That time I found the love of my teenage life...

As previously mentioned, growing up I was always boy crazy. If someone asked me who my celebrity crush was I had a list of at least eight people ready to go in ascending order. Whenever I would watched a movie and a cute guy would grace the scene I would zero in on one feature, the eye's….arms…perfect scar above there lip (Dermot Mulroney, call me) and I would convince myself I needed it in my life.

This lasted all through High School, yet the guy at the top of my list remained the same. His songs were on constant repeat whenever I got in the car and I would always be up to date on which state he was performing in at any given time. This sounds a lot creepier than it is, it was merely something to daydream about in my down time…oh and rub my imaginary love in my boyfriends face…completely healthy. 

When I was 18 and finally done with High School, I decided I should probably get over the little celebrity crushes I hung on to. So I gave him up, cold turkey, like my hardest drug and I moved to New York City.

I broke up with my boyfriend at this time also and began to really focus on myself, growing up and becoming someone I was proud of. That was until I walked into a local bagel shop downtown.

There I was humming and harring over the various types of cream cheese when a person appeared next to me. Startled, I jumped into them and quickly turned to apologize, when I noticed who it was.

The guy I had joked about marrying for all those years.

We exchanged a few quick sorrys! and I was out in a flash. The whole train ride home was a blur, it was like my crush gained some substance and I couldn't think straight so I did the only logical thing.

I took to twitter, 

"@ lovely seeing you at Pick a bagel :) Sorry again!" I tapped into my phone walking the fine line of sweet and too cool. I sent it, and threw my phone in the direction of my bed before wandering off and flipping open some amounting homework. 

An hour or two went by before I looked back over at my screen to the notice of a brand new twitter follower. weird. I only used twitter to habitually stalk celebrities so my current follower count was 3. Then I saw the name, his name.

I double checked….triple checked…almost passed out before I had the guts to open it up….but sure enough…there it was. He had followed me and more importantly….he had messaged me. 

 I literally couldn't feel my face. That odd connection might not have resided only in my head. I couldn't breathe, I still remember the screaming phone call to my best friend...it's safe to say I completely lost my shit. 

 We twitter messaged for hours until he asked for my number and texted me, a simple "Hey it's (Prince Harry....or whatever his name was)!" and I died. I was afraid to go to bed that night, afraid that I would wake up and it wouldn't be real. During class the next day, I must have checked my phone every hour before finally receiving the message I was craving,

"Good Morning! What are you doing today?" 

It was so simple yet so oddly perfect. This game went on for weeks, he would text me, invite me out and I would string him along claiming to be too desired to grace his presence at the current time. The real story was my fake ID hadn't come in yet so all these romantic cocktails in fancy bars would have to wait. 

Eventually though, I caved. He texted me his address and told me to meet him, little did he know three years ago I would have died to have it...in a completely no creepy way I promise! I calmly headed for the address but ended up dreadfully lost in the Lower East Side, sat on a rickety old park bench sandwiched between a dodgy palm readers and a Chinese take out. At the time I was without a smart phone so my only option was to text him and beg for him to come and find me. I waited, he never came and eventually I stormed off home. 

Then he called me. I heard his voice and I was brought back to the alternate reality my life had become. He explained the situation and like putty I forgave him, but we were back to the Cat and Mouse.

He constantly texted me calling me a punk telling me I was stringing him along. It was crazy, who I wanted more than anything for years, and now I'm the one who is desired. 

We teetered with excuses, new jobs, business meetings, concerts and eventually it got to the point we realized we had to meet. So we did.

It was a rainy Thursday night, I was at the library diligently completing the ten tons of homework I had put off in exchange for my hour long conversations with my once dream boy. We decided movies at his place would be the best option and he offered to meet me this time, the Orpheum Theater, under the STOMP sign.

I was literally shaking the whole walk there. The weeks of playing hard to get had only built it up in my mind, but five seconds later I was there and he was there. Decked out in all black, hidden under a hooded sweatshirt and carrying a beat up skateboard.

Holy shit. 

I forced myself to blend my two realities. On one hand he was the guy I had a sarcastic school girl crush on for the past few years and on the other was the guy I had randomly started talking to and really started to like. We hugged and it was all oddly real.

The tale didn't end on that night, it took many twists and turns but that's for me to know and you to potentially be told…but I can give you one thing….

Sometimes things are better in your head. They are safer there, there is no imperfection that can scar there image. Sometimes what you think you want more than anything, isn't really that great at all. 

I love you all, just some more than others!

When I can't sleep I have this weird habit of laying in bed and quantifying my love for well....everything. I think it's important to let Calamity Jane know that yes, I do you love you....just not as much as Forrest Gump! Or for avocados to know that although they may be my favourite vegetable, I'm afraid Olive Garden bread sticks will always trump them in the grand scheme of things. It's a weird little habit....a quirk if you will. But it often leaves me wide awake in to the wee hours of the morning.Tonight it was musics turn to be pointlessly judged.

I'm the kind of asshole who, when asked what genre of music they like the best, shrugs and says,  "I dunno...I listen to all of it!" I can't help it! It's the truth. I literally listen to anything, spending hours digging around looking for my newest obsessions. But on the other hand, it is my least favourite topic to discuss with strangers. I hate music debates. All my favourite songs are their because they are attached to a plethora of memories, whether it be the period of my teen years when I religiously watched art student videos for weeks on end, or the endless summer days my best friend and I spent sitting in a parked car playing dirty mad libs, listening to the same song on repeat and complaining about how bored we were.


But alas,


(I originally  listed the reasons why they were my favourite but then I remembered that oh wait, you don't know me like that) 


1. Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers- American Girl

2. Elvis- Pocketful of Rainbows 

3. The Beatles- Maxwell Silver Hammer

4. Big L- Put it On

5. The Mighty Mighty Bosstones- The Impression that I get 

6. Rod Stewart- Maggie May

7. The Dexy's Midnight Runners- Come on Eileen

8. Silverchair- Anthem for the Year 2000

9. Jay Z- Blueprint 2 + Glory (I'm allowed two for the price of one...it's my list damn it!)

10. The Cat Empire- Two Shoes

11. Muse- Madness

Keepin' New York weird.

My ability to get from my work to either a) the bar b) food or c) my bed, is amazing. As soon as I'm out of the building my "don't fuck with my face" is on and my walk becomes more of a light jog. Nothing can sway me from my deep meditation as I brush past doctors ironically on their cigarette breaks, business men walking their pups around the Upper East Side after a long day of stacking their millions and all the various pictures of shocking that suddenly become less shocking after living here for awhile because hey....New York's weird man. 

I thought I had seen/heard it all until today. There I was, jumping down the subway steps wearing my latest in crabby fashions (I wish I was joking....my dress really did have crabs on it....) when a slumping homeless (or at least rather dirty/tired) gentleman locked eyes with me.

"Hey mama, wanna breast feed me?"

I stopped dead in my tracks, before looking around for conformation that, oh hey yeah that man did actually ask you to nurse him.

Oh New York, you wacky, wacky wasteland you.

(Oh and for those wondering, NO I didn't take him up on his offer)

P.S. I recently found this video whilst scrolling listlessly through my Facebook, it made me giggle AND it made my heart swell so I figured I would share!

Falling in love.

Some people say I fall in love too easily. I give my heart to anyone (or anything) that will love me in return and can often be found going boggle eyed over every hot new celebrity. Not only do I fall in love too easily, but some would think I fall in love too often. I can't seem to let a day flutter by without arriving on the other side awe struck at how I could have lived my life without (enter name here).

But I don't care.

When I love something I give it my all, and that is why I am writing this very post. I'm writing it as a substitute for screaming my love from all the rooftops and into every gorge.

I love you Chocolate Croissant! It may not be forever, heck I may have a new love by lunch time! But right now in this very moment you are my everything.

The Secret to Success is dressing for it.....

I am queen of the messy-don't-give-a-fuck hair....but I am also the queen of the overkill. I swear a deep adoration of red lipstick, fancy dresses and sky scraper high heels is programmed into my weird white girl soul, much to my friends dismay. I often find myself the butt of all the jokes, "Nice tutu," my friends often mutter as I prance around the streets in a petticoated, pink number. "Oh this must be your glass," they chuckle handing me my lipstick stained mug. I get weird glances wherever I go (again, noticed not by myself but always my friends) whether it be on the subway, on the street or my favourite dive bars (Who would have thought the girl in the ball gown loved Pickle chips so much!)

 But you know what, I often find that a pretty dress makes for a better day. 

"I thought of you when I was getting dressed this morning!" My Coworker commented this morning pointing at her maxi dress.

"RIGHT! Don't you feel like you just strut a little more?"

"YES!" She exclaimed....see! Someone gets it!

I don't care how many weird looks I get from strangers on the street, I'll be dressing up in hell.

Except on Mondays...I don't fuck with Mondays.

20 year old Dordyline is all about a poorly placed exclamation point!!!

Nice to meet you, I'm a baby kitty!

Last week I turned the dirty...20. For most of the people in my life this was a momentous day for the simple fact it was the day I completely lost my damn mind. Since the age of ten, I have been praised for my maturity, often being called an old soul or wise beyond my years. At one point I adored those around me viewing me as these things and often mistaking me for someone much older.....that was until I WAS much older...

20 is a big freakin' deal man! I am no longer a teenager, and therefore no longer have a solid excuse for my bratty, immature actions! I feel like I should be making big moves, planning vacations or weddings or at least attending such events! I feel like I'm still a little girl wearing my Grandmas old, gold heels and swimming in tacky perfume that made my entire family's head pound. I miss powder blue eye shadow and tacky hair extensions that fit snug over my unbrushed bun! I still expect to come home at night and find my Mum stirring up a pot of delicious (or American Chop Chey...hmph) whilst I avoid doing my homework on the sidelines or swiftly sneak 30 racks of cheap beers out of my bedroom window! I'm still waiting to be as old as Cher Horwitz was in Clueless or Cady Heron was in Mean Girls! I'm still waiting for my teenage movie to start and now it feels that within the blink of an eye it is all over and I'm being replaced with the new generation of regulation hotties!

*dramatics induced panic attack*

Now to be fair my birthday itself was a glorious day filled with cupcakes and good beer, kitty cuddles and midnight birthday brownies. I felt at peace surrounded by great friends and although my inner child felt as if she was becoming more ghostlike as the night wore on, the less dramatic side of me thinks that I might just be ok.

Although if anybody wants to invite me to any American Pie style high school ragers, I would be happy to get teenage buck wild just one more time!