Plaid Kilts, Golf Shirts, and Knit Vests.

When you think of an all-girls, catholic, secondary school, the automatic, cliché assumptions that en-circle every persons mind as the die-hard truth, is that every female whom attended such a school must have either ended up becoming a boy-crazy fanatic, an undercover lesbian (or had kissed a girl, at the very least - especially true in the case of dem St Joe's, hoes! ha.), or simply, lacked emotional attraction to any male figures, with the possibility of a couple celebrity exceptions.

The truth is that every single girl who's attended an all-girls catholic secondary school can - and does, in fact - fit into at least one of these mythical categories. It really is true.

Another misconception about all-girls secondary schools, is that everyone thinks that the second we put our uniforms on, we become assimilated into a preternatural utopian society... but like any North American high school, an all-girls catholic secondary school consisted of your typical female jocks, your nerds, your geeky nerds, your drama students, your fashion buffs, your art majors, your over-achievers, your under-cover lesbians (most of which were Filipino, haha), and of course, your supa-fly gansta's (most of whom have children now).

Where did I fit in? I couldn't tell you. Not because if you knew, I'd have to kill you, rather, because I don't know. I was all over the place. In fact, I was home most of the time, sleeping (no joke).
If anything, I might have been an over-achiever; My freshman year at Dame (Notre Dame! Represent!!) was a year filled with an unnecessary and excessive amount of extra curricular activities, including being a part of my school's play (we won a national competition), the leadership/spirit team (better known as the Camp Olympia Team), the soccer team, the volleyball team, the softball team, the track team, the basketball team, the badminton team, the knitting club, the Reach team (W5H), the environmental club, the photography club, choir, and the art club... I'm pretty sure that's about it. I specifically remember being burnt out at various points of that year.
Definitely an over-achiever in grade 9 - hard work, I tells ya.
It took me the next three school years to catch up on all the sleep I missed from that one year.

To get back on track, everything is true about all-girls schools, but we're not robots. That's the only thing we were not. If anything, we're more confident, successful, adventurous, and freedom-loving than the majority of high school graduates - but that's just my opinion.

Competition Flashes It's Ugly Face.

Let's see: You're getting ready for an event, or you're coming back from an event; you were bored that day and decided to dress-up a bit; maybe you were perusing through a friends display pictures on facebook, continually comparing your mediocre looks to their glorious perfection - either way, you ended up in front of a camera lens, ultimately, opting to uplift your diffident spirit by taking a couple pictures of yourself to prove that you aren't as unattractive as the world makes you seem.

Every now and then, we feel the need to take three-thousand photos of ourselves, in the hopes of singling out those couple photo's, of which will represent the unique beauty we know exists within ourselves, and of course, upload them onto any given public digital medium for the world to see.

So, excuse me, while I treat myself to a "Sony Cybershot Photoshoot" to find the picture that represents the "best me," so that it might entice you to love/admire me more.

One sec:




Did it work?

Do these photo's represent me as a person?
Does this picture of me with my hair in my face, and sly smile make me more attractive to you?
Does this one picture bring about a positive change in your opinion of me?
Most importantly, do you appreciate my presence in your life more?

The answer to majority of these questions is likely to be a no - why? Because the psychology behind it, is your natural humanistic response is competition - it's understood in the anthropological world, that whomever is the best, is more adept to producing the most successful offspring. Your initial response is that of strategy to make yourself better, and thus, end up feeling the need to take pictures of yourself to put on facebook, so that the world may see you in a different light. Such a light that may make you better than the person sitting on your right. Such a light, that may make you better than who you used to be yesterday.

But, my question is this: How are we supposed to feel good about ourselves, if we keep trying to impress others, or compete with others?

The truth is that we never will feel better. No picture will ever be good enough, and soon, that picture on your display pic won't be good enough either.

My advice: Post a picture of yourself that YOU like. Do your best to not compare yourself to others, because we're all beautiful & unique individuals with something to offer this very big world.

G20; Protest - Riot Day.

The day began as any other... world leaders flying in on their magical carpets to the acclaimed Hollywood North, a.k.a., Toronto; legions of activists grouping together at Queen's Park, preparing for a massive peaceful protest down Queen St; rain drops and puddles, galore - yes, a regular, far from out of the ordinary start to the day.



This was the morning - nay, the day - I was destined to experience (with the YFS crew, York Federation of Students), and I chose not to go.

Do I regret not going?

Two words: HELL, NO.

In fact, I opted to stare blankly at my television all day, waiting for a bomb to explode.



...actually, kind of, because I MIGHT have run into my future husband (you know who I'm talkin' 'bout!) - and let me insert here that Craig Kielburger did an amazing job out on ground level, reporting on every bit of action, while taking on the duty of special correspondent for CP24.

Back on topic, I was so heartbroken by the way the #G20 protests ended up. One minute, I was watching a peaceful march, and the next minute, I was watching a riot! Literally, a riot!



The "Black Bloc Protesters", dominated headlines with their violent behavior, and totally overshadowed the purpose of what was meant to be a PEACEFUL protest. The black-clad individuals, completely shamed Toronto with their destruction of the downtown core - windows of virtually every store you could think of were smashed, police cars were set on fire, they began looting, hurling bricks and other objects at officers, and they even began to assault camera men, whom were covering footage of the chaotic events.



I totally get the need to want to be noticed, but Ghandi is shaking his balding head right now. What happened to Toronto? We're not genetically programmed for this! It's just not in our biological make-up! My mom even said she'd never seen anything like this in all her years of living here. And it's not like they had a point - it was like they were on crack (and I've seen people on crack, so I know what I'm talkin' about).

Not going to lie, I was pleased to see them smash the Gap windows - just sayin'. They totally did, so my job in life is done.



God, help us to keep our heads screwed on for the next week - and screw them tight.

Photos, courtesy of the Toronto Star.

Twitter Delivers

If there's one thing you should know about me, it's that about 7/10th's of me are always sleeping.

The other 3/10th's, are a vivacious combination of my psychedelic dance moves, my urges to write lengthily blogs, and somewhere in between, electric blue nail polish.

Let's go back to lengthily blogs for a sec - I love typing, it's an enjoyable past-time when I'm antsy, but my fires tend to burn out quick. The amount of energy needed to finish writing this blog, will take everything out of me, really. Maybe it's because I've been somewhat of a tortoise lately (with good reason, I'm dieing, very, very slowly).



All I really want to iterate, is that Twitter really does the job for me most of the time.

It's like a quick-y. I don't need to make exasperating love ALL night, every night. Let's just make it a hot, passionate 10 minutes. No?

My point is that sometimes, Twitter gets my idea out there in less than 140 characters, without tiring the hell out of me.

I'm super tired now. Trust.

Ray and Nephew

I wanted to go out for a run, to clear my head, be healthy and all. Then I realized how tired I was, so I opted for drinking some Ray and Nephew - how out of my league. Now I feel sick, and gross, and full of nothing. I don't even feel good enough to go to yoga. I don't even feel good enough to eat this watermelon. I hate the internet, I hate twitter, I hate Ray and Nephew, and I hate burping, because it smells like Ray and Nephew, and need I remind you, I hate Ray and Nephew.

How We Speak So Quickly

Sometimes, I need a large filter.

Where Our Minds Are.

The end of then end.

Bitter, confused, far away, and alive.

In the quite moments, where the tsunami brews, a child is crying for love.

Weary eyes stare blankly at photographs, as our weakened hearts yearn for their last breathe.

Soon, those parts of our anemic journey will waver our fragile souls no more, and we will remember our real paths, as they lay in the eternal abyss of universal matter.

God help you.

Homeless; Heartless; Hopeless.

My heart is breaking!

I just came off the Southbound train from St George station heartbroken:

Here I am, sitting on the back of the train minding my own business when I notice a younger, middle-aged black man wearing a pair of black jogging pants, a slightly over-sized white t-shirt, and a navy wind-breaker, striding into the train at Spadina station, a trail of what feels like failure, hopelessness, and melancholy follow closely behind him. I glance quickly in his direction but revert my eyes back to the glowing screen on my blackberry.

As I was perusing through a list of songs on my playlist, I notice a funky odor in the air; maybe perspiration, a chunk of hot shit, a table spoon of urine, and... a dash of rotten eggs. I quickly identified the smell as "that homeless man" smell - boy, does it smell bad. Luckily, for me, my station was next.

My nose only had to endure this very distinctive smell for a couple second, but it felt like a century. Mint green walls begin to speed past the dirty TTC windows, and finally, I hear the automated voice conductor lady robotically announce, "arriving at St George station, arriving at St George." To my guilty relief, in mere seconds my body was swiftly heading toward the exit doors, but as I approached the walkway, I stopped for about 2/100th of a second to take one last look at my train, and him.

My eyes dart from seat to seat until they stop on the homeless man; there he was, lying down on a three-seater, with all his loneliness, his trials, his failures, his shame, and essentially, his death - he was heartless, in that he had no spark left in him. He was lying with all of them, and it broke my heart. All I wanted to do was help him.

I got off the train feeling like I had done something wrong, as though I was responsible for his well-being. As though I had been the cause of his situation. I felt it all, and I don't know why.

Feelings of Restlessness

And to think I almost followed my body and not my brain.

Not that it would have made an impact whatsoever on my life - maybe on my stomach, also, possibly broadening my spatial awareness of the Yonge and Eglinton area.

Strangers, acquaintances, or friends, we all know none of that would have fared well in the end. Not for anyone. Can't lie though, it sort of felt, right? Or that I was supposed to do it. It flowed, if that makes sense. And the truth is, I'll flop on pretty much anything if there isn't a direct consequence behind it - that includes work, ish. Depends. I'll flop on work, but not on money.

I'm not going to work, I'm going to make money.

See, because Kemeny doesn't like surprises, nor does she enjoy talking in the third person... She doesn't enjoy the unknown, nor does she enjoy talking in second person, either... I don't cope with anything at all. I'm confusing like that. Could be the anxiety. I don't know what's wrong with me. I don't want money, or a husband, or clothes. The only thing I want right now is to live on my own. Or, to just be by myself. I really, truly don't want to be near any of you.

CL - The Personel Ad's

Because you remember how much we were all up in dat shiz!

Here's a funny quote from one of them I just read, referencing to men asking girls out for drinks:

To me, buying someone a drink you don’t know just cause she’s pretty is like saying “hey, I think you’re hot and I’d like to fuck you, so PLEASE let me buy you this drink to distract you from my shitty personality”

hahahahaha, it's funny cuz it's true!

Friends

Although astrology names one of my signs most heavily concentrated traits as being selfish, I really work toward steering away from that characteristic; I'd like to think that it shows.

However, on contemplation, I've noticed that one aspect of my life is dominated by this trait. I am most certainly aware that my friends - my BEST friends - or those whom I consider closest to me, are indeed entities of which I choose to be selfish with.

If we're good friends, GOOD FRIENDS, we need to put each other first; Family, school, etc, I can understand, but at the same time I don't want to share you with someone else. If you're MY best friend, MY good friend, it becomes a challenge for me to accept that you might have the same bond with another person who I'm not close with.

For me, it's one or the other. I don't want to make grand effort, and waste a great amount of care for someone who is spreading the majority of their "friend" care between people, or among others.

I have good friends, BEST friends, and we love each other. We put each other first, and there's no competition for each others interests, because we put each other first. I'm not comfortable with being good friends with people who are untrustworthy, manipulative, ungrateful, and secretive. These qualities don't make for a healthy, realistically successful relationship. If I were to be-friend someone, truly, they would need to be open people. We would be able to trust each other, and be able to talk to one another when somethings troubling us - without feeling as though we're annoying that person, or without feeling as though we will be ridiculed.

Unfortunately, you can't change people; everyone's different. As long as we can accept each other for who we really are, no matter how different our personalities and views of the world are, then there will be no problems.

All I request in all of my friends, is that we treat each other with as much love, care, and kindness as humanly possible, without deterring ourselves as people.

Swearing is like breathing

I just do it!

All the fucking timez, yo.

Annnnd, not because I'm drunk, or conforming to the notion of what is "hip" and "contemporary" in modern society, but just because it's funny - it's like breathing in fresh contaminated air, you've just gotta do it to live/maintain the function of the internal fixtures of your body!!!

So tell me something, what kills you faster? When your heart stops beating? Or when you can't get oxygen into your lungs?

WHO GIVES A FUCK! YOU STILL DIE!!!

That is all.