I Do Not

Every girl dreams of this day. At some point in their lives they picture a man on their knees, with a sparkling rock asking the one question every girl deserves to be asked. Then from there on it’s a whirlwind of engagements, planning, appointments, planning, bookings, dress shopping, planning, food tasting, bachelorette party, and constant planning and planning and planning and then…..at the very end of the aisle…. marriage. Many girls dream of this day, this moment and yet here I am, saying; Fuck. This. Shit.

I’m not marriage material to put in plainly.

31109-1461-khkys-aFirstly, I am selfish. Marriage is not just a commitment but it’s me fully giving myself to something and someone else. This is not to say I’m a total cunt and deserve to be treated like a princess. I’m not and I don’t. This is also not to say I don’t want a family. I do, in fact I plan to shit out a kid in the next 8 years or so. However, I do not believe I can be completely and utterly ‘self-giving’ (at least not now in my life). Now, having said this, I will say I have been with my man now for nearly 6 years. I love him, I am in love with him, I am committed to him, BUT I also make sure to take care of myself, to give myself love (no, not talking masturbation here).

Perhaps part of my being selfish is I just want to be happy. And I don’t want to ever hold my partner in crime accountable for my happiness. I can make my happiness on my own. I can make it with my man. I can make it on acid, I can make it throwing bread wafers at alter boys. Maybe it’s not me wanting people to know, but I want to know I can create my own happiness and at times just have this happiness to myself.

This brings me to my next point. Dependence or shall I say, independence. For years and years I’ve always depended supermomon other people to help me get through life. My mom did everything for me and at times still does. She sang ‘Rock-a-bye-baby’, threw the monsters out from my closet and under my bed all through junior high. She paid my bills for a time, she enrolled me in school, she booked my doctor, dentist and eye appointments, she still picks me up from the air port, she is what all mothers should be, WONDER WOMAN.

It wasn’t until I came out here on my own and lived by myself; I began to become my own person. I taught myself, to manage my own finances. I paid my own bills, I learned to take the bus on my own, or ask strangers for directions when I was lost. I guess in some way, I fear marriage may take this independence away from me. (At least on paper it does).

Speaking of paper, I am proud of the money I bank. I’m also very aware that I cannot always go Dutch the rest of my life. I am very protective of my finances. Having gone to school for five years I have a debt I would like to pay off before menopause hits. I also do not want any debt I have, become my man’s debt and vice versa.

Plus, my idea of a wedding if I ever got married is, BYOB, Potluck party in the backyard and town hall marriage license. My honey’s idea of a wedding is the bigger the better. This is not my style, nor is it my wallets style. I can’t justify spending 20, 000$ let alone 125$ on a wedding/marriage certificate. To me it’s simply not worth it. Perhaps it’s because I don’t have dollar bills hanging out of my bra and coinage tucked up in my keester. But wedding ceremonies and paying for wedding ceremonies is not in my stars.

PLUS! And this is just straight up. Marriage is a contract, it really is that simple. The last contract someone asked me to sign I ended up in a glass window modeling clothes for Sears (FML).

Another major factor is I don’t think so far into the future. I live day by day, night by night and la-dee-da. Even though my honey and I have been together for a lengthy time, we could still break up. I’m not saying we will, I’m not praying we do, I’m not saying nothing other than what the fuck do I know? We could be together forever and we could be together for just two more days (in which case he would have read my blogs and realized I ain’t his type and if so….douche bag.) But, and here’s the thing, if we do break up, there is no paper work, there’s no divorce shit to deal with, the biggest issue we would have is who gets the Xbox (and trust me that’s a big enough issue on its own). {Side Note: Xbox is mine, DIBS!}

Well, there are more reasons I really do not insist or wish to get married. Many reasons I also don’t care to get into too much detail with: Reasons like: marriage is an institution that fails half the time, my benefits would not change regardless, marriage will simply not cure loneliness and because Chuck Norris said so.

“Cait will you marry me” Batman says.

“I do not.” Cait replied. “Even though you are Batman.”



Childhood Memoirs

Okay folks, I hate to admit this, I really do, but I am homesick. This usually happens once or twice a year, but it seems for some reason to hit me more often than usual. I don’t know if it’s because I am finally turning into a lady, or menopause is hitting me up at 26 years old (if it is the menopause thing, FML, legit).

I am a very family oriented person. As you guys know by now, my family is big, trust me bigger is better. ALWAYS BETTER. Having a big family however, makes your realize how much you miss everything in each family members life. For instance, when I left to venture out this way at 17 years old, my baby sister was 10. Now, she’s 19 years old, already finished a year of school and is legal. LEGAL!!!

It’s crazy looking back at all the memories I’ve shared with my family. So, well I dwell a little on missing my folks back home; let me share with you some childhood stories spent with the family. The best way to spend a childhood I say.


When I was little, I never really wore clothes. Now, I know what you are thinking; makes sense little native girl running naked with Imagemaybe just maybe a loin cloth wrapped around her waist. But no friends, this is not the case. Most days after a bath, I would wrap bandanas around me (yes, I know similar to a loin cloth). For no reason really. It wasn’t that I wanted to be a super hero, or a paper bag princess, or that I wanted to instill a stylish trend in my family. It was that I was a fucked up little girl with a terrible mushroom cut and had too big of an imagination to understand it. Forgot to mention, with my ever so stylish bandana swag I always wore my ruby reds. This photo my friends, has haunted me throughout my entire life.


My grandmother collects these Royal Doulton figurines. They were displayed all over the house. I memorized all their names and everything. One night when grandma went off to play bridge with her golden girls; myself and my two older sisters decided to pull out the doll house and play with grandma’s Royal Doultons. Which looking back was kind of useless since they were made of glass so we couldn’t move the bitches. But it was still pretty cool back then. I tell you we felt like rebels. Still haven’t told grandma. For that grandma I am truly sorry. Maybe.(Grandman would have done the same).


Our dishwasher would break all the time when I was a child. For awhile, we had to physically clean our dishes. PHYSICALLY CLEAN THEM….OH THE HORROR!!!

One night after dinner, my brother brought us all downstairs to see the new NINTENDO 64. He was playing while all four of my sisters and I watched, amazed. Mom, was upstairs and kept yelling what sounded to me like jiberish. NonE of us were paying attention really. Our focus was on Mario’s quest to save Princess Peach. So after awhile of mom squaking at us, she starts throwing the pots and pans out the front door. We noticed, shrugged it off. BIG MISTAKE!

OUT OF NOWHERE, LIKE A WILD BEAST RAGING!!!! Mom storms downstairs into our peaceful video game experience rips the NINTENDO 64 out from the cords, and throws the damn system outside. Honestly, I’ve never been so dramatized in all my video game experiences IMy brother lost all of his progress because he didn’t save before mom raped the poor system. I’ve been an avid video game saver ever since.

Anyways, long story short, mom throws everything outside because none of us did the dishes. Dishes have never been so clean since then.


Every summer we take a long 8 hour trek up to grandma’s in a little town called, Wiarton. From Ottawa to Wiarton, with 8 people snug in a Van, plus one dog my claustrophobia hit the roof. One time, after a hot and sweaty ride, with the smell of dog and B O in the damn vehicle, I was literally sticking my head out the tiny opening of the window just to survive. I looked like a stoned kitty licking the air to rid myself of dry mouth. When we were finally pulling up grandma’s long drive way, I took off my seat belt, practically standing in the van, so excited to get the hell out this hot box. However, my dad hit the breaks real hard, which made my dog fling back, butt first.

I still remember it so vividly like it was yesterday. My poor, finger. My poor, poor dog. You see, when my dad hit the breaks, I lunged forward and my dog lunged backward. (I’m trying to find a poetic way to say this, but yeah it’s just not happening). My finger went in my dog’s butt. End of story.


Oddly, I think I’m done with flashing back to childhood memories. Yeah, the butt-finger thing pretty much does it. Regardless, there is still no place like home.


Straight off the bat I would say: tall, dark and handsome. Aside from that, if he is Batman, then it’s golden, Ponyboy. But okay, for realzies, my ideal man:

  • He will appreciate who I am as a person.
  • He will not try to change me. Sorry I may be a woman, but I am no lady.
  • Be funny.
  • Not take life too seriously.
  • He will be able to laugh at himself.
  • Honest.
  • Direct, but not forward.
  • Doesn’t need a lot of money. Hell, doesn’t need any money.
  • Doesn’t flaunt his money if he has it.
  • Doesn’t flaunt period.
  • Allow me to give him the occasional wet willy and noogie.
  • Get along with my feisty feline, Olive.
  • Takes care of his body.
  • He sets goals.
  • Can carry me like a princess. I’m not a princess, but sometimes piggy back doesn’t cut it.
  • Come to the occasional Yoga class with me.
  • He will need to get along with my family. There are a lot of people in my family, so it is a definite invested effort.
  • Wants children one day (Stella, our daughter will be named after my favourite beer. )
  • Appreciates French fries as much as I do.
  • Enjoys going for a walk.
  • Interests in music.
  • Go ice skating with me on my birthday.
  • Doesn’t hold me back.
  • Pushes me.
  • Makes me happy.
  • Trumps my fart.
  • Come to the golf range with me.
  • Teach me card games.
  • Can go on road trips with me and hold my coffee when I drive.
  • Confident, not cocky.
  • Can cook.
  • Doesn’t need a wife. Just a partner a crime.
  • Give great foot massages.
  • Likes The Mighty Boosh.
  • Will take me to The Nutcracker ballet every December.
  • Lets me sleep on the right side of the bed.
  • Doesn’t snore.
  • Eats his vegetables.
  • Could lie on the beach with me all day, every day.
  • Doesn’t smoke.
  • Drinks in moderation.
  • Someone who is social.
  • Will be a good father one day.
  • Someone who is in no rush.
  • Enjoys a good read.
  • Someone who will always put the toilet paper roll on the holder.
  • Someone who makes me happy, just because.

Just A Little Bit…

288_54038780037_9962_nIn the last 9 years I had done a lot of growing into myself. Hell! Even in the last few months I’ve grown some. What keeps my growing is well….many things. However I would have to say my openness and wanting to learn definitely plays a major impact. I would describe it as a thirst. I get thirsty for knowledge, I’m thirsty to ‘better’ myself and it is this thirst that keeps me growing as an individual.

I find many times, when someone’s ego becomes bigger than a person they close off which in turn impedes their development. I never want to be like this. In fact there are definitely moments in my life that I can vividly recall where my ego completely blocked my way down the yellow brick road.

In dance school, I was well-skilled in everything I did. Tap, ballet, pointe, modern, hip hop, jazz all of it I was top in 261_59872535037_2142_nthe class. Jack of all trades, master of none. Other dancers shined brighter and earned competition solos, and leads in the recitals. It took me all the way until my last dance recital ever to realize why I never got the roles I thought I deserved. It was simply because I didn’t deserve them.

As a young elementary dancer, I got leads in shows, solos in group dances, I substituted main dancers, I assisted the dance instructors and whathaveyou. I got this because not only did I work for it, but I wanted it so bad I was willing to do anything. I had a strong passion for dance and saw great things in my future. I wanted to be the Black Swan in Swan Lake, but before I could I knew I needed to earn my way to pointe class. I wanted to be Claire in The Nutcracker, but before I could be Claire I knew I needed to practice my arabesque.

At some point my development as a dancer stopped. It wasn’t because I didn’t have the passion. It was because my ego got to the point where I felt I earned my way up at such a young age, that everything should be handed to me. I felt I put my time in already, now reward me. But this little thought in my mind, 197477_505339769053_2260_nimpeded my learning and growth as a person. This little thought made me a coward, it made me green with envy when attention was handed to someone else. It wasn’t until freshman year, at my very last dance recital, that I realized I missed four crucial years of a dancer’s life, simply by not being thirsty anymore.

My very first year of university was a rude awakening. One however, much deserved. I took theatre courses my first year in hopes to become part of the Contemporary Arts program the following year.

I had two auditions to get into the program. My first audition, was not very good to say the least. I performed my monologue and each time the instructors would give scenarios or critiques and ask for me to perform it again. In my mind as they asked me to do these things I was frustrated. I felt that I had worked so hard on my monologue that who23852_10150108626660038_2231027_n are they to tell how to perform it (especially since I wasn’t in the program yet). In some way I was offended, but I had no reason to be so. Needless to say I didn’t get into the program.

Shortly after my first audition, all the instructors send out advice to everyone that auditioned. They had two words for me: Too judgmental. It hurt seeing those words written down, but I couldn’t argue it. I was. I was judgmental because I had this notion of what I thought acting was. Because I had a certain idea in my head, I didn’t want to even open up to the possibility to what acting was.

For a whole summer, I worked on myself. I set goals. Not big goals, just day to day and weekly goals for myself. I did this so I could learn something new, expand my skills and just experience life. At the end of the summer I headed back out west to re-audition.

37478_10150217679610038_8371467_nThe monologue I chose was from George Bernard Shaw’s Saint Joan:

Yes, they told me you were fools and that I was not to listen to your fine words nor trust to your charity. You promised me my life but you lied. You think that life is nothing but not being stone dead. It is not the bread and water I fear: bread has no sorrow for me, and water no affliction. But to shut me from the light of the sky, and the sight of the fields and flowers, to chain my feet so that I can never again ride with the soldiers nor climb the hills; to make me breathe foul damp darkness, and keep me from everything that brings me back to the love of God when your wickedness and foolishness tempt me to hate Him. All this is worse than the furnace in the Bible that was heated seven times. I could do without my warhorse, I could drag about in a skirt. I could let the banners and the trumpets and the knights and soldiers pass me and leave me behind as they leave the other women, if only I could still hear the wind in the trees, the larks in the sunshine, the young lambs crying through the healthy frost, and the blessed blessed church bells that send my angel voices floating to me on the wind. But without these things I cannot live; and by your wanting to take them away from me, or from any human creature, I know that your counsel is of the devil, and that mine is of God.

This monologue resonated with so much, that ‘til this day, 9 years later I still know it word for word, moment to 28264_10150196016630038_541089_nmoment, breath for breath. That being said, every time I read or recite it I still learn something new, or see something a little differently.

After my first go at the monologue they give me a few critiques and asked me to do it again. This time, instead of not embracing their notes, I took them in. I breathed them in and breathed them out. After my monologue they also interviewed me and asked me what I learned in the time from my first audition to this one. I simply told them I’m learning to be open, and I’m learning to never judge a book by its cover.

I got into the program.

67132_631332483643_5368383_nI am successful. This is not my ego talking, this is my experience talking. I’ve embraced wanting to learn more, see more, do more, I’ve embraced growth. And so I encourage you all to open up a little bit, learn a little bit, just a little bit.

A Sobering Revelation

Hey folks. Guess What! Tomorrow, will be the first day of something new (among other things I am sure). Ahem, what I mean to say is tomorrow will be the start of not drinking alcohol.


Now before you tell me to shut the front door, let me tell you why I am making this decision.

Firstly, no hangovers. After a night of heavy drinking I feel like shit, I don’t want to socialize, I don’t feel good, I shower 4 to 5 times in a day, constantly eating, dishing out the occasional and awkward apologies, my morning workout feels like Thor slammed a bitch (me being the bitch) with his hammer. Every time I am hung over all I want to do is float on water (sorry my bathtub doesn’t cut it.) I just want to smoke my peace pipe and pet my kitty. MEOW!

No alcohol, no hangovers.

More Money! Holler! Not that I spend wads of cash on firewater anyway, but it definitely saves a few bucks here and there. There is nothing like seeing a lot of greenbacks in my wallet. Plus I won’t be fucking myself over come time to pay bills and rent.

Health. It is obvious that with abstaining from weekend beer benders there are both short term and long term effects.

            Short term being no hangovers!

            Long term being: clearer skin, stronger organs, better body etc. etc. etc.

Clearer thoughts. I find the more I drink, not only the stupider I get, but I can’t think straight until them brewsky toxins leach their way out of my body. Honestly, sometimes I feel I revert back to my child-like-minded state and re-learning everything a new.

Happiness. Maybe and just maybe, I will be happier. I’ve been finding lately that whenever I drink, I can just loose myself in my hammered state and not give a fuck about anything. But despite that, it doesn’t beat a morning run, it is not as comforting as wrapping myself in warm laundry blankets from the dryer, not as refreshing as a hot bath, and not as cherished like the times I spend with my family.

Strengthening relationships: Lets face it, when I drink a lot, I get a tad flirty. Nothing is meant by it at all, but I would rather make obvious fuck ups in my monogamist relationship with my man while I’m sober. At least that way I know in my right and sober mind what I am doing. Not too mention sometimes alcohol just makes relationships toxic. I tell ya my I am drinking and my man is drinking sometimes we have the best of times, but mostly it’s arguing and fighting. Not healthy in anyway and definitely not worth it. So not worth it.

So lets see how this goes friends. Finding myself, without alcohol as a side-kick.

Awesome. This will be just awesome.