5. Pre-this-video, I’d been listening to the Jenny Lewis song “Just One of the Guys” on and off for a little while, but engaging with it only as hesitentatively as a bunny peeking out of the woods. Even though I don’t occupy those feelings in reality yet and am not sure I’m *not* a 13-year-old boy (with a curiously strong tolerance for very long hours of adult-style work) I still know that it is SO REAL.

4. I’m doing a new column for Flare, an excellent Canadian fashion magazine (my friend Tiyana is the fashion director there, NBD), wherein I dispense the sage advices on love and rel-ships. I used to have a column called “Thirtyish” where I did a similar thing (not limited to love/rel-ships) - that column was in The Grid, a really good (and crazily award-winning) hybrid city mag/post-alt-weekly in Toronto that just expired a week ago, suddenly and sadly… So, related-ly, this new thing feels like slipping into your fave-ever t-shirt that you left at someone’s house and just reclaimed. Anyway here is one if you want to read it! It’s about “love haze” which I feel like I made up as a term long ago, but there’s no way, right?

3. I’ve been reading in my many books about life (“LIIIIIIIIIFE”) (OK really books about how to better manage the many multiples of shits I have to somehow work into a single day, such as 12 hours of work and 12 hours of friends and 12 hours of boys and 12 hours of family and 12 hours of laying in the grass listening to Paul Simon, Lana and SZA, and 12 hours of working out and dreamily bathing and preparing my face and body and hair and so on) that hardcore exercise is now BAD for you (adrenals!) and instead you’re supposed to get something called “movement”? Am I being punked by the Zen-balance-breathe-deep quadrant of the healthy-living industry???

2. “The whole point of ‘Kim Kardashian Hollywood’ is to basically look sickening and do nothing.” I don’t know how to embed two videos in one post but do whatever you have to do to give this Kid Fury (eternally the best) video your click-monies.

1. I suddenly want and maybe NEED to look like 2002 Jessica Simpson: too much blonde, cargo pants, novelty ball cap. Is there a purer expression of my learned femininity? (Nope.)

As usual, I brought TRUE ELEGANCE to the spa on Saturday, a.k.a. snuck in for some heat (wet, and dry) and some nails (I chose a bright pink Vinylux color with “POP” in the name to honor the fact that we had been cheers-ing like maniac toddlers with sippy-cups all day) in the midst of a fairly epic friend-hang with my pal Anna. Anna lives in “NorCal” which I like as a short form since it looks like the kind of corporation most northern Californians would hate. Anyway, once I saw a fully dressed and seriously corny guy in the lounge at the same spa take a zill selfies and then ask various staff members to take pics of him posing - this is seriously in the white-robe chill-space with the magazines and cucumber water and everyone just slip-slip-slippering around - so I didn’t feel TOO bad taking a photo of my sandy locker shoes, you know?

As usual, I brought TRUE ELEGANCE to the spa on Saturday, a.k.a. snuck in for some heat (wet, and dry) and some nails (I chose a bright pink Vinylux color with “POP” in the name to honor the fact that we had been cheers-ing like maniac toddlers with sippy-cups all day) in the midst of a fairly epic friend-hang with my pal Anna. Anna lives in “NorCal” which I like as a short form since it looks like the kind of corporation most northern Californians would hate. Anyway, once I saw a fully dressed and seriously corny guy in the lounge at the same spa take a zill selfies and then ask various staff members to take pics of him posing - this is seriously in the white-robe chill-space with the magazines and cucumber water and everyone just slip-slip-slippering around - so I didn’t feel TOO bad taking a photo of my sandy locker shoes, you know?

I solved sexism

Every time any girl chooses to have sex with a guy who she knows is bad news, and she doesn’t get from it what she wanted, she puts $10 in a jar. Then, we all split the jar. SOLVED!

Emily Gould’s book Friendship comes out today; I reviewed it for the Globe and Mail; I included a line to the effect of “Emily Gould is the girl-king of my secret Twitter ‘Musts’ lists” and either cut it, or it got cut, I don’t remember.

In other news I celebrated Canada Day by watching Wet Hot American Summer and eating a single bite of someone else’s strawberry-rhubarb pie.

Half Platonic Ideals

Walked outside, into wet grass and under wet leaves, carrying loudest Lana del Rey on my iPhone and very not-Lana-del-ishly wearing my summer evening uniform (virginal; cotton) and fireworks popped just up and over. Sky is still slate blue at 10pm in Ontario so it was more like fireworks en pastel in effect, very del-Rey-ishly.

Stuff to do in a storm

Drink a vanilla milkshake and look out the window at the trees thrashing in the rain like they’re boy pre-teens at an outdoor all-ages show

Scream-run to your laptop to make sure it’s plugged into the heavy-duty shock-absorbent power bar, or whatever that thing happens to be called, instead of the wall

Drink some more of that vanilla milkshake, just little sip-sips to make it last all the way through until bedtime

Read half a fairytale

More window

fin

Not having a shiny paper lyric booklet to consult, open and fold and open and fold and open and fold until it takes some real doing to get it back in the jewel case, to spin blue and pink cotton-candy-fantasy out of, is a tragedy for the first time in my whole internet-life with Ultraviolence.

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Daily Cute

My parents met when my dad was in the hospital and my mom was his nurse (and “won” him as a patient from the other nurses by drawing straws). Cute!

Greetings from Somewhere

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Anywhere-places – hotels; airports; way-over-air-conditioned conference rooms; parking lots; the suburbs; any coalescence of those – feel realer (for real-er) than most of the places I more sincerely and regularly occupy. Like, I’ve never fallen in love with my apartment and having things just-just-just so, the way a lot of my closies seem to. (I’ve also moved approximately thirty times more than them.) I love cities – I really love cities, and the hysterical crush of art and commerce – with their personalities and particularities, but the expansive vacancy of every kind of “space,” especially big ones, feels like something I can breathe into better.

And obviously, doy, this is because I’m a genuine-article suburban brat who grew up on the mega-lawned edges of a not-great city, and so the sum of my teenage nostalgica is largely mall-oriented, mall-parking-lot-oriented, driving-to-and-around-the-mall-parking-lot-oriented. I have a theory that when you come from and then reject the suburbs, it’s impossible to be neutral, and holiday visits home are either an excruciating day or two of the tedium that you spent high school planning to get away from, or (or!) a cool shot of catharsis, where the place (or placelessness) is both encouraging and reminiscent of the kind of blank space that you got/get to occupy, project onto, create.

I’m the second kind, obviously, and in the summer, between vacay-proper (important note: it’s never “vaca”; it’s always “vacay”), and the heat’s general loosening of the shoulders and the hair-care rituals and the mind that leads to rando afternoons off, and, I dunno, the collection of music and movies that I still consider summer-essential and originally encountered in… guess, the suburban mall experience in particular is what I want to be having.

I mean, summer in a city is great. I’ll see you there. But my iPhone earbuds have nothing on a car stereo with the windows down, wheeling into your spot for a movie or to pick up some gummy candy or, preferably, a vanilla-chocolate twist cone, which might be the primary leitmotif of my life (and blonde-to-brown-to-blonde-to-brown hair color). The tight exhaustion of so much of adult life – even a lucky, happy life – is just put down for a second when the best parts of the easier, earlier summers are picked up.

The week I had this blue-blue-blue Ford Focus Titanium 5-Door hatchback (you guys, it’s called “Blue Candy,” and like, have we met? That’s my cartoon-superhero name in any seriously considered narrative universe) and used it to melt into sun and summertime and, most importantly, mall excursions (and what’s more suburbsy than a pre-mall Starbucks-specific run, right? Luv u, drive-thru), where I picked up this perf card for my perf pal Anna at perf card-emporium Target, just for like a “You are my sunshine” kind of thing, and some other stuff. Note the 5-door hatchback aspect, which is important for mall-ing even when you’re only shopping for items on the small-‘n’-cute spectrum; note also the cool-as-f dashboard feature where my distance-until-E is represented, all the better for summer-time day-tripping (to the other mall across town).

Car loaned by Ford

Weekly Top Fivey Food Edition:

5. Recent fruit-move: cut deep into the in-play pineapple in the fridge with a steak knife, pull out a long spear of it, chop off the hard inside part, chop up the good part, eat with the tip of the knife. DON’T DO THIS.

4. Had to watch some Scandal for fashion-story research (love u, work) so obviously I bought a bag of popcorn. Accidentally chose white cheddar instead of regular so I wasn’t reeeeeally Olivia Pope-ing it, howeversies.

3. I read somewhere that peanuts are good for your hair so I have invented a new (um, quite high-calorie) snack: 1/4 a cup of peanuts (I like the Whole Foods “Li’l Salty” kind!) and a cup of 2% milk. It’s the wholesomest.

2. New thing now that I have hot wheels is going to McDonald’s at five a.m. for a coffee and no food. (Aside from fries and ice cream, I don’t like McDonald’s, but I love McDonald’s coffee.) Recommended.

1. I found a cheese called Brebis Rousse which means, I think, “RED SHEEP” (??) and tastes like if you shook the packet of Kraft Dinner cheese powder into a thing of that almost tasteless mushroomy brie and mushed it up. 10/10. (Really.)

[Watermelon stars image here… Cool right?]

I don’t do this officially, but every spring I seem to be kind of never be in Toronto. I miss the same annual charity events (sorry sorry sorry) and birthdays (sorry sorry sorry) seriously every year. For a while, I was spending extended Easters at my sister’s, in California and then New Jersey (listen, Laguna Beach sounds nicer than Jersey, I know, but I have come to really, really like the very sweet-twee-east-coast-historical-statues-and-leaf-piles-ian part of the state they’re in); lately, I’ve been coming to my hometown more often, to get 2 on (that means eating ice-creams and being really hyped about it) around my other sister’s pool and watch my littles do their thing at baseball, ballet, whatever.

(More and more, being home-home as an integrated thing in my life rather than a breather-break thing from a city is feeling righter. I no longer get the Sunday antsies to get the hells out and go back to a city in time for the late show/dinner/whatever. To be assessed/continued.)

Winter opening itself up to the sun will pull many people out of their houses and their routines and, if you’re me/self-employed, their workday-Saturdays, I know, but there’s something else to this pressing seasonal need I have to be around my people, like, my people. Like I am learning that life is short and getting shorter. Again: dunno.

So anyway… Conveniently, the tiny buds of spring (“tiny buds” means flowers, and also the kids I hang with, get it???!!!) coincide with a million family birthdays and Mother’s Day and Father’s Day, the holidays that my sisters and I are more than a little bit competitive about, like, someone’s basic idea of a present (this year, for my mom, a nice jacket! Orig!) compounds mathematically into boxes of chocolate and kitchen things and books and etc and etc and etc.

I don’t drink – I mean, I guess I do officially, but never, so I don’t? I don’t know, actually – so on Mother’s Day afternoon, I drove around to Indigo and the grocery store and the other, better grocery store, and I made everyone sparkling iced tea with mint and lemon and lime. It was unscientific and barely a gesture amid the real cooking; it was the kind of cooking done by someone who gets real, real stressed when accompanied by more than one other person in the kitchen. (What is this thing where I can relaxedly cook a meal for a cute boy but when my family is around during the process I am like shaking and uselessly bad at it?)

Anyway, ferrying me through these processes of driving back and forth to Toronto and my hometownykins and then around all four corners of town for present-prep was a hella, hella sweet Lincoln. Two, actually. (2 on!) Over two weeks, I drove two different Lincoln MKZs – the Hybrid version, and the 3.7V6 AWD version. The Hybrid was white; the 3.7 was silver (seen here in most of these pix); both were baller. Truly: baller.

The valet guy at the Soho Metropolitan, where I spent a totally major day and night and most of another day (highlights: XXXXL-sized bed; watching computer-TV in the bath) told me that he spent a while – I think he said forty seconds, which I like for its specificity – sitting in the car looking for the gearshift. This is because there isn’t one – instead, there are slick-like buttons for Park, Drive, Reverse… you get it. That’s cool, right? (It also has a touchscreen which I commandeered expertly to listen to “No Diggity” on max volume… and most of the rest of the time to listen to podcasts that I ran from my iPhone to the car through a USB. Hot magic, that.)

Then, a valet guy at my building (listen, I didn’t go to valet first, the Green P was full, okaaaaaay?) told me the Lincoln was the nicest car in the lot, and was legit impressed. I scampered off all pleased with myself and then came back because I forgot literally everything I needed in the trunk in my pique.

A few days later, a guy in a parking lot was giving me a really enthusiastic and active thumbs-up, and I instinctively assumed my shirt was unbuttoned, but actually he was just way into the car, and asked me what year it was. I said “It’s not mine, actually.” He said all confident “It is yours, until you give it back!” and laughed and laughed.