last minute magic

What do you do when you really want to go to a Halloween party, get trashed and do the monster mash, but spending money scares you more than Nightmare on Elm Street?

You work some last minute magic.

Great last minute costumes include: Greek gods in bedsheets, gypsies, hippies, forture tellers, nerds, or toilet paper mummies.

I grabbed a black skirt, a black tank top, some thick white tape, and transformed myself into a human domino.

If anyone chooses to repeat this costume, I recommend using some strong tape, because I went from a 10 dot domino, to an 8 dot domino, to a 6 dot domino, to a girl dressed in black by the end of the night.

Still, it was worth the free booze, chocolate, drunken pumpkin carving (not recommended) and watching a guy dressed up as David Bowie in Labrynth singing eighties kareoke at 4 in the morning.



Happy Halloween everyone. Hope you're all dressed to the nines with your blood pumping full of sugar.

single, f, blonde, 20 yrs old; not a romantic

I guess I lied a little in my description:

'I'm not a romantic at heart. But as a true sensualist I love good food, good music, good conversation and good times. I'm looking for someone artistic and compelling, easy to talk to and passionate about life.'

I am a bit of a romantic, and yet, as a complicated female, I don't always like the romantic type. I don't want a guy who shows up at our first date with flowers, writes me a poem or tries to hold my hand while we're walking down the street. This kind of swooning, with the wrong man, makes me want to projectile vomit like the little girl in Poltergeist. (A good party trick for Halloween.)

I woke up one groggy morning two days ago, looking far from beautiful, and joined lavalife. Lavalife is a singles network, where you can sign up for free, create a profile, and flirt back and forth with other members by sending messages and smiles.

I know a lot of people who have gotten lucky with this website. I mean literally, they got lucky. They found someone attractive, met them for drinks, took them for home and made the headboard of their bead bash against the wall in such a way that even a neighbour couldn't complain without blushing.

Tired of complaining about my own love life, and tired of how complicated the mating game is in this country, I thought I might as well jump in head first.

After posting a head shot, stating I was slim, non-religious, drank often and smoked occasionally, I added a short write-up, and had a few responses within minutes.

Sunny Sunshine wrote: 'sup .. hope ya day is going well! :) peep my profile and let me know if u wanna chat .. can add me on msn at hustlebeats@hotmail.com ... toodles! ... xox'

His picture revealed a man hiding behind bamboo sticks in a fedora. Attractive, yes, but I question whether he's hiding more than half of his face on purpose.

On closer inspection of his profile, I decide I'm definitely not interested. Although I guess I already knew that when he used the word 'toodles'.

'I can be whatever you want me to be ... im a human and im mysterious ... im your reflection ... if you shed goodness ... i will absorb light ... if you shed badness ... i will be lost in the dark ... '

The rant goes on, but I'll spare you the embarassment.

I now have 58 messages in my inbox, mostly from men with names like: 'MRLATINO', 'BRINGINSEXYBACK', 'IM_UR_MAN'. And 102 'smiles', a flirting mechanism, waiting for my response.

It's hard. I either cringe at profile write-ups or photographs. But in all honesty, a guy who's 50 years old with grey hair, or 22 years old with a goatee and a photo up of his abs, is not up my alley.

I don't fall for someone easily, and it's usually a certain style or manner that sweeps me away. Unfortunately, this is hard to observe through online profiles.

If nothing else, this may give me the extra push to pursue the right guy in the flesh, because he's obviously pretty hard to find.

big city life

I want the best of life and the best of myself.

But there are days when even the sidewalk glares back at you. Days when walking, breathing, even eating is an effort.

On the subway I sat across from a woman whose cheeks wore heavy acne scars. She rocked her baby back and forth. The child's head was wrapped in two bonnets: one isn't enough for Toronto's cold winds. His skin glowed under the subway lights, and his lips glistened, plump and open. He didn't smile, he just looked around, while she continued to rock him back and forth. When she got up she had the body of a 19-year-old. She was probably older, probably never went to the gym, but probably ran around enough in her studded jeans trying to balance her life that she kept fit either way.

Across from me was a young man in a hat, cradling a dog in his lap. When a young artist of a woman got on he looked once, looked twice, and then looked back to his dog.

Watching him, I felt envious that he had someone to hold.

A young black man sat further on, falling asleep into his seat. When the subway approached his stop he woke up. I stared. I liked his face. He looked back. He removed his hat for a second to reveal tight knit braids along his head, his face suddenly more handsome, his one diamond stud shining in the distance. He rubbed his head, put his hat back on, and stepped out at his stop with a bag of laundry.

An older man got on and sat across from me. My headphones played a sad song and tears rolled up in my eyes.

Why is it so hard to be happy?

I want to be happy. I want to strong. But I'm so weak that I cry on the subway.

And so I sat, my body wrapped up in pain, heart beating heavily, tears in my eyes, until the song ended.

I switched to a more upbeat song, gathered my strength, and got off at my stop.

If I'm going to make it, I have to keep going, whether the strength is there or not. Because if I stop, if only for a second, and doubt everything that is, I'm not going anywhere.

growing wings

I decided I had to turn 20 in style.

And so the party was planned: everyone had to wear black, show up at 8, bring vodka and look sexy.

After some music and enjoying some of my cooking we would then move on to a sweet little lounge called bird.

I made invitations, forgot to give out most of them, and made some last minute phone calls to invite people. But they showed, armed with vodka, and dressed like the sexiest funeral goers you've ever seen.

My brother even flew in from Vancouver, and met me with a smile before the party in his leather jacket, the best birthday gift I could have dreamt of.

It started slowly, with the brie baking in the oven, I started mixing cocktails, and eventually the room filled itself. Beautiful faces all around, my cousins grinning in high heels, people getting to know each other on the sofas, spoons digging into my pesto spinach couscous and giant salad.

I darted back and forth, accepted personal gifts, and felt nothing but content. I only stopped when my roomate lit a big piece of baklavah, my favourite dessert, and the room sang to me while I blushed red balloons.

It was a good assortment of people. Family, old friends, new friends, school friends, and budding friendships.

I accepted a small silver flask from a young woman I met in Paris, and felt happy about where my life is taking me.

When we went to bird, a lounge that whispered to me everytime I passed, the waiter brought a tray of small citrus cocktails, a gift because it was my birthday.

It was intimate, stylish and comfortable. A chandelier dropped from the ceiling of lightbulbs with wings attached to them. They fell like angels, their presence strong in the simple space.

I like making things happen. The night happened, as I dreamed, and lit my life up again.

If lights can have wings, there's hope for me yet.

My whole life I've felt like I was free falling, but I'm learning to fly.

they say it's your birthday

I'm twenty years old.

My life lies before me, past and present.

I take the opportunity to ask myself what I really want.

I decide, now, or never, is the time to take myself seriously.

The world circles around me, busy, bad, bold, and beautiful, and it's up to me to find my balance.

Today the sky was a heavy gray, the rain fell in buckets and everyone wore their best frown. I felt a push into adulthood, a life of bills, responsibilites and worry. Everyone on the subway was going somewhere, but no one looked happy about where they were going.

But part of growing up is getting through it. So I sat through the three hour philosophy class, under bright yellow lighting, and let the words slide pass me or seep into me. I thought about the good things, and the blue sky that would soon return.

When the evening rolled in the rain finally stopped as my roomate and I stood on the street corner waiting for the streetcar. A mist sat in the sky, hovering over buildings and eating up their rooftops.

You can't predict the weather. I'm learning to make the most of whatever's thrown my way. So I bought myself dinner, kicked back a cocktail, and spent the evening with my roomate, a lovely young woman who makes me smile. The waitresse brought us lemon, rasberry and mango sorbet with a sparkler on top.

The fire in me is still burning, and I plan on keeping it going for as long as possible.

happy 60th dad

From a million miles away, I send you my love, and a collection of photos to let you know that on this very day, you were on all of our minds.

In a few days you'll be off to the Greek islands to celebrate you're 60th in style, knee deep in sunshine, feta cheese, and that ever lethal ouzo.

You are with me always, in my thoughts, in my heart, and in my motivation to make it in this world.

You make me proud of who I am, and it's in your eyes that I can see the best of me.

Thank you for everything, for all the years of my life that you've been behind me. Wether you're upstairs, or across the ocean, you're always there for me.

I love you. Have a wonderful time, and take all the rest, relaxation and strong Greek liquor you deserve. Even crash a plate or two.

fall colours

On an even brighter note, my photos are now on display at Oqoqo!
Come visit 'Everybody Loves Paris', my first exhibit, up until November 6th.

Oqoqo
147 Spadina Avenue, Suite 207.
Toronto, Canada
(416) 977-1500

Open Thursdays - Sundays
Thursdays and Fridays: 12:00pm-8:00pm
Saturdays: 10:00am-6:00pm
Sundays: 12:00pm-5:00pm

the milk's gone bad

Sometimes I wish I could close my eyes.

Unfortunately my green, gold eyes pop out of my head, pupils so large they fill my eye sockets.

Every time I step out of the house I'm exposed to life: to people pushing past the woman in her wheelchair; to mothers swearing under their breath; to the eyes of the homeless guy on Yonge Street gone insane as he crumbles donuts into the trash; to the desperation of the teenage girl on the subway, dressed in a low cut top and heavy make-up; and the resentment in the old man's wrinkles at the coffee shop, his face a permanent scowl.

I play the ignorant and pass people in distress daily: hungry, poor; lonely. I run to class, run to work, and do what I need to do.

All the while these images stay locked in my head. Standing in the front of a classy restaurant in a bourgeoise area, I smile and seat people, aware of the other half of this city that will struggle to eat properly tonight.

In a recent essay I stated that you couldn't put all your trust in society. I felt cold and cruel, but couldn't feel any other way.

I rebuked an argument that said humans were all "rational agents", saying that if we were all rational agents there would be no hard news stories. There would be no murder, rape, robbery or war.

A lot of things go sour in society.

The other day a milkman walked into an Amish school to rape and murder 10 little girls. A young man walked into a Montreal college on a killing spree. Blood stained the walls on the 19th floor of the Delta Chelsea hotel, 5 minutes from my school.

What do you do when you can't trust the milkman?

Let's just say that I wake up three times during the night, every night. That I like my coffee black. That I get sick to my stomach easily. That I choke out tears without knowing where they're coming from. It's the effect of everything going on inside of me, and everything going on around me.

Sometimes it's something as simple as someone bumping into me without saying sorry.

I'll sleep when this anxiety in me dies down. But for now, my eyes are open.

squeezing it out

School is teaching me what I'm capable of, what I'm interested in, and what I want out of life.

I'm pushing myself in every direction right now. I'm writing, reading, forcing new material down my throat constantly and trying to digest it.

I'm learning, growing, and expanding this little mind. It will never be big enough.

And on the side my creative energy is glowing. I'm making business cards, getting my photo exhibit up.

I used to think life was boring, that it wasn't enough. But I wasn't diving deeply into it, and now I'm finally giving it a chance to prove itself to me.

A little hard work goes a long way, and suddenly I feel doors all around me opening because I'm applying myself.

Rather than feel exhausted, I feel invigorated.



"There is a quickening, a vitality, a life force that is translated through you into action and because there is only one of you in all of time, this expression is unique. And if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium, and it will be lost. The world will not have it. It is not your business to determine how good it is, nor how valuable, nor how it compares with others' expression. It is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly, to stay open and aware to the urges that motivate you. Keep the channel open."

Martha Graham

(I promise some more concrete blogs when I have my head together.)