The Difference Between Sadness And Depression

*** DISCLAIMER: This post is my personal opinion and experience with depression. I am not speaking for everyone with depression (so if you have depression and you read this and get mad, don’t be, because your opinion is just as valid as mine, I just put mine in my blog!!!)***

Wow, would you look at that, little old me forgot I have a blog AGAIN. The funniest part about that is that this blog is in my Instagram bio, like as if it’s “the thing” I do. Which I guess kind of makes sense, because honestly what else would I put? “Uber Driver/ Bartender Who Recently Became a Musician” seems extra, as does  “Struggling to fucking live.” So SAM THE BLOG it is, let’s make this bad boy count! This blog is also what I used in my submission to Soho House Toronto, and I GOT IN USING IT. I really get my moneys worth out of this WordPress subscription.

The other thing I missed, was Mental Health Day… but to be fair, is it just me or is every week a fucking Mental Health Awareness Day? I feel like every morning I wake up, someone’s going “IT’S BELL LETS TALK DAY!” “IT’S NATIONAL ANXIETY DAY!” “MENTAL HEALTH AWARENESS DAY!” Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for it, it’s just kind of hard to tell when these “days” are coming because who decides when they are? One morning I just wake up and Oh God, it’s here and I don’t have a blog post prepared. I remember back when Fish was alive, I’d always be pissed because the same thing would happen on “NATIONAL SPOUSE DAY” and I wouldn’t have a cute pic of us prepared for the gram- but that’s not a dark hole I care to go into right now.

Every time one of these “awareness” days happen, I’m like SHIT, I have so much to say about that, but whatever I’ll just write a post for the next random awareness day, dictated by seemingly nothing and no one. But last week, Mental Health Day snuck up on me FOR THE LAST TIME. I’m not playing by these rules, this is fucking anarchy. I’m just going to post about this now and beat these quasi holidays at THEIR OWN GAME. KA-POW!!!

Before I launch into (as I’m sure you can tell from the title) a deep topic, can anyone confirm Kylie Jenner’s pregnancy for me? I’ve been googling it, but I just thought I’d ask my 300 loyal readers if they have an in, and know something the internet DOES NOT. DM me if so.

Alright, now let’s get to the dark meat of this post.

I’ll launch right in with an annoying thing to say, I have depression. Ew, right? I hate saying that. And no amount of Instagram sponsored “awareness days” are going to make me cool with it. Not because I’m ashamed of it, but because it is an intolerable feeling, and in my opinion, if you’ve felt it, you will do anything to NOT feel it. I’m not a psychologist, but I have a theory (which may already be several people’s theory) that the root of every escapist or unhealthy habit is an attempt to distract yourself from depression. My biggest fear in life, is feeling depressed. It trumps dying, it trumps public speaking, it trumps never getting married or having children, it trumps being unsuccessful in my job. If someone told me I would not be depressed by veto-ing marriage, success, and everything I thought I wanted, I would do it.

Dealing with depressed people can be weird for people who aren’t depressed, because I feel like there’s this nasty RUMOUR going around that depression is the same thing as sadness. People who don’t have depression think, Well I’ve been sad before. They think of themselves on their saddest day, and think that depressed people are living that day, every day. The difference is, you got out of it, you got over it, so why can’t they? The thing is, not depressed people may never feel depressed. They could encounter unthinkable circumstances, and will still only experience feeling sad, never depressed.  I’ve lost a someone, that’s sorrow. What does this person have to be depressed about.”

This isn’t a competition, because what I’m about to tell you MAY JUST shock you. Depression is not sadness. It’s a DIFFERENT FEELING.

Let me explain the key difference! We have all been sad. You can be sad about mild things, or heavy things. For some people, feeling sad does not cause them to lose faith in the life they have been given. It can be a feeling all on it’s own, that doesn’t need solving, it just is what it is. My fish died, I was sad. Kristen Wigg left SNL, I cried. 9/11, I am sad about it, my aunt got diagnosed with terminal lung cancer, I was sad.

Depression brings a certain feeling into the mix, a key factor that separates it from sadness, and that is “HOPELESSNESS’. HOPE-LESS-NESS. Geez. A common feeling that can accompany hopelessness, is apathy. And what is so lethal about both these emotions, is that by definition, they are a problem that cannot be solved. You are not hopeful that anything will change, you are therefore apathetic about the world / your life, and the combination allows a cozy incubator in which you can comfortably do nothing about it. Because there is nothing to do about it.

I didn’t know I was depressed when I was younger. I was troubled all the time…like DEEPLY troubled. But I didn’t consider it a mental illness, I considered it being like, I don’t know, too aware of things we mortals are not supposed to think about. I would think about things until they were MORBID, and these morbid thoughts would CONSUME me, and I could not live my life without them being in the back of my mind, and I would essentially allow them to ruin every “precious” day. Here’s a fun example!:

Ok, so we’re all going to die. That means that this time is MY RESPONSIBILITY. I could spend the rest of my life in my room with my Mom and I DON’T get to keep my Mom, even with no outside factors, one of us will die first and have to leave the other one. Actually, I don’t even get to keep myself. I’m looking at my hands, who’s hands are these if not mine? And I DO NOT get to keep my hands, my face, my body. So assuming there is no life after death, we will never see each other again, I will never see myself again… but assuming there is life after death then what, there’s such thing as ETERNITY? Like my soul does this forever and ever and it just keeps recycling lives until FOREVER? Ew. Forever. I guess it’s fine though, if I have been doing it already, and haven’t noticed. Maybe this is like my 80th life. But what if it isn’t. What about my boyfriend that I love more than anything, let’s say we defy all odds in this life, and it works out, and we get married and have kids and spend our lives together and we STILL don’t get to be together forever, we will HAVE to lose one another. TILL DEATH DO US PART, IMPLYING WE DO IN FACT, PART AT DEATH. WHY IS THAT IN A BIBLICAL OATH??? GOD THINKS WE ARE ACTUALLY GOING TO PART AT DEATH? WTF IS THE POINT OF PARADISE LOST? WHY DID MILTON WRITE THAT IF THERE IS NO HEAVEN?

Alright, so there’s an example of a thought I would have, and it would consume me in all woks of life! ALL DAY AND ALL NIGHT, NO MATTER WHAT I WAS DOING! “I don’t understand how people are just DANCING at Gracie O’Malleys right now, when we are all GOING TO DIE. DO THEY UNDERSTAND THAT DEATH IS FOR SURE GOING TO HAPPEN?” BUT that isn’t even depression. At this point, I’m just kind of talking about being…I don’t know, I guess neurotic?

Depression is the feeling that comes with this thought, or after this thought. I don’t know why we’re alive. I don’t want to commit suicide, but I think this is pointless. And nothing matters, and if nothing matters then I’m never happy, and never sad, because I don’t give a shit about anything — worst of all, there is no solution to this problem, because no one can convince me that what I’m thinking isn’t real or true, they are just lucky enough to have not had this thought. Once you think it, you can’t un-think it.

It’s not just THAT SPECIFIC thought that would lead me to this conclusion, that is just an example, but the conclusion remains the same: I’m APPALLED at this life, and there’s nothing I can do about it. It will stay like this. And any time I want to know if I’m having a depressed episode, I just think: OK, let’s say you take out a 10K line of credit, and you can do ANYTHING you want right now. You can go on a trip. You can get on a plane today, you have money. You have NO obligations. You can do anything you want with this day, what would make you feel better?

The answer I usually offer myself is NOTHING. There is nothing I want, nothing that will make me feel better, no life I would rather be living, everything is hopeless and there’s no fixing it, and for that reason, I don’t care about my life, as this is all a pointless dark hole and everything is grey and shitty and nothing is colourful and that’s how it will stay until I’m fucking DEAD, and even then I might be forced to endure a cycle of meaningless lives forever, or even scarier, I will be eaten by maggots and then in 4 million years the sun is going to SUPERNOVA and this earth won’t exist anyway, and neither will the maggots that have eaten my body.”

Then I’ll add another level to this whole mess by staying in bed all day thinking about what a dysfunctional person I am, I can’t get anything done, and if this life is important (which I suspect it might be, because everyone else seems to think so), I’m wasting it and fucking it up because I’m unmotivated to fix it, further fuelling my depression and, oh look at that, I spent August 2016 – June 2017 in bed, not eating, self mutilating, and one year closer to death! GREAT!!!!

…Do sad people think like that? Is that sadness? Lmao… just a question? I already know the answer! Because there are a lot of days when I’m not depressed, and am able to feel sadness without depression. Like when I killed my OWN God Damn fish lmao. There have been deaths in my family that have deeply saddened me, and there’s nothing to do but be sad. I can be at a funeral and be VERY SAD, and I can be not a funeral and be HOPELESSLY DEPRESSED, because they’re DIFFERENT emotions triggered by different things.

And not like this needs to be highlighted, but here’s another key difference — besides the fact that they are different emotions (and despite all the “Let’s Talk” days), people still somehow overlook the fact that: DEPRESSION IS A MENTAL ILLNESS. IT IS A MENTAL ILLNESS. SOMEONE WITH TWO BROKEN LEGS CANNOT PARTICIPATE IN A TRIATHLON. SOMEONE WITH STREP THROAT CANNOT FLAWLESSLY SING A CONCERTO. Someone with depression cannot drag themselves out of it, because their brain is literally at a disadvantage.

Anyway, whats the upshot of this fucking depressing post? Now that I’ve brougdepression and sadness are 2 different things, I will round this off with two closing points.

For those of you who don’t have depression, hopefully this helped you understand a little more about it.

For those of you with depression, I feel you HARD. It can feel like you’re consistently walking uphill, in heels, against the wind lmao. People not understanding it or telling you to “feel better” can not only make you feel isolated, but that kind of take can make you forget that your brain is sick. It’s not a choice you are making to feel like shit all the time. You are not a loser and you are not failing anybody by not “doing better”. You only fail yourself when you don’t do everything you can to try and make yourself feel better. So keep on fighting the good fight, go see a psych, look into medication, look into therapy, because I can tell you from experience there is no one way to “fix depression” that works for everyone, but there is a combination that WILL HELP YOU MANAGE IT. People love to throw around opinions “Exercise will cure you” “Medications are so bad for you” “You need breathing exercises and positive thinking”. No one is right, because whatever you need is specific to you. And if you think you’ve tried everything, you haven’t. It’s impossible that you have, because there are so many combinations of things, people, medications, lifestyles, that can work.

I have been on FIVE ANTIDEPRESSANTS. None of them worked. I have seen 13 therapists, I hated all of them except ONE. I’ve done CBT, seen psychotherapists, psychologists at Sunnybrooke, I’ve gone to CAM-H, I’ve done HYPNOSIS, I’ve done fucking REIKI lmao. Just don’t give up, because one of these people, medications, therapies, lifestyles, is going to work for you. There are too many options for one of them not to. I know it can get discouraging when things don’t work out, but sometimes good things take time, and patience. It took me 10 years to manage my depression and even NOW 2016 was a fucking write off for me! But for the most part, it is managed, and it doesn’t mean it’s GONE, but I DO enjoy my life now.

Whatever you do, do it for you — not so everyone else can see how well you’re doing, but so you can enjoy your life, because it can be good if you get the help you need. And obviously, surround yourself with people who understand, not people who make you feel like a weak, failing, lonely, loser. ALSO obviously message me if you want. I’m a game girl for this shit.


I’ll sign off appropriately with:

Cheers, bitches!!!!!


PS– ACTUALLY listen to this song — like LISTEN to it. I even provided an acoustic version so you can really hear the lyrics it’s so applicable, consider this a pairing with the blog. Like the blog was the steak and this is the CAB SAUV that brings out the flavour… lmao holy shit bye!

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When Did Caring About Someone Stop Being Cool?

“Sam, you haven’t written in forever.”

OH HOW wrong you are! If you scroll down, you’ll see that ol’ Sam actually pulled the wool over your eyes in a very uncharacteristic move: I posted a rant, and did NOTHING to promote it. “What the heck!” you’re all screaming at your screens, holding up quivering fists of rage. I know, I’ve wronged you, my noble TRIBE. I was just ON ONE that day (as you will see, should you decide to indulge in the shit show that is my rant).

Let me bring you up to speed: Firstly, my fish tragically passed away on the weekend, and when I say tragically passed away, I mean he was murdered, and when I say he was murdered, I mean I killed him, I am a murderer, and I accept the spot I’ve surely claimed in Hell. Long story short, he had fin rot, I went and got him the antibiotics to cure it, regardless of the fact that the fin rot wasn’t even harming the fish, it was just black and weird to look at, and I administrated the antibiotics incorrectly. Fish was dead within the hour! Fortunately, I was out buying a “Bed Of Nails” from Winners, because I read somewhere that it could cure my anxiety/adhd/general malaise/early onset arthritis! I walked in the door a new woman. “Yooohoo!” I hollered as I dropped my keys (and Bed Of Nails) on the mantle. “Honey, I’m hoooome!” (I don’t know if I’ve expressed this enough in my blog, but Fish and I, (when he was alive) used to do a “bit,” where I would pretend he was my husband…and he would pretend I was his wife.) Anyway, he did not respond, because he was dead, and now I have no one to do that kind of role play with. Degrassi’s Annie Clark gave up the 8 month long grudge she was holding against me and moved back in, and despite being a PHENOMENAL ACTRESS, she’s not really down for THAT kind of role play. (But on a hilarious sidenote, she is always surprising me… look at this text she sent me when I told her I was “on the bus”).


As if Fish dying by my hand wasn’t enough, the other night, I woke up in a cold sweat only to see Fish’s GHOST hovering at the end of my bed! Naturally, I screamed bloody murder. “AHHHHHHHHHH!!!!! FISH! FISH I’M SORRY, I’VE WRONGED YOU!!!!” He just looked at me. This was not a comforting message from beyond. This was… war. Calmly, he raised one fin to the sky, slightly resembling the Hitler salute. Although Fish was a stark antisemite, this was not the salute of his fallen Nazi brothers…. he was waving me off, as if to say, “FUCK YOU, SAM”. When he dissipated, I ran to Annie’s room sobbing hysterically. “The Ghost of Fish visited me, and used his ectoplasmic GHOST FIN to tell me to go FUCK myself.” Annie stared at me for a moment, maybe two, before responding, “Get out.” So it’s been a rough week.

Furthermore, if anyone was wondering, the dry spell is still going strong. It’s an interesting dichotomy, as I’ve never felt more alive mentally, while being completely dead (much like my fish) in the vagina. I read an article called “How To Know If You Need To Have Sex ASAP!” The symptoms are as followed, for anyone who’s wondering (which I’m assuming with the exception of my infant and geriatric readers, is NO ONE): Forgetting the feeling of being turned on, crude jokes making you laugh way too hard, and addressing your genitals with “You Trusted Me, And I’ve Failed You.”

Seeing as I only do 1/3 of those things (I’ll let you be the judge of which one), I think I’m ok to drag this dry spell out a little longer. If it hits 2018, and the spell is still going, I will take it as a sign from God to follow my destiny, and either a) become the first female Priest in the Greek Orthodox Church, or b) jump into traffic.

As tragic as this dry spell is, it really isn’t that hard to maintain.

When I go to family events, or even just talk to someone who’s slightly older than me, I get this a lot:

“I’m sure you have guys asking you out all the time.”

Ha ha ha ha. It is to laugh.

Let me take you back to 2011. I was partying at Gracey O’Malley’s like the BOGO wearing asshole I was, and I was BALLS DEEP in men. This isn’t bragging. There was a time, in my lifetime, and the lifetimes of other women my age, where you would go to a bar, and if you were a woman, countless men would hit on you. It’s not about how good looking you are, it’s not about anything. That’s just how it was. And it wasn’t always pleasant, in fact, most times it wasn’t. The other day, the Mauro’s (my distant Italian cousins), and I attended a DAY TIME PARTY. I dressed to the NINES, makeup went on nice, hair went up perfectly. We got to the party and Anthony and I were chatting, and I saw a guy I thought was cute, but I didn’t go up to him. And he didn’t come up to me. And that’s when I realized:

“I haven’t been hit on in person in a long time!”

“Woah, self absorbed much?” Said no one.

“No, it’s not a self absorbed thing. There was a time, before tinder, before Instagram (which let me remind you all reading this blog, wasn’t that long ago), where people HAD to hit on you at bars. They didn’t have a choice, because they didn’t have countless women (or men) at their fingertips. They couldn’t just ‘look you up’ later, see if you had a hot Instagram profile, and DM you. They couldn’t send you an unsolicited Facebook message out of the blue. They HAD to talk to you in person.”

“You should go to Europe,” said Anthony, “The men there hit on you mercilessly.”

“ANYWAY, I’m pretty sure this has lead to the death of chivalry in North America. Like NO ONE asks me out! And I’m not saying I’m the hottest girl in Toronto, but I am DEFINITELY not a DOG, and this modern dating society makes me feel like… I am fucking disgusting or something.”

“Deep.” Said Erika while she nursed her Ace Hill like a frat boy.

When I got home, I thought more about this concept. When did showing you care about someone, or even that you’re just INTERESTED in someone, stop being cool? When did seeing something you want, and going for it, stop being admirable? Is everyone just cool with this idea, or, like me, do people realize we are missing out on romance and potential fun nights by trying to seem like the more chill party at all times? Sometimes I think my life is just going, and I’m not actually DOING anything, because I’m posting photos and becoming satisfied ENOUGH, at the idea that guys I think are hot like my posts. But AS SHOWN, this post might as well be called CATFISH, (or DEAD FISH BOO HOO HOO), because all the guys I like, can like all the photos of me in bikinis in the world, and believe it or not, these “exchanges” have YET to land me in a compromising position with ANY OF THEM (as proven, by my FUCKING DRY SPELL!!!!)

Here’s another example:

The other week, my old LOVER uploaded a “Story” to Whats App. WHAT? Who knew about this? Let me answer that for you all: NO ONE. I have 300 contacts on my What’s App, and I have never seen a story on it. So, I watch his story, assuming that’s what he wanted since this is the only medium we have access to each other on.  A few days later, to test my theory, I uploaded a video to Whats App. In 24 hours, out of 300 contacts, I got ONE view, from him, because he’s clearly the only person who is aware of this useless function, (assuming most people on Whats App have snapchat and Instagram as well, there is no reason to use this.)

It is OF COURSE possible that he just uploaded a video to Whats App for the first time ever for the hell of it, or alternatively to get the attention of not me, but another girl, or person. But, where’s the FUN in that theory? Operating under the assumption that he was trying to get my attention via Whats App, I discussed this with Annie Clark.

“So, if you want me to see your Whats App story, why don’t you just PICK UP THE PHONE, AND CALL ME?”

She said, “I don’t know. Instead of uploading a What’s App story back, why didn’t YOU just pick up the phone and CALL HIM?”

Touche. Well, I know why I don’t do that. It’s because I don’t want him to think I care more than he does. Possibly, he’s in the same boat, possibly he’s hoping we never speak again, regardless, since it’s 2017, instead of getting to the bottom of this, we’re wasting our lives away, time we could be hanging out with each other, or other people, getting off on the POTENTIAL that we care about each other based on social media views. No one really tries, so no one gets HURT, and we can go on believing that maybe someone still cares about us. And that’s the same with Tinder. People can get the self assurance, and attention they need from the opposite sex, without ACTUALLY engaging with them! Why do you think you have those people that get 50 matches on Tinder, and then never talk to any of them. They get the praise they crave, without any of the work. And then, the whole concept of “putting yourself out there” becomes increasingly irrelevant. And then there’s me, a hopeless romantic in the WRONG ERA, wondering why the crop top I’m wearing and the 20 minutes I spent navigating my false eyelashes isn’t getting me so much as a nod in my direction.

This isn’t really that surprising, considering there was a semi-recent study about procrastination that proved SAYING you were going to do something, gave many people the same sense of accomplishment, as actually doing it. “I’m going to move to Europe next year.” “I’m going to lose 10lbs by Christmas”, and other long term goals articulated aloud were actually enough to sooth the minds of procrastinators EVERYWHERE. Regardless of whether you actually experience the bliss of losing 10lbs before Christmas, or if you actually save up the money and have the MOXY to move to Europe, just SAYING that you will, has the power, to stimulate your brain into feeling ACCOMPLISHED for things you haven’t ACTUALLY experienced. And based on THAT, we can assume that those procrastinators in the dating world, get the same satisfaction from social media interactions, regardless of the fact that HELLO, you’re not ACTUALLY DATING ANYONE! OR EXPERIENCING LOVE! OR AT THE VERY LEAST, HAVING SEX! I’ve had so many guys, ask me out, bail on me, and then ask me out again, months later, just CHECKING IN. Just making sure I’m STILL INTERESTED, because that knowledge alone, feeds their egos enough to stay single. Because someone is interested in them, and with modern technology, they can prove it, and can go on being single. (This is NOT a male specific thing at all. Women have the potential to be the same way).

I mean, this is a whole other conversation, but I’m sure there’s also a commitment phobia component to it as well. It’s not cool to LOCK SOMETHING IN anymore either, which is always an awkward situation because at what point are you allowed to bring up the tabu topic of “What are we?”

2 Months in? 3 Months? When did timing and medium become so COMPLICATED?

ANYWAY! What I’ve decided about this dating game, is that I don’t want to play. I don’t have dating apps, I don’t go out with people I meet on Instagram, I just want to meet someone, anywhere! A bar! A bowling alley! A fucking park if I’m ever in one, and just go out and have fun and not think about “Where it’s going” and “WAIT are there MORE fish in the sea than just this nice person I’m having fun with?” and NOT self sabotage my relationships (even though that’s really IN right now), and not worry about HOW to text them, WHEN is enough time, WHAT medium should I use. At the end of the day, it comes down to this: You either like someone, or you don’t, and all that other stuff in the end, doesn’t matter. You either like spending time with me, or you don’t. You’re either attracted to me, or you’re not. It’s not about anything else. And I’m not about anything else. And that’s why this dry spell persists!!!!!!

Anyway, I gotta go. I don’t really, I just don’t know how to sign off lmao. I’ve GOT to go.

TALK SMACK TO ME! What do you think of this issue? I’m genuinely curious if I’m the only one who feels this way! Lmao! Ok, enjoy your nights lovers!  <3 <3 <3


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Rant The Blog

The other day, I was walking from my apartment to meet an old work friend for lunch. I walked there in 30 minutes, and that pretty much covered half of the city. I got there and thought, wow this city is so small, I’m almost at the lake, am I bored? After lunch I thought about how I was releasing an album. I listened to my single on the bus ride home, and couldn’t get through it. This is shit. I got home, took out the garbage, and my friend came over, “Instagram is doing really poorly, I’ve hardly gotten any likes on anything.” She’s Instagram famous, so if she’s saying that, where does that leave me? There’s no formula. She leaves, and I head to bed, but before I fall asleep I read an article about a 24 year old who has terminal cancer, and he has a message FOR YOU. He wants to tell you the cardinal rules of living:

  1. Don’t be afraid to take control of your life.
  2. It’s stupid to be afraid of other opinions.
  3. Don’t waste your time on things you don’t enjoy.
  4. Enjoy the people around you.

I decided I was really good at number 4, and pretty garbage at 1, 2 and 3. Then I started thinking about how I’m turning 26 in 4 months, and I hear my Dad’s voice in my head “You’re so young” — am I? Why does this feel like a race against time, how different am I? I would rather turn 40 than turn 26. I can say that, because I think at 40 I’ll be in line with where I want to be. Now I’m too hungry, I don’t know how to take control of my life. Another day: What do I do with it. The variables are endless. Do I write a blog post? But I’m developing an app– should I work on funding for that today? Should I drive my Uber to make more money? Should I look into grad school? Should I go shopping? Should I spend 3 hours on the phone with my friend? Should I go to the gym? Should I move to another country? Is it weird that everyone has moved around and I’ve been in the same apartment for 7 years and I’m going to be 26, and DO I EVEN LIKE IT HERE? And is there a point of staying still for this so called “Stability” I’m gaining when I might as well be moving around like a fly, because even in this same apartment I can’t chose how to spend my day when I get called off work. And is my app done? No. I made one movie 3 years ago. “Sam you’re such a good writer.” My song came out, I’m embarrassed. Is that going to make me money? Am I going to be able to own the God Damn home I live in? Should I get my MBA? Should I be depending on other people to help me with my goals, when they may not be as driven as me? Am I getting wrinkles on my forehead? Is it bad that being this alive seems kind of like being in a coma because nothings getting done, because I can’t chose, and another day goes by. My literary agent stopped asking about the screenplay that was due last October. I have SCRAMBLED EGGS FOR BRAINS and when I fell asleep Tuesday night I realized I’m not “OK” with dying tomorrow, and although I’m sure that the dying 24 year old boy knows better than me on this issue, I would say that if I found out I was dying, I would think my life was a waste because I haven’t ACCOMPLISHED anything I’m proud of yet, and if something happened to me I would think NOTHING mattered. Great, I was a good friend, I was a good daughter, what was I good at for me? I WASTE every day trying to come up with some sort of rule, or constant, or idea, or paste to fill this gap in my brain that thinks I’m lazy, I’m inadequate, I don’t fit IN in this city, whats cool has changed, and I don’t like it. I’m tired, but restless — my roommate the other day said to me “Whenever I talk about you I say you’re my hustler friend.”  WHAT HUSTLER, AM I EVEN ALIVE? IS THIS MY LIFE? IS THIS LIVING? IS EVERY DAY SPENT RUNNING TOWARD NOTHING? DID I ENTER THE HAMSTER WHEEL? DID I DRINK THE KOOL AID? I AM TRAPPED. I AM IN THE TRAP. MY HEART WANTS TO BREAK OUT OF MY BODY. I HAVE THIS REOCCURRING DREAM THAT I JUMP OUT OF HELICOPTER INTO THE MIDDLE OF THE OCEAN, AND I SCREAM LIKE A PRIMAL CAVEMAN THE WHOLE WAY DOWN, AND THE SHOCK OF THE COLD WATER PUNCHES ME ALL OVER MY BODY, AND I FEEL MY NOSE BREAK AGAINST THE WAVES, AND I AM ALIVE! AM I NOT GOING TO BE ABLE TO HAVE KIDS BECAUSE BY THE TIME I REALIZE I SHOULD JUST CONFORM TO SOME SORT OF SYSTEM AND GET A REAL JOB, I’M GOING TO BE 40 AND SAYING THINGS LIKE “I USED TO BE AN ARTIST, AND I SECOND GUESSED EVERYTHING I DID, SO NOW I’M DOING HR AT LOBLAWS”. Speaking of Loblaws, why not just go back to River? “Let’s get hitched”. Am I cool anymore? Am I young anymore? Are my dreams realistic? I feel like I’m RUNNING AS FAST AS I CAN, on a treadmill, at Goodlife, and I’m screaming while I run, and everyone’s staring at me. And I’ll end my rant with that, somewhat hilarious, but mainly majorly desperate imagery.

This has been, A RANT.

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I’m Having My First Dry Spell

So you guys know that feeling when you haven’t had sex in months and begin to question your whole life up until this grizzly point? I’m totally kidding, that is NOT how we are launching into this.

Summer ’17 — what A DRY summer for you, my devoted readers (dry also being a teaser of things to come in this only kind of depressing blog post).

I know what you guys are thinking… how busy could you fkn be that you can’t write a single fkn blog post, SAM? Instead of using my usual excuse of being “abducted by aliens”, I’ll tell you the cold hard truth: while I’m not fending off calls from various sup-par male suitors or trying to maintain my monthly income by juggling 3 very unsuitable (and unstable) jobs, I’m developing an app, writing a fkn script, and trying to come up with a pseudonym to release my EP under… SATISFIED??????

The EP pseudonym is a lot harder than you would think. On this road called life, which I fill with doing random things before I die, I’ve decided to write and release an album. The only problem is, I’m like nervous about it, because no one really knows that I’m into that. I’m afraid of the unrealistic backlash I’ve made up in my own brain. It goes like this!:

“LOL did you hear Sam Yoannou thinks she’s like… a singer or something now? What’s that about? She’s 25!!! SO OLD. And I heard she’s also sooooo lonely! And lame, and has a weird shaped vagina, and like THINKS she’s funny, but is actually so god damn dumb and obnoxious, and on top all of THAT, she thinks she can WRITE SONGS like LMAOOOO this chick is a fucking IDIOT! This is SO out of left field! Pull up her Facebook profile- ohhhhh my god she’s such a joke. Ha ha ha ha. Alright I’m bored of her — Jenny, did you bring the vape?”

As I’ve said many times about insecurity, it is VERY narcissistic to think that anyone cares about you enough to develop the kind of in-depth opinion you think they might. Which is why I’m obviously just going to release my album anyway and fuck the haters — BUT I need a sick pseudonym that is super over the top like SAMANTHA STARSHIP, or ENDORA, or SAM MOTHERFUCKIN’ KEYS, so that people know that I know that I’m like… a random singer.

^^^ This is just me divulging my insecurities to you so that I can relate to you, my readers. It’s a “writers tactic” to draw you in, something I learned when I got my degree from the University of Toronto in Writing and Rhetoric. Wasn’t that cute? Do you guys feel the love? Ok, now to what this blog post is REALLY about.

I have not had sex in MONTHS.  

—Sorry I LITERALLY just had to pause writing this to Google if I had a brain tumour because I keep getting bouts of deafness in my left ear. If anyone knows what this is about, or is a doctor, PLEASE Talk Smack to me. I am only accepting medical advice through this blog regarding my possible brain tumour, because my doctor already thinks I’m a huge joke and I have a crush on him. — Lol if I were reading this blog, I would write in and say “IT IS NOT A TUMAH!!!” But that’s just me. —

ANYWAY, where was I?  Oh right, this blog post is about how I’ve learned to be celibate and alone. Lol alright, now that I’ve given away the punch line… I guess I’ll just dive right in!

2011: I was dating my first boyfriend (you guys remember River, the drug dealing heartthrob who would break up with me every time I went to my cottage instead of staying in the city to be his sex slave in the York Mills Collegiate parking lot. Good times!), River taught me about love (a conditional thing only given when I’ve been good!), companionship (two people fighting every day), sex (something that only works half the time when your boyfriend feels like choosing you over cocaine!) and codependency (a rule in life where once you’ve been with someone, you can never unlearn it, and thinking of not being with someone is just like… totally insane and unfathomable and also unacceptable and you will be apart of a unit from now on, blah blah blah this is all to distract you from the fact that it means YOU HAVE BEEN BRAINWASHED!!!)

I continued in this state for years, and I couldn’t get out of it. I was always used to having either a boyfriend, or at least someone to text, something on the go, someone on the back burner, you guys catch my drift. I’ve only had two serious boyfriends (get ready for this SHOCKER, River didn’t count!) After River and I broke up, I started seeing Alex Metcalfe — (OMG GUYS. THAT REMINDS ME! I NEED TO TELL YOU THE MOST INSANE STORY!!!! But I’ll save it for the next post. All I’m going to say now is… this story is about DIVINE INTERVENTION……cliff hanger!)

After Alex Metcalfe and I were broken up for like, two weeks, I met Stew. And then Stew and I were broken up for like…a month before I started seeing someone else, and then two months after that I met Alex, the love of my God Damn life who I engaged in a 2.5 year SAGA with! That whole back and forth lasted until last August, and then something weird happened:

September came… and I had no one on the go. JESUS CHRIST, I thought, WHO AM I WITHOUT A MAN TO COMPLETE ME? Jk, I didn’t think that, but I sure as hell felt it. Like I was LOST. No one to text, no one to call at the end of a drunk night, no boy to occupy one or two nights of my week, no one to… LOVE. Times like this are usually when I would whip out the whole  “call one of my exes” card— but I’d already done that SO many times, it’s like either shit or get off the pot. And I chose to get off the pot. Naturally, I panicked. I had not been like… really ALONE, or really single since before I started dating (a time I passionately refer to as The Wonder Years). I imagine I looked like:


I accepted dates from random men I kind of knew I had no interest in? And then I’d like, be all upset when I didn’t like them? I’d say things like, “Oh my god, will I EVER love again???” “Did I make a terrible mistake?” “Why aren’t I happier!!!” “I’ll just go out with him one more time… maybe I was being too judgemental the first date.”

Every romantic endeavour I took part in basically blew up in my face. They either never even started because I wouldn’t be able to bring myself to go out with them in the first place, or they would end quickly because my tolerance for anything stupid is at an all time low, but I didn’t WANT my tolerance to be low, because I didn’t want to be alone, but I’m older and smarter now, so it just IS lower, which means I’m more selective, which means I’m more lonely, and I have my brain getting into fights with itself that go like:

“OH MY GOD, just GO OUT with him, or sleep with him or SOMETHING, you’re so picky. You’re a born again virgin because you’re so picky.”

“I don’t want to!! THIS ISN’T PICKY. THIS IS BEING SMART. THIS IS STANDARDS! Do you want to end up with how we were before?”

“I’m just saying, you never used to have this much trouble finding someone.”

“Yeah because I was stupid and would date like…ANYONE! I couldn’t see ANY red flags! That’s bad! It’s like when you hear about those people who have strokes and lose their ability to taste, which besides being tragic, is also actually really dangerous because then they can’t taste when food is expired or poiseness!”

“It’s poisonous”.

“Whatever, you know what I mean. Ignorance is not bliss anymore, Sam! The times are changing bitch! You need to get your act together if you’re going to meet Mr. Right. Don’t you want to have kids?”


“Wait, WHAT? I thought we decided we ARE down to have kids…”

“Oh… when did we decide that?”

“When you were holding Leslie’s baby on the beach in 2011 and you were like, ok fuck it, I want kids.”

“I don’t recall that… maybe it was you who thought that…”



This whole thing continued until… well it’s still happening. At first, it was loneliness, and I saw myself as pathetic. I pictured my ex-boyfriend banging a bunch of girls and, (get ready for another pretend insecure scenario my brain made up): sitting in a bathtub full of nude women — like that big bathtub in Scarface? See below for reference:



And talking on a rotary phone like, “Oh my GOD BRO, since Sam and I broke up, I am BALLS DEEP in ladies. The grass TRULY IS GREENER on the other side my friend! Ha ha ha. Yeah, I don’t know what she’s doing… heard she’s like a desperate single loser or some shit. Not me! I’m doing GREAT! Alright, gotta go, Helen’s about to give me a toothless blowjob because I’m a giant weirdo who could only get toothless women into my bathtub.”

^ That fantasy clearly took a turn.

After a lot of months, my inflicted loneliness evolved into the choice of “being alone.” This has liberated me from so many falsehoods that always dating someone had taught me:

  1. Since I’ve been ok with being alone, I don’t make drastic decisions in the name of having someone around. I don’t date people I wouldn’t normally date, just so that I have someone to date. I stayed in multiple relationships for too long, because I couldn’t even fathom leaving them, or being alone, or WHAT I would do from there. I always said with my first boyfriend, when the long distance got hard, if I could take a pill that would make me not care anymore, I would. That’s kind of a bad sign, because I wasn’t staying with him because I wanted to, I wast staying with him because I was scared of how I would feel if I didn’t. I don’t waste my time humouring situations that are destined to fail, because I don’t care. I’m not thirsty. Similarly, now that the shock of having sex every day with my boyfriend to NOT AT ALL has gone away, I don’t care about that anymore either. It used to make me sad, and now it doesn’t. I’m truly… free. Because I don’t care and I mean it. I don’t care about being alone, I don’t care that I’m not sleeping with anyone, I don’t care if I meet someone this year or next year, I just don’t care. I. AM. FREE.
  2.  I’ve actually been able to focus on other things and see them as important, if not more important, than who I’m dating. I feel passionate about things that always took a back seat to LOVE. I’m developing an app right now, and I actually think it makes me AS HAPPY that I am building an app, as it did when I was in love. Everything I do means MORE, because it’s all that’s important to me. I see my friendships differently as well, I don’t take them for granted as much. I’ve always measured life or memories in who I was dating at the time. Nights I met boys were good nights. Romantic nights were good nights. Now, any night I’m having fun is a good night and it’s not conditional on if I meet someone or have sex or whatever. I just have good nights with my friends and I don’t consider something not worthy or a fail if it doesn’t involve romance.
  3. Maybe this is a young thing, but I feel like whenever I’ve been in relationships, I always change a little bit. Not in a bad way, just to appease my boyfriend or something, and I feel like I’ve never liked myself more than when I’m alone. I like how I talk, I like how I act, I like what I care about, I actually think what I think, and I trust myself to take care of myself. Like I feel COOLER, if you catch my drift, dudes. I like coming home to my apartment after work, alone, and making food, and going to bed, and I just feel like a grownup who takes care of herself and gets shit done.

I’m not AT ALL SAYING I want this dry spell to last forever, or that I wouldn’t like to be in love or maybe, Idk, have sex ONE TIME before the ball drops for 2018, but I am saying I think this time alone has been ABSOLUTELY CRUCIAL in terms of clarity for like… who I am… who I chose to date next… the decisions I make in this precious time in my life, not hindered by anyone I care too much about (that I maybe shouldn’t care too much about).

So, if you find yourself in a dry spell, know that you are EXACTLY WHERE YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO BE. Grow from it. Embrace all the GOOD that comes with it. Don’t sell yourself short and end up in a dumb situation in the name of being with someone! And just think, one day you’ll be married, and sleeping next to someone basically every night until one of you dies, and that’s like… so much more fucked up.



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“I Just Need A Good Girl” – My Least Favourite Part Of Being A Girl Pt. 2

Hi there, my pets!

I know, it’s been EONS. You’ll be happy to know that in the time I’ve taken to once again brutally neglect this blog I have, I have not only started 2 new jobs, but I also invested in bio-gel fake nails. This has been the second best decision of my life (after my decision to cut out HATERS who poison my mind with their toxic negativity lmao…) So this is being typed with the UTMOST satisfaction. Man, I feel like a woman!

Well, it’s May 30th, which means Harry Styles new album came out 2 weeks ago. WOW, way to take us by storm, Harry! I, like most people, think Harry Styles is fucking sick AND hot; but I would like you all to participate in a minor exercise with me. Ok, close your eyes (after you finish reading this sentence because obviously you won’t get the next set of instructions if you just KEPT your eyes closed), and now picture Harry Styles with a buzzcut. Thoughts? Is he only as hot as he is with the hair? I’ll let you sit with that one.

The album features a variety of brit-rock-pop songs. I dig it. I listened to the whole thing while I scrubbed my floors and did my husbands laundry. But then, there’s one song on the album called “Carolina,” which made me stop in my domestic tracks. The lyrics went like this:

She’s got a family in Carolina
So far away, but she says I remind her of home
Feeling oh so far from home
She never saw herself as a west coaster
Moved all the way cause her grandma told her
“Towns, better swim before you drown”

She’s a good girl
She’s such a good girl
Yeah, she’s a good girl
She feels so good

And as that term “good girl” repeated, I realized, I have a PROBLEM WITH IT. Sometimes I wish I was the kind of person who didn’t get worked up about everything. Like I think about my friends and I think, why am I the only one who has a problem with EVERYTHING, and they never do. It’s a SONG, who cares? It’s just a cute pop song! I mean the song is nice, but the sentiment IS NOT. Let me tell you why this IRKS ME SO!

Have you ever had a conversation with someone, and they say something to you that they think is completely insignificant and probably forgot about right after the conversation is done, but you didn’t? It sticks with you, and you sit on it and you think about it for however long, and it just IRKS you?

A few years ago I was sitting in my boyfriends car, while he confided in me an intimate struggle he had been having. He was torn, because he “doesn’t like girls like me”. This came as a bit of a shock, since I thought we were like in love, or whatever. And he assured me, we were! That was the problem. He said that he wished we met when we were younger, so I could be his sweetheart. He just wanted a good girl, and a sweetheart, and maybe he was naive or innocent to think that this was the way love should be, but that’s what he wanted.

I know for a fact, that he did not think twice about that conversation (in so far as it affected me). I mean he definitely continued to think favourably about good girls and sweethearts, but not about that conversation. But I thought about it when I got out of the car. Then I thought about it all night, and all day the next day, and for weeks to come. And I couldn’t get over it, because I was so ASHAMED of myself for not being a good enough girl. Here’s a guy, who is just so romantic. Not like other guys. He doesn’t want to play games, he would never cheat on me. All he wants is a REAL love story, and isn’t that what I want too? Of course I would love to be so romantically in love, and just be the apple of each others eyes, and be happy and grow old together, and it’s classic. But I ruined it already, and I didn’t even mean to.

I wish I could go back in time and take back everything I’ve said and done, even before I met him. I wish I could have been good enough for him, and sweet enough, and I wish he’d never saw the side of me that was aggressive and powerful, and I wish my kill count was 2, not 11. I wish I didn’t tell him any stories about when I was a teenager. I wish I could defend myself by saying I was young. I wish we never played Mortal Kombat together, I wish I just watched. I wish I never paid for dinner, and I wish I didn’t have my drivers license so he could always pick me up. And I wish my voice was higher, because no matter what, when I talk it sounds low, and I never sound delicate, or like I need him. I wish I always wore the perfect outfit. I wish I bought more like, cute floral dresses, and didn’t wear tight clothes and crop tops. I wish I could fix what he thought of me by acting differently, sweeter, more innocent, less aggressive, more catering to him. I wish I was a GOOD GIRL. I want to be his GOOD girl.

*insert sound of a record scratching here*

Let me slap you dickheads with some made up terminology. Ever heard of a “PEDESTAL COMPLEX?” Well, probably not, (because I just made it up). I mean, there could be a scholarly definition of it already, but in this blog, I am going to define a PEDESTAL COMPLEX as the instance of being defined in a way that bounds you to a singular way of behaving, which you cannot possibly maintain. In other-words, when you are set up for inevitable failure:

“Pedestals aren’t safe…one wrong move and a nasty tumble is sure to follow. Humility is a great grounding tool.”
― Sanjo Jendayi

One of the worst things a man (or woman) can do, is address their partner as their “DREAM _____”. I was my boyfriends Dream Woman. Which was super cute and insanely romantic!… At first. But then, when he found out things about me that his Dream Woman wasn’t supposed to be doing or saying, it would fall brutally out of line with his ideas, and I got punished for acting out of character when, HELLO I never said I was (nor did I sign up to be) your Dream Woman! The same idea applies to “GOOD GIRL”. What’s the problem with being a good girl? Nothing! IF it didn’t already come with a definition, the words “good girl” wouldn’t be a bad thing at all. I call my best friends puppy a good girl whenever she shits on her pee pad.

The words “DREAM WOMAN” alone, without any context, do have the potential to be a romantic or positive sentiment. Unfortunately, when (in an absurd amount of songs, or movies, or whatever), someone is talking about a GOOD GIRL, they mean a good girl (as defined by men), and as opposed to a BAD GIRL (also defined by men). Oh dear!

Now imagine how SILLY I am! I thought I was a “Good Girl” this WHOLE TIME, but really, I didn’t know what a Good Girl was. I might as well have thought I was an ostrich, or a celebrity, because turns out, I was about as much of a “GOOD GIRL” as I was either of those things.

Stay with me guys, I know this is ridiculous, but I thought being a Good Girl just meant you define yourself as a woman (or a girl) sexually, and then you are a nice and good person. I didn’t realize that a Good Girl was supposed to not have a past. I didn’t know Good Girls waited around their whole lives to be some man’s “one and only sweetheart”. I didn’t realize Good Girls didn’t go out? I was also unaware that to be a Good Girl, I had to be like, cute and well spoken and respectable. Hey! Have you guys ever heard Drake’s HIT tune, “Hotline Bling?”

Ever since I left the city,
You got a reputation for yourself now
Everybody knows and I feel left out
Girl you got me down, you got me stressed out
‘Cause ever since I left the city,
you started wearing less and goin’ out more
Glasses of champagne out on the dance floor
Hangin’ with some girls I’ve never seen before

These days, all I do is
Wonder if you bendin’ over backwards for someone else
Wonder if you’re rollin’ up a backwoods for someone else
Doing things I taught you, gettin’ nasty for someone else
You don’t need no one else
You don’t need nobody else, no
Why you never alone
Why you always touching road
Used to always stay at home, be a good girl
You was in a zone, yeah
You should just be yourself
Right now, you’re someone else

WOAH! Did everyone reading this radically left wing blog know that you CANNOT be a Good Girl, while simultaneously going dancing with your friends and drinking champagne? Did you know that those were BAD things to do?? I myself, didn’t know Good Girls, were supposed to wait around, even when Drake leaves the city to go on tour and do GOD KNOWS WHAT, and not make new friends or go out. She should be staying HOME, like GOOD GIRL! Not hanging with all those bad influence BAD GIRLS. This guy dropped you like a hot potato, and so (naturally) you don’t call him anymore, and now he feels LEFT OUT!!!! Fuck, sorry man!

Is there anything more fragile than a man clinging to his stark masculinity? I don’t know, maybe a china shop located on the San Andreas fault?

Here’s what I don’t get (among A LOT OF THINGS). In this whole Madonna / Whore dichotomy, the men who practice it are weirdly giving women WAY too much credit. Do they think we are OMNISCIENT DIVINE CREATURES, BORN WITH THE ABILITY TO BE PERFECT? We came out of the womb, SOMEHOW, already knowing how to be lady in the street and a freak in the sheets. Like I just sat at home and prayed for 22 years, until God one day was like, “He’s coming, child!! Your one and only is on his way to you, thanks to the divine nature of this ever expanding universe! Quick, let me teach you how to suck dick and ride him like a monster! Make haste!”

Side note: The other day I was hanging out with an old friend I used to hook up with in University and our “growth” came up, and he was like “Yeah, since I’ve been older I don’t really care about how many chicks I sleep with anymore,  but when I was younger that was definitely a thing.”


What is with men giving us this power, putting us up on this pedestal, only to get MAD about our “power”, and then making arguments to take it away? It’s like watching a crazy person have a fight with a brick wall.  Here’s my fave example:

“Oh you can sleep with whoever you want, it’s so easy for chicks to get laid”.

May I inquire: How are you mad about that, when –  (as I discovered in my trip down memory lane with my old pal) – the reason it’s “easier for us to get laid” is because YOUR KIND is hitting on us trying to get your kill counts up 24/7? How do you resent us for something that YOUR ARE INFLICTING ON US? That’s like me spoiling my kids, and then saying “You fucking spoiled kids always get whatever you want”. My kid didn’t come out of the womb asking for a bed shaped like the Millennium Falcon, I DECIDED that they live for that shit. That does not mean that my hypothetical kid even likes Star Wars, or cares how much their bed cost me (not to mention assembling the damn thing)! Have you noticed that spoiled kids also have this thing called relativity, where they don’t care about the things “not spoiled kids” care about? A trip is normal to them, so they don’t capitalize on it. They can always go on another trip. And although I get this analogy makes these kids sound privileged, you can’t tell someone what they care about, even if you wish it was you. “I’m jealous Tommy gets to go to Tahiti every summer”, well Tommy doesn’t give a shit if he goes to Tahiti. He’s actually sick of it, and he hates the sun. You can’t tell someone what’s valuable to them just because it’s valuable to you. When men are consistently throwing themselves at us so we can get laid, it doesn’t mean we sleep with every man who tries to fuck us. Here’s proof: Haven’t you guys notice you STRIKE OUT A LOT? (Which ALSO makes you mad, but I’m not even going to get into that). The reason it makes you so mad that women “have the option of getting laid all the time” in the first place is because YOU DON’T? SO LET’S DO SOME MATH KIDS: if you have trouble getting laid, is it possible that women are NOT sleeping with you, which would in turn mean that we TURN DOWN MEN THAT TRY AND SLEEP WITH US, AND THEREFORE, AREN’T ACTUALLY CAPITALIZING ON THIS MADE UP OPPORTUNITY YOU DECIDED WE ENJOY BEING PRESENTED? Am I mad at every celebrity’s kid who doesn’t go into the spotlight, even though they have the option because I’d love to be fucking famous? NO. Because they don’t want to do that. Do not make the absurd mistake of assuming that just because we are getting berated by men trying to get THEIR dicks wet, that we are PROUD of of being hit on all the time, or that we care about upping our kill counts. WE DON’T, BECAUSE IT IS SET  UP SO WE ARE NOT ALLOWED TO CARE ABOUT THAT, SO NO MATTER HOW MANY MEN HIT ON ME, I WILL NEVER BE AS SATISFIED AS A MAN WHO LIVES BY THE MADONNA WHORE DICHOTOMY WOULD BE IF IT WERE THE OTHER WAY AROUND.

…..Anyway, I wish I could go back into my boyfriends car that night, and instead of asking how I could be a better girl and begging him to reconsider, just tell him to go find this unicorn good girl. Go find  your intellectual equal, who challenges you, but lets you win, inexperienced but knowledgable, someone with a thirst for life, but has eyes for only you and does not care to expand, the life of the party, but only when you’re in the room, a virgin, but a rocket in the sack.

I’m going to end my blog post with the angry thought that crossed my mind as I heard the term “GOOD GIRL” for the 895748957th time in my life while listening to Harry Styles coveted new album, (which don’t get me wrong, I love).

For the men who think and perpetuate this idea, the joke is on you. If you’re going to dismiss genuinely good people who care about you, because they don’t fit into the exact meaning of “good” that you defined, you will forever miss out on the great things around you while you chase something that may never exist. There are many ways to be good, and to only look for one while neglecting countless others, is a fools errand. And furthermore:


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How To Know If You Hate Yourself

Christmas 2015: I don’t think I need to remind you all that I was inexplicably working at a Canadian staple, littered with tourists. Some call it a mecca of bullshit holiday activity, I call it, THE CHRISTMAS MARKET. A lot of introspective work happened at the Christmas Market, since, you know, I spent hours by myself in a fucking booth in the middle of a dark cold parking lot (that is, when I wasn’t selling Teddy Bears to adults who clearly missed that there has been a shift in the times, and there are approximately ZERO children left who actually want a Teddy Bear). It was during this dire period of my life, somewhere between selling edible dog cards and different colour sock monkeys (and I think it goes without saying that these transactions were done between me, Sam, a normal human girl, and then the costumer, who EVERY TIME was an absolute freak show), that something bizarre happened to me. I would eat my potato on a stick and spend countless hours judging myself, pondering the failures of my life, wondering how I became so worthless, and without realizing it, I began to hate myself.

This is not something I realized was happening. I wasn’t AWARE that I hated myself, and if anyone point blank asked:

“Hey Sam, do you hate yourself?”

I’d be like, “LOL, WHAT a question! Does the Pope have a water tight asshole? Is there a clown in the woods? What’s with the third degree buddy?!?.”

I just didn’t really think I was worth….anything. Like I was worthless. Here’s a step by step guide on how to feel worthless, for anyone who’s wondering how to do it. It seems like an intense thing to feel about yourself, but it’s really not that hard to get there! All I did was: Think the thought, what do I have going for myself? And then counter with, Nothing. I’m selling fucking Teddy Bears for 13 dollars an hour, and my on-again-off-again boyfriend are OFF, which is a shame because boys don’t typically like me, and neither does he. Because I’m loud and have an opinion. And if I’m less loud, then I feel like I’m restricting myself, but If I’m fully myself, then I don’t feel sexy or pretty or cool, because (back to the first point), boy’s don’t like me. And even if they did, I have nothing going for me. I have no money, no career, no clue what I’m doing, etc. I have nothing to be proud of and, presto! I became worthless.

Believing you’re a worthless loser is actually a huge problem, because as we learned in my favourite book that I gave to my ex-boyfriend (who NEVER READ IT, BUT STILL HAS IT FOR SOME REASON), The Perks Of Being A Wallflower, “We accept the love we think we deserve.” I’m going to take that a step further and BOLDY state that we actually accept the LIFE we think we deserve.  

Following this charming development, I proceeded to make a slew of choices that were NOT in my best interest, but they were choices I believed I was worthy of, (which of course later resulted in The Great Mental Breakdown Of 2016). I stayed in a relationship that took EVERYTHING out of me. I didn’t leave, because I didn’t deserve to leave. This is what I get. Some people get good relationships, and some people get bad relationships, that’s just luck of the draw, and I got a bad relationship. I got to be in love with a guy who didn’t care to treat me well. I worked a 2 jobs I hated. I had a joke of a social life. I worked exclusively, and wondered why any lust or satisfaction I had felt in the past was gone. Maybe this is just growing up. People don’t like their lives all the time. I didn’t strive for greatness, because I wasn’t great.

Despite this dark hole I was in, it turned out that I was lucky. I was lucky to be self aware enough to know that I was not happy, and if I ever wanted to be happy, I would have to change things on my own. I think that’s a common misconception about growing up. We think things like, “Oh, I won’t do that when I get older. I’ll just know better when I’m older. I’m not going to stay with this person forever, but I’ll just leave one day because my mind will know to do that. I’m not going to smoke forever, a job will just surface out of no where when I least expect it, everything is going to work itself out.” But that’s wrong. I mean obviously to an extent, anything can happen, a job CAN come out of nowhere, a relationship CAN end because of an unforeseen circumstance. But the more realistic approach is this: The relationship is over when I SAY it’s over. I stop smoking when I stop smoking. I don’t drink every night when I chose not to drink every night, and then stick to that decision. I leave my job when I DECIDE it’s not good for me, not when it just works itself out. I get to chose. Of course, all of these decisions are MUCH EASIER SAID THAN DONE. I don’t know really how I had this come to Jesus moment, and I’m not saying either decision was easy or flawless, but I somehow left both of those things. When I did do that, I realized I had nothing to fall back on, and that was when I had The Great Mental Breakdown of 2016 (on a balmy summer night in August, and let me tell you, both me and my roommate at the time, Degrassi’s Annie Clark, have seen better days. I’m talking CONSTANT TEARS, fits of rage, yelling, excessive drinking, chain smoking, trips to life coaches, spiritual healers, psychics… it was DARK).

While I was really focused on how much my life sucked since I decided to do what was “best for me,” 2 things started happening.

  1. The correlation was not clear, that is, things didn’t GET BETTER when I made these decisions, so I started to think that my decisions actually weren’t what was “best for me”, and that I actually majorly fucked up leaving my mediocre life and;

I’m not talking about that brutal kind of trauma bonding between like, an abuse victim and their abuser (we can tackle that one in another fun post!) I’m talking about two people who experience a traumatic event together and are forever bonded, like soldiers post war or like, everyone on the subway platform after you see a jumper. Some fun examples in play!

I realized I got a sick trauma bond with myself when I was at a Christmas party this year. Remember when Christmas party’s were fun, and not a public display of humiliation? I might as well be one of those art installations in the 90’s where I’m just like, naked in a see-through box, hanging over art snobs who look up at me and laugh at my genitals. THAT’S what Christmas is like in your mid 20’s. A BIG LAUGH AT YOUR EXPENSE. ANYWAY, everyone was asking how life was, how my job hunt was going, and I could see in their eyes, the thing you DON’T EVER WANT TO SEE. Sympathy.

“It’s so hard for your generation. Don’t worry, you’ll find something. Single? A pretty girl like you? Don’t worry. When you stop looking, that’s when you’ll meet him. Don’t worry.”

Quickly, I came to my own mental aid. I WASN’T WORRIED. It’s not SAD that I am single, my standards are high! To quote Khloe Kardashian’s Instagram bio, “I crave a love so deep, the ocean would be jealous.” That’s actually an ADMIRABLE quality! I could fall in casual, boring love with anyone! I could have had 4 boyfriends since I’ve been single, and been just FINE, just OK. I just CHOSE not to because I want it to be PERFECT. And I don’t have a job, because I don’t want to be some office chimp, just so I have something to say at this party, and furthermore, it’s too much effort to explain to you that I’m trying to develop an app right now, and I definitely don’t want the sympathetic look that comes AFTER I tell you that, “a lot of competition starting you own business.” So fuck it! Just smile and nod bitch, smile and nod. Good pep talk bitch! You’re such a worthy, worthy bitch.

I had to leave that party early to go to another party, but this party was with people my age who all question their lives, so I wasn’t as nervous. I got my coat on, and called and uber. When I shut the door to the uber, I had a thought I’d NEVER had before. It was: “Thank God, it’s just you.”

And that was the OTHER come to Jesus moment when I realized I was on my own team again. I like myself again. Since that night (a year after I decided to hate myself at The Christmas Market), every decision I have made has been BOMB. When you like yourself, you want the best for yourself. Kind of like when you like / think the world of your friends, you want to see them do well and not date assholes, and get good jobs. You can’t believe it if anyone treats them poorly because they’re SO cute and perfect, like honestly, if anyone so much as LOOKED at Annie Clark the wrong way, I would forever question their sanity. Because you’re looking at GRADE A MEAT, buddy. Same with all my friends, tbh. I’m one lucky girl! But if you like your friends that much, you should like yourself AS MUCH if not MORE! Just some fucking food for thought. Fall in love with yourself first or whatever.

If you are in a scenario when you think you’re making a bunch of bad choices and you’re wondering “WHY ME???? WHY DOES EVERYONE GET GOOD THINGS EXCEPT FOR ME?” Take a second to maybe visit the possibility that you don’t love yourself enough. LMAO isn’t that so heavy? But actually, think about it. Because if you don’t love yourself, you don’t get good things. You don’t attract good people. You OPERATE AT A SUB PAR LEVEL as my life coach, Lisa (remember Lisa, who gave me reiki and fucked my mind???), would say.

Anyway, I know this post wasn’t very funny. It’s just a reminder to check in with yourself, because as you’ve probably realized, I get weirder and more spiritual every day. I’m aware of it LMAO! Ps, I’m writing this at Soho House, and EVERYONE is wearing a big coat, a black baseball hat, and running shoes while I sit here in a Canadian Tuxedo eating a half roasted chicken. Fuck me right.

Ok pip pip, cheerio you naughty devils! Don’t forget to talk smack to me if you feel like it. Or not. Honestly whatever lmao.

OMG WAIT! THAT WAS ABOUT TO BE IN THE END but in a fitting turn of events one of the Soho waiters just came up to me and was like “Sam, are you going to play trivia?” And then I looked up and realized it’s PACKED IN HERE because it’s fucking trivia night. So I’M ON MY OWN TEAM FOR TRIVIA EVERYONE. Just me myself and I! I called my team “Chode City” lmao wheres my fucking husband????





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The Heart Vs. Head Debacle

Ladies and Germs,

While I was accompanying my good Italian friend Erika Mauro to get her mothers name tattooed on her fucking hand a few Tuesday’s ago, the owner of the tattoo parlour told me that the most effective time to post blogs is actually MONDAYS. And his business card was a piece of cloth with the word “TENACITY”, and that was it. So naturally, I have to trust him, because anyone who assumes they’re tenacious enough that that’s ALL they have to put on their business cloth, is definitely smarter than me (or at the very least, cooler). However, since I’m ME and not a responsible person, I missed the Monday boat and now it’s Tuesday again. Well whatever, I’ll start posting on Mondays next week. So here we are, Tuesday March 14th, and wouldn’t you know it I LEARNED SOMETHING since last time I posted. Like what the hell! Did I not say at the end of 2016 that I was done with realizing things and onto like, I don’t know, driving sports cars and being stupid rich or something? What is this shit? I’m still learning AND poor! Well, luckily for you all, it’s actually a funny story. Thank God I have a blog to turn my broken heart into art on, otherwise I honestly think I’d have to catch the next Greyhound to Sudbury and live out the rest of my fucking days as a fruit salesman or whatever the hell else miserable job I can get there. Never thought I’d end up living the simple life, but at least I won’t have to compete with the hussle and bussle of this bullshit metropolis I’m a slave too…

Despite that dark intro, this is not actually a sad story. It’s more of an empowering story of becoming the woman I always dreamed of being! So as mentioned in my last post, I’m back in the dating world. Which is a “glass half full” way of saying single. It’s times like this I wonder why the hell I called this blog “SAMTHEBLOG” and openly share my identity, because in a sense it stifles my ability to share my full experiences. In the sense that the people I date could read this blog, and other people who know me could figure out who I’m talking about. Which is unfortunate, but LUCKILY FOR YOU a risk I’m going to take today because I HAVE to tell you this story in order to share with you my lesson… just like my greatest idol, Jesus Christ.

Let me take you back to November in Babylon– I mean, Toronto: Nothing was that out of the ordinary, except for the fact that I was still working at The Vegan Church, which was obviously an extremely ill advised decision on my part. And I guess it was also kind of unorthodox that I began casually seeing a very hot and nice boy. All you sad desperado’s want to know my secret to bagging these adonis’s, and the answer is simple: I posted some hot pictures on Instagram. So this man added me on Instagram, validating what we all know in our heart of hearts: that you can have a sick personality, a critically acclaimed sense of humour, numerous skills and joe jobs, NONE of that matters if you know how to edit a photo. And as we know, Instagram is fake, so in a sense this boy was catfished. But YOLO it’s 2017 now baby, and girls gotta eat!!!!

(I promise to never again say “girls gotta eat*).

Anyway, he added me on Instagram, I added him back, presto! It’s like a really covert way of meeting online without the stigma that comes with meeting online. We had known OF each other before the adding went down, but had never actually met, so I mean, whatever. I DM’d him, we ended up talking all night, and then went on a date 2 days later. It went well, and we started seeing each other weekly from there.

I wasn’t OVER the moon about the situation, like I had felt stronger in the past. But you know, at this age you have to factor in all the things that could make you feel differently: Were you more into stuff before because you were younger and less jaded? Do you bother getting emotionally invested in shit when the truth is that 99% of the time it’s going to end (that sounds dark, but really I just mean you only marry 1 person, so that’s 1% of the people you date… right? I’m not a Mathlete guys!), is it weird that with your ex boyfriend you felt like you liked them right away and with this person you don’t? Or… is it more like your FIRST boyfriend where you didn’t like him for a year and then all of a sudden you’re saying “I Love You” in the York Mills Collegiate Parking lot after her told you you didn’t have to “try anal” with him that night (sorry you had to hear that story twice, it’s just like once I START typing it, I have to finish the sentence). What I’m doing a very bad job of explaining is that, I’m trying to take every new experience as it is, without comparing them to old experiences, and not judging my feelings about things. Sounds mature right?


Enter Degrassi’s Annie Clark: “You are WEIRD! You don’t like this guy! Stop trying to make it work when you’re clearly just NOT down!”

Me: “But WHAT IF I AM DOWN! I need to rewire my brain! I choose IDIOTS, I need to get out of my comfort zone and date someone normal…and nice and hot… and rich would be a cool bonus, but not necessary at this point in time.”

Annie: “Yes but you’re prioritizing doing something different OVER how you actually feel. You’re concentrating so hard on trying to make it work that you’re neglecting your feelings of unhappiness.”

DUR, who the hell wants to confront their feelings of unhappiness? Not me, so I stayed on the straight and narrow and kept seeing MR. PERFECT, while rolling into Planta (I can say the name of it now), every few days to endure another strategically planned choice in my life. It’s a vegan restaurant, I work days, this could be good for me. Until this point I’ve been a slave to Hacienda, drinking every night and rolling into my “BOMB ASS MUSIC JOB” that I loved so much I quit one day while I was hormonal. I needed to clean up my act! So, a vegan restaurant is perfect. Right?


Degrassi’s Annie Clark: “You LIKE working. You are the one person I know who likes to work all the time, and you complain about this job every day. Just quit and get something else you’re down for!”

Me: “But WHAT IF I AM DOWN! I need to rewire my brain! I choose JOBS THAT DO NOT MAKE ME A BETTER ME, I need to get out of my comfort zone and do something healthy…and corporate and lucrative.”

Annie: “Yes but you’re prioritizing doing something different OVER how you actually feel. You’re concentrating so hard on trying to make it work that you’re neglecting your feelings of unhappiness.”

I think I’ve illustrated this parallelism enough for all of you right? No? If you need me to explain that literary device, just ask me in Talk Smack, I promise I won’t expose you for not getting what I just did there.

Anyway, although I was trying to convince myself otherwise, I knew I wasn’t good enough for the things I was choosing. I knew there was the rough, piece of shit REAL me inside, that would not be able to stay shackled in the depths of me forever. It was around this time where I would ALLOW myself the privilege of wondering: Wouldn’t it be cool if you could just feel how you wanted to feel instead of how you actually felt? In both instances, I knew I was lucky. If my life was a checklist, and not an emotional rollercoaster, I was getting all the boxes.

The Boy

  • super hot
  • very genuinely nice
  • shared interests with me
  • had a nice and super clean apartment
  • was a good kisser (which means everything else was also good because kissing is really the tell)
  • fun to text
  • lived close by
  • worked hard / was ambitious
  • thought I was funny and hot
  • was a feminist
  • seemingly respected my opinion on things
  • was funny

The Job

  • 10 minute walk from my house
  • minimum $180-200 a shift
  • ^ financial stability
  • SUPER nice staff and girls to work with
  • I only worked days and not weekends
  • I never drank after work
  • corporate atmosphere: when you booked a day off, you got it off. If you called in sick, they didn’t question you, and WISHED YOU would feel better.

And I would go through my days, repeating those lists in my head to remind myself that this was good for me. I am doing a good job. I am making the right choices for a better future, and a better me! These two things are going to change who I am to the core!

At the exact same time that I would repeat those lists to myself like I was Bob Durst in The Jinx, my subconscious would go a little something like this:

WHAT THE FUCK are you doing? WHO is this LAME-O you’re humouring, and more importantly, WHY? Why is he SO PROPER ALL THE TIME? Like shut up! What are you always fucking SMILING at me about? Also, OK I get it, you’re a feminist, but all you talk about is CHILD BIRTH, which I can’t even fucking relate to, because HELLO I’ve never had a kid! “It must be SOOO hard for women to give birth”, YEAH, it probably is, tell someone who cares! And why are you always up in the morning running around doing shit? Like can’t we just chill in bed? OH RIGHT, NO, because you don’t like sex as much as me, because you’re “NICE” and “SWEET” and I’m the whore with no substance that wants to GO AT IT ALL THE TIME like some sort of JACK RABBIT, sorry I didn’t realize twice in 24 hours was equivalent to reading an entire Harlequin cover to cover! I’m 25, you should want to have sex with me ALL THE TIME, not say things to me like, “Do you mind waiting until morning?” YES I MIND waiting until morning. Did I bump my head and wake up looking like a fucking hephalump? Is this an alternate universe where sex feels like getting stabbed in the eye with a hatchet? And WHAT THE HELL are these idiots at my job talking about EVER? “We call plates and cutlery Mise En Place, and the hosts are called CONCIERGES and the servers are called CAPTAINS.” Well that’s great, you guys are GENIUSES, good thing you took the time to rename every positions and piece of equipment in this restaurant, meanwhile you don’t have anyone trained to use the espresso machine, so although I’m sure my table gives approximately zero fucks that a CAPTAIN is serving them on a MISE TRAY instead of a SERVER serving them a REGULAR TRAY, I’ll bet you a million dollars that they notice when a black coffee takes 30 fucking minutes to arrive at their table, but that wouldn’t be a priority for you, management, because you’re too busy running therapy session-esque pre shifts, wondering if we’re all DOING OK today, making sure we know what to call a fucking fork, when SPOILER ALERT, there is NO DIFFERENCE between a CAPTAIN AT PLANTA or a SERVER ANYWHERE ELSE, YOU PRETENTIOUS FUCKS, YOU SHOULD BE MORE FOCUSED ON THE ACTUAL JOB WHICH, FOR THE RECORD, IS NOT ROCKET SCIENCE, IT’S SERVING PATRONS AT A GOD DAMN RESTAURANT, INSTEAD OF TRYING TO FIGURE OUT A WAY TO MAKE THIS SOME SORT OF BULLSHIT RELIGIOUS GROUP THERAPY EXPERIENCE. HONESTLY AM I WAITING TABLES OR AM I BACK AT CAM-H?

But then, I would breath deeply. Inhale, exhale. Ahhhh, yes. Bring it on back to centre as the Dalia Llama says, or whatever. Why am I so NASTY? I need to work on that. I’m such a bitch. I didn’t really mean that. My feelings are especially invalid, because as the past has clearly shown, I am not that smart when it comes to making decisions for myself. If I was, would I really be a single miserable unemployed spinster right now? No! Therefore, you will continue on this path you secretly hate, and rather than acknowledge your feelings, you will ensure that the repression of your gut instincts instead results in absurd amounts of stress, self hatred, self judgement, health issues, acne, weight loss, etc. Great plan! ANNNNNND BREAK!

As you can probably imagine, this wasn’t ACTUALLY A GREAT PLAN, which just wasn’t something I wanted to let myself in on yet. You know when your life is so chaotic you need at least the ILLUSION of control? Well, I rode that one out until (you guessed it) it blew up in my fraudulent face. The first thing to go, was the job. About a week or two before Christmas, (for those of you who need a reminder, the only time of the year when extra spending money to shop for loved ones is absolutely necessary), my manager asked to speak with me upstairs. I knew I was getting fired, because I gave him attitude all the time, and fainted at work a lot….but that was only because he was a MASSIVE pussy who needed to be put in his God Damn place! This is the guy I had to yell at about coffee taking 30 minutes, while he would yell at me about which hand to pick up a plate with during a rush to ensure I was doing “open style serving”. I mean, that’s their policy and I wasn’t jiving with it so basically it makes perfect sense that I got fired (4 months later).

I went into the boardroom and sat down.

“Sam, I don’t know how to say this….”

“Honestly, I don’t care. You can totally fire me.”

“Um, well we just don’t think this is a good fit-”

“Yeah no worries me neither.”


“Yeah I’m not like… stupid, you guys just kept scheduling and paying me stupid money so I didn’t see a point in quitting.”

“Right, well… please take this piece of paper as acknowledgement that your employment has been terminated.”

He slid a piece of paper across the table, which read:

Dear Sam Yonnuan,

Your employment at The Chase Hospitality has been terminated, effective immediately. 

Thank you for your time,

The Chase Hospitality Group 

I read it.

“I mean I’m going to leave, but I don’t know who Sam Yonnaun is, so if you want to reprint this for your corporate files or whatever…”

“Right, I mean as long as you acknowledge it.”

“I’m acknowledging it, I’m just saying, if you’re going to be corporate enough to make the word COURAGE one of the ‘core values’ of this RESTAURANT company, then you should at least cover your ass by spelling someones name right when you’re firing them after their  3 month prohibition period for no reason, as I imagine I could use this in court.”

They just stared at me.

“I’m totally fucking with you guys, I don’t care. PEACE!”

I walked, no SKIPPED home, relieved, even though I had never been fired from anything before and knew that this was actually probably a bad thing…I didn’t tell my parents because, honestly, they just don’t need that shit at this already tumultuous time in my life. I called my boss at Hacienda. Taco Nights resurrected!

“I fucked up, I’m not corporate, I’m not a desk job girl, I’m a gritty beatnik with a lust for LIFE. Basically what I’m saying is, I need my job back.”

I could hear her role her eyes through the phone. “You’re an idiot. Come in next week.”

About a week later, I had plans with the boy. I messaged him at 10 in the morning “We still on for tonight?”

He messaged me back at 5:00 pm “Hey! Don’t think I can make tonight work. How was you day?”

Ok, I don’t know if you could tell this from my all capital italic rant earlier in this post, but I have an angry side that I can rarely control. And if I am controlling it, it’s because I’m repressing it, developing a physical illness, and fainting every day. I looked at that text and thought; ABSOLUTELY NOT. I excused myself from Annie Clark’s presence in the living room and wen to my bedroom and called him.

He picked up like “Hey!”

“Hey, whats up?”

“Nothing just at home, you?”


“Nothing. Anyway, listen, I’ve been thinking about how we’ve been hooking up or whatever, and I think we need to call it.”

He laughed.

“Hahaha wait really?”

“Like, yeah. I mean you clearly have your own thing going on, and I can’t really be seeing someone who takes 7 hours to respond to my message about plans just to tell me he can’t with NO EXCUSE, and then when I call him he’s doing NOTHING?”

“Yeah that’s pretty brutal now that you say it like that. You deserve better.”

“I know. This has been fun! Talk to you soon or talk to you never!”

“Sounds good, take care Sam!”

Honestly, it was amicable as hell. Probably because this boy. IS. SO. NICE. And handsome. It’s actually fucked up.

I felt great the rest of the night. I called the shots! And then I realized something kind of sad but mostly happy. This was the first time I had ever been confident enough to be in control of my life to change things that weren’t working for me, instead of staying with things that were easy/convenient/good on paper. I took myself out for a STEAK dinner that night with the rest of my dirty vegan Planta money, with the knowledge that I can take care of myself. And I’m not going to do things I don’t like anymore. And I’m not going to date boys that don’t do me any good anymore. And I’m not going to lie to myself about what I’m into. And I’m not going to judge myself for not liking certain things that may seem easier or better, or more acceptable in theory, but don’t work for me. And I’m not going to punish myself for mistakes I’ve made, I’m just going to learn from them.

And overall, I’m going to stop fighting with myself, because GUESS WHAT, YOU IDIOT? Wherever you go, there you are. So you and yourself better learn to get along.


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My First Single Valentines Day!

LOVAIRS! *pls read in French accent*

Well, it’s finally here. The bane of my existence, the year I’ve been fearing since I lost my virginity in 2011. Valentines Day! But not just any Valentines Day, MY FIRST. SINGLE. VALENTINES DAY (since 2011). In order to prepare for this day, I’ve been chaotically exercising, investing in overpriced beauty treatments such as skin tightening and cool sculpting, and I even spoiled myself with some new sexy panties, because the most important love, is self love or whatever lmao. Treat yourself girls! You’re worth it!!!

JK, I could give a shit. Everyone knows that Single Valentines Day is the best holiday ever. It’s the day where you get to embellish your dark side. Really revel in / brag about the fact that you’re a sad hopeless pathetic loser. You get to “dive in” to the role us women secretly love; you know, the role where you like, cry in the mirror, wear your hair in a messy scrunchy you secretly know looks cute, eat ice cream out of the tub, not because it’s convenient, but because you know if your life was a movie, THIS is the aesthetic. You wear those wool socks from Roots with boxers, and lye on the couch with one leg up while you eat like, “God I’m such a mess“. If you had a rotary phone, you’d be crying into it to someone about something you don’t actually care about, but wish you did, and talk about it anyway for the drama, “I’ve just been thinking a lot about Josh (guy you dated when you were 14), and where that could have gone if we weren’t so young”. You watch Bridget Jones with your girlfriends and throw popcorn at the TV whenever Hugh Grant is on screen, not thinking about how annoying it’s going to be to clean up later. You bitch about your exes, who don’t matter anymore, with the same anger you had 6 years ago when they fucked up and got you the wrong size Polaroid film for you 18th birthday.

Speaking of exes, it’s occurred to me that you guys have never actually met my first ex and inspiration for most of my angry art, Stew! Which seems crazy, right? Don’t you guys feel like you know him so well? Well, let’s DIAL IT BACK A NOTCH. Your girl doesn’t just date and claim territory on ANYONE for 2 years, so although Stew is responsible for the heartbreak behind the kickass movie I made that got into several film festivals across North America, and resulted in me landing both an acting and literary agent (Thanks Stew!), I can’t deny that before that, he was my first love, my OG boo, and my best friend <3 <3  Aww lmao.

I recently started a new “bit” on my blog I like to call “Friends With Occupations”, which poses the question on every millennial’s mind: WHO IS HAPPY? AND WHAT ARE THEY DOING TO BE SO HAPPY? Using this segment, I interview 20-somethings from all walks of life, in order to find some common denominators that could provide clues on how to achieve the myth we call SATISFACTION. In the name of integrity, I asked my ol’ pal Stew to be my first guest, and I think this really shows how even when you think a relationship is tarnished forever, if the bond was pure and true, it can be salvaged through the art of film, and that’s a miracle I thought I would share with you this Valentines Day.

So, meet Stew, and to all you heartbroken girls out there, know this: “YOU WILL LIVE. YOU WILL LOVE. AND YOU WILL DANCE AGAIN. – Jennifer Lopez” – Sam Yoannou.



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“Life’s Short, Text Him First” – My Least Favourite Part Of Being A Girl Pt.1

2017: I think I speak for all of us when I say, “This isn’t what it looked like in Back To The Future!”

I realize Back To The Future took place in 2015, but you guys catch my drift. I guess what I’m trying to say is, where’s MY magic DeLorean!?

What I’m actually referring to, is the gargantuan amount of Trump related uprisings that have taken place (and yes, for those of you wondering that was my first time using gargantuan in a sentence, so if anyone wants to take me out for some pints to celebrate, DM me). I’m not a political expert, so much like my election post, this is NOT going to be a political post. However, the recent protests have brought up an issue I LOVE talking about, and NO, I’m not referring to how funny I think it is that HASHTAGS are a modern day medium for rebellion.

Last week, my friend and psychiatrist Meghan King and I attended the Women’s March (which, by the way, I read turned out to be 60,000 people which shocked the hell out of me because literally during the march I said “Wow, there’s gotta be like ten thousand people here.” Is that bad that I don’t know what 60,000 people looks like? Jeez, the BA I got really WAS good for nothing!)

Honestly, I wasn’t going to go to the March, because TBH, every morning that I wake up, I’m protesting the patriarchy!!! But, it was conveniently routed toward the Eaton’s Centre which I had to go to anyway because I had a Sephora gift card just ITCHING to be blown on some dumb serum to make me look younger – (Oh yeah, since I turned 25, I think I’m old and wrinkly now. But that’s all in my head, RIGHT GUYS???) – so I thought, FUCK IT, I’ll take the March to the Eaton’s Centre. Might as well get there in a productive and prolific way, right?

After the march, there was the usual flak that tags along after any MILDLY rebellious movement. Yes, there were 60,000 people marching, but it was not chaotic, or violent. It didn’t get in anyones way, it was honestly just a pleasant time full of happy people supporting each other. But, that didn’t stop THE TROLLS (lmao) from bringing up my fave topic of all time. “WHY ARE THERE STILL FEMINISTS? WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?? DO YOU ACTUALLY THINK WOMEN ARE STILL OPPRESSED? YOU SHOULD HAVE SEEN YOUR “SISTERS” IN THE 60’S! THEY HAD SOMETHING TO FIGHT FOR! WHAT ARE YOU GUYS FIGHTING FOR? YOU KNOW, I PERSONALLY, DID SOME RESEARCH ON THE WAGE GAP, AND IT IS BLOWN ENTIRELY OUT OF PROPORTION — THE FACTS HAVE BEEN COMPLETELY MUTILATED BY YOU RUG MUNCHING NIGHTMARES!”

I know, right? Inconsiderate bitches, oppressing the western world, one peaceful march at a time!

I’m about to tell you something controversial. I don’t know a lot about the actual statistics behind the wage gap, or the success rates of affirmative action programs used to employ more women. I don’t really know about the stuff going on in Hollywood that Jennifer Lawrence wrote about in Vogue or whatever, talking about how much less she made in the Hunger Games than her male co-stars. I didn’t even read it, tbh. I don’t really know the statistics of women in positions of power in the government, although I heard this year was a good year for that in Canada (that’s literally all I can say about it because I straight up know nothing more about the topic). I have no idea how much of Hilary Clinton’s projected shortcomings had to do with the fact that she was looked at differently because she was a woman. I DO NOT know a lot about the onslaught of oppression that women across the world face. I’m just generally not the most educated person on these matters, so I guess it seems a little of out of wack that I consider myself a HEFTY feminist.

Now I’ll let those of you who don’t get the third wave of feminism in on a secret. THERE’S MORE THAN MEETS THE EYE! I’m a feminist, and I’m not necessarily fighting for the things you “think” feminism is fighting for. The reason I’m a feminist isn’t for the things we can target and fight against, it’s for the things that people can deny are happening. It’s for the every day conversations that I have to think twice as hard about, because I don’t want to come off bitchy, or slutty, or naggy and annoying. It’s for the smile that suddenly would appear on my bosses face when it was my turn to talk in meetings at work, like I was a child he was giving the privilege of listening to. It’s for the text I spend hours deliberating sending to a guy, because I’m worried it’s going to come off too aggressive, because it’s not my place to send it. It’s for the time I don’t shave my legs so that I don’t sleep with someone on the first date because I KNOW that’s going to come around and bite me in the ass later. It’s for the outfit I don’t wear because I just don’t feel like dealing with people staring at me and making comments to me all night about it, because even though I think it looks good, I know it’s “slutty”. It’s for the way I feel when I walk past men on the street alone, day or night, even if I’m wearing a parka, a feeling I don’t chose to have because it’s not logical, it just happens that I get nervous. It’s for the argument I have to have over, and over, about how unfair it is that women can just “have sex with anyone they want whenever they want”, and how the ball is always in “our” court. It’s simply about living in a way that you are hyper aware of, knowing that if you were a guy, you wouldn’t have to think so hard about making yourself seem like a chiller, smarter, prettier, better, humbler, or quieter person. THAT’S what bugs me the most about being a girl. I feel like I’m missing out on my life because of all the catering I do, all the slow plays I make, all the ways I have to dress and act, all the calculations and variables I need to take into account to get what I want. And I’m sure, that this balancing act that most women are caught in DOES have to do with the wage gap, and other more concrete issues, but for me, the reason for my feminism can be embodied in one ANNOYING experience:

LAST WEEK: MY NEW ROOMMATE (Oh yeah, Degrassi’s Annie Clark is no longer in the picture. We had a falling out after this GIF I made of her went viral…)

Animated GIF  - Find & Share on GIPHY

Now I live with Carolyn, who is an ABSOLUTE hoot. 50% Polish, 50% Italian, 100% MANIAC.

Carolyn and I were sitting on the couch. I was doing SHIT ALL that night, PJ’s on, marathoning Buffy, when I realized I have a boy on the go who I can text! How FUN! Only problem is, he texted me 2 days ago saying he was working on an application for something, and that he would text me when he was done. But that was 2 days ago. So I KNOW this application is done. So first, I thought: is it possible he’s not into me anymore? I’ve been seeing him for like, 2 and a half months, so I mean, SHIT OR GET OFF THE POT BUDDY! Then I decided, no that makes no sense, why after 2 months is today the day he’s over it, so maybe I’ll text him. But is that desperate? I drafted a few texts and showed them to Carolyn. I had to have a fresh set of eyes to make sure there was NO POSSIBLE WAY this text could be read as aggressive, desperate, needy, etc.

“I mean, those are good texts, like I don’t think there’s ANY way he can read that and think you’re desperate or something…”

“Yeah, and I haven’t talked to him for 2 whole days so, he must know I’m chill about it…Or I can wait until tomorrow, but like what the hell am I doing tonight? Nothing!”

*** I AM NOT SAYING THAT THIS DOES NOT HAPPEN TO MEN. Obviously all of us get into situations when we are wheeling where we are trying to play it cool and wait for the other person to text first. I’m also not saying that this is something men are ACTIVELY DOING TO WOMEN. The problem is that women are socialized to think of how they will appeal to men first, and themselves second. We are prisoners to our OWN ideas of our female identities that we did NOT chose for ourselves. There’s me, and then there’s the girl I am, who requires a whole other set of rules on top of the person I actually am.***

So, after debating this for another half hour I could have been using to paint my nails and invest myself fully into Buffy Season 2 Episode 6, I finally decided I was NOT going to remain a prisoner of my own brain and ideas of a woman’s place! I am going to pick up the phone, and CALL THIS MAN! IN THE NAME OF WOMEN EVERYWHERE! THIS IS MY 60K WOMEN’S MARCH!

So, I call him, because I’m one of those FUCKING crazy broads you read about. Girl gone wild!

He’s picks up like,  “Hey! What’s up?”
“Nothing you?”
“Nothing, want to come over tonight?”
“….Yeah, I mean.”
“Ok, jumping in the shower, call an uber in 30.”
“I might be longer than 30 because I have to do my hair first.”
“You don’t have to do ANYTHING to your hair.”
“Hahahaha…. alright see you soon.”
“Alright, see ya then.”

As I curled my hair I wondered, if this was so easy, should I have wasted my time worrying about it? Did he just say yes because I called? Should he have texted me first? Is he just being nice, because he was put on the spot because I called him? I mean, now I’m doing what I want to do, and got what I wanted, but (and I’ll use this opportunity to quote The Matrix),


Also, there is no way I’m going to demolish your idea of my womanhood by showing up at your house fresh out of the shower with frizzy hair and no makeup! It’s been 2 months, I haven’t locked down anything buddy! This is still a free for all! AND MAYBE he actually wouldn’t care if I showed up all dishevelled, but I WOULD CARE. This is what I’m saying! The problem isn’t necessarily how men think, it’s how we perceive them to think through what we’ve been taught.

So I went for the whole casual sweat pants, white t-shirt, cute hair, compact powder but no eye makeup look. Here’s a comic from the New Yorker that I’m not going to properly segue into because I don’t feel like it, but here you go!


And just because Daquan, my favourite Calgarian posted this on Instagram RIGHT as I was writing this post, I’ll include it too:


I’ll reiterate again, that this man didn’t do anything wrong. As mentioned, the problem is the way girls are raised to be hyperaware of situations. Some of you TROLLS AND HATERS (lol again, wow), might say “Well just don’t think like that, be confident girl, get over yourself” — Have you ever heard of a little battle called “Nature Vs. Nurture?” It’s not that easy to unwire your brain from years and years of conditioning. I, at this age (25 FOR ANYONE WHO FORGOT THAT I’M BASICALLY THE CRYPT KEEPER NOW!), am just finally making a conscious effort to do things I’m uncomfortable with because I’ve decided in my head that the repercussions are not real. Or if they are real, I can’t waste time caring about it. If a colleague at the fantasy job I might one day once again have, is actually going to think I’m a bitch for speaking my mind, too bad. If a boy is going to think it’s INSANE that I text him first, then that’s not the boy for me. And the thing is, both of those scenarios are conditional: Some boys might not think twice about it, some boys might think it’s insane, some bosses won’t think anything about the fact that you’re a girl speaking your mind, some might: my point is that girls GENERALLY go into EVERY SITUATION as if it were the latter. Which is why I’m trying really hard to just do what I want to do, without being insecure about it. But it is NOT easy.

And that goes for anyone who is naturally insecure about other things, boys or girls. You know the exhausting slew of thoughts that comes with that: What will they think, I’m not going to get this job, I’m not going to get this girl, I’m not good enough, they’re going to think this or that, this outfit is stupid, why am I even going, why am I even trying, no ones going to listen, no one cares about what I say, wait for your turn to speak, they probably know better. Now imagine all of those thoughts and more were HARD WIRED into you. You were born with them and raised with them, and when you realize that that could all be a lie, you have to spend your best years un-teaching yourself the lie. And then you try and teach others to not perpetuate this cycle of teaching girls to naturally think they are less than. And then when you have a March about it, you’re fighting for “nothing” because at least women can vote now. That’s why I’m a feminist.




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When Life Gives You An Absurd Amount of Lemons


Is that how that quote goes? No? It’s Merry Christmas Ya Filthy Animal? Well, I’ll let you in on a secret, I actually knew that, I just wanted to give you all a harsh dose of reality to keep you guys humble.

I already know this is going to be a good post, because I get to use my favourite meme of all time right off the bat:


We have a lot to catch up on kids, and I think I’ll start with my mixed feelings on the Gilmore Girls reboot: I hate to be the one to say this, but sometimes seeing people looking older is a real downer, like a reminder of you’re own fading good looks and fleeting mortality… Like when you watch an old episode of Friends and then you think about how Matt LeBlanc currently looks like a grey sea otter… or when you watch anything with Chevy Chase in it and try and wrap your head around the fact that that oblong fuck was named the Sexiest Man Alive in the Caddyshack days. All I can say is, thank GOD for Rob Lowe and Uncle Jesse… and Mario Lopez actually as well for giving us the hope that you CAN age gracefully… so long as you are a man with dark features. (I’ll also throw in that I read a scary article in People today about how Kelly Rippa and Courtney Cox BOTH regret their Botox. If they regret their botox where does that leave me in the year 2035? Hopefully married already, is the answer I offer to myself).

Ugh, ok. So I’m not sure how good you, my readers, are at counting the days in the week, but as you may have noticed, I missed the last 48 Monday’s. I know, right? What is going on in the world when the smartest person you know can barely upkeep a weekly blog? Well first of all, we are switching to Tuesdays. Idk why, but I get more views on Tuesdays. Can someone write in and explain that to me? What are you all so busy doing on Mondays? Second of all, I’ve been a LITTLE pre-occupied with this obstacle course called LIFE.

Remember how I have the Epstein Barr Virus ALSO KNOWN AS a poor man’s Mono? (Which, for the record, I didn’t even get in a cool way like by making out with a roadie behind the Bovine, I got it just from being STRESSED with my not that stressful life). Well, I learned to live with it, just like I learned to live with the lock button being on the SIDE of the iPhone 6. All was hunky dorey, or whatever old British men say, when about two months ago, I was walking to work and BOOM! I fainted on the street. If any of you have ever FAINTED before, you know that it’s REALLY embarrassing and basically the first thing you do is jump back up. I just made that stat up, that really could have just been specific to my faint. Anyway, luckily for me I was literally in front of my apartment. An elderly woman rushed to my side yelling:


I was like lady, I’m not about to stay lying on the street. On my back. Especially since my ex-boyfriend works around here, and I’m kind of in the business of always looking hot and fabulous on this street corner in case he drives by, and lying horizontally on the ground next to a convenience store dumpster while a LESS able bodied woman yells at me to stay like that is NEITHER HOT NOR FABULOUS. Anyway, I stood up, and immediately realized that she was telling me not to stand up, in CASE I fell over AGAIN. Well, jokes on her, a real bitch never faints twice. She got me a juice and asked me where I lived, and I pointed to my front door which was approximately 2 yards (YARDS eh?) from my weak, garbage body, and then I walked back upstairs and called in sick for work.

After spending the entire day in bed while Degrassi’s Annie Clark gave me a platonic but still very erotic sponge bath, I chalked the incident up to being tired, poorly rested, and to be quite honest, rather unhealthy (At the time I was going through a faze where I cordially refused to eat vegetables, which was hurting no one but myself). So I fainted! Never fainted before, but everyone who faints, faints for a first time at one point, you know? One and done! Right?


Three days later, the girls and I were having Sex and the City-esque cocktails at Soho house. There was a dance party going on on upstairs. I braved the cold, and climbed the stairs to the third floor. However, the room with the dance party was VERY hot, and I immediately got that familiar feeling that I was going to be lying on my back in a way I was NOT interested in. I did a u-turn, ran down the stairs and sat on the ground against the wall outside Soho alone.

“What is happening to you?” My internal monologue asked.

“I don’t know, maybe you just can’t do stairs now?”

“What? You’re 24”

“25 in a month.”

“DO NOT remind me of that.”

“I’m just saying, a healthy 24 year old can tackle a flight of stairs without fainting.”

“Yeah a HEALTHY 24 year old, you have mono. You’re a loser. Who gets mono twice?”

“Stressed out people!”

“What do you have to be stressed about? You live in CANADA.”

“It’s all relative!”

“You are such a privileged fuck. You can’t deal with anything.”

“I ALREADY KNOW THAT. Stop talking you’re making me nervous and I do NOT want to faint on the street in front of the coveted Soho House Toronto!”

“Neither do I.”

“Well then?”

“Ok call us an Uber.”


“I’m taking 6 gravol when I get home.”

“No, you’re not.”



Eventually, my friends came out and saved me from myself. They got me into a cab, took me home, and I almost fainted on my staircase (which is a staircase I have been successfully climbing for 5 years). I got into bed and looked out at the streetlights, wondering why I had to be in this situation again. It was just 2 years ago I was too sick to walk or talk or wheel or drink or do any of the other things I like doing, like working, making money, shopping, going to Queens Park with a Starbucks and watching all the students on segue-ways.

I exhaled. “Why me?”

“What?” I forgot Carolyn was sleeping over.

“Oh… nothing. Just wondering why my life sucks.”


The next day was a good day, a promising day even! In fact, the days after that were all great days. I went to work, I wrote an essay for money (by the way everyone, I have a successful ghostwriting business now. Do I? Kind of. Anyway I’ll write your essays for money. I guarantee a U of T 72-75, which is like a Trent 98), and then Wednesday came around, when I had to go work at the vegan church. Once again, I woke up, did my hair, did my makeup and walked out the door BUOYANT as ever!  I got inside, sat through the pre-shift / therapy session, and then started serving my tables. And then… the same thing happened again. A faint was coming ON. I went outside and sat behind the building where the dumpsters, and probably rats were. It was FREEZING cold but NOT COLD ENOUGH. I called my Mom (who lives in Florida because she’s a snow bird before she’s even 50… what’s that like??)

“This is HORSESHIT. I can’t keep FAINTING everywhere I go!”

“Go see a doctor!”

“I DID see a doctor. I have MONO. Which I’ve had before, and I handled it LIKE A BEAUTY.”

“Well, what if it’s not mono?”


“I don’t know.”

I promptly left work and took the bus the block and a half to my house. Enter Web MD: I spent the rest of the day believing I had MS. I called my doctor who was busy for the next three days, which in my mind, was too late. I got into bed, and had my friend come over and cook for me. I started thinking out loud while Carolyn made me Mozzarella sticks (which was the meal I ate for the day).

“Ok, so I’m not pregnant.”

“You sure?”

“Too sure. Like it’s actually sad how sure I am. I’m basically abstinent now.”

“Same, I mean-”

“No no, we aren’t making this about you.”


“But, I have noticed that two of the times I fainted were on the way to or at work.”

“Right so maybe-”

“MAYBE this whole FAINTING thing is actually the anxiety I thought I had gotten rid of returning full force.”

“What about the night at Soho?”

“Oh, that time I actually just think there were too many stairs.”

When life gives you this many weird lemons, sometimes you can’t handle them on your own. Nor should you. Nor should your friends. When you are suffering with the demons of a thousand hellmouths, to the point where you’re just fainting on the street and getting mono a second time (or something less specific to me and more specific to whatever you, my readers are going through), sometimes you need to WASH YOUR HANDS of the situation. Give it up to God! Jk, call someone who knows wtf they’re doing. I decided to seek professional help in this matter, and since I’m neither rich or patient, I sought help from a victim–I mean fellow employee of the Vegan Church named Lisa. She’s a life coach, who also does reiki.

Admittedly, I’m not the kind spiritually liberal person who jumps at an idea like “life coaching”. Like most people, I assume anyone who needs a life coach also needs a prescription to something HEAVY. I arrived at Lisa’s apartment (which was a beautiful glowing loft in the east end), like I just crawled out of a trench in Normandy. She said,

“What’s going on with you?”

When she spoke it was like speaking to Mother Theresa (who, let me tell you I JUST found out was an ACTUAL PERSON and not a mythical figure THIS SUMMER… who knew). Lisa is like this radiant being that you just want to tell EVERYTHING to, she’s kind, she’s calm, and when she talks it’s like you half want to listen and half take a nap because she makes everything TOO chill.

I told her what was going on with me: that I had Epstein Barr Virus, that I was poor, that I quit both my jobs, that I got out of a hectic relationship, and then I quickly explained the definition of universal onslaught, blah blah blah, but the subtext to all of this was something I hate saying out loud: I don’t like my life. I don’t LIKE IT! Obviously I love my friends, my family, where I live, etc, but I don’t like WHAT’S going on on the day to day. Then she asked me a series of questions, what kind of things did I like? How would I describe myself, what were my goals, what made me happy? I told her I loved living in Toronto, going out for fancy dinners, making money, being successful, having my family be healthy around me, etc.

She wrote that down, and then began the REIKI! It started with me lying on her couch, while she closed her automatic blinds with a remote control, because everything about her and her apartment is fucking crazy. I felt kind of weird and vulnerable, as one does when they are (once again) lying on their back with someone standing over them. She told me to breath into my diaphragm with my eyes closed, which is the kind of thing I can’t handle. Like singing the Happy Birthday song or clapping along to the beat during a standing ovation at a musical, I get embarrassed when asked to “breath deeply”. BUT I was here for an experience! She started the reiki (which, for those of you who don’t know, because I sure as hell was unaware of this, is a kind of energy healing. Basically the person who does the reiki uses their hands to distribute positive healing energies to your chakras!) Disclaimer, I had no expectations going into this, because I didn’t know what reiki was and I really didn’t have a clue whether or not I believed in “energy healing”. I still don’t know if I do, all I can tell you is this STRANGE thing that happened.

So I’m lying there, taking the reiki like a champ, when I get this very normal but random flashback, of me sitting at a bar in the daytime, and I see rain sliding down the window. I don’t know where this bar is, but I remember sitting there looking at the rain out the window. Then, cut to me on a swing, as an adult. I knew where the swing was, because I don’t actually go on that many swings anymore tbh, and it was at a park in Fredericton, and I could see my combat boots in front of me while I was swinging.

So whatever, sometimes your mind wanders when you’re lying on a couch in the dark for an extended period of time. I thought nothing of it. UNTIL, after the reiki was done, the angel that is Lisa went through what she felt at each of my chakras. Everything added up the way you would think, if you were going to think about it logically: My brain felt full of buzzing energy that didn’t know what to do with itself, my hands felt cold, my stomach chakra was (as usual) fucked up, but when she went over my HEART, I SHIT YOU NOT, she said, “I saw you on a swing.”

So I SAT right up and gasped, like I did when I found out Kim K was considering surrogacy.

“WHAT? What do you mean you saw me on a swing??”

“I saw you swinging on a swing.”

“Like as a little girl?”

“No, as an adult.”

I was like:



So, she naturally said, “Tell me about that swing.”

Oh brother. Is that how this shit works? Like is a “swing” a WHOLE THING now?? My dying word is going to be “SWING,” and then I’m going to drop a snow-globe, and no one’s going to get it except for my kids, who know a hilarious Citizen Kane reference when they see one, because I raised them properly.

I HAD NOT thought about this probably since around when it happened, but basically all it was, was that it was my boyfriend and mine’s one year anniversary, and we were walking from dinner back to his res, and we saw this swing-set, so we made pit stop at it, and took pictures on the swings with our digital cameras, and I just remember screaming and laughing REALLY hard because I did not remember swings being THAT scary. (Which is a thought I stand by– I went to a park in Wasaga Beach this summer and I was like how the HELL do we let children go on swings? They can go SO high, like NO! I’m going to be such a bummer Mom).

Lisa didn’t do some insane deconstruction of that, instead she said “Were you happy on the swing?”

I was like, yes, OBVIOUSLY. What’s not to be happy about, I was 20, with the boy I loved, drunk on a swing set on our one year anniversary. In addition to that already being SO cute, I really didn’t think about ANYTHING worrisome during that period of my life. I still had 2 years left of school, and I was so blissfully unaware that any of the problems I have now could ever, or would ever exist. That night, my cute little brain whole heartedly believed this: after I get off this swing, I’m going to go back to that dorm room and have the best sex I’m ever going to have in my entire life, and then, I’ll fly home, graduate school, get a SICK job in the music business, and me and my boyfriend will get married, and live near all our friends, and we’ll all just HAVE money by then, and everything is just GOING to work by then.



Lisa said, “Well if that’s what it takes to make you happy, maybe you have to re-evaluate what you think makes you happy, and what actually makes you happy.”

I was like, “Sorry, what?”

“You said you need to be living in Toronto, making a lot of money, and going out for fancy dinners would make you happy.”


“But when you were on the swing, you weren’t in Toronto, you presumably had less money than you do now, and you weren’t out for a fancy dinner.”

Have you ever seen someone have a therapeutic breakthrough? It’s hilarious. I looked like this: (enter my second all time favourite image to draw reference to).


I was like “OH MY GOD LISA, you’re right! Somewhere… somewhere in the days of yesteryear, I have TOTALLY lost myself. I don’t even KNOW the girl on that swing anymore, I’m like always competing against myself now… and back then I was on my own team… Wow what a stunning revelation! Woah, life coaching eh? I thought it was for like, severe wackos…but I totally get why people do this now!”

Lisa was like “…….”

So, that was around December. Now here we are, the day before my 25th Birthday, and I’ve hardly figured it out, but I’ve finally been able to articulate something that our generation already knows in our heart of hearts! The goal for us millennials is not only success, because if it was, we could follow the safer paths of generations before us. “Be a teacher, summers off!” “Get a government job, wicked pension!” “Become a dentist, jump off a bridge!”

It’s not just about money either, because there are surefire ways to make money. It’s more to be satisfied, and happy. This seems like a great opportunity to whip out my favourite quote of all time (wow I’m 3 for 3 in this blog post!)

“Success without satisfaction is the definition of failure.”

So to answer everyones question which is, what the fuck is this blog post even about, I DON’T KNOW: I’m just a twenty something girl, who doesn’t have it figured out yet. Do you think that’s an untapped market? Should I start a reddit AMA?

I’m just happy that I’m no longer blindly grabbing at opportunities, hoping something will give me some sense of stability. I have a CLEAR goal, and that is, going back to BASICS! Figuring out when I’m the happiest, and then building a life around that, instead of building a life, and HOPING it makes me happy. I tried that once already, and I ended up having to quit everything! Smfh!

Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed this cathartic novella, and know that my blog posts won’t always be this heavy. Just because I went to a life coach once, I’m not like a weirdo now, ok? On that note, next weeks post is going to be on “The Soothing Art of Urban Beekeeping”, so stay tuned! I’ll also have you all know that I typed all of this while watching a marathon of Leah Remni’s show on Scientology, so it took me roughly 17 hours, as I had to stop every time someone cried hysterically or shared anything juicy about John Travolta’s personal life.

Alright, that’s enough. I’ll end this with a song that doesn’t have a lot to do with anything, but this video is all about simple things making you happy. I don’t know if you guys have seen this but it’s SO cute, you should watch it if you just want your day made! Wow maybe I am weird now….

Love you all, and SEE YOU NEXT TUESDAY!

Wow, it’s going to be fun ending every post with that.






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