Brené Brown says that when we share our shame randomly and indiscriminately we’re just looking for attention—and by “we,” I mean “me!”
I say, “Shame on shame, baby!”
Though, hmm, I’ll admit that some restrictions do apply, namely: if you’re a Peter-file, then maybe there should be some shame there. Or maybe not, I dunno, but just don’t do it, kids. (Do it. Kids. ?)
Okay, so I’m modifying my shame-on-shame story …
Shame on Brené Brown for shaming me for divulging my TMI randomly and indiscriminately!
Just kidding, Brené — if you’re reading this~!! I love your books, so this whole escapade is probably your fault. (Thank you.)
But if I want to overshare so you laugh or relate, then fuck it, I’m doing it.
So … I’ve got cellulite.
There, I admitted it.
Stupid, hateful word: cellulite.
Wait. No, I’m going to reframe this whole cellulite thing. Because I can, bitches!
Cut to: [sound of crickets]
Fine. I can’t reframe cellulite. Or maybe I can, but I don’t want to. Not truly. Not Tony-Robbins-truly. So, I give myself permission to detest the dimples while still loving my whole self.
Hashtag compromise. Hashtag good enough. Hashtag SpanxⓇ. #falseandmisleadingadvertising #fuckit
They’re on my face and in my book. If you want to know more, read said ramblings.
My chin hairs will come in handy in the cold months of a Calgary winter, namely this winter, because …
I’m moving to Calgary, y’all!
WTF? Are you serious, Anna J?
The whole I’m-moving-to-Calgary went down faster than a Peter-file at a playground.
Last weekend, I’m visiting my BFF — which I’m rebranding to mean: Bucket Filling Friend — in Calgary aka Cowtown, and by the end of the weekend, I’m back in Vancouver sending in a deposit on a rental property there.
This was totally unexpected. Maybe not for God, but it was for me!
Just to recap impulsive irrationality reality check real quick …
I’ve been visiting my BFF in Cowboy Country — her hometown stomping grounds — roughly once a year since she moved back there a few years ago. And every time I’m there, we laugh and giggle and eat and be silly and snicker like teenage girls while her son (now 15) shakes his head and laughs at us.
Add our new Snapchat shenanigans and a bottle of burgundy wine, and we’ve got a giddy mood-boosting depression-killing combo.
So this time, when I was out there—last weekend—I lamented on how noisy the neighbourhood around my amazingly cozy—read: tiny—condo in Yaletown is and how I’d been walking the streets of Vancouver’s residential area of the rainbow-flag-waving West End to find a quieter, if more colourful, quarter of the city to live in.
My other option was to rent my place out and go somewhere warm and far far away, but I actually don’t like the (affordable) hot spots and detest the feeling of sand on my feet, so obviously Calgary’s -30 degree winters are an optimal choice for me. #weirdo
So last Friday night, after wine and pizza and chick flicks and my BFF went to bed, I stayed up until 4am researching which areas of Calgary’s downtown core would suit my enviro-friendly-walk-to-no-real-day-job-anyway lifestyle.
Basically, where would I find men over 40 and drip coffee under five bucks a cup?
Answer: Eau Claire! Well, at least the male demographic applies.
Southwest downtown. On the Bow River. Median age: 56. The men outnumber the women. Bonus! The fact that these fellas have hearing aids and false teeth is beside the point.
Sunday, a few hours before my flight departs to Vancouver, BFF and I go look at a rental property.
It’s twice the size of my condo in Vancouver. It’s furnished. It has a view of evergreens. It’s on the river trail. There’s a hip cafe nearby. It’s a 12-minute walk to a locally owned organic grocery store.
I tell my BFF, “Well, we’d better check out the coffee shop. There are deal makers and then there are deal breakers in life.”
The barista didn’t know what a “breve latte” was.
“It’s made with coffee cream instead of milk.” I tell her.
“Oh.” (pause) “Ok.” (pause) I wait patiently.; she continues hesitantly, “We can do that.”
The breve wasn’t great — she didn’t use enough cream, bless her heart for watching out for my dimpled thighs — but, with some proper instruction, she’ll learn. And I’ll be hitting up that coffee shop regularly, because …
Hot guy in camo shorts and ball cap!
Waiting for our order at a nearby table, I tell BFF, “Ohhhh, I want that one” and point to Camo Man who’s in the line.
He turns around and looks at me. I blush and look away. BFF laughs at me.
I whisper to BFF, “I don’t like the shorts, but I’d have those off him in no time.” *wink*
Giggling ensues. He looks at us again.
We take our exit, but not before I sneak up to him while he’s punching numbers in the debit machine and, while blinking nervously and furiously and looking everywhere but into his amazing blue eyes, I say, “Um, I don’t know if you’re single … blah blah dorky dorkerson blah blah …” and hand him my business card, then run away without even asking his name.
But he did smile. Hashtag greeeeeat smile.
BFF is outside laughing at me. Later, in the vehicle, I tell her, “No one I’m interested in ever contacts me when I give them my business card.”
“Maybe you need a card without dating coaching and matchmaking on it. Did you tell him you were interested for you?”
AJ slaps forehead. “No. But God, it must have been so obvious. I was a nervous wreck — rectum, darn near killed him!”
“You need some personal non-business cards.”
And that just goes to show you that even a pro like me — sideways glance — will mess up when approaching someone she’s attracted to. (Brené Brown would have a heyday with Anna J referring to herself in third person.)
But what if I didn’t talk to Camo Man?! Then he for sure would not know who I am and might not think I was serious about helping him off with those hunting shorts! (Um, for the long haul, of course.)
What have we learned?
Anna J needs to flirt with more men because, girl, she is outta practice.
Ladies, learn from me: entice a guy to approach, don’t chase him down in seductionless eagerness. Let this be a lesson to us all. That is all.
See you in Calgary, October 2017!
New motto: Life is an adventure!
Oh and by. the. Way … Men over 50 can’t see cellulite or chin hairs! Oh, yeah! Oh, ye of little faith. *wink*