FOOD FOR THOUGHT

a Geriatric MoMent .

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I was waiting for da bus the other day when an older lady sat next to me. My weakness: old people. They smile, I get verklempt. They speak, I get verklempt, they sit in a restaurant alone, I can’t handle it. It’s just my thing. I imagine the worst: she just lost her husband, she can’t find her way back home, she’s not wearing her wedding ring…uh oh, I want to give her a hug and shout at the top of my lungs, “WILL SOMEONE HELP THIS LADY, SHE’S LOST”!!! Good thing I don’t.

The older lady chatted about the ugly condo in mid construction across the street. I complained how the bus was taking so **F&*KING long. She mentioned how different the city has changed, “the condos are blocking our beautiful scenery”, “London Drugs used to be my home” (not literally) but on the main street. I soon forgot about the bus and was far more interested in her tales.

Our dialogue went something like this;

ME: It will be interesting to see what the city will look like in 5 years.

LADY: (smiling) I don’t think I’ll be here.

ME: (what I wanted to say): “where are you going?”

LADY: (what I actually said): oh you’ll be here….you young whippersnapper”…you….

I trail off. She smiles and continues to strut her way onto the bus that finally arrives. As I stood behind her a few heads taller, foot still in my mouth, I couldn’t help but smile at her jovial demeanor.

She struck a chord in me when she said, “I don’t think I’ll be here”. I started fast forwarding to where I want or think I should be in 5 years. Questions swarmed in my head, “What if I’m not here?”, “Who will get all of my shoes?”, “I better hide my diaries!” and so on and so forth, etc, etc, blah, blah, blah, boom. I quickly shook off the nonsensical rumbles of chatter in my elaborate imagination. My nona lived to be 105, my grandfather is 89, I figure if I keep eating my greens and Nutella I’d like to hit 100. And if I end up in a retirement home, I’ll be the little old lady busting out costumes from her tickle trunk and putting on shows for the staff. Yup. That sounds great!!!! Or, convert the tuck shop into a kissing booth, $1.00 a kiss. Or 3 for $5.00. I would make millions for my grandchildren!!!!

So, after convincing myself that aging gracefully and with spunk is a fabulous option, I let out a breathe of air. I reminded myself to enjoy every moment, savour those conversations with loved ones, and learn from your elders. Maybe that afternoon I was the one with the geriatric moment and not my new friend.

A homage to women of all ages. I am a huge fan of Socialite Alice Apfel. She is amongst my all time favourite women. Her eccentric style and persona is what makes this 95 year old stand out. She’s been quoted as saying, ‘I’m a geriatric starlet. Her exuberant outfits and flying-saucer glasses have turned her into a style icon. BE YOU at any age. I have a feeling we’d get along just fine. – CS xx

** ridiculously

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FOOD FOR THOUGHT

Another birthday . Another pair of boots.

 

I celebrated my 35th birthday this past week. Yup . I said it. 35. Halfway to 70. A woman. And I’m not ashamed to admit my age. Although I cringe at times. But I actually feel amazing. Especially when, this week the sales lady at a cosmetic counter where I was looking at serums, exfoliants and face peels (OH MY!) asked me, “Are you 19 yet?” BOOM! She got the biggest gold star I have ever given out to ANYONE!!! They may be invisible. But heck! THEY ARE GOLD!!!!  I will unabashedly admit that I am blessed with fantastic genetics. I’m not being cocky. I’m just saying it how it is. My grandfather is 89, he looks 70. My father is in his 60’s he looks 55 (dad I hope you are reading this “gloat”) I think by the time I’m 45, I’ll actually look 35. Some say at this age I’d be a cougar. But I beg to differ. A cheetah. Sounds a little less harsh. And cheetahs still got there spunk and energyyyyyyyyy! So I must be doing something right. And in the entertainment business where looks seem to be everything these days, I knock on wood every single day that I still look like a teenage boy on camera…giving me a few years. I’m not gonna give credit to drinking lots of water, instead I’ll give credit to laughing. ALOT. Smiling ALOT. Flirting ALOT And yes… crying ALOT. Keeps me feeling young, the tear ducts are healthy, and salt water quenches the skin (I made that part up) I’ll be honest, I wasn’t excited this year. I started beating myself up on “where I feel I should be in life”, “What I haven’t accomplished as of yet”, “Why I’m still working these joe jobs”, but then foolishly shook that off. Never ask “Why” doe doe head. Instead I embraced all the fantastical things that I have accomplished thus far as a young chicken. And remind myself that certain things will give you the money to do what you want full time. And hopefully have creative control over them too. So, What is it about a “time line” that we so heavily rely on?? I’m leave that up to Facebook. This is a year of definite change. A lot of seeds are planted out there and a lot of amazing things are happening and unfolding. I may not see them yet but I am fully ready for when they bloom my way. Some I can’t talk about as of yet and others I will share when the time is right. But in the mean time I have graciously wrote down what I am proud of to remind myself of all the good that is here and that I am on the right track. The night before my birthday I bought myself some roses and popped open my iPhoto where I keep a section called, “THE GOOD OL DAYS”. Snap shots from photo albums at my parents home from the 70’s. Nostalgia sets in and I cried like a fool while laughing at the innocence of such a young little “peanut” as my dad called me as a baby. Weighing in at 3 lbs that nick name still holds. I had it good. And I still do. Lots of LOVE . FRIENDSHIPS . FAMILY . CREATIVITY . HEALTH. LIFE. and oh so much more! And sure, we always do want more. And sure, we beat ourselves up. But for what? We do what we can and the rest is up to wherever our adventures lead us. It’s amazing how the word YES and how our actions will take us on unknown adventures. I think that’s part of why I love being an actor, I never know what’s next and when it comes I tackle it from a place of play. Some challenging, some testing but overall they work out as planned. I’ve learned to keep my blinders on, ignore the ignorance of others, and continue to listen to the burning feeling that tells me to “keep on trucking”. Cause when I focus on myself and commend the good I do it makes me feel fantastic. Smiling at the days that past I was more excited to wake up the next morning and celebrate my life as a 35 year young woman. And that’s what I did. I woke up, got out of bed, stretched my arms and yelled, “FUCK YA ! I’M FUCKING 35!” …got on with my day..embraced all the well wishes, celebrated with close friends and bought myself another pair of boots. Hey! The one thing that makes me feel different every day are what I wear on my feel. And the fact that I’m starting to get bunions, well that opens a whole level in the shoe world. No, not orthotics (I can’t face that yet) But that face that I need good quality footwear. Most of the time quality equals quantity in my books. And whatever else makes me feel delicious, sexy, creative, flirty, cheeky, confident, passionate, excitable, fiery and endure the game of life! And yes, a gal needs to splurge once in a while. Even if one of those splurges aside from boots is skin care. Because soon (and by soon I mean another 25 years) I’ll be earning my spots. GRACIOUSLY – CS XX Image Already practicing in the mirror. Image My ability to not stay still started at a young age. My dad is wearing a very cool vintage button down. He probably still has it. I, on the other hand wish I owned that onesy. Image I look like a boy (to the left in pink) although you probably knew I was a girl (in the pink). A bottle of milk and my papa’s “Italian dog bones” always kept me happy. As you can see by my smile. My brother to the right (an actual boy). Image I look like a boy. My mom decided to keep my hair short. Thanks. They called me “Trouble” just like the game. Image Still looking like a boy (in red) Thanks. My brother to the left (an actual boy) But the beginning of my artistic adventures as a girl. Notice how I can paint and stare right into the camera. Talent. Image SR. Kindergarden. I look like a little girl. I love this picture. When I have a bad day I look at it and it reminds me of the cheeky monkey that I still am. Impeccable style too I may ad. Image The 35 year old woman that I was talking about. I still got it. Even with my tongue out. Cheers to a new year! And Play every chance you get! Cause that my friends….is what it’s all about. images

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HAIR OBSESSIONS

Miss Moustache

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I’m back! It’s been a few. And in that few I was busy planning a wedding, stressing out about the wedding, being in that wedding, putting pressure on myself to get things done work wise while in wedding land only to discover I just can’t do it all. Lesson: Focus on one thing and trust that it will all get done. Because it does. And even if it doesn’t somewhere along the line it works out in your best interest.  Finally two months back and I am sinking into routine. Again. Getting my groove on, listening to rap music when I clean and really just trying to get it all done. One day at a time. Life. I learned my lesson over the past months. It was no excuse to ignore my “voice”, although others would care to differ in the physical sense. But that is why I am back. Writing to you from my comfy bed curled up in my new Egyptian cotton sheets (yup I’m bragging) and comforter (bragging more). This just couldn’t wait until the morning. For some reason it feels like a new year. I’m not sure why, could be my hair is extra shiny tonight. So I will start again. And I will take it as that. This time, more than ever my blinders are on. Tight. Allowing me to  create, discover and conjure up new business adventures and ignore all those external forces that tend to latch on when they are so unnecessary. Its funny what your inner voice(s) will say to you. What certain people will say to  you. How their opinions of you must be heard. Quite frankly I am learning to shut them up and sport a sweet smile. Why would I listen to a 200 year old curmudgeon anyways? I’ll hear you but I’m not going to listen. Often times picking my battles are in my best interest but deep in my gut always better to say how it is especially when I know what’s best for moi (that’s french for “me”). I mean really, Who knows me better than me? Me. One day others will learn. And today I continue to. Separating those into tiny little compartments. Some days you may need them and other days their shelf life is a little longer. As I continue to make all the mistakes I can, it only makes me a stronger individual. Sometimes I believe that I am superhuman and other times…well who am I kidding, I am just a ball of moosh and tears. And the fire has been taken out of my cracker. But right now I know for sure I am for the most part a firecracker with weird idiosyncrasies that I can only embrace. I am stuck with me.  This caricature whom I like. Which brings me to the second part of this blog, my likings. The moustache. I like moustaches. I’ve said it before and I’m saying it NOW. I do. I always will. No matter how out of date that may seem. It’s sexy. And with a great head of hair even better. 70’s. I notice the moustache from afar. Up close. Often times head spinning in the direction of, the “stache”. But on more than one occasion as of late it makes me cringe. It’s lost its lustre. Sadly…oh so very sad. I’ll tell you why, because it has turned into a Miss moustache. Forgive me ladies if you are reading this and you have  a “Misstache”. In no way do I want to disrespect  or offend because you may like it.  It’s just my opinion. And we all have one. Weather we like it or not. In this case I vote NOT. I’ll admit it, I can’t give you my attention considering the only thing I see moving is the hair growth upon your upper lip. There are ways to take the “Miss” out of stache. Wax, thread and my all time favourite, Olay Smooth Finish Facial Hair Removal Duo. I’ll panic at the slightest beginnings of a blonde stache. Whiskers if you may. Even if it’s one tiny hair. Really, this is none of my business but I needed to get it off my chest. And believe me it’s not big. Signing off. Dreaming of unicorns and the 1970’s. This may be symbolic. Or it may not even make sense.  I go to sleeps. – CS XXImage

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ARTS AND ENTERTAINMET

its that time of year again.

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for Christmas crafts. You know it and I know it. As you get older you are given gifts that you simply don’t need (which means they end up stuffed underneath the bed, donated, rewrapped, or left on your neighbours doorstep with a note that says, “love santa”) Unless they are gift cards to your favourite shops (ask me for my ideas), monetary (to pay for those guitar, tap, ballet, art classes, even bills) or a generous donation in your name to your favourite charity. All in all, I really don’t need anything. Save your pennies and help someone who could enjoy a cup of tea, a bowl of soup or a long overdue phone call. As a young kid I would always give the gift of craft making. And as a young woman, well it looks like its gonna be that way this year too. Amy Sedaris put it best in her book, Simple Times: Crafts For Poor People. Yes I own this book. I bought it the minute it came out. I have a serious girl crush on this brilliant woman and somehow I can relate. Not because of my brilliance (or lack thereof) but because of her unique charm, bold characters and weirdness. I love her! So…if you feel compelled to make crafts this year take a peek at her book. Otherwise here are a few of  my top suggestion:

– mason jars filled with sand and shells (a Hawaiian adventure)

– decoupaged wine bottles with a candle of course (include matches. Go the extra step)

– sock puppets (everyone loves mismatched socks with buttons on them)

– reindeer families made from sticks. Use cranberries for oversized noses (This will get em every time!)

Q-tip men (perfect for the nativity scene)

Enjoy! Get creative! Happy shopping (independent/local of course)

CS XO

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ARTS AND ENTERTAINMET

“Once Upon A Time….

In A Far Away Land” there was as a little girl who was obsessed with anything that began with, “Once Upon A Time In A Far Away Land…” Who wasn’t? And where is this land they speak of? Or is it just in our imagination? I remember my dad would read fairy tales to me before bed time. And of course every Disney movie that came to the big screen had to be watched with pop and popcorn. They filled my vast imagination with thoughts of magical fairy godmothers, magic dust, sparkles, enchanted forests, prince charming’s, dwarves, kisses, long braided hair and the list goes on and on. Some may dream of fairytale endings when there’s a void. They put us in our happy place to fill our heart, mind and soul. As I grew older I read the Brothers Grimm version and as much as I didn’t want to believe these cracked fairy tales, they too had a sense of reality with the gruesome twists that life may throw. As we grow, we have a better understanding of the lessons that are taught, the symbolism exposed and the subliminal messages you even see in your favourite Disney movie (yes, they are there if you look really hard). We have more of an awareness of ourselves too. You have to just take both with a grain of salt and know that sometimes fairy tales are just fairy tales and reality is where you’re at right now. Although kissing a frog would be interesting. This takes me to those magical pair of heels that you’ve encountered. You stand there holding them, smelling them, touching them. You glide your hand down that marvellous heel. You know that heel is dangerous. As a matter of fact its going to kill your feet and your knees. You know that after 5 minutes of walking in them, toes pushed against the front, forced arches rising, you will not turn into a pumpkin but rather the Hunchback of Notre Dame. Believe me, I’ve been there and done that. And I still do that because honestly those heels are just too dynamite not to wear. They are sexy. They make your legs look like a model’s body. Not a model’s leg, her entire body. Yikes! You are taller than you have every dreamed you could be. You try them on and of course your instincts were right. You squeal, you cringe, you blush with frustration as you force your foot in that heel. “God dammit! Get in! Get in! Don’t embarrass me!!”. After exhaling and smiling confidently, you thank the perturbed man who has seen you stroking them for the past month. You politely say, “Thank you sir, but it looks like I’m going to have to think about them…. until next Monday…. when I get paid “. NOT. You will never step foot near those heels again, especially if hawk eye is watching your every step. They just weren’t a perfect fit. You frown. Think Cinderella –  the many women at the ball who squeezed their foot in that glass slipper trying to appease the likes of the prince. But knowingly enough, they too were not a perfect fit. Your frown slowly rises, Wait a second. You see  another pair of heels (Note to self: You are looking at way too many shoes lately). They may not look like a strippers foot like the last ones. Yes you can say that now because they didn’t fit and you didn’t buy them. But the girl who buys them could be mistaken for a stripper! I’m just saying. But we aren’t judging here cause we’re in my fairytale. Back to these heels. Damn, they are truly gorgeous and hey you got some time. Time is the essence. As a matter of fact you don’t wear a watch and your cell phone died. So there isn’t even a clock around. You try them on for shi*s and giggles. Oh my. Why they are a perfect fit. Your legs may not look like a models entire body but they look like your body. Your legs. Your feet and knees aren’t screaming at you. And dang you are sexy! SOLD!!!! “I’ll use Visa, debit and cash please”. Like I said, I get paid next Monday. I’ll tell ya, you just can’t fake a comfortable shoe. But for a few seconds you can always dream it. Lesson learned once again – CS xx

Moral Of The Story

Moral Of The Story

Magical Kiss

Magical Kiss

A Modern Day Rupunzel

A Modern Day Rupunzel

Strippers Delight.

Strippers Delight.

Crowned Princess.

Crowned Princess.

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FOOD FOR THOUGHT

Big Feet . Ballerina Dreams

 

 

I started dancing when I was 4 years old. Tap and Ballet were my first and then Jazz. My love for dancing has really enabled me to rock out on any dance floor or living room. Interpretive dances are a must – at a party, at a cottage, in the comfort of your own home (or others). My body does things. As a matter of fact, breaking into creative dance moves in a store, down an aisle, on a stage (especially with a banana) or in the street is my kinda my thing. Weather its dancing to “Saturday Night Fever” or Classical Music I let the music take me where no man has gone before. Er- 

When I was 6 years old my ballet teacher, **Rita (** Rita wasn’t her real name) told my mother that I would never be a ballerina. To put it gently (as I later cried and still hold it with me till this day) I didn’t have the proper legs ala turn out. Wow. That was a smack in the face. Especially when you, the little girl with probably the biggest feet in the class had a dream. I absolutely adored ballet and was secretly jealous of those girls who moved so flawlessly on the stage and excelled in the advanced program. Desperately trying to prove her wrong I stuck it out until I was 16,  just when I was about to go on point shoes. I absolutely loved point. But I knew that I wouldn’t advance further. You’re probably thinking, “Christina, No girlfriend! You should have stuck with it. Seriously, dreams do come true. You are the ballerina that could! You could have been a ballet star! YOU could have been Natalie Portman in The Black Swan”!!!!!!! Or something like that. But your gut knows best and your body knows it even more. I stopped out of  insecurity. Why put myself through the torture of trying to be someone I wasn’t? You can’t fit a square in a circle. Or can you? Instead I’ll have you know I was Vice President of Student Council that year which occupied my time. You’re probably thinking, “Wow Christina you are a jack of all trades”. Yes my friends, I am.  Skipping math class to “do council work” was a priority. And stepping out of science class to “take care of an important matter” (free Oh Henry Bars were coming in by the case for the Much Music dance party that night) I needed to be there for my peers. So instead I did what any responsible councilman would do, I decided to prioritize. I chose the only dance class I had time for and made time for. This was Tap. So that little girl who clung to the back row in ballet class, self-conscious of legs and feet, who always looked ahead to the “favoured” girls in the front row returned her point shoes. Another girl with a ballet dream would scoop them up. And plus I was really important that year in high school, so….  Alright. The truth: I knew my dream (and there are lots) to be a ballerina would not come true. I gave up. Something I do not like doing. Ever. Was it my big feet that I was self-conscious of? Maybe it was a turnout. My feet aren’t perfectly arched either. They are, as the boys would tease me in grade school, “flat as a board”.  Well guess what boys! My feet grew faster than my boobs. So take that. You know what they say about a gal with big feet?

ME: What?

ME: I dunno.

I have size 8 flippers, sometimes they range to a 9.5 (insanity). For a 5’4 gals with a tiny frame that is just uncalled for! I constantly trip UP stairs, on the sidewalk and religiously stub my toes on furniture. My guy won’t touch my feet. As a matter of fact he cringes at them. Saying things like, “look at those”, “get them away from me” or even, “go get orthotics, we have coverage!!!”. I would say this is verbal abuse. I have feelings too you know. I think I may be a hobbit. Come to think of it, If Bilbo Baggins had a sister I would be she. I am a klutz. To say I have grace, well others would argue I walk like an elephant. That’s when I knew my instincts were right about sticking with tap.  I never felt insecure about my foot size, nor my form. And there was a rhythm in my feet. It’s like they would come alive! Yeah, that’s right. I was fast. There was nothing more joyous than the banging sensation of my feet stomping to the ground. I tapped to the rhythm of the music and challenged myself within the beats. I love to tap.  Not to mention, I was the strongest out of all three. Maybe my natural talent for stomping really did come in handy. It excited me in a way that gave me the freedom to move my body loosely while staying in control of my feet. I am like a bag of microwave popcorn ready to explode all over the microwave when I tap. I didn’t even have to wear a bun. Instead, I sported a headband. All this and I looked cool at the same time. Yes I always think I’m cool when I tap. Like when I played soccer as a kid we had to take pictures and I thought I was cool by pushing my tongue against my bottom lip (try it. You’ll feel cool). Don’t ask me why but I have proof in the pictures. I even had the honour of tapping with Gregory Hines in Theatre School. Yep! I’m gloating and I name dropped. You will have to just deal with it. Jazz on the other hand well, I am definitely a white girl. Watching me do Hip Hop will cheer anyone up when they are feeling blue. It’s a comedy show in itself. I still got my tappers and have come to terms with my 87-year-old looking feet. Correction – My 87-year-old grandfather has prettier feet than mine. I have no idea where these came from. I’ve also come to terms with the fact that this shy timid little ballerina girl (who secretly glides across the bedroom floor to “Swan Lake” in a Swan costume (I exaggerated the part of the costume) has her ballet slippers tucked underneath her bed. I may have a tiny bunion or two. And I may not be so graceful. But I got rhythm and I got music….Who could ask for anything more?  

Ballet classes please? – CS xx

No one ever told me I could’t sport a tutu and heels.

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VINTAGE FINDS

The Lucky Dumpster.

Over the long weekend I had the pleasure of packing it up  and staying at a cabin in Washington state. It was awesome. It’s always amazing when you forget about your daily “TO DO’S” (which I am the first one to admit I am awful at). While enjoying a ton o laughs I slathered on the suntan lotion, swam in the lake, read a few magazines, did an interpretive dance to MJ’s “Thriller” and strolled through the tiny quaint town of Edison. Here, antique shops and small businesses are by far lucky gems scattered throughout this town. Speaking of lucky, I stumbled across The Lucky Dumpster. Like a kid in a candy store or simply in Sicoli fashion I touched, smelled, picked up, sat on, shook, tapped, and darted my eyes around every which way until I found what I was looking for. I could have bought everything (if I had a VISA) but of course had to be realistic. Not everything was gong to fit in the ol Hyundai.

This treasure chest of goodies is owned and operated by James Reisen and Jessica Bonin, a quirky and very talented couple (they are in the band called, The Daffodils)  who sell original and moderately priced artwork. And if you are looking for restored work this is the place! The Lucky Dumpster is really a jewel. I was inspired and found a few vintage finds as well as recycled  art items. It is one of those stores where every inch is packed with a unique find. James and Jessica are absolutely wonderful and their store is full of charm and in the words of  Mark Wahlberg, “Good vibrations”.  I was on the hunt for an antique vanity and was ecstatic to  find a few pieces that allowed me to build it on my own. D.I.Y if you will. I literally created a vintage beauty salon in my home office. So if you visit this quirky town of Edison filled with coffee shops, bakery’s, art gallery’s, go and support The Lucky Dumpster. Even if it’s for a cheery chat. – CS xx

For those who know me, I can fall asleep anywhere. This was after my interpretive “Thriller” dance.

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