Don't forget your number

So, I definitely haven't posted for a while mainly due to no inspiration and the sad fact that my so-called-life has become as dull as the the knives in my kitchen. In any case, the most exciting thing that has happened in the past week was the two coat check shifts I picked up thanks to my sister. Sure, it's not the most glamorous job, but it makes me quite the bit of cash without any full commitment, and I get to do whatever my big heart desires in those boring 7 hours--not to mention the fact that I get to regale you with the encounters of my coat check patrons.

The two nights combined into one; in the sense that I'm not sure what event's transpired on what night; what I do know though is that I very quickly learned to address people by the brands of their coats. It's like being in someones closet and checking out how much money they actually spend on their clothes. For me though, I'm not big on spending $300 on a scarf ,$140 on cashmere gloves, or $900 on a coat of any form. I'll tell you who is though; Mr. Burberry Jacket. Yes, that's right. Mr. Burberry owned a long navy blue Burberry coat, decked out in gold plated cuff links. He came about once or twice to grab his jacket to engulf his lungs in tobacco and in the end left me a very shady $2 tip. It's not much for me to grab your coat of fthe hook, twice but you can't fool me into thinking $2 is all you can spare at an open bar event Mr. Burberry; I know you're a wealthy man and that your pockets can spare more than $2.

Along with Mr. Burberry was his friend Jones New York. Adorned in grey wool and black trim, the Jones couple didn't quite sit still on their hangers. Was it that they were made with too much fabric and too heavy for the hangers, or was it that the hangers were not made well enough for the couple themselves? I believe it was Jones New York who left me a very generous $5 tip at the beginning of the nightwhich I was content about, considering he claimed his wife's jacket a half dozen times to join in with the other tobacco filling lungs outside.

Among the nameless coats lay a handful of Danier Leathers. Oh the trouble they gave; falling off the hangers, bending the hangers, breaking the hangers and taking up too much room. Between this group of coats, the tips were average; $1 here, maybe $2 there. Sure, again I don't expect much, but they're just a handful of trouble I tells ya. The reason they're so heavy is cause their pockets are full of cash meant to give to the coat check girl. Though, I'm not sure they were ever aware of that. Tragedy.

I would however like to give a shout out to the husband of the fur coat who was very stealth in handing me his tip. $10 dollars baby. Of course it was because his eccentric wife enjoyed filling her lungs with tobacco every hour. But let me tell you; Mr. Husband-to-the-fur coat slipped the 10 in my hand as I passed him his wife's coat and with the nod of his head, walked up the stairs and into the darkness. He pretty much made up for the dozens of people who left me nothing in my poor little tip jar.

Of all the coats and all the brands that I observed and all the cellphones that were left in pockets that went off throughout both nights, it was the people themselves who were really something. Where to start of course is the question. The first thing that comes to mind is the handful of people who lost their tickets and though describing their coats would suffice; surprisingly I seemed to remember the faces with the coats of many people, but yet still had some trouble.

One guy; who I need to mention was very attractive, lost his ticket. Now, he was one to remember considering he was very intoxicated. I asked him to describe his coat and he was barely able to articulate his words. He asked if it was cool if he came in to my booth and at first I denied him entrance , since I was very protective of my booth. It made me feel important and I couldn't risk him coming in and messing up my coats!! I mean, what would the world come to if coat # 750 came after 767???? (hahaha) Anyways, I kept asking him yes or no questions figuring it was a better method in his state, and in the end pointed to the coat I believed was his only to be denied. Upon letting him in, surprise surprise it was the right coat.

Among him, there was another guy who walked into the booth without asking, looking for his coat as if it was his own home closet (he ran off at the beginning of the night before I could hand him his ticket). I suggested that he step out and I that I would take care of it, since he was throwing my whole zen off, but he insisted rudely that he would look for it. So ,I stepped aside and waited until he left. Rude, or what. Maybe more like aggressive actually.

Ohhhh. Talking about rudeness, some woman who had helped plan the event, stored her purse in the coat check booth along with her coat and entered and existed the booth as she pleased. I didn't mind as much since she needed to, but what did tickle me in the wrong way was when she put her glass on my drawing/doodle that I was working on (which everyone who came to retrieve their coats was impressed by). She didn't even notice or apologize when she took her glass and left her dirty napkin too boot! Luckily it didn't stain my drawing, else I might have mixed up her coat to get her back; what a pickle she would be in--even though I would probably be the one getting it for her in the end.

So, this drawing that I did started from a doodle, but turned into something apparently impressive. Mr. Suave came by a couple times to get his coat and on the second time noticed my drawing and was impressed. And in his drunken manner began to discuss how he too is an artist; but a musician while trying to hold up a meaningful conversation. He inquired as to why I drew what I did and I replied saying it was whatever was in my head. After 10 more minutes of meaningless and drunken discussion, he left for what I thought would be the night. Soon after he came back and told me that he wanted my drawing; I didn't think I would care at first, but I had grown an attachment to it within those short hours and he realized that but still tried to coerce me into giving it away; "artwork to another artist" were his words more or less. He told me he was going to go for a smoke and come back and expect to have my drawing signed and dated. He was a pretty weird character, consdiering he kept addressing me as "delicious." "Hey Delicious, whats up; hey Delicious, whats that?"

In the end I decided I would give it to him, even though I was somewhat attached to it--but I felt there wasn't any point creating art if it couldn't be shared. But he never did come back, which really did make me happy, because it meant I got to keep my drawing without any form of guilt.

Im sure there are more stories but I'm too tired to think about them. If I do, I'llbe sure to post them. I've got another boring shift on Saturday, but I'm sure it means more stories. Anyways, below is the doodle I did during that weekend and beside it, what I've worked on since.

Cheers
So as you can see, its crappy-ish
and the lines aren't so clean, but
I was doing it on my lap. I like it
though.
<----



This one is a bit cleaner and sharper.
Same idea though.
ps my scanners kind of low budget.

Rythmic Dillussions

And it’s weird because the power of music illumines feelings in me that nothing else or anyone else ever could. On a constant basis I’m listening to my melodramatic tunes; feeling the vibrations in my head; letting the words linger throughout my mind and body; on the bus, at home, in the car—the music follows me everywhere. It has and continues to be a space where I can feel however I want, think what ever I want and be whoever I want. I believe it’s fair to say, that music fills each of us and transpires into a million different meanings at different points of our lives

needIt scares me when I realize though, the power music has over me. How it can prompt the emergence of tears, of laughter, of empathy, of sorrow, of excitement and of craziness—and by craziness, I mean the times I breakout in dance moves in front of my mirror; that’s right, no shame.

to It’s every so often that I find a song that shakes me to the core. Today it was “Ballerina” by Leona Naess. Unless you want your mood to drop, don’t listen to it. It’s a beautiful song really, just a little gloomy, yet somehow I can’t turn it off. My life—well lets just say it’s a little ironic in the way it works; in the way I work; in the way my head works. When people are feeling down, they’ll usually fill their heads with the musical vibrations of happy sounds—the likings of Andy Kim’s “Sugar, Sugar” and Debra Cox’s “Beautiful U R” –and the many more that I currently can’t recall. For me however, it’s quite the opposite.

yellFor this city girl, it’s mellow music that I would rather, that I need to listen to in order to get through whatever the hell I’m going through; which on a weekly, daily and hourly basis can be what I seem to think is a lot—mostly concerns with the missing and broken pieces of my life’s puzzle.

out It definitely sounds like I’m depicting my life is a tragic life story; it really isn’t. It has its great parts—the parts I am so thankful to have and the parts that lead me to turn on my gangster beats in appreciation. But everyone longs and wishes for what they can’t have; and everyone hopes and dreams that things come to them sooner than later, and I’m no different.

loudTruly though, what I’m getting at is that it jolts me that I can’t find an answer to why we feel such a special connection to music. It’s relatable to everyone—which is the simplest and only answer I can come up with. Any other views and answers that I’m missing out on? One thing I know for sure is that I definitely wouldn’t be able to get through life without it.
someIt’s a bit of a dangerous object though I think. It manipulates us, breeds actions and adds both unnecessary and necessary larger-than-life effects to daily events. For example, in films where individuals are on their deathbed and hand in hand with their loved one sitting beside them, the scene becomes ten times more effective when Enya’s “Only Time” comes on, than it would be without her soothing sounds. The music combined with images captivates the hearts of viewers and causes their tear ducts to emit uncontrollable tears—at least for me anyways. And in reality, something that can seem so little like a small and meaningless fight between friends can turn into something with much more of an emotional effect when you turn on a mellow track before bed.

placeIf life had a soundtrack, wouldn’t each action of life seem more—for lack of a better word—epic? Your first step; your first dance; your first successfully baked pie; your first rainy day kiss; your first child—would all prompt the perfect song to be played filling the space surrounding you in each of those larger-than-life moments.

to Music becomes a space where your heart accelerates its beats and where your fingers can tremor in life’s emotions. It’s a space of freedom and creativity.

call There’s an immense amount of beauty in music; in its words, its melodies and its rhythms—that is no lie. It can transpire into whatever you want it to be; it can relate to the best things of your life one day and the worst things the next.

mineIn essence, I guess part of me just loves the mysteries and power that music holds. Sometimes I wish I could be the main character in certain songs; where things always work out four minutes later. But for now, I think I can deal with taking my music in stride and being just an average city-girl.

The Last Day of October

Witches and Warlocks; princesses and princes; beauty’s and beasts; ghouls and ghosts; superheroes galore— some of the many Halloween costumes the kiddies came to our door in this Halloween. Innocent two; three; four; six; eight; ten; thirteen and then-some-year olds slipping on their dresses and from their over-sized batman masks as they climbed up the stairs. How cute they were with their big bright and toothless smiles pleaing not so much for trick, but instead treat. As kids swept the streets and pumpkins illumined pathways in neighbourhoods across the city during the early hours of the night, the hours that proceeded later weren’t so innocent and candy filled. Instead, Halloween transpired into a very different scary story in downtown Toronto where the nightlife was filled with Jokers and Mob Men; Pimps and Hoe’s; De-clothed police officers and jail bate runarounds; naughtier-than-naughty devils and less-than-angelic-angles.

Halloween is a day to look forward to all year round; not more than Christmas but more than Valentines. Oh, and definitely not more than Thanksgiving, but certainly more than Easter. It’s an excuse to dress up in anything or as anyone without looking crazy—for the most part. And for all the men in the world, it’s the one opportunity they have to dress up in girls’ clothing without having their heterosexuality questioned. The most enjoyable but challenging part of Halloween is deciding the night’s attire. Most individuals wish to dress as something creative, but fun; original but recognizable; sexy but not slutty—and again I stress, for the most part. Lastly, there are the few that wish to scare the skivvies off—if they’re not already off—of everyone else around them, by dressing in the goriest of gory attire possible.

BOO!This year F, L and myself decided that we would uniform ourselves as flash dancers/aerobics instructors for Halloween night. We were initially thrilled about it, considering we would get to wear tacky fluorescent colored clothing, headbands and leg warmers—though it seems they’re today’s current fashion anyways. As enthused as we were about that idea, it came and went when we thought of dressing as fire-fighters. F was on the fence about joining in our crusade, but in the ended joined forces as a sexy and gorgeous police officer along with M who was the cutest bunny of all and LS who kicked it into gear with her cowgirl attire.
Did ITo bring a touch of inner pizzazz to our costumes, L and I decided we would adorn our shirts with wording on the back that said “I put out” and on the front “Fire,” though I was the only one who followed through in the end. Originally, the shirt would suggest a failure of innocence on my part (which for the record, I totally am innocent) but then would disappoint upon turning around. Unfortunately my theory did not work out as planned. Instead, my suggestive shirt prompted the most horrid and cheesy lines from a handful of boys which included: “So you put out the heat eh? Well I’m the heat,” and “You put out fires right? Well you better hurry up and put me out cause I’m on fire.” Near the end, I had given my shirt too much credit and decided to brush the cheese of with some wine, and began responding with “Fire? Where? You’re definitely not on fire,” and “You don’t look like the heat.” Horrible I know. I’m really not that mean, I was just served way too much cheese but I won’t deny that I asked for it (but so did they!).
scareAnyways, our original plans for Halloween went astray considering our usual pub was packed and left no room for us to move, dance or breathe. Surviving it for no more than 45 minutes, we rushed out of there and headed to one of our favorite dives; McDonald’s. Sure, a bunny, cowgirl, two fire-fighters and a police officer in McDonalds wouldn’t seem like the picture perfect place to spend Halloween night, but it was. Those fatty fries and deliciously fake burgers were a blessing in disguise as they permitted us to avoid the crowds of confident and nearly-naked girls who took ‘sexy’ to a whole new level (if you know what I mean), and to avoid boys with the utmost unoriginal pickup lines and whose concern was to retrieve their ‘deserved’ assets. As much as originality wanted to be attained by all individuals alike (including myself but failed for my lack of creativity), and though the “Where’s Waldo’ costumes would be of utmost surprise, most had the same goal in mind; to dress or undress in any which way as Halloween offers the only night that justifiably provides that opportunity.
you?Next Halloween, I’d like to as me at age seven; dressed up as a big orange pumpkin and as happy as can be, skipping from door to door with my huge candy filled pillow case.
heheThe sad truth is that when you grow up, Halloweens aren’t filled with toothless smiles, bags full of candy, happy innocence and elementary school dances. Grown-up Halloweens are instead filled with bodies immersed in a sea of “sugar”, spice and not so much nice.

Ugh.

And the only reason I'll be happy if my University goes on strike is because I'll be able to get back to this; my pride and joy; my sanity.

Don't get anywhere. Tune in later this week for what will be epic entries.
Love.

Story-book-endings

Looking back at my childhood—which seems much further away than it actually was—I remember how my dad always used to bring home Disney movies from the store below his work; classics like Beauty and the Beast, Cinderella, Snow White and of course the Lion King, most of which we still have in the cabinet downstairs. And I remember how as a kid, every year for Halloween I wanted to be a princess just like the ones in those movies and I wanted my happily-ever-after ending to include the perfect prince, in the perfect castle and the perfect pea-less mattress. I know it sounds cliché; the idea of every little girl wanting to be a princess ‘when they grow up,’ but it was what my little heart desired every time I sat 5 inches from the television with images of unicorns, princesses and princes, kings and queens, magic lamps and talking candles, filling my little head. Even into my teenage years I was excited to walk down the hall of my high school and accidently drop my books, only to kneel down to pick them up and knock heads with the boy helping me—the boy who would be my prince charming. It wasn’t until shortly after I realized that that was never going to happen that I began to appreciate the perks of what I call reality.

justReality definitely doesn’t hand us things by the snap of our fingers or the rubbing of a non-magical lamp. Much of the time we have to work for everything we want in life and most of the time it involves blood sweat and tears. There are those days we hope the wishes we made upon those shooting stars come true and the days we wish that we’d wake up in the midst of a fairytale. There are those days we curse under our breath at the things we hate about our lives and then there are the days we scream in excitement. All in all though with all that being said, I’ve come to realize that reality has its own epic story-book-ending.
one Sure, I would love to never stub my toe again in the kingdom of ‘Never-Getting-Injured-Far-Far-Away.” And I would love to be able to have my own fairy godmother that would dump a bucket of cow poop on the heads on my ‘evil sisters’ upon my request. But then I think about it and I see the perks of the reality that is my life. Stubbing my toe sure hurts a hell of a lot, but it’s the only time I can get away with hopping on one foot in the middle of my school without looking like a crazy goof. And sure, having a fairy god mother to teach my evil older sisters a lesson or two would be convenient, but then I wouldn’t be able to take advantage of the ‘little sister’ role (even at 21) and think up amazing pranks; like sticking raw eggs and onions in their purse. And if I couldn’t do that, what benefits of being the little sister would there be?
cityBelieve me when I say that looking into a crystal ball and seeing my future—like the contents of my exam; if I pass my road test; if I end up getting anywhere successful with my degree; yata-yata-yata—would be brilliant because then I would know what steps to take and what steps to avoid. But if life was as easy as a crystal ball, I wouldn’t be able to say to myself ‘damn girl, studying all week for that test really did pay off.’ Nor would I be able to get really excited when I unexpectedly pass my road test and take a deserving and glorious victory cruise. Or in the worst case scenario, have a cry fest and have my parents justifiably comfort me if I fail. And amazingly enough, not knowing if my degree is going to get me anywhere in life also doesn’t seem so terrible because it means that I get to have the days I regret, the days I realize I did the right thing and the days I realize that the 50 hour work week I have, with all its paperwork and tears, isn’t for me.
girlIn the land of happily-ever-after, instead of being stuck on transit or in traffic, I’d be able to ride in a crystal carriage throughout my kingdom with my two beautiful white horses leading the way—not to mention a handsome and prompt carriage driver. Even as great as that sounds, it means I would miss out on my very own and first low-budget-always-stalling-barely-gets-me-from-A-to-B shit box of a car. It would also mean that I couldn’t join the crowds of people bellowing about the insanely and impossibly high gas prices. Now what fun would that be?
realOf the things important to a my life and to a measure of my happiness, living in the Land of Far-Far-Away would be amazing considering I would get to pick my prince charming out of a book of the most handsome, witty, and intelligent bachelors of the kingdom. My love life would be set and my story-book-ending would be the ending every little girl dreams of when they grow up. But then I think about it and I realize that if I had that option, love would be way too easy. I wouldn’t be able to go through the handful of guys I’ll meet in my life who’ll end up breaking my heart, but in the end teaching me something new and valuable about myself. I wouldn’t be able to throw a drink in my guys face when I see him flirting with another girl at the local pub. Nor would I be able to have my prince run after me when things go down south because in the land of happily-ever-after, going south doesn’t exist. Furthermore, in the land of reality when my perfect guy finally comes along, I can happily and politely inquire (as my friend quotes) ‘Where the fuck have you been?’
lifeSo sure, reality isn’t story-book-picture-perfect and sure we can all do without the stubbed toes, blood, sweat and tears, but we’ve got to give reality credit. As the writers of Grey’s Anatomy say; reality is far more interesting than happily-ever-after.

The herd of the subway

So unfortunately but unavoidably true, my life as a young-ish city girl includes me being a student for the next few more years to come. Sure, an education comes in handy in this day and age seeing as you now need a degree to get anywhere in life—anywhere that will allow you to live and not starve to death from low-wages. And though the classes and the readings are barely manageable and in the interest of complaining, the many other aspects of University life are not. As riveting of an experience North American movies and television programs display, the reality of University life is far from a candy coated walk in the park. It might surprise some to know that my University isn’t the size of 50 American high schools. And shockingly my tuition isn’t paid for by a rich mommy and daddy. And sadly, my life doesn’t include the gorgeous-tall-dark-and-handsome-football player-hunk of meat-jock of a boyfriend. Worst of all, I didn’t get that convertible Cadillac for my birthday which means I am left to find my own means of transportation; the deadly, terrifying and defying Toronto Transit System (shocker). A city girl on city transit; doesn’t sound too bad I’d say. Has a little bit of a ring to it eh? I could even have my own theme song: “Waking up in the morning, ready to go, she jumps on the bus and away she goes. She’s just a ciiittt------tyyyy giiirrrrrrlll.”

The problem itself isn’t with the city buses and the stench they give off. Nor is it because the seldom times I get a seat it’s covered with dirty tissues, coffee cups and already been chewed gum. It more so has to do with the masses of pushy, inconsiderate, ‘no-time-to-stop-and-smell-the-flowers’ crowds of people. Unbeknownst to you, I am pretty petite; of the animal kingdom, I would probably be described as a monkey. Sure, it’s awesome most of the time because you know what I can do that you can’t? Fit through small spaces. And that comes in handy during those times I feel like climbing through the vents of buildings. But you know what I can’t do? Escape from mobs and herds of people who are 6 feet tall and engulf me in their mob like formations. Sometimes I wonder if the kids from Jumanji re-pulled out their game board letting a herd of animals out to run the streets of Toronto. Stupid kids. Either that, or I’ve been stuck in a scene of The Wizard of Oz because all I see are lions, tigers and bears; oh and elephants.
justWatch out for the lions, the kings of the herds covered by mountains of stuff; things like IPods’ and Blackberry’s; backpacks and purses; snacks and books; and even rude looks. Their eyes will be focussed of all on their stuff and they'll move through the crowds leaving you in the rough. Then there are the tigers, fast as can be. They’ll rush through the crowds leaving dust in their tracks. Trip you they will and push you they will; they stop at no cost as if time might get lost. Among the herd also lie the bears. These species are an interesting one as they are much less aggressive in their actions. But beware their lingering behind you, their tracing your steps and the assumption that they have no harm in mind. Be quick with your mind and with your feet or you're sure to lose your seat. The last member of the herd but one of the most common is the elephant. Resembling zombies from the common day horror movie, this member of the pact moves inch by inch unsure of its destination. Stopping dead in its tracks not sure where to go, standing like a brick wall all-to-and-fro, your likely to run into them with your head under their toes. Now this is a caution, for those who didn't know, the herd of the subway lives down below. So watch as you step on to the TTC, for you must ride with caution or pay the fee.
acitSo,So, now that you've heard about my daily encounters, I ask: what is the monkey of the herd supposed to do when riding the TTC, when all she wants to do is get to school without being pushed into subway doors, without being pushed to the ground, off the escalator and out the door? What is a city girl supposed to do to escape the pack of animals that is the transit system? Unfortunately there is nothing I can do, unless you want to start a trust fund for a old school Cadillac Convertible. Or maybe, you would like to be my personal chauffer? I would even settle for a personal body guard; you can be my cheetah and get me through my life of city transit riding, safely, quickly and un-annoyingly. Either that, or you could find the kids who opened Jumanji and threaten to take their candy if they don’t burry that game deep down to the ground.
girlThe best case scenario would be for the hunter of Jumanji (Van Belt?) to shoot the herd of animals with tranquilizers, that way they’ll slow down and give me enough time to get to school without their impedance. Unfortunately though, like I’ve said before my life is not the movies, and will never be (‘tear’).
I guess until my monkey stature comes in handy and until I can find vents in the subway to crawl through, I’m stuck using my non-puppy-dog eyes and my non-aggressive monkey claws. So for all lions, tigers, bears and elephants, I’m sending you a message; beware because one day this monkey will be ready to go ape crazy.

So-Called-Life

Whoever said that burials are the consequences of illness,
murder, personal choice and yata-yata-yata, forgot to
mention that books also place a severe threat on the life
of students in todays day and age.

So, in case you were wondering, if you didn't already figure it out; this past week I was buried 3 times. No, they weren't your elaborate funerals with people dressed in black and in tears. The burials didn’t occur on a freshly-cut-green-grassed graveyard nor were they followed by receptions with food and shared memories. Instead, these burials involved caffeinated beverages, pencils, paper, unorganized workspaces, bitten nails, major snackage, headaches and countless “No, I can’t see you tonight but maybe we can take a rain check for like, a year?” Instead, these burials were adorned with Post-it date reminders, page reminders and ‘life’ reminders. Instead of being spruced up and placed in a coffin, I was bejeweled in sweatpants, a hoodie, a headband, smeared make-up and bushwhacked hair (hence the head band). My coffin, two of the three times was replaced by my disheveled excuse of a bed and my unorganized excuse of a desk.

If you haven’t already figured it out, which I hope you would’ve, my burials were ‘thanks’ to school; more specifically, my endless book readings. Yes ladies and gentlemen (no I’m not saying it to make you feel old) this young-ish city girl was buried by her books. Let’s imagine how my obituary would look in the Toronto Star; "Young girl, aged 20 found buried by her books. Suspects include 'An Introduction to Women's Studies' and 'Contentious Politics.' If anyone knows the whereabouts of the suspects, please contact the University bookstore immediately."
cantUnfortunately but devastatingly true, this is only the beginning. I get to look forward to plenty more burials for the next 8 months of my so-called-life. I’m hoping they’ll get a little more elaborate over time in all honesty. If I’m going to go down, I might as well go down with a big bang. Optimists would say that on the plus side (ha!), these are probably going to be the only free burials I’ll have in my life. Though if you consider payment in all its other forms, I’ll soon be broke as I’m losing my stock of sanity, sleep, energy and patience. Hmm; I wonder if those would be considered renewable at this point. I always say that at the end of every semester I’ll gather my books together on the beach and set them on fire at which point, I would do a riveting river dance around their erupting pages. But that alone would require too much energy which they’ve taken from me. The one good thing though would be that since they robbed me of my sanity, a city girl burning her books on the beach wouldn’t look so crazy (right?).
justThe solution to saving my sanity, gaining sleep, and pretty much my life back would probably be ‘trying my best’ and ‘doing one all-nighter that will make me caught up.’ Well I’ve got news for you buddy (and by buddy I mean the one that they call ‘encouragement’) my life does not mirror the movies. Even if my best friend Sally tells me I can do it because she believes in me, I can’t; it is mentally impossible. No, I can’t wish for a fairy godmother, or in this case a fairy bookworm. And no, my brain will not suddenly function better and absorb readings faster if I prayed to the man upstairs and promised to not be a ‘hell-raiser’ (Bart Simpson I am definitely not). And, yet again I have more disappointing news. It is not ‘a hump I’ll eventually get over’, its more like a never ending road with bumps and pot holes, and squirrels—lots of squirrels; little evil ones with huge beastly eyes. I call them professors.
try I am aroused by the assumption that 400 pages a week is doable (and no, sadly that is not a large exaggeration). Now, if I was a retired, people-phobic, extremely nerdy person, then maybe it is. But then I would be the ‘crazy book lady’ on the street. In all non-seriousness though, don’t sue me for saying I like to have a life outside of school that involves less brain ‘stimulation.’ Actually lets change that ‘less’ to ‘fun’. Maybe that’s the remedy to my tragic current ‘life’ story; more fun for the professors. That way they’ll have less time to think about how to take every part of their student’s lives away. So I guess that means that I’ve got to go to the dollar store and buy some tidily-winks and skipping rope and plan ‘meetings’ with my professors. I’ll tell you what, I’ll buy the shit and you buy me some time. Deal?

"Never waste your money on a new dress, for a date that doesn't matter"

So you think you're ready to
re-enter the dating scene? I
thought so too, but it seems
it's still the same.

So since my last break up, if you want to credit it a full relationship, I've gotten pretty nervous about re-entering the dating scene. For new comers to my blog, in the interest of time; the boy I had liked, and who had liked me back, for years finally asked me out earlier this year only to break up with me two days before I left for my job in London, Ontario. Let me tell you, there's much more juice in my previous blogs, then in that last sentence.

justAs a young city girl in my third year of University, I definitely enjoy having something stable in my life, like a man. Something tangible, that I know thinks of me differently in a way then my friends and family do. So, like any girl, I'm hoping my prince in vintage armour will come along, and 'touch my soul'. Well, let me tell you, going out to clubs and going on date's with the boy's you meet there, will not lead you along the path. And I knew and continue to know that, but I was subdued by the charming, criminal justice, rythmic moves of said boy just under two weeks ago. Sure, we danced the whole night; he bought the drinks; I took his number as his phone was broken; I left; he made me pinky swear to call him, and the night had thus ended with memories of a fantastic time and bruised feet.

a As promised, I took the first step and called him telling him I wouldn't be able to make it out the next night to which he invited me, to engage again in a night of dancing and drinking and yet another club he worked at. Sure, I thought it would end there, but to my surprise, Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Handsome-Basketball-Team-Member-Criminal-Justice-Major-Community-Lifeguard, called me the following day saying I owed him a date that following Friday since I "broke" his necklace with my long and apparently destructive hair. Unconvinced that this 'date' was going to occur, I continued to 'get excited' during our hour long conversations that continued every day throughout the rest of the week.

cityWe talked of our families, growing up, favorite foods, favorite music, favorite places to shop. We added each other to facebook and stalked one and other immensely, only to comment on pictures we thought we're "cute" and "fucking sexy." And so this continued until Friday where we met up and went to dinner and drinks. Naturally before, I bought a new outfit for a new fresh start on the dating scene. As for our date, he did all the right things; bought the first round of drinks, bought the movie tickets, called me his date when his boss asked him to work, put his arm around me in the line up, but his hand through mine at the bar, put his arm around me during the movie, stroked my arm, brushed his face against mine, gently kissed me--alright. We all know that isn't the truth, the last part I mean. We'll just say that, our lips interlocked for a length of time we'll say is irrelevant, for my sanity.

girlWe road the bus as far as we could together and as I rushed to get off at my stop, we hugged and he cooley winked and again the night had ended like the first night we met--minus the bruised feet. So all in all, I told myself it went well considering he had plenty of opportunity to bail out, but instead continued to make moves throughout the night.

on Feeling good the next morning, I got up to check my facebook, slash creep on my dates' page only to find that he didn't exist anymore. Logging into my best friends account--as we all have each others passwords for emergency purposes--I search his name only to find that his existence was only extinct on my account. I then realized that I hadn't gone on a date with a man, I had gone on a date with a boy. A boy who obviously didn't know how a date works and what not to do if you don't want to follow through with your datee'.

the I realized that my attachment to the first night we met, the conversations we had; the what-I-thought was a great date, to the maybe-this-has-potential, was nothing but my own head being distracted by nothing but a tall-dark-handsome and experienced card player. There was no turning back to the sequence of events that had been dealt; he wanted to cut me off because apparently our date had not been good enough to even keep me as a friend. I guess it's what boys do though right?

prwlUnfortunately, this not-so-storybook-ending stor, doesn't end there. Said boy called me Sunday morning, half asleep acting like nothing had happened since Friday. Upon asking about the deletion of Facebook; upon the continued lies he told me about de-activating it; upon me telling him I was able to see his page through my friends accounts; and upon him parting for work, he continued to lie which was the worst part. I couldn't understand the meaning of both his actions; the deletion and then the phone call as it wase an oxymoron within itself. The story ended right then and there and I was still convinced that he was just a boy.

boo!Whether or not it had potential to be something; whether or not I reacted 'wrongly', the ball was in his court. But I guess his basketball skills really aren't that great as his card playing skills.

For now this city girl, is on the prowl, though she's not looking for boys, she's looking for men. They just need to come out of hiding.

And it screamed, come back.

After a long departure, and seperation from my dear child, also known as my blog, I've returned. I've returned with new ideas, a new outlook and a new idea for the styles of my blogs.
For the readers I've lost, I hope to get you back. For the readers I will gain, get excited cause I might blow your mind, or de-flate it.

Time to crack that blog.

Cheers mates.

I'm still alive..somewhat

So I've not been posting cause I've been out of town for my job and am now on break and before that, I was busy dealing with emotions, commotions, and everything else that comes with tough times and dreary eyes. 

Mmm. I was tagged ..but I don't have my books with me, they're all away at my job. Sigh. I'll bring one back, or do it there if I get the chance. In the mean time I think you guys should..Mmm, wait patiently for another post of mine? Bake me a pie? Tea bag that sty? Make your enemy cry? Or crawl away and die. NO! Don't do that, please. Ok. But I am beat, and therefore am going to go out and party the night away on my day off with my good chums. 

On another note, some people can be simply amazing. It's amazing how a person you hardly know can make it feel like you've known them forever. 

And for the rest of them, who aren't simply amazing, learn something from the people that are. 

"Dance until you cannot dance. "

Eat that soup and cool that shirt. 

Cheers mates. 

My life, right now.

"The best part of chaos is its recursion."- Jimmy. 

Open Wide.

They say that the purse contains the life of a woman. What's in it can make or break a woman's day. If she forgets something it can spell disaster. I know for me, I just throw about anything and everything in my purse if I think I'll need it that day, and if I don't have something I need, it gets flustering. With the new hobo bag style purses which I've definitely been sporting, its no question that things get lost in my purse and that on any given day I'll find myself a surprise, that I once upon knew about. Anyways, enough of me rambling, and lets get down to the juice. 

So I was cleaning out my purse today and I thought it would be interesting and funny to blog about what I found. So ladies, and especially gents, get ready to experience the life of a woman; her purse. 

The Wallet-- Nothing to interesting about that, credit cards, I.D., very little money.. You get the idea. 

Sugar Packets- Lantic Granulated Real Sugar Packets. I can't remember when I put them in my purse, how long I've had them for..but I think I remember why I did. I think it was because sometimes my coffee isn't sweet enough, so I thought it would be smart to keep them on me. Though, from the looks of them..they have been in there for quite the time which means they've been pretty much useless. 

Shot Glass-  Wow. I totally forgot about that one, seeing as my purse is huge and filled with crap. Must of been from like a party I went to, where I thought they wouldn't have shot glasses. Good ol' purple shot glasses. Good thing I took that out though..don't want anyone thinking I'm an alcoholic : P . 

Bank Transaction Sheet- Dated Jan. 14- Apparently I withdrew 40 dollars. Interesting. 

The Ipod- Nothing weird about that, I definitely don't leave the house without it. 

A pair of socks- Oh. thats totally from bowling. Cause I wore flip flops that night and I didn't want to put my bare feet into nasty, but cool looking, bowling shoes. They probably need some desperate washing. 

Mini Lint Remover- Bough that just a couple weeks ago. VERY handy when you have 2 cats that shed like ...mm wolves?

Mouth Wash- Mmm. Thats pretty nasty actually. I got it like a REALLY long time..it was a sample size and I've just never taken it out. I think I actually used it once after I ate something and realized my breath smelt like garlic and had no sink and toothbrush around. '

Sunglasses- Definitely epic for summer time. 

Camera- Never miss a moment. 

Lip Gloss- No Comment. 

Lighter- Nah. I don't smoke..but sometimes someone needs a light and Im the one who has it. Plus I figure if I ever get lost in the woods, (how? I dunno) I could make my own fire and survive..hopefully. 

Bottle Opener- Eeek, with the shot glass this isn't looking too good. Ehn. Its attached to my keys and it was FREE : )

Advil- Never know when you'll need that, along with Band-Aids. 

Receipts- Damn. Too many of them. Lets see: I've got one to the LCBO for $19.45,  a Greyhound Bus receipt for $20.27, A Rexall Pharmacy for $4.99 (Lip Balm), and another one to the LCBO for $5.05..tall cans I think. 

Ooo. And It looks like that was all of what was in my purse. Now to figure out what'll be trashed and what'll stay. Hope you enjoyed that!!

Cheers mates. 

Leave your impression: Here.

I was up north the past couple of days, the area to be kept a secret, but I went up north to hang out with him and his friends. Being a city girl, from one of the busiest, nosiest and cluttered cities in the world, the "country" was definitely a nice relief. 

It made me remember just how beautiful Canada actually is. We would like drive through valleys and mountains and be surrounded by trees and rocks, and all I kept saying was "Wow, this is gorgeous." Course I think I came across as a little lame, since I was amazed by trees...but it is because you don't see nice big clusters and mountains and hills of beautiful, green, tall, pine-y smelling trees in Toronto. What you do see is random, rotting trees strategically placed to create some sort of attractive look, which is far from what it displays. Anyways, I was amazed by trees, and hikes and water this weekend and it really made me remember what I miss out on. 

Anyways, the trees were so nice, but I guess this blog is more about first impressions. I met all of his friends this weekend, and when I say "all," I mean all. They were all really nice. Jimmy, I had met a few years ago but only for about 5 minutes, and since then have been like really good MSN buddies. He's that smart insightful guy I've mentioned a couple times in my blog. But anyway's I met him for the second and a much longer time this weekend..and I guess with him and the rest of his other friends, Im wondering what kind of impression I made. 

First impressions are actually very scary. I mean, they told me they really liked me, even before alcohol got involved, but I guess the question I have is: How can you be sure that the first impression you make, is the right one? 

Friends are like a really important part of keeping something going, and I just want to make sure that I can fit into his life. Like with Jimmy, there in the flesh it was a lot of fun and I felt like we clicked really well, just as well as we clicked on MSN. Mind you, alcohol was involved so I don't know if that played a part. But then I didn't have the most enticing conversation with him yesterday, like we usually do. That could be because he left the cottage at like 5 in the morning to work at 7, for an 8 hour shift and thus was tired. But I still wonder if that in person, first real impression changed anything of what he thought about me. 

Jacks other friend, Katie added me on Facebook, which I guess is a good sign; right? Even still, how do I know that it was a good first impression? Furthermore, why am I so propelled to impress his friends?..

I tried to play it pretty cool. At first I was a little shy, didn't really involve myself in their conversations, but then as I felt more comfortable, I began to like open up, and I felt like I was within their group of friends. Even still though, I wasn't as crazy as them in terms of jumping in the lake at odd hours of the night, mainly cause of my own insecurities. 

But I just hope they thought I was as nice as I thought they were. Other than wondering about my first impression, I had a blast. Up north is just so....cute. 

Cheers mates. 

It seems, Dinosaurs aren't extinct and are now speaking up.

The number of television programs and commercials that run on a daily basis is far out of reach from counting. Of course, different programs satisfy different consumers needs and different consumers are targetted at different times of the day. 

It's no doubt that nearly everyone will be slash has been educated on the idea of "target audiences" at one point in their educated life; and it is no doubt that those who have, have come to understand that the day, distributes its programs wisely. 

Through the early hours of the morning, whilst the parents prepare breakfast for their children, and youngins sit anxiously in front of the tube, they are presented with The Sesamesteet of all Sesamestreet childrens programs. From Dora the Explorer to Barney and Friends, to Baby Einstein, these run until the kids are sent off to school. Then of course the rest of the day is laden with Soap Operas and talk shows for the stay at home parents and soap obsessed, summer off teens. Once the day has melded into evening, the news begins and the more racy shows with "Viewer Discretions Advised" begin to appear; such as MTV.

For all of those unfamiliar with MTV which I'm sure is very few, MTV hosts silly, very silly reality shows such as My Super Sweet 16 in which a spoiled teens are celebrated with 100 thousand dollar birthdays and a fancy BMWs to boot. But that is another blog within itself. Amongst the unreality shows of all reality shows, they host an MTV live segment where few of the many hosts they have, along with audience members discuss the 'important' issues of today. Things like who got a boob job and who didn't?; Who was seen with who, and who wasn;t? Among those, they also showcase popular bands, which I have to say is my favorite part of the segment and the main reason I tune in. 

Now, the reason Im writing about this, in this blog is because of something I was a little annoyed about today. Firstly, I must mention that everyone knows that MTV is a racy show in itself. And if you don't, there are many "viewer discrestion advised" notices after each commercial break. Noting that, one would suggest to expect things like profanity, some nudity (to the extent that is allowed on TV) slash everything else that can be classified as racy.

Well, apparently not many people seem to take the discretion notices seriously and feel the need to complain for what they were advised they might see. MTV has something called "Viewer Feedback" where the public can write back and discuss things they don't like that have been on the show. So today, I was watching and a viewer by the name of Mr. Dinosaur (I think) wrote in saying that they were not pleased in the least to see bare butt cheeks and that MTV should respect that the people watching may not want to see that. The exact words can be confirmed by watching the re-run of that segment, which'll air again this week..as it always does, over and over. Anyways, I don't have a problem with this dinosaur man stating his opinion, but in all seriousness, a bare butt isn't that bad. As well, Mr. Dinosaur man shouldn't have been watching MTV since the discretion advised there may be things he might not like. Furthermore, a bare butt on MTV, yesterday wasn't the first day. 

I guess too, the point I'm making is that if Dinosaur man had a problem with MTV showing one of the crews members bottay (who had two faces tattooed on it; some prank pulled by MTV), I surely hope they wrote into the dozens of other programs and movies that have showed frontal nudity and bare bottoxes. Though Im sure Mr. Dinosaur man wouldn't have a problem if it was a ladies bottox. 

Anyways, I guess the point I'm trying to make is that people feel the need to complain and make a statement slash blow everything and anything out of proportion. It's like Bharat said, the people who eat McDonalds and become overweight want to sue the corporation, even though it was their actions that lead them to be in that state. In this case, its Mr. Dinosaurs man choice to watch the program, noting the discretion, therefore he shouldn't complain. So if Mr. Dinosaur man ever reads this, I have one thing to say:

Grr. Grr to you and your complaining, and welcome to 2008!

That is all. 

Zip those buttons, and button those fly's; until next blog. 

Cheers mates. 

TAGGED.

There comes a time, in every bloggers life, where she must sucumb to people knowing things about her, she may not want them too...because she's been TAGGED! Yep. I have been tagged, though its good to know I have friends on this thing, as  tairebab's mentioned, ahem who is also the one who tagged me! Thanks : P! So I think this is how it goes, I post the rules:

1. link the person(s) who tagged you (done above)..I think. 

2. Mention the rules on your blog

3. Tell about 6 unspectacular quirks of yours...

4. Tag 6 following bloggers by linking them…

5. Leave a comment on each of the tagged blogger’s blogs letting them know they’ve been tagged...

Okay. And now the quirks, though I don't know of these would necessarily be considered quirks. Here goes. 

1. I hate people touching my feet: I've no idea what it is, but I hate people poking at my feet, my nails, massaging them, anything to do with them really. I've never gone for a pedicure for that sole reason--> I do my own. I'd rather be the one touching them than have some person have their go. It's not even that Im ticklish, which I am, but I think its more like them having my feet makes me vulnerable to them tickling them? I dunno. OH and I'm not afraid of feet or anything in general. I don't mind feet on my lap, its just my feet. I want them left alone!!

2. I sleep anyway but vertical on my bed: I've got a double bed, and Im not tall or anything, and its got about 6 inches of ledge together, on both sides of the bed. So usually I wake up and Im diagonal, or horizontal. It feels to weird to sleep vertical cause I feel like the rest of the bed is a waste of space....Yup. 

3. I make up random words and throw them into my every day vocabulary: Yeah. I don't know what it is, but random things come up in my head, where I throw together like two words and make them one. Sexcellent is a good one. Why I don't use excellent? No Idea. Oh and when I wanna say  "lets leave" I say "Lets scatter." Though I guess since scatter is a word, It doesn't count..so I guess I technically insert words into sentences that might have better words to use, but EHN. Oh and I say "hey mange" instead of "hey man"..

4. I make unintended puns, but then ruin them by pointing them out, when I realize I've made them: It started as like, a joke between me and my friends, of who could make the least noticeable puns. Since then, I make puns without realizing it, but then I feel all cool and ruin them by pointing them out. Sigh. Bah! I don't know why, but I think cause most of my puns are funny, and I like to get a laugh, and sometimes they're too subtle, so I make them show..which defeats the original purpose of a pun..if that makes sense. 

5. I get ready in my skivvies (can I say skivvies?) and to loud music: Yep. After hitting the snooze button 5 times over and savoring every last minute in bed,  I wake up, throw on the undergarments and open itunes and blast my music. Maybe dance a jig too, I won't lie. I do my make-up in them, brush my teeth, eat breakfast, fix the hair, etc etc. When its like, 5 minutes before I go, I throw on whatever looks comfy and head out the door. 

6. As much as I re-arrange my cork-board in front of my computer, I never take anything down: I rearrange that cork-board a couple times a week, to pretend Im making it look more organized, but the truth is it would look a hell of a lot more organized if I took things down. Per example. I still have my sheet of paper from months ago that has important reminders. Note:

Dentist- Sat, Feb 9, 12:00

Doctor Appt- Tues, Feb 19th, 3:15

Interview: Tues, March 11, 7:00pm

Oh and I've also got a note from my best for valentines, one from my b-day, which was like 6 months ago, my driving schools business card, which closed way back when, unbeknownst to me, but thats a different blog, a quote my friend once said a while ago, another business card, a picture of sheep...some music pamphlet I got in my City and Colour CD case. ... yep. 

I hope those were all considered quirks. Hmm. Now I guess its my time to tag some of you folks. Hmm. Who to tagggg.....

Alright, I've decided. 

I like his blog, and therefore would like to know more about the blogger himself, so :

1. Early-late-night

2. Bharat

3. Half the fun is planning the plan

4. Taxitalk

5. Secret Blogger

6. I'd say Quarter past seven, but apparently you've been tagged! Hmm. Im gonna think about this one for the rest of the day..and then post my last taggeee later. 

P.S. I will get blogging soon , back to some sort of regular schedule, before I head off in three weeks and my blogs become even more distanced! :o!! OO. But as for anything going on in my life, nothing really of importance, Sex and the City movie tonight though. WOO. what fun. 

Alright, taggee's , quirk away!!

Cheers mates!

The People You Meet Uptown

The people you meet uptown are apparently the same as the ones you meet downtown; interesting. Though this time the word interesting includes: asshole behavior (can i even say asshole?)

So the other night me and four of my girlfriends were coming back from somewhere--can't remember from where--but we decided to hit up good ol' fatty Mc'Ds. It was like 12:08 at this point which meant that the dine in part of the restaurant was closed and Kelsey had to use to the bathroom, really badly. We saw a group of kids sitting at a booth by the window, and I use the term kids to describe their behavoir, cause they were definitely old enough in age to have not acted the way they did. 

Anyways, Kelsey had to go to the bathroom and the doors were locked, so we started to signal to the group of kids that she had to go use the loo. We did everything from making the letter P with our fingers, mouthing it, acting it out. They totally understood too, but were playing stupid and shrugging their shoulders laughing. So we figured we'd type it in our phone and put it up against the window. 

We wrote: Bathroom. Open the door please?

They wrote back: Cop a squat. Then proceeded to laugh and ignore us. 

We started banging on the door and the manager finally noticed us and let us in after merciless begging. So while we were waiting, the kids came out and it went like this:

Us: Wow. Thanks for the help. 

Girl A: Awwkwarrrd. 

Guy A: Uhh what. I didn't understand what you were saying. 

Us: We texted it. 

Guy A: Oh. Well I was like why would 4 girls have to go to the bathroom.

Us: There's 5 of us. 

End of story. We went to our car, they went to there's. We wanted to flip out at how arrogant, rude and immature they were, but we're not the kind. They must've been high school students because as University students ourselves, I've never seen that from people our age, or I would never think to do that. 

I mean, to be rude and immature like that is really unnecessary. Even high school students should be mature enough to open the door instead of acting stupid. I'd give them kudos if they tried and the manager wouldn't let them, but don't just sit there and laugh and think you're better than us, cause you're not. If we had done the same to them, we'd not be better, but the fact that we wouldn't do something like that, that's what makes us better. 

Grr. The thing that makes it worse, is that the bathroom is a very personal thing. If a girls gotta go, she's gotta go. For all you gents out there, I'm sure its a hell of a lot easier to get your business done without a toilet, but for us, it ain't. 

Anyway's the people you meet uptown are no different from the people you meet downtown, they're all interesting. 

All in all, I tried to think back to when I was in high school and I really hope I never did anything like that. 

Until next time, chose those chocolates wisely, cause you never know what's inside. 

Cheers mates!

Person to Person

It's amazing what a small world it is and it's amazing how many people we meet over our life time. Walking down the streets, it's likely you'll run into someone you've seen before, met before, or can consider yourself as "knowing them." 

I've been thinking about how people think about others, when they think about them, and why. I don't think I speak for myself when I say that I think of certain people more than others and at particular times and situations. That got me thinking further; Does every person have a person?

What I mean by that is that I have someone I think about, a lot. I think about that person when Im eating my lunch, wondering what they're doing. I think about that person as Im typing this blog. I think about that person when Im listening to music and walking down the street. If I have a person I'm thinking about, am I somebody's person? Do I have a person who thinks of me the way I think of my person?

Say my little hypothetical theory/question was true, and every person had a person; wouldn't it be nice to know whose person you were and when and what they were thinking about you? But then again, what if you weren't someone's person? Does that mean you're not special enough? That there's not something great enough about you to be in someone's thoughts?

On another note; I don't think the idea of being somebody's someone or having a someone is fixed. I think its ever changing and changes at different parts of your life. 

I guess another question is; what makes a person special enough to be that person?

Cheers mates!

Life in Black and White

Haven't really had anything terribly exciting to blog about lately, hence no recent blogs. Im serious though, the most exciting thing thats happened the past few days has been finding a freckle behind my knee. Actually at the time I was really excited. Pathetic eh? Ehn. Im not too picky. Oh and I lost my credit card, but then found it at the last place I ate, tucked away in their safe Fun. 

Hm. I got thinking today about pictures, like photographs. Well I wasn't actually thinking of them; they more or less, got me thinking. Black and white pictures are probably my favorite pictures of all. Even capturing moments of a night on the town; much rather have them in black and white, for many reasons of course. The first being that many of your flaws are hidden, especially when you higher the flash exposure thingy. Love myself in black and white I have got to say. 

It got me thinking though, how much easier life would be in black and white. Like that movie..Pleasantville, I think. Never would you have to decide what colours to paint your walls; what colour shirt to buy; what colour curtains, etc etc. And your choice of favorite colour would be in the range of blacks, and grays and whites. Oh, and life would be so much more epic, and classy looking. 

Too bad photographs are the only way to live life in black and white. Boo. 

Until you stop panicking, win that lottery. 

Cheers mates. 

the people you meet downtown

The people you meet in downtown Toronto are interesting. Interesting is a good word to sum up the weirdos, the creeps, the freaks and the o.k. ones. 

My two bests and I decided that Wednesday was a good night to party. Why? Well because its the middle of the week and we all weren't working the next day. What's more fun?

So, naturally we pre-drink: 

9:30; p.m. we start

10:30; we're not done. 

11:30; we jump on the subway and header downtown. 

During the subway ride the alcohol started kicking and we all had to use the bathroom. I'd say something like pee like a race horse to really describe the urgency of our situation,  but that's not lady like. Anyways, you get the idea. We'll with our luck there were no bathrooms at our stop and being a Wednesday night and after 12, all coffee shops, most bars, fast food places and the like were closed. All of us moaned in grouchiness since we all were in desperate need for bathroom utilities, that we contemplated using the streets. Course there are many problems with that:

a) totally not brave enough to do that

b) didn't want to get a ticket, with the many cops down in downtown toronto hiding behind bushes. 

c) Gross. 

Luckily we found a bar that was open, ran in only to be stopped by the bouncer at the front who checked our ID's. Done and done; we all ran downstairs to use the utilities. What's funny about that bar is that it's the same bar we went to for one of our birthdays, in which we borrowed each other's Id's at the same time, right after each other. How it worked; no idea. We all look nothing alike. But in any case it worked.  

Moving on to the actual title of the blog; the people you meet downtown are damn interesting. The first group of guys we met seemed to be from everywhere but the city. Im talking about 3 lovely gentlemen from Britain (gorgeous); a group from Orlando on Vacation and I think one from like Pittsburgh. Though I could be completely lying about the last one  cause my memory ain't fresh. 

There was another group in the second room of the club; big group of friends (a few were actually from the city and then some from outside the city) decided that us three were going to be "their" girls. By that I mean, they bought us drinks. Lots. I guess they were friends with the bartender or had connections cause the bartender kept lining shots and drinks up for us, courtesy of them; I of course didn't mind, after having to pay 20 dollars cover. A night of free drinks would be something anyone would love. 

Course I was watchful of roofies. Anyways, they we're probably few of the less 'interesting' guys, which was definitely a good thing. Though there was some weirdo who had his hair all emo-fied and gave me his business card to his hair salon. He said he'd make a special appointment for me. What the hell does that mean. At that point I walked away. 

The night was ending and we were talking to the bouncers when this one old guy walks up to my friend and asks if she smokes weed. My friend never having done so, said no. He further went to ask if we smoked weed and she replied that we had but don't do it on a regular basis. He offered going back to his place to "smoke some weed." Many problems with that; seriously we're not going back to your old ass place and we're not those type of girls. 

So, at that point we decided it was time to leave. Naturally after a night on the town we get street meat. Nothing beats good ol' vendor dogs. Being our first time to that club, we decided to ask these two fellows (who we thought we're cute at first. Tall, dark and handsome) if they knew where a hot dog stand was. Im talking to the one guy and this is how the conversation goes:

Me: "hey do you know where a hot dog stand is"

Him: (I swear)

Me: "Excuse me? Don't even say what you're thinking"

Him: "What am I thinking?"

Me: "I don't even wanna know"

Him: "Do you want to give me something??"

Me: "Uhm. No."

For some reason we proceeded with them as they offered to walk us to the one on Queen St. 

They seemd nice, except for that one loser comment, but I was still a bit tipsy which meant that I brushed it off. So we're walking and it seems Queen St. is never going to come but finally it comes. My two friends got their dogs and Im getting mine. Mind you this hot dog stand SUCKED. It didn't have any of the fixins. All it had was ketchup, mustard and bbq sauce. I was hungry though, so the BBQ sauce did. While I'm paying, my friends chatting with the one brother and all of a sudden I hear her say: 

"Uhm. No. I don't know what you're thinking, but we're not those kind of girls. So you guys should just go."

After them leaving, we asked her what happened. Turns out he asked if all three of us wanted to go back to his apartment to get it on with him and his brother. What the hell. Seriously?

Up until that point, the night was pretty stellar. 

But seriously, the people you meet downtown are either weirdos, creeps, freaks or losers. 

Until those balloons stop popping, clean that window. 

Cheers mates. 

I wish I could read minds.

Do I call you babe now?

Jack said what I've been wanting to hear, what I've been hoping to hear: He likes me : ). 

I feel like such a school girl. I mean I know we both liked each other, but we felt like keeping things the way they were would be best; on a physical basis. Though that was more him than me--I was too much of a chicken shit to say how I really felt though... But then, the other day he told me how he was kidding himself in thinking he didn't like me. 

Obviously my first reaction was to call my best and tell her the conversation we had, since I was literally at a loss for words and apparently he was too. Me talking to my best meant leaving him hanging after he said: I've been thinking I really like you, for a whole 7 minutes. Shit, I thought. I mean, I didn't want him thinking I was freaking out, which I was, but he wasn't allowed to know!

When I say freaking out, I don't mean that I was scared of his forwardness; it was more like me being scared of opening myself up and saying how I actually felt. It was weird though because it was a really delicate conversation. We both put our feelings out there and we we're like trying to figure out what's next, like if we should actually try out a relationship. 

Thing is, he said the last time we we're together, that it felt right. God was I glad to hear that, only because it what I was thinking the whole time. Yeah, I felt crappy about me being a vending machine he snacks on, but the fact that he said it felt right, really makes me think that he wants more than that. 

Thing is, Jack lives to hours away and none of us have our own places. Living with my parents, I know that the rents would flip if I had a guy stay over. Im not sure what the situation is with him, whether if I went up if I would be welcomed by his parents to stay a couple days. But the long distance thing is definitely going to make it difficult. It's thrilling to think that we're dating, but its conflicting cause its like as tangible as it isn't. For example, the other night when we had that conversation, he drove two hours in the middle of the night cause he needed to see me. As great as that is, it scares me because I'm going to get to the point where I want to see him when I want but cause the distance is an issue it makes things that much harder. 

There's potential to make it work, with me being able to stay with him on my days off from my camp job, if his parents permit. It's only been a couple days so I'm not going to over-analyze. Im gonna live in the moment and I am going to enjoy the ride. What's most important to me, is that he let his feelings spill and knowing how a person feels about you can be the greatest prize of all. 

Take a dive to cool your skin

Cheers mates.