So, are you ready for New Years Eve? Do you have the following:
- plans (including pre plans, main event plans and, post-plans)
- a fully charged camera and Blackberry
- a good outfit (yes, we all know even you cottage goers still plan a good sweater/leggings/uggs look - trying to perfect that I'm-not-trying-but-I-really-am look to a tee)
- enough money in your wallet to provide for cabs, and copious amounts of alcohol
- a back up Visa/Debit card in case you run out of the above
- someone to kiss at midnight (no, your mom and dad's cheeks do not count!)
- someone to call and send your love to just after midnight
- a water bottle next to your bed (a jug will work too)
Welcome to the last day of 2009. A day where we look forward to new beginnings and reflect on the past. Where we look at the us on this day last year, and compare it to the current us, looking for evident changes a year in the making. Where were you on this day last year? Not literally, but in life. Were you happy or sad? Were you loved or broken hearted? Were you anticipating a future that has since shattered, or did you have a successful year? Did you conquer any fears? Complete any goals?
The thing I love about the last day of the year, is the reflection that takes part in my head throughout the course of the day. And then knowingness that 2009 was an amazing year. True to the twentysomething nature I did the typical soul searching and finding and as it comes to an end, I couldn't be more happy and proud of where I am at.
If you have the day off and aren't too busy preparing for your evening, I have a couple New Years movie rentals for you to rent to get in the mood:
- 200 Cigarettes - one of my all time favourite films. The premise of the film is that a woman is throwing a New Years party and is worried no one will show up. We are taken through various storylines on various twentysomethings figuring out their New Years plans and trying to arrange the best night out for themselves. This all star cast includes Kate Hudson, Ben Affleck, Paul Rudd, Christina Ricci, Jay Mohn, Courtney Love, Gaby Hoffman and many others. The ending is genious and all the stories tie together perfectly. There are so many different storylines that there is definitely a character you can relate to. This movie makes us see that everyone has the same feelings about New Years - and makes us feel not alone.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xwEqiNwBHFA
- When Harry Met Sally - The New Years countdown scene in this classic movie is the thing romance is made of. As the countdown begins, Harry and Sally reunite just in time for him to declares his love to her. My heart never fails to melt each time I see this scene.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PRhCTnkd3vM
- Sex and the City The Movie - After Big leaves Carrie at the alter, and Steve cheats on Miranda, these women are left to spend New Years on their lonesome. But as midnight rolls around, Carrie gets out of bed and heads over to get to Miranda with ten seconds to go in the countdown. Friendship at its finest. We also see how the other characters celebrate it in a montage, one that rings near and dear to many of us.
Wishing my fellow blonde, bronzed, twentysomethings a very blonde new years. Enjoy each moment.
- Jenny Jen
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Monday, December 28, 2009
Worst Day for a Birthday
As the year rolls to an end, I see the final few friends who are celebrating their birthday before 2010 via my Facebook reminder and can't help but feel sorry for them. A December 31st birthday, really? Poor you, I think as I feel more-then blessed to be a gemini. It got me to thinking that some people have some unfortunate days to soak up the always prevalent birthday attention, because there are other events taking away from it. It's sort of the equivalent of having another family member or close friend who shares your birthday. You have to have the joint birthday cake, share the attention from family members and friends alike, and have to come to some sort of agreement and compromise on how you both want to spend it. Compromising; just the thing you want to do on the one day of year you're clear to call all that shots. Disastrous.
January 1st - New years day. Also known as International Hangover Day. New Years Eve is a universal celebration. Though some people stay in and do the whole I'm-the-anti-New-Year-chick-and-don't-give-a-shit thing, there are many others who make New Years Eve a big deal. Like center of the universe I need the best of the best plans big deal. No one wants a celebration the day following the biggest celebration of the year. Enough said.
December 30th - The day that everyone is holding off in preparation for New Years Eve. No one wants to go out because they don't want to ruin the tomorrow they have played in their head multiple times since they got holiday presents and holiday bullshit off their backs. It's just known, nobody goes out on December the 30th.
December 31st - Happy New Years! Oh, and uh, happy birthday too? I guess. Us twentysomethings are so caught up in our New Years plans (along with our new years outfit, our new years hair, our new years mani/pedi, our new years 'OMG-who-am-i-going-to-kiss-at-midnight' mentality that is over consuming our minds, that we just don't have time to remember dear, old you. Your special, we love you, but we love ourselves too. It's a day where everyone is so caught up with their plans that conversations on this day (whether at the grocery store, with friends, or with the Vietnamese manicurist) always start off with 'So, what are you doing to celebrate New Years?' Not: so, what are you doing to celebrate your birthday? You see what I mean?
February 29th - I just so happened to be born on a leap year and just always felt oh-so-sorry when kids in my class had a birthday on this date. The reason being, this date only comes around once every four years. You know when someone calls you the day after your birthday? You know that feeling you have, that appreciative feeling that a call came through, but it just isn't the same since your day of birth has already expired? Well imagine that every 3 out of 4 years. The February 29ers opt to celebrate their birthday on either February 28th of March 1st. Faux-birthday? Not as good as the real thing. Faux never is.
Yom Kippur - for my Jewish friends out there, this happens to be one of the worst days for your birthday to fall on. For 24 hours everyone is fasting. You can't eat, you can't drink, you can't have sex, you can't put on makeup or wear leather, you can't brush your teeth...the list goes on. Jews are meant to not do anything on this day, but focus on repenting for their sins. That sorta, kinda means people aren't focussing on you. The one plus of the most significant Jewish holiday in the year is that it falls on a different date each year (around the end of September/beginning of October), since the date is based on the Jewish calendar.
September 11th - Need I say more?
Passover - You get to blow out candles on a cake that tastes like sawdust, none of your fellow Jewish friends can't go out because they are pretty sure the bar/restaurant you choose to celebrate doesn't offer a Kosher for Passover menu, and worstly, if it falls on the first two nights, everyone is off with their families as they are forced to take part in a four hour (minimum) Sedar. Though times have changed, most bubbies and zadies aren't so comfortable with the Blackberry being on the table so you know you're not getting the expected ongoing influx of birthday messages/phone calls/pins/emails/Facebook alerts for a good four hours of your birthday.
December 25th - Christmas day. The one day a year that stores/gas stations/restaurants that claim to be open 24/7 are in fact actually not. The only thing open is the Movies and Chinese food, so unless you want an annual chicken ball+chick flick celebration, you're shit out of luck. Bars too tend to be closed on this date too. But I'm sure that you can get some egg nog to drink alone in front of your fireplace (on your TV). Merry Christmas!
Valentines Day - for you blonde, bronzed babes out there who are self proclaimed girly girls, having a birthday on this day doesn't allow you to soak up the love as much as you'd like. Instead of being bombarded with all pink gummys and heart shaped sweet nothings, you're instead being gifted with generic balloons and cards professing a special day as opposed to cards professing love and romanticness.
April 1st - The joke is on you. Growing up people spent the first half of your special day being foolish and pulling pranks. Maybe people will remember your birthday in the afternoon, but it's not the most pleasant day (unless you're the class clown).
What do you think is the worst day to have a birthday? Have I missed the first date that came to your head when you read the title for this article? Does your birthday fall on one of the days I've listed?
January 1st - New years day. Also known as International Hangover Day. New Years Eve is a universal celebration. Though some people stay in and do the whole I'm-the-anti-New-Year-chick-and-don't-give-a-shit thing, there are many others who make New Years Eve a big deal. Like center of the universe I need the best of the best plans big deal. No one wants a celebration the day following the biggest celebration of the year. Enough said.
December 30th - The day that everyone is holding off in preparation for New Years Eve. No one wants to go out because they don't want to ruin the tomorrow they have played in their head multiple times since they got holiday presents and holiday bullshit off their backs. It's just known, nobody goes out on December the 30th.
December 31st - Happy New Years! Oh, and uh, happy birthday too? I guess. Us twentysomethings are so caught up in our New Years plans (along with our new years outfit, our new years hair, our new years mani/pedi, our new years 'OMG-who-am-i-going-to-kiss-at-midnight' mentality that is over consuming our minds, that we just don't have time to remember dear, old you. Your special, we love you, but we love ourselves too. It's a day where everyone is so caught up with their plans that conversations on this day (whether at the grocery store, with friends, or with the Vietnamese manicurist) always start off with 'So, what are you doing to celebrate New Years?' Not: so, what are you doing to celebrate your birthday? You see what I mean?
February 29th - I just so happened to be born on a leap year and just always felt oh-so-sorry when kids in my class had a birthday on this date. The reason being, this date only comes around once every four years. You know when someone calls you the day after your birthday? You know that feeling you have, that appreciative feeling that a call came through, but it just isn't the same since your day of birth has already expired? Well imagine that every 3 out of 4 years. The February 29ers opt to celebrate their birthday on either February 28th of March 1st. Faux-birthday? Not as good as the real thing. Faux never is.
Yom Kippur - for my Jewish friends out there, this happens to be one of the worst days for your birthday to fall on. For 24 hours everyone is fasting. You can't eat, you can't drink, you can't have sex, you can't put on makeup or wear leather, you can't brush your teeth...the list goes on. Jews are meant to not do anything on this day, but focus on repenting for their sins. That sorta, kinda means people aren't focussing on you. The one plus of the most significant Jewish holiday in the year is that it falls on a different date each year (around the end of September/beginning of October), since the date is based on the Jewish calendar.
September 11th - Need I say more?
Passover - You get to blow out candles on a cake that tastes like sawdust, none of your fellow Jewish friends can't go out because they are pretty sure the bar/restaurant you choose to celebrate doesn't offer a Kosher for Passover menu, and worstly, if it falls on the first two nights, everyone is off with their families as they are forced to take part in a four hour (minimum) Sedar. Though times have changed, most bubbies and zadies aren't so comfortable with the Blackberry being on the table so you know you're not getting the expected ongoing influx of birthday messages/phone calls/pins/emails/Facebook alerts for a good four hours of your birthday.
December 25th - Christmas day. The one day a year that stores/gas stations/restaurants that claim to be open 24/7 are in fact actually not. The only thing open is the Movies and Chinese food, so unless you want an annual chicken ball+chick flick celebration, you're shit out of luck. Bars too tend to be closed on this date too. But I'm sure that you can get some egg nog to drink alone in front of your fireplace (on your TV). Merry Christmas!
Valentines Day - for you blonde, bronzed babes out there who are self proclaimed girly girls, having a birthday on this day doesn't allow you to soak up the love as much as you'd like. Instead of being bombarded with all pink gummys and heart shaped sweet nothings, you're instead being gifted with generic balloons and cards professing a special day as opposed to cards professing love and romanticness.
April 1st - The joke is on you. Growing up people spent the first half of your special day being foolish and pulling pranks. Maybe people will remember your birthday in the afternoon, but it's not the most pleasant day (unless you're the class clown).
What do you think is the worst day to have a birthday? Have I missed the first date that came to your head when you read the title for this article? Does your birthday fall on one of the days I've listed?
Saturday, December 26, 2009
I'm a Carrie
Sex and the City. This show, ladies, is like what the bible is for Christians, what working out is to fitness freaks, what not missing a Leaf game is like to a diehard Toronto Maple Leafs fan. It is an epic show us women swear by. The great thing about this show, is there are four very different lead characters. Each character is so polar opposite, that women everywhere have one they can relate to and identify with. This identification allows us to relate to the situations these character's face (and boy, do they face many!) and act as a guide about what we should do when faced in a similar situation.
The characters: There's a fairy-tale/fantasy ridden/sophisticated optimist, a hard-working/feminist/pessimist, a lifes-too-short lets live in the moment and give in to temptation vixen, and there is a fun-spirited/emotional/could be single - could be in a long-term relationship fierce woman. Which one are you?
Not only do I have all six seasons on DVD (and the film), but I also tend to catch episodes on my flatscreen as well, way too often. For some reason, this show (like Seinfeld and Friends) seems to always be on. I've always had this wierd, fate-like theory about the show; before I turn on my TV to find the show on, I always think that whichever episode is currently playing is meant for me to see that day. It's meant to teach me something I need to know, to pave my path so to say.
The episodes never fail. I've gone through break ups only to find Carrie and Big on and off again. I've had days where I've done the whole drunk dial thing, only to see Carrie doing the same. From Shortcomings, to The Games People Play, to Take me out to the Ballgame - all these episodes have a story that I've already been the author of in my own life. Watching them played out by four very-well dressed, mature women, makes these situations understandably commonplace and a further comfort is developed on my end.
The twentysomethings have been labeled by many wise elders as a time where you really 'find yourself'. Which makes it perfectly understandable that we watch all these shows and films, looking for someone to identify with to further understand ourselves. Which Friends character are you? Who is your favourite Gossip Girl, Serena or Blair? We pick favourites and try so hard to give meaning to our own lives. It's an interesting phenomena, yet we all fall prey to it.
As I sit at the all-wooden modish table in a dimly-lit brunch hot spot in the city with two close girlfriends, one shares her latest sexcapade with us, looking at us for advice and direction. I clear my throat as I say 'The Monogamist.' 'What?' my friend asks in both an intrigued and confused tone. 'The Monogamist,' I repeat, getting excited now to explain myself. But before I do, the third party interrupts me saying, 'You know, when Carrie is unsettled that Big and her aren't exclusive and can't handle it.' I loved it. It was in that moment that I realized us women are all the same. We relate most of our advice to a Sex and the City episode. Do you catch yourself and your girlfriends doing the same? Quoting the fab four like there's no tomorrow?
You my friends are a part of what I like to call The Sex and the City spell. And what a fine spell it is. Who needs Cosmopolitan magazines, 'He's Just not that Into you' books and a therapist when you have 94 episodes at your fingertips?
- Jenny Jen
Friday, December 25, 2009
If We're Gonna Have a Cat Fight, We Should at Least be Wearing a Cat suit!
Merry fucking Christmas. I awoke way too early this morning and no, not in anticipation of the presents santa left under my chimney, but fully in response to my sugar free Red Bull addiction that I gave into last night. As I awoke, I replayed last night in my head and actually laughed out loud.
That Girl. We all know 'that girl'. You know, that girl who hates you because she thinks you stole her knight and shining armour? That Girl who thought she had it all, until evil you walked in and dashed her hopes and dreams (when really she was never even with the guy to begin with, and the guy is happy her over-consuming obsession has been put to a halt because she now has other ways to direct her angry energy). I think all us blonde, bronzed, twentysomethings have met That Girl at least once in our lives.
You know that song 'Boyfriend' by Ashlee Simpson? Well basically that song was written by Ashlee towards Lindsay Lohan. Ashlee briefly dated Lindsay Lohan's ex, Wilmer Valderrama (also known as 'Fez' on That 70's Show). And Lindsay Lohan - queen of all things drama - was going around back talking Ashlee, saying she stole her boyfriend, when in fact their relationship was so obviously over before Ashlee came in the picture. Though Ashlee's publicity team denies that 'Boyfriend' is about Lilo, it's a well known fact where it stems from, and is a song we all know way too well. It's this idea that there's always a girl out there who thinks you stole her boyfriend. Feel free to replace the word boyfriend with guy she's dating, fuck buddy, former flame, guy she's crushing on...I think you follow.
Here's the first part of the chorus:
Hey, how long till the music drowns you out?
Don't put words up in my mouth,
I didn't steal your boyfriend,
Hey, how long till you face what's going on?
Cause you really got it wrong,
I didn't steal your boyfriend,
Hey, how long till you look at your own life,
Instead of looking into mine,
I didn't steal your boyfriend,
Hey, how long till you're leaving me alone,
Don't you got somewhere to go?
I didn't steal your boyfriend
Not only do you need to deal with girl-who-should-move-forward-with-her-life, but you also have to deal with her friends dirty looks at bars and clubs alike (though at times they may pull you aside and admit to you how embarrassed they are with their friends behaviour and that they are on your side. And yes, that has happened. Poor girl). How fun. The thing about That Girl, is what she never realizes is the so-called replacements' happiness.
Life is too short to look back on what was's and what-could-have-beens. While you are dancing up a storm and having a fabulous time, with your fabulous girlfriends (who would never go up to her and tell her they are on her side - loyalty much?) she is busy being the misery of her own company, writing stories in her head placing you in the role of the antagonist. Little does That Girl know that you are happy. You're content with your life and don't think twice about her (except when she intentionally spills her drink on your friends, gives you the evil eye, and aggressively pushes past you almost knocking you over every time she walks by.) That Girl always tends to make a point to hit on guys in your presence and goes so far as to bed him that night 'look what I can get!' she says to herself as she very obviously attempts to flirt her way to happiness.
Happiness comes from within ladies. Guys won't fill that void. It's so important for us all to live in reality and live in the moment. Appreciate what we have, accept what we have lost, and move forward with good intentions and a hope that our future will be bright and will pan out how it should. Us women often force situations to be, in order for us to live out what we have imagined and projected in our overly-active imaginations. It's so easy for us to fall prey to this behaviour, but we need to realize that these are solely fantasies and sometimes things aren't meant to be. Acceptance is a powerful gift. Once we accept, we live.
For more on the Lohan/Simpson feud, check out this link: http://www.buzzle.com/editorials/6-8-2005-71268.asp
That Girl. We all know 'that girl'. You know, that girl who hates you because she thinks you stole her knight and shining armour? That Girl who thought she had it all, until evil you walked in and dashed her hopes and dreams (when really she was never even with the guy to begin with, and the guy is happy her over-consuming obsession has been put to a halt because she now has other ways to direct her angry energy). I think all us blonde, bronzed, twentysomethings have met That Girl at least once in our lives.
You know that song 'Boyfriend' by Ashlee Simpson? Well basically that song was written by Ashlee towards Lindsay Lohan. Ashlee briefly dated Lindsay Lohan's ex, Wilmer Valderrama (also known as 'Fez' on That 70's Show). And Lindsay Lohan - queen of all things drama - was going around back talking Ashlee, saying she stole her boyfriend, when in fact their relationship was so obviously over before Ashlee came in the picture. Though Ashlee's publicity team denies that 'Boyfriend' is about Lilo, it's a well known fact where it stems from, and is a song we all know way too well. It's this idea that there's always a girl out there who thinks you stole her boyfriend. Feel free to replace the word boyfriend with guy she's dating, fuck buddy, former flame, guy she's crushing on...I think you follow.
Here's the first part of the chorus:
Hey, how long till the music drowns you out?
Don't put words up in my mouth,
I didn't steal your boyfriend,
Hey, how long till you face what's going on?
Cause you really got it wrong,
I didn't steal your boyfriend,
Hey, how long till you look at your own life,
Instead of looking into mine,
I didn't steal your boyfriend,
Hey, how long till you're leaving me alone,
Don't you got somewhere to go?
I didn't steal your boyfriend
Not only do you need to deal with girl-who-should-move-forward-with-her-life, but you also have to deal with her friends dirty looks at bars and clubs alike (though at times they may pull you aside and admit to you how embarrassed they are with their friends behaviour and that they are on your side. And yes, that has happened. Poor girl). How fun. The thing about That Girl, is what she never realizes is the so-called replacements' happiness.
Life is too short to look back on what was's and what-could-have-beens. While you are dancing up a storm and having a fabulous time, with your fabulous girlfriends (who would never go up to her and tell her they are on her side - loyalty much?) she is busy being the misery of her own company, writing stories in her head placing you in the role of the antagonist. Little does That Girl know that you are happy. You're content with your life and don't think twice about her (except when she intentionally spills her drink on your friends, gives you the evil eye, and aggressively pushes past you almost knocking you over every time she walks by.) That Girl always tends to make a point to hit on guys in your presence and goes so far as to bed him that night 'look what I can get!' she says to herself as she very obviously attempts to flirt her way to happiness.
Happiness comes from within ladies. Guys won't fill that void. It's so important for us all to live in reality and live in the moment. Appreciate what we have, accept what we have lost, and move forward with good intentions and a hope that our future will be bright and will pan out how it should. Us women often force situations to be, in order for us to live out what we have imagined and projected in our overly-active imaginations. It's so easy for us to fall prey to this behaviour, but we need to realize that these are solely fantasies and sometimes things aren't meant to be. Acceptance is a powerful gift. Once we accept, we live.
For more on the Lohan/Simpson feud, check out this link: http://www.buzzle.com/editorials/6-8-2005-71268.asp
Thursday, December 24, 2009
A Night for Festive Festivities
It's 8:30pm on December 24th. The 'Rent' lover inside of me so wishes it was 9pm (Eastern Standard Time) to make a reference, but that will be left for me to note in my cab ride downtown. My Christmas Eve dinner with the fam is out of the way, and it's time to get ready for the night.
I've been in front of my mirror trying on outfits for my night out, just like they do in the movies. With a musical track playing in the background, there has been a montage of me in different outfits in front of the mirror, as I sing along to the tunes in the background. I give myself the full look down, and move onto the next. It's interesting this process us women go through to get ready for a night out, mainly because we pretty much know the whole time what we want to wear already. So basically it's a great way to distract ourselves for a half-hour or so, and prolong the inevitable. Tonight though, I have an excuse for this show I'm putting on for myself. My gut tells me my outfit of choice is too risque, so I'm trying on other outfits from my new collection (I accidentally found myself in a mall today and left with a lighter wallet and a fuller wardrobe). In any case, if you know me well enough you likley know i'm gonna just do it anyways.
It's the most adorable/naughty hot pink little santa skirt with a matching hot pink naughty little santa hat from Victoria's Secret. Now before you go judging, please not that I will be wearing it on top of leggings, and will be wearing a fully covered top as well. The holidays are a perfect opportunity to be ballsy and have some fun, and since I'm in the same area code as usual, I figured I may as well do just that.
Wishing you all a happy holidays, a safe and ridiculously fun night of partying, and will be sure to put up some pictures for you tomorrow (or late tonight when I put the low-fat chocolate chip cookie with skim milk out for santa.
Hope you are all being more naughty than nice this Christmas.
- Jenny Jen
I've been in front of my mirror trying on outfits for my night out, just like they do in the movies. With a musical track playing in the background, there has been a montage of me in different outfits in front of the mirror, as I sing along to the tunes in the background. I give myself the full look down, and move onto the next. It's interesting this process us women go through to get ready for a night out, mainly because we pretty much know the whole time what we want to wear already. So basically it's a great way to distract ourselves for a half-hour or so, and prolong the inevitable. Tonight though, I have an excuse for this show I'm putting on for myself. My gut tells me my outfit of choice is too risque, so I'm trying on other outfits from my new collection (I accidentally found myself in a mall today and left with a lighter wallet and a fuller wardrobe). In any case, if you know me well enough you likley know i'm gonna just do it anyways.
It's the most adorable/naughty hot pink little santa skirt with a matching hot pink naughty little santa hat from Victoria's Secret. Now before you go judging, please not that I will be wearing it on top of leggings, and will be wearing a fully covered top as well. The holidays are a perfect opportunity to be ballsy and have some fun, and since I'm in the same area code as usual, I figured I may as well do just that.
Wishing you all a happy holidays, a safe and ridiculously fun night of partying, and will be sure to put up some pictures for you tomorrow (or late tonight when I put the low-fat chocolate chip cookie with skim milk out for santa.
Hope you are all being more naughty than nice this Christmas.
- Jenny Jen
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Reframing...Literally
I sit in my room, as I kick back and relax after a long day at the office. My room is as girly-girl as it gets. It's lit by a crystal chandelier (on a dimmer, of course), there are more than a dozen 'throw pillows' on my bed (for decorative purposes only) and the ever present and typical pretty-little-pictureframes dress my room everywhere from the wall, to counter tops, to shelves.
The picture frame is a staple in girly-girl rooms across the nation. Us girls love filling our room and home with images of our besties, boyfriends and our family. Plus, there are some ridiculously cute/trendy/fun picture frames out there that are insanely hard to resist ('How cute would I look in that?' I wonder, as if it were a new Herve Leger dress, before carrying it to the register). But as the frames sit in my room, time goes on, break ups occur, friendships sometimes sour, and we are left with an image in a frame just begging to be changed. So when is it ok to switch the picture in the frame? At what point do you go ahead and finally make the change? Is there a final straw? Do you throw the old picture out as you replace it with the previous persons, well...replacement?
There are three photographs in frames in my room that are begging to be changed. For the past few months, I've been pushing the change aside, but I've been fully aware that it must happen. Out with the old, in with the new. The thing is, the change is sort of bittersweet. It's acknowledgement that a friendship has faded, and ultimately, it's accepting that end. The thing with these oh-so-familiar phases of denial, followed by acceptance, is that they are always made easier with a replacement. I already know which photographs I'd like to get developed to fill the void of said pictures. New, strong bonds have been made and are at this point, ready to be displayed. I feel a bit guilty about the change, since it's the internal knowingness that a few close friendships in my life have been replaced. Something that seems like such a medial task, is in fact overly emotional.
I like having a a good track record; sort of a whose who of my picture frames. As soon as I develop the new replacement photograph, I open up the frame and put the replacement at the very front, keeping the old photograph in the frame. I just stack the image behind, and continue to stack images behind the newest photograph I want displayed. I don't change my frames often, but it's amazing to see over the years, who you have replaced, and reviewing what went wrong with those relationships and how you've grown from them.
My decision to put a specific image in a picture frame in my room, is a very selective one. I place images in my frames of people who mean a lot to me, who I don't see going anywhere in my life. People who I like to look up at my wall at, surround myself with, and who are positive people in my life. I refuse to put posed, cliche images in my frames. Instead, I put images in that reflect me as a person and the nature of my friendship/relationship to the person I'm in the image with. Pictures are snapshots of who you are. Unposed action shots, when the person taking the shot just so happens to catch you in the moment, are the shots I use to fill my frames. Not only do they say a lot about me, my friends and my family members, but they speak volumes about the person who took the picture as well. Every picture has a story.
Do you put thought into the images you place in frames in your room and in your home? Have you gone to a new guys place and caught sight of the images he has placed around and then make an opinion of him based on those pictures? And what about when guys have no pictures in sight? Do you label him shady?
I find it heartwarming going to a friends place, and seeing my smiling face gracing my own presence on their walls. There's a fulfilling nature that comes with this realization that I've been selected, my friendship being promoted, in a home other than my dads.
- Jenny Jen
The picture frame is a staple in girly-girl rooms across the nation. Us girls love filling our room and home with images of our besties, boyfriends and our family. Plus, there are some ridiculously cute/trendy/fun picture frames out there that are insanely hard to resist ('How cute would I look in that?' I wonder, as if it were a new Herve Leger dress, before carrying it to the register). But as the frames sit in my room, time goes on, break ups occur, friendships sometimes sour, and we are left with an image in a frame just begging to be changed. So when is it ok to switch the picture in the frame? At what point do you go ahead and finally make the change? Is there a final straw? Do you throw the old picture out as you replace it with the previous persons, well...replacement?
There are three photographs in frames in my room that are begging to be changed. For the past few months, I've been pushing the change aside, but I've been fully aware that it must happen. Out with the old, in with the new. The thing is, the change is sort of bittersweet. It's acknowledgement that a friendship has faded, and ultimately, it's accepting that end. The thing with these oh-so-familiar phases of denial, followed by acceptance, is that they are always made easier with a replacement. I already know which photographs I'd like to get developed to fill the void of said pictures. New, strong bonds have been made and are at this point, ready to be displayed. I feel a bit guilty about the change, since it's the internal knowingness that a few close friendships in my life have been replaced. Something that seems like such a medial task, is in fact overly emotional.
I like having a a good track record; sort of a whose who of my picture frames. As soon as I develop the new replacement photograph, I open up the frame and put the replacement at the very front, keeping the old photograph in the frame. I just stack the image behind, and continue to stack images behind the newest photograph I want displayed. I don't change my frames often, but it's amazing to see over the years, who you have replaced, and reviewing what went wrong with those relationships and how you've grown from them.
My decision to put a specific image in a picture frame in my room, is a very selective one. I place images in my frames of people who mean a lot to me, who I don't see going anywhere in my life. People who I like to look up at my wall at, surround myself with, and who are positive people in my life. I refuse to put posed, cliche images in my frames. Instead, I put images in that reflect me as a person and the nature of my friendship/relationship to the person I'm in the image with. Pictures are snapshots of who you are. Unposed action shots, when the person taking the shot just so happens to catch you in the moment, are the shots I use to fill my frames. Not only do they say a lot about me, my friends and my family members, but they speak volumes about the person who took the picture as well. Every picture has a story.
Do you put thought into the images you place in frames in your room and in your home? Have you gone to a new guys place and caught sight of the images he has placed around and then make an opinion of him based on those pictures? And what about when guys have no pictures in sight? Do you label him shady?
I find it heartwarming going to a friends place, and seeing my smiling face gracing my own presence on their walls. There's a fulfilling nature that comes with this realization that I've been selected, my friendship being promoted, in a home other than my dads.
- Jenny Jen
Friday, December 18, 2009
Ho's before Bro's?
Alas, the weekend has arrived. The weekend is admired by us twentysomethings alike. Looking for a good time/a time to unwind/a time when time isn't relevant. I breath in deeply and slowly, taking it in whole heartedly. I've traded in my typical jazz beats (if you can even call them that) for the tap-my-pedicured-feet party tunes playing from my Rogers cable box on my flat screen. Gotta love the 'Galaxie Maximum Party' station. Currently gracing the presence of my ears is 'Mony Mony' by Billy Idol, a song we all rarely refer to by that title. My fingers excitedly type to the beat as my pre-emptive mind excitedly plans what lies ahead for the weekend. I know four of the planning w's (what, where, why, when), but it's the fifth w that's got me a little apprehensive and that's the Who, capital W. Do I go for the always-a-pleasure girls night out, or do I start to bring boys into the plan?
Girls vs. Boys
Ho's vs. Bros
Chicks vs. Dicks
Call it what you will, the debate is tough nonetheless. Sure it's great to tear it up on the dance floor with your closest girlfriends, but us blondes love a good party and who can resist a little post-midnight dance floor grind? Once you invite a plus one into your plans though (and his friends on top of that), the dynamics completely change. So when do you call it a girls night out, and stay strong with that title opting to see your boy of choice (likely when the rest of the world is grabbing late night food), and when do you open up the door to have your boy and his buddies join in on the fun?
Pro's of a No-Boys-Allowed Night:
- you can play with fire, and not get burned
- boy talk/gossiping is in full effect and no one needs to be cautious of what they say
- you can criticize/admire other girls outfits
- dance without judgement
- drink without having to function come nights end
- no restrictions
- no babysitting
- you can dress in a provocative manner without offending anyone
- you can talk about things like what you ate that day, how long it took you to get ready, and who Lindsay Lohan is rumoured to be sleeping with that current week
- you can party all night long, not nervous to see the person come 'lights up' after last call
- you have a selection of people to go to the washroom with
- if you run out of lipgloss/eyeliner/tampons, there she is (or they are)
- you don't feel like you're being watched/monitored
Cons of a No-Boys-Allowed Night
- no knowledge of where the end of your night will lead/how you'll get home
- no special someone to dance with when all your girls (and there tongues) disappear with other men
- no one's mouth to disappear your tongue into
- end up spending the night Blackberry messaging/texting/sexting him anyways he may as well be there
- creeps end up hitting on you and you can't fake an 'I'm here with my boyfriend'
- having to answer the 'so where is so and so' question
- you lose that laid back it-doesn't-matter-when-we-make-it-to-the-bar feel because the guy you're going to see is already with you
- no one's coat to wear while you wait for a cab (you didn't bring one, again, because it would ruin your outfit)
Basics of what goes on during a just girls/or a bring a boy night out:
With girls you dance like no ones watching, with boys, there always is someone watching; an ex-girlfriend/ex-fling/ex-jealous chick somewhere growing a hatred for you all because her luck ran dry and yours is running hot. There's nothing like a group of girls giving you the dirty eye solely because they are living in the past.
With girls you can take back shots, with boys, they buy you shots and expect you to take them down in return. Either way you end up with shots, a shot is a shot is a shot. You win some, you lose some but eventually there is a guy out there whose pseudo-pleasantry will get shut down.
With girls you don't have to wait in any form of a lineup, not do you ever need to pay cover (we are blonde, bronzed, twentysomethings afterall), with boys, not only are you waiting in line but they might not even let him in because brother is wearing sneakers and a baseball cap and not only are you paying cover but your male sidekick likely handed the bouncer a twenty to get that velvet red rope pushed aside for your combo entrance.
With girls you have company for the washroom, with boys, you ask them to come to the washroom because you want company and they end up labelling you a tease if you don't bring them in with you.
With girls you can take a mass amount of made-for-Facebook photographs without being criticized, with boys, you have them wearing 'No Photo's' t-shirts and saying 'don't facebook me' even though they tag themselves sloppy once the pictures hit everyones favourite social network.
With girls you can throw around drunken promises and they go unremembered, with boys, they hold you to it when you get home from the bar.
Joining Forces
I love going out for a night on the town with the boys' in my life and their buddies. It's always comforting being included and knowing I made the cut. I have a great time going out with the boys and I especially have the best time when an offer is extended my way to invite my closest girls to come along. There's nothing like combining two seperate groups of friends. Those make for some of my funnest nights. Sure I look out for my girls and I'd never leave them high and dry. But with us being twentysomethings and juggling jobs during the work-week, it's a great opportunity to get on out and mingle with a totally different set of people then you'd usually chill with. This posting would've been incomplete if I didn't mention this. 'Joining forces' is what I'd label it and a joint night is absolute perfection. As your boy goes to do his thing with his buddies (whether that's smoking butts, talking about other chicks in the bar or just grabbing drinks), you have the opportunity to embrace your independence and do your own thing with the girls. But at the end of the evening you know who you are leaving with and where your going. There's a piece of mind that comes with this arrangement (along with a piece of...) And that's all we have today folks.
Girls vs. Boys
Ho's vs. Bros
Chicks vs. Dicks
Call it what you will, the debate is tough nonetheless. Sure it's great to tear it up on the dance floor with your closest girlfriends, but us blondes love a good party and who can resist a little post-midnight dance floor grind? Once you invite a plus one into your plans though (and his friends on top of that), the dynamics completely change. So when do you call it a girls night out, and stay strong with that title opting to see your boy of choice (likely when the rest of the world is grabbing late night food), and when do you open up the door to have your boy and his buddies join in on the fun?
Pro's of a No-Boys-Allowed Night:
- you can play with fire, and not get burned
- boy talk/gossiping is in full effect and no one needs to be cautious of what they say
- you can criticize/admire other girls outfits
- dance without judgement
- drink without having to function come nights end
- no restrictions
- no babysitting
- you can dress in a provocative manner without offending anyone
- you can talk about things like what you ate that day, how long it took you to get ready, and who Lindsay Lohan is rumoured to be sleeping with that current week
- you can party all night long, not nervous to see the person come 'lights up' after last call
- you have a selection of people to go to the washroom with
- if you run out of lipgloss/eyeliner/tampons, there she is (or they are)
- you don't feel like you're being watched/monitored
Cons of a No-Boys-Allowed Night
- no knowledge of where the end of your night will lead/how you'll get home
- no special someone to dance with when all your girls (and there tongues) disappear with other men
- no one's mouth to disappear your tongue into
- end up spending the night Blackberry messaging/texting/sexting him anyways he may as well be there
- creeps end up hitting on you and you can't fake an 'I'm here with my boyfriend'
- having to answer the 'so where is so and so' question
- you lose that laid back it-doesn't-matter-when-we-make-it-to-the-bar feel because the guy you're going to see is already with you
- no one's coat to wear while you wait for a cab (you didn't bring one, again, because it would ruin your outfit)
Basics of what goes on during a just girls/or a bring a boy night out:
With girls you dance like no ones watching, with boys, there always is someone watching; an ex-girlfriend/ex-fling/ex-jealous chick somewhere growing a hatred for you all because her luck ran dry and yours is running hot. There's nothing like a group of girls giving you the dirty eye solely because they are living in the past.
With girls you can take back shots, with boys, they buy you shots and expect you to take them down in return. Either way you end up with shots, a shot is a shot is a shot. You win some, you lose some but eventually there is a guy out there whose pseudo-pleasantry will get shut down.
With girls you don't have to wait in any form of a lineup, not do you ever need to pay cover (we are blonde, bronzed, twentysomethings afterall), with boys, not only are you waiting in line but they might not even let him in because brother is wearing sneakers and a baseball cap and not only are you paying cover but your male sidekick likely handed the bouncer a twenty to get that velvet red rope pushed aside for your combo entrance.
With girls you have company for the washroom, with boys, you ask them to come to the washroom because you want company and they end up labelling you a tease if you don't bring them in with you.
With girls you can take a mass amount of made-for-Facebook photographs without being criticized, with boys, you have them wearing 'No Photo's' t-shirts and saying 'don't facebook me' even though they tag themselves sloppy once the pictures hit everyones favourite social network.
With girls you can throw around drunken promises and they go unremembered, with boys, they hold you to it when you get home from the bar.
Joining Forces
I love going out for a night on the town with the boys' in my life and their buddies. It's always comforting being included and knowing I made the cut. I have a great time going out with the boys and I especially have the best time when an offer is extended my way to invite my closest girls to come along. There's nothing like combining two seperate groups of friends. Those make for some of my funnest nights. Sure I look out for my girls and I'd never leave them high and dry. But with us being twentysomethings and juggling jobs during the work-week, it's a great opportunity to get on out and mingle with a totally different set of people then you'd usually chill with. This posting would've been incomplete if I didn't mention this. 'Joining forces' is what I'd label it and a joint night is absolute perfection. As your boy goes to do his thing with his buddies (whether that's smoking butts, talking about other chicks in the bar or just grabbing drinks), you have the opportunity to embrace your independence and do your own thing with the girls. But at the end of the evening you know who you are leaving with and where your going. There's a piece of mind that comes with this arrangement (along with a piece of...) And that's all we have today folks.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
A Tale of Kissing and Telling
Partying. It’s what we twentysomethings do. When Thursday, Friday and Saturday roll around, nightlife becomes the central theme of conversations and outfit choices alike. You go into the weekend nights expecting a fun time with the funnest of your friends (because lets admit it, the boring ones don’t go out) and you come out from it not remembering it/regretting it/wishing it wasn’t a dreaded Sunday so you can begin again and repeat.
I have a particular pretty little friend who I just love going out with. We get ready together, pre-pre drink together, pre-drink together, party at the club of choice together (for the first part of the evening anyways) and then catch up together the next morning, when I’m told a morning-after tale by the title ‘Kiss and Tell,’ in which she my friends, is the author. And boy are her stories juicy. I live vicariously through them, though I often question the accuracy of such tales. Likely because when I see her doing her thing at the club, the writer in me creates tales of my own about the inevitabilities of what will happen next. Just before I fall asleep I already pan out what I expect to hear from her naughty lips the next day. I'm always sure to send that 'R u ok?' Blackberry message, which she never reads that night and which I never wait up to get a response from, knowing I won't anyways. The next day, when her story doesn't match my projection, I automatically assume she's keeping something in, or changing her tale around to sound better. This usually applies to the male lead - I often question whether the guy she allegedly went home with was in fact the guy who ended up at her trendy midtown apartment in the wee hours of the morn (or vice versa.) I didn't see them talking together the evening prior, and I always seem to have no connection other than the typical 'acquantance' type relationship with said person. Perhaps she names a guy who knows the story won't get back to, as opposed to the original culprit. Perhaps this is my paranoia but it definitely leads me to question how truthful people are when they kiss and tell?
Do you kiss and tell? Kiss and tell = hooking up with a guy and then running to your closest girlfriends to share the dirt on everything (and I mean everything) that transpired.
This tends to include:
- How and where you guys ran into one another (or these days who texted/Facebooked/Blackberry messaged who)
- Who said what to whom
- Whose place/where you ended up
- What you did (And it what positions! And how many times)
- If he was good, bad or average
- What his apartment looked like (if you went to his place)
- His size (unless you see relationship potential)
- What he did that you loved
- What he did that creeped you out
- Anything unique (ie: his trademark)
- Whether it became a stay-the-night affair or a hit-it-and-ditch-it
- If you'd rekindle said romance again
- How you left off
And so, on yet another Sunday at 8 a.m., I get a call from my friend on a cab ride back to her place, clad in her walk-of-shame outfit - a uniform most cab drivers have learned to expect from twentysomethings - at such an early hour on a Sunday. And so the story goes...
Once upon a time, there was a beautiful young lady who went out to a ball with her fellow flirtatious female friends, excited to dance the night away and potentially meet a prince. As the evening went on, the group of girls slowly began to separate and this leading lady was spotted by her fellow friends talking to a young, handsome gentleman. As the music played in the background, the belle of the ball played with her hair and batted her eyelashes. The man handed her a drink of her choice and leaned in closer. The next thing she knew, she was giving into temptation, letting her libido overrule her logic. 'But those eyes', she thought, 'His charm,' she justified to herself. They escaped into the night on a horse-carriage to her knight and shining armour's palace of love. During the voyage to his kingdom, she promised herself that she would only peck her prince, or as you modern-day ladies call it, 'going to first base.' She swore she'd be lady like and would remain strong. But his kisses were so sensual, his touch so teasingly toxic. Before she knew it, she was caught in his embrace, her eyeliner on his stark white pillow, sweat pouring down his face, as he reached over for some tissue. 'Oh well' she thought to herself, 'Maybe next time.' So much for the tame temptress. She fell back onto the pillow into a half sex-dazed, half passed out blur. As the crack of dawn broke, the heroine's eyes attempted to open, though her mascara from the night prior made it quite the difficult action. Once they opened, she peered across the room trying to place herself. 'Oh no' she thought. She then looked next to the company she didn't expect next to her, as a flashback of dirty, naughty, scandalous events ran through her pounding head, her blonde hair in nothing short of a rats nest. She rolled her eyes at herself and then plotted her plan out of the kingdom (which just so happened to look more like a shack come daylight). She reached for her scrunched up ball gown and itty bitty underclothes strewn across the bedroom floor, and called herself a pumpkin (no longer a carriage) to take her home, her head held down in shame.
Oh fairy tales, how I love thee. Does the above story ring true for you? Upon your waking hour, what road do you take? Do you take the high road and lock this story in the vault, not disclosing any details, happy with the knowingness that you captured your conquest/got your fix/had your fun? Or do you take the road leading towards detail after detail (after detail) of what happened with those nearest and dearest to you?
I have a girlfriend who is known for keeping her lips sealed after they've been not so sealed the night prior. She never kisses and tells and the only times you get a semi-story out of her, is when you hear it from the guy (or the guys friends - oh broken sexual telephone, how i love and loath thee-), or you see them leaving together and put her on the spot the next day when she pretends she left solo early in the eve when she claims the party wasn't up to her standards, unbeknownst to her that you were the one who put her and man x into the awaiting cab.
Recently, this friend of mine was out at a bar, when she was approached by a mutual friend. "So, you and _______", he said as he named the name of her latest boy toy. "I heard things got frisky" he said, before he shared the story he heard from his buddy about their romp in the hay. She looked at him shocked at how accurate the play by play was and was shocked he didn't have a PowerPoint presentation to boot. She felt hurt and utterly insulted that said boy toy kissed and telled and automatically labeled her one-night stand a not-so-standup ass hole. Just because she's little miss secretive, didn't mean the guy would be. Tip to girls: you cannot change a kiss and teller. He's either a talker or he's not. And lets face it, you are the exact same way so lets not pull this hypocritical hysteria. I think it's a thing of nature, black or white. The only time this theory actually changes is when you hop on into relationship territory. The kiss and telling is off limits for relationship potential people because those tales become intimate and private. But flings, one-night stands and the recycling of former flames are fair game for the sharing.
Go into an experience with the unknown (ie: a new guy) prepared for the worst. The worst being a guy who leisurely shares sac-session stories with his boys as if he was one of Tiger's mistresses being paid thousands from trashy tabloids for their in-the-bedroom re-caps. Don't let your guard down. Have fun but be willing and able to deal with the aftermath in case he is one of the following:
- The over-exaggerater
- The accurate tale teller
- The overly detailed show off
- The read our sext-messages from last night sharer
Perhaps save your kinkyness and trademark tools for sometime down the road when you know him well enough to judge his character (ie: sober, over gradual time) and make an educated decision on whether he will be a kiss and teller and whether you are ok with that. The worst thing would be showing a secret side of you and hearing about it from a complete stranger who happens to be friends with him, detail by detail, as you deny it to him yet know it's completely accurate. I have a friend who dated a guy for a couple weeks and on date three, he brought toys out into the mix. And not the well known toys, but instead toys that were shockingly risque, especially to bust out with a new girl (let alone, ever.) Guys with goody bags in their main hall closet, guys with a fully stocked goody drawer next to their bed (um, did you expect me here, who are all these tools for anyways?)
The people who do kiss and tell tend to have these traits:
- Love a good story
- Like attention
- Hooked up with a hot as hell mate
- Conquered a conquest
- Feel busted, so share it before it's shared with them
- To cover up something else covert they did
So play it safe, trust your instincts and trust who you share your stories with. We all know the way of the world, and nothing is ever secret.
Most popular celeb kiss and teller:
John Mayer
- Jenny Jen
I have a particular pretty little friend who I just love going out with. We get ready together, pre-pre drink together, pre-drink together, party at the club of choice together (for the first part of the evening anyways) and then catch up together the next morning, when I’m told a morning-after tale by the title ‘Kiss and Tell,’ in which she my friends, is the author. And boy are her stories juicy. I live vicariously through them, though I often question the accuracy of such tales. Likely because when I see her doing her thing at the club, the writer in me creates tales of my own about the inevitabilities of what will happen next. Just before I fall asleep I already pan out what I expect to hear from her naughty lips the next day. I'm always sure to send that 'R u ok?' Blackberry message, which she never reads that night and which I never wait up to get a response from, knowing I won't anyways. The next day, when her story doesn't match my projection, I automatically assume she's keeping something in, or changing her tale around to sound better. This usually applies to the male lead - I often question whether the guy she allegedly went home with was in fact the guy who ended up at her trendy midtown apartment in the wee hours of the morn (or vice versa.) I didn't see them talking together the evening prior, and I always seem to have no connection other than the typical 'acquantance' type relationship with said person. Perhaps she names a guy who knows the story won't get back to, as opposed to the original culprit. Perhaps this is my paranoia but it definitely leads me to question how truthful people are when they kiss and tell?
Do you kiss and tell? Kiss and tell = hooking up with a guy and then running to your closest girlfriends to share the dirt on everything (and I mean everything) that transpired.
This tends to include:
- How and where you guys ran into one another (or these days who texted/Facebooked/Blackberry messaged who)
- Who said what to whom
- Whose place/where you ended up
- What you did (And it what positions! And how many times)
- If he was good, bad or average
- What his apartment looked like (if you went to his place)
- His size (unless you see relationship potential)
- What he did that you loved
- What he did that creeped you out
- Anything unique (ie: his trademark)
- Whether it became a stay-the-night affair or a hit-it-and-ditch-it
- If you'd rekindle said romance again
- How you left off
And so, on yet another Sunday at 8 a.m., I get a call from my friend on a cab ride back to her place, clad in her walk-of-shame outfit - a uniform most cab drivers have learned to expect from twentysomethings - at such an early hour on a Sunday. And so the story goes...
Once upon a time, there was a beautiful young lady who went out to a ball with her fellow flirtatious female friends, excited to dance the night away and potentially meet a prince. As the evening went on, the group of girls slowly began to separate and this leading lady was spotted by her fellow friends talking to a young, handsome gentleman. As the music played in the background, the belle of the ball played with her hair and batted her eyelashes. The man handed her a drink of her choice and leaned in closer. The next thing she knew, she was giving into temptation, letting her libido overrule her logic. 'But those eyes', she thought, 'His charm,' she justified to herself. They escaped into the night on a horse-carriage to her knight and shining armour's palace of love. During the voyage to his kingdom, she promised herself that she would only peck her prince, or as you modern-day ladies call it, 'going to first base.' She swore she'd be lady like and would remain strong. But his kisses were so sensual, his touch so teasingly toxic. Before she knew it, she was caught in his embrace, her eyeliner on his stark white pillow, sweat pouring down his face, as he reached over for some tissue. 'Oh well' she thought to herself, 'Maybe next time.' So much for the tame temptress. She fell back onto the pillow into a half sex-dazed, half passed out blur. As the crack of dawn broke, the heroine's eyes attempted to open, though her mascara from the night prior made it quite the difficult action. Once they opened, she peered across the room trying to place herself. 'Oh no' she thought. She then looked next to the company she didn't expect next to her, as a flashback of dirty, naughty, scandalous events ran through her pounding head, her blonde hair in nothing short of a rats nest. She rolled her eyes at herself and then plotted her plan out of the kingdom (which just so happened to look more like a shack come daylight). She reached for her scrunched up ball gown and itty bitty underclothes strewn across the bedroom floor, and called herself a pumpkin (no longer a carriage) to take her home, her head held down in shame.
Oh fairy tales, how I love thee. Does the above story ring true for you? Upon your waking hour, what road do you take? Do you take the high road and lock this story in the vault, not disclosing any details, happy with the knowingness that you captured your conquest/got your fix/had your fun? Or do you take the road leading towards detail after detail (after detail) of what happened with those nearest and dearest to you?
I have a girlfriend who is known for keeping her lips sealed after they've been not so sealed the night prior. She never kisses and tells and the only times you get a semi-story out of her, is when you hear it from the guy (or the guys friends - oh broken sexual telephone, how i love and loath thee-), or you see them leaving together and put her on the spot the next day when she pretends she left solo early in the eve when she claims the party wasn't up to her standards, unbeknownst to her that you were the one who put her and man x into the awaiting cab.
Recently, this friend of mine was out at a bar, when she was approached by a mutual friend. "So, you and _______", he said as he named the name of her latest boy toy. "I heard things got frisky" he said, before he shared the story he heard from his buddy about their romp in the hay. She looked at him shocked at how accurate the play by play was and was shocked he didn't have a PowerPoint presentation to boot. She felt hurt and utterly insulted that said boy toy kissed and telled and automatically labeled her one-night stand a not-so-standup ass hole. Just because she's little miss secretive, didn't mean the guy would be. Tip to girls: you cannot change a kiss and teller. He's either a talker or he's not. And lets face it, you are the exact same way so lets not pull this hypocritical hysteria. I think it's a thing of nature, black or white. The only time this theory actually changes is when you hop on into relationship territory. The kiss and telling is off limits for relationship potential people because those tales become intimate and private. But flings, one-night stands and the recycling of former flames are fair game for the sharing.
Go into an experience with the unknown (ie: a new guy) prepared for the worst. The worst being a guy who leisurely shares sac-session stories with his boys as if he was one of Tiger's mistresses being paid thousands from trashy tabloids for their in-the-bedroom re-caps. Don't let your guard down. Have fun but be willing and able to deal with the aftermath in case he is one of the following:
- The over-exaggerater
- The accurate tale teller
- The overly detailed show off
- The read our sext-messages from last night sharer
Perhaps save your kinkyness and trademark tools for sometime down the road when you know him well enough to judge his character (ie: sober, over gradual time) and make an educated decision on whether he will be a kiss and teller and whether you are ok with that. The worst thing would be showing a secret side of you and hearing about it from a complete stranger who happens to be friends with him, detail by detail, as you deny it to him yet know it's completely accurate. I have a friend who dated a guy for a couple weeks and on date three, he brought toys out into the mix. And not the well known toys, but instead toys that were shockingly risque, especially to bust out with a new girl (let alone, ever.) Guys with goody bags in their main hall closet, guys with a fully stocked goody drawer next to their bed (um, did you expect me here, who are all these tools for anyways?)
The people who do kiss and tell tend to have these traits:
- Love a good story
- Like attention
- Hooked up with a hot as hell mate
- Conquered a conquest
- Feel busted, so share it before it's shared with them
- To cover up something else covert they did
So play it safe, trust your instincts and trust who you share your stories with. We all know the way of the world, and nothing is ever secret.
Most popular celeb kiss and teller:
John Mayer
- Jenny Jen
Monday, December 14, 2009
Who are you Wearing?
"And who are you wearing tonight?" she asked me as she gave me the look over. I leaned into the microphone and said confidently "Romona Keveza." We weren't on the red carpet, but instead we were at an equally monumental event - the wedding of a fellow blonde, bronzed, twentysomething, now Mrs. friend of mine. And fine, no it wasn't a microphone I leaned into, just a dangly earring wearing ear. But it may as well have been. In a room filled with beautiful looking, well decked out, cocktail-glass holding folks, it certainly seemed close enough. Gotta love a black tie affair, and a wedding at that. What can I say about weddings? They are the new in. Everyone who is anyone is getting married these days. Love is so hot right now (move over Hansel). Each new day brings out a new engagement announcement. You know how each weekend consists of you having another friends' birthday on the itinerary to celebrate? Well move over birthdays, because weddings are taking over. With couples heading to the alter comes an engagement party, a stagette, an invitation, anticipation and ultimately, the big day: the wedding.
Think of all the recently wed and engaged couples in Hollywood. Think about all the recently wed and engaged friends of yours. Welcome to your twentysomethings ladies. Your friends will start dropping down like flies, if they haven't yet already. And some faster than others (Khloe Kardashian, this one's for you girl.) For some of you these engagement announcements may slightly have pushed your pressure button causing you to hint-up-a-storm to your significant other. Stop that - that's what Jade did to Brody in the season finale of 'The Hills' and it totally ruined the natural process. Don't threaten to leave your man if he doesn't pop the line before (insert deadline here). Your friends lovey-dovey perfection with her other half is certainly no indication that you are ready to wear an eye-catching, hand weight-of-a-ring just yet. Perhaps the news of yet another couple biting the dust has made you frustrated that you haven't yet found the one (Is he out there? Does he exist? How many more dates with sub-pars must you go on before you give up for good, you think to yourself.) Or maybe, just maybe you are in bliss over another romance - the sight of two people who so utterly and completely get one another and work well together. I am in the latter category. It seems as though some of my closest twentysomething friends have been married in the past six months or so, or have gotten engaged, and the positive energy I get from seeing these couples commit themselves to one another is like none other. Seriously. I watch chick-flicks exclusively for a reason.
Weddings really get me. The smile that forms across my face is so genuine, when I watch the groom eagerly await his bride marching down the aisle to the beat of his heart. Well this past wedding was no different. As I watched my blonde bride to be walk down the aisle, the expected tears of happiness filled my eyeliner rimmed eyes. Progress in life is so admirable and I couldn't help but remember the first time she told me about her first date with him, unbeknownst to her at the time that that was her last first date; that he was her one.
It was such a blast getting ready for the event. It started off by me making a spontaneous yet necessary move to go back blonde in the early afternoon. After a short-stint as a brunette I realized that it just wasn't meant to be. You know the saying blondes have more fun? Well I can definitely attest to that. My brunette counterpart was great, but it was time for my alter-blonde-ego to come out and play (and just in time for the holidays.) So I sat in the chair at my hair salon and partook in my bi-monthly gossip sesh with Anja, my insanely amazing hair colourist. Amazing as in she always impresses with me with the shades she chooses to do my hair in (and I actually trust her enough with my beloved hair that I let her make the call), her stories always keep me on my toes, and she pretty much knows everything about my social and dating life that you would think the salon seat was a confessional. Why is it that us women tend to open up so very much to our stylists and colourists? In any case, I had a relaxing afternoon and was totally happy with the outcome of my hair.
The thing about being invited to an event six weeks in advance, and on top of that, just knowing you'd be going to it for the past year, builds up a form of anticipation. The night was more fun than I ever expected for a wedding. With bottles of Bellevedere bottles and shot glasses on every table, I guess it was bound to be. That and the bride and groom who happened to get married just tend to be quite the fun couple to say the least.
Here are some images, as promised, of my dress, as well as the brides to die for Christian Louboutin sparkly pumps.
Here are some of the many celeb couples that tied the knot in 2009:
Last, but very not least, here is a picture from my friends' wedding this weekend:
Think of all the recently wed and engaged couples in Hollywood. Think about all the recently wed and engaged friends of yours. Welcome to your twentysomethings ladies. Your friends will start dropping down like flies, if they haven't yet already. And some faster than others (Khloe Kardashian, this one's for you girl.) For some of you these engagement announcements may slightly have pushed your pressure button causing you to hint-up-a-storm to your significant other. Stop that - that's what Jade did to Brody in the season finale of 'The Hills' and it totally ruined the natural process. Don't threaten to leave your man if he doesn't pop the line before (insert deadline here). Your friends lovey-dovey perfection with her other half is certainly no indication that you are ready to wear an eye-catching, hand weight-of-a-ring just yet. Perhaps the news of yet another couple biting the dust has made you frustrated that you haven't yet found the one (Is he out there? Does he exist? How many more dates with sub-pars must you go on before you give up for good, you think to yourself.) Or maybe, just maybe you are in bliss over another romance - the sight of two people who so utterly and completely get one another and work well together. I am in the latter category. It seems as though some of my closest twentysomething friends have been married in the past six months or so, or have gotten engaged, and the positive energy I get from seeing these couples commit themselves to one another is like none other. Seriously. I watch chick-flicks exclusively for a reason.
Weddings really get me. The smile that forms across my face is so genuine, when I watch the groom eagerly await his bride marching down the aisle to the beat of his heart. Well this past wedding was no different. As I watched my blonde bride to be walk down the aisle, the expected tears of happiness filled my eyeliner rimmed eyes. Progress in life is so admirable and I couldn't help but remember the first time she told me about her first date with him, unbeknownst to her at the time that that was her last first date; that he was her one.
It was such a blast getting ready for the event. It started off by me making a spontaneous yet necessary move to go back blonde in the early afternoon. After a short-stint as a brunette I realized that it just wasn't meant to be. You know the saying blondes have more fun? Well I can definitely attest to that. My brunette counterpart was great, but it was time for my alter-blonde-ego to come out and play (and just in time for the holidays.) So I sat in the chair at my hair salon and partook in my bi-monthly gossip sesh with Anja, my insanely amazing hair colourist. Amazing as in she always impresses with me with the shades she chooses to do my hair in (and I actually trust her enough with my beloved hair that I let her make the call), her stories always keep me on my toes, and she pretty much knows everything about my social and dating life that you would think the salon seat was a confessional. Why is it that us women tend to open up so very much to our stylists and colourists? In any case, I had a relaxing afternoon and was totally happy with the outcome of my hair.
The thing about being invited to an event six weeks in advance, and on top of that, just knowing you'd be going to it for the past year, builds up a form of anticipation. The night was more fun than I ever expected for a wedding. With bottles of Bellevedere bottles and shot glasses on every table, I guess it was bound to be. That and the bride and groom who happened to get married just tend to be quite the fun couple to say the least.
Here are some images, as promised, of my dress, as well as the brides to die for Christian Louboutin sparkly pumps.
Here are some of the many celeb couples that tied the knot in 2009:
Last, but very not least, here is a picture from my friends' wedding this weekend:
Saturday, December 12, 2009
This is me, posting
I have so completely slacked on posting blogs as of late. Not in an intentional I-just-don't-want-to-write kind of way, because if you've learned anything about me as of yet, you know that I have tons of inner thoughts constantly going on that I so need to share. But this week has been busy, complete with dinners starting at (roughly) 10:30 p.m.
Here's a quick overview of my post-work week in review:
Night #1: Dinner date with myself (yes therefore, by myself)
Night #2: Hockey game with a cousin
Night #3: Mexican themed dinner with another cousin
Night #4: Baking for Blondes (creme brulee with torch)
Night #5: Family dinner (fashion show included...stay tuned) followed by fun times with friends
I will now provide some detail of each event, in hopes to promote a healthy lifestyle where one can balance time with their friends and themselves.
Detailed Summary of Said Events:
Night #1:
I took myself on a date. All day I was craving this amazing pasta. You know those days where you just crave carbs and you want to let yourself enjoy a whole carbilicious meal? That was me, circa the beginning of the week. I hopped into my car - so hating that the leather interior gets viciously cold in the winter - and headed midtown to an Italian restaurant. I walked in, head held high, and asked for a table for one. The non-judging server walked me to my table and I thought I'd warm up with a green tea. As I sipped my tea I studied the menu, even though I knew before I got there what I was going to order. I ordered myself a caprese salad and wasn't shy with the bread basket. The bread basket and I are like two peas in a pod, like Thelma and Louise, Batman and Robin, salt and pepper. We go good together. When my penne a la vodka (aptly named Absolute penne) was delivered to my table. I saw the steam, I feared the heat, but I went for a bite; I've never been one to resist temptation. The inevitable tongue burn accorded, and I went on with my meal with my war wounds. My dinner experience took its course and I just sat there enjoying every sip, every bite, every ingredient that hit my mouth. I didn't play on my Blackberry to 'look busy'. I didn't stare at the floor. I sat with confidence as I embraced just the meal I had been craving all day. Spending a night out alone takes courage, but once you do it becomes a concern of the past, opening up the opportunity to treat yourself when others might be busy. Set the bar high for yourself; reap the benefits.
Night #2
My sixteen year old cousin and I went to see a Toronto Maple Leaf game. My cousin is one of those cool sixteen year olds who, along with a bustling social life, knows how to have fun for the right reasons. We actually had so much fun together and made a joint decision at the beginning of third period to sit a talk up a storm with these two boys (one which happens to be a friend I hadn't seen in three years) instead of heading back to our seats (with our awaiting jackets). We sat in the Platinum Lounge sharing stories and I was so impressed that she was able to carry a conversation and subtly flirt, without even knowing it. Prior this experience, we really savoured each intermission as much as we savoured the first two periods when our boys in blue were passing the puck on the ice. Second intermission entailed waiting in line at a hot dog stand. I know it sounds so un-blonde, bronzed, twentysomething for me to do, but I did it. The second I locked eyes with the hot dog stand sign, I knew I had to have the lettuce wrapped veggie dog. It happened to be shaped in a rectangle, which took a few bites to get into, but once I got the hang of it, it was perfection. We had a security guard by the name of Emilio take some made for Facebook photographs, and I couldn't help but shout out 'Emiiiiiilllliiiioooooooooo' when we walked past him at the end of the evening. 'Night at the Roxbury' reference anyone? Needless to say, the Leafs won the game, we both won a slice of pizza, I reconnected with a friend and bonded with my baby cousin (yes, I know she's sixteen and sixteen a baby don't make, but she's the youngest cousin I have so that label is not going anywhere - sorry Max).
Night #3:
Lately I've been cooking in-theme. One night Greek, another night Italian, but this night was all about Mexican. My typical jazz tunes were replaced with a mix-CD of various salsa-type songs. I brought two sombrero's down to the kitchen table, lit a candle and started preparing the meal before my cousin (older sister of cousin in story above) arrived, beans in hand; my one request - when she asked the obligatory 'what can I bring?' question (likely hoping I would say something like 'nothing, just yourself!) - was for her to bring a can of beans. When she arrived and we finally sat down to eat (at 10:30 pm), we had onion soup, chicken fajitas and beans. We sat in sombreros and did the typical what's going on in your life kinda thing and enjoyed our Mexican music in our Mexicanish attire, while eating our Mexican food. Too bad a slacked as a hostess, no pinata in sight (sorry Laur).
Night #4:
After another late night at the office (don't give me your sympathy, I - unlike many people - absolutely love my job) I decided to come home and unwind. I have a friend who just had a birthday and I decided to learn how to bake him his favourite dessert, creme brulee. I played around with the recipe instructions for 8 to adapt the recipe to be made my two. Call me blonde, call me what you will, but my mathematical skills are nearly non-existant, so after some struggling and guesstimating, I ended up with 1.5 creme brulee's. I even got one of those tiny, terrifying, torches to torch the top of the dessert to harden the sugar. Bon appetit. I sample my creme brulee, I mean my half a creme brulee, and was conceitedly impressed with my skill. I sorta wanted to not tell my friend I made him one so I could enjoy it the next day, yeah, that good. I'm cocky, I know. I got into bed and fell asleep after my long day of work and another night in the kitchen.
Night #5:
Family dinner. I have an adorable niece and nephew who I love more than anything. I love them as if they were my own kids. They actually mean the world to me and I love spending time with them, playing around at our family dinners. This night was no exception. The little ones brought on the love, which in turn brought on my obvious happiness. A few of my family members know I have a fellow blondes wedding this weekend, and wanted to see the Romona Keveza I got for the event. I got all dolled up and headed into the kitchen in my party dress, and Louboutins. Seeing my nieces' response when she saw my all dressed up was so heartwarming. The fashion show was a success. I love being the baby in my fam (youngest of three siblings), because I can do the fashion show thing in my twentysomethings and still get away with it. Shameless attention whore much?
Not a bad week if I do say so myself. Looking forward to reporting the details about my friends wedding, which I've been anticipating since I got the call one year ago today, that she was engaged. Congrats Meytal! Be sure to check out my blog tomorrow to see images from the event.
- Jenny Jen
Here's a quick overview of my post-work week in review:
Night #1: Dinner date with myself (yes therefore, by myself)
Night #2: Hockey game with a cousin
Night #3: Mexican themed dinner with another cousin
Night #4: Baking for Blondes (creme brulee with torch)
Night #5: Family dinner (fashion show included...stay tuned) followed by fun times with friends
I will now provide some detail of each event, in hopes to promote a healthy lifestyle where one can balance time with their friends and themselves.
Detailed Summary of Said Events:
Night #1:
I took myself on a date. All day I was craving this amazing pasta. You know those days where you just crave carbs and you want to let yourself enjoy a whole carbilicious meal? That was me, circa the beginning of the week. I hopped into my car - so hating that the leather interior gets viciously cold in the winter - and headed midtown to an Italian restaurant. I walked in, head held high, and asked for a table for one. The non-judging server walked me to my table and I thought I'd warm up with a green tea. As I sipped my tea I studied the menu, even though I knew before I got there what I was going to order. I ordered myself a caprese salad and wasn't shy with the bread basket. The bread basket and I are like two peas in a pod, like Thelma and Louise, Batman and Robin, salt and pepper. We go good together. When my penne a la vodka (aptly named Absolute penne) was delivered to my table. I saw the steam, I feared the heat, but I went for a bite; I've never been one to resist temptation. The inevitable tongue burn accorded, and I went on with my meal with my war wounds. My dinner experience took its course and I just sat there enjoying every sip, every bite, every ingredient that hit my mouth. I didn't play on my Blackberry to 'look busy'. I didn't stare at the floor. I sat with confidence as I embraced just the meal I had been craving all day. Spending a night out alone takes courage, but once you do it becomes a concern of the past, opening up the opportunity to treat yourself when others might be busy. Set the bar high for yourself; reap the benefits.
Night #2
My sixteen year old cousin and I went to see a Toronto Maple Leaf game. My cousin is one of those cool sixteen year olds who, along with a bustling social life, knows how to have fun for the right reasons. We actually had so much fun together and made a joint decision at the beginning of third period to sit a talk up a storm with these two boys (one which happens to be a friend I hadn't seen in three years) instead of heading back to our seats (with our awaiting jackets). We sat in the Platinum Lounge sharing stories and I was so impressed that she was able to carry a conversation and subtly flirt, without even knowing it. Prior this experience, we really savoured each intermission as much as we savoured the first two periods when our boys in blue were passing the puck on the ice. Second intermission entailed waiting in line at a hot dog stand. I know it sounds so un-blonde, bronzed, twentysomething for me to do, but I did it. The second I locked eyes with the hot dog stand sign, I knew I had to have the lettuce wrapped veggie dog. It happened to be shaped in a rectangle, which took a few bites to get into, but once I got the hang of it, it was perfection. We had a security guard by the name of Emilio take some made for Facebook photographs, and I couldn't help but shout out 'Emiiiiiilllliiiioooooooooo' when we walked past him at the end of the evening. 'Night at the Roxbury' reference anyone? Needless to say, the Leafs won the game, we both won a slice of pizza, I reconnected with a friend and bonded with my baby cousin (yes, I know she's sixteen and sixteen a baby don't make, but she's the youngest cousin I have so that label is not going anywhere - sorry Max).
Night #3:
Lately I've been cooking in-theme. One night Greek, another night Italian, but this night was all about Mexican. My typical jazz tunes were replaced with a mix-CD of various salsa-type songs. I brought two sombrero's down to the kitchen table, lit a candle and started preparing the meal before my cousin (older sister of cousin in story above) arrived, beans in hand; my one request - when she asked the obligatory 'what can I bring?' question (likely hoping I would say something like 'nothing, just yourself!) - was for her to bring a can of beans. When she arrived and we finally sat down to eat (at 10:30 pm), we had onion soup, chicken fajitas and beans. We sat in sombreros and did the typical what's going on in your life kinda thing and enjoyed our Mexican music in our Mexicanish attire, while eating our Mexican food. Too bad a slacked as a hostess, no pinata in sight (sorry Laur).
Night #4:
After another late night at the office (don't give me your sympathy, I - unlike many people - absolutely love my job) I decided to come home and unwind. I have a friend who just had a birthday and I decided to learn how to bake him his favourite dessert, creme brulee. I played around with the recipe instructions for 8 to adapt the recipe to be made my two. Call me blonde, call me what you will, but my mathematical skills are nearly non-existant, so after some struggling and guesstimating, I ended up with 1.5 creme brulee's. I even got one of those tiny, terrifying, torches to torch the top of the dessert to harden the sugar. Bon appetit. I sample my creme brulee, I mean my half a creme brulee, and was conceitedly impressed with my skill. I sorta wanted to not tell my friend I made him one so I could enjoy it the next day, yeah, that good. I'm cocky, I know. I got into bed and fell asleep after my long day of work and another night in the kitchen.
Night #5:
Family dinner. I have an adorable niece and nephew who I love more than anything. I love them as if they were my own kids. They actually mean the world to me and I love spending time with them, playing around at our family dinners. This night was no exception. The little ones brought on the love, which in turn brought on my obvious happiness. A few of my family members know I have a fellow blondes wedding this weekend, and wanted to see the Romona Keveza I got for the event. I got all dolled up and headed into the kitchen in my party dress, and Louboutins. Seeing my nieces' response when she saw my all dressed up was so heartwarming. The fashion show was a success. I love being the baby in my fam (youngest of three siblings), because I can do the fashion show thing in my twentysomethings and still get away with it. Shameless attention whore much?
Not a bad week if I do say so myself. Looking forward to reporting the details about my friends wedding, which I've been anticipating since I got the call one year ago today, that she was engaged. Congrats Meytal! Be sure to check out my blog tomorrow to see images from the event.
- Jenny Jen
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
The Extra Arm
Lying in bed with him - check. My head is nuzzled up on his chest and overlapping in a good way on his neck - check. I'm super into him - check. He's super into me - check. We are being cutesy/intimate/thank-f'in-god-she-doesn't-refer-to-men-by-their-name-on-her-blog-to-expose-my-inner-softie he thinks to himself as his eyes scroll across this page - check!
Yes, I do tend to cuddle on occasion. I'm not a hardcore cuddler, and if there was a Facebook cuddle group I doubt I'd be interested in joining, but there are a few men who have broken me in, cuddle wise. In those moments I like it. I lose myself for a minute in the comfort that is someone else. Someone who I actually care about and am interested in seeing his face that close up, and with someone who cares about me in a whole we're-emotionally-attached-to-each-other-kind-of-way. Heavy, I know. Sometimes to keep busy and not focus on the heavy, yet cutesy nature of it all, I keep busy by matching my breathing to the other persons, almost like a secret game. They breath in, I breath in. They breath out, I breath out, recycle, repeat. At other times I feel calm and cool, that is until I realize that my hand is awkwardly resting sandwich styles between our bodies. I begin to notice it as the pins and needles initially strike. Now what, I begin to wonder? I suddenly feel awkward about it and spend a moment or two plotting where I can move it to in a sexy and dignified so-unobvious kind of way. But there never is one because there is no damn place for that random bronzed arm to go. It just sits there limp between us as we lie facing one another. Close up on my discomfort. So after thinking about it for some time (some is an understatement), I mention it to my softie of a partner. I almost feel like I have to mention it to break the awkwardness because he so must know it's as awkward as I do. Certainly he's thinking about my arm. My arm that is now asleep. My arm that I so desperately want to/need to move for my own sanity, yet I don't want to kill 'the moment'.
Have you and your arm been stuck in this dreaded position? Or are you perhaps a more lovey-dovey kind of folk and you don't even notice the random arm caught between the two of you as you gaze into his eyes, which are so extremely close up (almost too extremely close up) to your face? I'm not going to lie...sometimes I get wrapped up in that moment that it's almost worth keeping my mouth shut about the arm mixed up in a concoction of being half asleep and half in pain, in order to stay in that exact moment. Awww. I know, I know. Let's not dwell on this.
Has your man complained about his awkward arm, asking you to move off of him mid-cuddle, complaining of pins and needles? Lets not take this request personally. In this day in age where hooking up is the norm, the cuddle session is few and far between that many ladies see the cuddle as something to take part in with a partner they feel strongly for, after their buzz fades. That means women are opening themselves up to the chance to read into way too many things, and those silent actions are killers. We totally misconstrue stories in our head always expecting the worst. Face it ladies, if he's cuddling you and you are sober, he's probably into you. So when he asks you to move off his arm, realize the random all-reved-up-with-no-place-to-go arm has made a come back, get off his arm almost immediately (because God knows he likely waited a long enough time to get up the courage to ruin the moment and ask you to change positions). It's not you, it's not him, it's the trapped arm that still remains an unsolved mystery in the cuddle department of couples everywhere.
Can you catch the random arm in the images below?
Yes, I do tend to cuddle on occasion. I'm not a hardcore cuddler, and if there was a Facebook cuddle group I doubt I'd be interested in joining, but there are a few men who have broken me in, cuddle wise. In those moments I like it. I lose myself for a minute in the comfort that is someone else. Someone who I actually care about and am interested in seeing his face that close up, and with someone who cares about me in a whole we're-emotionally-attached-to-each-other-kind-of-way. Heavy, I know. Sometimes to keep busy and not focus on the heavy, yet cutesy nature of it all, I keep busy by matching my breathing to the other persons, almost like a secret game. They breath in, I breath in. They breath out, I breath out, recycle, repeat. At other times I feel calm and cool, that is until I realize that my hand is awkwardly resting sandwich styles between our bodies. I begin to notice it as the pins and needles initially strike. Now what, I begin to wonder? I suddenly feel awkward about it and spend a moment or two plotting where I can move it to in a sexy and dignified so-unobvious kind of way. But there never is one because there is no damn place for that random bronzed arm to go. It just sits there limp between us as we lie facing one another. Close up on my discomfort. So after thinking about it for some time (some is an understatement), I mention it to my softie of a partner. I almost feel like I have to mention it to break the awkwardness because he so must know it's as awkward as I do. Certainly he's thinking about my arm. My arm that is now asleep. My arm that I so desperately want to/need to move for my own sanity, yet I don't want to kill 'the moment'.
Have you and your arm been stuck in this dreaded position? Or are you perhaps a more lovey-dovey kind of folk and you don't even notice the random arm caught between the two of you as you gaze into his eyes, which are so extremely close up (almost too extremely close up) to your face? I'm not going to lie...sometimes I get wrapped up in that moment that it's almost worth keeping my mouth shut about the arm mixed up in a concoction of being half asleep and half in pain, in order to stay in that exact moment. Awww. I know, I know. Let's not dwell on this.
Has your man complained about his awkward arm, asking you to move off of him mid-cuddle, complaining of pins and needles? Lets not take this request personally. In this day in age where hooking up is the norm, the cuddle session is few and far between that many ladies see the cuddle as something to take part in with a partner they feel strongly for, after their buzz fades. That means women are opening themselves up to the chance to read into way too many things, and those silent actions are killers. We totally misconstrue stories in our head always expecting the worst. Face it ladies, if he's cuddling you and you are sober, he's probably into you. So when he asks you to move off his arm, realize the random all-reved-up-with-no-place-to-go arm has made a come back, get off his arm almost immediately (because God knows he likely waited a long enough time to get up the courage to ruin the moment and ask you to change positions). It's not you, it's not him, it's the trapped arm that still remains an unsolved mystery in the cuddle department of couples everywhere.
Can you catch the random arm in the images below?
Monday, December 7, 2009
Girl on Girl Hand Holding
When making my way through a club on a girls night out, I always seem to have one of my girlfriends hands in mine. Hand holding. We head to the washroom holding hands, strut around the bar holding hands, head to coat check holding hands, walk out of the club holding hands...I think you get the point. I often notice a number of other girls doing the hand hold when at the clubs. It's a funny idea when you come to think of it, because I totally wouldn't hold a girlfriends hand while shopping at a mall, going to the washroom at a restaurant or at any time at all other than the bar. So why does the hand hold come out to play when we are out for a night on the town?
Oh and then there's the hand squeeze. That's my favourite. The hand squeeze happens when, as we are holding hands, the squeezer notices someone from across the way and squeezes the squeezy's hand as a warning sign. When my hand is in a girlfriends, and it gets squeeze, I am immediately on alert. It could be an alert on anything and everything, but the usual suspects are: a former flame, a frenemie, a crush and/or a guy who you can't seem to escape from (stage five clinger styles). The squeezer may also squeeze if they see any of the above in relation to them, and in this case it is almost like a warning that support may just happen to be needed.
I've been the squeezer and the squeezy. Last night I was out with some friends, and one of my besties had my hand in hers for the better part of the night. She guided me through the crowd, hand in hand and boy did she squeeze up a storm. I loved it. I almost felt as though she was the catcher and I was the pitcher and we had a secret signal system working to our benefit. She'd squeeze, I'd do a quick glance at the crowd, then I'd squeeze back when I saw what I inferred her squeeze was based on. This is all well and good, but when our hands lose site of one another, thats when trouble ensues. I may be blonde and blunt on here but I have the tendency to be more on the politeish side when I'm out. So when hand holder friend of mine is outside on yet another smoke break (Another? Really?), I'm stuck in an unwarned situations that would have been preferable to avoid. It's in that exact moment that I yearn for my hand to be held.
Why do us women do the hand hold thing? Is it because we are scared to lose a sidekick? Because our heels are too high and we fear falling flat on our pretty little faces? Because we are too tipsy to guide our own way?
I'm a hand holder through and through with my girlfriends. I think there's a sense of closeness that comes with the hand hold. It's almost like a statement that we are out together, a force to be reckoned with. The cons to the hand hold are the obvious if someone bumps into her, her drink is going all over me. No questions. And vice versa. Thank god girls these days all seem to be sporting the vodka soda; it's an ideal situation for any fashionista with an overfilled glass. The teens were the day in age for the cran-vodkas, but twentysomethings love a good vodka soda (splash of lime optional). And the best part is when you feel sudden wetness on you as the outcome of an inevitable bar spill, it's all good. It's just like water and will dry up. Night goes on, no hard feelings.
Are you a hand holder? Are there certain friends of yours who are hand hold players, grabbing a new hand as soon as theirs is dropped?
Here are some fellow twentysomethings caught doing the go-to girlfriend hand hold:
Oh and then there's the hand squeeze. That's my favourite. The hand squeeze happens when, as we are holding hands, the squeezer notices someone from across the way and squeezes the squeezy's hand as a warning sign. When my hand is in a girlfriends, and it gets squeeze, I am immediately on alert. It could be an alert on anything and everything, but the usual suspects are: a former flame, a frenemie, a crush and/or a guy who you can't seem to escape from (stage five clinger styles). The squeezer may also squeeze if they see any of the above in relation to them, and in this case it is almost like a warning that support may just happen to be needed.
I've been the squeezer and the squeezy. Last night I was out with some friends, and one of my besties had my hand in hers for the better part of the night. She guided me through the crowd, hand in hand and boy did she squeeze up a storm. I loved it. I almost felt as though she was the catcher and I was the pitcher and we had a secret signal system working to our benefit. She'd squeeze, I'd do a quick glance at the crowd, then I'd squeeze back when I saw what I inferred her squeeze was based on. This is all well and good, but when our hands lose site of one another, thats when trouble ensues. I may be blonde and blunt on here but I have the tendency to be more on the politeish side when I'm out. So when hand holder friend of mine is outside on yet another smoke break (Another? Really?), I'm stuck in an unwarned situations that would have been preferable to avoid. It's in that exact moment that I yearn for my hand to be held.
Why do us women do the hand hold thing? Is it because we are scared to lose a sidekick? Because our heels are too high and we fear falling flat on our pretty little faces? Because we are too tipsy to guide our own way?
I'm a hand holder through and through with my girlfriends. I think there's a sense of closeness that comes with the hand hold. It's almost like a statement that we are out together, a force to be reckoned with. The cons to the hand hold are the obvious if someone bumps into her, her drink is going all over me. No questions. And vice versa. Thank god girls these days all seem to be sporting the vodka soda; it's an ideal situation for any fashionista with an overfilled glass. The teens were the day in age for the cran-vodkas, but twentysomethings love a good vodka soda (splash of lime optional). And the best part is when you feel sudden wetness on you as the outcome of an inevitable bar spill, it's all good. It's just like water and will dry up. Night goes on, no hard feelings.
Are you a hand holder? Are there certain friends of yours who are hand hold players, grabbing a new hand as soon as theirs is dropped?
Here are some fellow twentysomethings caught doing the go-to girlfriend hand hold:
Saturday, December 5, 2009
What's Your Horoscope Sign?
Some people check their horoscopes each day, reading the words directed to their specific astrological sign in hopes to gain some type of insight and direction. These horoscopes are so general, that when reading them, there is always a way for someone to find meaning in it, to directly relate it to their life. As we read our horoscope, our imagination is in full effect, working double time to make it make sense to ourselves and our life story. Some people not only read their horoscope, but read their partners horoscope as well. Perhaps they may even go so far as to read their crushes horoscope, in hopes of finding out what his day has to offer him. Are you guilty of this? Reading his horoscope hoping to piece his with yours to create a guide to balance your days together? A sign as to what you should look out for or beware of. Cosmopolitan magazine goes so far as to write a special 'read his horoscope' section, and tells you what his friskiest days of the month are, and what he craves in bed this month according to his sign. Yes, really. We read our mans horoscopes to gain some clue of what our day together has to offer. Sorry to be the creep to break it to you boys, but many women do this and they are not stopping this stalker-of-a-habit anytime soon.
I've gone through phases where I'd log on to thestar.com daily and check out what the world has to offer to me, a tested and true gemini. When I don't like what my horoscope says for the day, I instantly discard what I just read and then tell myself to ignore it because it's so obvious horoscopes are a sham. But when I read my horoscope and it tells me just what I want to hear, I swear by horoscopes and I feel fulfilled and happy. It's kind of this love/hate relationship that I love it when it makes me feel better about myself and I hate it when it challenges me.
What do our horoscopes mean to us and why do we go out of our way to scope them out? Every magazine and newspaper prints horoscopes in their publications. I have friends who don't ever read the paper, but always flip through the pages until they get to their horoscope. It's as if we need answers. We call our friends and do the whole let's-meet-for-coffee thing, with the whole 'what do you think he meant when he said this?' and the 'he must've been thinking this' thing with friends as we seek advice and try to figure out what our future has to offer regarding certain situations. We are all wonderers, wanting to know the future in the now. We want to know how things will work out whether it's with the person who we are dealing with, a job opportunity, the list is endless. Horoscopes offer us a chance to get a glimpse into the future. They act as a tool to allow us to make guided decisions on how to act and how to be. They tell us what we want to hear, because we find a way to make a story around what we read. The difficult part, is that horoscopes are misleading. Your gut, your logic and your wisdom are the tools you have to make appropriate decisions, and though reading your (and his) horoscope is fun, in theory it may throw you off.
If you don't like your horoscope, then what? Do you head to another website, magazine or newspaper in hopes that it will say something more positive? So now, you are picking what you want to tell yourself, you at this point then know what you want to hear and instead of just realizing it, you are now going out of your way to sugarcoat advice to yourself. You are acting like the producer as you orchestrate your own plot line, in a frenzy of fifty horoscopes (you'd have read 51 if you could find another website that you haven't already read). You've walked into the danger zone. There's a Woody Allen quote, that so applies to what I am describing. He says, "Why ruin a good story with the truth?" Think about it my astrologically inclined ladies you. We are basically looking for what we want to hear, when often times we know all this already.
I once worked for a monthly magazine, and was totally disappointed when I was asked to select a batch of horoscopes to place in the magazine, from a set of 12 month, pre written horoscopes. I guess I'm now more open minded when it comes to reading my horoscope. Sometimes I use it as an advice guide - a wit of the day if you will. I need to take them for what they are.
Here is a list of some A list famous faces and their astrological signs. Which one are you?
Aries (March 21 - April 19)
Kate Hudson
Taurus (April 20 - May 20)
Meagan Fox
Gemini (May 21 - June 20)
Marilyn Monroe
Cancer (June 21 - July 22)
Lindsay Lohan
Leo (July 23 - August 22)
Kim Cattrall
Virgo (August 23 - September 22)
Blake Lively
Libra (September 23 - October 22)
Ashlee Simpson-Wentz
Scorpio (October 23 - November 21)
Anne Hathaway
Sagittarius (November 22 - December 21)
Scarlett Johansson
Capricorn (December 22 - January 19)
Sienna Miller
Aquarius (January 20 - February 18)
Jennifer Aniston
Pisces (February 19 - March 20)
Jessica Biel
I'm a Marilyn.
- Jenny Jen
I've gone through phases where I'd log on to thestar.com daily and check out what the world has to offer to me, a tested and true gemini. When I don't like what my horoscope says for the day, I instantly discard what I just read and then tell myself to ignore it because it's so obvious horoscopes are a sham. But when I read my horoscope and it tells me just what I want to hear, I swear by horoscopes and I feel fulfilled and happy. It's kind of this love/hate relationship that I love it when it makes me feel better about myself and I hate it when it challenges me.
What do our horoscopes mean to us and why do we go out of our way to scope them out? Every magazine and newspaper prints horoscopes in their publications. I have friends who don't ever read the paper, but always flip through the pages until they get to their horoscope. It's as if we need answers. We call our friends and do the whole let's-meet-for-coffee thing, with the whole 'what do you think he meant when he said this?' and the 'he must've been thinking this' thing with friends as we seek advice and try to figure out what our future has to offer regarding certain situations. We are all wonderers, wanting to know the future in the now. We want to know how things will work out whether it's with the person who we are dealing with, a job opportunity, the list is endless. Horoscopes offer us a chance to get a glimpse into the future. They act as a tool to allow us to make guided decisions on how to act and how to be. They tell us what we want to hear, because we find a way to make a story around what we read. The difficult part, is that horoscopes are misleading. Your gut, your logic and your wisdom are the tools you have to make appropriate decisions, and though reading your (and his) horoscope is fun, in theory it may throw you off.
If you don't like your horoscope, then what? Do you head to another website, magazine or newspaper in hopes that it will say something more positive? So now, you are picking what you want to tell yourself, you at this point then know what you want to hear and instead of just realizing it, you are now going out of your way to sugarcoat advice to yourself. You are acting like the producer as you orchestrate your own plot line, in a frenzy of fifty horoscopes (you'd have read 51 if you could find another website that you haven't already read). You've walked into the danger zone. There's a Woody Allen quote, that so applies to what I am describing. He says, "Why ruin a good story with the truth?" Think about it my astrologically inclined ladies you. We are basically looking for what we want to hear, when often times we know all this already.
I once worked for a monthly magazine, and was totally disappointed when I was asked to select a batch of horoscopes to place in the magazine, from a set of 12 month, pre written horoscopes. I guess I'm now more open minded when it comes to reading my horoscope. Sometimes I use it as an advice guide - a wit of the day if you will. I need to take them for what they are.
Here is a list of some A list famous faces and their astrological signs. Which one are you?
Aries (March 21 - April 19)
Kate Hudson
Taurus (April 20 - May 20)
Meagan Fox
Gemini (May 21 - June 20)
Marilyn Monroe
Cancer (June 21 - July 22)
Lindsay Lohan
Leo (July 23 - August 22)
Kim Cattrall
Virgo (August 23 - September 22)
Blake Lively
Libra (September 23 - October 22)
Ashlee Simpson-Wentz
Scorpio (October 23 - November 21)
Anne Hathaway
Sagittarius (November 22 - December 21)
Scarlett Johansson
Capricorn (December 22 - January 19)
Sienna Miller
Aquarius (January 20 - February 18)
Jennifer Aniston
Pisces (February 19 - March 20)
Jessica Biel
I'm a Marilyn.
- Jenny Jen
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