Tuesday, February 17, 2009

Musings on People Who Complain

I can’t stand people being bitter. It’s like they want us to share in their misery, and I don’t find that very fair at all.

I’m the type of person that keeps the pain and hurt locked up inside. True enough, my blogs show a lot of venting (heartache being a key subject), but overall, I rarely whine and bitch and cry. That’s what I have my one blog for. To be able to complain, to cry, to take it all back, to wish away the hours on a thing that will never be. That way, I am able to release the pent up emotions that sometimes boil over.

But it’s to have those friends that only come to you when they aren’t happy. They come to you, and complain. About this, about that, about how unfair life is. Life is only as unfair as you make it out to be. If you choose to whine about your life instead of trying to fix it, of course it’s going to suck.

Stop wallowing in your self-pity and go out there and do something! You are stuck in Cornwall only because you choose to be stuck. Don’t give me excuses about car payments, and that the only way you can afford to live in Ottawa is if you are getting paid 25 bucks an hour. Wtf? Even I don’t get paid that much money, and I work for the goddamned government! If that’s how you see it, then you’re never going to get out of Cornwall, because you’ve set your bar much too high. And I think the only reason you’ve truly set it so high is because you’re afraid to leave that town. It’s quicksand, and it’s already got a firm grip on your ankles, and you feel as if it would be too much effort to pull yourself out. So you gripe and complain that you’re still stuck in Cornwall, but it all comes down to the same thing: Only you are stopping yourself from leaving.

Complaining about not having a relationship is a complete waste of a) my time and b) your breath. Why? Because guess what. I’m single too. I don’t give a damn if you’re older than me and still single. Perhaps it is your negative personality that scares men away. Or perhaps you believe that only men can approach women when interested in a relationship. Go out there, be active, and try to find something. That is exactly what I am doing. If someone as young as me can actively search for someone to date, why can’t someone with more years experience do that as well?

You have to be able to cope with the world, and if you can’t then you’re fucked. Stop living in the past. It’s nice to have a few pieces of the past to stick to (chivalry is indeed a nice thing to see on occasion – like when a man opens the door for me, or pays for my meal), but I certainly don’t want to see the past all the time. I agree, having to make the first move sucks ass. But I’m not puling and whining. I’m toughing up and making first moves, goddamnit. Why? Because I have to. There’s no other way to get anywhere in this society unless you go out, grab the bull by the horns (or the balls) and actually make an effort.

And I realize the redundancy of this post. After all, I’m complaining about complaining. Kind of makes no sense, right? Perhaps I’m just so sick of being the one you all come to with your problems… and then never expect to hear about mine. Well, you can certainly expect that, because only a FEW people will ever hear about my problems, and that’s because I know they’re actually there for me!


This rant is bothering the hell out of me.

Whack fall the day!

Friday, February 13, 2009

Valentine's Day Musings

I am sick and tired of people complaining about Valentine’s Day. Jesus Christ. Suck it up, you whiny little emo kids. Seriously.

What the hell is wrong with picking a day to show the person you love that “By the way, in case you forgot… I love you.”?

There is absolutely nothing wrong with it. Nothing!

Oh, but it’s not fair to the single people.

Whine whine whine. Sob sob sob. Sniffle sniffle sniffle. I’m single, poor me.

Okay, yes. I agree, it’s much too over-marketed, and that it’s mainly about spending tons of money on the one you love. But to me, that’s not what it’s supposed to be about. It’s supposed to be about love, and showing the person that you care. Whether you cook them a nice meal or buy them a diamond ring, it’s all the same. It’s doing something out of the ordinary to say, “Hey, you’re very special to me… and I don’t ever want that to change.”

And here the single people are getting their panties in a bunch because they can’t share in those feelings. And so they feel the day is more about singling out the people without a loved one. I think it’s a very childish attitude. You know the attitude. “Well, if I can’t have fun, then I won’t let anyone else have fun.”

And the damndest thing is they’ll deny, deny, deny that this has anything to do with the true meaning of Valentine’s Day, but that it has everything to do with the propaganda and the spending of money. And I swear, I’ve seen those same people turn around and become all lovey-dovey and spend money on their loved one the next time this fateful day comes rolling around and they’re finally in a relationship.

Stop feeling sorry for yourself.


I can’t stand it anymore!

I am single. I’ve got no one for Valentine’s Day. Do you see me whining and complaining that it’s such a horrible and over-rated day? NO! I’m standing up for it, for chrissakes! Why? Because when I am in a relationship I enjoy celebrating it with a nice home cooked meal, perhaps a single rose, a nice movie, curled up on the couch in my lover’s arms.

Sound so bad?

Sounds pretty damn romantic to me.

And even if I’ve got no one to do that with, I at least have faith that one day in the future I will!

So stop your belly-aching. Please.

Thursday, February 12, 2009

The Story of Jade Morrison

I don't normally do this; post a story on a blog.
Nor do I post one that I'm in the middle of writing. But I feel this is a necessity. I've run out of things to rant on, to be quite honest with you. I'm sure I can post about not having anything to rant, but after that rant... I'm screwed.
But I feel this could be a good learning tool for others. I also feel that some could enjoy this story.

This story is a fan fiction about the actor Max Martini. It is also a fictional tale of a character I made up - that I in no way resemble. I do not have red hair and blue eyes. I can't sing for the life of me, and I don't ride horses. However, being that I've read enough books on horses, and know a lot about musicians and how some of them tick, I feel I know enough about the professions to get away with writing about them. This is solely fiction. I do not wish to have some sort of relationship with Max, nor do I ever think I will even meet him. All I have done is taken his name and his good looks and slapped them onto a character I wanted to make.

Now that I've put up my disclaimer, please enjoy the following bits and pieces of story I am writing.


Jade sat upon the stage, acoustic guitar on her lap, and looked out at the poor excuse for a crowd. She honestly had no idea how she got roped into doing this gig. It had been more than three years since she had sat down in front of an audience (and at that time, the audience had been a huge, thriving mass of people crying out for the music), and she felt she had made a huge success in getting the public to forget she ever existed – in all of her endeavours.

But here she was, sitting on a small stage in the back of a pub, guitar in hand, a few other band members gearing up for the gig, and not a single soul paying attention to the fact that there was going to be music. Jade didn’t really mind, though. She’d prefer it that way. As she began to strum her guitar, a few more lost souls stumbled into the pub and headed for the bar.

Leaning forward toward the mike, she began to sing, “I tried to discover a little something to make me sweeter…”

Her eyes wandered back over to the bar where the three newcomers huddled, and prepared to take their shots.

“But baby refrain from breakin’ my heart,” she crooned, and the three men threw back their heads, downed the tequila, and quickly went for their lemon slices.

“I’m so in love with you, I’ll be forever blue…” As the oldest of the three men ordered probably what would be a large amount of beer, the younger men turned away from the bar, and wandered closer to the stage to find an empty table suitable for their small party.

One of the two young men caught Jade’s eye, and as she continued to sing the cover, she kept glancing back over at him. Perhaps it was the red hair (like attracts like, right?), or the stubborn stubble on his chin. Or perhaps it was –

The man looked up at her, and blue gazes crashed against each other as their eyes locked. Oh, but he was beautiful. Also, so familiar.

He grinned up at her, and she smiled back as she finished up the song. Averting her gaze from the man, she turned to her band, “What do you guys want to play next?”

“Why don’t you sing Just A Dream,” Henry said. “Well, only if you’re comfortable singing it.”

She gazed at her band mate, his bass guitar in hand, looking back at her with a small smile on his face. They were all nodding their heads in agreement. Why these fools loved her cover of this song, she didn’t know. Obviously she put a bit more feeling into it than Carrie Underwood ever could, but why this song?

She shrugged, “If that’s what you guys want…”

She turned back to the mike, but before she could begin to sing her eyes fell on the redhead again. The older man, who she definitely recognized sat down with the other fellows and began to pour a beer for each of them. The redhead turned back to the table, and all three of them began to talk animatedly.

So she began to sing, “It was two weeks after the day she turned eighteen…”

The song was about a girl whose true love, her fiancĂ©, had gone off to war… and he did not come home. For Jade, it was something she could relate to. For she herself was a widow, and her husband had died when his fighter jet crashed in the middle east three years ago. It had been three years since she had received the letter telling her he had died, and she was only finally able to begin moving on.

After finishing the song, tears stood in her eyes, but she managed to smile thinly at her band mates. They moved into another song, and then another. Jade was very much aware that the trio sitting closest the stage were actually paying attention to her, and she could feel a blush burning her cheeks. They took a break after six songs, and Jade jumped down from the small stage and headed to the bar.

As she stood at the bar and ordered a cold one, from the corner of her eye she caught the redhead standing up and heading over. Taking a sip of the beer, she turned away from the guy, even as he came up.

“Excuse me?” he asked, and she had no other option but to turn and look at him. No matter how easily he took her breath away. His piercing blue eyes stood out even more because of the dark blue sweater he had on, and his stubble gave him a very rugged look that spoke volumes to Jade. Vivid images of running her nails down his back caused her to choke on her beer. A few moments passed before she was able to speak, “Yes?” she asked, her voice a bit hoarse.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” the man said, but Jade waved at him to continue.

“I just… I don’t know. You seem so familiar.” He said, as he scrutinized her gold-red hair, pale blue eyes, and pale complexion. “I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten my manners,” he said, coming back to his senses. “I’m Max Martini.”

Jade caught herself before she choked on her beer again. Now she knew who he was! “Max Martini!” she exclaimed, and almost slapped her forehead.

Max chuckled, “Yes, we’ve determined that. But I’m still trying to figure out who you are. What’s your name?”

Jade opted for only her first name, “Jade,” she said simply. Then began to make up an excuse, “I know, I know… my eyes aren’t green. But my parents simply adored the name…”

But Max wasn’t listening. “Jade… Jade…” he looked up, “I know! Jade Morrison, right?”

He knew who she was! “Not quite,” she said quietly, “It’s Jade MacCauley now...”

Max looked a bit crestfallen, “You’re married?”

Jade chuckled quietly, “Again, not quite. I’m a widow.”

Max was quiet for some time, “I’m sorry to hear this.”

“It’s been three years, so I’ve gotten over most of the pain, Max,” she said. For some reason, she wanted him to like her. Again, images of her fingers running down his back – this time it caused her to shiver. “How do you know who I am?” she asked, changing the subject.

Max grinned, “I followed your career when you were in racing. Sure, I listened to some of your music, but it was the horses that I was interested in. I always wondered what happened to you. It was like you had fallen off the face of the earth. What DID happen to you?”

Jade wondered how much she should tell him, “My husband didn’t like the publicity and the lack of privacy. So I stopped racing and singing.”

Max sighed, “What a shame. You have a beautiful voice and your talent on horseback is one of a kind.”

Jade could feel herself blushing. To hear such words of praise from such a man as this. Why, it almost made one want to get back up in the saddle again.

The band was beginning to set up again, so Jade threw back her beer, smiled at Max, and edged away from the bar. No such luck. The man was following her. “I have to get back, Max.” she said.

“That’s okay. Once you’re done, you should come sit with us for a bit.” He said, as he followed her back to the stage.

She grinned down at him from her spot on the stage, “I’ll think about it, Max.”

Max grinned up at her, and made her mind slide back into the gutter. “I look forward to talking with you, Jade.”

She smiled down at him, and sat down. Picking up her guitar, she tried not to let her band mates know just how flustered this man was making her.