NadineBells.com

From now on, I'll be blogging at NadineBells.com. I'm not coordinated enough to maintain two personal blogs. It's not good for the narcissism either.

A boy once ended a quasi-date (one of those weird evenings that starts off as a nondate and ends up as a definite date) with, "Are you going to blog about this?" I responded, "Only if I can fit this into my 'Elegant Hairstyles for Every Bride' article."

I never saw him again. For non-writing-related reasons. And until this moment, over a year later, I did not blog about that night. Or about him. At all.

I scribbled in my journal. I spent midnights at the piano. And you had no idea. Because I was busy posting YouTube videos here.

It's a shame, really, that I'm at the mercy of such self-censorship. There are a lot of fun and crazy and frustrating moments that would make great online stories. But I want to be trustworthy. I want to maintain healthy relationships. As a general rule, I don't want to scare you away by making you paranoid that you're my next blog post. Unless you want to be. In which case, let me know. And I'll tell cyberspace exactly what I think of you.

I'll continue to tell stories. Maybe I'll tell even more than usual. A fractured memoir, if you will. You can blame Donald Miller for the life-chronicling. But I won't give all my secrets away. I'll leave that to OneRepublic.

I missed YouTube Tuesday yesterday. Appropriately enough, I can't embed this video from YouTube. I kind of love the first verse.

I need another story
Something to get off my chest
My life gets kinda boring
Need something that I can confess
'Til all my sleeves are stained red
From all the truth that I've said
Come by it honestly, I swear
Thought you saw me wink, no
I've been on the brink, so

Tell me what you want to hear
Something that were like those years
Sick of all the insincere
So I'm gonna give all my secrets away
This time, don't need another perfect line
Don't care if critics never jump in line
I'm gonna give all my secrets away

Dead Man's Bones: Proof

See? I told you. A ghost sang "Like a Virgin."

And then Ryan Gosling sang that his body is a zombie for me. Z-O-M-B-I-E.

From Tuesday's show:

It's an acquired taste. Mostly brilliant. And slightly strange.

Don't diss Gosling's crooning. The man can do pop if he so chooses. But he turned down a spot in *NSYNC for an acting career. Wisest choice ever.

See more from the show over at NadineBells.com. Yes, folks. I'm moving onwards and upwards. Start updating your feeds/readers/bookmarks.

It Happened Tonight: Dead Man's Bones

Yes, those are X's on my hands. Apparently the lady in line thought I said I was under 19. I ACTUALLY said that I probably wouldn't be drinking tonight. She grabbed her permanent marker and made the decision for me.

Straight edge for life, yo.

(Do kids say "yo" anymore? Did I just prove that I'm old by saying "kids"?)

It's flattering, having someone assume I'm 18. Because recently someone else asked me if I'd ever been married. Meaning I look like a divorcee?! Sigh.

You should also note that I brought out the plaid shirt. Just for Mr. Gosling. In return, he wore a three-piece suit. Have you ever heard girls scream because someone took off his suit jacket? I have.

I was wedged at the front between two strangers. On my left, the girl texted her friend: "This show is f@#$ed." On my right, the girl whispered, "Could there be a more beautiful man?" It was appropriate that I stood in the middle. Because I didn't find it insane, nor did I have any intentions of drooling. Although these particular well-suited musicians were quite attractive. Not gonna lie.

I'll post pictures soon. The show was sort of like Nuit Blanche packed into two hours on a single stage. A ghost sang "Like a Virgin." A guy bent a spoon with his mind. A woman jump-roped with a poodle. And a choir of child-sized ghosts sang backup.

And it sort of all made sense. Even when they shot a little girl, who then resurrected in silhouette, singing Nancy Sinatra's "Bang Bang" while Gosling whispered the lyrics in her ear.

Maybe you had to be there.

Sometimes it's inspiring to experience something so completely new and unusual. Something you can't box in or define. It was a collaborative, interactive, slightly rough-around-the-edges performance, with no room for big stars and egos. If the women didn't squeal, you'd have no idea that Gosling was an anybody.

P.S. His band mate is actually prettier than he is. But less accomplished musically. And less interesting. I can't explain it, but I'm not very intrigued by walking Ken dolls.

YouTube Tuesday: Gosling Tonight

I'm in a rush. I can't be late for my date with Ryan.

I know I've posted this before, but I can't help myself. So endearing. So charming. So hilarious.

This is my evening, folks. Sixteen years later.

I Know I'm Sick When...

• I wake up at 10:30 and think it's only 7:00.
• Food tastes like chunky air. And requires way too much effort.
  
• Horribly horrible movies like "Must Love Dogs" distract me.
• My only writing idea is stolen directly from a movie.
• I operate in a zombie state, disinterested in both sleep and consciousness.
• Information refuses to stay in my head.
• I fantasize about breathing.
• Tissues (of all brands) are my bestest friends in the whole world.
• I justify this sort of nothingness as a blog post.

Goodnight, Moon.

Say Yes to the Dress

I've had this conversation with two people now. So I might as well extend it to the blogosphere. It's about contentment. And settling. And tulle.

There's a recent phenomenon in wedding-gown shopping in which a bride ends up buying multiple dresses. She tries on a beautiful dress, thinks it's the one, and buys it. But then she finds another dress, the one she knows is the one. So then she's stuck trying to sell the first one. She suffers a financial loss, but it's worth it because she gets to walk down the aisle in sartorial perfection.

Some brides buy three or four gowns before the big day. Bridal consultants rejoice.

Such a shopping trend makes me uncomfortable.

Firstly, if you're not sure in the first place, why are you buying? Why are you settling? Why are you spending thousands on one deemed not good enough? Is it the panic that there just might not be anything better out there? Are you purchasing out of fear? Desperation?

Secondly, why are you still looking? If you think you've found the one, made the down payment, started the alteration process, what on earth are you doing trying on other dresses? And does this thought pattern carry over into other areas of your life? Will you keep looking at men after you've committed to the one you think is "the one"? Can you be content with your choice, even though it won't necessarily line up with the picture of magical perfection that floats in your head?

I will not settle. I will choose wisely. And then I will stand by my decision. This applies both to the dress I'll buy one day and to the man waiting for me at the end of the aisle. I'll be picky before I buy, not after.

P.S. I should be a wedding planner. And/or premarital counselor.

A Life in Paper

I was completely uninspired to pursue job leads today. Sure, I applied for a job and posted a quick Gather.com item or two, but I had little desire to send out application upon application for gigs that barely pay and inspire even less.

It was time to purge.

When my space is cluttered, I can't focus. I feel defeated. So I spent my afternoon surrounded by stacks of paper, sorting through the paper trail created by four years of Toronto living. Oddly, I found things from 15 years ago. Paper must follow me.

My life in paper reads as half-fiction. Partly because I remember nothing, and partly because people send me lies.

P.S. I miss acting.

Things I found:

• Wrapping paper that says "hottie holidays." It's covered in the floating heads of Joshua Jackson, Will Smith, James Van Der Beek, Matt Damon, Nick Carter, Usher, Leo DiCaprio and Andrew Keegan.
• A program from Stratford with the lead actor's phone number scrawled across his bio.
• A postcard of a cartoon Toby Penner. Oh, Jake.
• The script from Oliver! I was Nancy in the SIXTH GRADE. And yes, it's the original copy.
• Monologues I wrote in university. Including the children's story about suicide.
• A napkin from East Side Mario's. I outlined the plot of a play on it.
• Two fake love letters. I don't remember ever receiving them. But they're clearly written by a girlfriend, pretending to be the man we quasi-stalked one summer. He's now married. And on TV. I'm neither.
• A letter that was probably supposed to be a love letter. But I was pretty stupid and didn't notice at the time. Boys, don't be subtle. We'll miss the awesomeness.
• A clipping from the school newspaper that favourably reviewed a performance of mine. The "cancer baby" play.
• A note from a woman at my parents' old church, strategically written to introduce me to her nephew. Hilarious. (Yep, I emailed him. And yep, we're still friends.)
• A lot of thank-you notes. Apparently I used to do a lot of kind stuff. Huh.
• A card that commented on my flirting skills. It took me almost 5 minutes to realize it was referencing a jazz opera I was in. I didn't recognize a single signature. Quiet panic.
• Floppy disks.
• The headshot of a middle-aged Kitchener-based actor I once worked with.
• My Exer-Clean Launderers contract. Yes, I have proof that I once did laundry for a living.

YouTube Tuesday: Next Tuesday

Is it weird that I needed a YouTube video to tell me that the venue of next week's concert is different than the one printed on my ticket?

Thank you, Ryan, for keeping me posted on the location change. I'm not in the mood for a tragedy. And I doubt you are either. It's about time we hang out in the same building, no?