OMFG - The Scariest Part of Your Twenties..

As my brother, the last of my siblings, moved out of our parents home this week, I came to the horrifying realization that this was it. My sister, myself and now my brother were all officially adults. Little birdies no more...we had flown the coop and entered the air sans safety net.

Okay, okay, I feel like throughout my twenties thus far I've had freakouts about becoming an adult at least on a bi-monthly basis. Bi-weekly is more like it. But there's something about all three of us being there that struck a particularly realistic chord. Perhaps the scariest realization about being an adult is that the only person you can count on is yourself. I mean this in the least desolate and dramatic way possible -- of course we all have good friends and family there to help us in a true bind but being self-sufficient is, in my humble opinion anyway, a sign of maturity.

The hardest lesson I've learned thus far in this precocious decade? To bank on yourself. And mean it. With a job that has all the security of iCloud (read: none) and an affinity for a life with ample flexibility and wonder, my stability levels are entirely dependent on one thing: me, myself and I.

Promoting is one of those jobs that should come with a slogan ripped right from MTV Diary Of.. "You think you know but you have no idea." I chuckle at those who think all it requires is showing up for a few hours a couple times a week to drink vodka and bop around in the booth. This lovely condo and YSL heels didn't come from bopping. What started out as shits and giggles working for my former business partner as essentially a party girl turned into a quick realization of what could be made here and thus the Risk pieces on the King West board that is my life started to form. That was four years ago. And even today, while established on the scene, it is still a constant hustle and grind to stay relevant and in demand.

How hard you grind is directly correlated to how well things go. An obvious statement? Yes. But one that only turns into a stable means when you know you have what it takes. This is applicable to all careers whether it be the perpetual hustling path that I chose to take or more conventional routes I know many of my friends to be on. I've learned to not freak out as much knowing that I can depend on myself even though my only security system is my laptop, phone, and whatever I choose to do with them. Four years of ups and downs and lessons and learning and perspective and yes, even more freakouts, have led to finally being able to bank on myself. Being my own security system? I'll take that over iCloud any day.

Surely there will be plenty of dips and dives while we're out here flying but having that added twenty-something faith in yourself sure does make the ride less turbulent. Up, up and away dear readers! x 

OMFG -- Is there REALLY such thing as The One?

In a word, no.

But, let's not be entirely cynical and jaded now. Let's take a twenty-something's experience-provoked look at the matter, shall we?

I think it's safe to say that we have all, hopeless romantic or not, pondered whether the idea of there being one perfect person for each of us out there exists. You know, a soul mate! A Romeo to Juliet, a Jack to Rose, a little old man from Up! to the little old lady from Up! A destined being who loves us as we are, flaws and all, and we them, and rainbows and unicorns and butterflies and whatever.

I, more than anyone, desired this to be true. (Excuse me while I get a bit maudlin for a second..) My parents, a perfect union present my entire life have a marriage going on 38 years strong now. They moved here from Hong Kong in 1975, married, and have worked as a team together to build not only a happy marriage, but a happy life for my siblings and I. Soul mates? I believed ever since I was little that if ever a thing such existed, it existed in my parents.

But alas, being the starry-eyed girl I was, entering the dating scene with such an unrealistic idea of love in my head proved to be quite challenging. With my skewed vision, I thought if it was meant to be, it would be easy. And to be passionately in love was an overwhelming, Earth-shattering feeling that would never end. Um, nope! Not at all. I don't need to tell you guys that relationships are hard. Effort, compromise, tact and all that jazz in general. 

Love is nice but never enough. I hear of fewer and fewer couples who choose to stay together when the odds are against them. It is an opportunistic, cut-throat, defensive jungle out there and once we go a little awry, it is much easier to dispose than salvage. When all of us are meeting a million new people a mile a minute, the odds of finding some one better just seem that much more tantalizing, now don't they?

But perhaps in our quick-to-jump-ship minds, we've abandoned those who could of been The One material. Destiny is a nice notion, but you can't just expect to lay back and let the universe do the work. Like Blair Waldorf once quipped: "Destiny is for losers. It's just a stupid excuse to wait for things to happen instead of making them happen." Not that Blair was the epitome of wise relationship advice, or any advice really, but this gem of a quote certainly rings true. 

Make things happen. Don't expect The One to suddenly appear in your life but rather work at relationships with significant others you deem worth your while. Who knows, you might just cultivate a soul mate along the way. Or at the very best, some rainbows and unicorns and butterflies...or whatever.
x

Thank Goodness For Girl Friends - OMFG

Friends -- good friends -- and all the crazy shenanigans you get into with them, are what we'll all remember the most from our twenties. That time we partook in illicit behavior with that celebrity at 4 a.m. in Miami? Awesome. That time we all took this or that at the cottage and hilariously mused about life? Epic. That time we had to carry insert the one friend who always goes overboard out of that really fancy club and watched him/her vomit on the lawn then try and convince us to go back out partying? Less fun....but still a sick (literally) memory. While co-ed fun is always solid, there's something to be said for good times with your bros/girls. After all, Entourage and Sex and the City were both wildly popular for a reason.

As I creep into my late twenties, I've come to value my close girl friends more and more. Emphasis on the close. We're not talking fake club hugs and air kiss this and air kiss that while you vapidly discuss just where she got that divine sample sale clutch. No. We're talking real ass bitches who know you without the night time make-up. The ones you can sit around in sweats with and talk about every little uncertainty you have about life while they share theirs.

Now that we're all leading adult (ish) lives, there's been a transition from quantity to quality. Gone are the days when we all lived within a stone's throw of each other and had endless time to just hang out. Obsessive texting of boy crisis updates as they happen are a thing of the past. One of my closest girl friends and I haven't lived in the same city for years now and are still closer than ever. I've always maintained that distance and friendship have absolutely nothing to do with each other! (Thank you Skype, Viber, and especially Whatsapp -- because sometimes you just need to know that the grumpy cat photo you sent has been seen.)

A five minute talk with my bestie (and yes...no matter how old I get I will have a bestie and refer to her as my bestie) is all it takes to get me out of whatever ridiculous mood I might be in...and I'm proud to say I can do the same for several of my good girl friends as well. Like relationships, friendships only work when you both make each other better people. If she's happy for your successes (and never jealous), supports your at-times poor, irrational decisions (and is there for you during the aftermath), and you can still both get into as much trouble as you did when you were eighteen, then chances are you've found a close girl friend for life.

What has me feeling a sudden burst of love for my darling girls? Perhaps it's the holiday season that has me particularly maudlin. Or maybe, it's just an ongoing appreciation for all the forward-moving, mood-swinging, potty-mouthed, risk-taking, complicated and intelligent women in my life. Carrie once said it was about finding someone to run wild with you...she was of course, referring to her search for a spouse. I think Carrie got it partially right; it is all about finding someone to run wild with you -- not a spouse -- but rather a pack of good girl friends. I'll cheers my Cosmo to that. x

OMFG - Friends With An Ex

I had dinner with an ex the other night. Not an ex but the ex. My first love who shattered, put back together, and shattered my heart again at least three times during our tumultuous (and that's putting it mildly) three year run. And it was, dare I say, a pleasant experience. Is it possible, that despite the hell we put each other through less than a year ago, we are now able to be friends? Apparently so.

If my ex and I are able to be friends, I can say with a large dose of certainty that most exes can find a spot in the friendship zone. We were, and I cannot stress this enough, volcanic together....pure red lava flowing from every faucet of our bond. We drove each other insane. I think of some of the actions I executed while together with him -- actions that at the time I proceeded to carry out as if they were perfectly normal -- and realize just how close to being exiled to an asylum I was. The same went for him. Passionately in love, sure. Psychotically close to the brink of total sadism, well yes, that as well. At the worst of times we made each other truly miserable and yet here we sat just a few nights ago laughing over our failed attempt at love over Pad Thai and greasy spring rolls.

The experience was liberating and one that made me feel ever so mature. Mature -- the very word gets thrown around carelessly in our twenties; most of the time as a way to try and differentiate oneself when drama arises. (Example: "OMG. I'm way too mature [eye roll] to even care what that bitch said about me. Like way. Too. Mature.") I'm guilty of being the girl who cried maturity on several occasions (us damn twenty-somethings...we've always got something to prove) but this time it wasn't total bullshit. It was a genuine feeling of calm and honesty; two things I never felt while we were dating.

We're not robots, of course, and memories are still memories. But, with enough time apart to get over any residual enabling emotions and the shared goal of actually wanting to be friends, the dinner occurred sans ulterior motives on either end. Why bother, you ask? Because I rather be friends with shared memories than strangers with a shared past. Care, for me at least, isn't an item that comes with an expiry date. It is strictly non-perishable.

As we verbally sifted through our romantic history, there was no nitpicking of this transgression or that indiscretion but simply a recap of the good times. It's true what they say; when you think back on all the big moments of your life, it's the joyful ones that stick the most. Does time heal everything? Nope. But it sure does give us room to grow. Damn, I'm mature.

x

Shit happens. Keep calm & move on....OMFG

My purse committed suicide last week. Okay...that's not entirely true. I may of assisted in its murder. In my defense, I was drunk. No -- drunk is not a sufficient enough word to describe the state I was in. I was totally, ridiculously, insanely and outrageously wasted. It was the end of the night on my 25th birthday last week and as I stumbled out of the cab to get home (in 4-inch heels, no less), I left my beautiful black purse in the backseat, thus committing the first crime of my quarter century year: pursicide.

One wallet, $200, one passport, a driver's license, health card and several bracelets later I learned my first lesson of the latter half of my twenties: shit happens. Keep calm and move on. The first part of that lesson has never been my forte. A highly emotionally-charged being, I'm prone to freaking-the-fuck out when shit hits the proverbial fan. Mostly on the inside, some times on the outside, and always electronically. My poor Droid has received the brunt end of my emotional lashings via endless texting spazzes and even a few throws...thank goodness for hard box cases. What do these freak-outs do? Next to nothing.

Besides dehydrating me via the massive amount of water I expel through my overused tear ducts, having mini meltdowns over ex-boyfriends this, missing out on that and everything else that tends to cause me stress just makes it worse. I always tease my barely emotional friends for being robots, but at times I wonder if life really is easier with the ability to suppress any uncomfortable feelings. Unluckily for me, I'm a freakin' feelings monster who seems to thrive on functioning at a wavelength that only prepubescent girls and I can hear.

And much to my recent dismay, immaturity is exactly what I've come to realize freaking out amounts to. I'm twenty five now for goodness sake; I think it's time I get a handle on two things: 1) that exes suck balls and 2) that my emotions can't run my life. Mr. Roboto, I never will be, but there's definitely room to improve emotional intelligence-wise. I know my tear ducts will thank me later.

Suddenly one wallet, $200, one passport, a driver's license, health card and several bracelet's doesn't seem like such a high price to pay for one darn good realization: taking control of things that affect me negatively and making them not is entirely in my hands. A wise man (ahem, Thomas Neary) once told me progress is the key to happiness...ending teenage emotional sprees at twenty five may be late, but it is progress nonetheless. From pursicide to epiphanies -- it's all about taking negative experiences and transitioning into positive realizations. Shit happens. Freak out momentarily. Keep calm, keep smiling, and move the fuck on.

x

OMFG - How To Lose A Guy in 10 Days

So I turn 25 in less than a month. The horror is slowly sinking in. As a model, I'm ancient, but as a single girl in the city, I'm somewhere in between a hopeless romantic and an "all men are scum" mindset. Lately, I've been leaning towards the latter. What it is about men in this city that makes dating so...so...difficult? Before I go on, allow me to inform those of you who don't me: I'm university educated, attractive (after 9 a.m....mornings and I do not, I repeat do NOT mix), social, and, from what I've been told, pretty darn fun to be around. I'm independent, don't wear fake hair, always order dessert, and think that superhero movies are awesome. Why am I going all e-harmony on you, darling readers? Because my love life (and those of my other single girlfriends) as of late has me inspired. As does watching this Kate Hudson classic on a Sunday night. How do us twenty-something girls on the scene lose a guy in ten (or more) days? Let me count the ways.

1) We go out.
I'm a promoter. As in, I get people into clubs and facilitate good times. What does this mean? That I'm out and about on average 4 times a week. What has this taught me? Men do NOT like girls who are exposed. Before turning my nightlife into something profitable, I was already a fixture on the scene. I love going out and did so when I was single, and while in a relationship. (Nothing like a partner in crime you can sleep with as well!) One year of promoting later and I pretty much know everyone who comes to our weekly parties. I spend my nights chatting with everyone and their mama at our events. Alas, a few men I've been on dates with have cringed at the thought of their girl being so openly social all the time. The girlfriends I have who come to almost all my nights are out just as much as I am. Yes, there are tons of less-than-desirable trashy girls who fit the description of club whore to a tee, but there are also normal girls who just like to dance! And we ain't gonna do it at home.

2) We look good.
I model on the side. Inevitably, I have a lot of model friends. And they all express the same woes with me, men-wise. It's a double-edged sword when it comes to having model status on the dating scene. On one hand, guys love the idea of dating not the girl in the dress, but the girl in the ad in the dress. On the other hand, by dating, I mean banging. Yup. It's either a) you're the first model they've ever been with and their male ego goes nuts after and they want to see what else they can get, b) they are massively insecure at the thought of model looks and self-sabotage or c) they are modelizers just in it for the chase. Bang bang, bye bye. This really applies to all hot chicks. Actually, just all girls in general.The heart wants what it wants, right? Well, so do the pants.

3) We're Carrie girls.
There's been a bit of an epidemic among my older guy friends lately. They all seem to be settling down with -- how shall I phrase this delicately -- Plain Janes. You know: boring, nice, sweet enough girls who just sit there smiling and giggling. They don't add much to conversations and look as if they put their outfits together via the style tips page in Cosmo. They're perfectly pleasant but they're just not, to me anyway, interesting. I love all my opinionated, sharp-witted, potty-mouthed, fashion-mistake making, risk-taking, mood-swinging girlfriends more than anything. All the ridiculousness they get into, all the epic mistakes and comebacks they endure, and all the insane shenanigans they create make them worship material. As Carrie once quoted to the elation of interesting women everywhere: "Maybe some women aren't meant to be tamed. Maybe they just need to run free til they find some one just as wild to run with them." I have nothing against these Plain Janes (and if they make my friends happy, that's what matters) but Carrie's got a point. Where are the men who don't want Version 2.0 of their moms but a wild goddess to keep up with them? Or, keep up with us, is more like it!

4) We know what we want.
And for the overwhelming majority of my girls, that doesn't mean kids. At least not for a long while. I'm still remarkably uncomfortable around kids...maybe it's because they're smelly and loud (likely), or maybe it's because they remind me that I want to accomplish so much more before I can even consider having them. Of course I want kids one day (it would be a crime to humanity to not reproduce adorable Asian babies. You know they're the cutest. Don't even try and deny it.) but right now, I want a successful career, travel, and a Balenciaga Moto in every colour. Selfish? No. Just watch a few minutes of Teen Mom and my case is made. I don't know where my career will take me now, but I hope it takes me everywhere. My successful girl friends in the scene work similarly flexible jobs (DJing, fashion merchandising, modeling, etc.) and know that when an opportunity strikes, you jump on it. Being outwardly anti-child is, hmm, kind of the opposite of what men who want to date seriously are looking to hear; but kids or no kids, I rather jab my stiletto into my jugular than become a housewife.

5) We're picky.
I know what I'm worth. And it's a lot. I'm cocky by no means, but every healthy, happy individual has a good dose of self-confidence.That being said, I'm not willing to settle for less than I think I deserve. This sounds a lot bitchier than it is; I welcome complicated men (actually have quite the liking for them), am capable of empathetic understanding to the umpteenth degree and honest to goodness do not give a crap about income. However, slip-ups in how you treat me usually end with a brisk switch in my head from "potential" to "never". Where my adhesion is to good hearts and being treated well, all my other girl friends have there own  versions of criteria they're just as unwilling to deviate from. Handsome, kind, and interesting -- those are just the bare necessities.

There you have it guys and dolls. How to lose a guy in ten (or more) days, according to my recent love life and those of my similarly situation-ed girl friends! Let's recap here: gorgeous, ambitious, opinionated, decisive and socially-inclined women have become the pariahs of the dating scene? In that case, I think I'll be happily single. Carrie girls are a rare breed and, well, I really wouldn't have it any other way.

                                         Best scene.

x

OMFG - Like A Child

I have a girl crush on Ellen. As in Ellen Degeneres, the comedian turned talk show queen. She dances, she's hilarious, she gives away thousands of dollars to those in need, she's adorable and she was the voice of Dory in Finding Nemo...what's not to love? I'm clearly not the only one as she's become a household name since the Big O left daytime. Sure, seeing her interview celebrity guests is nice, and watching her give away much needed help to those less fortunate is heartwarming, but that's not the reason I tune in. The best part of watching Ellen is she still laughs at her own jokes, still gets the chuckles when playfully interacting with guests and still looks totally amazed when new things are introduced to her. In other words, Ellen's still just a kid at heart.

Growing up kind of sucks. Yes, I said it. There's so much more to worry about, and the more you know, the more you worry. I'm not condoning an ignorant life by any means and obviously the responsibilities of getting older are for a reason (um, to not die, for the most part) but come on, how much more awesome was life before your first heartbreak? Before you were jaded? Before you thought you had seen and known everything that was worth seeing and knowing? Becoming jaded is all too easy in our overexposed, oversexed, over-hyped modern world. Staying childlike at heart is a skill. Take it from some one who gets sex, lies, and all other adult things shoved in her face on a daily basis via the nightlife industry. You want to stay pre-jaded as long as humanly possible.

Now, let's keep our definition of childlike away from that of being immature. I'm not talking about immaturity as in not being able to handle adult situations which we all inevitably come across. I'm talking about that sense of wonder and play and just being happy to just be. Watch any motivational talk on happiness, positive thinking or what have you, and they all list this as a key source of perpetual glee. Successful people keep exploring and pursuing, so take a note from them and do the same. Want it in the simplest terms? Just keep yourself open to knowing that things, even little things, are still awesome. And really, who doesn't want to be more awesome?

I squeal over a lot of things. When I see friends (even if I see them all the time), when I make travel plans, when I see art I like, when dessert is brought to the table etc. I'm a squealy, smiley, ecstatic kind of expresser and when I'm happy, everyone knows it. Seriously guys, if a model/promoter can still be un-jaded, then really, anyone can. The world is super awesome, and no matter how much we see of it...there's still so much more. So take a little time to think like a child -- Ellen would be proud.

Kiddies, check this out.

x

OMFG - The Disconnect

I had a bit of a messy weekend and found myself looking for some ways to self improve, as I always do after feeling particularly unproductive or useless. The best way to do this, for me at least, is to be inspired by other noteworthy individuals who have made great changes for the better in their lives. I had always heard about TED talks, in bits and pieces of conversations from friends, but never bothered to check them out. At last, today, feeling super hungover and rather remorseful (to be perfectly honest) I decided that if there was ever a time I needed a collection of inspirational talks at my fingertips, it was now. And so, the TED-talking marathon began.

TED (Technology, Entertainment, Design) is basically a community of ideas worth sharing on every topic one can think of. I was immediately drawn to a few talks about how to maintain a life of happiness, and positive thinking. I asked my sister to send me any she found of interest and she ended up sending me psychologist Sherry Turkle's speech on modern technology and its impacts on society. Now, I know this doesn't sound like a topic as interesting as, say, Heidi and Seal's impending divorce or whatever shenanigans La Lohan happens to be getting herself into (drugs, DUI's, bad hair choices; that's all you need to know re: Lohan anyway) but it was a far more relative and engaging talk than one might initially think. If a twenty-something with a short attention span like me was easily consumed, trust me in saying it's a talk worth watching.

Anyway, if you still want to skip it, here's the gist of Turkle's argument: society today has become so dependent on constant online interactions that we've learned to expect less from actual human interactions. In other words, instead of feeling emotions with each other in person, we share statuses about feelings and (maybe) feel them after. It's a good point as many of my friends, myself included, put a lot of effort into our edited, manicured, and Photoshopped online versions of ourselves. Sure, much of it is for business and self-promotional reasons, but that doesn't change the fact that living edited online takes away from living for real in life. (I know my club promotions look much better coming from the streamlined Facebook page of an uber-cool model who posts slick dance songs and apathetic sounding status updates...but my true dork self slips up most of time, which is why you often see goofy family pictures, jubilant statuses on cake and Justin Bieber songs. What? He's awesome guys, I can't lie.)

I mean, how many times have you been at a dinner and every single person is on their Blackberry, Droid or iPhone tweeting or status updating about how awesome the dinner is when....well nothing is really happening at the dinner? It's a creepy perfected online world we've become used to expecting of each other. Pictures are perfect, wording is well-thought out and nothing is posted without being approved by some one. The thing is...real life is messy. It's demanding. It's sloppy. It's complicated. And most of all, it's kind of awesome for all those reasons. What we attempt to control online, we can't control in real life and I wouldn't change that for anything.

Perhaps it's just the company that occupies the night life industry I am surrounded by, but these super-savvy and highly image-conscious people almost seem afraid to live messy, real lives for fear it'll ruin their online personas. Heck, everyone is so afraid of getting hurt, it seems, that it's an easier choice to just become Mr. Roboto and not feel. Unfortunately for them, I'm thinky, feely (perhaps a little too much so) and complicated...oh and plan on living as emotionally loud as I want to. Messy? Perhaps. But real as can be.

Comment, like, and share this blog entry as you like, but don't forget to mention it to me in person too...Arigato, Mr. Roboto!

x

OMFG - Location, Location, Location

They say songs and smells (surprisingly) are the best triggers for memories from the past, but I always find that locations invoke the strongest nostalgia for me. What is it about roaming the same streets that my friends and I once drunkenly caused mischief upon or being at the same playground my siblings and I grew up on that causes me to feel almost a physical gut feeling of deja vu?

Where this is especially vivid is when it comes to past relationships. As if technology hasn't made it hard enough to forget some connections I would rather not think of often.(Facebook is a graveyard for old relationships. I had some chick comment on a picture of my ex and I from over a year ago and it showed up on my newsfeed -- not to mention the newsfeeds of my over 1000 friends. I spent the night warding off questions of whether we were back together. Thanks, chick.) Perhaps I'm just over-sensitive (which, admittedly is not an unusual when it comes to matters of the heart) but there are some places I choose to avoid on purpose.

One would think any place where a pointed falling-out between old lovers occurred would be the most obvious but it's actually quite the opposite for me. Places where we fought --whatever --I really could care less. One more reminder of why not being with them now makes that much more sense. It's places where the happiest memories took place that pull on the heart strings. Central Park where we paddled on a boat amongst the ducks, that sushi place where we always ordered for each other and any other place where similarly maudlin, borderline nauseating, actions happened are emotional landmines.

Lucky for me, my last relationship was quite the globe-trotting one and unless I plan on going to London, Paris, and New York consecutively any time soon, I'm safe. Toronto has been my hometown and thankfully any sappy memories I had in various locales there have been erased or replaced by, well, new and better ones. No one takes my city away from me, after all.

I'm in Montreal for the weekend and some places are less pleasant than others. Sensitivity? Perhaps, but feelings are feelings. At the end of the day it comes to a decision: either mourn the loss of something that no longer exists or let them remain happy memories and nothing more. The latter is the sensible choice and one that I've been able to do only recently. For me, I know my life goes happy, happier, happiest -- sure what I had once was nice, but the best is yet to come. Everything for a reason -- a belief that's never steered me wrong thus far. Take that, Central Park.

A Little (More) Perspective....OMFG

My dream job would be to work as a journalist for National Geographic. When I was little, my siblings and I would delve into my dad's subscription of the magazine and get lost in the otherworldly images of sharks underwater, citizens of far away countries and more. They represented everything that was foreign and mystifying to us as children...and it was fantastic to let our minds wander. Now, as an adult, I still love all things National Geographic! As thought-provoking as it was when I was younger, the only difference is now, things don't seem as foreign. They're understandable and intriguing and most of all inspiring.

When I was 18, I did what all 18 year old's do: some predictable act of teenage rebellion! For me, this was getting a tattoo (what would become the first of a few) and I decided on wings on my hips. Less slutty than it sounds (no really, they're tiny and lovely) what it meant to me was perspective. To fly up above and see things from another perspective, if you must have it spelled out for you. Putting things into perspective keeps me positive and ambitious....it can be so easy to get caught up in our own lives and forget that there's an entire world out there that awaits. I might as well of gotten "National Geographic" or their famous yellow rectangle logo tattooed on me!

As the year winds down, we all inevitably get into self-reflection mode. Instead of going over your personal drama from the year (decide what is worth it and what is frivolous, and don't bother wasting time on anything that fits into the latter category....easier said than done but worth it) gain a little perspective! Here are National Geographic's annual Year in Photos for 2011 and the winners of their 2011 photo contest! I was blown away. Beautiful and stunning and truly intelligent.

My personal favorites:
Part 2, 14 - I'm a hopeless romantic...romance for the sake of romance and nothing else in the midst of violence? Swoon.
Photo contest, 12 - My ex and I had a fascination with Great Whites that bordered on obsession....a mixture of fear and....well, more fear made it so we watched every shark movie under the sun. Sharktopus included. This picture is my greatest fear but I have no doubt that I'll do it one day!
Part 1, 24 - A delicate reminder that a midst all the shock, trauma and debris of the March tsunami that hit Japan, what they took time to save were memories and reminders of the future. Also, more proof that Asian babies are the cutest. I mean...look at them! No contest.

Enjoy!
x

OMFG - The Moody Blues

Have you ever had one of those days where you just don't want to get out of bed? Either it's because you're tired from a busy work week, feeling plain lazy or, let's face it -- are probably mildly to severely hungover based on the events of the night before. We've all had those days, especially when fluffy duvet covers, silky pillows and freshly laundered sheets are involved. Now how about one of those days where you just can't get out of bed? It's not because you're physically unable too from fatigue or are so hungover the task of walking seems impossible, but rather because it seems pointless, hopeless, or meaningless. Your bed is no longer a throne of dreams and comfort but a sluggish welt in your room that is pulling you into masses of heavy blankets instead of being able to breathe fresh air. If you've ever felt the latter, even to a small degree, then you're probably familiar with some form of mild depression.

This isn't a PSA about the signs and treatments for such a disease, but rather a simple post about how we, as twenty-somethings, are prone to experiencing symptoms of it in our own unique way. I will admit that I've experienced bouts of panic, anxiety and the blues throughout my years. Yes, I'm a highly functioning social person who is, for the most part, a happy person, but also a highly emotional and complicated being who doesn't always have ration and logic. My hypersensitivity leaves it so that I am often bothered by things that shouldn't bother me, and I am at times left to wonder why everyone else seems so fine with things that I just can't seem to get past. I've had days where I feel so tired and weighed down for no reason at all, cannot stop crying, and feel useless. While such episodes are usually spurred by emotional reactions to relationship issues and whatnot, they were occurring enough that I've looked into therapy several times. The first time I never got around to it, and the second time the therapist told me at our first visit that "it doesn't really seem like you need to be in therapy." Um, excuse me? Reassuring I suppose in some ways, but also frustrating in that I felt not depressed enough that I could be diagnosed and treated, but affected enough that it made life difficult a lot of the time.

Being in your twenties is hard. Wonderful in a sense that yes, we are relatively carefree (not many of us have kids to worry about yet, broken hips and other health issues that hit later on and are young enough to still be able to party until 5am and be up for work at 9), and the world is ours for the taking, but hard nonetheless. It's when we're supposed to figure out our entire lives career-wise, romantically, and financially all the while figuring out just who we are. It is the most uncertain decade in every which way for us and this can lead to everything that I know I've personally gone through.

Let's not take this too lightly. If you're sitting in bed eating a tub of ice cream and crying to your girlfriends on the phone about another failed relationship, you're not depressed. If you're down on yourself and cancel on a bro's night because you didn't get that promotion you thought you had in the bag at work, you're not depressed. And if you're worried that your weight is up 3 pounds and that's why that other chick landed that magazine cover and not you, you're not depressed. Yes, being in our twenties has trials and tribulations like all decades, but it's only if they affect you deep down, in a sense that they're issues ice cream and a night in can't solve...well that's when you should perhaps seek help. If they affect you to a point that you feel you can't function on a day to day level, that's when a little warning buzzer should be ringing in your head.

What seems to be a good system, for me at least, is recognizing when a blue episode is on its way. I know what my warning signs are, and when I see one or two pop up, I become proactive in reversing them. Whether it be through talking to a loved one, becoming physically active or keeping busy, it all helps to hopefully avoid the downfall all together. Acknowledging the things that upset you in life and how they affect you is a crucial way to making sure such factors don't reoccur.

Mental issues are hard to acknowledge and at times even harder to reach out and get help for. Since there are no physical symptoms, the severity of such issues are murky waters. Nothing is more frustrating than trying to convince some one of your feelings and being dismissed as simply "moody". What I do know is that the people who tell you to simply "buck up" or that "it's just a phase and you'll get over it" probably haven't experienced it themselves. I trust my instinct like no other and know when I'm feeling something, I'm feeling it and no amount of partying, or other distractions will take my mind off of it. (Although partying sure does help some times...) So my point of this somewhat somber post is, my dear blogees, that the moody blues have a tendency to hit even the best and brightest of us in our twenties. Dealing with it, no matter how mild or severe is up to you. Staying happy and being well sure beat gray skies and tears, now doesn't it?
x

For references and where to find help:
Depression Meetings
Counseling Services
Recognizing Symptoms

OMFG...TIFF, TIFF, TIFF!

TIFF. The one acronym synonymous with arguably the best week of parties in our fair city of Toronto. The one week where A-list celebrities cram themselves into every available hotel and restaurant in Yorkville, and trendy spots of the downtown core. The one week where Toronto gets more international exposure than it does all year. The one week where networking at a party might lead you to an actual producer, not just some one who says he is. And finally, the one week where  the city extends it's liquor license to 4 a.m. and we all know we have to go hard. There is no halfway when it comes to the film festival, and anyone who has done it before knows there's a strategy....unless you want to end up a waking corpse by the end of it. (I'll save you the been-there-done-that trouble: being a walking zombie is never fun.)

TIFF has a different purpose for everyone. When I was fifteen, my best friends and I ventured to Yorkville for our first fest with the sole goal of seeing as many celebrities as possible. For a young teen it seemed absolutely magical to see Nicole Kidman, Anthony Hopkins and Denzel Washington to name a few waltz by us...we even talked to some of them. (She was unearthly stunning, he was intimidating and Denzel must have been having a bad day because he was a total ass. I forgive you Denzel. Being approached by three wide-eyed tween girls sputtering incoherently wouldn't exactly thrill me, either. ) As I got older, chasing down stars lost its appeal and it was more about the partying. I'll admit that during more than a couple TIFF's I would come own each night no earlier than 7 a.m. I solely blame the annual Nikki Beach pop-up. Nothing keeps a girl out for late nights like a schmoozy St. Tropez atmosphere and an abundance of bubbly!

However, I know for many TIFF is about networking their faces off. A logical decision given the caliber of industry personnel who are in town and out and about during the fest! I've never been one to get whipped into a frenzy about the possibility of meeting a Hollywood director or whatnot, but my interests have always been in fashion and events. I do however see the value in meeting not just big time producers, but film makers of all kinds since the possibilities and opportunities are endless. Any meeting with passionate people serves you well at the end of the day, in my opinion..."it doesn't matter what you do, as long as you do it well."  are wise words.

For the next ten days, the power is in the party. No matter if it's day time industry gatherings, cocktail hour receptions, evening lounges or full-on 4 a.m bangers, each and every TIFF event if over-flowing at the brim with people just waiting to provide you with interesting opportunities in the future. You can almost see the sparks of collaborative ideas as they bounce between individual to individual. As a promoter, my two partners and I will be throwing a plethora of 4 a.m. bangers of which I'm positive will reap benefits for business. (...and pleasure. I'm only human, and a party girl at that.)

When it comes down to it, networking, partying, and a love of film aside, what makes TIFF so great is the energy it brings to the city. There's a united feeling of pride in our venues, our people and our atmosphere that has provided Hollywood with refuge for a week in the Great White North. There's a reason film fest here is second only to Cannes! (And Cannes being in the stunning south of France, where exclusivity is built in and the birthplace of Diddy's all-white party...well, we're happily second) So no matter how many douche-bag faux-stars you see strutting around the city with their sunglasses on at night hoping to get mistaken for Ryan Gosling, remember that they're just excited to be part of something great. And that's what Toronto is during film fest -- nothing short of just fantastic.
x

Why the Notebook Sucks...OMFG

The Notebook is the worst movie on the face of this Earth. Yup. I said it. Don't get me wrong, it's beautiful and touching and lovely and magical and absolutely hopelessly, mind-bogglingly romantic....and it sucks balls. No matter how many tears stream down my face whenever Aly and Noah jump into each other's arms, choosing to be together over all logic and common sense, I know that situations like that just don't happen in real life. Why, Notebook, why must you be so cruel? Ryan Gosling single-handedly puts into the minds of every women out there that an amazing, star-crossed lover awaits, eager to prove every notion about jerk guys wrong. Nuh-uh. Does not exist. There's even a Twitter account under the movie's name that spews love quotes, which make even this romantic want to gag. I've un-followed people who re-tweet too many of those quotes. (I.e. sad single girls.)

I should preface this entry with the fact that my friend Liz and I made the poor choice of watching this movie while in the midst of tumultuous fights with our respective boyfriends/ex-boyfriends. After the credits rolled, we promptly wiped away our tears and ran back to the boys we had dismissed as idiotic just hours earlier at dinner. Seriously girls, when you're upset or in a fight with men, don't watch this movie. It makes you think they're something they're not. Bitter? Maybe. But with good reason. Noahs' do not exist in this day and age. The Southern United States in the 1940's? Perhaps. But not today.

The scenes when both characters are elderly are sweet in their devotion, but I found watching this for the second time (Yes, the second time. I'm not one of those girls who curls up in bed and watches The Notebook over and over again on a rainy day. Pointless.) that the interactions Ryan and Rachael have when they're young are very much...well, scenes that justify the crazy. Oh, you know what I mean boys and girls -- the crazy. The little voice in your head that tells you whatever extreme, emotional feeling you're trying to justify when in love is totally justified. It's the same voice that makes you online creep an ex's profile, throw objects that are within arm's reach when enraged at your partner and say "we'll make it work!"  when it hasn't the past six billion times.

And that speech. Oh that speech. That speech that he gives after they've reunited seven years later to make her choose him over her handsome yet dull and predictable fiance. (James Marsten, sexy as ever. Although no matter what role I see him in, I expect him to shoot lasers out of his eyes, Cyclops style.) That speech ruins it for us all. It makes any girl, or guy, stuck in a fiery, perpetually unstable relationship think that that is love. I don't remember his words exactly but something along the lines of "Fight! That's what we do! It's going to be hard, and we'll have to work on it every day, but I want you. Everyday. Forever."  I mean, really. Those are fighting words justifying the crazy if I ever heard them. Not cool, Ryan Gosling, not cool.

Yes, fighting is a natural part of relationships and when we fight, we move forward when we come up solutions. But, when we fight constantly and get nowhere? I just can't wrap my head around that being love. When the same issues arise over and over, it's usually because neither party is willing to compromise for one another. And what's a good relationship without compromise? There is no good relationship without compromise. Sacrifices for love should be a joy simply to see how happy it makes your significant other. But that's just me.

Women in their twenties have enough cray cray going on without needing justification of it all from romantic drivel in movies. Although men could stand to cure some of their cluelessness with romance by watching. Dear men: if you feel compelled to show your woman how much your care for them, just do it. There's no rarer breed than a genuine romantic man nowadays and it'll put you miles ahead of most selfish guys out there. All in all, touching movie, but about as realistic as X-Men. Ryan Goslings of the world, where art thou?
x

OMFG - Everything for a reason...even you Irene!

Nothing quite shows who truly cares about you like a natural disaster. An over-hyped natural disaster at that, but  a scary event to go through by yourself in New York City nonetheless. Especially in an apartment with no television and no internet. Like a typical girl, Hurricane Irene was late to arrive and made us all wait  (the little bitch), but thankfully her impact wasn't too bad. Mostly flooding of the lower-lying areas of Manhattan and power outages, plus a few trees and garbage cans as causalities. I'm grateful and my thoughts go out to those the South who received the harsher end of her wrath.

Despite it being a slightly over-glorified rainstorm, the city rightfully took precautions in what could of been a devastating event. I spent an hour waiting in line at the grocery store stocking up on food and water (turns out I'm balls at shopping for food for myself...M&M's, lox and figs didn't exactly go well together..), bought a flash light and made sure I was not in an evacuation zone. Actually, all information about the storm was parlayed to me via my darling sister, dad and friends. Thank goodness for their thoughtfulness or I would of been totally out of the loop, save for runs to a nearby Starbucks to use the Internet there.

I definitely believe everything happens for a reason and the support I got from the friends close to me made me realize who was important in my life. It also made me realize who definitely wasn't. People who brushed Irene off as "nothing much" and "oh you'll be fine" were right in facts but sorely lacking in empathy and care. I mean, sure, it's going to be all right we think, but to me, if they really cared, they'd be worried about a loved one there anyways. Or at least provide a little comfort.

This post isn't much more than to point out just that: everything, and I mean everything, happens for a reason.  I trust in destiny always and I was definitely supposed to be here during this to fine-tune several things in my life. It's back to lovely Toronto on Tuesday and I can't wait for a fresh start, fresh perspective and most of all change! Bring it on.
x

Falling for Fake Love...OMFG

I've mentioned my parents in multiple blog posts: the loving, hard-working, endlessly devoted team who raised me is also responsible for ruining any chance I have at a realistic expectation of love thanks to their traditional and seemingly extinct yet perfect union. But alas, I can't place all the blame on my lovely parents. Sure, they set the standard, but it has been reinforced over and over again by popular culture. Thanks to television shows, music and the biggest culprit: romantic comedies, I've fallen for "fake love", a level of love that doesn't seem to exist anywhere but in the media, and inconveniently in my head. Kill me now.

My boyfriend asked me one day what romance was. "We spend time together...isn't that enough?" He questioned, sounding genuinely perplexed. I cried. What do you mean the man I love didn't want to create a world of star-gazing and flowers and huge romantic gestures every second of the day? It seemed cold, cruel and utterly impossible to be in a relationship that didn't include passions on top of passions.

I spent yesterday evening writing all the while having How I Met Your Mother on in the background. Every time I poked my head out from my laptop screen, Ted was in the middle of some insanely romantic plan to win a girl over. From surprising a girl he wanted to date with a string quartet in her apartment to taking a girl on an elaborate two minute date since that was all the time she had available for a date, this is the kind of impossible romantic drivel being pounded into my head every time I tune into mass media. It's getting to a point that unless I marry Romeo Montague, no man will ever satisfy me in the romance department. That's the problem with wanting fake love; it's only possible in the movies.

I love Coldplay. Yes, I realize they've douched out since becoming one of the biggest bands in the world, but when my best friend and I were first discovering them when we were in middle school, they were a charming, new and earnest band who sang simple songs about love. I was hooked. From the time I was in my early teens until my early twenties, I listened to Coldplay nonstop. That's a good decade of my life spent being brainwashed by such heartbreaking tender lyrics such as "Look at the stars, look how they shine for you, and everything you do,' and "Lights will guide you home, and ignite your soul, and I will try and fix you." not to mention "You are a rock, upon which I stand,"  I mean really. I never stood a chance.

It's not that I'm looking for fireworks and flowers every time I go on a date (well not anymore at least..) but the romantic in me, the one who remembers every love line, lyric and gesture from every book, show and movie she's seen, always gets her hopes just the teeniest bit raised whenever there's a possibility for one to happen. And so far I've been met with nothing but disappointment. This is not to read as some commentary on the caliber of my boyfriend (Although romantic, he is not. We have a joke. On a scale of romance it goes: old boot > my boyfriend > smelly old boot. His defense? "Well at least I'm better than a smelly old boot!" Cute.) but rather a commentary on how much pop culture has infiltrated our lives. Realistic love, or more specifically the ways in which love and admiration are expressed in the everyday world, just don't seem to be as meaningful unless matched with larger than life actions.

It's been something of a realization for me that everyone loves in their own way. Not everyone cares for huge lovey-dovey gestures, but that shouldn't read as them being any less...well, loving. I know I'll aways be some one whose heart swells when the male protagonist in the movie wins the girl back with some crazy elaborate scheme (JT and the flash dance mob in Friends with Benefits, Heath dancing along the stairs and singing in Ten Things I Hate About You, Freddy Prince Jr. in every movie he's ever been in, etc.) but it's because I wear my heart on my sleeve, and always will. (Literally...those heart tattoos aren't going anywhere.) But what it takes for a non-romantic to be with me, or anyone else, is simply love. Expressed in the way they want, so long as it's expressed. Traditional hopeless romantics may shake their heads, but we live in modern times, and this modern girl is adapting her ways.

Fake love be damned. I'll settle for real love any day. That old boot may be on to something....x

OMFG - Progress, Progress, Progress

I remember being in middle school and the make-up regime I went through daily in order to get ready. It was a lot. There was concealer, and tons and tons and tons of eyeliner (every Asian girl goes through a super-heavy eyeliner phase, trust me. Actually every girl in general, really.) and eye shadow and blush and tons and tons and tons of mascara on top of all that eyeliner. I probably resembled something of an Asian mafia princess, all that heavy make-up combined with super-thin eyebrows that seemed so in back then, but at the time it was my way of feeling pretty. Fast forward to the present and yes, I obviously still wear make-up, but it's much less than then, and I look and feel much more myself. The years have only brought confidence to me and thank goodness, because I probably wouldn't of gotten into modeling had I prolonged my Asian mafia look.

One of the perks that comes with every twenty-something birthday I pass is that I grow more and more sure of myself. As any young woman in touch with herself (intellectually and emotionally...get your minds out of the gutter, pervs.) can tell you, confidence in your twenties can be a wavering thing. Fragile yet tenacious, I find at least, that it varies as much as my mood does. There are days when I feel like I can run this city, and days when I feel like a miserable cow who's only understanding outlet is cupcakes. (Seriously, baked goods are the love of my life. Thank goodness for my faster-than-fast metabolism.) I don't feel vulnerable admitting to my insecurities, only because I know every human being out there has them.

As varied as my confidence can be, I feel more myself as I get older. Silly statement it seems to make, as obviously I've always been myself, but what I'm talking about is a sureness in my thoughts, feelings, and what I want to be doing with my life. There's an assertiveness that wasn't present much during my teens, and a comforting knowledge that mini-life crisis's aren't the end of the world, but stepping stones to the next level. That forward-moving ball of highly emotional yet fiery energy I described myself as in one of my recent blog posts fine-tuned itself over the last year and I can only imagine what will it will transform into in the near future. My landlord in Singapore (a charmingly dazed British man who did more drugs in his lifetime than anyone should and reminded me of a Rolling Stone...you're sort of amazed he's still alive.) would always talk to me in his pot-induced hazes and call me "Top Exec" as a nickname. You're just on the verge of taking off, Top Exec, I can feel it, and everyone who meets you can feel it. It's this fire. Although I took his words with a grain of salt (or weed, is more like it) I felt very much the same. A twenty-something on the verge...aren't we all on some level.

The person I am today is not who I was a week ago, a month ago, a year ago an so forth. Progress is the key to life for me (aside from love, that is) and I know as long as I'm making it, I'm good to go. Disorganized, perhaps. Unstable, maybe. But making progress? Always. Some may mistake me as not always being super upbeat all the time, but like I've said before I'm not one of those shiny happy people. And I like it that way. Whatever I'm working through in my head and in reality is usually an issue I feel I have to, and will conquer in due time. Progress indeed.

Mind you, all of this occurs just beneath the surface and is subtle unless you know me extremely well...of which I'd say only a few people do. This is the case for many women I know, and I think some of the most lovely and exquisite girls I've met are highly subtle and elegant. Confidence and progress are key to all evolving twenty-something women...and men for that matter. We all change from year to year and whether it's a forward momentum is up entirely to us. For every lovely and exquisite women on the verge out there, there's an over-made mafia princess waiting to bloom..x

OMFG -- A little Perspective

When I was 18, I got my first tattoo of a small pair of wings. It was not some deluded tribute to thinking of myself as an angel, or anything to do with fairies, but a simple reminder to always have perspective in life. The wings were my freedom, the ability to fly away and gain perspective when it came to any situation, and see it with fresh eyes. Throughout the years I've amassed a couple other tattoos which are more like love scrawls that create a delicate narrative along my body, and realized that I needed perspective more than ever...instead of being consumed by situations since I am so driven by emotions, especially when I think love is involved.

I've been in New York the past couple days, and I can't think of a better place to regain my perspective. Being alone in the most influential metropolis in the world puts you in your place in every way, and also allows one to find an identity in its vast anonymity. It's not that I was a wanderer up until now (love, and always will love Toronto.) but anyone who has been to NYC knows the impact it can have. Spending solo time with nothing but the city and your thoughts is bound to lead to some realizations, even to the most spacey of space cadets, let alone an over-analytic, hyper-thinker like myself.

Add rainy weather, gray skies and slightly more desolate than normal streets and you've got yourself the perfect scene for the emo kind of day I've been having. Pathetic fallacy, my late English teacher from high school taught us it was called when inanimate objects (like the weather) reflected a character's mood. Although I can't blame my thoughts on the dowdy Manhattan weather -- it was beautiful and sunny yesterday and still my brain was thinking faster than it normally does...close to combustion I think it borderlines on at times. Just what is all my perspective being gained in, you ask? Why the answer is obvious for anyone who remotely knows me. Love. Love, love, love. I don't think anyone who's not a Romantic era poet thinks about love as much as I do.

It's a lovely sentiment to live by, but also a huge weakness and my ideas on how it should be in my life (cough, perfectly, cough) usually end in disaster. How does one cope with the little girl who lives in a fairy tale? I have no idea, and neither does any man I've dated. Realistic and rational and unshakably chill I can be, but for some one who is thoughtful and caring and places so much of her happiness on living life that way, it's hard to find that expectation reciprocated in one's romantic life.

And so, with all my trials and tribulations when it comes to being a lovey dovey romantic, I've slipped on my pair of wings here in the Upper East side where I'm staying and attempted to see everything I've been through with fresh eyes. As long as I move forward with some sort of progress, I'll be satisfied. After all we are nothing if not for progress.
x

OMFG - Make it work.

As a fan of Project Runway, I always loved it when Tim Gunn arched those perfectly groomed eyebrows of his and advised the contestants to "Make it work.". I always wondered how that phrase applied not only to television but to relationships as well, especially in our youth. How much work should we dedicate to making something that isn't working, work?
I'm sure as you get older, making relationships work is a little easier of a choice. After you've been with someone  for a certain amount of time and have experienced what you wanted to in life, finding  a lover or companion to spend the relaxing years of your life with is a no-brainer. But what about when you're in your twenties, at the top of your game, and with the world at your fingertips? Not as easy. I can speak honestly for most twenty-somethings out there when I say we're all selfish little brats looking out for number one. The usual train of thought that goes through our pretty heads when it comes to evaluating a relationship is along the lines of "Will they hold me back?" "Will I find some one better?" "Can I commit to one person when I can't even handle my own affairs?" "Is this love???" Oh, the amount of uncertainty that clouds the brain of a twenty-something is literally mind-boggling.
That's why the number of unstable, off and on, kinda-sorta and maybe relationships (for lack of a better, or less concrete word), during these years is so high. To commit to another person when you can barely commit to yourself seems almost impossible. Usually it just seems easier to let go and move on than to stick around and try and make it work. After all, why should we put so much effort into fixing something that's seemingly broken when something, or some one, better could easily come along? Well call me crazy, but I'm going to pull the love card here.
For all the headache and heartbreak we put ourselves through during the years of partying, traveling and general recklessness, once in a blue moon you find some one who just might end up being worth the effort. I once heard that there are no "maybe" feelings when it comes to love; that when you know, you know. Even some one as hopelessly romantic as me can say that sure, when you're in love you know it, but defining love is something else entirely. So how do you know you're in something you can't even define? Oh, there's no need to get all emo here, but suffice to say it's difficult. I've been through several maudlin moments thus far in my life where the definition of what love is has modified itself significantly. Is loving some one letting them go live their life to the fullest and knowing destiny will bring you back together? Or is it being together no matter how difficult? I can't say for certain, but I know for me, at this very moment, it is, like Tim Gunn says, making it work.
Life in our youth is ridiculous enough as it is without love, or something like it, being added to the mix...but what's a little more craziness on top of an already hectic life? Maybe at this age you never really know what's for certain in another person, but what we do know is when it feels worth it, it usually is.
x

Pick up the phone, pick up the phone....OMFG

Oh men! As a girl dating in her twenties, I could go on and on about the gripes I have with the opposite sex as I'm sure any other girl could. And nowadays with all the technology we have attached to our fingertips 24/7, it seems as though there are a million new ways for us women to get mad at our current men over... and vice versa I'm sure. Bbm, Facebook, Twitter, texting...with so many connections to so many people, flirting and the line between what's appropriate and what's not in relationships, sort-of relationships or whatever the heck undefinable entanglements we're in gets harder and harder to figure out.
I can't tell you how many times I've gotten frustrated over stupid indiscretions with tech stuff. Like most dudes who are overly rational and not nearly as emotional as girls tend to be, my guy friends always say "just because it's not online doesn't mean it's not happening in real life." Oh sure, that sounds just nice and peachy, but if you're proud to be with some one in real life, why the heck wouldn't that translate into your online personality, especially when that's how so many people are exposed to you? Exactly. Guys, you can spin it however you want, but all we hear is "he can't commit to me and still wants to seem available." In the words that the infallible Chris Martin croons in Viva La Vida: if you love me, won't you let me know....online. Of course making a fuss about little things here and there are only for when two people become serious. If I'm just hooking up with a guy or we've yet to make things official, I could really care less who he's poking, messaging or flirty wall-posting online with. (For the record no real men should 'poke'! Surely you can think of a more confident way to get a girl's attention. Also, big fat ew on a context level. No one who pokes me if ever going to get a response unless it's done with a big dose of irony.)
Facebook aside, for my fellow crackberry addicts, there's bbm. Ah bbm, the accountability checker and cause of some of my worst fights. Being able to read when some one receives and chooses to respond to a message is a gift and a curse, depending on the time difference between the two. I'm on my crackberry like a bee on honey and am always prompt to respond to whoever is messaging me, and I can't help but get irked when people take their sweet ass time responding to simple things. Add all the here-say of sex and dating and you've got yourself a virtual battlefield. (Side-note: the only thing worse than a unresponsive read message is when the message doesn't even go through at all. What are you, just hanging out in the subway for the day? Come on now.) Perhaps men just naturally aren't as communicative as women, but I don't think we have to get into biology or a war of the sexes here. It's as simple as if you care, answer. We're talking 30 seconds max and if you don't have 30 seconds for some one...well, that's something a girl is going to want to know.
I'm clearly going through some communicative frustrations myself resulting in this very ranty blog post! Being in a long distance relationship for a few months coupled with watching too many Sex and the City episodes lately has put me into a somewhat overly-empowered woman mode and my naturally demanding behavior is at a peak. Is it too much to ask for perfection in love? Maybe. But when you're sure it's love (and I am), then perhaps demanding perfection, and striving for it constantly, is the only way to keep the standard of your relationship as close to that as possible. Perfect love may not exist, but as long as there are little warriors for love out there, near-perfect is an attainable reality.
For all you men out there reading this who can't understand their women and why we make a fuss over the little things like Facebook and bbm, allow me to clear things up for you: it is because we see it as an indicator of bigger things. When you love some one and they can't seem to do little things for you, it's a sure sign they won't do bigger things for you either. So if you take one thing away from my emotional vomit of a post take this: answer your damn phone. x

OMFG - NYC Lovin'

Guys and dolls, I've been bitten by the Big Apple fever that every twenty-something experiences at least once in a lifetime. I don't know any other way to put it: I'm totally geeking out over New York City! Up until recently, I had only been as a child. All my memories of the big city were romanticized childhood ones, like adoring the glamorous Rockettes on stage at Radio City Music Hall or tilting my head way up high to take in the beautifully lit Christmas Tree at Rockefeller Center surrounded by snow and my family. However now, as an adult, I've been twice in the back past month (I'm blogging from my friend's Upper East side apartment right now!) and all I have to say is this: New York City is freaking amazing.

The bright lights and big city are so much better when you're at an age to be a part of everything. The constant buzzing of things happening in the air feeds directly into my energy source and I feel like being out and about all the time. I'm a Toronto girl born and raised and so cities aren't a new thing for me; however after 24 years in a mid-sized place like Toronto, I feel like a whole new, bigger city where everything is unknown is just what I need to pump a little life into the rut of routine I've been in lately. I can see myself living here without a second thought, whereas every other city that I could almost see myself living in had a but moment. (Singapore: amazing design and layout but too hot. London: love the culture but miserable rain. You get the idea.) When I was leaving the last time I was here, it was the first time I felt sad to go home.

What is it that reels so many of us into the Big Apple and makes us never want to leave? Aside from the obvious being that NYC is a top tier city in business and fashion, there's the undeniable cool factor that, while other cities try, they just can't seem to emulate. (And trust me, no other city tries harder to be cool than my darling Toronto....I love it and all, but until we stop attempting to copy NYC, Miami, Paris and what have you, we won't ever create a sustainable identity of our own.) On a totally nerdy note, I personally get a kick out of how much the city gets featured in television and film...and like every twenty-something girl it's landmarks from Sex and the City that I squeal over most. (H&H? That's where Carrie bought the bullshit bagels! Tasty Delite? That's where Charlotte gets her diet dessert with Harry after dinner! Eeeeeee!) There's also the constant activity that such a large city can handle on an everyday level. When it's after 2 a.m. in my hometown, my cuisine options are either poutine, dirty Chinese food or street meat. Down here? Well let's just say I was out well past four on Saturday and enjoyed a leisurely sit-down meal of champagne, lobster and oysters. I speak for every foodie out there when between mouthfuls of buttery lobster I murmured, "Oh baby,  I think I'm home!"

An admiration -- no make that adoration -- for the Big Apple is nothing we haven't heard a million times before. Plain and simple, this is the city where it happens. It being whatever we might be looking for in our lives. Whether it's a dream job, fame, love, artistic inspiring, or simply a foodie experience, Manhattan and its surrounding areas is where we find seemingly endless opportunities. (Or, seemingly endless trouble depending on what you're seeking...) In the very least, it's where we go in hopes of finding these opportunities and end up creating new experiences on the many paths there. You never know who you might bump into in a city of more than 7 million of the most ambitious and interesting people out there, and it's exciting to say the least. Sure, Toronto's got NYC beat since it's my hometown and where my family and most of my friends reside, but while I'm young, relatively care-free and mobile, I think I'll let my Big Apple fever run just a little bit longer. x