Shame. Intimidation. And my girl Mary Jane

Aw fuck. More 6-degrees-of-separation randoms are reading this blog. Too much goddamned pressure. Starting to feel self-conscious. *Blush*Blush*Blush*

So G20 has come and gone. Not much was accomplished. Apparently, this is one for the history books. I guess it's one of those things that my kids will ask me, 'Mom, where were you during the G20 riots?'

At least I have a cool answer. I hope, I hope my kids think I'm supa-fly. And I hope against hope that my kids use groovy vocabulary, like, supa-fly.

Irish wants to only show her kids VHS and records. Told her she's gonna fuck them up somethin mighty. Also, made the point that her kids would miss out on Donnie Darko and Smashing Pumpkins. Gave her cause for pause.

Love my new phone. Qwerty keyboard makes texting a breeze. I can now devote my time on being witty and hilarious, instead of yelling "why are you such a piece of shit!" at my phone. I feel like I'm finally the person I was meant to me.

My phone is also teaching me how to spell! It won't let me write it, if I spell it wrong. Passive-aggressive much?

Facebook's friend suggestions have gone too far. Last night Facebook suggested I add a former one night stand as a friend. Ya... no.

Although, I always did wonder what his last name was. I guess Facebook made me a little less slutty last night. Amazingly, we had 5 mutual friends. Including 2007's summer fling. Goddamnit Scarborough. Why does everyone have to be so interconnected?

In related news, I do not know New Plot Point's last name. This is how I get myself into trouble. He bought new pillows, which is both a practical, and romantic gesture.

So just thinking here that I should fill up my gas tank, before gas is HST-ed.

Not EVEN going to comment on the HST, other than to say.... I am for-realsies-seriously considering voting Conservative in the next Provincial election. Also, new goal of becoming Canada's Next Top Journalist, simply so I can meet Dalton Mcguinty. No worries, I won't do/say anything inappropriate. Just wanna give him my evil glare #36. That one is reserved for idiot politicians (so, the majority of them.) and fuckwits in general (to steal from my journalistic idol, Bridget Jones.)

Anywho, onwards to the Petroleum Emporium! (Notice I break out my Sunday-best vocabulary when I know I'm being read?)

~~~and now I'm in a completely new state of mind... on a existential plane of existence... Music. A necessity. ~~~

At long last. I will recount my G20.. shenanigans. It all began on Friday.

I worked all afternoon to night. Got home 9:45. Hair, did. Makeup, done. Steamed my outfit, changed. Pizza bagel, ate. Camera, charged. Teeny tiny purple purse, packed. Heels. Short-shorts. Black tank. Hot necklace.

Lemonade, 3 gulps.
Add whisky.
Shake.
Taste.
More whisky.
Oh shit.
Too much whisky.
Shake.
Taste.
Fuck.
Yes, too much whisky.
Wish I had ice.

Scarborough Station, 10:15. Subway. 4 gay dudes speaking Spanish. 3 in pink polos. Does the other dude feel left out?

Drink.

Shit, that woman is looking at me funny. I'm drinking the equivalent of 3 poor-man's whisky sours on the train. And I'm dressed like a slut.

Drink.

Off at Bloor/Yonge.

Drink.

One cop.
Two Cop.

Hide drink. Wait for the train. With 6 coppers. Waaaay to tipsy for this.

Ditch the empty bottle. There's whisky molecules on it. Find recycling receptacle. Beside a lady-cop.

Get off at Wellesly. Walk. Realise I'm walking the wrong way. Walk back. Then realize I'm walking a wronger way. Walk back.

Curse you whisky. Find the club. Nervously have my bag checked. Find my friends. Irish shows. We drink on the patio. Then go dancing. Gay guy grinded up on me. Which I found more unsettling than a straight guy. Gay dudes are waaaaay more touchy. Ran into random coworker out birthday celebrating. Talked to loads of randoms. Got a free shot of Jägermeister.

Walked through Ryerson. Ate a wicked hot dog (no euphemisms.) Waited for the streetcar for like 5 minutes, then hailed a cab. Went to the park with Irish.

In bed, 5:30. Up at 9. To move the car for neighbour. Back to bed.

11:30. Urg. Irish, get up. We gotta get a move-on if we're gonna make this protest.

Wash the slut off, and don our protestin' clothes.

Pit stop at Timmys (BLT for breakfast...? Delightful!)

Got there at 1. It's raining. Wandered around Queen's Park. Just taking it all in. Speeches are being made. Chill hippy music's playing. Different languages are being spoken, and chanted. Everyone is here. Children. Elderly. All races, religions, creeds, languages. Different classes, ideologies.

We begin our walk. The peaceful protest.

The rain stops. I even take off my sweater.

Listen to the chants. "Hey hey, ho ho, Steven Harper's got to go!"
"Whose streets? Our streets? Whose town? Our Town!"
"Protesting is not a crime! Police officers on overtime!"
"Expropriate the banks!"
"We. Will not. Shut the fuck up!"
"This is what. Democracy looks like!"
"This is what. A police state looks like!"

"Shame!!" Is yelled when we pass by cops. Some protesters meet the cops face to face. And by "cop" I mean "cop in shorts with a bicycle."

But behind the girly cops, is the other extreme. 25+ cops. Standing stiff. At the ready. Full riot gear. Helmets. Muzzle (tear gas) or rubber bullet guns. I can't tell which. And every other with a shield and baton.



We walked by Steve's Music. All the employees were outside the store gawking. Some waved. Some smiled. Some flashed peace signs. Cool kids with mohawks and fauxhawks and piercings. Later, this would be the site of not one, but two burning police cars.

We walked on. Got caught in some union flags. Chanted behind well-dressed Indian men (one was wearing a suit!) Walked on. Got to the front. With the feminists. The women led the parade. Carrying a ginormous coat hanger. Pro maternal health. Coat hanger.

Giggle. Gross.

Got back to Queens Park, unscathed. 3 pm.

Meanwhile... At Queen and Spadina... A black block anarchist lights a flare.

The park slowly filled. Music was playing. Weed was smoking. Everyone was chill. Chill hippies.

3:15 Dude comes up to us. May or may not have handed us the world's longest joint, and bid us a, "happy G20."

May or may not have found a quiet corner in Queens park, laid our sweaters on the ground. It was like the sixties. Hippies chilled out on weed, after a peaceful protest.

Meanwhile... back at the ranch... Shop windows are smashed. Queen Street.

It starts to rain. I open the umbrella. We enjoy the hippy music, the protest music, the union songs of coal miners.

12 cops, only meters away. We begin to get paranoid. The sewer. The perfect hiding place. Which would, ironically, hide anarchists, later that night.

Sid Ryan made an impassioned speech. Riled us up. I wanted to yell "Fuck the government. Fuck the po-lice." I was restrained. We journeyed home.

Meanwhile... back at the ranch... 3:45... Cop cars. Burning. King and Bay.

So we got to Queens Park Station. Barricaded closed. No worries. Walked the next. Barricaded. Began our journey north on Yonge.

Little did we know. Pandemonium was erupting. Bay and King. Queen's Park. Spadina and Queen. All in all, 4 cop cars would be burned. Multiple shop windows smashed. Graffiti declaring ideologies. Arrests would be made. As well as conflicting reports about tear gas and rubber bullets. All under the threat of the sound cannon.

And the coppers would keep their cool. Some would even say that they kept a soft hand. But as we journeyed north, we were ignorant. Not to mention, in an alternate state of mind. We joked as we walked past the "Police Museum and Discovery Centre." Sounds like something lame my Dad would make us do on a summer vacation.

Incidentally, the Museum and Discovery Centre is so much more than a museum AND discovery centre. It is also police headquarters. Which, later, would be a place of violence.

We continued north. Good preparation for the end of the world, I decided. The subways are closed. We walk north. Exodus. I am Legend. We walk north. None walk south.

Then we see the cops. Stopping everyone walking south.

Finally, we get to Bloor/Yonge. We ask the cops if we can go in. We're escorted down a narrow path, surrounded in a blue cage. This is what a police state looks like.

Inside the station, an announcement.

This is what a police state sounds like: "There will be no service on the University line, south of Bloor. There will be no service from St. George to Union and Bloor to Union. This is due to a police directive."

By the time we arrive at Scarborough Station, grab our samosas and beef patties, we've heard stirrings. Of violence on the streets. So we sit in her car, for over an hour, listening live on the radio. Like the good 'ol days.

I was glued to the TV all night. CTV, CP24, CBC. And not to mention Twitter.

And FYI I have the BEST twitter feed for when the shit's goin' DOWN in Toronto. Constant, and almost instant updates. Better than the live coverage on CP24.

Well. This is long enough all ready. More later. And if I wasn't being monitored by the government before this post, I certainly am now. Damn SEO.

Hey hey, ho ho..

No matter how these people decide to protest the G20 in Toronto, nothing will ever change.

Even if we had the most peaceful, poetic protest, that wouldn't make the world leaders stop and say, 'hey guys, things have to CHANGE. these peaceful hippies make me realise that.'

No.

So I congratulate the anarchists. Because they're getting all the media attention. And the world is watching, and the world is listening. Maybe nothing will ever change. But at least people are getting off their asses and showing the world leaders that we're NOT happy. And we're going to say something about it.

And plus it shows the world that Torontonians, and by extension, Canadians, are not pussies. More on all this later.

I did go down to Queens Park today. Was a part of the lovely peaceful protest, then left before things got ugly. The subway was closed, so we walked from Queens Park subway to Yonge/Bloor. As we were walking north, there were cops stopping people from walking south. By the time we reached Warden, we heard rumblings of tear gas and cop cars on fire.

We sat in the car, for an HOUR just listening to the live coverage and Miller's speech. Fuckin crazy day.

And next week... good night moon

I am reading Generation Me, and I wanted to write a post about it. But I can't just log onto the computer without some serious shenanigans. First I had to check my facebook. Then texts from last night and fmylife. Of course I needed music. And then whilst on the interwebs, I was shocked to discover that there was an earthquake in Toronto today. From fmylife no less. Not the most credible of sources, and then after much poking around, I was shocked to discover that there was in fact an earthquake in Toronto this afternoon. And I missed it? Then, using my recent calls and texts, I pinpointed myself in the parking lot of Fairview mall. And I DID feel it. I had just parked and turned off the car, when I felt the car swaying. I thought it was a problem with the car. Or the wind (I was on the upper level parking.) So I guess this is really the summer of everything. Really should have made a bingo card. So I bailed on a certain Mr. Wikham for a rendezvous with quite a new plot point. And ever since then, my lucky streak is broken. But the great things just keep getting greater, and the randomness has reached a new level, that it`s almost back to predictable again. Got a new phone today. Nothing fancy. (But fancy compared to my last phone, which can only be described as prehistoric.) Negotiated my butt off, and left with a plan that is both cheaper and with more features than my last. Irish and I are starting a book club. First we read The Bro Code, and now we've moved onto Generation Me by Jean Twenge. Oh won`t you join our book club! I`ll begin. I liked what she said about getting dressed for yourself. I guess people in the fifties would have dressed more casually and comfortably, if it had been a social norm. Even look how Coco Chanel had changed women's fashion out of corsets and into pants. Our generation is the sweat pant generation. And I know that I talked about it in my column (link to follow, one of these days) as something bad. My clothing choices in the past 24hours varied depending upon the situation. I'm still dressing for myself, but taking context, environment, and company involved into account. Right now I'm wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt. Comfortable, but still cute enough to go outside and chill with the neighbours. I wore jeans and a cute tank to the mall today, and a similar ensemble to New Plot Point's house last night. But at work, it was pinstripe dress pants, a crotcheted cami and a cardigan. Family functions call for class. Skank it up when going out. Funky for school and hanging out. Professional for work. Comfy for home. I essentially have 5 looks. And multiple personalities for each. And I love what she said about dance (fashion and dancing? boy am I predictable) What will my children's weddings look like, for the bride/father groom/mother dances? I don't know how to waltz.. what hope does my son have. Thats why I love going to places with my friends that play music from the fifties or sixties. Some songs just demand that he put his hand on your waist, and you put yours on his shoulder. You clasp hands, and improvise a little fox trot. I think that I want to live in the romanticized boomer generation. I want the formality and ettiquite and newness, with the convenience and freedoms of the Internet age.

Always talk to strangers

I estimate in my 25-years in this city, I've known 1,500 people. Not friends necessissarily. But for scientific purposes, I will classify "knowing" someone as having a minimum of three conversations with. If the population of this city is 5.5 million people, that means I've conversed with less than 0.03% of the population. Talking to randoms is the most delightful experience ever. Everyone's got a story to share, an opinion to vent. And everyone's a bit mad, aren't they. Never be afraid to talk to strangers. But I still wouldn't take candy from one.

Odds and sods..

So I've been busy. Not with work. Or even summer goals (but my hair is getting nice and long. (that's what she said). YES!!ventures have reached a whole new level of awesomeness. Everything feels like it's falling into place. On a random note: If I were a lifesaver I would be green apple. At first, I'm sour and you might not like me. But I'm sweet on the inside. Even randomer: We have the new chip & pin machines at work. Sometimes the customer doesn't insert their card all the way in. So I tap the card jussst a titch for the customer, and I say "sometimes, it just needs a little push." She replies, "Don't we all"

The definitive version...

I'm equally comfortable having a beer with the guys, wine with the family or cocktails with the girls.

I like walking. The quiet street at night. A forest on an overcast afternoon. Bare feet on the sand, on a hot summer's day at the beach.

I also love driving at night, alone, save for the radio. Sometimes I sing. Sometimes I think. The windows rolled down.

And there's nothing like a long subway ride alone, dressed to the nines, on my way to a night on the town. Or the cab ride after. Trying to drunkenly recall the nights events, the highs, the lows, the hookups, all to be blacked out later. Which will be recalled in flashes at a later date.

I love going out dancing. The music doesn't matter. New rock, hip-hop, oldies. My musical tastes are eclectic. Not my all time favs, but I am currently listening to Diana Ross and the Supremes, Lady Gaga, Nine Inch Nails and Neil Young.

I like to think that I don't fall into an easy category. I'm a chameleon. I'm blond and bubbly. Dramatic. Normally found in mascara, high heels, big purse and even bigger sunglasses. I'm a flirt. And a perpetual winker.

I'm a hard worker. And serious about money. I've worked in retail for the past 9 years. And in a managerial capacity for the past 6.

I love to write. Hence the blog.

I was a "brain" in school. In elementary school, it was cool to be smart. I was popular. In middle school it was not. I was a nerd. In high school, it still wasn't cool to be smart. But I embraced my individuality and quirks. I had blue hair. Among other experimentations.

I learned to read and write in kindergarten. I was reading at a university level when I was in grade 5. I can read the fattest Harry Potter in 9 hours. Straight.

I can't spell. It's pathetic.

I went to university for psychology for four years, part time. The math and science killed me. I dropped out.

I get bored very easily. I like doing stuff and moving around. I like juggling school and work. Even in the summer, I still don't have any time to relax. Too busy having fun and getting into shenanigans. And working full-time.

Chilling and stimulating conversation is ideal. I like the flow of a good conversation.

I use strange old-timey words. I also like to make up words. I love playing with language. There are so many words you can use to tell a story. It's all about the flair in which you use the words. Some words are gems.

I want to be a journalist. I want to write. I want to talk to people. I want to travel. I need adventure. I would be pleased as a peach to do anything that lets me be surrounded by words all day.

I don't get along well with most girls. Dudes are much cooler.

I love getting ready for a night out. I love the make up and the nails and the hair. My first thought is usually... OooOOoo! What am I going to wear?

But I don't mind getting my hands dirty. Or my feet. Most nights in the summer, I have to wash my feet before bed, due to running around in flip flops through parks, sand or forests.

I can build a fire and pitch a tent. I can smile and bat my eyes, and I usually get what I want.

I have strong convictions.
I can be a bad influence at times.
I embrace my inner nerd. I don't put on airs.

I want to be unlike anyone you've ever known.

He's not gay, I swear...

Went shoe shopping with my bro yesterday. He was looking at skate shoes. A pair of neon blue, yellow and green on black caught his eye. But he was concerned that he would have a hard time matching outfits with them. Finally he found a pair. Black, with a vibrant blue design. Which matched his eyes. Apparently that is important. It was def. opposite day. He woke me up at noon. And reminded me to get my butt in gear for momma's birthday. He asked me for a ride. Naturally I said YES!! An hour later he calls me. "Where are you? I've been sitting here waiting for the past hour, doing nothing, expecting you to come any minute." "Dude I'm sorry. I told you I just rolled out of bed." "I'm not mad. I'm just frustrated. Can you just tell me when you'll get here?" So. Yesterday my brother was the go-getter. And I was the burnout. Also, he dropped $100 on shoes. I have holes in my sneakers, and can't afford a new pair.