BAM!

Sooo this is my blog going on temporary hiatus/into NaNoWriMo mode. It could be so temporary I'll update tomorrow, or you might not hear from me until December!

(Unless it's short winded or novel related.)
I'll of course still be the twitter addict that I am, so you can keep your tabs on me there! (@wileyriles, for the unschooled.)

Cheers, kids!

Welcome to NaNoMoVember!

NOTE: I wanted to put pictures in here BUT my photoshop is being a ween, so just text for now. Some of you will have seen the photos on my facebook. Others (I have FOUR followers now, WHAT? Welcome new kids!) Will just have to wait until my computer stops being sad.

Anyhoodle,

Welcome to November. The month where men grow mustaches and intrepid novelists everywhere tackle their 50K novel dreams in 30 days. (This novelist is at 5022 12,100 words.) The month where Starbucks (and every other retailer on the PLANET) starts up their annual Christmas machine. Which means my annual Christmas machine is in repair in the shop, waiting to start up. But soon, SOON it'll be all jingle balls and such. I'm already trying to build up my list of gift ideas, and I've had my share of making Holiday drinks today too!

BUT for NOW. We're going to talk about Halloween...because I did a bucket ton of Halloweening this year. I carved pumpkins with Jill I roasted the seeds and ate them. (BY THE HANDFUL.)

I dressed as Freddie Mercury and rocked out in my favourite gay bar with some of my best friends in the whole world in Toronto. (Where I got groped, macked on, and watched a couple of smurfs make out with each other. Faaaaabulous.)

Then on actual Halloween I dressed up as Eddie from Rocky Horror, and Bek and I went to see the screening of The Rocky Horror Picture Show at our local cinema. (It was HILARIOUS. I really think you should go... and if you've never been to one, prepare to get wet, have rice in your hair, toilet paper, toast and playing cards thrown at you...and maybe watch the movie ONCE before you go... Everyone is too busy yelling and sassing the screen so you can't really hear the dialogue.)

Then, AFTER the screening, I came home and stayed up until almost 4 in the morning, writing the first 500 words of my novel and covering myself in gel food colouring to take Tyler Durden/Fight Club inspired pictures, just for fun. (Note: It stains. Just ask the right hand side of my face.)

JUST FOR FUN. As a kid I was pumped about the candy. When I was a teen I didn't really care. Now as a...whatever-category-you-wanna-put-me-in it's a time to get my groove on, get messy with pumpkin guts and to have an excuse to get creative with costumes. (Which you normally can't do without going to conventions...and even then it's a little embarrassing... Sorry cosplay geeks! I really like you, I just don't UNDERSTAND you.) I've always enjoyed theatre and acting (even though I'm BAD at it) and so Halloween is like...at least getting into costume. Half of becoming a character. Which is always fun when you spend most of your life being YOU. (Yeah, I don't mind being me most of the time but I think it's fun to be a shooting star or a hero or maybe a soap making anarchist too.)

I HAD planned on making this post longer but Halloween was a billion years ago and I should probably be writing Christmas posts if the economy has their say in this.

I'm a Halloweenie

Dear 6 people who read my blog, I promise I have lots of updates coming soon.

LOTS OF THEM.

The First Break-Up

I know, in fact, I've written posts about how bad I am at letting things go. About how I carry a lot of anger and pain around with me, only to have it brought up by random memory prompts and reminders in every day life. One of the best ways I'm able to HELP myself get over stuff is by writing about it. I've never been amazing with words or expressing how I feel out loud. A pen or a keyboard gives me a voice I don't have the strength or skill to put out there otherwise. Maybe that's why I'm interested in poetry slams and readings. They give words the power out loud, the kind I've always idolized.

SO I am going to warn you here: THIS POST (while not containing the word dildo other than the prior use of the word) IS FRAUGHT WITH 20-SOMETHING ANGST. It's all about the break-up with the guy I was seeing-kindof-seeing-was-basically-seeing. Maybe it's passive aggressive or stupid to put this here, but the thoughts have been tumbling over and over in my brainspace and getting them out might save me some grief or some psychotherapy sessions later so...without further ado:

WELCOME TO YOUR FIRST BREAK UP.

Nobody gave me the warning not to include good music in your first relationship. No one said to me that the next time David Bowie filled the negative space in my car with his wavering, sonic spaceman vocals, that I wouldn't think about Major Tom. I'd be thinking about you and I, driving down the street late night, marveling of the sound on the cassette... the one we bought in that awesome music store you showed me. That was the day we played pianos and sat in the sun and held hands and watched people dance in the park. Nobody told me I might have to think about breaking up with Mr. Bowie if it meant wincing every time I heard Golden Years. Or Tom Waits. Billie Joel. The Black Keys. Nobody warned me about that part.

I certainly wasn't ready for the lies you told me. I'm sure they weren't lies at the time, and I'll give you that. But clearly now it's easy to see I wasn't the only one, or the dream girl, or even your friend for life. People change, I get that....but I still wonder if you stopped returning my texts of your own volition, or if it was her call? You explained to her who I was, what we had, where I stood, in the background and... Here we are, incommunicado. Maybe it's pathetic, maybe I can't stand the idea that you just gave up on me of your own free will...because for me I don't think it will ever be that easy.

I mean, here I am, writing this blog to you to try and make space in my head for someone else. Him, who keeps my hands warm in the icy rain and him who is just tall enough my head tucks right into where his neck meets his shoulder.
I'm trying really hard to be mad at you, but I can't. I thought I was angry, the other day, but it was just a hit of adrenaline combined with a really good song and speeding in my car. I know the truth is that one of us would have cut the other off eventually. You just found her first...and I'm not sure I could have had the guts to do that to you. But thank you, for being my first break up. For pulling the trigger. For being gentle and giving me forewarning. For texting me instead of waiting until I drove to see you, so you didn't have to watch my expression crumple like a discarded love note when you broke the news. Most people think it's a shitty way to do things. I think it was a mercy.

So if you want to be friends, yeah I'm here.

I think what's hard is that this whole break up thing has brought some ugly pieces of me from the woodwork. The pieces that are TRYING to be angry with you . The pieces that want to make you jealous, any time I have to stare at a thumbnail of your new profile picture on Facebook where she's all curled up in your arms. (Maybe that's called having a uterus and some estrogen. I have no idea.) The fact that I can't seem to get. you. out. of. my.head when I'm so far from any thought of yours that I might be a stranger. If we passed on the street I'd look over my shoulder to watch you walk away, all while turning a bright, red crimson. The kind that used to neon my cheeks when you told me I was beautiful.

Ugly pieces like wanting to give up. Wanting to find someone, anyone, in an attempt at revenge. Yeah, juvenile, but I'm 21 years old, I was... a little enamoured with you. If we had been closer I would have wanted to see you every day. This was a heartbreak of geography. Of convenience. And when you're me, and love conquers all is suddenly love's about to fall to a different, easy option, you have to check yourself. Realize the reality. Come back from those midnight car make outs, those walks in the park, those breakfasts, the playful talk about the kids back home... And realize everything happens for a reason. People come into our lives in different roles and maybe the roles change and we outgrow them, or they outgrow us or we're cast in different parts. Obviously, it's going to take awhile for me to accept that.

So forgive me for being petty and airing some dirty laundry.
I'm going to listen to that Bowie tape and forget the connotation and the implication and even the little bit of devastation. I'm moving on and moving up.

All the best,
Me

Montreal Calling

I haven't done much today-- I feel less and less like running outside as the weather gets colder. My goal is to work out three times a week, so by all means today has not been a failure, with plenty of time left to fit those days in. I spent all day doing some laundry, tidying the kitchen, looking at admission requirements for university.

I don't know if I've 'issued a formal statement' on the subject yet, but I'm looking into going to school in September for Professional Writing! People with a BA in the area can go into fields such as editing, publishing, journalism, technical writing, etc. etc. etc. If I do some sociology courses on the side, as well as volunteer, I feel like I'll be more than ready to find a job working in the media department of a non-profit organization, which is really a dream career for me. Writing to help people. It's perfect!

There are a lot of different things to consider like transcripts and credits and portfolios to be looked into. It's all pretty overwhelming, right from the get-go. I pretty sure I've picked out three schools: Concordia, York and the University of Toronto.

If I'm being honest, my heart is set on Concordia. I'm saying it here. It's in the middle of a city I love, where I've planned in my dreams of moving. I'd be French and English speaking. The students at Concordia are interested in activism. The program itself is English and Creative Writing with a Minor in professional writing. There are so many amazing words in this paragraph alone, my heart is exploding as I type it. Yeah, it's scary, but also amazing!

As far as I can tell, of the 3 schools, the only one that requires a portfolio of work is Concordia. 15 pages of writing to decide whether or not I get my dream.
I know Montreal would be waiting for me after I graduated from one of the other schools, but...It's not the same. I think I might be crushed if I don't get in. I don't want to give something uncertain that much power, but I need to get there. It's like my heart is yelling and somewhere out in the chaos of the universe, going to this school is the answer to the trouble in my soul. The kind of trouble that set me back on my psychologists' couch a few weeks ago. Dramatic, I know!

Waxing Poetic

I have to announce, this is the 100th post written here. That's kind of a big deal, let's face it. 100 anything is a reason to celebrate, unless it's something like car accidents or something equally unpleasant. SO I have a little something special (but not really) because I'm feeling inspired.

I'm not REALLY a poet, but I scribble poetry at work and I have scraps of paper littered with words that wouldn't make sense to any eyes but my own. I dabble in wordplay, I get hooked and caught on phrases. I become obsessed with describing love without actually using the word. So I'm deciding to share one of my random little poems with you, in the spirit of a new, creative and hopefully literary awakening. (NaNoWriMo is coming up soon, and I'm hoping to get my writing mojo going before the first of November, before my word quota leaves me in the dust! More of that in a separate post!)

His smile never quite stayed put until
She picked it up and sealed it with-- a kiss,
a tell,
a tall tale is all there is,
when lovers lie
for the pounding heart and the tug of war aftermath
are naked myths,
marble statues of Aphrodite, loved but misunderstood
And their breath sang out as they quieted
Explored the mazes in their minds, in their dreams, in the sheets
And went wild with love
on crowded streets
lost in the supermarket jungle, never humbled
never sated, but always, always
always
sustained by the prospect of the other's face
in a painted, end of day polaroid

X-Rated

WARNING: If you're uncomfortable with the word dildo, I would leave this post. You WILL miss the retelling of my first Fantasia party, but then, you won't want to be reading it anyway because I use the world dil- well. You get the idea.

For those of you who don't know (AKA no one who reads this blog) yesterday was Spirit Day! I've been blowing up basically all of my social network outlets about the whole thing. I've was feeling a funny cocktail of pride and warm love combined with a deep solemn nature. It makes things a little strange in the world inside my head.

Aside from that, yesterday was also eventful in TWO big ways.

1. I GOT A HAIRCUT. I know this sounds like a ditzy ass thing to say but allow me to explain. I couldn't remember the last time I had a haircut. I want to say it's been like....five or six months at least. I don't remember.... I HONESTLY don't remember. At the beginning of August, a couple months into our 10K training, I told Jill I would get my hair done after the 10K. She looked at me and was, "Riley...that's a long time."
"You're right. I probably won't wait that long."
AND THEN I DID. It was like a playoff beard. Like a Movember 'stache. But you know what... I don't miss it!

2. I went to a sexy party. Oh sorry, sex toy party. Wait, no ...FANTASIA party. (Ding ding ding!) A lady at Rebekah's work was having one at her house, and snagged an invite. I'd never been to one before (life experience ....I at least figured it would make a good blog) and being single/living with my parents, I am here going to admit that I was like WOO PAR-TAY! ...At least until I got there.

Rebekah, myself, and her mom (who is actually way-cool) found ourselves in a basement. A nicely finished basement where you might curl up with your family and watch movie. Except this basement was filled with seated, chatting middle aged ladies, one of whom stood at the front, waiting. The table was covered with bottles of lotions and potions, and oh yeah, a BIG REALISTIC PENIS DILDO. Me + Women as old as my mom + looking at potential sexytime items = uncomfortable.

When the rep of the company of started her presentation, she asked how many people had NEVER been to one before. Myself and one other lady were the only two to raise our hands. I was about to break into a cold sweat. I thought for sure I was going to get picked on. But as the presentation went on and everybody was laughing and having a good time and tasting raspberry flavoured body powder and strawberry champagne flavoured, heat activated body oil, we all loosened up...Poor choice of words. I mean, I know that sex is a REALLY natural, human thing and it's nothing to be uncomfortable with or ashamed about. I know it's about intimacy and importance, but it's not like it is in the movies. Slow motion and well lit and romantic. Hell, sometimes it's probably even FUNNY, so why not open up and laugh at ourselves? It ended up being a good time! Everyone had a sense of humor about the whole thing and there were so many women there I was able to slide under the radar... at least until we were supposed to read out our sexy aliases, which had to invent and write on our penis shaped name tags. (I am now Clit Middleton, the Duchess of Cumbridge, in case y'all were wondering.)

When I got home, mama, my dad and my uncle were sitting on the couch. I had been dreading the moment, imagining the confrontation, but with two extra cards in the deck, my nerves were on edge. I was assuming that my mom would assume I was guilty before I was innocent. I didn't think she'd bring it up with them there. But she looked at me, straight in the face and said, "Fantaaaaasiaaaa! DID YOU BUY ANYTHING?"

God damnit, ma. My parents and my uncle, staring me down I was the QUICKEST to protest. "No mom, that would be totally weird! GUH! OHMYGOD. How can you even ASK ME THAT?"

Either way. After the party, Rebekah and I snapped pictures of our purple swag. I tried to do my best Derek Zoolander. It sort of maybe worked, but I'm not really really really really really ridiculously goodlooking...