OMFG - The Chase: Expectation vs. Reality

Ever since Joseph Gordon-Levitt showed us his split-screen expectation versus reality vision in (the amazing, but also depressingly realistic) 500 Days of Summer, we collectively sighed. No, not over his adorably offbeat charm...but rather because we've all been there. The good old dating game! It never quite lives up to how we picture it, now does it?

Delusions of grandeur are exactly that...delusions. We romantics perhaps have it a bit worse than the rest, but I'd say, even in this jaded and opportunistic urban dating world, everyone is guilty of building things up in their pretty little heads. You want him to do this or lavish you with that, or do that thing that hot leading dude in that rom-com did for his leading lady. (Gosling/Tatum, I'm looking at you!) He, on the other hand, wants you to act this way or do that, or behave like that lady-in-the-streets but freak-in-the-bed chick he saw in that one movie. It's confusing and disappointing and pointless. The key? Adjusting your expectations.

Easier said than done, my fellow daters! The honeymoon period is called so precisely for a reason: the excitement, the courting, the chase...it's absolute heaven. There's nothing quite like the chase and a guy will likely pull out all the romantic, showy stops to get you from eye candy to bed candy...or sometimes girlfriend candy as well. I'm not saying men have to be utter showmen for the duration of the union, but guys...don't do anything you don't plan on up-keeping at least in some way while you're with her.

You can court the crap out of your girl at the beginning, but unless you genuinely can maintain that sort of behavior and, more so, think she deserves it (even after you're with her) then just don't. Seriously. Yes, we're talking financially (it's not like you're comping dinners to the company card here) but also affection-wise. It is more than irksome when a man starts off being intense and intimate and just fades from there. Cue the instant downer sound now. Either she'll resent you for thinking that you were at a level you weren't (or had stronger feelings for her than you do) or you'll resent her for having to execute actions you're just not interested in. Yes, we get it, the chase is the chase, but make it somewhat believable.

And to my girls who get swept away as easily as one, two, Louboutin -- throw in a little logic with those rose-tinted glasses! If he's whisking you away to St. Tropez, or wining and dining you to a ridiculous point within the first few weeks, it's not a good sign. Unless you want to be a little trophy or are a shameless gold digger (both totally plausible options in this city - and if that's your thing - by all means) then steer clear my friends, steer clear.

The trick to adjusting your expectations? Be happy with yourself as is. Anything on top of that will be a nice added perk! Anything that falls short, well, won't matter because you'll be fine one way or the other. Self-loathing makes for all-too-easy delusions of grandeur. Enjoy the chase, go along for the ride, but don't forget to self-tint those rose-colored glasses every now and then. 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 - Do Nice Guys Actually Finish Last?

In the past little while I've read a plethora of articles online about how hard nice guys have it. Mostly opinion, some satire. (Think Vice, Elite Daily, that sort of thing.) They've all been interesting, slightly offensive, and mildly accurate, at best. They do, however, all come to one sad conclusion: in the dating game, nice guys finish dead last. My goodness, what is it about us silly, emotional, self-hating women that causes us to love assholes and make nice guys so utterly miserable? Aren't we just the worst?

Well no. I love how all these articles single-handedly blame women for the demise of the Nice Guy. We're just begging to be treated like shit, apparently, so men oblige as if they're doing us a favor. Here's the thing: women who are happily dating nice guys don't go on writing rampages about it. They also don't rant to all their friends about it. So in truth, the Nice Guy who is happily in a relationship gets a lot less press than the scorned one. And of course he gets a whole lot less press than the Asshole who walks away from his dealings with girls like men in skinny ties and sunglasses walk away from explosions in movies. When it comes to love, we talk about our problems, not our happiness. (No one would of gone to see The Notebook if they just went and got married after happily dating, now would they.)

In my twenty six years of dating, and in my twenty six years of girl friends sharing their stories of the perils of dating, I can truly say there is nothing wrong with nice guys. I welcome them. The problem with dating nice guys is how nice they are in comparison to you...it's the scale of relativity for niceness. Not kidding! For example, I was too nice for one ex (practically an angel in his eyes) and ultimately the devil in the eyes of my next ex. One just happened to be more apt to bad behavior and wavering morals while the other was black and white in his principles. Each saw me accordingly. (Model, promoter, party-loving, flighty, and ice cold when provoked...yet intensely close to my family, university educated, and overly caring and loyal. Confusing, I get it.) It's not that girls don't like nice guys...it's that girls don't like guys that are nicer than they are.

The whole damsel in distress ploy is a thing of the past. Unless a girl is seriously damaged, there's no need for any saving to be done. We're looking for an equally distressed dude to come along for the ride. I've always said, it's not about finding a partner in life, but a partner in crime. This doesn't mean a rag-tag looking, authority-defying, cad of a man, but simply some one who treats me well because he thinks I'm freaking awesome...and not because he's trying to be the Nice Guy.

Apparently I've been blind to a nice guy or two trying to garner my attention, as my girl friends have pointed out. The argument of nice being boring comes to mind, but really, it's just that sparks didn't fly! Nice or not nice, you need the zsa zsa zou to get any relationship going. So men, quit trying to be the Nice Guy and just be the Awesome Dude...i.e. yourself. We smart girls are bound to see what's real and what's fake sooner than you'd think.

So no, we don't want to be stood up, ignored, lied to or treated like shit in general. We like real men who can handle themselves and us as well without relying on stupid little archetypes. The Asshole might not finish last, and neither does the Nice Guy...but you know who does? The Whiny Nice Guy. x

OMFG...How Long Will Your Summer Fling Last?

As the sun beats hot and heavy during the day and the air is warm and inviting at night, we all can't help but get a little twitterpated with the season. (That's college talk for horny, in case you didn't know.) That wise little owl called it when he told Bambi, "Oh yes, nearly everybody gets twitterpated in the springtime." Less clothes, more hooking up, to put it bluntly. And so, with copious flings to be flung here, there, and everywhere, just how does one know what will last and what won't? Allow me to help you, darling bloggees: the Ultimate Guide to How Long Your Summer Fling Will Last based on where and how you met...shall we?

Where?
At the club.

How long will it last?
One night - a few months
This one is not as obvious as you'd think. Sure, one night stands are the result of many a club night but there are lots of decent people who go out as well. (Yes, I'm a promoter and perhaps biased, but the truth is clubs aren't just for flashy drug-addled scene kids.) Granted that you both can go out together without getting into stupid drunk fights, a relationship can endure. However, let's face it, these whirlwind, drunk, dancey, showy bonds tend to fizzle after a few months when the infatuation is over. Usher can sing it, but it ain't the truth: there's no real love in this club.

Will there be fallout?
Oh god yes. Lots, and lots, and lots of never-ending fallout. Listen, if they picked you up at the club, they're going to do it again. And again. And again. And chances are you're going to have to see it grinding and getting nasty all up in your drunk face every time you go there. Clubs = stomping grounds. Either get a new one or find a way to get your ex out of there. (Slipping the bouncer a smile and a crisp fifty does the trick, but you didn't hear that from me..)

Where?
At a music festival.

How long will it last?
Two weeks.
Unless it was some sort of classical music festival, chances are you and your potential love were decidedly NOT sober upon meeting. Bonding intensely over music is a strong connection...and surely drugs and whatever else you ingested there made it seem stronger. A couple weeks worth of fun jaunts, skipping around together while wearing cut-offs and holding hands, and you've got yourself a cute little summer fling, but not much else.

Will there be fallout?
Nah. Just make sure your Bonnaroo ticket is in V.I.P. while they can mingle in the general admission area.. far away from you. 

Where?
Online.

How long will it last?
One date or forever.
Stigma or no stigma, I've heard more than a few success stories when it comes to meeting companions via online dating. Granted, I'm referring to online dating sites with tedious and in-depth profiles such as Lava Life or eHarmony as opposed to, say Tinder, which is essentially the online equivalent of scanning faces at a bar. But, I've also heard more than a few horror stories where expectation and reality of the person were worlds apart...so generally a summer fling via online dating goes one of two ways: 1) you venture out on one disastrous first date where you find out "entrepreneur" actually meant "lives in mom's basement and jots down ideas every once in a while" and never respond to them again or 2) you venture out on one highly compatible first date that leads to something solid. High risk, but high reward.

Will there be fallout?
Nope. The best part about online anything is the anonymity. You can disappear online as quickly as click, click, click. But, avoid their favorite restaurants and any other hot spots they listed in their profile...just to be safe.

Where?
Your phone book...in other words the Ex.

How long will it last?
Until the end of summer.
Here's the thing with exes -- if it didn't work out once, it probably isn't going to work again. Einstein defined insanity as doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. Well, I was definitely insane then when it came to a few of my exes. They haven't changed, and neither have you. But, there's always going to be that initial spark, i.e. the reason you got together in the first place. And with that spark, a lack of other options, the comfort of familiarity, and that optimistic ambiance that comes with this damn summer air...some times, you're bound to relapse. It'll be great for a bit but then crumble and crumble hard. Annoying habits, different goals, real jobs or just plain incompatibility cuts harsh without the summer blanket to cover it. If it's a mistake you have to make, so be it. But you know what they say; insane in the membrane, insane in the brain. (You're insane. Duh.)

Will there be fallout?
Hells to the yes. Be prepared for both of you to get all crazy possessive like when you initially broke up: as in social media stalking each other to see who's hooking up with who post-break-up and if these new people are in fact new or people who came between you before. Just thinking about the fallout is giving me a headache. Oy.

Where?
At T.I.F.F.

How long will it last?
One night...if that.
Is him/her famous? Did they say they had an "agreement" with his/her well-known significant other? Did his/her handler approach you and pick you up instead of him/her personally? Was he/she kind of an elusive asshole up until the hook-up? Are you super naive? Do you see where I'm going with this?

Will there be fallout?
Are you famous? No? Then no.

Where?
At work.

How long will it last?
One year - long term.
Ah, work. A somewhat sane and stable environment to meet people within! You'll know you can put up with them on a day to day basis (you work together after all), and you know you have similar lifestyles and goals (again..you work together.) Add a little chemistry and charm and you've got yourself one legit summer fling...and possibly more! Oh, should you work in the modeling, nightlife, fitness, events, concert, and/or the fashion industry....none of this applies to you. Good luck to us all. (#foreveralone)

Will there be fallout?
Obviously. The saying don't shit where you eat exists for a reason. As long as it doesn't end nastily, the fallout can be minimal. You're seeing each other in a professional and not leisure setting, so after what might be a few weeks/months of awkward interactions, getting back to strictly business is totally possible.

And there you have it lovelies, a guide to summer flinging! Regardless of where you meet them, all we can ever do in romance is find some one you like and roll the dice.  It's inevitable, it's fun and goodness, it's finally summer...so like the wise owl said, get a twitterpatin'. x

How to Hone Your Bitch-dar; Keeping Nasty Gals Away

Bitches be crazy. With men, sure. But with other women...well that's a whole other level. When Congreve penned his infamous line hell hath no fury like a woman scorned in the 1600's, he probably should of modified it to anticipate modern times: Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned...by bitches. Now, I'm no hater of other girls by any means. Actually, it's precisely the fact that I'm a girl's girl which makes betrayal of female friendship so unleashing of said fury. So, how does a lovely and loyal girl such as yourself make sure you never feel the bitch betrayal? It's as simple as honing in on your bitch-dar, with these tips and tricks of the girl trade. Allow me to elaborate:

- Hateful on being grateful.

I'm a grateful person by nature; living a happy and fulfilled life is only perpetuated by remaining so, in my opinion. I don't take anything for granted, including friendship. (And travel. And music. And sushi. And dessert. Dessert. And more dessert. Let's just say I'm forever grateful for all desserts.) Get your bitch-dar red flags to half mast if you recognize a girl friend who just seems ungrateful...for everyone and everything in her life. I've seen this more so in models than any other demographic of friends, I assume because being beautiful often makes things come easier than they would for those who have to work for model-afforded perks. (Trips, designer clothes, comped dinner, etc.) This observation is not without exception though as a some of my most mind-blowingly gorgeous model friends also possess the most gratitude. Nonetheless, model or otherwise, if she's ungrateful for what you do for her, it's because she doesn't value it. And girls who value very little have the loyalty levels of zip to zilch. I think I can speak for all thanks-giving girls alike when I say no thanks.

- Lost, lonely, little girl.

I have a ton of girl acquaintances, a fair number of close girl friends, a handful of super close girl friends, and one best friend and one sister, both of whom I would trust with my life...or my last piece of cheesecake. We all stay in pretty much constant communication (maybe a little too much -- I know what my sister eats everyday for every meal and vice-versa...seriously) whether it be via perpetual texting, or in-person hangs. While this sounds excessive, most girls are the same way. While men can be lone wolves of (usually) cultivated mystery and aloofness, women tend to be sharers who bond by doing exactly that -- sharing. (One need only watch the Friends episode where Rachel encourages Ross to share with his guy friends the way she does with her gals to see the benefits.) If a girl says you're her only girl friend, or that she, and I quote "usually doesn't get along with other girls", well honey, it's for a damn reason. Girlfriend is going to screw you over...and soon. Such ostracized members of the female sex tend to thrive on 1) male attention and 2) competition. You'll get in her way and she'll cut you down, or she'll step on you on her way to whatever top spot she deems hers. Pass.

-  Too much, too fast....and not in a good way.

We live in an era of fast friends. You meet out through friends once or twice, you have one solid day time hang, and suddenly you're posting inside jokes on each others' Facebook walls, pre-gaming together before every club outing and proclaiming "OMG loooove you!" all the freaking time. I've been there, you've been there, we've all been there. I'd say one in every twenty of these friendships turn out to be the real thing while the rest...well let's just say easy come, easy go, especially when you're an easy (friendship) ho. Girls that tend to latch on and get all up in your life way too fast just strike me as...odd. There's no need for a friend to social climb over all normal boundaries to either date all your friends or befriend all your friends. It's creepy. It's weird. And there's probably a reason she's running away from her life and taking over yours. Obsessive relationships are for junior high kids and bad movies. (Hello, Swimfan.)

- (Don't) save our souls.

A wise man once told me "You can't save everybody Sheila." Sure, this was at an afterparty at 4 a.m. and that wise man was not sober, but the gist of his words was accurate. I have this habit of finding lost girls and wanting to save them through being there for them...endlessly. This has perhaps been the most acute lesson of my twenties when it comes to friendship: you can't help those who don't want to help themselves. I've been burned more than a few times by still giving myself to such friends who have hurt me simply because I know their lives are more messed than mine will ever be. But alas, some people are beyond my capabilities, or more accurately put, just don't wanna change. Self-loathing, torn families, tragic incidents and substance-fueled pasts don't have to mean dark presents or futures...but if a friend has no desire to change, then c'est la (or c'est their) vie. Not yours.

Finely honing your bitch-dar takes a little know how and a lot of experience. At the ripe old age of 26, I can say I've had a sufficient amount of both the former and the latter. There's no need to be cutthroat or cold about any of this -- but perhaps a little perspective will help with this guide: friendship is a privilege, not a right, and by now I know to bestow this privilege only on those who I see fit. Add positively to my life, or don't add to it at all. Happy honing, my darling readers! Scorned, schmorned...ain't nobody got time for that. x

The Skinny Promo Model Bitch Diet

I'm a skinny bitch. Bitchy, when need be, but skinny, always. How's that now, you ask? Does a hard partying, model/promoter lifestyle not shine as a beacon for health and athleticism? Oh, but it does. Allow me to introduce you to the Skinny Promo Model Bitch Diet...no sneakers or Lululemon pants required.

- Drink copious amounts of vodka.

For a little Asian, I can down my vodka with the best of them. Nurture has taken over nature in this case and my promo-breeding has made it so that three times a week from the hours of 11p.m. to last man standing, vodka renders itself to water in my body. Okay, water that gets me wasted, but not nearly as much as it should. They key here is vodka and nothing but. It's all about shots. Cranberry juice is for high school girls and pansies. The only acceptable mix is sugar-free diet Redbull or a lime. I like my girly cocktails at dinners but they tend to be full of sugar and other crap. Like my Russian girlfriends wisely advise, it's all about the WODKA.

- Those extra 4.5 inches.

I'm talking about heels, of course. Waltzing around three or four (or five or six..) times a week for hours on end in sky-high heels gives your legs quite the workout. I practically live in heels and have to run all around clubs in them providing me with an arched-angle workout that you can't get at the gym. This supposed kitten heeled comeback in fashion this season can kiss my toned ass. The magic number is 4.5...inches that is! Tall enough to look amazing and work those calves but not high enough to borderline on hooker-esque. (Defend Loubs all you want girls, but those shiny, patent leather, platform 6-inchers belong on escorts and escorts only.) Guiseppe, Nicholas, Rupert and Alexander care not just about your fashion but your health too...obviously. Now strap on a pair and get moving.

- Shake it like a Polaroid picture.

Shake it, and shake it often. Dancing at a club usually entails bobbing around from side to side while having screaming conversations with your booth mates over the bass line. Heck, on most of my nights the dance floor isn't so much a dance floor as it is a single's mixer. I make a point of dancing my face off at least once a week. When the dance floor won't suffice, there's always in the booth or better yet on the tables. Fist pumping, booty shaking, legs rocking, and whatever else you can do, do it. It's fun. It's calorie burning. And it sure beats talking to all the duds who are trying to pick you up should you remain sedentary. Oh Andre 3000, you are so wise.

- Cooked food is for suckers.

 My favorite meal is steak tartare. I could eat that for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Sushi is a close second. What can I say -- I like my animals raw. Fortunately, there are enough trendy sushi restaurants in this city to dine at so I don't have to resort to health/fresh/raw eateries to maintain my raw cravings and can still be social. Dinner at Blowfish before a night out? No problem. Drinks and bites at Ja Bistro on a Saturday? Sure thing. Keeping it (mostly) raw when dining out allows for a meal that doesn't necessarily have to be belt line busting. Also, as some one who has to (seriously, has to) have dessert at, oh, almost every meal, I rather save my calories for all things sweet. Baked isn't the same as cooked, right?! Whatever, cake is so worth it.

- Sleep it off.

When you like to party, you some times get home at 4a.m. When you like to party and it's your job, some times you come home after sunrise. What does this mean for your sleep schedule? Mostly that a good portion of it occurs during the day. On the weekends anyway. And what does this mean for staying a skinny minny? Well, simply put, if you're sleeping, you can't be eating. And when you sleep your way through most normal hours of meals, it means you're eating even less. There are quite a few days a week where dinner is the only meal I have. (And some times late night junk after a night out, but I mean....McDonald's after a particularly intense night is practically a right of passage in your twenties.) Healthy, it ain't, but when I'm hungover in bed, there is not a power on Earth that will make me functional enough to prepare a meal. Until the delivery service industry evolves to fit my promoter needs (ugh, hello, how hard is bedside delivery really), daytime starvation once or twice a week it is.

- Balancing cigarettes & tofu. 

As Gwyneth Paltrow stated in her recent Harper's Bazar interview, "it's all about finding that balance between cigarettes and tofu." (Some call her insufferable, I call her perfection.) I work three nights a week and go out on my own at least one other night. But, the rest of the time, I am pretty darn healthy. Veggies galore and lean fishes and meat. Does it make up for the irreversible damage I'm likely causing my liver and otherwise the rest of the time? Probably not. But I like my cigarettes just as much, if not a little more, than my tofu. Youth is fucking precious and I plan on procuring one that I can regale endless stories from when I'm older.

And there you have it...the Skinny Promo Model Bitch Diet. Ingest with your skinny tongue firmly placed in your skinny cheek. I'll see all you 4.5 inched, straight vodka guzzling skinny bitches on the dance floor. x

 

The Sport of Celeb F*cking

I don't really follow sports. I find baseball boring (although going to games is an excuse to drink beer during the daytime without judgement), hockey mildly interesting (mostly for the fights that break out and and again, non-judgmental early drinking), and basketball marginally the most interesting, if only to go to games and spot the hardcore bling of all the baller wives who attend games from across the court. Many of my model counterparts, however, pay for more attention to sports than I ever could. For them it's not activities that take place on the field or in an arena, and don't involve any balls....actually wait. Maybe not. I'm alluding to the subtle, yet entirely present sport of celebrity hook-ups! That's right...the game of schmoozing and whatever happens after schmoozing with celebrities simply because, well, they're celebrities.

My darling hometown of Toronto is an interesting little habitat to observe celebrity behavior. Not blase and jaded like New York where Manhattanites can walk past Sarah Jessica Parker and the twins on the way to Magnolia without blinking an eye, (and where non-New Yorkers pretend to be just as uncaring if only to fit in), or downright shameless in fame adoration and the road to get there like in L.A, Toronto falls somewhere in the middle where everyone freaks out and wants to be seen with celebrities, but only if they're seen in a way where they don't appear to care. As if you just so happen to be hanging out with George Clooney because you two obviously run in the same circles -- and not because you heard he was going to be at some film fest party and pulled every string you had to inch your way to the edge of his table and take a picture where you're just barely in the same frame. Potato, potato. It's not just our secret gawking that makes Toronto unique, but also how comfortable it is for celebs here. Maybe it's that the T-dot is relatively low-key, or that they think we Canadians are just generally nicer and won't snitch on scandalous behavior, but whatever it is, celebrities certainly figure they can get away with more when shielded by the Great White North.

Our sheltered home and native land makes it so that celebs are more accessible than they would be in other cities...if you know a few club owners, are a model or a scenester in any way, chances are that you have a few star stories to share. And so, with celebrities frequently in town to shoot movies, do press tours or promote clothing lines, it has become something of a competition for many local girls to see just how many they can snag. I've seen this game in action; a young, sort-of attractive male star in his heyday will come to town, get wined and dined by high-end restaurateurs and venue owners, and taken to the hotspot of the night. And then the picking begins...usually his handlers will scope out the models or other attractive ladies who are there and bring them over to the star until he finds one he likes. Sleazy? Definitely. But somewhat understandable given the situation. I mean, why fish for something that you can get hand-delivered to you? With that in mind, it completely boggles my mind how many girls I see swoon, giggle, then eventually leave, with all these douches. They don't even have to be attractive! Just as long as they're famous. It's tit for tat: the star gets to add one more notch to his post of international banging and the chick gets to smugly know (or let her friends know is more like it) that she totally put the moves on Chace/Adrien/Gerard or whatnot.

If you're a spectator of this sport like I am, it's all very amusing and entertaining. I've been pulled from the sidelines every once in a while but am really not one for athletics...or being hit on by egotistical dudes who get their handlers to make introductions. Otherwise it's a fun game to follow....celebrities, models, scandal, and parties? Totally trumps sweaty dudes throwing a ball around if you ask me. For those participating, please continue to do so at events and clubs where we spectators can all continue to catch games -- especially during the playoffs, otherwise known as TIFF! Have fun, keep score, and for the love of fame don't forget to use protection -- we all know nothing's worse than having to sit a season out because of an "injury". All together now, Team Canada!
x

OMFG -- Girls be Crazy.

Girls are crazy. I don't mean that in a derogatory way by any means -- crazy is a good thing in my books and oh boy, let me reiterate...girls are crazy. Just nuts. Psycho. Bananas, if you will. If there's one thing I've learned in my twenties thus far, it's that girls are crazy and boys are stupid. As far as men go, well there isn't much to say there. Under-thinking and over-acting results in stupid. End of story. But women.....oh goodness. We could write novels and novels on the highly complicated and intricately intertwined way through which women are perceived as crazy! So allow me touch upon Chapter One at least in the Great American Novel of Women: being cray-cray in your twenties.

The height of my dear fellow girls manic years appear to be our twenties. Blame it on impending maturity, blame it on constant change, or simply blame it on the al-a-a-al-a-alcohol baby, either way I'm sure we've all met, dealt with, or purposefully spilled our drinks on what can only be described as some crazy ass bitches. However, all crazy ass bitches start off as normal, pleasant girls. It usually is a slow decent from there with crippling factors such as boys, friends, frenemies, boys, careers, parties, and what's that? More boys. Women are the only creatures I know of who can love and despise each other so frequently and effervescently. I have literally had girls tell me "I love you!" only to smack talk me to the next person they turn to. I've also experienced varying relationships with girls whom I am super tight with, then suddenly cannot deal with anymore. It's a variety of factors really, all in motion all at the same time, perpetually and complicatedly that spin through a girls' head and get untangled and re-tangled when mixed with the emotions, security levels, and confidence issues she happens to be dealing with on whatever particular day. I'm not advocating that men are less emotionally complicated creatures....no wait, that's exactly it. Either that, or they just choose to ignore their emotions, something I can assure you no girl can do on a regular basis.

One only has to look at pop culture to see this bitches-be-crazy trend is widespread. Anyone see Bridesmaids this weekend? (Hilariously funny and not just in a raunchy way -- Team Wiig for the win!) Long story short, putting a group of girlfriends together in a high-stress situation (that being planning a wedding-- anyone who says otherwise is lying!) ends up in pent-up psycho rants, tears, and jealousy. Oh jealousy...the green-eyed monster born from insecurity is, in my opinion, the root of 95% of all girls gone crazy. No one waltzes into their twenties entirely sure of themselves (anyone who says otherwise..totally lying again) and when you're in a scene where looks get you places, maintaining ideals of perfection can be an obsession. Throw in other factors (once again, I'm going to stress boys, the little devils) and you've got situation after situation where girls feel they need to validate themselves in one way or another. I'm a self-admitted possessive person (I'm going to blame it on me being a typical Taurus...and nothing else) and nothing grates a girl's self esteem like a little bout of jealousy. Sadly, for most girls it's instinct to get fiercely jealous whenever they see other hot girls around. Tearing them down is an easy way to cement your own self-esteem but ultimately an immature tactic.

Girl on girl hate is so rife in the clubbing and modeling world, and within any social group really. It's ridiculous and unjustified, and I've been on both ends of it throughout my teen and twenties. However, making a conscious effort to be a sister instead of a hater is an easy one and one I've tried to follow in recent years. I'm nice to everyone for the most part (unless something mean is done, then obviously I'd stand my ground....strongly too.) and it's so much easier, nicer, and well, better for your self-esteem at the end of the day to be a lover not a fighter. Why bother ripping apart the beautiful girl who just walked into your casting? It's so much better to get to know her and end up partying together til 4am that weekend.

Acknowledging such a simple rules as "be nice to others" may appear juvenile, obvious and most of all logical....but from one female twenty-something to you all, trust me when I say there is no logic as a girl in your twenties. Just a whole of cray cray.
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