Are You My Person?

Yesterday Jules (Thing 1) and I skipped out of real life and went to the cinema to see Friends With Kids.

I was super excited to see it – All star cast of hot and hilarious man-stars + two of my favourite TV ladies + ridiculing children, was bound to be = awesome.

Except for when one of the main characters has no top lip and keeps sucking it in when she talks (what’s that about?) because it’s super distracting.

And except for when there is ZERO Chemistry between the main character and her love interest but you’re supposed to believe that they’re madly in love.

Oh, and except for when the film ends with the line “Fuck the shit out of me”

And also, except for when the film makes you leave feeling all confused about what/who you are supposed to want in life.

“You’re my person”

In Hollywoodland, your person is supposed to have all the same exact values as you, agree with every point and perspective you have and know you inside and out and be able to predict you every thought, move and emotion.

No pressure.

So under the mind-altering and potentially life-changing influence of popcorn and soda I’m all…

But.. then… Who is MY person?

Certainly not my boyfriend, who I bicker with enthusiastically about my thoughts and feelings on everything from Top 40 hits of the 80′s to Police Brutality.

And most certainly, and more importantly, not my boyfriend who hates peppers, tomatoes, garlic, onions AND EGGPLANT!

I mean what kind of soul mate hates eggplant?

Damn you Hollywood.

For condemning me to a future life time of searching high and low through the streets of Montreal begging asking strangers (and inanimate objects).

“Are you my person?”

Damn you straight to hell.

For making me doubt everything I knew to be true in life, such as:

Learning how to accept people for who they are instead of moulding them into who you want them to be is the key to a successful relationship.


All men will annoy the shit out of you with their farting and burping, ball scratching and their uncanny ability to smell almost exactly like nacho-cheese Doritos.

Most women are crazy control freak wannabe-mindreaders who think they know what you’re thinking and punish you for suspected thought crimes you were committing when you were actually just thinking about how long it’s been since you’ve had a nice bowl of ramen.

And of course, my all time favourite,

Nobody’s perfect.

So I walked away from the movie pining away for…

my person.

Where’s my person?

Where is the person who supports and agrees with absolutely everything I say think, and believe?

The person who finishes my sentences?
 Even though that’s so annoying and rude!

The person who kisses me passionately when I’m crying so that suddenly I’m super horny instead of sad.

The person who lets me adopt as many dogs as I want and gets up at 6am to walk them with me every morning.

The person who spends hours helping me glue crystals to my new feed-bag costume while watching re-runs of Gossip Girl My person is clearly a gay man.

The person who can’t breathe without me and hates every passing moment where he/she can’t be by my side 
I’m feeling a little suffocated just writing this.

I don’t know. Maybe my person doesn’t exist but if he/she does I ask only one thing. Please never ever ever tell me that you’re going to F#$% the shit out of me. Cuz that’s just juvenile and gross.

Honestly, who proclaims their undying love by saying that?

Who ends a movie with that line?

And… who lets a silly Hollywood movie make them spend all day questioning their core beliefs?

Jennifer June

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