Publicity....

I've grown up in an era where people explore their sexuality on the profile pictures of their myspace or facebook accounts, in an era where bad nights and alcohol mishaps are forever immortalized in the zeros and ones of computer file, breakups are blasted across pseudo-"newsfeeds" and first sexual encounters start in chat rooms rather than bedrooms.

I sometimes wonder how this has changed the way feel for one another. Is the Internet helping our relationships or hurting them?

As a woman with family and friends strewn around the world I have always been an advocate of the world wide web. I've had every major Internet network profile that has been popular in the last ten years, from ICQ and MSN to LiveJournal, Myspace and Facebook, I have been there and done that.

But when my most recent relationship fell to shreds, I got a little worried about what my forthright Internet use meant to my emotional state. Of course, I did what any vindictive Internet-era girl would do and skipped egging his car to leave nasty comments (well just one comment...posted over and over about 25 times) all over his "wall". And damn...did it ever feel good.

I dreaded removing my relationship status, for so long I was the lucky girl who owned the profile photo of her and her handsome boyfriend kissing before the Eiffel Tower... but a mere month later I was walking wounded in front of my closest friends and almost forgotten acquaintances. Surprisingly instead of the wave expected embarrassment I was touched and consoled by comforting messages of encouragement.
But months later the story is a little different...

I mean, I admit that I still Google even some of my ex-ex-boyfriends. I still look up old crushes from time to time, sneak peeks at their new lives (and sometimes wives). But is it healthy?

I sometimes feel jealous to think that there was an era when breaking up meant that you didn't have to face a glowing green circle showing you that she or he is online. I resent the women who could walk away and have it be done with over and gone...out of sight and out of mind. Women who didn't have to be reminded of the existence of the jawline that made them weak in the knees every time there was a photo update on so-and-so's page.

And while I envy them, I wonder if the Internet provides us the opportunity to make sure that there are indeed no unanswered questions in life... letting us catalogue our "what ifs" into neat contact groups.

I wonder if the safety of being behind a computer screen takes away from our true knowledge and experience of life's relationship moments. Little things like finding out that the boy in science class really has a crush on you... how much of that thrill is lost when its typed in a chat room rather whispered in the flesh? It scares me to think that I may have kids who have Internet sex before they experience the real thing, and how that may change their experience of it.

I suppose the connection of the web has its ups and its downs. While we have more opportunities to connect more than ever, perhaps we are corrupting and taking advantage of the very thing that truly connects us to each other : our ability to feel with one another in the presence of one another.

I guess at the end of the day, while I support the Internet and all its advancements I will forever and above all else advocate experiencing meaningful moments face to face rather than face to screen.

Quote of the Day...

"I think you should have a meaningful one night relationship."

-- my boss

Dearest Gentlemen....

Please, pay attention.

I do not understand why when I mention that I am a yoga teacher or dancer, a large majority of men are inclined to respond with something along the lines of,

"So, you must be pretty flexible, eh?"

What exactly are you expecting the response to be?

"Oh yes! I should show you how wide I can spread my legs! Why don't you come over later and I will demonstrate in my bedroom!"

Now really...

If I met an investment banker, lawyer or doctor and upon hearing his occupation would respond with , "So you must have a pretty big savings account, eh?" I would be labeled a materialistic gold-digger. So why is it that a man seems to think that he can get away with a comment like that without seeming like an objectifying ass?

Here is a news flash for you...

A woman who choses to pursue any occupation that increases flexibility or fitness isn't doing so so that she can be better in bed (although I am sure many enjoy the benefits in this area). So when you meet a dancer, yoga or pilates instructor, gymnast, etc, please do not consider her choice of occupation or hobby to be an invitation to your sexual inquires.

If you really want to know, learn some subtlety and class and you might be lucky enough to have your questions answered first hand...

Thats all.

psst..

I have a new camera...

Tee's and Quotes...

Highlights from this weekend...

"Broke is the new BLACK" -- T Shirt on Queen St

"Sticks and stones will break my bones, but Haters never hurt me." --T Shirt on Queen St

"Club Sandwiches...NOT Seals" --T Shirt in Kensington Market

"Only needy and ugly people are in relationships, nice people have to wait for the right one." Calvin

"Is that a baby on his back or just baby legs?" Calvin

A shopping tale....

One of the many blessings here has been that my Vancouverite friend and colleague David has also moved to Toronto. Too add to it, his equally fabulously gay friend Calvin has flown out to Toronto to visit. So I joined them for my first visit to the Kensington Market.

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Word of advice: NEVER shop with gay men.

Not only are they the most convincing judges of potential purchases, they have an unequivocal talent at getting you to buy something.

A large reason for the purchase of my first MuiMuis was due to a gay salesman. This guy managed to compliment just how good the shoes looked, convince me that it was a smart purchase because the shoes were "timeless" and "every girl needs a pair of classy black heels" all the while talking to me as if I was most stupid woman alive for not buying them that instant. It was one of the most impressive guilt trips of my life, complete with 360 degree eye rolls punctuated by disgusted grunts. This guy made me feel so bad about myself that I actually bought the shoes.

Only a gay man (and perhaps the most passive aggressive of divas) can multitask attitudes with such talent.

So, fast-forward to Friday afternoon: I am in Kensington Market with David and Calvin, and Calvin keeps buzzing in my ear, "This is Kensington Market, and we're shopping you have to buy SOMETHING." The comments flood my ear without stop, I'd pick up the smallest of trinkets, and there he would be "...buy SOMETHING", a pair of ridiculous glasses "...buy SOMETHING", a fur jacket "...buy SOMETHING" a lamp, "...buy SOMETHING."

It got to a point where my inner shopaholic (who has been on a shopping diet) just...couldn't...take...it...ANYMORE!! So at last, one fabulous see-through boho blouse later (purchased for a steal! $18 at a vintage store), Calvin finally shut up.

But it was upon getting home that I realized the next gay-shopping truth: their advice is priceless. Not only is that blouse oh-so-wonderful on its own, now a myriad of skirts which were previously matchless now have their prefect lacy-boho mate . Much in the same way my MuiMuis opened a plethora of fashion possibilities, my new blouse opens fashion doors that were previously in-accessible.

In conclusion, while gay men may be toxic to my bank account, it seems that my wardrobe could always use a little of their influence.

Favorite Things...

There are endless laughs at the"Best of Craigslist"

Check it out, click here.

I laughed till people gave me dirty looks....good times.

Shoot the moon...

Today this Craigslist posting inspired me...

In recent relationships I have often become frustrated by people's adverse reactions to my optimism. I suppose that I could consider myself to be a glass half full kind of girl, a dreamer and someone who really believes in manifestation. I have always figured that I can't get what I want if I don't know what it is.

And its true, sometimes I go out and quiz jewellery salesmen at Tiffany's, sussing out my perfect engagement ring, while being single and a good decade before even considering engagement. Which I admit, is a little extreme, silly and earns nothing but resentment from the diamond sales folk,but hey... one can dream right? After all, I should know early whether 1.5 carats would be enough or if 2 is nessecary....(jokes...kind of)

I've always been picky in life. If I go out and I want champagne and they aren't serving it, I won't drink, simple as that. With inclinations as anal as that, I figure if I plan to be successful and satisfied, I need to do just that: plan it.

That means I dream big with wild abandon. I believe in manifestation, the "Secret", law of attraction whatever you want to call it, I truly believe it works. I think that our successes start as small seeds, little notions of directions we'd like to see ourselves travel in, destinations that we would like to arrive at. And the more you know about where you want to end up the more easily you can take the appropriate path (scenic, less travelled, direct or even short cut) to get there.

Now that's not to say that I think you an sit on a roach infested couch, close you eyes and "visualize yourself in your BRAND NEW CAR!!" a-la-Rhonda Burns' Secret and it will happen. You need to put other wheels into motion, there are other laws in the universe too...the law of action being a big important one. You need to get up off that couch find a job and get on your way to that car, but that process starts with some kind of dream, some desire to act within oneself. So, it's important to dream, to have clear ideas of the things you want in life and love (and diamonds).

And really...

the bigger the dream, the better the results.

T Dot...

Finally, I hung my shelves today, a small yet personally significant (final) step to moving in. Moving in not only to my first apartment, but to my new city. A transition that is not as easy as I may have hoped it to be.

Being relatively well traveled, or at least, accustomed to traveling I assumed that moving to this city wouldn't be unlike traveling somewhere for a longer period of time. Yet this really isn't the case. For some reason there is so much more loneliness to moving, little things are what I miss.

Like calling someone just because...

Like having more than one option for things to do on a Friday night..

Like feeling home in company of a friend...

Like knowing there is someone's shoulder to cry on that is within physical reach...

Those are the small yet essential things that I find are really making things a little more challenging than expected.

Being new means that I have to pursue friendship with a new gusto. Every connection that feels nice means that I throw out my phone number like a fisherman, desperately hoping that someone might bite and call me back. That this time I make a friend worth keeping, and when calls aren't returned, while I don't feel rejected, I can't help but feel a little more lonely.

But its not all gloomy,

This city is far more alive than Vancouver wishes it could be. I've gone out a few times and though I haven't found the exact venue that suits my taste (more on my clubbing adventures next time), I know that its out there.

I've found a fabulous little butcher shop that makes incredible sausage, a mere 5 blocks from my new pad.

My program fits like a glove, every project seems easy because it is what I want to do, what I am inspired to do. Hopefully it is something that continues...

Hopefully life will continue to bloom here and I will truly feel at home sooner rather than later.

Stepping out of the Closet...

Here is my confession.

I am a closeted hip hop lover.

If you were to peer at my iTunes you would find a ton of Fiest, Death Cab for Cutie, Flaming Lips and other indie wonders. Bands which I do love, bands which have nursed heartaches, been soundtracks for beautiful moments and tracks that are frequently my choice on quiet candle lit evenings.

But were you to look at my most frequently played list it would go something like this:

Because of You - Ne-Yo
Lost in Love - I-15
Don't Stop the Music - Riahnna
Give it to Me - Timbaland

You get the idea. So, not only do I love hip hop, I love mainstream, top-40 shake-your-booty-on-the-dance floor hip hop. And when I say love, I mean I listen to these songs like its going out of style: 10 repeats on the subway ride to school another 5 on the way to class, and indulgence mid day and a repeat on the evening commute home....and that is just one tune.

So, here is the thing. While I love these songs they make up less than 10% of music collection. Why, you ask? Because I am ashamed.

Take today for example, I was rocking the pavements walking to school as I listened to Riannah, and I bumped into a new friend. We got to talking about my iPhone (the device fueling my Riahnna dance party) when my screen shot in his direction, immediately I compulsively hid it, in shame that I may be recognized for the top 40 hip-hop addict that I am.

Now really, this is preposterous.

I've grown up with an older brother that called my music 'crap', saying that instead I should listen to the likes of Queen and Led Zepplin instead. And being that I thought my big bro was pretty cool I listened... to Incubus, Wintersleep, I tried punk rock when I dated a guy who was into it, I did the works. But nothing fit like hip hop fits. Don't get me wrong, there no one can get a road trip off to a great start like Freddy Mercury, nor is there anything like listening to Bon Jovi while washing windows.

But when I want to enjoy an otherwise mundane moment, like taking the subway, like getting ready to go out for a Saturday night, there is NOTHING like a little bit of Justin or JayZ or Timbaland. Truth be told, I am the girl who grew up in love with Micheal and Janet, I am the girl who dreamed about hip hop while confined to tondues in ballet class....through and through.... the truth is I LOVE THIS SHIT!!!

A woman's right to chose...shoes that is

In reading my school's feminist magazine (which I do plan to write for) I got to thinking.

Somewhere among the glossy pages filled with interesting chick fueled articles a pattern started to emerge. A pattern denouncing the consumerism of our era, and a corporate driven desire to 'look good' and be fashionable.

But really, since when did feminism become synonymous with a rejection of femininity? Simply because skirts and flowing fabrics are paraded down runways and sold in designer stores, because Karl Lagerfeld choses a model to his taste instead of a woman's (or even the taste of an average man, for that matter) we should reject the entire fashion industry?

Ridiculous, I say.

For me there is nothing more empowering than walking the streets in an banging outfit that just screams sexy, nothing like feeling fabulous about a well moisturized face, with the right shade of lipstick and a new oh-so-volumous mascara. The sidewalks then become my runways, regardless of whether Karl would approve or not.

I don't think that in order to feel empowered about my rights as woman I need to reject the very thing that makes me feminine. And yes, I believe that make up, fashion, flowing fabrics and stilettos are all a part of my femininity. Which isn't to say that there aren't other women out there who feel just as feminine and empowered in a pair of overalls or baggy jeans, all I'm saying is, that is just not the path for me (and trust me I tired it... a whole year of Tommy Hilfiger overalls did nothing but create a pile of unflattering photos).

To me feminism is empowerment, its about a woman's right to create herself without feeling pressured to behave a certain way or become a certain version of herself. And so, while women should have the right to walk away from the design industry and reject mascara, I should maintain my right to daydream about tomorrow's outfit and my next perfect pair of heels.

The truth is the women's movement is about the right to chose, and whether its and abortion or a pair of designer heels, we should be able to do so without discrimination from men, and especially without discrimination from each other.

Lets talk about it...

because its pretty much confirmed.

My camera is gone.

Some where between leaving Vancouver and arriving in Toronto my camera went missing. And I have gone over it every last detail... called every venue at which it may have been left, but so far no avail. It seems I have exhausted all avenues, and my Nikon, my dear darling D40 has left me for good.

And so my heart aches.

I walk around in this new place, and involuntarily compose photographs. I see a chinese man with long whiskers selling lychee on Spadina and think of how I would crouch down low and zoom in to capture the hunch of his backbone. I parade down the streets dancing behind samba bands in school pride parades and I dream of running, as other fellow students, around the event, up on benches, on flatbeds of trucks take pictures from high and low to immortalize my first Frosh week.

But I can't, all I can do is crave to feel the snap of a shutter, and the thrill of a capture. All I can do is miss my camera, left behind, like the rest of my life.