Me – 1, Valentine’s Day – 0

I’d been inexplicably dreading Valentine’s Day. Which is strange, because I’ve never been a dozen roses/box of chocolates/grand sweeping romantic gestures kind of gal.

Way to my heart? A bottle of Bombay Sapphire gin and a large pizza (none of that heart-shaped pizza crap, just load on the cheese and bacon!). I’m a classy woman of simple tastes.

So why was I dreading Valentine’s Day? I assumed if there was any day where I would fall apart, this would be it. That I would somehow feel like I was missing out on some cheesy element of this over-commercialized, fabricated holiday I had never understood or desired before.

Saturday morning: I woke up lazily; the sunshine streaming through my windows.; my main bitch sleeping beside me:


“Hmmm, this isn’t so bad,” I thought to myself. I’m actually feeling pretty content.

Things only went up from there.

In lieu of having a significant other to fill my belly with delicious treats, I decided to spoil myself with a lavish full-body massage. Who needs a man when you have an excellent benefits plan that covers massages? Am I right?

It was absolutely incredible. This misleadingly tiny Filipino woman melted the tension right out of my aching body with hands of magic and steel. It felt amazing; it felt cathartic.

With my limbs feeling like glorious jelly, I proceeded to indulge in: good ol’ retail therapy, a facial, getting my nails done, drinking copious amounts of wine (what else is new?), chatting with all my besties, Skype call with my adorable goddaughter, ordering my own goddamn pizza and spending the night watching my favourite rom-coms without the grumblings of a certain nameless asshole.

I’m moving on up, people. That being said, if I ever did celebrate Valentine’s Day, I hope my future beau (coughEdSheerancough) would know me well enough to craft me this gem of a Valentine:


Current Status: making slight progress with Christmas tree (Miss J this is for you) / nursing a carb comatose / grateful for all the love in my life


Must I forgive? Can’t I just forget?

During one particularly aggressive pinning spree of Chris Evans’ biceps on my favourite social media time suck, I stumbled across the following quote:

“Holding on to anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets burned.”
– Buddha

Alright, Buddha. I see where you’re going with this. In theory, I comprehend this neatly-packaged concept. I really do. But I’m still at the basic-bitch stage of gleaning immense pleasure out of wishing a slew of incurable STDs upon Mr. B.

I decided to ambush some unsuspecting friends and family with a barrage of personal questions:

How long did it take them to forgive their worst ex? When did they reach their turning point when they were no long overcome with rage every time the smug bastard’s face popped up on their Facebook feed?

As it turns out, many seemingly well-adjusted survey respondents still hate this ghost from their past with a slow burning rage. Yes, some of them are an exception to this rule (or are alarmingly convincing liars) and have figured out how to gracefully rise above. Yet, a majority of my impromptu sample group have at least one particularly memorable ex that they would still punch in the face, given the opportune scenario to do so.

So, my wise and all-knowing internet therapists, I leave you with this:

Is forgiving my douchebag ex-boyfriend instrumental to the healing process? Or is forgetting enough for now?

Current Status: listening to my ginger prince Ed Sheeran / unapologetically digging Iggy Azalea’s Grammy hair / eyeing my Christmas tree with disdain

“Why Men Love Bitches” and other thoughts.



As per 2015 Bucket List Item #13 “Read a new book every two weeks from the library,”
I’ve been spending many a night bookworming it up in the comfort of my hermit cave.

Sherry Argov’s Why Men Love Bitches is not technically a new read; it’s been strategically hidden behind a stack of 18th-century novels, away from the scrutinizing eyes of guests perusing my bookshelves and evaluating my literary prowess. (Side note: Mr. B was a total book snob. One more tick in the douchebag column!)

The title is obviously kitchy; which is why I refused to read it for such a long time. To my surprise, I ripped through it in two hours (I am a reading ninja, it’s actually my superpower), and found myself taking notes as I nodded along to many of the simple but poignant principles Argov puts forward in this tongue-in-cheek “relationship self-help” book. She redefines the term “bitch” throughout the book as a woman who simply knows what she wants – Babe In Total Control of Herself. (Okay, this made me groan a bit, but stay with me!)

Disclaimer: I didn’t agree with every concept in this book; I chose to glean the concepts I could apply to my own life and recent situation. I particularly disliked Chapter #4, dedicated to the art of being a “dumb fox,” which made me want to burn my bra in protest.

Here are some “aha” moments I did take away from the book, and will apply moving forward:

1. A bitch does not stop moving to her own rhythm! If you allow your rhythm to be interrupted, you’ll create a void. Then, to replace what you give up, you’ll start to expect and need more from your partner.

2. When you love life with him or without him, that is when he will accept you and value you for who you are. A bitch prioritizes herself over “melting” into someone else.

3. A bitch is not governed by fear of losing a man, because she knows the real price to pay is when she loses herself.

4. The relationship may not be right for you if you find yourself jumping through hoops. When something is right, it will feel easier and much more effortless.

5. Never stop living your life. Take a class. Develop a hobby. Meet people. You are only as interesting as the depths of your own interests.

6. Stop telling yourself, “He is the one. He is different!” every time you meet someone new. Instead, you have to think, “I’m willing to learn more. I’m enjoying myself, but if it doesn’t work, there are other ducks in the pond.”

7. Be an independent thinker at all times, and ignore anyone who attempts to define you in a limiting way. 

Simple concepts? Yes. Of course.

Did I follow them with Mr. B? Absolutely not. I lost my sense of self; I lost my dignity.

Would following these concepts to a tee have changed the outcome of my sad sob story? Probably not. I was unfortunate enough to date an emotionally-immature and manipulative asshole. But if I hadn’t promised my life away and put all my eggs in the “boyfriend basket,” I may have better dealt with the demise of our relationship.

C’est la vie, people. You live, you learn.

Current Status: realizing Mindy Kaling is my spirit animal / eating dinner out of a can / debating finally taking my Christmas tree down