What exactly is a Pseduo? You webheads have been asking that question incessantly since my last post (in which I called Craig my Number One Pseudo). And I’m nothing if not accommodating, so here’s a (fairly long-winded) answer.

Fake Boyfriends and Why They’re Fabulous

an explanatory treatise on the Pseudo phenomenon

Pseudo is a shortened version of Pseudo Boyfriend, a phrase I started using (and feel like I coined) back in 1998 when Craig and I first became friends. Craig was not my first Pseudo, but if we’re going to have a linguistic discussion about the relationship between the signifier and the signified, then I think it’s important to note that he is linked to my adoption (creation!?) of the phrase.

The Pseudo Boyfriend (or, if you’re feeling like an inclusionist today, the Pseudo Relationship) despite what you may think, isn’t negative. The word pseudo may seem inherently critical in that it means fake, false or not genuine and is often adopted as a negative modifier, but I don’t believe the inauthentic is necessarily bad. It means not genuine, which isn’t the same as disingenuous, if you see what I’m sayin’.

I think, as an adjective, the tone of the word pseudo is directly and inextricably related to the noun that follows it – in this case, boyfriend or partner. And a partner, if you ask me (and you did), isn’t a bad thing to have. As for Pseudo Partners, well, in some instances, they’re even better.

Some Pseudo Nostalgia
I adopted the word pseudo into my personal lexicon in the mid-1990s after a boy at my high school (who I particularly liked) began a yearbook quote to me with something along the lines of:

“There’s little beyond pseudo-depth that one can write in a yearbook, but…”

Oh man. Did I think he was sophisticated? Yes. Yes I did.

That boy’s name was and is Todd. (He’s actually a “facebook friend” now, and I’m sure will be shocked (and potentially amused) if he reads this.

He was older than me by, I think, five years. A boy who’d transferred to my school as a Senior to finish up after taking “time off”. I liked him right away. I didn’t have a crush on him exactly, but not being familiar with the Pseudo vibe, I just assumed I did. I had a tough time that year. Felt a little heart break. A lot of social pressure. And out of nowhere (and maybe as a result of that angst) developed this strange friendship that basically involved me and this relative stranger having three-plus hour conversations in which I’d pour my poor little teen heart out, which led to philosophical chatter about the ways of the world. It was oddly comforting.

I met Todd when I was fifteen years old, on the day after Labour Day, 1995. I remember because it was the first day of school. Since then, the truth is that we’ve only had a handful of real conversations. Less than ten, I’d say. But I credit him both with charming me with the word pseudo and maybe even with being my first actual Pseudo. I never wanted to date him. (I considered a five year age difference to be an absolute show stopper, which is pretty ironic when you think about what’s happened since, but whatever.) In the end, my friendship with Todd was essentially vague and distant. We were never truly close. But I liked it. And when the opportunity arose to have that again with someone else (and to make it better) I jumped at the chance.

Here Comes Your Man
Craig is far and away the best friend I made at Queen’s. He is fun. He gives me a hard time when necessary and is a fan of tough love, but also refuses to fight with me about anything, ever. (Which is to say, he never lets me pick a fight with him if my feelings are hurt, which is frankly the best and only smart way to deal with me.) We annoy each other at times (who doesn’t?) but I am never worried that we’re suddenly going to stop being friends, or that I can’t be straight with him about things, even if he isn’t going to like them (which, I find, is an absolute indicator of a good Pseudo Relationship). Craig is charming when he wants to be and makes a good date to weddings and formal work functions and other horrible events requiring dates. And he is one of only a handful of people (maybe five in the whole world) who has seen me absolutely lose-my-shit-fall-apart. He’s since admitted that he found it terrifying, but he’s still here. That’s Pseudo Love. My parents assume he’s either gay or that we’re eventually going to “realize” what’s actually going on and get married. I suppose that’s a possibility, but I doubt it. Know why? Because…

Pseudos Never Hook Up

Yeah. Never. Never EVER. The Pseudo Relationship is inherently platonic. It’s more than a traditional friendship, yes, but a Pseudo is NOT under any circumstances to be confused with any of the following*:

A friend with benefits.

A huckleberry friend.

A fuck buddy.

*with apologies for the use of fairly stupid and vulgar terms.

That’s the whole POINT. Pseudos are NOT THE REAL DEAL.

Hooking up is (literally?) the kiss of death to a Pseudo Relationship. On occasion, you can have an effective Pseudo pairing with someone you used to date. (I have one going right now with the boyfriend who caused the aforementioned teen heart break.) But if you’re crushing on your Pseudo for real, in the now, you’re probably in trouble. Real romance just brings too much drama into the Pseudo sphere. It takes the comfort out of the thing and lowers the relationship to the level of any generic dating drama. And that ruins it. Pseudos are, inherently, something more than all that. Something better.

So What’s The Real (Not Real) Deal?

Pseudos are people you go on dates with. They can be either gender depending on your preference (but to be a Pseudo, one must be of the gender you prefer with exceptions for bisexuality). They are not your best friends, neither are they the sorts of people you hang out with in groups, see at parties, and enjoy, but don’t particularly connect with. Pseudos are basically people you like MORE. They are people who, under other circumstances, you might have dated, but didn’t and don’t and won’t. As a result, they are people you just … talk to.

The Pseudo Relationship is traditionally a one-on-one sort of thing. Pseudos have a lot in common, or at least a sympathetic understanding of each others' ideals and world views. Each finds the other endearing in some way. And most importantly, as already stated, Pseudos meet for traditional date-type activities (coffee, dinners, long-walks, etc.), but ultimately, it’s the quality of the interaction that counts. Pseudos are people you share secrets with. You discuss real stuff that might otherwise be reserved for actual relationships (serious personal history, family, heart break, deep and abiding views on pop culture, etc.). You see what’s appealing in each other, sure, you just don’t want to go there yourself. Maybe it’s weird, but it works.

Speaking Of Weird, Some Wild Card Issues (Flirting, Set-Ups, Etc.)

I want to make one thing absolutely clear, because I think there are a sticking points where people might pause on the road to buying the whole Pseudo concept: flirting is permitted. Innocuous flirting, I mean. Nothing that might truly be misinterpreted, nothing too aggressive. (Sidebar: I’ve often been told that I am a big flirt, which isn’t fair, really, since I think the judgment is based entirely on the fact that I giggle and smile a lot, both of which are protective/defense mechanisms and neither of which I reserve for men, but I digress.) Some Pseudos are flirtier than others. My friend Nick, for example, is a flirt. That’s just who he is. But he’s a non-threatening flirt who uses silly, canned-lines for comedic value, and spreads that vibe among his friend-circle fairly indiscriminately. Craig, alternately, is actually not much of a flirt. He tends to reserve his flirting for women he’s actually interested in dating and/or hooking up with.

Strangely, I’ve found that flirting is most common with Pseudos not when both sides are single (which is what you’d expect) but when both sides are firmly linked to other people. I think this is because, if both people in a Pseudo Relationship are single, there’s really nothing definite keeping them apart, and flirting might therefore give rise to scary questions like “why aren’t WE together?” But if both Pseudos are with other people, if you carry the certainty that you’ve both (or even just one of you has) definitely chosen something else and therefore, the certainty that there is absolutely no potential for you as a real couple, Pseudos can partake in a little flirting with no pesky what ifs nosing their way in to ruin the vibe.

And while we’re talking about vibes and what ifs, I think it’s worthwhile to mention that Pseudos often go through a period where they try to set each other up. I don’t know why. I think it’s an anxiety thing. It tends to happen early on, when the Pseudo Relationship is new and maybe unsettling because, let’s face it, many people aren’t particularly accepting of opposite gender friendships. Deep down, a lot of us are Harrys (as in, Billy Crystal in When Harry Met Sally) who don’t believe men and women can ever truly be friends. As a result, many new Pseudos pass through a period where they try to prove that they are NOT interested in the other person “that way” by pimping each other out.

In my experience, Pseudo setups rarely work out. Pseudos tend to be good at supporting each others respective Real Partner choices, but terrible at picking those people themselves. I think the mistake made most often is that we pick potentials for our Pseudos who are either just like us, or exactly the opposite, neither of which makes much sense. Nick and I discussed this the other day because he is my only Pseudo who’s never tried to set me up. When I asked him why, he was predictably cute about it. “Because I want you all to myself,” he said. “I don’t want to share you.” (See the Flirt Factor, mentioned above.)

The Oh at the End of Pseudo

In the end, all I’m really trying to do here is explain what a Pseudo is. And before you start thinking me a big pseudo slut, let me say this: I don’t actually have a lot of these relationships. I have a few. At the moment, I also have a couple of male friends you could say I’m Pseudo Dating, but they are not (yet?) actual Pseudos. It’s a small circle. It takes a lot to get in. I love these men because they are kind to me in a way the men I’ve actually dated have certainly never been. They’re steadfast and into the fidelity of friendship, which I love. And most of all, though I expect a lot of them, they never let me down. That’s the criteria. I guess it’s a lot to ask, but if you can get it, why wouldn’t you?

Pseudos are seriously good stuff.

Anyway. Asked and answered. You brought this on yourselves.

Remember last week when I said I’d blog again tomorrow? ‘Member that?

I am SUCH a liar, eh?

Oh well.

Know what, interwebs? I just had the BEST birthday week/weekend. Like, it was way better than any of my birthdays have been in YEARS. My 22nd was pretty good, sure, but that was a long time ago, and this was just as good if not better than that. By far, actually.

Actually, by a mile. By a million miles. By a billion miles.

That’s how good it was.

To be fair, I suppose it’s not really saying much to say this birthday was better than the last few. I mean, my birthdays in recent years weren’t exactly a big deal. They were nice enough, sure, but with D’s birthday falling exactly one week before mine, and me being the … nicer (?) of the two of us, July was usually his month.

That’s okay. It’s mine again now. And. It. Kicks. ASS.

Want to know what I did to celebrate? Okay. Let’s activate something resembling a photoblog.

Thursday Night: French Dinner with Craig, My Number One Pseudo.
Friday Night: Karaoke with the Boppers (Which had nothing to do with my birthday, but which I decided to THINK of as birthday related… no pictures survive, so use your imagination).

Saturday Night: Party and Dancing (At Home and the Velvet Underground):
I got lots of neat presents including a comic book from Neil, clothes and pie and a hilarious bookmark from Patty, and two tickets to Avenue Q from my sister. And there was cake. Oh so much delicious cake (from Emily). And wine (from Elaine, etc.) And at least one Jäger shot from Rob. And generally excessive imbibing, which I regret just the teeniest bit. Most of all, there was fun. So much fun.

Sunday night marked the end of a massive social streak for me. That rainy recovery day was a relief actually. It gave me time to work out that I had been out EVERY SINGLE NIGHT for the past 25 nights. Every night! And I’ve been working every day and playing softball three times a week too. How did this HAPPEN?

I’m social. Or rather, I want to be social, but I don’t always succeed. I’m big on my quiet time too. But something’s just sort of shifted and I’ve become this huge … I dunno, party girl? No. That’s not right. I’ve just become something else. I don’t know what it is yet. Maybe I’m evolving. Or adapting. Something’s happening, that’s for sure.

On my birthday I got an email from my Vancouver friend Andy, whom I rarely talk to anymore, but often miss. His emails to me are some of the funniest I ever get. Anyway, I guess I must have told him a bit about my new busy lifestyle when last I wrote, because one of the things he put in his birthday message was this:

“That is so cool that you have become a party girl. Leaving for Kingston definitely changed me and I think it’s much easier to change who you are when you arrive in a new place. I know you were always fun, but fun in an antisocial hermit way. Still pretty fun, but with a little bit of ‘If you don't get off my land, I WILL KILL YOU’ mixed in.”

Was I? He’s kidding, of course, but there’s some truth to what he’s kidding about. If that’s who I was, then who am I now?
I don't know, but I'm happy. The happy is hanging on. It feels good.

(sixth in a six-part series… which means, it’s over)

Cassette From My Ex
the stories and soundtracks of your earliest loves

Why I Like It: It’s emotional, earnest, and touching. I like it because it speaks. It speaks in the same way High Fidelity speaks. In the same was the first mix tape anyone ever made me spoke.

It spoke, I listened, and that was that. Everything changed.

My musical tastes are pretty eclectic. I like almost everything (if we’re talking genre) and a very limited amount of things (if we’re talking songs). I like classical music and serious rap. I like opera, country and punk. I like, I like, I like. That’s me. But the thing I like most is sharing the things I like with other people. And I’m pretty sure that’s because of that very first tape. That very first mix.

I can’t remember if I was already totally enamoured with the first guy who made me a mix tape of if it was the mix tape that tipped the scales. I really can’t. I don’t know where that first tape falls in the chronology. I just know it was important.

So much care used to go into the process. When I look at that first mix, I can see the work he put into it, from the track list, to the pacing, to the deliberate setting of a particular mood. In retrospect, a lot of the music was terrible, but at the time I couldn’t see that. I couldn’t hear it. That small aspect of the bigger thing that was the tape didn’t seem to matter. It was about more than just the music.

I don’t even have a tape deck anymore, and I’ve considered getting rid of the tape (of all the tapes) many times, but the truth is, I don’t think I will. They mean way too much. Nothing, and way too much at the same time. They’re little bits of tangible nostalgia. Little bits of life recorded.

Lately, I’ve been making a lot of mixes. I don’t use tapes anymore (obviously). I tend to burn CDs from MP3s. But I put in the same sort of care I did when I was still making tapes. I make liner notes, covers, little pieces of art. I name the albums. And every time I do it, I take my cue from that first tape. That first tape that was made with so much care, just for me.

The latest mix I made was for my new friend Kathleen. I have a bit of a girl crush on her at the moment, which I guess explains things. I’ve had a lot of crushes lately. There’ve been so many new people in my life this year. As a result, I’ve made a lot of mixes. Here’s a list of last five – all compiled in the last three months:

Yesterday That Wasn’t There
The Arc of a Love Affair (It’s a Concept Album)
On The Other Hand… You Have Different Fingers
Beautiful, Sad and True?
The Cheese Stands Alone!

It’s ridiculous, I know. But people seem to appreciate it nonetheless. And that makes me happy. It doesn’t even bother me that nobody’s made ME a mix in ages. In years. (In fact, in so long, I can’t even remember the last one.) I really don’t mind. (I’m not being sarcastic here, I swear.) It would be nice, sure. I’m sure I’d be charmed. But it’s not about that. What I really care about - what I really love – is making tapes for everyone else. I like watching my new friends put their earphones on. I like watching their features as the music changes. I like hearing what they hear. It makes things new again. It makes things fresh. And I hope (I hope!) it makes them happy.

Because that – making them happy – is what makes me happiest of all.


Thanks for reading the web-series guys. I hope you liked it. It was fun to share some sites with you.

In exactly one hour, it will be my birthday. I feel good right now. Tired, and busy and happy. Happier than I’ve been in ages. I’ll blog again tomorrow.

I’m ready.
(fifth in a six-part series)

“My mum is just a mum, which is an unforgivable thing to say in any circumstance, except this one. She worries, she gives me a hard time about the shop, she gives me a hard time about my childlessness. I wish I wanted to see [her] more, but I don’t, and when I’ve got nothing else to feel bad about, I feel bad about that.” – from Nick Hornby’s High Fidelity

(Which incidentally, will lead very well into tomorrow’s installment. Stay tuned.) In the meantime, let’s talk about yo momma, specifically:

Postcards From Yo Momma
a repository of modern day maternal correspondence

On a meta level, I’m actually sort of against mom-bashing. Moms are ultimately and generally pretty good people. They made us, after all. And for the most part, they mean well. They care. They’re earnest. All that stuff is good stuff. But in reality (down in the dirty dugout, where I really live) I’m really all for making fun of the one that bore you.

Making fun of my own mother has made me friends, frankly. (Sorry, Ma.) Sure, the jokes are cheap and not particularly clever, and they capitalize on something that is, deep at its heart, just a wee bit mean, but the fact is: mothers are funny. They can’t help being that way. And if we find them so, maybe we can’t help it either.

Excerpts from the site:

The Launch Pad


Ding Dongs

Sometimes, you’re in the mood for this sort of humour and Postcards From Yo Momma can deliver if you’re in the right sort of headspace . That nut-bag quality that seems to exist in all mothers is amusing. It is just is. It don’t mean she loves ya any less.

Admittedly, a ding dong,
(fourth in a six-part series)

Punctuation = comedy. Who knew?

The “Blog” of “Unnecessary” Quotation Marks
misinterpreting bad punctuation since 2005

Why I Like It: Isn’t it obvious? The “sarcasm”. The “silliness”. The “quotation marks”. It’s all just great, in part, because it’s all kind of inferred and constructed by the viewer. Misused quotation marks don’t automatically equal sarcasm, nor are they inherently funny... except that this “blog” seems to prove that somehow, they are. Good “idea”, “good” blog. I “like” it.

Well, that was “fun”.

(third in a six-part series)

I like street art. I like art in general, sure, but I especially like street art. I like the cleverness of it, the anti-capitalism of it, the authenticity (though, I’m not so naïve as to think all street art meets those criteria). Some does. This mostly does:

Little People – A Tiny Street Art Project
little handpainted people, left in London to fend for themselves

(also see: Inner City Snail: a slow-moving street art project.

Why I Like It: It’s hard to describe exactly what it is that makes this art so wonderful. It’s clever, yes. Intricate, yes. Smart and cheeky? Yes. And it’s often sad, too. Strangely poignant and beautiful and odd and unsettling. There’s an element of trickle-down inspiration at work here. Knowing that this project even exists makes me want to look more closely at the world. I think it inspires adult-appreciation of the minutiae, which is sort of like being little again. It’s kids, mostly, who looked closely at the ground, at the environment. They know all the blades of grass, all the cigarette butts, all the bugs. They find four leaf clovers and pennies and lost bits of jewellery all the time because they’re always looking, and this art makes me want to look too. That’s worth something.

Besides all that, the Little People project clearly takes a great deal of effort and a great deal of heart. The little people truly are left to “fend for themselves” and they’re often quickly destroyed and/or lost. They don’t last. Considering the work that goes into the hand-painting process, this must be emotionally difficult. Sure, the photos remain, but the art itself goes (though in the grand scheme of the project the photos are an essential part of the art-whole, I know).I really like Little People, because with them, Slinkachu does something hard. If his work is darling (and it is), he doesn’t murder it, exactly, but he does let it die. I wish I could do that.

Slinkachu does other art as well. You can check it out through his “complete profile” link.

Tune in tomorrow for a little more.

In love with all things wee,
(second in a six-part series)

I’m going to start this instalment of the web-series with a caveat: I am not really a cat person. I am, in fact, allergic to cats. Not debilitatingly so, but enough to keep me from having one. Besides that, cats sort of freak me out. They’re always looking too intensely at things that are invisible. They seem to hear noises that I can’t hear. They eat bugs. And they bring you dead rodents as presents.

Cats, in other words, give me the heebie jeebies AND the willies. They’re just kind of weird.

Still, there’s some funny stuff on …

I Can Has Cheezburger
lolcats and funny pictures (of cats and other animals)

Why I Like It: I’m not sure I fully do. There’s some truly terrible stuff here. Cutesy, schmaltzy, treacley garbage of the worst unfunny sort is in abundance. But there are nuggets of gold to be found. Neil, who has been introducing me to all sorts of great stuff lately, turned me onto the site by selling me on the lolrus (see below) at a moment when I was particularly in need of a dose of the ridiculous, and I’ve been returning, looking for an equal laugh ever since. Lolcats and the fact that they exist at all is representative. The site ultimately represents a subsection of people who like their pets a bit too much, but at the same time, who are actively participating in an open forum community, interacting with the world, and generally making an authentic attempt to appeal to each other, to discuss, to be part of something. And that, in itself, is appealing.

More to come. (Not “moar kittehs” though. Fear not.)

(the first in a six-part series)

I’ve long been a fan of sites and blogs like FOUND and Post Secret. I wrote (or assigned/edited) stories on both sites several years ago. I’ve also submitted to Post Secret myself, though I’m not gonna reveal if my secrets have been published, lest you begin to know too much.

Anyway, what can I say? I’m into the internet. But I must admit, in recent years, my enthusiasm for viral web trends and clever blogs (like Stuff White People Like, Garfield minus Garfield, etc.) has waned a little. I’ve just been too busy, I guess. Busy with real life.

Luckily, I’ve come to the realization that real life is lame, and as a result, I’ll be posting a series on some of my wasting-time-on-the-web favourites. Some of this won’t be new to you. I’m not pretending to be a trendsetter. I’m just sharing. Make of it what you will.

The first installment is below, with additional installments forthcoming. I’ll post one a day, every day, until my birthday next week. So expect to read about six sites in total. Ready? Go!

Passive Aggressive Notes
painfully polite and hilariously hostile writings from shared spaces the world over

Why I Like It: What’s not to like? I think almost everyone who’s ever lived in the world has come across notes of this ilk. And we all occasionally fall victim to the overwhelming desire to pen such missives. Life is, and people are, after all, annoying. Roommates fail to wash dishes, strangers pee on the seat, coworkers the world over steal our Hot Pockets when we’re not looking. Such is life. And as such, PAN tells the truth. Mind you, what I really love about the notes on this site is what they say about North American culture, literacy, and the things that preoccupy us. I love the wonky grammar, the typos, the misused punctuation, sure, but I can forgive all that, and besides, that stuff is only surface-level funny. What I really love most about these passive aggressive notes is that they unfailingly seem to exhibit a tri-part combination of illiteracy, unbridled AGGRESSION, and true insanity/delusion. Brilliant.

You’ve gotta laugh, right? Unless you choose to go the other way (which is to say, the way that leads you to weep with dismay at the state of humanity).

More webtastic webbery to come, guys. See you tomorrow. Get pumped!

Sorry for the blur. I am not ambidextrous.

It’s just a bruise. Looks much more striking in person. Especially when compared to the healthy counterpart.

Hurts a bit, though. I admit, it hurts. People keep telling me to go to the doctor, but I ain’t gonna. Nosir.

What else? Well, I also started a fire in my apartment the other night because … well, there’s no because. It’s not like I did it on purpose. The lingering result is that everything I own now smells like burnt toast. My clothes, towels, sofa, hair, the air in general. Burnt toast, the lot of it. This is bothersome for many reasons, not the least of which being that I could totally be having a stroke right now, only ... how would I KNOW?

Ow. That’s what I have to say about that. Just ow.

P.S. Do any of you want to come to the Jays game with me on Thursday? I’m saddled with an extra ticket I already paid for and I’d hate to waste it. Yes? Email? Yes?

Okay, so not only is the blah-og sticking around, but apparently we’re going to pick up the pace a little.

This is… surprising, I know. Roll with it.

It occurred to me today that I haven’t been keeping y’all properly updated. I’ve been doing all this emo rambling, but I haven’t really been TELLING you anything, have I? Bad me. This must be remedied.

Before we begin, a teaser on the topics to be covered (because I want to entice you to read to the bitter end). So, webheads, expect to be enlightened on all of the following:

1. Sporty exploits
2. Work snafus
3. My slow rise to super-stardom and world domination
4. My deep and abiding love for a Hollywood c-lister
5. My beta fish and his hotly debated name
6. Recent near-death experiences (and the painful results)

Ready, steady, go!

Agenda Item 1: Ballin’

My team won the Spring championship! That’s right. The Blitzkrieg Boppers won the recreational division playoffs a couple of weeks ago. We’ve consequently decided to move up a division, so now we’re playing at the intermediate level in the summer season (with a few player changes). Here’s a pic of the team (or rather, most of the team) after our big win:
Sorta pretty, ain’t it?

Agenda Item 2: Workin’

My office is FREEZING. So cold, in fact, that on Friday my boss offered to go out and buy me a blanket. Only, the lone store close by that carried anything blanket-esque was the dollar store. And the only blankets available at said dollar store were baby blankets. But you know, beggars can’t be choosers. Alas, I forgot I was wearing the darn thing and waddled into the afternoon staff meeting with it wrapped around my shoulders. So now more than half the staff has seen me swaddled in a too-small bit of baby-blue fleece covered with cartoon ducks and the words "quack quack quack". Adorable? Yes. Professional? No. Who wants to take bets on how long it’ll be before I get fired?


Agenda Item 3: Famin’ (Not to be confused with either famine or flamin’, neither of which I am experiencing.)

I’m gonna be on Cosmo TV again. They’ve invited me back to the show Oh So Cosmo to speak about yet another item of vital pop-culture importance: PDAs. We may be shooting the segment tomorrow. What are your thoughts on the topic, guys? Public Displays of Affection - are you for them? Against? I’m not sure where I stand. I’ve been guilty of participation in the phenomenon of late, which isn’t to say I feel so good about it. Weigh in, would ya?

Agenda Item 4: Stalkin’

I’ve written before about how I love Zach Braff’s blog, right? (I have.) But the truth is, he’s a really unreliable post-writer, and as a result, I sort of stopped checking his site awhile back. It occurred to me last week, when I really needed a laugh, that it had been well over a year (and possibly even two) since I’d even glanced at it. So I spent a little time catching up on him last week and I’m so glad I did because that boy is really effing hilarious. Like, snort-out-loud-wish-he-was-my-interweb-boyfriend hilarious. One of his posts is titled, “Blog. Cog. Snog. Frog. Oh my Gog!” I’m sorry, I just find that so adorable.

Here are some additional choice excerpts:

“I’m not sure when or why the tabloid angle on me was decided that I am a cad. I would have much rather it had been that I am secretly a dentist or that I love soup … Yes; I am dating. When we shoot Scrubs I spend every waking hour of my life in an abandoned and haunted hospital. All I can date there are ghosts and they tend to be horrible snugglers. So anyway, blah, blah, blah. Don’t believe the hype.”

“What is the deal with all these myspace spammers lately? You’d think after Tom sold the company for 100 zillion dollars he’d spend a few bucks of it on trying to figure out how to stop that. Everytime I check my page there’s something like, “I love this fucking ringtone so much I wanna have sex with it all night long. I wanna impregnate this fucking ring tone. I wanna knock up this ring tone and marry it in Vegas, then have the wedding annulled the next day. That’s how fucking excited I am about this ringtone.”

“Remember Romper room when they would say goodbye to a few random names? They never said Zach. Stupid room.”

I don’t know why I like this stuff so much. I just do. Dear Zach Braff, you are adorable. I am a fan. I admit it. I admit fandom.

God, I wish I was funny (like that). I really do. Or you know, that someone equally funny loved me. Something like that. Although, this is a dangerous desire. I read something in a novel about this idea once – this desire to be funny. I won’t name the book, but in it, one character is sort of giving another single woman character dating advice and she says, “Don’t be funny. Funny is the opposite of sexy.” Later, the advisee protests. “Listen,” she says. “Funny is the best thing I am.” And the wise adviser, being wise, says, “Making jokes is your way of saying Do you love me? And when someone laughs you think they’ve said yes.”

That line gave me PAUSE, lemme tell you.

Okay. What else? (You’ve made it this far! Don’t stop now!)

Agenda Item 5: Namin’

You know Nathan, my beta fish, right? Nathan Phillipsquare? Yeah, him. I really love that little guy. He makes me happy. I named him Nathan for a variety of reasons. For one thing, it seemed a very Torontonian sort of a name and I was down with that. Also, I had no friends named Nathan at the time, so it was sort of neutral. Finally, I just thought it was funny (see above). Alas, over the last year, I’ve met a lot of Nathans. Four, actually. And recently it’s just become a bit awkward. Every morning It's like, "Good morning Nathan! I love you Nathan! Here are your pellets and yummy yummy blood worms Nathan!"

I don’t like it much anymore. So what do I do?

Patty is insistent that I should rename him Oscar (as in De La Hoya). She’s already started calling him that herself. But I don’t know if I can! I mean, I’ve had the little guy almost a year already! In human years, he’s like, 25 or something. What if, when I turned 25, someone had said to me, “Okay, so, the Jen years are over. We’re done with the whole Jen thing. From now on you are … Matilda! Be Matilda. Matilda is who you ARE. Go forth, Matilda. Prosper.”

That kind of thing would have seriously fucked up my identity, don’t you think?

Agenda Item 6: Hurtin’

I hurt myself at softball practice this morning. Like, maybe bad. Like, were I more readily able to cry in public, I might have cried bad. See, I was pitching, and I guess pitching in such a way as to cause the guys to hit a fair number of line drives at me. Nathan (see!?) hit two right at my head, basically. Both missed. The first whizzed by my ear in a disturbing way, but wasn’t super close. The second actually grazed my neck. I felt it. Yikes. After that, I was pretty skittish, but I kept pitching. My friend John was last up to bat and the whole time I was throwing to him I had a bad feeling. Tempting fate, you know? And indeed I was. He hit one right at my head, and I didn’t have time to think or duck or anything. I just instinctively threw my (right, ungloved) hand up to protect my face.

Result? Face: saved. Hand: fucked.

It’s taken me about a year to type this post, in fact. One handed, baby.

After this whole thing went down, Neil commented on how strange it is that I giggle incessantly, regardless of how I’m feeling. I did end up doing a lot of giggling immediately after taking the hit as a matter of fact. Some of you will know what that means. Sigh.

Really, it’s not so bad. The ball mostly caught the meaty part of my palm, and I’m sure nothing’s broken. At first, I was a little scared, because my hand sort of curled up in frozen shock at first. I couldn’t move it at all. I tried. My brain told my thumb to move and my thumb said no. (Actually, it said, “fuck off” because it’s mean that way.) That’s a weird and frightening feeling – telling your body to do something and having it refuse. But the numbness wore off pretty quickly. And the boys were all lovely and nice about taking care of me after. Neil brought me a shwarma (yum!) and John gave me strict icing instructions which have helped. I’ve been icing it on and off all day and it feels pretty good now. I don’t bruise too easily, so it looks pretty good too. Just a bit swollen. It’ll probably be way better by tomorrow. (I hope.)

Okay. Gotta stop. For one thing, it’s mental to be typing all this with one hand. For another, it’s terrible to write a post this long. Bad internet manners. That’s what I’ve got.

That, and a messed up hand … and a beta named Nathan … and a crush on Zach Braff … and a date with Cosmo TV … and a dubious work-rep … and a sporty hobby that often gets me hurt (physically and emotionally), but that’s fun anyway.

Yep. That about sums it up. Consider yourselves up to date.

Peace and Love and Pieces of Love,