool before I said …”alright, let’s have this conversation”.

The reality is that as a good friend she already knew what was going on and she knew what I was going to tell her but then I had created this other issue by not telling her and admitting that I was fearful of doing so.  

Because good friends will tell us the things we often don’t want to hear.  And most of the time the advice they give is stuff we already know but unfortunately sometimes we have to hear it from someone else (often multiple times in my case) before we make the change we need to.

And then there’s friends like Anja.  Who will turn up on my door step on a Sunday morning with hot coffee and Kahlua, lie on my bed and laugh at my stories and then point out the ugly hair that grows out of the mole on my face.  “Oh look, it’s a whisker!”.

And as I reach for my mirror and tweezers I know deep down she has my best interest at heart.  Because I wouldn’t want a friend with a hairy mole either!

22 Boys

I counted and I have 22 boys phone numbers in my cell phone.  You might think that sounds cool but I just kind of think it’s a bit pathetic.

There’s a reason why I don’t delete the guys from my phone, a girl at work recently had an old date start messaging her and she had the awkward moment trying to figure out who he was.  She also has a crazy stalker but that’s another story, a story best told with a glass of wine.

Some of the guys I have renamed, like “Herpes Mike” and “Crazy Trevor” or “Tattoo Matty”. I don’t know if Mike actually has herpes but renaming him that in my phone made me feel better. And Trevor is actually crazy so I feel ok about calling him that and Matty, well he has A LOT of tattoos (like the all over body up the neck kind of tattoos).

There’s a few guys that I honestly can’t remember the details about, apart from their name.  I’d like to say I don’t know how I collected them all but that would be a lie.  I went through a period of chronic insomnia earlier this year and I’m pretty sure I gave out my number to any guy who asked.

“Insomnia: helping Shannan meet boys”.

You have to remember that these are only the guys whose phone numbers I have.  This list doesn’t include all the weirdos who emailed me.  Like the guy who wanted to go on a date with me and then if he felt like we clicked wanted to have sex and that would be the start of our relationship.  That’s actually how he phrased it to me.  How could I say no to that?  Actually, quite easily.

I thought I’d go through the list purely for your entertainment (and mine of course) and try and remember anything I could about the boys.  Some of the stories you may have heard on other posts but I’ll try and keep it short and sweet.

Some of them I’ve changed their names because it makes me feel less like a nasty cow for talking about them.

Mr. A.  He wants to marry a brown girl and he’s moving to Alberta.  He was also really young, I won’t cough to actually how old because you’ll laugh.  Sometimes I laugh just thinking about it.  He’s a nice guy though.

Crazy Trevor.  He was so enamored by my Australian accent he kept talking about it, which actually really annoyed me.  Yes, I have an accent but there’s so much more to me than just that!  I think he may have had some form of tourette’s as we’d be in the middle of a normal conversation and he would insert an inappropriate weird comment.  He insisted that I didn’t experience the real Vancouver because I lived in a nice neighbourhood, but as I pointed out where he lived wasn’t exactly living in the Ghetto.  He seemed quite keen to talk about his ex-girlfriend and frankly I was happier talking about her as she seemed much more interesting than him.  The conversation came to an end when he asked why it had been so long between boyfriends for me and asked why I couldn’t get turned on.  *shudder* 

Pete.  Mr Blinky the magician.  That’s enough really to sum it up.  He’s messaged me a couple of times and once I even saw him on the street and swiftly turned the other way.

Andrew.  *sigh*  I’ll give you the abridged version (which makes me sound like a 13 year old).  He liked me & I liked him, he moved away, he stopped liking me, I went to Australia, he liked me & I liked him, I came back to Vancouver, I stopped liking him.  Then I think he may have liked me and I liked him but I’m not sure, it got very confusing.  Here’s the reality: he climbs rocks & scales mountains and I can’t even climb a ladder!  He moved to Alberta.

Rob.  This guy was as keen as mustard last year to meet and then lost his job and decided that I was too much work.  And then a few hours later decided he wanted me to cheer him up.  What do you think my response was?

Anyway he got back in touch with me earlier this year and we were due to meet up again and then I pulled the plug as he was moving to Seattle.

Herpes Mike.  Just a giant douchebag who talked about pooh on our first date.

Ian.  Super super sweet and really shy.  I just want to hug him.

James The South American.  He paid for our meal on his work credit card and expensed it.  He told me I should do my MBA because “it’s easy” … I didn’t have the heart to tell him I never even graduated from high school.

Jason.  Thinks his life is similar to that of Jesus. Need I say more?  I knew that I would never see him again so I insisted on paying for our date.  He thought it was fantastic, I just knew it was the right thing to do.

Jay.  He was really into me & particularly fond of my Australian-ness (which of course makes me uncomfortable).  Until he found out that I’m not “one of those” Australian girls.

Justin.  No idea.

Ladner Matt.  I got lost in Ladner (which is in the middle of nowhere) not helped by the fact that he doesn’t actually know his own address which was probably due to the amount of marijuana he smokes.  He also talked about pooh on the first date and told me a very embarrassing sex story which also involved pooh.  Another story best told over a glass of wine or 6.

Lee.  He has heated floors & a long couch and he’s a jerk.

Matt.  There are way too many Matt’s and I can’t keep up.  He was probably an ass.

Patrick.  He sent me a photo of his junk!  I, of course, showed my girlfriends, laughed a lot, and never communicated with him again.

Mark.  He told me about growing up in Brooklyn NY and how he used to carry a gun and some of his friends got stabbed, and then in the same sentence asked what was in my fridge. “Nutella and strawberry milk” was my response, which apparently tells him a lot about the kind of person I am.  

Yeah, um, I’m the kind of person that DOESN’T carry a gun.  

Nice guy but a bit intense for me.

Mike.  He was super duper keen, called me, said all the right things and then *poof* he disappeared.

James.  A fireman *sigh*

Shane.  He seemed nice enough but he spelt my name wrong so I lost interest.

Luke.   EEEEK! I can’t remember.

TattooMatty.  Really nice but also really shy, he got in touch with me on a few different occasions and we somehow had an argument before we had even met.  I have to say I think he’s a bit weird.   He also sent me a photo of his junk so that was pretty much the end of it.

John.  The bad Monday night date who shoveled nachos into his gullet while I tried not to look shocked.

The reality is that the guys above aren’t horrible and they’re not bad people and I guess they’re not all jerks, they’re just not right for me and / or I’m not right for them.

Except for Crazy Trevor - that guy is straight up, legitimately insane!

Mom and Dad

I’ve actually stooped to a new low.  I have had a conversation with my Dad about a boy.

When I went home to Australia at Christmas time my father (bless him) told me specifically he didn’t want to hear about boys.  So I kept my trap shut.

I’ve not been feeling so great about things in general for the last week.  I know that I have this fantastic opportunity coming in September when I start school but I’ve been feeling a bit anxious, a bit panicky.  This week I’ve been having mini panic attacks and stressing out.  I start to think about my future and my finances, I feel alone and then all I want to do is call my Mom, which of course I can’t do because, well, she’s dead.

Tonight I went to dinner with a friend and we sat near the water and talked and ate and laughed and shared.  And it was fantastic.  But I felt this uneasy feeling and I know what it is.  It’s the feeling I had at the end of last year, the one that saw me run home to Australia at Christmas time.  I am scared and I want to run away.  I want to run home to my childhood bedroom and hide under the covers with the dog.

So I phoned my Dad on the way home and we talked about my mortgage and about the weather and about the dog.  And I told him I was feeling anxious and that I wanted to come home and he, of course, didn’t understand what was wrong because my life should be so fantastic.

After I danced around the subject a bit I finally said to him “Dad, there’s this boy ...”.  And we went from there.

And he did so well!  If there is a score for how well my father took me telling him what I did I would give him an 8 out of 10, only an 8 because there’s always room for improvement.

I sat on the side of the road in my neighbourhood and I cried and shared with my Dad and he just cared for me in the best way he knew how.  And he asked questions about the boy and gave me suggestions on what I could do.  And even though the advice was things I already knew, somehow having a blubber down the phone to my Dad just made me feel better.

Ideally these are the things I would share with my Mother but even if she were alive I’m pretty sure she would have given me some tough love.  Mom was really hard when it came to those things.  She would have made me stop believing that a boy may have feelings for me because she would see that as making me weak and vulnerable and open to being hurt.

Mom and Dad weren’t really romantic people.  When I asked my Dad how he ‘got’ my Mom, he laughed and said it wasn’t like that.  He said that they ended up being the only 2 single people left in their group of friends so it just kind of happened.

To me, that’s THE MOST horrific story of all time.  And I’m angry at both of them for not being dreamier and creating a more romantic story (if only to be able to tell me).  But that’s Mom and Dad.  They’re very realistic people and they see things in black and white.

But the problem is that they ended up with a daughter who sees everything in multicolour.  Who daydreams when she’s at work and still makes up stories in her head.  Who could sit under a tree all day and stare at the sky and talk nonsense with her friends.  Who loves people she knows she shouldn’t and would give her last $10 to a stranger.

And it’s not that my parents aren’t generous.  My parents are awesome in their own way. 

When they got married they did it in a restaurant called ‘La Fondue’ ... Yes, my parents got married in a fondue restaurant.  And they didn’t have any family there because they were in other parts of the country and overseas.  And my Mom didn’t wear a traditional wedding dress, she wore this ugly (sorry Mom) dress with a hood on it, but it was a dress that she adored, a dress that we still have at home, a dress that doesn’t fit me but I still pull it out when I go home to look at it.

I think the thing is that all these changes are happening in my life, good and bad, and my Mom isn’t here.  And it sounds so bloody stereotypical but it’s true.  A lot of the time I don’t think about her because it’s really hard to do that, but sometimes the thought of her catches me off guard and it shocks me.  There’s still part of me that’s confused that she’s dead.  Part of me that doesn’t understand how someone so amazing is not here but instead waiting for me in heaven.  And that’s the thing that keeps me going, knowing that one day we’ll be together again.

It’s Mothers Day on Sunday and I miss my Mom.