Skinny Dip

My Life: The Freakshow

2010-09-06T18:56:00.002-04:00

If you've been reading my facebook updates lately, you might have noticed that the last few weeks of my twenties have been ~~a whole clusterfuck of weird~~ "interesting". Observe:

I didn't even get around to updating about the drunk guy in the Union Station Harvey's who called my friends and I "assholes" for no apparent reason, the old man who made kissy noises at me as I walked by him the other night, the Silent Bob doppelganger I saw fondling women's underwear in a suburban Ohio Target or the guy with the black eye who winked at me the other day in Taco Bell. (Sidebar: all of this stuff happened by accident however, if you're ever looking to meet weirdos on purpose, I highly recommend the Taco-Bell near my house. Total weirdsies). I never mentioned any of it because I was afraid people would think "This girl has to be making stuff up. I mean no one's life is really this weird...right?"

After two weeks of being chased by crackheads, witnessing Jerry Springer style antics on public transit and being insulted by the intoxicated and the mentally unhinged, I realized that maybe this blog is slightly misleading. My weird experiences aren't just confined to the realm of sex and dating. Sure, I sometimes find myself having super awkward conversations about my vajayjay with perfect strangers, I've been flashed way more than I'd like to admit and I accidentally discovered my ex-boyfriend performing in a drag show. But, that's all just the tip of the iceberg. Weird things happen to me all the time.

I seem to attract crackheads, the mentally unstable, Jesus Freaks looking for new converts, sketchy "modeling agents" who just want you to "come over to their condo" (however, this hasn't happened that much now that I am over the age of 19), the indecently exposed, your garden variety selection of perverts and I'm pretty sure when I was in Italy I almost got sold into the white slave trade (now that's a good story). In a nutshell, my life is a walking freak-show.

People in my life have attempted to explain this phenomena:

"You have these big bright blue eyes that shine like a beacon to weirdos everywhere. They literally can't help themselves" - my friend T.

"I'm sure that this kind of stuff happens to everyone, its just that most people don't have an entertaining way of expressing it" - Amy

A few years ago my friend Ula and I were out for a walk. We passed a group of guys who made farting noises & obscene hand gestures as we walked by. She said to me "Did you see those guys?!!" but, the truth was I barely noticed. Then, she went on to say "This kind of stuff only happens to me when I'm around you"

Even the Urban Dictionary agrees that I am a weirdo-magnet....

(and apparently I have a totally bangable ass....sweet!)

Is it possible that all of this weird stuff is happening NOW because my thirties are going to be really...normal? Is the "weird" going to disappear when I cross into a new decade? I hope not. Even though I hate having to call 911 from time to time, I've come to rely on the "weird" that seems to be a constant in my life. Without my knack for attracting bizarre situations, I'd have nothing to write about and I'm sure my life would be pretty boring. So, thank you universe for always keeping my life interesting.

I've accepted that I am a weirdo magnet & probably always will be.

I thought I would have all these deep, revelatory things to write about now that my 30th birthday is almost here but, really, that's all I've got figured out so far.

That, and maybe I should invest in some self-defense classes or a set of throwing stars or something.

Are there any fellow weirdo magnets out there?!

The Sexual Werewolf

2010-09-02T19:01:00.007-04:00

I have this neighbor. We'll call her S.W. After a year and a half of listening to the sounds that come through the walls, I've concluded that her sex life is totally insane.

Remember when I said that I wasn't a screamer? This girl is a screamer. I'm going to try my best to describe the sounds I've heard coming from her apartment. First of all, she is LOUD. Her sex noise repertoire includes lots of high pitched squealing, your typical standard issue moaning, CREEPY GIGGLING, something that sounds like this: AH!AH!AH! OH WEEEEEEE! OH WEEEEEEE! And the occasional high pitched, nasal "FUCK ME! FUCK ME! FUCK ME! OHHH WEEEEE!" Sometimes things get really crazy and it sounds like furniture is being broken, things are getting smashed, bodies are being flung from one end of the apartment to the other or as BF once said "It sounds like rabid animals are attacking each other...but I think she's just having sex".

The weird thing is that it doesn't happen all the time. It goes in "cycles". You won't hear anything for a few months and then BAM. It sounds like that scene from True Blood, where everyone is possessed by demons & wasted & partying naked & fucking each other in the middle of a field...except its all happening on the other side of your wall. AH AH OH WEEEEE!

This will happen a few nights in a row. Then, everything will screach to a halt & you won't hear anything for a few months. This prompted BF to say to me one day:

"I think she follows the cycle of the moon....its like she's a Sexual Werewolf or something"

Theres definitely something supernatural going on here. This winter she went through a particularly "active" cycle. The noise got so bad one night that BF went into the living room, grabbed his hockey stick and started banging it against the ceiling, until eventually things subdued.

(We're Canadian. This is how we deal with things.)

Unfortunately her "transformations" happen at the most inopertune moments. For example, when my Mom is visiting. S.W's bedroom is adjacent to the guest room/office where my Mom spent several very sleepless nights. My mom who was taught by nuns, (and whom I like to consider a saint when it comes to all things sex) commented that "it all sounded really...gross".
Um yeah.

The worst is when it happens WHEN YOU'RE TRYING TO HAVE SEX. Not long after the Hockey Stick incident BF and I were in bed having sex. For a moment when I first heard the noises I thought that maybe the sex was so good that I was having some kind of weird sexual out of body experience where I had actually kind of blacked out a bit and was hearing MYSELF. But, then I realized that I could hear three people making noise: me, BF and S.W. Now, when it comes to making noise in bed, I'm about average: I'm not quiet but, I am no S.W. I'm not going to lie: at first the noises kind of turned me on. Then, I just started to feel jealous. I mean, she always sounds like she is having THE BEST SEX EVER OF HER LIFE ...ALL THE TIME (either that or she's a good actress). But, when she started to get so loud that I felt like she was actually drowning out my orgasm, I got annoyed. I was ready to get all ghetto, take off my rings, march up to her door and say "Look, Missy - there are other people trying to come in this building!". But, I didn't because that would have required me to stop having sex...and who wants to do that?

A few months ago, we were having a backyard BBQ with our downstairs neigbours (Sam's mom & aunt - the coolest 40-50+ year olds around), my friend Trevor and his husband. I guess S.W had neglected to shut her screen door because we were chowing down on some homemade bison burgers when IT started.

SW: AH AH OH WEEEEEEEEE! OH WEEEEEEE!
Trevor: Oh dear, what is that?
Me: That's our neighbor
S.W: OHHHHH WEEEE! AH AH AH AH YEAH!
Me: She does this all the time.
Trevor: Is she...alone? Omg, what if she's alone.
Random dude: UHHHHHH.
Me: No, I don't think she's alone.
S.W: AH AH AH AH OH WEEEEEEEEEE! OHHHH WEEEEEE! AH AH OHHHHH YEAH.
Neighbor: Oh wow. Oooh it sounds like she's having a good time.
Me: It always does.
S.W: UHHHH AHHHHH UHHHH OH WEEE!
Neighbor: Ohh Wow!
Trevor: I feel weird.
S.W: OHHHHH WEEEEEEE! AH AH AH AH AH AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
Trevor: I think she's done.
Me: No, just wait for it.
Trevor's hubby: Uncomfortable silence.
Me: She always has multiple orgasms. I know...good for her right?
Trevor: This bison burger is really good.
Me: I know. I got the meat at the free range butcher shop. They also sell organic lamb.
S.W: UHHH UHHH OH WEEEE! OH WEEEE! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
BF: Now she's done.
Trevor's hubby: sigh of relief.
Me: See, dinner at my house is never boring.
Trevor: Nope!

As a disclaimer: I do like my neighbor. She's a cool girl. I'm pretty sure if she read this she would consider it like a sexual badge of honor. She should. I would. And to the guys: if you want me to set you up with her, the answer is NO (someone already asked). If I set you up then I would probably have to hear YOU too. NO THANKS. As my mom would say, "That's just...gross".

Anyone else have any crazy neighbour stories they'd like to share?

Scream at the Top of your Lungs

2010-08-24T14:33:00.009-04:00

I've never been much of a screamer.

I've never been an adrenaline junkie either. I've never had the desire to fling myself off a cliff, bungee cord attached or go white water rafting. Whereas "sky-diving" seems to top everyone's "things I must do before 30 list", its never been something that's really interested me. It's not that I am scared of these things (ok, maybe I am) but its more that I just have never really had the desire to feel those kinds of sensations. I don't like watching horror movies because I hate how they make me feel - I have a really strong visual memory and the images tend to stick with me for years on end. I never tried acid as a teenager partly because I kept picturing that video of the egg in the frying pan ("This is your brain on drugs!") but mostly because I hate the idea of being on a "ride" that I can't get off (I even have commitment issues when it comes to recreational drugs). This is why I also avoid house-parties held in very obscure locations (what if I wanted to leave?) and why rollercoasters have never been my thing.

(Speeding down the Don Valley Parkway or the 401, doing 140 on a motorcycle however, is a sensation that I absolutely LOVE. I can't explain this.)

Maybe this all comes back to the fact that I'm not a screamer. Screaming at the top of my lungs has always felt slightly unnatural to me. Although I'm really talkative and friendly if you approach me, I'm generally a pretty quiet person. Growing up I was terrified of getting into trouble. I listened to authority: Be good. Do what you're told. Don't make a fuss. Don't get mad. "Use your words".

I feel like somewhere along the line, I got the false message that if I did all these things (be good. don't get mad) that I would be more like-able. The downside to all this is I think I carried a lot of this thinking into my adult life.

A therapist once told me, "You seem very in control of yourself.....you also seem very full... like you have a lot of feelings bottled up"

Which is true, I do keep things inside. I get angry like everyone else but, it takes a lot for me to actually express it. For example, this winter I was at a book launch with Melissa. I was telling her the story about this guy. I guess I was starting to get really worked up because she stopped me and said with a smile on her face, "OMG, you're actually getting angry! I mean, I think you are. I've never actually seen you mad" (we've been friends for almost 3 years)

I know that all this bottling up can't be healthy. I just haven't really figured out how to change this (which is part of the reason I ended up talking to the above mentioned therapist in the first place).

Which brings us to last weekend. I was in Sandusky, Ohio visiting Cedar Point (a massive amusement park located on the coast of Lake Erie). I'd already been on a few rides Sunday morning. I yelped, winced and I gasped a little (did I mention rollercoasters aren't my thing?!)....but I didn't really scream. Then, somehow I got talked into going on THIS. What you're looking at is the Millenium Force, the 5th highest rollercoaster in the world.

With very, very, sweaty palms I boarded this thing (and when I say sweaty palms, I mean sweaty. Like they were practically squirting out sweat. TMI?). The whole time we were climbing the first massive hill, I was saying out loud "fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. what did I get myself into?!" (I said I don't get mad. I didn't say I don't swear). I knew that if I was going to survive this, I would have to SCREAM. So, as our car dropped 300 ft, I SCREAMED AT THE TOP OF MY LUNGS. And then I screamed some more...and some more...and some more. IT FELT AMAZING. Eventually, the screams turned to laughter -the kind of laughter where you are having so much fun you are literally squealing with glee. I know its only a rollercoaster but, when I stepped off the ride, I felt this huge weight had been lifted and like I could conquer anything. IT WAS THE BEST FEELING EVER.

So, my new intention is this: SCREAM MORE. SCREAM OFTEN. LET GO MORE.

Are you an adrenaline junkie? How do you get mad...or "let go"?

I Will Not Sleep with You for Free Cable

2010-08-14T11:45:00.014-04:00

So, tomorrow is my bloggerversary which means that Skinny Dip will be one year old! So in honor of my blog's birthday I thought I'd share with you guys one of my favorite tales from the past ten years.

This is another story from the early 2000's when I used to go to Element bar a lot. If you're just tuning in now, Element Bar was a small club located on a grotty strip of Queen St. W. that has since been gentrified. My old watering hole is now an American Apparel store (I'm not joking) - if that isn't gentrification, I don't know what is. Before this happened, my friends and I liked going to this bar because it usually played good house music & they had a very lax security system, meaning you could usually sneak almost anything (ie. a 6-pack of vodka coolers in your purse or other um, "party favors") if you batted your eye-lashes at the bouncer. As my friend discovered, this technique was much less effective if you were male. The underlying sketchiness of the place teamed with lots of alcohol made for some interesting experiences.

When it came to meeting people of the opposite sex, Element Bar had this whole 'Tales of Two Cities'-vibe: It was the best of places...and the worst of places. On any given night you could meet someone like Guy #8 (and hit the multiple orgasm jack-pot) OR you could meet a guy like the one I am about to describe.

On the night in question, I was on the dance floor, the music was good, I was dancing, I had a drink in my hand... It was one of those moments where you say to yourself "at this moment, everything is right in the universe". Then, I saw a figure approach. I say "figure" because there was a giant bright club light shining directly in his face that made it impossible for me to see what he looked like. He kept leaning in, yelling into my ear, trying to talk to me over the music. I was not interested in interrupting my vodka-fueled-house-music-state-of-bliss for anyone that night so when he handed me a cocktail napkin, I scribbled down my email address just to get him out of my hair.

We emailed back and forth a few times before I decided that "he seemed normal" (my famous last words) and I agreed to give him my phone number. A few days later he called me. Thus began one of the more bizarre conversations of my dating career.

Him: "So, like what kind of stuff are you into?"
Me: "Dancing, shopping, hanging out with my friends, going to school...you know, normal stuff"
Him: "Are you into Art?"
Me: "Yes. My mom and sister are both artists. My mom used to teach art classes"
Him: "Yeah, I'm totally into art. I'm an artist myself"
Me: "Oh yeah? What kind of stuff do you do?"
Him: "I paint action figures"
Me: "I'm sorry, what?"

Because my mind works backwards sometimes, as soon as he said "painting action figures" -I had this image of him sitting in his basement, in front of an easel adding the final brushstrokes to one of his masterpieces: a nude Batman rising out of a clam shell, Impressionist Spiderman, G.I Joe frolicking in Monet's garden or on second thought, maybe something like this:

After further clarification I found out that he actually meant THIS, as in actually painting. action. figures. D'OH.

This made a lot more sense than the previous scenario (although I was kind of looking forward to the Impressionist Spiderman) but it also seemed so much worse.

He used this point in the conversation as an opportunity to reveal that he was 30 and alluded to the fact that he lived in his mom's basement . At least this is what I think he was getting at. He kept referring to his mom as being "upstairs".

Him: "I'd love to show you my figures sometime. I just started working on a few new ones"
Me: "Ummm, err yeah. So, what else do you do?"
Him: "I work here__________ (insert name of Software company). I also have a side-business"
Me: "Oh yeah..?"
Him: "Have you ever tangled with a guy who's into all kinds of ILLEGAL SHIT?"
Me: "What?"
Him: "You know...shit that's illegal"

(To answer his question, YES I HAVE. But, I have learned that people who are actually into "illegal shit" don't tell people they are into "illegal shit". I only discovered my ex was into "illegal shit" when I found a giant brick of weed in his freezer and about 50 prescription bottles in his kitchen cabinet. I thought "Could Action Figure Guy be...a drug dealer?!" Then, he dropped the bomb:

Him: "I sell pirated cable and satellite dishes. YEAH, its some SHADY ASS SHIZ!"

(He was serious...and apparently now a thug)

Him: "I can totally hook you up with a satellite dish....if you know, you we get to know each other better"
Me (laughing) "Oh, so you're suggesting I pimp myself out for free cable"
Him: "No, the dish wouldn't be free. I'd give you a deal. I could probably install it for you for $89.99. Of course, I don't take personal cheques. Just cash"

(Wait, was he trying to date me or telemarket to me?!)

Him: "So, are you a FREAK? Like are you into freaky shit....sexually?"

My mind started to race. What would someone who was into Action Figures consider "freaky shit"?! Rolling around on a bearskin rug, while the action figures watched and illegal cable blared behind us on a big screen TV?!

Me: "I'm not going to answer that"

The next time he called, I let it go straight to voice-mail.

****

8 years later, I received an email from him:

"I still have fond memories of meeting you at Element Bar and our conversation. I hope you are doing well. Feel free to get in touch at any time"

****

To this day, I still can't look at a G.I Joe with a straight face.

Ahoy Mateys, it's time for a Shoe Giveaway!

2010-08-10T22:14:00.010-04:00

People always ask me whether dating a shoe designer has afforded me the opportunity to cash in on lots of free shoes...the answer is YES! I get a lot of shoes - more than anyone really needs. So, I thought since my blog is turning one year old very soon (Aug 19th is Skinny Dip's Birthday. Crazy!) I thought it would be fun to "spread the wealth" and do a little giveaway.

I'm giving away a pair of these cute nautical slip ons made by Degrees. These are brand new samples, never worn and yet to be released in stores (!!)

I think these would look super cute with some shorts or a pair of rolled up jeans (I own the same pair in blue and this is how I wear them. I mean, I HOPE I look cute)

The only drawback is that they are a size 6. (sample size! bah!). So, if you have small feet or know someone who does, then this contest is for you. If not, I promise that I'll do another giveaway very soon that everyone will enjoy. Stay Tuned.

How to Win:

1. Follow Skinny Dip on Twitter OR become a fan on Facebook (if you've already done both -awesome!)

2. Leave a comment letting me know once you've done either & describe to me your favorite pair of shoes.

3. Extra entries will be given any time you tweet: "FREE SHOES! Want to WIN a pair of cute nautical inspired shoes by Degrees?! Follow @by_simone & comment here: http://to.ly/5W5O "

(or you can get creative & make up your own tweet. I'm not picky!)

I will pick a winner using random.org on Friday, Aug 13th.

Good Luck! xox

The We-Vibe and Vagina Disses

2010-08-06T17:40:00.013-04:00

This Spring I went a little sex toy crazy.

It wasn't long after I purchased my beloved Lelo Mona that I decided that I absolutely needed to try the We-Vibe. Like, RIGHT AWAY.

If you don't spend time online reading sex-toy reviews (like I obviously do) you're probably wondering "What's the big deal with this We-Vibe thing?!" Let me break it down: the We-Vibe is a vibrator that you can use solo OR while you're having sex with a real live person. Confused? Watch the explanation video! The toy has won all kinds of awards and has received glowing reviews (no pun intended). Also, it was designed by Canadians - which seems fitting, considering we are a culture that is trapped inside for most of the winter. What else are we going to do?!

I became a bit obsessed with procuring a We-Vibe of my own.

On a sunny Sunday afternoon I headed out into the city in search of this toy that had been described to me by a friend as "the guaranteed cum shot". The only problem....it seemed to be sold out in Toronto! NOOOOOOO! This only made me more determined. I spent the afternoon driving around the city from sex shop to sex shop, where I was politely told that the toy was on back order. I then spent a good hour or two at Remy's patio drowning my disappointment in some really bad overpriced sangria. I'm very determined. Once I get an idea in my head that I "NEED" something, I won't rest until I find it. (Currently, I am searching for the perfect maxi dress to wear to a pool party in two weeks. I will find it. However, sangria might once again be required.)

After extensive sangria-fueled googling on my iphone & some phone calls, I eventually found a place that had a few in stock. An hour later I was heading home (a very happy girl) with a shopping bag containing the We-Vibe, some porn and other goodies.

(I swear to god, most of my Sunday afternoons don't look like this....just some of them)

I wasn't planning on doing a product review of the We-Vibe but, I need to at least give you guys the Coles Notes version so that the rest of this story makes sense. So here it is:

BOTTOM LINE: I think I am probably the only person on earth to say this but, I was really underwhelmed by the We-Vibe.

The first time I tried it was with BF. When we first put it in and started to have sex, we were like "This feels pretty good!". But, the more we got into it, the more annoying the We-Vibe became. The We-Vibe just wouldn't stay in one place. It kept slipping and sliding around with every thrust. We would have to stop what we were doing to re-adjust it, which turned into a bit of a mood killer. Also, I really wanted to experiment with the different speeds settings, but I found it really difficult to switch settings without stopping everything completely. Eventually, the We-Vibe was more of a distraction than anything else. I had this moment where I was like, THERE IS WAY TOO MUCH GOING ON. GET THIS THING OUT OF ME (the We-Vibe, that is). We ended up yanking the toy and finishing things the good old fashioned way.

For me, the We-Vibe was the sexual equivalent of the Turducken. It takes something that is already good (Sex/Turkey) and then stuffs in a bunch of stuff that doesn't really need to be there.

I've played with the toy a few times on my own which, I have enjoyed a lot more. Alone, I had more control over the toy. The We-Vibe is pretty flexible so I was able to bend the arms so that they hit the right spots without having to worry about slippage. Overall though, my main complaint about this product (something I noticed the first time I used it as well) is that even on the highest setting, the vibrations just aren't strong enough for me. I'm used to a toy with a bit more power which is why I love my Lelo. It's not that this toy was terrible (it will get you off), it just wasn't the giant-orgasm-holy-grail that I expected it to be. We-Vibe, I've had better.

Now, flash-forward to Thursday night.....

I was at a networking event with my friend. It was a very girly event: there were lots of pink martinis & a bunch of different vendors with tables set up throughout the club. One of the vendors was a company that sells sex toys. Naturally, I had to go and check it out. One of the toys they had sitting on their table was the We-Vibe. So, I decided to strike up conversation with the girl that was manning the booth. I told her that I had purchased it, that I found the toy slipped around a lot & asked her if she had received similar feedback from other customers. Her reply was,

"I've never heard that. Maybe you need to like...tighten up your vagina"

"Um, I'm pretty sure my vagina is FINE. The toy just didn't work for me"

"I know but maybe your vagina is kind of...loose"

"I don't think so"

"I mean it could be...."

"It's not.....I mean, it's received good feedback"

She gave me her card and I walked away thinking:

"Did that conversation really just happen?!"

So, words of wisdom:

If you want to be my friend, work with me, or have me promote your products on my blog:

DON'T DIS MY VAGINA.

(And now that I've managed to say the word vagina a 8,00000000 times, I'm off to enjoy the sun. I hope everyone else is having a fabulous weekend!)

Has anyone else tried the We-Vibe? (or maybe had an equally as awkward conversation recently?)

Living with the Insanity of your Twenties.

2010-07-26T17:45:00.010-04:00

Lately, I've been thinking a lot about my Twenties. This is probably because my thirtieth birthday is approaching FAST. Like, in just under two months. Anyways, the other day I was telling a friend a story about the house I lived in when I was going to University (see previous entry re: bedroom ceiling collapsing) and I realized something about my 20's:

I LIVED IN TOTAL UTTER CHAOS.

Is it really that surprising that I was a bit of a headcase?

For the first 3. 5 years that I lived in Toronto (minus the 6 months I spent living in "The Basement Apartment from Hell" -another blog post altogether) I lived in Student Housing. I could have moved into a sterile dorm room that probably would have had ceilings that DIDN'T COLLAPSE (although I'm sure if I lived there they would have found a way to collapse. Just like how "Basement Apartment from Hell" managed to flood in the middle of January). Instead, I let my Left-Leaning-West-Coast-Granola-Crunching upbringing & my love for Victorian homes get the best of me. I decided my new home would be my school's "Co-operative Alternative Residences". The name alone conjures up images of tie-dye, reusable coffee mugs strung off of M.E.C backpacks, Birkenstocks & lots of borderline communist activity. If you were thinking this too, you'd be right.

Back in the 60's and 70's during the height of flower power, the "Co-Op" purchased a dozen or so large Victorian homes in the neighborhood adjacent to the University. These houses were then converted into Student Residences. I lived in one of these Victorian homes on a beautiful tree lined street. We shared the neighborhood with other students, yuppies & a whole slew of Frat Houses (this how I learned that it is never a good idea to walk down Madison Ave looking remotely attractive on a warm day). My room was pretty. It had yellow walls, big bay windows & a fireplace. The rent was cheap.

The downside to all this? I lived in a house with 9 other people and some small livestock (I'll get to that later).

Living in the other 9 bedrooms were a rotating cast of "colorful characters" which included,

-a guy who subsisted on a hot-dog only diet
-someone with "Seinfeld-B.O" (as in the "B" was independent of the "O". When the "B" left the room, the "O" would linger)
-a certified hermit who only became less hermit-like when I started sleeping with him during my last 6 months of living there (I saw his reclusive nature as a challenge).
- "LoPants" my roomie who had a permanent plumbers crack and would say stuff like "So, I just masturbated" whenever she came into the kitchen (She was such an over-sharer. Someone should have told her about blogging.)
-a guy who would always answer his door alone, shirtless, sweaty, and out of breath like I had just interupted his "Gentleman Time" (I should have tried to set up him up with LoPants)

There were 3 bathrooms.

My friend C. who lived in the house next door had it worse. His cast of characters included but was not limited to:

-a 40 year old virgin who played the trombone (When I saw THIS years later, I almost peed myself laughing)
-a guy who in 3.5 years, I only ever saw wearing pijamas pants and a bathrobe.
-a proffessional pandhandler
-a German sheppard

There was only one bathroom....for 14 people.

I never slept with anyone from that house mostly because I feared that if I did I might actually have to use that bathroom.

(The house down the street was even worse. They had to evict someone because the dude went all Howard Hughes-ey, stopped paying his rent, barricaded himself in his room behind a fortress of canned soup and started saving his toe-nail clippings in jars. I only know this because I slept with one of his room-mates.)

I had a hard time convincing people that I didn't live in some weird Dharma-Initiative-style Communist state ...because well, I kind of did. There were lots of rules. There were job charts. Everything was bought in bulk. Our basement was full of massive bales of the cheapest and scratchiest no-name toilet paper known to man. We were forced to use inneffective cleaning products made from natural ingredients (kind of a problem when you have 14 people sharing a bathroom). There were commitees for everything (ie. I sat on the Vermin removal committee). It wasn't uncommon to see a "If its brown flush it down, if its yellow let it mellow" sign in a shared washroom. There was a frightening communal compost heap in our backyard that reminded me of the Garbage pile from Fraggle Rock. I'm sure when we were all sleeping (or passed out drunk) it mumbled Markist theory.

I'd lived there for 2 years when elections came up for "Co-op Manager". I was already the elected Manager of my own house (dishing out anti-recycling fines & cleaning infractions like a good little comrade) and it was my roomate who pushed me to climb the ranks so to speak. She said it would "improve my leadership skills" (It didn't. I was a terrible leader). I won the election by a landside...because no one else ran against me (this should have been a sign). My ancestors left Russia to escape all this shit and here I was embracing this hot commie mess with open arms.

At first I liked the power of being the only person with a master key to the supply closet (I was the sole controller of scratchy toilet paper! muahahahaha). But, then all this power just got annoying like when people actually wanted stuff. Drunk people who were locked out of their rooms who needed someone to let them in at 4am. People who needed more toilet paper. Cleaning violations. Farm animals (I'll get to that later). People calling me asking if they could trade 3 bottles of hippie brand Dutch Cleanser for more toilet paper. THERE WAS NEVER ENOUGH TOILET PAPER. EVER. I would usually spend my Saturday afternoons trying to bribe someone with a drivers liscense (usually with the promise of more toilet paper) to drive me to the wholesale toilet paper depot (it exists. It's on Dupont Street) in the decrepid Co-op supply van (I always felt like it was on the verge of self-destructing & bursting into flames) where I would load 65 packages of scratchy toilet paper into the back of the van, usually with tears in my eyes because I knew that it wouldn't be enough. We actually needed 80 packages.

Like all good communist states things started to unravel. The people want what the people want! I couldn't keep up with the demand. I lost control. People started to run out of toilet paper at the most inopertune moments. I became known as the worst Co-op Manager of all time (next to the guy who was caught stealing used matresses). Eventually, in one of the most embarassing moments of my life, a coup was organized and I was impeached.

This was all happening around the same time that I decided to STOP drinking. Which, now in hindsight almost seems like a bad idea.

Even with my shit-show stint as Co-Op Manager over, I still had to manage the affairs of the house in which I lived. Most of my time was spent handling the RABBIT problem.

Yes, I said RABBIT.

My housemate who lived below me kept rabbits in her bedroom. They were "free range" - meaning they weren't kept in cages. The floor of her bedroom was covered with wood chips and blankets, that the rabbits would use to "relieve themselves". She also used to wash the rabbit blankets (crap pads) in the communal washing machine. When I wasn't chairing a meeting about how the first floor of our house smelled like a filthy petting zoo, I was dealing with people who had complaints that their clean laundry smelled like "farm".

At the time I had a part time job at a make-up counter that required us to wear blazers. I'd usually get makeup all over my jacket so I'd wash it before every shift. One day while at work, I had this epiphany. I stuck my hands into the pockets of my freshly washed blazer and felt something weird. I pulled them out, held them out in front of my face and said,

"FUCKING WOOD CHIPS!!!!"

At that moment, I knew I had to move.

I answered an ad on the Tribe message board posted by someone looking for a roomate to share a luxury condo on Bay St.

On moving day, I went upstairs to my former hermit booty call & slipped a note under halfway under his door that said:

"I'm moving out. Call me sometime"

(not really meaning it)

I waited a moment. I heard shuffling noises. I stood back and I watched as the note slowly slid the rest of the way under the door.

It was the end of an era. I never looked back.

(today's photo was found here)

What's your best crazy living situation story?

Dating Myself

2010-07-19T18:21:00.014-04:00

I had this really good post planned for today about Threesomes but, I totally chickened out after I found out that apparently one of the kids I used to babysit for has been reading my blog (OH GOD). He's 20 -something but, still (OH GOD). Yup, that's me...corrupting the youth.

It makes me wonder, who else is reading this?!

So in lieu of another tawdry story about my shady dating history, I thought I'd share the story about how I learned to stop dating other people...and instead learned to date myself.

As the oldest of two children, I've always been pretty independent. When I was growing up I loved socializing. I was the kid who was so busy talking during the lunch-hour that I'd actually forget to eat my lunch. I was also a goody-two-shoes (work with me here). The only time I ever got in trouble was for talking too much (some things never change). With that said, I was also the kind of kid who could spend hours in her room, playing with her stuffed animals & barbies, working on art projects, making up dance routines, completely content to amuse myself for hours on end. As a teenager I also loved spending time alone: writing, listening to records, going for walks on the beach. My family is small and close knit and while I was growing up I always had a tight circle of close friends. Being alone wasn't lonely because I knew that whenever I didn't want to be alone, I was surrounded with all these wonderful people who had known me my own life.

I'd always dreamed of leaving my sleepy seaside town for some big, strange, exciting place. When I was 18, I did exactly that. Instead of going to University, I signed up for some college classes and bought a one-way ticket to Toronto, a city thousands of miles away where I knew virtually no one. Once I started "living my dream" I realized something: I was completely alone...and for the first time, alone felt lonely.

I was so desperate to meet people, that I would literally be friends with ANYONE. If you were a weirdo or mentally unstable in 1999, I would probably be your friend. During this time of my life I met a few really wonderful people (who later became good friends) however, the majority of people I met were less than wonderful. I just didn't see it at the time because I was young, naive, desperately lonely and hadn't quite figured out that a lot of people just didn't have good intentions. That's how I ended up hanging out with people like The Worm. However, getting Tequila'ed up & molested by The Worm in his Porsche, was just the tip of the ice-berg when it came to bad experiences. I was wracking up disturbing life experiences like it was going out of style. Maybe at some point I'll actually start to get into detail about what actually happened, but for now its just safe to say that by the end of my first year in Toronto I was kind of a mess emotionally.

I realized early on that school year that a "good" way to deal with my problems was to party. As hard and as often as possible. I'm not really sure how much of this had to do with me wanting to run away from my problems or whether this is something that all people feel when they are young but, I had this strong desire to always be OUT. Staying at home, doing quiet things was absolutely unbearable. I felt like if I was home I was a missing out on something and obviously a total "loser" (something that now seems pretty ridiculous now that I am older). If I was at home alone, then it would mean that I would actually have to stop and reflect on what was going on with my life. I wanted to avoid that at all costs... so instead I went to great lengths to ensure that never happened. I went to University full time and worked 25-30 hours a week. I scheduled all my shifts so that I would never be home alone on the weekends. I'd work all weekend, party all night, and leave myself just enough time during the week to study & maintain a B average. Even if it meant that I went to my part time job hung-over beyond belief (or god forbid, still kind of drunk from the night before), working a 9 hour shift in this state was actually preferable to being home alone with my thoughts.

When it came to partying, I wouldn't just have a few. I'd drink to the point that bordered on oblivion, where I was comfortably numb. Where I didn't have to feel anything. I also loved to dance, so I would consume to the point where it would just be me, the music and whoever I was dancing with. My self-destructive behavior extended into other areas of my life, mainly boys. I dated a drug dealer. I dated a drug addict. I spent a year being some guy's mistress because on some level I didn't think I deserved any better. It's like I searched out these situations that were destined to end painfully. I like to call these my "train-wreck years". There were signs along the way that I should have stopped what I was doing but I chose to ignore them.

The real wake-up call happened in September of 2003, shortly after my 22nd birthday.

My paternal Grandma, who I had always been very close with, passed away.

I was heartbroken.

My grandma was one of the sweetest, kindest people I've ever known (of course, maybe this is the way most people feel about their grandma's). Losing her gave me this weird feeling that my childhood was now officially over.

September of 2002 was a bad month. To add insult to injury, right after my grandma passed my boyfriend at the time broke up with me. Looking back, this was a blessing in disguise however, at the time it sucked. It felt like someone was taking my already bruised, bleeding heart & was stabbing it repeatedly with a butter knife.

Shortly after the break-up, the leaking started. I noticed that water was squirting out of the light fixture in my bedroom ceiling (why this happened in the first place remains a mystery). I figured I didn't need to add "accidental electrocution" to my list of problems so, I packed an overnight bag & decided to stay on my friend's couch until building maintenance could come and fix the leak. The maintenance people never showed up. Three days later I returned to my apartment to find a 4ft x 4ft hole in my ceiling, and the "ceiling" (pieces of wood, insulation, plaster) on my BED.

I looked up at the hole & saw my upstairs neighbor looking down at me.

him: "So, like... your ceiling fell through while you were away"
me: "Yeah I noticed"

I actually laugh whenever I tell this story because, it is kind of funny. It felt like my world was imploding...and then it actually did.

Even though my heart hurt & I felt overwhelmed, for the first time in years I didn't feel like partying that feeling away. Have you ever had one of those moments where you wake up and say "What the fuck am I doing with my life?". I've had a few. This was one of them. I knew that if I was going to get through this I would need to STOP everything.

I stopped drinking. I stopped partying. I stopped dating. I stopped sleeping with my ex. I started to systemically to cut off all of my friends that reminded me of any of these things (even if they were good people). I didn't want to face them. I didn't want to talk about how I felt. I didn't want to fake being happy any more. When I am truly upset this what I do: I hibernate. I also decided I needed to learn how to do the one thing I used to fear so much: I needed to learn how to be alone. And, this was exactly what I did.

I forced myself to stay home on the weekends. It was hard at first. I'd feel shaky & jittery, like I couldn't sit still. Even though I knew I didn't want to be out partying, I felt like I was scratching at the walls. But, once I eventually got over the initial anxiety and I realized, THIS IS AWESOME.

I COULD DO ANYTHING I WANTED.

Since I wasn't spending my weekends wasted or in the emergency room sitting bedside as my boyfriend had his stomach pumped, I HAD SO MUCH SPARE TIME. I re-discovered what it felt like to wake up on a Sunday without a hangover (omg you have so much energy!). I started to fill my Friday & Saturday nights with things that I enjoyed. I'd borrow my neighbor's VCR (I was a broke student) and rent videos that only I wanted to see. I discovered Sex and the City, and was like "Whoa! I'm not the only one having all these bizarre dating experiences...and they are laughing about it!". I substituted food for booze. On Friday nights I'd go to the grocery store & I'd buy WHATEVER the hell I felt like eating. I'd get brie, avocados, Ben & Jerry's Ice Cream, cookies, gummi bears, croissants, pepperoni sticks, popcorn & cheezies. I learned that eating all of these things in succession isn't that great an idea. I stopped being underweight. I put on a well-needed 5-8lbs. My body filled out in a good way. I spent a lot of time at the library because it made me feel less lonely. My B-average turned into an A-average. I started my first blog & met people who I are still my friends today. Did I still feel lonely through any of this? OH HELL YES. Sometimes I felt totally lonely. It was hard but, I worked through it. I decided to embrace the feeling of being a bit lonely because I knew what I was doing was healthier than what I was doing before (minus the new found gummi bear & pepperoni problem)

That winter, I found the perfect solution for what to do on my free Saturday nights: I got a job working at (what was at the time) a high end club/cigar lounge. I started making more money than I had ever made before. FYI. Want to wean yourself off of alcohol? Get a job somewhere where YOU'RE SOBER and everyone around you is WASTED. It's eye-opening. And hilarious.

Working at the club was a good thing because it broke me out of the shell I had been living in. I started to feel better. I started to make new friends & connect with old ones. I started to date again. I realized that I could still go out, have a few drinks & have fun with my friends without being self-destructive. I started to smile & laugh again...but this time, real smiles, not the fake-smiling-eventhough-I'm-sad-ones. Most importantly, on the nights when I wasn't working at the bar I loved going home to my apartment alone, kicking my feet up and saying "I'm OK with this" because I was. I learned to sit still. I learned to be alone again and love it.

So, what is the point of all this? Lately, I've been going through a hard time emotionally. The circumstances are completely different & don't worry - no one has died. Still, its been difficult. Looking back on this other era of my life I've realized this: sometimes shitty things happen. Very shitty things. But, sometimes its these really hard times that push us forward...push us to make changes...push us to get to know ourselves better...push us to face things that we fear. And, if history repeats itself (as I'm hoping it will), its these struggles that lead us to better things.

xox

(Photo found via Rebecca Thuss)

Can anyone else relate to this?

So, does this mean I'm a writer?!

2010-07-14T21:51:00.009-04:00

I've been a bad blogger lately. I'm still writing a lot...just not for my own blog. One of my goals when I started this blog a year ago was to eventually write for other sites as well. I'm happy that I am branching out however... I miss the blog! I miss you guys!

Here are a few things that I have done in the past 6 weeks:

1. Flown across the country and back, TWICE.

2. Witnessed my cousin get married.

3. Started a new job

4. Read all of Chelsea Handler's books (& kinda have fallen in love with Ms. Handler. Hi Chelsea, its me, Simone & I have a cupboard full of vodka. Wanna be friends?)

Somehow amidst all this chaos I have become a writer. I mean I think I'm a writer now.

Do you officially become a writer when someone pays you to write? Or have I always been a writer and now the only difference is that someone is actually paying me to do this? Or maybe the better question should be: why do I still feel awkward calling myself a writer when clearly that is what I do?

A few weeks ago I received my first cheque for some stories I had written. Even with the cheque in my hand, I still had this moment of disbelief where I said "Someone is actually paying me to do this?!" I guess I kind of feel the same way about writing as I do about being an adult. Even though I'm almost thirty, there are times where I still feel like a kid. Its like I am at the fair & I've managed to trick the Mullet-wearing-Carnie into letting me on the big kid's ride even though I clearly do not meet the height requirements. Does this feeling ever go away?

I've also realized that I don't give myself enough credit.

I look at the glass as half-empty instead of half-full. I let negative voices in my head discount things that I have obviously worked hard for ("Yes, I'm doing what I want to be doing but I'm still not making much money"...."The blog is going well...but its still not where I want it to be"....."Every time I'm filing a document I have to sing the ABCs in my head. What is wrong with me?!"....you get the idea). Its like I'm looking forward so much that I don't see what is happening in the now. For example -that I am actually doing what I wanted to do a year ago.

I don't want to ever get in the habit of having good things happen & not taking the time to really appreciate them. Achievements (however small) still need to be celebrated.

Celebrating means getting Ukelele Misfit to take a dorky photo of me posing with my first writing cheque (taken last week in Little Italy after we pigged out on Gelato)

Because this is me we're talking about- I've already squandered my earnings on shoes. Ralph Lauren patent leather platform sandals. (I don't think I've bought anything by Ralph Lauren since the 90's!) But, these shoes are simple & black & shiny & I fell in love as soon as I saw them.

And, they make me super tall. And, yes - I really am THAT white. And, because I am going to try and ride that "big kid ride" like I actually belong on it, I've decided to save the rest of my writing money for something really, really good.

If I save all my writing money, in like... 4-6 years I should be able to buy a pair of pretty red soled shoes. Oh yeah.

Does anyone else have the same problem? How do you celebrate success?

Things that make Skinny Dip say WTF.

2010-07-11T21:15:00.017-04:00

Dear Universe,

I'm confused about a lot of things lately. Like why they have to make diapers that look like jeans or why there is this weird bruise on my right shin that I don't remember getting.

Here are a few other things that have made me say WTF recently:

1) THE 'BIEB:

I get why 13 year old girls like Justin Bieber. What I don't get is people in their mid-late 20's who like this kid....and I mean really, really like him, like they get a-funny- feeling-in -the- pants-kind-of-like. When I was in Edmonton last month visiting my best friend, we found this article about a 24 year old who had gone to great lengths just to get a glimpse of the 'Bieb. Does that not seem a little about off to you? As I know from personal experience, having teenagers attracted to you isn't exactly cool (it's actually kind of creepy and weird). You know what's even less cool?! BEING ATTRACTED TO TEENAGERS.

With that said, because my BFF and I are us, we spent the rest of the week making fun of THE 'BIEB.

One morning, I woke up and said to her:

"Amy, I don't feel well"

her: "Omg, are you OK?!"

Me: "I feel all sweaty, my head is pounding, I have the chills.....I think I have Bieber-Fever"

At which point, we both broke out into hysterics.

Last week, she sent me a link to an article about how a bunch of people have been doing all kinds of crazy stuff to the Bieb, like trying to send him to South Korea (sounds like a good idea to me), with a note attached that said,

"Really Simone. Did you have to go and do this? This time you've gone too far"

Why people love the Bieb will never fully make sense to me. Why my best friend is my best friend, always will.

2) BARK OFF.

Have you ever had one of those moments where you fall asleep watching late night TV, only to wake up, groggy, drooling, with one hand still in a box of crackers, to some commercial that you assume is part of whatever late night comedy sketch show you were watching before you went all narcoleptic? You say to yourself: This has to be a spoof. Something this retarded can't be real. Then, you realize "Oh god, this is a real commercial". That's exactly what happened when I saw THIS for the first time while I was visiting my grandparents last week:

The commercial played again the next day, while my Grandpa and I were watching TV. Every afternoon before dinner my Grandpa loves to take out his hearing aid, crank up the TV and provide "audio commentary" (yell at the TV). His reaction to the "Bark Off" commercial says it best: "Christ god damn. Hell, if you didn't want to hear god damn barking, don't buy a god damn fucking dog! Christ!" (of course with my grandpa's accent, "god damn" sounds more like COT-DAMN)

And now you've met my Grandpa.

2) BATHROOM WALL WRITING.

This has mystified me for YEARS. Whenever I'm out shopping, I almost always have to stop at the Lettieri coffee shop on Queen St. Scrawled on their hand-dryer in black marker is the following message:

"CRACK TEARS SOULMATES APART"

(its kind of blurry, so it could also say...)

"COCK TEARS SOULMATES APART"

Both make sense.

It's not the message of bathroom writing that confuses me ("Call Mike for a good time" - yeah, I get that) - what weirds me out is that there are obviously a lot of people who carry around permanent markers with them on a daily basis. WHY?! Who feels compelled to do this?!

I probably have 99 items in my purse...but a sharpie ain't one of them.

*Cymbal Crash*

4) BROS ICING BROS.

A bro icing occurs when one bro surprises another unsuspecting bro with a bottle of Smirnoff Ice (hey, remember that stuff?) and then forces said bro to chug it while on bended knee. The rules of bros icing bros are simple:

Still confused? Watch the video bro!

Another rule to add to the playbook: in order to properly ICE or counter ICE, it helps to carry around a back pack full of this disgustingly sweet hang-over inducing beverage at all times...you know, like normal people do.

I feel like the video speaks for itself. I still don't get it but, at least the next time I see what looks like one Chode proposing to another Chode with a bottle of bitch pop, I'll know what the deal is....BRO.

5) THE RETURN OF THE SCRUNCHY:

This photo was pulled from the Urban Outfitters website. I know, I know- stuff from the 80's and 90's is trendy right now. All I have to say is this:

IT'S JUST TOO SOON.

WAY TOO SOON.

Universe, you are a strange. That's all I have to say.

Love,

Skinny Dip.

What is making YOU say WTF these days?

The 18 year old Republican

2010-07-05T20:16:00.006-04:00

“You have this problem where you can’t just leave well enough alone. You always have to tempt fate. That’s how you end up in these ridiculous situations”
-My Mom, 10 years ago.

My Mom knows me well. I DO have this problem, where it's like... I know the fire is hot (or a situation is fucked up) but I can't resist reaching in and touching the flame (ie. seeing how much more fucked up the situation can get).

Throw some alcohol into the mix and you get stories like this:

A few years ago I was working for a company that sold packaged tours to high school students. You know the ones I am talking about: “Go to Europe for Spring Break! See ten countries in ten days and barely remember anything!”. One of the few perks of this job was that every season we got to go on a free trip. The upside: free European travel. The catch: you had to travel with high school students. This meant that you were literally tagging along (as a twenty-something) on a bunch of random teen's Senior Class trip. Um, can you say awkward?

It was on one of these trips that I ended up late one night in a bar, in Italy with 45 drunk teenagers.

I was sitting at a table by myself, sampling the bar's Grappa selection when I saw the 18-year old approach. I don’t remember his name. I think it was something like Chet or Chase or Bud or Buddy or Skip or Skipper. What I do remember was that he was part of our tour group, he had a very thick Bill Compton-like Southern accent and said y’all a lot. He also didn’t seem to know much about Canadians (earlier that day he had approached me to ask me what it was like “living in a country without electricity” Jesus! What are they teaching these kids?!). Just as I was starting to get a bit of a buzz happening, the 18 year sauntered up to me and slurred,

“You’re PURRRDY”
“Um, are you aware that I’m 24?”
“That’s no problem. I’m 18”
“Actually, it is kind of a problem--”
“Do y’all have a boyfriend?”
“What? Um. Yes. Yes, I do”
(I didn’t)
“What’s his name?”
“Its uh….Raul”
“Y’all have Mexicans up there?”
“What?!”
“Y’all dating a Mexican?!”
“Yes. I mean no. I mean….Raul is Argentinean”

(Yes. Raul. My hot, proudly Argentinean boyfriend. Engineer by day, soccer player by night. All around stand-up guy who enjoys long walks & sex on the beach. Apparently, all that 60 proof Grappa had made Raul REAL. I figured defending Raul was a better option than bringing up the fact that I’d recently been sleeping with a Spanish guy, an Indian Guy and a Jamaican. Hey, when it comes to being a slut, I’m an equal opportunist). Then, as if he was reading my mind he asked:

“Are y’all a VIRGIN?”
(at this point I nearly spit out my drink)
“I’m 24. What do you think?”
“Well, I’m definitely not a virgin. I’ve banged tons of chicks! All kinds of hot chicks! And not just from my own town! I’ve had so much sex its INSANE y’all”
(The great thing about being 24 vs. 18: your radar for bullshit is acute. This guy’s sexual experience was about as likely as me actually being able to do advanced calculus. In other words: don't count on it.)
“That’s…nice. Umm, Good for you???”
“Are y’all a Republican?”
(This seemed even more ridiculous than the Virgin question. I started to laugh hysterically)
“Are you serious?”
“Do y’all love George Bush? He’s my idol. I hope to be like him when I grow up. I love how he’s all about not changing stuff”
“You need to stop talking”

Unfortunately, the 18 year old took this pause in the conversation as a cue to lay one on me. Before, I knew it this kid had grabbed me and was pressing his lips against mine. Luckily there was no tongue. (Oh god, what if there had been tongue?!). I pulled away, grabbed the remaining shot off of the table, poured it down my gullet and said,

“This never happened”

& walked away.

Italy is a magical place where everything is sexy. You’re sexy. The people around you are sexy. The food is sexy. The buildings are sexy. Even the people who normally wouldn’t be sexy, seem sexy. I love Italy. The only problem is sometimes all this sexy backfires. Like when teenagers start to find you attractive.

Goodbye Florence. Buon giorno Cougartown.

To counteract my R-Kelly moment, I decided to spend the rest of the night making eyes at our 40-year old tour guide who suddenly looked really, really good. Apparently I was also wearing a pair of Italy Goggles that night (and apparently I was in the one bar completely devoid of anyone age-appropriate)

The next day, our tour group was visiting a Florentine Leather factory -a required stop on the trip (because what high schooler DOESN'T want to visit a leather factory. I mean REALLY. I'm rolling my eyes right now just as I'm sure everyone else was that day). I was standing with my co-worker (& traveling companion) by a giant purse display, when the 18-year old came up to talk to us. He was holding a leather belt.

“Do y’all like this belt Simone?”
“Sure. Its nice”
“Cuz I want to make sure y’all like it. It’s important to me”
“Um, buy whatever you like”

When the kid was out of earshot, my co-worker (who had yet to be filled in about the events of the previous night) said to me:

“Why is he asking you about his belt? There is something really off about that kid. The other day he asked me if we had electricity in Canada”

At this point, we look across the room to see 18-year old winking at us.

me: “Yeah, I’m not really sure what his deal is”
her: “Americans are weird”
me: “Oh yeah…Totally....that's totally it”

*insert awkward shoe gazing here*

Leaving on a Jetplane...Again.

2010-06-28T11:19:00.010-04:00

Something is is amiss. I'm having some serious issues blogging lately. I have about 3 different blog posts saved in my draft folder that I have yet to finish or publish. I have all sorts of ideas for things I want to write about, but then I'll sit down to actually write them up and...nada. I just end up slamming my lap top shut and walking away. It's like everything I want to say is all twisted up and no matter how hard I try to put it into words, it just doesn't come out right. It's like, whatever part of my brain I use for writing needs to get an enema. Yes, I need a BRAIN ENEMA (and THERE is some gross Monday morning imagery for you...). But, you know what I mean right?

It also doesn't help that most of the stuff that is going on in my life right now is stuff I want to leave off of the blog. This isn't a journal/diary and trust me, you don't want to hear my emo-wailing. I've been walking around all week just HOPING that something bizarre would happen to me just so that I would be able to write about it (which, is a bit messed up if you think about it) but nothing has happened! No disturbing spa stories (thankfully), no unusual tales of sexual harassment... annnnnd I don't really feel like talking about people I've dated (those guys have been dragged through the mud enough & deserve a break) or the new sex toys I've purchased (although maybe at some point I will. I've picked up some cool stuff recently- but, I am just not in the right head space at the moment to dish about that). So what is a blogger to do?

Leave town! Again!

Even though I've only been back from Edmonton for a few days, I've decided to swap THIS view for THIS view:

That's my Grandma's backyard. One of my favorite places in the world to just hang out.

Tomorrow, I'm taking off to Kelowna, BC to spend a few days with my Mom, Sis, Grandparents & cousins. My younger cousin is getting married next weekend. Originally, I didn't think I would be able to attend the wedding, so I didn't make any plans to go. But, things change and a few days ago I decided that I don't want to be there, I need to be there. I need to see my family. I miss them. So, I am hoping on a plane and flying 5 hours west for the second time this month.

I'm hoping that spending some time with people I love, eating some of my Mom's/Grandma's home cooking & soaking up some sun will do me good. I will wear my pink bikini. Maybe I'll even get inspired.

What do you guys do when you're feeling uninspired or suffering from a mild case of bloggers burn out?

And second question, what the hell should I wear to my cousins wedding?! I'd love to wear something like THIS but in reality, I will probably end up wearing something I already own (due to time/budget constraints). Is it appropriate to wear a LBD to a summer wedding if the ceremony is in the evening?

The One Where I take a Baby to Hooters

2010-06-19T23:10:00.007-04:00

I'm in Edmonton, Ab. I've been here a few days visiting my best friend and her angel-faced baby daughter. You know those times when you just desperately need to leave town?! This was one of them. So I am here in the land of big steaks & big malls & even bigger monster trucks...and it has been lovely.

Things that have happened so far:

+ I went to a mall that has its very own Pirate ship, Waterpark, Rollercoaster, Gun Range (giving a whole new spin to the term "MALL SHOOTING") and ice-rink...because what fun would it be to go shooting stuff and not be able to go skating afterward...

+ I took a newborn into Hooters...for lunch. I feel like there should be some crazy train-wreck-blog-worthy story about this but sadly there isn't. We kind of went in there with the expectation that something interesting would happen but it didn't. The whole lunch seemed strangely "normal" (which in itself is weird). I even noticed a few other families in there (WTF? Oh right. Sorry, Hooters IS a "family restaurant" apparently. That's why they sell stuff like this).

+I've totally fallen in love with my BFF's baby. She is the cutest little human I've ever met. I've realized that there isn't anything better than baby smiles. I'm on a baby smile high. They are absolutely the best way to start your morning.

Here are a few other things I've learned about babies over the past few days. I'll call this "Baby 101"

+ They seem to frequently spew liquids from both ends, at the most inopertune moments. A day with a newborn involves more outfit changes than a Lady Gaga concert.

+ Baby emotions are a bit...bipolar. One minute they're laughing. The next they're crying. Then chewing on their clothing. Then puking. Then laughing again. It kind of reminds me of being at a highschool party and you're sitting at the kitchen table talking to "Crying Drunk Girl" (c'mon we've all been at a party with Crying Drunk Girl...or god forbid, been Crying Drunk Girl). One minute she's talking about how much she loves Tommy McIntyre (or some other dude on the football team) the next minute she's in tears, in the backyard threatening to jump off the roof while everyone is tries to stage an intervention. It's kind of like this except babies don't have mascara running down their faces & they're so cute and innocent that you have to cut them some slack.

+ Strollers aren't just strollers. They're like these crazy mobile storage units that you can take everywhere you go. If you've hung out with me in real life and have actually seen what I carry around with me in my purse you know that I'm a bit of a pack-rat. A friend of mine nicknamed me Mary Poppins, because I always carried a purse that magically contained all kinds of weird crap (Bandaids? Check! 5 different shades of lipgloss? Check! A mini-medicine cabinet of every cold/sinus/pain/allergy pill available? Check! Dog-eared back-issue of FAB magazine from 1999. Check!). Strollers aren't just great for carrying around babies, you can also use them to carry your overstuffed bag, your purchases, a change of clothing, SNACKS, they even have cup-holders. CUP-HOLDERS. This is all music to the ears for a neurotic person like me who always carries around too much stuff & is chronically hungry/thirsty whenever I'm shopping.

+They make lots of weird stuff for babies that just doesn' make any sense AT. ALL. Like these "Jean Diapers". I feel like this the scary equivalent of jeggings for the un-toilet-trained set.

Please tell me I'm not the only one who finds this a bit weird?!

+ Over the past few days I've been spit up on, puked on, and accidentally kicked in the boob a couple of times....and its been awesome. I've also been felt up by a woman. This had nothing to do with the baby (I had a very scary woman practically give me a breast exam while trying to get through airport security Thursday morning) and it was less than awesome. But, back to the baby...I've learned that I'm not scared of babies. I can hold a baby and make it smile. I can comfort a baby and make her stop crying. Someday I know I will be good at this. I will be a good Mom. In the meantime I am going to enjoy being an auntie.

How has everyone's week been?

In the Pink

2010-06-15T11:10:00.010-04:00

A few weeks ago I was at the Hip and Urban Girl launch party. I was talking to someone I had just met. When I whipped out my iphone (which is encased in a bright pink TNA iphone condom) to swap Twitter information they commented:

"That's a very girly phone case! Its so...pink"

"Oh yeah, I guess it is"

"You just don't seem like a pink person"

And, this is kind of true. That night I was wearing a white top, a black fitted pencil skirt, black leather jacket & a pair of tough bondage inspired cage heels. This is a typical outfit for me. When I say the words "pink person" what comes to mind is images of Barbie, Paris Hilton, girls wearing short pleated skirts with Uggs (UGH!), the collective wardrobe of the cast of Mean Girls...you get my drift. This isn't exactly me. I wear a lot of black, grey and neutral colors. I love dark skinny jeans, white T-shirts, fitted pencil skirts, black leather jackets, big fluffy scarves, clothes that are simple, feminine and sexy & accented with tough touches (which is why I lust after shoes like this and why I had a total clothes-gasm when I saw all the Motorcycle jackets in Fred Segal). This is pretty much what I look like most of the time (for day I swap out the heels for a pair of chucks or flats)

This photo was taken in LA but doesn't exactly scream out Malibu Barbie.

However, after the party I went home and surveyed the contents of my apartment. For someone who claims they aren't a "pink person" I have a heck of a lot of pink things. Here is the photographic evidence:

The contents of my purse (pink purse, pink notebook, pink ipod, pink iphone, pink essie nail-polish - I don't actually carry around nail-polish. I just included it in the shot.)

As if this wasn't bad enough, two weekends ago I tracked down the bikini I had been lusting after in this entry. I tried it on and it looked too effing cute to leave in the store. Now it is mine. Allllll miiiiine. I don't care if just wear it at the neighborhood pool this summer. I love it. Oh and did I mention I got my toe-nails painted to match? Should I really be admitting this?!

The real WTF moment happened this weekend. I bought a bunch of new lingerie. After I took it home & washed it & got it ready to put away I noticed something: I own ALOT of pink panties. And I just bought more. But how could I resist? They're just so pretty. Once again, I had to bring them home with me.

And course, Mona is pink. Bright fuchsia but still...pink.

And, I write a blog that is very...pink. Which, requires equally pink business cards. Yup.

So what does this mean?

Am I a pink person?

Badass Sex blogger on the outside....pink loving, girly-girl, puffy heart drawing softie on the inside?

Something in between?

What I can say is this: I go through phases with colors. I went through a turquoise phase. I went through a chocolate brown phase. I went through a slightly depressed all-black phase. Right now I'm just going through a pink phase. I'm just going to embrace it. The color pink makes me feel energized and happy. The last time I went through a pink phase was right after I graduated university (actually it was more like a general bright color, bright pattern phase. Hello, I wore a Pucci print dress to my graduation. I didn't say this was a "good" fashion phase). This was an exciting time for me because I felt like I was on the cusp of all kinds of new experiences. So, I'm kind of hoping the same is true right now. In the meantime, I'm just going to ride it out, pink purse in hand.

However you notice that I've decided to go blonde again, that I suddenly have a renewed interest in going to law school and I've started carrying around an abnormally small animal...

PLEASE STAGE AN INTERVENTION.

What's your favorite color? Have you ever gone through a "color phase" or am I alone in this madness?!

A Sticky Situation

2010-06-08T09:48:00.007-04:00

This week, REAL LIFE kind of over-took BLOG LIFE. Life has been a bit of a roller-coaster. I'll spare you the details for the time being. Instead, today I have yet another inappropriate story about the adventures of me & my vagina.

Aka, Tales from the Waxing Table, part Deux.

Friday was Pay Day so, after work I decided to treat myself to a pedicure and a bikini wax at the salon I usually go to. In hindsight, the words "treat" (fun!) and "bikini wax" (pain!) probably should never appear in the same sentence. Because when you think about it, "treating" yourself to a bikini wax is kind of like "treating" yourself to a speeding ticket. I do a lot of stuff that doesn't make sense AT ALL.

After I had my toes painted in Essie's Lifesaver (bright, almost neon coral toes...YES!), a tiny Asian woman led me to one of the waxing rooms at the back of the salon.

The name on her lab coat said LILY. I don't think Lily spoke much English. After a few minutes of me trying to explain what I wanted ("Like a Brazilian, but you know....leave a bit on the top. You know what I mean right? Landing Strip?") Lily just stared at me blankly and said "YES. 20 DOLLAR". I laid down on the table and hoped for the best.

I started to sense that things weren't going to go well when I looked over and noticed that Lily's hands were shaking.

Lily seemed nervous but, the first few wax strips went off without a hitch. Then I heard Lily say the words that no one ever wants to hear while lying on cold hard table with their panties pulled down:

UH OH.

Things suddenly felt VERY warm down there (and not in a good way). I looked down and saw that Lily had spilled the hot wax and it was now EVERYWHERE. Lily started frantically saying,

OH NO. I FIX! I FIX!

Before I could stop her, she grabbed one of the paper serviettes/tissues and applied it to the hot wax. This was a very bad idea. If you've ever had waxing done you know that this stuff is STICKY. Like GLUE. Of course the paper serviette got stuck to the wax. When she tried to remove it, the majority of the serviette remained adhesed to my body. When I looked down, I saw that the whole area was a mess of neon yellow hot wax accented with bits of white paper. This was when I lost my cool and let out an audible,

WHAT THE FUCK.

Lily grabbed a tiny pair of scissors and started trying to CUT OUT the paper bits. This also turned out to be a bad idea. As if it wasn't awkward enough that Lily was digging around in what was left of my pubic hair with very tiny sharp scissors, at one point her gloved finger actually got STUCK in the wax, temporarily glueing her hand to my crotch. After some awkward hair pulling and maneuvering, Lily managed to cut her hand free. This is when I said to her:

NO TRIM. JUST WAX EVERYTHING OFF.

The waxing continued. Just when I thought that we were on the right track towards fixing this mess, Lily grabbed one of the paper serviettes and applied it to the area. Of course there was just too much wax everywhere and the paper got STUCK. AGAIN.

WHY LILY? WHY?! DIDN'T WE LEARN ANYTHING THE FIRST TIME?!

What proceeded was more cutting, more waxing and since the area hadn't been prepped with baby powder (to prevent the wax from sticking to the skin) more pain.

This whole scene kind of reminded me of being a kid and playing "hairdresser" with your Barbies. At first it seems like a good idea to give Barbie's long flowing locks a "trim" but then you realize it just isn't quite right. You cut more & more & more until eventually your Barbie looks like Billy Idol. This is exactly what was happening...between my legs.

(I would hate to see what Lily's childhood doll collection looks like)

The job was uneven, but eventually Lily managed to get the wax & paper situation under control. Fearing what might come next, I decided to stop her before she headed into the city limits of Brazillian-ville. However, before I could sit up and put my shorts back on, Lily says to me:

YOU UNHAPPY. I FIX! I FIX!

She brings out the tiny scissors again (PUT THEM AWAY) and a tiny comb (huh?) and begins to COMB the jagged edged landing strip & snip tiny strands (precision detailing? Really?! NOW?! Isn't it kind of too late for that?!). No longer wanting Lily & any sharp objects near my vagina I put a stop to the "hair-cut". To finish off, Lily produces a bottle of what I thought was Aloe Vera gel. At this point some cool Aloe Vera would have been perfect. However, it wasn't Aloe Vera gel. When she slapped it on IT BURNED. The room filled with the smell of alcohol. I screamed out. That's when I realized that she had put HAND SANITIZER on me.

I jumped off the table & put my clothes on as quickly as possible while Lily kept asking me,

YOU OK? YOU OK?

I walked out in a daze and immediately went to the salon owner and complained. I looked over at BF (who had been patiently sitting in the waiting area the whole time) and said,

I NEED A DRINK.

Later, on a patio (while I chugged down multiple glasses of Sangria) BF asks me,

"So...Umm, does it look OK?"

"It looks like a crooked sideways Hitler mustache"

"But, Hitler's mustache was never crooked"

"My point exactly"

CHUGS DRINK.

The icing on the cake arrived Sunday morning. While putting on my bra I noticed something was stuck to the side of my boob. It was tiny bit of wax & tissue paper. How it managed to migrate all the way up there is beyond me.

ALL I CAN SAY IS,

Spring Nails on Bloor St: OK for a pedicure, just don't let them anywhere near your genitals.

Now that the bruising has subsided (yes, I said BRUISING) I am now on a mission to find somewhere in this city to finish the job properly ASAP.

So, Torontonians if you know of any GOOD waxing salons that aren't obscenely expensive (under $60 if possible) please drop me a line.

Anyone else have any horror stories?

Ex-Boyfriend Letter #3

2010-05-31T10:02:00.000-04:00

Dear________,

I wasn't planning on writing you a letter. You were never my boyfriend. You were never really anything to me, except a momentary lapse in judgment. However, I changed my mind about the letter when I heard through the grapevine that we had slept together. I find this very interesting considering,

IT NEVER HAPPENED.

Here is the deal: we went out twice in 2003. We made out & fooled around a bit but there was definitely no PENIS IN VAGINA ACTION. By telling people otherwise, I feel like you're just BEGGING to be blogged about. So, for the record, here are the facts about what went down between you and me.

Why I went out with you in the first place. (because I am partly to be blamed here)

1. It was the summer of 2003. I was feeling kind of bored, lonely and horny.

2. I was always more interested in your friend than you. I really wanted to hook up with him but at the time he was being elusive. I was feeling rejected. You were around. You showed interest. I thought you might be an OK distraction for the time being. BAD BAD BAD IDEA.

3. I was a hot child in the city...literally. Toronto was in the middle of a heat-wave. At the time I lived in an early 20th century walk-up with no air-conditioning. Do you know what that's like? It means you have Back Sweat (&Boob Sweat) 24/7. There is nothing sexy about that. When you called and asked me if I wanted to go to the movies, I said "Yes" because all I could think was MOVIE THEATRE = AIR CONDITIONING. There were beads of sweat pooling between my breasts. If Richard Simmons had called and asked me if I wanted to go watch a dog fight I probably would have said yes if I knew the invitation came with the promise of air conditioned facilities.

4. You were kind of charming. On paper you seemed like a decent guy. Intelligent, good career, tall, reasonably handsome. Also, I liked that you spoke French.

5. I'd heard that you had a really big dick. Frankly, I was curious.

(For the most part these are all terrible reasons to go out with anyone. Any sensible person would have said "no" at this point. But, I was thinking with my libido. In my experience, sensible and libido don't usually play well together.)

What really happened:

1. The first time we hung out we went to the movies. After the show we went back to your apartment to watch a DVD. We ended up making out on your couch. NOTE, we did not have sex.

2. The second time we hung out, I went over to your house (your apartment had air-conditioning). We ended up fooling around on your bed. Clothes were shed. I saw you naked. You saw me naked. I gave you a Hand-job*. I'm pretty sure that you went down on me. However, it couldn't have been that memorable. I don't remember having orgasm. I do remember that you really wanted to have sex. You kept on trying to initiate it but, I kept rejecting your advances. It was a bit like this: PENIS GETS CLOSE TO VAGINA, VAGINA MOVES AWAY, PENIS GETS CLOSE, VAGINA ROLLS OVER TO THE OTHER SIDE OF THE BED. I just didn't feel comfortable actually having sex with you. Eventually we both got tired and we fell asleep in your bed.

*IT WAS A HAND-JOB. A HAND-JOB does not = SEX.

The reasons why I didn't want your penis inside me:

1. You were a bad kisser & had weird spit. Kissing for me is the biggest turn on. I love to kiss before sex. I love to kiss during sex. I love to kiss afterward. With that said, I realize that kissing is totally subjective. Your kisses may be irresistible to some other girl. They just didn't work for me. You had really thick, sticky spit. After you'd kiss me, I could feel your saliva stuck on my lips and face. We didn't have the right chemistry AT ALL. And, like they say...if the kissing ain't right, keep the legs tight (or in my case, not fully open)

2. I never liked you enough. I was always way more attracted to your friend. Your friend kept crossing my mind while we were fooling around. You'd have your hand on my ass or be kissing my neck and then, BAM his face would pop up. That was when I realized that I really wanted to be in bed with him, not you. Going out with you was a total mistake.

3. I'd heard rumors that you liked to sleep with strippers. Ok, I should know better than anyone that you shouldn't believe everything you hear. I asked you about the strippers and you said it wasn't true. Were you lying? It didn't really matter. When I wasn't thinking about your friend, I was imagining the entire staff of the Brass Rail, dancing around your bed.

4. The Book. I'd also heard from your friends that you kept a notebook where you recorded the name of each woman you'd slept with and then rated them on a scale of 1-10. I didn't ask you about this. I mean, this is so disgusting how could it possibly be true right? But, I'll admit I was kind of perversely fascinated with the idea of the book. Did it really exist? Where did you keep it? Was it in the room with us while we were fooling around? Did you keep it in the nightstand? What was your grading criteria? Did you rate purely based on skill or did you have a dual scoring system that included marks for creative flair like they do in figure skating? Between these thoughts, the strippers and imagining your friend naked, I was having a hard time getting turned on.

(Actually, given all the evidence so far its actually impressive that you got as far as you did)

5. The Scrapbook. The morning after I slept over, we were lying in bed. You said to me "I have something to show you" as you reached over to grab something from the nightstand. My first thoughts were OMG, THE BOOK. HE'S BRINGING OUT THE BOOK. It wasn't the book. It was worse. It was a collection of photos. You proceeded to show me pictures from your past vacations, pointing out the various girls you'd slept with. Was this really happening?! Was this meant to make me jealous?! Was I meant to say "Oh wow, look at what I'm missing out on! Fuck me now! I want to be in your girls-I've-banged-hall of fame-photo-album!". FYI. Showing the girl you're trying to have sex with photos of other girls you've slept with = not exactly a pantie dropper. The whole time you were showing me these photographs I had to suppress laughter. It was all just so bizarre. The next day at work, I told Ukulele Misfit all about your little "photography show" and we spent the next 20 minutes laughing hysterically.

I wasn't stupid. I knew you were kind of sleazy when I agreed to go out with you. I was fine with that to a point (obviously). Like I said, it was summer, I was horny and I wanted someone to make out with. Had the chemistry been better between us (and there hadn't been the issue of your friend) I might have actually slept with you. But, what it all came down to is this: the whole time we were together I could tell that you weren't honestly interested in me. I knew this was all just a game for you. If I had slept with you it would have been meaningless. As much as I enjoy sex, I have no desire to be another number in someone's book (literally).

Now, flash-forward to about 2 months after we DIDN'T HAVE SEX. I was talking to your friend (who I did eventually end up having sex with. Note, I had sex with him. Not you. Get your facts straight). That's when I heard that I apparently "gave you a blow-job" (Read the notes, it totally didn't happen! How many times am I going to have to say, "it was a HAND-JOB"?). I thought it was kind of sad and pathetic that you'd stretch the truth about what actually happened between us. You became known amongst my girlfriends as "The guy who lied about the blow-job".

Now, flash forward 6 years later. Someone I know tells me that apparently, you've been telling people that WE HAD SEX. Unless, you have some vastly different definition of what constitutes sexual intercourse (note, me touching your wiener does not equate us "sleeping together") WE NEVER HAD SEX. In 7 years a Hand Job got upgraded to a Blow-Job which then got upgraded to us actually Doin' the Do. I wonder what this rumor will look like in another 7 years? I'm sure it will involve a sex tape, me banging all of your friends while you watch, a quickie wedding in Vegas & possibly a few love children. Maybe you should stop talking while you're ahead.

What I also find completely laughable, is that apparently "I'm pretty bad in bed". Yeah, that's generally the case with sex that NEVER HAPPENS. And, if it was SO BAD, why are you still talking about it 7 years later?!

To claim I am the one LYING about this is ridiculous. I've slept with some pretty questionable people and have no problem owning up to it. Read the blog. I have no incentive to lie about it. You do. I think you're being a sore loser.

Talk goes both ways. I've heard things about you. I've heard about the threesomes, the endless string of girls, the video tapes. All of this just confirms my initial instincts about you. But, I'm not here to chastise you for your lifestyle choices. I'm not exactly an angel myself. In a strange way I actually admire you. You've managed to excel at being truly, and unapologetically sleazy. And I get it. Women are beautiful. They have pretty hair and boobs and soft skin and they smell good. If I was a guy, I probably would try and have sex with as many of them as possible. But, if I did do this I would be a gentleman, keep my stats straight & be discrete. Do you think Don Draper needs to lie about how many chicks he's nailed just so that he can get an extra high-five from his buddies? No. Of course not. So, I'll leave you with this:

IT NEVER HAPPENED. IT WAS 7 YEARS AGO. STOP TALKING ABOUT IT.

PS. And yes, it is big. Not the biggest I've seen but, big enough that I'd remember having it inside me.

xox

Skinny Dip

What would you say to an ex if you could say anything?

Secrets & Bikinis & Other Pretty Things

2010-05-24T17:24:00.022-04:00

Lack of blogging this week has mostly been due to the fact that I've been sick. Today I went to the doctor's where I found out that I probably have some kind of chest infection. This would explain why yesterday I was coughing so much that I was having problems breathing properly. Not fun. The upside is that I temporarily have a sexy (?) raspy voice a la phone sex operator. Although in reality I think its less phone sex and more very nasal female Darth Vader which is slightly less hot.

Aside from not feeling 100% this past week has been full of good "firsts":

1. I tried my very first Long Island Ice Tea (I can't believe I've never tried one before. Isn't this the kind of drink you order when you're 19?!)

2. I learned how to BBQ and change a propane tank all by myself without setting my eyebrows on fire (also something I should have learned to do a long time ago).

3. Went to my first un-official "Tweet-up" where I met Reggie Ramone & Dashingfactor, who might I add are hilarious in person. Lots of traumatic dating stories were swapped over drinks. The highlight of the night was when I re-told Zoe's story of "The guy who rinsed out his condom" -Quite possibly the best tale of Sex-Gone-Wrong that you'll ever read.

AND....

4. I had my first professional article (as in I got paid to write it!) published on 29 secrets. You can click on the logo below to read the article:

I'm really excited to be working with 29 secrets and will keep you guys posted on my future articles. I'm also totally excited that this means I can officially cross off item #1 from my Birthday List.

Because I am too sick today to write about what I wanted to write about (more disturbing tales from my personal life) I'm going to share with you a few things I am EXCITED ABOUT.

(in hopes that putting some positivity out there will heal my body)

Going to THIS event tomorrow evening. I'm not a huge fan of the SATC movies. I loved the series but really didn't feel like they needed to make a movie, let alone two movies. This is just a good excuse to get dressed up in cocktail attire, ridiculous shoes & to sip martinis (or maybe some healthier alternative in my case). Plus, Valerie from I'm Charming You is going to be there & I can't wait to meet her! Is there anyone else from the blogosphere attending this event?

Dolce Vita's clothing and shoe line. Have you ever walked into a store and said to yourself "I would wear everything in here"? That's how I felt when I went into the Dolce Vita store in Venice Beach. Their whole collection has this really great sophisticated & laid back vibe and is extremely wearable. Relaxed silk rompers (like the one below) are exactly the kinds of things I want to be wearing this summer.

This bathing suit. I saw it at the Roxy Store in LA and haven't been able to get it out of my head since. At the time I convinced myself that I didn't "need" it. (I have a drawer at home dedicated just to my bathing suit collection. Case and point) But, now I kick myself for not buying it. I must find a way to make this pretty coral bikini MINE.

I heard THIS song by Toro Y Moi in a skate shop in Santa Monica and fell in love. I love the 80's inspired synths. This is the perfect sunny day, hanging out on your patio song.

This huge sense of urgency I'm feeling. My 30th birthday is coming up in 3 months and there is so much I want to do. There are jobs to go after. Trips to be planned. Writing to be done. Nude Swimming to be arranged. This is a good feeling because it is pushing me forward towards the things that I want to accomplish.

What are YOU excited about? Tell me something good!

A trip to the Sex Toy Store

2010-05-20T18:48:00.011-04:00

BF was gone for most of March

BF is gone for most of May.

BF will be gone part of July.

If you haven't figured it out already, BF travels a lot for his job.

And...well...I have "needs"

(I know he does too but, we're talking about ME right now)

Before he left on his most recent excursion we discussed the possibility of him buying me a new Sex Toy for when he's not around. I have a few toys already but all of them are...broken. Yes, you heard right. When I told my friend about this she said, "That's hilarious. Only YOU would break your Sex Toys". It's actually not as twisted and perverse as I make it sound. The reason they are broken isn't from over-use. I SWEAR! "Veronica" my original purple vibrator, no longer works because the plastic cap that holds the batteries in became brittle and cracked in half. As for my other vibrating toy, something is wrong with the motor. It doesn't vibrate like it used to and using it is about as exciting as riding a bike down a unevenly paved street (in other words: not very). I'm long overdue for a new toy.

I wanted BF and I to pick out something together but, with him working 12-16 hour days right up until he left for China, we never found the time to make this purchase. On the day of his departure, he came into our bedroom at 5am and said to a very groggy me:

"I'm sorry we didn't buy your toy. I left you a stack of cash on the kitchen table. Use some of it to buy whatever you like"

"But, I thought you wanted to pick it out together?"

"No, buy what you like babe. I don't want to meet the other guy!"

Sunday, I woke up and said to myself "TODAY IS THE DAY!" After a hearty breakfast at the Greek Diner, I headed down to Queen West and paid a visit to the nice people at Come as You Are.

I really like this store. The vibe inside is very laid back, welcoming & women friendly. The staff are really helpful and knowledgeable which is a huge bonus. Buying Sex Toys (especially if its been awhile or you're totally new to the game) can be a bit overwhelming. There are a million different options in a million different colors. There are the vibes that look like distorted penises (weird angles, bulbous heads, WAY too many bulging veins for my liking). There are the vibes that look like cute animals (I understand that you might not want something that looks like a penis if you're not into men but, a DOLPHIN. Really?! How is this a better option?). And then of course the ones with so many ribs & doohickies & tentacles that look more like some kind of sea creature than something I want to play with.

In the end, I chose THIS.

I was attracted to the streamlined Swedish design, the multiple speeds/functions and that it comes with a WARRANTY (because obviously I need one).

When I walked out of the store & looked down at the hot pink box (apparently I like to match my toys to my blog), my heart warmed when I noticed that it was named "Mona". I knew that I had made the right choice.

I won't give you a play by play product review. I'll leave that to awesome people like City Girl who already do fabulous sex toy reviews on their blogs. I will tell you one thing about this toy that made me giggle: There's this one setting where the vibrations sound musical. It sounds like an auto-tune song playing between your legs. I'm not into T-pain but boy, I don't mind this. And THAT is hopefully the last time I'll ever use "T-Pain" and "between my legs" in the same paragraph.

Later that night I spoke to BF long-distance:

"I bought my toy and I think you'll like her"

"Her?"

"Yeah, it comes with a name. Like a Cabbage Patch kid. And don't worry, she doesn't even really look like a penis"

"What do you mean?"

"No veins or balls"

(slightly defeated) "Well, I guess its a good thing we bought that bulk pack of batteries at Ikea before I left"

"Oh, she doesn't use batteries. You plug her in to the wall and charge her like a phone"

"Should I even bother coming home?!"

Here is the thing guys:

You don't need to be intimidated by toys. Sure there are some things that they do well but there are many others they don't. A toy can't replace the feeling of someone's bare chest against yours, the sensation of skin against skin, the rush you get from a passionate kiss. A piece of plastic can't surprise you in the bathroom and hoist you up onto the counter while it rips your clothes off. You need a real person for that. A toy is what it is: fun.

I read somewhere that the only power we have anymore in our society is the power to decide what we consume. This thought kind of depresses me. However, I have to say: when I walked out of that store, I did feel empowered. WHY? Because I bought something that was specifically for my own pleasure alone (although I think Mona will come out and play with BF and I at some point). Because I am fortunate enough to live in a society where I can openly buy objects like this. Because "Lady V" was totally disrespected during the Hand-Raping incident on Saturday night and now I am doing something nice for her. Because she deserves to be treated nice. Yours does too.

PS. I may have opened Pandora's box (no pun intended) because now I also want THIS.
and possibly a couple of other goodies, like THIS that unfortunately is only available in the States. I'm not sure what upsets me more: that I won't be able to buy that toy or that I won't be able to have these Cynthia Vincent for Target wedges because Target also doesn't ship to Canada. American companies, you are missing out on business!

Questions? Comments? Have I totally freaked you out?!

Where I get Sexually Harassed ..by a WOMAN

2010-05-16T18:17:00.032-04:00

As originally planned, Saturday night I put on my highest heels & my LBD and headed out for a night of debauchery with Melissa.

I found out at the last minute that Rebel Man was in town for the night so, Melissa and I met up with him and his friend for drinks on the Spice Route patio. We haven't seen each other in over a year so it was really nice to catch up. Hopefully his friend wasn't too traumatized when I busted out the "When Blogging about Sex gets Weird" stories ("Someone recently asked me how often I thought it was normal to masturbate. I wasn't sure how to answer"). That's me: making friends and scarring people for life wherever I go.

After drinks at Spice Route, Melissa and I took off to a different club to meet some other friends for some late night dancing. While standing in the line-up we noticed something: with the exception of us and maybe 2 or 3 other girls, everyone was MALE. Melissa looks at me and says:

"What's with all the Dudes?!"
"I guess its Sausage Party night at Footwork"

We spent the next 10-minutes coming up with other sausage-related comments:

"It's Oktoberfest...in May"
"I feel like I'm partying in a Polish Deli"
"There's more weiners here than at a Gray's Papaya"
"It's like Sausage-Pocolypse Now...wait, that one doesn't really work"

Inside, we grabbed drinks and headed out to the dance-floor. Within seconds we were surrounded by guys....very eager guys. These guys seemed hungry, like they hadn't seen real live women in years. This prompted my favorite comment of the night:

"I don't feel like I'm at a club...I feel like I'm visiting a men's prison"

After briefly conversing with some of these dudes, we discovered that we had actually landed ourselves in the middle of a massive Bachelor Party. Of course we did.

The upside of being a female at a Bachelor Party: there is a good chance you won't have to pay for another drink all night. The downside: You will probably end up refusing most of these free drinks because (if you're like me) you've watched too much Veronica Mars and now equate "free drinks" with waking up without your underwear. That, and might get stuck in conversations like this:

Dude: "So are you Greek?"
Me: "No. Are you?"
Dude: "No"
Me: "Oh, why are you asking then?"
Dude: "I'm not sure"

*Bangs head against wall*

Before I go any further: I don't want this to be another post about about how I went out and met "some guy" who acted like a douche-bag. I've written that post before. I could write it again but, that would be boring. The guys are not the ones to be blamed here. I'm just going to jump ahead to what happened next:

Eventually, we managed to migrate away from the Tube Steak zone, towards another area of the club where we had noticed a small group of girls dancing together. Little did we know that we had landed in a new "zone" that I like to call:

"Bi-Curious Girls (probably high on E for the first time)"

Melissa and I were dancing when a tall girl in a bustier dress leans into me and says:

"Can I kiss you on the cheek?"
"Umm, Ok?"
(she leaned in and kissed me on the cheek)
"Now, you kiss me on the cheek"
(I figured I'd be a good sport so I leaned in and air kissed the side of her face. She was tall. Even in five inch heels I couldn't quite reach her face.)

We continue to dance. Then, I notice the same girl is moving in closer & closer towards me. Then, I felt it. HER HAND. GRABBING MY LADY PARTS.

OH HELL NO!

I'm totally cool with Gay stuff.

Girl on Girl action.
Guy on Guy action.
Whatever you're into.

What I'm not cool with is having uninvited hands between my legs.

I yelled out "WHAT THE FUCK!"

I grabbed Melissa and got as far away from the scene as possible, hurrying over to the bar to get a drink. A stiff one.

Later, I ran into the "perpetrator" in the ladies room, where I had one of the most awkward club bathroom conversations ever:

Her: "I'm sorry I raped your Vagina"
Me: "Ummmm. yeah. Thanks for the apology?"
Her: "I guess it was a bit forward"
Me: "Yeah, just a bit"
Her: "I'm really sorry"

*Awkward pause and shoe-gazing*

Her: "Your dress is really cute"
Me: "Thanks, yours is too"

*More awkward shoe-gazing*

I felt kind of bad for her. I didn't want to be that person, you know like in movies where the token gay guy makes a move on his friend only to have his friend freak out & yell "Get your hands off of me you sicko!" which sends him hurtling back into the closet or worse (I think we've all seen the end of American Beauty). But, at the same time she needs to know its not OK to just grab people's crotches. My guess is that she wasn't gay...just high. Very high. I'm basing this assumption on the fact that the bathroom looked like the freaking North Pole. Every single flat surface was covered in a white powdery residue. Oh, the places I find myself on a Saturday night...

Following the "incident" my plan to stop drinking for the rest of the night went all to hell. The rest of the night involved more vodka, red-bull and dancing...lots of dancing. I stumbled home around 4:30 am, (5 inch heels & that much dancing = not a good idea. I never learn), grateful to have made it through the rest of the night without any further assaults on my coochie. I fell asleep to the sound of birds chirping.

Yesterday I woke up feeling surprisingly good. I treated myself to a massive breakfast at the Greek Diner near my house then walked down to Trinity Bellwoods Park where I spent the afternoon reading in the sun.

This weekend I got sexually harassed by a woman, lost all feeling in my left baby toe (oh, I didn't mention this. Not sure what happened but I think it has something to do with the shoes) and still managed to have a pretty awesome time with friends.

Whatever woe-is-me funk I was in last week seems to have passed.

So, how was your weekend?

A Recipe for Feeling Better

2010-05-12T21:18:00.014-04:00

1. Take a deep breath. Climb out from under the blankets. Turn off the Nurse Jackie re-runs. All of these things will stay right where you left them. It's time to actually DO something. And for the love of god, put on something other than leggings. You'll thank yourself later.

2. Call a friend like Ukulele Misfit who is guaranteed to make you laugh until your sides hurt.

3. Go over to her house after work. Make grilled cheese sandwiches together. Pour your heart out to her. Eventually you will feel less emo. Spend the rest of the evening laughing with her about all kinds of silly stuff. If you need help getting the laughter started, read THIS. Eat mini-wheats right out of the box just because they taste good that way.

4. When your face starts to hurt from laughing, turn on this week's special Betty White Saturday Night Live episode and laugh until you're almost crying.

5. Hug your friend goodbye at the end of the night because you truly love & appreciate her. Go home with a smile on your face.

6. The next day, if you start feeling a case of the sads coming on, watch THIS.

If you don't have the video handy, repeat to yourself these words:

WIZZARD OF ASS

People might wonder why you are laughing but who the 'eff cares.

7. Go home from work. Go to your closet. Dust off your highest high heels and that one dress that always makes you feel amazing whenever you slip it on. Text Miss @Manifique, your favorite drinking buddy/partner in crime and arrange a debaucherous girls night out for Saturday night. Put aside the dress, the shoes & a $50 bottle of vodka for the weekend. Come to the conclusion that you're too young to feel sad and that dress is too hot to stay home.

8. If you've just broken up with someone & that's why you're bumming- blast this song:

Or if you're not going through a break-up (and maybe have just had too much wine on a weekday) blast the song anyways. WISH to yourself that you had heard this song when you WERE breaking up with someone. Dance around your living room just because you love singing along to the lyrics "My kiss is wetter than your kiss...my lips are better than your tricks"

9. Smile for god's sake. Even if it doesn't feel natural at first. If Betty White can be smiling, radiant & fabulous at almost 90, you can surely give it a shot at 29 (or whatever age you are)

10. Blog about it all. Feel Better.

What's your feel better recipe?

What's scarier than the Dating scene Toronto?!

2010-05-09T18:55:00.021-04:00

THE RENTAL MARKET.

You think dating in Toronto is sketchy?! Try renting an apartment!

I've had my share of bad dates but I've also moved 8 times in 10 years. I should know. I'm now in the process of helping a friend find a new place to live in the city. While helping her go through listings, I've been reminded of what a freak show it is out there rental wise.

Over the past ten years there have been so many times where I have optimistically headed out into the city, apartment listing in hand and found myself on a pretty tree lined street hoping to meet my new home. Walking down the street, I'd say to myself "This looks lovely!" then, I would see IT. The one building on the street that is so sketchy looking it makes the Bates Motel look like the Ritz. I'd double check the address praying to myself that this wasn't the place ("Please don't be it....Please don't be it...wait, are those TWO couches on the porch?") but it almost ALWAYS was THE PLACE.

I like to think of this as the real-estate equivalent of showing up for a blind date, seeing a few cute guys sitting in the restaurant & saying to yourself "Ohhh maybe it's him...or HIM...Ohhh, he's cute" only to have the guy with the weird haircut who's wearing a mesh shirt & leather pants, stand up and wave enthusiastically to you.

Wackness is everywhere and I've seen my share of it.

Here are my top three apartment hunting horror stories:

1) "The Crack Den". When the landlord opened the door to the "apartment", I found myself standing in a small windowless room. The room included a fridge and beat up sofa. Lying on the sofa was a tiny Asian woman who seemed to be semi-unconscious. The room smelled weird but, I think she was alive because she twitched and mumbled something when we came in. The floor around the sofa was littered with video-cassette cases for adult films.

Me: "Ummm, where would I put my bed?"

Landlord: "No room. You're gonna have to make do with the sofa like this gal"

The killer was when the landlord said, "If you're going to look around some more, I'm going to need you to take your shoes off"

Right. Because the carpet is really what we should be concerned about here.

2) "The Tub". This apartment was really charming & located in a turn of the century apartment building. The only problem was when I poked my head in the bathroom I noticed that there wasn't a bathtub or shower. When I asked the landlord about this, she said

"Look behind you.... in the kitchen"

I turn around and see a medium sized WOODEN BARREL with a hose attached. IN THE KITCHEN. (what the?!). I didn't even know these kinds of things existed...outside of movie sets.

My boyfriend at the time was with me that day. When he saw the barrel, his eyes lit up. He turned to me and said:

"This is SO cool...and rustic. It would be like camping everyday!"

Reason #597879808034232536438 why we are no longer together.

3) "The Store". When I got to the "apartment" I realized it wasn't an apartment. It was a storefront, with curtains hung haphazzardly on the front windows. In fact, you could tell that the "kitchen island" had been the cash-desk because you could still see the outline of where the cash register had sat (probably for many years). What happened next was the following conversation:

me: "This isn't an apartment its a STORE"

landlord: "No, its apartment!"

me: "Its a store"

landlord: "APARTMENT!"

me: "STORE!"

What I've learned about Toronto landlords is that they will literally RENT ANYTHING. And just like Dating Profiles, apartment ads lie. NOTHING IS EVER WHAT IT SEEMS. Please see below for a few "translations" :

"Apartment" could mean = storage room, walk-in closet, unheated warehouse, garage, STORE, creepy room in attic where you have to share the bathroom with an old-man who only wears a bathrobe. True story.

"Located in a great family neighborhood: safe and quiet!" = Just like you should be weary of girls who wear T-shirts & pants that say "HOTTIE" on them, you should also be weary of any apartment that mentions how "safe" it is multiple times in the same ad. Most likely, the only "family" you'll run into are your neighbors, an organized group of meth-heads who will try and steal your bike for scrap metal.

"bright and cheery!" = subtaranean basement suite with no windows. Possibly painted bright yellow.

"Cozy!" = the place is so small you'll bump your head on the stove when you wake up in the morning.

"Kitchen" = hot plate stacked on-top of pizza boxes in the middle of the kitchen floor. No joke, I'VE SEEN THIS. "Fully Furnished" = comes with a broke-down card table, covered in a plastic table cloth. If you're lucky this will clash with dizzying 1960's patterned lineoleum that's in EVERY ROOM.

Just like I am always surprised to hear about what people post in their online dating profiles, I'm always surprised to see what people post in their online apartment ads. For example, I've seen photos that include broken furniture, clothes on the floor, un-made beds, hot-plates, half-eaten food, bizarro decor, ANIMALS. Over the years I've saved a few of the "gems" I've found via my online searches on my hard drive (because I'm weird like that) The Photographic evidence:

1. Low and behold, the ubiquitous card table & plastic table cloth I was talking about. This photo says to me "If you lived here, this is where you'd eat corn-flakes every morning....on a broken chair".

(This photo kind of makes me cry a little on the inside. I want to move in, just so that I can redecorate...or at least buy them a new chair)

2. If the apartment you're trying to rent is SO SMALL that THIS is the only place the TV could possibly fit, don't advertise it. This is the real estate equivalent of sitting down for dinner with someone and letting "Yo, I'm broke!" be the the first thing you tell them about yourself.

3. The ad says "Funky Backyard". Skinny Dip says "Rickety patio furniture in alleyway"

4. "Chic Loft Space!" aka "Warehouse with mattress in corner"

5. A couch that stares at a yellow wall (door?). I love how they switched paint colors MID WALL. I think this one speaks for itself.

6. Wait, is this an apartment or a storage locker?! Oh no, it must be an apartment-there's a card table in the corner. I'm glad that's cleared up.

7. Nothing says "homey" like a barren sofa frame tucked away in a corner. Don't worry, I'm sure this sofa has cushions. They're just being fumigated.

8. This apartment looks really nice, except for the fact that there is a random man sitting in the living room. I wonder if he comes with the place?

9. Hello, Cat pad! Yes, that's not one but TWO furry friends in the photo. Its kind of hard to tell but, I think one of them is wearing a cone which is both horrible and awesome. MEOW.

I REST MY CASE.

Just out of curiosity....If you had to make one of these places your new home, which would you choose? (This is like the Real Estate version of "would you rather?" which is one of my favorite games). I'm going to go with the unheated warehouse (and pray there isn't a serial rapist lurking in the dark shadows) OR the place that comes with the guy in the black suit (and hope that's he's friendly and doesn't hog the remote). Now its your turn.

Any apartment horror stories you'd like to share?

The Truth (about a lot of things)

2010-05-08T16:49:00.006-04:00

...aka stuff I've been afraid to talk about on the blog.

Sometimes I'm afraid to talk about what's really going on with me because I don't want this blog to turn into a "Dear Diary" type deal. But I have some things I need to say. I'm just going to put it out there so that tomorrow I can return to blogging about "fun stuff" like sex, reality TV my bizarre dating experiences.

This past month hasn't been easy. Its been full of ups and downs:

1. A few weeks ago, I lost my job that I had been working at since February. My contract was only until the middle of May however, they decided to end it a month early. It wasn't because of anything I did (and I'm not just saying that because this is the internet and everyone can read this) its just that the program I was working for ran out of things for me to do and it no longer made financial sense to keep me for another month. This makes sense. Still, it was disappointing. I've never been "Laid Off" from anything before. This was my first "Job Break-Up" where I was on the receiving end of the awkward and "Its not you...its us" conversation. The whole experience reminded me of what it feels like to be dumped a guy that you were never really all that into in the first place: you don't love the dude, you may only mildly like him, but when you hear the words come out of his mouth, your face still turns red, your stomach still drops, because rejection no matter how you serve it sucks. Even though I know there was nothing I could have done to prevent this situation, my pride was hurt. I spent the second half of April avoiding telling close friends what had happened because I felt embarassed (which in retrospect seems silly but, at the time made sense) because if you haven't figured this out by now, I can be really hard on myself.

2. THE GOOD NEWS: last week I found a new job! I accepted another short-term contract working for the same University I started working with this winter. I started this week and so far I like it. I work in one of the Executive offices and the environment is really great: positive, up-beat & professional. The only downside to this new gig is that I am still working at the boutique part time. This means that I could potentially be working 6 days a week for the next month or so. I'm thinking this might just drive me to drink more cocktails than usual on Saturday nights.

3. I have a good friend who is going through a really hard time right now. I know that she needs help with a lot of stuff but I'm afraid that I don't have the time or ressources to really help her as much as she needs. Because of this, I feel guilty even though I know I probably shouldn't. I am worried about her and this situation has been weighing on my mind.

4: MORE GOOD NEWS: I had a meeting with an editor from a major Canadian magazine. She recently became editor in chief for a new online magazine & asked me if I'd be interested in doing some freelance writing for her (!!). Very exciting! So, you may be seeing more of me on the Internerd in the months to come. This proves that just as one door closes, another one opens.

5. BF has been in the midst of a giant business deal/job shift recently, which has kind of permeated all areas of our life together. He's been stressed to the max and there have been lots of late nights involving him glued to his computer or out on the patio, having heated marathon phone conversations while chain smoking. There has been lots of chain smoking. I'd like to classify all this stuff under the heading "The Un-Glamorous side of Dating a Shoe-Designer". I know BF feels bad about how stressful things have been & my intention isn't to make him feel worse (because he's probably reading this). I just need to acknowledge that its been hard because I feel like I've been living through all the stress with him.

So, life has been a mix of good & bad.

On Tuesday night everything came to a head. I was lying in bed getting ready to fall asleep when, it happened again...I had an anxiety attack. I haven't had an anxiety attack since January when I wrote this post. I've kind of been living under the false impression that I was "all better". I know this isn't really true but, sometimes its just easier to tell ourselves these lies than to actually face the problem, especially when it seems like it's gone away. All the familiar symptoms were back: the heart racing, the quick breathing, the feeling like there is a miniature marching band stomping through my nervous system, playing all of their instruments at once & agressively raising the roof in between songs. When BF tried to comfort me, I physically pushed him away because when I'm feeling like this, someone hugging me actually makes me feel worse, kind of like the walls are closing in. Feeling like you're not in control of your own body is a really scary feeling. I'm still a little shaken up about what happened but its pushed me to realize that I need to deal with this. I need to face it & talk to someone (because I didn't in January), even though this scares me a bit. Its time.

Early yesterday morning, BF left for China. He's there for 3 weeks. I'm going to take the next few weeks as an oppertunity focus on me, work on things I enjoy and hopefully chill out a bit.

So that is what's been going on. Its not funny, or sexy, or glamorous. It just is what it is.

Thanks for reading. I hope all of you are well xox

NOW BACK TO REGULARLY SCHEDULED PROGRAMING.

{PS. Today's picture was taken by BF a few months ago. He caught me playing with my hair which I do more often than I'd like to admit- a bad habit of mine. The necklace is from Chow Tai Fook, which I've heard is sort of like the Chinese Tiffany's.}

The Hills, Self-Acceptance and Why Erykah Badu is my personal hero

2010-05-04T20:00:00.010-04:00

If you were following my Tweets last week (if not, what are you waiting for? follow me! We'll get to know each other) you know that last Monday I went to The Hills Premiere & After-show taping. Melissa and I got tickets thanks to Casie Stewart who has a totally dreamy job at MTV Canada (go blogger connections!). As you probably have figured out by now, I have a not-so-secret love affair with MTV reality shows. Before I became enamored with the kids of Jersey Shore I loved The Hills. When I went to the show on Monday, I was fully planning on coming home, taking out my lap top & writing a FUN FUN FUN HAPPY HAPPY blog post about how much fun it was to go see the show (because it was pretty cool) and how awesome it was to sit in the "VIP" section (Thanks Casie!!!) and how we got to see Kristin Cavallari up close and personal BUT...here is the big BUT: I actually came home from the show feeling kind of bummed out.

I blame my case of the sads on HEIDI'S NEW FACE.

If you're not familiar with The Hills, one of the main characters recently had massive body altering plastic surgery. It's left her face looking (in the words of her stepfather) "like its Frozen". If the photo above is any indication she now looks like a wax figurine version of her former self. As an FYI, Wax Museums kind of give me the heebie jeevies. When I realized, that I was looking at a photo of an actual human, I got double chills. I've never taken The Hills very seriously. I mostly just watch the show to laugh at some of the ridiculous one-liners ("I think it used to be a a gerbil...now its like a guinea pig" -you get the idea) and check out the clothes. However, when one of the main characters starts looking like a reject from Madame Tussaud's (shiver) that's when The Hills stops being fun for me. It was hard to watch Heidi break down in tears in front of her mother and see that her facial surgeries have left her with the inability to cry properly. During that scene, the 30-rock fan in me kept hoping "Oh, please give me some comic relief. Please let her start crying out of her mouth Liz Lemon style!". But THAT didn't happen. Only Liz Lemon can make weird crying funny. Watching a real person cry weird is just...well, sad. When I heard Heidi say,

"I needed to fix these things on the outside before I can work on the inside"

My heart broke a tiny bit.

When are people ever going to learn that this outside-in form of thinking is a recipe for disaster?

I've never really had that many issues with my appearence. But, there have been points in my life where I have prescribed to this kind of thinking. A few years ago, when I was hating my job and everything in my life felt wrong, I developed a bit of a shopping problem. I thought that if I bought the perfect wardrobe, that somehow my life would change (without me actually putting effort into changing it). I SHOPPED until my closet was bursting but nothing changed. I still felt completely unhappy. When I finally quit this job and decided to start making some changes in my life, one of the first things I did was clear out my closet. Most of the stuff from that era just reminded me that I had been hiding under mountains of things. I sold some stuff. I gave stuff to friends. I gave stuff to charity. I felt a lot better.

With my shopping, nothing was ever enough. I was trying to fill a void. I ALWAYS wanted more.
I feel like this is often the case with plastic surgery. Take Michael Jackson for example (RIP): you can continually chip away at whatever you don't like about yourself on the outside but eventually whatever pain, or insecurities you are trying to hide will be revealed. Its almost like its inevitable. Looking at the photo of Heidi, clutching her "Heidi" mug & puppy while vacantly staring into the camera, I see a girl who looks very sad and fragile.

One of my favorite things to do at the grocery store is read tabloid magazines while I stand in the check-out line (I wish I was one of those people that read the New Yorker while at the grocery store, but I'm just not. I prefer trashy smut. Sue me). I was perusing a copy of US magazine and read that Heidi is only 23. TWENTY THREE! This made me feel even more sad. Being 23 was such a great year for me. I was just finishing university, I was having fun with my friends, I looked great....note, EVERYONE looks great at 23. You're YOUNG! You have nice skin! Good hair! ENJOY IT! Now as someone who is almost 30 I am going to great lengths to stay healthy & take care of myself so that I can continue to look & feel good. I can't help but wonder that by doing all this crap to her body, she is really missing out on the best years of her life.

Sure there are things that at certain points in my life I've wanted to change about my appearance. When I was a kid I used to hate how my eyes looked puffy when I smiled. Now, I find it charming. I used to wish I had straight hair when I was a kid, but now I've grown to love it. Sadly, part of me still thinks that my nose is kind of big. My dad used to always tell me that my nose was very "dignified" -a cringe worthy statement that all large nosed Dad's tell their insecure teenage daughters. Big nose or little nose, what I have concluded is this: I could spend hours worrying about this stuff but you know what? I don't want to. I'd rather spend that time enjoying life, laughing with my friends, staying healthy, going dancing, writing funny blog posts for you guys & cultivating my inner confidence. All these things make me happy & happy, healthy, confident women are sexy. Self-acceptance isn't always easy. Sometimes its straight up hard, especially on days where you look in the mirror and see that your new skin-care regime has made you look like a Pizza Face (that's me today by the way) or on those other days, where you beat yourself up about mistakes you've made & things you can't change (something that I'm still guilty of doing sometimes). On those days its harder to look in the mirror and say "I love you". But, I still try to do it. And I smile. And I feel better. And I promise to keep working through all my personal shit so that I can continue to tell myself "I love you", in hopes that those "hard days" will become few & far between. Being able to look at yourself and say "I accept you & love you", big nose, puffy eyes, dumb mistakes, fears, bruised heart, big dreams & all, is a very satisfying feeling. So, I'm just going to keep things as is.

Just as healthy, happy, confident women are sexy....imperfect women are funny. If I straightened my hair & got a nose job, I might actually lose some of my sense of humor. Don't believe me? Take a look at some of my favorite funny women:

None of these women are Barbie Dolls, but all of them are talented, funny & beautiful in their own right.

So, my suggestion is this:

Turn off the Hills soundtrack ("Reaching for something in the distance...so close I can almost feel it"), GET REAL and do what I do, blast Erykah Badu's "Cleva" and belt out the chorus at the top of your lungs:

"I'M ALRIGHT... WITH ME"

(and even do some crazy dance moves like she does in this video!)

Way cheaper & more enjoyable than plastic surgery. Guaranteed.

What do you guys think?

Making Sex Make Sense

2010-04-28T12:18:00.009-04:00

A few months ago, a good friend of mine & I were at a bar having a drink. As usual, our conversation eventually wandered over to the topic of Sex:

"It took me a while to really understand Sex. I was having sex but I didn't really GET sex. I had to sleep with a few different people before I really started to enjoy myself"

I can't remember who actually said this (many martinis were involved at this point), just that we both AGREED.

I've always wondered what it would be like to be one of those people who has sex for the first time with their soul-mate. They end up having amazing chemistry with this person & they fall in love & stay together & never look back as they walk off into the sunset towards a life together filled with love & orgasms & interesting conversations. Cue movie credits.

Obviously, I'm not one of these people (If I was, this blog wouldn't exist)

I always knew that SOMEDAY I would have amazing, mind blowing sex. It just didn't happen for me right away. My experiences with relationships and sex have involved A LOT of trial and error.

Because I'm in the mood to do some over-sharing today, lets take a look at the evidence:

Guy #1: I won't tell you the full-story of how I cashed in my V-Card. Instead, here is the Coles Notes version: It happened with my first real boyfriend in High School. The experience was sweet & loving but also awkward, bumbling and most of all painful. I felt like my insides were being pried open by the jaws of life. Luckily though, it only lasted about 60 seconds. After it was over, I remember staring at the ceiling thinking:

"So, THIS is what I have been waiting for?"

(honestly, I would love to meet a woman who's first time was a mind-blowing, awesome, multiple- orgasm filled romp. Maybe that's an oxymoron?)

Guy #2: This is the guy I started dating near the end of high school. I was really into him. We spent most of the summer after Grade 12, lying on his bed, fooling around. There was a lot of kissing, touching and...orgasms. And as you probably guessed, the orgasms turned me into a bit of a dum dum...enough to overlook stuff like how we had nothing in common (besides enjoying making out with each other) and that he had a speech impediment that made words like "sailboat" come out sounding like "twailboat" (oh the things you don't notice when you're permanently lip-locked). Despite all the fooling around, I made him wait 4 months to actually sleep with me. When the special night arrived, he climbed on top of me, pounded away like a rabid jackrabbit and passed out 3 minutes later (HUH?). My thoughts at that moment were:

"I waited 4 months for this?!"

Guy #3. He was older, devastatingly handsome, and much more experienced than I was. Thanks to this guy, I discovered that sexual positions OTHER than missionary weren't just stuff from the pages of Cosmopolitan magazine, but stuff people actually did in real life. WHO KNEW. We ended up having sex in many new & exciting ways in many new & exciting places (we both lived at home, so actually having sex in a bed was usually off limits). Our little adventures were thrilling but, most of the time I didn't really come. Sure there would be flutters of pleasure & those little blips of orgasms, but never anything like the earth-moving-mind-altering-OMG-I-found-the-BIG-O-all-consuming-waves-of-pleasure that I had heard existed (also thanks to Cosmopolitan). Partly, I think this is because I was so enamored with this guy that the following soundtrack would always be playing in my head whenever we were having sex: OMG, I LIKE HIM SO MUCH AND HE'S SO HOT AND I CAN'T BELIEVE WERE ACTUALLY DOING THIS TOGETHER OMG HE CHOSE ME TO DO THIS WITH AM I DOING THIS RIGHT? WHY ISN'T HE MAKING EYE CONTACT? I distracted myself to the point where it was like my body forgot to come. The other part of this was that he never tried to please me. He was a selfish lover. I realized this many years later when I slept with him again as an adult.

Guy #4. FINALLY GOOD SEX. With this guy, the emotional & the physical finally connected and there were orgasms... pretty good ones. The only problem was that I was dating a closet case. Even though the sex was actually pretty good, getting him bed was a struggle. We'd only have sex once every three weeks if I was lucky. Which, as you know is not enough-especially when you've just started dating. Most of the time I was left feeling like a cat in heat, scratching my nails on the wall of my poorly lit basement apartment. When I expressed my concerns, his response was:

"I'm OK with you sleeping with other people if you want"

(Not exactly what you want to hear from the guy you're supposedly in love with)

What this really means is "I want to sleep with other people, but I just don't have the balls to tell you this".

Eventually, I did take his advice & slept with someone else (As did he: the cute guy in his acting class)

NEXT!

Guys #5-#7 were a motley crew of individuals that included a guy I'll call "THE BITER", a cute French Canadian (more jackrabbit action) and a guy who wanted to try out "moves" he'd learned from an "instructional porn video". This didn't go over well. To borrow a line from Seinfeld, "it felt like I was being probed by aliens"

FAIL FAIL FAIL FAIL FAIL FAIL.

Which brings us to Guy #8. Have you ever met someone that you have been, instantly, insanely, attracted to? Yeah, that's #8. We met on the eve of my 21st birthday at a bar I used to go to. One minute we're dancing together, the next we're pressed up against the packed bar, making out passionately, his hands reaching up under my skirt.

him: "Can I take you home?"
me: "I'm not that kind of girl. I don't do those kinds of things"
him: "Ok, well do you want to come outside and have a cigarette with me?"

So, I followed him outside into the alley adjacent to the bar. He never ended up smoking the cigarette. Instead, the kissing continued. Then he kneels down, pulls my underwear down & begins going down on me, while my back is pressed up on the graffitied wall of the alleyway. Barely Concealed by the darkness from the passers by on Queen St: ORGASM. It was totally sleazy & inappropriate & hot.

him: "Can I take you home now?"
me: "No. How about this: I'll take YOU home. My turf. My rules. And I'm NOT sleeping with you"

We spent the next four hours in my bed, mostly with his heads between my legs.

I counted the orgasms 6....7....8..........9

(where did he learn to do this?!)

When the clock struck 6 am, he resurfaced for air. Out of breath & exhausted I said to him:

"I GIVE UP"

We finally had sex. We came together as the sun rose over Toronto.

I was THAT KIND OF GIRL after all.

FINALLY....SEX MADE SENSE.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME.

The year I spent trying to date Mr. Magic Tongue, was a total disaster. Outside of the bedroom, he was completely wrong for me. I just didn't see it. The Sex had turned me into Blind Dum Dum in love. But, that's beside the point. What's important to understand about this experience is that it changed me. I became confident in bed, I learned to express myself and ask for what I wanted & finally I understood what it was like to be consumed in that I -need- to-have- you- I- don't -care- if- we're -in- an-alleyway- or- on -top -of- a -washing- machine- we -need- to- have- sex -right- now -kind -of passion. Take THAT Cosmopolitan magazine!

Years later, I slept with Guy #3 again. I remember he was on-top of me, doing what I like to call "slow-mo jackrabbit action" aka "barely moving" . Frustrated, grabbed his ass & called out:

"FASTER! HARDER!" (Jesus. DO SOMETHING. ANYTHING)

His eyes nearly popped out of his head, he looked at me and said,

"You've CHANGED"
"Yeah, I'm no longer 18"

I had changed. Although #3 didn't fully appreciate this, I'm sure the guys who came after him (no pun intended) did. The transformation into the sex-blogging-lingerie-loving-self-proclaimed-brazen-hussy I am today was already on its way.

By the time I got to Guy #13... Well, I won't tell you what happened there YET, but I'm pretty sure we broke a few laws the first time we hooked up.

The rest is history.

All these stories come full circle back to a conversation I had recently with another friend. She said to me:

"I feel kind of embarrassed about the number of people I've slept with"

I used to feel the same way too. I used to beat myself up about it. Call myself a slut. But, as I've realized, negative self talk gets you nowhere. Somewhere around the time when I moved in with my boyfriend, I decided to say FUCK IT and decided that my "number" no longer mattered. Looking back on the past, I realize that my "number" (which I'll never reveal but I can say doesn't stop at 13) matters less and less. As long as you're taking care of yourself, respecting yourself & the people around you what's the big deal? What's the point of constraining your own sexuality because you feel like you need to fit in with some arbitrary definition of what's a socially acceptable number of people to have slept with? Because you know what? That number doesn't exist. Why make yourself feel bad? If I had decided to stop sleeping with people at Guy #3, or #5 or worse #7 (that video he watched should really be banned. for reals) because I was afraid of being labeled a "slut" and instead thought I should just "wait for the right person", then I would have missed out on a lot of the experiences that have made me who I am today. The irony of this all was that I WAS "waiting for the right person". He just didn't come along for a very, very long time.

If you're still waiting, or trying to make sense of it all: don't worry. Sometimes it takes a long time to get things right. It did for me. Take a deep breath. Re-Group. Hug yourself. It will all work out. And in the mean time, don't be afraid to embrace your inner Brazen Hussy. She's a lot of fun.

{Today's photo is from We Heart It. And no, I don't condone wearing socks in bed. ever.}

Can anyone else relate to this?

Surfer Chic

2010-04-23T12:17:00.010-04:00

I had planned on dropping another installment of the ex-boyfriend letters (a really sordid one that includes a story about how I got some of the worst rug-burns of my life) but I psyched myself out. So in lieu of more sleazy sordidness, I decided to do a little tribute to some of the fashion trends I saw when I was out in California.

While we were in LA we spent most of our time in Santa Monica & Venice Beach. The vibe there is very laid back, particularly in Venice. The board walk in Venice is home to Surfers, Skateboarders, Stoners, Tattoo parlors, Head shops, graffiti, pubs, hobos, pizza places....its fun, eclectic & a little bit sketchy at night. I really liked it around there because the area kind of dispels the common misconception that LA is a plastic place full of plastic things & people. Walking down the boardwalk for the first time I thought "This looks like the kind of place Jeff Spicoli would hang out"

If you don't know who Jeff Spicoli is, he is Sean Penn's character in the 1982 teen movie "Fast Times at Ridgemont High". If you haven't seen this movie, watch it. It's 1980's Teen movie GOLD. There are so many awkward, cringe worthy moments due to the bad acting and 1980's fashions. This movie is from an era before Michael Cera made awkward hip and ironic. There are also some good smutty moments. One of the main characters cashes in her V-Card with an older guy who works at the stereo store in the mall, in the back-seat of his car (whoa! Its like someone made a spooky reality show about the year I was 18! Minus the V-card part. That had already been cashed in at an earlier date). Jeff Spicoli is the school's resident Surfer/Burnout. He seems chronically out of it and says "Dude" alot. His motto for life is:

"All I need are some tasty waves, a cool buzz, an' I'm fine."

(wait. Have I dated this guy?)

Jeff's such a bad-ass that he has a pizza delivered in the middle of History class to satisfy a killer case of the munchies. I think we're meant to assume Jeff is stoned throughout the entirety of the movie. Yes, Jeff Spicoli would definitely fit in on Venice Beach.

Because of the way my mind works (it tends to move from one random abstract thought to another), I started to think "If Jeff Spicoli had a girlfriend, what would she wear?". Looking around at the other girls on the beach this is what I came up with.

Here are some styles that I saw trending pretty hardcore in California this spring and hope to incorporate into my spring/summer wardrobe:

1. Boyfriend Jeans. I was surprised to see that this trend is still going strong. I saw lots of girls wearing loose, ripped up boyfriend jeans with sandals. They looked so cute and laid back that I'm going to try this look out. I don't know if I am going buy and actual pair of "boyfriend jeans". I think I might just take a pair of my old 7 for all mankind jeans & distress them myself.
2. Maxi Dresses. I saw tons of girls wearing these! The dress above reminds me of the dress Vibrations of a Vixen was wearing when I met her for drinks. She looked hot so, I'm going to try the look myself. I just have to find the perfect dress.
3. Cut-Offs. These are back! Or did they ever leave? My uncle has worn cut off Levis & Aviator glasses for as long as I can remember. Apparently my uncle is chic now.
4. Tie Dye. This is a trend that has the potential to go very, very wrong. However, I think if you do tie dye in a subtle way ie. those gorgeous scarves in the photo would be the perfect way to add color to a simple outfit--it is possible to wear the trend without looking like you've been following the Phish tour for 6 months (Unless that's your thing. If it is then work it)
5. Flat Sandals. A no-brainer. A great pair of flat sandals works with most summer looks.
6. Tom's shoes. These babies are comfortable, cute AND ethical. You can read about the Tom's movement HERE. These are on my shopping list for spring/summer.
7. Straw Fedoras. I'll be wearing mine that I bought in California. ALL SUMMER.

With the exeption of maybe Tie Dye, none of these items are "new" trends for spring/summer. We've seen all of these things in previous seasons. However, the girls I saw in California wore these looks in such a laid-back effortless way, that I want to try & mix in some of these items into my summer wardrobe. This is all with the hope that this summer, while I'm stuck in Toronto, swimming through the wet, sticky, smoggy air, I'll feel as relaxed & chill as a Surfer who's just scored big at the Venice Canabis Club . Its worth a shot right?