Nothing like Christmas and the approach of the year's end to make one feel contemplative and guilty for neglecting one's oft neglected blog. I have spent the past two weeks being gloriously unproductive and spoilt, being constantly fed, catching up on the old seasons of Community, reading books for pleasure, ignoring questions about my future, and all in all enjoying the company of family and friends. Toronto awaits me in two days with its frozen witch's teat of a weather, and I plan to spend the remaining hours of 2011 thoroughly drunk and alternating between states of euphoria and catatonic depression. When your mind and motivation has been running on empty since November (which is always, always the most awful month of the year), it's time to just accept and initiate your crash and burn so you can emerge a hungover phoenix ready to kick some major ass for the next 365 days. And that's what New Year's Eve is for.

Double Two.

Other than the fact that I must now ban Lily Allen's song from my playlist so I don't dissolve into a heap of blues and angst, I am looking forward to a low key, chilled out birthday hanging out with the few individuals who are special and with no real plan in place on how the night will go/end. Midnight started with somewhat of a bang at least, taking a cinammon shot (with gold flakes for extra class) with my roommate followed by obligatory bothering of Pistache.

I am as much an old lady as I am a wild child at heart, and these days the former seems to be dominating. Honestly, my idea of a good night is drinking white wine while watching Jersey Shore with my cat.....yes, this may be as archetypal an image of Lonely Single Girl as you can get, but in the wise words of my pop hero Kelly Clarkson, it "doesn't mean I'm lonely when I'm alone." Skyping with my mum earlier, she asked if I had a boyfriend and when I said I wasn't remotely interested in even finding one right now, she proceeded to extol the virtues of experimenting and getting experience at this stage in my life....which I found really rich coming from the same woman who used to feed me horror teenage pregnancy-suicide stories.

I did receive some good advice though, to her credit. She said between now and 30 is the best time of my life with few responsibilities and a million possibilities, and I should enjoy each day and smile each day. I agree and call bullshit on the myth that the University Years are the best years....they are phenomenal years in the right shade of hindsight sure, but where I am and what I'm doing right now? It feels great in the present. And so this former nostalgia tripper may just be converting into a now tripper with a complimentary side of bad decisions and no regrets.

Is it becoming a pattern in my life that my plans are constantly being downsized but not necessarily downgraded?

Case A: The Gap Year going from France to Montreal to staying here. 

Case B: Exotic Winter Break Getaway going from Hawaii to South America to home. 

Guess a girl from HK needs to return to HK at some point. With mixed feelings. Mostly I am thrilled because it has been over a year and I will get to see family, stuff my face with mum's cooking and other cheap food, have my laundry done for me, reunite with the highschool girls as well as some university friends, and be somewhere warm and snowless. Cons? I guess I would have to lose weight so I have leeway to guiltlessly stuff my face as well as look hot to my highschool enemies. Also must deftly avoid another Big Talk About My Future with the parents as well as make it sound like I'm not on the path to becoming a homeless person when I talk to friends working at law firms and banks. Oh, that may be another to-do on the list....marry a rich banker/lawyer friend, then divorce them and get alimony to buy my own theatre.

I have grand plans for those two and a half weeks okay. 

Dear Facebook Friends at Law School:

Stop posting statuses quoting your textbooks and case studies and professors and various law jokes. They're not funny and make you sound like a FUCKING BORE. I don't know what it is with Canadian law students, it's like they think they're pioneers in some new field of study and just reverted back to frosh levels of insufferable enthusiasm and pretension. Guess what, if you really had it together you would be on a training contract with a law firm by now like my friends who went to the UK, but I guess you would then just make intern related statuses and still be, that's right, a fucking bore.
You can go ahead and defriend me now.

Things I am thankful for.

1. The bottle of wine in my fridge.
2. Fall days that feel like summer.
3. Sleeping in.
4. Nutella for breakfast.
5. Friends and family.
6. Friends who host fabulous dinner parties.
7. My grumpy fat cat for letting me use her as a pillow.
8. The trivial drama in my life.
9. Getting to chase/do what I want.
10. Several empty wine bottles by the end of tonight.

Classical Shakespeare.

I was at the opening weekend concert of the Toronto Symphony's 90th season last night --is there anything quite like listening to classical music live? Add to that a Shakespeare theme that included Christopher Plummer as a guest reading from Henry V alongside Walton's score and you basically have an evening of epic proportions.

I'm pretty sure Prokofiev's Romeo and Juliet is the favoured musical interpretation, but I may just have been won over by Tchaikovsky. Though my friend astutely pointed out that all he can think of when he hears the familiar love theme is Sims (sigh), the cliched association of cartoons or cheesy slow motion scenes of lovers running towards each other is overridden by the other theme representing the rivaling Montagues and Capulets. I've never heard the piece in its entirety and it gave me chills.

10 ways I am like my cat.

1) My default look is usually bitchface/judging-you.

2) But if you give me a back massage I'm all yours.

3) My bed is home.

4) I'm hungry....a lot.

5) I miaow.

6) I'm hot then I'm cold.

7) I'm an old lady.

8) I'm a night owl

9) I have childbearing hips

10) I dance dance dance

The trouble with cheating.

I ended my sleep-at-a-reasonable-hour-like-a-responsible-adult streak last night when I had a 1am movie session with Last Night. The main reason I chose to watch it was because of my shameless girl crush on Keira Knightley and her insufferable pout and razor sharp jawline. But it turned out to be my kind of movie in general --which is best described as "slow." That sounds like a backhanded compliment but what I mean is I love movies that you can just marinate in, where nothing really happens, where it's a slightly rose-tinted version of the romance and angst of everyday life, where you get to watch people wash their hands at the sink or make food in their perfect kitchens or walk around in their underwear. Films like Lost in Translation  and Beginners.

So except for Sam Worthington's wooden acting and bovine expressions and the cop-out ending which left me raging a little, Last Night was my kind of movie. And it also got me thinking, which is a miracle for any film to do to a viewer these days. I'll spare you the spoilery details but what the film essentially asks is which kind of infidelity is worse --or, as I chose to read it, which would I rather my partner commit --a one-night stand largely fueled by physical chemistry, or a constant, nostalgic longing for a former love who holds that "special place" even though there is no physical act of  cheating.

I have no immediate or final answer to which I would find more forgivable/understandable because let's face it, both situations suck. And yet both, I think, are so easy to happen without malicious intent. I think I would find the emotional cheating more forgivable and more painful. I say more forgivable because I don't think you can help what you feel, and memory is such a powerful force that escapes control most of the time....and for that reason it would also be more painful to know that some other individual occupies your S.O's mental space, regardless of whether they're even there or not. Whereas I would probably be far more enraged by physical cheating and the choice to act on what you're feeling. Is that less forgivable? On second thought, maybe not given that I could probably also take some twisted comfort in knowing it was "only" based on lustful desire, not loaded history.  

I honestly can't say which I would find easier to deal with but I believe in both cases it's not necessarily a dealbreaker --that's not to say you shouldn't break up if the guy/girl has been a total asshole about it --but's it not simple enough a matter to have a pre-made decision about without any context. Everyone fucks up because everyone's human. But I guess I can only theorise until something actually happens.

I return with furry creature in tow.

While this blog has very much been "en hold", life, contrary to my expectations, has not. You know it's a good sign when you're too busy to spend time on the internet....not that that's entirely been the case, but let's just say the reason I've been MIA for 3 months here is because there's been too much to update as opposed to too little or nothing. Yes, while I fully expected this to be the summer of idleness to conquer the wiling hours of all other confused graduates also embarking on ambiguous gap years, things have surprisingly been on a roll.

I always hesitate to celebrate these kinds of moments because I have a Protestant's suspicion of happiness.
I'm sitting here in a new apartment with an iPhone (hey, I was previously using a phone where I couldn't hear people on the other end) on the desk and a cat curled up on my bed wondering,  how did this happen?? When did I start remotely resembling that thing you call an Adult? At this point you probably think I have really low expectations of what the "adult's" life looks like, but that's it for me. That's the "young professional" image I have in my head. Apartment + Cat + Single Girl = Young Professional.

Oh, I guess Job should also be in that equation somewhere, which I do have covered as well. Two of them --one is a little soul sucking and the other places me back in the vicinity of the college and around keen eyed first years who make me feel like a once beautiful washed-up trophy wife, but hey! The important part is that both gigs allow me to chase the ultimate lofty goal. Which I also like to think I am inching towards slowly, at snail's pace with stars still in my eyes (how is possible to be so extremely cynical and idealistic?) and not much of a backup plan, but the drive is there and I'm realising more that that's the feeling that counts.

It's funny how things sometimes work out in a way that's completely opposite to what you planned, and you feel like you should fight them but then you realise they're just as great. I had planned to spend a year in la belle France....then that got downgraded to making the move to Montreal....and then it turned out to be just moving out a few blocks north, and even working back at the college. Towards the end of my last year at uni I was so clueless  and scared shitless about what was next --even in terms of what I wanted to be next --that the only thing I could say for no real reason was that I had to leave Toronto, if not Canada...just for the sake of change itself. And then I graduated, and realised how much I loved Toronto and how much it had become home without me realising. Everything I had hated about it was to do with the stress of school, and now that it was over....that just left the city and the people I know here. And they're all pretty damn great.

Sometimes I read back on my old journal entries and am shocked at how miserable  I was. Even now I still remain wary of feeling too happy because with every high point there's a downhill, and to me that's not pessimism, it's keeping things in perspective and avoiding arrogance and complacency. But I guess right now this moment, I can concede that I'm feeling more than just okay.

This Is How You Sell A $1000 Subscription Series That Includes A Yo-Yo Ma Concert.

"Ma'am, I think the cello is a very sexy instrument."

Okay but seriously

If you would like to keep up with my budding career (allow me the self delusion for the time being), go here. Or you know, just stay here to live vicariously through my inanities.

Post-grad Optimism.

A: Damn people with futures.

Me: Hey, we'll have futures too!

A: Yeah, in McDonald's.

Me: If you end up in McDonald's I'm going to be the hobo standing outside McDonald's.

Adapt or Die.

Cannot wait to listen to this in the gym and pretend I'm on the run from German skinheads and CIA agents.

So.

Fucking.

Good.

Things to look forward to [UPDATE].

April 11: So I am done, free, graduated, unemployed, and loving it....for now. Check back in a week when I may be in bed eating frozen yogurt and watching Hugh Grant movies feeling fat and ugly....but at least I'm currently making progress with The List.

- READING. BOOKS. FICTION. POETRY.

Currently re-reading Immortality by Milan Kundera, need to restart and finish White Teeth by Zadie Smith. Trying not to compile a reading list because it will only make me constantly feel guilty.....going to see what catches my eye in the library/bookstore instead. But P.G. Wodehouse is most likely a must this summer.

- Pretending Villette is about my potential gap year in France

Need to get on this, but France plans have taken a back seat for now to more immediate summer theatre plans.

- Sleeping in...more.

10-12 hours a night counts as more right?

- Party hardying

Quad Party: the last hard party? I think so. Beers and dancing and music all night. Just missed checking off the drunken make out, but probably for the better. Instead, a couple of group cuddle nap sessions throughout the night was sufficient for the semi-hobag in me.

- Strasbourg's Seder and Iron Chef

Seder Success tonight! Even though we almost burnt the house down when the shank bone caught on fire in the oven. At least it didn't happen when we had 20 guests in the house. So. Much. Food. Brisket, Beet Tartar, Chicken Soup, Mashed Potatoes, Spinach Pie, Matzah, Wine....so much nom.

- Running outside

Still too cold and I'm a wimp. Hitting the gym in the meantime.

- Summer dresses, flip flops, shades

Again, the weather is still bipolar and today's sunshine cannot be trusted.

- Sangria

To Be Arranged...

- The Kills. May 1st.

COMING SOON, SO SEXCITED.

- Spring cleaning

Floor is clean(er), dusty/cluttered surfaces to be dealt with mercilessly

- Throwing things out

So far this has mostly been paper....paper with readings/school notes....pretty cathartic dumping it all into the recycling box.

- Confronting the parents once and for all

This was less confrontational than I anticipated. I told my dad my gap year options were France, theatre, applying to grad school for urban planning and stage management.....and all he did was ask me about the upcoming federal elections. It's either full on denial or implicit permission granted.....either way, I'm going to pretend this problem has been dealt with.

- Hustlin' for a job/whoring myself out to theatres

10 emails with cover letters and CVs and counting.....next step: picking up the phone and banging on doors.

- More RENT???

THIS IS LOOKING EXTREMELY LIKELY, FINGERS CROSSED AND BREAKING LEGS AND KNOCKING WOOD.

Pure sex.

I went to my friend's big band jazz concert today. It was my first time hearing a baritone sax....and let me tell you, that sound and its rumbling vibration.....did things to me. Damn.

Know thyself.

Me: Basically, I only like bad boys and boys who don't want me.

C: Are you a masochist?

[high five across kitchen table]

I CAN'T DEAL WITH MY FEELINGS SO I THROW THEM UP.

Collateral.

I've always said that the best way to lose weight is be in a play for a few months...it's the best way because you're just so fucking busy you either don't have time to eat, don't eat enough, forget to eat, or simply don't feel hungry. I've always said it but not really believed it until I was doing the set strike this morning and had to pull up my jeans every few steps I took. So I'm pretty sure I lost half my ass to Rent which is a little disheartening. Tonight was probably the first time in at least a month that I sat down at the table with my roommates for dinner. And given that I am in post-show withdrawal all the more reason to gorge on. Ass, I will get you back.

All in a day's work.

Not stated in the stage manager's formal job description:

Play therapist to actors, confidante and provider of food to director, pacifier between both, gossip girl to tech crew, sassy bitch to stage crew. Sprinkle with generous amounts of whining, flirting and thank yous.

3 lifelines for staying awake.

1) Make-up aka tricking yourself to feel awake by looking it

2) A shower aka one hour before your hair is dry enough to go to bed

3) A cold room aka putting your body into survival instead of sleep mode

So proud.

me: since when did you start wearing real pants and converse sneakers?

bro: when did i ever wear fake pants?

me: i mean like pants that aren't tracksuit/cargo

bro: growing up~~~

Pain.

Inflamed gums are no fun. Currently only able to ingest diet coke, cigarettes and frozen yogurt.

Not on my watch.

To do.

1) Know everything about Canada in WW2

2) Speak French perfectly

3) Ace interview

J'ai besoin de courage.

The sassy roommate.

Me: Wow, your hair's really growing.

D: So's your face.

Me: So's your ASS.

Liberal arts colleges for my brother.

Mum: So your dad did some research on Wesleyan, did you know they have co-ed bathrooms? And guys and girls live on the same floor? And guys walk around shirtless?

Me: Yes mum, that's quite common in the US.

Mum: No it's quite scary, they're like banks.

Me: Banks?

Mum: You know, banks.... they like shave their heads but leave some hair in the middle?

Me: Mum it's punks.

Words to live by?

"Boys are temporary, grades are forever."

-Friend on dumping two guys

Lessons from Montreal.

I can successfully communicate in French with an old man Quebecer. Day made.

My friend and I communicate through song.

My friend and I haven't changed much since we were 14.

Every girls' sleepover should include a trashy makeover, fur coat, and photo shoot.

Pina coladas: a shortcut to summer when it's bitching cold outside.

Badass leather jacket: every girl needs one.

"Just put yourself in an uncomfortable position. That's yoga.": my friend introducing bed yoga, which is harder than you think.

Rediscovering old school Alicia Keys: an awesome nostalgia trip.

Together at last.

Long time no eat, friend.

College feminism.

"I HAVE TOTALLY SEPARATED SEX AND LOVE; I AM THE QUINTESSENTIAL MODERN WOMAN."

--Message from my no-bullshit friend as we exchanged hook up stories

Dear Facebook:

As if creeping through photos of friends of friends wasn't conspicuous enough from afar, thanks for adding a new function that makes it look like you're going through a freaking holiday/PowerPoint slideshow.

Gwyn from HK.

I totally forgot to share Queen Gwyn's weekly words of wisdom from GOOP. How fitting is it that the first subscription post I get after signing up is about Hong Kong? Like I said, we are meant to be BFFs. So what does Gwyn recommend as the must-go places? Oh you know, a Michelin three star restaurant here, a couple of members-only clubs there, no biggie.

"The Kee Club is another worthwhile members club to visit. Try to go with a friend who is a member, or twist a concierge’s arm. The club is like an elegant old house with a lounge, game room, library, dining room and salon. The night I went, I had a great time dancing in their club."

Oh my god, I'm going to call up my 3 best friends who are all members and arrange a reunion there this summer. I can't believe I've lived in Hong Kong for 14 years without knowing this place existed. Thanks Gwyn for discovering this overlooked gem! You're the best!

Pants on Fire

"I have tried to keep diaries before, but they didn't work out because of the necessity to be honest."

- John Steinbeck

Want.

Real friends

are the ones that keep you liquored up at a party and yell at you to "MAKE BAD DECISIONS TONIGHT!"

Bow down, plebs.

"Many of the absolute best beauty products I’ve found come from regular French pharmacies. I always stock up on these items when I’m in France or ask friends to bring some back when they’re passing through."

This was posted on my friend's email status. I took one look at it and guessed that it was Gwyneth Paltrow. I was right. Clearly I get her and we are meant to be BFFs slash I would be the perfect personal assistant. I also can't believe I wasn't subscribed to her weekly GOOP newsletter. From now on, expect more pearls of wisdom from this beautifully oblivious, privileged, flawless vegan fat-free ectomorph goddess.

Lessons from Blue Valentine.

1) True love does not exist.

2) Never get married.

3) If Dean and Cindy can't make it work, there is no hope for the rest of us.

4) I am glad my parents are still together. I still don't want to end up like them. Refer back to #2.

The Story of Strasbourg.

The summer before we all moved in, D had a dream that he had been responsible for house hunting and the closest place he could find was in Strasbourg --yes, Strasbourg in France --and we were all mad at him because we'd have to commute by plane everyday, and his mum was mad about the expenses.

The first time we set up our wireless network D (who is a linguistics major) fucked up the spelling and so for a year we were "strassbourg." It's fixed now.

When I was in Tours this summer I was browsing an old bookstore that had these pamphlets from the 50s on different regions, and I opened one on 'Alsace-Lorraine' and inside was a page on Strasbourg. I bought it, of course. It's stuck on the fridge.

Anyway the name has stuck in a pretty cool way not only amongst us but all our friends and acquaintances who visit, and we get called "Strasburgers" as a group and besides being a food item that totally needs to be invented, I like to think we will become the stuff of legends on Ross Street like some underground urban hip artist circle, except instead of throwing notorious dance and trance parties and doing sex and drugs off our creaky kitchen table we'll be known for our four star dinners and midnight baking sessions and bongo drumming and overheated living room and ridiculous milk consumption and spotless bathrooms...we'll be known for being Anti-Students which I am okay with because it means I can go be a hot mess at other people's parties and leave and not deal with cleaning up hungover the next morning where I will wake up to the smell of pancakes and whiskey syrup that D has made for everyone.

K: "This music is too cool for us."

Get it right pt. 2

There are some things I would like to clear up for my roommates.

I do not have a secret boyfriend.

I did not break my bed having sex.

I am not an international terrorist.

My high school friends do exist. Really.

Get it right.

Veronica? Victory??

COME ON PEOPLE.

Business as usual.

End of winter break, roommates are back. Weird music is back, fighting over thermostat is back, that's what she said jokes are back, snarky conversations are back.

Me [making shopping list]: So what veggies do we need?

D: Just put down 'veggies.'

Me: How about I just put down 'FOOD'?

Strasbourg, never change.

Mary Poppers.

Spoonful of sugar?

Let's go fly a kite?

Chalk?

There's no way this film isn't about a secretly alcoholic nanny who sedates the children with pot and hallucinogens right?

Whatever, Beatrix Potter.

I never cared for books with talking animals, but Dick King-Smith was the man. Look at him, I wish he was my grandad. OH, childhood memories...

Deconstructing Hugh Grant.

I'll admit it -I've had too much Hugh Grant this holiday. The fact that I somehow managed to not watch Bridget Jones with a tub of ice cream is somewhat of a miracle. What is it about this man anyway? He's not that attractive or dreamy. He's kind of insufferable. And he's definitely kind of really poncy. So why do I proudly declare my love for Colin Firth only to find myself guiltily searching up Two Weeks Notice on YouTube?

Watching a Hugh Grant movie is like slipping into an old pair of smelly sneakers with holes in the bottom and maybe some dog shit stains that won't wash out....you know you should throw them out, you know it's embarrassing to be walking around in them, you know you should switch to something more decent, but god they're just so comfortable. That's what Hugh Grant is: smelly, comfortable familiarity. You know exactly what you're going to get. Which is why the guy is all too often labelled as an one-dimensional actor associated only with romantic comedies.

Which is actually not as correct as your instincts might tell you. You think you know Hugh Grant, but think about "fuck/marry/kill." No, that's not the new Hugh Grant movie, much as it would be a perfect one for him. It's like a crasser version of the informal "hot or not" game only you categorise three different people and feel good about judging them and being an asshole. Anyway, my point is that Hugh Grant covers all three bases of fuck/marry/kill with the characters he's played. And these roles are pretty different from one another --but because he becomes the archetype for each one so perfectly, people forget this um, versatility.

Fuck

Obviously this is where all the bad boy Hugh Grants go, the prime example being Daniel Cleaver. There is NO QUESTION that Colin Firth/Darcy is far more superior but someone needs to make room for that trope of Sleeping With Your Sexy Boss (because what else do working women do, right?) and that is how Hugh Grant edges himself into the picture. He is that cocky bastard you shamelessly flirt with/diss/preemptively tell your friends to keep you away from before you get drunk only to find yourself all over him anyway. Anyway, the important thing to remember is that Bridget fucks and chucks him and ends up with Darcy. Instant gratification Hugh Grant means you don't want to deal with him the next morning.

Marry

Only Hugh Grant could make marrying a politician look appealing. Seriously, a Prime Minister who deliberately fucks all diplomatic relations with his country's biggest ally because the US president made a pass on his crush? And then uses state facilities and personnel to track down the girl at her house on Christmas day? Who cares if the country's going to shit, the guy is a total romantic! Also, someone I can have dance and lip-syncing parties with? Yes please.

Kill

Disregarding the fact that I kind of want to kill myself for wasting an hour and a half on any Hugh Grant movie, there are two particular types of Hugh that make it near impossible not to stab the screen.

First, you have the Hugh Grant who is basically the "fuck" version minus any self-awareness or wit and infinitely dumber. In other words, a total man child brat which is what Sandra Bullock and I had to deal with in Two Weeks Notice....god, this film. The worst part is the coupling of the two at the end which although predictable is SO WRONG and absolutely infuriating. Let's not even get into the whole Type A Woman Needs To Not Be So Accomplished And Intimidating So She Can Find A Man deal....

Even further on the murderous spectrum is Chopin Hugh Grant. A distinction needs to be made here between Chopin the composer and pianist whom I love and is brilliant, and Chopin Hugh Grant in Impromptu who is almost a person in his own right due to the levels of ridiculousness and sap achieved. This is Hugh Grant at his most sickly, snivelly and apologetic as a sad romantic musician. He's probably meant to be pathetic in the sense of evoking pathos, especially when pursued by a headstrong, fiery woman but GOD do you want to just push him into a lake and watch him flounder about. Look at him there, sitting next to that damn fine Liszt.

So there you have it, the fuck-marry-kill trichotomy of Hugh Grant, who is very much a three dimensional actor. Okay, so a resume of three stock characters might not make him a chameleon. But it's kind of extraordinary how the same accent, bedroom eyes and bewildered expressions result in a disparate trinity that at the end of the day, makes him a lot of cash. And while he may not be my favourite actor, he is definitely my favourite 80s has-been pop star. You know those hips don't lie.

New beginnings, same old debauchery.

Only at a college New Year's Eve house party do you:

- Find yourself drinking from a measuring beaker because all the glasses and mugs are being used as ashtrays.

- Find yourself singing along with an entire room to "I Wanna Dance With Somebody"

- Talk your friend out of going upstairs and doing a second um, snort

- Find yourself feeling like Winona Ryder in Black Swan aka resenting all the 18 year old first years who can afford to do hard drugs and still look young and flawless

- Find yourself drinking champagne from the bottle

- Think the DJ cloned himself/has a twin because suddenly there are two of them

- Find yourself being talked to/at by a guy seriously rolling about the unacceptable misogyny at the college

- Find yourself being talked to by another guy who is also rolling about how he sees tunnels when he closes his eyes and that time he cried watching John Malkovich's performance in some Arthur Miller play

- Find yourself constantly checking the time because it feels like hours have passed but it's only been 5 minutes and you're exhausted already and those DJs are creeping you out and you feel like an old lady and wish it was bedtime

- Find yourself in bed at 4am