Just Calling to Confirm

August 1, 2008

My friend Josie Rindee is a very busy woman. Her blackberry calendar is completely full from morning until night. An average day for her may look like this:

5 am – Personal Trainer
7:30 am – Work
11:00 am – Work Brunch w/New Client
12:30 pm – Work Lunch w/Existing Client
3:00 pm – Mani/Pedi
6:00 pm – Meet Steve for drinks
7:30 pm – Bikram Yoga
9:30 pm – Dinner w/Girls
11:00 pm – Calvin

This girl does schedules more in one day than I can in one week – and she almost always keeps to her schedule. No joke – there have been times where I’ve been cut off midsentence by Josie telling me that she has to run because so-and-so has scheduled her time starting in 10 minutes. Josie is single, but somehow still finds the time to date more than one man, two in one night sometimes.

She is a machine.

We were having lunch the other day (from 11:30 am – 1:00 pm at Sassafraz), and I grabbed her Blackberry to schedule myself and our friends in for a Saturday night with the girls. Her night looked free until midnight, where instead of a description, a reminder, the only info was “Calvin”. I scanned my mind quickly thinking of a guy she was dating named Calvin, but nothing came to me.

She told me it was a guy she saw a few times week. She canceled that night with him promptly, leaving him a bland message about cancelling, leaving it open for me and the girls.

When our girl night rolled around, we all went to dinner where nobody ate anything, went to a martini lounge, and ended up back at Maria’s penthouse for drinks. Us girls were tanked. There was no way about it. We were all dancing to no music, lounging on couches but really just slightly slipping off of them, and one girl was even lying down on the fur rug talking about life and love and the new shoes she bought.

Josie was checking her phone.

“Joooossss! Who are you texting?” Maria shouted catching the same thing I was.

“No one, no one.”

We let it go, but then we both saw it again. Josie was texting on girls night. Drunk. Drunk texting is the worst. The words never type out right. You can’t read the message coming in. And it just ends up bad. Bad.

Maria ran over and grabbed Josie’s Blackberry out of her hand, scrambling to figure it out and then threw it over to me. Josie half-attempted to get it back, but all the champage she drank earlier was making her move in slow motion, and then just collapsing back in the armchair she cradled herself in.

“Calvin!”

I looked at her across the room and a smile rose on her face.

I read outloud: “Calvin, I’m just calling to confirm our 3:30 am”

Maria started howling, “You’re calling??? You’re texting dumby.”

Blake questioned why she was meeting a guy at 3:30, and Josie just shook her head, still smiling dope-ily.

“You mean, you’re meeting him tonight? After you leave here?”

A short silence filled the apartment. And suddenly a screech from the kitchen:

“BOOTY CALL!”

“You confimed a booty call?” I asked her, trying not to laugh too hard.

Josie finally mustered up enough sobrerity to say her little speech, “Listen ladies. I have so many demands in my life. I have a job. I have to workout. I have a dog. I have my friends. I have my dates. I work.” Josie was counting out her points on her fingers.

“And you know what? Sometimes, I just need to get fucked. Okay? And if we, as women, don’t do this for ourselves – well who the hell can we count on to do it for us? So I schedule sex. So what? At least I know when I’m getting laid.”

Maria was still laughing, “But you confirmed?”

“Emily Post requires you to confirm your appointments at least 3 hours ahead to ensure that all parties are on time.”

We all burst out laughing at Josie’s advice, while she held her head up high, threw on her Louboutin’s, and bid us all good night.

Too Many Days…

July 25, 2008

Giselle spent too many days pondering her future, her future in Europe, her present in Amsterdam. She and her boyfriend Antonio booked a month-long holiday through Europe, 8 days in they were in Amsterdam – and they had seperated.

Was it the alcohol? The drugs? The sluts that lined the alleyways of the red light district that had seduced her boyfriend and ended with him on stage at a live sex show?

She wasn’t sure. But Giselle knew it wouldn’t be too much longer until she found a new man, hopefully one that wouldn’t cheat on her on their holiday.

Giselle was pompous. A woman who was so self-assured it almost made you sick, but there was something about her that kept you listening to her annoying stories – mainly telling you that you had to buy something, be somewhere, or do a certain thing to even be alive in her books. She could have been beautiful, save for the overdone eye makeup she wore on a daily basis, her dark Italian hair piled high on her head, and her overbearing ways – that somehow made men smitten with her, and women either adored her or went crazy being in the same room with her.

No, she wasn’t too worried about the rest of her trip – she knew she would enjoy it immensly – she, of course, had all the paperwork, itineraries, and all the cash, of course. What started as a holiday with a boyfriend through Europe will end as a month-long shopping spree that her ex had funded.

The fun started in London, where it rained for all the four days spent there, continued to Paris, where it stopped raining on the second day, but was too humid for her hair to behave. They moved on to Amsterdam from there, where the weather was pleasant, people were in the streets until five in the morning, and where her now ex-boyfriend had gone wild enough to perform in a live sex show with another woman – and another man.

She shook her head just thinking of these thoughts. She was packing, it was supposed to be their last day in Amsterdam, then onto Germany. So she was packing up her luggage, and only her own, tossing all of his things into the garbage can that was next to her. Giselle had no clue where Antonio was, and as much as she wanted to not care, she kind of did. She knew the hotel only held their reservation until 3 pm today – and as it was 11:30 and his stuff was in the garbage, she knew he most likely wouldn’t make it out.

She was so organizational that even in a crisis like this, a boyfriend of 2 years who had almost proposed marriage, she didn’t cry, oh no! She organized. She worried about the schedule. She didn’t care what happened to him – as long as it happened on time.

She called the taxi to take her to the train station, and she stood outside the hotel, with 3 bags, thinking Who’s going to carry all my luggage?

One Day in Paris

July 22, 2008

I spent one day in Paris last month. One miniscule day in which I took over 100 pictures of the sights of the city of my dreams. It was beautiful, romantic, and rainy – which made it even more romantic as it was a warm, light rain. I went to a cafe and had a latte and a crepe. I went to the Eiffel Tower and kissed underneath it. I went to the Louvre and looked at amazing pieces of art.

I had lunch in front of the Notre Dame – at a really touristy restaurant where drinks came with sparkly straws and the waiter thought that we were Italian and speaking to us in a broken down Ital-French language.

It was simply amazing.

More from Europe coming soon…

Thank You…

July 7, 2008

A thank you to Final Fashion for a mention…

What Are Friends For?

June 29, 2008

Since the beginning of the year, I’ve had it in my head to bring together a bunch of girls for a dinner party. A semi-themed posh dinner party – no boys allowed. I had ideas in my head – a pink party or a white party with matching speciality drinks – dinner at a posh resto-lounge and dancing at a club in the vip section.

I mentioned it only to a couple of my girlfriends who said it sounded like a great idea, they were enthused and looking forward to it. So I made up invitations, I decided to do the pink party theme – everyone wearing pink and drinking pink martinis – and set it up for a weekend in May, so it wasn’t too cold and not too hot. I sent out the invites a month in advance, invites that were hot pink with black embossed printing – I knew a company who did them so they gave me a huge deal.

A week after my guest’s received the invites I still hadn’t heard anything from anybody. No RSVPs, no questions, no remarks. I’m a control freak by nature, and even though there were two more weeks to rsvp, I needed to know NOW.

So I started making some calls.

Tara made an excuse about her boyfriend and said she ‘would let me know’. Another girl claimed she was too pregnant to come. Fari was confused – was this a birthday party? was this an engagement party? did she have to bring gifts? why couldn’t her husband come?

It was really making my head spin.

So I sent out a cute little email, all in pink, about the idea of the party (as if the invitation didn’t spell it out clearly enough for everybody).

Ladies!

You are all invited to a Pink Party – dinner, drinks and dancing. You are requested to wear pink from head to toe! My loft 7 pm for cocktails, followed by food at One, and finishing the night in the VIP booth at Circa. I need to know by next Wednesday who’s coming to make final reservations.

This is a GIRL’s night out – no presents required, no men – just crazy fun like we all used to have – and if you’re pregnant come out to dinner – you still need to eat!!

xoxo

Tuesday rolled around and I got a few phone calls. Girls were saying yes but whining about the dress code (I don’t wear pink, I don’t like pink, It makes me look fat, etc, etc), the restaurant (is it expensive? i’ve never been there before), and yes, even the club (why don’t we go where we always go?).

I really didn’t believe that it would be THIS difficult to get together a group of girls for no reason other to have fun and remember what life used to be before fiances, husbands, weddings, babies and houses – even if that wasn’t their specific order.

Was it possible that I was the only one who wanted to do this? We’ve all been talking about “doing something” for almost a year now! I was getting exhausted, what was wrong with them? What’s going through their heads? Should I just invite their boyfriends and make it a boring dinner party – NO! I need to save the girls!!

In the end, six out of twelve girls came out, and we had a smashing time. Drinking and dancing, getting hit on like there was no tomorrow. The next morning we all went out for breakfast with our boyfriends, but made them all sit grouped together while we carried on giggling about the night before.

Everyone came up to me and thanked me for taking the effort to do the party, and asking when the next one was going to be… which somehow made me think of a yellow party, but would that just be too much to ask?

The Ambivalent Man

June 23, 2008

Have you ever pursued a man, a man who flirts with you for months, gives you all the right signals, and then as soon as you’ve gone on a couple of dates, this man starts acting weird? And I mean weird beyond not returning phone calls, but weird as if acting like you’ve got the plague and he really badly doesn’t want it?

Something happened to my friend Carla this weekend. A man who she started dating, who she bragged about to all of us, suddenly didn’t want anything to do with her. And Carla was crushed. Let me start at the beginning…

Carla works as a receptionist at a very important lawyer’s office in downtown Toronto, she sees her share of grumpy lawyers, angry clients, and, amidst them, some very cute guys. One of these very cute guys was a newer lawyer at the firm, who was trying to make it to partner by years end, and always took a minute out of his day (who are we kidding? like 20 minutes!) to joke, flirt, and talk with Carla.

We’ll call cute lawyer guy Adam. Adam and Carla even started doing lunch once a week, usually on Wednesdays when they both seemed to have more time. Adam was also a perfect gentleman who never insinuated any sexual feelings for Carla, never made her feel uncomfortable, and always complimented something about her – her hair, shoes, outfit, her eyes – and Carla loved it.

She became very infatuated with Adam, so much so that she would talk about him at lengths end whenever the girls got together. Everyone always told her to go out for dinner with him, ask him on a date, and she always blushed away and said she couldn’t because she didn’t want to start an office romance.

The romance had already started. Carla just didn’t want to risk putting herself out there and have him say no, she was secretly worried that he was gay because he had noticed her shoes on more than one occasion.

Quite a few months after they first started talking, Adam asked Carla on a “sort-of” date, the kind where someone’s having a party, and it’s going to be ‘all couples’ and he doesn’t want to look single. Carla said yes, but was still worried about the gay factor. After the party, Adam took Carla to a martini bar, walked her to her condo, and gave her a kiss in front of her doorman. Well, there goes the gay theory.

Carla re-lived that memory in her head over and over, and Adam didn’t stop by her desk for a week. Friday rolled around, and Adam stopped by about how busy his week was, Carla batted her eyelashes at him, and was pleased when he asked her to dinner a week and a half from that date.

I scolded Carla when she told me this – you never tell a guy that you’ll go out to dinner with him a WEEK AND A HALF from today – ever!! It makes you look SO available, seriously. But Carla was in la-la land.

Adam took Carla to a trendy sushi restaurant for dinner, he talked mainly about traveling to Italy, his love for black & white movies, and how much he wanted to become partner. Carla sat there nodding, mainly because she was in awe of him as much as she didn’t know anything about Italy, black & white movies, and she wasn’t a lawyer.

After dinner Adam took Carla to his place, and they had sex in so many positions that she lost count. The next morning they went out to breakfast at a local bakery, kissed over lattes and croissants, and Carla spent the rest of the day in a blissed out state while shopping for dresses she thought Adam would like.

Their third date happened two weeks later, again Adam was too busy and Carla was available, they went out to another dinner, another sex session, and another breakfast. It was like they were on a two-week schedule of sex and breakfast, and Carla was starting to think of the future, as many girls infatuated with their boyfriend do.

Carla started telling us girls about how she wanted to marry him, and that’s when I started to get worried about her. Because in between each date, those two weeks without him, she would do nothing. She always stayed at home, perfecting herself for the next date.

After 8 long months of this tumultous dating cycle, Carla started getting nervous. She started caling me up, asking me, “When is he going to get serious? When are we going to get engaged?” But there was nothing I could say to calm her. Really, she had showed him that she liked this relationship the way it was, so why should he offer her any more of him?

But Carla couldn’t stop worrying, she started bringing it up to him on their dates, talking about futures, and where they saw each other in a couple of years from now. They had a talk and Adam said something to her that calmed her right away and I didn’t hear any worries from her again.

Until he stopped coming by her desk altogether. In one month, she saw him twice, on their designated date nights, and she was starving for his attention. She was getting a little moody with him, asking him what was up, and his standard reply “I’m Busy” became not enough for her. They didn’t have sex that night

Then he cancelled their next date. And Carla snapped.

She called his cell phone constantly, trying to figure out what was going on.

And then she called his house phone. A woman answered the phone.

Carla asked to speak to Adam,  and the woman asked who she was.

“His girlfriend, Carla.” Silence. “Hello?”

“There must be some mistake, I’m his girlfriend. Nicole. Are you sure you have the right number?”

“Oh my god – I’m his girlfriend, is this some joke? Is he putting you up to this to break up with me? He can’t do it himself? Every two weeks we fucked in his apartment and now he can’t even break up with me in person? He told me – he told me he was going to marry me!”

Carla hung up. She was furious. She went on a five-day drinking bender, took two weeks off work, and I spent this time with her shopping, spa-ing, and crying with her.

Nicole was Adam’s girlfriend for two years now. It turned out that Nicole was in some type of work that forced her to travel to the New York office every other weekend. Every two weeks. Just like Adam & Carla’s dating schedule. And that was Nicole’s apartment that Adam had been fucking Carla in.

Carla still hasn’t gone on a single date for the past six months. Adam had found himself homeless. Nicole found herself a man who had his own apartment.

The Suburban Socialite

June 21, 2008

Socialites are a glamorous being found mainly in metropolitan areas, such as New York, Los Angeles, London, Milan and Paris, Toronto being a smaller city has its’ handful of up-and-comers, party girls with too much of daddy’s money and are deemed socialites as well.

My one favourite friend, Taylor, is a Toronto socialite. Her father owns a marketing/media company as well as a number of posh resto-lounges throughout the city, all of which makes Taylor a rich girl. She doesn’t work, sleeps in until 11 everyday, and makes shopping and partying her only two bullets on her list of things to do.

I used to envy Taylor, her blonde hair perfectly coiffed, her tiny body sculpted to perfection by a combination of pilates, personal trainer, and a doctor who shall remain nameless, her amazing shoes that she only wears once or twice before she deems them ‘out’ and keeps them in her enormous closet that’s larger than my apartment. And people always tell me not to be jealous, but really, not only is she rich, looks like a model, but she’s also such a sweet person – seriously. She gives money and food to the homeless on the streets, she always says please and thank you, and she always seems sincere.

Eventually Taylor found a boyfriend that stuck to her for more than 2 months, this boyfriend also proposed to her with a beautiful, huge ring from Tiffany’s, and pretty soon we were all going to Taylor’s wedding. Her wedding was not only featured in one, but two bridal magazines, an amazing fete that brought together bigwigs, celebrities, socialites, and people like me, friends of the bride and groom. Everything was white, the flowers, the fabric hanging from everything, the cake, everything was lit with candles, there were water features, a champagne fountain, sushi desert – and everything was done tastefully and chic.

The honeymooned first in Fiji, then in the South of France, for a whole month. Then the newlyweds disappeared into their huge Tudor-style mansion in the suburbs for weeks – literally. I spoke to Taylor probably 3 months after her wedding for the first time, and she was in marital bliss, as all perfect people seem to be. I almost wanted to puke at that point. And then it happened. A little trickle of unhappiness.

And as always, a trickle leads into a river, a river into a waterfall.

Taylor said she missed the city, the nightlife, and the parties. She said she missed shopping everyday, and she said she was getting a little lonely. She even took up cross-stitching, but as soon as she was done her first one, she threw everything into the fireplace so she would never be succumbed to that kind of boredom again. It was HIS mom that bought her the cross-stitch set in the first place.

She even asked me what my latest shopping spree got me – Marc Jacobs bag and Lamb shoes – which she never ever does because she’s always five steps ahead of me shopping wise, at least, before she was. Now, locked up in her suburban mansion she’s the wife that used to have a life as a single. She confessed she sometimes goes for drives aimlessly in her Porsche convertible, not knowing where she’s going, and not really trying to get away, but just looking for something, anything, interesting in this little suburban town.

Last I heard, she had remodelled her mansion and was looking for a magazine to feature it. Poor little Taylor, the richest little sad suburban socialite I’ve ever seen.