"Look me in the eyes and tell me love is never based upon insanity."

Sometimes I get these overwhelming urges to tell certain people I love them or I think they're just great.

And sometimes it's great because sometimes it's for family members or friends whom I can just call or text or write a letter to expressing gratitude for them putting up with my mess.

And then sometimes I just want to dissolve in tears because sometimes it's for people who have impacted my life whom I will probably never get to tell, like John Finnemore or Arthur Conan Doyle or Matthew Thiessen or Jason Morant or Harper Lee.

But the worst is when something happens that reminds me of an old friend who, for one reason or another, no longer remembers me or gave up on our friendship a long time ago. And I just want to find them and tell them that I'm sorry for contributing to us no longer being in each other's life but at one time or another, they meant a great deal to me.

Actually, when I think about it, there is something that hurts just as much, if not more.

When I just want to tell someone that they comforted me when I couldn't tell anyone what was wrong, or that they let be in their life when my life was really hard and I didn't want to pay attention to it anymore, or thank them for never judging me for why I needed them. But I can't because they're trapped inside of a book or movie or television show.

I wish there was a way to show my appreciation for fictional characters.

I also wish there was a way to do this without the general public wondering if they should strap me into a straight jacket and put me away.

The other day I was talking to someone and they told me that they've been best friends with their best friend since second grade and it made me do math and figure out the person I've been friends with the longest.

A few long friendships came up, like my friend who is studying in Ireland who I've been pals with for almost six years or my mutual The Princess Bride obsessed friend who I met when I was 14 and went years without seeing but finally saw her again a little over a year ago.

What's really sad though is that I realized the person I've had the closest and longest friendship with, apart from my family of course, is a man named Sherlock Holmes, who I met when I was 12.

It might be a little pathetic, but during years where I was a little too weird to have many friends (or friends at all, sometimes), I always had him, and that was wonderful.

I wish I could thank him for sticking around and letting me love on him constantly. Because even when I became obsessed with other characters in books and told people I was in love with certain characters from movies or television shows, Sherlock knew he never had to worry - I would always return to him, no matter what.

Is it very strange to consider a fictional character one of the most stable things in one's life?

Probably.

It's a good thing I came to terms with my strangeness years ago.

"I love you. Uh, the way you compliment me. I love it." "You know I heard you the first time. I love you too."

Over the years, I've collected quite a few don't in the world of men and relationships.

For example, the "don't tell me how different I am and how you like it, only to tell me later that the reason you're leaving me is because I'm just too different" one.

Or the classic "don't tell me about how you value my beliefs and morals, only to try hopelessly to get me to break them" one

Or how about the "don't tell me about how I shouldn't like you, I should like your best friend because you're nothing compared to him but you're so glad I like you instead, only to tell me later you want to quit talking to me because you think I like your friend more than you" one.

But I think I have a new favourite: "don't tell me about how you are thinking about turning into a jerk and a douchebag because you're a nice guy now but girls don't seem to want nice guys and you're desperate to meet a nice girl because that's the only thing that's going to keep you from turning into a jerk, only to then treat me like dirt because I'm not slutty enough when I'm actually a nice girl trying to simply be your friend and show you that nice girls do still exist."

Yeah, I think this is my new favourite.

Listen, child: If you want to be a douchebag, go right ahead. You're exactly right; you will get a girlfriend that way. Or at least a one-night stand. But you will never ever ever have any girl that compares to girls like me.

I'm not even bragging on myself right now; I know I can be a pretty terrible person sometimes. I know the only real and good thing about me is that I've given my life over to Someone Who can help me handle it a lot better than I ever could alone. I know that some days that decision is the only smart one I ever make. I know there are five million girls out there that are prettier and thinner and nicer and have better personalities than me.

But I also know I have gumption. And I'm not just going to sleep with you because I feel sorry for both of us.

This post is taking a bit of a different turn than I meant it to, but I need to get something out of my system:

Why on earth would I sleep with some guy I met because we're both lonely when I could wait and give my entire self to a man who had the decency and sound mind to make a life-long commitment to take care of me and have me take care of him?

Listen again, boy: I might be single for the rest of my life. Personally I like to think that I am far too much of a romantic for it just to be wasted so the reason I have all this romantic in me is because one day I'll actually get to use it. But maybe not.

Are you listening, boy? Here's the kicker. You need to listen real good to this part.

Maybe I'll be single for the rest of my life because I'm not sleeping around. But maybe you'll end up alone when you're 60 too, even though you slept around. Me sleeping around with random boys will do ABSOLUTELY NOTHING to improve my chances of getting a husband who will love me and consider me above himself in every aspect of his life.

One more kicker, child. This part's important too, so don't tune out on me quite yet.

If you treat me like a 1950's housewife now, how will it change if I were to go out and get drunk with you and sleep with you? Would sleeping with you improve my chances of getting you in a committed relationship with me?

Oh wait, one more thing. This one's probably the one you really need to hear the most.

Ready?

Here it is: Not every girl in the world wants to sleep with you, or even be with you. You need proof? Don't worry, I got your back. I want nothing to do with you. I've never wanted anything to do with you besides be your friend. Friend, kiddo. Not friend with benefits. Not friend you can get drunk with and hook up with. Friend.

Is that proof enough?

I'm not holier than thou. I just don't want to sleep with you.

Don't take it personally, kiddo. I don't want to sleep with anyone. I'm not married to anyone, so no.

I could be a witch with a b and say that if I did sleep around you would be at the bottom of the list, or say that you're not as good-looking or "nice" as you think you are, or say that don't you think there's probably a reason that the past three girls you've chased all shot you down, but I'm a bigger person than that, so I won't mention those things.

I used to wonder why I'm in love with fictional characters and romantic men in movies. And then I looked around at all the boys I'm surrounded by in the world, and got it.

I think I'm turning more and more into that crazy cat lady every day. But at least I have a solid imagination and a sound intelligence to keep me from getting too lonely.

Also, I have Netflix. And it has been keeping me company for the past week.

"Have a great day!" "That's too much pressure." "Have the day you have!"

I just finished bawling like a small child because I just got to the end of The Odd Life Of Timothy Green.

If you're reading this and have no idea what that is, let me tell you about this wonderful movie. It's about a husband and wife that love each other dearly and want to take that love and make it into a baby, but they can't. So one night, they decide to take paper and make their perfectly not-so-perfect baby. And then they bury the list in the backyard.

The writer of the movie was wise enough to not explain everything that happens or why it happens or really how or any of that, but somehow a storm comes, and the list is made into a boy named Timothy.

The story that follows is about Timothy fulfilling all of the things on the list, but not always in the way the parents expected it to pan out. Every time he fulfills a bullet on the list, one of his leaves falls off.

Oh, right. He has leaves growing out of his legs.

SPOILER WARNING (but also predictable).

As expected, once the leaves are all gone, Timothy must go as well.

And that's where I first started crying. The reason I lost it here was because he tells the parents he has to go, and they both say something along the lines of "We can do better. We will be better parents. We are just getting used to this." And Timothy laughs and says, "No, you are ready. You've always been ready. Never give up." That got me.

But the movie goes on for about another ten minutes after this scene. And yes, I bawled for the remainder of the film.

Timothy decides before he goes to give the leaves that have fallen off of his legs to various people he's met throughout his short life. The explanation of why he chooses the people he does is priceless.

But what really got me, what the real kicker was is the very last scene.

The parents adopt another child.

The movie is simple and sweet and G-rated which tells you something right off the bat. It's not exactly date night material.

But man, it got me good.

Funny thing that I started thinking about after I watched it and listened to the end credits song sung by Glen Hansard five hundred times over, some of the movies that have really gotten me over the years have been about adoption.

One of my all-time favourite movies is called Martian Child and is all about a writer adopting a boy who thinks he's from Mars. The second-to-last scene in this movie always makes me cry like a small child.

One of my favourite movies as a kid was Angels In The Outfield. I watched it a few weeks ago for the first time as an Adult and I don't think I ever realized as a kid that while the movie is about angels helping out a baseball team, it's really about adoption.

And yes, when I watched it again, it made me cry when Danny Glover adopts the two boys at the end. I also started crying when Joseph Gordon-Levitt's dad leaves him at the court house and he's calling out to his dad to come back.

I realize that I'm a pretty young 23 year old and I don't have a boyfriend (or, let's be real, any chance of a boyfriend considering the catches in Hickory) let alone a husband, so kids seriously should be the very very last thing on my mind.

But after watching movies like The Odd Life Of Timothy Green or Martian Child or Angels In The Outfield, it makes me want to adopt when the times comes.

John Cusack, who plays the man who adopts the martian child in Martian Child, says something really great at one point in the movie: "I understand the reasons for not wanting to bring a child into this world, but there's no rule about not loving a child already in the world."

That sums up all reasons for wanting to adopt.

I've never been one to want kids of my own. I'm kind of like Robin on How I Met Your Mother; I don't want kids, but probably if I was ever told my a doctor that I couldn't have kids, I would immediately want them. (Side note, the episode where Robin found out she couldn't have kids ripped my heart out.)

Honesty time: I figured I would spend all my time as a parent of my own kids worrying that I would A) drop them and kill them as infants or B) screw them up really bad as teenagers.

But with kids that are adopted, here's my thing about both A and B: I would adopt them when they are in elementary school so no worries about dropping them, and if their biological parents have either abandoned them or died, well, I can't do any worse than that, right? It can only be uphill then.

I don't know what will happen in 5 or 10 or 30 years. But if I keep watching movies about adoption, I think I have a pretty safe bet on what will probably happen.

"No one has ever seen my moves."

(Title from the movie Safety Not Guaranteed)

Hipster.

What's the first thing that pops into a mind when this word is read?

Pathetic is what usually pops into mine.

I've always thought about bad connotations in correlation to this word.

Funky dress, weird hair, can't like anything that anyone else likes, moody temperament, et cetera.

But here's the thing, I'm a hipster.

Funky dress = I decided about a year ago that I was going to stop dressing how everyone expected me to dress. I wasn't going to change my whole closet every time a new trend showed up at Forever 21. I was going to dress in a way that made me feel confident. I've always had issues with self confidence and insecurity; why fuel that fire with dressing in a way where I wasn't comfortable? The other day, I really wanted to wear this one shirt, and I wanted to feel pretty so I wore a skirt and my favourite brown wedges. When I came out of my room to go to work, my roommate saw me and smiled. "That outfit would straight up look ridiculous on anyone but you," she said. And I felt awesome the entire day. I may not always match the way society says I should match or wear the "latest" fashion, but I wear clothes that I want to wear because I want to wear them.

Weird hair = I've always wanted to be that girl with the long, wavy brown hair that can just be thrown up in a messy bun or intricate braid. I tried to be that girl for awhile. And I hated it. I always felt like my hair was gross and weird and I just hated it. I would cut it and hate it so grow it out only to hate it more. Then one day about two years ago, I went to a hair dresser on a whim and said cut it all off. I've had short hair ever since. I know it's counter-culture of the "pretty girl" to have short hair; most girls who are beautiful today have long, curly hair, or at least a cute shoulder length cut. I have hair that my hairdresser here affectionately tells me I need to put product in to make it feminine or it will be a man's hair cut. But I'm okay with this. Because short hair gives me confidence. I may look odd with it sometimes, but I know there are days where I rock it. And I'm okay with that now. I don't need to have a "pretty girl" haircut to feel pretty.

Can't like anything that anyone else likes = this is where I really get hipster. I genuinely do like a lot of things no one else likes. When I watch a movie, I always pick the nerdy, lonely, pathetic guy to call dibs on. Ask my friend and they will vouch for me on this. One of my best friends told me I had to see Pitch Perfect, and that she knew exactly which guy I'd like the best, but she wasn't going to tell me until after I saw it. I called her after I did and the first thing she asked was which guy I liked. I told her the lonely magician who no one really likes but turns out to be cool in the end and she screamed I KNEW IT into the phone. I eat oatmeal as a snack when I get home from work. I would rather have apple juice than beer. I cry at those sappy Kay jewelry commercials, every freaking time. I sleep with my teddy bear Rosecheeks and a stuffed version of Little Foot every night because I have to cling to something as I fall asleep and they keep me sane when the lights go out. I watch random and obscure British movies because that's how my parents raised me, not because I want to be cool. And yes, I liked Regina Spektor before a lot of people and don't listen to her anymore but that's because I always move on and get obsessed with new things. Just ask my family. I don't do these kinds of things to be cute or get attention like some girls I went to college with. I do them because that's who I am and I never knew it was dorky.

Moody temperament = this is something I've struggled with ever since high school. I jokingly like to tell myself it's just because I read too much Sherlock Holmes and try to copy him. But it's true. Some days I am probably the most annoyingly cheerful person you will ever meet (I'm channeling my inner Arthur from Cabin Pressure on these days). Some days I am dark and write stories with serial killers and twisted humour where a man keeps failing at suicide which makes him more depressed which makes him want to kill himself even more. Some days I am a complete and total hopeless romantic (this is where the crying at Kay commercials kicks in). Some days I tell myself I never ever ever want to be in another relationship ever (this is normally when I've thought about exes too much or just realize that no man will ever compare to Rory Williams from Doctor Who). Some days I need to be around people in order to breathe. Some days don't come near me or I will run away from you because I can't be near people because they suck. I try harder than most people realize to be consistent in my daily life and not change how I act from one day to another. The same best friend I mentioned earlier who told me to see Pitch Perfect had a rule when I was in college that I had to call her when I would catch myself just literally staring at my white wall for hours at a time, and the reason I would stare at the wall like this is because I was angry at myself, trying to figure out why I am the way I am. I'm not writing any of this to sound pathetic, believe me. It's all 100 % percent honest and it's taken me the entire time I've had a blog to be honest like this (which is saying a lot seeing as I have four whole followers [yes that is me being sarcastic] [yes that was a parenthesis in a parenthesis]).

What am I getting at with all this jibber jabber?

I'm not really sure to be honest.

Maybe I do.

Maybe I'm just trying to get my feelings worked out in my head and the best way I know how to do that is to write them down. Maybe I'm trying to say that I am a hipster and whatever, that doesn't make me pathetic because I'm only pathetic when I let that word become who I am.

You know that saying sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me, and everyone always tells you it's wrong because words can hurt? Words can hurt. I know that I know that I know that words are the most powerful thing in the world. But words don't have to control us. A single word can never define a human being. Ever. I don't care if you're white or black or gay or straight or single or taken or a murderer, none of those one words defines who you are. Even someone as messed up as Hitler doesn't deserve to be completely summed up with the word Holocaust. He was complex. He was messed up and horrendous, yes, but he was other things too.

Okay.

I realize it sounds like I just compared myself to Hitler. It's late is the only excuse I can come up for that one.

I've probably just taken being called a hipster the other day and turned it into the most dramatic thing ever, but, well, that's the hipster in me coming out.

The point I am trying (or failing) to make is that yeah. I fall into the hipster category. But does that make me pathetic?

Freaking no.

It's just one part of what makes me me.

And on my good days, I'm pretty confident in me.

Which is kind of awesome.

Not talking and doors shut are great, let's keep it up.

When you don't say a word when you come home, I don't know what that means. I suspect it means either I've done something to piss you off, or work has you irritated.

When I say hello and you mumble a hey before going into your room and shutting the door, I don't know what that means. It begins to confirm my suspicions that you are pissed at me for some reason.

When you think I'm on the couch but hear me in the kitchen so you deliberately turn around and don't walk into the kitchen like I know you were about to just do and walk back into your room, I don't know what that means. My suspicions that you are angry at me are building.

When I take the food I've cooked for tomorrow out of the oven and leave it sitting on the oven to cool, then come back into the living room, so you run out of your room and into the kitchen and then loudly say, "Seriously? Wow," before grabbing a beer and running back into your room and slamming the door behind you, I do in fact know what this means. It means I have pissed you off. Seeing as I have not seen you all day and I have cleaned the kitchen, loaded and unloaded the dishwasher, taken the trash and the recycling and taken all of my clutter from the living room into my room because I know it annoys you when I leave it in the living room, I am racking my brain to think of what I have done to piss you off so horribly.

The only conclusion I can come to is that my food cooling before I stick it in the fridge for tomorrow has pissed you off. I know what you're thinking; how could that have pissed you off?

Well, I'm back to where I started. I don't know.

I suppose I have a hard time reading your mind. Please forgive me for that, I'll try to do better.

"The hero of Canton, the man they call me."

I can’t write.

I’m going through this phase right now where I can’t seem to get myself to read or write because all I really want to do is enjoy films.

I’m sure eventually I’ll get so inspired by all this film watching that I won’t be able to handle not writing or reading, but right now I just watch a really great film and just kind of sit in my room by myself and stare at the wall and think about how much I loved the film.

It’s not even that I have writer’s block, it’s that I just don’t feel like writing.

I keep making myself go to this little sandwich shop called Groucho’s on my day off and try to write or read, but I usually just end up Sherlocking (and by this I mean being nosy and guessing at someone’s life) the other people there, or listening to the conversations of the funny men who work here or just staring out the window.

It’s nice and peaceful and I always leave full because their sandwiches are kind of to die for, but not having been writing/reading productive.

This is an odd phase. I can’t remember the last time I was in one where I just didn’t feel like writing.

In other news, I’m not sure to have Adult Friendships. 

Some people who are close to being in their 30’s invited me to hang out with them the other day. I accepted because I’m tired of sitting alone at my apartment. We went to see a movie and then to this bar/restaurant for beers and I tried really hard to talk about Grownup Things, but most of the time I just sat there and smiled and listened to them talk about Grownup Things and wondered if it will always feel awkward to have Adult Incounters.

So after this, I called up my friend Ed who sometimes still acts like he’s in high school and we went to see the new James Bond movie and were giggly and childlike at the movies and it felt comfortable.

When is the age where I have to have only Adult Friends and I’m not allowed to go to the movies with a gay boy and pretend like he’s my date and watch people look at us confused because it’s obvious he’s gay but he’s being affectionate and giggle when the main characters of the movie start kissing passionately because we are 8 years old at heart? 

Well, everything in the world is all right when I watch this video. It's not very Grown Up, though. Oh well. 

Should I hold my beer all fancy like you?

Sometimes I think about myself when I'm 30 or 40 or 50 and I think about all the things that I could be doing and all the things I could be and all the awesome things I will achieve.

But I forget that I have to work to get those things.

I can't just expect to suddenly have a famous play on the West End. I would need to spend time in rehearsals but before that I would need to find actors but before that I would need to get a director to like my play but before that I would need to network to find people in the industry but before that I would need to move to London but before that I would need to arrange to move to England but before that I would need to save enough money to move to England but before that I would need to have graduated from at least a grad school but before that I would need to go to grad school but before that I would need to get into grad school but before that I would need to save money to go to grad school.

But before any of this, I would need to actually write a good play.

Instead I'm sitting in front of the television watching The Social Network wishing I was witty and blogging because I tried to write something and I couldn't even come up with more Firefly fan fiction.

I don't even wish I could just blink and be a playwright or casting director, I just wish I could stop having writer's block. Or at least stop using writer's block as an excuse for my laziness.

I know I just got a job and I'm getting used to be an Adult so I should probably cut myself some slack and realize that I'm working 45 hour weeks sometimes 6 days a week at weird hours and I'm trying to get myself in better shape and eat more healthily which takes a considerable amount of time out of the day. Along with trying to get used to a new town and find friends and be more than a recluse.

But I think I'm freaking myself out because I'm turning 23 and somehow in my mind that's one step away from 30 and I want to at least have achieved some kind of dream by the time I'm that old.

I hate it when my characters just want to become recluses and not do anything. Why are my characters a mirror of me? Where's the fun in that?

I hate writer's block.