So, here’s the deelio. When it comes to lifestyle writing… I could either choose to be pretentious and act as though I know how to live, or simply admit that I’m doing my best to figure shit out as it comes, and openly (and publicly) share the absurd conclusions, après bruises. Perhaps I am exposed, but, as connection to others happens through total vulnerability, I don’t see that I have a choice… (keep reading)
Earlier this week, as I bounced out of the SAQ with an exciting new purchase, a beautiful bottle of Dogajolo Tuscan wine, you could have snapped a very candid manga face. As a busy mother pulled him along by the arm, her three year old wobbled along behind her, legs slightly spread apart, holding on tightly, as thought for his life, to an open Ziploc bag… as a handful of cheerios shook around at the bottom, their fate drawing closer. … (keep reading)
Aside from abusing Laïka’s espresso blend (not only by purchasing a bag of Italia from Café Union for my own machine at home, but also by indulging in way too many lattés over Dadbeer convo #32), ordering dippy-eggs with filtered coffee at Bagels Etc… and then shamelessly making my own a day later… and ending an afternoon of sobbing in Jeanne-Mance park (grieving childhood issues which have just recently been brought to light in therapy) by quietly sipping a beer at Reservoir and joking around in a fragile state of mind… These last couple weeks have really brought out the excesses of Rolly, my hungry pudgy Dalmatian puppy alter-ego. … (keep reading)
In the middle of nowhere, for no particular reason, with the most experienced partiers ever, by the water, with a beer and a beautiful sunset. Yep, Saturday was a hit. It was an early rise, in a tent, awakened by techno music from the previous night coming from the boathouse (I took it upon myself to march in on behalf of all those in tent city to ask the haven’t-gone-to-sleep-yet-partiers to turn it down with an I’m cute and sleepy please shut your god damn music off face). Followed by a fairy dust eyes speedboat morning coffee trip to the little town of Georgeville, where we found a quaint little wooden coffee shack with the sweetest apples ever for sale. … (keep reading)
Locking my front wheel to the frame, I left my black stallion by the door and stepped into the NouveauNouveau Palais. For all those who remember all nighter killer poutines: welcome to fancy-shack extraordinaire. Lots of Mile-Enders have become bitter, but, as I try to embrace change, I haven’t denied it my weekly order. Last time I was there was after Gabe’s surprise party. I pulled a Rolly (my hungry Dalmatian puppy persona) and ordered… the entire menu. “I’ll have… *hick!*Ummm… The perogis, not fried… (slowly waving my index over the menu) … (keep reading)
You know those days when the idea of public fornication tickles your fancy? When you are picked up at work for a booty call, and have found the perfect spot behind an industrial building, walked through the bushes and… ended up in a homeless person’s camp? Oh, those days… Obviously the best part isn’t the sneezing from shaking up tree pollen, itchy eyes, or the fact that the sex just didn’t work out due to dog walkers having the absolute worst timing and lurking (oh, they know), but really, it’s the freaky man that comes to physically and verbally intimidate you that really drops the cherry on the Sunday. Ah, the-post-assault-decompressing-beer. She’s a goodie. … (keep reading)
Preoccupied, I slipped on my worn pink leopard slippers (as in pink with actual leopards on them,not pink leopard print), grabbed my laptop and closed the heavy door behind me. As I walked through the quiet streets of Outremont, I couldn’t help but think about the skype conversation I’d just had with Noah. Zen-ing out, stone walling andmirroring, I thought. These three concepts, which this grounded man carefully shared with me on this fine and cloudy morning, have awoken a bear in slumbers in the very depths of my being. … (keep reading)
This is the story of my shameless bruises. Each one indented from a specific incident which has occurred over the last week. Yes, I’m clumsy. Yes, I bruise easily. No, I’m not being physically abused… (against my will). I’ve been compared to a graceful unicorn that turns into a clumsy fawn at the most improbable moments. I choose to think it’sendearing. You would think that it would have been amongst thesweaty feet, dripping backs, bearded specimens prancing around shirtless, outfits composed of at least one item from Urban Outfitters sold over the last five years (or to hell with it, some just piled on every item they had), twisted braids, flower crowns, mist fountains and the zero. cellphone. reception. … (keep reading)
That moment. Stretching out like a star fish, my limbs floating gently, weightless. Mid-wind, the lake cocoon brought me back to a silent and muffled womb. My hearing, water-logged… as the sun brought soft white light through closed lids. I was safe, alone, and infinity stretched out like a solemn promise. If this is what death feels like, I’ll be just fine. That moment when inner peace becomes you. Then, landing about a foot away from me, leaping from the top of a ten foot cliff, Eli crashed into the water. Yup… moment’s over. As I opened my eyes, mountain scenery revealed itself. Six of us had come down to Vermont for the weekend, two of which had biked 200km to meet us… for Americamping. Sometimes, the best thing about our city is to get away for a few days. … (keep reading)
