Do You Want A Cupcake?

When I was a kid, someone told me that thunder is caused by angels bowling in heaven. I thought that explained a lot. I also thought it was a bit rude, but who am I to suggest a tame game of checkers, over bowling, to angels?

So if the rumblings we hear are caused by angels, then there must be a whole bunch of them hiding out in my stomach right now because it hasn’t stopped making noise for the last two hours.

That was a good transition, wasn’t it?

This past weekend wasn’t too kind to me. Actually, Saturday was fine. Sunday was horrendous. I guess this story starts where Sunday started – midnight.

I was sitting on the couch, watching TV, and trying to decide what to do next. Did I want to go read, blog, sleep, or peruse YouTube until I got to the weird parts?

Or, did I want to stay right where I was for another hour and wait for the first race of the Formula 1 racing season to come on?

My decision was made for me.

Out of nowhere, my stomach started hurting. I had this “full” feeling in my stomach. As if I just ate at a restaurant and a few buttons needed to be undone.

Except I hadn’t been at a restaurant, and I hadn’t put food in my mouth for at least five hours. Why was this happening now? At midnight?

I decided I would stay up and watch the race until 2:30am because that would give my stomach enough time to get its marching orders and calm down. It didn’t calm down.

I went to bed and tried to fall asleep. When you want to avoid anything, you sleep, right? Try as I did, sleep wasn’t coming. Probably because I was forcing myself to sleep on my side, which I never do.

Finally, I dozed off. I only know this because at 5am I woke up breathing heavily, sweating, and knowing that I needed to find a washroom.

I’m smart, so I brought the garbage can next to my bed with me.

That made the, “Which end do I direct at the toilet, when it feels like both need it” decision, easier for me. Don’t even laugh, you’ve all been there before. It’s the washroom version of Russian roulette.

Oh yeah, this blog post is going to get a bit messy. Warning.

I got to the toilet and immediately felt like I was going to pass out. It felt like I was about to do a somersault off the toilet – gymnasts would have been proud.

My stomach was in so much pain, I didn’t know what was happening.

Somehow, I got the pipes working, without passing out.

If any of you find that last line gross, you’re lucky I’m telling the clean version of this story.

I returned to “normal” (not really, I just wanted my bed), and returned to my bed.

7am rolled around and I woke up in another panic. Uh oh. Here we go again. Again, I bring the garbage can with me.

This time, I almost passed out again. Maybe I subconsciously want to be a gymnast and practising somersaults, while unconscious, is my version of “dipping my toes” into a new sport? Nahhh.

I find that I am most determined, two seconds before I know I am going to throw up. Because in my head, I try to avoid vomiting at all costs, but as soon as I know it’s inevitable, I give myself a mini pep talk. It goes like this.

“Get it all out now, you are not doing this again for at least another 18 months. You hear me? You are not coming back in here in two hou…blahhhhhh.”

I find that I throw up every 18 months, or so. A few weeks ago, I was thinking about how it had been a long time since “the last time.” I guess I knew.

I hate vomiting. I hate the smell. I hate the feeling in my throat. I hate opening my eyes to see the colour of it and relating it back to something I ate, just so I could blame something.

Orange. Carrots. Aha! So much for being healthy. 

It was finally over. I was a new, empty man. Only problem was, my legs were asleep. I limped over to the sink and splashed water on my face because that’s what people do in movies.

Then I went to bed and didn’t wake up until 4pm, Sunday afternoon. A personal record. Well deserved, I think. I had been through a lot and had almost no sleep. Plus, there weren’t any sports on TV, so what was I really missing?

I woke up and had plain spaghetti noodles. They were awful. They reminded me of an eating contest at camp, when I had to eat a bowl of coloured spaghetti because I was Italian.

This is where you can make the “vomit on his sweater already, mom’s spaghetti” jokes. 

They were so dry; I could still taste the water on them.

I had a few fork-fulls and sent it away.

Then I had an apple. It was the most delicious apple I’ve ever had.

That was all the food I ate on Sunday. I didn’t want anything else because I didn’t want to throw up again and break up that whole “18 month” thing.

I knew what was coming, though.

I got a headache that night. I went to sleep at 10:30pm, after putting in a solid 6.5 hour day.

I didn’t really sleep. I woke up every hour, on the hour, and my head was throbbing. Do you know what throbbing is? It was as if there was a person in my head and they were punching it from the inside.

If I rolled over into a different position, or sat up, this person with a fist the size of China, would find a different part of my head to abuse.

Finally, around 6am, I got smart and took a Tylenol.

And then it was all hush little baby, don’t say a word, mama’s gonna buy you a mockingbird. I was asleep.


The next morning, I asked my mom if she came in to talk to me around midnight. She said she couldn’t remember. I said I remembered her coming in, but don’t know what she said.

THEN, she came back to me with a post-it note she found in her room. She wrote down what I said to her when she came to check on me at midnight.

I said to her, “Do you want a cupcake?”

She told me she couldn’t stop laughing.

So if any of you were wondering…yes, I will still be the funniest person in the room and make you laugh, even when I’m half asleep and have no idea what I’m saying, or to who.

On Monday, I ate a mashed banana, because mashed bananas are my preferred way of eating bananas, and a bowl of soup. That held me over until dinner, when I had my first “real meal” since “the event that shall not be named.”

I’ve turned vomiting into Voldemort. Deal with it.


I spent the rest of the night with a heavy stomach and went to sleep negotiating with it.

“We had a promise. 18 months, remember?”

“Shut up. No mas.”

My stomach is Spanish. It also isn’t nice. But I survived the night.

Fast forward to Tuesday. I ate a bowl of soup and another “real meal” for dinner.

And now I’m sitting listening to fireworks in my stomach. It sounds like a pinball machine in there. It’s like my stomach is a computer that has been rebooting for the last few hours.

It’s an orchestra, really. Okay, not really.

I could go on with the analogies forever.

Have I mentioned that I’ve lost weight from all this? Three pounds. Gone. Just like that. Actually, they were gone by the time I woke up Sunday afternoon.

I can notice a difference in my face, and to a lesser degree, my stomach.

My stomach is still like a juice box. It will contort itself on command.

My face, though…well, I now have the perfect jawline for a shampoo commercial. So to the fine, and dandruff-free, folks at Head & Shoulders, holla atcha boi (or whatever kids who want endorsements deals for no reason say).

So that is my current predicament.

This whole ordeal just confirms my suspicions – I would not last more than a day on Survivor. If I don’t eat, I will eventually get a headache. It’s life science.

Throw in the trials of being in the sun all day (without a hat), while fetching food and trying to vote out smelly people who sleep next to me in the shelter, and you’ll find me doing more than somersaults off of a makeshift toilet in the jungle.

I wouldn’t be able to do it. A comfortable home, with a furnace, managed to send me into a frenzy. Survivor would kill me.

As I currently sit here, I’m still not comfortable eating food. I’m not excited to eat tomorrow. I’m probably going to avoid the “real meals” and eat mashed bananas and apples until the giraffes come home.

I’m going to try and sleep now.

Keep me in your prayers. Little Pauly had a big tummy ache (I’m stretching my arms to show you how big) and is still recovering.


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Are Bloggers Misunderstood?

You know what makes me mad? Don’t guess, I’ll tell you. It’s when I see a new blogger enter the blogging community with a traditional first post and proceed to say things like, “Everyone has a blog these days, so I thought I’d start one too. I don’t really know what I’m going to say or what this will be, so let me know in the comments what you want me to write about. Kthnxbyeee.”

To me, that’s like someone walking into my house, taking the pizza slice out of my hand, dipping it in the toilet like an Oreo into milk, and then returning it to me.

Trust me, a blog is one of the most personal things a person can have. It’s like a pair of underwear. It’s new today, stale tomorrow; constantly changing.

So don’t waltz in here and disrespect the rest of us by saying you’re here because everyone else is and you want to fit in. If you say that, you’ve already lost my trust.

Also, who the hell are you asking for blog ideas? This isn’t Field of Dreams. There is no “If you write it, they will come” mantra.

It’s more like, “If you write it, you’ll get four views and two of them will be from a country you’ve never heard of.”

So, there. That’s what makes me mad. I also really hate gum under my shoe, but I suppose everyone does.

Note #1: Nothing wrong with asking bloggers for ideas. Just don’t do it in your first post.

Note #2: Bloggers are incredibly welcoming. Introduce yourself and put yourself behind the wheel of your blog. We’ll tag along for the ride. Don’t be a backseat-driver-blogger.

Before I started this blog in 2013, I didn’t know much about bloggers or blogging.

All I knew was the poster child (poster adult?) for blogging was a guy named Perez Hilton, who wrote about celebrities and tried to stir the pot without even standing in a kitchen.

From that, blogging just felt really “in your face” and gossipy. But I knew there had to be more. I just didn’t know what “more” entailed.

And then I began thinking about starting a sports blog. So I did. This one. Can you tell?

Ever since that moment, I’ve always wondered, “What do they (non-bloggers) think of us (bloggers)?

Because I’ll turn on the TV and watch people in the media discount bloggers by saying things like, “Oh, everyone has an opinion these days. All these bloggers in their basement who have nothing better to do.” And then they’ll lump Facebook and Twitter users into the same sentiment.

As if we are the scum of the earth and they are the good hockey sticks in the equipment room of an elementary school gymnasium.

I once told someone I had a blog and I could tell they didn’t really understand what that meant. They said something like, “So what, do you just post opinionated things on the internet and hope someone reacts?”

Is that what people think bloggers are? Fire starters? A bomb? Loud mouths? A drunk uncle at a wedding?

Sure, there may be some bloggers like that, but I promise you, we are not a bunch of bees at a picnic who strike the moment the potato salad is visible.

We are, mainly, a community of endearing fruit flies. And if fruit flies still annoy you, then we are cuddly rabbits that appear in your backyard every once in a while. Happy?

I remember the first time I ever shared my blog on Facebook. I was more terrified than if Pizza Hut were to discontinue their fantastic lunch buffet.

I didn’t know how people would react. I immediately thought that I would come across as cocky, egotistical, and full of myself.

Who does this guy think he is? Writing stuff on the internet and filling our precious news feed with it? How dare he?

In trying to figure out what the reception would be, I was creating a misconception of bloggers (myself).

Anyway, I posted it and made sure to include a caption that read something along the lines of, “I like sports. Some people thought I should start a blog, so I did. Read it, bookmark it, tell your friends, or don’t. I don’t care.”

I couldn’t have been more nonchalant. The first part of the caption was me giving reasons why this thing was now on their screen. And the second part was me trying to act like it wasn’t a big deal.

It was a huge deal, but there I was playing it off, as if I was too cool for school and it was the first day.

I find that it can be scary being honest on the internet. I find it even harder being honest, while using 1000+ words.

Every time I shared a post on Facebook, or told someone to read my blog, I always felt like a minor disturbance. As if I was a 23-minute YouTube video and was telling people to immediately watch me. No one does that.

And even though the feedback I got was always positive, I always felt like I was annoying someone.

To this day, if I tell someone via text, or in person, to read my blog, a lot of the time I’ll say, “When you have time” or “When you get a chance.” How courteous, right? How thoughtful of me.

A small part of me will always feel like I’m wasting someone’s time with the words I write, even if they tell me otherwise. Maybe it’s the world we live in these days, with short attention spans, that make me feel that way.

Or maybe it’s from reading that, “Blog posts should be brief, no more than 400-600 words”, in every “How-to” article there is about blogging.

I hate word restrictions. Add it to the list.

As a blogger who has “been in the game” long enough to know a thing or two about a thing or three, I can assure you that bloggers are unlike any other community on the internet.

We are not Twitter trolls who spend the day misspelling words and replying “YAAAS QUEEN SLAY” to everything a celebrity says.

We are not your annoying friend on Facebook who has a heated debate in a comment thread with strangers, about who the 4th best player in the NBA is.

And we are definitely not YouTube commenters. Notification squad, where you at? Shut up.

We are bloggers.

Does the average person/critic even know how many connections we make with other bloggers around the world? Do they know about the friendships they’re missing out on? Do they know what someone else’s words mean to us? Do they?

I log on to WordPress and it’s like entering an idealistic family gathering. Kids are playing board games in the corner. Adults are napping on hammocks in the backyard. The pets are failing at cooking dinner because they’re pets, so pizza is ordered.

You know, ideal.

Yes, we have opinions. Everyone does. If that scares you so much, start your own blog.

That being said, however, I don’t think a lot of us are here because we have an urge to share our opinion about everything.

We are here to share a piece of ourselves with the world.

We are creative individuals who have more ideas in our head than most people have snot in their nose during flu season.

We are a community of people, united by the beauty of words.

This is a community with people like Chris, Tosha, Gabrielle, Reagan, Talula, Michelle and her husband, who share their poetry so we can sit back, let out a deep breath, and be at ease knowing someone else understands us.

This is a community with people like Quinn and Kristen who appeared on the scene -seemingly, at the same time – and have been a breath of fresh air.

This is a community with people like Shaz, who has been by my blog’s side since about Day 73, which is Day 1 in my book.

This is a community with people like Barb, Jess, Meghan, and Myka, who send me more messages, emails, and GIFs about nothing in particular, than a friend probably deserves.

This is a community with people like Suchie, Issa, Angela, James, Miriam, and Rebbit7, who share their lives from the other side of the world.

This is a community with people like Aaron, who I can relate to more than he probably knows, especially when it comes to pizza and banana pudding.

This is a community with people like Liz, Beca, American Paul, and Rebekah, who I can always count on for a laugh.

This a community where I feel guilty for not mentioning every single blogger who has crossed my path and had an impact on me. I know there are more of you that I didn’t mention, and I’ll feel awful when I receive a notification from you and realize it. I appreciate you, nonetheless.

Say and think what you want about bloggers, but we know the truth.

We’re the best community on the internet. Some would call us a cult family.

Oh geeze, there’s the cheese.

A great, big, happy, dramatic, creative, poetic, funny, sad, and always hungry, cult family.

But that’s just my opinion.

Posted in Life | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 61 Comments


Songs don’t change, they’re the lucky ones
Maybe we follow a different tune
Sitting in front of a slot machine
Hoping, wishing, praying
Searching for luck because this is where it is found
I hit the jackpot
We won
Now what?

A tradition would be nice, don’t you think?
The world is full of things, but none of them belong to us
This can be ours
Our thing
And when it fades away over time
We can begin again, right?

There is no need to think, when you know
Two plus two
See, you knew
When your calculations go astray, however
Nothing is automatic anymore
If you need this moment to think
What will you waste the next moment on?

Move your piece after you roll the dice
Did that
But now I’ve moved back three spaces
And my turn is being skipped
Wait a minute
Excuse me

What do you do when the opposite always comes true?
You experience both sides of the coin
Call it in the air
One day, your head is up
The next day, you’re running in circles
Chasing tails
Trying to be whole again
When was it flipped on its head?

These pockets no longer carry my unexpected winnings
Every single minute I had was spent
And what do I have to show for it?
Words I cannot say
Thoughts I’ve said too many times
And feelings that don’t know how to go away
Because when your heart takes a picture
You don’t need a camera.

No, you don’t need a camera
You’re running in circles
Excuse me
There is no need to think, when you know
And when it fades away over time
Maybe we follow a different tune
But right now it’s like my bike is caught in a tree
And all I can do is watch the leaves form a circle around me.

Written while listening to: Concrete Blonde – Joey

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Viewing Notes: The Bachelor Finale

If you’re wondering why we moved our clocks ahead an hour last weekend, it’s so we could get to The Bachelor finale sooner. I think we’re all ready for this to be over.

Read every single one of these notes. You won’t be disappointed.

  • We open the show with Chris Harrison in a grey suit and grey tie, in front of an audience of women.
  • If I spot a guy in the crowd, I’ll mention it.
  • Nick and the two finalists – Raven and Vanessa (Canada) – are in Finland, the home of Santa Claus, according to Nick.
  • Ho Ho No.
  • Nick meets up with his family and gives them the 411 on the women.
  • Raven arrives and is wearing oven mitts. Oh, they’re winter gloves. Darn.
  • This dinner conversation is so dull. Someone make a joke! Drop a plate! Spill water on yourself! Something!
  • Nick’s little sister, Bella, likes Raven because they played soccer once. D’aw.
  • Raven tells Nick’s dad, Chris, that…WAIT A MINUTE.
  • Sorry about that, I got excited.
  • This episode needs background music. So much dead air. Circus music would be welcome.
  • Oh! It’s time for Raven to leave now. What a nice little meet and greet.
  • Time for date number two! Here comes Canada!
  • Nick awkwardly picks her up, just like he did with Raven. He’s also wearing the same clothes. Oy vey.
  • “So Vanessa, tell us about yourself.”
  • “I’m from Canada. I’m Italian. I’m a teacher. I’m way too good for Nick, but I’m still here because when someone flies you around the world for free, you go.”
  • Vanessa wants to ask his mom, Mrs. Claus, if she thinks they’re rushing into this.
  • Yes. Yes, you are.
  • Canada says she wants to get engaged once. Mrs. Claus gives her “the eyes”, as if to say, “Ma boy did not go on this show for a 33rd time to propose to someone who doesn’t want it. You say ‘yes’, ya hear?”
  • “It’s easy to love someone when it’s all fairytale.” – Kris Kringle, dropping a truth bomb on the camera operator.
  • Vanessa is “in love” with the only guy she’s talked to for the last two months. What a coincidence.
  • If you substitute Nick with any guy, the same thing would happen. You know how I know? BECAUSE THIS SHOW HAS BEEN ON SINCE 1765 AND PEOPLE “FALL IN LOVE” EVERY SEASON.
  • The date is over. ‘Nessa leaves. Nick sits with his family to discuss the girls.
  • Mrs. Claus has a wreath around her neck. How festive! Oh, it’s a scarf. Darn.
  • His family keeps bringing up Nick’s past heartbreaks. Probably because they don’t want to see him on the couch eating cereal from the box, again.
  • Back in studio with Chris H. and I spy four men in the audience! Oh, if I could talk to them now.
  • Oh look! Another date between Vanessa and Nick. He picks her up again!
  • For you fashionistas and fashionistos out there, Vanessa is wearing a winter jacket with a fur hood which is not too big, not too small, just the size of Montreal (heyo!) and a hat with a pom pom.
  • Oh they’re on horses. Boring.
  • Oh my God there’s an old man spying on them from behind a tree!
  • “It doesn’t even seem real.” – Vanessa, nailing the tagline of the show.
  • Nick just used the words: amazing, dream, literally, wow, and amazing (again), in the same sentence.
  • They knock on a cabin and it’s the old man from behind the tree! SANTA!
  • Pull his beard, Vanessa! Do it for Canada! Reveal him to be Nick’s dad!
  • My childhood is in shambles. So much for Santa living at the North Pole. Santa lives in Finland in Hagrid’s hut.
  • Santa gives them a gift that says Niko and Venla on it. Oy vey, again. They just got Santa’s stamp of approval.
  • For someone who might propose to the person they’re with, Nick looks so bored.
  • Nick tells her she’s his type. She tells him she wants to feel different and starts crying.
  • Based on the edit of this show, these two talk more about having questions and how confused they are all the time. They’ve completely given up on getting to know each other. I think they aren’t allowed to do that after episode 4.
  • V: “Are you ready to propose?” N: “The week’s not over.”
  • Run, Canada, run.
  • Canada wants to know right now if he’s choosing her. She’s never seen the show and doesn’t know that he has to be elusive, so people like me don’t tune out.
  • Their time together always ends with Vanessa crying.
  • Back to Chris in studio and it looks like they’ve divided the audience based on hair colour.
  • Last date with Raven. I’ll bet my life he picks her up.
  • Raven is wearing a jacket with a fur hood that is smaller than Montreal. No hat.
  • Meanwhile, Nick is wearing a hat but is trying to make it look cool, so the front of his hair is showing. What a goon.
  • Woah time out. He’s taking her skating? He takes the southern girl skating, but the Canadian girl rides horses? Who did this?
  • Oh my God, it’s montage time and there’s finally background music! They heard me!
  • Raven thinks this is her last date as a single person. Don’t count your chickens.
  • What if they fell through the ice right now, while they’re lying on the ice kissing each other? Would Santa come running? What’s the protocol?
  • Nick brings Raven three puppies. I’m sure in some culture that’s not a good thing.
  • “Look at the puppies and think of them when I break your heart in three days.”
  • Nick tells Raven he can’t move his neck because he’s so stressed. He also can’t open his mouth when he talks, but that’s been a problem since the first episode.
  • Raven is giving her plea to Nick to choose her. It feels like she’s on Survivor and is talking in terms of a final two alliance, rather than telling her potential husband how she feels.
  • Earlier in the episode, Nick was nibbling on Vanessa’s hands. Now he’s nibbling on Raven’s. I think Santa needs to intervene with some gingerbread cookies.
  • Back in the studio, Chris asks how everyone is doing. They all clap and “woo”. As if they were going to do anything else. What a waste of time, Chris.
  • “We are all on the edge of our seats.” Christopher, YOU’RE STANDING.
  • Nick is buying a wedding ring now. And by “buying”, I mean he picks one out for free.
  • Cut to Vanessa getting ready. She still doesn’t know where they would live if they end up together! Come on! How do you not ask that? CANADAAAAA
  • “I see Nick as a father. I see Nick as a husband.” – Ravenclaw
  • Saying goodbye to one of these women is going to be devastating, according to Nick.
  • Nick, just pick both. Happy wives, happy lives.
  • First out of the limo is Raven, which means Vanessa is going to win! Errr, get proposed to!
  • Poor Raven, she doesn’t know what she’s swooping into.
  • HA, bird puns! Because her name is Raven. I am so smrt.
  • Raven walks up to Nick and flies into a pre-planned speech. Nick doesn’t know what to do with his eyes.
  • “I couldn’t be more sure. I love you.” – Raven
  • Nick, over to you.
  • “I remember being like, where did she come from?” – Nick
  • Oh my God, that’s so romantic you guys. “Where did she come from?” Ah, my heart. It putters.
  • ………………..
  • “Putters” is a combination of Pizza and Hut, just so we’re clear.
  • Nick just brought the hammer down and Raven nods her head in acceptance. He’s crying more than she is because she knows she just dodged a bullet.
  • Raven took that almost too well. We’ll see what she says in the limo.
  • Nick buries his head in her shoulder to say goodbye. You just know that Canada is going to show up later and ask him why he smells like another woman.
  • It’s not even a limo! It’s a car. Wow.
  • Now she’s crying and wondering what she could do differently in order to get a proposal.
  • It’s not “what”, it’s “who”, Raven. Listen to me. I’m wise.
  • Back in the studio and Chris is using his funeral-speech tone, as audience members dab their tears.
  • By the way, Nick is at a little cottage in the middle of Finland, with reindeer outside. Chris Harrison is there as his butler. This is exactly what every girl dreamed of when they were little, right?
  • Chris: How are you?
    Vanessa: Nervous.
    Chris: You should be. Nick is waiting for you.
  • I got some horror film vibes from that exchange.
  • Nick tells Vanessa he started falling in love with her at the second rose ceremony. Was that the one Corinne didn’t go to because she was napping?
  • What a slap in the face to all the other girls. I’m sure social media will be ablaze with single people saying, “He led them on since week two!”
  • Well yeah, that’s the show. So shut up about it.
  • While Vanessa weeps, here’s a mini rant:
    A few seasons ago they had two bachelorettes on the first night and the guys voted on which one they wanted to stay. Fans hated this because, “How dare they do that to a woman on TV?” “How dare this show allow men to judge women and pit them against each other!?” And yet, many years ago, when these bandwagon Bachelor fans didn’t know the show existed (but I did!), the show did the same thing, except a group of women had to choose between two guys. The guy they chose was “younger and better looking” but no one caused a brouhaha or a fracas back then. Oh no, not at all. So save your opinions. The show is a deplorable concept to begin with.
  • Oh, Nick proposed and she said yes.
  • They are now riding away in a sleigh, which is being pulled by a horse, instead of a reindeer. For shame.
  • #GiveReindeerAChance
  • Time for the after show where Chris Harrison will ask a bunch of questions while moving his hands way too much.

That’s it. If you enjoyed reading my viewing notes for this show, thank you! Hopefully you laughed at every joke I made.

Oh, and we still don’t know if Nick is moving to Canada. I guess they’ll address that on the after show.

Edit: They are leaning towards living in the USA. I’m not going to say anything because most of my readers are American.

Posted in TV | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | 28 Comments

Momentarily Misplaced

I can’t tell you the last time a commercial on TV, or an advertisement on the internet, left me saying to myself, “Wow, I need what they’re selling.” I don’t know if I’ve ever thought that.

Sure, maybe the food commercials have me licking my lips, while the steamy and succulent images of cheesy pizza, or hamburgers with perfect posture, infiltrate my subconscious, but I’d like to think that I don’t need a food commercial to order these items.

With fries.

I see commercials with people in generic clothing, laughing and smiling at the products they’re using, and I know it’s supposed to trick me into buying what they’re selling. I know they want me to believe I will be as happy as the people in the commercial.

I don’t buy it. Literally and figuratively.

The other night, I was watching a hockey game and the commentator said, “This game is available in Virtual Reality.” And I found myself asking, “Why?” Why am I going to buy one of those Virtual Reality headsets to watch a hockey game that I can see just fine without?

It didn’t make sense to me.

Sell, sell, sell -> Material items, material items, material items -> Happy, happy, happy.

That is the world today. I understand it. But I also think it’s sad.

University changed my life in so many ways, and I’m not sorry for continuously mentioning it in my blog posts.

My post-secondary experience taught me that life is, truly, just about time and people. Everything else is a result of those two things. How we spend our time, and who we spend it with, is all that matters.

I didn’t realize that until my fourth year. That year, I vowed that I would say “yes” to my friends as much as I could, whenever they suggested we hang out, or go to McDonald’s at 2AM the night before an exam.

Again, with fries.

And even then, when I realized how important it was to me to maximize my minutes with people who meant so much to me, it wasn’t enough time. There were still things I never did. Time ran out.

They say, “Time flies when you’re having fun.”

I never knew what that meant, exactly. I thought the saying should’ve been changed to, “Time flies when you forget to blink, while playing video games.”

Nowadays, I’d argue that time flies even when you’re not having fun.

There are some moments where I find myself wishing that I could just press a pause button because things always end before I’m ready for them to end. I’m sure I’m not the only one who has felt that way.

But I can’t just press a button.

The moments I want to remain in forever are anchored by memories.

The best days of my life – I don’t know what they are, but I know they all include other people, and laughs, and smiles.

They don’t include me getting a sports jersey for Christmas, or playing a video game for three hours after school, on a random Tuesday, in 2001. The best days involve shared happiness.

This is why, I think, commercials don’t have an affect on me. They try to convince me that their product is something I need, but really all I need is time and people.

I recently reunited with a great friend who I hadn’t seen in a really long time. We had drifted apart during a time when we were both pushing people away. Text messages became awkward. It just wasn’t the same.

Yet in the back of my mind I had all these great memories, and I knew that the friendship was still there, somewhere.

And as soon as we saw each other and started talking, it felt like no time had passed. We were right back in our rhythm, our ways, and our jokes about the stupidest things.

Example of a “stupid thing”: I created a new yoga position called “sleeping dog”. It was hilarious. Don’t ask questions.

It just felt so good, and it was something I had missed.

Our friendship was momentarily misplaced and I regret letting that happen.

It always feels like there is all the time in the world, but there isn’t. And it always feels like there are billions of people in the world – and there are – but there are only a handful of people who you can be so comfortable around.

You can’t replace people and you can’t replace time.

The best pizza wasn’t made in five minutes. And neither are friendships.

The world can’t just be about money, fancy clothes, trends, jobs, material items, hashtags, the latest gossip, or using our thumb to scroll on a screen.

Sure, all of those things may bring us joy and put a smile on our face.

But that being said, when I die – hopefully after I reach 100 – none of those things I just listed will matter. What will matter is the people who were in my life and the time I spent making memories with them.

Tell me I’m wrong.

Happiness is greater when we get to share it with others. That’s what I think, anyway.

We will always have time. We will always have people. Don’t let them get misplaced.

Not even momentarily.

Posted in Life | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 14 Comments

Pizza Sickness

Time to try something new. Don’t ask me how this idea came about – it’s a long story. But if you don’t like it, you can blame my best friend Chris. If you like it, though, you can give me all the credit.

Don’t worry, Chris, this will be great.

Have you guys heard the song Sleeping Sickness by City & Colour? If you haven’t, you should.

For my next trick, I am going to take the lyrics to that song and tweak them to turn the narrative of the song into something completely different. As you can tell from the title of this post, it’s going to revolve around pizza. Obviously.

So, here it is, Pizza Sickness.

I awoke, only to find my stomach empty
And through the night, so it seems I’m not eating
And now my meals, are nothing like the TV commercials
And I’m craving pizza, I think I’m craving pizza

And I’m afraid
To open the fridge because it haunts me
Fresh food is a big uncertainty
Maybe I’ll never find the food to eat
Which would completely fill me
And now I’m craving pizza, I think I’m craving pizza

Someone come and, someone come and bring me pizza
Maybe I’ll eat a caesar salad too
But now it’s like the delivery drivers are taking sides
With all the worries that occupy the front of my stomach
Could it be this pizza will suffice?

I’ve become
A simple customer of the local pizza place
And like the sea
My stomach is churning inside of me
Hunger fills my stomach and soul, if only I could swallow a pizza whole
Oh, how I’m craving pizza
I think I’m craving pizza

Someone come and, someone come and bring me pizza
Maybe I’ll eat a caesar salad too
But now it’s like the delivery drivers are taking sides
With all the worries that occupy the front of my stomach
Could it be this pizza will suffice?

Ohh will it suffice?

Someone come and, someone come and bring me pizza
Someone come and, someone come and bring me pizza
Someone come and, someone come and bring me pizza
Could it be this pizza will suffice?

Let me know if I should do this again. I take song requests. 

Posted in Music | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 18 Comments

A Letter To Alexandra

Dear Alexandra,

I hope this letter finds you well, as opposed to in a well. That didn’t work out too well for little Timmy. 

Sorry, I’m a bit rusty with writing letters. That was an incredibly morbid opening. I apologize. I’ll start over.

Dear Alexandra,

I’m incredibly excited to be writing this letter to you. It is my first letter out to Amsterdam. Every time I say “Amsterdam” in my head, I say it as “Hamster, damn!”.

There, I think that was a more appropriate opening. Though if any hamsters are reading this, they’ll probably file a restraining order against me. Oh well, I’m Canadian so Beaver dams are more up my ally anyway. 

What am I even saying?

A couple of years ago, I think you commented on one of my posts that you were binge reading my blog while on a long train ride. Do you remember that? I’m 90% sure it was you, but I couldn’t find the comment so I’m not entirely sure. 

If it wasn’t you, just go with it. 

That comment made my day and I’ll never forget it. The idea that someone riding on a train – on the other side of the world – chose to read my blog, was unbelievable to me. It was quite the honour. I mean, you could’ve done anything else.

You could’ve slept, nibbled on a cookie, stared out the window, or made funny faces at the passengers around you. But no, you chose to read my blog to kill time. 

Thank you.

Again, if that wasn’t you, just act like it was. 

You mentioned the movie, The Incredibles, and asked me what the sequel would be about if they ever made one. 

Here’s a confession: I don’t know if I’ve ever seen the movie. I’ve heard of it. I know what the people will look like before I Google them in about eighteen seconds, but I couldn’t tell you anything about the movie.

I think it was one of the movies we used to put on for the kids at camp who had to stay two extra hours until someone could pick them up. Even if we did that, I can promise you I didn’t watch.

I was probably snoozing on a couch, or cheating at a card game with a 6-year-old. 

Looking at the family photo of the Incredible household, one thing is very clear to me. They all need more sleep. They all have dark black bags under their eyes. Also, they really should put on some pants. 

One more thing, the Dad skips leg day. While I’m on legs, it should be noted that the daughter doesn’t have any.

Not hatin’, just statin’ (facts). 

If a sequel were ever to be made, I would not call it The Incredibles 2. That would be incredibly boring. 

I would call it, “The Just Alrights”.

By the time the second movie is made, the three kids will be young adults and the plot would follow their ventures into the real world.

I don’t know what their jobs are (I’ll have to sit down with the writing team and pinky and brainstorm some ideas), but whenever someone asks them how they’re doing, they will always reply, “Just alright.”

I feel like that would make the movie a lot more relatable. Superheroes that call themselves “Incredible” have no place in the world today. 

If I saw someone walking around with the letter “I” on their chest, I’d think they were a mobile info booth just waiting for my questions.

“Excuse me, can you tell me who decided on how deep the pockets on pants should be?”

Seriously, though. 

I’m a menace to society delight if you let me ask random questions. 

So that’s what the movie would be about. Following around this average family, who’s children reached their peak at a young age and now have to live in a world where they aren’t recognized as adorable, little superhero kids. 

Kinda like Macauley Culkin.

Moving on.

You told me you have an unhealthy obsession with drag queens, specifically RuPaul’s Drag Race. Is that a show?

You also said you had no idea how I would make use of that information. Well, challenge accepted!

When I see the name “RuPaul”, I see it as a name derived from a hesitant text message. 

“R u Paul?”

And that’s all I have to say about that!

Lastly, you asked me, “What is ‘home’ for you?”

Good question. 

To me, “home” isn’t really something you can put into words, it’s something you feel.

I say that right as I’m about to try and put it into words. 

Home is multiple things, and not just the place where I sleep at night. 

Home is my university. It took awhile for it to feel like home, but by the middle of my second year – when I realized I didn’t want to go home, except for holidays – that’s when I realized that school had become my (new) home. 

It’s the people there that made it my home. If I were to go back today, it would feel like an empty house because everyone I knew is now gone. But it will always be home to me. 

Hanging out with certain people, even if it’s just talking during a car ride, that is “home” to me. 

To sum it up, “home” is wherever my heart feels whole.

That probably sounded really grilled cheesy. 

Well, Alexandra, I best be going. I hope you enjoyed this letter and my answers as much as I did writing them. 

That question about “home” will probably keep me up tonight, in a good way. 

With hamsters and beavers (dam!),


P.S. I hope you didn’t give up blogging. 

Posted in Letters | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Paulo’s Kitchen: Steak Frights

Are we on? We are? Okay. Hi everybody, Chef Paulo here! We are back on the air after a long hate us. Thank you for…

Stage Director: You mean, “hiatus”. We were on a long hiatus. Start over.

No, I don’t. I meant “hate us”. As in, the bosses hate us and didn’t want to bring the show back. We were on a long hate us, not “he ate us”, or whatever you said. I eat him.

Now where was I? Oh yeah. I’m Chef Paulo, you are my dinner guests, welcome to Paulo’s Kitchen!

The crowd claps politely; one guy whistles.

Today I am going to make steak frights. It is one of my favourite…

Stage Director: Paulo, it’s steak frites. As in “freeeeets”. Steak and fries.

Mah, would you stop interrupting me. We are live! I did not mean this…this… “steak freeeeets”. Is that the telephonetic spelling? I meant steak frights. As in, I dropped the steak in the sink once, while seasoning it, but washed it off and still made it.

It was frightening. Steak Frights. My show. My words.

Anyways, let’s start making one of my favourite dishes – Steak Frights!

What you’ll need:
– Steak
– Curly Fries
– Frights
– Spices
– BBQ Sauce
– Patience
– A Firm Grip

Step 1: Turn on your oven and set it to 400 degrees. It’s gonna get hot in there, like a bare butt on the beach…..Do I need to say the joke again? No one laughed.

Step 2: While we wait for the oven to heat up, let’s winter, spring, summer, fall, our steak. Or as you say, “season” it. I’m keeping it simple with some onion powder, garlic powder, and salt. You want something else? Too bad! No steak for you!

Step 3: Put a drop of oil in a pan and place your steak on top of it. Oil go bye bye. Everyone say, “bye bye” to the oil. Say it!

Step 4: Add some BBQ sauce to each side of the steak. If you don’t want BBQ sauce on your steak, too bad! No steak for you!

Now, friends, we cannot start the steak until the fries are about half done. We want them to finish around the same time. The oven isn’t heated up yet, so we kill time, for now.

Anyone from the audience have a question for Chef Paulo? Yes, you! In the black shirt.

Audience Member: It’s actually navy blue.

Chef Paulo: Paulo no care you buy that black shirt from Old Navy. What’s your question?

Audience Member: What would you say to an aspiring chef?

Chef Paulo: I’m a perspiring chef, myself, you know. I’d tell him he’s sweating. Next question.

Stage Director: “Aspiring”.


Ohhh praise the Little Bo, we can get on with the show! The oven is ready.

Step 5: Our curly fries are already in a pan, put the pan in the oven. Don’t burn yourself.

Step 6: Watch them cook. In eight minutes we move them around with some tongs. Ting Tong, like a doorbell.

8 long minutes pass.

Step 7: Let’s shift them around! The TV trick is to move the food a quarter of an inch in every direction to make it look like I’m actually cooking. And back in the oven they go!

Step 8: Okay, let’s turn on the stove and start cooking this steak. It might be done a few minutes before the fries get crispy, but that’s fine. We need to be off the air by the top of the hour to avoid another hate us from happening.

Everybody in the audience, touch the squishy part of your palm, near your thumb. That’s the texture we want the steak to be when it’s done. I learned that trick from a Gordon Ramsay video.

Hi, Gordon! I’m available for Hell’s Chicken, anytime!

Stage Director: Hell’s Kitchen.

No! This is Paulo’s Kitchen!

Step 9: After about three minutes of pressing down on the top of the steak with the tongs, it’s time to flip it over. Ooooh do you guys smell that? It’s steak!

If you want to add some more BBQ sauce, feel free to do that now or forever hold your sauce.

Step 10: After another three minutes or so, we flip again. Now we have fun. Tilt the steak on it’s side to burn down the fat. Dr. Ramsay told me to do that.

Step 11: Quickly open the oven and give the curly fries a shake. Right now, they look a bit wet, like Paulo coming out of a sauna. So we put them back in.

Step 12: Flip the steak again. It’s almost done. Now you just gage it by feel and instincts. It’s done when you think it’s done and not a minute later! Remember that!

Step 13: Okay, we turn the stove off. The steak is done. Oh, it smells so good and juicy. Mmm get in my belly! But not yet! We need the fries.

Step 14: Give the fries a bit more time. Let’s get out a big plate and some ketchup. You need ketchup, I forgot to mention that.

Step 15: Take the curly fries out and turn off the oven. We don’t want to start a fire. Billy Joel did that. Hey, Billy J! I’m available, anytime. Been working on my pitch and hermiones.

Stage Director: HARMONIES.

Step 16: Put the steak on a plate and scoop up the extra BBQ sauce in the pan. We must not waste, so copy and paste!

Step 17: Now we put the fries next to it and a puddle of ketchup on the side. Never on top! You put you’re ketchup on top of your fries and guess what? No steak for you!

There it is. Steak Frights! Now, we eat.

Steak Frights

Steak Frights

Thank you for tuning in to another award-edible edition of Paulo’s Kitchen.

Stage Director: Award-Eligible!! It’s award-eli….ugh what’s the point?

I’m Paulo, this is my kitchen, and hopefully we will see you sooner rather than eight months later.

The boss may put us on hate us again, or “he ate us”, as he said last time.

Ciao for now. Stay tuned for a brand new episode of Meatball Mania.

Paulo’s Kitchen is recorded in front of a live studio audience. The people in the audience are real. However, their ooh’s and aah’s may be exaggerated. And no, the camera does not add ten pounds; Paulo’s cooking might, though. To be a member of our live studio audience, please call… just show up. There is plenty of space.

Posted in Food | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 42 Comments

50 Thoughts IX

1. If I am ever a contestant on The Price is Right and they reveal a drum kit as a prize, or something else I don’t want, you’ll be able to see the disappointment on my face. The cameras will hate it.

1.5 I’m tired of seeing contestants ooh and ahh over chandeliers and dining room sets.

2. Needles don’t bother me. Ever since I was little, I would just stare at them as the doctor stabbed my arm.

3. If I were to ever create a blog about washroom stories, it would be called “Urine Luck”. Think about it. No one steal this idea.

4. A bunch of penguins walking with an Eminem song playing in the background – I want this to be a thing.

4.5 IT’S A THING! Thank you, YouTube.

5. I always thought Bob Barker was telling us to get our pets “paid and tutored” instead of “spayed and neutered”. I just thought he wanted them to be successful, like Lassie.

6. I don’t eat chicken wings with my hands anymore. I pick them up with a fork and shove the whole thing in my mouth and let my teeth take the chicken off the bones. It’s barbarically effective.

6.5 And magically delicious.

7. If you needed a groundhog to tell you that it would be an early spring, then I’d suggest you were the one who was living under a rock.

8. Really big fans of Beyonce pronounce her name with more emphasis. Ever notice that? “Be-yAWn-SAY”.

9. Five golden rings. Four wheel drive. Three blind mice. Two turtle doves. And a cartridge in a pear tree.

10. Did any Americans actually move to Canada, or did they realize that complaining for four years would be easier and cheaper?

11. I want to be like my grandfather when I’m an old man. Mainly because when he answers the phone, he doesn’t say anything. He waits for the caller to start talking.

12. The “Cash me outside” girl was first on Dr. Phil in September. I saw the episode. Why did it take the rest of the world so long to catch on?

13. Is “Ear Hear” the equivalent to “I Spy”?

13.5 Ear hear with my little ear, something that is…

14. “Nasal congestion” are two of the most nasally congested sounding words you can put in a commercial about nasal congestion.

15. Windshield wipers on eyeglasses. It’s time. Do it.

16. I try not to think about how many things have crawled on my toothbrush when I’m not around.

17. I forgot how much I loved Quebec City. It’s probably my favourite city.

18. I feel like there are going to be people who complain about Trump every day for the next four years. I wish I had that kind of stamina when it comes to absolutely anything else.

19. Are kids going to find it weird when they eventually find out that their parents have been posting pictures of them online ever since they were born?

20. Just thinking about peanut butter with chocolate makes my mouth claustrophobic.

21. I don’t know who created the soap dispenser, but they don’t get enough credit.

22. How did the phrase, “Wigging out” get its roots?

22.5 Aahahahahaha get it?

23. When I tell a person who likes spicy food that I don’t like spicy food, it turns into a game of, “What about (insert another spicy food)? It’s not that spicy.” I hate that.

24. I don’t mind washing dishes, glasses, pots, or pans. Utensils are the worst, though.

25. Wasting words on lower cases and capitals.

26. Maybe it’s because I’m older, but the Nintendo Switch doesn’t interest me at all.

27. There has to be an easier way to pour balsamic vinegar, without it leaking down the bottle.

28. Instead of movie sequels, there should be movie alternatives. For example, you get the same Mrs. Doubtfire movie, but the plot unravels from the mother’s perspective, instead of the father’s.

29. Picture idea for Instagram: Eat a Subway sub on the subway and caption it, “Subway, eat fresh.” You’re welcome.

29.5 You could also put an ironic twist on it by asking a stranger to pretend to sneeze on your sub.

29.75 These are the things I think about.

30. Removing the seal from a new bottle of Tylenol is about as hard as breaking out of jail.

31. I can watch the TV in the house across the street from the comfort of my bedroom. I wish they didn’t watch so many children’s cartoons, though.

31.5 Hey! It’s not my fault their TV is in their front window.

32. Riverdale is a good show. Go watch it.

33. Can people born in 1996 really call themselves a 90s kid? Their first memory probably wasn’t until 2000.

34. When I got a Mac and my friends saw it for the first time, they said, “You have a Mac? You don’t seem like a Mac person.” I still have no clue what that means.

34.5 One friend didn’t come up to me in the cafeteria because they saw the Mac on the table and thought I was someone else.

35. Shadow tag was fun for about 53 seconds.

36. It would be cool if our bodies tracked stats. Like how many hours we’ve been asleep since birth. Or how many pizza slices we’ve eaten in our life.

37. Yourka.

38. People love Mickey Mouse but hate mice. Hypocrites!

39. I hated watching my classmates give Powerpoint presentations in high school. They were all awful.

40. Whenever I eat a banana, I mash it up on a plate and eat it with a fork. It tastes so much better.

40.5 Yes, it’s as if someone chewed my food for me and then I put it in my mouth, but it’s great.

41. Whenever I see two words that go together, like “Mashed Potatoes”, my mind switches the first letters just to see what it creates. Pashed Motatoes.

41.5 I do that with names, too.

42. Do aliens consider themselves to be humans and refer to us as aliens?

43. The situation is: you are a parent and your child has a water bed. When your child wets the bed in the middle of the night and tells you, “I wet the bed”…would you reply, “It was already wet”?

44. There was a time in my life when I believed my toys interacted with each other when I wasn’t around. Toy Story did that to me.

45. “Hey There, Delilah” is just okay.

46. How do clowns perfect their craft? I’m picturing rooms with full length mirrors and an endless supply of balloons.

47. Why there isn’t a bathroom store called, “YouTub”, is bed bath and beyond me.

48. I’d like to experience a week where the Internet doesn’t work anywhere in the world.

49. All I know about Titanic is that the boat sinks and there’s a Celine Dion song in there somewhere. Fight me.

50. Here, in the dark, I cherish the moonlight. I’m in love with the way you’re in love with the night. And travels from heart, to limb, to pen.

Posted in 50 Thoughts | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | 41 Comments


It’s been ten days since I last wrote something, which is about fifty days in blog time. So forgive me if this post goes all over the place. I don’t know what the next sentence is going to be until I write it. To be honest with you, I’ve been fidgeting with the wire of my earbuds for the last minute and forty-three seconds because it keeps getting in the way of my right arm, wrist, and hand. Scratch that, I meant left arm, wrist, and hand.

We’re off the rails, already.

Hi, I’m Paul. This post is going to change direction more times than you can say, “Brussels sprout, Brussels pout” in one minute. Be ready.

I needed a break from all of this. Honestly, I might still need a break, but tonight is the first time in ten days where I actually felt the urge to write something.

There are five comments in my notifications that are awaiting my approval and response. They’ve been sitting there for about a week. I’ve read them. I just haven’t been able to bring myself to reply.

I’ve barely read or liked any blog posts in the last ten days. If you got a notification from me, congratulations. It’s the equivalent to winning a golden ticket. Quick, to the chocolate factory!

I was tired of blogging. I was tired of reading posts from the same people. I was tired of being tired.

I haven’t made it a secret that I write my blog posts in the middle of the night. For some reason, that’s when the magic happens. But doing so means I go to sleep later and wake up more tired than I was when I went to sleep.

So ten days ago I made a change. I started going to sleep earlier. There was one night I went to sleep at 11pm. I haven’t been to sleep that early since high school. And it felt good. So good.

I’m not a “day writer”. I can’t muster up the heart and passion during the day for a blog post that I’ll be proud of. So that’s part of the reason I haven’t been here.

Not the only reason.

Here’s a secret. (And a change in direction, for those of you still saying “Brussels sprout, Brussels pout”).

Last year I realized the things that used to bring me joy, were getting lost in my life. Things I used to do a few years ago, or as a kid, that I don’t anymore.

So since then, I’ve been trying to go back to how my life was before it got carried away by things that aren’t important.

It’s the small things I miss. The things that don’t require a computer, phone, Wi-Fi, or any other technological nonsense.

When I was a kid, I would finish reading books in two or three days. I’d read them on the couch, in the car, on the toilet, in bed, or my favourite spot – behind my rocking chair, in the corner. It was like my own little fort. Just me and a book and not a peep.

Those were the days where there was no one to text and no one to stalk on social media. There was no one to distract me or compare myself to. Just me and a book and all the time in the world.

The rocking chair is still here. The corner is still here. But I lost it along the way.

There are days when I wake up in the morning and don’t even want to turn my phone on. But I do. Every day. Otherwise, people will worry when they don’t get a reply.

That is what the world has become.

I mean, it’s nice that I have friends and bloggers that want to talk to me on a daily basis – and I do enjoy it – but I think back to just ten years ago and how I wasn’t picking up a phone every few minutes. Do I want to be so dependent on it, or is the world forcing me to be?

It was so much simpler back then. I wasn’t scrolling through pictures, hateful tweets, or Facebook statuses with spelling errors. I wasn’t texting, or timing my responses. I was just living.

I’ve always been someone who is neither here nor there, but always somewhere. Does that even make sense? I feel like a contradiction wrapped in decisiveness – with icing sugar on top because who doesn’t like icing sugar?

Someone who can see both sides to an argument, to the point where I don’t know what my opinion actually is. Yet at the same time, you can ask me if I want tacos and you’ll get an immediate “No”.


For instance, I think I’m a person who hates change, but I also hate when things get stale. Therefore, I like change. But I hate it. See what I mean? A contradiction wrapped in decisiveness.

Icing sugar.

If you’ve been reading my blog for a while, you’ll notice how it went from a sports blog, to a blog about anything else. Poetry. Fiction. Rants. Letters. Chef Paulo.

I constantly reinvented this blog, so I didn’t get bored. That’s why I bounce around from genre to genre. I can’t stay in one lane. I can’t travel the same road. It gets boring.

Brussels sprout, Brussels pout. (This phrase is basically my divider. Like that stick you put on the conveyor belt at the checkout of a grocery store).

The bookshelf in my room has looked exactly the same since the early 2000s, with a few additions here and there. There are about 200 sports related magazines dating back to 1999.

I’m not a hoarder, you just think I am.

I’m not in denial, either, you just think I am.

Within the last ten days, I got tired of staring at it. I got tired of staring at magazines that represented the past. Everything about the bookshelf represented the past.

From the participation trophies that I hold near and dear to my heart, to the championship trophies that don’t nearly mean as much.

That last line was a joke for you millennials.

I didn’t throw out the magazines, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Again, not a hoarder.

I put them away. Out of sight. In their place, I put a bunch of sports books that I’ve read over the last three years. It’s fresh. It’s new. It’s change. It’s updated. It’s nice. It’s different. I like different.

Are you lost yet? Because I am. I have no clue what I’m saying at this point. Brussels sprout, Brussels pout.

I tell myself that this blog is something I’ll have for the rest of my life. But my fear is that one day I’ll wake up and never feel like blogging ever again. That I’ll close up shop, say goodbye to all of you, and forget this existed.

I’ll be honest, I felt that way at least a couple times within the last ten days. Where I said to myself, “If I don’t blog again, I think I’ll be okay.”

But then I remembered that I still have about eleven letters left to write (remember those?), and felt guilty. Because I like to please people. I like to make others happy, even if it’s never returned.

I guess that’s what this is about – happiness. Or maybe it’s not. I don’t know.

It feels like I’m fighting with myself sometimes. Send the text; don’t send the text. Read the book; go to sleep. Write a blog post; do anything else. Turn off the phone; put it on vibrate. Eat healthier; pizza.

It’s like my mind is fighting with uncertainty because it wants to accept both options.

The first half of my life was spent living one way, and the second half of my life has been spent living a completely different way. Ideally, I want a mix of both, but I don’t know how to accomplish that when the past keeps getting pushed further away.

This blog post is awful(ly excellent?).

At this point, I’m trying to think of something else to say that might salvage this post.

The other night I had a dream where I saw someone for the first time in years and all I did was cry, tell them I love them, and hug them. And then they gave me a dessert. They were a friend, but not really, yet I’d call them a friend. I don’t know how to explain it. I guess they were more of a reminder of a place.

And then I woke up and just felt so sad that they weren’t in my life anymore.

Did that salvage this? Probably not.

So here is an abrupt end to a strange post.

Brussels sprout, Brussels pout.

Upon editing, I think this post is actually about food. 

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