The time I had a Taylor Swift moment with a, “Love Fern”

Ever since I can remember, I’ve been a sucker for romantic gestures.

When I was in University, I met Andrew. Andrew stood 6’3, with sandy brown hair, and a charming smile. His love of snowboarding, photography, and music was so intriguing. Not only that, Andrew was very intelligent. He was a successful entrepreneur, full of ideas and passion. He attended the University of Waterloo, the University down the road from mine.

The first time I met Andrew, he informed me that he was leaving for China for a month. Instead of asking for my phone number, he asked for my email address. My email address! Andrew emailed me every single day. I felt as though I was exploring the city with him. Every email was written with care, and had a photo he’d taken associated with it. A virtual postcard. I couldn’t help but think, what kind of guy emails a girl he met once, every single day.


Eventually, Andrew came back to Waterloo. He told me that he had a surprise for me. Somehow – don’t ask me the regulations on this because I honestly don’t know and I promise you my roommates were just as concerned as you are feeling while reading this – he smuggled me a plant from China.


The plant became a bit of a joke amongst my housemates. If you’ve ever watched How To Lose A Guy In Ten Days, you’ve heard of the love fern. We aptly named Andrew’s strawberry plant my love fern. In the movie, Kate Hudson pretended that the plant represented her and Matthew McConaughey’s relationship. Matthew let the plant die. When Kate Hudson discovered that the love fern was no more, she unleashed her inner crazy.


One day, I asked Andrew if he wanted to hangout, and he unfortunately was too busy studying. I had a major crush on him, so naturally as I was Netflix and chilling by myself, I started browsing the photos on his Facebook page. Upon looking at his Facebook profile, I noticed that someone had tagged him in their status.

The status read, “When your amazing boyfriend comes all the way to Toronto to surprise you on a weeknight!”


What the hell? Right?! I know. I was there.

The lying sack of whatever was not studying math, he was studying the anatomy of his Toronto girlfriend.

I could not believe this. I’d been lied to, manipulated, and humiliated.


I smashed the hell out of the love fern. It felt incredible. The dirt scattered across the sidewalk.

Naturally, I ended things with Andrew.

When I walked to class the next day I couldn’t help but smile at the ruptured dirt and decapitated plant at my feet.


It’s been at least 4-6 years since the epic love fern incident. I’ve met many more Andrews. In this case, I use Andrew as a metaphor for a deceitful person, who pretends to be someone that they’re not. The Andrews have opened car doors, they’ve driven out of the way to rescue me from car accidents, they’ve come on to my friends. Sometimes, despite my gut feeling that I’ve met another Andrew, I let the romantic gestures take the driver’s seat, and lead me down the fucking grand canyon.

Sometimes your gut tells you that someone is the devil incarnate, yet you like to live in La La Land: Where they open car doors, they tell you that you look wonderful tonight, they ask you if you’re too cold, and they make you a grilled cheese at 2 am. The perfect grilled cheese can make you overlook the blatantly obvious code red comments about how sexy your friend is.


Every time I get, “Andrewed,” I smash a symbolic love fern. In this case, I’m smashing a jar of pickled onions.







20 Things Nobody Talks About On Halloween

I have concerns.

  1. How did I get face paint in the crevice of my armpit? Nobody knows. Nobody.blog-ew
  2. How in the world, am I going to pee in a giant pacman costume made of roughly, oh,  30 pizza boxes.blog-spud-ross

    Curated list of most complex Halloween costumes to pee in

    A 1920’s flapper costume.

    ANYTHING that has sequins or beads dangling is gonna be a bit o’ an issue. Where do those beads go? You don’t want to know.


    Any costume that involved artistic capabilities. For instance, I saw a homemade Lumiere and Clogsworth last year… I’m very interested to see when that, “Oh shit,” moment happened to the wooden clock. Was it in line at the bathroom? Alone in the stall trying to manoeuvre around its pendulum?


  3. Why is everything dirty? I mean e v e r y t h i n g. There’s feathers in the carpet. There’s a sticky substance on the dog. Eyelash glue is sticking to your credit cards. You have a lipstick LID, no lipstick.


  4. I really wish my makeup brushes didn’t get so well acquainted with that, “fake” dirt. Now drop the word “fake” Halloween incorporated, this shit is very real. My apartment had so much damage from the fake dirt from Halloween 2016, that I actually had to move.


  5. I don’t know if I’m a skeleton or a zombie but I DO know that this is not washing off for at least two showers.


  6. Why did I put glue in my eye?


  7. 12:01 AM: “…Yes but when do we eat pizza?”


  8. Why did I give my number to one of the diggers from Recess? Not even TJ Detweiler… some goddamn side plot character. Better question, why hasn’t the digger from Recess texted me?


  9. Did I miss some mandatory, “girl code” lesson where we learned how to turn our faces into freakin’ starry night on Halloween?


  10. How the fuck did she make that. Honestly. She’s probably looking at me like, “oh you’re a deer? That’s cute. I’m the entire table of the Last Supper with appetizers AND dessert.”


  11. Wings are never a good idea.


    Help me I’m stuck.

  12. If one more person asks me what my costume is I’m going to tear two holes for eyes in Melissa’s Egyptian cotton sheets. Did all males at this party sleep through history class? I’m a flapper from the 1920’s!


    Man at party: “Haha… does that mean you fly?”


    “… How do you not fall down more?”

    Man at party: “Haha no for real, what is that?”

    “… Badass chicks from the 1920s era.. drank during prohibition, did the Charleston…”

    **Proceeds to do the Charleston**


    Man at party: “Yo, I think that’s the twist.”


    “… Chicago. Gangsters in New York. Anything.”

    Man at party: “Yeah I don’t really watch movies…”

    “… Do you open books?”

  13. If someone shows up to the party in the same costume as you, you automatically go into, “take down this imposter” mode. You ask your nearby confidants for reassurance that you did, in fact, pull it off better. As my roommate stated when she found out that there was another, “Wilma” from Scooby Doo at the party, “Wilma’s going down”.


  14. Do I want to be sweaty or freezing this year? There is no in-between.


  15. Halloween night, “dead person”. The next morning trying to scrub the white face paint off,  “recovering cocaine addict”.


    Get it off. Get it off now.

  16. “Oh. Well we found Nemo and he’s sexier than I remembered”.


  17. If your outfit needs to be, “refrigerated” (looking at you Ms. vegetable garden)  intermittently between wears, you are way more experienced and committed to Halloween than I.


  18. Don’t forget to get up early the day after Halloween to sit on the porch and watch the lone, “blind mouse” stumble home.


  19. When you half-assed your costume and everyone is forcing you to document it for all of eternity by requesting constant pictures. Just embrace it.


  20. You tell yourself that next year, you’re going to plan your costume in advance so that you don’t look like a total idiot, again. Like a New Year’s resolution, you never follow through.


    Each year, it’s a meltdown in the final hour. This causes you to do something super generic with items you already own (looking at you Wednesday Adams, and salt n pepper shakers).


    Until next year, salt shaker out.


The Stranger’s Highlight Reel: Phds & Professional Hockey Players

This past weekend my girlfriend and I stole laughs from strangers amongst crowded bars and listened to their, “highlight reel”. We determined that each of us, ourselves included, has a, “highlight reel” that we share with new people. These highlight reels provided us with quick feelings of infatuation.


Over the weekend some of their highlight reels included, “professional hockey player”,


“Living alone in Ohio”.


“Born in Vancouver, living in Florida. I have a Phd from Australia”.


We engross ourselves in tales from strangers of their drug lord uncle who was finally busted.


Did he put up a fight?

The guy that is the CEO of his own successful company he started when he was only 15 years old.

The guy who looks after his struggling brother in their penthouse apartment.


The underdog who worked his way to the top.

The guy that’s already been married and divorced at 28 years old.

The guy that wants to change people’s lives for the better.

The guy that teaches little kids their first instrument.


The guy that plants trees and studies soils and streams.

The guy that was once homeless. 

The guy that wants to go to school in Ireland.

The guy that did go to school in Ireland, with the love of his life.


Maybe there aren’t enough chick flicks on Netflix, because there’s nothing I love more than dissecting a stranger’s broken heart. It’s addictive. I don’t want to hear about your favourite colour, I want to know about the joy you felt playing in the mud, catching frogs at 6 years old and how freaked out you were the first time you squeezed that frog too hard.


So we danced with maracas & sombreros and made strong, “you’re my human, I pick you” eye contact across the bar. We then celebrated those choices with tequila. Lots of tequila.

Tequila makes the highlight reels more interesting.

They’ll tell you about their father who had a heart attack, or their Grandma that won the lottery.

Strangers never cease to surprise me.

An NHL hockey player (something I only found out from google) grabbed my guitar over my body parts (impressive right) and played me the intro to fiddler’s green.


He came to say bye to me on Sunday, and I hugged him with the, “see you never stranger” quote. He answered with, “You said that two nights ago, yet here I am”.

He shut the door and I watched through the glass as he retreated into the expensive car that he never bragged/told me about. I couldn’t help but look out the window again and see if he still sat in the car under the tree in front of my house, which he did. I felt relieved.

My curiosity had me checking again, and the spot where his car was lay empty… and it made me sad. As quickly as these strangers with their highlight reel come into your life, they disappear. You feel like a piece of you goes with them. The laughs and stories you shared are now driving off to another country… and you’re alone on the floor of your bedroom in front of the heater with a dark cellphone and a warm tea.


Then you start reminiscing of these moments of hysterical laughter that you’ve shared with pilots, dentists, musicians, actors, environmentalists, salesmen, and athletes.

The 6’3 boyfriend that fell even more in love with you when he was kicked out of the party and you chose to freeze your ass off together with sweaters for blankets in the backseat of a tiny Volkswagen. A sleep so uncomfortable that you woke up at 5 AM outside of the nearby barn soaking wet from the dewey grass.

The guy that said he’d like to marry you someday at the top of the ferris wheel.

The fire in his eyes when he explained how he started his own business.

The dead pan gaze and averted eyes when he told you what happened to his father.

These moments that humanize us. The passionate people that ignite a drive within ourselves that we didn’t even know existed.

Thank you for coming into my life, if only for a moment.

Surely That’s The Moment You Made Your Exit From This Awkward First Date. Incorrect.

“I don’t like you, but my bro does, here’s his number”Boring (and kind of rude) Bro

“I can’t stop touching my hair because you make me nervous”McDreamy Bro

I like writing about dating because it’s quirky, fun, and uncomfortable. My stories make my friends in relationships hug their guy a little tighter that day, and make my single friends join in with,


Everyone takes different paths when it comes to dating. Some people date one guy from high school, and end up together. Some people go on 30 first dates in a year (what? who? me? no?).


… So I have gathered a LITTLE, “awkward dating” material.

If the idea of going on a first date makes me feel uncomfortable, I like to force myself to go regardless. It’s a good way to grow your confidence, and sense of humour.

Anyone that knows me, knows that I am a sucker for a bro in a navy suit, with brown leather shoes. I associate this outfit with passion, intellect, success, chivalry, and overall charming-ness. Before I left for Ottawa, I told my girlfriend/coworker/person that I miss dearly that if anyone needed me I could be found on parliament hill drooling over the men in the navy suits.

So, when bro in the navy suit asked me to meet him (and his friend?!) for a Saturday afternoon drink, I said yes (YES even though he said he was going to be with another bro). The suit blinded my judgement.


This is how it went down.

I entered the restaurant from stage left, bro and bro’s bud were on stage right. Bros were sitting opposite from each other. So, in my entering panic, I took the closest seat, next to Bro Third Wheeling Our Date. 

WELL, bro I was on said, “date” (if you can even call it that) with, was unimpressed with my choice, and made me move to the seat next to him (Ok? It’s been 5 seconds and you’re already telling me I did something wrong).

We all make our introductions. The bros are all dressed up because they were at the wine & cheese show (an event that he had asked me to be his date at, to which I had refused). I am now thanking my lucky stars that I had declined this invite, as you could cut the tension with a twinkee (you don’t even need a butter knife).

I’ve been there 3 minutes, and I can already tell this is not going to go well. While I’m considering my exit options, his friend fixes the tension by talking about the Red Hot Chilli Peppers (nice move Third Wheel Bro, everyone loves the RHCP, this SURELY will get all of us talking).


Navy Suit Bro, doesn’t like the Red Hot Chilli Peppers.


Not only that, he goes on to tell us that he doesn’t actually like music at all.


Not rap, not country, not jazz, not classical, NOT top 40. No music. Ever.

Now, because I have a sick way of deliberately making an awkward situation worse by addressing the GIANT FUCKING ELEPHANT IN THE ROOM, I use this moment to segway into,

“… Soooooo I work in the music industry” – Gives No Fucks Girl.


Laughter ensues from Third Wheel Bro. Navy Suit Bro does not crack a smile.

As you’re reading this, you’re probably thinking, surely this is the moment that you made your exit.



I didn’t want to be RUDE to the man who demanded I spit my gum out (and held a napkin up to my face until I obliged).

IDIOT (me).


I was able to stay because his bro was actually pretty witty, and made the awkwardness bearable.

We decided to play a game (the name of it is escaping me, but you slide a thing on a board with some pucks and salt and you casually let the guy win every time because you’re non-competitive like that).


Navy suit guy (bro sorry) did NOT enjoy how well Third Wheel Bro and I were getting along. I wasn’t interested in him, he was just a truly decent human being.

Navy Suit Bro whose name we are now going to change to Boring (and kind of rude) bro decides to pull a Houdini on us and motherfuckin’ disappear, WITH his jacket. So I’m sitting there, pointing out the obvious,

“He took his jacket, maybe the bathroom is chilly”.

“Haha maybe” – Third Wheel Bro


“He’s not a smoker is he?”

“Ummm.. nope haha.” – Third Wheel Bro


“WELL THEN, I suppose I will just leave?”

“If you want… this doesn’t seem to be going well.” – Third Wheel Bro



**starts putting jacket on**

Of course, this is the PERFECT moment for Houdini to reappear, as I’m getting ready to bail without so much as a goodbye.

“Oh you leaving?” – Houdini Boy Who Can’t Hide The Lack of Disappointment On His Face

“Yeah uh, nice meeting you, bye”

**Does the awkward hug**

… I am not 2 minutes out the door, when my phone buzzes.

“I don’t like you, but my bro does, here’s his number, 416-go-live-happily-ever-after-and-die” (so I altered the last few digits a bit).

At this point… I’m offended and feeling complimented all at the same time. I see no future with Third Wheel Bro, but I have the urge to text him merely to say,

“… Seriously guys? What the FUCK just happened”.

I believe I read the text on my walk home, and loudly pronounced,


Birds flew out of the trees (no they didn’t but that would have been cool. Mostly I made a homeless man jump).

Fast forward three months or so later, to this past Friday night. WHO DO I SEE, but motherfuckin’ Houdini (in said Navy Suit – is that all he owns?).

Oh it gets better.


He isn’t alone.


I know, I was there!

Not only that, she is basically having sex with him in front of all of us. It looked like the Nicki Minaj anaconda video.


I couldn’t look away.

She could get LOW.

He was absolutely loving it.

I was shoving all of my friends in front of me while I curiously peered around their body to watch this car crash unfold.


“Is this real life?!”

Yes it was, my friend’s guy friend on crutches was also across the room motor boating a stranger’s tits.


This was very real.

I ate a poutine the size of my head and tried to forget what I saw.

All was well in the world again.


… for the most part.

– Kails






21 One-Sided Conversations You Have With Yourself On A Daily Basis

  1. No you can’t afford that. Put it down. It’s gimmicky and stupid and they’re making you pay extra because it’s fun. Don’t let advertising win.
    *Walks out of Shopper’s Drug Mart with the “Frozen” themed Elsa band-aids*



2. When your visa is all racked up and they suggest you make the minimum payment:

“New number who dis”


3. *Driving*

Shit, I almost fucking died.


Wow, thank you universe for saving me.. I clearly am meant for bigger and better things. Just for that, I will be a better person… for like, an hour.

4. *Uber 1 of the Night – 8:00 PM* 

Me – “Hello sir how is your night going?”

*Uber 2 of the Night – 10:00 PM*

Me – “YAAAAS this is my radio station TURN IT UP.”

*Uber 3 of the Nighter – 2:04 AM*

*Sobbing* “… And then I moved to this new city *sniffs* and I don’t know annnnnnyone and now I’m living with two strangers from kijiji and I don’t have ANY money OR FRIENDS and-oh this is my house, yes out front’s fine. BYE! THANK YOU!”

Next morning

 “… I gotta stop telling my life story and hopes and dreams to the damn uber drivers. ”

5.  *Monday*

Me – “Buy yourself a coffee you deserve it. Start your week right.”


Me – “You’re a bit tired today, buy yourself a coffee and you’ll perk right up.”


Me – *sighs* Need I say it?



6. My phone never goes off, why does no one in the universe love me?


*Phone buzzes*

“Ew how dare someone disturb me”


7. *Singing in the car*


“Oh damn. I am good at this.”


“Columbia Records – watch out. Now do I want X-Tina or the dude from Maroon 5 as my coach?”

8. “Why does everyone want to buy their coffee right now?”

“Why does everyone want to buy their groceries right now?”

“Why does everyone else want to watch the game here?”

“Why is everyone using their internet right now?”

“Why is everyone else calling Bell right now.”


9. “Why is that baby crying? I am never having kids”


*Family with a cute baby walks by* 



10. *Pouring Cream Into Coffee*

“…Little more. Yuuuuup little more. Yup. Yup that is, officially too much.”


11. “…Huh. Since when am I attracted to guys still in University AND hot dads. Oh, he spoke, never-mind.”


12. “Why am I sexually frustrated by my Prime Minister?”


13. “Nickelback IS alright.. fuck it.. I’m not afraid to say it. Don’t care who knows it.”


14. “Am even a registered adult?”


15. “It’s just one bowl of pasta no you won’t get fat from it.”

“Add some cheese.”


*Repeats every day of the week*


16. “One day when I have my millions, I am going to buy 5 of those ____(sweaters/sunglasses/jackets/puppies)____ in every colour!”


17. “When are we going to have Fridays off permanently? Is this even on the table for legislators? Do they not realize we have to book a vacation day to get those Doctor, Dentist, Banking–ANYTHING that requires an appointment really—visits taken care of. So what do you do? YOU DON’T GO.”


18.”Why do I have to choose between dinner or going to the gym? Why do we live like this?! We should take a lesson from the dogs. They seem to have that figured out. They have a permanent servant who looks after their every whim, and you better believe they’re not rushing off anywhere unless it’s towards the XL bag of ruffles that’s being cracked open in the next room.”


“In my next life, I want to be Oprah–NO Beyonce’s dog.”



19. “Utterly shocked that I haven’t been discovered yet for __(insert talent that I don’t have here)__. Just kidding, this was all for fun to teach you humbleness, you’re really Jay Z’s daughter that he put up for adoption.”


“Kailey you’re white.”


20. “I will honestly be in this same position for the rest of my life. Career advancement – LAWL you need to be bilingual, have 5 years experience as a Navy Seal, have worked as an intern for free for 3 years at a top PR firm while Daddy paid for your new Steve Mads and gluten-free pasta.”


21. “If I think about the shape I want to be in hard enough… my body will probably just figure it out.”



My Volcano Is Better Than Yours: Advice From The 6th Prettiest

I’ve always wanted to be the best at something. I believe there’s a competitive nature in all of us that was inbred from minuscule rituals of, “My volcano is better than yours”.

My volcano was a papier-mâché mask that looked more like a slice of pizza than an art project. The colour composition of my mask was, COMBINE ALL THE COLOURS (red, yellow, green). I learned that combining all of the colours creates brown. My brown pizza mask didn’t make me feel like a fairy princess like the other girls’ masks, nor did it fulfill my craving to be the best.


I did not like art class, I did not like art class at all.

As I grew older, I learned from the girls at school that the boys had conducted a poll, and I was 6th prettiest in our grade. Well I didn’t like that at all either. What the hell was 6th prettiest going to get me in life? Not a date that’s for sure.


I was also the second tallest girl in my grade, which actually meant a little bit more than, “standing in the back of the school pictures with all of the boys and feeling like an ogre”.


I had been conditioned to feel bad about my awkward lankiness. Along with long legs came big feet and big hands. Big hands were not, “cute” to the other boys. I desired freakishly small hands and short stubby legs more than anything. Well, that and a pair of boobs would be nice. Training bras in the gym change room was getting a TAD embarrassing.


Well, turns out, my ogre legs helped to make me pretty damn good at running… and also… high jump, long jump, triple jump.


Turns out my long legs got me first place ribbons in the 100, 200, and best of all, a ticket to “Area 5”, where I could compete for our school.

I liked this. I liked this a lot.

Here’s the thing about success, you’re also going to have to overcome some setbacks. I questioned running backwards into a pole and trying to land on a mat as opposed to the concrete surrounding it. The possibility of injury led me to question my own skills, and the inevitable happened. I flinched and I landed on top of the pole, which is pretty fucking painful let me tell you. It hurt so badly, that I did not want to try to succeed again. I wanted to quit.


If you think this is going to be the, “get back on the horse” sort of stories, sorry to let you down. I quit high jump and never looked back.

However, I did learn that when you do not have confidence in your own skills, you will inevitably experience failure.

So, I still had the running thing going.

In high school, I applied my running skills to the rugby team. Rugby improved my self worth. I’d come to school with bruises all over my legs in my daisy dukes. There were girls who told me that they would never be able to live with bruises all over their legs all summer long. There were boys that told me only lesbians played rugby (and basically that I was a freak).

A part of me knew that it didn’t always matter what other people thought of me. I felt like there was something special about me and I was going to keep chasing successes (typical gen Y attitude right).

The 6th prettiest girl was going to be a somebody to herself, not to others.


I found working hard to be incredibly rewarding.

I became comfortable with being alone, and consequently lonely.

I set my sights on being the best at something new.

I wanted to take the easy route, go to a mediocre school and take a program I was not interested in just to do the motions. I wanted to go out with my boyfriend of the moment rather than study for tomorrow’s math exam. Instead, I disciplined myself and had my pick of all of the Universities that I applied to. I wanted to stay back for an extra year of 12 B with all of my friends, however my family convinced me that I was ready for bigger things.


The 6th prettiest girl found new competition grounds.

I fucked off for the first two years. I wanted to party with friends. I managed to go out 4 days a week and still make the grades.

Eventually, my priorities shifted. I liked getting A’s on my papers. I liked impressing my teachers. I liked doing my readings and learning new skills.

I liked sitting in the front of the class and knowing the answers to the teachers’ questions, while others showed up in sweatpants and struggled to stay awake (don’t get me wrong there were days I was that girl also).


I would put in WORK at the library. I will never forget studying until 1 AM in my residence common room for my first year Business exam on the freakin’ Saturday of Hallo-freakin-ween weekend. I yearned to be out drinking with my troll doll floor mates and the man in the banana costume.


I missed out on some things along the way. But, I had learned when I worked hard, my anxiety was lessened, and things started working out rather nicely for me.

I still wanted to have the best damn Volcano anyone had every seen. A Volcano so explosive that it was considered a weapon.


This meant that when I couldn’t find a job immediately after University, I made the best damn oreo frappucinos anyone had EVER SEEN.


Working hard at even the silliest of endeavours (you want a latte fredo? WTF is that man c’mon it’s my FIRST day) eliminated that fear of cracking my head open on some concrete.

The 6th prettiest girl now has a pretty kickass career that brought her away from her family and friends to our country’s capital.

The 6th prettiest girl faces one of her fears every single day: art. Graphic design is not where Ms. pizza face mask would have predicted she would end up.

Working hard now is not an option. Working hard is maintaining happiness. All of my eggs are in one basket. Which is why I am currently sitting alone on a Starbucks patio writing this blog, watching all of the happy couples eat gelato together.


I’m definitely not the best at everything.


But when I work hard, I find everything somehow finds it’s place.


Ok, well that’s not entirely true. There’s still people that will rate you as the 6th prettiest, and make you feel like you will never be good enough.

One of my deepest fears is to be deemed irrelevant, inadequate, and replaceable.

My whole life, I will try my hardest to be nice to the people who tell me the bruises on my legs are disgusting.

As my old sales manager always told me, “It’s none of my business what other people think of me”.


I try not to question myself as often.


The volcano might not always erupt.

I may be alone in a strange city kicking the volcano for letting me down.

I may actually believe that I can use Tinder as a means of making friends. I may actually think that asking someone, “hey wanna be my friend” comes across as honest as opposed to pathetic.

However, eventually, someone is going to look at the rows of pink and purple papier-mâché fairy masks, and decide that there’s something a bit better about the vomit coloured pizza mask.


Wish me luck.

– Kail

It’s Not Just You: When You’re Not Sure If You Fit In With Those Taking Tequila Shots Or Those Paying Off Mortgages…

We’re in this weird stage of our life where we don’t quite fit in as adults, and we’re definitely not in with the bar star College kids.

Or are we?:


No. No, we’re definitely not.

When you’re around 19-21 year olds all you can think is:


When you’re around an adult audience, you’re definitely not there yet either! Oh your kids have are home sick? My best suggestion is some Flinstone’s vitamins.


We all have practiced this look when either group talks about something you can’t relate to:


EDM DJ’s? Oh.. yeah.. that can be kinda fun?

Place settings at your wedding? Hmm, I’m sure Pinterest could help you out with that?


Just keep doing what you’re doing! My opinion? Oh.. no you got this!

Take last night for example.. I, the extremely sober DD, was escorting a couple of 85′ girlfriends to the drunk food establishments, as we began getting pestered by a couple of boys born in 98′.


I have zero patience for five foot nothing over-confident teenagers commenting on how they would, “sooooo bang that chick”.


In heels, I’m standing at a strong 5’11. In what world does a 5’5 18 year old who started growing a bit of peach fuzz think he can stand behind me assessing my ass while I try to order a pita? Oh THIS world.

I love a good standoff with a guy who wants to humiliate me with sexual innuendos.


I’m full of really strong comebacks that will leave anyone speechless:


To which said boys respond to my incredibly tall attractive friend who is sporting sexy army pants, “WE CAN SEE YOU CAMO”.


Nothing like a little stranger arguing to realize you might all be too old for this shit.



You belong at home in bed with an oreo mcflurry and a smile.

You’re in no man’s land.

You like tequila shots, but always regret it the next day. However, You absolutely REFUSE to purchase Smirnoff Vodka and shudder when the bar stars down it.


You like socializing at a pub, but you almost would prefer to be at home, in your bed, getting a good nights rest with your fuzzy blankets.

NEWS FLASH. You’re completely indecisive about what you want in MOST aspects of your life and tend to jump around a lot.

You really can relate to the adults now when they’re talking about “claiming meals” and “saving gas receipts”. I mean, you don’t do it, but you unnnnnnnnnnderstand it.

You can definitely lend an ear to adults when they talk about their ex husbands, marital issues, or the trials of raising kids.

I mean, you don’t necessarily have anything to contribute except, leave that loser! Followed up with:


Lets rebuild that self confidence together! YOU DON’T NEED A MAN KAREN!


To which Karen replies with, yeah but like, you don’t have a mortgage and 4 kids.

Oh right. I thought we were being encouraging here, ya girl I can’t help with that,  start a happy show maybe?

This is where the understanding nod comes in:


That sucks. I care about you. I cannot help you. We should get some food and forget about this.

But all adults want to eat is SALAD and HEALTHY GREENS.

That’s where you’re back on team teenager.


I microwaved a baked potato for breakfast and my best friend had some sour keys. If you ask me to babysit your child, it’s getting a bowl of teddy grahams & milk.

I like take-out food and ramen noodles.

I also am known to only eat cheese and pasta. I am an anomaly to doctors following a strict Gilmore Girl’s diet of burgers and pop tarts.

I don’t mind broccoli, as long as it’s eaten with noodles.

I do not like to get food shamed, I can do that to myself THANK YOU.

The way I look at it, my mother’s lucky she didn’t raise a daughter with an eating disorder, unless you count overeating, which yeah, won’t be much of a problem until I’m out of this teenager/adult transition phase. I KNOW KAREN, I won’t be able to eat like this forever, I’ve heard from Susan.


There’s no doubt that somebody could lecture me all day about my funny life choices, but what fun is that?

Some of us have common issues that we can all discuss. It almost doesn’t matter if you’re  a teenager or an adult, we’re all tight on money!


We can all relate to this conversation. There’s nobody nodding off at this one thinkin’ haha not this kid! Just need to go home and groom my money tree.

Our broke-ness motivates us to work hard and have actual goals.


It’s basically do or die.

Do I want crackers for dinner or do I want chicken parm?

You ever been so broke you had air for dinner? I have an extremely helpful family so in my case no, but the way I manage my money, I SHOULD HAVE!

You have to be able to take care of yourself as if no one else is around!

If there’s one thing I’ve learned from the young generation & the older generation, it’s that finances are e v e r y t h i n g.

Being a financially stable person on your own is a major priority.

This is difficult because most often, our passions don’t pay us very much at the start…


Believe me, some days, wouldn’t we all love to pack it in and marry rich? Have the financial backing to pursue our passions in peace? Oh right, but then we JUST HAVE TO get all invested in laughing with someone who’s just as broke as our sorry asses. Damn it.

Some of us don’t get invested in anyone at all. We just admire from afar the financially successful couples who have it all.


Ugh you guys are awesome. Even if you are just as broke as me.

But, equally as awesome, the freeeeeeeedom that comes with us single ones. Liiiiiike if I wanna spend all my money on a castle built of mcnuggets? Who’s gonna stop me? Not some silly fuck boy with advice like, “you need money in your account for your car payments” that’s for sure.


But you definitely have sound financial advice for others:


I really don’t know why you needed me to tell you that?

It’s kinda fun being the youth in the adult world. You really can fit in with both sides.

You can laugh about how introverted you want to be, holed up in your room watching netflix (also a good way to manage money as long as take-out is avoided).

Then you can be at a crowded pub with all of your friends and feel like you belong in this world too? EXCEPT when people bump into you, that shit is NOT ok.

You want to grind into me to start a conversation at an irish pub?? This is not a club for a reason. Get out of my personal space. I really really hate being touched by strangers. Your beer is getting spilled all over yourself, you’re smelling weird smells. Then they finally come up and talk to you, unless they’re super friendly and innocent:



This is the point where you relate to the adults again & start thinking I DON’T BELONG HERE. I BELONG AT HOME IN MY SNUGGIE.

So I guess long story short, get some freakin’ hobbies & goals or you’re forever going to be a confused wide eyed twenty something, like myself.


Hope everyone’s S-Monday was anxiety free!



Yes, May I Please Speak to Pizza? (And other twenty-something realizations)

Like most of my adult responsibilities, I put this blog on a shelf until it collected more dust than Woody & Wheezy in Toy Story 2. 

dusty_woody_wheezySorry little buddy.

I think being a twenty something brings some kind of passion out in us to succeed (even if it is just succeeding to leave your bedroom on a Sunday and order $30 worth of McDonalds- you’ll get there too. Set little goals first? No. Okay.)

We are trying to figure out desperately – what in the actual **** are we good at?!

So you start recounting your life experiences to draw parallels to anything you might be able to pass as reasonably okay. What sport are you good at? Hiking – the only sport you can lie about being good at without knowing the first thing about HIKING other than you’re probably going to wear running shoes that day and some lulu lemon tights (Iliza Schlesinger).

Ok Ok recounting- am I athletic, am I book-smart, am I a writer, am I a public speaker, am I an artist, am I creative? Am I not creative? Wait how the fuck am I going to get any job if I wasn’t given creativity as a soft skill when I went up to the people counter and asked for equal parts personality, brains and looks.


So as I recount- I realize coordinated is not something I want to sell myself as.


Mindy doing aerobics = Me in work out classes, dancing at the club, dance class as a 7 year old, playing baseball, inner tube water polo, karate, tennis, ball hockey, regular hockey.

Art class – also to be avoided.

Writing – Okay teachers sold me on that one at a young age. I went for the heart strings with my Grade Two story about how we gave our Christmas presents to the poor (I knew whatchu wanted to read Ms Parkins).

I jumped through the hoops, and stuck with writing growing up. That was my thing.

How do you make money as a writer? Hmmm.. well my elementary school secretary also told my mom once I had an amazing singing voice when I sang John Lennon-Imagine for the Remembrance Day assembly. Ok next career goal – hard left- Be   T a y l o r    S w i f t. 

You can’t go into a job interview saying you have this dream that you will write songs and perform them at the Molson Ampitheatre without having to put any effort into learning guitar or taking singing lessons.

Fuck back to writing.

So you go into a job interview like: 


& they’re all like, yeah that’s cute, do you have 3 years experience in sales or marketing? & you’re all like.. well this one time at Coffee Culture they told me to market the pumpkin muffins all day & I totally made like 3 more trays of muffins and upped their small sized coffees to large with a smile.

…I don’t have the job?

So you work your butt off trying to sell yourself as anything.

So you shift dreams – maybe a real world job next year. Maybe for now I’m meant to wear a low cut top and market beer to creepy old men & walk away with $300 in tips for 4 hours work (it happens). Then I can pay off my student loan while simultaneously feeling sorry for myself! Yeah.. well when you put it in writing.. no. That three years experience means I’m already 3 years behind before I even entered the working world.

Now you’ve done all this research and work and are deserving of a tall beer and some nachos. 
Fast forward through all of that & we landed a job!! Yay US!

We get there like –

dog_at_computer Of course you have no idea what you’re doing you’re a  pure bred golden retriever-  University grad fresh out of school with no work experience but you sure as hell know about Marxism (or Wikipedia’s take on it anyway): capitalism has ruptured into a war between two classes: the bourgeoisie (the capitalist class that owns the means of production) and the proletariat (the working class, which is at the mercy of the capitalists). God, keep up guys.

So you try really hard- you re-learn to use a phone (they are different in grocery stores, provincial parks, and the office- did ya know?!)



People ask you how you are and you answer in song:


People at work ask you what you do for fun and you’re like:



I’m interested in Game of Thrones and Harry Potter?


No seriously, you want to know about my hopes and dreams? Momma said it isn’t that much harder to love someone with money..


Just kidding. I can’t cook either.

Back to working world.

In my experience- I self-taught myself to be a graphic designer to my mother’s horror who had to put up all my shitty drawings of our stick figure family with the sun in the corner that looked more like a family of angry wolves.

But I took some HTML/CSS training, brushed up on PhotoShop (called my friend crying asking what even are layer masks anyway and who cares lets get some wine).

And that turned into me becoming a workaholic:

Because I actually do enjoy it.

Doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy my bed more.. but I enjoy it.

So you wake up each day going:

I_love_my_jobYour attitude has seriously improved. You’ve turned from a total stressed out mess to having a little bit of direction?

You go Beyonce Pad Thai.

But there’s still that side with you that misses being in University and staying up until 3 am with your roomies watching Dance Moms and filling up the roommate’s room that went away for the weekend with hundreds of balloons with, “Keep Calm & Chive On” on them- leading to all of you getting on the Chive. Your first claim to fame before your zombie book.

Your life used to be- spend 14 hours in a library- hand in an essay- reward with wine- watch Disney movies all day with best friend.


Thanks Nick. Now that’s a distant memory.

You started easy with the phone, the photocopier, took a sharp right to designing billboards.. you seriously pulled a Reese and became a lawyer. Basically. Minus the money.


But it’s fine because you still have the little adult goals too like learning to write a check properly.


People tell you you need to start saving for RRSP’s (I just learned what that was in November and you’re telling me 70% of my wages is supposed to go to this mythical fairy tale fund you just made up now?).

You want me to do my taxes?

I have to make my own doctor appointments?


You’re getting there. You’re a wide eyed twenty something. You decided to wake up one day and say fuck that I’m Harry Potter.


Don’t even start on the fact that you’re single and can count your close friends on one hand.

my life is buffering_pizza

I know what you’re thinking:

mindy_crazy_inspirationalOr super depressing. Cheers!