The Rise & Fall of Mr. 34: a tale of a lost chance

LCpod

Don't Call by The Secret Handshake
Lately by The Secret Handshake
Bad Cops Bad Charities by PlayRadioPlay

 

It was a warm winter evening in the city and I was blessed with great weather for my date night with Mr. 34; no elements to ruin my hair, no horrible driving conditions to make my ride to the meeting point difficult. I was rather ecstatic to not have to dress up looking like I was ready to go on an Arctic exploration. It's one of those pitfalls of living in a northern climate.  It really puts a damper on looking pretty at times.

After some annoying deliberation, we decided to meet at Real Sports Cafe (Yonge & St-Clair). I say it's annoying because the place I suggested, a quaint, new enough bar & restaurant on St. Clair West was problematic for him.  Firstly, it didn't have a website. Oh no, the humanity.  Secondly, he allegedly read bad reviews on the place.  Contradictory to the many great reviews that I read, I find it irrelevant.  Good or bad reviews, it's the company that matters.  

My roommates boyfriend was hanging out with me as she was getting ready.  I told him all of the above and as soon as it all came out, it became clear to me.  We shared a look and straight away, we both started thinking on the same wave length. It's Wednesday. It's game night. He postponed until 9:30 in order to watch the game with his buddies and chose a sports cafe so he could continue to watch sports.  The cafe is not conducive to conversation so, he was killing two birds with one stone: ample opportunities to watch his favourite teams and go on a date at the same time.  Clever boy.

The initial plans were to meet at Prop for 8:00pm.  The plans changed to 9:30pm at this stupid Real Sports Cafe.  I'm already kind of annoyed. Initially, he offered to meet somewhere closer to me because he knew that I was busy and this way, a place just a hop and a skip away, made it easier for me to step out for a bit.  The change of plans already furthered me away from my place. Which fine, ok, it's only further down the street from me. I can handle that.

Mr. 34 calls. He's at the game. A-HA!!!!!!! We were so right.  He's at the ACC, pounding back drinks with his clients.  He claims this is all unexpected. I call his bluff.  He scurries to try and come up with something.  I give him the benefit of the doubt seeing that he is the one who chose Wednesday as our rendez-vous date.   I kindly offer to reschedule.  He insists on meeting.  So the plans are still on. I pump and prep myself up for a date that I've already lost so much interest in.

9 oclock rolls around.  I get a darling text from him asking me if I can meet him at Brazenhead since I'm driving.  Ok, officially annoyed now.Our conversation went something like this (all from memory)

LC: No, sorry.  That's downtown. Let's reschedule.

Mr. 34:  We had a plan, let's stick to it? Could we meet ossington, or bloor?

LC: How about we meet at the spot you suggested after you struck down my suggestion?

Mr. 34: Ok. It's just far from me.

LC: Listen, if you're busy tonight, we'll make it another night. I had/have work to do that's why it was nice to be going somewhere close

Mr. 34: We all do.

Ok asshole.  I know I'm not the only person in the entire world that has work to do outside of their 9-5 schedule, but where do you get off underestimating or downplaying the extent of the work I need to do?  I am starting a business. I'm in my basement studio.  You're at the ACC, watching a sports game drinking.  If you're going to make it about comparing, let's compare.

He calls.  I'm super pissy with him.  I insist on rescheduling.  He insists on still meeting up.  And then, oh and then, as I start talking about how he initially didn't mind a place near by because of my work schedule, he calls me a grandma.  I abruptly piped in, in a less than friendly tone, and told him that he didn't know me well enough to call me that.  His tone turned less pompous and a little more sincere and he apologized.  

At this point, I couldn't care less about the guy.  I am completely turned off by this stranger.  He all of a sudden turns charming.  That wasn't what convinced me to meet him somewhere on Ossington, it was the fact that I had already finished getting ready and I didn't want this ensemble or look to go to waste. I already wasted my night (i.e. no gym, no errands, no work), that I figured I owed it to myself and the things I skipped out on to meet up with him, in spite of his awful, awful appeal.

I chose Levack Block.  He replies with "It better be good.  Am I allowed to say that not knowing you that well".  I giggle in frustration. I shrug my shoulders and simply ask myself where this guy came from and who raised him?  Seriously though, who says that.  His sarcasm was so unnecessary, if it even was sarcasm.  Dude, I don't know you from a hole in the ground.  What you say and do in these very precious moments leading up to the date are just as important as the date itself.

I already have my first impression of him.  I don't need a face to face encounter to solidify my impression.  But, again, I already invested a whole evening towards this date.  I'm stubborn as hell, and for the most part, I like to finish what I start.  I hop in my truck and drive away.  

I'm down the road when I see the time.  It's almost 10:30pm.  By the time I get there, sit across from this man who I do not want to meet, have a drink, drive back home, it'll be passed midnight.  Common sense kicks in, I pull over, I call him, I get his voicemail and tell him I have a flat tire.  Ok, so it wasn't the most original, honest thing to say, but he was so persistent all the other times that I needed something that would hopefully shut him up.  

He still insisted on meeting and all of a sudden, he's down for meeting near my place only because he thinks I'm stuck on the side of the road somewhere with a flat waiting for a tow truck.  Woman in distress, I'll save youuuuuuuuuuuu !!!! That's exactly what he's thinking.  Thanks but no thanks.  He wanted to come say hello, which I declined and out of pity told him it would be a raincheque on the hello.  What I failed to mention was that the raincheque would bounce because it's good for never.

I've said before that you can't get back all the time, effort and money you put into dating.  But at least I was done up for my dreams and I woke up with sweet hair. 

So, as quickly as we made plans to meet for drinks, those plans came tumbling down.  As Jim Carrey says on Bruce Almighty, that's the way the cookie crumbles.

Until then, cheers to a date that never took place.  

LCxo

Russian Vodka Soaked Peanuts

LCpod

This Charming Man by Stars
Airplanes by B.o.B ft Hayley Williams (Janski's Raving Stars remix)
Your Ex-Lover is Dead by Stars (Final Fantasy Remix)

Take away my major hangover most of my Saturday, and I can easily say that my weekend was exceptional.  Actually, in spite of feeling like garbage Saturday, my weekend was exceptional.  Maybe even with a capital E.  Put that in your pipe and smoke it. I'm lame. 

The plans for the weekend were to leave for back home to spend it with my family, celebrate my mama’s birthday on the Saturday and then spend family day together.  It only makes sense to spend this fairly new statutory holiday with none other than my family.  

Plans changed a little.  A cousin (brother of my cousin in law) was in Toronto from New York for a wedding. So rather than leave on the Friday, we stayed back to spend the night with him. Cha picked him and his gf up from the airport, stopped in here for a drink.  We then were chauffeured to the Intercontinental so they could unpack, get dressed for the night ahead, and of course, have another drink.  It was a stiff one, but still went down really well.  

 oh duty free !

While they prettied themselves up, my cousin told me the greatest joke ever.  It may not make the harshest comedian critics laugh but it’s right up my humour alley. You must recite it aloud; otherwise you won’t get the joke:

Joke: What do you call a fish with no eyes?

Answer: fsshhhhhhhhhhh

Get it, no “ i’s “ ?  So great.

We had a booth at Pravda, a Russian vodka bar on Wellington.  The décor was so homey and welcoming.  Red carpet, luscious fabric couches for the booths.  The ambience was spectacular.  We had a great, great, great, great evening.  It was so nice to see him and such a pleasure to meet his girlfriend and some of the bridal party.  We all got along great.  The excessive alcohol surely played a part in our speedy friendships but we immediately clicked the moment we set foot in the place.

Starving even before we left my place, I monopolized the little bowl of mixed nuts on the table at the bar.  I so badly needed them to keep me going that even when vodka was poured into the bowl thinking it was a glass, I ate them anyways. Yum.  Vodka soaked peanuts.  

I sported a simple look for the night; black jeggings with a sideseam exposed zipper at the hem, an army green tank top with a leather welted chest pocket and a white asymmetrical zip up knit jacket.  Surprisingly, the only proof left on my jacket that I drank vodka crans was a tiny  smudge of juice on my left arm.  I am astonished.  You really don’t understand how much I attract dirt and stains when I wear white.  I go to great lengths to stay scotch free but it never fails.  That’s why I never wear it, but this jacket was a steal, regular 60$, on sale for $10.  How do you pass that up?  The answer: you don’t.  

As I was dancing and doing my little 1-2 step, a gentleman from our crowd ran up to me, grabbed my hand and said with such passion “your shoulder pads are sexy as hell”.  I loved the compliment and I laughed so much because who says that really.  Even just writing the story now is making me giggle.  Funny thing though, I’m so used to shoulder pads in my tops and jackets that I didn’t even notice there were shoulder pads in my new jacket until he mentioned it.  I love people that are that observant.  

I took out my trusty little Tide to go stick the morning after but who knew that those things went bad because it smelled like dirty feet.  I brought it up to the noses of my roommates and they cringed at the smell.  I still used it.  Desperate times call for desperate measures so even when my stain removal stick smells like feet, I will use it on the off chance it still works.  It worked.  

The groom was so happy, and then also extremely inebriated by the end of the night.  The groomsmen were supportive, excited and in an equally inebriated state.  Bottle after bottle, we laughed, we danced, we sang, we mingled, we hugged, we were silly.  Katy Perry’s Fireworks came on and I have never seen a group of adults jump and shout so much to a pop induced tune.  I lost a majority of my voice because of it.  I usually sing into my bottle of beer as if it were my mic but since I had a glass, the straw became my mic. We blew the crowd away with our over zealousness. Or so we think.  For those precious moments, I felt like a rockstar, like my voice could carry a note so well that maybe, just maybe I had a nice voice.  It feels so great to belt out a tune it's no wonder singers describe their time on stage as cathartic and at times indescribable And then I realized….I can’t even hear myself sing and I'm lost in the lyrics. (random thought: Isn’t it contradictory to describe something as indescribable?  Doesn’t that mean you’ve just described it?)  

I felt sort of like the caregiver of the group seeing that I wasn’t as drunk as the rest of them.  I became cocky, being this composed after everything I drank.  That was until I got into a cab.  I finally sat down for the first time all night.   And everything came flooding in.  Each vodka cran hit me, one by one, and I became just like the rest of them, sloppy.  My sister and I tried to talk but we both had such a hard time that we just laughed at each other.  The simplest thing: I wanted a number out of her phone.  All we had to do was look it up in her phone and then insert it into mine.  Simple task.  WRONG.  It was arduous.  It took us most of the entire cab ride home, roughly a 20-25 minute ride.  Did we even pay for the cab ?!?!?  Answer unknown.

We planned on leaving at 6 am Saturday morning to head home.  Maybe two drinks in at Pravda, we threw those good intentions out the window knowing damn well that with the alcohol flowing as it was, we were not waking up at the crack of dawn.  And we were spot on with that assumption.

I set my alarm clock for 9am.  Nine am came along, and I hated my life.  I was almost ready to skip out on the entire weekend and stay in bed the whole time, that’s how hung-over I was. Put it this way, you know when you see or smell alcohol the day after and it makes you want to gag a little.  Well the sight of cranberry juice, what I used for mix, made me gag.  I woke Cha up, startled her right out of her drunk slumber, and we took off.  Thankfully and miraculously, my sister’s friend and boyfriend were catching a ride with us and they did all the driving.  Like divas, we were chauffeured all the way home.  

At first Cha and I had the giggles, which we always do when we’re hung-over but then it turned sour because my hangover was no longer a laughing matter.  My headache was out of control that even the three Advils I took were no match.  Just sitting down gave me the spins, and don’t even mention the blowing snow (or the winding snow as Cha mistakenly called it).  That made me dizzy more than anything else There were snow squalls and white outs and that didn't stop me any from wearing my shades the whole time. The glare of the white snow hurt my very dehydrated brain.  I cursed my physical state but I had so much fun last night that all my pain and suffering during my 5-6 hour drive with severe spins, jaundice and a lack of sleep for a visit of less than 24 hours was so worth it.

Skip a couple of hours and we’re home.   I speed out to the local mall to pick up a couple of things for my niece. I missed her birthday and told her we would celebrate it, just her and I, this weekend.  There was a misunderstanding because she thought I was throwing her an all new birthday party.  The moment they hear birthday party, nothing else matters and all they hear is birthday….celebration…fun…and any other word that means they’re going to get gifts and eat cake.  I shot myself in the foot with this one.  It’s rather hard throwing a mini shindig for a kid when you’re probably still intoxicated from the previous night.

Sunday morning, I wake up to the call of my niece and nephew.  It’s hard to deny a little boy and girl when they quietly approach your bed, stand patiently, gently poke your face and angelically say your name asking you to wake up.  Sure it was 8 am and I was still tired from Friday, but these little kids are my life. Sunday was spent as a family (minus 18 year old brother who is into  going to Montreal so he can drink) and then I hopped into the family Ford and drove back to Toronto with my parents.

I have my parents vehicle for the week that they’re gone to Florida.  I had the luxury of driving them to the airport and seeing them off for the second time in two months as they go to a tropical place where the sun shines, sandals adorn people’s feet and a round of golf is part of your daily routine.   I stand out like a sore thumb with my ride: a big ass Ford F-150 with camo.  Spot the northerner.  Aside from it being completely a hunter’s vehicle, it does not belong in the city.  It doesn’t fit anywhere.  As we speak, it’s parked in my tiny little driveway with the tailgate taking over the sidewalk.  Parking somewhere other than my driveway proves to be trickier.  I don’t even bother anymore.  I go straight for the end of a parking lot where it’s completely open and I can turn in with ease.  No more trying to squeeze into a tiny spot to be closer.  This city is not conducive to large vehicles.  What it will help me with however is going to IKEA and getting myself a new wardrobe / organizer / bedroom furniture.  No problem there.  

Tomorrow night is date night once again.  That made everyone at work who is living vicariously through me rather happy.  On several occasions, I had to devote a couple minutes away from my work into giving the low down on him.  We have a cute family at work.  One of my colleagues always pleaded with me to give her 5 minutes with JB and she’d make damn sure he’d smarten up.  What a gal. 

This time it’s with an older gentleman.  Penciled in my schedule are drinks with Mr. 34 (his age).  I know nothing of Mr. 34 other than he is 34 and he resides in a swanky area of the city, home for him is Lake Erie and he’s going on a trip in March.  I don’t know if I should expect a more mature date because of his age, as opposed to my other dates with 26, 28-29 year olds. I hope to be greeted by someone with their story straight and with a more secure head on their shoulders, someone who, because of where they are in their life, makes sure honesty trumps everything, selfishness is not an issue and, simply put, he’s a man.

Tomorrow should be interesting. 

No expectations.

LC Cam - Weekend in photos 

  pre-vodka coma

I bet you this reads "LC is super"

 Dancing with Mr. I love your shoulder pads.

 This drum made any song better.

 Prime time

Premature shutter bug with the groom

 Trio of amazing faces

Cheers to an amazing evening.

LCxo

Shame Shame Double Shame

It is with shame that I confess to you that I judge what people wear.  Allow me to defend myself.  I'm always so curious about clothes, their style, cut, design, colour, fabric etc. that I stare at people all the time.  I'm interested in how and what people couple together to make their outfit and what they'll use as accessories to complete that look.  During my analysis of their outfit, it just happens.  I judge.  That doesn't really sound like a great reason now does it.  Does the fact that I often feel bad mitigate my case?

What I try to do is I try to imagine their life story.  Maybe this was all they could afford, or they don't fit into anything else, they haven't gone shopping since highschool, it was handed down to them, or they just don't know any better.  Whatever the case may be, I get overcome with guilt as I silently judge their look and store my mental image of them in my look book of best and worst dressed.

However, I don't get that pang of guilt when its someone of wealth.  What's their excuse ?  Poor taste, and maybe even an element of Madonn-esque shock value sprinkled with some forced eccentricity.

There's the Lady Gaga's of the world who show up in eggs and waste a bunch of steak on a dress.  Starving people of the world, have a look at that.  And here we have Lauryn Hill out and about during NY Fashion Week wearing a mish mash of clothes that look like they were from the men's large section of Value Village.

Before you hate, Value Village is my favourite store.  I shop there often and I also have a love for menswear inspired, over-sized clothes.  That said, with my two love affairs aforementioned, I still cannot get myself to even come close to giving this outfit the green light.

It's hard to criticize a person's choice of clothing and then promote uniqueness.  But I really do believe that some people wear what they wear specifically to be different.  It's not inherently in them to wear something like Lauryn Hill is.  It is on purpose to get a rise.   That's when I jump the gun and mock.

Sorry.  Or am I ?

LCxo

Abstract Friday

LCxo

BELLY OF THE BEAST

February 16, 2011

Lcpod

Very Loud by Shout Out Louds

VCR by The xx
Douchebag by Mat Musto

 

Going to bed starving is not a great idea when you have to fast for an ultrasound.  Sure I slept off most of the ticking time to my medical appointment but that meant I went to bed with a rumbling tummy and woke up with a roaring one, and couldn't do a single thing about it.  Doctor's orders were strict: essentially, starve.  I had to skip out on the freshly brewed pot of coffee, mind my egg white omelette, whole wheat toast a-la-no-butter  and thrice sliced orange.  How many times I pressed the snooze button, I don't know. I finally pried my eyes open and took a couple minutes in bed to go through my email notifications on my phone. It's habitual to read WWD's morning report (WomensWearDaily), get my little jolt of fashion to jumps tart my day.  It's especially entertaining this week because it's NY Fashion Week and up to date reviews and photos on all the runway shows and presentations is just fabulous.  Best so far: Donna Karan and Proenza Schouler.  Crappiest so far: Rodarte.  I never quite understand their fame.

Donna Karan

Proenza Schouler

Rodarte

I walked out my door to walk down the same street, to the same street car stop, ride the same route to the same subway station.  Two subway stops in, with no entertainment, no music, no daily paper, I obviously doze off.  When suddenly, to my left, a movement of colour catches my sleepy eye.  There is a very well dressed man.I immediately zone in.  He had on a light beige wool coat with a grey scarf tucked under the standing shawl collar, with his black and white plaid dress shirt with cufflings peering out of the sleeves, a fur (real or faux is unknown) hat, freshly pressed, slightly skinny legged, dress pants, a great pair of two toned shoes that look like they were pulled right off a 50's movie set, with spectacular dark pink and navy striped socks and a leather satchel.  So well put together that I start to wonder how much his whole ensemble cost him.  My estimated price tag: approximately $1000.  And that's only one outfit.  If he's anything like me and doesn't like to wear the same outfit twice, a significant amount of his disposable income must then be allotted to looking good.  He is either well to do or another broke soul keeping up with appearances.  

I'm enamoured. I totally dig his look.  So I keep an eye on him, every so often looking over at this stylish commuter.  And then something happened, something that ruined my whole perception of him.  His clothes, his look, his great choice of colour palette, none of that matters anymore.  It's all gone to shit.  St-George station says the automated announcement in the subway.  I look over and he, with his scraggly pinky, is picking his nose, full on, whole finger in the nostril, I don't care who's watching type of digging.  I'm visibly repulsed.  There is no more appeal to this stranger. I am utterly grossed out.   But then think about it, where is that hand going after? It's going to grab onto the pole to stand sturdy in the subway, then the escalator railing, the door handle exiting the station, his money to purchase his morning tea/coffee, the elevator button etc.  He is no longer my Wednesday-morning love.

People start flocking in and through the human traffic, I can still see him going at it.  Like come on, give it a rest.  My attention span is limited this fine spring like morning so I'm over it as long as I occupy my time with something else.  He will remain a distant memory if I do as much.

So what else can I look at?  Oh, how about the big crotch in my face!!  It's one of those things that defines the TTC: awkward stare downs, crotches in your face, unwelcomed and accidental horizontal spooning with strange men.  The less than smooth subway ride makes the lady sway side to side, front to back yet she still refuses to hold onto anything to keep her standing.

So, I'm faced with a crotch, the subway jerks, crotch lady is still not holding onto anything.  She comes flying.  Her trajectory: straight for me.  Her estimated time of arrival on my entire body: a split second.  At this point, I'm in full panic mode that I will be face planted but at the last minute, I don't know how, she manages to free her hands from her many bags and grabs a hold of the bar.  There is a TTC god !!!  The last thing I want first thing in the morning is an overweight woman falling on me, chest first, when I haven't had a coffee, haven't eaten in what seems like ages, as far as my eating regimen is concerned, and when I'm half asleep and my cognitive abilities are not revved up or sharp enough to react to her fall; thus not able to prevent a forced motorboating.  It's not fair, nor fun. Just hold onto the freggin bar will you.

Cynthia out did herself tonight with a lavish dinner for an old colleague.  I picked away at the pots and pans as their backs were turned. Shh.  Don't tell.  I previously made a bib for another one Cynthia's dinner guests so she called me out from my basement studio and kindly asked me to make Lorr a bib.  I'm like a circus freak that comes out when company is around, or like Dinner with Schmucks kinda thing you know - Cynth has people over, ohhhh Lynda, come make a bib.  I'm being used and abused but arts and crafts are my thing so use and abuse all you want.

It's only when we have new visitors do we really pay attention to the decor in our house (i.e. lifesize poster of Sidney Crosby in full hockey gear and the Sidney Crosby Tim Hortons calendar poster in our kitchen).  Needless to say, one of us is a Crosby fan.  My sister will fight to her grave for this Nova Scotian. 

The calendar serves a double purpose: eye candy and period tracking.  Cha took it upon herself to start the calendar.  For all to see, marked in orange is Cha, me in purple and Cynth in green, this tracking system also allows people to know when they should cuddle with us and when they should stay away from us.  Visitors beware.

"Let me help you track your periods ladies"

Thanks Sidney !!!

Getting my new phone was kind of like a blessing in disguise.  I couldn't recover any of my old numbers so out the window went Anthony's number and Justin's as well.  Interesting mix up of feelings for those two.  I wrote Anthony the other day, via Plenty of fish account, saying it was nice meeting him, thank you for the bottle of Bailey's and wishing him luck in his search. I just don't get guys.  This whole disappearing act is rather childish and that kind of behaviour is so prevalent amongst them.  I'm hearing other people's stories and they too have been a victim of cessation of communication.  It's strange and not to mention immature.  In any event, I wrote him.  No reply as of yet and it's been a few days.  I don't anticipate one, never did, and I'm sure as hell not looking at this as a way to get back into talking with him.  I'm just extending a half fast well wish.

Right now, I don't have anything to report on the boy front and that is upsetting the masses here at work.  My colleagues gave me shit this morning as they feel I am slacking with my dating life.  I don't have any gossip or fun & flirty banter to share and that is apparently killing their habit of living vicariously through me.  Plenty of fish is getting plenty old, fast.  Aside from the rarities that caught my attention, that site sucks.  Watch, I'll meet the love of my life on there and I'll of course have to eat my own words. 

Come to think of it, there's a really cute guy at my gym.  I, with unbelievable confidence and sass, got his name and striked up a conversation with him a couple days ago, that we are now chummy with one another.  Next thing to do is check for a ring and if no ring, find out if he has a lady friend.  That is my to-do list this week.  Does Little Big Man have a girlfriend ? 

Stay tuned.

LCxo

Sunday Scoop: A week in review

Lcpod

We Used to Wait by Arcade Fire
Out of my Hands by Milow
Where is my Mind by Yoav 


Sunday Scoop will be a weekly post wherein I simply write random things from my week.  Completely against my usual writing, there will be no transition between paragraphs.  They stand alone, kind of like me. But alone, short and sweet, like these paragraphs, is secretly empowering.

To be alone is empowering

To feel empowered is great for the moral

To have a great moral is addictive

Therefore, to be alone is addictive.

A sound train of thought !!!!

Allons-y les etoiles du francais (a thing my dad always says, the literal translation into English being let's go french stars)

I've taken my love for left overs to a whole new level. I ate gnocchi for breakfast.  Having some food left over from my late night dinner with company, I devoured it this morning as I woke up completely ravaged. My stomach was on the verge of eating itself, so I was left with no choice but to take the most accessible food in the fridge. But if I would have only exercised a little more patience and given myself a couple more minutes, I would have noticed my day old purchase of as fresh as they can be at this time of year strawberries.  Italian mini potatoes vs. scrumptious fruit.  This, my friends, is a lesson on patience.  It is a virtue.  Embrace it.

A pigeon shat on my head today as I walked back from Church.  Apparently it's good luck for a bird to crap on your head.  Whoever came up with that obviously just got shat on by a bird and wanted to look cool.  The only thing bird shit in your hair does is teach you humility.  We ran into the nearest fruit market.  My sister seemed to be beating around the bush about why we needed a napkin or any sort of wipe.  I flat out shouted "A pigeon shat on my head and I need to wipe it off !!!!!".  We both laughed at my situation but it was very easy to see that she was laughing harder.  Thank goodness I live just around the block from my Church. I sped walked home to wash myself of this crap, literally. 

My sister, 29 years of age, asks me, 27 years of age, did you message AT and Meaghan?  I respond: Ask them about what?  She replies: about Justin Bieber.  Yeah, that's right, tomorrow's Valentine's day and all us single ladies are going to see Never Say Never 3D !!!  At first I thought it was just another one of those silly things that we do.  That was until I saw the previews for the movie.  Now, I am genuinely excited.  We all have Bieber fever and we have no plans of seeking out a cure. 

If any of you watch the Jersey Shore aftershow, you'll recognize the following:  Bieber my balls.  Cha has taken a liking to that.  She tries to say it but she's never been successful at finishing it without laughing.  Her last attempt made me choke on my food and whatever beverage I had at the time came out of my nose. BIEBER MY BALLS she says again.  Ahhh, there are the chuckles. Almost Cha, almost. 

I got a new phone today, not so much by choice.  The piece of junk I was lugging around for some years finally gave out.  A piece fell out of where you insert your charger.  It just fell out.  Ok, well, I guess that's that eh.  I am now rocking the new BlackBerry Torch.  It's a sweet gadget and I feel terribly cool with this slick piece of technology.  I've been fiddling around with it ever since I got home.  Thanks to my trusty little memory card, I was able to carry over all the media from my old phone and I found a voicenote I forgot I had even taken.  I sent it to Justin (JB) in December.  I was home for a family party my sister and I were organizing (we're a very large family so it takes alot of coordinating).   JB had said he could bring the house down with his renditions of anything Johnny Cash.  One of Mr. Cash's songs came on and I sent him a tiny recording of it. I immediately froze when I listened to the voicenote. I didn't really know how to feel. I was immediately sad, slightly angry, slightly disappointed, slightly if this were my old crappy phone and not my new Torch I'd chuck it across the room.  It's just a voice note right ? 

I am officially done with Lady Gaga.  She showed up at the Grammy's in an egg.  That's where I draw the line. Gone are the days of shock value.  Does anyone else not see how ridiculous we all look  adoring a woman who wears steak as a dress and shows up in an egg?  Statement pieces indeed.  I'll still dance up a storm to her club anthems but I couldn't care less for her as a Hollywood character.

My heart beats a little too fast for Max Talbot.

see what I mean ?!?

Did I really just reply to a 37 year old hockey coach on Plenty of Fish?  I did.  Even the older ones don't know how to properly approach you.  But I'm bored, so I'm going to have some fun with it.......Wow, within minutes, that has gone nowhere.  I can't do it.

Coach: How have you been cutie (doesn't this question imply that at some point prior, he knew how I was doing and now is just refreshing?!?  anyways)
Me: Well I've been grand for the 27 years of my life.  How have you been?
Coach: Ok.  Just really waiting to meet you :) Where in the city do you live?
Me: That was forward. In North York
Coach: I'm in Richmond Hill.  Rob.

Cool.  What a killer conversation.

When we shouldn't have, Cha and I did some shopping.  I bought everything on sale.  Loose tanks for 3$ a piece, an offwhite knit notch collared jacket with an assymetrical front zip up, undergarments, and a spring friendly tweed jacket.  The epaulets and the single gold button on the front and the trio of them on the mock vent accentuate the jacket's simplicity and sealed the deal for me.  But that's not my story.  Both our phones were broken (pre buying my new phone, which that of course also added to my expensive weekend).  We split up, not thinking much of it but when we couldn't find one another, that's when panick took over.  It was like when I was a kid and I lost my mom in Zellers or any other big department store.  What a scary feeling.  We found each other but at that point, the frantic sweats had already kicked into high gear and I couldn't cool down from my near-without-my-sister experience.  I may be aging but I'm always going to be a little sister.

Lastly, I just applied to one of the most amazing, intriguing, quirky jobs ever: the official Twitterer for Marc Jacobs!!!!!!!!!!!!  No cover letters or resumes allowed.  Everyone has a 140 character chance at impressing the head honchos at the helm of the fashion house. I can't believe this job even exists.  Imagine I land this gig ?!


LCxo

Caveat Emptor: Black Widow

Lcpod

Hey Boy by The Blow

VCR by The xx
Words by Daniel Watters

I wrote this post old school, paper and pen. My phone is officially broken and that is usually where I compile all of my blog posts.  It feels nice to go back to cursive writing.  I still haven't lost my touch. My penmanship, without boasting too too much, is pretty.  They say it's a lost art you know, handwriting.  What a sad day that will be when the generations inhabiting this earth do not know how to write.  I don't want to see that day.

Yesterday's gone.  I was in a foul mood all day and held back tears for the eight plus hours that I was at work.  At first I kept saying I didn't know why, but that's such an inexcusable answer  I'm this uber complex being that has emotions and thoughts running through me incessantly.  I tap into deep and dark corners of myself on a regular basis and yet I can't pin point the reason behind wanting to cozy up in a corner and wallow in my own self pity ?!  Unacceptable.  I don't know doesn't cut it.  I look harder and delve deeper and find the source(s) of my temporary sadness.  I do share alot on this blog, however this will remain personal.

Rather than eat a tub of ice cream, I thought it would be good to watch Life As We Know It a second time since it made me cry like a maniac the night before.  What better way to purge my feelings then to cry with purpose as opposed to letting the tears flow sporadically.

So as you can see, I'm in a less than great mood. I don't want to work on my line because I'm in a creative haze.  I don't want to do chores because, well, I don't want to do chores.  

Procrastination tool #1: Facebook.  Been there, done that.  Nothing exciting to occupy my time. 

Procrastination tool #2:  online dating site.  Great way to pass the time.

Yes, that's what I will do, check my online dating account and see if there's anyone of interest.  I log on and there sits a collection of new messages.  One by one, I open and read them.  Next.  Next.  Next.  Next.  Next.  Next.  Next. Next. 

.....And this is where my rant begins.

There are plenty of fish in the sea says the father to his daughter, giving her hope that someday she will find someone half the man he is.  But the father fails to mention to her that the percentage of worthy fish out of that sea is very small.  If you haven't caught on yet, I mean men when I talk about fish.  Just a heads up before you think otherwise.

Let's say I was to put all my eggs in one basket and rely solely on Plenty of Fish as my means to find my life mate.  My future is in serious jeopardy.  If those messages are any indication of the pool of candidates out there, I give up.  I'm concerned that I'm looking at permanent residency in singlehood.   They have all squashed my dream of marriage, 2-5 kids and complete and utter happiness in falling asleep next to the same gentle soul each and every night.

What was I expecting really, from a free dating site.  That's where all the wack jobs congregate to get a piece of ass or to stare at loads of pictures of beautiful women without being the creepy guy from across the room who can't take his eyes off of you.  I have one of those by the way, a creepy guy.  Every day, without failure,  on my ride to work, he locks in his stare.  I can feel it and he refuses to remove himself  from the stare down.  He's so captivated by my morning appearance, I'm scared to think he's undressing me with his bedroom eyes.  I cringe at the thought.

If I were to take this whole "plenty of fish in the sea" analogy literally and pretend I am fishing, in a boat on a lake, all the fish I've "caught" (with the exception of one and that's my date mentioned in  my post Comfortable Stranger) I would toss back in the water.  Not even gently.  I would chuck them back, like get away from me ASAP kind of toss.  I wouldn't even care if they were this rare fish that was so beautiful to the eye or one that could feed my entire village, toss'em !  Throw them back for the next person to come along and reel them.  Let them be the poor soul that deals with their mediocrity.

Generally, I dismiss the messages for which I do not care.  But not tonight.  Something's come over me and it's best described as "bitch".  I'm tired of the non sense of this site.  So I replied with some very sarcastic comments hoping for nothing really, just more to get the point across that they need to step it up.

Hi - really, that's all you have to say?

Hey, I think we'd get along really well.  Hit me back if you feel the same cutie - You don't know me, don't call me cutie. And why would we get along?

Hey beautiful, I loved your profile. What's your name sexy? - My name is in the second line of my profile.  You're cut.

What's a chivalry - check a dictionary then maybe talk to me.

You can pass as african in that one picture of you with the shades - What in the world do you want me to say to that?

God must have taken extra time working on you because you are so perfect - That's the second time you've sent me that exact message, word for word and you also sent it to my roommate. Lame.

Hey purdy lady wanna chat dam you fine i wanna take u to restaurant fine wine -  Thank you but I decline.  I'm sorry, there's typos and poor grammar all up in that message.

From reading the description of your hometown it sounds like you grew up on an Indian reserve - Really? That's your message to me?               

Then there's this rant from a man who says he's glad for every choice he's made in life because it's brought him to this point in his life, a point in which he is writing me in hopes of falling in love. Firstly, sending such a message to someone you haven't even met is creepy.  Secondly, what a croc of shit.  Thirdly, he's sent me this a couple times before.  There's always a flock of people around me when I read my messages so we head straight for the jokes when I read that his name is Mo.  Mo Money Mo Problems !!! I called him Mo Money when I wrote him back. That was semi rude but again, something came over me and I let my annoyance with their messages really shine through.

The list goes on.  The joke in the house now is that chivalry is a shiny object last seen in the city of Atlantis before it sank, that's how much we make fun of my personal accounts.  There's no getting around them I guess, other than continuing to read and delete these absurdities. 

There very well could be some legitimate concerted efforts at reaching out to me but it's not visible in their efforts and as a woman who is serious about her search, it's all very exhausting.

Want to know what else is exhausting, whirlwind first dates that go nowhere.  They grind my gears.  Anthony, my date from the other night, has fallen off the face of the earth, well my earth anyways.  I didn't make the cut apparently and that's quite alright.  I went into that date with zero expectations and came out of it with free drinks and a bottle of Bailey's.  Score.  I'm not disappointed. I prefer to stay away from people who are that wishy washy that they go from one thing to the next, say one thing and repeat another in a matter of what seems to be nano seconds.  Inconsistency is very unattractive.

I guess dating is quite like the legal principle of Caveat Emptor, let the buyer beware. Under this doctrine, "the buyer could not recover from the seller for defects on the property that rendered the property unfit for ordinary purposes. The only exception was if the seller actively concealed latent defects or otherwise made material misrepresentations that amount to fraud".  I won't even comment on defects and misrepresentations.  I can be here for a while with my stories and psychobabble.

When you're in the dating scene, unfortunately you cannot recover the time, energy or costs that go into it. You freely put yourself out there which means you're freely putting yourself in love and harm's way. There are tell tale signs of the latter so it is up to the autonomous dater to be aware of such signs.  To our misfortune however, the world houses some people who are good at working around that. 

LCxo

MORNING GLORY... and I'm not talking about the muffin

Lcpod

Love Like a Sunset by Phoenix (Part 2)

Forget child proof medication bottles, let's make them adult proof so that I will never "accidentally" take my sister's prescription sinus medication thinking they were anaprox and sleep for 2 days.  How about that!

Still heavily sedated and feeling the adverse effects of ingesting someone else's medication, I am not coherent enough to write a post.  However, I am articulate enough for pictures.  So here goes it.

I recently read a book called "Ignore Everybody: And 39 Other Keys to Creativity" by Hugh MacLeod.  I read it, loved it, and read it again right after.  It lists 39 roadblocks on your way to achieving whatever defines your creativity.  For me, it’s fashion.  It talks about how to avoid the water cooler gang and how everyone has their own Mount Everest they need to conquer. 

"You don't know if your idea is any good the moment it's created.  Neither does anyone else.  The most you can hope for is a strong gut feeling that it is.  And trusting your feelings is not as easy as the optimists say it is.  There's a reason why feelings scare us"

At its very core, it’s a book we all can relate to, definitely myself so I highly recommend it.

What it teaches you, or shall I say, what it makes you realize, is that you don’t have to re-invent the wheel, you don’t have to have some colossal, universally suitable idea for it to be grand.  The grandeur of your idea lies in your belief in it.  And who better to write a book about something small turning into something big than Mr. MacLeod himself.

He started out doodling on the back of business cards as he waited in a bar or restaurant for friends or a date.  People thought it to be quirky but somehow his popularity grew and he’s that guy that turned his creativity into his bread and butter.  Amazing growth.

Make sure to check out his blog.  He's a straight shooter. 

http://gapingvoid.com/

LCxo