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Oh hey, what are the haps?

11 Jan

The haps? I will TELL you the haps:

1) I’m in the midst of transitioning into a new job. A big girl job, guys. This process has been taking up a great deal of my time.

2) I’m breaking up with Boyfriend. What? BAM! Welcome back! It’s a long story, one that will probably end up making its way into being my next post, but let’s just say that it’s time (and that it has been time for a while). I’ll get back to you once I work up the courage to take the little bag of his things that I’ve been carrying around with me for DAYS over to his place and get this over with (dammitfuckIhatethisshit).

3) I’ve been having nightmares! Absolutely horrible ones! Every! Single! Night!

For the pas two weeks!

Exclamation points aside, I honestly have no idea what’s going on. Each night it’s a different dream but it’s always horrifying enough that I end up wrenching myself awake just to get away from it. And then, naturally, I can’t fall back to sleep because I’m stricken with terror.

Needless to say that after two weeks of this, I’m really tired. Does anyone have experience with this sort of thing? Any suggestions? I’m getting desperate. And cranky.

4) Uuhhhhg…

5) I miss you? I miss you and I think you’re wonderful and think it’s finally safe to say that I am, in fact, back.



“He’s Just Not That Into You”: A case study

22 Jul

Ok guys, I really need some help here.

If you follow me on Twitter then you’ve no doubt caught a tweet or two about my Best Friend and how she had started dating someone 6 years her junior and how concerned I was about this.

To provide some background – Best Friend makes poor choices when it comes to men and dating. All the time. As in, she hasn’t had one relationship/fling that has gone well. And if it’s not the guy’s fault (which, granted, she’s dated some real douchebags) then it’s a matter of her exacerbating things with some truly unfortunate low self esteem issues/crazy clingy ex behaviour/general disillusionment.

She’s a great person and I love her and it hurts to see her go through this shit again and again and goodness knows that this past year in particular has been particularly unkind to her romantically. That having been said, we, her long-time friends, are beginning to grow weary of what is starting to feel like an exceptionally bad episode of The Hills on repeat. A couple of our friends have gotten to a point where they don’t even deal with her unless the absolutely have to because they’re so sick of it. I mean, you’d think after three or four times of getting burned the same way you’d learn a thing or two, right?

Except that she doesn’t.

As for me, I pretty much have a script on hand for every time she gets involved with a guy we know isn’t right for her. She’ll tell me about him (“He’s super sweet, totally different from the other guys!”) and then ask for my advice as to what she should do. I give her my honest opinion; she agrees and then does the exact opposite. Fast-forward (not too fast though, because it doesn’t take that long to get to this point) to the turbulence. Again, she asks for advice, I give and she ignores. Repeat until the two of them eventually hate each other’s guts and, after an extended period of grieving, she moves on to someone new. Meanwhile, by this point I’ve usually gotten fed up and said something a little too honest and get in trouble.

Every. Damn. Time.

I almost want to say, “Oh! You mean you didn’t actually want to make a decision that would have a positive impact on the outcome of this situation? Well shoot! Why didn’t you just SAY SO.”

So, yeah. Junior broke up with her after a month and three days of “dating”. He cited reasons such as: being too young (duh), not being ready to settle down (double duh), not ready for anything serious, wanting to party all the time, wanting to spend more time with his friends, etc. Honestly? The only hint of bullshit I picked up in all of his reasoning was when he mentioned something about his ex and how he treated her badly and still feels guilty about it blah, blah, blah. Because, really, it doesn’t matter if there’s any truth to it – In my opinion, if someone you’ve only known for about a month starts using an ex as an excuse (for anything), you should be concerned.

Other than that, I think he did them both a big favour.

She seemed to be taking it well. She was disappointed, which was to be expected, but she wasn’t pulling the irrational card. That is, until today when she said that she has decided that what they had was too good and that he had been led astray by his friends and that she was going to fight for his love. She’s going to talk to him again and try to work things out.

And then I slammed my face off my desk a few times because it was better then the prospect of going through this YET AGAIN.

I’m supposed to be going to visit her this weekend (she lives many a mile away) so I scaled back all of the things I wanted to say and basically settled for, “If it feels right then do it but don’t take it personally if he doesn’t change his mind and just LET IT GO”

This is going to be the worst weekend ever.

So I need some advice from you, dear reader. Anything – what should I say to her when I’m there? How should I be dealing with this, y’know, in life? Am I overreacting?

Because I want to be a good friend and I don’t want to be down on love and always be the bitchy one who is trashing her love stories but, seriously?

She might be desperate but at this point, so am I.

Trying-To-Be-A-Good-Friend-But-Failing Jam

Back where I started

11 Jun

About 4 months ago, Boyfriend and I were entertaining the notion of moving in together. Not necessarily because we were feeling like we were ready to take things to the next level; more like it just seemed like the most logical option. He wanted to move out of his dingy basement sublet to a place with better internet and I needed to move out of my parents’ place. We’d finally be able to see each other more regularly. It all seemed to fit pretty well (and in retrospect I’m sure it usually does for couples who are moving in together for the first time). We decided we’d rent a house, seeing as neither of us is ready for a mortgage. This way we’d have plenty of room for us and my dog and, just maybe, we could start feeling like adults.

We got as far as going to look at places. It didn’t take long for him to get cold feet, which then caused me to get cold feet and soon we were left standing there, shivering, wondering why we had ever though this was a good idea in the first place. He was hung up on money and job security and I didn’t want to move in with someone who was in doubt. We decided to wait.

Not a month later, Boyfriend had found a 2 bedroom apartment in a nice part of town with good internet and was planning on taking it. I was so hurt. I knew that while there was some truth to the money and job security concerns that was never the whole story. I was part of the problem too, although I wasn’t sure what part of “me” or “us” it was. It understandably caused some friction and more than a few angst-filled late-night conversations, but we eventually moved past it.

This is when I really started to crack down on making my own independence happen. I always knew it would eventually, but I was going to let it happen in its own good time. Now I was suddenly reformulating my budget and paying of debts in big chunks so that I could move on as freely as possible. It was the first time in well over a year that I really felt like I had some kind of control over my life. I crunched the numbers and I decided that I would be able to move out in August or September. I was elated.

Then, as my luck would always seem to have it, a new challenge was tossed in my way. I was informed that my trusty old car is on her last legs and might not make it to the end of the summer (and even if it does, I shouldn’t be taking it on any long trips aka most of my big summer plans. This is me finding myself relating to Kit’s epic college road trip in the Shitty Oldsmobile).

I realized that I could do both – replace my car and get a new place, but it would be really, REALLY tight. Like, absolutely NO room for error tight. I talked with Mom about it, I bounced ideas off of Boyfriend and I eventually let myself accept the fact that the apartment would have to wait.

If I can’t get to and from work, then I can’t make money and if I can’t make money then I can’t pay rent.


(This is where I start clicking my glittering heels together, taking deep, controlled breaths and telling myself that everything is going to be ok)

I knew it was the right decision, but I spent all day yesterday (that’s how fast this has all gone down. It was less than a week ago that I was celebrating my revelation of being two months away from freedom after all) agonizing over having to put that idyillic fantasy I had been living in back on the shelf. Me and my dog in a cute little bachelor pad. Workin’, playin’, chillin’. It had been so good while it lasted.

The terrible irony of the timing of all of this is that Boyfriend started moving into his new place yesterday. He’s been respectful of my mourning, not boasting about how wicked his new place is nor asking me to help him move. Still, I didn’t want to be the bitter girlfriend, so when I finally got home last night after such a long and mentally exhausting day, I sent him a text to ask how it was going.

We chatted back and forth and he told me it was going well and that the place is nice.

“I think Dexter is really going to like it.”

Dexter is the bloggers-anonymous name I’ve given my dog (yes, even my dog needs a fake name. People know him. He’s almost famous).

I paused.

“Uhh, he probably isn’t allowed in the building. Also? Why would I bring Dexter over?”

I think this might be a good time to mention that Dexter probably weighs as much as I do.

“I want you to start spending more time here,” he said. “I’m worried about you. I don’t want you going crazy because of what your family is going through. Spend your money on getting a good car. That should be your focus right now.”

I’m so glad that this conversation was happening via text message because this is where I started to cry.

On one hand, I was so relieved. He has always been good about letting me run away to his place when things get stressful but I’ve always felt guilty about having to abandon Dexter. This also might be a good time to mention that my dog is like my kid.

Now I not only have a place to go, but I can bring Dexter with me. And I can stay. I can stay as long as I need. And this might be exactly what Mom needs to help let me go – a slow weaning process instead of her having to lose me all at once.

But on the other hand, it’s almost like the worst thing ever. I was raised to be a strong and independent woman. Even before my dad left us, Mom taught me to never depend on a man. Relationships, and everything that comes with them, should be a partnership.

I don’t want to be taken care of and I’ve spent too long living under the roof of other people. I want a place that I can actually call my own for a change.

But the idea of a place where I can just be, even if just for a little while…

Now I’m tired. I’m tired because I was up half the night with this rolling around in my brain. I’m tired because I’ve been struggling to come to terms between my values and my personal well being.

I’m tired in life.

I’m tired and I have no idea where to go from here.


I do lazy SO well

25 May

Long weekend (in Canada) + my birthday = blogging be damned.

Here’s what I would have blogged about had I not opted to be lazy instead:

Va-va-voom, ladies

• Is it good or bad that I didn’t recognize these women as being “plus sized” when I first saw these photos? I like the article that I nabbed them from, but I think (no, I know) that my perceptions of body image are just so damn skewed. And maybe it’s shit like this that is to blame:

These ladies were touted by Glamour as representing “big” ladies everywhere. Maybe in the world of fashion, but in the real world? Fuck off. No wonder everyone hates themselves. I myself am not a big lass but I am still right on board with the overall opinions expressed in the comments. Eff.

• On a related note, my friend and I went bathing suit shopping this weekend. Every time we visited a store and failed it was like we were acting out a miserable tableau of the however-many steps associated with grief: We’d start of giggling and chatting through the walls of the dressing rooms then slowly get quieter until there was nothing left but devastated silence. We would meet in the halls after we were dressed, quiet and defeated. And by the time we were almost done there was no more giggling. No happiness WHATSOEVER. But we eventually emerged victorious (after THREE heartbreaking hours of self loathing). It sucks so hard that something so simple can make you feel so bad about yourself no matter how you look. I think Emily of Cupcakes and Cashmere does an excellent (and much more eloquent) job of expressing the nearly universal female sentiments of bathing suit shopping here.


• My birthday was, as to be expected, a full-on weekend affair. Three solid days to forget all about my quarter-life crisis (Editor’s note: Being as I’m not really sure how long I’m going to live and therefore can’t really pin-point what year said crisis should begin, I have dedicated the entirety of my 20s to it. Fun!) Of course, that having been said, there was a bit of angst when my boyfriend dropped the ball on what was supposed to be an epic long weekend away to some place cool. He managed to redeem himself in such a way that downgraded my “*insert your choice of expletives here*” epic disappointment to “you hapless sod” eye-rolling over dinner and sexy times (what?) BUT WE ARE STILL GOING TO SOME PLACE COOL, DAMMIT.

Also, two of my best lady friends came home from their respective big city lives and helped me celebrate with copious amounts of adult beverages by the pool and one hilariously misspelled cake.

• I feel like a royal tool for not realizing that one of my favouritested-not-real-bands, Gorillaz, released a new album back in March and I’m just realizing it NOW. Epic fanfail.

• Finally, I started to get myself on Twitter so I can assault the interwebz from multiple mediums but do you THINK I could find a suitable username? And what pisses me off the most is that “almostmaybe” was TOTALLY available when I first thought about signing up back when I launched the blog but I didn’t snag it and now some KID has gone and changed her pre-existing name and STOLEN IT (do you think I can convince her to change it again or would that just be bullying?).

Honestly, all the good shit is taken: almost_maybe (and I HATE underscrores so that’s saying something), jam, thisisjam, jamtastic, jamzilla – and half of these people barely use their accounts! RAGE.

Aggravated, I then just started trying out random expressions of my rage and even they were taken, again by people who “wtf don’t get it”

I laughed so hard. And then I died a little.

Eventually I just gave up and I settled on @yesthisisjam because I hate the idea of @_almostmaybe or even having to use the same lame-ass handle as what used to be my e-mail address, @almostmaybejam (GROAN).

So, HUZAAH! Let us be Twitter buddies! Also, you can now e-mail me at yesthisisjam @ gmail . com.


I apologize in advance for this post (My uterus made me do it)

12 May

There are few things in the world that will drag my ass out of bed in the middle of the night. Hunger, thirst, the desperate need to urinate – sleep trumps them all. Organs be damned, mama needs her shut-eye. And this is always true unless, of course, the offending organ happens to be my uterus.

In the years before I started taking birth control, my week of happy was, if nothing else, a painless one. No cramping and no murderous rage to speak of. In fact, my only complaint would have been, had I known any different, that my body always opted to take the 7 days that nature had allotted to do what it needed to do (sometimes more, never less). Whatever, I always thought, it was better than having a monthly appointment with the EXCRUCIATING PAIN that left so many of my peers bedridden (or at the very least, whiney and insufferable in their agony).

Well, it must have been all those years of pretending to ail from said EXCRUCIATING PAIN in order to get out of gym but man, let me tell you, since starting the pill I have joined the ranks of the whiney and insufferable. I’m like a god-damn animal in the days before I start now. If you even so much as breathe the wrong way I will CUT YOU WITH MY MIND. And the pain? Oh, the unbelievable pain that is my uterus shedding. Don’t a lot of women start this shit just to get rid of these symptoms? STORY OF MY LIFE, RIGHT THERE (Sort of).

There is something to be said for a naturally occurring pain so intense that it has the power to wrench me from my deepest of sleeps. Well, that was me last night. It’s kind of like when your alarm clock goes off but the sound just ends up getting incorporated into the fabric of the dream you’re having. And then, when you wake up? It’s exponentially worse. Today? I hate my life.

Still, at the same time, there is always a part of me that appreciates this time of the month. While my lady-friends praise the new fangled wonder drugs that will help to make those visits from Mother Nature a lot less frequent, I cling to my monthly house-call. It’s pretty much the equivalent to an “all clear!” call from a comrade on the battlefield.

What’s that? No babies? Ten-four!

So then I send my boyfriend a triumphant “Congrats on dodging premature parenthood for another month!” text and he responds with an obligatory, over-the-top expression of relief. Then we laugh loudly to shake off the lingering terror that even the most fleeting of prospects of accidental babies can bring.

Don’t get me wrong – we play safe. But as long as it works, I will continue to breed paranoia as long as it helps to prevent the breeding of anything else. After all, the last thing I want to do is turn out like Glee’s baby-mama-drama-llama, Quinn Fabray:

I firmly believe that Dianna Agron would make GREAT friends.

Okay, so the only similarity would be that we would both be young and knocked-up well before we were ready. But I like Quinn, so whatever, DEAL WITH IT. I also like Juno McGuff, so take your pick of cautionary whales.

This post has so much potential to segue into something poignant about being a card-carrying member of the generation of women that are opting to either wait to have kids or just not do it at all. Or maybe I could dive head-first in my delightfully opinionated stance proper sexual education or pre-marital sex. But honestly, I think I’ve done enough damage by gracing you all with the details of my menstrual cycle in the second post of this brand new blog.

You’re welcome.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go down a few more ibuprofen.

Oh this is a story all about how my life got flipped turned upside down…

11 May

Sort of. Except that I didn’t become the prince of some upper class neighbourhood at the end. Dammit.

If you had asked me 10 years ago what I thought my life would look like in my twenties, I probably would have rambled on some blather about working my (high-paying) dream job, living in some wicked pad and starting a family with Mr. Right. I probably would have been pretty confident about this too. And, really, why not? After all, I was a straight-A high school student who had everything going for her. I was going to go to a good university and study hard and do great things. And because I was raised to be a tough and independent young woman, I was going to be able to perform this circus-grade balancing act between being a kick-ass professional (doing what I wasn’t really sure. I figured it would come to me eventually) and being super mom AND wife and not take any shit off of anyone.

I, like so many of my peers, was raised to trust in this magical formula for success and to believe in the “good life” that following through with said formula would lead to.

How aghast would my younger self be if I could tell her what I know now?

I did study hard and I went to a great university. But that magical moment where I suddenly knew what I wanted to do with the rest of my life never came. Instead of setting my sights on becoming a doctor or a lawyer, I studied what interested me, not what was going to get me the job. I spent some time overseas and realized that maybe, juuuust maybe, I was missing out on a great big world with a lot more to offer than I had ever thought.

Enter, Real Life.

Poverty and disenchantment in a post graduation world eventually led to the devastating break-up between me and the big city. My parents, bless their hearts, welcomed me back into the (much more rural) family home until I could get back on my feet. I was suddenly, and still am, a teenager all over again (angst included! In fact, possibly more so! Having your best laid plans dashed will do that I hear. Sorry, mom – it’s not you, it’s definitely me.).

And as for happily ever after with Mr. Right? Ha ha, yeah right.

I’m not down on love, I’m just not as convinced as I once was that latching on to a man is something I really need (I am seeing someone so it’s not like I’ve committed myself to cat-lady status yet). The institution of marriage has lost its sparkle as I realize more and more that it isn’t what most of us really want it to be. The tough and independent woman I was raised to be just doesn’t see the point in attaching myself to a man just because it’s what we’re supposed to do. And kids? I have a dog and that is all the selflessness I can muster (word to all you mothers out there; I don’t know how you do it).

So, here I am: In my twenties, living with my parents, no dream job, no house, and decidedly uninterested in traditional family life at present. My younger self would probably be hyperventilating at this point our little heart-to-heart

After handing her a paper bag, I’d tell said younger self not to worry so damn much. Truth be told, I probably wouldn’t change much of anything given the chance. I’m not where I thought I’d be by now (or even necessarily where I want to be for that matter). But is taking a little longer to sort your shit out worse than dedicating yourself to a career that you aren’t passionate about just for the money and getting roped into family-life before your ready?

And so, dear readers, I imagine that at this point some of you may find yourselves irritated at my babble, possibly swearing at your monitors with something akin to, “Whiny little bitch, who DOESN’T find themselves caught adrift in an ocean of never-ending existential crisis? Fuck this shit!” To which I reply with, “I know, right? Fuck this shit indeed”.

My situation isn’t unique. I know that I’m not the only one still feeling dazed, confused, and maybe even a little ripped off in the wake of this “real life” business. But admit it: it kind of helps to know that you aren’t the only one lost at sea in the same make-shift boat. The semi-directionless masses take comfort in their massy-ness as they lumber about in search of purpose and self-justification, amirite?


So, here I am, picking myself up and dusting myself off and hacking my way through the underbrush of the “off road of life”, carving out a new path. Sure, I’m a little more bitter that my sweet, unassuming younger self, but I’m determined gosh darn it. Plus? Bitterness also makes for snarky self reflection and witty social commentary. Blogging is fun!

See, aren’t you glad you came? We’re friends already!

Are you picking up what I’m putting down? Tell me your story. We’ll laugh about it in a few years anyway. Quarter-life angst! Ha!