Part 1: you want team athletes to work for you… but only some of them.


i have been a competitive athlete for my entire life. playing team sports for so many years, i have learned what it takes to be a team sport athlete. in my opinion, these are the qualities of a fantastic team player:

– initiative

– hard work

– communication

– positivity

– knowing what it feels like to be on the bottom.

all of the above are probably typical qualities one might expect from a team athlete. they are the qualities that are often spewed out in job interviews by these athletes, because they are attractive to prospective employers. in fact, having team experience is an ideal asset to employers today. however, although all athletes will advertise these qualities, a handful of athletes (usually the most successful ones) often do not possess a few of them.

being on a team for so long has allowed me to experience every type of teammate there is. but, since i graduated to being on a varsity team for my university, i have been exposed to a new breed. i haven’t exactly come up for a name for them yet, but they have a precise definition of a person who, on paper, is an ideal team player that you would want to work with. however, they do not possess the qualities expected of a team player. these athletes are the naturally born stars. they woke up one day and decided they wanted to be a volleyball player, or a hockey player, etc. they have such natural born talent and discovered it at a such a young age. playing the sport came easy to them, and they were targeted as a prospect in their sport since they were very young. they start every game. they come into practice never worrying about their coach yelling at them or not being able to complete a drill. they define themselves as natural born leaders, yet they never take any initiative or even have a lack of commitment to their team because they know that no matter what, they will play. they have coaches praising them, putting them on pedestals. they are given all-star awards on a constant basis. they have an honest-to-god idea in their minds that everything they do is commendable. they also have the social skills of a goat.

these athletes think they know the meaning of hard work, when in fact, they have never had to work a day in their lives. they often have the type of parents that saw this spark in their child’s eye…erm…arm, that screamed “university scholarship”. they ran with it from there. mommy and daddy took on multiple jobs to fork out money for expensive agents and private lessons, camps, and provincial teams. their life has always circled around themselves.

i don’t mean to generalize here, but this is just coming from experience. they have a prince/princess mentality, that they feel offended when they have to do more work than they feel they should. they crumble and complain when things get a little hard. it is almost impossible to be close friends with them and enjoy their company, because conversation is often filled with a) ignorant comments about others and b) useless details about themselves.

so, employers everywhere, be careful when a prospective employee tells you about their athletic past. you do not want the stars; you want the left bench.


thoughts from my eighteen year old self

It’s like the thought of being with someone is so foreign to me. It’s like I don’t know how to love someone, how to be hurt, how to be so emotionally drained and empty and heartbroken anymore. I used to do it too often; I used to care way too much and I used to want to cry every single night because I worried about how little my friends seemed to care. I worried about myself, my life, my family. I would toss and turn all night worrying about the smallest things and it’s like that made up for the fact that I am literally a rock. I am a stone without the slightest bit of happiness or sadness. I don’t know how to love someone anymore; I only know how to love myself.

I’ve hurt so many people. I’ve watched them break down in front of me because they’re so constricted with emotion and the need and want for me to feel the same way but I just can’t, I just can’t. I don’t know how to be with someone, I don’t know how to accept someone for who they truly are. I don’t know what I want anymore. I used to be the most hopelessly romantic person until you pushed me over the edge and threw my feelings out the window along with my self respect and dignity. I was too young. I was too young.

I felt too much. I cared too much about you and your selfish, egotistical self-construed opinion that came along with your need to belong and feel wanted and you pushed me so far that I pushed you back. I pushed you back and you never came up again. You stayed there, you stayed on the ground shaking your fists at the sky because that’s all you can see. All you can see is everyone around you and you can’t even see yourself anymore. You have no idea where you are and you have no idea what to feel like and you have no idea who I am. I ruined you. I took your short temper and boyish charm and crushed it. I crushed your spirit and your ability to be happy. Well maybe you are happy now but you’re not happy with me; in fact you can’t stand the thought of me because it brings back the memories of you on the floor, hopeless and crying and wishing you never met me in the first place.

I shouldn’t have let you go. I wish you stayed. I wish I stayed. We could be perfect. Or could we? I never have felt as strongly about anyone as I did about you, maybe because you finally made me feel wanted. You finally made me feel beautiful. You took me out of the shy, insecure girl that I was and turned me into a selfish, stubborn, impatient champion who will never settle for less than she deserves. Is that a good thing? You took the sweet heart out of me and replaced it with a scorpion. A chameleon. Your frustration began near the end when I began to change. Suddenly your attention wasn’t enough for me and you couldn’t handle it so you cried. And I cried. And we made our parents cry. And that night that I told you that I couldn’t go on with you, you cried. You cried and you cried for weeks on end and you hit things and I watched the strong, beautiful, amazing person I had once loved to death turn into a small child having a tantrum and suddenly I was disgusted by you. I was disgusted by who you were and I was disgusted by your neediness and I was disgusted by your discerning glares at me. I was disgusted when I came off stage and you were standing there with her and I only wanted you there just so you could see how talented I was and how much better I was without you. I loved the attention, I craved the attention. Maybe attention is all I need in life. Maybe I don’t need someone who loves me; I just need the whole world to love me.

One day. One day I’ll meet someone who I will fall hopelessly head over heels in love with and they’ll hurt me. They’ll fall in and out of love with me and never look back to me again, and I’ll just be left wishing that I had stayed in my room hidden under a book, away from anyone staring at me and wondering what I could be like. What we could be like. One day I’ll get what I have been dishing out for the past two years, and it’s gonna hurt like hell.

I’m working on being more sentimental and taking the good out of every journey I end up on. I can’t just be a machine. Passion for life has to fly out somewhere. I love who I am. I adore myself. Sometimes. I wish I could just let go and be happy with whatever is thrown my way. I won’t stop until I get what I want. But maybe I can let someone else come along with me. I’m tired of being alone. I am not invincible, no matter how much I act like I am. I could be. I am invincible. But I need someone else’s help to make the journey that much better. Maybe I am ready to love. I’m ready to fall in love; I just need to right person. Have I found them? Maybe I tell myself that I shouldn’t and I constantly pick out the flaws with them. Maybe it’s my subconscious helping me work harder.

i mean, i’ll applaud you for persistence, but…

just recently, a very traumatic event occurred in my life. not to me, but to my roommate of two years, and one of my best friends.

my roommate, veronica, grew up in a very catholic family. she goes to church every weekend, and since the age of 13 years old, she made a promise to stay abstinent until marriage.

obviously, in this day and age, it’s a very respectable but yet… unheard of thing to do. in a society where sex is the root of relationships, the motive behind humour in romantic sit coms, and laced among the headlines of every Cosmo, veronica is a unicorn.

i’m not saying this is a bad thing, at all. i respect her decision 100%. unfortunately, however, some of the men she’s come across do not. in highschool, she had two long term relationships. she maintained a sex life without actually having sex, but things were a tad different once she entered university.

the first few months of our second year, veronica started seeing the captain of the men’s volleyball team at our school. we both play on the women’s team, so naturally, we spent a lot of time with our male counterparts. she was good friends with him, until she started staying over at his place after team nights at the bar. she would do a lot with him, sexually, but sex. not to say he didn’t try, though. every single time she stayed over he would attempt to stick it in, despite the fact that he was well aware of her morals and values.

she fell pretty hard for him, unfortunately. and after a few months of that, he ended things with her. even though he claimed it was because he “didn’t want to ruin their friendship”, i knew that it was because she wouldn’t give it up.

she was pretty heartbroken, naturally. but they stayed close friends and veronica even started seeing a new guy that she met off of tinder (go figure). everything was seeming to work out.

however, this past weekend, she played in a charity volleyball tournament with him and a couple other guys from the men’s volleyball team. she came back that weekend having told me that she had, in fact, slept with him. the guy who broke her heart six months ago. her “best friend” had deflowered my clueless roommate.

i think i was more heartbroken than she was. when i asked her what happened, she said “it was like all the other times, except i didn’t say no”.

i am still floored by this. the fact that this guy who claims to care so much about her has completely disregarded her values and the promise she made to herself makes me sick to my stomach. this makes me think, does no really mean no? or does it mean, possibly later? i mean, he knew what her views were… but he didn’t really know. he thought he could sweet talk his way into her pants. and the worst thing is, she thinks it’s her fault… i mean, okay it kind of is. but the fact that he didn’t respect her in the slightest disgusts me. is the male ego really that strong? did he find it intriguing? “oh, she won’t sleep with anyone until marriage… but she will for me.” are you kidding? i want to chop his balls off.

this guy is the captain of a university sports team. he is an avid member of the community and wins awards for his charity work on a regular basis. what would the community think if they knew that their golden boy completely ignored the religious views and personal values of a girl who he claims is one of his good friends? what would they think if they knew that even though she has always told him no, he could still go to sleep at night knowing that he caught her in a moment of vulnerability and took advantage of it?


today i saw a woman’s naked bum. and it made me sad.

alright, so it wasn’t just any naked woman’s bum. it was the bum of one of the few day-walking prostitutes in downtown toronto. it was a tuesday, at about 1:15 pm. she was quietly sauntering down yonge street in a pink dress (if you could call it that… actually, it was more like a bikini. except the bottoms were basically a belt. hence my title) and cheap plastic heels that all of the toronto prostitutes seem to have. seriously, i have never seen them clicking around in anything but these things that seem to be made from melted toothbrushes. her tangled blonde hair was tied back into two pig tails, which gave me a fantastic view of her brown roots. she wore no makeup. she had a long, slender body, and since i had a full frontal view of it- a perfectly plump butt. she had many tattoos, including the stereotypically slutty bows on the back of her upper thigh. in broad daylight on a tuesday afternoon, she was quite an alarming sight.

she was walking around quietly with this small east indian man (man, boy? i don’t know. he was so short he could have been twelve years old, but he had the beard of a man on duck dynasty). he was walking beside her, and then occasionally he would walk in front of her, backwards, so he could stare at her as she kept walking. it was a very sad, very disturbing situation that i couldn’t help but watch happen.

now, the whole situation was only sad because i caught a glimpse of the look on her face while she was walking. she looked down. she didn’t talk to anyone, and simply pretended to ignore the small man licking his lips and mentally thrusting her. she looked depressed, ashamed, mortified. i wasn’t sure if it was because of the little hobbit she was being followed by or if it was because of the rest of downtown toronto staring at her along with him.

you read articles and see tv shows about the life of prostitutes, but being in the heart of toronto, you really get a firsthand look at what it’s like. well, obviously i don’t know what it’s like but when you are a metre away from one on your way to starbucks, you can’t help but imagine what it’s like.

i am very open-minded when it comes to sexuality. i believe that if you choose to have a certain lifestyle or preference, that you should be able to have it without being ashamed or having to hide it from others. when i was in grade twelve, i wrote a paper and did a presentation on the legalization of prostitution. just like marijuana, and abortion, and all the other controversial stuff that the westboro baptist church makes vines and protests about, it will happen. and it continues to be a part of some people’s lives. sometimes, although it seems like an awful concept, it is all some people can turn to. and i think that if we took after the innovative and adaptive hindsight of say, Nevada and the Chicken Coop, it would be very beneficial to the city of Toronto.

i know that some of you, after reading that statement, are already conjuring up comments that you will make on this post that will state how disgusting an idea that is and how i am catering to satan and it is digressing the feminist movement, etc. but hear me out, and listen to some of these pros of legalizing the solicitation of prostitution and creating a brothel system in downtown toronto:
– even though it is against the law, it still happens. we might as well embrace it and keep it clean. brothels will allow prostitutes to get tested regularly, to pick and choose which clients they have, to do their job in a clean area that will be sanitized regularly.
– brothels will allow them to stay safe as there will be full time security, which will decrease the amount of prostitutes that are assaulted or murdered each year by their clients.
– creating brothels = creating jobs.

obviously, i’m talking out of my ass here. some of you may deem prostitution as morally wrong and disgusting. you may bring up the idea that brothels will create more taxes. or you may just call me sick and twisted. but c’mon, we are in the 21st century. we are a generation of progression and acceptance. prostitution is the oldest profession in the world- who are we to try to put a stop to tradition?

i may be crazy. but all i know is, seeing the look on this woman’s face was a sight that i never want to witness again. she is a person, too. and we do not have the right to tell her that her job is not a real job. we only have the right to tell that to door-to-door salesman.

(i can only make that salesman comment because i used to be one. shut up.)

jack of all trades but master of none.

throughout my life, i have always been a well-rounded person. i was and still am involved in a ton of different things, and i do fairly well in all of them.

that’s the thing. i was, and still am a jack of all trades. i have many passions and hobbies that i like to live out and practice and pursue very often. sometimes i want to do everything- but i end up with nothing.

why? i don’t know. i don’t know why it can be so unsatisfying to not be able to call myself a master of anything. but what question dawns on me the most, is what is considered a “master”? who decides that someone is so good at something that they are able to call it their own? is there a verification notice in real life? how do you know when you’ve made it?

i’m wondering, if, we are only considered a master of something when it is acknowledged by other people. i mean, famous people are only famous because other people know who they are, right? does being considered “famous” mean that they are the master of what they do? because other people agree that they are so good at what they do that it should be acknowledged and advertised?

another thing i wonder, is who decided that the kardashians were so interesting that they should get their own tv show for doing nothing? are they the “master” of living their lives? (snort)

honestly, this question has been in the back of my brain for years. are you only considered anything if someone else deems you it as well? what if i consider myself a master of writing? does my average of three likes per post back that up? i mean, three WHOLE PEOPLE liked something that i wrote. they acknowledged what i was saying and the information i was putting out for them to read. so clearly, i am a master of what i do.

some would say that three is not a large enough number to be considered a master. but, it’s better than nobody, right? who decides the standard? and why does anyone need to decide it for me? it’s almost like we need constant verification in our lives that we are being successful and doing a “good job”. but, does it only mean to be successful if other people say we are?
….i may have just answered my initial question.

this post is a total mind fuck, and i’m starting to get a head ache. if i don’t get any likes on this post, i’m just going to tell myself that i’m a progressive thinker and nobody will understand what i’m saying until 2035.

god forbid i miss out on watching my friends drink their body weight in sailor jerry’s

it is a wednesday night, here in pickering, ontario. aka: my hometown. as i have mentioned, i am only nineteen years old. i do live away from home during the school year, but during the summer i come back to ye olde pk and revisit my high school years. it is both entertaining as well as hopelessly tiresome. entertaining in the sense that i get to see everyone that was too cool for me in highschool bask over my freshly highlighted hair and flash me overly fake smiles. i get to reject boys that barely looked my way when i was a freshman. i also get to see who’s gotten fat and who’s lost twenty pounds due to cocaine use. it’s a real blast, actually.

i am very close with many of my friends from high school. and where i’m from, there are certain bars that are the place to be on certain nights. occasionally, my girlfriends and i get dolled up to go out to the main attraction of the night, bring a side purse filled with five dollar bills to attend to our whiskey sour addiction, and look around at everyone we had grown up with.

tonight, the bar to be is this little shit hole a few streets over from my house. there will be girls with awful hair extensions looking to pick up older guys that spent their high school years dating the pretty blonde girls their age, but have now resorted to making their rounds to girls three years younger than them ever since their girlfriend dumped them for a 27 year old they met in guelph. there will be boys who played triple a hockey in highschool, and still think that their 2009 OFFSAA gold medal is still relevant and are not afraid to use them as a pick up line to my friends and i. it’s a really stimulating and enticing situation to be a part of.

however, instead of being surrounded by 21 year old men drowning in abercrombie cologne, i am in my mother’s bed with my dog. and i am somewhat loving it; somewhat about to pull my hair out. i mean, i had three of my friends invite me out tonight. i said that i was going to all of them, but then decided about an hour ago that i would rather just stay in bed. my friends were upset but understanding, thanks to a little white lie and my sister’s incredible acting skills. but that’s another blog post.

although i voluntarily decided to stay in, i am still feeling quite anxious. i have realized that through out all of my years of going out, whenever i decide to have a date with my bed instead of a date with the dancefloor, i feel this wave of anxiety wash over me. well, not a wave. more like a giant tsunami. or the entire ocean.

i researched this, and i have diagnosed myself (not a reliable diagnosis considering i based the criteria off of what a uk newspaper told me) with FOMO: the fear of missing out. it is a psychological syndrome in which you have an incredible fear of missing out on a social or work-related situation. you may feel like your status or relationship with your peers is jeopardized because you will not be attending said event. i don’t think i have an incredible fear, but i do think that i have a bit of a slight tendency to act this way.

social media is a huge factor in FOMO. although social media is supposed to leave us more connected, it actually causes us more stress, as the photos and tweets about the event we are not at are plastered all over the walls of twitter and instagram. i mean, who wants to receive a snap chat of your friends at this amazing party while you are stuck at work, or in my case, stuck in bed? it sucks.

i have found that my fear of missing out has led me to sacrifice my health and school work over the years. i like to say that i value my friendships and relationships, which i do. but i am slowly realizing that my absence from one night at the bar is not going to make or break my friendship with someone. and if it does, well then, what kind of friendship did you ever have in the first place?

if you want to read more info about FOMO, click on this somewhat applicable and reliable link:

my terrible fear of settling

settle. ugh. the word itself just gives me shivers. being a hopeful and eager dreamer by entire life, the idea of settling is like taking a a giant hammer and nailing down my wings. i’ve always thought of the idea of settling as toxic; dangerous; letting yourself go. it’s the idea of being satisfied with what you have and never yearning for what else there is out there. that, right there, is one of my biggest fears. never fulfilling everything you could be. it’s like being a contestant on “deal or no deal” and deciding you will take the $500 offer because you’re scared you’ll end up with pennies. it would physically haunt me. 

over the years, this idea of settling has somehow iterated itself into my idea of being in a relationship. i’m not sure if it’s because of the guys i dated, or because of how i get when i’m with someone. but ever since that idea rooted itself into my brain, i run away from being in relationships or any sort of commitment. i would go for assholes because subconsciously, i’m pretty sure the nice ones scared me off because i knew i would fall at their feet. 

does anyone else feel this way? do they feel like a relationship, even at my tender age of 19 years old, would plant you down and put all things possible out of reach?

i’ve realized that when i am with someone, i tend to give 100%. i want that person to be my person. it’s an all or nothing mental task for me, and the whole idea of it scares me because i am terrified of losing myself in the process. i’m pretty sure this erupted from the haunting thoughts of my first relationship. jeremy was the love of my life. granted, i was only fifteen. but we dated for a year and a half which is like, nine years in highschool time. 

jeremy was also incredibly insecure and jealous, leading him to become emotionally abusive. saying yes to being his girlfriend was a beautiful, wonderful, and absolutely terrible decision. i basically handed my life over to him. if i didn’t answer his text messages in five minutes, he would resend them. if i hung out with my friends instead of him one night, he would pull out this passive aggressive remark to make me feel insanely guilty. not to mention while i was with my friends, i was also texting jeremy every thirty seconds. it was like a cult. 

it was my first relationship, and the idea of ever leaving jeremy sent tears to my eyes. i felt like i couldn’t live without him. until finally one day, it hit me that i didn’t want to see him anymore. and i dumped him. 

two months of listening to him swear and cry over the phone later, i felt as empowered as ever. being single was great- i could finally do whatever i wanted. i was ecstatic!

it wasn’t until this very year, thinking back to my relationship with jeremy, that i realized that my mindset at the time was absolutely ridiculous. no wonder i’ve put off relationships since then. my very first one gave me the idea that being in one was like being in prison. although i’ve tried to shake this idea off, i still can’t get it out of my mind. to this day, being with someone elicits questionably passive-aggresive behaviour… from me. it’s all i’ve ever known. 

just recently, i’ve realized that my best friend is the love of my life. he is everything and anything i have ever wanted in a person. and i have decided i want to be with him, and i’m incredibly terrified. anyone else felt like this?