Birthday Beats

Another one bites the dust.

I am now another year older, supposedly wiser, a few dollars richer and a few notches on the belt deeper. Oh, the tradition of the birthday celebration.

I miss the days of loot bags (I did have them this year as candy jewelry never goes out of style) and dance offs with prizes, party dresses that came to the knee and birthday cake with only a few candles.  Where did the days go of simply sending out hand-written invites and knowing your selected guests would be there with bells on from 2:00 PM to 5:00 PM? The moments when streamers were all that was left on the walls and wrapping paper littered the ground to show another year celebrated? Instead, all I am left with is a killer headache and a brain filled from the whirlwind of a 5 day-birthday-bender laced with bad choices.

I save my best text messages for these nights. My best dance moves, my best lines, my best “you’ll always be my friend” heart-to-hearts and of course my most embarrassing, “if you were here…” subconscious confessions. I have realized, slowly but surely, that my birthday is grand, is fun, is fabulous until the day after. I’ve done the one apology that needed to be made, but mostly my birthday is a time for my friends to get a real kick over how silly I can actually be. How much I can let go of my usual wound up self and actually let the good times roll!

So with that, I raise a glass, to the new phase of birthday traditions. To having a classy heart felt dinner to celebrate with the people I love the most, and concluding it with a birthday beat-down bash resulting in having those same people remember why they love me after all. Cheers!

Single in the City

Single is sexy. Single is empowering. Single is strength, independence, Pussycat Doll dancin’, I don’t need a man singin’.

Single is also crazy.

Oddly enough that crazy is not due to most single women being insane, although I do know of a few horror stories that would have me retract that statement. However, most of the time, behind every crazy woman, is a man who made her that way.

Living the single life isn’t like beach life… the living ain’t easy. Sure you have the ability to play coy and flash a smile across the bar without a care in the world. Or better yet, ignore calls simply because you don’t have to answer to nobody, amen sista! But there are also the countless times that a single woman gets the knit-together-eyebrows look that states through facial expression – huh?! – and that doesn’t scream sexy.

I realized quickly that I make this face often due to the need for potential botox in my twenty-somethings. The look of complete confusion stems from my inability to form actual sentences after being steamrolled over by another “doesn’t have all his ducks in a row” man.

The bipolar boy, you know who you are – gentleman one minute, cocky bastard the next.

The goggles guy – whether intoxicated or sleep-deprived, he looked a lot better when you agreed to write your phone number on a cocktail napkin.

The miscommunication man, because he simply must have made a mistake in not communicating that he had a live-in girlfriend.

The complimentary chum, as I apparently could date anyone, because I am a multitude of things ranging from gorgeous to brilliant – but alas, cannot date him.

And we cannot forget;

The friendly fella, because who doesn’t want a new best bud.

These are all men who exist, and roam wild along our city streets confusing completely put together women. Oddly enough, they all sound like acts from an old traveling circus where normal men pay admission to laugh and point fingers. This concept could work, and would save me from potentially not being able to move anything above my eyebrows (tragic, as “Leah Miller face” frightens me).

Single is sexy dammit, stamped it, locked it, no erasies.

Too Personal for Comfort

My personal documents folder is exploding with mindless dribble about the spewing of personal nonsense that has consumed my brain for the past while. None of it has been posted, but today reminded me of why I wrote any of it in the beginning. So I figured, take it to the mattresses. No, I have not watched the Godfather where that line stems from, but I have watched You’ve Got Mail where Tom Hanks explains fighting to Meg Ryan. It’s easy to wallow in self pity (see 3pm and still in jammies) but what isn’t easy is fighting for you. That’s right, y-o-u, the only person who you have to answer to in this lifetime. I received some “you’ve got to be kidding me” news today laced with uplifting news that made me realize fighting short battles to achieve your goals is an ongoing war. We all need our major meltdowns (whether they be 5 minutes of 5 months) but when the dust has settled, taking a look at the debris for any signs of a battle well fought is empowering. Keep fighting the good fight, I know I am.

My favourite gifts not wrapped in a blue box with a white ribbon.

In the spirit of Mother’s Day, here are 5 gifts I received from my Mom over the years.

1. My grasp on the English language.  My Mom has always been a stickler for grammar which has in turn made me into the grammar police I am today.  “She did so good!” – or well, either/or.  Irregardless of that fact – hmm… not a word.  The there’s and the yours, the it’s and its and everything in between.  My Mother is the reason why I publicly correct people, and attack Blackberry messages with a fictitious red pen.  Blame her, not me.

2. My love for cooking but not cleaning. We both love cooking and wearing chic aprons. She learned from her Dad and in turn taught me how to work the stove, however, it is also due to my mom that I have never cleaned a bathtub. Spoiled, I know, but my Mom has passed down the most important value of all to me – hire a cleaning service. Thanks Mommy!

3. My overstocked book shelf. Reading is a huge passion of my Mom’s. I never see her without a book and she can read at the speed of light. In turn, I started reading from a young age which translated into my adoration of everything paperback. Bookstores are like a gateway to heaven and I can thank my Mom for one of my favourite hobbies.

4. The fact that I am a homebody. I go out often, we all know that. However, my favourite thing to do is curl up on the couch and watch a great movie or TV show. My favourite nights have been sitting with my Mom on opposing sides of the living room having a laugh over how into a reality show we both get. Home is truly where the heart is.

5. My ability to blow bubbles off my tongue. Yes it is saliva, and yes if it lands on you it is slightly gross. But what a great trick! One person in every generation of my family can do it and I happened to be the lucky girl in mine. It landed me my spot on the Argos Cheerleading team my first year (I guess I can thank my Mom for my looks that probably assisted with that), as well as the admiration of many onlookers who are perplexed as to where the bubble machine is.

So thank you Mom.

Nothing Short of a Production

The streets will be alive tomorrow in Toronto with sounds of signs being unveiled.  Ed Mirvish, Theatre impresario and Honestly one of Toronto’s most well-known philanthropists, will be honoured on Duncan Street at noon.  My fondest childhood memories come from sitting amidst fellow theatre buffs being amazed by the spectacle produced by Mirvish Productions.  It is locations such as the Pantages (now known as the Canon Theatre), Princess of Wales and Royal Alexandra Theatre that spawned my devotion to smaller theatres such as Buddies, Berkley Theatre and Factory Theatre.  While I never frequented Honest Ed’s, or dined at one of his many restaurants, I will forever be grateful to him for introducing me to an extraordinary passion in my life – the theatre.

The production that made the Pantages an iconic fixture in Toronto and to me is in a league of its own.

Thank you Ed Mirvish.

Jian Ghomeshi vs. Billy Bob Thornton

Q, a Canadian Radio Show on CBC Radio One was reminiscent of the ol’ Cowboy Days yesterday.  All that was missing was a slap of the white glove to denounce a duel.  Jian Ghomeshi had his work cut out for him as Billy Bob Thornton, member of the Boxmasters, was just not having any of his interview.

As he mentions, Q producers were told to not touch upon anything that has to do with his past, including and more specifically referencing his cinematic career.  What troubles Jian, and the Q audience for that matter, is how a celebrity can go on air and think that a point of reference will not be made.  Billy Bob Thornton is not a household name like Brad Pitt – even after tumbling in the sheets with the same starlet – some listeners made need a refresher course into who-the-hell he actually is.

We may be a passive and an “I’m sorry” society, but the puck drops when American’s think they can come up here and toss that notion around like it’s a free pass.  The media doesn’t allow you to just put out your one-sided story.  If you, as a non-actor only Boxmaster (?), want to only talk about your current mod-Hillbilly album — than my friend write a book and in black and white monochromatic scheme entitle it yee-haw.  Otherwise, be prepared to answer the questions.  Talking about model King Kong’s when asked what your musical influences are does not make the host look stupid, it makes you look strung out.

As for the lack of drum-set, that is like showing up to an exam without a no. 2 pencil, it is your grade not ours and this one was simply a Fail.

Blackberry Winter

Baby, I’m back.

It has been a long winter, and Mother Nature still has yet to make up her mind about the season she would like Torontonians to exist in.  That moment in time where it is still chilly yet things are quietly blooming — also known as Blackberry Winter (oddly enough I have survived Winter due to my Blackberry but that is besides the point).

I came to the harsh realization last night/early morning that I have been in a complete and utter writing slump for quite some time.  I haven’t even been reading.  While many may not correlate the two, I believe that reading and writing go hand-in-hand and usually, putting my own finger tips to the keyboard quenches my word-filled-thirst after reading others prose.  I was left to wonder why.  My only reasoning for not writing is a lack of passion and that, my blogging friends, is about to change.

It is never that I am not passionate to write.  Writers write because it is always flowing within them.  However, that “writing block” that I would usually get for a few days quickly became a few months.   Which has left me to sit, ponder through the window pane watching seasons transform and realize that here lies a perfect opportunity to do the same as a writer. Shake off the old and embrace the new.  New topics, new points of view, hell why not a new title for my blog.  Blackberry Winter – where cool, snaps.

Sitting in Neutral

I for a long time have wished for a moment in time where the couch was my playground.  I wanted to be the owner of my remote control, watch entire seasons of television shows in one sitting and eat snacks not meals.  I dreamed of wearing only sweats or pajamas and taking half hour showers because I had the time to.

What a terrible reality it is!!  I recently injured myself which has made my dream my harsh ’slap-in-the-face’ reality.  The first few days could only be described as a Euphoric state of being.  However, now the bed sores are kicking in and I am ready to do something with myself.

This is where I truthfully believe you separate the drivers from the passengers.  I am a driver, and since my couch is in park currently, my itch to attain speed is taking a toll on me.

This is what happens when I sit idly by:

- I start to over analyze… everything.  “If it ain’t broke don’t fix it.”  Well I wish I could stick to that little quote because for some odd and bizarre reason I tend to take everything that is functioning normally and make it into a catastrophe when I have nothing to do.

- I tend to throw my healthy eating down the toilet.  Ice cream bars that are 90 calories are great when you eat just one… case closed.

- I sleep until the afternoon.  My sleep-in time used to be 9 am, and now that number is teetering on 1… pm.  It’s a sad reality, and resembles the life of a teenage boy.

There should be rules to this game!  For example, no texting, bbm’ing, facebooking or msning when in deep thought.  No more than one ice cream bar a day and waking up must occur in the am.

Nevertheless I need to get out of neutral and back into drive.

In the wading pool

Well, well, well… my internship has come and gone and with that – so has my post-graduate program. 22 and finished a degree as well as a certificate program, leaves me to ponder this very insightful question… what the hell am I going to do now???

Recently I was a good friends +1 at a swanky industry party during TIFF. The two of us, dolled up to the nines, meandered around, cocktail in hand to find the 30somethings wondering – who were these powerhouse 20somethings without crows feet? While I flinched at the thought of mentioning the word “intern” (dun, dun, dunnnn) when asked what I did for a living, I slowly realized that my baby face may give it away. I stood beside my 26 year-old guest list go-getting girlfriend who is a standout at her age and is a complete mover and shaker in the media industry. And right there, while flipping through the glossy pages of LUSH magazine, I realized that being an intern ain’t half bad. We all need to start somewhere, so here is where I started getting my feet wet in the wading pool.

I started this blog to serve two purposes – 1) to fulfill a course requirement, and 2) to pass by time during my internship as I was told there would be a ton of downtime. PRivate PRactice initially was set-up to discuss issues in Public Relations (hence the PR in the title) as well as complete course assignments (see post on getting no satisfaction). What I have slowly learned is that my blog has expanded into a forum of my own personal thoughts as well as a more focused run down of the jumbled ideas in my head. I assumed my teacher would read – she was forced to – and possibly fellow classmates who were procrastinating working on client projects. To my jaw dropping surprise, I have found that many of my friends and family have tuned in to see what I write and leave comments or chat with me about topics that I have been so blunt about. Who knew that my wit and charm would attract so many! Yet, the course is done, and so is the internship…

So where do we go from here? Well first and foremost I am taking a break, not so much from blogging, but just from the PR world in general. Having attended school for 20 years without a break from work or the constant cry of 20 page papers, I am traveling and spending a little time on me. As for this blog, I will most likely continue to write about my feelings on branding and the business of Public Relations, but I will also include more of my personal thoughts just as I have recently. The title of this blog stemmed from a television show in which a woman independently starts a new chapter of her life in the corporate world after a turmoil break-up. Following in those same footsteps, I too have re-discovered a lot about who I am through this chapter which I am about to close. There have been growing pains, and pains resulting from 8:30 am classes; but the pay off has been reminiscent of a certain Britney Spears song – and to that I say let the next chapter begin.

So thank you for reading, and keep reading, because if you don’t… I will be rather disheartened!

Mid-twenties Crisis

Sitting in class, a new outfit on that is clearly way too fall for the still summer weather, new notebooks in tow and a fresh new haircut.  For 20 years this has been my day after labour day.  Instead, today I am left with a mid-twenties crisis at the age of 22.  How do you switch from being a student in the classroom to being a student in the workforce? 

While I have to admit, the lack of back to school shopping has left me in a shopping induced a coma, my credit card balance is thanking me.  Yet the joy of hearing the pen hit the dotted line is one I will miss greatly today.  I will also miss the excruciating line up at the bookstore that left me with joint problems in my arms for all of frosh week (novels may not weigh a lot, but 40 do!)  I will also miss trying to be  fierce in my student photo.  I will miss scrambling to find someone, anyone I know in my lecture hall, as well as the first day of introductions and ice breakers.  Not to mention how eager I was to complete all of my readings in the first month of school that tapered off to non-existent reading in March.  This may all be an identity crisis, or it may be a fear of slowly stepping away towards the unknown – either, or – it just isn’t the same at work today. 

Technically I am still a student for the next 3 weeks.  My internship will soon be over, however I will not be sitting in a classroom any time soon.  I am now looking for coping strategies so that I do not wind up in a lecture hall on a random campus analysing Charles Dickens “Great Expectations” from 2nd year Maturation Literature. 

The workplace just doesn’t give you the same school vibe.  There are no pep rallies, pub nights, breaks between clients or places to curl up on the floor.  There are no stickers for a job well done or forced handwriting, no time for reading, or naps and definitely no sweat pants allowed.  My wardrobe now consists of pencil skirts and blouses, dress pants, high heels and designer purses.  My brothers post-pubescent yet still child-like friends go off to school today – and this granny is feeling old (and they don’t let me forget it).

So while I shed a single, and I do mean single tear, over the past 2 decades I have spent at a desk with a seat attached to it, I look forward to being a student of life now (philosophical I know).  After all, I definitely don’t miss the all nighter papers and the clencher – I can still crush on the hot boys of Gossip Girl without being the creepy woman who robs craddles.