In case you were wondering...

I have not, in fact, dropped off the face of the earth. I did, however, feel the need to start a whole new blog for a new chapter in my life.

Now it's been a while, and I miss you guys, so if you'd like to catch up, come visit me over at http://www.metamorphocity.com/.

Good Idea, Bad Idea

Good idea



Bixi bikes have finally arrived in Toronto!

A brilliant alternative for those of us who would rather trudge all over town on tired feet than have to try to store a bike in our closet-sized third story walk-ups and a little added incentive for drivers to leave their cars at home.

I have yet to brave one on any actual roadways (I'm still terrified of city traffic and don't have a helmet). But I'm pretty sure I was the first person in the city to sit on one thanks to the Bixi delivery man/taker of this photo!

Bad Idea



An ad for Claritin written across the sky.

By jets.

Thanks Claritin, for adding more pollutants/irritants to the atmosphere, helping to ensure that we all remain nice and congested and itchy-eyed until the end of time.

Good stuff.

Monkey Love

When I was born, one of my first outings was a trip to the Toronto Zoo. One of the orangutans had just had a baby and when she saw my mom holding me on the other side of the glass she carried her baby over to show him off to my mom. Sparta and I made our first trip there since moving to the city last April this weekend and the Orangs were no less charming. I could have visited them all. day. long.

They are so bright and engaging that it actually feels quite strange to photograph them, at least without getting their permission. It's like coming across a really uninhibited colony of furry nudists.

Lucky for you, I got past it and took some fun shots to brighten up your work week. Enjoy!

Overheard on the TTC

"I've always wanted to get a tattoo of something coming out of my vagina. Like bats! Out of the batcave! But then I figure I'd eventually get sick of it, or my vagina would get sick of it."

Vaginal bats.

Just one more thing you might want to consider discussing in private.

Slutwalk

This weekend I was fortunate enough to attend Slutwalk, a march inspired by a Toronto police officer's recommendation that in order to avoid being raped, women shouldn't dress "like sluts."

While the comment may not be reflective of the views of the entire police force, it was a stark reminder of a victim-blaming attitude that is still all too prevalent in our society and of the importance of training law enforcement to deal with sexual assault cases in a sensitive and educated manner.

It was so inspiring to be surrounded by a group of men and women who not only understand that a woman's choice of dress or sexual history is never, ever an excuse for rape, but who will stand up and shout it out until that message is heard.

Apology Accepted

A couple of weeks ago, (yes, I'm a million years behind on my blogging) I was waiting to cross the street at a large intersection on my way home from work.

A car had pulled into the intersection and was sitting there with its left turn signal on, the driver apparently oblivious to the large, no left turn sign hanging from the traffic light ahead.

Not so oblivious however, was the woman seated on the passenger side of the car directly behind. Down came her window.

"There's no left turn, ASSHOLE!"

Up went her window, leaving those of us a couple of feet from her a little shell-shocked having absorbed the full blast of her words while the driver of the offending car continued to enjoy their airbag-equipped cone of silence, turn signal resolutely blinking on.

That's a little harsh, I thought. Everyone misses a sign now and then, it doesn't necessarily mean you're an asshole...

As though she'd read my mind (or my face, more likely), down again came the automatic window.

"He's been driving recklessly this whole time!" she yelled, by way of explanation to her stunned audience, who smiled and nodded and haven't-we-all-been-there-ed their understanding from the kerb.

Window up.

Window down.

"Sorry for using profanity!"

Window up.

And scene, I thought.

If she'd checked the rear view as they finally drove away, she would have seen me laughing my head off.

I don't know why exactly it struck me as so funny. Maybe you had to be there or maybe you'd have to hear me tell it complete with my impressions and car window noises to get the full effect. But I just love that this woman not only felt the need to explain but to apologize for her choice of words to a group of complete strangers.

It was a good reminder of what a little communication can do to change your perspective.

Or maybe just a reminder of how hilariously polite Canadians can be, even when attempting to be rude.

Dear men

Dear men/that guy behind me on the way home,

I'm sure many of you already do this, but in case you don't, just a thought.

If you are walking close behind a woman at night on an otherwise deserted street, it would be a kindness to either slow down or cross to the other side so that she knows she's not being followed.

I know that women are perfectly capable of crossing the street ourselves, as I did tonight, but it's so much nicer for everyone if you do this out of courtesy so she doesn't have to cross the street or speed up out of fear.

xo

Sarah

What would I do with a gift horse anyway?

When you work in a front-line administrative/customer-service oriented position, it's easy to feel under-appreciated now and again.

In my current position, I am often the first live person callers have been able to get through to after trying to navigate the labrynth of the school phone system or website. This means that as a rule, they're annoyed before I even have a chance to try to help them.

Heaven help me if they don't like what I have to say.

On the other hand, I've been told I should "go home every night to a husband who rubs my feet," (yes,please) that I'm "such an angel, you'll surely be present at the next birth of Jesus," (?) and other various and sundry sweet things from people grateful to have dealt with a friendly face or voice. These people make my day.

There is even the odd person who insists on buying me a coffee.

Then there's the guy who brought me a coat.

Apparently he owns a business purchasing overstocked items from companies and selling them in Africa or something, but I still felt pretty uncomfortable accepting such a substantial gift, especially as I barely did more than my job. He insisted, however, and as I couldn't think of a way to decline gracefully quickly enough, well, I added a ski jacket to my icy weather wardrobe.

I had hoped that would be the end of it, but recently this person popped by for some more information, and despite my protestations, promised to bring me a purse in return.

Sure enough, last week alongside the pens and sticky notes on my desk, was a new handbag.

Once again I was unable to dissuade this generosity, but I really don't feel like I can or should be accepting these gifts.

So what do you think? Is it ever all right to accept gifts at work, and if not, how do you decline without appearing ungrateful or offending the prospective giver?

The Barter Babes Project

With the exception of a lucky few, there is one thing that is a perpetual source of anxiety for young women (and men): money.

Unfortunately for 20-somethings, when it comes to getting the financial advice many of us desperately need, we are stymied by another 20-something: a Catch 22.

While we might be the demographic most in need of personalized budget counseling, we certainly can't afford it without the benefit of (oh, hey) budget counseling.

Enter Toronto's Certified Financial Planner with a heart of gold, Shannon Simmons.

I chatted with Simmons recently after a coworker raved about her. After hearing what she was up to, I had to meet her for myself.

While working at a high profile wealth management firm, Simmons noted the gap between the access to financial information available to her peers and the people she was helping on a day-to-day basis. "Hanging out with my friends I started noticing that money was coming up again and again. There was a lot of worry and people would say, 'Oh you're so lucky that you just know that stuff,' and I started realizing that I really am lucky to know this stuff because there is such a huge information gap. You can't really access that," she explains.

"There are investment and finance blogs, but they are intimidating and overwhelming even for me and I know my way around them, but I find it's just too much information."

And here is where things take a turn for the fantastic.

Rather than simply accepting this information gap, and this Catch 22 as inevitable, Simmons has decided to do something about it. To that end, she has thrown caution to gale force winds and set herself the daunting challenge of helping 300 young women get their finances on track through a little something she likes to call The Barter Babes Project.

The best part? In return for access to her wealth of financial knowledge and personalized advice, Simmons is accepting payment in the form of anything from lasagna to belly dancing lessons.

"I'm providing financial advice to young women starting out one barter at a time," she explains. "If I were to charge a fee, a lot of the people I want to help wouldn't be able to afford me and I would either be out of clients or they would be right back where they started."

Clients contact Simmons via her website, agree on the terms of the barter (which Simmons is extremely flexible on), and then provide Simmons with their financial information and goals to help them formulate a personalized plan using something called a money map which Simmons describes as "a customizable financial planning tool that's actually fairly basic but it's very telling and there's really important information that's there."

Along with this document, clients include their short and long-term goals and what they are hoping to get out of their session with Simmons, who than completes a full analysis based on the numbers and the goals she is given before meeting in person to go over the analysis together.

In dealing with the 20-something demographic, Simmons says a big challenge is helping people prioritize. "A lot of time people our age go 'I want to do this, this, this, this and this,' but our constraints are small because at this point in our lives our incomes are not as high as they will be in ten years and we're also struggling with debt," she notes.

"Sometimes you have people who don't want to pay the debt. they just want to travel. So what's the compromise there? And that's what you get meeting with someone face to face with an adviser versus going onto a blog."

According to Simmons, part of this challenge comes from the fact that this particular generation was given access to debt without being properly educated about the consequences of it.

"We're OK with our debt because -and I've actually done research on this- it seems to be age 24 where you go, 'Oh shit' and realize you're not going to get that $84000 job when you graduate, and if you want to move out of your parents' place you're going to have to sacrifice but what we do is we don't say 'OK, well I'm going to have to just live in this shitbox for a couple of years,' we go , 'you know what? I really want 800 sq. ft and my own balcony, so I'm going to do that.' because that's the lifestyle we're comfortable with," she explains.

"So that's where I like to come in and help, and provide some comfort that it's not all lost."

Providing that comfort is one more job for her money map. "I think a big thing is that people think 'Oh I'd only be able to save $50 a month, that's never going to do anything.' So on my money map I can say, look what that does...and then it provides motivation and that's the biggest thing that I want to provide," Simmons stresses.

Her golden rule? "Give yourself enough financial flexibility on a weekly basis for fun, and that's it."

While that might sound counter-intuitive to those trying to save money, Simmons likens having a fixed cost of living (ie, the things you can't live without: rent, car, etc.) that is too high to allow for any flexibility in your budget to someone on a lettuce only diet.

"When you see a pizza, you're going to binge," she sums up.

While Simmons' family and friends were immediately understanding of her ambitious plan to live off $35 a week and help 300 women rather than sticking with her rather comfortable former gig, Simmons laughs  when recalling the initial reaction of some coworkers.

"When I went to my office everyone was like 'what are you going to do for money?' First question. But then once I explained why and that I was only doing it for a year and that I was doing this because I feel like I can't stay here without doing it, then they were really supportive. So I have had support from everyone but there was definitely that initial jaw drop," she says. "People are like, why would you do this? The job market's tight, why are you leaving? And sometimes at 3:00 a.m. I'm like, "I don't know why!!!"

Still, Simmons is very obviously enjoying what she's doing. "I love working with this demographic. I do," she says. "There's something about coming in at the beginning and building that foundation and building a plan together that is way more exciting...There's just something about getting in the trenches and getting your hands dirty."

You might even say she wouldn't trade it for anything.

For more information about the Barter Babes Project, visit http://barterbabesproject.com/

Simmons barters on Tuesdays and Thursdays in the GTA and skypes with out-of-town Barter Babes.

Happy New Year!

I survived my first Bikram class to ring in the new year with a lovely group of old and new friends. I hope you all had a chance to celebrate whichever way you like best. I have a feeling 2011 will be a good one!

Feeling hot, hot, hot?

I've always been a little skeptical of deals that seem too good to be true. So when a friend told me about Groupon, a website that emails members daily deals for activities, products etc. for specific geographic regions, it took me some time to get on board.

Since jumping on the bandwagon, I've had a blast checking out new restaurants, buying half-priced gift certificates for friends and family and trying out some hilarious (and crazy cheap) Lindy Hop lessons with Sparta.

The latest deal that was too good to resist, however, might really be too good to be true, if only for the fact that it will probably kill me.

For $35, Sparta and I scored 25 hot yoga classes.

Now, at first I was very enthusiastic about the prospect, but now that the bargain-induced high has worn off, I have some concerns.

First there is the little matter of my utter inflexibility, despite about a decade of gymnastics. I'm picturing being surrounded by lithe lulu-clad pretzels glowing with health and zen-ness, whilst I drown in a puddle of my own sweat whilst reaching futily for my toes. So. There's that.

Then there is the fact that, obviously hydration is imperative to hot yoga so I'll want to drink up. No problem, except that I'm pretty sure my bladder is the size of a six-month old's and as soon as I know I won't be able to "go" for a set amount of time, it's all I can think about.

Seriously, I had to run to the restroom twice during the previews for the new Harry Potter. Partly because I was just a wee bit overexcited, but also because of the knowledge that I would probably be viciously attacked by Potter fans were I to clamber my way down the aisle for a bathroom break mid-movie.

I can just imagine how I'll feel when they close the door to begin this 90-minute game of twister in a sauna.

Advice from any hot yogis out there would be greatly appreciated. Otherwise, wish me luck!

Making Christmas

It's all in the details...

The games...

The nostalgia...

The food...



And the laughter...



And the laughter...



And the laughter...

Reverb10

As usual, I'm a little late to the party, but I've really enjoyed reading other bloggers' Reverb10 posts, so I thought I'd give this one a whirl:

What healed you this year? Was it sudden, or a drip-by-drip evolution? How would you like to be healed in 2011?

Well.

To think about what has healed me this year requires me to do something I have generally been avoiding, and acknowledge that while, as years go, I've had worse and I know people for whom this year has been next to impossible to bear, this year has been difficult.

It began ominously, with the unexpected passing of one of Sparta's University friends. It seemed no sooner had we returned from his wake than I was downsized from my cozy small-town reporter gig.

A couple of months into unemployment, we moved to the city and my grandfather passed away. It was a bittersweet goodbye. Not entirely unexpected and even a relief on one hand as Alzheimer's was rapidly stealing him from us, but of course difficult to come to terms with nonetheless.

No sooner had we returned from the funeral than we were rocked by the news that Jim, a very close family friend had passed away suddenly, just days past his 50th birthday.

The last time I saw him was the night before my grandpa's funeral. He and his amazing wife had come over to give my dad a hug and raise a glass to my grandpa. When they left, I said to my mom (not for the first time), "I'm so fond of Jim. If I could choose an extra uncle, it would be him."

Months later, I still don't know what to say or write about this, except that our hearts are all broken by the shocking loss of this good, good man.

There have, of course, been plenty of fantastic bright spots and my overall love affair with the city has been a balm to my raw nerves, but I have spent a lot of time, especially during my six months of unemployment, feeling sad and uncertain and a little like a lost kite: cut loose and buffeted from tree to tree, until I could hardly fly at all.

While I don't know that the healing process is, or ever will be complete, what has started the healing, has been laughter and hugs, proximity of best friends, baking, creating a new home and planting my little feet back into solid, nourishing earth while I wait for an emotional tax return in 2011.

A Crafty Christmas

After an overdose of crochet projects, this year, I've come up with a couple of new experiments to foist upon friends and family this holiday season.

You'd be amazed at how many of my lovely friends are self-conscious about their profiles, but I managed to coax a couple of them into letting me snap a couple of photos for the sake of making these:




I always love the look of old-fashioned framed silhouettes, and thought it would be great to create some modern ones featuring people I know.

And, my greatest baking triumph to date:






That's right, Parisian macarons. Eat your heart out Martha Stewart.

...I mean, happy holidays!

Bursting the Bubble

It had been a while since I had marked International Human Rights Day with anything beyond a minute spent reading and signing an online petition, but when a flyer for Amnesty International's Write for Rights day landed on my desk at work, I took it as a sign that this year, I should do a little bit more.

While I like to think that I'm still more informed of and involved in human rights issues than the average bear, I must admit I've sadly become a bit of a lapsed activist. It's been easy to pretend to myself that with work, or looking for work or working on my hair, I simply don't have time to devote to any worthy causes beyond myself right now.

Flyer in hand I almost dismissed myself from duty once again, thinking about how my precious half-hour lunch break would be eaten up, but a little voice in my head (who sounded suspiciously like she was rolling her eyes) told me, "Oh just get over there and do it. People are dying and suffering and being wrongfully imprisoned, the least you can do is take a three minute walk and pick up a pen."

So I did. And despite the sad and unjust cases I read through before selecting two to address in my letters, amazingly, I left with a smile.

Part of my smile came from the other people writing letters, a tiny band of dedicated letter-writers, overjoyed to see me, a stranger, come to help with their campaign. And part of it came from the hope that, however slim, there was a chance that the letters I was writing might reach, might really get through to someone who could make the world a little better. If nothing else, at least the odds are better than when I simply fume and rant to Sparta about the state of things.

It was an excellent way to burst the isolating bubble I've felt growing up around me. It's so easy to blame it on time, or futility but I think really it's just that we're too frightened, too overwhelmed by what is out there. Too terrified to have our world get a little bigger and ourselves a little smaller in it.

My mom is dismayed by the direction our country is headed under our current government. Like many people, she's angry and sad and discouraged by what's going on, but unlike many people, what she is not and simply could never be, is complacent.

While most of us whine and shrug our shoulders, she identifies a problem and doggedly pursues a solution, sending emails, posting articles and signing petitions talking to anyone who will listen about the deceitful and appallingly undemocratic way our Prime Minister and his cronies are running our country. She performs tiny acts of rebellion each day in an effort to get others to start paying attention.

The thing that keeps her going, is not hiding from or closing her eyes to the evils of the world, but doing something, any little thing that she can to fight them.

I'm pretty sure I know whose voice it was in my head.

This blows

This might seem a little out of season, given that in my little corner of the hemisphere, it has been snowing or threatening to snow for a number of weeks now but I've been meaning to write about this for weeks, and I guess, given my woeful lack of inspiration to write lately, I should take my muses where I can get them.

So. I would like to take a moment to make an appeal to any of you folks still lucky enough to be enjoying the crisp air and brilliant colours of fall. Or to those of you who plan to continue residing on the planet next fall:

Please. Oh pleasepleaseplease. Please do not use leafblowers.

There are few things that make me a hissing, spitting little ball of angry Sarah like hearing that obnoxious roar, "I'M HERE AND I"M BLOWING THE LEAVES AROUND! BASICALLY DOING THE WORK OF A WINDY DAY! LOOK AT MEEEEEE!"

But it's more than that. To me they have come to represent every awful thing about North American attitudes towards...everything.

If you ever want to express your laziness and disregard for the environment and lack of common sense in one go, just schlep around your driveway with one of those monsters.

Heaven forbid you keep your muscles from atrophying once a year by weighing them down with a rake and the terrible burden of leaves.

I do understand that some people might genuinely be too old or infirm to operate a rake or rake/broom combination, although my neighbour managed to do this and much more well into her 90s, but in that case, hire a child! Neighbourhood kids love earning a shiny toonie.

Heck, hire me! I could probably use a little fresh air and subway fare.

And to all a good night

So today was one of those days when I get stupidly caught up and dissatisfied with my appearance. I spent my morning doing battle with my hair to no avail and realizing only halfway down the block that I had forgotten to put on even an iota of makeup.

The flourescent light over the bathroom mirror at work cruelly confirmed that the hair/face situation had been in no way improved by the brisk walk in. I was so battily insensed by my own reflection that I almost didn't notice this:



"Well that's...festive?" I thought, stopping mid-growl and letting go of my tortured locks to take a closer look at the blissful little mouse gracing a card leaning against the wall just below the mirror as though on a Christmas mantle.

Oddly enough, it was not a complete surprise to find something like this in the ladies room. There is some sneaky sweetheart who, for whatever reason, from time to time leaves what we assume are meant to be little gifts to whoever finds them. So far I've seen cute little notebooks and pencils, but I've heard tell of toonies being left on occasion as well. To be honest, I've never been sure whether or not to find the whole thing quirky and nice or creepy, especially as some of the gifts are left not on the counter but on the actual toilet tank. Like presents from a really mixed up tooth fairy.

That uncertainty didn't have a chance against my insatiable curiosity however. So I immediately opened the card to find this:



Another gorgeous creation from the beautiful minds at Papaya Art cleverly shrunk down to fridge magnet size.

And this:




Well.

Let's just say the hair didn't seem so important after that and my face was vastly improved by an ear-to-ear grin.

Thanks Santa.

Ooh child, things will get brighter

Sometime around my secondary school graduation, I recall one of my elders telling me he hoped I'd enjoyed high school, as it was probably going to be the best time of my life.

While for me, the teen years were nowhere near the hell I know they were for some, I was nonetheless alarmed by this statement.

Fortunately I have come to find that in my case (and in the cases of most everyone I know) that dire prediction has proved to be about as accurate as my theory that I'd be blissfully wedded to Leonardo DiCaprio by age 25.

The promise that things vastly improve for the majority of people after high school, and particularly for victims of bullying is the focus of the It Gets Better project, started by Dan Savage and his husband Terry in response to the recent rash of teen suicides in the U.S.

It is a beautiful and brilliant attempt to reach out and provide support to teens who are the victims of bullying and persecution because of their sexual orientation.

Despite being lucky enough to have had a supportive family and amazing kindred spirits for friends making my four years of purgatory at worst, bearable, and at best hilariously fun, there's just no way I'd want to relive the blind, fumbling, hormone-infused, insecure and angst-ridden over-capacity IKEA ball room that was high school.

Take away those friends and that family, throw in homosexuality or any one of the factors on the seemingly endless list of things that can make you a target of unabashed cruelty in high school, and things could have gone very differently.

So this Thanksgiving, my gratitude goes to those friends and that family and to every person who has contributed to the It Gets Better project.

Now if we could just get an equally viral "Quit being a closed-minded, bullying ass, seriously, there's no excuse for that garbage." project to take care of the other side going, we'd have the problem fixed in no time!

Weekend Smiles

Beautiful friends

Beautiful dancers in a beautiful cafe

This kid tormenting his sister with his googly-eye glasses

Bears on cel phones

less cars, more cozies!

Treat of the week

The sudden break from the summer heat combined with my newly expanded budget can only mean one thing.

I am eating everything in Toronto.

Today, after a month of gazing wistfully through their open floor to ceiling windows at the delectably decorated morsels on offer, we treated ourselves to a luxurious lunch at DT Bistro.



While their specialty is clearly their gorgeous and dainty dessert selection, they are no slouch in the savory department either.



For $14 Sparta noshed on tender and delicately spiced curried chicken on brioche with a crisp and colourful side salad while I devoured two lemon shrimp crepes garnished with sauteed asparagus and red onion.



So. So. Good.

The bright and airy space is simply furnished with whimsical and pretty accessories making it a casually elegant and comfortable setting for a friendly brunch, a romantic evening or just some quality time with creme brulee.

I will most certainly be back.