bold digital women

ha. so my friend and I just did ridiculously silly things online and now we're waiting to see what comes of them. I blame it on my dinner of apple crisp and white wine. Ooops. And I was on such a good cleaning role until the online world distracted me! For shame.

But still! I will sleep like a wine-drinker tonight. 0 : )

Telling stories can be tiring

... especially when you're sitting across from two fairly boring people. Well, people that don't really work very hard to add to a conversation between strangers. This is what tends to happen more at the parties and events I attend. I meet new people, talk a lot and very quickly, and once I run out of steam, we kind of just, well, sit there. Maybe I'm being too mean. All in all it was a good time and I caught up with an old friend and it involved getting my nails done (wee!). Save for the fact I bragged about not smudging them (this never happens!) and then, two hours after the polish change... I totally messed one up. Such is my life. Maybe karma for thinking the two girls were boring? 

Anyways, off to birthday number three of the weekend. Wish me luck.

xo

lori

Too many days in a row...

It feels like it should already be Friday. I've barely been home, work's been bizarre and all I want is for my neighbours (below and on each side) to turn on their heat so I don't have to. Failing that, I'll be taking a bath every night for the next two nights (that I vow to stay home) and be in bed, under warm and silky sheets, at a decent hour.

And then the weekend's all about birthdays x 3.

xo
lori

goodbye, lovely weekend

So I was definitely drunk when I wrote my last post. But that's OK, right? Are there blog police that patrol this kind of stuff? Maybe kinda?

I love hyperlinking. It's one of my favourite things to do on the computer these days. It's because we do it all the time at work and I'm taking work home, y'know?

And now I'm tired drunk. And sometimes that's just as bad. And I'm supposed to write 200 words before bed, but instead I'm procrastiblogging. Which apparently involves making up new words that will never actually be new words.

Lots happened this weekend and this post could have gone in 17 different directions and I went with the rambling nonsensical route. Maybe not the best choice?

I like this Band of Horses lyric a lot:

I'd like to think I'm the mess you'd wear with pride

good night. xo.

that was a funny night

I was going to stay home and clean. But then I went out and drank instead. And maybe I judged you for doing manual labour that involved cleaning BBQs. Am I a horrible person? I don't know. But we won't talk ever again anyways.

But my friend said we'd have the cleanest BBQ ever AND a well-cut lawn. Why? I don't know.

I have no idea how I'm going to make it through this weekend. So. Tired. But. Had. Fun. Sigh.

Listening to Lykee Li again

I was at a reunion of sorts with old/current friends. We joked about our first year in residence, and thought about the first impressions we made. When it was my turn, everyone said "patchouli!" because I wore a hemp necklace and might have burned incense. Ha. And I had that Body Shop lotion that actually had patchouli and ylang ylang in it. 0 : )

I had five martinis. And then, as our real-world selves grew tired just thinking about another work day, I remembered last night's movie... and how wonderfully it showed Anne Hathaway's character at the wedding. One moment she would be dancing and laughing and feeling so free, and the next she'd be still, quiet, contemplative, and waiting to feel another rush of energy. I think we all feel that way sometimes.

It's been seven years since I was a young & hopeful small-town girl. And while a part of me misses that (or whatever bits I've since lost), one of the things I miss the most is one of my old, but great, friendships. Maybe it's something we can work out again someday.

xo. lori.

It might make you cry

Rachel Getting Married is sooo good (or maybe sooooo good). You should watch it if you're anything like me. Which means you might have an older sister (with long wavy hair) who appears pulled together, has fallen in love and is getting married. And you'd be the younger sister (with short straight hair) who is, comparatively, unpredictable, irresponsible and nowhere near saying 'I do.' Anyways, without giving away too much of the film, there are plenty of things I don't have in common with Hathaway's character.

But the film did help me understand my sister a little bit better -- which is worth so much more than the price of my ticket.

xo. lori.

What I think about when I think about...

I made my mark today. Part of me wanted to hang out in the small community centre for a little while longer, if only to have a better idea of the kind of people who live in my neighbourhood. But since they weren't serving wine or beer or tea, I decided to take a walk through the city and found myself at Chapters.

I picked up a collection of books and found a quiet corner and a comfortable chair. I wanted to read a sampling of stories, and I started with The Great Gatsby, a book I read in high school and wanted to revisit because of its connection to The Tourists, which is the last book I read (the author wrote in a similar style, whereby the narrator gives us an inside look into the lives of much more interesting people). After reading the first chapter I put the book down, thinking I may as well pick it up at a used bookstore one day.

Since I've read High Fidelity, About a Boy, How to Be Good and A Long Way Down (three of which I enjoyed), I picked up Slam and Songbook (or 31 Songs). The former was written from the perspective of a teenage boy who spoke to Tony Hawk, and I just couldn't relate to the character, nor the writing, which was supposed to be amusing but it didn't do it for me. As for Songbook, either I wasn't in the mood to read short essays about music, or I didn't care to read what Hornby had to say (don't tell him I said so, OK?).

Next up was Naked Lunch. By the second page I was laughing out loud, and after reading the first of 17 short stories, I put it in my "to purchase" pile.

And then I moved on to a funny female: Sloane Crosley. I just love the cover design and title of the book: I Was Told There'd Be Cake. It's another collection of short stories, and I found it fairly easy to relate to her, since she's similar in age with similar parts (this sounds so weird but I'm not hitting the backspace key tonight, save for just then when I accidentally typed "tonihgt"). She had some interesting and funny ideas I would have wanted to read aloud to the person sitting next to me had I known him. But Crosley is not as funny as Sedaris, so while I read two stories she joined the Hornby-dominated pile. I will, however, likely read a couple more on my next trip.

And the last book to sample was Murakami's What I Talk About When I Talk About Running. He made me laugh within the first paragraph (but I already knew this from the first time I leafed through it), and I finished the first chapter. I've only read two of his novels, and while some of his ideas are bizarre, he has such an interesting way of thinking and is so great at writing the most perfect of sentences that you just want to put in your pocket so you can pull them out on a lonely and confusing kind of day. A couple of my favourite parts included his piece about how he prefers running to team sports, since he has no desire to win or lose in a competitive way; he only wants to meet the goals he sets for himself. It seems like such a simple, decent and worthwhile way to approach life. And the other idea that stood out? His bit about alone time, and how it's something that doesn't bother him in the least because he truly enjoys time on his own.

This is my longest post to date, but while I wait for my bath water to run (it's my favourite thing to do in October, so far), here are a few things that caught my eye today:

A real, passionate kiss between two people before they had to part. The scene lasted for a full three minutes while I waited for the streetcar. I vaguely remembered what it felt like to think about missing a person so much.

A real, beautiful home that is merely one block north of my modest apartment. Three stories high, with floor-to-ceiling windows that tease passers-by with what look to be wonderful pieces of art covering much of the lightly coloured walls.

A real, shirtless man eating dinner in front of his television. He surprised me, though probably much less than I'd surprise him if we happened to catch eyes, because I was only glancing at the street's scenery when I noticed the blinds to his ground-level condo were open for all completely innocent pedestrians to see.

And that's all for tonight.

xo

lori

Happy bird-day

To be single is to hate yourself. Clearly, everyone else in the world hates you. If they didn't, you'd be dating someone already.

This is scary. It's also scary that I clicked the necessary links to learn about this gem of a book. And it's hilarious that the woman's description of a single girl's life sounds like it's written by your mom. And the man's description? Maybe from that womanizer britney keeps talking about.

Anyways. I'm actually trying to work tonight because I hit a creative road block on Friday. And I haven't found a detour yet. And the turkey comatose didn't help. And the clock's a tickin'. Wish me luck.

xo.

lori

I'm not sure what this one's about

My last trip to Montreal involved a camera and a crazy plan partly inspired by a random blog and partly by a random conversation with an ex-coworker/lasting friend. We discussed the sadness of seeing perfectly cute boys (er, men) on the street and having no real reason to talk to them... so we devised a plan which is too convoluted for me to explain here. I can tell you about it if we're friends in real life. Just ask next time there's an awkward silence or a desperate need for a subject change.

So while in Montreal I took photos of cute boys. It was prefaced with some sugary sweet line about me taking pictures of the prettiest things in the city (and yes, I'm 26 years-old). They were all very flattered and it was a fun little experiment (the online album's named "Mantreal"), except it turns out that while at Osheaga, one of the guys couldn't hear me well and must have thought I was taking his photo for a legit reason... and it turns out Sarah knows him! And he's from Toronto and she tags him on Facebook and he is probably like, what?

But it doesn't really matter save for the fact that now I kind of like the music and just wrote about the band for next week's LFP column. So maybe it was for a legitimate reason. Or maybe I'm just writing this post and wasting time while I wait for my laundry to dry, after watching The Dears' concert and before needing to wake up at an evil hour to drive home in time for family, shopping and turkey (in that order).

Happy weekend. xo. lori.

I'll never forget that the Salt Lounge closed

I was frustrated today. I am the first to admit that I can be, at times, careless and clumsy... so I can tolerate it in others, but only up to a point. Today was too much and after six e-mails, many misunderstandings and yet another last-minute writeup, I was, well, angry. It'd been about three months since I'd been that angry (over a movie), and more than a year before that (which was ex-boyfriend related).

And that's when I remembered how important it is to have friends around to calm you down, and a Swiss Chalet within walking dinner. (Obviously, I intended to write distance but this slipped and it's funnier now and I don't want to change it.) Other ways to soothe your soul? Read a book and take a bath and drink a glass of wine. I'm beginning to rediscover all of my passions, it seems. : )

I picked up a new book today. It all started because I wanted to visit Pages because this article told me it would be forced to relocate once its 10-year lease ended and its $150,000/mth rent doubled March 1. When I told my neighbour the story, he was like, $150,000? Really? We figured they would have to make $5,000 every day selling magazines and books just to cover the cost of rent. Ludicrous, right?

So we went to Pages and I picked out a book and started chatting with the manager. Apparently, the number is more like $150,000 a year (I hope the online article is updated, soon), and they didn't really have to move... they kind of want to because the Queen West strip is ever-changing and filling with more and more chain stores. So basically, the article is pretty messed up.

I still bought this book but wondered if I'd still trust the newspaper. Anyways, I'm 20 pages into this, and one little line popped out and it kind of relates to how I feel sometimes and probably how a lot of other twentysomethings feel sometimes, or all the time, or maybe never (and then good for you!):

.... the onset of that lonely, latent kind of panic which accompanies the realization that you can no longer afford not to know where your life is heading...

A little more conversation

What would you say about someone who buys fortune cookies and baci chocolates in bulk? And enjoys the quotes on Starbucks cups more than the coffee itself? And wishes that more food and beverages came with messages?

Would you say "[her] sparkling eyes shed a healing light on those [she] meets"? That's what my fortune cookie thinks tonight. And my eyes are pretty sparkly -- except maybe not after two post-work pints, two hours of cleaning and two hours of waiting for my out-of-town guest to ring my (door)bell.

I think that messages like the one above are perfect for times when you're sitting solo, at 12:36 a.m. on an early Saturday morning, thinking about life and waiting to start a day-long catchup with a good friend who used to live a lot closer to here.

Mood Music

So I did something truly un-Canadian a few minutes ago. I felt a bit guilty about it, but then I was distracted by what happened next.

I put on Boxer by The National, poured myself a (second) glass of wine and told my neighbour we would hang out later. So, sitting at my computer, alone in my apartment, I hear the following lyrics from the song "You've Done It Again, Virginia:"

You went in and put a record on
To make it sound like someone was home
And thanked yourself for pouring yourself a drink

Maybe these lyrics are easy to apply to many a single twentysomething's world. And maybe there's another blog post that mirrors this one, and it's been written from another big city of sometimes-happy, sometimes-lonely people.

But you can't talk to people, right?
You can't tell a story
You're tall, long-legged
And your heart's full of liquor

Wow, that's all I'm saying.