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.