Riiiiiiiight…hey there…you. *good-natured shoulder punch*
Starting this blog post feels a lot like running into someone at the grocery store who texted or emailed or left you a voicemail, like, eighteen months ago:
You meant to get back to her but you didn’t. And then, when you thought of it, it made you so ill that you were such a negligent dick of a friend that you blocked it from your conscious mind until you randomly thought of it again some time later still and, for shame, you didn’t dare write/call back (surely her number has changed).
And then there she is. In the cereal aisle. Checking how many grams of sugar are in Kashi GoLean Crunch (only to be gravely disappointed). And she sees you.
First you yell “hiiiiiiiiiii” in her face, each decibel of volume somehow compensating for every minute you allowed to pass without returning her call. And because you’re acoustically and physically aggressive in awkward social situations, you throw yourself at her in some weirdly-angled embrace where you accidentally graze a boob. And then, drenched in back sweat and allowing not one God-forsaken moment of silence to enter the airspace between you, you say (yell at her while, for some socially-panicked reason, trying to pull her sleeping baby out of its stroller) something like this blog post…
I can’t remember what I even said or was doing when last we spoke (and by “we spoke” yes, I mean I sat alone in fat pants whilst my laptop seared my mommy organs). But since that time, I moved my wee family across this great nation to the Rock. I climbed back onstage for the first time in FOUR years, taking on a role where I got to projectile puke on an unsuspecting dude (which everyone knows is #18 on my bucket list).
[Not that my budding acting career has taken even a hint of a nosedive. Nay. It’s on the upswing. I don’t mean to brag but… I got some serious film and television cred while on the mainland. You may remember me from a little biopic called “Film Yet Untitled” produced by “I’m Pretty Sure a Church Group”. As you know, it’s about the life of an Olympic gold-medal winning swimmer. I played “Mom in Childhood Scene” having a heated, silent argument with her husband while the protagonist narrates. I mean, it’s no big deal; don’t, like, look at me differently. It’s still me. I promised myself I wouldn’t let my film career change me, so… See you in the Actors Studio, as they say. *pretentious guffaw*.
Oh and then there was that lead role I had. A commercial for a furniture company. Well, not so much a “commercial” as an “employee training video” but still. Wow. Met some big names that day. Mostly the store owner – his surname was super long, I have no idea how you would pronounce it. Nice guy.
[Ok ok I’ll stop, no one likes a braggart. And because that’s all I’ve done.]
I also made life way harder for myself by giving up eating anything that was once alive and probably adorable. This was not a planned decision. It was forced upon me by my sister’s Facebook suggestion to dad to watch Hungry for Change. It spiraled from there because Netflix is so GD helpful in its suggestions.
You watched Hungry for Change? You might also like Fat, Sick and Nearly Dead. You watched Fat, Sick and Nearly Dead? You might also like Fat, Sick and Nearly Dead II. You watched Fat, Sick and Nearly Dead II? You might also like Vegucated. You watched Vegucated? You might also like Forks over Knives. You watched Forks over Knives? Don’t you work?
[Sometimes Netflix gets judgey.]
Anyway, I watched it all. And since I am so “pliable” (read: prone to allowing others to make my decisions for me), I decided to go as “plant- based” with my face-stuffings as possible. I never intended to even use the word “vegan” as I try to avoid labels – I believe they limit us (prevent us from occasionally eating a large cheese pizza when we’re wine drunk without feeling like we’ve fallen off some wagon).
But it evolved somewhat organically (sort of like my groceries at the time – ZING!… I’m so sorry.), particularly at restaurants. Because people get “vegan”. They get that it means, “no meat, dairy, eggs”. But “plant-based”? If I were a waitress (prior to my Netflix crusade), and someone inquired about which menu items were “plant-based” I’d likely quit my job.
I will at times eat wild-caught fish. If there are eggs or dairy hidden in some baked good? Just don’t tell me about it. I do believe in the importance of eating “plant-based”. But I still have to live. In Newfoundland. With a mother who truly believes that, in a state of severe nutrient deprivation, all my teeth are going to fall out.
What else happened while I was neglecting our relationship?
*My wee offspring is now almost three years old (three years old!!!). He is awesome and hilarious.
*This conversation with my (then) two-year old:
Me: M, what’s your teddy bear’s name?
Jeremy: —HIS NAME IS EVAN!?!
* 2015/16 New Year’s Resolution: Total boycott of the term “guilty pleasure”. 2016 is going to be all about unapologetic pleasures. That said, here it is: I f’ing love Mistletoe by J. Biebs. It makes be feel warm and jolly.
*I discovered that few things give me as much profound blackout rage as water running up my sleeve when I’m washing my face.
* Yep, that about sums it up.
Anyway, I am sorry it’s been so long. So many times I said, “I’m going to blog now”. But despite popular opinion (by some of my aunts), I can’t be clever or witty on command. I can’t even think half-intelligent thoughts on command.
[Just now, in an attempt to get to heatheronarock.com to write this, I opened Google Chrome and typed, “thunderbay”. Just like that. All one word, all lowercase letters. I don’t know why but I feel this might mean I have some internal bleeding, somewhere.].
So 2016 will be all about writing. Even if it is non-clever, non-witty, non-coherent. Even if I just want to eat and binge watch Netflix at the end of the day. I’m just gonna dust off this ol’ laptop and plop my weary brain farts onto the screen.
I’ve missed you.
Happy new year, mom.