8 Signs That You’re Perma-Single

 

 

I’m not here to make you sad.

I’m here to depress the shit out of you.

If you’re single, that is.

Sorry, that came out wrong.

I’m alerting you to the signs. Eight signs, to be exact. Eight signs that you might be perma-single. I’m not doing this to stab a knife in your chest and twist it until you cry. I’m here to give you some tough lovin’.

And if you feel like this:

THEN GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY ZONE. 

But seriously, these signs are all based on my personal experience, so you have nothing to be ashamed of. If any of these 8 characteristics resonates with you, then just work on maybe stopping that behaviour in favour of a more sexually attractive one.

Unless you’re confident in it, in which case:

So, let’s begin this descent into misery, shall we?

1) You dance like you’re having an epileptic fit.

This. This is only attractive to fetishists.

While I totally support your feeling the music and doin’ yo thang, this does not generally attract the opposite sex.

I know this.

I have lived it.

2) You watched Pride & Prejudice as a pre-puscent kid, and now nothing will compare to Mr. Darcy.

 

Not the fuckin’ Keira Knightly version. The BBC miniseries featuring GOD OF THE CINEMA, Colin Firth.

SHIVERS.

NO ONE CAN EVER COMPARE NOW.

THANKS COLIN FIRTH.

THANKS FOR RUINING EVERYTHING.

Or, you know, if you’re a guy…

I don’t know, but I assume something to do with Scarlett Johansson.

And her jigglin’ boobays.

3) You’re a Twi-hard.

THIS:

THIS IS STUPID.

This is the one thing I have no experience in. I read the books. I saw the movies.

I don’t see the appeal.

C’mon girls, we all know that Brad Pitt from Interview with the Vampire is a much more attractive vampire.

I’m here for you, Brad.

And this is why I’m single.

 

4) You run around kissing people like you’re a biological terrorist intent on spreading mono around the world.

Specifically, when you’re drunk.

TAKE IT. TAKE IT AND LIKE IT.

This does not promote healthy relationships. This leads to spinsterhood, ladies.

And boys, don’t do this either.

Especially if you look like this:

This screams “STD”

5) You find a lot of uncanny resemblances between yourself and Bridget Jones.

Like this:

And this:

And unfortunately this:

Or, if you’re a guy, you relate oddly well to Seth and Evan from Superbad.

It’s like looking into a mirror, isn’t it?

Don’t fret, little ones. Change is always possible.

I, too, have felt like a Bridget. And sometimes like a Seth.

But these behaviours can be changed. If you just belieeeeeeeeeve.

And also try really hard.

6) You have Foodgasms. A lot.

Ohmygod. Get inside me. Now.

Inside my stomach, that is.

If you believe that food > relationships, it follows that you=single.

7) You don’t like being touched.

Every time someone comes in for a hug, you’re like:

And God forbid they try and cuddle.

Otherwise, you go all 300 on their asses.

GET OUT MY PERSONAL BUBBLE

8) You’re drunk while you’re reading this.

…Or, in my case, while I’m writing this.

Left: You. Right: Me.

Because you are sexy, you beautiful m****f*****s, and just because you’re perma-single doesn’t mean that you’re de-valued.

It just means that you’re lonely.

And that’s okay.

And according to this random guy who posted this random picture on the interwebs, you shouldn’t fall in love till you’re good and ready:

Thanks, random Post-it Note Guy!

So chill out, whatcha yellin’ for.

Lay back, it’s what being single’s for.

(not in a sexual way, but in a relaxation way)

Don’t worry about being single- because no one’s single forever.

Unless you’re this guy:

YOU know what he’s doing…

 

 

Apocalypse Now: A Story of High School and Low Hopes

I’m here to tell you a story about a young girl who got off a bus in the Big City (re: Toronto) with a dollar in her bank account (re: not really) ready to take on high school at the most magical place in the world:

ART SCHOOL. 

And in case you’re wondering, that little naive piece of hot, acne-infested pubescence was me.

Sadly, this is a real photo.

Sensuality is my specialty. 

Yes, that is a picture from when I was in an opera. Yes, I did youth opera as a voluntary extracurricular activity.

And I ain’t ashamed.

However, what I didn’t anticipate was how unprepared I was for the ruthless 4 years ahead of me.
Not only did I choose to go to an arts high school, but I chose to major in musical theatre at said arts school.

You know what kind of people are musical theatre people??

PEOPLE LIKE THIS:

 

Now, don’t get me wrong, some of my best friends are musical theatre fanatics.

But then again… most of them are not.

I was simply not prepared for the fuckin’ Vietnam War-like conditions that awaited me in that graffitied building where people would try to snort ecstasy between classes (because LOGIC) and where, on my first day, a kid threw up in my French class because he’d drank a mickey of Jack Daniels.

It was 10am. 

In that school, it was either kill, or be killed. DANCE OR DIE.

I would say “eat or be eaten,” but no one in that school ever fuckin’ ate.

Except for the visual arts majors. Because of the cannabis and such.

At lunch, it would be salads and chickpeas as far as the eye could see. And there I was, with my pudding cups, feeling like I’d landed in the middle of a Jenny Craig ad.

It didn’t take long before people noticed I was eating well over the 500-calorie limit for the day and started dropping hints whenever I got up in the middle of Geography to grab a quick Mountain Dew and a bag of Doritos.

They were not very subtle hints.

It was a sad day when they finally broke me down, leaving me starving (literally) in the gutter (metaphorically), desperately clutching at my carbohydrate-filld past.

This attitude wasn’t only perpetuated by the students. In fact, the students were the smallest part of it.

The teachers were way worse.

It was common knowledge that one of the dance teachers had told her class, after showing them a particularly skimpy costume: “Next time you want to reach for that slice of cake, you better think twice!”

I KNOW, RIGHT?? Thanks, Tina.

So you see, it was not a very healthy environment for a bunch of emotionally and physically insecure teenagers who still didn’t know what to do with their boobs (I’m speaking from a feminine perspective, here).

It could also have had something to do with the fact that they made us dance like common whores. For one show, I had to warn my family ahead of time that they would probably be shocked by what I’d be doing.

Which was basically this:

Luckily, I managed to turn it into something more like this:

FACT: They did ask us to wear bras. And only bras.

The thing is, that I had trouble being “sexy.” What were supposed to be smooth body rolls and flirty lil’ booty shakes became something not unlike an epileptic seizure. And apparently musical theatre is a “sexy” thing to do, now.

Goddammit, Glee. 

I went into the school with little-to-no knowledge of the art of dahnce. And I had no freakin’ clue how to be sexy.

I gave it my best effort…

…but was not very successful.

Not only was this school a fuckin’ feeding ground for anorexia and slut culture, but people were CONSTANTLY trying to outshine one another. This was the place where your friends were also your competition. Backstabbing and shit-talking was everywhere. People sucked up to teachers and even drunk-texted them (because this was a m****f***in’ classy establishment) in order to get call-backs and roles and solos and whatever the fuck else was important to them at the time.

IT WAS LIKE GOING TO SCHOOL WITH THE CAST OF  GLEE.

Except everyone secretly wanted to kill each other.

It was all about getting noticed. And I completely understand that this is what it’s like in the professional world, but we were just kids! For fuck’s sake, I’m still a child! (See previous blog post.)

The teachers basically put a bunch of attention-depraved chihuahuas into an arena and yelled: “TO THE DEATH!”

I tried to get noticed, I really did. In 9th and 10th grades, I sang my lil’ heart out with mediocre renditions of “I Have Confidence” and “On My Own.” By Grade 11, I had gained a “who the f*** cares” attitude, and just kind of went through the musical motions.

The breaking point might have been when they made me wear this:

4418_1109076180870_4100034_n

Even though I consistently wore mis-matched camo-patterned ensembles and miniskirts from Hot Topic (but that’s another story entirely), this was a bit much.

I would also like to point out that I did not cover my friend’s face in this photograph, because she specifically asked me not to. Because she wants to become famous.

But it was people like that who got me through my high school years. Granted, a lot of them sucked, but I met some people at that place that I’ll never forget and will always remember (THANKS, CAPTAIN REDUNDANT!)

High school sucks. If it didn’t suck for you, then you were doing something wrong. They’re four extremely awkward years full of heartbreak and broken dreams and weird body odours.

High school.

Not high school:

But the friends you make and keep during those years are so important. I’ll never forget how much shit we cried over, and how many times we snuck alcohol from our parents’ liquor cabinets and got drunk in each other’s basements.

To all you people who are still in high school:
Hang in there, because university is SO GREAT.

To all you people at an arts high school:

Unless you’re enjoying it. In which case: more power to ya! (But also, how???)

And finally, to everyone who made me feel like less of a person because I couldn’t shake my ass properly, to you I say:
images

And that ain’t ever gonna change.