OMFG - How to Cope with the Winter Blahs

Note: [Just a little note before I get into this post today: I will be launching a new blog soon! A properly branded and well-curated blog. Oh what's that you say? Is OMFG not properly branded and curated? In a word - no. OMFG was created because twenty-year old Sheila was going through whatever crisis twenty-year old Sheila was going through at the time (there were many) and needed some kind of catharsis. Hence the name, nature, and overall tone of OMFG. While it has been a great platform for me to, how shall I put this eloquently -- brain vomit onto -- it's time to move on. However, with a lot of work still left to do before launching the new one, I will continue to brain vomit on here. Anyway, keep your eyes peeled - I look forward to sharing my passion project with you all soon!]

I woke up to a cavalcade of texts this morning with the same message: all my friends utterly freaking out about the first snowfall in the city. Mass horror. Multiple repetition of the word depression and the phrase but what will we do?! You'd think a bunch of Canadians would be used to the white stuff by now, but apparently not.

As a born and raised Torontonian, I can empathize with the shock and awe every year. Perhaps you one-seasoned dwellers (I'm looking at you, L.A.) are all well-adjusted with your even doses of vitamin D and sunshine and whatever, but us seasonal east coast folks are moody, emo, and perpetually introspective. You would be too with four different seasons, of which two include what can best be described as slivers of sunlight. Forget the struggle. It's the angst that's real.

The first snowfall signifies Toronto's transformation into Gotham for the next goodness-knows-how-long. It goes dark at 4 in the afternoon. Everyone is in black, gray, or some shade in between, and interactions in public are not between two people but rather between your face, the two feet of ground in front of you, and the fur to the left and right of your cheeks. Lovely indeed.

An easy time to get depressed? Surely. But us Canadians have more than one way to beat the winter blahs. Call me naive but I find something quite romantic about the change of season. The city becomes gritty and intense...and as much as I hate trudging through it in my Weitzmans, the snow blankets all the city's imperfections and is nothing short of beautiful. It's called cuffing season for a reason -- the interactions we do have are more meaningful because if I'm going to step foot into the post-Apocalyptic wasteland that IS the outside world to come see you or vice versa -- it better be worth it.

If being one half of a spooning/Netflix situation isn't your thing there's always the tried and true winter solution of good old alcohol. Nothing, and I mean nothing, warms a body up quite like it. Say what you will about we the north, but afraid of the cold physically is something we're not. As a promoter in the night life scene, I can safely say that girls are just as, if not more sparsely attired in the dead of winter than the summer. Bare legs and sky-high heels are a night time observation to  be made year round. The parties are even arguably of better calibre given the frost. How is that possible? Well let's put it this way: those who are willing to make the trek from condo to club are in for the long haul. No one missions out in the cold without a die hard mission to party and party hard. Even during our Ice Age of a winter last year, I had some of the best times with my good friends, copious amounts of vodka and not much else. Snow be damned. We're good as long as we have ice.

So whether you're viewing the winter onslaught romantically through rose-coloured glasses or through the slightly hazy eyes of vodka, whisky, or other choice poison, know that it's going to be okay. I personally always set out to do the latter but that inevitably leads to the former. Who knows. All we know for sure is that winter is coming. We got this, Gotham. x

OMFG - The Every Girl's Guide to Clubbing

We all know partying is awesome. But those of us who know just how awesome it is are the ones who do it a lot. And girls, I can say without a doubt that I fall into that category. From sneaky underage teen, to student partying, to going out as a naive model, to hard-partying model and now a promoter, I share with you all the clubby wisdom I've learned during my slightly inebriated (okay, heavily) years out. 

- Get in good with the promoters.

This is as basic as it gets. If you want to be taken care of in the future, get in good it the promoters. Don't know what promoters are? You probably should leave King West in favor of your local pub instead. This is easier than it sounds. I'm a relatively rare female promoter and am as social as they come. Walk up to me, be nice, make sure I remember your name and get your number and you're golden. It's even easier with dude promoters. Ladies, wearing something with a little T and a little A and introducing yourself will suffice. Sound fake and sleazy? Again, if this borders on morally wrong for you, I hear there are plenty of nice, local Irish pubs midtown.

- Tip the bathroom lady. 
If you tend to frequent the same clubs on the same nights, chances are you're being offered paper towel by the same bathroom attendant each visit. Tip this woman, and tip her well. And, if you're coherent enough to string together sentences, engage in small talk. Why? The bathroom is where most, if not all, illicit club behavior goes down and goodness knows you don't want to be disturbed when partaking in illicit behavior. I am sure to get a hug every time I see the bathroom lady at the club I promote at on Friday nights. I am also sure I could get away with murder in there. And hey, if you're not quite as illicitly inclined as yours truly, at least it's guaranteed access to hairspray and gum.

- Don't be a bottle fiend.
So you've gotten in good with the promoters and there's usually a booth and bottles waiting for you upon arrival. Usually. There is nothing, and I mean nothing more annoying than a bottle fiend -- you know, those chicks who ask every 5 minutes when the bottle is arriving. There are ways to get drinks before the bottle comes. It involves asking the bartender for one, and giving them little rectangle pieces of paper in return. Yes, ladies, you can buy your own drinks on occasion! I get many a "as if I have to purchase my own drink" huffy face from girls all the time, but darling, if you can't afford to drop $20 (or less!) on a drink then I feel bad. Mainly because you'd be better off not by the bar, but working the room as a hooker instead. Gotta get that cab fare home somehow, right?! If the logic still stumps you, think of it this way; by the time you finish your one purchased drink, the bottle will have arrived and you can guzzle that like a baby until the nights over, or until you pass out. Which ever comes first.

-The early bird gets the worm.
And by worm, I mean hassle free entry to the club. There's no need to arrive at 10 (unless you'd like to help set up the booths with staff) but rolling up at 1a.m. with a crew and expecting to waltz in is risky. Unless you know the promoters well (and as one I must say it's a headache to get friends in when its packed and late.) Or are sleeping with the owners (that's the AMEX black card of clubbing...but less exclusive.) Chances are you're going to be waiting. And this is Canada, so half the time that's waiting in the cold. Do the smart thing and breeze in at a timely 11:30. You'll be part of the action...no sleeping with the owners necessary. 

- Don't BYOD.

As in don't Bring Your Own Drugs. I'm not saying everyone does them and no one talks about it...wait no, that's exactly what I'm saying! Either do them before you get there, or purchase on location. Worried about there not being any dealers around? Of course there will be! That old-ish, ugly, leather-jacket clad dude inexplicably in the VIP section? He's one. The really short guy in a way-too-low v-neck and a perma-grin on his face with bulging eyes? He's one too. And if not, subtly ask a few people and they'll direct you to the right source. Getting caught with anything at the door means slight embarrassment and worse, you just wasted your stash. It's all about location, location, location. 


And there you have it...a girl's guide to clubbing as easily as possible. Slightly scandalous perhaps, but nothing more than what happens on a usual night at any given club. See you out and about ladies...x

Shiny, Happy, People -- OMFG

I always meet these girls when I'm out and about who are very pretty. They're perfectly toned and fit, cheery and happy, have shiny hair and teeth, and talk about vitamins and yoga. Their ensembles are always color-coordinated (little pink dress with pink shoes and pink nails, etc.) and they're always very nice. For some reason,  I can just never relate to these girls, nice and pretty as they are. Perhaps they're a tad vanilla and I just get a little bored...or perhaps I just wish I was as put together as they were.

Truth be told, that while I have things together for the most part, some times I'm a spastic, emotionally snowballing, indecisive yet forward-throttling momentum who functions on a wavelength only I can hear. Ummm, yup, that pretty much sums it up. Ask any of my close friends and they can vouch for my overall ridiculousness. Perhaps that's why I feel so at home in the nightlife and modeling scene....it's a pace I'm comfortable in -- ample downtime dotted with unpredictable amounts of intensely busy periods. Go fast, burn out, recuperate, then do it all again. Sure, we can attribute this to a hedonistic youth, but let's recap here: I am in my hedonistic youth! Through promoting and modeling, at least I'm profiting from some of it.

Call me cray cray, but this up and down and at times super messiness totally works for me. I call it a constant state of transformation....realizing, maturing, that whole bit. As long as there's progress, which there is, than it's all good in my books! Okay okay, so maybe it's a little bit of me making excuses for my ridiculous situations some times, but really, how are we twenty-somethings supposed to know not to drink all night and perhaps do some drugs (Perhaps. We're being hypothetical here.) and then try and go to work on no sleep unless you do it once? Or twice, or ten times? Live and learn ladies and gents, and goodness knows I wouldn't know half the things I do if it weren't for my total disregard for responsibility which surfaces from time to time (usually between the hours of midnight and six in the morning...) Of course partying is the most obvious of situations here, but my last-minuteness in all areas of my life also seems to be serving me well, especially in recent years. Jumping, catching and chasing opportunities all over this city, and other cities, is something of a thrill for me and I wouldn't have it any other way...being unpredictable is a lovely quality in a person. Never one to be attracted to people who give it all away at once, I prefer not only to be a puzzle but to befriend them. Give me layers of complication and I'll stay interested forever.

I suppose my tolerance for the unstable also stems from my tolerance for emotions. Never one to shy away from them (as any long-time readers of this blog should know by now), I'm a big believer in feeling things out no matter how painful the process. A dying breed we feelers are I'm finding as many, especially go-getters in this cut-throat world, would rather push them aside and focus on work or whatnot. Anything to not have to suffer internally.  I think all these people are destined for some sort of catastrophic meltdown, or living life as shells of who they truly are. How are we supposed to know who we are if we don't let ourselves feel what we should be? Of course, all the perpetually happy people might tell me otherwise, but you know what darlings, some times you just need to cry/yell it out. Catharsis...not just for tortured artists. Shit happens. Freak out. Then keep calm and carry on.

Living fast, teetering on emotional messes, slowing down just enough to get it all together and not learning lessons until you've lived through them is probably not the healthiest of lifestyles, but it's the only one I know how to live. Vitamins and yoga? I think I'll pass for now. Those pretty girls are all very nice and shiny, but I choose mysterious, reckless, scandalous (all the while still being exquisite...that's how we roll kids) over vanilla any day. Maybe when I'm forty and looking and feeling worse for the wear I'll regret it, but until then it's full speed ahead on my fiery little wavelength.
x