Twenty Eleven

2010 was magical, there is no doubt about that. The Olympics, Paris, Switzerland, Hawaii, Vegas, weddings, it was all decently documented here, so I’ll try to not bore everyone with the details again.

But this year is about to come to a close. With two short days left in the year it is time to look ahead. Looking ahead though, frightens the shit out of me.

Almost 30, still single, and feeling a wee unsatisfied, I don’t know what I want from 2011.
And yes, I know I said I was ok with 30, but I may have been a big fat liar. There is so much shit that I want to do with my life, and I feel like I’m running out of time. I mean eventually, I want to settle down, find a boy to spend my life with, but I don't want to rush anything, and well need to hurry the fuck up. Time's running out!

That being said, I think from 2011, I want adventure. I want to feel like I took some chances on me, and maybe one or two will work, but if not, I want to look back on the year ahead thinking I grabbed it by the balls and made 2011 my bitch.

Also, I would like a new liver. This one won’t cut it for much longer.

Wanderlust

The problem with vacations, even short ones, is that they get me all ... distracted.

I come home and well, it is the last place I want to be. I would rather be on the beach somewhere, or exploring some fantastic city, with some fantastic person.

But instead, I am here, typing away, wishing I was anywhere but here.

ANYWHERE.

This week, when I returned to work, for the first time in a while, I wished I was retired.

Tangent - why is retirement wasted on the old? I mean, I would have WAY more fun retired right now than any old person. Give me my CPP now, and I will start working again at 35 and slave away for the rest of my days. I don't care.

So, where am I wanderlusting to?

Paris.

There's a side-story you need for some context.

When I was 14, my dad took me to the UK with his family. His family and I have had, let's say a rocky relationship.

While we were there, we took the Chunnel to Calais, France. As he was in the cafe buying lunch, he realized that Paris was only a 45-minute train ride.

He came out of the cafe excited - and he never gets excited.

"Iris! Paris is only 45-minutes away. Let's go. You and me and Paris!"

I had never been more excited for anything - PARIS?! For reals?

Well, this idea was quickly shot down by his sister. Apparently this was a family trip, and a visit to Paris with just he and I did not qualify as a family trip.

Fuck that.

Paris was so close ... like Westlock close, and I didn't get to go.

*sob*

Recently, after many glasses of wine, my dad confessed one of his biggest regrets to me - not saying screw you to his family and taking me to Paris anyways.

This made me want the city even more. This city that was so close ... in my grasp almost, but so far away.

I haven't been back to Europe since and when I go again, it will be very different.

That is why I am thinking about skipping a family Christmas, because, well, they never go well, and heading to Europe.

What could be more lovely than spending a week in gay Paris in solitude? The city, me and who knows what.

sigh.

I think it might just be a pipe-dream though. My mother would kick my ass if I missed a holiday with her.

Although she did just have heart surgery - that might have slowed her down a little. I'm sure she doesn't pack the same punch she used to.