#sorrynotsorry

Tomorrow, I will become a Master of Fashion Studies...

It's about fucking time.

But, like, not really.

#sorrynotsorry it took me three years instead of two.  This third year has truly been a blessing.

I've become a firm believer in everything happening for a reason.  Or am I just telling myself this until the next time I crash and burn?

Whatever.

#sorrynotsorry for finally being happy.

You smile and think how much you've changed...

The The - "This Is The Day"

Well you didn't wake up this morning 'cause you didn't go to bed
You were watching the whites of your eyes turn red

 The calendar on your wall was ticking the days off
You've been reading some old letters
You smile and think how much you've changed
All the money in the world couldn't buy back those days

[Chorus]
You pull back the curtain
And the sun burns into your eyes
You watch a plane flying
Across a clear blue sky
This is the day, your life will surely change
This is the day, when things fall into place

You could have done anything, if you wanted
And all your friends and family think that you're lucky
But the side of you they'll never see
Is when you're left alone with your memories
That hold your life together, like glue

Everyday, I'm Tinderin'...

Anyone who has ever read my various posts has realized, at least by now, that I enjoy finding men in the laziest way possible (and the only way that doesn't require putting on pants and/or showering).

Online dating is good, because you get a brief (occasionally made-up) idea of what you're dealing with but, unless you are willing to shell out some money that is better spent on pad thai per month, your stalking habits are pretty visible to the stalkee in question.

Enter Tinder.  A perfect time-waster when you run out of lives during a game of Candy Crush.

Tinder is a phone app in which you can pick and choose who you find "attractive" and maybe, just maybe, form some sort of human connection.  By swiping left on your potential interest's picture, you are most definitely not down.  By swiping right, you open yourself up to romance and vulnerability.  By "liking" someone, there is the possibility that they could "like" you too and you can actually message them.  The anonymity of Tinder is great because hearts won't be broken if the feeling ain't mutual.  But Tinder is the epitome of "judging a book by its cover".  Forget learning about someone's interests via a mini-novel... Personality be damned, give me your handsome face and tailored suit!

Yeah, I went there.  I don't take this seriously, so why should I pretend to be a non-judgmental saint?  Below are the criteria as to how I choose my gentleman, from one shallow ginger to the rest of the shallow world...

I will like you if...
- The first question I ask myself is, "Do I want to punch you in the face?" (Meaning - does your smirk rub me the wrong way? why are you leaning against that car? why can't you take a better selfie? why are you making out with that girl who looks like your sister? etc...)  If the answer is "no", then...
- Do you look like you can buy me a steak dinner?  If the answer is "yes", then...
- Do we have friends in common?  If the answer is "yes" and said friend isn't a complete jerk face, then sure, I'll bite... because the company people keep says a lot about a person (sometimes).
- Do you resemble some sort of celebrity I would like to bang?  Well, duh, if "yes", then...
- Do I like the look of your face?  If "yes"...

Congratulations!  I will be damn sure to swipe right for you (or at least intend to until my finger gets confused and swipes in the wrong direction... the sentiments were there!).  However, if we do match and you start sending me dirty messages, I will have to block you.  I like to keep it classy sometimes.

I don't always follow these rules.  Especially if there is man cross-over from my online dating site of choice and this wonderful little app.  But, Tinder allows us to be the assholes we always wanted to be.

True love isn't blind, guys, it's staring right back at us, shirtless and grinning, waiting to swiped right... into your heart.

Snow-pocalypse... Part 27

You would think, as a Canadian and stuff, that I would be accustomed to large gusts of snow blowing in my face.  But no.  It never gets easier.  And I never seem to learn that proper footwear makes a hell of a difference.

You see, I left my more appropriate footwear back in Canada because, as I told my mother before I left, New York barely gets snow.  Hah.  So there I was, slipping and sliding five blocks to the post office and Starbucks in a pair of Frye boots... probably the sturdiest, most winter resistant boots I currently possess.

Waiting to cross the street, I hear a woman next to me say, "Thank you for walking in front of me.  You helped me see all of the slippery spots."  You're welcome, stranger... because you would have definitely have benefited by me falling on my ass.  Your ass would have been saved.  My ass would have been bruised and soggy.  Again, I'm happy I could unintentionally help you out, at the cost of my own (potential) humiliation and pain.

Asses aside, my sexy sleeping-bag coat and knit pom-pom hat did not cover enough territory on my tender body.  Glasses covered, legs covered, bangs covered.  The snow had won.  The snow had sunken my spirits and turned what could have been a mere half-hour outing into something wayyyyy longer. 

Thankfully, my ass and my coffee made it back home unharmed.  And then the world never saw this ginger again...  At least, until Thursday at work, where warmth and happiness are found in blow-dryers and french-bulldogs named Pancake.

God Help The Girl...

This song has been rattling around in my brain for the past couple of weeks... It never ceases to make me smile, as I feel we can all relate to it in one way or another...

The rest of the band's stuff is absolutely gorgeous.  I highly recommend checking it out.

God Help The Girl by God Help The Girl (Stuart Murdoch's, of Belle & Sebastian, side project)

"There is no way I'm looking for a boyfriend
There is no way I'm looking for a scene
I need to save some dough
I'm a working girl, you know
I'll fend attention off I keep to myself

I love my room, I'm getting used to sleeping
Some nights I really like to lie awake
I hear the midnight birds
The message in their words
The dawn will touch me in a way a boy could never touch
Their promise never meant so much to me

You have been warned, I'm warned to be contrary
Backward at school, I wrote from right to left
Teacher never cared for me
Preacher said a prayer for me
God help the girl, she needs all the help she can get

I sit for hours just waiting for his phone call
I'll leave the chocolate hidden in the fridge
I'll play his messages
Analyze his intonation
Please stop me there, I'm even boring myself

I think of him when I'm doing the dishes
I think of him while looking in the sink
This ain't no play on words
My love for him is absurd
If he gave me a sign I'd think about it for a week
I'd build it up and then I'd turn him down

You have been warned, I'm warned to be contrary
Backward at school, I wrote from right to left
Teacher never cared for me
Preacher said a prayer for me
God help the girl, she needs all the help she can get"

Here's a link to the song itself:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lAZOmYUh6wY

Enjoy and Happy Sunday!

Got 99 resolutions, but I won't fulfill one...

Hello 2014. I know you expect me to lose weight, find inner peace and shop less, but, like, shut the fuck up.

I've realized that making a resolution, or five, is almost as silly as joining the gym in January. I can barely keep personal life goals in the middle of the year... how am I supposed to keep them at the beginning?

I know. I need to turn a new leaf and better myself. And I want to. So bad. I just think setting yourself up for disappointment for 12 months straight won't do any wonders to your sanity.  And as someone with limited sanity to begin with, I would prefer to preserve it as long as I can.

Ugh, I know. I'm the worst. I'm sure that anyone who is reading this is thinking of me as a fat slob with commitment issues (half true) but I know(ish) how I function now and I know that I don't do well when I bite off more than I can chew.  If anything, 2013 was a long, dreary lesson in realizing that. I hate making promises I can't keep, even to myself. I like simple, achievable goals. So, this will not be the year of the Resolution, but the year of the Occasional Goal.

Here is a list of Occasional Goals I will try, but not pressure myself, to achieve:
- Finish thesis - This needs to be done. It's not so much a goal as a necessity.
- Make resumé beautiful so employers will love me - This also needs to be done. Or else I will be sad and broke.  Employers do not take baked goods as bribes.
- Find job with beautiful resumé - See above.
- Stop buying shoes (and other things)- I have no space for anything right now. Space is a surprisingly good way to limit purchases of all kinds.
- Do groceries more often - GrubHub is getting to know me too well. It has an intimate relationship with my debit card that needs to be stopped.
- Occasionally go to the gym - Self-explanatory. Once a month is good enough for me.

These are a few Goals I can think of right now.  More will be added, or some will be taken away.  Long-term though, I want to be happier and less crazy. But this involves a whole lot of self-improvement that comes from the baby-steps above. I might make a timeline for myself, I might not, but, ultimately, I don't want to pressure myself. Nothing good comes from pressure except stress and mass food consumption.

So, here I am. Looking 2014 square in the eye. I don't know what this year will bring and, quite frankly, I don't care. As long as I can look back and say to myself, "Good job. You did things."

I don't want to reflect on the next year with what I didn't do because, honestly, I'm so over feeling like a fat slob with commitment issues.

A Letter

Dear Self,

What are you doing?

You need to take a deep breath, step back and give yourself a long, hard look in the mirror.

Sure, it seems that your heart has been used as a punching bag by seemingly emotionally unavailable man-boys, but don't sit there and take it.  Wallowing over things that would never have been with a bottle of whiskey won't solve anything.  Passive aggressively emoting through self-depricating humour won't solve anything either.

You want your heart to harden like you always say?  Don't give any fucks.  Don't let anyone make you feel less than stellar.  Don't let anyone make you question your sense of worth.

Yes, this year has actually been awful and rock-bottom hurts like a bitch.  But isn't that incentive enough to make the most of your next year?  Forget those eyes that refused to return "I love you" and forget those words that cut like a knife.  Erase the broken promises, the drunken confessions and the failed "what ifs".  You are able to start fresh.

Stop focusing on what's temporary and begin to embrace what's permanent.  You are what's permanent, even if you don't see it right now.  Your family and your friends who have loved and supported you through the worst of times are permanent.  Everything else is just white noise, a distraction from what really matters.  And girl, you've been letting it distract you for way too long.

It's time to let go and turn to a new page.  In fact, go buy a new fucking notebook.  Your old one is only stained with ink, negativity and bad feelings.  It's good to reflect occasionally, but don't get dragged down that rabbit hole of misery.

It's a new year and a new adventure.  You can breathe now.  You can feel again.

You are free.

Sincerely,
The part of you that is still, surprisingly, optimistic

Why I can't function properly anymore... (or, Life would be easier if I didn't have feelings)

I am in limbo, at a crossroads, whatever...

And I don't like it.

I'll be wrapping up my MA shortly and, as I'm sure anyone who knows me has realized, I have no fucking clue what's coming next.

I have ideas, swimming around my brain, and the freedom to do as I please, but I still can't fight the feeling that I am, possibly, fucked (and not in a good way).  This sounds melodramatic and I know I have the support of family and friends... I just can't seem to accept it.  Even if I have a safe place at home with my parents while I sort things out, there are too many "X" factors, too many unknowns, to breathe easier.  I like knowing things, I like having a game plan.  I mean, isn't this what threw me off the first time?

The thing is, everyone assures me that it will all work out and that's nice, because what else are you supposed to say to someone who is on the verge of a panic attack?  But, what if it doesn't?  Suppose I'm not actually as qualified as I think I am?  Suppose I didn't branch out enough when I should have?  Suppose I'm just not that good enough and, along with everyone else, I have been kidding myself into thinking otherwise?

Unfortunately, I wear my emotions on my sleeve and I've become way too introspective for my own good.  So, I spend my days with a clenched fist, worried eyes and a brain racing with "what ifs" and self-doubt.  I want to turn it off so badly and focus on my immediate tasks and interactions, but I can't.  The future is looming and no amount of therapy or alcohol can keep it at bay.

I have a thesis to finish, looming future... come back in two weeks!

I also hate repressing my feelings.  When you're potentially leaving in less than a month, feelings are the last thing you need.  You don't want to be selfish and give expectation to something that has a definite expiry date, but you also end up driving yourself crazy by keeping everything bottled up.  It just sucks because I like feelings, especially good ones.

So, here I am.  Sitting in my tin can of a room, listening to "calming" (i.e. sad) music and silently freaking out.  I want to shut my brain off for a bit and focus on my important tasks, I want someone to respond to my cries for employment and I want to know what is happening a month from now, but no one said life was fair.  I'm looking for an "easy" button to push when I should be building it, and I'll be lucky if someone gives me the right wires or an instruction manual.

I guess the only thing I can do right now is take a deep breath and keep going, right?

Why I Should Be 500 lbs... (or, Chubby Girls Can Find Boyfriends Too)

I thought about writing another dating post, but then I realized that it was time to write about something I really enjoy: food.

Anyone who knows me, knows that I really like food.

I will eat anything, anywhere, at any time.

In fact, I like food so much that I just bought a Kate Spade donut sweatshirt (but it's pretty freakin' adorable, so that too).

But, it's funny, even though I sometimes (all the time) complain about my body, I refuse to diet.  I'm not sure why, but maybe the thought of taking something away that I enjoy is, like, the worst idea ever.  Even though I can't eat as much as I used to (because my body will burst into millions of tiny pieces), I still require a meal that has, at least, two courses and, let me just say, a salad will never satisfy me the way a burger can.

I like to think this borderline obsession with food has become a quirk of mine.  Sitting at a Ukrainian restaurant with my new Polish friend, he commented how cute it was that I loved food so much.  Of course, this was after I mentioned that I would eat an entire pie if given the chance.  Are girls really that afraid to talk about food these days in a gluttonous manner?  And, in a culture filled with weight anxiety, has this actually become a treat to the ears?

And I'm not talking about food fetishes (I like food, but not thaaaaat much).  In a strange way, food, for me, is a real bonding experience.  It's the one subject I can openly talk about and only sound halfway ridiculous while doing it.  You can share it, make it together, eat it together, etc...  I just really enjoy the social aspect of it (unless I lock myself in my room and eat Chinese all by myself while watching "Say Anything").  And everyone understands it, unlike when I go off on fashion things. 

I'm also not a food snob.  I'll eat anything from a gourmet meal to street meat, no fucks given.  But I also have issues savouring things that are supposed to be savoured.  I eat quickly, mostly because I'm super hungry and/or excited.  I label this as an "issue" because, at a dinner party, who are you supposed to talk to when you've finished and everyone else is still eating?  You realize not just that you're more than a fast eater, you are also unskilled at understanding people with food stuffed in their mouths.  Subtitles extra.

I don't think a good meal is a waste of money (even if it does end up in the porcelain palace a couple of hours later).  In fact, there is nothing better than a good meal, in my opinion (besides shoes and maaaaaybe sex).  If done right, a good meal can leave you in a wonderful, euphoric state (granted, this depends on what sort of pants you wear).  A good meal is something you talk about for years to come, to anyone who will listen.

I've started playing a game with people, asking what they would order for their last meal before they're executed and, it's funny, so many people, including myself, go back to a homemade dish.  Food creates nostalgia, it has the power to bring people together and, in some cases, it even comforts.

While this might not be "the food for thought" you were looking for, I can tell you this...

I love food and I ain't giving no fucks if you try to tell me otherwise.

I know what you are, but what am I?

Write... delete... write... delete...

How do you write a dating post without sounding like fabulous lunatic, Carrie Bradshaw?

While this will hardly be my only post on the subject, and trust me, there will be many documenting my adventures and misadventures (there are a lot of those fuckers), I want to develop a foundation of sorts for what I'm dealing with here.  I want you, the reader (if there are any), to understand where I'm coming from, what I'm feeling and why I do the shit I do.

Think of this as a sort of prologue.

I'll admit it.  I've become a serial dater.  It just kind of happened.  I discovered the magic of online dating and used it as a man-buffet.  At first, for entertainment.  And then, I realized my reasons for doing this ran much deeper than a free meal and good make-out sesh.  I wasn't looking for anything serious because, let's face it, when I started this hobby, I was still pretty fragile (from events that will remain unwritten until I feel like I can do so properly, which I'm not sure I ever can).  Meeting these different men wasn't so much about finding a "mate" as it was about reworking myself.  I had fallen apart and needed a way to piece myself back together, sort out who I was.

This sounds awful, depending on men to make myself feel whole again.  I totally realize that.  But, honestly, I feel like it's much more complicated than it looks.  Let me explain.

1) As I said before, I was not looking for a serious relationship, but I also wasn't just looking for a fuck-buddy either.  I wanted a friend.  Lots of friends.  I wanted to keep myself busy with all of these friends.  Going back home after being away for nearly six years... I had very few friends left in the city.  Except for my bestie and a few old high school buddies that I saw once or twice, I had no one.  And, in a city like Montreal, making friends after being gone for six years doesn't come easy, especially when you've changed and so many have stayed the same.

I knew that if I didn't entertain myself somehow, I would go crazy.  I would sit and think of everything that happened and be sad and hurt and never recover because I would spend the whole summer wallowing in self-pity and M&M's.  And that happened often.  But with these new suitors to grab food, drinks, movies, etc... with when my bestie was occupied (or sick of my moping), I distracted myself.  A distraction that came with little commitment and, usually, a fun activity (or sexy times).

2) No one ever turned down a compliment.  As someone who had suffered a blow to whatever self-esteem, self-respect, self-anything they had, I needed to try and understand what was so great about myself.  And when you receive a flood of invitations from potential suitors, using positive words that you hadn't heard in about 6 months, you latch on to the idea that someone, out there, might appreciate you for whatever reason.

As someone who struggles to take a compliment, receiving a flood of them from strangers (or eventually lovers...) is confusing and kind of nice.  The quick and easy confidence boost I needed to realize that I was still everything that I thought I wasn't.  As I said before, this sounds kind of bad, but sometimes, in a dark place, you take what you can get and go with it.  My therapist had no complaints with my logic, fyi.

3)  I was lost.  I didn't really know who I was anymore so I felt that this was a good opportunity to test out different facets of myself.  Interacting with these guys, who had no idea about what I was, what I am and what I wanted to be... it almost acted as a trial run for what aspects of myself worked best.  There were remnants of me in each meeting, each action, but I had a chance to start fresh in a subtle way.  Be the person that faded away, but better.

I feel like testing the waters on my "multiple personalities" has really helped me heal... in a strange way.  I'm no Frankenstein's monster, stitched together with coarse thread and feelings, but I feel like through piecing together my trials and tribulations, I've become someone I can tolerate again.

(Side note: I really wanted to order Chinese while writing this post.  Like right now.)

As I continue to date in New York, the blows and the successes haven't gotten easier.  I still have trouble accepting rejection as a "it's them, not you" scenario, I still struggle with how to sum up my reasoning for online dating (because sometimes "man-buffet" doesn't really cut it) when asked and, more recently, I have trouble approaching my past with my present and potential future.  But, what I do know, is that you have to roll with the punches and use each situation to your advantage.  Living in the past won't help, but being afraid of the future doesn't do much either. 

How To Survive Your First Gala

So, I attended my first gala event on Tuesday night, as an "assistant" to my photographer friend.

Let me tell you...

I have never seen so many "Glamazons" in my life.  I felt like a hobbit (in heels).  It was glorious and depressing.

Everyone was dressed to the nines.  Again, even though I was put together and wore tights, I still felt like a hobbit (in heels).  Actually no, a hobbit in heels attending a funeral, because all black is always a winner.

At first, I ran around a bit for my friend.  Grabbing stuff from her bag, getting her drinks, feeling generally useful.  And then... she let me off into the wild... by myself...

It's safe to say I took full advantage of the open-bar (but not too much advantage), but even after a couple of glasses of wine, I still felt obscenely awkward standing around by myself.  No one wants to rub shoulders with a disgruntled grad student/assistant.  And yes, I could have befriended one of the many well-dressed men and maybe have found myself a wealthy husband, but, again, I was drowning in a crowd of glitter, cleavage and evening gowns.

I totally get that the best company you can keep is yourself but, like, there is a time and a place to stand alone talking to yourself and it is not a fancy gala.  People can sniff out your insecurities and then they avoid you like the plague.  Even the hors-d'oeuvres got tired after a while.  I can only eat so many cheese balls and consume so much chocolate fountain deliciousness.

And then I saw it...

Bored and drunk, I sauntered over to the silent auction table.  The only thing that was remotely affordable for this broad came in the form of a Rebecca Minkoff purse.  After chatting, and getting easily persuaded, by the auction monitor, I decided to give in to my materialistic desires and put down a bid.  Because, why not?  I wouldn't win anyway.

After venturing back and forth for a bit, grabbing another glass of wine and feeling sorry for myself, I decided to leave before I stumbled over someone's gown or accidentally elbowed someone in their designer breasts.  I gathered my things, said my farewells to my paparazzi pal and, of course, checked on my precious Rebecca.  No one had bid against me.  I was fucked.  Handing over the bag in exchange for my worn-out credit card, the table monitor congratulated me on my win.  Half ecstatic, half anticipating the regret I would feel with my hang-over the next day, I accepted my new swag.

A swift entrance into the world of philanthropy, sore feet and four glasses of wine later, I had barely survived my first gala.  But I did learn that one should always befriend the coat-check attendant.  By bringing him water, I garnered an all-access pass to cut the line when I needed to grab something.

There was no one to smirk at when the violinist on the bar started playing "The Final Countdown", no one to make snarky comments to when some American Idol alumni and her two male dancers belted out je-ne-sais-quois and no one to stop me when I bid on a designer purse...

But whatever, open bar and snacks.

Beauty and the Blockade

Lately, I've been thinking a lot about the idea of "beauty". Maybe these thoughts emerged after writing a post for an internship on model Cameron Russell, who is an advocate for self-love (but, like, she's a model... so I'm still struggling with her messages). Or, from researching fashion and age for my thesis and looking at lots of fabulous, old ladies on Ari Seth Cohen's street style blog "Advanced Style".

Or maybe, just maybe, I've been more aware of myself recently.

I like to think that over the years, I've become more comfortable with myself, both physically and mentally. I take what appears in the fashion media and Hollywood with a grain of salt and, at least try, to march to the beat of my own drum. I know I will never be conventionally "beautiful", but what does that even mean? I'm flawed, in terms of "conventional beauty". I have bad skin, a weird eye, I'm short, curvy and sport a pixie cut (since June... one of my friends worries that men will be turned off by this and/or wedding hairstyles won't apply to me unless I grow it back out). However, I've figured out how to work with what I have. I have bad days, like anyone else, but I've accepted that I am, despite my flaws, fairly attractive.

But, living in New York City, I always feel on display, judged and, most importantly, questioning my appeal compared to the hundreds of other women I come across each day. Especially being in an industry so taken with outer appearance, presenting myself properly, attempting to be, not even "beautiful", but mildly attractive to someone who might not necessarily know my awesome personality... It's fucking exhausting.

And now, well, ever since the spring, another factor is added into my struggle - dating. I put myself on display with an online dating profile. If we're being honest here, online dating is non-balance of 85% picture motivation and 15% personality/written motivation. The saying "don't judge a book by its cover" never signed up for OkCupid. Of course, I posted my most attractive pictures. While, most of the feedback from these men (or creeps) was positive about my appearance, I still worried that they would be disappointed with what they saw in reality. I always felt, and feel, that no amount of makeup or looking away will hide my flaws. I'm not perfect, I know that, but how will these imperfections be interpreted by a strange male?

I mostly worry because I don't know what their "standards" of "beauty" are, same goes for my professional and social life. What are they expecting and what do I give them... on the outside? Am I that jaded or insecure that I feel like everyone has these unrealistic expectations? Is beauty something we openly discuss with others or is hidden in conversations with words like cute, hot or pretty? How am I supposed to call myself or others beautiful when I don't even understand what it means? These questions roll around my mind constantly, translated into situations and insecurities.

I don't know how to process this word and I don't think I ever will. But at what point will I accept myself completely and deem myself "beautiful", both inside and, most importantly, outside?