Monday, February 23, 2009


It's been a while since I've posted here; Google Reader has made it painfully clear how long I've been away. I was in Ontario, celebrating love with my Valentine and having a family meal on Family Day, the first family meal since Christmas break 2007. It was wonderful.

I'm picking up where I left off, with a Monday Memory that flooded back when I opened my Valentine's present.

Don't get me wrong, sparkly things distract me to no end. I used to run into walls because of my sparkly, sequined purple flats. But the thing inside the box that brought the biggest smile to my face on Valentine's Day was not the beautiful, sparkly, heart-shaped, pink and white sapphire necklace The Boy picked out (seriously, he has become a master at jewelry giving), but it was the circular object accompanying that necklace.

It was a pink, sparkly jelly bracelet.

Shortly after The Boy and I started dating, we went to the arcade in West Edmonton Mall. We played silly games for quite some time before cashing in our tokens on some prizes. Mine was a pink, sparkly jelly bracelet, which adorned my wrist for months before it finally broke and fell off.

The fact that The Boy remembered this when it had nearly slipped from my mind completely, and went back to the arcade to play games some afternoon so he could replace my cheap, albeit beloved, bracelet warmed my wee heart. Though I may not wear it every single day non-stop, it serves as a precious reminder of the beginning of our relationship and how far we've come. I love it. And I'm wearing it now.


Friday, February 13, 2009

It goes on and on and on and on

It feels like I’m constantly telling you how much I love you, so much so the words are lacking. It seems you’ve heard it all before and there simply is nothing I can say that will demonstrate that this is truly a monumental amount of love.

I love you more than you love metal. I love that you have expanded my musical horizons. Even though I don’t love all the roar-roar-roar that you accept, I have an appreciation for metal now. I love that when we started dating you were afraid your darker, complex musical tastes would scare me off. I have become interested in the culture and influence of metal in society, by watching documentaries with you. Also, the mix CDs you’ve made me throughout our relationship make me melt inside. New music that suits my taste shows how much time and consideration you put into selecting songs I’d like. Metal, and the music you’ve picked out for me, is calming. Just as you have “Boy” time with your music player and a long walk, listening to the tunes you’ve prescribed eases my stress level and makes the world okay. This is exactly how it feels when I get to see you after a long, hard day of dealing with annoying people, bureaucratic bullshit and my own special blend of personal problems.

On that note, I love you more than Steve Perry. If I ever see Journey in concert, even though the famed ex-lead singer and his perfect hair are gone, I would quite possibly die from excess glee. Don’t Stop Believin’ quickly became our own messed up love song, magically pouring out of speakers anywhere we’d happen to be. When we’re out and my ears detect the all-too-familiar tune, all of the feeling in my body rushes to my heart and I can’t help but look at you through the eyes of a giddy schoolgirl. Though I may be envious that his hair is nicer than mine, you are my only leading man.

I love you more than Fable II. You tease me that I’ve become a video game nerd, and boy, you know it’s true. I used to feel so sheltered since we were never allowed any sort of video game growing up (save for when the babysitter brought over her Gameboy and Tetris). I would politely decline playing old school Nintendo in University, because I didn’t have the mad skills everyone else developed so young. I love that you taught me something new. That you were so patient, teaching me RockBand, one of the pillars of our relationship. I can play that sucker on hard, or even expert, but being with you is always easy.

I love you more than road trips and vacation combined. My feet on the dashboard or the rush of take off used to mean freedom. The trip back home after a jaunt to Ottawa or a quick stop in Calgary would cause me to seriously reflect on past or current relationships, analyzing why they weren’t what I needed, or what went wrong. I don’t know what it is about returning to real life, but without fail, the sound of the engines lull me to sleep and take me to the land of lost loves. Maybe the return provides me with enough distance for objectivity. Flying back after our last delay in Vegas, as the engines finally did their thing, all I could think about was how you are The Boy for me. I look forward to exploring many new destinations with you. Even when it has seemed like the planets were aligned to diminish my sanity, every moment with you was truly vacation.

I love you more than breakfast. I didn’t even used to eat breakfast. I couldn’t be bothered. For years, my Dad would wake me from my slumber by asking how I wanted my eggs, a vile food that I never liked. Making omelets, scrambled eggs or pancakes with you on weekends has become one of my most favourite moments. It’s always delicious, even more so because, by that time of day, you’ve already satisfied my caffeine addition. Even when crappy frying pans prevent your omelets from turning out just right, the time I get to spend with you in the kitchen is perfection.

I love you more than board games, card games, or any kind of games. Heck, I love you even more than winning. You’ve made me pretty good at Bocce. Settlers of Catan makes my heart race, even though you are too ridiculously good. I embrace my inner elderly person by playing hours upon hours of Cribbage with you, and have forced your family many times to quench my insatiable appetite for games, games, games. I love that you put up with me, and play word games like Scrabble or Quiddler, even though I should theoretically win every time. The happiness that I feel when playing games with family, or friends, or with only you, is unsurpassed by the happiness you bring to my life. And you know how obsessed I am.

I love you more than debate. Everyone knows that I am the opposite of confrontational, but that I can rant and rave with the best of them. I love that we get into intoxicated debates about the state of the economy, politics, and the environment. I love that we vote for different political parties and don’t hate each other for it. I love that even when we do fight, we acknowledge it’s because we care so much. I love that you encourage me to talk things out when I’d rather keep my feelings inside. All of the madness that could build and build until I become an angry, nasty person is mitigated because of you. I love that you are rational and keep me that way when my emotional nature threatens to bubble and explode. Healthy relationships aren’t relationships that are always happy, they’re ones where you can compromise and agree to disagree on everything else. Though we can debate about anything from politics to paint chips, it’s always done in a respectful manner without the low blows.

This is a love unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. I handed my entire heart and soul to you, and have remained one distinct person. I miss you when you’re gone for even a day, but I can live independently from you. Recently, while walking around the city, caught in silent reflection of what I’ve achieved over the past couple of years since I’ve been in Edmonton, I realized that I’m happier than I’ve ever been in my life. It helps that I have incredible friends, a great family and a job that I love, but it wouldn’t be the same without you. You encourage me to get involved with causes I’m passionate about, even when it means not being able to spend as much time together. You let me vent my frustrations, while easing my stress rather than spurring my anger. I love everything you are, even though everything you are is different from me. Just when I don’t think it’s possible to love you any more than I already do, I realize that my heart has grown two sizes that day.

Long story short, I love you a lot. Just so you know. Happy Valentine’s Day.

In addition to being added to The Boy's Valentine's Day card, this post is my entry for February's 20-Something Bloggers' Blog Carnival.

Monday, February 9, 2009

Monday Memories: "there she was just walkin' down the street"

Shocker: I hate doing dishes. I always have. This menial task was always a source of contention in the Bee household with Momma explaining that we didn't need a dishwasher because she had three of them: one to wash, one to dry, and one to clean off the table and put the dishes away.

As soon as a meal was finished, the competition would begin. No one liked to dry. Clearing the table and putting dishes away was the easiest of the tasks, so it was the most highly coveted. Kiki, the world's slowest eater, often seemed like she was merely taking her sweet time to get put on the latter task by default. Those who had to skip out of the house early for soccer practice would rejoice in the fact that they had been saved.

There was one thing that could save us from killing each other during dish time -- Mom's old Solid Gold cassettes. It wasn't possible to be bitter when you were busy shaking your hips and singing "Lollypop" or "Do Wah Diddy Diddy". Singing along to those tapes made us seem like friendly siblings between the brush-throwing and hair-pulling. It provided a glimpse of what life would be like when we all surpassed the "bitchy teenage girl" stage and moved away from home. It's not saying that we're perfect all of the time now, but the way that we get along is much more as it was when we were dancing together to those old hits than it was when we were hurling random objects and mean comments at each other.

So, little one, if you want to maybe do your big sister a favour and make her a copy of those old tunes that you've scrounged up... she'd make sure you were rewarded appropriately. Hint, hint.

Thursday, February 5, 2009

An unexpected love letter

Dear Roomie's Boyfriend,

I don't know if you know this, but you are pretty great. My girl has been through a lot of crappy men in her lifetime, and it pleases me to no end that you are not another one of Them. You listen to what she has to say, you get her, and most importantly, you give her a break from feeling like she needs to fix people all of the time. You make sure she makes time for herself.

I know many of Roomie's friends haven't been super supportive, or confident, in this relationship. Age difference has that effect on people. The thing with our girl though is, while she can be immature at times, she is grown up beyond her years. Antoine de Saint-Exupery said that love does not consist of gazing at each other, but in looking together in the same direction. I feel like, for the first time in as long as I've known her, she finally has that. Actually, I don't just feel it, I know it.

Roomie is pretty outgoing, she's known for being sexually adventurous and open, she's honest about everything and keeps nothing hidden. I've heard more than I ever wanted to know about her boyfriends' man parts. But you know what? I haven't heard about yours. Don't think that I want to hear about yours (gross!), but I think that this is pretty significant. Instead of bragging about the size of your meat, or complaining because the lack thereof, she talks about how amazing it is to kiss you. Previously, she had mentioned that she didn't understand the big deal about kissing, that its place is as the precursor to the main event. But with you, it's all she talks about. How sweet you are, how she gets butterflies when your lips touch and how being with you is unlike anything she's ever felt.

Our girl tends to lose herself in relationships. She feels the need to censor herself, or devote all of her time and attention to the new guy, or hide some awesome part of her that he's not keen on. The best thing I could ever say about your relationship is that this doesn't happen. She's still the old roomie, her completely lovely self. I love that you want to meet her friends, and that you invited the Boy and I along to the comedy club last week. I love that you're coming to our not-really-fancy-but-kinda-pretend-fancy wine and cheese party this weekend, meeting lots of people who you've never met before. You realize that Roomie's friends are important to her, and you encourage her to keep those relationships alive. Even better, you want to get to know the people she talks about.

I just wanted to let you know that I really hope you are The One for her. She's found a good thing in you, and you've definitely found something wonderful in her.

...And if you ever break her heart, I will cut you.

xoxo, Elle

Tuesday, February 3, 2009

First day of school

I believe in pink, I believe that laughing is the best calorie burner. I believe in kissing, kissing a lot. I believe in being strong when everything seems to be going wrong. I believe that happy girls are the prettiest girls. I believe that tomorrow is another day and I believe in miracles.
Audrey Hepburn

I'm jittery, and it's not just the three cups of coffee I've drank today. My prettiest notebook has been carefully packed alongside my camera for my first night of school. It's like this for every new course, every new beginning. Butterflies in my stomach and a yearning to soak up as much knowledge as possible. I read my manual at lunch and can't wait to skip out the doors when the day is done. Sure, I haven't slept much and my body aches from the abuse it took at soccer last night. No subs is bad news, as are rough players on the other team. But for once in the past couple days, I'm not craving dreamworlds and my warm, cozy, albeit broken, bed.

Also of note, my first kiss was showcased on the 20-Something Bloggers' blog for the January Blog Carnival. You should read the other entries here, they are awesome and will have you aching for summer lovin', which happens so fast.

Monday, February 2, 2009


This week's Monday Memories is not a cop out, I swear. I've been busy at work, and at life, but the following is something I've been meaning to post for a long time. It was one of the first poems that really spoke to me, I'm pretty sure it had some influence over both my writing and the kind of life I wanted to lead.

This poem is one of those things that serves to ground me when I get stressed out. It's relaxing to recite the words over in my head, calming my nerves. It sends me back to the primary grades, where it was initially taught, and then forward to fifth grade when we were forced to memorize and recite poetry. It's always been a favourite, so today, dear readers, I'm sharing it with you... in hopes that you'll share your favourites back.


If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on";

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!

Rudyard Kipling

Also, check out the video I posted over at A co-worker emailed it to me this morning and it just amazed me.