the biography of someone

random happenstances | shedding a little light on people we've met in life

February 13, 2011

A Valentine Special Edition

Top 5 Couple Persona's That We Love To Hate.

In honour of Valentine’s Day, I thought it would be fun to commemorate the best of the worst couples we have all met at one time or another. In no way am I saying their love isn’t real, I’m simply saying that at times, their behaviour could be classified as annoying or amusing. I will be writing them as a combined entity; almost like Brangelina but more descriptive. And to start us off...

The Mush-Couple!

Tell-tale sign you are encountering this kind of couple:
They will usually be joined together by *some* body part. If you have been unlucky enough to be within ear range of their phone conversations, they will have lots of “I love you moar!”s and “Even if you were in an accident with 3rd degree burns all over your body and no longer looked like a human being, you would still be the prettiest girl/boy in my world.” They are usually very melodramatic and need to have some sort of public audience. This is a plus for Mush-Couples in this generation since they have so many options for audiences these days. You will probably be forced to read many of their social media status’s (Facebook, Twitter and whatever else the kids are up to nowadays). Be warned that these are worse than their phone conversations.
If they are in a fight of some kind, they will often show emo-like tendencies in their status and type things like “I am so alone, can’t believe you fed my heart to the dragon that is known as hatred.” Or my personal favourite “I guess you never loved me, I hope you are happy knowing you will never find a love like mine EVER AGAIN. FOREVER.” They love hard, and they battle hard.

This is a popular couple. There was a time in which I thought the mush-couple was a myth and only real in TV sitcoms or movies. How foolish I was back then... I have bumped into this couple (correction: we all have) in many places in life. Perhaps you were standing in line somewhere and forced to watch them make out in front of you. Perhaps you were checking Facebook and realised that your entire home page was bombarded with love/hate status back and forth instead of the typical Farmville invites. Whatever the circumstances, your initial reaction was probably trying to find a way to escape. They are like some kind of cosmic force; they pull one another fiercely towards each other while violently repelling everyone else within 30 yards.

The Dependent Duo

Tell-tale sign you are encountering this kind of couple:

There is usually a visibly stronger character in the relationship. Someone who bosses the spouse around, especially in public! When we use the word ‘dependent’, it has a pretty broad meaning here. One kind is they are both dependent on something. Examples would be drug addicts or a serious hobby. But if you remove the something, they will most likely have very little in common. But there is a kind that is better known. The Dependent Duo may not initially appear as boyfriend-girlfriend if you were meeting them for the first time. Their behaviour would probably confuse you. The more popular relationship they mimic is a parent with a son or daughter.

The first time I met a Dependent Duo, the girl corrected everything the guy would say with an attitude of exasperation.
Boy: We were visiting my family the other weekend...
Girl: Correction, we were late visiting your family because you didn’t take the route I said would be faster.
Boy: Right. *looks ashamed*
It is tiring to listen to after awhile. I would wonder why the boy didn’t stand up for himself! The truth is simple: they depend on each other. The forceful partner depends on the control they have and the shy partner depends on having their decisions laid out for them. Either way, it gets annoying very quickly and you usually spend minimal time with this couple.

The Fakers

Tell-tale sign you are encountering this kind of couple:

Ah, the fakers are a personal favourite of mine. Everyone knows they should not be together. They fight a lot. I know what you are saying ‘every couple fights’. But I mean a lot. And the topics of their argument (topics I have witnessed firsthand) include; not adding an ingredient to the meal “on purpose because you know I like the taste”, not liking the same character on the TV show, not saying ‘I love you’ back fast enough. These fights often branch from long ago issues that were never fully resolved and might even be the reason for their hatred of each other. You see it, their friends see it, and their coworkers see it. Even their parents probably agree that they should never be within close proximity!

When you confront or show concern to either of the two, they are quick to respond with things like ‘We are just kidding around when I say I want to scratch his eyes out!’ or ‘we are soul mates!’ But it is rare you will see a loving connection between them. Maybe they are very private people who choose not to show any emotional for their partner. Or maybe the jig is up and they need to move on.

The T.M.I. Couple

Tell-tale sign you are encountering this kind of couple:

The T.M.I. (also known as Too Much Information) Couple can often be confused with the Mush-Couple. While they are very...very open about public displays of affection, they continue to confide, to pretty much anyone who will listen, about completely inappropriate information. The range of topics are endless; how their sex life is fairing, with pie charts showing their progress; the thing on his back they thought was a mole but ended up being a pimple that she was finally able to pop.

The problem with the T.M.I Couples is that you just don’t know they are one until it’s too late. One moment all is happy with the world and the next you want to stab a sharp object into your ear. There is no way to mentally prepare for some of the information you will hear from this couple, the only suggestion I can give you is to stay strong and it will all be over as quickly as it came.

The Super Couple

Tell-tale sign you are encountering this kind of couple:

The super couple are a rare breed. They randomly appear to remind you of all your flaws. They are beautiful, successful and usually quite wealthy. They might be sitting next to you and your spouse in a restaurant or walking down the street. Every glance at their manicured fingers and every ‘clip clop’ of their Italian shoes make your thighs feel fatter and your skin look blemished. They even smell phenomenal, for god’s sake. You will probably never know them very well, but everyone seems to know *of* them. There is only one thing I can think of that goes against them; they tend to lack character or personality. Not all of them, of course. But it makes me feel better to think they are boring...

Sometimes we hate this couple. We have all seen them somewhere in life and they don’t seem to age. Luckily, as we get older, we tend to let go of all the hate and just accept them as freaks of nature. And as freaks, they were obviously meant for each other. They will then breed perfect children who will marry the kids of their fellow super couples and the cycle will continue.

What kind of couple characteristics do you have? And which kind of couple is your favourite? Happy Valentine’s Day!

I would like to dedicate this special edition to my boyfriend, Brian. Thank you for being the best. And for all the love a support a gal can ever ask for. I love you!

February 11, 2011

Remembering Mrs. Burrows

We have all had different and unique elementary school experiences. School helped to build your mind and define who you are. Most of your recollections include shenanigans with your friends and bullies beating you up for things such as drawing a happy face on their favourite eraser. But all other memories of this pivotal time in your life probably revolve around the horrors that we know as the school faculty. Everyone has a specific teacher who helped, scarred or confused them through the years. Don’t get me wrong, not all teachers were sent to school for the sole purpose of slowly torturing us. But many of them were, and this is one of their stories.

Sifting through all the teachers I had was difficult. Some memories were best left untouched, like the time I had to use the bathroom so badly I was crying. So I ran to the closest bathroom which also happened to be the staff washroom and opened the door on Mr. Hall while he was “freeing the chocolate hostages”, if you will. *Shudders* Anyhow… was getting off topic. I was able to narrow my choices down to one (although my other two choices will probably be written about in the future) and the winner is my old grade school librarian (and sometimes she would act as a substitute teacher)! She was known as the lair master. From grade 2 to grade 6, I had the pleasure of spending 2 mornings a week in the presence of a real monster. I remember my first memory of her like it was yesterday. We were in grade 2 and my class walked, single file, into the library and sat on the floor in front of a vacant rocking chair. I had seen Robert Munsch live not too long before that, so I was bouncing around on the inside with excitement to have a story read to me again. My best friend sat on my left and my second best friend (ah, to be a kid again) sat to my right. We were whispering and laughing about something, god knows what, when she appeared. The whole room went silent as in walked a woman who I would get to know very well over the years.

She stood in the door way of the library wearing a matching dark navy suit with a ruffled white blouse beneath her jacket. She was of the larger sort but seemed to be confused about what size clothing she should wear. I think we were all afraid she would take too deep a breath, fearing that her polyester suit would rip at the seams. Your eyes were forced upwards by the ridiculously bright red lipstick she wore on her lips and teeth. Her spectacles sat close up on her nose and her blue eyes blinked rather quickly as she scanned the room of students with an expression close to disgust. Her hair was short and brilliantly white. When I say white, I mean the only other colour on her head were the pink patches of scalp peaking through. One could say her hair was curly, but it was more like she had super glued a package of pulled-apart cotton balls to her big head; light and wispy. So wide eyed and unsure, we waited for it to speak.

“Good morning class.” It said without any emotion.
The group of us murmured something that was technically ‘Good morning Mrs. Burrows’. Apparently this was not good enough.
“When I say good morning, you will respond with GOOD MORNING, MRS. BURROWS. Let us try again; Good morning class.”
And so we responded over and over until she felt our “Good morning Mrs. Burrows” was satisfactory. She walked up to the chair sitting in front of us and we took a collective breath. The backs of her knees were bulging and looked oddly similar to the front of her knees. She lowered herself into the chair and it creaked and groaned loudly. Her heavy breathing was very audible and it was obvious the journey from the doorway to the chair had taken its toll on Mrs. Burrows. Then a movement from below drew our eyes to her feet. Her shoes (the same colour as her navy blue suit) must have been 3 sizes too small. The fat in her feet strained within their coverings and proceeded to spill over the edges. I had never in my life (that isn’t saying much as I was only in grade 2 at this point, but still!) seen something so hideous yet at the same time so mesmerizing. The tops of her feet were raised like that of a new born baby’s, except they were on a 50+ year old woman. Even as a child, you knew something is not quite right.

She read us a story that day. A story about a girl who is forced to sell matches on streets covered with snow and then dies from hypothermia. I’m guessing most of you probably know the book I’m talking about; The Little Match Girl (I have a wiki link for those who are not familiar with the story). Every child’s face showed the same horror as we envisioned the match girl’s hallucinations about her dead grandmother and then dying alone and cold in an unforgiving world. Needless to say, the story was a killjoy for the rest of the day. But this was just the beginning. I was once selected to help set up the craft table in the back of the library. We were decorating paper plates with sparkles, feathers and crayons that day (although I admit I still do this kind of art nowadays). Everyone was supposed to get 2 blue, 1 purple and 1 yellow feather. In my child-like confusion, I put random coloured feathers down on the plates. She came up to me screaming about how my listening skills are lacking and proceeded to knock the paper plates and feathers to the floor. I still remember staring at those colourful feathers as they floated softly to the ground, a single tear running down my face…(click here to see how I felt that day)

She was an unhappy woman. But how did she come to be at this school? And how did they allow her near children?

Story has it, that Mrs. Cheryl Burrows was once a doe eyed maiden from northern Ontario who wanted to be a writer. She fell in love with a man who wanted a city life. After much convincing, they got married and rented an apartment in the heart of Toronto. Unfortunately, the city wasn’t looking for any writers at that time, so she became a waitress in a family restaurant instead! Hooray! This is where I believe her hatred of children began. Dealing with annoying brats day after day, cleaning up after their sticky fingers. After a particularly hard shift (something to do with a child, feces and a stack of menus), she arrived home to see surprise visitors. A woman with 3 children sat in her living room with her love. The Ex-Wife of said husband had come to discuss the father’s lack of child support. What was the husband to do? He had not had a job for the past few months (apparently no one needed a mime in the city either... who knew). And so Mrs. Burrow’s hatred grew as her pay cheques from the dreaded family restaurant went to a bunch of brats. After many arguments, she finally left her husband and home. Mrs. Burrows moved back up north poorer then when she originally left. But she got a day job in her home town as a babysitter (heh). She moved back in with her folks which allowed her to go back to school. She would finally start rebuilding her career and be the famous author she so desperately wanted to be.

Mrs. Brown entered university and started to feel really positive. Mayhap a little too positively... Especially towards one of her professors. A budding romance started and ironically ended with a pregnancy. But she finished her schooling and started looking for a temporary job in order to support herself and her child. She couldn’t expect to live on writing work, at least not yet. So one day she was scanning the newspapers ‘job’ section (they didn’t have internet back then) and came across the perfect job! “Something to make some cash, until my writing career kicks off” she said to herself, I’m sure. ‘Librarian at small Ontario school’ the job posting read... And 15 years later she was still going strong at the school. One can only assume her books weren’t received very well? Poor Mrs. Burrows. Doomed to teach and be around the very things that ruined her career. But I like to look at it as revenge for her bad attitude towards myself and my fellow classmates. I’m sure she will be able to retire soon.

February 7, 2011

This is Frank.

Allow me to introduce Frank.

I first met Frank while I was working for a local wine shop. I was standing on a step ladder trying to reach a bottle when I felt a slight movement to my left. Being so short, I was used to people running into me accidentally. Thinking nothing of it, I continued to reach high over my head. It was at that moment I *sensed* something. I shivered and goose bumps appeared all over my body. I turned slowly and was nose to nose with a man. Not just any man though.
“Hey there.” He said to me unblinkingly, with what I can only assume was an attempt at a smile. You know those creepy smiles where the corners of the mouth are forcibly drawn upward and the eyes pop out a little?
I did what any woman would do in this situation; I jumped violently and took a step backward. Too bad I was on a step ladder. And down I went onto my backside, becoming completely vulnerable to the man who *must* be hiding a knife up his sleeve or who has duck taped razor blades to his fingertips (real life Edward Scissorhands?).

He was lanky with olive coloured skin and jet black hair that was scattered all over his head, as if he had recently removed a hat. He had perfect white teeth with a bit of a 5 o’clock shadow showing around his jaw line. But the thing I noticed the most was his black, unblinking, flat eyes. He wore a red plaid button-up shirt which is, along with creepy work boots, the first sign that you are in fact dealing with a serial killer. And sure enough, he had heavy steel-toe boots with mud smeared all over them, as if he had been working outside. Did I mention this was late in the evening? So I knew two things at this point;
1. He was a serial killer­.
2. He had just come from burying the body of his latest victim.

It is hard to describe the feeling one got in his presence. It is the same feeling you got when you were a child and thought someone was following you home. Pure terror. Your palms start to sweat and everything.
“I am hoping you can help me” he said, as he slowly looked down at my name tag. He took his time reading it, as if burning the image of my name into his brain.
Then he sounded it out; “I-l-i-a-n-a...”
Fantastic. He now knows my name. I started to mentally sift through any programs that could allow someone to find your address and SIN number with just your first name. Even though I could think of none, I refused to take any chances.
“Oops! That is my co-workers nametag. Must have put on her vest by accident” I exclaimed with a nervous laugh that made him immediately suspicious. How did I know he became suspicious, you ask? You see, friend, when you meet the devil, you just know these things. This lie had an adverse unfortunately, as he tried to smile harder, for the love of god. It was as if he were in pain, the look on his face would have given children nightmares. Hell, it gave me nightmares.
“I’m looking for a red wine. It is for a date.” He said softly and without blinking, letting me know that I was fooling no one with my co-worker line.
“Sure” I said, willing myself to stay calm. “...on the other side here, is a really good Merlot.” The same colour as your victims blood, you son of a bitch, I thought to myself. I walked over to the Merlot on the wall at the other end. Grabbing the bottle from the shelf, I turned to witness a trick only the king of evil could perform. He magically appeared beside me, all that was missing was the *pop* sound. I nearly dropped the bottle, and quickly backed up into the shelves behind me.
“I’ll take it, you have been very...” he broke off and breathed in deeply “helpful, Iliana. Thank you.”
He purchased the wine (staring at me the whole time) then slowly stepped outside. He stood completely still for about 6 minutes and 24 seconds (yes, I timed it, wouldn't you??). I finally see the reason for his waiting; low and behold, up run 3 children. Or should I say, 3 of Satan’s spawns. One of my theories is that he murders single mothers, then steals their children and raises them as his own. Not that I thought long about it or anything... I was waiting for their heads to slowly turn toward me with the echo of “O Fortuna” playing in my ear. (Click here and read this entire section again. Go on... I dare you).

It was one of the most eerie experiences of my life.

But how did Frank turn into the man/psycho he is today? Usually at this point, I would go on to tell you what I learned about persona X. But in this case, seeing as he was a psycho murderer who knew my real first name, I didn't really feel up to asking him about his past. Sorry.

For this biography, I will be speculating on where he came from! Firstly, he must have grown up on a farm. Maybe his father had pigs, lots of people eating pigs. No mother though. He probably didn't have any friends growing up either, what with living on a farm with evil pigs and all. Maybe that is why he became so angry. According to an article from, a major sign that a child will turn into a serial killer is if he or she enjoys playing with fire. A lot.

So we all know what happened next then. He burned his farm to the ground (probably with his father and evil human flesh eating pigs still inside) and tralala-ed to the city to live the ‘dream’!

Let’s be Frank (see what I did there), we will never know where he actually came from (or where he buries the bodies). Do we really want to know? Probably not.

The day is finally here!

Welcome to Illy's Chatterbox!

Thank you for your patience. I have slaved over my laptop, sifting through my favourite persona's. Figuring out who to write about first was a lot harder then I initially expected. But I am proud of my work and proud of my first official blog entry.
Please, enjoy and stay tuned for the next post!

Much love and respect,

February 5, 2011

Stay tuned! 2 moar days...

Hello friends :)

If you are reading this, then you are patiently awaiting my first biography! It is on its way, so come back in 2 days!

- illy