As a child, I knew when someone loved me from the way they would say my name. You can sense the difference. I knew that my name was safe in their mouth.

One. Un. Wahad.

When you first move to the big city, everything sounds like a St.Vincent song. The halfway mark is when you face the biggest difficulties. You're tired of the party friends, the drugs you don't take, the alcohol you don't drink, and the faces that won't call you, they'll just be your best friend when you're out, give you a light if you need it, and be an acquaintance when it's daytime. They won't remember your eye colour, or your favourite brand of anything. By this point, you're pretty familiar with the city you call home, the lights that shine whenever you walk down a certain street, but you're not familiar with who your friends are, can't explain the sudden drama or lack there of in your life and left wondering if this is really what you want. But you never really know what you want anyway. You're a twenty something, the future is to be dealt with later, or never, depends if you like looking at life as an empty abyss or planning it. Depending on your situation and how much support you have around you, this is quite possibly the most crucial time. The St.Vincent song no longer resonates in your head alongside your footsteps when you're walking. You start to figure out that you're pretty much going to be un-easy for the next little while unless something fantastic comes along. If it does then great, if it doesn't then shit, right? By the completion of your first year, as the hair on your arms rises when the crisp winter air comes into effect, the whole thing feels like an Iron & Wine song, on loop and you can't do anything about that.

January 19th will mark the one year anniversary of this blog. Unlike when I marked the six month anniversary back in July, I won't be counting down my favourite posts. 2009 has been by far the most difficult and interesting year of my life, after all, much has happened in such a short span of time. Some changes were documented to my dear readers, some however, stay hidden inside my basement, locked and revealed only at my most vulnerable hour. What have I learned from this year filled with life lessons? Plenty. I grew up too quickly. My mama never said don't grow up too fast, on the contrary, she wanted me to grow up fast, but my friends told me to wait. I took part in many things I never imagined myself partaking in, adapted to living life independently, witnessed the ugliness of human beings I cared about, developed a paranoia of having false things being spread about me, proved loyalty, switched jobs, distanced myself away from many people, stopped planning and caring about many things, analyzed every human being I met, and my impatience and longing to leave this country has surpassed what I have ever imagined. Why? That's a discussion that will take place another time, because I will continue to write on this blog, so don't worry about it.

Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for reading The Yuppie Activist, whether you're a new or old reader, whether you love it or hate it, whether you understand the posts or not, either way, you're visiting the site.

Six months of Yuppie Activism

Sunday July 19th will mark the six month anniversary of the Yuppie Activist's inception. Six months of entertainment, of ideas, critiques, adventures, of hinting at my identity (oh if you know, you know) and so on. For those of you who weren't aware, this blog follows a pattern. The name in itself is an oxymoron, even the subtitle makes you wonder and therefore, I have made sure that posts follow this pattern most of the time, but if you weren't clever enough to get that, don't worry, it's not really obvious and what matters is you're still reading, even if you're leaving lame anonymous comments in an attempt to aggravate my opinionated self. For those of you who have been following since its debut, thanks. I'm happy to be receiving girl crush emails here and there and nice comments. Admirers are always good to stroke an already large ego, but seriously, if you take the time to write me, expect a response. For those of you who are new, bienvenue. You'll enjoy it here and if you don't laugh, check your sense of humour because there must be something seriously wrong with it.

Without further a due, to celebrate this six month "milestone" (in high school years), I've decided to put together a list of the posts with the most:

1. My first post introduced you to the Yuppie Activist. You learn my eye colour, my education, my language skills, my sleeping habits and more.
2. At various instances throughout this post, you learn I'm left wing, although I think the blog name gave that away. Here's how I plan to solve the Middle Eastern conflict for example.
3. Furthermore, if you follow me on Twitter, you realize I'm always caught in the middle of public domestics (not domestic violence), so I created a tool that makes them even more public
4. You've probably also noticed I like introducing you to talented people such as Stefania, Ashley, Daniela and Renata.
5. Meeting these people makes the Yuppie wise behind her years, although she's 23, her mind is like 30, see here, here, and here.
6. So wise in fact that I analyzed the entire immigration and university system to bring you this
7. Wiseness comes in the form of resourceful amigos and good google search techniques. I took apart someone's attempt at presenting Barbie Ottawa neighbourhood edition
8. Enough about being wise, because this is the most clever thing ever: The Simpsons. Since it's part of my life, I incorporated it into a post that teaches you how it can relate to yours
9. The Yuppie, lover of truth and stereotypes, attempts to make you laugh all the time, however, some just can't appreciate it and hide behind a shield of anonymity when they hear the truth
10. Yuppie is also a lover of finds, remember when I found the best resume? Okay created the best resume?
11. Speaking of finding things, I found Finkelstein, Dershowitz and Chomsky's "Twitter feed"
12. Finding and discovering...remember when I destroyed Toronto's shawarma?
13. There's finding and creating, readers have followed my attempt at getting a coffee table book published, and this boy's making me famous
14. On the topic of fame, I made this video viral, or so I like to believe
15. Connoisseurship, in the form of music at LG Fashion Week
16. The art of judging, taught by the Yuppie Activist
17. Part time, I stalk, and I stalked my neighbours to get sweet photos for y'all
18. Wrote a letter to Winter
19. Use my friends' confessions as writing material as I revealed insights on women's sexual habits via text messages
20. Conversed with models
21. Showed you various ways you can play with Facebook (here, here, here, here and here)
    
22. You know from reading this my favourite colour is not Lilac
23. You also know how I ended up in Toronto
24. Provided you with a look on my friendships, or just a look into how stupid a human can be
25. I let you follow me through heartbreak, and through its reconstruction
    
26. I showed you how to throw a really dope Hipster inspired Yard Sale
27. And gave you the most honest look into how Middle-Eastern people like to do weddings.
    

Those are just some of my favourite posts, the archives are flooded with stuff you just might like, or not like. Whatever flows for you, okay? Keep reading, because I still plan to be here in another six months. Thank you for reading, thank you for participating, thank you for sharing this link.

Love love,

The Yuppie Activist

Secret thief

Hey you,
yeah you,
I just wanted to let you know that, um, well,

Even though we already do. Okay? See you around.
Thieves Like Us - Really Like to See You Again

Weddings (Middle-Eastern Remix)

If you've ever had the honour of attending an Arab wedding, you know it's a treat, a meat market treat. Weddings are a time of showing off one's wealth, no matter how cheap the family is. Wealth is also displayed through their outfits, where their entire gold fortune is featured on their necks, arms and ears. Oh and did I mention the entire blue-red-green portion of the Christian Dior eye shadow set too? Weddings are also a time for the creativity to shine, with ideas copy pasted from other weddings in order to show their rendition of "pastiche." Your daughter had a wedding singer? Mine will have a band. Yours had a DJ? Mine will have the best in town. Yours had both? Okay now you're a show off. Weddings are also home to the best complaints from the older more “Elite” ladies. They complain profusely and compare their childrens' weddings to the one they are attending. The bride is always ugly, the groom can always be thinner, the food needs salt, the table setting too crowded, the seating arrangement preposterous, the guests dressed as if they are going grocery shopping (which they relate back to the village they come from), the cake hurts my eyes, and so on. Making a scene is necessary, because this is the time they can cause backlash in front of the entire community, and everyone knows Arabs don't like anything more than to hate on each other. It's like an Arab league meeting. Enjoy the Yuppie's guide to surviving a Middle-Eastern wedding.

Scoped:
Arab weddings are divided into areas. For single men and women (if you have not admitted to dating one of the boys or girls from the community you are considered single) goes this way: The women between the ages of 17-27 (they're marrying later these days, in Arab years) are on one table and the boys between the ages of 19-30 are on another. These tables are not visible to one another because they place mothers and grandmothers of single boys in full view of both tables for obvious reasons. Some weddings have included notepads and disposable cameras for easy go back to. Okay, I made that up, but really it’s not far off from the truth. Some things to take note of regarding the scoping technique at these weddings: if you are brave enough to get up and do the walk across the dance floor to greet the bride, you're giving them a full view for scoping, by more than one lady with ferocious eyes. Avoid all eye contact, they are trying to be discreet, let them think they are. Even if you are moderately attractive, but single, you're getting scouted, just like being at the bar Winston Churchill in Montreal. Everyone gets a shot. This is when the women accumulate their thoughts about your outfit, body type, family, status, etc and sum it up to see your candidacy for their son, nephew, etc. For example, the last wedding I attended, I made the mistake of wearing black tights with a black dress, a black headpiece, black shoes and red lipstick. I mainly wore tights to keep it conservative, that dress is pretty short, and all I had was black. I’m prime marriage age, I’m totally getting scoped. While walking over to congratulate the bride, I can feel the piercing eyes (no Hand of Fatima on me) probably saying the following: "she's so skinny, it's because she lives on her own that one, looks like a sexy widow at a funeral scoping for men. Shame. Her sister got married at that age you know, younger even, why aren't the offers coming in?" There are positive outlooks such as "well she's educated, speaks many languages, (including French that’s like 100 points for Eliteness), has a job, well traveled, comes from a good family, she's pale, not from this village and the girls think she is funny." Just also make sure not to get caught doing anything deemed “bad” in front of one of their kids, they are all rats and will use that information against you once their parents start comparing them to you.The bad, in our world, always outweighs the good. One thing you can be certain of, if your mom is not in attendance, your outfit choice will travel back to her. For example, here is what a future conversation with my mother would sound like regarding the "funeral" dress:
Mom: "Who died?"
Me: "No one did, why?"
Mom: "Why in the hell did you wear so much black? You know your aunt was embarrassed about your outfit choice? Couldn't you be more like your cousins? Such colour, femininity. Do you have to be so morbid?"
Me: "I don't conform to this crap. I can't wear green, I'm not tanned yet."
Mom: "Tan? Just like your sister. Except she does tan you burn. Keep the skin pale, they like pale. And what's this I hear your father telling me you cut your hair even shorter?"
Me: "I like it short, plus it grows back, then I cut it again."
Mom: "Like hell you will. And dye your hair, there's white in it."

Aftermath of “The Scope”:
If one of the moms, after checking you out cavity style is interested, she will go outside, smoke a Matinée Slim and discuss your various criteria with the other Elite ladies. The next day, she will phone your parents. Grandmothers usually have less shame and will literally walk up to you, give you wet kisses on the cheeks while attempting to ask you about your family that has long passed and also attempting to touch you in order to get a “feel”. This has happened to me before, except “feel” was more like “grab”. I am not kidding. It was uncomfortable as hell getting violated for this lady's grandson's purposes as my parents looked on helplessly attempting not to laugh. Anyway, let’s stick to the phone call: the girls parents, after analyzing their own criteria of said woman's available relative, which includes family, looks, health care history, delinquency pattern, friends list, facebook profile, university transcript, calls to other community members, will tell the woman they'll call her back after speaking to their daughter. The girl is informed. She thinks about it, knowing full well it’s a no because 9/10 he's kinda ugly and you know him from school as a hypocritical ladies man, a total Gino who can't do his eyebrows properly and tans too much, a loser who is balding and gossips too much, or you’re dating the other boy from the community but aren’t outing your relationship yet until he gets his engineering degree. The girl refuses, her parents ask 21 questions, then they realize she's right. Usually her dad suddenly remembers some 20 year old dirt on the family or realizes the guy is a total douche. Especially when eyebrows are involved.
Next wedding, same pattern. Vicious cycle, no escape until that giant rock is wrapped around your finger. University is only a 3-5 year excuse, their claws will grab you eventually. Scoping is one of the main reasons Elite Arab weddings are not segregated. How does the process happen otherwise? And how do we act more foreign if we segregate? We're no zealots!

The Girls who get offers:
Girls who get loads of offers are flattered and they try to act modestly but you totally know she keeps track of it in a handy document and likes to drop hints of these offers during convos with her girlfriends who say "inshallah" after the words "o3balik". Don't ever say that, you're totally desperate if you say that. No one likes that girl, and your mom will find out and yell at you for it.

Middle-Eastern Wedding Attire:
Arabs are usually conservative but at weddings this concept is thrown out the window. Shame doesn't have anything to do with your outfit, unless it is hideous. Remember to leave your wealth on your neck, the tackier your dress the better, and the best designer wins, even if the dress is super ugly, if the price tag is $800, which is like $300 more than Leila’s dress, you’re golden, even if Leila’s dress is nicer than yours.
Middle-Eastern men just love Gino attire. White shoes, belts, Mexx suits, flashy chemise colours are in full effect. Oh and three button suits are the staple of the older men with the Elite wife. There are exceptions, some of these men actually know how to dress, let’s not generalize.
When at an Arab wedding, you cannot escape the wrath of the older ladies for having a miscalculated wardrobe, white people are exempt because they think that "these weddings are the same as white ones." If you wear jeans or pants to a wedding, you're digging yourself a grave.
Ties: For Shia Muslims, men shouldn’t wear a tie, mega frowned upon, for Sunnis, or just general Arabs, wear one, you're more Western handsome that way.

Blame it on the non-alcohol:
There is no such thing as alcohol because it's already mental up in here. Do you need another excuse to tell my people to dress up and dance? Even church can be a fashion show.

Western tendencies, borrowing and etiquette:
My sister, who feels the need to deny that she goes to weddings and compares them to hers, is lying. She claims that many recent weddings have been copying aspects of hers, but then talks about how she didn't appreciate how much of a fiasco her wedding was. Someone needs to remind my sister that there isn't that much innovative stuff you can do with weddings. The head table is not new, it's Western. And God forbid if anyone decides to use the same slow song she danced to at her wedding. English music is completely forbidden, except the slow song can be English, although they'd much prefer Amr Diab or Ragheb Alama.
Anything Western, like speeches, is frowned upon, mainly because Arabs take them to a whole other level, like instead of two speeches, everyone in the family wants to talk so there’s 10-15.
Slide shows are usually no good, because sometimes they include photos of your parents and nothing stabs an Arab woman's heart more than what she used to look like.
As for amount of guests, the more, the better. It shows that you have a lot of friends and are powerful in the community. Usually, the bride and groom did not invite them, it's all the parents' doing.
Dates and Location: Be careful on the day of the week and month. Anything other than Saturday you're going to get cheap backlash. Avoid this at all costs, especially if you still have a few kids to marry off. Being branded cheap is worst than "slutty" in the community. Location is crucial. Make sure you do not choose a location where many people from the community have gotten married in the previous year. For example, a few years back, I attended four weddings at the same hotel in town. I was pissed, mainly for lack of originality and being at the same wedding four times with the difference being the bride and groom. Plus their veggie meal was horrible. And I'm open minded, imagine the others.
For the males: do not bring your girlfriend to the wedding. Even if your mother knows about her, DO NOT BRING HER. Especially if she is a skanky leather face, this makes your family look really really bad and the bride will not even get any attention because the gossipy community is focusing on the "ho" in the peach dress.
For the ladies, do not dance with your friend's cousin because "y'all grew up together and you're like siblings." The rest of the community does not see it that way. They're not THAT Western.
image source: http://images.travelpod.com/users/ashleyheacock/1.1212228060.bride-and-groom-da

Gypsies the Love Affair

I can't explain it but I'm fascinated with gypsies. It could be from watching "Le Bossu de Notre Dame" too many times but anyway...I've said it before and I'll say it again, my favourite Fleetwood Mac song is "Gypsy" and I was even thinking of posting an ad on Craigslist requesting the company of a gypsy. I also like to make friends with Romanians because there's a lot of gypsies around there so I'm hoping to get introduced. I don't care if they steal my gold and passport. Frankly, I don't know where my gold is and my passport, well, hmm, it's a bad photo anyway.

Throughout my life, I've gone to see two gypsies. One more than 13 years ago courtesy of my mom, the other, who semi drugged me, was a recent experience. The latter was lame. I doubt her gypsiness frankly, hence why she drugged me.

The gypsies told me similar things, except for the fact that the experiences were over 13 years apart.

Both gypsies said I'd have two loves throughout my life. To a ten year old, that stuff doesn't matter, to a twenty something, that's essential. I'm quite certain I've surpassed that number, however, there's one I can't figure out if it was lust or love, so does that mean there is one left? Look gypsies, you're both wrong. But then I stop and think, no...gypsies can't be wrong! Another gypsy, a Samaria Jew in the desert whom I've never met, told someone I would never fall in love until the curse is broken. This is starting to freak me out. First of all, what curse? Where's my hand of Fatima? And my blue rock that repels the evil eye?

One gypsy told me I would be wealthy, another gypsy said I wouldn't worry about work, but said I'd be comfortable. A promotion in fact. Liar. As of awhile, I'm nouveau pauvre, a term I've continuously used to describe myself, so maybe this coming into money thing happens a) when I find love #2 and marry into money or b) get some job that pays well which will happen by the time I'm old. More details gypsy, more!!!

The new gypsy told me I would live in two countries my entire life. That's already been done, since I'm not born in Canada, I'm assuming I'm dying in Canada? First gypsy said I'd die in my 80s. That's way too old, bring the Samaria gypsy back, I need to ask her something. Maybe she'll confirm that I will indeed die of a drug overdose like I envisioned when I was 16. Highly unlikely.

What about happiness? No gypsies mentioned anything about this. But according to the Samaria Jew, there won't be much of it thanks to her comment. I'll swim in my imaginary money, thanks.

Note to anyone venturing out to discover gypsies, the desert ones are to be feared. Which is why I will go out and find one. I'm lacking adventure lately. Won't you join me?
image source: http://www.gavroche.org/vhugo/gallery/esmeralda.jpg

Boyfriend Types

The Payphone Caller: He probably entered your life during university, when everyone had cell phones. The only reason he's using a payphone to call you is because a) he lost his cell, b) he can't afford to pay the bill or c) he lent it to a friend and will never get it back. You have to sit by the phone awaiting his call from random phone numbers you don't recognize and can't call back and when he's late in his promised 4:30pm phone call. The reason he's late? He couldn't find a quarter. You end up having to call his entire posse of friends to find him. Although it was fun while it lasted, your romantic dinners will consist of subway tuna sandwiches in his parents' basement and his friends will always be by your side no matter how intimate the moment. Your current relationship state: you talk when you see each other, but it's awkward, the "he still likes you" type of awkward.

The Drug Addict: He was your first "serious" boyfriend in high school. He was probably a few years older than you. He's not addicted to anything hardcore because you dated him while you were both teenagers but he still had a fetish for drugs and would try anything. Along with an affinity for drugs, he loved sugar and would mix peanut butter flavoured chocolate bars with carbonated drinks and cigarettes. Chances are, you have a restraining order on him, but he means well...really he does. One pro: he has no friends but you so it's not likely he'll ditch plans, but the con is, he might get too baked and skip the date. Current relationship state: you say hi, from a distance.

The Boring Physical Attraction: This boy is cute, but he never really counted (in boyfriend numbers). You either tried to hook up with him a) after one too many shots of Jack Daniels but being the nice guy that he is, he didn't take advantage of you, or b) you thought he was a "nice guy" which he is, but holy crap, he's boring. Most likely, you never listened or were interested in his stories but more interested in the content of his undies. The other good about him? It was an amicable break-up and you're still friends. Chances are, he's single, like always. No restraining order necessary. Might hook up from time to time.

The Smooth Operator: He's tall, handsome, intelligent as hell, and is basically everything you've ever wanted in a man. Except he's not the father type and will run off with your heart once it gets too serious. To his friends and family, he talks about you and makes it seem serious, to you, you're just a fling but you're already in too deep to listen. He's Veronica but you're looking for Betty. He counts in numbers because even Sade had one. The con: you're still friends. Awkward friends. The pro: He moves onto uglier girls than you.

Inquest of boys

See maman et papa have made me become so obsessed with criteria when finding the right mate that when a friend attempts to set me up with one of their friends, it turns into a giant fiasco of questions via this patient third party. My parents' criteria, according to them, is simple: same race and religion (preferrably hailing from the same village and avoiding a long list of villages they've laid out for me along with reasons why I should avoid said villages), a degree in one of four majors (masters is preferred), a good job that can provide (be a provider gurl), his parents must also have good jobs and a good reputation, he must be tall, good looking, polite, be prepared for a wedding fiasco (weddings are for parents, the more you learn to accept that, the more of your life you'll live), left wing, no health concerns, no more than five years my senior, a sense of humour fitting to mine (bless their hearts), open minded, speaks more than one language (with French being one of them but this one is not that big of a deal for them), and be prepared for interrogation questionning about anything and everything while surrounded by 75 of my closest male relatives (60 extra men that are friends of my parents will be considered "family" for this day).

Here's a conversation that took place between myself and a friend today regarding someone she'd think I'd be perfect with. Since I'm always the pessimist (even my boss tells me so), this convo was more complicated than it should've been:

N: So I just thought of one of my guy friends who'd be perfect for you. Fits all your criteria (race, religion), however, he's in Ottawa
Yuppie: What's his name? I probably know him.
N: Joe Average*
Yuppie: I just facebooked him, we have 11 mutual friends
N: Adddddd himmmmmmm!!!! He's super nice, gonna text him now, I was talking to him all day!
Yuppie: I don't add people I don't know.
N: Let me give him your number.
Yuppie: No. I'm terrible on the phone and no. I don't know him.
N: Then Facebook add him.
Yuppie: No!!!
N: Why not?
Yuppie: He doesn't even know what I look like and I don't know what he looks like! His profile pic was a side profile. Some people's profiles are better than their faces.
N: He's cute, I wouldn't send you an ugly.
Yuppie: We have different taste.
Yuppie: Is he educated? What does he do for a living?
N: Yes educated he does work but can't remember what company he works for
Yuppie: How old is he? What degree? How open minded is he? Where does he hang out? How do you know him?
N: No more questions. Message him.
Yuppie: No you can't expect me to talk to some random! He can message me!
N: Okay can I give him your number?
Yuppie: No! Let him facebook msg me or something. Send me a photo will you?
N: Okay he'll be adding you shortly. He's at the gym.

Hours later. During these hours, I get hit on agressively by the employee at the pizza shop who attempts to guess my ethnic background and provides me with the best service a dingy pizza place can provide. He guessed all the usual ones and didn't get one right.

N: Did he add you?
Yuppie: No add.
N: Ugh I am going to msg him and see what's up.
Yuppie: Stop being a pushy mother.
N: No no, I just told him to add you and invite me to the wedding.
Yuppie: Loser
N: He's at a BBQ
Yuppie: I can't see what he looks like you know.
N: Are you shallow and only care about looks? Bahahahahah he's good looking with a nice body, trust me girls stalk him.
Yuppie: Ahem, I wanted to see how Gino he was.
N: He isn't!
Yuppie: Where does he hang out?
N: I have no idea?
Yuppie: K did he go to u of o or carleton?
N: He went to college but I think he went to Uni after...
Yuppie: I see. I see. Does he wear white shoes? LOL
N: Well he did work at Aldo during school....
N: OMG you two keep on asking me about looks, LOL!
Yuppie: How did you describe me?
N: I didn't, I said he has to find out on his own.

*Name changed

Recollection of your teenage years

"I mean I just don't understand why girls find him good looking, cause he's not." "Find who good looking?" I ask. "Taylor Rautner. You gotta admit Robert Pattinson's good looking though."

_________________________________________________________

"I'm not emo" she says, screaming into the telephone. "Okay, you're nouveau emo," I say. "No I'm not! My friends say I'm scene but I'm not." "What's scene? Some new subculture that hasn't been invented yet? Nevermind. What are you then?" I ask. And with the upmost confidence, she replies, "I'm me!".

_________________________________________________________

She looks at me with her big eyes and with a little sadness in her voice admits, "I like this boy but he moved to another school so it's not going to work out."

13.14.15.16.17. Bliss. Not a care in the world. No care of the heartbreak to come, for the obstacles you'll have to overcome, of a job, a mortgage, of bills, the news, more heartbreak. And most of all, no idea of the loss of that wonderful feeling, the feeling of invincibility.

A whole new level of internet fame

We all know that facebook plays a larger role in relationships than most people are willing to admit. When, for example, you break up with your significant other, you both actually have a discussion of what to do about the facebook relationship status. With social media changing ever so quickly, I'm thinking the latest technology to hit the world wide web will help you and your nosy friends get involved in each others business even more, that is if you like the relationship limelight (lovers of public domestics put your hands up).

Here's my pitch: basically a twitter feed of fights had by your favourite friend couples and celebrities can also be followed since their divorces happen so often that even Perez himself can't keep up. This tool, charmingly called Domesticer is very helpful, especially when your friend calls you crying, eager to give you details about her break-up, you're already in the loop and not caught off guard, you've prepared some answers from the summary you got through this site. Plus you can get both sides of the story like you've always wanted.

Furthermore, hash tags can be implemented, for example, if your fight is about infidelity, then you'll write #lechery, or #someotherho and so on, if it was about your appearance something like #saggytits, #notskinnyenough will suffice.

You can even use Blip FM to remind your friends what songs you made up to or to remind them what New Edition song you lost your virginity to.

Still not convinced? Below are samples of how Domesticer works: (these are all fictional, any similarities to real people is completely coincidental, honest)

@paul: @paulette hey girl, i'm working late, so sorry, can we reschedule?
@paulette: @paul you're still at work? it's 7pm, you cancellin' the dinner plans now?!
@paul: @paulette it's a busy time baby, the recession, you know we're all working late! i'll make it up to you tomorrow i swear. #smooth
@paulette: @paul i was able to pencil in my eyebrows twice and wax my upper lip waiting for you to contact me!
@paulette: @paul i was checking your twitter feed earlier and @samantha has been sending way too many replies #suspicion
@paul: @paulette @samantha is just a friend. what about you and @smoothoperator?
@paulette: @paul i follow @smoothoperator because he's funny and has good music suggestions don't you dare #turntablesaround on me!
@paulette: @paul you planned a meeting with her on twitter!
@paul: @paulette @smoothoperator is sending nothing but baby making shit! and i said i go to that cafe all the time if she's around to say hi!
@paulette: @paul oh yeah? what about the song link you sent her this reminds me of you :)?
@paulette: @paul and why aren't you answering my text messages but using your phone for tweets???
@paul: @paulette i'm busy!!!
@paulette: @paul busy? who you claiming busy? busy with #someotherho cause im #notskinnyenough
@paul: @paulette i can't stand this! it's over! #done
@paulette: @paul what? nuh uh, my girl @tracie needs to get in on this for real.
@tracie: @paulette it's definitely #someotherho

Convenient? Thank me later. Don't delay, sign up to create your internet fame today!

The Chronicles of Honesty

Sometimes, you need to be honest.
Sometimes it pays to keep your eyes closed.

The girl clearly had no interest in anything about me as I was doing all the asking. What do you do? Where did you grow up? Did you finish school? Do you have a disease I should be warned about? That kind of thing. I'm used to it, non listeners make up 95% of my friends and acquaintances (sorry if you're reading this, read subheading for clarity). A lot of interesting shit has happened to me, I mean I never lived under crackheads like this chick but I've had adventures. I might have to revive a few.

___________________________________________________________________

Dear old lover,

I want my heart back. I'm tired of living without it and I'm pretty sure I have a receipt proving it's mine. So, kindly if you may, give it back. Just cause it was on my sleeve that one time doesn't mean you were allowed to just take it. I'm sure we can come up with sort of amicable agreement.

Don't talk just judge

Dating dating you're so bad, who is the worst date I've ever had? Was it the dude who stayed silent, claimed to be not much of a "people" person, walked ahead of me by at least a minute, and contacted me THREE times afterwards when I was clearly not interested? Or was it the guy who claimed showering was not a necessity and tried to ask me out again by using MY TYPE of charm in his correspondence? Or was it the really nice guy who was sort of interesting but got a bit too close on a first date, clearly oblivious to the fact that I'm the type of girl you can only kiss on like the third date? You be the judge.

This week I discovered that people with shitty blogs think highly of themselves. I was the judge.

Ramata booked Greta Constantine, but she also opened and closed Pink Tartan. Okay she was the second last one, but still, the only girl who remotely resembled Kim's influence=Grace Jones. You had no idea how excited I was. I ran backstage after the show, asked a model about Ramata, which was the dumbest idea ever because the girl did not comprehend a word I was saying (and I speak model). The crowd judged.

LG Fashion Week has been good to me so far, except for the fact that my body is almost in exhaustion mode and I may pass out. Must survive for two more days. Can I measure up? Iman's the judge.

Wishing old, pseudo hot female client would get Twitter. Her status updates would rule. Overshare? Don't you judge me!

School's easy down under (it's true, ever notice how your dumb friends always make it to law school or teacher's college in Australia?), being a rad designer, even easier. LA Street Style judges.

If SNP doesn't use it like I requested, I'll coin it: "The French would rather starve than not look good." That's why all the good designers at LG Fashion Week are from Montreal. The reviews have spoken.

photography: James Kachan

No end to the lengths

I took a risk. I boarded. I cried the whole way there...this being a bad idea overtaking my thoughts. I arrived. I waited. I stared at the empty hallways, I waited in the cold and I, impatiently, continued waiting. I bit my fingernails. I stared at my phone for a sign. I boarded again. I cried the whole way back. Not from sadness, but from embarrassment. The tears only signified how I brought this upon myself. But now that I’m fully awake and aware of my actions, I am not hurt. I feel good, not the idea of feeling good, but genuinely feeling good. I did it and I learned from it. I'm okay, and I know this, the pain expected from the aftermath never really came, and that's what really matters.

The net knows

Okay so remember when I told you I'm obsessed with Ashley Madison? I never did tell you but a lot of people know I am. I'm not a user or anything (ha imagine the wives finding out? No thanks!) I just think the concept is so absurd it fascinates me. Imagine working there and telling your significant other what you do for a living. Or better yet, giving your work email address to someone. Hilarious! Any way, awhile ago at work I was doing some research and what ad suddenly pops up in the middle of my screen? See below:


Oh internet, how did you know?

If you're interested in getting to know people who use Ashley Madison, this blog is filled with laughs. It's also NSFW.

Random texts reveal insight on women

Remember when I told you my friends say the most hilarious shit? Text exchange from last night provides more proof of this, and a reason why women continously sleep with assholes:

Me: So was that guy there on Friday?
Friend: No he wasn't there. The banker was there, ended up hooking up, hehe. But it was all on my terms so it's fine. Haha.
Me: Why did you do it?
Friend: Haha cus I wanted to. I told him he was a manwhore. Then he tells me he's heard about the dates I've been going out on blah blah blah. So he knows I know he's a slut and it's just a sex thing with him and I'm fine with it.
Me: Well at least you're fine with it.
Friend: Don't think I'm a slut or anything. I'm just recycling boys so my number doesn't go up! Hahaha.
Me: Ahahaha, ahahahha, You make me die! Recycling boys? This is blog material!
Me: No I don't think you're a slut.
Friend: Do it! Just change the names and shit.
Me: Word.

On the misuse of domestics

"Stop it! Stop it!" screamed the young lady as her boyfriend (I assume) attempted to calm her down at 2:35am Monday morning. This was at the streetcar stop in front of my building and this possibly, or usually normal human being was letting all the crazy out. Could it have been a bad Valentine's day? An awful gift? Cheating? A break-up? Whatever it was, I hope you know, I don't care. The point is, keep your domestics private. In public, maintain the status quo. And to the screaming and unstable woman, this message: calm down, you're giving us non-crazy women a bad reputation, ya know?

Is this it?

Today is Valentine's Day. Get ready for lame Facebook statuses, overcrowded restaurants and a line-up at the drug store (oh you know). Take my heart and break it.

Suddenly my scenery has changed

Sometimes, you hear a song that just accompanies the soundtrack of your life. In my short lifetime, I've found two, both of them featured in fantastic films you should watch. The first is featured in Richard Linklater's Before Sunset, one of my favourite films. In the closing scene , Nina Simone’s “Just in Time” plays in the background. The use of this song in that particular scene just sends shivers down your body because it works so well and then abruptly, the screen goes black and the film ends. No need to explain the ending, you just get it.

The other song is quite possibly the most difficult one to find. I’ll take the vinyl if someone has it at this point...I just need it! Charlie Smalls’ "Never Felt Like This Before" is featured in Faces by John Cassavetes, another one of my favourite films. Although some may think the scenes are exhausting due to their length, I feel they are filled with so much reality and sadness that I refuse to watch them end. You'll also fall in love with Gena Rowlands in this film, she reminds me of Monica Vitti in it. The first time the viewer hears music in the film is around 40 minutes in and so Cassavetes was precise about his song selections. He made the right choice with this one. The voice, the lyrics...just bliss! "Cause you knew what I was after, Now the crying’s changed to laughter, What you doin’ standing way over there? I want you to come stand over here, and never leave me anymore, never felt like this before."





image sources: www.deeperintomovies.net
www.viewandreview.com

Your heart feels

When I was younger and thought I was invincible (we're young, nothing can kill us!), I used to do some pretty stupid things (I won't name them, you've all probably done a majority of them). And I was so evasive that I couldn't even sign a phone contract. It's true, some of my most memorable "escaping commitment lines" sounded something like:

"You're so predictable, I mean, I even know what our children will look alike. That's just boring, ya know?"

And, my personal favourite,

"I say lots of things I don't mean. Like I love you for example."
"Then why did you say it?"
"Cause I was raised to be polite. Saying thank you after you said you loved me is just rude."

If you're about to break up with a significant other, I highly suggest against using the latter. It's hurtful and only appropriate when you're a teenager (somewhat). But for someone who has managed to escape most of her past behaviour, and recently started committing (mortgage baby), I sure as hell like charming, evasive men who, I'm aware, will break my heart. I like them because they remind me of me. Which brings me to today's lesson - why you shouldn't be honest about your feelings after finally deciding to be honest about them: Even though they might feel the same way about you, there's always a "but". Why hurt and embarrass yourself to hear what you want and then get a "but"? Forget everything Hollywood taught you because it's bullshit. Or to summarize it, avoid evasive men, they are the definition of why love and trouble are synonymous.

The jerk in your hood

Another reason why you shouldn't give your number to a boy who hasn't asked for it:

Upon seeing a wedding ring on his finger for the first time:
"So you're married?"
"Yeah, I've been married twice actually."
"Wow! Aren't you like 28?"
"Well, I can't be alone."
"Well obviously. You're a man."
"And I love women! Love them"
"I sincerely do hope so."
To self: "I'm too good looking for this shit." Exit.
Someone please give this guy an Ashley Madison card. Jerk.