New Year’s Eve

Universe, nice try / a pre-NYE tipsy manifesto

So. My wallet was stolen at 4pm today, Dec 31, 2016. Because apparently, the Universe felt that I wasn’t sufficiently endorsing the whole #omgomgomgomg2016wasthewoooooooooooorst vibe.

Listen to me, Universe. Yeah, you pissed me off. Getting my wallet stolen, in the metro, from my purse, is shitty. Its annoying. Cancelling all those cards, getting my ID replaced, advising credit bureaus against potential identity theft = pain in the ass. Especially during a long-week. Especially at year-end. Especially when I don’t have time for this shit.

But does this make me lose hope in humanity? Does this make me despair at the pettiness of my fellow man? Is this #theabsoluteworstever proof that 2016 sucked balls?

Hell nah.

Universe, mark my words.

2016 was AWESOME.

I kicked depression’s ass.

I quit boxing to pursue dancing. Dancing has made me SO SO HAPPY. New friends, exploring a new identity, keeping in touch with all my boxers. No downsides, only happiness.

I dated a boy and then I didn’t and I survived and got closer to my friends and family in the process. Since then, I’ve dated others, and am happy and carefree and found my joy.

I discovered a Big Dream for the first time in 6 years and renewed my passion for my career.

I’ve met new people, made new friends via my blog, work and dancing.

I traveled for work and for friendship.

I’ve watched my friends marry and have babies.

2016 was the year of human connection. And that is why, despite all the horror of this year, the Trump and the Aleppo and the Turkey and the Nice and the ISIS and the Putin and the celebrity deaths, and the endless reasons to despair… No. No Universe, you will not quash my faith in mankind. This year, I have met good people and bad people and flawed people who both cared for me and hurt me and that is fine. People who try their darndest to be the best they can be, for all their baggage and scar tissue and weaknesses. Universe, I see the horror, I’m not blind. I am scared of the future. I look at the news, and I feel the panic as we inexorably march towards circumstances that resemble those that caused my grandparents to be uprooted from their lives, and wind up in North America, traumatized from WWII. I know that a time will come where I will be called upon to make decisions, moral ones, horrible ones. Maybe not in 2017, but clearly during my lifetime. I get the temptation to despair. But you see, Universe, time and time again, this year, my whole life, I’ve witnessed more love, gratitude and kindness than I have witnessed cowardice, spite and hatred. This year has introduced me to a swath of new people and guess what, Universe? They cool.

My wallet got stolen? Fuck you, Universe. Let those people who clearly needed it, take it. Meanwhile, I will spend my NYE getting tipsy with my roommate and singing off-key to Adele and the Weeknd, hanging out with my friends, or taking a nap and reading a book. WHATEVER HAPPENS, Universe, I will find happiness.

2016 was awesome.

2017 will be even more alive.


I love y’all, blogosphere. Thanks for reading, thank you for commenting, thank you for spending time in your busy days to follow my rambles. May 2017 bring you joy.

xox,

Vanilla

 

 

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That time Vanilla tried to be sexy

I don’t do sexy. I can pull off adorable, pretty, cute, sweet, professional, elegant, athletic or beautiful, depending on my mood and the circumstances. But sexy? Sexy is hard to do. I find the line between sexy and vulgar is very thin, and the last thing I want is to look like Jessica Rabbit at a wedding. I’m not sure if it is the product of my English Protestant- inspired upbringing mixed with my Catholic high school run by nuns, but when I imagine being sexy, I inevitably think of Mr. Bean. With a role model like that, y’all can understand why I struggle with the concept of sexiness.

It gets even more awkward when I shift from sexy appearance to sexy behaviour (attempted flirting and seduction). There was that time I attempted a strip tease for my first boyfriend and got stuck with my shirt above my face, arms flailing helplessly above my head, caught in the impromptu straight-jacket. I looked similar to Mr. Bean with the turkey on his head. Except unlike Mr. Bean, I collapsed into hysterical giggles as my boyfriend looked on in consternation. Not quite the tone I was going for.

There was the time I attempted 69-ing with that same boyfriend . It was an activity I was still getting used to – very complex movement: the fear of accidentally braining the guy with my knee as I settled down, making sure all bits were properly aligned and then multitasking. On this particular occasion, boyfriend decided we’d change the usual procedure and he’d be on top. I didn’t say anything, because I was concentrating on sucking in my tummy and my come-hither look. Also, I couldn’t figure out how to verbalize my concern that he would squash me – seemed like a rude thing to suggest. Anyhow, the logistics were ironed out, multitasking began, and… He farted. In my face. And tried to keep going as though nothing happened. I understood that I was supposed to follow his lead. I failed. Bursting out laughing with a penis in one’s mouth is not sexy. Nor is it sexy when you have to try push off a big guy from on top of you, so that you can take a few deep breaths as you attempt to moderate your uncontrollable laughter, while naked, next to a boy with wounded pride. Anti-sexiness.

And now, for my most recent failed attempt at the sexy.

Last week, I decided to overhaul my undergarment collection: my stuff was beginning to look ratty, and given my new comfort-level with vulnerability, I was hopeful that 2016 would result in more successful dating streaks/opportunities to get naked. I took advantage of Boxing Day sales and splurged on $150 of lingerie (worth > $300!! Saving money is super sexy). As I was getting ready on New Year’s Eve, I decided the most reasonable thing for me to do would be to send a picture of myself in my new frivolous lace undergarments to Beaut – if we weren’t going to ring the New Year together, obviously the next best thing would be for him to have a picture of me half-naked on his phone. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, and all that. Beaut was appreciative, and I thumped my chest in victory at having successfully been sexy.

At my New Year’s Eve party, I wanted a sassy picture with my girlfriends. After many attempts, one dude successfully captured our hotness and texted me the pic. After editing it and posting it on Facebook I discarded my phone, so I could pour myself a drink. Pouring myself a drink requires a lot of concentration, so I didn’t hear my girlfriend calling me over and over. She eventually tapped me on my shoulder, and handed me my phone, looking stricken.

“What’s wrong?”, I asked, concerned.

“Your phone… I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to… it just happened… I was trying to find the pic of us you just posted, and send myself a copy, but instead…That’s a VERY SEXY picture!!! That isn’t vanilla at all! I mean, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to look, but it was just there, and you’re hot! You sent that to a guy, didn’t you! Ballsy. I never imagined you doing that kind of thing. Very nice lace, by the way – was that from Victoria’s Secret? Maybe you should lock your phone, though.”

That wasn’t embarrassing AT ALL.

Now, you’d think that would put a damper on my attempts at being sexy via technology. You’d think. However, keep in mind, it was New Year’s Eve: a night of hope, dreams, affection and booze. Too much booze.

Possibly because Beaut sent me a nice midnight text, and possibly because I was slightly tipsy, I decided when I got home that the best way to ring in the New Year would be to send Beaut a naughty video for him to view once he got home from his own celebrations -as a promise of good things to come in 2016. So I did. And then I went to sleep.

When I woke up the following morning, I checked my phone, and I saw that Beaut had not yet seen my video. In fact he hadn’t been online in 8 hours. Apparently, Beaut had fallen asleep before me! That was unexepected. Home-made naughty videos, when viewed in the wee hours of the morning, under the influence of alcohol, are acceptable. Home-made naughty videos, when viewed in the harsh unforgiving hungover sunlight are rarely sexy. I was anxious.

To add to my anxiety, Beaut seemingly spent most of January 1st sleeping – he was not online. Not that I was checking, compulsively, every 5 minutes, no way. Finally, I saw he’d read my messages. Finally! I was going to be put out of my misery. He’d say something, mutter appreciative noises, anything!

Silence.

I waited.

Silence.

I went for a walk.

Silence.

I caved. Casting any dignity aside, I wrote to him that his silence made me want to hide under a big rock, and that it wasn’t my fault he’d seen it at 3pm instead of 3am: maybe he’d like it more if he pretended he was drunk?

Silence.

He wrote back an hour later to say that he was at a New Year’s family reunion, and as I’d prefaced the video with a “watch when you are alone”, he’d refrained from watching it. I was relieved.

5 minutes later he responded that he’d given into temptation and watched it, discreetly, at his family reunion… and while it had had the effect I’d intended (yay), it was slightly awkward for him to manage the side-effects, given his surroundings. I laughed.

Based on my NYE fiascos, I can only conclude that 2016 will not yield statistically different sexiness results from prior years. My attempts at being sexy always result in laughter, not penetration.

#vanilla

#ItoldyallMrBeanwasmyrolemodel

2015 NYE absurdity & 2014 in review

New Year’s Eve absurdity

My NYE started off perfectly: a small gathering chez one of my besties. Her boyfriend, her sis, myself and another friend – except her sister had to bail, because she couldn’t waste such an excellent opportunity to meet “prospects”. I admire such energetic pursuit of one’s goals – I was entirely too content to sink down into the sofa and sip champagne. I’m not lazy, at all: I’m just bougie fancy.

In such a cozy setting, waiting for the clock to hit midnight, the conversation covered a wide variety of topics, including the porn industry and its attempt to adapt to mobile technology and social media. After someone shared that PornHub’s app was now free,  I exclaimed: “There’s a PornHub app? Who watches porn on their phone?! Wait, so many people watch porn on their phone, that an app was created? I am confused, where do they watch it?!

Apparently, my innocence is cute. So they tell me.

After the stroke of New Year’s Eve midnight magic, my friend herded us to a loft party in Old Montreal. She knew the host and the crowd was expected to be beautiful: what more is necessary at a party? I assumed that the other requirements (booze, good music, basic conversation skills) would be met.

Soon after our arrival, police showed up at the neighboring loft to investigate noise complaints – completely reasonable since that party had an impromptu DJ booth set up in the hallway (how subtle!) and people were lining up through the hallways into the street to access the residential building. That cop visit turned into a drug bust – which made our host very nervous. I found his nervousness misplaced, since ours was classy party: everyone consuming libations at a reasonable pace.

I noticed a pattern of 2-3 guys entering the washroom at the same time. I assumed they were going to “relieve” themselves – either through excellent synchronized aim at the toilet bowl or else perhaps using the sink and/or bathtub for that purpose. However, when it came time for my own solo turn to use the washroom, I observed a singular lack of tinkle sprays around the toilet, or any other surface. This seemed odd, especially given the advanced hour of the night which should have harmed their ability to aim accurately. Perplexed, I shared my observations with my bestie. She rolled her eyes at me: “Vanilla, dear, haven’t you ever heard of cocaine?” Oh.

To avoid an unwanted visit from the police, our host attempted to reduce the noise levels at his party. He lowered his sound system to a barely discernible hum, turned on all the lights, and approached each guest individually and shushed them, waving his hands in front of them, “The cops are next door. Be quiet. You can stay and drink, but PLEASE STOP TALKING.” Meanwhile, his friend darted around the place, tidying energetically and yelling at the top of his lungs: “Shut the fuck up! Shut the fuck UP!!!”

One guest, bemoaning the circumstances: “Dude, this sucks! Because of the drug raid next door, all the bitches have left!” My friend Colin shook his head emphatically: “Nah man, I love it! I love a cockfest!” Guy #1 backed away from Colin, who smirked at him then confided to me: “I was just kidding. My life is over.” A bit extreme, but understandable. At that moment, a girl casually walked by, dressed in a rabbit onesie. Colin blinked, at a loss for words.

Conclusion: what the party lacked in good music and conversation, it most definitely made up in absurdity.

My 2014 WordPress report & acceptance speech

WordPress.com prepared a 2014 annual report for this blog. I haven’t had a report card in years!! I’m quite delighted with the results, especially since I only started this blog in August 2014 – 4 months of activity.

Here’s an excerpt:

A New York City subway train holds 1,200 people. This blog was viewed about 4,500 times in 2014. If it were a NYC subway train, it would take about 4 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.

Makes me happy – I love NYC! I wonder which stations my 4 subway trains of readers would stop at?

Thank you very much Beyoncé (she’s yet to get a proper feature in a post, other than through the mention of her sweet boyfriend), Bitchy Twin/Sailor Moon (I can’t choose between these two names, both apply!), Kirsten, Blond ‘Fro and Nene for encouraging me from the very start. Without your strong words of encouragement, I’d have never found the courage to write my first few posts.

Thank you, blogosphere and friends, for reading. It makes me so happy to write, and I’m filled with wonder at every view from a far-off country (42 so far!), or a new comment, or follower. I hope my silly stories will continue to entertain.

I look forward to another year of blogging with you!

Footnote to the acceptance speech

I have a confession to make – one that I have been putting off for several weeks.

I compulsively check my blog every morning, in bed, and in my half-awake state, I deleted my first and only blog email, without ever responding or thanking this reader. Technology is clearly not my friend, because the deleted email instantaneously vanished from all possible trash bins/archives. I checked – several times. I think his name was Thomas, and I think he wrote in French – but even if I got both of those details completely wrong, I hope, Mr. Reader, you weren’t offended by my accidental silence! Your email made my day!