Homo6ixuality: Toronto Pride

July 4, 2016 By Emma Gillies in Toronto Tags: Gay Pride, LGBTQ, Love, Relationships, T.O., The 6ix, Toronto, Toronto Pride 1 Comment

Toronto, this weekend you proved why I speak so highly of you. I’ve been burnt out on you this summer, spending my weeks trying to find ways to spend my weekends away from you – at lakefront cottages, at homes close to cottages close to some body of water (at times I would have settled for a kiddie pool and a sippy cup full of alcohol if someone offered).

Anything to step momentarily outside the chaos and High Rises, the metal and ritualistic burning of money that accompanies summers here.

But then you go and have weekends like this one, so full of love and beauty and progress and pride that I wonder why I ever wanted to leave you.

Here’s the thing I’ve always known about you Toronto: you are not a city that is content on riding on the coattails of progress.

You define progress. You set precedent.

Toronto, you are only the multi-racial, multi-sexual city you are because you have not just accepted or accommodated differences, but have encouraged them. You have enveloped these people in all of their diversity warmly into your arms and whispered, “Welcome, you’re safe here. This is where you belong.”

And Toronto, you have PRIDE.

Yesterday you were beautiful. You were a city at its best, most enlightened self.

You were on fire.

Because Toronto, if it’s one thing I’ve always respected the fuck out of you for it’s this: you know love is hard enough to find and maintain without having to fight for the right to feel it.

You know that life can be cold and love is rare and when two people find it that should be celebrated for its rarity, not ridiculed for its existence.

You have understood, long before other cities, that the support of friends and family is important but so is the support of the larger community. That truly powerful cities, the ones with heart, will protect love in all its forms and allow it the possibility of thriving, rather than extinguishing it with declarations of, “That’s not the right kind of love.”

You are the city where my mother felt comfortable taking me to pride parades as a toddler. Where yes, I definitely have clear memories of naked old men marching and being beelined in the head with condoms being thrown from floats.

But I also have memories of beautiful women holding hands, and men of all shapes and sizes kissing each other tenderly, and hoards of people laughing and dancing and strutting in celebration.

And because of that, because you are a city that holds one of the Top 5 Pride Celebration attendance records IN THE WORLD, and because I was raised in the thick of it, I got to grow up thinking what everyone now seems to be realizing:

That love is love is love is love.

You are a city that is part of a larger country that finally elected a Prime Minister worthy of the respect of the gay community; a man who looks at the residents of his country in all their diversity and represents their rights. A man who marched in the parade yesterday so unabashedly giddy that people screamed triumphantly and wept uncontrollably (or was that just me?)

Toronto, yesterday you were host to a pivotal moment in Canadian history – The 1st Canadian PM to march in a Pride Parade – how fucking cool is that?!

And sure, you’ve set aside a section of your city to celebrating the rights of LGBTQ citizens, but expression of this sexuality is no longer confined to that space. More and more people are feeling free to express love and affection across your neighbourhoods.

It is not a city block that plays safe haven to this community; it is the city as a whole.

Toronto, after the shootings in Orlando you saw such a swift outcry from your residents, and the city ran deep with raw, visceral emotion. Empathy wasn’t a rare commodity and anger and sympathy ran across communities. We were not segmented that day but instead stood together in support.

And in an action meant to strike fear, we stood fearless. The overwhelming sentiment wasn’t panic that this could happen here but a firm belief that we would NEVER let it happen here.

We operated with the knowledge that Orlando may have been the actions of one man, but that one man was raised in a society that gave this ideologies legitimacy; that somewhere along the line he found support for this hate.

And Toronto, we knew you had to be better than that. You ARE better than that. You know that these beliefs cannot be fostered but must be squashed- by love, by proper education and by teaching support over anger at every turn.

And hopefully, Toronto, we will never have to deal with the emotional ramifications of a mass shooting because we will have built a city that declares that behaviour so intolerable, so outside the realm of possibility that no one would dare mess with the 6ix.

You are a city that knows one day these won’t even be conversations, or debates or arguments or fights. You know that if we continue on this path, by the time our kids are our age they too will feel proud to have been raised in a city that is trying to get the world to see sexuality for what it is: endlessly fluid; as a glorious spectrum rather than two opposing poles.

A city that knows one day “gay” or “lesbian” or “transgender” will simply be a characteristic, not define someone’s character; a city where if we raise our kids properly, we will welcome into the fold more tolerant group of individuals capable of choosing kindness over prejudice.

We will be a city that helps mould a country. We will mould it until we won’t require a rainbow flag anymore because a pride flag and Canadian flag will be synonymous.

Gay pride is Canadian pride.

And Toronto, yesterday you showed me your Pride and for that I am so endlessly proud.

Thank you.

My friend is raising twins and I can’t even find the remote control

April 2, 2016 By Emma Gillies in Life Tags: Humour, Knocked Up, Life, Pregnancy, Relationships, Toronto, Writing 2 Comments

I spent this past Easter Monday staring at the one-week-old faces of identical twin boys, incubated and birthed by one of my best friends Melanie.

That’s right. To all you young people out there currently considering having kids, let’s take a minute to really absorb that…

…You can have TWO of them. AT THE SAME TIME.

So I’m sitting there, watching these two tiny humans form neural connections and learn and develop before my very eyes and all I could think was:

All newborns really look like shrunken old men, and
Oh man, this is SUCH real life.

If you’ve read anything I’ve written in the past, you know I’ve spent a huge bulk of the last two years attending bridal showers, bachelorette parties and weddings.

So you’d think I would have already comprehended that this “real life” started long ago and that I’m sitting smack dab in the middle of it.

But although I love a good wedding (friends celebrating friend’s love and whatnot), unless all my friends find themselves immune to those, “Global Statistics” the unfortunate truth is, some of those relationships will last and some won’t.

And before you say anything, get off my back; I’m not being a pessimistic downer. Because for the MOST part (aside from a little emotional turmoil and the mass drinking of one’s problems away) people are capable of picking themselves up and moving on.

Marriages and the relationships that comprise them are as permanent as you actively choose and fight for them to be.

But now, the babies have started; those living, breathing, miniature mirrors into your own human abilities and inadequacies.

And babies are FOREVER.

The time has come for getting knocked up. When people get to sit back in their new-parent smugness only mildly haunted by that tiny voice in the back of their minds that they can REALLY screw these little people up.

Now don’t be fooled by my rejection of certain traditional life events – I want myself some babies.

I want them in that weird biological-clock-ticking-feel-it-in-my-gut-constantly-trying-to-hold-strangers-babies-on-the-street kind-of way I thought was completely made up by men and projected on women as a way to keep them from becoming CEOs and taking over the world.

However, the idea of someone’s entire emotional and physical existence being reliant on me? Me – the person who crumbles under the pressure of deciding between crunchy and smooth peanut butter?

That’s some scaryyyyyyy stuff.

Aside from paralyzing fear, here are some of my thoughts on having kids:

Pregnancy is SO WEIRD.

When I say this verbatim to friends, most of them laugh awkwardly and change the subject. Because you know, as mammals the process of being pregnant and giving birth has been firming ingrained in us as natural since the moment we stopped believing those stork stories.

So the fact that as a fairly educated woman who is not 5-years-old, I still can’t wrap my mind around the whole baby-making process is considered a little off-putting to some. BUT COME ON – we take 3/4’s of a year to grow another human in a giant sack full of fluid, letting it feed off our innards and then spend 20+ hours of excruciating pain excavating that now-grown bundle of cells from our bodies and BAM! – Instant life commitment.

That’s.friggin.weird.

2. Not all babies are created equally cute, but it’s amazing how if they are even vaguely related to you you’ll be signing up for baby model agencies before they’ve learned to control their neck.

My nieces are goddamn adorable, but both have gone through a definite “Rob Ford” phase (all chins and lesbian-chic blonde hair sticking in every direction), all of which we can look back and laugh at now, but one that not a single family member seemed to notice at the time.

Similarly, when I joke around about my extended awkward phase that lasted 11+ years my father STILL actively refuses to admit that this was a thing and continues to say I was always beautiful.

… I assure you when I was rocking inch-thick glasses and trimming my own bangs into sporadic projectiles from my head I definitely wasn’t landing any beauty pageants.

So what I’m saying is, if I have a weird looking kid, keep that shit to yourself. Hormones are going to trick me into thinking they’re cute as fuck and every kid deserves to have their parents look at them through rose-colored glasses.

My parent’s unrelenting belief in my beauty meant when I was called a four-eyed midget for two torturous years in junior high I was able to let it role off me rather than have it absorbed into my fragile pre-teen psyche. Kids need to grow up strong, and this strength comes first from their parent’s blind support and encouragement.

I plan on taking full advantage of the nine months I’m pregnant to be a full damn nightmare.

I spend most of my life trying to maintain a personality one can describe as “laid-back” or even “aloof.” But I still don’t understand why pregnant women don’t spend more time having full-fledged tantrums in the aisles of Loblaws if they don’t carry the exact right brand and flavor of ice cream.

For nine full months women have the ultimate excuse to shift between Zen and crazy-bitch and only have to utter a simple, “It’s for the baby”

Who needs to be passive-aggressive when you can just be aggressive?

No one wants to let you have a seat on the bus? Dump hot coffee on them. Restaurant accidentally puts bean sprouts in your Pad Thai? Launch a formal class action lawsuit. Your baby daddy doesn’t anticipate every want and desire at least 12 hours in advance? Have a suitcase constantly packed and ready by the door with threats of, “Never seeing his child again.”

SO MUCH FUN. Screw trying to be casual and low-maintenance in some attempt to not succumb to the crazy girl stereotype.

After all, it’s for the baby.

4. How do people plan for kids?

I’m a planner. Sure life demands a certain amount of spontaneity and if anyone wants to invite me on a private jet anywhere in the next 20 minutes SIGN ME UP.

But kids demand a certain amount of pre-thought. I need to understand what I’m getting myself into. The whole, “As human beings we are evolutionarily programmed to know how to raise a child” is a GIANT amount of horseshit.

Our ancestors never had to plan for death-by-peanut allergy or trying to save for college tuition in a city where affording a 12-pack of Timbits feels like a luxury.

I don’t think my human heritage means I’m innately prepared to know how to raise a kid in a high-rise condo. When our ancestors had to send their kids out to learn how to forage for food did they have to teach them how to take an elevator to the park?

No, they just had to worry about little things like dysentery, starvation and animal attacks. You know…the easy stuff.

At least the forest has great square footage.

5. Kids make everything immediately scary because you don’t want to be the first one to break your child.

Kids are going to fall down, and hit their heads, and end up with black eyes and bruises and lumps. I had a permanent soft spot on my forehead as a kid I ran into so many things (probably a clue I needed those inch-thick glasses early on).

But you always hope someone else is the first one to let your kid fall down, or drop him or her. You know, so you can sigh and act very superior and forgiving, all the while wholly relieved someone else got it out of the way first.

At my friend’s house Monday I was holding one of her sons and she went to walk down a set of stairs and I was like, “Nope, I’ll be staying put up here.” If she hadn’t been there to assist me I probably would have:

Remained on the second floor and lived off food scraps until someone more qualified to jointly manage breakable babies and stairs came along, or

Wrapped said baby in some impenetrable cocoon of pillows and blankets to ensure that should I slip and fall, he would be so fully encased in feathers he would bounce ever-so-gently to the first floor.

Similarly, my boyfriend recently caused a line at Starbucks to form behind him as he diligently examined the physics of pushing his niece in a stroller down ONE STAIR, assuming doing so would cause her to launch headfirst out of the stroller like a little human rocket (despite her being securely clipped and harnessed into said stroller).

When you have kids every crack in the sidewalk is a possible broken leg, every pebble means choking and every fruit fly and mosquito a transporter of death and disease.

On that pleasant note, if anyone wants to volunteer to babysit my future child really early on and scuff ‘em up a little so I can maintain that classic motherly moral superiority that would be fantastic.

Come on guys, it’s for the baby.

The Couple’s Cohabitation Rules

February 13, 2016 By Emma Gillies in Humour Tags: Cohabitation, Humour, Love, Moving in Together, Relationships, Toronto, Valentine's Day 3 Comments

Just in time for Valentine’s Day, I was looking through some old emails the other day and stumbled across a list I had complied for my boyfriend when he and I decided to move in together in July of 2014.

At the time, I considered myself a relatively lone-wolf kind of character, and I was terrified to the point of being non-functioning at the premise of living alongside another human that wasn’t my badass female roommate. So, I set about making a list of rules that I thought would be the keys to a successful shared-condo relationship.

For the most part, looking back on it, I think it’s clear that:

I’m oddly self-aware of my own insanity,
We’ve followed most of these, and goddammit, it’s worked!
This is my idea of Valentine’s Day-inspired romance.

So I present to you, my guide for successful cohabitation with a significant other, as written to my boyfriend Dan a year-and-a-half ago.

THE COUPLE’S COHABITATION RULES

AKA Dan and Emma’s step-by-step guide to not becoming a boring, emotionally-dependent couple with no lives

All the below will relate back to the main purpose of this list: as a young, relatively good-looking couple who have yet to sag and wrinkle in all the wrong places, we want to continue to want to see each other naked.

Here is how I see us avoiding being that couple whose only idea of date night involves an Italian shower, sweatpants and Netflix (please note use of the word “only” as sometimes HBO and a robe is what dreams are made of).

1.We will continue to have our own lives. Neither party ever has to feel obligated to invite the other out on his or her plans. Life will not end if I don’t experience a 4am hockey boy’s night where you drink out of lawn décor. Similarly, you don’t need to know the sordid details of my latest engaged friend’s wedding venue…and wedding song…and wedding dress.

2. Two words: Date night – Once a week. No excuses. New restaurants, bars and events are what runs this city and what fuels both of us. The moment we stop going out is the moment we stop being ourselves.

3. Don’t touch my laundry, as I’m never going to do yours. Towels and sheets are communal and will most often be done by you as you’re going to be astounded by the time I can survive between laundry sessions (a backpacker, hostel-dwelling attribute I haven’t yet shaken).

4. …I will try to do laundry more often.

5. We will never go to bed angry.

6. I will probably wake up angry a lot, and drop things, and spill things, and take 25 minutes to leave our place and still be pissed off because I’ll feel like you rushed me. But you knew all of this when you signed up…sucker.

7. Sex solves most arguments. Remind me of this when I’m being a cranky bitch.

8. Friends from out of town are always welcome to couch crash; I will even make them coffee in the morning and pretend their not interrupting my very delicate daily routine when I’m at my most emotionally vulnerable.

However, friends who live 5-minutes down the street but are just so liquored up that they think our place is a warm, inviting alternative at 4am? That’s only going to end with me making my morning shake in a blender about 6 inches from their face.

9. Give each other space. So, so, SO much space.

10. That being said, let’s try to find some activities to do together.

You’re probably never going to leap at the chance to hit up a Pilates class with me and I’m never going to want to join you and three of your guy friends while you spend a gym session complimenting each other on your bods instead of actually lifting weights.

But relationships are all about finding some common ground and shared interests. Like…I don’t know…ice cream, or seeing who can sit motionless in one place the longest.

11. Pre-drinks? Yes. After parties? Depends how much we value our furniture (aka, not a chance and I’ll kill you slowly).

12. Speaking of furniture, continue to pretend you give a shit about furniture. This décor-obsessed attitude is unlikely to subside for a solid 6 months (cue disgruntled sigh).

13. We will not, “let ourselves go.” It’s an attribute of those who take their significant others for granted and who are lazy depressed fucks. Are we lazy depressed fucks who take each other for granted? NOPE, DIDN’T THINK SO (roar).

14. Keep a little mystery – the naked human body is a magical, wonderful thing…that is not meant to be seen in harsh direct lighting, or bending over to pick up laundry, or slowly sauntering around at 2pm on a hungover Sunday afternoon in an attempt to be enticing.

15. If you stop manscaping I’m going to stop waxing. We’ll see who wins that battle.

16. We’re not using seeing each other every day as an excuse not to take trips. My travel itch will never fully subside and you have a lot of the world to see. Let’s make sure we save some time (and money) aside so we never stop exploring.

Pretty much I see it like this: we’re two fairly emotionally mature, funny muthafucka’s who it seems like most people enjoy being around. It’s a natural consequence that we like being around each other. It’s all about the energy you give out in the world so let’s make sure the energy we impart on one another is as positive as possible.

As I keep saying to those who ask, you’re an easy person to be around so if I can’t live with you I’m probably just fucked….

On that note, can’t wait to start this little social-experiment with you handsome. Aren’t you lucky!

_______________________________________________

Happy Valentine’s Day Everyone! May you all one day love someone enough to compile a completely obsessive compulsive list of do’s and don’t’s for your relationship.

Girl shows up late to the New Years Party

January 9, 2016 By Emma Gillies in Humour Tags: 2016, Happy New Year, Humour, New Years, Resolutions, Toronto, Writing Leave a comment

Ah the ol’ New Years post, she’s a popular little minx. Since we’re already more than a week into 2016, it’s clear I considered, opted out, and then reconsidered whether or not to write something.

But alas I think January 9^th still falls into the realm of, “New Year” so I’m going for it!

A new year brings with it many things – new beginnings, new ambitions, new dreams, new lessons to be learned, and new tired clichés of all of the former in script writing all over Instagram.

I’ve never been one for resolutions. And that’s not to say I don’t get why people do it. It’s easy to look back on the year prior and cringe at something you wish you didn’t do, or something you wish you had done better. You hurt someone or you ignored all the red flags and got dumped; you made all the mistakes and then ate your feelings. You continued to treat your treadmill with the kind of suspicion usually reserved for passing tall strangers in dark alleys.

So BAM! January 1^st hits at it’s all, “This is going to be MY year.” We’re all going to eat less chips and more spinach, drink more green juice and less wine. We’re going to climb a mountain, volunteer our time, run a marathon, save a gimpy 3-legged dog from a fire, learn the ancient language of Latin, and stop annoyingly re-posting Instagram photos from @thefatjewish because EVERYONE has already seen them and knows you’re unoriginal. We’re going to make more time for family and spend less time worrying about work.

Then January 15^th hits, we trade in the bottle of juice, pick up a bottle of wine, and we’re all left as failures, stewing in our self-created disappointment.

Until now, my resolutions- if I’ve bothered to make any- have always been very vague and, intentionally, rather easily achieved. Things like:

Don’t die this year
Try to occasionally act your age
Consume something green in color at least 4 times a week (apple Jolly Ranchers obviously count)
Stop making sweet sweet love to Pizza at 3am every.single.time.you.drink.

Sure, it makes it really easy to be successful (still alive and eating kale like a smug little champ), but it doesn’t give you much to measure this success against.

So this year, I’m going to Bucket List the shit out of 2016. And watch out kids, because things are about to get SPECIFIC.

1. Branch out and follow a recipe every once and awhile.

It is a known fact (because my parents told me so) that in elementary school I ate a white kaiser bun with cream cheese for lunch every day for an entire school year. I like a lot of different types of food, but I’ve always been able to eat the same thing on repeat for days at a time. So yes, now I don’t have the metabolism of an 8-year-old and have swapped bread and cheese for salad and tofu, but I can go weeks without switching up my lunch choices.

Also courtesy of my parents I have 26 recipe books lining my top shelf (You know, the shelf I intentionally can’t reach) all in MINT condition. Although none of them are my desired, “Recipes you can cook in 5 minutes or less using a maximum of 6 ingredients and one pot” I still plan on diversifying a little this year. To like…2 pots.

Talk about progress!

2. Take more photos

I love photos; sometimes I’m even an adult and throw them in trendy rustic wooden frames. But I also have to be in the right state of mind to actually want to be IN photos (see: slightly drunk with freshly washed hair). Not this year kids. Life moves fast and I’m starting to have a terrible damn memory, so photos it is, greasy hair and all.

3. Purchase new PJs

Sure I know my boyfriend likes me and still occasionally find me attractive, but I’m not doing myself any favors when I come to bed wearing my brother’s old 1987 t-shirt with a massive picture of Daffy Duck playing baseball on the back and XL sweat pants. No one wants to have sex with that. I’m never going to be some silk or lace girl, but I think I can definitely aim to sleep in something my size and from this decade.

4. Refrain from getting to know take-out delivery men on a first name basis

In 2016, I’m going to try and hold onto some of the deep-seeded shame I felt with the same Hurrier delivery guy came to my house twice over the course of 5 hours. I’m programmed to love people who give me food, but this year I need to remind myself that the 19-year-old delivering Mexican at 1am is not my best friend, even if I loudly and forcefully declare him to be.

5. Watch every 2016 Oscar nominated best movie

This is an easy one to bang out before the first quarter of the year is even done. I never get around to watching all the films, and there are always about 3 that I cast aside as being too bleak or too obscure. My movie brain needs some bells and whistles. So every year I watch the Oscars and say things like, “Helen Mirren was in HOW MANY movies this year?!” and “This show requires more Zac Efron.” Not this year folks! I’ve already sat through 3 hours of walking and grunting courtesy of Leo and The Revenant (which I can only assume will be nominated), so I’m on my way to Oscar gold!

6. Replace all of your glassware with copper mugs

No reason for this, it just bound to look fucking cool.

7. Buy some new workout gear

Sure, there’s something to be said for not looking like you care too much at the gym (i.e. Everyone on King West), but when my wardrobe consists of what would now be considered the LuLu Lemon Vintage line and Puma running shoes from whenever they actually still made Puma running shoes (I’m ball-parking somewhere around 2001), then something’s gotta change.

8. Stop feeling tempted to get into impassioned debates with people on the Internet

Good GOD there are some idiots out there, just trolling the internet, saying idiotic ignorant things, trying to pick fights. And sometimes I almost want to feed into it (The Starbucks red cup debate is one example of when I just couldn’t keep my mouth shut). But responding to these idiots actually gives their arguments more validity, and all they do is scream the same nonsense louder, most likely all in caps and with little proper punctuation or adherence to proper grammar..

So this year, I’m just going to chalk them up to the vocal minority and social media as the evil tooth that gives their ignorance a platform. I will remember that they are most likely inbred, enjoy the company of clowns, are cruel to small animals, ask their Yoda bobble heads for real life advice, and dress in Avatar outfits on Tuesday’s “just for fun.”

9. Taste things before you slather them entirely in hot sauce

I don’t think I know what food tastes like anymore, but I assume some foods have a flavor that can be described as something other than “heat” or “fire.”

10. Buy more mason jars

I already have a shit ton, so why not buy more. I’m going to put them everywhere. I’ll drink from some of them, paint others and use them as vases, use others to store my black Hipster soul, put string lights in others and BAM, homemade perma-candles. Mason jars are trendy, cheap ways to tell people “Welcome to my home, I like Pinterest, Urban Outfitters, man buns and wearing toques and scarves indoors.” Sorry guys, you’re going to be super jealous of my strong container game.

11. Live life offline once and awhile

For this new gig I’ve been working on at a tech company, I had to do some research on millennials and their relationship with technology. Blah blah yadda yadda, point is, in doing so I stumbled across an Entrepreneur article that stated that millennials check their phone on average, 43 times a day. And I remember first thinking, “Huh, that actually seems pretty low” and then thinking, “You have become a sick sick human Emma Gillies.”

We treat our phones like extensions of ourselves- like limbs- and I am no exception. So I’m not going to do anything too dramatic like delete Instagram or remove myself from Facebook (how would I ever find out when people’s birthday’s are?) but I do plan on making a valiant effort to not have checking my phone be the knee-jerk reaction every time I am bored or lonely. Like really Emma, put that thing away and chill.the.fuck,out.

12. Stop saying the following things to your boyfriend:

“You haven’t posted a photo of the two of us in like 3 weeks. Is something wrong?”

“Is that seriously how you chew?”

“I’m going to light that **insert novelty sweater, hat, tank top, ratty housecoat** on fire if you wear in one more time.”

“Those are definitely not the song lyrics. Literally not even a little bit close.”

“Are you watching Braveheart/The Bourne Identity AGAIN?”

13. Make more time for friends

I’d like to think my post on “Hopes for my friends” made is clear how much I love and value my friendships. But last year was a real lesson in self-improvement, then self-pity, then self-realization, a little more self-pity, then finally somewhere in there, self-satisfaction. The point is I spent a whole chunk of 2015 concentrating on me.

So friends, this year get ready for some intense smothering. I’m going to text you at all hours, send you Britney Spears wisdom gifs to keep you motivated, tell your significant others they don’t deserve you, crawl into your beds while you sleep so you can wake up to my smiling face, buy you kittens you don’t want but are forced to raise and house for 14 years, and surprise you while you’re in the shower with a Justin Bieber karaoke sing-along.

2016 is going to be so cute. BFFS4LIFE

14. Wherever you travel this year, find an infinity pool and take a picture in it

Sure I’m going to pretend to look out spontaneously over the horizon like I don’t know someone is taking a picture of my back, and you’re going to know I’m full of shit, but you’re going to like it anyway, because infinity pools are the copper mugs of water bodies – everyone just loves them.

15. Empty the recycling bin every once and awhile

I probably won’t actually succeed in doing this because for whatever reason my body seems to reject the movement of glass and cardboard from one location to another. But I can at least try to not overload the recycling bin and then break into long, loud boats of laughter when my boyfriend opens the cupboard and everything spills onto the floor.

Baby steps people.

Happy New Year everyone! Wishing you all a year of happiness, laughter, copper appliances and pools with wicked views. Cheers!

Top 10 Lists That Would ACTUALLY Help Me Get Through the Day

November 14, 2015 By Emma Gillies in Humour Tags: Brunch, Fitness, Instagram, Netflix, T.O., Top 10 Lists, Toronto, TTC Leave a comment

So aside from this little personal blog of mine, I have spent a notable portion of the last 6 months partaking in a little freelance side gig for the Toronto-based lifestyle blog Narcity. And if I could narrow my experience there down to one lesson about today’s readership, it’s this:

People LOVE lists.

I mean, it seems almost pointless to write anything these days that falls into the dreaded territory of “multiple paragraphs.” We’re talking single sentences; maybe a flashy picture or an animated gif and then you change it all to font size 20, tip your hat and consider it a job kind-of well done. Unless we commit ourselves to an actual book, our daily reading these days amounts more to the “skimming” or “browsing” of brief news articles, tweets and those ever so poignant Instagram poems.

And it makes THIS blog writing look like I’m trying to succeed in completing the online version of War and Peace.

But here’s the thing about lists. Sure, I too find myself delving into the, “Top 10 Free Date Spots in the City” or, “Top 15 Unique Toronto Brunches” and I enjoy a good search of excellent rooftop patios or a step-by-step guide to a DIY floral crown, but if someone could get on writing THESE lists I think it would make all our lives a little bit easier:

1.Top 10 tricks to acknowledge ONLY the people you know on the street and not accidentally enthusiastically greet that human you definitely only recognize through creeping their profile on Instagram.

2. Top 10 ways to tell if he/she is really that into you that only has one list item and it’s: 1) If you’re reading this, you already know the answer, now please stop with the Googling and go get your freak on with someone new (OK, consider this list complete).

3. Top 10 Apps you can download that will immediately de-friend anyone who uses the words “Bae” or “Fuckboy” off of all forms of social media.

4. Top 10 bars in Toronto that you never have to worry about running into your ex’s new significant other.

5. Top 10 grocery stores in your area that have line-ups of 72 people or less on a Sunday afternoon.

6. Top 10 things to eat drunk at 3am that will be as satisfying as pizza but won’t have you waking up feeling like you’ve had an incredibly active one-night stand with food.

7. Top 10 full meal recipes that use three bowls or less.

8. Top 10 tricks to make your body look normal in photos rather than like your arms and legs have simultaneously become pregnant with twin burritos.

9. Top 10 daily throw away lines you can use to make it seem like you definitely watched and paid close attention to last night’s football/basketball/baseball/hockey game.

10. Top 10 Netflix recommendation websites for couples so you and your significant other don’t have a FULL ON domestic an hour deep into trying to choose a movie.

11. Top 10 ways to tell if you really have to wash your hair day or if you can get away with not doing it until tomorrow.

12. Top 10 TTC routes that you’re least likely to find someone standing next to you loudly consuming a granola bar while that she-devil Katy Perry blasts on his or her earphones.

13. Top 10 places to work out where the clientele is good looking enough to be motivating but not so fit that you cower in the fitting rooms surrounded by abs with a single tear running down your cheek.

14. Top 10 Brunch spots that are still brunch prices and not that of an elaborate 11am steak dinner.

15. Top 10 cures for a weekend bender that don’t involve you getting out of bed, or moving, or breathing heavily, or lifting your arms.

16. Top 10 ways to kindly tell your boyfriend you’re going to have an aneurysm if he doesn’t start hanging the wet bathmat up after he’s showered in the morning so you don’t passive aggressively bury it in a Top 20 list 😉

17. Top 10 ways to save money (Yep, that’s a serious one. I need someone to tell me how because right now one of my savings accounts is a MASON JAR guys! WITHOUT A LID!)

18. The Top 10 things you suddenly and shockingly find yourself caring about when you become an adult because I’m tired of feeling alone in my sudden obsession with throw pillows, shoe racks and having all the coat hangers in my closet match.

19. The Top 10 items/dressings/sauces to put on your salad to mask the taste of salad.

20. Top 10 cures for the most real, highly contagious and debilitating disease of the 21st Century: FOMO

So if anyone wants to get on writing these, that would be exceptionally helpful to my overall existence. Anyone?….Bueller?

Prone to Wander

September 25, 2015 By Emma Gillies in Travel Tags: Adventure, Explore, Globes, Maps, T.O., Toronto, Travel, Wanderlust 3 Comments

So here’s a little observation I’ve made this year: my friends need to stop getting married.

If that sounds like a selfish statement to make that’s because, well… I’m being selfish.

But here’s the thing: When people complain about hitting 30-years-old and experiencing the Domino effect of their friends getting hitched, the only complaint people take seriously is that of the mammalian species, “Singlesadpandalis,” more commonly known as the, “Ugh-I’m-so-single-and-lonely-and-weddings-are-just-three-hours-of-people-asking-when-I’m-going-to-find-someone.”

And maybe it’s because no one wants to sound like an asshole, (as I’m about to) but no one talks about the other major downside to weddings. Screw the “I’m single” birdsong, that just gives you more time to practice your Chicken Dance do what I always did when I was single: date alcohol. No one can be sad and lonely at an open bar, it’s NOT ALLOWED.

Instead, my core issue with weddings is twofold:

Celebrating human love has become ABSURDLY expensive
Referring to point 1, it gives you no time or money to do anything else.

I guess I didn’t really need the entire pretense; I could have just come right out and said that attending an average of a whopping NINE weddings a year means I’ve been too broke to travel.

In my 20s, travel was pretty core to me as a human. If I ever forget this I am reminded in the form of someone I haven’t seen in six years who asks, “What crazy adventures have you been up to lately?”

Except that because I have an onslaught of friends who have all decided to ditch Tinder and put a ring on it, I haven’t been on any crazy adventures. Instead, I’ve been at champagne fountains and Bachelorette parties abroad and in churches and at event halls and event barns across North America.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a COMPLETE jerk, I love the whole, “Celebration of a friend’s love thing.” Don’t mistake this post as being some giant middle finger in the face on my friend’s happiness; that’s THE BEST. I’m all about loving love and I’m never one to turn down an open bar.

It’s just that it’s all starting to feel a tad too much like real life.

I have a sneaking suspicion that despite my best efforts I have landed myself back on this fast moving train of life and I’m going to blink and it will be five years from now and all the bar nights and bad decisions will have morphed into afternoon teas and serious debates about the most gentle brand of breast-pumps.

And before you roll your eyes and l throw some reference to Peter Pan Syndrome my way I GET IT… We all have to grow up sometime.

I revel in the idea of getting older; I just don’t want to equate growing up with the end of adventure.

The more I delve into the world of schedules and weddings and babies the more I miss the days of exploration. I miss waking up in hostels and for a second, not remembering exactly where I am. I miss smelling like earth, and never really knowing where the day will bring me. I miss the human growth that comes with feeling completely uncomfortable and figuring out how I deal with that discomfort.

I’ve always suspected I have the soul of a wanderer. Clues to this fact include but are not limited to the following:

1. I am physically attracted to world maps and globes.

In all seriousness, if I stumble across a really attractive wall map I have an actual bodily reaction that I thought was reserved for my 16-year-old self, lusting after a sweaty Josh Hartnett in Pearl Harbor. Much like if 2001’s Josh walked past me at this moment, there’s something about a good map; I just have to reach out and touch it.

2. On a related and equally-disturbing-to-other-people note, I feel what I can only describe as sexual excitement when other people talk about their recent trips abroad.

So next time you’re telling me about that trip to Iceland, don’t mistake those noises I’m making as passive encouragement my friends, I’m getting fucking TURNED ON. It, give or take, goes something like this: “Oh ya tell me where you went. Bali? Yessss!!!!! Namibia, oh so good, say it to me again! Mmmmm, did you say you camped in Argentina? Whisper it to me slowly you filthy little minx.”

3. I have on multiple occasions seriously considered becoming a flight attendant.

Just for the staff discounts and the feeling of your daily office never being in one place.

4. I think I could happily live in an airport

Just for the people watching potential (and access to 18 different Starbucks).

5. I think flights are the only thing I want to spend my money on for the rest of my life.

There is a part of my brain of course that realizes this is wholly irresponsible, but the bigger part of my brain often tells that side of my brain to shut the fuck up and stop contemplating mortgages and square footage because there’s still 51 countries in Africa I haven’t explored yet.

The point is, (after all those points) as much as I often try to bend and twist and shove myself into the form of an upstanding, contributing member of Toronto society, there is always this little voice in the back of my head whispering, “Remember how much you love waking up in unknown cities with no idea where the day will take you?”

There was a time in my life that I thought my motivation to travel came from a discontentment of what I had at home. And hey, there was a couple of years in my 20’s where that was probably a major contributing factor.

At 24, I was constantly itchy, busy building and burning relationships in an attempt to satisfy this itch, and then really drawn to the idea of running away instead of mending all the fires I had lit. I was young, and stupid, and careless with other people’s hearts. And I was cocky enough to think I could always find something “better.”

But I’m not 20 anymore, and I don’t consider myself reckless, naïve or cocky (at least not MOST of the time). Instead, I have come to realize that in this lovely world of ours, people place value on different things. Some people choose to own objects. There are those that want to own things and see value in chasing after these things.

And I’ve never thought there was anything wrong with that. I respect the hell out of anyone who is capable of owning anything in downtown Toronto. If you have acquired your own toothbrush and at least seven pairs of acceptably clean and attractive underwear you deserve a resounding applause for nailing this whole adult thing.

But there is also nothing wrong with chasing experiences; there is nothing wrong with collecting stories instead of objects.

It’s easy to allow yourself to feel guilty for not wanting what everyone else wants. For not having a predetermined checklist for life where you start knocking off:

Graduate School
Get a career
Find a significant other
Trick that person into thinking they want to spend 50 years with you
Lock that shit down

Often it seems that if you don’t want all those things in that exact order you’re cast aside into the abyss of what some so kindly refer to as, “The fucking weirdos.”

IF you rock out life in the most socially acceptable way, you travel in your youth and then you settle down. You build a life for yourself in your own city. You get older and you form and solidify relationships. You develop ties and roots.

But a desire to travel doesn’t come with an expiry date. It’s not like you have to hit a certain age and suddenly feel completely fulfilled by one place and one city and one group of people. You don’t just, “Get it out of your system” and move on.

… Or maybe some people do, who knows, I’m not an expert in the travel psyche. But I do know that for some (i.e. ME) there still a part longs for the elusive, “Other.”

And what a boring place the world would be is we were all searching for the same things; if the same things made all of us happy.

There has to be some space for the fucking wierdos too!

What I know now is:

This whole wandering soul thing of mine isn’t a phase and,
I don’t feel even vaguely guilty about feeling this way anymore because I know it has nothing to do with a discontentment with my life here.

I love this insane life I lead. I love Toronto and its street and it parks and its patios and its charisma and magnetism. I adore the friends I have here and my boyfriend with his big feet and bigger personality. I even love the horrendously expensive condo we share. Marble countertops are all the rage on King West and quite frankly I’m obsessed with them.

But I also know now- after years of suffering under the weight of gypsy-shame- that you don’t always have to be seeking something else because something is lacking in your life; sometimes the wander is just for wanderings sake.

You wander because of some deeply innate human impulse to explore, with the knowledge that we were never meant to stay in one place for long. Because before all the bricks and concrete and towers we were first and foremost migrators, and therefore there is some part of us that is prone to want to navigate unknown lands.

You wander because there are those of us that will never feel more connected to humanity than in those rare solo moments of being tired and dirty and more uncomfortable than we’ve ever felt.

You wander because you see new places differently than you see your own city; it’s like using a completely different set of eyes. New cities and towns and villages are like a complete attack on the senses. You notice more, absorb more, hear more and smell more because everything is different.

And you wander because you love people, and travelling allows you the opportunity to meet so many humans from so many different backgrounds. And in the end, isn’t life more about what connects us rather than what divides us; in noticing and appreciating the core commonalities that all humans share?

We’re not searching for something better, or something more.

We’re just searching, because that’s what we were built for.

So wander on my little explorers. Or if you can’t afford to, do what I do: just buy a really hip vintage wall map off of Etsy and Google street view your way through other countries.

An ode to Toronto

May 24, 2015 By Emma Gillies in Toronto Tags: Toronto, Writing 1 Comment

You have been called many things: Hogtown, Toronto the Good, Hollywood North, T.O., the T-dot, and most recently some no-name rapper from Degrassi nicknamed you, “The 6”

But I have only ever called you one thing: Home.

Toronto, you are my city. Born and raised midway between the Annex and Little Italy, I have worn down footpaths on your streets for 30 years. I have watched as you have changed and morphed and developed into the bustling metropolis you are now.

You are definitely not a town; you are not even a city. You have long since surpassed that to something that can only be described as a huge fucking megalopolis, absorbing other communities into your population as your boundaries have grown.

Scarborough? Mississauga? Etobicoke?

NOPE. Sorry, ALL TORONTO now people.

Toronto, I don’t see you through rose-colored glasses. I am all too aware of your imperfections. They are many and they are mighty but I adore you despite them.

Your waterfront, never particularly gorgeous to begin with now seems to exist purely for the breeze it provides one of the 200-condo towers that line it.

You tear down everything old and beautiful and build up 60 floors of glass and metal.

Your people are often referred to as the most pretentious of Canadians. They are called stuck up, self-absorbed, cold; and hey, as a local girl myself I can’t say I always disagree. Blame technology, blame the increase in population, but sometimes I try and see this city from an outsiders perspective and realize we are at times teetering on the edge of going the way of New York – where people are so plugged in and driven to move from point A to point B that no one really looks up and enjoys the ride anymore.

But a boring city you are not. Maybe your residents think they’re the center of the free world, but that’s only because, well damn, life is good here.

Tell me why you hate this city and I’ll tell you why you’re wrong.

Toronto, you have heart. Your people may love spin class, matcha tea and Instagramming morning coffee, but they also senselessly devote themselves to a hockey team who hasn’t given them anything to look forward to for almost 50 years.

You are a city of artists, poets, entrepreneurs, comedians, food lovers and musicians where creativity isn’t just accepted but welcomed and nurtured. Sure, you are a city with renowned Universities that turn students into doctors and lawyers, but you are also a place where bartenders can hone their talent and move on to open their own restaurants in the city.

You take creative minds and allow them to be entrepreneurs. You are a city of large corporations but also small businesses, where your neighborhoods rally around local coffee shops and revival movie theatres. You take high school garage bands and put them on stage.

You don’t just attract talented people; you breed talent.

Toronto, you don’t take a night off. You have the combined energy of the near three million people populate your buildings. Walk across Queen or King west on any given Thursday night at 3am and it still buzzes with the noise of financial district employees already regretting that night’s decisions, with servers just getting off shift who still need to unwind, with people from the surrounding Etobicoke, Mississauga and Scarborough all trying to figure out which vomit soaked blue-line bus will get them home.

And somewhere behind this hum of alcohol and hormones is the music.

This may be a bias from someone with a personal infatuation with live music, but Toronto THANK YOU. You make me feel lucky to live in one of the few Canadian cities that artists from abroad choose to play shows at. Do you know what a rarity it is to live in a place where that much talent will come to you?

You have venues with history, where the beers and concerts of the past literally soak the walls. The Horseshoe, the Dakota Tavern, Massey Hall, the Phoenix, the Opera House and Lee’s Palace are all venues that are extraordinary to hear live music at simply because of the history that reverberates through its walls.

And sure you have 9-month long winters where freshly fallen snow turns to black slush within a half hour. Your ski hills look like the premature inbred cousins of Whistlers and Banff’s. I can honestly say I have never even set foot on a hill and the only reason I have felt lacking is because of the top notch handsome dude factor that accompanies the sport.

No, your people don’t relish the winters. We don’t dance in the snowfalls because we know it only means ridiculous traffic and TTC delays. Maybe we toboggan on a sunny day, maybe a whisky-infused night might end in a disfigured snow angel, but mostly we deal with winters in the only way we have learned how to: complain about fucking EVERYTHING.

But Toronto, your summers make up for it. Do you see what happens to your people when the weather goes above 10 degrees? When they venture out, are kind to one another again, when your streets are lined with patios, people take long lazy lunches and beer flows quickly and without guilt.

You are a summer city. Your people suffer through your winters because they know summer means art festivals and people watching in Trinity Bellwoods Park. Summer means rare instances of hiking and the Queen East beaches being more than just a horrific wind tunnel of despair. It means farmers markets and taking the ferry to Wards Island. It means group BBQs on condo rooftops and trying to sneak into other people’s condo pools. It means lawn seats at the Molson Amphitheatre and nosebleed Jays tickets when the dome opens.

And you may not be as friendly as Halifax. And let’s be honest, NO ONE is as friendly as St. John’s. And unlike Vancouver, your residents don’t wake up every morning with an ocean view and mountains as their backyard. And Torontonians definitely don’t cure hangovers with ginger Kombucha and an early morning 10K hike.

No, in Toronto we couch, we self-loathe and then we eat some Goddamn magnificent brunch. No one loves brunch more than a Torontonian.

WE.BRUNCH.SO.HARD.

And you don’t have Banff’s glacier water, and Toronto kids are too delicate to handle a weeks worth of Calgary’s Stampede. And when it comes to Winnipeg….

…I’ve got nothing; you have everything Winnipeg does.

I have travelled often and fallen in love with many cities for many reasons. Toronto may not be the most scenic or its people the most welcoming. We may all get early onset asthma from the smog and raise our kids on the 40th floor of a condo building because we’d have to sell said children to another country to afford a house with a backyard.

Yet still, I have never wanted to live anywhere else. Toronto you are many things – manic, busy, stressful, vibrant, diverse, dazzlingly beautiful, monstrous and a constant assault on the senses.

But still, you are simply put, home.