Tag Archives: toronto

a jealous moment: pink skies & back porches.

Posted on by
2

Have you ever had one of those moments when you thought to yourself, ‘Someday, I’ll wish I was right back here….’ That’s what I call a jealous moment. They’re good to have.

Last night, the sky turned pink after a light rainfall over the city. Rob hung some old Christmas lights around the back porch and I popped a bottle of sparkling wine. Then, we turned off all the other lights in the house so we could just sit there and watch the tiny bulbs glow against the pink sky and be jealous of ourselves for a while.

Wishing you many jealous moments,

sandy.

Share

6 escargots, s’il vous plait.

Posted on by
8

I ordered escargots (6 of them) and a verre de vin rouge, as per the waiter’s suggestion. I had originally planned on white or champagne. He thought otherwise. He was right. The red set off the parsley butter and garlic, flavors bursting in my mouth.

They were a good texture, the escargots, but tasted too much like the sea. Still, it was a good choice.

On my first trip to France in 2003, I spent a few days in Nice. A new university graduate with a good chunk of debt and my own apartment and car bills had me on a very limited budget. Spending a few euros on escargots and wine felt like a splurge back then. Silly me.

This one American guy my friend and I met ordered up a dozen one night; he didn’t offer us any, even though he knew we were craving seafood like plants crave rain and sun and dirt. We had spent weeks living on ham, cheese and baguettes. He didn’t even like the escargots, that American kid, but thought it would be “cool” to have escargots in France. Asshole.

It’s not like I won’t see Paris again. I will. But this chapter is on it’s final pages – just one day left before I head back to Toronto and squeeze my way back – albeit reluctantly – into normal, every day life.

What that will look like now, I’m not sure.

I smelled the air extra hard this evening: sautéed potatoes, vanilla (from the abundance of crepe stands) and coffee… and sometimes urine. That’s Paris.

I’ve been obsessed with scents here, trying to lock one down in the form of a parfum or body spray that I can bottle and spritz any time, to bring me back to my tiny apartment in the Marais. So far I’ve purchased rose, rose-peony and safron.

I think I’ve come to accept that there is a good chunk of my heart that is truly nomadic. I know I’ll be doing this – traveling alone again – for as long as my lifestyle and pocketbook allow.

A couple of weeks ago, on one of our many midnight phone calls, Rob put it into words for the both of us: he said that I was nomadic, a gypsy at heart. I thanked him and was genuine when I did. “You get me”, I said, “I love you. …and you’re the one thing that Toronto has that Paris doesn’t”.

Share

Dating outside the friendship.

Posted on by
10

Girldate Rule #1: bring a REAL camera

So, I went on a date last Saturday night. I wore red lipstick.

After months of reading each other’s blogs, back/forth emails (I was even sent a Christmas card) and a session on Twitter last Friday that felt more like a party than a night at the computer, I met Simone, the lovely lady behind Skinny Dip. Her expertise? Dating, relationships, being a 20something with great style, plus getting candid about a few personal romantic misadventures.

Several months ago, while obsessively checking my blog stats (there must be more than 10 people who read this thing!) I noticed that someone called ‘Skinny Dip’ had tagged me in a post. ‘Who the hell is Skinny Dip?’ I thought.

She wrote about how she’d been following my blog (my blog?) for a while (a while?) and that I had inspired her to start her own Birthday List. I was floored.

Had she not done that, reached out via that one mention, I don’t know if we would have come to know each other. But I’m glad she tagged me, because together we can party like rock stars. (For a full account, I suggest you read her post here.) She does it in a hilarious way and even describes the moment at which I thought to myself, ‘hey, this girl is one cool chick’. She told a perv to eff-off on my behalf. Ah, Simone, be still my heart! I think it was something like the equivalent of opening the car door on a first date.

Arranging to meet Simone was part of personal goal (long term, so not really on the List, per se) to have more girl dates, outside of my usual circle of friends. Dating outside my girlationships, if you will. If it’s said that people come in to your life for a reason a season or a lifetime, then I want to embrace every opportunity that comes my way. My friend pool has felt a little dry lately.

This will not be rant about how “women can be so cruel” to each other, even though I find the meanest ones are just insecure. Sort of like the boy who pulled your hair in class, mean girls just want you to pay attention to them, too. Try it some time and watch what happens (it should be documented. Seriously.)

I once wrote that the partner you choose determines the course of your life, so choose wisely. At 29, I’ve realized the same thing applies to friendships, particularly the female kind: You can find those women who support you and help elevate you to new levels of intelligence, style and strength; or you can find the ones who will talk you out of every good idea you’ve ever had, only to call you when they need something or someone to complain to. I’ve had them all.

I’ve haven’t always been lucky in friend-love, I’m afraid. In romantic love, I’ll admit, I’ve had success. But with the ladies, I’ve unfortunately always been attracted to the bad seeds. Now, allow me to preface my next statement by saying that the friends I now have in my life, I love. They have unique qualities and have shared in some of my best memories, particularly through my 20s. But to find these few gems I had to troll through many choppy waters:

The too needy friend.

The too mean to your other friends friend.

The too insecure to really be happy for you friend.

The always in a negative mood friend.

The sour on love friend.

The don’t know how to keep my knees together friend.

The “you never call me” friend.

The “um, I don’t really read books” friend.

The Everybody’s Boss friend.

The friend, um, ‘powders her nose’ (and I don’t mean with Maybelline.)

For every friend I’ve kept, I’ve walked away from dozens more. This, dear readers, has burdened me since grade school.

I could never seem to find my place in the world when it came to figuring out which piece of the “in circle” I fit into. Was I a popular kid? Sure. Was I lonely though? Absolutely. I usually found myself feeling like I was on the fringe of most girl groups, and I didn’t like being the ringleader if it meant having to make other girls feel like slitting their wrists (a star-tactic of the quintessential mean girl.) Instead, I wore my heart on my sleeve – still do – and opened myself up to war wounds inflicted by those girls who boasted more confidence at age 11 than I ever did at 18. Although, years later, at around age 24, I learned that insecurity often dresses itself up as confidence, so beware the wolf in sheep’s clothing (and Prada.)

There was a distinct period in my life when I realized I might never find the “perfect girlfriend”. It was during a breakup with my boyfriend and my mother was in cancer treatment. I was renting a basement apartment and came home past midnight most days from my job at the newspaper just to avoid the silence. I had pushed away all of the friends who just didn’t seem to have the right words for helping me cope with the possibility of losing my mother. I was so angry at the world. Eventually though, my anger softened and I chose to view that difficult time as one of immense growth.

In many ways, I’m having another growth spurt, especially since the start of this blog. I’ve committed to surrounding myself with inspiring people and to being someone who fits into the Circle of Inspiration for others as well. That’s called synergy, I guess, and I’m all over it, like brown on rice.

I have a good feeling that my date with Simone last Saturday will go down as one of the great moments I had while reinventing myself. And I’m even more sure that brunettes do have more fun, especially when wearing a little red lipstick.

Share

Lavender, cigarettes and burning wedding dresses.

Posted on by
14

I loved this week’s writing class. I mean, I love every week (sadly, next Wednesday is the last installment) but this week was a bit of a breakthrough. I took a stab at writing dark comedy for the first time. I loved it.

My class is compiled of what, in my opinion, are a unique and diverse group of characters. You can briefly read about them here. Last week, after class, I had tea with the Procrastinator and a new character I’ll affectionately call Cake, because she made positively the best molasses cake in the whole world and brought it to class yesterday. What a sweetheart.

Anyway, back to last night. Our writing has been getting more intense and turning out to be somewhat of a write-therapy for a lot of us. You can read one of the most personal posts I’ve ever written on this blog here, which was born from an assignment in this very class. (Thank you for your continued supportive comments and emails.) My other class assignment, a sweet yet melancholy story about how my own mother learned of her father’s death, is here. She was only 11 when it happened.

This week’s assignment offered to options (400 words):
1. Begin the story with, “I’ve never told anyone this, but I’ll tell you…”
2. Include a burning wedding dress in the story.

I opted for… well, you’ll see below. Here is my debut at dark comedy, I think:

***

Lavender and Cigarettes

By: Sandy Braz

I had spent the night out of the apartment to avoid seeing Michael before the ceremony. “Bad luck” they called it and so I listened.

He decided it would be putting his mother out to have me spend the night at her house, so I gladly checked myself into a luxurious room at the ace hotel. His credit card.

I called Catherine, my best friend and bridesmaid. I secretly hoped she and Michael organized a surprise pre-wedding Girls Night In, to celebrate my last sleep as a single city girl. But no such luck. She never picked up the phone.

I packed one night’s worth of clothes and hailed a cab.

Something about taking my wedding dress to the hotel felt strange. I couldn’t bare the thought of toting it in a cab up Yonge Street. It would make it feel less special somehow. So I left it at home, with Michael.

Looking back, I didn’t even question why he felt I should be the one to leave the apartment that night. I guess I loved him enough not to ask.

After a hot bath in lavender oil and salts, I turned in. It was just after 9:30 p.m. I wanted to look fresh and feel prim for my walk down the aisle – 2 o’clock at St. Michael’s Cathedral. But, some time around 4:30 the morning of my wedding, I woke up in a cold sweat.

I needed the dress. I needed to see it when I woke up. I needed to know I still loved it. And him.

My uneasy heart had me hailing a cab and ten minutes later I was destined for our apartment. I asked the cab driver for a cigarette. I hadn’t smoked in five years. He handed me a Malboro and a pack of matches. “Keep ‘em”, he said. I did.

When I opened the door to our bedroom I expected to see him laying there, but not with her. Suddenly I understood why she hadn’t answered her phone.

My wedding dress hung on a curtain rod above our bedroom window, shading their naked bodies from the rising sun.

I didn’t make a sound. I couldn’t breath, let alone speak.

My hand found it’s way into the pocket of my trench coat. It reeked of lavender and cigarettes. My fingers found the matches.

I sparked one. And then another. And another and another. I lit books. I lit newspapers. I lit curtains. I lit lampshades. I lit the bed.

They woke up. Screaming.

And then, I lit the dress.

***

*If you’ve read my archives (may the gods bless you) you know how I feel about wedding dresses. If not, then click here. (and get a move on with those archives, will ‘ya!?)

Join the conversation: If you were the narrator (the betrayed woman) in this story what would you have done? Now, what if you were the fiance (the betrayer)?

Share