More of my work...

Sometimes, I just like to have fun.

Enjoy!

Time Goes By... So Quickly... For Those Who Blog.

I have been a bad bad bad blogger this week. I have a whole whack of things I want to write about. I have ideas for rants. I have stories to tell. I have pictures to share.

The one thing I don’t seem to have is time. Yesterday, I had 8325 things on my list of ‘To Do’, and I barely got anything from it, done. I did accomplish a lot, just nothing on the list.

Month-end is a very busy time for me. And with it being the end of March, that means tax time. Plus, Cell Phone Boy moved; other friends are in the city visiting; new volunteer work. It never stops.

Yesterday, I woke early to get a start on my day. 8:30am saw me starting my hour long wake up process: coffee, emails, coffee, blog reading, coffee, fart, stretch, porn, brush teeth, check weather. When I finally got down to business, I totally got sidetracked.

First item of the day was to gather all my T4’s and receipts for the tax man. I was about to go through a box of ‘Misc. Stuff That Needs To Be Filed’, and decided to just go through and file it all, rather than just rummage. This sets me off on a whirlwind of organizing, dusting, cleaning, and recycling my ENTIRE APARTMENT.

Hours later, I am too behind to go to a volunteers meeting (which was optional anyway). Too far behind to have lunch with friends. Too far behind to go to the gym. Too far behind to go get a new cell phone. Too far behind to go to a friends concert. It was 6:15pm and I had not even showered yet.

Silver lining: Now that it is all done, everything else will only take me a few seconds to do, as I can now run through my apartment and get stuff without searching for them.

Black cloud: Looking into my living room now, it reminds me of my OCD days; the days before Zoloft. Or as I like to refer to it, ‘My Dark Place’. I almost want to put something out of place, just to remind me that I’m better now.

Anyway, in short: sorry for not keeping this blog thing up to date. I’ll try harder next week. Maybe talk about my college days.

"The one-eyed monster."

My friends and I are sooooo trendy, that we were gay line dancing long before Will and Jack could even say ‘Tush Push’.

I forgot how well this show can be written. Kudos…

Scene- Jack introduces Will to his new beau, Travis. Travis hits on Will when Jack is getting drinks and Will decided to tell Jack. Antics ensue…

Jack: Travis is a quite the two-stepper, huh?

Will: Yeah. He’s also a bit of a two-timer!

Jack: What?

Will: When we were on the dance floor, he kinda hit on me.

Jack: (Rolling his eyes) No he did not. You think everybody hits on you. You blushed
when the guy at Starbucks asked if you wanted to leave room for cream.

Random Cowboy: Hey. You’re on the dance floor. Get in line!

Will: No. No. No. We… uh…

Random Cowboy: … 6 - 7 – 8

Line dancing starts.

Will: Jack, why would I lie to you? I’m your best friend.

Jack: ‘Cause you’re jealous. The one eyed monster rears its ugly head.

Will: It’s green.

Jack: I had that once. There’s an ointment…

Watch the whole video!

Big-Stupid-Head-Ism

I wrote this a few days ago, but was too mad to post it, so I just put up a few songs instead. I needed to re-read it first. I re-wrote the end for fear of it giving away too much, or sounding like an ass. Actually, I think you can tell where I switch, because I all of a sudden stop swearing and sound a lot calmer. But rather than edit my words, I let my initial rage stay. There is passion in spontaneity. So, here it is, in all its ranty goodness...

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Okay… so something’s been on my chest and I need to get it off… I have to write about it. But, I presage: I can’t go into too much detail at this point. There are a vast number of people who read this blog, and not all of them know all of what’s going on in my life right now. Due to that, I will be a tad elusive tonight…

I was an asshole!

There were a few years in my life where I was driven… neh; ruled… by success and money. I blamed it on growing up poor, but now I’ve decided to own it and just admit that I was a fuck.

Christmas was always very special to my mom. She saved all year to provide us with a great abundance of prezzies, and one year, my father decided to take all the money and blow it in one night of drinking (you see, he didn’t care as much for us as she did). So that year, the only present I received from ‘Santa Claus’ was a model airplane; a present I realized was provided by one of those charities that help poor people. OMG! This means I am a poor person. This is the point in my life when I realized there was a difference in class in this world. Some were ‘better’ than others. I was five years old.

I made a promise to myself, right there, that no one would ever look at me as ‘A Poor Person” again. EVER. I did everything in my power; not to make people think I was rich, but rather, not let them know I was poor.

When I became a hairstylist, my career took off like a shot. I was immediately successful and, two years out of hair school, was opening my own salon. Within a year I was making about a hundred thousand dollars a year. By all standards, I was rich! I had made it.

So off I went on a binge of decadent vacations, lavish dinners, classes, shopping sprees, Kenneth Cole, Prada, Burberry, great dishes, pretty furniture, and some pretty fabulous gifts for my friends and family. I never once looked down on other people if they could not afford what I could, but I was pretty fucking proud of myself for being able to. And I loved that other people knew that I could afford to.

I would defend my purchases by saying “Well, I have no children. No Car payments and Auto insurance. No Cable Bill. My condo has a gym so I don’t have to pay for a membership. I walk to work. I don’t do drugs. Virtually no expenses, and large income! So what if I pay $500 for a shirt?”

I’ll tell you so what.

North American culture is so wrapped up in having to have the hottest labels and the coolest gadgets. We have to vacation at the newest resort. We need the latest trend. My sheets need to have the highest thread count and can only come from Egyptian cotton!

It’s all shit! And it’s shit like this that is killing our planet and humanity.

The Boyfriend made a comment on his blog that dinosaurs lived on the planet for millions of years in a virtual paradise, yet humans have had a go for about 4 500 years and we’ve ruined it. We have holes in our ozone (Y’ know. That little, protective barrier, that keeps the sun from broiling us? Just thought I’d remind you, in case you forgot.) We have famine and drought and wars and hatred. We also have the power to do something about it. Shit! There’s one problem…

Humankind is far too fucking selfish to do anything about it!

Now, I’m not saying that I’m not to blame either. I’m not a saint or a martyr. I bought The Boyfriend a Christmas gift from Tiffany & Co., and accepted one from him. I still wear my Prada bag. I buy Madonna Albums. I shop at Whole Foods. I drink the occasional Starbucks. I still buy into all of the commercialism and material shit that I claim to detest.

There-in lies my problem. I want to make a difference in this world, but I’m in an industry that forces one to expand their ego and exploit the vanity and insecurity of countless people. Fun! Everyday, I deal with one rich person or another that tells me how their last trip to St. Barts (the 4th this year) was not a great as last months. Or how they went to said restaurant last night and it was a steal at $400 for two.

I feel like I’m constantly surrounded by ego, vanity, materialism, commercialism, people-being-big-stupid-head-ism. All the ism’s! And I can still feel their claws trying to pull me back into clutches. And I just want to scream. I want to get out of it, but unfortunately I like what I do! I’m in a Catch 22. I love cutting hair, but I fucking hate the hairstyling industry… the whole fashion industry actually. So what can I do?

I think this is why I volunteer. I think this helps keep me grounded. I just took a new volunteer position today, and will find out more on Thursday morning about it. At this point, all I know is that I will be assigned clients (mostly elderly people) and I just go and pay friendly visits to them. I’ll bring cards, take them out to movies, go to the zoo, bake cookies, or escort them to appointments. Whatever; just be a friend, really. This is what I need. This is what I need. This is what I want!

It’s just too bad the sectors that I want to be in are all volunteer, and the job that pays my rent is the one that makes me dizzy. In this wonderful society of ours, being a good guy (girl) just doesn’t pay the bills.

And so are the days of our lives.

For The Boyfriend.

At your request...

When The Dog Bites. When The Bee Stings.

Randomly linking through blogs, I found a post that was hugely uplifting. While the author was in a grumpy mood about her pregnancy rash, she decided to list things that make her happy, and try to forget about her lumps and bumps.

So I wanted to make my own list. In no particular order, here are things that I think about that make me happy.

- The gym
- Blogging
- Classic movies
- Scratching the Boyfriends back until he falls asleep
- Laughing at Cell Phone Boys jokes
- Watching little children playing.
- Ellen
- Fresh Flowers
- Cooking
- Talking to Strangers
- Showtunes (Because I’m a cliché)
- Madonna (Because I’m a cliché)
- My Apartment
- My Nephews
- My Godchildren
- Jasper
- My Coworkers
- Underpants
- Dancing
- Red Wine

- Drinking red wine with the Philantropist
- Rollerblading
- New York City
- Optimism
- The Family Guy
- Sunshine
- The Brady Bunch
- Choc-lit
- Games Nights
- Spring Water
- Stadium Seating
- Italian Food
- Long weekends at a Cottage
- Stars (On a clear night)
- Hot summer days on Toronto Island
- Road trips
- Getting woken up with a kiss
- Volunteer work
- Sing-a-longs
- Days off
- Finding a bargain
- Grocery Shopping
- Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens
- Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens
- Brown paper packages tied up with strings

Okay, so the last three were just thrown in to be funny. But, truth be told, there's nothing wrong with packages of any kind.

Colin and I!

Several times a week I get asked, "Has anyone ever told you that you look like Colin Farrell?" Yes, in fact. Yesterday was no exception. Three times yesterday I was asked. Once by a client at work and twice at a friends party.

I'm not sure exactly where this stems from, because I can't see a resemblance at all. Which is too bad; Colin Farrell is bloody hot. And I take it as no insult. In fact, the only other time that I was told I look like a celebrity is when I was a child and bore a strong resemblance to Fred Savage of 'The Wonder Years'. Colin is a few steps up from that.

So here are a few pictures of us, and lets see if we do, in fact, look like twins separated at birth...

The Eyes:













The Nose:











The Mouth:

Maybe the eyes, and the five o'clock shadow, but not much else. Actually, we may have other physical similarities, but I'm not sure if those rumours about Colin 'measuring up' are true or not.

Echo! Echo! Madge Wins Twice!

The German Echo Awards, held in Berlin on March 12, celebrated the Queen of the Dance Floor again! Madonna won 2 awards for Best International Female and Hit Of The Year (Hung Up).

Welcome back! Don't worry, we've already forgotten American Life.

Ironman? Ironman? Really? But I Look Terrible in Red!

I Am Iron Man!

Iron Man 85% Superman 80% Supergirl 75% The Flash 70% Green Lantern 65% Wonder Woman 60% Spider-Man 55% Robin 55% Batman 35% Catwoman 35% Hulk 20% So close to being Supergirl... alas. You try! Let me know who you are!

Oscar Shmoscar. Give it up!

I can’t believe how many people are upset about the Oscars last weekend. Still, people are talking about it and giving their two cents. Get over it people!

Brokeback Mountain was not the Best Picture of the Year. Heath Ledger was not the Best Actor. Just because something is ‘Gay themed’ does not mean it was the best. If that was the case, Brokeback should have shared with TransAmerica and Capote.

But if we actually look at the movies for what they are, it is obvious that Brokeback should not have won. Crash was a better movie. As was Capote. In fact… my choice would have gone to Water, which was not nominated in any category. Ooops, it was just left out. In my opinion, Water's acting, direction, and cinematography were superior to anything else last year. It had a more important message and was much more powerful. Brokeback had 2 straight male actors kissing.

And it’s not just the viewers that are whining about this. Annie Proulx, the author of the short story that Brokeback was based on, wrote a 1094 word rant in The Guardian. She called the Academy voters “Heffalumps”, and continually referred to ‘Crash’ as “Trash”. She is calling shenanigans on the show, saying that Lions Gate (Crash’s distribution company) bribed the voters. She suggests, "If you are looking for smart judging based on merit, skip the Academy Awards next year and pay attention to the Independent Spirit choices." Well, if you don’t put any merit on the Academy, why are you so bitter about losing? This is a 70 year old woman, and she’s behaving like a 12 year old that lost the election for Class Secretary.

David Cronenberg, director of “A History of Violence” interviewed in The Toronto Star this week about his frustrations for not getting nominated. He says that he should have been nominated because everyone he talked to loved his film, but that this year, it was obvious the only pictures nominated were ones that were ‘Anti-Bush’ (referring to George W., not meaning gay movies). He says that his film was ‘too subtle’ for the voters. Then he expresses his annoyance to, fellow Canadian, Paul Haggis for using the title ‘Crash’, which is the title of Cronenberg’s 1996 film.

Essentially people, it’s a T.V. show. It happens once a year and that’s it. If Brokeback won, it would not have ended homophobia. If TransAmerica won, it would not make transgendered people more accepted. Just like Crashes win, did not end racism. It’s up to us to make a stand against all these issues, and to do it as adults, not 10 year olds.

I've Never Been To Me

Hey lady, you lady,
cursing at your life
You're a discontented mother and a regimented wife
I've no doubt you dream about the things you'll never do
But, I wish someone had talked to me
Like I wanna talk to you.....

Oh, I've been to Georgia and California and anywhere I could run
I took the hand of a preacher man and we made love in the sun
But I ran out of places and friendly faces because I had to be free
I've been to paradise but I've never been to me

Please lady, please lady,
don't just walk away'
Cause I have this need to tell you why I'm all alone today
I can see so much of me still living in your eyes
Won't you share a part of a weary heart that has lived million lies....

Oh, I've been to Niece and the Isle of Greece while I've sipped champagne on a yacht
I've moved like Harlow in Monte Carlo and showed 'em what I've got
I've been undressed by kings and I've seen some things that a woman ain't supposed to see
I've been to paradise, but I've never been to me

Hey, you know what paradise is?
It's a lie,
A fantasy we create about people and places as we'd like them to be
But you know what truth is?
It's that little baby you're holding,
it's that man you fought with this morning
The same one you're going to make love with tonight
That's truth
That's love…

Sometimes I've been to crying for unborn children that might have made me complete
But I took the sweet life, I never knew I'd be bitter from the sweet
I've spent my life exploring the subtle whoring that costs too much to be free
Hey lady......
I've been to paradise,
But I've never been to me!

(Charlene / K. Kirsch / R. Miller)

I'm So Stupid!

'Cause I used to live
In a fuzzy dream
And I wanted to be
Like all the pretty people

I'm so stupid
'Cause I used to liveIn a fuzzy dream
And I used to believe
In a pretty pictures
That were all around me
But now I know for sure
That I was stupid

Stupider than stupid

Please don't try to tempt me
It was just greed
And it won't protect me
Don't want my dreams
Adding up to nothing
I was just looking for
Everybody's looking for something

I'm so stupid
'Cause I used to live
In a tiny bubble
And I wanted to be
Like all the pretty people
That were all around me
But now I know for sure
That I was stupid
Stupider than stupid

Everybody's looking for something
Everybody's stupid stupid

(M. Ciccone / M. Ahmadzaï)

A man once made the long journey to his teacher to bring him sad news: The man had a son whose medical condition had become grave, and doctors had given up hope. Without his teacher’s intercession, the son would surely die. “Is there anything you can do to help?”

The master began to pray and meditate, trying everything in his power, but after hours of effort, he turned sadly to his student. ”I’m sorry,” he said, “but the gates of heaven are closed. There is nothing I can do for your son.”

The man was desolate. He got on his horse and began traveling home. As evening fell, he heard a horse galloping behind him. He turned around and saw his master. Immediately, he thought perhaps the master had been able to open up the gates of heaven after all.

“What’s the news?” he asked eagerly.

“I’m sorry,” said the master, “the gates of heaven are still closed. But after you left, I realized that even if I cannot help you with my prayers and meditations, at least I can cry with you. That is why I have come.”

The two men sat together on a rock by the side of the road and wept.

Toronto's Hot! Hot! Hot!

I just can’t get over the fact that it’s 13degrees Celsius today!

This has been the strangest winter I can remember. Mind you, it’s only my second 'winter' in Toronto, but it’s been much warmer than last year. I’m sure we’ve had less than 10 days of cold weather since November. I was rollerblading in November, and I may do so later today.

Coming from Yellowknife, I’m very much used to winter lasting from Early / mid-October until late April / early May. And I mean full-fledged-freeze-your-ass-off-Sam-McGee-killing-wintery winter. Minus forty plus the wind-chill factor is not unheard of during a cold snap that last two weeks.

A few weeks ago as the boyfriend was driving me home, the radio had given us a ‘Cold Weather Warning’: it was going to be -14 that day. Minus Fourteen! That is NOT cold weather.

Now, I’m not complaining. I love this. I am quite happy not to have to walk through knee deep snow. More than pleased that I get to wear lighter clothing. Ecstatic that I get use of my sunglasses, even in January. To be perfectly honest, the purpose of this post is to make all my friends and family in Yellowknife jealous. I’m not above that.

Anyway, I’m off to the beach.

Silly Joke

Two cows were grazing in a field, one day.

One cow looks to the other one and says, “Mooooo!”

Flabbergasted, the second cow replies, “Oh My God! I was just thinking the same thing!”

Her Royal Pinkness

“Hello. This is Lance Morrison. I’m not sure if you remember me or not, but we met two years ago when you visited our friend Ray, in Yellowknife. Well, the thing is, I just moved to Toronto on Sunday, and thought we could be friends. What do you think? If you would like, you can call me back at 416-_ _ _-_ _ _ _. Hope to talk to you soon.”

That, essentially, was how I reconnected with Her Royal Pinkness. She had just moved in with her girlfriend (the aloof Puma) months earlier, and was happy as a clam to meet up with me. It just so happened that the next day she was headed to a book launch, and was without a date, and would I like to go? I jumped at the chance and have thanked my gay stars everyday since.

I walked into NOW Lounge to meet my new(ish) friend. Look at me: my fourth day in Canada’s largest city and already attending book launches… well, la ti da! I walked around looking Her Royal Pinkness and it hit me:

I’d not seen her in 2 years, and had only met her, I think, twice - maybe three times. I can’t remember at all what she looked like. She was short… pleasantly plump… shoulder length brown hair that she was “never colouring again”… amazing eyes… and wore an awful lot of pink. That’s all, and it’s been two years. She could have lost weight; she could have gained weight; she could have grown / cut / coloured / permed her hair; she could be anyone in this room!

I walked around the room asking every woman if they were her. Being new in the city, I assumed there might be a chance that people know her (she was an editor of a magazine, after all), so I asked if anyone knew her. Ahhh, the naivety of the new kid on the block.

So I did what any sensible person would do in this situation; I went for a cigarette and grabbed my cell phone. Emergency call to The Philanthropist who, after getting over the fact that I was actually attending a book launch, told me that he couldn’t sufficiently describe what she may look like anymore than I could.

But then...
A Vision...
Pink!

Trotting down Church Street was a short, pleasantly plump girl with shoulder length brown hair (that had, obviously, not been coloured), with glistening eyes in a pink monogrammed shirt, perfectly cut jeans and pink shoes. From there a friendship was born.

Without Her Royal Pinkness, I would not know half of my friends. She and Puma were the ones that first introduced me to The Boyfriend and Cousin Janet. I would never have known the joy that is Lower Etobicoke. Or Wisteria Lane, for that matter.

To HRP: I thank you so much for everything that I have in Toronto (West of Spadina, that is). The kindness that you’ve shown me is more than anyone could possibly deserve, yet you give it up so effortlessly. You are such a beautiful person, inside and out, and I wish for you all the joy and light that you bring into our little family. Look now, I’m all teary.

Much Love.

Never Again!

So, just a handy hint to everyone I love. . .

West Indian Food
+ Red Wine
+ White Wine
+ More Red Wine
= 'I don't feel so good!"




After we watched The Halfaneese move into his new apartment we celebrated with West Indian / Sri Lankan dinner and a few bottles of wine. Now, every time I burp I have to fight the urge to throw up. If I live throughout the night, remind me that I will never mix the two again.

It's no good.

Like a Kid in a Candystore!

Okay, I’ll admit it. This is a plug... But it’s not a shameless plug.

I’m filming a hair / fashion segment for a television program tomorrow evening, so this evening I had to go and collect clothing. My segment is themed “Rebellious” and so I thought I would go to a store on Queen West that is owned by an acquaintance. I would certainly find something for the models to wear there.

Cut to me shopping at Preloved. It’s this great little boutique in the Queen / Bathurst area of Toronto. Clothing and accessories ranging from $29 – 249, and I could take whatever I wanted, as much as I wanted, and for as long as I wanted. It’s one of the perks of my job. Unfortunately, not a great perk as I do have to give them back, eventually.

Having never been in this store before, I had no idea what to expect. And it was great. They redesign vintage clothing, sometimes adding new material, sometimes using all vintage. Because, why wouldn’t you want a pair of jeans made out of 6 separate pairs, all sliced up and sewn together? Or a t-shirt made out of a sweater, a vintage cowboy shirt and a scrap of bed sheet? If Scarlett O'Hara can sew up non-clothes into a dress, damn it, so can we!

So, that’s it! My free plug to a store that helped me out. Please visit their website and, if you get the chance, visit their stores (Toronto, Montreal, Vancouver).

Thanks again, Julia.

Digging For Gold.

I just saw the most disgusting thing on the bus this morning. I mean… Vomit-In-Your-Mouth-Gross!

So this woman (I could tell by the purse and the eyes) was sitting there in her balaclava just smiling away showing off her 6 teeth. Then she had a sudden urge to relieve herself from a slight discomfort… and proceeded to shove her finger so far up her nose, I was sure it was going to come out of her eye socket.

It was like she was fisting her nose. I swear it went PAST second knuckle. Like, she was deep! I couldn’t understand it. I was sure it was breaking some biological physics law or something.

On top of this, she didn’t want to be bothered by removing her balaclava, so she just shoved her finger up through the mouth hole and stretched it out so that she could access her nose.

Oh wait… There’s more.

After a hard days work of digging, apparently, she did not want to have nothing to show for it… SO SHE STUCK IT ON HER COAT... AND THEN WENT BACK TO DIGGING FOR MORE!!!

This went on the whole bus ride. Dig… dig… dig… wipe… dig… dig… dig… wipe…

And the icing on the cake: as I walked past to get off at my stop, it was apparent that this is not the woman’s first venture into this hobby. No, this was an ongoing project. She had boogers and snot almost covering the entire sleeve of her jacket, all in varying stages of dehydration and crustiness.

Yeah, I think it’s about time I start walking from the subway station.