It’s not like I was unaware of the people-pleaser gene inside me, it’s just that…well, fuck, I was unaware of it I guess.

The thing about early detection for symptoms is that, I can test benign for most of the year, and then like modern day puberty levels, my people-pleaser gene goes into overdrive and develops into a mass hoarding, somewhat pitiful in retrospect, ranging in desperate sort of an obstruction in my life almost overnight.

I have been very vocal about my recent break up, and I’d gone through the self-euphemism phase of trying to rally estrogen supporters in my first post about it, then onto a tough women exterior, and now I’m just down to make fun of myself for it.

The realization of the repetitive nature of this gene came about to me last night while chatting with my colleague as she was in the early throes of a budding romance and was planning her boyfriend’s surprise birthday bash. In this, she reflected she had always been too generous with giving when it came to a special occasion.She was prepared to pick up the tab for not just him, but all of his friends in one of the best Japanese restaurant in towns. Sake included. She felt silly saying it aloud, so as a good friend, how do I propose to making her feel better? Recount my stories.

For my very first ‘real’ boyfriend after a 3 year hiatus, I had bought him tickets to a Cirque De Soleil show in the first 2 month. He didn’t end up making it that far into the relationship. I went with my sister instead. Props to my mother for giving me a backdrop hang-out buddy for life.

My second boyfriend, I bought tickets to a Canucks hockey game after about the same amount of time – I want to defend myself a little and say this one was in fact for his birthday, so I’m not just an unstoppable force of nature swindling cash into the vortex of Vancouver’s overpriced living standards. We actually did make it to this point to go together. Just that we broke up a month later. Boo.

This last one…well, either he or I had hit the jack pot depending on how you want to view it. I had bought a plane ticket ride overseas to a foreign country to meet him. Damn most expensive date I’ve ever been on. Evidently, we didn’t make it either.

I’m starting to think there’s an insidious trail of overcompensation on monetary terms that is worrisome for my future wallet.

As I was recounting all these events, one glorious detail from an email update (that’s right, this is what the modern women resorts to when one of your friends – me – has no other notable form of decent instant stalking feature – Facebook, Instagram, or even the dying Twitter) from one of my girlfriends, who have since moved across country earlier this year, came into mind.

[… that I need space… let me learn to be just his friend…I haven’t spoken to him for a couple of months now  and I’m really happy. I have great friends here and I don’t need no man!!! ]

Wasn’t sure if this is how all popularized Hollywood magazines cleverly realign celebrity quotes, or in this case an inside source of bold news flash.

I’ll leave this with one thing. I feel great. I’m still scared sometimes, your mind backtracks. Once again, insert quote:

[My god, boys are more effort than they are worth a lot of the time, don’t do that to yourself!] – love you Erin, you won’t ever see this, so no need to quote me for credibility in my shabby journalism.