a-hole with a blog.

It only took thirteen years, but I finally got invited to a cottage.

2012-01-09T23:02:00.002-05:00

Yeah, that's right. I've never been to a cottage before. If you didn't grow up in Oakville, that probably means nothing to you. But, you see, Oakville is full of people with cottages. It's where they all like to "get away from it all" on every major holiday and long weekend, subsequently causing me to go through my teen years feeling inadequate and useless.

Why didn't any of my Oakville Friends With Awesome Cottages (or OFWACs, as I like to call them) invite me to their cottages? Because I didn't have any friends. I guess OPWACs is a more appropriate term for them, then: Oakville Peoples With Awesome Cottages.

Maybe you're wondering how I know they're cottages are awesome if I've never been. The answer to that is: duh, of course they're awesome. They're cottages.

Also, OPWAC is easier to say than OPWC. You really need that vowel in there.

Anyway, after feeling inadequate for the last thirteen years of my life, finally, FINALLY, I was made to feel un-inadequate on New Year's Eve. What a magical night to pop my cottage cherry.

That was gross. You know what else is gross? The word "penetration". Sorry.

Not really.

My awesometastic friends Ashley and Curtis have a friend named Jon who has a cottage and every year there is an NYE party. And they were kind enough to invite me this year.

I imagine they were all sitting around brainstorming ways in which to make this year's NYE party better than the last. Naturally, my name came up--somewhere before a cotton candy machine but after a tap dancing unicorn. Hey. Even I can't compete with a tap dancing unicorn.

This cottage was somewhere in a magical land called Gravenhurst. It was far away. There was snow and a giant tiger. I mean Giant Tiger, as in the store.

I had piles of fun and probably drank too much. I attribute that to the fact that my wine glass was bigger than my head. Also, I started drinking around 5:30PM. In my defense, it was very dark outside and appeared to be later. And somehow I manage to look rather classy holding the giant wine glass. The Star Wars t-shirt helps, I think.

Amazingly enough, this picture was taken when I was still sober. What am I talking about? I always make faces like that when I'm sober.

Curtis and I are starting a rap group. This is our album cover. Neither of us can rap. But we mean business. At least when it comes to shoulder leans and raised eyebrows.

WATCH OUT I'M A SCARY MONSTER! And, yes, you'd be right in assuming I'm not drunk in this picture either.

See how happy I look here? I thrive in a cottage setting. Imagine how rich and fulfilled my life would be if I could always spend it at a cottage. Only YOU can prevent forest fires. And only YOU can help me attain my dream of always living in a cottage up north. (Well, only if you have a cottage. If you don't, bugger off.)

Even though I ended up not feeling well and having to go lie down before what sounded like an epic charades battle (anal fissure was a topic--enough said), it was still the best night ever. Did I mention there was stew?

There was stew.

Okay. Now I mentioned it.

The end!

PS - it was delicious. The stew, I mean.

of champagne and disco balls and bicyclette

2011-12-31T01:40:00.000-05:00

Whoa, am I finally caught up to real time with my photography blog posts? I think I am! Magic!

Don't ask me what time it is on a Friday night though. Also don't think too much about how I chose to spend my entire Friday evening sitting at home updating my blog.

Because I'm cool? Yeah. Something like that.

ANYWAY. Anyway. Here's a NYE themed Bicyclette photo shoot. There were disco balls AND alcohol. Therefore, it was a lot of fun. I also got to do the ladies up with a wicked awesome cat-eye makeup. Note: I did this before consuming champagne. Promise.

The rest of the shoot is on my website: BLING BLANG. Also, that was weird. I blame how late it is. Also, obviously I had my picture taken with the giant disco ball. As if I could be in the same room as a disco ball and NOT take a picture with it. Ha.

I still take pictures, part five

2011-12-31T01:35:00.000-05:00

I've had the extreme pleasure of photographing amazing ladies the past few months. Not that I would ever spend my time shooting anybody less than amazing. But, you know, it's nice that I keep having the fortune of meeting such rad women.

One such rad woman is Nada Alic, who runs the music blog Friends with Both Arms. It is quite possibly the best music bloggy out there. I've found a handful of new favourite bands from perusing Nada's site. If you like to listen to good music (And why wouldn't you? Unless you're a Nickelback fan. And in that case, stop reading my blog. Go away. Gross.) then definitely check it out.

Nada also recently starting writing for BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM. I put in way too many Os, but I was just excited. Because BOOOOOOOM is probably one of my favourite blogs of all time. And now I get to say that one time I hung out with somebody who writes for BOOOOOOOM.

BOOOOOOOOOOOM!

I still take pictures, part four

2011-12-31T01:26:00.000-05:00

And then there was the Bicyclette Holiday Guide. Paige dreamed up this beautiful look book design concept and we set out to shoot it. This time, we did it with lights. Inside. And there was a backdrop. Whoa, fancy pants. With sparkles. Because sparkles make pants super fancy, obviously. And obviously, I had an assistant. Because I'm super important like that.

Okay, it was actually my friend, Christian. And I begged him to help me out. Because he is awesome. Everyone on set was awesome, actually. Go team!

Unfortunately, I can't take ANY credit for the amazing design work: that was all Paige. But I did take the pictures. This is quite possibly one of my most favourite things that I've done for Bicyclette. You can see the rest on my website.

Also, you go to Bicyclette and buy me something pretty. Thanks in advance.

I still take pictures, part three

2011-12-31T00:57:00.001-05:00

A few weeks ago, OTMzine was awesome enough to ask me to shoot something for their latest issue. I love working with the girls from OTM because they are sweet and fun and always willing to go along with my crazy ideas. Even when those crazy ideas involve balloons.

BALLOONS!

This time, I was shooting Noemie, who runs the blog As Ink Remains. It is a super swell blog; I suggest you all immediately become obsessed with it. Noemie is fun and sweet and loves cats and has a great smile. Most importantly: cats.

Also important: balloons!

You can check out the entire article on the OTM website. Hoorah!

I still take pictures, part two

2011-12-31T00:42:00.004-05:00

Remember that time I got drunk in the woods? A highpoint of my life, let me tell you. Although, the time a few weeks ago that I thought Cognac was a red wine ranks up there as well. I couldn't tell if A wanted to laugh or cry at that. Oh, yeah--I didn't just think Cognac was a red wine to myself. Oh no, that wouldn't be horrible enough. I had to think it out loud. To a bartender.

Anyway. Enough of me being a complete moron. I'm going to distract you with pretty pictures. Of Ana! Yay! Again, I can't really take any credit for the vision--It was all Ana. She's brilliant. My goal for 2012 is to actually make time to work on our awesome sauce project together.

Speaking of, I heard some girl in Urban Outfitters the other day talking with her friend about how "awful" the phase "awesome sauce" was and she was glad nobody says it anymore. Since when was "awesome sauce" anything but awesome sauce? Like the delicious gravy my mom makes. Om nom nom. I love gravy. Can it be Christmas dinner time again?

While I wish for gravy, feast your eyes on these pictures. The rest are on my website: Cha-ching!

Oh, also. Ana convinced me to model. Yes, I'm sticking this news wayyyyyyy down at the bottom of this blog post. Hopefully nobody is reading this. Hm. If nobody is reading this then maybe . . . Penis. PENIS! Well, since nobody is reading, I might as well, right?

Anyway, here are some pictures of me being serious and model-y. Can you believe this was Ana's first time shooting a model? Again: she's brilliant.

I still take pictures, part one

2011-12-31T00:02:00.002-05:00

What? Pictures? With a camera? Yeah, I still do that. You just wouldn't know it because I've been terrible at updating my blog and website as of late. I've actually had a handful of grand photography adventures over the past few months that I am determined to share with the world before the year is over.

Yes, I'm aware that tomorrow is the last day of 2011. But let's just ignore my astounding ability to procrastinate and look at some pretty pictures, shall we?
A while back, I had the pleasure of shooting a lovely girl named Andrea Dyer. She wanted some pretty pictures for an online project she is launching. I don't want to say too much to ruin the surprise, but it's really one of the greatest ideas ever and I'm super stoked to have been a part of the project.

We frolicked around in the woods and Ana Alic was kind enough to style and offer her usual amazing eye for art direction.

Not only can the girl rock a bright pink lip like there's no tomorrow, but I think it ought to be illegal to look that darn cute in a hat. Note to self: con Andrea into taking some more pictures soon.

So prettify is apparently a word.

2011-12-16T22:55:00.000-05:00

It was a little over a year ago that I had Ashley dye my hair brown. Well, to be more specific: ombre. Ommmmbbrreeee. I still have no idea how to pronounce that word. But, yes. It was the first time I'd had brown hair in many, many years. And it was awesome. Even my incredible lack of bowling skills can't take away from the awesome:

And then in the spring, I had Ashley add some pink to the ends so then my hair was pink ombre. Or "ombrink". If you haven't heard anyone else say that before it's because I just made it up. But I'm sure it will catch on.

I've had pink in my hair since March. It's probably been my most favourite hair ever. EVER. But the length was starting to get out of control.

See. I wasn't kidding. Out. Of. Control. And then I saw way too many unfortunate looking teen girls attempting to rock pink tips in their hair, so I decided it was time for a change.

I couldn't decide what I wanted to do. Did I want to leave the pink? Did I want to cut it short? Did I want to find a magical wardrobe that could transport me to the land of Narnia? When one is faced with so many questions, there is only one logical conclusion: ask strangers (okay, some of them were friends) on the internet. Obviously. I polled on my Facebook, Twitter and Instagram and the peoples of the Interwebs voted! And this is what they voted for:

BAM! Red. Take that, bitches. How schmexy does that look? Sexy too, if--you know--you don't talk like a nimrod. Also, it's shorter. I had Ashley cut off over four inches. I'm still not used to it. I keep swishing my head back and forth. Swish! Swish!

Even though I had red hair for many, many years, I think this is going to take me a few days to get used to. Ashley did a wicked job, though. She even painted the tips a bright copper colour. So, hey, that means I'm totally rocking some "ombred" hair. Yeah, I made that one up too. How did you know?

Also, how HI-larious is Billy Dee Williams in these pictures? He's getting so big and fluffy. He looks so somber and thoughtful in these pictures. But he's definitely plotting something diabolical. Like sitting on my keyboard while I'm trying to type important stuffs. Curse your fluff, BD Dubs.

Oh, and if you're wondering what brilliant stylist prettified my hair, it was Ashley. I think I said that already. But the important part is that she owns The Proudest Pony and she is the best hair stylist in all the land. Your life will be much improved once you go and have her prettify your hairs. Did you know "prettify" was a real word? I've been saying it for years, but I always thought it was a made up word. Like "ridonkulous" or "fetch". Sorry, Gretchen. Just stop trying to make fetch happen. It isn't going to happen.

an update with haikus

2011-12-14T21:41:00.000-05:00

So it's been a while since I've bloggered. Oops.

What? There's an entire month between October and December? I had no idea. Never mind that Brosef was born in this nonexistent month.

Also I was very busy with school. In that month. That I just claimed didn't exist. Or maybe I wasn't busy at all? Who knows. No, really. I'm just confusing myself now.

Want to know what I've been up to?

Read all about it in the following haikus! Ooohhhhh. Ahhhhhhh.

New York City, yay!

Hey, Bea and James were there too!

Ate the best donuts

(I also saw life sized statues of animals doing it with Ama, but it didn't fit properly in the Haiku. Dang.)

Wrapped in plastic wrap

What, oh, what could it be for?

Sorry--can't tell you

And then this happened

I ran for student council

Best posters ever?

Oh, new day planner

Colour coded perfection

Me love you long time

Dry ice all the time.

Way too cool for a haiku.

See what I did there?

Cookies with Brandy!

Yes, that one says vagina.

Are you cool as ice?

Billy Dee Williams

Lounges a whole fucking lot

Get off my keyboard.

And there you have it. I think I probably did some more stuff in there. Somewhere. I will leave you with this glorious image that I created:

Don't forget to eat your veggies, kids. If you don't, they might go all Master & Commander on your ass. I don't even know what that movie is about, so that reference might not even be applicable. That's okay. I do what I want. Haters gon' hate.

Footloose Again: it has it all.

2011-10-28T22:45:00.000-04:00

I just got back from seeing Footloose. The remake, not the original. I know you are probably wondering what a self-respecting person like myself is doing going to see a movie like that on a Friday night. And to that I say: you think I've got self respect? I'm flattered.

But, really, the father and I were looking for something "upbeat" to see. (After having seen the beautiful, stunning tragedy Take Shelter the other day, we needed something that would make us laugh.)

And boy, did we laugh.

And we cried. And we cheered. And we gasped.

Seriously, guys, this movie has it all. It might even be the movie of the decade. This is our time. And this is our movie? See what I did there? Ha.

In an effort to help you to understand that this movie truly does have it all, I've compiled a list of what I feel are the key elements of what not only make this movie the Movie of the Decade, but what I also feel more movies should feature.

1. Swearing in a church. Sure, you can have a movie where people swear. And you can have a movie where there are churches. But how often do you get to witness not once, not twice, but THREE times swearing within a church? That's what I thought.

2. Dennis Quaid slapping a young girl. I don't think this needs any explanation. But I fairly certain that even a stellar movie like Inception could have been better improved if it had featured a scene with Dennis Quaid slapping a young girl. In a church.

3. Two teenage boys washing a car together. I've had enough with the bikini-clad women "washing" cars. Exactly how is rubbing your breasts against a car going to get it clean? No--what we need are responsible teenaged boys paying attention to detail and making sure there are no streak marks.

4. A bus race. Because it's way cooler than racing cars. Also, they should be tricked out or whatever it is the kids are saying these days.

5. A bus fire. Sometimes buses catch fire whilst being raced. And I want to see this.

6. A bus crash. It only makes sense that four buses being driven at irresponsible speeds would eventually crash.

7. A bus explosion. What's a bus crash without a bus explosion, am I right?

8. A teenage boy with real morals. He doesn't want to do the slutty preacher's daughter right away. He just wants to dance, guys. He's a dancer. Let him dance.

9. A really terrible Boston accent. I want to sit through the entire movie cringing every time the main character opens his mouth. And then I want to go home and find out via the Internet that he is from Boston.

10. Adult men crashing a high school prom. I feel like there is a real lack of this in the world, or maybe I'm just friends with the wrong grown men. Grown men out there, do you crash high school proms? If so, do you find this enjoyable and fulfilling?

11. Dog licensing being raised from $10 to $15. This is a serious issue, people, and it should be discussed more in film. A licensed dog is a happy dog. And we're going to put the extra money toward replacing the buses that some assholes crashed.

Cold and hay bales and no apples and Bicyclette.

2011-10-21T23:53:00.000-04:00

Last weekend, I went on a magical adventure to . . . Guelph, Ontario! Whoa, no way. I'd never been to Guelph before. In fact, I wasn't even really sure of where it was (northwest-ish, in case you were wondering).

Despite my astounding lack of Ontario-y geographical knowledge, I found myself in a car last weekend heading toward the majestic city of Guelph. I was accompinied by the love Paige of Bicyclette, bestest model and fastest burrito-eater in all the lands, Emily, and my awesome friend, Christian, who stayed at a Holiday Inn last night.

And we weren't just heading to Guelph for the hopping nightlife, no sirree Bob. Or Steve. We were heading there for a photo shoot. (Cue photo shoot theme song, which I just decided on now, Everybody's Working For The Weekend.)

We headed to some farm land, provided by the super awesome Paige's Dad and shot the Bicyclette fall lookbook. It was super rad, albeit incredibly cold.

So cold, actually. You have no idea. It might have been because I wasn't wearing a real jacket, just an assortment of sweaters and shawls. But let's ignore that--and the fact that I was wearing shorts and tights instead of real pants--and focus on the pertinent issue: I froze to death. Seriously.

It got better.

Along with the cold, there were hay bales and apple signs and barns and giant crucifixes. It was a grand adventure. Also, we found a creepy hut with a locked door and inside it was another sealed up door. Obviously those deformed things from the film Wrong Turn were hiding out in there. And naturally we made Emily pose in front of it. No bigs, just hanging out in front of the creepy murderer hut.

It was truly one of the most fun days ever and I am super duper stoked for these pictures to make their online debut. But the best part of the day? We went for burritos afterward! In case you were wondering, the best burritos come from Guelph. Which is unfortunate only because it's a little far for me to drive for a burrito.

But very, very tempting.

Remember that pond and glitter and Bicyclette?

2011-10-20T19:49:00.001-04:00

Earlier this month, I spent a day in a pond with glitter and pretty clothes. You can reminisce about it here. It was a very good day. I think my boots still smell like pond.

The result of that very good, pondy, glittery day were some very good pictures. Observe:

They were posted on Bicyclette a few weeks ago and are now featured on the brand spankin' new Bicyclette website. You need to go check this website out, and not just because you can see all the pretty pictures I took. And did I mention the scrolling action?

SCROLLING ACTION.

Amazing.

Anywho, last week I would have said that it was my favourite Bicyclette shoot to date, but then last weekend happened, and this weekend is happening too. So who knows? A mind reader, I guess. But I am not one, unfortunately. Are you? If so, I could use your services. Can I pay you in cookies?

You can see the full story on the Bicyclette website. Also, for the sake of shameless self-promotion: my website, which now features a fancy-pants section just for all the amazing goodness I create with Paige and Emily and Bicyclette. J'adore!

Presenting: BD Dubs!

2011-10-20T16:48:00.002-04:00

I totally forgot to formally announce to the world that I adopted a new kitten. I'm fairly certain all of my Twitter/Facebook/Instagram friends have figured it out, due to the excessive amount of pictures posted of aforementioned kitten.

But he deserves his very own blog-type introduction, so here it goes. Ahem.

I formally present to you, peoples of the the Internet, Billy Dee Williams!

Studly, isn't he? Sort of reminds you of the actual Billy Dee Williams, am I right? And if you have no idea who Billy Dee Williams is . . . well, I won't say because it would be too crass for a blog featuring a kitten. Let's try to keep it lighthearted today. For your health.

Here, you know what, I'll make it easier for you. Blam:

Ah, Lando. You handsome devil, you. (And if you still don't know who that is, you might as well end your life now. I'll drink a Colt 45 in your honour, don't worry.)

Anyway, in an effort to continue the tradition of naming my cats after bad ass black actors, I settled on Billy Dee Williams. My BD Dubs hails from Cloud City. I mean, a pet store down the block from where I live.

He is quite delightful and kitten-like. When I adopted him about a month ago, he was only eight weeks old and very tiny. Now he is about twelve weeks old and getting so big. Aw, my little man is growing up.

He loves running around the apartment and playing The String Game and chasing the balled up receipts from the toys I bought him instead of the actual toys. Figures.

I've discovered that he also loves Eric Bana, licking kiwis, eating my headphones, and having his picture taken. Although the latter might be more of a fear of the clicking sound, I like to pretend he sits still and poses for the camera out of sheer vanity.

And, check out those paws. Cute as heck, right? Right.

Of drinking in the woods.

2011-10-10T15:35:00.001-04:00

I woke up at 4:30AM this morning. After getting four hours of sleep. You know, just for kicks. High kicks. No, no--roundhouse kicks. Those ones are Chuck Norris bad ass. I actually can't kick my leg that high in the air, though.

Also, I didn't just wake up for kicks. Or punches either. It was for a photo shoot. I know what you are thinking: it is kind of hard to shoot in the dark.

You are correct in this thinking. But I didn't shoot in the dark. That would be silly. I just had to wake up incredibly early to get ready for this shoot.

Remember Ana? The amazing actress who runs The Diamond Life blog that I shot a few months ago? I will hyperlink this sentence to jog your memory. We are working together on something super awesome and decided to do a photo shoot in the woods this morning.

We wanted morning dew and a bit of fog and the woods. In order to achieve this, we had to be ready to go before sunrise. Luckily it is October and the sun isn't rising until 7:20AM. That's still ridiculously early, but at least it's not a July sunrise of 5:40AM.

Gross.

You know what's not gross? Taking pretty pictures in the woods!

Ana even talked me into posing for some pictures. Stay tuned for that magic, dudes.

All in all, it was a great morning full of paint pigment and chandeliers and black lace and other sorts of awesomeness.

When I got home, I passed out from exhaustion and slept for three hours. Apparently the mother even stood in my room calling my name and I didn't wake up. When I did wake up, gobble-gobble dins were magically waiting for me, as well as this illuminating conversation with brother:

"Yo, did you drink one of those Palm Bay spritzer that was in the fridge?"

"Yup! It was super tasty. I was so thirsty after my photo shoot I slammed it back."

"Yeah. That was alcoholic."

Eyup. Turns out I was recklessly drinking in the woods around 10AM. There were families about too. And dogs!

I've never actually drank in the woods before, so I guess I was living out some of my missed teenage experiences. I hear that drinking Palm Bays in the woods very early in the morning is a gateway drinking activity. Soon I'll be downing Smirnoff Ices under bridges, or Mike's Hard Lemonades behind schools. Watch out.

PS-- yeah, I totally had to do a Google search for the names of those alcoholic beverages.

Zoo Trek

2011-10-07T23:45:00.000-04:00

A couple of weeks ago, Bea, James and I decided to go on a Zoo Adventure. Naturally, we decided to go to the zoo the weekend after there was a Groupon deal online. This meant that it was obnoxiously full of people. And strollers. So many strollers.

It's times like these I think about investing in some sort of scooter. A pink one. Obviously. And it would have a cup holder, where I would keep my beverage. Because I imagine it would be hard to operate a scooter if I had a beverage in one hand. Safety first, guys. Well, laziness first, safety second.

Anyway, Bea and I were super excited about the zoo. James did a great job at pretending. And by great, I mean he kept the sarcasm to a minimum. And by minimum, I mean his normal amount.

Bea and I increased our Zoo Fun Times (commonly known as ZFT) by purchasing tiger hats. I think they're meant for children, but the fact that they fit our fat heads causes me to be slightly concerned about the head-size of our youth today.

Anyway, we were super cute in our hats and got piles of compliments. So there.

Also, there were rhinos and monkeys and polar bears and jaguars and lions. I got to see my favourite animals, otters, so my ZFT count was through the roof. And Bea bought an over priced hot dog and I wanted a Beaver Tail but the line was too long, so I was all, pssh, screw that.

But enough with "jumbo" hot dogs and Beaver Tails. That's not all that great.

You know what's great?

Funnel cake.

You know what else is great? This: while at the zoo, James and I acquired new jobs. Yes. Seriously. We're going to be giving tours in the near future, informing people on little known facts about their favourite zoo animals. Amazing, am I right? It's kind of still in the works, but here's a sample video of what we'll be doing:

You probably didn't know that about the turtle, did you? Well, now you know. Knowledge is power. Star swipe!

magazines and things

2011-09-24T12:21:00.000-04:00

Well, it's been a while. I hadn't really planned for a few weeks to go by without writing any bloggers. Especially since a lot of super exciting things have been going on.

Notably, I've been finger painting. That's what I do in school. I finger paint. On Monday we are playing outdoor games. I also have to read and stuff too. Occasionally. But please don't let that detract from the feelings of jealously that surged through your body at the thought of me finger painting in school.

And in all of that finger painting madness, something super cool happened: I had some work appear in some local magazines. I know, right? I was very happy for me too. If you happen to run in to me on the street in the near-future, a high five would be appreciated.

I believe I mentioned both of these photo shoots in blogs past, but they hadn't been published at the time. Remember how I made a star garland for the amazing Ana Alic and Off The Map magazine? Well, Off The Map revamped their online magazine and the relaunch was a few weeks ago. It's kind of the most beautiful online magazine I've ever seen:

WOWZERS!

And, and, and, look!

You can click on that to go to the site and read the article. Which I encourage. Because Ana is super amazing and Sophie wrote a brilliant piece about her.

Look at those star garlands in action! So adorable. I have the rest of the pictures that appear in the magazine on my website as well.

And then remember how forever ago in June I did that shoot with my makeup artist friend, Jessica Jean Myers, and my model friend, Vienna? It was full of crimped awesomeness. Yeah! That's the one. Well, that story was picked up by a new and amazing Toronto-based magazine called Veux. They have a digital copy on the website and yon can have print copies made too. FANCY.

And the rest of the images from that shoot are on my website as well. Yes, it was a productive yesterday here at Casa de la Siân. But not productive enough, as I clearly need to spend more time thinking up a name for my home.

Glitter and ponds and Bicyclette.

2011-09-11T09:32:00.000-04:00

Occasionally, photo shoots don't turn out as planned. This is especially true in the following cases:

-when you want to shoot in a public space
-when you attempt to travel to the east end

That Murphy dude knows what what. And what he knows is that if you decide that you want to shoot in Riverdale Park, there will be a giant festival in the park on the day of your shoot.

And then as you attempt to leave the congested park area, every time you try to turn, you will be unable to due to road closures.

And then it will take you over an hour to make it to the other side of Riverdale Park. (Although, you will have a lovely drive up and down Bayview Road. Twice. Because once just isn't enough.)

And then when you finally do see the other side of the park, it will suck. Just ask Emily--it's her least favourite park in all of Toronto. She loathes it.

And then you will pass two more festivals and a police road block on your way to your last-ditch-effort shoot location.

At this point, you will decide that you hate street festivals and park festivals with a fiery passion.

But, really, all of this could have been avoided if we had never crossed over to the east end. Because we all know the east end is evil. How were we supposed to know of a giant, annual, highly publicized park festival? Exactly. *taps nose*

Once we made it back to the comfort of the west end and High Park, the shoot came together surprisingly well. It's just the universe telling us to avoid the east end. We were shooting an early fall look book for, you guessed it--Bicyclette! Yay!

The lovely Emily was our model and this time she pulled out all the stops with frog crouching and roaring and twirling. She even jumped in a pond; what a champ. Danielle Dengerink, a textile designer and creator of beautiful things sold in Bicyclette, also joined us. And I found myself jumping in a pond again. I left my shoes on like a chump the first two times and they got very wet. Also, there was glitter and a pink suitcase and a chair and gold rain boots--you know, the things you normally bring to a park. It was a good day.

Getting Shit Done: The Two Week Edition

2011-09-08T18:45:00.001-04:00

It's been a busy two weeks, duders. And when I say busy, I mean busy in italics. Busy. Yeah, just like that.

I know you probably think that you know what I mean when I say that I had a busy week, but I really don't think you do. So here is a list of all the things that have happened in the past two weeks, to properly illustrate just how busy I was:

-didn't get an apartment

-cried about not getting an apartment

-watched Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs and Rango

-found an apartment

-ate some ice cream

-got a parking ticket that I just realized I still need to pay off (crap)

-thought about packing

-went to the bank

-sourced some boxes

-realized that mattresses are incredibly over priced

-ate some more ice cream

-went to my orientation

-built a park with Tinker Toys

-got my student ID card

-finalized my OSAP paperwork

-hunted for the perfect pond in a park

-jumped in the pond

-panicked about getting a polio vaccine

-found out after getting said polio vaccine that I did not need the vaccine after all

-met a petite space alien in a pink helmet

-wore a pink space helmet

-ate meat on a stick in a premium denim store

-failed at convincing someone to give me a pair of $200 jeans for free

-met one of the raddest girls EVER and shared stories and cookies and tasty beverages

-finally packed

-got my hair did with me mudder

-moved some boxes

-went to another orientation

-bought some books

-went to Ikea

-realized one should never go to Ikea by oneself

-moved some furniture with some help from friends with upper body strength

-primed and painted

-bought some essentials: Popsicles

-went to Home Depot

-bought a fan, and then the very next day it was cold (drat the luck)

-built Ikea furniture

-cursed at some spray paint cans

-cursed some more at the spray paint cans

-covered my shoes and self in paint, due to being a messy painter

-finished unpacking

-saw Attack the Block

-started school

-met a cool girl at school

-finished painting my furniture

-spray painted nearly everything small in my apartment gold

-met some cute baby kitties

How does one accomplish so many things in a mere two weeks? Well, there wasn't a lot of sleeping, let me tell you. Having friends was also incredibly helpful in speeding up certain processes. Like building Ikea furniture. Also, I painted and unpacked like a maniac. I'm still not entirely done, so I won't be unveiling my apartment pictures until it's all finished.

But I will say this: white and sea foam green and hot pink with gold accents. Blam. It's kind of magical.

And, since lists are super boring and dull, here are some pictures!

Steve! Helping! Typing!

2011-08-28T17:59:00.001-04:00

Guess what, bitches. I found an apartment in the city. Wait, I didn't build up to that properly. Drat.

Okay, okay. First you need to know the following:

I've been looking for a place to live since June.
I haven't been able to find anything.
The thought of living home and having a three hour daily commute to go to school made me want to vomit.
People suck. A lot.
Apartment hunting sucks. A lot.
On Friday, I was very close to bashing my head against a wall from frustration.

And then, magically, an apartment fell out of the sky yesterday. Not unlike a rain shower of Jelly Beans. Or Gummi Bears. (Just don't let Steve near them.)

I went to one final viewing and for the first time ever, I was the first person to get to the open house. I met the landlord, and he was super duper friendly. I walked in, looked around, asked to fill out an application, said, "I really, really like the place and want it." Then he said . . .

"Okay. It's yours."

Just. Like. That. It was so easy. I didn't even have to push my Staples button.

And it's truly a magnificent apartment. It's a very large bachelor on the third floor of a cute little walk up. Which means I'll get to buzz people into my building. FANCY. There's also all the other things that come with most apartments : a refrigerator, a front door, a bathroom. Also, there's a window. Swank. Hilary Swank. Swanky.

Hilary Swank would also approve of the location of my apartment. It is right on St. Clair Ave at Alberta Ave. Now, a year ago I would have never dreamed of living on St Clair Ave, let alone anything north of Bloor St. Just like my denial of the existence of the east end of Toronto, I generally liked to believe that Toronto stopped a little after Bloor St. But very recently, I came to realize that St Clair is one of the best streets in Toronto to live on.

I have created a map to further illustrate why my apartment is optimally located to ensure happiness and high quality of life. Ahem.

The star is where I will be living. Obviously. Because I'm a star! Shazam. I have numbered all of the nearby locations according to their importance:

1. Dutch Dreams: only the best ice cream in Toronto. And I'm an ice cream fiend, so I really know my stuff. I still love me some Marble Slab and Greg's, but it's only at Dutch Dreams that you get piles of real whipped cream and fresh fruit on top of your ice cream. When Bea and James took me here a few weeks ago, I decided I needed to live within walking distance of Dutch Dreams. And now that I will be, prepare yourselves for the imminent arrival of Chubs (from eating too much ice cream) Siân.

2. Two of my very bestest friends, Bea and James live just down the street from me. Also, my cat-niece, Whoop Whoop lives with them as well. It is always good to live close to friends. Especially ones that have excellent movie collections and host 90210 marathon nights.

3. Along with ice cream, I also need to live within walking distance to a Tim Hortons. This is because I am addicted to their steeped tea. I am still trying to confirm whether or not they make it with crack.

4. Since I hear it's important to eat things other than ice cream and tea, it is a good thing that there is a No Frills supermarket just up the block. I like No Frills because they randomly have things like Dunkaroos on sale. And juice boxes. I love juice. Also next to the No Frills is my bank. I will be avoiding the bank so I don't know how much money I've spent on ice cream.

5. I case I want to go to a fancier-type grocery store, there is a giant Loblaws and a 24-hour Sobeys nearby. The 24-hour Sobeys will come in handy, in case I need to purchase cookies very late at night. I mean fruit. Or vegetables.

6. I've been told about a super awesome farmer's market on the weekends at Wychwood and St Clair. I'm hoping that living so close to one will encourage me to get up early on Saturday.

7. One of my friends took me to a super awesome bagel place in Forest Hill once. They make tasty bagels. I love awesome bagels. As in "bey-gul" not "bag-ul".

You can just call me "Suze" from now on.

2011-08-17T00:41:00.002-04:00

Last week at camp, we played a week long game of Scattergories in between chess lessons and science experiments.

On a Tuesday, we told the tiny humans that we had a bonus question worth ten points. I was all, I am going to tell you my real name and you have to spell it. And then they were all, pffftt--that's easy.

Up until then, they only knew me as Professor Awesome. First name "Super". Sometimes just "Awesome". Normally I wouldn't tell them my real name (what are you talking about; my real name IS Professor Awesome!), but I felt like messing with them.

Because nobody can actually spell my name. Well, maybe a Welsh person. But unfortunately for the tiny humans, there weren't any present.

So I told them my name. And they all got busy writing. And, I must admit, they did a good job; all of their guesses were wonderfully phonetic: Sharne, Charn, Charne.

Unfortunately, Wales is not a place where silly notions such as "phonics" exists, so all of these guesses were wrong.

I wrote my name on the white board: Siân.

And the general response was, "huh?" Ohhh, tiny humans. "Huh" is indeed correct.

Fast forward to Friday, the last day at camp. The stakes were high and the Unbeatable Potatoes were falling behind and Chess Team was trying to catch up to The Jokers (Kids make up the best team names, hands down. The next time you have a bunch of littles around, break them off in to teams and get them to name themselves. Hilarity will ensue with gems like Black Science Puffles); all of the teams were on edge and trying to gain as many points as possible.

So, I decided to throw out a random bonus question. I was all, do you remember my name? Write it down, spelt correctly! HAHAHAHA. I figured only a few would remember it, let alone get the spelling right.

Two teams actually got the correct answer, and the last team came back with this:

Suze. Sûze? Really guys? Or is it the accent supposed to be over the Z? I can't really tell. I mean, at least they got the first letter right. And hey--the accent is there. That's usually the part that most people forget.

I told them that was the funniest thing I'd seen all week and promptly took a picture of it.

So now, in honor of the Unbeatable Potatoes (who turned out to be beatable in the end), I will be known as Suze.

Of missing cats and assholes.

2011-08-16T18:37:00.001-04:00

My cat, Wesley Snipes Esq is missing. He got out of the house last Thursday and I haven't seen him since. I know it's only been a few days, and he's a cat, and he's probably just on some sort of grand cat-related adventure, and the coyote I saw on my street wouldn't bother to attack a cat, and he's totally at someone's house and they are keeping him safe until they see my poster, but I can't help but worry.

And worry. I stare out the back window a lot. And I haven't been sleeping well at night. And I walk around my neighborhood very slowly, softly calling his name.

Mostly because shouting "WESLEY SNIPES" at the top of my lungs would probably confuse and scare the neighbors. ("Just why IS our pink haired neighbor shouting for that actor? Is he lost? Are they filming a new Blade movie in Oakville? I haven't read anything on TMZ yet . . . ")

I made posters over the weekend. I found the most handsome picture of Wesley I had and used up two rolls of tape putting posters up around my neighborhood.

The next day it rained a lot and my posters got wet. And I sighed--figures.

Every day my Mum would call from work and ask if I'd heard anything about Wesley. I would always say 'no'. And then yesterday, something happened:

I was downtown, waiting for my ride home and a blocked number called me. I wouldn't normally answer a number from a blocked call, but I thought it might be something about Wesley. I answered and a young-ish male voice on the other end said, "I realize you have a cat missing . . . " And my heart skipped a beat and I couldn't keep the pathetic eagerness out of my voice when I replied, "Yes, I do!" And then that voice shouted, "WELL, HE'S DEAD!" and hung up.

For half a second, my brain was trying to figure out how this person knew my cat was dead. Did he find his body? Why did he hang up like that? Where is my cat's body?! Because for that half a second, I believed what this person told me because the actual truth was just to cruel. The actual truth being: he was lying.

As in, someone prank called me about my cat being dead. As in, what. The. Fuck.

I burst in to tears then and just stared at my phone, crying for a few minutes. I don't think the reality of the situation had really hit me until last night: I might not ever see my cat again.

I'm still completely and utterly gobsmacked that some kid actually prank called me about my cat being dead. I actually barely have any words. And that's a first for me. How is that a joke? There can't actually be young people out there who would actually find something like that funny; kids that would take the time to block their phone number before calling a stranger and telling them someone they love is dead.

It's truly the meanest, cruelest thing that somebody has ever done to me.

This kid lives close to me. He might live on my street. Or he lives on the street next to mine. He is nearby.

And he sucks. And I might want to punch him in the face. (Just replace "might" with "definitely" and "face" with "junk".)

But most importantly: I miss my cat. So much. And I just want him to come home. I don't want this kid to be right. I don't want his cruel "joke" to become my cruel truth.

Please come home soon, Wesley.

Advice Narwhal Says: Daily Planner Companies, You Suck

2011-08-14T15:49:00.003-04:00

It's been a long time, I admit. But that's just because Advice Narwhal has been on vacation. I can't speak for all narwhals out there, but I assure you that Advice Narwhals definitely do take vacations. To Disney World.

And he didn't even bring me back a souvenir. Jerk.

Today, Advice Narhwal is dispensing advices to companies that produce daily planners. Yes, people do still use those. And Narwhals too.

Dear Day Timer, Day Runner (et al.),

I was perusing my local office supply store, Staples, the other day in search of the perfect day planner. I wanted to purchase one of the loose-leaf versions meant to be inserted in to a nice binder of my choosing. You can only imagine how upset I was when I discovered that Staples no longer had planners for 2011 in stock, just 2012.

By the way, it's only August.

Upon questioning the Staples staff, I learnt that the planner inserts for 2011 are usually sent back to the manufacturer some time in June. Basically what this means is that any persons who want to get organized in the second half of the year . . . well, can't. These companies are saying, "Hey you guys, you better have all of your organizational urges in the first half of the year. We don't recognize any organizational urges that occur in June and onward. If you feel the need to organize your life in the second half of the year, you will just have to wait until the next year begins. Please feel free to use a notebook or scrap paper or the back of your hand in the interim."

If you wake up one morning in July and suddenly have an epiphany to start using a paper planner instead of writing on receipts and haphazardly stuffing them in your bag, only to use them later to dispose of your gum, oh well--you're too late!

If you're getting ready to go back to school in September and aren't really interested in purchasing a pre-bound academic planner (because they're either covered in some sort of obnoxiously vapid pattern [is it really necessary for teenaged girls/boys to write their homework on zebra print paper? COME ON!] or they don't have all of the options of the loose-leaf planners), haha--sucks to be you!

If you were smart enough to purchase your loose leaf planner in January (good for you; you're a champ!), but then in October you accidentally fell in a lake whilst holding your planner, well you'll just have to wait around for January to start until you can use your loose-leaf planner again. And you're no longer a champ.

Yes, I understand the supply/demand, cost of production, sales, blah blah blah. (As much as a Narwhal can, at least. Which isn't at all.) But it's only JUNE and you're getting rid of all of your planner inserts. And it's only JUNE. Juuuunnnneeeeee.

Is it truly impossible to just leave some in stock at office supply retailers until mid fall? You're just having stores like Staples ship them back so you can destroy them, anyhow, so why not just leave a few on the shelves.

Unless this is all some sort of organizational conspiracy.

Am I the only narwhal incredibly disturbed by this?

No, Advice Narwhal, you are not; I am equally disturbed. Wait. I'm not a narwhal. But you get what I mean. I was in the same boat (har har) as Advice Narwhal and gave up on purchasing a planner from a store. I ordered one from the internet and it should be arriving soon. I am hoping it lives up to all of my planner expectations.

And I know what you are thinking: "Siân, why don't you just use your iPhone for something other than taking hipster-y pictures of your cats and invest in a good planner app?"

And this is what I am thinking in reply: "No."

I made stuff!: star garlands (+ OTM & Ana Alic)

2011-08-08T18:49:00.005-04:00

Gather 'round, kiddies! Today I am going to tell you how to make an adorable star garland. You can use it to decorate your room, or your friend's room, or even a tree or something--I dunno. I'm just here to show you how to make it. Heck if I know what you should do with it when you're finished.

Right. So first you need to gather your star garland making tools. That is step one. The tools you need are: paper, a star punch, thread and a needle.

Now, you can go and buy yourself some nice crafty paper. Or even just construction paper. But I prefer free paper. And you know what's free?: paint samples. I know, right? What a good idea. Especially if your local hardware/paint store happens to carry Martha Stewart Living paint, because that bitch makes the BIGGEST paint samples. Thank you, Martha, for contributing to the success of my crafty project. (Note: Be careful when skulking in to Home Depot to steal--I mean, acquire your paint samples. The employees might notice when instead of just taking one or two, you take twenty samples of the same color. What? I'm really indecisive when it comes to what color to paint my dining room, okay? Also, I have no idea if this is considered stealing or not. I mean, they are technically free. Maybe not twenty at a time, though. Per color.)

You can buy the punch from a craft store. It doesn't have to be a star, but stars are a fun shape! They also have trees and squares and crowns and whatever else your heart could desire. Even animals. And you can guess who is to thank for the plethora of paper punch designs; you got it--Martha! Thanks again, Martha!

I used a somewhat thin embroidery thread and a medium sized needle, but you can use whatever suits your purpose. I think a pretty silver thread could look nice with the stars.

Once you have all your tools, you can start punching. That is step two. Huzzah!

The punching part is really straight forward: you put the paper inside, and then you push down and--voila: a star! The bottom of my punch had a plastic slider that would keep the punches from falling out. But because I was punching out hundreds (literally, not figuratively) of stars, I slid the cover off and punched while holding the punch off the ground. This allowed me to get rather speedy with the punching.

After some time, you should have a nice pile of stars. This isn't really a step, but maybe you want to pause for a moment to admire your star pile. That can be step four. And what a fetching pile of stars it is.

Once you're done admiring your star pile, and you have enough, you can start stringing them on to your thread. That is step five.

I unwound a yard or two and threaded the needle, and then threaded the stars directly on to the thread. It's sort of like threading popcorn chains at Christmastime. (Okay, I have never actually done this, but I imagine it is the same thing.) Also, I threaded the needle through each star twice: from the back out the front, and then from the front and out the back. I realize the verbal description is lacking in, well, sense, so I'm hoping the pictures help. Basically, if you just thread the star through once, it will sit sideways. This is especially bad because the back of your stolen paper says MARTHA STEWARD LIVING and other such things on it.

Once you've thread all your stars on to the thread, you're all done. Congratulations, you have a beautiful baby garland. What are you going to name her? Oh, it's a him? Sorry. I couldn't tell.

Now, I wasn't just threading stars for fun, nope. I was actually making some props for a super-duper awesome shoot I had over the weekend with Off The Map, a Toronto-based online publication. The editors saw my work with Bicyclette and contacted me, which is amazingly flattering. Tara and Aimee (the editors) are wonderful gals with a fantastic vision, and it was great to work with them.

I can't really reveal much of the shoot, but I can show you these:

Kapow! Isn't it adorable? It might be one of my most favourite sets to date. And the very lovely girl that we shot in front of this very lovely background is Ana Alic. She is an actress and the host of her own webseries called The Diamond Life. Basically she's one of the coolest people I've ever met. She has a bunch of rad projects in the works, so keep your eye on her site.

The entire story will be in the September issue of OTM, so keep your eyes peeled for it. Actually, don't do that. It sounds gross. Bleh. Just . . . look out for it. Without the "peeling" part. Yeah.

Glitter Guide and Bicyclette

2011-08-01T12:03:00.003-04:00

A few weeks ago, Paige of Bicyclette emailed me and told me that an online publication wanted to feature her awesome, and would I mind photographing her and her store?

Would I mind? Pfft. Of course not. First of all, it's Bicylette. And we all know how much I love Bicyclette. Secondly, the publication is called The Glitter Guide. And we all know how much I love glitter. Almost as much as I love ice cream. And cinnamon scones. Speaking of which--it's just about time for brekky, me thinks.

But before I go stuff my face with baked goods, here is a link to the feature: Ka-Blam! It's quite a good read; Bicyclette is quickly becoming one of the most talked about boutiques in Toronto and Glitter Guide talks with Paige about her inspirations, business ideas, fashion and--of course--sparkle!
And, interspersed throughout, are some lovely pictures taken by yours truly. I had a blast taking them as I adore taking photographs of fashion-y things that don't move. In the professional world, it is referred to as "off figure styling". Get it? Because the "styling" is taking place "off of a figure", i.e. a model. But "fashion-y things that don't move" suits me just fine.

Luckily Bicyclette is full of the most beautiful things to photograph. Honestly, I could take pictures there all day long. I also had the pleasure of taking some photos of Paige as well, which was delightful. Here are some of my favourite pictures from the shoot:

Okay. Now it's time to go stuff my face with baked goods. Tally-ho!

Does it get softer further in?

2011-07-26T07:40:00.002-04:00

It's my birthday today. Not very exciting, I know. I disappear from the blog world for a couple of weeks and I come back with "it's my birthday"? But, nonetheless, today I am twenty-five.

I'm feeling old. I don't know why--maybe it's because I . . . am . . . old? I know in the grand scheme of things I am not that old, but when you spend your days with seven year olds, anything over the age of sixteen feels ancient.

I also don't really enjoy being able to say I'm quarter of a century old. Gross. Apologies to all of those people who are more than a quarter of a century old. But, let's face it--you're old. Deal with it. Like I'm doing (albeit, very poorly).

I'm not doing much for my birthday today. I might get some ice cream. I might watch Community WHILE eating ice cream. The latter sounds like a good plan--I need to make a note of that.

Before you go thinking that, not only am I outrageously old, but I'm also a sad-sack that does nothing on her birthday, I actually had my birthday-day on Saturday and it was GLORIOUS.

There was a beach. And delicious noms. And my bestest friends. And one of the best That's What She Saids of all time. (i.e. the title of this blog, which was actually being asked of the toast I was eating at the time.) And a bubble gun. And the beach*. And even more beach. And the grosses Zellers I've ever been in. And a birthday pony ride. And bowling. And me being actually decent at bowling**.

All in all, it was the best birthday ever. The end.

*Yes, I voluntarily went out to the Beaches on my birthday. (For those of you not from Toronto, the Beaches is a neighborhood that is in the east end of Toronto. I am a west ender. No--a Super West Ender. I actually find the middle of the city to be too far east for my liking. And the actual east? Forget it. Do they even speak English out there?) Shocking, I know. And there is a lot more beach out there than I previously realized. Like, a real beach. With sand and stuff. I HAD NO IDEA. It was very nice, actually. Maybe the east end isn't so bad after all. Actually, I take that back.

**Normally, I bowl under 50 points. I wish I was exaggerating for dramatic effect, but I am not. This game, I bowled a 92. And I got a few strikes. As in MORE THAN ONE. It must have been the birthday luck.

Stupid little short-circuit.

2011-07-04T00:15:00.005-04:00

A couple of weeks ago, I ordered the greatest thing (read: piece of clothing, because the official title of Greatest Thing I Will Ever Own belongs to my Wesley Snipes, Esq. My cat. Obviously.) I will ever own. And if you are wondering, the greatest thing I will ever own comes from Australia. I waited patiently for it to arrive in the mail and it did while I was away on holidays.

So when I got home, the first thing I did was retrieve my parcel and rip it open in a fit of joy. Why the fit of joy? This is why:

If you are all, well that's just you in a bathing suit, who cares, then please--let me further draw your attention to the bathing suit in question with these bright pink arrows:

That, my friends, is the "Artoo" bathing suit by Black Milk Clothing. As in R2D2. As in Star Wars. As in if you still don't get it, then shut the front door. But leave first. Because I don't want you here.

There are other pictures circulating of a few different chicks wearing it, two in particular that are somewhat popular. And I'll admit that these two girls have great boobs, which is made ever so obvious in a bathing suit. But what I lack in boob I make up for with spunk, as demonstrated below in my attempt of "The Robot" dance:

It should be no secret by now that I am a Star Wars fan. I have coveted this bathing suit for quite some time and finally decided that I could live no longer without it in my life. It's probably one of the more expensive pieces of movie related paraphernalia that I own, but worth every freakin' penny.

I plan on wearing it around the house. Mostly because it's awesome. Mostly-mostly because I don't have a pool to swim in. If you happen to have a pool and wouldn't mind me hanging out in your pool for obnoxiously long periods of time, while making obligatory robot noises (duh), please do get in touch. Specifically if your name is Rupert Grint. (Actually, only if.)

Violet Eyes? Really?

2011-07-01T00:24:00.003-04:00

When I was a little girl, I wanted desperately to be a princess from a medieval fantasy world: a beautiful princess in beautiful gowns with beautiful golden hair.

Yeah: Gold. Mainly because that was the colour of Princess Aurora's hair from Sleeping Beauty and that movie left far too permanent a mark on me as a little girl. (Damn you, Disney.) But also because what sort of princess has mousy brown hair? Probably a lame one.

I also wanted violet eyes. I can't begin to imagine from where I got this asinine idea, but it was what I wanted. And then when I was older, I told my aunt about wanting violet eyes and she told me only whores from romance novels had violet coloured eyes. Okay, she probably didn't use the word "whore". Maybe she said "wench" or "harlot". Probably "harlot".

So, I desperately wanted to be a violet eyed whore--I mean harlot--I mean princess, from some sort of magical fantasy realm:

I would have a bad ass castle.

And gorgeous gowns made of the finest materials.


Also, you can't forget my luxurious golden hair. Bards would write songs about it's golden-ness.

I'd wear a crown made of priceless jewels.

And have a dashing prince, like Prince Phillip.

Uh, not that Phillip.
On second thought, scratch the prince.

I'd have a dragon instead!

But as I got older and started to become more aware of the actual history of the medieval times, I realized how desperately I did not want to be a princess.

Those people were dirty. They didn't believe in germs, razors, or the importance of Kiehl's body lotion. Also, what about indoor plumbing? Or a dishwasher? Lucky Charms cereal? Central Air?

But most importantly, how could I be expected to rule a kingdom without my daily Tim Hortons steeped tea? Sure I'd have a dragon and whore-ish violet eyes, but I needs my daily Tims, I do.

So that's when I decided that I did not, in fact, want to be a medieval princess and promptly stopped going to sleep every night fervently wishing to wake up in a magical, mystical land. I'm sure I was just days away from actually transporting back in time, too. So it's a good thing I stopped with the fervent wishing. Totally.

Anyway, now I leave the medieval princess crap for the movies and books and TV shows.

Like Game of Thrones. OMIGOSH, Game of Thrones.

I have spent the past three days obsessively watching the first season and it is my new favourite thing. I wish it had more than 10 episodes and I wish I didn't have to wait until next spring for the new season and HOLY CRAP, did the season finale ever end with a bang.

If you haven't heard of Game of Thrones, then I highly suggest you watch this trailer for it, and then start watching the first episode post haste:

And if you have heard of it, but still aren't watching it, what's wrong with you?

Guess what!

2011-06-28T23:54:00.001-04:00

I was in Newfoundland last week. What? Really? Yeah, I know. I had plans of going on many grand adventures and subsequently making many grand blog posts so you would all know that I was in Newfoundland, but unfortunately that did not happen. Obviously.

What did happen was my cold (the cold that was loving given to my by Bea and James at their wedding) attacked with vengeance during my Newfie holiday. Boo, I says.

Boo, indeed.

I still managed to have a time. (A good time, I mean.) I got to see the family and eat many a delicious meal and enjoy the glorious late June weather that Newfoundland provided for me:

Would you look at that there gorgeous sky? Except you can't. Because of the fog. I think all of the fog there is has collected in St John's, Newfoundland. Drat the luck. Now, the fog I don't mind so much. In fact, I rather like fog. It was the cold part that came along with the fog that really rotted me.

Do you see this?

Those are my boots. And my heavy jeans. I haven't been able to wear either for over a month, yet I had to dig them out of my closet for my "summer" vacation. Also, a jacket. Yeah, I know--shut the front door. I always say Newfoundland is my favourite place ever . . . when it's not snowing. And I always plan my trips for the beginning of the warm season. I thought the end of June would be safe. Next year, I'm going back in August.

Despite the chilly weather and my evil sickness, I managed to enjoy a delicious meal from Aunt and Uncle, a drunken night of card games with Cousin and Friends of Cousin, snuggles from the most excellent of dogs, something known as "nurses' dip", two evenings of classic Disney movies, supper with my Nan and Pop and finally, FINALLY, on my last day, I was feeling well enough to dance around a park with the missus and take some pictures.

Oh, and then I saw this rad yellow tractor and decided there wasn't much better way to end my trip than with a ride. The missus declined a ride; she doesn't know what she missed out on.

BALLOONCEPTION

2011-06-21T22:47:00.002-04:00

While I was at the greatest wedding of all the times, I witnessed something miraculous. Something so mind boggling that my poor little brain could barely comprehend it.

What was this amazing thing you ask?

It was a balloon inside a balloon. As in, there was a white balloon, and inside of it, shaking around, was a blown-up red balloon. HOLY CRAP, am I right?!

Christian and I had to harass some small children in order to find the creator of the balloon-inside-a-balloon. It was James' cousin and luckily for her this amazing talent she possesses canceled out the fact that she was the one who brought the dude who wore flip flops to a wedding. Yeah, that guy.

And then, we decided that we needed to one-up this girl. So we set out to make a balloon inside a balloon . . . INSIDE A BALLOON. Bam, that's right. Three balloons.

This turned out to be not so easy a task. Blowing up a balloon when it is stuck inside two other balloons is incredibly difficult. I have to give Christian most of the credit for the blowing up of said balloons, but I supervised. And then, finally, all we had left to do was to tie off the last balloon and . . .

IT'S A BALLOON INSIDE A BALLOON INSIDE A BALLOON!

I called the little one a balloon fetus. And then I ran around, forcing people to gaze upon our balloon creation. I don't think they cared.

But the story doesn't stop there, oh no. As an aside, one of the many awesome things I do with my most awesome job ever is stabbing a balloon with a point stick without the balloon popping. Seriously.

Balloon-kabob! And when I posted the above video on my Facebook, I was told that what would be really amazing would be if I stabbed a balloon inside a balloon inside a balloon--a "balloonception" if you will. Also, while stabbing this balloon inside a balloon inside a balloon, I had to play Edith Piaf's "Je Ne Regrette Rien".

Challenge accepted.

Now, I realize this is just a balloon-inside-a-balloon-kabob, but I ran out of balloons and it was getting late and and the first two times I did it, my camera didn't record it properly and, honestly, I'd like to see you stab a balloon inside a balloon. So there.

Once I posted that video, obviously I was met with praise and and awe. And then Christian mused that this new found obsession with balloons could, very well, awaken something in me. (If it can happen with the Dean, it could happen to me too.) He posted a video to go along with that thought and that is how the following video became my new favourite thing in ever:

Beth and James Get Married!

2011-06-21T22:07:00.001-04:00

I really wanted to title this BJ Get Married, but Bea would get mad at me. Because everyone (aside from my mum, apparently) knows what "BJ" stands for.

Hehe.

Also, I'm incredibly immature.

The wedding was amazing. I'm still recovering, actually. From all of the awesome. But mostly from a wicked awful head cold I caught from the bride and groom. Thanks, guys.

After making all of those poofs the day before the wedding (poofs!), I headed back to Oakville and then woke up the next morning to head back out to Welland again, this time with Christian, my date for the wedding. We spent the morning getting ready with Bea, where we unwrapped flamingos, finalized the dance music and ate an awful lot of guacamole.

(Oh, and I ended up going with the spikey shoes after all. Thanks for all of the help deciding, but when your shoes have spikes on them, it's sort of an easy decision. I did, however, bring the nude ones to dance in, because they are surprisingly super duper comfortable. Yes, the shoes with the 6 inch spike heel are, in fact, good for dancing in. Believe it, Ripley.) I can't, however, compete with Bea's sparkly pink shoes; they are just too rad for words.

Once we were all prettified (wow, I can't believe that's a real word), we headed out to take some pictures. There were flamingos. And we went to a drive in. Enough said. And when you're a super rad photographer and you're marrying another rad photographer, and your Flower Lady loves to take pictures and her date is also a photographer, it means you don't need to hire a photographer for your wedding.

(And if you are wondering, I'm attempting to play croquet with the flamingos.)

Here is Christian. Isn't that a sexy jacket he's wearing? I helped him pick it out after forcing him to help me pick out my pink dress. A dress, that I discovered, I was unable to bend over in due to it being obscenely short. Luckily for everyone in attendance, I bought cute pink undies for the occasion.

And if the wedding couldn't get any more rad, what with flamingos and a drive in and all, then there was the marquee. Because Bea and James got married in a movie theatre. Because they're awesome like that.

And I haven't even gotten to the actual wedding part yet, which was--of course--amazing. There were wings. Have you ever had wings at a wedding? Probably not, because you haven't attended any cool weddings. There was also a table full of cakes and heart shaped cookies. And then there was a dance party. I danced my shoes off, literally. At one point, Bea and I were lying on the ground clapping to the music. That counts as dancing, right? Christian also made up a new dance move. Here it is in all it's glory:

"What, you think I have a sexy phone voice? Oh, thanks."
"I was thinking of you, so I called you."
"Don't worry, baby, it's totally worth the long distance charge."
"No, you hang up first."

All in all, it was the best wedding ever. Even the dude who wore flip-flops to a wedding couldn't bring it down.

PARTY POMS!

2011-06-18T00:23:00.006-04:00

Remember that time I bought a hot pink dress and asked for help deciding what shoes to wear with it? And I told you that I am wearing the dress in a wedding, and that I am the "Flower Lady", and then you probably laughed at me because that's kind of (read: very) ridiculous and I'm just glad you were laughing at your computer screen and not to my actual face.

Anyway, the wedding is tomorrow! I am very excited. Bea and I have been friends for ages now and I am pleased as punch (the grape kind) that she and James are getting married. They are the best couple. I wear their love proudly on my forehead. And I mean that literally, not figuratively.

(But as I needed to be able to see for the rest of the day, their love was removed from my forehead and is now proudly adhered to my agenda. Which is just as good, if not better, than my forehead.)

Bea and James are getting married in their hometown, so today I got to take my very first GO bus ride out to Welland. It was very exciting. And what I mean by that is that it was a bus ride. And what I mean by that is that it was relatively boring.

But the very un-boring part of the trip was getting to help set up for the wedding. Because there were scones and party poms which I referred to as poofs and pink and kettle corn and more pink and even more poofs. What do I mean by poofs? Why, this:

Except they didn't come like that. Ohhhhhh nosiree. They started off like this:

Obviously that is very flat. And not nearly poofy enough. But after approximately ten minutes of pulling tissue apart, the poof is born!

I am very, very attached to these poofs. They are like my little babies. How can you not love them? They are so poofy and poof-tastic and poof-ical.

It was also nice spending time with Bea, who is the lady getting married after all. Right--I wasn't just there for the poofs. I was really there for the scones. But also for Bea. But don't forget about the poofs.

Poof!

Also, there is bright pink kettle corn.

Halp! The Shoes Edition

2011-06-15T18:36:00.000-04:00

Have you ever wanted to be an integral part of my outfit choosing routine?

Probably not.

But anyway, help me pick out what shoes I should wear and you could win an all expenses paid vitrual high five. Whoa, dream big! Just don't spend it all in one place, tiger.

See, I'm the Flower Lady in my very bestest friend, Bea's, wedding this Saturday. I am mostly the Flower Lady because I refused to be a Bridesmaid. Flower lady sounds way more awesome, anyway. I hope you're not laughing at me like my mom did.

I doubt you'll be laughing after you see me in my HOT PINK DRESS! And by "hot pink dress" I mean it's literally hot pink. And by "literally", I mean LITerally--just like how Chris Traeger says it.

Yup. Literally. Hot pink. And I'll be wearing my greatest necklace of all the times with this dress, just like the above picture depicts. And my hair will be cleaner, promise. Also, in case of weather--the cold kind (but more so to look even more like I'm from a bad eighties prom movie)--I will be wearing this cropped black jacket:

So: hot pink dress, big bling, clean hair. And now for the shoe options:

Personally, I am leaning more toward option C: my most favourite nude Steve Maddens that I fearlessly ordered off the interwebs last year and rocked at Cousin' wedding last fall or option E: the bad-ass spiked Sam Edelmans that I had coveted since last August and finally added to my closet a few months ago.

But I don't know. Well, actually I do: I really just want to buy a whole new pair of shoes. Because that's way more fun. But, given that I am broke (boo, less fun), I am going to wear a pair of shoes I already own (boo, even less fun).

Okay, now it's your turn to tell me what to wear. Anddddd go.

Parks and bikes and Bicyclette.

2011-06-10T15:03:00.002-04:00

Remember how like five minutes ago, I said yesterday was super productive and then I talked about how I did two photo shoots and then I proceeded to tell you all about the first one?

Well, this is where I talk about the second one.

So, after I wrapped up with Jessica and Vienna, I slowly made my way to Queen W, where I was shooting the first summer look book for Paige at Bicyclette. We'd been waiting and waiting and waiting for the weather to be nice enough to shoot in Trinity Bellwoods park, and it finally was!

Actually, it was supposed to rain all day yesterday, but it never did. Which I'm going to take as some sort of sign. That it didn't rain.

Or something.

Our concept was simple, yet awesome-sauce: cute girls doing cute things in cute clothes while in the cute park. Cute, amirite? Right. We were lucky enough to score two super cute ladies, Tiffany and Emily, to be our models. I worked with Tiffany on the past two look books and while this was my first time shooting Emily, she's done modeling for Bicyclette in the past.

Basically, we're all one big happy Bicyclette family. We might even have laminated club cards. Okay, we don't. Mostly just because I don't have a laminating machine. Yet.

But if I did . . .well, I'd laminate A LOT of stuff. (Like, you have no idea.)

The shoot was easy-breezy and piles of fun. There was frolicking and pretend reading and tree climbing and bike-bell ringing! I was super excited and edited some sample shots last night. The rest are on their way!

See--cute! Sigh. It is very nice to have all this cute stuff at my disposal. Thank you, Paige. My camera, closet and flawless sense of style are eternally grateful. (You can see the rest of the story on the Bicyclette website.)

Crimped!

2011-06-10T14:33:00.002-04:00

Yesterday was an incredibly productive day for me. I accomplished TWO major things yesterday. You might be sitting there thinking to yourself, "well, that's not all that great". You might also be scouring the internet for the perfect blue sweater for your slightly overweight (but shh, don't tell her because it will hurt her feelings) French bulldog. And actually her favourite colour is red.

The thing is, I don't know what you're sitting there thinking or doing. Which is probably a good thing? Another good thing would be me getting back to the point, which--I promise--is not slightly overweight French bulldogs.

The point: yesterday was productive because I did not one, but two photo shoots. Go me! Normally I put aside an entire day to do a shoot because, well, they are tiring and time consuming. This time, I decided to throw "normally" to the wind and have myself a grand adventure.

My first shoot was an early morning one. I actually woke up when it was still dark out. Given that it is summer, I'm sure you are aware that meant I woke up around 5AM. That also meant I cried a little when I opened my eyes and realized the sun had yet to rise.

I managed to pull myself together and make it to the shoot location, which was the makeup artist, Jessica's apartment. The last time I worked with Jessica was for the SS11 Headmistress look book shoot and we had been meaning to do a beauty story together for ages. It might have taken almost ten months but we made it happen. Huzzah.

I had an idea for how I wanted to shoot/edit the story, so I gave Jessica free reign with the makeup and hair. Because I trust her and she's awesome.

I also managed to wrangle my very favourite model ever, Vienna, into being our gorgeous face for the day. I absolutely adore her. I am also slightly jealous of her, for reasons I won't divulge, but I will say this: she got to scheme. SCHEME. (That means nothing to you, and probably for the better.)

Anyway, right, yes, pretty pictures and such. The makeup was super gorgeous: soft pinks and purples all blended across her cheekbone and underneath the eye.

Jessica made me love her even more by deciding to crimp Vienna's hair. I love crimped hair. And Vienna has a lot of hair. And Jessica was doing little mini crimps, like a champ. Just look at all that gorgeous crimped-ness. How could you NOT love that?

And the only thing better than crimped hair is a fishtail braid. And THEN Jessica went and did a fishtail braid with the crimped hair and my brain almost exploded from the awesome.

And, like always, Vienna was a total rock star.

I'm in the process of putting together the final look for the images, but my rough edit already has me super stoked beyond belief:

Shazam!

(And yes, you may have noticed that this post focused on one of the two shoots I claimed to have done yesterday. But what about the other one, you ask?! There you go.)

"Manatee" is a strange name for a crayon colour.

2011-05-22T22:36:00.004-04:00

It's no secret that I'm fairly organized. Especially now, having just typed that out. And while I prefer to say "organized", some of my friends prefer to say "anal retentive" or "annoying" or "seriously, you spent your Friday evening doing what?"

Doing what, indeed. I'll be getting to that in a moment.

Because I enjoy organizing, one would also assume that I am a clean-freak or tidy-monster or . . . um, something else related to being clean, except not using the word "clean", because I just used it. Actually, I'm neither, really. More like a lazy-_____ (when I'm less lazy, I'll think of a better word to put there). I enjoy organizing purely for the aesthetic. I like lining things up on shelves; I enjoy moving furniture around in my room to create a different flow; I like to stack and sort and pile. Basically: I like things to look pretty.

And pretty is spending my Friday evening organizing a new set of 150 Crayola crayons. And now you can all chime in with: "seriously, you spend your Friday evenings doing what?" (See: it's all coming together now.)

I just figured, if the Rapture (or raptor) was really upon us, I'd want to make sure my crayons were nice and organized. Am I right? Right.

I saw this set of crayons at the store last month and was super excited. I've always bought the box o' crayons with 96 colours. Pfft. Who wants 96 when you can have 150?! Answer: only a chump. And since I am not a chump, I bought these crayons. The super rad part of this set is that it doesn't come in a box. Because, just like the number 96, a box is also for chumps. Instead, I got myself a fancy tower, complete with a sharpener (WHOA), three tiers (DOUBLE WHOA) and it telescopes out for the ultimate crayon experience (TRIPLE WHOA).

First things first, I dumped out all the crayons to organize them like a rainbow. I sorted out the specialty crayons first: glittery and metallic, and then started sorted through the major colour groups.

It's not as easy a job as one would think. Some of the colours are tricksy and can't decide whether they want to be a pink or a purple. And the neon colours--where should those live?! Do they have their own bad ass neon club, or do they try to blend in with their regular colour relatives?! And what about that "apricot"? It's not really an orange, but it's hardly a brown either. Where should it live?! And what is up with this "almond"? Seriously now. And who came up with the name "manatee" for a shade of grey? It hardly measures up to it's cousin, "timberwolf". If you had to chose between colouring with "timberwolf" or "manatee", I'm pretty sure you'd go with "timberwolf".

Everyone knows manatees are evil, anyhow.

Yes. Ahem. Anyway.

After sorting and experimenting with the tiers for about an hour . . . Okay, okay: it was more like two hours. What? I wanted to make sure it was perfect. And the tiers weren't exactly easy to work with. Jeez. Where was I? Oh, right: finally, I pronounced my crayon tower complete. BEHOLD:

I placed a basic rainbow on the very lowest/outer tier. I wasn't able to fit the neon colours in to this rainbow, so they live in their own home on the second tier, along with the metallics, the glitters, and the browns. And then the greys and black and white all live on the very top most tier.

And that is what I did on my Friday night.

This entire post also serves as an explanation to why I haven't had a boyfriend since 2008--something my aunt was wondering about earlier this evening. There you go, Aunt Mary. I may be alone, but at least I have a beautifully organized set of crayons. WITH a telescoping tower.

super fun bright purple elephant

2011-05-16T19:14:00.000-04:00

A little while ago, Blogger introduced this "Stats" thing where you can keep track of, well, stats. It's a good thing they gave it such a logical name like "Stats" instead of something like "SUPER FUN BRIGHT PURPLE ELEPHANT". Because you would more likely than not be clicking on that link and expecting a super fun bright purple elephant and instead see a page full of stats. How misleading. And dull. Stats? Where's my super fun bright purple elephant?

While some of yous might prefer a super fun bright purple elephant, I for one would not. I mean, have you considered how much a super fun bright purple elephant would eat and drink? And where would it sleep? Do you have room in your house for a super fun bright purple elephant? And no, you can't keep it in your garage. Jeez.

That's why I prefer the stats. Not only do they not require food, water, or shelter, but they also tell you fun, somewhat stalker-ish things about your blog! For example, how many people looked at my bloggy today, and what browser they were using, and what country they are from. Whoa! How very statistical.

The most fun statistic is the "keyword search" one. It basically lists what people have searched for in a search engine and subsequently finding my blog. I have discovered that people search for very, very strange things and end up finding my blog. Here are my favourite ones:

1. "newfoundland surfing"

Apparently I must be some sort of official expert on the surfing to be had in Newfoundland, as my blog comes up second in Google. I had no idea there was even surfing in Newfoundland. Wouldn't it be too cold and puffin-y? That blog post I wrote was mostly about a sign I saw where a Newfoundland dog was surfing. I guess if a dog can surf in Newfoundland, people can too.

2. "concrete crafts blogs"

On top of surfing in Newfoundland, I am also an expert in the exciting world of concrete crafts. What? You didn't realize crafts could be made out of concrete?! Neither did I. But when I was trapped on Bell Island in Newfoundland last summer, I got to see some concrete crafts up close. Man, those Bennetts sure do know their concrete crafts.

3. "vanilla thunder teddy westside"

The fact that my blog comes up very first in Google for this search pleases me immensely. Those are two of the characters' nicknames from one of my favourite shows, How I Met Your Mother. Last fall, I blogged about my extreme love of HIMYM. And now, Google recognizes that love.

4. "I am going to die in a hole"

I feel bad for this person who was going to die in a hole. Clearly, they were searching for guidance of some kind. Maybe what kind of hole was best to die in. Or perhaps a recommendation on a shovel brand if they were planning on digging their own hole. Or maybe they were looking for suggestions about how to NOT die in a hole. (My advice: don't fall in them.) Instead, they ended up finding my blog about one of my most intense fears. Which isn't dying in a hole, by the way.

5. "is it normal to have piles at 22"

I have no idea. You should probably go ask a doctor instead of a search engine.

6. "I am going skiing am I going to die on the ski lift"

According to this movie, yes, yes you will. Well, not actually ON the ski lift. First you'll fall off and then you'll get eaten by wolves. This is one of the most searched for things that brings up my blog. Every month it's a little bit of "frozen guys eaten by wolves", "falling off chair lift and dying", "did two guys really get eaten alive by wolves in frozen?", blah blah blah. I guess the premise of this movie has really plagued the masses. And I'm just glad I was able to shed some light on the subject. Also, never see that movie. Ever.

7. "fruit wrinkles for sale"

Bahahahahah. Fruit wrinkles. Need I say more? (Strangely enough, this is another much searched for topic.)

8. "chopper copter for nine year olds"

I'm fairly certain that nine year olds should not be operating helicopters. Any sort of heavy and/or flying machinery, really. But especially helicopters. Or tanks. Tanks would be overly dangerous too. Unless a "chopper copter" is some sort of toy? The wooden one I made was loads of fun!

9. "toaster strudel why so important"

I don't actually have a screen grab for this one because my blog didn't show up on the first page. Or even the first fifteen pages, for that matter. And I got tired of looking after that. The reason my blog will eventually come up is because I wrote one entitled "I invented Post-Its. And Toaster Strudel. Naturally, it had nothing to do with either. Hopefully whoever it was ended up finding out the answer to their question.

Why so important, indeed.

I made stuff!: "friendship" bracelets.

2011-05-14T17:47:00.005-04:00

Occasionally I make stuff. Okay, hardly ever. Well, I mean I bake cookies a lot. And cupcakes. But then I eat them, as that is what you are meant to do with delicious cookies and cupcakes, so there isn't really a lasting end result, unless you count my lasting feeling of satisfaction and joy. I had a point. Oh, right: sometimes I actually make things. Like, crafty things.

Earlier this week, I had a hankering for a smoothie. So I had one. I also had a hankering to do something crafty. I was all inspired by the DIY hex-nut bracelets on Honestly...WTF's bloggy, so I decided to get myself some materials and bust out some bracelets. Note the materials below. Right now, they are all boring and not doing much but laying there and being a pile of string. BORING. But soon they will be bracelets. Magical.

I remember when I was a little girl and friendship bracelets were popular. I had an entire box full of embroidery thread wrapped around cards. I vaguely remember calling it "floss" for some reason. Was this just a strange mid-west phenomenon? It wouldn't surprise me; people from Kansas are weird.

While I had an entire box full of thread, I didn't actually make a lot of friendship bracelets. I had friends--don't get me wrong. No. Honestly, I did. But making bracelets was time consuming, and I much preferred organizing all of the colours in my thread box.

Yes. That's right. I collected embroidery thread just to organize it in my box in an aesthetically pleasing manner. And I would collect more colours to fill in gaps in my thread rainbow.

I feel at this point it's important to reiterate: I DID have friends. Really.

Anyway, yesterday it was very nice, so I decided to make bracelets on the back deck. Fun! I laid out all of my materials. I found some super rad fluorescent twine at the hardware store, and got a neutral colour to balance it out.

I had made a bunch of bracelets the night before, but I was distracted by a super intense episode of Law and Order: SVU and stupidly tied the bracelets to my wrists in a way that only scissors could get them off again.

Yeah. Oops. Also, it's uncomfortable to sleep in bracelets covered in hex nuts, lemme tell you. So, after cutting them all off, I set about making new, removable ones.

It was fun! It also took a surprising amount of skill and dexterity to incorporate the hex nuts in to a braid. And I was so deep in concentration that I did not notice the attacker until it was too late . . .

OH NOES. Wesley Snipes claimed the green thread as his own. But then we compromised and he let it go. Specifically, I distracted him with a discarded piece of green thread and he went after that one. Me: one. Cat: zero.

After doing my first bracelet, I started getting all fancy and doing things like "cobra stitches". Whoa--super fancy. Watch out, guys. And after a few hours: voila!

Aren't they magical? I think so. And what blog wouldn't be complete without some artsy pictures of string? Amirite?

Glittered castles and foxy letters and Bicyclette.

2011-05-11T18:28:00.002-04:00

Oh hi there. It's been a while, hasn't it.

Yes, yes it has. And in case you were wanting a "why", here is a variety of possible answers to take your pick from:

1. I'm incredibly lazy.
2. I was on a treasure hunt.
3. I had just aquired a pet platypus and I was busy training it to juggle.
4. Everytime I thought about blogger-ing, I decided to watch Arrested Development instead.
5. Robots.
6. No, really: robots.
7. I forgot how to type.
8. I broke all the fingers in my hands while trying to rescue a baby from a run away carriage.
9. I was busy teaching babies how to properly operate carriages, to avoid 8 from happening again.
10. I was busy making up outlandish excuses to not write a blog.

Anyway, about a month ago, I did another shoot with Paige of Bicyclette. Remember: the greatest store in all the land? Yes, of course you do. Bicyclette The Boutique has been officially open for two months now, and most of Toronto has taken notice. For obvious reasons. (Those reasons being of the pretty and pink and lacy and sparkly nature.)

Now, if you have yet to go and visit, I have this to say to you:

What the what?! You need to go. Right now. Get yourself something pretty. If not for you, then for me.

We were shooting for spring, but in typical Toronto style, a month ago it wasn't quite spring. In fact, on our shoot day it rained, snowed, hailed, was sunny for a bit, then incredibly windy, and then it repeated that cycle all over again. No, really. Needless to say, we shot inside. It was piles of fun and included the following: two loverly models (Tifanny and Aneta), some giant fake diamonds, the letters F O X Y, a terrifying fox mask, tea cups, a pink rotary phone and a glitter castle.

Here are my favourite shots from the shoot:

You can see the rest on my website. Oh, and that terrifying fox mask?

Yeah. How disturbing is that. Answer: very.

The Most Glorious Necklace Of All The Times.

2011-04-20T21:01:00.001-04:00

Remember way back in December, when I first met Paige and we did that shoot and there was glitter and also that necklace that I loved? The one designed by super-amazing Lauren Elan? Yeah, that one that I insisted on wearing it the entire shoot and very begrudgingly took it off whenever it was needed in a shot.

Well, it only took four freaking months, but the necklace is finally mine. All mine. MINE. Muahahaha.

There was absolutely zero need for a manic laugh just then.

Or was there.

Anyway, when I was visiting Paige at Bicyclette last weekend, there it was, sitting there, calling to me. It was all, "Siân, buy me. You know you want to. All of your outfits will be so greatly improved once you have me. I am so sparkly. Take me home. Love me. OR ELSE I WILL KILL YOU."

And since I quite enjoy being not-killed, I sort of had to buy it. But I think you will agree it is a worthy investment. Evidence:

See how boring and blah I was before? And then, CRASHBOOMBANG, magic! It's The Most Glorious Necklace Of All The Times. And it's mine. So back off.

I know you might be thinking: pearls and sparkly bits? Isn't that a bit fancy? How ever will you get enough wear out of that? So, I have taken it upon myself to compile some photographic evidence to show you just how versatile The Most Glorious Necklace Of All The Times can be.

Here, you can see how it looks good with leopard. A lot of leopard. And hats. And it also looks great with swear words. And t-shirts with holes in them. And sweatshirts with movie logos on them. And blazers. And also Star Wars. But everything looks good with Star Wars.

And if you were wondering if you could go out in say, a crown or a blue cat-hat with this necklace, by golly--you sure could!

And also a Max-hat. The Most Glorious Necklace Of All The Times looks quite fetching with a Max-hat.

But not this mask. Because it's effing creepy as heck. But it only barely detracts from the glory that is The Most Glorious Necklace Of All The Times. What I'm saying, basically, is that if you happened to be a slightly less creepy looking clown, this is the necklace for you.

What about while you're doing certain activities, you say? Well, if you happen to be cultivating giant pink diamonds, this is the perfect necklace. Or if you are taking your bronze unicorn statue or AT-AT out for a walk. Of if you are going to a Yankees game. Or any other sports game that involves giant, foam hands, really.

This necklace is also a must for very serious portraits with one's cat.

Basically I love this necklace. Even more than I love you.

And since by now you obviously want one, you can purchase one from the designer's website directly or head over to the Bicyclette Boutique. And you're welcome.

I have a new job. It's awesome.

2011-04-18T18:57:00.001-04:00

So, I have this spiffy new job. And by "spiffy", I mean it's SUPER AWESOME FANTABULASTIC! And that last one is totally a real word. Totes. Mcgoats.

What is this FANTABULASTIC (it's best when typed all in caps, trust me) new job, you ask? Or maybe you're not asking. But if you're not asking, that would imply that you don't care. And if you don't care, then, well, maybe I don't care about you. So . . . neah. Haters gon' hate. Or something like that.

Sorry--I'll stop trying to pretend I'm gansta. I mean gangster. I mean I'm neither so never mind.

Right. My job. It's---da da da DAHHHHHH:

Mad Science! As in, I get to teach after school programs all about science to the youngsters. As in, super duper awesome. But most as in of all, I get to wear a very official white lab coat.

Ch-ch-check it, yo:

Okay, first of all, I don't know why I decided to use the paint tool and my mouse to write out important words when I could have used text. And had it look much more legible. And not have had you lose respect for me.

But, there it is. Maybe pretend like I got my next door neighbor, Ian, to come over and write those captions for me. He's only five. And, uh, he broke his right arm falling off a jungle gym in the park, and since he's right handed, when he writes with his left hand it looks extra bad. Like that. Also, he was blindfolded.

Yeah, that's a good story. And totally true. Oh, I forgot the part about the dragons. Oh well--next time.

ANYWAY, I digress (I've been wanting to use that in my bloggy for a while now. Success!): do you notice how professional I look in my lab coat? It's even better than if I stayed at a Holiday Inn Express Last Night. But imagine how awesome it would be if I, in my Mad Science lab coat, stayed in a Holiday In Express Last Night? Wow. I know, right? I'd probably have to run for president of the world or something.

I digressed (again, more success!) some more. Whoops.

If you don't know about Mad Science, they aim to teach kids ages 6-12 all about how fun science can be. It's very hands on, with lots of fun experiments and activities. They do after school programming, summer camps, birthday parties, and special events.

Today was my very first day of classes. I had a grade school class, where we all learned about simple machines, and then a junior/senior kindergarten class, where we all learned about sounds. It was rad. I have another class on Wednesdays. Is it Wednesday yet?

I also got to pick a cool Mad Scientist name. I picked Awesome. First name, Very. And then Owen The First Grader told me that couldn't be my real name, and I was all, "of course it is, Owen The First Grader, because I always say the word "awesome"!", and then he was kind enough to keep a running tally of the amount of times I did say "awesome" in the one hour class.

I think it was seventeen.

Awesome.

Where Siân awkwardly takes pictures of her new tattoos.

2011-03-27T20:40:00.003-04:00

Do you realize how hard it is to take a nice, pretty photograph of your hand? Or the side of your ribcage, for that matter? Especially when you're using a rather nice DSLR and trying to shoot with a shallow depth of field. Which means that you put your camera on a timer and end up taking a lot of out of focus pictures of you hand. But then you have a MacGyver-like stroke of genius and get a large mirror to place behind the camera and turn on the live view so you can actually see what you are attempting to focus on and make sure it is the new tattoo on your hand, and not your shirt. Or nothing.

Right. Well. Tattoos! Yes. New tattoos: I has them. I haven't got a new tattoo in almost a year, so it was super duper exciting to finally get some new ones (they are addicting, trust). And these ones were extra special because they are bro tattoos. Bros before hos. All the bros. All the time. All the where.

That made absolutely no sense. So now I'll just distract you with pictures of my new tattoos in hopes you'll forget it ever happened.

Are you wondering what they're all about? Well, you can keep pondering over it, or you can continue to read these sentences and find out the answers right . . . about . . . now:

null & void: This is a matching tattoo with one of my best friends, Bradford. This is him. (He is the one with the beard. That would make me the other one in the picture.)

We like to call him "Beef". Sometimes I call him "Beefcake" and I say it just like Cartman does on South Park. Beeefffccakkkeee. Beeffffccaakkkkkeee. The reason for the tattoo is an inside joke that I won't divulge over my blog because, well, it makes Bradford look like somewhat of a doofus. But we still love him. And the real kind of love, not the "jeez, you really thought that "null and void" was one word? like nullinvoid? awwwwww honey" kind of love.

Oops. (Don't hate me, Bradford! What am I saying--you never read my blog, so you have no idea I just did that. I'll just stop talking to you like you're reading this, then.)

Moving on!

there's no place like home: I got this tattoo to match the one my most favourite cousin has in the same spot. This is her. She's the one not falling in to the water, like a moron. Which would make me the one with wet shoes.

We got the tattoo because we both grew up in Kansas together. In fact, Cousin lived in the same house as me for a while. What, you didn't know I was from Kansas? Heck yes, I am.

What, you didn't know I watched college basketball? Actually, I don't. Anyway: Cousin has moved back to Newfoundland, where my most excellent family is from (Newfoundland, represent!), but we both fondly remember our days growing up in Kansas.

And if you're thinking to yourself that you want to make a Dorothy reference the next time you see me, or talk to me, or maybe you've never talked to me, but now you feel like emailing me out of the blue with some sort of "I don't think we're in Kansas anymore" remark, followed by a bunch of LOLs (are you even laughing out loud? Doubtful.), well, I have this to say to you: you're a vagina. A soggy vagina.

Speaking of baked goods, I'll take more pictures once the tattoos have healed. I got the one on my ribs done in a gray ink--I can't wait to see how it looks once the scabs flake off.

And next up on my list of tattoos: a bro tattoo with my actual bro . . . ther. Brother. Heyyyy, brother. Righteous.

I submit that I was the cutest tiny human ever.

2011-03-23T21:48:00.004-04:00

So, I had this other awesome bloggy all planned out, but then I realized that my camera battery was dying, and by the time it was less-dead, it was too dark out to take pictures. Egads! I contemplated taking pictures with the flash, but it just would have looked gross.

Anyway, I was wondering what else I could ramble on about in lieu of my Awesome Blog Post (it really is awesome--just wait and see. Or, be incredibly underwhelmed after all of this anticipation, JUST like when The Golden Compass was made in to a feature length movie and you waited and waited for your favourite book to make it to the big screen and when it finally did, you were so angered that you shouted at the screen as the credits rolled. Yeah, just like that. Except it won't be, because it's awesome!) and . . .

Where was I? Oh, right: I was cleaning out my desk drawer and found some smashing pictures of me when I was a much tinier human. And since I had my scanner handy, and these were all super cute pictures, I thought to myself, "You know what: everyone else out there needs to see these pictures too. And now you have something to blog about."

Here is that something to blog about, which I am fairly certain is way more awesome than the Julia Roberts movie, Something to Talk About. Although, you're free to talk about these pictures too. And you'll probably want to. Because they're cute. And stuff.

And stuff:

Apparently, when I was little, I wore a lot of coveralls. I also thought I was meant to be refrigerated. You might think I was very young here, but not really: I just didn't have much hair until I was three or four.

Check out this fantastic floral ensemble. It was very hip to be covered head-to-toe in matching pattern in the late eighties. Although this outfit was apparently worn on numerous occasions, I am doubting my love of it, given the facial expressions in both of these photographs.

Four-year-old me was me was obviously very, very serious. I should be happier--I finally have hair! I'd also like to draw your attention to the blindingly pink outfit to the right, complete with bright red boots and what's that--a tree? What a lovely yellow tree that is. I'm glad you are pointing to it in such a casual way, tiny me.

I always drove around on my fire truck wearing an over-sized toque and a striped get-up. That's how the Fire Chief rolls, yo. And on the right, you might be thinking to yourself that that picture is a bit inappropriate, given the bit of undie I am flashing. But that's nothing.

THIS, on the other hand, isn't nothing. Good gravy. I remember acquiring this outfit in Disney World and insisting on wearing it all the time. And I must commend my tiny self on the matching red socks/white shoes combination (even as a child, I was a fearless dresser), but somebody should have told me that respectable young ladies don't lounge on couches like that.

And there you have it. Cutest tiny human ever? You've seen my undies now, so you might not want to say "yes", but you still have to.

PINK PINK PINK!

2011-03-20T19:31:00.005-04:00

I think, just maybe, that this post might have something to do with the color--I mean "colour"--pink.

I've always liked the colour pink, and this season especially I've been craving more pink in my life (Paige from Bicyclette feels the same way too, so it must be a good thing.) I had pink hair for many years in high school. I thought about posting a picture of high-school-me with pink hair, and then thought better of it. Those pictures are best left off of the internet. For reals.

When I went to see Ashley at Proudest Pony this past weekend, I knew that I wanted something fun and bright and different for spring. I almost wanted to cut my hair super short, and then I almost wanted to dye it all bright red, and then I almost wanted to bash my head against the wall because I couldn't make up my mind. I finally settled on a compromise between wanting a bright color, but also still adoring the whole ombré hair style: ombré with PINK.

That's right: OMBRÉ WITH PINK. How does that work out? This is how:

That's my "ombré with pink" face. Or something. But check out those sweet pink tips, yo. Clearly, that is, like, the raddest thing you've seen all week. Maybe even all month. Eh? Ehhhh?

I took some more pictures in my rad new Star Wars shirt because it had pink in it too and I thought it looked cute together. I also went to a little toy convention dealio with my friend and bought an AT-AT die-cast figurine and had to take some pictures with it. So, well, it just made sense to wear the Star Wars shirt.

Yes. I HAD to take pictures with my AT-AT. I mean, look at how adorable he is:

Wouldn't you want to take pictures with him too? He needs a name, also. I was thinking Ferdinand, but I'm not sure if that's really an appropriate name for an All Terrain Armored Transport. He sort of does look at me like his name is Ferdinand. Or maybe he's looking at me like he's saying, "Lady, if you name me Ferdinand, I swear I will learn how to animate myself just so I can slap you in the face."

Anyway, here is me and not-Ferdinand the AT-AT having some fun.

There he is on my head! Silly AT-ATs--you never know what shenanigans they'll be up to next. I'm also training him to sit on my shoulder. And when he's not being man-handled by me, he lives next to my desk with my Max-Munny and my bronze unicorn.

I don't know how exactly this blog post went from really awesome pink hair to Star Wars. But I apologize.

. . . Or not? Because, really, what could be cooler than a post about awesome hair, the colour pink, AND Star Wars?

Nothing. The answer is nothing.

(Also, go do yourself a favour and get your hair cut at Proudest Pony.)

a shop and bicyclette

2011-03-13T23:32:00.001-04:00

I'm not sure if you were aware of this or not, but on Saturday, at around noon, something amazing happened: the doors of Bicyclette Boutique opened for the very first time.

BAM! Lookit that, all shiny and new and white. If you recall (and of course you do, because, it's like the coolest ever), my friend Paige has been running this amazing online boutique: http://bicyclette.to/. And just recently, she decided to open up a shop in Toronto. And here she is standing in her shop and I couldn't be prouder.

This news should make everyone very happy. It especially makes me happy because I was starting to think I would have to invite myself over to her apartment to try on pretty clothes. And Bicyclette has the prettiest clothes. Obviously.

The shop is located at 880 Queen St W, smack-dab in between the park (read: Trinity Bellwoods Park--you know: the one where all the hipster kids somehow manage to lounge obnoxiously in during the summer. [I had no idea it was even possible to making lounging obnoxious until I took a walk though Bellwoods last summer.]) and Fresh (read: the restaurant). A more amazing location could not be had, let me tell you.

I was in the shop on Saturday, opening day, and it was bustling. In between taking pictures, I tried on a few items. You know, for the sake of research. Or something.

Uh, is that not the most amazing dress/top you've ever seen? The bodice is all hand beaded with pearls and is just stunning in person. And I call it a dress-slash-top because with my height, it can definitely only be a top. Well, it could be a dress. It would just be one of those inappropriate dresses where you could see all of my bits.

Yes, I just said 'bits'. Deal.

Do you see that? It's a glittery, white castle. Just one more reason you should get your pretty self down to Bicyclette post haste.

Advice Narwhal Says: Leaves are boring.

2011-03-07T23:19:00.011-05:00

Guess what, guys: Advice Narhwal is back, this time with some insight and advice about our great Canadian pastime. No, not driving a Zamboni. No, not tailgating at Celine Dion concerts. I'm talking about hockey!

I admittedly know diddly-shit about hockey. Okay, all sports. But that's just in an effort to, well, not know anything about sports. Because sports aren't very exciting.

Anyway. Where the heck is that narwhal?

This is what Advice Narwhal has to say today:

I believe it would be in the city of Toronto's best interest to change the name of their NHL team. We can all agree that a hockey team should have an exciting and cool and dangerous sounding name. And let's face it: "Maple Leafs" isn't a very exciting or cool or dangerous sounding name. Because leaves aren't very exciting or cool or dangerous. In fact, leaves are boring.

Look at those leaves. Look at how boring they are. I wouldn't be worried about playing some team named after things that grow out of a tree. Those kinds of leaves don't even last through winter. Ha. Take that. Stupid leaves.

But, if not the Maple Leafs, then what, you ask? Oh, I'll tell you: The Platypuses.

That's right. Only the coolest freaking animal on the face of the planet. What other mammal can lay eggs, has a duck-bill and a beaver tail and otter feet, AND is venomous? Obviously the platypus is the most awesome animal ever.

And obviously any hockey team named after such a magnificent beast would be the most awesome hockey team ever. Simple math, people.

Wouldn't you go to a game if you got to see the Toronto Platypuses play? And the mascot could be a giant platypus that stabs annoying people with his venomous spur.

Like members of the opposing team.

I find myself agreeing with Advice Narwhal--I'd totes go to a game if they were the Toronto Platypuses. In preparation for what is obviously an inevitable name change, I've prepared a rousing sports chant:

Platypuses! Platypuses!

Awesome and rad!

We'll stab you with our venom spur

if you make us mad!

STAB STAB STAB!

MAD! MAD! MAD!

ATTTTAACCKKKK!

DIE! DIE! DIE!

GGOOOO PLLAATTYYPUUUSSSEEESSS!!!!!!!

I AM BETTER THAN YOU.

2011-03-04T21:03:00.002-05:00

Well, not really. Unless, you're like, a super unwholesome type person. Then, yes, yes I am better than you. Like a pedophile: I'm pretty sure it's safe to say that I am better than a pedophile.

I'm just super stoked because today I received some super stoke-worthy news:

I GOT ACCEPTED TO COLLEGE!

This is my very first time applying to college. So, it is also my very first time being accepted to college. And, I got accepted to both of the programs I applied to, which must make me at least twice as cool. Or maybe three times as cool. How did I come by three? Uh. Just because.

Okay, okay--I actually feel the need to compensate with extra coolness because I am painfully aware of the fact that most people who are getting accepted to college this year were born in the year 1993. And I was definitely not. And also, isn't it just the tiniest bit disturbing that people BORN in 1993 are only a few years away from being in their twenties? Yeah. Ugh. That's what I thought.

I applied to college before Christmas and have been biting my nails over it ever since. It is very nerve-wracking, this "applying for school" business. I'd been checking online for any offers of admission every day for the past two weeks, and getting increasingly more and more anxious as each day passed. I even, briefly, started to question my awesome. Oh noes--not my awesome!

But that's what applying to school will do to you.

And then, today, my friend Caitlin was all, "Have you heard from school?" And I was all, "Nope". But then I realized I had forgotten to check online today. So then I decided to check. AND THEN I SAW THIS GLORIOUS ANNOUNCEMENT:

HECK YEAH. I GOT ACCEPTED TO COLLEGE. TWICE. And I have things I get to confirm! How freakin' fancy is that? I'll tell you: very. It's very fancy. I literally ran around my house, screaming like a maniac. And I found my mom in the living room and screamed like a maniac. And then I left a Facebook status update all in caps lock, which implies that I was screaming like a maniac. And then I called Bub and he didn't answer so I left him a voice mail, also screaming like a maniac. And then when he called me back, I--yup, you guess it--screamed like a maniac.

Anyway, as you might know, I've been working at a daycare and spend the majority of my awake hours surrounded by babies. BABIES! So, it only makes sense that I would apply to Early Childhood Education programs. Both programs are four years long--one would get me an ECE diploma from George Brown College plus a BA in ECE from Ryerson University, and the other would get me a BAA in Early Childhood Leadership from George Brown.

Basically, I am beyond stoked. I think this calls for some celebratory ice cream . . . to go along with my regular weekend ice cream. (As if I'd cut out my regular ice cream routine--double ice cream all the way.)

And in case you were wondering what me screaming like a maniac looks like:

What I Wore Today and Being an "It Blogger".

2011-02-27T00:11:00.011-05:00

I'm kind of obsessed with the "Stats" that my little Blogger here has to offer. Because I find it oh-so amusing that people search for phrases like "I am going skiing am I going to die" and "Frozen movie guy eaten by wolves" and "Newfoundland surfing" and "fruit wrinkles" and subsequently find my blog.

At first I am all, "Wow, these people are searching for weird things, double you tee eff?", and then I am all, "Well, I am writing about these things in the first place, so . . . Yeah."

The other day, I noticed that somebody followed a link for my blog from a fashion blog. And then I found this post from a few years back. If you scroll right to the bottom of the post, you'll find a faboosh picture of me wearing high waisted pants with a bicycle print (my calves were too fat for those last year, so I had to purge them--curse you, calves!) and this lovely blurb:

"Out of all the bloggers, Siân would probably be the most anti-mainstream, though she genuinely is the most avant-garde. This Makeup Artist from Toronto’s style resonates throughout her blog; she’s one of those personalities you can see getting in with weekly indies like Toronto’s Now! Magazine, or working her magic through commissions from Creative Agencies. She’s an unapologetic blogger, not afraid to voice her dislikes which gives her platform a niche following. And, considering a lot of the fluff bloggers tend to do (myself included), that’s not such a bad thing. If all else fails, she can always become a spokes model for Carri Mundane’s Cassette Playa collection."

Teehee, how cool is that? I'm unapologetic! And genuinely avant-garde! And so modest too! Heck yeah! *Righteous fist pump*

Finding this post got me thinking back to a few years ago, when I used to blog a lot more about fashion. Before I realized how tiresome it was and how much more satisfying it was to write about irrational fears and making Star Wars cookies. And before I got too lazy to take a picture of what I was wearing every day. I swear, some of these girls just MUST have someone following them around all the time to do their fashion photo blogging bidding. Oh, what? That's what boyfriends are for? Maybe I should consider investing in one. Hm.

Also, I've been kind of (read: really, really, really, did I mention really?) lazy about my style since starting my job at the day care. At first, I didn't want to get my clothes too dirty (you know, it's babies) and then I thought that the babies don't exactly care about what I'm wearing. But, hmm, I care. So, I think I might make an attempt to find a happy medium. Cuter Me is going to be making more appearances at work. Babies, brace yourselves.

And speaking of Cuter Me, and in an attempt to bear just the smallest resemblance to the fierce fashion blogger that was mentioned in the blurb above, here's what I wore today: cropped blazer + button vest + lace cami + high waisted plaid [short]shorts + tights = awesome. Oh, and the necklace is from my favourite vintage place of all time: Funky Fanny's.

I have piles of irrational fears.

2011-02-22T23:53:00.003-05:00

Like the title suggests, I have piles of irrational fears. Maybe even enough to put in to two piles. Two very large piles, though. Like, taller than me. (And we all remember how tall I am.)

I thought it would be fun to list some of my irrational fears. So then we can all laugh at what a bizarre (and--more likely than not--disturbed) person I am. And it's fun to laugh at weirdos. Don't listen to your mom: it really is fun. Try it some time. And don't forget to point for increased enjoyment.

Okay. OKAY. Ready? Set. Go:

1. I am afraid of ice skating. Because I could fall over and somebody could skate over my fingers and slice them off. First of all, think of how absolutely disgusting and terrible that would be. Second of all, OH MY GROSH, how disgusting would that be? Ew. A boy, who happens to work at a rec centre with some rinks, who also happens to be super-duper cute (this is only being mentioned for bragging purposes), told me that he's never, ever heard of anyone getting their fingers skated off. He said people have died, but no fingers have gotten skated off. And this actually relieves me to some extent--I'd much rather die than have my fingers skated off. If I was only given the choice between those two, I mean.

2. I'm afraid of skiing. Because I could get stuck on the ski lift, then jump down, break my legs, and get eaten alive by wolves.

3. I'm afraid of swimming in lakes. Because the feeling of kelp and other plant life against my legs reminds me of the feeling of hair, and wet hair grosses me out. Also, leeches are gross. And what if a fish bit me? They bite, don't they? Ew.

4. I am afraid of walking on narrow sidewalks on busy streets. Because I could somehow lose my balance and fall in to traffic and, BAM, get smooshed by a semi truck. Because that is what would be zooming by as I fell in to traffic. Like, what if I am walking along, minding my own business, and I slip on a patch of ice and go flying in to the street? Or what if it isn't winter, so there is no ice, but there is a dude walking his dog and the dog all of the sudden lunges and barks at me and it startles me, so I literally jump myself in to the street? Or what if there is no dog, but it's still warm out, so there is still no ice, but I am walking by a house and somebody is fighting with their significant other and throwing their things out of the front door and a suitcase full of clothes hits me and I end up tumbling in to traffic? And remember that there is always a semi truck zooming by, so, BAM, I'm smooshed. And dead.

5. I'm afraid of walking up stairs that have no back to them. You know, the stairs that you can see through. Backless stairs? Floating stairs? How about: really-scary-to-walk-up stairs. For some reason, I am convinced I will somehow fall through the gap. I have to keep my eyes down to see exactly where my feet are stepping. If there is something obstructing my view (for example, if I am carrying a large box, not that I find myself carrying large boxes up backless stairs very often, but it does happen), I go very, very, very slow.

6. I am afraid of cutting up vegetables. Because I might chop my own finger off. It even makes me nervous to watch chefs cut vegetables up on TV shows. They go way too fast--they're just asking for it.

7. I am afraid of wet hair (as briefly mentioned before). I can't explain this, but wet hair makes me gag. And only when it's no longer attached to someone's head. The best example would be hair that is clogged inside of the shower drain. That kind of hair makes me want to vomit. Or if I am taking a bath, I hate the feeling of a stray, floating hair between my fingers. But I am completely fine running my fingers through my head of hair.

8. I am afraid of walking up stairs while holding a mirror. Because I could somehow lose my balance and fall forward, thus breaking the mirror, and then a piece of the mirror would slice through my neck, and I'd probably bleed to death. And get blood everywhere. Gross. A plate could probably also do the same thing. Or even a piece of plastic. Or how about if you were walking up the stairs with a pen and then you tripped and jammed the pen into your eyeball? At least then you'd get to wear an eye patch. But still.

I thought about going to 10, because 10 is a nice number to end a list on but, well, these are starting to get increasingly weird and I'm getting tired. Also, it's clear that I have an extreme fear of being cut, or having something cut off an appendage.

Also, it's clear that I'm probably insane.

Also, my fingers are best when attached to the rest of me.

Advice Narhwal Says: Never Upload A Photographer's Unedited Samples

2011-02-17T18:55:00.006-05:00

Remember way back when and there was that guy who gave everyone lots of unsolicited advice and he said the most important thing was to wear sunscreen and for some reason there was really annoying music playing in the background?

Yeah? Yeah! I think he also said I should dance like no one is watching and live in New York at least once and LA at least once. But that I should leave before one made me hard and the other made me soft. Which leads me to believe that I should just live somewhere in the middle, so I can stay . . . soft yet firm? Huh.

Anyway.

I was thinking that I have piles and piles of advice that I too can dole out despite the fact that no one is asking. But instead of doing mine all spoken-word style, I thought I'd do something way more rad. I present to you: Advice Narwhal.

He's going to be here on my blog every now and then to dispense very important advices. You should listen to him: he's wearing a top hat, so he must know what he's talking about. Right?

Okay. So, today, Advice Narhwal has this to say:

If you are a model/designer/person/whatever, and you collaborate (be it paid or unpaid) with a photographer, and at some point after the shoot, they provide you with a selection of unedited sample shots for you to peruse through, do not--I repeat--DO NOT upload those photos to your Facebook page or Twitter account or Blogger or whatever.

A photographer providing their client with an unedited sample is a very kind thing that not all photographers do. Sometimes it's just so the rest of the people who worked on the shoot can have a little sneaky-peek; other times it is so the others involved can pick out which images they like best so the photographer can edit them.

So unless you have the consent of the photographer, please do not publish their unedited samples. Just, no. No. N-O. NO, NO, NO. No. It very well might be a yes-yes-yes, but they will tell you if that is so.

And if you were informed of this industry standard dealio by your photographer and still decided to publish their unedited samples, well, there must be something wrong with you. And there is absolutely no justification for your actions. It is so very rude and disrespectful to not only go against the photographer's wishes, but to also take it upon yourself to show their unfinished work to the world.

It would be like smacking a vegan in the face with a piece of raw meat. Probably.

And there you have it. Thanks, Advice Narwhal! You are very wise. What will you advise us on next time, I wonder? Oh golly--I can hardly wait.

Arcade Fire is cooler than you. No, really.

2011-02-15T20:22:00.005-05:00

You know what really grinds my gears? Not being able to find the droid I'm looking for.

You know what else really grinds my gears? People complaining about Arcade Fire winning the Grammy for Album of the Year and going as far as making a Tumblr thinger entitled "Who Is Arcade Fire?" to further complain about it.

First, and most importantly, of all: Heck yeah, Arcade Fire! They are so awesome. And I guess a few other people think so too. Oh, like Spike Jonze and The Grammys and most likely the entire country of Haiti and President Obama and Terry Gilliam and the Junos and The National Football League and the BRIT Awards and Google and American Express and PRETTY MUCH EVERYBODY OUT THERE WITH GOOD TASTE IN MUSIC.

Ahem. Yes, anyway.

I have to admit that I was a teensy bit surprised when they won the Grammy, because I was unsure of their status and popularity out there in the mainstream world: the bands I tend to adore don't generally get nominated for Grammys (you can also imagine my shock when, after having listened to Mumford and Sons for over a year now, I turned on the radio and heard a song of theirs playing on a mainstream music station).

So, I quickly did a little bit of research and found the following:

Wowee--that's a lot of "Top Albums of 2010" lists to make. Billboard? Q? Time? MTV? Rolling Stone? Gosh. Those all seem like legitimate publications that a reach wide demographic of readers. SOMEBODY out there must know who they are (and like them too). And by somebody, I mean a freaking buttload of people.

And look at all of those charts they topped. Huh. Interesting.

So, then, really, the people who created the Tumblr entitled "Who Is Arcade Fire?" are just a bunch of morons.

I repeat: morons.

The Tumblr should really be re-named to "We're All Fucking Morons", so I took it upon myself to create my own Tumblr called just that to point out the Fucking Morons.

These people are all fucking morons.

(Disclaimer: I generally avoid swearing in my blog, but this is a necessary occasion where the word "moron" just isn't enough--obviously you understand.)

It is also of almost no surprise to me that a lot (read: all) of the posters on that Tumblr who say they do not know who Arcade Fire is have little-to-no ability to construct a proper sentence. "Who Is Arcade Fire", you ask? Perhaps you should be finding out the difference between "their and "they're" or learning how to spell before critcizing a band on a public forum.

Just a thought.

valentine's and bicyclette

2011-02-12T19:47:00.001-05:00

Remember that time last weekend when I made confetti and told you all about it?

Well, all of the images have made their way on to the interwebs. There were too many good ones (because of the lethal combination of Tiffany's cuteness and the confetti's awesomeness), so Paige posted them in five parts over five days. You can view all of them on her website, but here are my favourites from the shoot:

I am looking forward to tossing things in the air monthly with Paige for Bicyclette. So far we've done glitter and confetti. I don't want to give away what we'll be tossing in the air for the months to come. But I can guarantee that it won't be an elephant. Or hamburger meat.

How to Make Confetti.

2011-02-07T20:11:00.003-05:00

I was making some confetti the other day, and I thought to myself, "Hey, Siân. How are you today? Swell? Oh, that's fantastic. You're looking rather fetching, I must say. Oh, you are most welcome. Hm? Oh, right. Well, I was just thinking, confetti is sort of awesome. And here you are creating confetti; you are creating awesome. You are like a mighty god of paper related awesome. And with such a power comes great responsibility. You must share it with the world. Go forth and spread the word of confetti. Also, go get yourself a Blizzard--you deserve it."

So, here I am. Shall we begin?

Confetti is very easy to make, but somewhat time consuming, especially when made all by your lonesome. Follow these easy instructions for optimal confetti-making goodness.

Step One: Gather your paper. You can use whatever sort of paper your little heart desires. I used some wrapping paper because I figured it would be light (a good quality for confetti to have, as it will float around in the air a lot better after having been thrown), and since it is double sided, I get two colours with all the effort of cutting one. It's like a confetti double rainbow.

Step Two: Acquire some sort of paper cutter. I bought an inexpensive one from Staples. I should have bought one slightly more expensive, because this one ended up being a little bit flimsy. But, it got the job done.

Step Three: Cut a long strip of wrapping paper and then cut that into thin little slices.

Step Four: Pile as many slices as your scissors can cut and cut the strips into tiny squares. I couldn't actually show the cutting action because, well, when one hand is holding the scissors, and the other hand is holding the paper, there is no hand left for the camera. I haven't upgraded to having a third arm yet. For visual aid, though, I added this snazzy clip art of what Google Images tells me is a "cutting elf". I wish I had had one of those the other night.

Step Five: Put all of your confetti in to a bag right away. That is so your cat doesn't decide to pounce on top of your confetti pile, subsequently exploding confetti all over the place.

Step Six: After thirty minutes of the prior steps, realize that you need some form of entertainment to keep you sane while you work. TLC is always a good choice for superbly random programming. Luckily, one of my favourite shows was on during confetti making time.

Step Seven: After two hours of diligent work (only pausing here and there to yell at the brides who are buying severely ugly dresses), decide to take a break to go get a snack. You deserve it.

Step Eight: After four hours, look at the small amount that has accumulated in your bag and think that maybe you shouldn't have spent so long getting snacks.

And there you have it: confetti! I would advise having a team of loyal minions or some sort of French midget (a la The Man With The Golden Gun) to help you out. Although, the latter might be a not so great choice: those Nick Nacks are sneaky little buggers.

What was I doing with this confetti, you ask? Tossing it in the air, obviously! With balloons! There also might have been a pretty girl named Tiffany somewhere in all that mess. And she most definitely was wearing some amazing outfits from Bicyclette Boutique.

How freakin' fantastic does that confetti look? Answer: very. Totally worth the mess. Even more so, because I wasn't the one who had to clean it up. I DID offer to stay and help, but Paige said it was okay. So, instead, I went and bought new Sam Edelman heels.

They have spikes on them. They are rad. The end.

Champion of Walking (and other stuff too).

2011-02-01T01:40:00.002-05:00

At the beginning of Sundance, I'm all gung-ho (what the heck does that even mean, anyway?*) and wishing the festival would last forever. Oh, I could just watch film after film and sleep? What's sleep? I don't need sleep! But by day ten, I'm usually wishing for some sort of heavy object to hit me so hard in the head that it knocks me unconscious and prevents me from actually participating in the festival.

Because, let's face it, when you're there, that's the only thing that can really stop you. Sure, you SAY you're going to sleep. But does that happen? Heck to the no. Of course you'll go to a midnight screening, just to wake up at 6:30AM the next morning for an early screening. It's Sundance: that's what you do.

But secretly, you're wishing for a brick to the head. Or, in my case: a gimp knee.

A few days in to the festival, my knee starting hurting. I started taking pain medication and wrapping it in a bandage thinger and just pushed on. And then, two days before the end, my knee completely failed on me.

Have you ever just been walking, minding your own business, singing along to Modern English's I Melt With You, only to all of the sudden take a step and have your knee give out?

I had to throw in the towel and tell my supervisor I couldn't make my last shifts, for fear of making my knee explode. And then, on the day of the closing night party, I took a "nap" at around 3PM and woke up at 6AM the next morning.

And that was the end of my Sundance.

Ra. Ra. Shish-boom-bang. *jazz hands*

Anyway, even given my spectacular finish to the festival, I still managed to see twenty films. And they were:

Bellflower, Perfect Sense, Submarine, Another Earth, Being Elmo, How To Die In Oregon, Resurrect Dead, I Saw The Devil, HERE, Homework, I Melt With You, Incendies, In A Better World, Mad Bastards, Shut Up Little Man!, Meek's Cutoff, Bobby Fischer Against The World, Connected, Benavides Born, Family Portrait in Black and White

And, obviously, I spent a lot more time in the photo booths. To the point that they developed a rule about how many pictures one could take at the HP booth. Sorry, HP Lady--I can't help that I'm so photogenic:

*So, I looked up the history of the term "gung-ho". But you were probably expecting that, given what a ginormous keener I am. But, hey, how else would you learn about obscure things like where the word "gung-ho" comes from? That's what I thought.

And, a few months ago, I believe I taught you all the history of the term "hands down". Don't try to tell me you haven't busted out that little gem at a party recently. Huh? Huh? Yeah, that's what I thought.

Anyway: gung-ho. Apparently it was made up by the Marines in the 40s. It was adapted from some Chinese Communists. The Marine dude thought it meant "work together", and over time it's been broadened to mean "very excited/eager". So, there you go. Gung-ho!

**Also, ALSO, if anybody asks, I didn't injure my knee by being a champion at walking. I have decided that this is a lame and unacceptable way to injure one's knee. Instead, I am telling people that I was playing in the finals of the Annual Underground Sundance Badminton Tournament Championship of Awesome, or AUSBTCA for short.

You haven't heard of it because it's underground. Figuratively, not literally. (Last year we tried to play underground, literally, and it didn't work out.)

Anyway, I was just winding up to smack the birdie thinger back to Paul Rudd (and he totes would have missed it or whatever it is he'd have to do for me to get a point), and then I landed on my knee too hard and BAM.

Badminton--it's an intense sport.

Movies? What?

2011-01-26T05:01:00.000-05:00

So, I discovered something amazing this year at Sundance.

No, it isn't my future husband, Joseph Gordon-Levitt. He's not even here this year. Silly.

And although my future wife, Zooey Deschanel, was here, it wasn't her either.

It was something way, way better. Way better than ice cream. Way better than my future husband and future wife all rolled up into my all time favourite movie. Way better than American Hershey's chocolate.

It was . . . drum roll, please:

A PHOTO BOOTH!

No, wait: TWO PHOTO BOOTHS!

And one has props.

I know, right.

And obviously, I have been spending a lot of time at these photo booths. It's also important to mention that in the room next to the photo booth with props, there is a dude wearing an apron and a motorcycle vest and he bakes the most delicious cookies and offers you milk to go with them.

Anyway, I have been seeing movies. In fact, I've seen thirteen so far. Logic dictates that--considering my full day shifts--I'm probably not sleeping all that much.

And example of how sleep deprived I am: a volunteer asked me to list a number between 0 and 6. I promptly replied with 13. He repeated "0 to 6" and I just stared at him.

Jeez.

Now is about the time for pictures. So many pictures. In some I'm even smiling all normal-like! And by "some", I mean "one".

Hi, my name is blank, and I'm a Festival Insider Pro.

2011-01-20T13:40:00.000-05:00

So, I'm at Sundance Film Festival again. I know--how amazing, right? RIGHT?

This year, I managed to talk my way in to getting the most fun jobber in the entire world: Festival Insider Pro: Rover. I have this hat that says "Ask Me" and a button that says "Ask Me" and a bag that has a big question mark that totally implies "ask me" so people can ask me things.

I have all the answers. They might not be the right answers, but I have them.

As a rover, I get to wander around where I feel that people need the most help. And I feel like they'll be needing a lot of help at the Starbucks. Nah--I kid, I kid. I'm super stoked to get started with this job. I will be queen of the rovers. And I will demand a crown.

This is the day before the festival really gets going, so all is quiet in Park City. I've just been training, previewing some events, and taking obnoxious pictures with my iPhone.

Oh, right: I got an iPhone. Yes, yes--I know I was all, "BLACKBERRYS FOR LIFE" about a month ago, but I was so naive back then. So very naive. Now I'm super cool and I can take hipster-y pictures whenever I want. And I have a compass. So I always know what direction north is.

How freakin' handy is that? Answer: very.

So, here is a bombardment of obnoxious pictures of my time so far. I can barely handle all the pretend cross processing and blurriness.

Actually, that's a backhoe.

2011-01-10T00:56:00.000-05:00

This weekend, despite what my Canadian passport states (more on that later), I was in London, Ontario for the first time ever.

I heard it was a great place to spend the weekend, so I decided to go.

. . .

I'll just wait for the people who are from Ontario and familiar with London to stop laughing hysterically at the thought of anyone just wanting to "spend the weekend" in London before I continue.

Do-do-do.

Anyway, I traveled to London to help out my lady, Charmain, with a photo shoot. She is a designer, and a rad one at that. (Check out her awesomeness here: Integrity Designs.) She's also one of the raddest human beings I know and lives a very inspiring existence. And she is totally going to save the world.

For her spring collection, she made some gorgeous coats (Or are they jackets? I'm really bad when it comes to those two terms. Is a jacket a coat? Can a coat be a jacket? And what the hell is a parka? Honestly now.) using super gorgeous re-purposed fabrics. Her gorgeous friends, Lauren and Candice, modeled, and her other friend, Ben, helped out with the shoot. Here he is, literally attempting to block the sunlight with his lanky body. Good effort, Ben. Good effort.

Somehow we managed to all squeeze in to the tiniest, most-full-of-stuff room in the world, where I was literally climbing on furniture in order to get the shots. But the wall was an amazing green, and the couch was an amazing red, so it was totes-mc-goats worth it. Still, check out that deep crouch. Man, I'm so freakin' classy--I just ooze sophistication.

And during a lovely drive of scenic London, where I managed to spot a handful of Tim Hortons, a Rona, AND a Subway (don't worry, I took a lot of pictures to capture the memories), I learnt the difference between a tractor and a backhoe.

Actually, I never did learn the difference. But, as it was so disdainfully brought to our attention, the farm vehicle moving in front of us incredibly slowly was NOT a tractor. It was a backhoe. And shame on Lauren for thinking otherwise. Jeez. You'd think she'd never seen a backhoe before.

Here's a picture of a backhoe and an elephant. It doesn't really have anything to do with anything, but here it is all the same.

At our second shoot location, Charmain wanted everyone to model. Everyone including me. And this is what happens when I try to Actually Model (as in, the sort of modeling where I'm not taking pictures of myself all alone in my room, like a complete tool):

All in all, it was a grand day. I managed to stay [somewhat] focused, despite the presence of super amazing Beatles nesting dolls AND an adorable puppy. I only took maybe a dozen pictures of each.

And now I can live out the rest of my days in peace, knowing that I'm not missing anything at all by never going to London, Ontario ever again. Once was quite enough, thank you. Despite the fact that my Canadian passport claims that I was born there.

Eyup. That would say London, CAN. I also look like a rapist, but that's beside the point. It was also issued in May of 2008 and I still haven't gotten it fixed, but that's beside the beside-the-point. It's not like I've had a Canadian passport since I was born. Not at all.

Also, for fun, here's my American passport. I totally have blonde hair and it's totally in pigtails. Uh, I was sixteen. That's a good excuse, right?

The Tracker's Guide to the Quadrattaca

2011-01-03T21:21:00.002-05:00

So, it's 2011. I'm sure you had no idea, right? It's only three days in, and the interweb is flooded with resolutions and 'new' this and 'new that. I dunno: it feels sort of the same to me. I've never been much of a resolution person. And that's not because I can't keep a resolution.

I mean, if I really, really wanted to, I could be the Queen of Resolutions. And the only reason I'm not the Queen of Resolutions is because there is this strange pesky law that says one can only be the queen of three things at a time. I am currently the Queen of Awesome, Cool Beans and Ice Cream. And I enjoy being queen of all those things far too much to get rid of one for something like resolutions.

Pfft. Resolutions. Who needs them. I want somebody's New Year's resolution to be not to make any resolutions. HA. Try and wrap your head around that. Can one resolve to do something when their resolution was to not do it in the first place?

I had an enjoyable New Year's Eve. I had a sleepover at Beth and James' place and finally met their beautiful baby, Whoopi Goldberg. Who is a cat. A very fluffy and majestic cat.

We didn't really do anything too "New Year's Eve-ish". Unless watching some The Running Man after wandering the streets of Toronto looking for drunk people to make fun of is part of that 'ish'. We didn't find many people worth making fun of, so we took piles of fun pictures instead.

Commence the fun:

And then James and I answered this important question: what happens when you combine the movies Gattaca, Hitchiker's Guide To The Galaxy, Hackers, TRON, and Quadrophenia?

Why, The Tracker's Guide to the Quadrattaca, of course! It's the touching tale of sexy hacker, Angelina Jolie, and her too-cool-for-school mentor, Jeff Bridges, as they try to hack their way across the galaxy, with their loyal sidekick, Marvin the Paranoid Android, and their natural-birth buddy, Ethan Hawke. While on scooters! And sometimes light cycles! With a soundtrack by The Who! Also, a paralyzed ex-swimmer Jude Law makes an appearance. As well as my love, Zooey Deschanel. And a towel.

At least, I think that's what it will be about. I'm not too sure, as James is currently writing it. But you get the gist.

Happy New Year, kiddies. Be good.

Christmas 2010: the first and last time I'll ever . . .

2010-12-30T22:24:00.003-05:00

This Christmas, I did something that I'll deeply regret for the rest of my life.

I almost don't want to tell you, for fear of you judging me poorly. I told this boy, and I'm pretty sure he's been avoiding me ever since. Not that I blame him.

Because . . . okay, here it goes: I wore pajamas out in public.

OH MY GOD. THE SHAME.

But really. Those people that wear pajamas out while grocery shopping or running errands or whatever--they are all a disappointment to the entire human race. And if those pajamas are tucked into Ugg-like boots, they need to be dragged down a quiet alley and dealt with. Permenently.

And sweat pants are just like pajamas in that they should never be worn out in public. Unless that "public" is a gym or doing some sort of exercise related activity. And running errands does not count. And it's very easy to bring a change of clothes to the gym with you to change into after. And why are you even wearing the same clothes you JUST worked out in? That is a) incredibly gross and b) still a lame excuse so go put some public-appropriate pants on. Now.

I can honestly say up until Christmas day, I'd never worn either pajamas or sweats out in public. I don't even own sweat pants, actually. Yeah, that's right. What are you going to do about it?

Anyway, I'm still to embarrassed to go into much detail, but my pajama wearing excursion was witnessed by at least three people. And who knows how many more. I should probably just kill myself now.

What? Right. Christmas!

I'm kind of hungry, and I want to go make a sammich, so here is my Christmas in a fantastic, speedy, run-on sentence. With pictures!

So, those pajamas that I wore were a preseie from my mom and I also got some lottery scratch cards and FINALLY won something and Brother stapled the wrapping paper together for my presies because he's classy like that and he also tricked me into thinking he gave me an X-Box but, silly Brother, there was a Kirby stuffed animal hiding inside and then he was all "I need the box back" and then Wesley Snipes Esq jumped into a bag and I laughed at him so he jumped out and we had dinner at my aunt's place because my cousin is allergic to our plethora of cats and he made brussels sprouts taste delicious because he's, like, the best chef in ever and I went around taking pictures of everything until Brother got pretend-mad or maybe it was actual-mad, but either way he told me to stop so I did and also my aunt has a really cool tile wall in her kitchen. THE END! HO HO HO!

GLITTERED.

2010-12-28T22:54:00.001-05:00

Remember that time I spent the weekend at the Bicyclette Holiday Pop-up Shop and played in glitter and took dreamy pictures of my very best model friend, Vienna?

I'm sure you remember it like it was a couple of weeks ago. Because . . . well, it was a couple of weeks ago. And I'm sure with all the excitement of Christmas (I had a grand Christmas, thanks for asking) and what not, you totes-mcgoats forgot about the final look book.

Well, it's now live on the interwebs in all it's glory. And there is a lot of glory, let me tell you.

And glitter.

In case you forgot.

GLITTER. There, now you really won't forget. Since it was in caps and all. OH, I should make it bold too. And underline it.

GLITTER!

I also added an exclamation point for extra emphasis.

Anyway, here are a few of my favourite images:

You can see the rest here:

http://www.sianmelton.com/bicyclette/bicyclette & http://www.sianmelton.com/faces/glittered

And Paige has already been incorporating the images into promos for the sale that the pop-up shop is having this week. Yeah, that's right. A sale.

It's a FIRE . . . sale. FFFIIRREEEEE sale! Uh, maybe a little less emphasis on fire, and more on the sale aspect of it.

Anyway.

I'm half posting these promos because Paige is incredibly talented with design and these are tres lovely; and half posting them because you all NEED to hear about this sale; and half posting them because I, well, I can. And you know what three halves equal? Well, 3/2 . . . or 1 1/2 . Or maybe this sale is so awesome that it takes an entire extra half just to explain it's awesomeness. Or something.

(The last time something was so awesome it took up three halves was last year at Christmas Eve mass, when I texted my brother and told him not to be late because "Jesus was waiting", and he replied with "Don't worry, he's not going anywhere." Nevermind why I was using my mobile in church . . . Sorry, Jesus.)

So, now you all need to go and shop until you drop. Then, after a quick cat nap, you must pick yourselves up again and shop some more. Don't forget to bring a snack and water. You know, to keep hydrated and energized.

Go forth and shop, my minions. And then you will be stylish minions: the very best kind.

Happy Merry!

2010-12-22T20:48:00.001-05:00

What does any super rad, self-respecting, 24-year-old girl do on a Wednesday evening?

Why, she takes photographs with her cats while wearing a Santa hat. Also, a nutcracker and stuffed Santa make an appearance. And maybe also the Baby Jesus.

Obviously.

If you are a 24-year-old girl and are NOT at home doing this right now, then I'm afraid you are neither rad or super, or self or respecting.

Don't have a Santa hat? That's okay: you can improvise with Photoshop. Or, at the very least, put a red sock or something on your head, just to be festive. Yeah. That will look so . . . so cool. Totally. Definitely, without a doubt, show that resulting image to that dude you are crushing on. Because he'll be all, "Whoa--does she have a sock on her head? I'm, like, totally in love with her now. THAT SOCK. MAN. She's so awesome. I was sort of on the fence before, but now my mind is made up."

No, seriously. It'll happen just like that.

Anyway:

Do you know how hard it is to take a picture of yourself and try to hold on to two cats at once? Boo Radley was very suspicious of me and only hung around long enough for one photograph. Wesley, on the other hand, must be a huge camera whore (if I were that fluffy, I would be also), so I was able to abuse his fluffiness for the sake of my Christmas pictures.

He would look incredibly peeved, but he'd make no attempt to run away and hide. He just took it. Like a man.

But, really. I hope you all have a super awesome Happy Merry. I'll be spending it at home in my pajamas. And eating. So much eating. Oh yeah.

PS - Right. I mentioned the Baby Jesus, didn't I? Oh, there he is. And I have a delicious baked delight in my other hand.

Glitter and love and Bicyclette.

2010-12-19T20:48:00.002-05:00

Glitter. I love glitter.

Anything sparkly, really. But especially glitter.

And my weekend was incredibly glitter-filled. I'm still shaking out glitter in my hair. Literally. Bean is too. And I'm pretty sure my cats have glitter all over them also. I might be the only one still amused by all the glitter.

By "might", I mean "definitely".

Anyway, this weekend was spent with some lovely ladies at Bicyclette. I played with pretty clothes and tossed glitter in the air and coveted a beautiful necklace. Oh, I also took some pictures.

That may have been my primary reason for being there, despite it looking like I was just there to try on earmuffs and play in glitter. And, hey, the glitter wasn't even MY idea; it was Paige's. So, well, I HAD to go along with it. Since it's her shop in all.

Jeez.

Where was I? Glitter? Earmuffs? Oh, pop-up shop. Right, right. Well, as you are all--I'm sure--avid readers of my blog (and have probably been taking notes), you are already well aware that my friend Paige runs a boutique called Bicyclette. Well, she has another pop-up shop. AMAZING.

You should all go. If you go soon, there might still be some glitter on the floor. You can tell Paige I gave you permission to toss it in the air. But only if you giggle--that's important.

The shop is full of the usual amazing treasures, as well as cosmetics by the SO FREAKIN' AWESOME I HAVE TO TYPE IN CAPS DaLish Cosmetics, and breathtaking jewellery by Lauren Elan.

Seriously, peoples, you need these cosmetics, and you need these accessories. Everything. All over. Immediately.

So, remember when I was all, OMGZ, GLITTER? Bam:

It's raining glitter. Which is way better than raining men. Safer, at least. Well, the glitter COULD get into your eyes and scratch your cornea, which would be rather painful--but not as painful as a full grown man falling on top of you. And not as sparkly.

And here are Vienna and I scraping glitter off of the floor so we can toss it in the air.

Oh, and that necklace I was coveting? The one that I wore for an entire day and felt all empty inside when I had to take it off? The one that had me grasping at my neck in hopes that it might magically materialize back onto my body again? It's only the best necklace in life. You are probably all, "but Siân, it is just a necklace; how could a piece of jewellery make you feel that way?!"

Need I say more?

All Babies. All The Time.

2010-12-10T19:49:00.000-05:00

Yesterday was my last day of volunteering for a while. It was a really hard decision, but, well, it's hard to turn down a full time job.

What? Oh, yeah. That's right: I got myself a full time jobber. And it's NOT at Aritzia this time, which, I've decided, is the key to my happiness.

I'm going to miss the staff at the Early Years Centre and all of the little humans that I was able to meet while I was there. And I'm also missing out on being around for the final class AGAIN.

See, the final class is the most important, because that is where all the mummies and daddies get to see the finished portfolios with all of the freakishly adorable photographs that I took. I missed it last time because I was in Newfoundland. And this time, I'm working. Drat.

So where did I get my magical new job? Oh, I don't know. Maybe at a day care. Maybe my official title is ECA Teacher. Maybe I have adorable babies that I get to play with all day long. Maybe.

And by 'maybe', I mean MOST ABSO-DEFI-LUTELY. See, I just believed in myself and made the possimpible happen . . . with my visitivity. I think my video resume really helped. There were explosions and we all know explosions make everything better.

Okay, so there was no video resume.

Probably for the best.

But now I have six little baby friends. And that's just the beginning. Soon, soon, I will have an army of baby minions and we will take over the world. Arrowroot cookies for all! Reinstate nap times! Sing-a-longs mandatory!

Did I ever mention I'm going back to school next fall? So I can be a professional baby player? Well, I am. Technically, it's a BAA program called Early Childhood Leadership, but 'professional baby player' sounds way more awesome.

I should probably laminate that on a card. Yeahhh. Good idea. I'll be the Chief Professional Baby Player: All Babies. All The Time.

I'm so happy, it's insanulous.

haired

2010-12-08T23:54:00.002-05:00

So, the heat is broken in my house. As in, there is no heat. As in, it's about 10 degrees (Celsius) right now. As in, I can't feel my feet, my fingers are numb, and my brain is starting to hurt. Why am I mentioning this?

Because it's too tiring to be witty and hilarious and awesome right now. My brain is concentrating on keeping me awake, for fear of falling asleep and freezing to death. All of my brain juice is concentrating on the frozen bits of my body, so there isn't enough brain juice to put this blog post up to par with the rest of my posts.

It's also taking longer to write just from the fact that it's physically hard to type when I can't feel my finger tips.

Anyway: yesterday, photo shoot, Patricia, hair, natural light, awesome, love.

Did I mention love? How could you NOT love that face?

I first met Patricia when I was doing makeup for a photo shoot last year and I was flattered when she said she'd love to work with me as a photographer sometime. Or maybe I asked her? I can't remember. It was probably the latter. Either way, she said 'yes' and it made me a super-happy panda.

A few weeks ago, we shot an awesome fashion story (more on that later--whoa, the suspense!), but yesterday was a nice, stripped down beauty shoot. We used her apartment and the available light from a window and then wet her hair and, voila--magic!

Can we talked about how rad natural light is for a second? CAN WE? Okay: it's rad. I loves it. Part of my love might have grown out of necessity, as it is expensive to rent lighting equipment. But I really do prefer it.

Okay. It's too cold. I'm quitting. Here are some pictures to oggle at while I take a blistering hot shower.

Oh, and here are some links to the rest of the awesome pictures:

http://www.sianmelton.com/faces/haired
http://www.sianmelton.com/faces/whipped

And that's fine, actually.

2010-12-06T01:15:00.001-05:00

I was about to go to bed, and then I found this (a clip from an upcoming movie about a little boy that dies and his family afterward):

And now I can't sleep. And I'm sitting here--with tears running down my face--feeling incredibly sad.

I hardly ever talk about my dead little brother. I'm sure a lot of people who know me weren't even aware of the fact that I have two brothers. Had. I had two brothers.

I hardly ever talk about my dead little brother, yet if someone asks me if I have any siblings, I'm unabashedly blunt and usually say something like, "I have one younger brother. I used to have another, but he died a few years ago."

His death became a defining factor in my life. Like how I wear glasses or have two cats.

Hi. My name is Siân and I'm 24 years old and I love ice cream and I have a dead little brother.

Funny. I never really thought of him as defining when he was alive. He was just annoying. And there--a beautiful, solid, tangible there. But now that he is no longer there, and the there is this overwhelming sadness instead, it forces me to be this definition, one I never wanted.

It's part of who I am now: this sadness, this tragedy. This death. His death. My death.

It's been three years now. And it isn't better. It isn't easier. It hasn't gone away. Maybe it's different. But I don't want different. I want it to go back to how it was before. Before I had to count on my memories to be the keeper of a life. Before three became two. Before every holiday and birthday and milestone became bittersweet. Before everything changed.

And this . . . this sadness, this heartbreak . . . it will always be there. Sometimes I think I've forgotten. But then I turn around, or I blink, or I sneeze, and there it is again.

It never really left.

His name was James, by the way.

Love and Coal Miner's Daughter

2010-12-05T17:10:00.001-05:00

I have this thing about wanting to wear very unique clothes. I absolutely die when I see somebody wearing something that I also own. It happens rarely, but I always cringe inwardly and that particular article of clothing loses a bit of sparkle.

Unless, of course, the other person is wearing it in a totally hideous way, in which case I have to fight the urge to sashay up to them and be all "Yeah, I have that top, but it doesn't look gross on me. BOOYA."

And yes, I would actually sashay. And no, I probably wouldn't actually say "booya". Maybe.

Anyway, what helps with the urge to be different is one of my favourite little fashion boutiques: Coal Miner's Daughter. It's owned by my lovely friends Janine and Krysten and conveniently located in Mirvish Village. And if you do not know where Mirvish Village is, it is that area right by Honest Ed's. And if you do not know where that is, then you might be blind and/or live in a cave. Seriously, it's always very bright and shiny there. So bright.

I love Coal Miner's Daughter because they carry a lot of beautiful one-of-a-kind pieces. Both Janine and Krysten have their own clothing and jewellery lines (respectively) in the store, as well as carrying the cream of the crop of other local designers.

I think my favourite thing in the store right now are these little music box necklaces. They are just wee things: maybe just over an inch long, and I have no idea how the designer traps the music inside, but they really wind up and play music. REALLY.

I, naturally, wound up every single one. At the same time.

Also, as a fun bit of trivia, Krysten pillow fights. Like, for real. In a league. Yes, they have those. Haven't you heard of roller derby? Well, it's like that, but just without the roller skates. So, really, not like it at all. But she's really badass and at one point had a giant championship belt.

All of that means that she is totally super rad, and you should go buy her stuff. Immediately.

And Janine is super amazing herself. Why? Because she is the creator of my most favourite coat EVER. It is so amazing that Beef, who is a boy, covets it. It's custom made and lined with super warm polar fleece and has an amazing gigantor hood and big pockets. AND CHECK OUT THAT PLAID:

So now you need a new coat to go along with your awesome jewellery. And another thing that you need is a re-purposed shirt with some sort of nifty animal on it. I shouldn't even have to explain why you need this. OBVIOUSLY you do. And, conveniently enough, you can get those at Coal Miner's Daughter as well. Amazing.

Seriously, though, look at all of that awesome. There is so much awesome that it radiates pink lines. But it doesn't just stop at panthers and wolves. Oh no: there are lions and horses and dolphins . . . all of your cheesy 80's t-shirt dreams in one spot.

I bought the very best one last year, though. Unicorn + lightning bolts + roses = my brain is exploding from how rad it is. Check out all of the rad:

Manaverage.

2010-12-02T00:01:00.003-05:00

When people ask me how tall I am, I usually say 5'10".

That's great and all, but it's not true.

I'm actually 7 feet tall. I just hide it well.

Nah, that's not true at all. I'm actually a man. No, that's not true at all either. I'm actually a horse. Okay, you got me. I'm not a horse. I'm a mop.

But, really.

Today, for some reason, Brother and I decided to measure ourselves. I stood against the wall and he drew a mark and we tried to make sure it was all straight. The mark turned out more like a scribble, though. And who knows how straight the measuring tape was. But here's the photographic proof of my height:

Do you see that? I'm 5'8.5"--maybe 5'8.75", given the angle of the scribble. Also, I was holding the tape measure to the wall and trying to take a picture at the same time, which proved difficult. Also, why can't cameras have the button thingy on the left-hand side? Jeez.

Anyway, when I was measuring myself constantly, back in the day, I got to "five-eight-and-three-quarters" and stopped. But I said 'five-nine' when people asked, because, well, that's easier to say. And then people started prefacing their height questions with statements like, "GOLLY, ARE YOU EVER TALL!", so I felt the need to tack on an extra inch.

5'9" just never seemed that tall to me. What, that's like an inch or two above average. Stop gawking at me already. I'm normal, okay?! And up until twenty minutes ago, I really thought the average female height for women in Canada was between 5'6" and 5'8". But check this out:

Turns out I am abnormally tall for a Canadian female between the ages of 25 and 44. It also turns out that Chile is producing near-midget women. I also feel the need to point out that I used a nice colon in my red font caption, but it's hard to see. Moving on!

Then I thought, wait--I was born in the UK and I grew up in the United States. THAT'S where all the tall girls are. Canada is just full of teeny-tiny ladies. Ain't no thang.

Andddddd, no. It just turns out I'm really the average height of a Canadian/British/American male. Go me. I'm man average. Manaverage. BAM. My word. I called it.

So, I've decided--guys, you need to get taller. Because, let's be real here: 5'9" is not that tall. Don't listen to all those "average height ladies" out there, also known as AHLs. They will try to make you think that you are nice and tall.

WRONG! They are wrong. Just stand next to me when I'm wearing my monster 6 inch heels so I can fill you with feelings of inadequacy and fear.

And then go do something about that height thing and get back to me.*

In conclusion, I might as well be 5'10". Ignore my retarded facial expressions as I try to master the fine art of holding a tape measure and look at that minuscule amount of white tape. That is the difference between my real height and the height I tell people I am. Say what? That's nothing: my favourite boots easily have that much of a heel.

So there. I win. At everything. But mostly being Manaverage height.

*I just thought I should point out that I have no issues with short guys--I mean, guys that are awesome and Manaverage like myself. They are just as manly and rad as the above-Manaveragers.

Happee Birthdae!

2010-11-29T19:26:00.003-05:00

No, it's not my birthday. That was in July; since I didn't receive any presents, you obviously forgot. But that's okay--I'll accept Christmas gifts as apologies for missing my birthday.

It is, however, the one year anniversary of me getting my camera. Yes, I realize that the blog post probably should have been "Happy Anniversary". But, well, first off, I wanted to make yet another Harry Potter reference, and second off, it is still a birthday of sorts.

On this month, one year ago, I bought my first DSLR and was re-born a photographer. Yes, with placenta and everything.

Anyway.

I can hardly believe that I bought my first camera in November of 2009. It seems like I've been going at this for a long time. And by "going at it", I mean having fun and creating art. I am, by no means, a professional-professional (and, heavens, not anywhere near the myth-ed professional-professional-professsional, also known as the Triple P and yes I totally made all of that up and I have no idea what I'm even going on about) and am fully aware that I am still an infant, in my one year since 'photography birth'.

But still, I am rather good for such a newbie, don't you think? It's because I'm so awesome, natch.

I thought I'd get my nostalgia on and post some of my very first pictures. I went rooting around on my hard drive to find them. Obviously, I spent a lot of time photographing my cats before ever actually photographing people. And I STILL spend a lot of time photographing my cats. Some things will never change.

This time last year, I also did my very first fashion creative. I conned my friends into modeling for me, and asked a newly befriended (does that make sense?) accessories designer if I could borrow some of her headbands. Aw, the memories. I might be tearing up a little bit. Does anybody have a miniature violin they can start playing?

Obviously, the stunning redhead is Sara Basso, and obviously-obviously, the accessories designer is Jillian of Headmistress. And obviously-obviously-obviously . . . Uh--I've got nothing. I should have thought that through before typing it.

Here's to another year of hopefully-more-than-just-pictures-of-my-cats, and to great photography adventures.