I think I am hilarious.

My name is Natalie. I live and study in Toronto.
I really do think I am hilarious. Sorry.
Not Sorry.

Why it is not okay that Rob Ford did not attend Pride.

The other day, I was having a conversation with some people and the issue of Rob Ford coming back from rehab was brought up. I do this thing where I sometimes I assume everyone is on the same page as me (don’t we all, from time to time?) and so I rolled my eyes dramatically and said, “Ugh, how convenient that he scheduled his return from rehab to be right after Pride.”

And one of the other people I was talking to kind of just blinked and looked at me and said, “Well, what does it matter if he went or not?”

What does it matter?

It matters a whole bunch, actually.

They went on, saying, “I mean, him not attending Pride isn’t as bad as him, you know, saying actually homophobic things, don’t you think?” — Well, suuuuure, on a certain level. Except you’re ignoring the fact that he HAS said homophobic in the past. Furthermore, saying his non-attendance is blame-free passivity isn’t okay. It would be like if a bully was picking on a kid, and there were a bunch of other kids standing around, not doing anything. You wouldn’t go up to them and say, “Hey, bystanders! Good for you for not partaking in the bullying!” You’d probably be more likely to think, “Uh, why aren’t you getting involved and sticking up for that poor kid that’s getting bullied?” Same thing here, except on a much bigger scale.

Then they continued on, saying, “Well, I didn’t go to Pride. Does everyone have to go to Pride?” Nope, not everyone. But keep in mind that you’re not the elected mayor of the largest city in Canada, which is home to the largest LGBT population in Canada, which is hosting World Pride, an event that only happens once every four years and brings in tourists and business and an unbelievable amount of happiness to the city. Elected politicians have different responsibilities than everyday citizens. Maybe big crowds cause you anxiety, or maybe you didn’t want to face the extremely hot temperatures that were goin’ on that day — that’s fine, if you’re an everyday citizen. But if you’re an elected politician — a representative of the population you’re supposed to fairly serve — then you’ve got a responsibility to show up, wave, say hello and make an appearance. Show your support. Be a responsible human being. Accept and celebrate the population of Toronto.

So it’s not okay that Rob Ford didn’t attend Pride. It’s not okay that he never has, and that he (as he himself stated) never will. But, then again, maybe it’s for the best that he wasn’t there — nothing crashes a party quite like blatant racism and homophobia. Stay home and keep making excuses for yourself, you giant buttface.

Today’s yoga class was all about basking in the good, and sitting in the bad — easy to say now, but hard to deal with when you’re sitting in paripurna navasana, aka full boat pose, aka making your core shake and your whole body sweat.  I liked the message, though.  My whole instagram and facebook feed is littered with quotes like “love every moment!” and shit like that and it’s like, no, let’s deal with the fact that sometimes people disappoint you or your feet stink or you spend an entire day preparing for a nice meal only to burn and ruin everything or you’re sitting in a yoga class sweating ur ballz off and mentally counting down the minutes until you get to chill in savasana, but it’s cool bc we are these things called ‘human beings’ and we’ve got to deal with both good things and bad.  

Bask in in the good, sit in the bad. 

Also, another reason why I like this whole ‘bask in the good, sit in the bad’ is because the first two words of that phrase make me think of Baskin Robbins which is pretty much my ultimate happy place.  So there’s that, too.

Namaste, mothafuckas.

Questions I have for fashion bloggers:

1. What do you do all day?  I feel like all you do is take three hours to get dressed, take fifty pictures of yourself, and then do nothing afterwards.  What are you going to get done in five inch heels?  NOTHING, that’s what.  Like, what do you guys do all day other than eat brunch and take pictures of it???

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2. Why are you anti-sweatpants?

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3. WHERE DO YOU GET THE MONEY???  WHO IS FUNDING ALL OF YOUR MIU MIUS AND JIMMY CHOOS AND MANOLO BLAHNIKS?  My concept of “rich” is owning a metro pass.  Like, if you buy your lunch at work, you are WEALTHY in my mind.  DO YOU PEE MONEY OR SOMETHING???

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This is rude as bananas.  I think gyms should be one of those places that are completely judgement-free (though really, all places should be completely judgement-free).  You don’t know anything about anybody — you don’t know if someone worked out extra hard yesterday and is takin’ it easy today, or if this is someone’s first workout after not having gone to the gym in a really long time and they’re nervous and embarrassed.  You could be a shitty runner and last five minutes on the treadmill, but you could also be the most flexible person in a yoga class.
The gym — meaning like, public places where people go to get a workout in — isn’t a fucking competition zone.  (Obviously there are competitive sports and what not, and that’s a different realm.)  You’re there for yourself and that’s all you should care about.  Don’t look around and compare other workouts to yours and make yourself feel better by putting other people down.
What a gross shirt.

This is rude as bananas.  I think gyms should be one of those places that are completely judgement-free (though really, all places should be completely judgement-free).  You don’t know anything about anybody — you don’t know if someone worked out extra hard yesterday and is takin’ it easy today, or if this is someone’s first workout after not having gone to the gym in a really long time and they’re nervous and embarrassed.  You could be a shitty runner and last five minutes on the treadmill, but you could also be the most flexible person in a yoga class.

The gym — meaning like, public places where people go to get a workout in — isn’t a fucking competition zone.  (Obviously there are competitive sports and what not, and that’s a different realm.)  You’re there for yourself and that’s all you should care about.  Don’t look around and compare other workouts to yours and make yourself feel better by putting other people down.

What a gross shirt.

Sunday, June 1st, 2014.

I’m laying in bed right now with all the lights off and two candles lit, one on my dresser and one on my bedside table. The window’s open and the streetlight is pouring in. I left my window open last night, as I do every night — who can sleep with a window shut without suffocating at night? — and I was woken up at least five times by what felt like a thousand ambulances and so, so many drunk people walking by — the price of living on Bloor, I guess. Every once in a while, I go through a period of having lots of trouble sleeping at night. I’ll wake up three, four, five times, and each time I’ll just sit in bed and sigh and re-arrange my blanket and wait for my mind to drift back to sleep, and it makes each night feel like it’s a thousand hours long. Sometimes, when I’m having one of those nights where I wake up at 1:31, 2:17, 3:43, 4:40 — I’ll long for my alarm to ring and will sometimes just decide to get up at 6 am.

I don’t know if people that read this blog care about what I do in my day to day life. I don’t mean that in an angst-y way. I mean, like, if you’re reading this, that’s so cool. You don’t have to be reading this. Thank you for listening to me and my feelings. I don’t get any hateful messages ever, and I think part of it is because I’m not popular enough to get hate, and because I’m pretty good at surrounding myself with positive people — but still, if you’re reading this, thank you. The only messages I’ve ever gotten on this blog have been warm and kind and supportive. That’s so reassuring, hey? The world is a lovely place, and people are great.

The other day I was working at the cafe with my co-worker Priscilla, and my boss, Gary, called out and asked for someone to help him lift something. Priscilla and I looked at each other and burst out laughing because I have the strength of a new-born and obviously he wanted Priscilla to help him. As she walked to the back, I thought to myself, “One day, when I can help by talking about my feelings, I’ll be the one that he calls for.”

I had a really full day today and I’m feeling really refreshed and hopeful about the rest of the summer. I went to a friend’s yard sale and bought a little globe, just because. I had a yam burrito for lunch. I went to a Blue Jays game and sat in the sun and got a burn on my chest and legs. We went out for a sushi dinner, and then my roommate joined us when we got london fog ice cream. The three of us sat on a little wooden bench outside of Bakerbots and ate our ice cream in silence because it was so delicious and everyone needs a moment of silence when enjoying something delicious.

I went to my first yoga class in several months tonight. I was so, so nervous — it was a hot yoga class, and I was coming up with so many excuses in my head to not go (let’s get a drink at the Communist’s Daughter, let’s go for a walk, let’s get more ice cream) — but we went anyway, and it was the perfect class. It was a good class and there was a nice flow with movement and a bit of a challenge, but it wasn’t discouraging or overly hard. Feelin’ good, guys.

So here I am, sitting in bed, putting on after-sun aloe lotion, listening to cars pass by on the street.

Sometimes there’s a group of seagulls that gather around Christie Pits and they’ll eat garbage and fly around and screech their gull screeches. Sometimes — it doesn’t happen very often — but sometimes, the passing cars will sound like distant ocean waves, and sometimes, you’ll hear the gulls screeching in the background, and when that happens, if you close your eyes, sometimes it isn’t too hard to imagine that you’re not in the city at all but by the sea shore instead.

THE SEVEN WORST TYPES OF PEOPLE IN THE WORLD.



1. People who warn you about the amount of sugar in fruit.

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2. People who don’t like musicals.

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I’m not calling people who don’t like musicals Satan, but what I am saying is that I’ve never seen a person who doesn’t like musicals and Satan in the same room together at the same time.  That’s all.



3. People who are super amazing and successful and smart and talented, but they’re also insanely nice and cool, so like, you can’t even hate them.

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4. Exactly the same as number three, but this time, they’re the significant other of someone you have a crush on.

THESE PEOPLE ARE EVEN WORSE.



5. People who say, “I’m not a feminist, because like, I don’t hate men.”

Hey, lady friends!  If you all like the idea of getting paid the same amount that your dude-friends are getting paid when you’re both doing the same job, and if you’d like to pay for an entire date without feeling super weird about it, then you are feminists.  All a “feminist” is is someone who wants equality amongst the sexes.  It doesn’t mean you burn Barbies in your spare time, it doesn’t mean you don’t wear heels because fuck the patriarchy, and it doesn’t mean you hate men.  Men are the bomb!  Women are the bomb!  Let’s all create great things and solve problems together and make the world a wonderful place.  



6. People who were those kids at school with the really awesome houses to hang out at.

You know which kid I’m talking about.  They had a pool and a ping-pong table and a giant tv and like all of the Disney movies and a trampoline and a fun dog and their mom would always order pizza when you were around and their birthday parties were the absolute shit.  The problem with these people is that they made your house look as exciting as a church basement hall and whenever you’d invite someone over to your un-fun loser house, it felt a little bit like this:

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7. People who have never gotten cavities.  Ever.

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This is my favourite video of all time.

(Source: epic-vines, via toasteroid)

Technically, it’s ‘summer-time’ for me — I have finished all my exams and my final grades are all in — but it doesn’t feel like it at all. Not just weather-wise, but just in the little things, as well. This is the first year in all of my five years of living in Toronto that I’m not moving at the end of April. It’s also only the second time that I’m not frantically job searching, either. It’s very weird.

My head hurts. It hurts from time to time, but I always forget to take an advil or tylenol bc I constantly forget that humanity has evolved to the point of having headache relief in the form of a pill. How weird — I constantly complain about the fact that wifi doesn’t work in so many places, and yet I forget that I can take a pill to cure my headache.

I’m tired. It was a long Easter weekend — I was home from Thursday night until Monday night. I cooked all day long on Friday, because it hit me that I’m not going to be the baby of the family forever, and one day, I might be the one responsible for making hunter’s stew and cabbage rolls and perogies and borscht to set the table with. I might be the one that has to pick out the cuts of meat from the butcher, and simmer the cabbage until it’s done. That, too, is an incredibly strange and uncomfortable thought. Anyway — I cooked all day long on Friday, and felt really proud of myself by Saturday, although my cabbage rolls could have used a little more salt. I am a perpetual, uncure-able under-salter.

I’m very excited for this summer. The beginning of summer always feels like I am cracking open a fresh, clean, blank notebook.

Today has been a day filled with good friends, good food, laughter, sunshine, 3/4-length jeans and ballet flats. Every once in a while I try to step back and soak in all the goodness that is in my life. I am so thankful everyone in my life, both good and bad, because the bad ones have helped carve me into the person I am today, and the good ones have helped support me and have gone out for cheap beer and listened to my silly anecdotes throughout it all. I am so lucky to be here.

I have been living alone-ish

for about ten days now — my old roommate moved in with her boyfriend at the beginning of the month.  Technically her lease doesn’t end until May 1st, which is when my new roommate is moving in.  I am so happy for my old roommate because how exciting is it to move in with your partner and start your life together?  To go home every night to your person and decide whether you want to watch Netflix and stay in or go walk in the park or whatever.  To brush your teeth side by side.  To argue over what plays on the radio, and how best to stack the dishes in the drying rack.  To have a sleepover with your best friend everyday.

I’m also really excited for my new roommate to move in.  I have been very lucky to have been living with my old roommate, L, for the past year, because she’s so considerate and lovely to live with, but I also think living with my new roommate, M, will be a blast as well.  

Also — interestingly enough — I’ve come to the realization that I hate living alone.  The past ten days or so have been a bit of a whirlwind, because I’ve been tangled up in exams, and I’ve also been cleaning out my place (I figured since my old roommate moved out, maybe I should downsize a bit as well and clean and get rid of some old things I don’t need).  I didn’t really hang out with my old roommate too much — we’d bump into each other in the kitchen from time to time and chat, but it was still just so nice to have someone there in the other room.  To just hear someone in the kitchen turn on the tap, or shuffle through the living room, or close the squeaky door into the bathroom.  It feels so weird, leaving my place after being at work and then coming back knowing it was untouched and unlived in for eight hours.  I don’t like it.  It feels weird.  Which is great, by the way — living with people is so much cheaper than living alone, so this discovery is kind of like finding out you’re allergic to lobster and caviar but can’t get enough of the taste of ramen noodles and lettuce.

Anyway, life is good and I’ve been very lucky, roommate-wise, for the past year.  Thank goodness.  I feel like I’m coming very close to being able to say, “Oh, I’ve had every single type of roommate imaginable” — but it’s very nice to be able to say that the past year has been super pleasant and I’m totally certain that this coming year will be really nice as well.