You don’t get it…I’m an ArTIsTe

Pursuing any kind of career is hard (unless you’re Bruce Wayne). Because of my interesting life, I know many interesting people (yay ME) from all industries scattered across the globe. Some of my best friends are medical-types, educators, health-related people, business savvy wizards, nine to fivers and of course creative types.

Each industry has its ladder to climb and no ladder is less challenging than any other.

But sometimes I wonder, if the Arts industry actually has a ladder? Maybe its more of greased up lightning rod you’re trying to climb? Or maybe where the ladder is supposed to be, there’s actually just an empty space with an artwork tag that says “Ladder” and four creative types (one in tattered jeans and some kind of slouchy headwear) are standing around describing how “post modern” and “eclectic” the ladder is. And just like in the Emperors new clothes you nod and agree and leap in the space it theoretically should be, only to fall flat on your face.

Are we still following?

Good. Lets move on.

I’ve had some experience trying to get a foothold on that elusive ladder…probably I’ve had more experience discussing how I should probably try and look for that ladder. Bitching about not being an academy award winning screenplay writer when I haven’t written a screenplay since 2010, and wondering why there are people younger than me who are more famous.

It’s a tough industry. I know a lot of talented creative people who gave up on their dreams to try for different careers. I know many creative people struggling to make what they love a priority and a full time gig, while busting their arses doing something else to pay the bills.

My Mother is a perfect example of someone in the latter category. Two nights ago she opened her new Directorial offering “My Big Gay Italian Wedding” which is completely sold out and pretty much was when the tickets first went on sale. She has had rave reviews and write ups. She is a Theatre DAHHLING in Hong Kong, and yet she, and her extremely talented cast and crew, are doing the play more for love than any other reason. There just isn’t money in it.

For the amount of time (and talent) that these men and women poor into a project, it would be nice to think that they could make the leap from teachers and bankers and general managers (who act and sing and direct on the side) to full-blown Artists or Creatives or whatever you want to call yourself.

But the truth is, that funding in the arts and for creative enterprises is limited no matter where you go. Part of the reason I didn’t go back to Australia, and have decided to stay in North America, is the possibility and opportunities here. I was fortunate enough to work on a TV show when I was finishing my masters in Sydney, however the opportunity of a second season for that show dried up because of the way the Television industry operates down there. It is simply too expensive to make home-grown products. Most episodes and series are imported from the states as it is cheaper.

Lots of my young, energetic creative friends have moved to LA or New York to try and break into industries there where the market is bigger. And what a shame that they do. The UK, Australia, Hong Kong…these countries are losing some great talent to places that seem like Creative Mecca’s.

That’s not to say that there aren’t people battling it out on home ground, doing what they love, trying to see what happens. Some guys I worked with on the previously mentioned TV show, used crowd-funding to get some cash together to make a reality of a creative project of theirs “The Weatherman”  which is going ahead in the next few months. But I know that for them it has been an uphill battle. I read some of their scripts while we would wait around like goons, and it is really funny, great stuff. Why shouldn’t it be made? And why shouldn’t they reap the benefits?

The Arts and Entertainment industry is often hard because it’s so competitive. It seems as though people are sometimes reluctant to help one another get that crucial foot in the door. It seems like once you’re in, you’re in, but that door is like the room of requirement at Hogwarts. You have to chant and chant what you want and hope that it materializes.

There is an element of being in the right place at the right time, of knowing the right people, of working hard, but for some it isn’t that easy. It is a difficult struggle to keep going, keep interning, keep writing, keep putting on shows, trekking to auditions practising, learning, all while trying to live everyday.

SO what am I getting at?

I guess I’m saying we all need to support the arts more. Go to plays, see up-and-coming bands, read each others work and give encouragement and feedback. And I guess I’m trying to say, keep going. If you are a creative person and thats what you want to do with your life, then go for it. Maybe things won’t turn out exactly as planned…Hey! That’s life and its a part of the journey, but Mama says:

If you always do what you’ve always done, then you’ll always get what you’ve always gotten.

So stick that up your ladder and deal with it!

Paris

Tell me I’m Pretty

If there is one saving grace to retail (and it’s a stretch to even suggest there is) it is not, as may be expected, the 50% discount on clothes (because it just makes it that much easier to SPEND your hard-earned cash there), for me, it is in fact the customers.

I guess I haven’t been working in customer service long enough to have a horror story about a crazy that walked off the street and into a rage at me because they were having a bad day (although there was a lady a few days ago who yelled at a co-worker of mine when she tried to “return” a pair of pants my store doesn’t carry with the tags snipped off).

I am a people person, a curious writer, and generally a nosy mole, who likes to try and find out what makes people tick. Don’t worry, I have already quizzed all my co-workers about their life stories (and stealthily tried to figure out how they got stuck in retail after having degrees…more out of horrified fascination than anything else…like looking at the blue flame welders use..bad for the senses but impossible to look away) and a part of the selling gig is to try and figure out what the client wants and how to get it.

The shop/chain I work for sells only women’s clothes and accessories and they are kind of corporate, but on the reasonably priced side. The shop is also located in an underground shopping mall on the PATH system (a rabbit warren-like affair that stretches underground through parts of downtown Toronto to prevent people from having to go outside in the freezing cold. It is like an underground city with clothing stores, banks, food courts…waxing places…juice bars…there’s probably a car dealership down there somewhere. I’m not sure why there would be…but I’m sure there is) and most of the customers we get work in the corporate offices stacked on top of us.

The ladies range in age from Intern-types fresh out of Uni, to the older working woman. And while there are customers I have connected with, and those that I haven’t, my favourite age group is the late thirties to mid forties/early fifties. These are women who ACTUALLY listen to what I have to say, ask my opinion, want to open the fitting room door and show me what they got.

Some of these women remind me of my Mum. They are mostly patient and not used to shopping for themselves so they are willing to listen to suggestions. They have money so they aren’t horrified by a sweater that costs $30.

A lot of them have body issues. A lady today who was gorgeous, Indian skin but with a cool British accent, told me she’d recently lost 19 pounds on some German diet I think she called the “Dukan”? She liked a little black corporate dress and she tried on the Small and the XS. She had a petite frame but you know what? She had a bit of a wobbly bit on front.

“My Kids did that”

She told me. And she tried on both sizes, got a belt to try to jazz it up, put a cardigan over it to see…and she just couldn’t sell it to herself. My approach to this crappy job is that I never want to be pushy. I am a natural talker and I’m honest. I am competitive so, I want to do well in any situation, but I REFUSE to lie and act like a simpering idiot. I was straight with her and told her it looked great but that it was a personal preference. I too happened to be wearing a little black corporate number and you know what? I have a jiggle round the middle too. AND I HAVEN’T EVEN HAD KIDS! No excuse.

This lady, who was super nice and interested in my Aussie accent told me that she hadn’t worn form-fitting clothes in a long time. She was getting used to her body again. She didn’t buy the dress, but I think she felt a little bit confident and sexier having tried it on.

Same deal with the lady who came in on Friday and need an after work drinks type shirt for a last-minute reunion at a pub. She grabbed an XL shirt and I made her get a large. She was shocked. I made her try it on and it wasn’t even tight. It was more form-fitting for sure. I told her the truth, that she had a great waist and that she should emphasize it. We chatted for quite a while and when she left, (after buying the shirt) she turned to my manager and said “I hate shopping, but i’ll be back because of her”, and she smiled and waved, even gave me a cheeky wink!

These women, who are still attractive, functioning, smart, hardworking people, come into a shop for 15-20 minutes and talk to me – blah, under functioning, retail-bum, Masters-holding random (who by the way used to dress appallingly), and they can walk away feeling good because somebody told them that something looked good on them?

I want to stand on the street corner stopping random people and tell them they look nice today, or that that colour suits them. If an item of clothing can put a spring back in their step, then maybe retail ain’t so bad.

Anyway, I’ll keep getting up and going back because I need to support myself while I do this internship and figure out WTF I am doing with my life…but if these ladies keep coming back…then maybe I’ll even learn to smile about it…

a bit…

Paris

Bloor West Gems, Toronto

 

Sometimes when I’m not interning at Rogers TV (love it) or working a retail job to support my fat ass while I’m interning at Rogers TV (hate it) or thinking of deep and meaningful, slightly angsty blog posts to write, I actually go about my days and enjoy the cool things that Toronto has to offer.

My Toronto neighbourhood is Bloor West (specifically Bloor and Ossington) which is a pretty cool little area that has quiet suburban streets (like the one I live on) surrounded by hipstery hang-outs, random restaurants and some pretty awesome little Gems.

Here is a list of the Bloor West Toronto Gems as per my perspective.

Nazareths Ethiopian Restaurant.

At one point or another, Canuck boyfriend and I decided to try some of the local eateries in my area. After jumping on Urban Spoon, we discovered that the poky little dark restaurant/bar that always has a line out the front of it, is in fact Toronto’s best Ethiopian Restaurant. We made the usual jokes at first, like, what will they serve? Air and bark? (Awful, ignorant, etc etc I know) But turns out Ethiopian food is delicious and full of flavour. You eat with your hands and use the Injera – floppy citrusy type crepe bread – to scoop the goopy looking food into your mouth. I am struggling to compare what the food is like because it really is some of the most unique food I have ever tasted. If you go to Nazareth’s and there is at least two of you, I would recommend getting the Beef Tibs and the Vegetarian (the vegetarian is pictured on the right hand side of the green veggie divider line). If you are heading to this restaurant for dinner, GET THERE EARLY! The line up starts at 6/630 and sometimes the service is a little slow (the only drawback) so the wait can be loooooong especially if you are hungry! Oh and did I mention how cheap this place is?! The meal pictured here probably cost $22 including tax and that is PLENTY of food for two people. You could even share that between four (I have).

Bakerbots Bakery

Two Silly Aussies enjoying Ice-Cream Sammy’s, (L) Rosie (R) Me!

Possibly my favourite place in Toronto, this little Gem is one of the first places I take people who are visiting from out-of-town, or who are just unfamiliar with the area. I discovered this place when I kept seeing tonnes of smiling people exiting this little glass fronted cafe. Right beside the Ossington train station and run by the indie music loving Rosanne and with a host of characters who work in the place, including ones we have dubbed Smiley Stoner-Mcgee and Kiddie Kiddieson (a young enthusiastic kid that works there), this place has the best ice cream sandwiches in the ENTIRE world (or the bits I’ve seen of it anyway). They make the cookies and ice cream there and if you go there, you NEED to try the Burnt Toffee or Burnt Marshmallow with the Everything Cookie OR the Lemon Meringue Ice Cream with the Birthday Cookie. They have other delicious treats too like pies, macaroons and cupcakes, and they are ALL delicious, but seriously, go for the ice cream sandwiches, a half will set you back about $4 but it will be the best $4 you ever spent. I may have to go there myself this afternoon just because I made myself hungry by writing about this.

Saving Gigi

Today was actually my first experience at Saving Gigi and I am ashamed of that fact. Whenever I would tell people the area I lived in, their first response was always “Do you go to Saving Gigi ALL the time?!” and alas…my answer was no! But today I changed that! My delightful friend Kate and I went there for brunch and OH MAN! It was cool. It was cute. We felt like hipsters. It was a great brunch. I had the Brie and Pear Baguette with Toasted Walnuts and Honey, and Kate had the Big Brunch with eggs, tomatoes, potatoes (which were SO garlicky and yummy). It’s small place with LOTS of hipsters (seriously glad I wore my slouchy beanie (Canadians would call that a tuke) today, phewph, gotta fit in!) Saving Gigi also has lunch and dinnery type items and also serves booze (WIN!) and there is live music there. They have a huge record collection which they play and its just a really cool vibe. Lots of beautiful artsy type people sitting and staring out the windows typing nonchalantly on their MacBooks (note to self, take Macbook to Saving Gigi, write stuff, be cool, be beautiful, have mysterious air). But seriously, just such a cute place, and my brunch + hot chocolate was about $11.

Honest Ed’s

Okay this is straying a bit into Annex Territory, but I have to mention it in this blog post because I went there today and had my mind BLOWN. I have walked past Honest Ed’s a hundred times. It’s a bit hard to miss and I guess technically isn’t really a Gem either. But wow! That place is something else. If you need anything under the sun, chances are Honest Ed’s has it and for CHEAP! Going in there is actually a bit overwhelming, and I had only planned to stick my head in with my friend Kate, but we both ended up buying some candles, some food items, and some other random things! We also spent about half an hour in this maze of good deals and bargains.

According to my hastily done internet research, “Honest Ed’s was the first true bargain store” opened in 1948. Low prices appears to be their thing and it’s kind of tacky, game-showy “EVERYTHING MUST GO” feel is part of its charm.

Too much stuff to behold! Now I know how Aladdin felt in the cave of wonders!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kate modelling the 25cent blazer she bought.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And those are pretty much my Gems for this Sunday. Toronto is the kind of place where every corner you turn, every street you go down, there is something cute and unique to discover. I definitely have my days where I wonder what the fuck I’m doing with my life, but really and truly, I’d probably be asking myself that question whether I was in Hong Kong, Sydney, Johannesburg, London, New York, Milan, Hamburg, Jamaica….(I’m just listing random places now)… so why not do it in the quirky and fun North American city of Toronto?

I’ll end this blog post with a picture I took in one of the fruit shops we stopped at today on our walk, to buy Bananas…

 Isn’t she cute? She was “helping” all the customers.

 

Happy Sunday/Monday everyone!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Paris

 

 

 

 

Love and Lost in Translation

Ever since my first kiss at the age of fourteen, there has been a noticeable trend in the boys I have harassed. To say that they were all Asian would be to be forgetting Rick, my boyfriend of three weeks in Year 10 who was actually Canadian, Adam, who was half, David who was a quarter, Roger who was old-school Hong Kong British and of course, current Boyfriend Jered who is totally Canadian (thank god, says my slightly (and by slightly I mean occasionally and surprisingly) racist 88 year old grandmother who has never made it a secret that she’d like the shade of her great-grandchildren’s skin to be on the white side. – I’m not sure that my Dad has told her she has two homosexual grandsons and that Jer is Canadian AND Jewish, because really…what is she going to do with that information?)

“When I was your age, the Black people had to sit at the back of the Bus!” – My Grandmother, 2005.

Isn’t it surprising that racism and intolerance like that exists outside of people her generation? Although it is not totally forgivable in my  Grandmother (who, it has been pointed out to me, became very wealthy through her business dealings with the Japanese when my Grandfather owned a sporting goods store), she is an old lady who’s field of understanding and acceptance to new ideas has shrunk to the size of those god-awful ‘Current Affairs’ type programs that air in a specific time-slot to terrify little old men and women who go to bed at 6pm.

The idea that one might move to Asia with ones girlfriend (and subsequently wife), was, I’m sure, shocking to my Nana and Dah at the time that my parents did it (in the eighties). To have a new born there, let alone 3 and raise them all there seemed out-of-this-world, I am sure. Until a few years ago when one of my first cousins moved to the UK and my Dad’s cousin and his family moved to Singapore, my five person family unit was really the only one on my dads side that didn’t live in the Western Australian City of Perth.

But my rant today is not about my Grandmother, or the City of Perth (you’re alright Perth…look, you gave us the Wiggles!) but is instead about loving someone from another culture or country and the challenges that one may face.

It’s no great stretch to live in Canada as an Australian. SURE I feel like the popular kid at school because of everyone LOVES my accent (even though mines not so strong – must fake it to win friends) and yeah it IS pretty weird that I live on the opposite side of the world to that cute little island country who’s passport I posses, but really, there are lots of similarities between Aussies and Canucks and that is why they get along so well, and also why 99.5% of the population of Whistler is Aussie. We like you – you like us. It’s win-win.

So it’s weird when people think it’s weird that I live here. One of the first assumptions people make is that I moved here because of a boyfriend. When they find out about Jered, they nod their heads and go “ooooohhhhhh okay.” Like that’s the only reason for globalization and travel…to move your entire life from one side of the world to the next… for love. Hey! I’m not knocking it. One of my best friends is moving here in 7 days from the UK and one of the big factors is the love of her life that she has been long distance dating for two years. No big deal!

Just not my deal.

Don’t get me wrong, having a cool, hilarious boyfriend is a big plus on the Toronto experience. I won’t make your eyes turn to pus and melt by outlining exactly HOW cool and sweet and hilarious and adorable my boyf is, because, that’s just annoying when people do that, and that’s not why you came here. You came here for angry sweaty ranting, and that is what you shall have.

There have certainly been some strange moments between us as a couple. Probably the most surface issue is getting used to each others language and word usage.
J: Garbage
Me: Rubbish
J: Sweater
Me: Jumper
J: Ketchup
Me: Tomato Sauce (which always leads to the debate, “then what do you call Tomato sauce – like for pasta…Me: um…Pasta sauce?)

On these occasions I am left thinking of the scene in ‘Love Actually’ where dorky ‘Colin Frissel’ goes to Wisconsin and meets babes, and they all sit around laughing at each others pronunciation “Table!…oh its the same…”

But there is more to it for P+J than mere lol’s at language. J is Jewish, (as are most of my friends from my summer camp job) and as a result, I have been exposed to, and included in, lots of Jewish customs. I just had my 2nd Rosh Hashanah experience (which by the way – I still had to google to figure out how to spell).

I was TERRIFIED when Jered invited me this time last year. Okay, it was partly the idea that I would ruin the entire religious event by doing something embarrassing like…I don’t know…eating pork? (turns out J is more culturally than religiously Jewish and is actually an atheist and he loves bacon and all that jazz- phewph) and partly because I’d just started dating the guy and was suddenly going to meet his ENTIRE family (cousins, aunts, grandma et al). I spent quite some time researching online about apples and honey and stuff. I bought his Grandma some weird apple tea thing, and I think they thought it was really cute that I was trying.

The most frustrating thing for me over the last year was always feeling like a Class A moron when I didn’t know things that everyone around me just assumed I’d know. I had almost no religion in my life prior to being included in Jewish stuff, (although I did attend a Church of England Private School for four years when we lived in Sydney and had been to church on Easter) I had never been to a funeral before and never celebrated any holidays except for Easter (Chocolate eggs and the Easter Bunny!) Halloween (LOLLIES!) Christmas (PRESENTS AND SANTA!!) and New Years Eve (Booze and fireworks!)

So I had a lot of eye-opening learning experiences, like going to a Sedar (also had to google spelling) at passover and being presented with a plate of herbs and a bit of bone. (Jer..Jer.. do…we eat that stuff?) Or wishing everyone a Merry Christmas once before they all went on vacation…duuuuuurrrrp.

It hasn’t been a struggle, that’s not what I am getting at, but with a relationship where cultural exchange is involved, there is always going to be periods of adjustment, times where patience will be required, times where sensitivity must be employed. There are times where things are so different, you are coming from such different backgrounds of understanding, that the only thing you can do is laugh hysterically and move forward. And then you’ll find all the common ground you share and it will be a wonderment, that two people can grow up in such vastly different settings, on different parts of the planet, and still enjoy the same things.

End Rant

Paris

p.s

follow me on twitter @ohparis

 

 

 

What I have learned from working in Retail for 1 Week

 

At the age of almost-but-not-quite-24-so-lets-still-call-me-23 I have just gotten my first retail job. Working in retail was something I was always vaguely curious about (because I had never worked in it, it held a sort of mysticism) but as to the way things worked out when I first started working during the end of high school/University, my jobs always seemed to revolve around desk work or teaching.

I started doing an internship at a TV company here in Toronto 3 weeks ago. And as much as I would like to say that I could afford to do that, and sit around on my fleshy little bum the rest of the time, I can’t so boo. Off I went to find a part-time job.

Minimum wage here in Canada is $10.25 an hour, and most places that you look for a customer service job, that is the going rate.

“But Whatever,” I told myself. I just need enough money to sustain me for 3 months while I intern, and then I will find a creative job that pays the big bucks, and I will spend all my free time writing blogs and screenplays, and watching movies, and trying to figure out the scientific code to becoming a famous, fatter version of Tina Fey, and conquering the world by writing, and WINNING ACADEMY AWARDS. This is going to be so great.

So retail:

What have I learned there in the first week?

1. Working in retail gets you sweet discounts on clothes from that company. I’m talking 50% off. If I had known that the continuous sale on clothes was a perk of working in retail, then I would have started doing this a long time ago! I would have worked one day a week just to get my hands on some delicious items. Don’t pay me, just give me stuff! In fact, I’m not sure that I actually MADE any money this week. There was one day where I bought lunch at the food court AND a tight, hot little red “sweater” and because I worked a three-hour shift (why is that a thing?!) I actually broke even….

Note to self: Compulsive shopper working in retail store = bad

2. Customer Service is really easy, and REALLY noticeable when not there. I feel like I need a special retail badge now to communicate with other people working in shops that I understand them. I get you bro, wink, flash them my badge, “It’s okay, I’m one of us now.” This is going to seem really bad, and expose how naive of a desk jockey I have been, but when people greet you in a store and help you find things, that really encourages you to get something and not just be like…meh! and leave! This week I was positioned all over, Cash, Dressing rooms, Front, and always (I was being instructed) be helpful, ask if you can find sizes, greet them, ask how they are… it really makes a difference! I went into a mall yesterday and was browsing around, and when no one greeted me, I left in under five minutes. subconscious. Retail = mind control… or something

3. People in Retail walk around a lot. I want to get a step counter because I swear to god I am burning off some excellent calories from walking around the store finding things, tidying things. It is a lot of walking around and standing. There is no sitting involved, and when you are on your feet for a seven hour shift (uhhhh so depressing that that equals $70…I must stop doing that) you really start to feel that ache in your feet and legs. Good. Add, lose tonnes of weight and get super sexy and offered a magazine colour to that list from above.

4. People in general, don’t suck as much as I thought they would. I’ve seen the movies, I was prepared for the worst. Customers screaming at me, unhappy, me, flustered with my accent which the Canadians this is wildly hilarious. But maybe that’s all south of the border in America land, because Canadian customers (thus far) have been really nice. They always compliment me on helping them find just what they were looking for, they always say goodbye and thanks when they leave. I’ve even overheard one or two of the regulars telling my manager that they think I’m great! It restores your faith in humanity to hear things like that, and to not work somewhere where people are angry or pissed off, or rude.

And those are just some of the loose observations I have made after 1 week in retail. I am the expert now, so come to me with your questions and let me solution them.

Paris

I’m proud of you

I tell people frequently that I have two brothers. Okay that’s not true. When people ask me if I have siblings, I often tell people “I have two GAY brothers.”

I don’t know why I say it like that. Being Gay is not the feature that defines them. K is a compassionate, sweet, hardworking, wise guy who takes off to Europe for two weeks just to look around. R is the fiercest and most outspoken person I know. He might still be figuring out who he is, but he’s always questioning himself and the world/society around him. He challenges pre-disposition and assumption.

I am sure they don’t go around telling people that they have a STRAIGHT sister.

I have written about my family in lots of different posts. They are a huge part of my life despite being far away. You have to understand that when you are an expatriate family, you are a tight unit, a cog that spins separate but connected to the rest of a wider machine. You move around, and the only thing that stays the same, are your five faces in the picture frame.

When R came out when he was 14 (I was 19) I was at University and the news shocked me. Not that there was anything wrong being gay, but I didn’t honestly think of my baby brother of having sexual preferences of any kind. He is still my baby brother now, even though he’s allowed to drink alcohol in bars (that’s weird).

That first year, when he was out and honest about his sexuality, I spent a great deal of time making gay jokes with my other brother K. Behind his back, some to his face, some little comments here and there that we giggled about. AND I’M THE OLDEST. I was supposed to lead by example.

I’ll never forget when I got a call from my Mum a year later saying, “By the way K has come out too.”

I was shocked, and I obviously felt ill. I had spent twelve months making fun of being gay (even though I considered myself tolerant and had some gay friends) with my brother, who was also gay, and who hadn’t told me.

I felt like an awful person first off, and an awful sister. These are my kid brothers, the ones who DESTROYED my barbies and who played hot wheels with me, and who rolled around in the dirt and collected frogs in a bucket during monsoons with me. What did it matter who they loved/wanted to bang? Hadn’t I always said that I was colour-blind, having been raised an Expat Brat? Why did my tolerance only extend so far.

I also felt left out. Like they hadn’t been able to confide in me. I used to OVERSHARE with them and they couldn’t even tell me this one, major thing?

I beat myself up a lot for a while. I questioned a lot of my “tolerant” beliefs and my fears, because that is what it is when you are homophobic, and that is what I was when I cracked gay jokes.

I questioned myself every time I used the word gay as a derogatory, such as “That’s soooo gay” to be a bad thing. How could I say that? How could I not have known?

The truth is, there is a lot of ignorance out there, and people happy to reside in that state of mind. I am not one of them. I do not believe ignorance is bliss. Mama says: Ignorance is just ignorance.

And she’s right.

As per usual.

The truth is, I am so so proud of my brothers. I’m proud of the way they are who they are and they just don’t give a fuck. They wake up in the morning with solid self-understanding. I’m proud of the way they can be true to who they are, and have chosen to walk a more difficult path, but one where they don’t hide themselves. I am proud of them for reaching out to the LBGT community and giving support.

I am proud of my parents for being supportive and tolerant and loving. I am proud of my Mum, who is currently directing a play in Hong Kong called “My big gay Italian wedding” and who is promoting it and tackling important issues about being the mother of Gay sons.

I know that I am still learning tolerance and acceptance from my family, and I know that I will always believe that if you are a good person, then please, love who you love, marry who you want to marry. Be happy, be free. I am sure that I have a long way to go where understanding is concerned, but I am trying to be a supportive force, not a fearful negative one.

Hi my name is Paris and I have two brothers.

I’m going to jot this one down in “experiences”

Being unemployed has its suckyness and its awesomeness.

It sucks because, money is pouring out of your pocket faster than it is pouring in (worst). It also sucks because you spend your days tweaking a document that maybe, just maybe, you can fix JUST SO, so that employers will realize you are the fantastic, charismatic, charming girl you are in real life. You spend the day gazing at job posting websites, or kijiji, or hiking around the mall in your cute pretend corporate get-up with a sweaty grey file full of those pieces of paper clutched in your hands. You spend the day trying to convince people that seem to hate their life why YOU TOO should join their organization and maybe YOU could have the opportunity to hate your life too!

Then there is the sparkling hope, (this is the awesome part by the way) the idea that every resume and cover letter sent off or dropped by, could be the next fun thing, the next big adventure, the part that leads to the next part. Does everyone live with this same idealistic hope or just me? Who’d a thunk-it that a retail job where minimum wage is $10.25 in Canada could be so alive with potential.
Mama says: If you always do what you’ve always done, then you’ll always get what you’ve always gotten.

Wise words. I feel their invisible power tattooed across my brain. That saying is probably what drives my very existence. Well…that and that song from Pochahontas “Just around the river bend”… because seriously, whats back there? Gold? A kingdom of sloths? A tiny toy car factory staffed by midgets?

I digress.

I have been handing out a lot of resumes and cover letters that basically say “BLAH BLAH BLAH hire me for the love of god BLAH BLAH Kind regards, Paris.” And the truth of the matter is, if you hustle with some muscle (do we like that one?… I’m not sold on it frankly) then you are going to get some emails back, some calls and some interviews.

And thus, I have had all of the above. It is so exciting when you get an email back in the first 24 hours, you think, THEY REALLY LIKE ME! But sometimes those can lead to nothing and that second email doesn’t come back to you.

Then you get a call to come in for an interview. And so off you go, giggling with excitement, into the dark hole of the unknown with that little folder of resume’s your only flotation device.

So, a week and a half ago, I go to an interview, for what I think is a restaurant job. I go down to a very trendy part of downtown Toronto. I brushed my hair, I even applied some makeup (teehee, what fun!) and I wait in the very swanky plush restaurant area. There are three of us waiting to be interviewed. The guy interviewing us shows up late in a flap (by the way this mans name is Norwayne, a name I have never come across, personally) and it soon becomes apparent that the job is in fact a hosting position at a totally different club. The Norwayne man, tries as tactfully as he can, to tell me, that this job involves…scanty dress. I’m nodding along like, yep yep, tits out for the boys, gotcha. My interview is done in 2 minutes, I walk out of the building and Norwayne and I part ways forever.

Yesterday, I went to an open job interview for a new restaurant that is opening up. First of all, I walk into the place and it has a big blow up picture of a girl dressed in, what I can only describe as an Irish get-up that hooters would be proud of. Think mini tartan skirt, tartan bra, and tie up white shirt over miniscule tartan bra. Second, the picture has been dissected, as if this were a scientific drawing, with helpful hints like, “Tartan girls are always proud of their personal hygiene” and for some reason… a line pointing straight at this girls crotch. Or, a line drawn from this girls boobs with the hot tip “Tartan girls must wear the Tartan bra uniform. No other bra may be worn underneath”. I should have walked straight out. No miniscule tartan bra is going to be able to fight gravity and what I’m lugging. And third, instead of a sign saying “Job interviews” there was a sign that said “Casting”.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I still have secret aspirations of becoming an actress and having paparazzi trying to break onto my lawn, but…this is a waitress job, is it not? Lets call a tray wielding waitress, a tray wielding waitress.
I had the interview, surprise surprise I don’t have enough serving experience.

Time to start lying on that Resume….
End Rant

 

Before I was cool

Before I was cool … (that’s now by the way – this is as cool as I’m going to get, unless I accept Skrillex as a thing, or shave small portions of my hair into weird designs, or stop going to bed promptly at eleven) I used to have a kind of a blog thing called a Xanga.

All my Hong Kong high school friends had one, and it was basically a blog. We all used to post stuff and comment on each others things. I checked my friends Xanga’s pretty much every day after school (oh how I would have loved twitter as a seventeen year old obsessive type).

Anyway today, because I am stressed about looking for a job, I decided to go back in time and see what stressed me out back then. I will tell you what stressed me out most… realizing that 2006 was six years ago. Obviously I could have done the maths, but seriously??!!? I finished high school SIX years ago?! That means the kids in year 6 when I was graduating, who I wouldn’t have looked at except to be like “MOVE SMALL FRY!” (That’s totally how I talked back then) are all going to be in the bars this year or by the end of the year (well they will everywhere but Canada and the US of A where the drinking age is not 18).

So…potentially, that guy at the bar that is asking me where I’m from…he could have been starting high school while I was starting University. Not cool. Foetal position NOW! But yeah sure i’ll take that free drink. THANK YOU INFANT!

So anyway, I went ahead and looked at some posts (I went through a faze of making them all private, so I undid that), so if you care to see what a (more) hormonally charged, 17/18 year old version of my blog was like, feel free to click below:

http://parispaz.xanga.com/

and enjoy your supper or brekkie depending on which side of the globe you are on.

Paris