Pictures Books are Better

I know, I know... it's been a long time. I've been busy, you've been busy, and while all that was happening - I developed an insane amount of split ends.  And while my laziness might transfer from writing into scheduling hair appointments, I've decided to get something new up here.

Now, as I said before - I have been busy, so the writing has suffered. A lot. I've got nothing.  BUT! When I'm not standing in my practise room hating my jaw and all that neck tension that comes along with trying to work through singing techniques, and while i'm not getting my nails shellac-ed watermelon pink (seriously, you haven't tried it yet?), and while I'm not going for amazing brunches at quaint yet overpriced restaurants in Toronto (yes, I am SO white)...I have been taking pictures.  And we all know that the world certainly does not need another annoying food blogger who offers up uneducated opinions about béarnaise sauce and the latest poutine craze (hhmmmm.....). No.  And I definitely won't be posting any videos of my ridiculous practise sessions with a belt strapped around my chin.  So, what's left for me to offer? Photos. Lots of them.  I'm not saying I won't be writing anymore, I'm just saying taking pictures, editing them and uploading them takes much less brain power. Also, it's way easier to get people to look at pictures than it is to get them to read something. 

So there you go :)

Enjoy

Onyong...my muse of all muses.  My beautiful cat.  The one true object of surreal greatness that...oh whatever. She's the only one around and I take lots of pictures of her.

My piano.  Where the inspiration happens...for cleaning. Seriously, look at the dust all over that thing.

Surfboards and Coffee. Do I really need to say anything else?

Sarah in the Sunshine. Man did she ever ruin a rad photo.

Now who says you can't get a nice sunset in Toronto...you just have to look through the smog and the construction to get it!

My tree of light.  After this shot was taken the sun went down and I got the hell out of that crack park.

His side of the Story

You know Pinocchio had it right; it’s not easy being a boy.  I’m not talking about being a part of the male gender and smelling bad and having acne – I’m talking about the part where the rest of you has grown up and your body stays 12.

Hi, my name is Peter Pan and I’m trapped in a child’s body.

At first I kind of liked it.  I spent years having immense amounts of energy, I could eat anything I wanted and had zero responsibilities.  I spent most of the day ambushing Captain Hook and planning the next spitball game.  I never had to take a bath, I could fart as much as I wanted, and dinner could be a bag of sour key candies whenever I wanted it to.

Things were going pretty well for me, until I started to have these…well, episodes.  I guess it started one day when I saw Tinkerbell taking a shower.  Oh man, I never knew she was so HOT! The way the water fell over her back and….oh God, here we go again.  Ok, so I just started getting boners all day long.  I had no idea what to do with myself.

After a while, I realized that female companionship was what I was longing for.  I needed to go on a date, get out there, tap some ass. I took a shower, changed my tights and even brushed my teeth.  But did any of those women want to date a 12 year old?  No.  The answer is a definite NO.

No woman wanted to be seen with me.  They laughed at my attempts to pick them up, and one lady even offered to call my parents to come get me.  You know what I said?

“I’m Peter Pan dumb ass, I have no parents!” That didn’t go over well.

I went to bars, I tried to mingle, I tried to be charming and considerate, but all these women wanted was to get drunk and talk about themselves.  Apparently if you can’t buy a chick a drink, they want nothing to do with you. 

(Oh, and on a side note – fairy dust doesn’t actually work – I found that out the hard way.)

Also, I’d just like to point out that I don’t wear this green tunic and tights for the fun of it, it’s THE ONLY THING THAT FITS! If I could rock a pair of jeans and a blazer I’d be all over it, but to tell you the truth, those guys seem kinda lame.

So I guess I’m doomed to be a kid forever, deprived of female love and human affection, endlessly living in Neverland where no hotties will ever visit.  A life of solitude and detachment where…hold on a second.  Is this porn!? There are WEB SITES OF PORN!? 

Screw you ladies.

Promise Party

While serving in a restaurant you have to be around many different types of people.  Topics of conversation can range from the best denture adhesive to use, to which steak sauce could best substitute for lubricant in a pinch.  And while some things your server can turn their brain off for – there are certain conversations you can’t help but think are so ridiculous that the person speaking MUST be joking.  Sadly, they never are.

Last night, while pouring wine at a table of 30-something-year-old’s trying to be 20-something-year-old’s, I overheard a total train wreck of a dye #32 blond talking about her upcoming “Promise” party. That’s right. A Promise Party.  The conversation went as such….

“Billy and I are celebrating that fact that we’re promised to each other, ya…No, not engaged, Promised.  ‘Cause being engaged is so cliché, and we’re, like, totally committed to each other, so he said I could have a party…to like…let people know that we’re totally committed.  So, this is a promise ring – ya, that’s why it’s so small.”

Hhhmmm. Let’s recap: being engaged is cliché, not being promised. You still use the word ‘like’ in a sentence.  That’s why the ring is so small, not because he picked it up at Cash 4 Gold on the way home from cheating on you.  Right.

Things Billy was doing while you talked about your “Promise” Party.

1. Got a blowjob.
2.  Told his friends he won; because you now believe you never need to get engaged.
3.  Boned the Asian chick I just saw him go downstairs to the bathroom with.
4. Got a high five from a total stranger who overheard him telling his friends that he has you believing you never need to get engaged.
5. Got a hand job under the table from the girl you’re talking to.
6. Texting his other girlfriend.

To summarize, a Promise ring does one thing only – buy him more time. 

If you’re, like, totally committed to THIS guy….then maybe he’s doing you a favor by not marrying you.

Directions

I’m really awful with directions.  I get lost regularly.  Google Maps is the best thing that’s ever happened to my iphone and I can create the sheepishly, cute smile on command that’s required to ask a total stranger for directions without having them think I’m going to mug them.

I also believe that there is a protocol in asking for directions.  There are rules to follow and certain pleasantries required when disrupting a total stranger lost in their own daily agendas.  Direction getting is an art form, a skill that one should seek to master if being lost stresses you out.  No one likes feeling disoriented or misplaced.  But more than that, no one likes an uncouth idiot who rudely interrupts your 17 min lunch break for instructions to the Dollarama.

First, you should never stop someone who’s out on a run.  That is totally ridiculous.  Do you honestly think that a person who is hopped up on adrenaline and listening to the latest Rhianna track is going to stop mid stride and direct you the closest Starbucks? Screw off.

You might also want to re-think interrupting a domestic dispute for your own GPS awareness.  A couple who look like they may very well be disputing the sudden regret of the threesome they had last night, are certainly not interested in helping you find a grocery store that sells nail polish remover.

Don’t ever stop someone who is on his or her phone.  This is horribly rude.  That person is either using his phone to screen the possibility of having to talk to another human, or is actually already in a conversation.  The fact that you would stand there eavesdropping on their current discussion, only to ask where the Subway “restaurant” is (who say’s that?), reveals that you are not only self-involved, but a total asshole.

DO NOT ask a hooker for directions.  This looks bad on all accounts. Plus, they never know.

Now, what should you do? Well, without giving away all my secrets I’ll let you in on the most important tips.

Ladies, zero in on the average looking single male in the crowd.  You never go for the most attractive, as these guys feel above direction giving and can only compute comments related to their polo shirts or tie clips.  Also, you don’t want him to be with another female – girlfriend or otherwise.  These lady counterparts only feel threatened when another female approaches.  The glaring looks and hormonal excretions of bitchy-ness will only throw you off the next set of instructions.

First, approach in a submissive fashion.  Eyes should be flirtatious and chest revealed.  Say something along the lines of “oh, I’m so silly and useless with street names”, followed by a flick of the hair and a soft lick of your lips.  Tell him you’re coming back from your friends movie screening in this year’s Hard Core Porn Film Festival and you got all turned around with which way was North or South.  He’ll instantly picture you naked.   This is the moment he becomes so flustered with your docile forwardness that he will help you with anything you need. 

(Side note: attempting to have him buy you a hot dog while extracting these directions is for expert level players only.)

Exit strategy is key here.  This is the true test; to be able to turn on the ditsy charm and then yank it away like you were his mother.  Once he gives you the information you need, his next step will be to ask if you need him to show you the way.  Shut him down.  Your eyes must instantly turn from flirt to frozen.  Do up an extra button on your shirt, making him feel dirty for assuming such an implausible scenario.  A curt “thank you” gives you the higher ground of securely ending the conversation with a pleasantry, while finishing with a comment like “your fly is undone” giving you time to escape while he glances down in horror.

There! You did it! You created a situation where you started out as a bumbling lost idiot and turned it into a close encounter of social rape, ending with all the directions you could possibly need, AND a hot dog if you’re lucky. 

Join me next week when I discuss the Do’s and Don’ts of conjugal prison visits.