I'm not depressed... I'm "Blue"

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I always considered myself to be a pretty tough cookie. I have never been one for chick flicks and love ferns. I didn't cry but once at my wedding. I don't do "Sweetie" and "Hun" cause people have names... and unless you receive text messages from me once a week or "like" my daily instagram uploads, don't hug me. I'm big on personal space. Hugging and rubbing is for death beds and catholic priests.

I don't know if it's the baby, the hormones, the lack of sleep, or the fact that I spend my days talking to someone that never talks back to me, but I have recently found myself becoming a big softy. I cry over EVERYTHING!!! What is with these commercials during the olympics? All these athletes, and how their moms contributions got them to Olympic Gold!?!? I tear up wondering if little SJ will ever be thanking his mom, for his medals. I don't know what is sadder... the commercials or the fact that my poor son is gonna end up on the mat with gymnasts. We will be lucky if the kid breaks 5'6" on a good day.

I am also having a mental tug of war on going back to work. There is option A) Stay at home with my baby blues and hang out all day with a Teddy Bear that can't form one word, let alone a sentence. Become a professional food source, laundry folder and back yard tanner. Or... Option B) Go back to my job that I loved so much, pay a small fortune for a nanny and spend the next 6 months of my life hooked up to a breast pump. Sounds like I have bad news and bad news. I know a lot of women would die for the option to not have to work. Believe me when I say I am so great full that my husband supports this, but I'm not totally convinced that "stay at home mom" is the dream job I always wanted.

But then... I smell it... The top of his little head in the morning, when I pull him out of his crib... The giggles I get when I raspberry his sticky neck... The first moment he rolls over or finds his new voices and sounds... The way my heart breaks when he is wailing over his first tooth or his second round of shots... And the best feeling of all that never seems to get old no matter how sore my neck and my back are... The feeling of him falling asleep in my arms. The weight of his innocent little world draping over my shoulders.

Sure... I get the baby blues like everybody else. I cry sometimes cause Instagram and facebook are the closest thing I get to a social life. But my little man is the biggest life sacrifice I have ever made. I know when he is all grown up and making the world a better place, the hard times will all be worth it!

Laugh, Cry, Love, Read.

Me

Getting Old On Granville

Vancouver, British Columbia. Quite possibly the most beautiful place on earth. It is a city bustling with local business, lush green parks and mountains white capped with snow. A city full of culture, people and vibrancy. A place that I call home. And if you ever want to completely ruin your heart felt relationship with the city of Vancouver, hit Granville Street at 2am. You would think after 10 years of watching this place go down hill I would have learned my lesson. WTF.

Once in a blue moon my girlfriends and I will get together and go for an exquisite meal in Yaletown followed by a nice Pinot Gris and then usually our beds. Sometimes if we are feeling extra brainless we decide to take our dance party to the final level and hit the one... the only... The Granville Street Strip. WHY!?!?!??

It always seems like a great idea in the moment. Then once you get there and see the grinding teeth,
e-tardasians, angry east indians and super annoying drunk ass white girls with their purses in a circle on the dance floor, you find yourself wondering, why am I here? Why not just hit Celeberties where everyone is super gay and happy? You NEVER hear about angry gays or steroid monkey's on Davie Street. Gay people are far to busy celebrating life, love and rainbows.

My favorite thing about Granville Street is the douchbags and douchbagettes. Last night I had a 12 year old Snookie look alike, kick me and one of my best friends off her "reserved empty bench". Her and her other Jersey Shore cast member wanted to sit their fat asses down and needed a little more room to do so. After we politely left, they storm after us proceeding to ask what we thought was so funny. I realize in this moment they are trying to fight us and can not STOP laughing. I am 30 years old, I am standing in a bar across from two drunk, raging 19 year old girls that want to fight me for a bench?!?!? Of course I'm laughing you tool... that is some funny shit.

Only on Granville Street would you see not one but TWO couples in a bar within 5 feet of each other getting it on with such intent, the bouncer has to ask them to take their porno outside. Only on Granville street would you see 50-100 juice heads in tight white t-shirts that look as though they would be better suited on a 12 year old boy. Only on Granville Street would you wait 45 minutes in the line at Pita Pit while 18 different stumbling fools ask you to bumb a smoke (you can afford a drink at crappy Caprice, but you can't afford a pack of smokes dick wad?)

I spent what I believe to be my last night on Granville Street this weekend. The new block aids make me feel a little like a lovely house cat caged in with a bunch of wild animals.

Ppphhhfff I of course was always the civilized 19 year old that never picked fights, smoked or ate pita pit....

Laugh, Cry, Love, Read.

Me