Poo-Green Fail


I was SO excited to get these J Crew wool pants because

  1. They are like THE MOST sought after pants on Earth right now for some reason (I’ve seen them in about 6 fall mag spreads); AND
  2. because they are my favourite colour of poo-green.

When I went to the J Crew website like one month ago to purchase them, they were sold out – being restocked in January 2012.  Like, WTF?  I WANT MY POO GREEN PANTS NOW.   

So, being an expert internetter, I found those buggers online and purchased them STAT.  Got them in the mail today!





Then, I decided to try them on…

Posted in Favorite Things, Illustrated, Makes Me Frown, Style 3 Comments »

How to Attract West-End Girls, circa 2011**

**NOTE: this only works on chicks who live West of Bathurst.

I’m going to do all men a favour and “crack the code” on how to attract the ladies.  My friends and I have had this conversation about sixteen jillion times. 


Girls are totally superficial and transparent and will fall in love with you if you dress the way I’ve outlined below.  You don’t even really have to be good looking or buff or have a Ryan Gosling “I could crush a walnut between my forearms” body… IN FACT, my formula is so fool-proof, that it could take any clueless, hapless, losery, un-sex-able man and turn him into a man more bangable than the lead singer of the Black Keys. 

Let’s take this hopeless gent:


I think we can all agree that he is the poster-child for adulthood virginity, even though he got a date with Lisa Turtle that one time, and they won the Casey Casem dance contest by doing the new hip dance “The Sprain”.  COULD we change this young man’s future from “Depressed Internet Porn Addict” to “West End Pussy Magnet?”

Yes.  We can.  It’s easy. 

Here is the formula

#1 Beard

Grow a beard and the chicks will be all over you.  Like, seriously.  The guy could look like Andy Mickey Rooney but as long as he has a beard, the chicks will be fighting (see Figure 1).

Figure 1: Sigh.  That’s much better.

As soon as any chick I know sees a beard, a guy goes from a 2 to an 8.  Let’s add a nice thick beard onto Screech…

#2 Tight-ish Dark Pants (Roll Cuffs)

Yeah, just go into any store and buy a pair of dark pants or jeans.  Tight-ish.  Medium rise.  Roll those cuffs and show some sexy leg hair.  The girls will be draping themselves on the ground in front of you, asking your opinion on left-wing political morés.  Screech needs to change out of those circus-print balloon pants, and into some tightish Levi’s with rolled cuffs.


#3 Tight White/Black T-Shirt

Keep this simple.  Go to Canadian Tire.  Buy a Hanes 3-Pack.  If you’re usually a Large, buy a Medium.


#4 Plaid Shirt

You don’t even need to wear it.  There just needs to be some plaid somewhere in the periphery of the female’s vision, and they will assume you hang out on the West End and enjoy locally-sourced produce and listen to esoteric music.  Here, we’ve added a plaid shirt, folded on the bench next to Screech.


#5 Laced Brown Boots OR Blundstones

GIRLS ARE REALLY REALLY REALLY PICKY ABOUT MEN’S SHOES.  If your shoes don’t pass a certain level of coolness, then you will have SO much additional work to do to convince them you are worth having sex with.  I recommend Blundstones or Lace-Up boots.  Screech’s new Pussy Magnet persona means that he needs to change out of those “I-will-die-alone-rollerblades”, and into some “I-need-to-do-some-heavy-carpentry-work-later” lace-up boots.


#6 Tattoos

Yeah… west-end girls see one tattoo and it’s game over.  It’s like the key to the west-end chastity belt.  I’ve added an old-school anchor, a heart with an arrow through it, and he’s got the ol’ “LOVE/HATE” jail tatts on the knuckles.  HOT SHIT.


#7 Hair Parted to the Side Like it’s the 1940s

Chicks love that shit right now.  It’s so classy.  It was hard to tame Screech’s ‘do, but with some creative Microsoft Paint-ing, I think I managed to make his hair less brillo-pad-y.


#8 Go Sit Down at Trinity Bellwoods Park

Now, all you have to do it wait.  I recommend going to the west end girls’ primary mating ground, TB Park.  Eventually, some girl will come by with a broken bike chain, and ask you to fix it, and the rest is history…

Posted in Illustrated, Style, Wisdom 32 Comments »

Why Men Don’t Like Your Jeans

Lately there has been a lot of talk about current women’s fashion and whether it is “attractive” to “men”. A heated and emotional conversation about high-waisted jeans has led to a severe gender schism within my social environment, and after an intense conversation with some of my girlfriends last night, I was encouraged to develop some theories on the subject.  Although The Man Repeller has hit it on the head (specifically, that much of women’s fashion is really not designed to attract men), I would like to argue that there is a multi-layered, complex and intricate tapestry of factors at work here. Note that, the opinions below are exclusively restricted to man’s mental agility concerning fashion. Not overall. So simmer down. 

Why Men Don’t Like Your Jeans:
Theories on Gender Division in the Perception of Fashion

1. Men’s brains don’t move at the speed of women’s fashion

The main nucleus of my theory is that men’s brains have not been conditioned to move at the speed of women’s fashion. Mens’ brains are the crippled, beached manatee to womens’ agile and steroided-up rabid gorilla. It’s likely not their fault, as men’s fashion plods along slowly, too… not unlike a turtle through sticky gum. Let’s take an example, using the much-hyped “High Waisted Jean” as a starting point. This is one of many, many women’s denim trends that was introduced in the last couple of years. Men’s denim trends progress at about 1/600 the speed:

*note that not all trends may be “spot on”, time-wise. Simmer down.

The progress of fashion in their minds is significantly retarded in comparison with the pace set by women’s fashion. Should you condense the time continuum of 2010 men’s fashion and contrast it against that of women, they’ve moved forward roughly two weeks. Compounded, this time-loss results in significantly skewed perceptions of what is considered “sexy”; they are basically living in 2006, when extreme low-waisted skinny jeans with, like, lace-up crotches were thought to be “sexy”. Women, who have progressed light years ahead, see this as “SOoooo 2006.”

A last point here… as a man, looking at this chart, you may remark:
“But Natalie, there are SO MANY women’s denim trends here… couldn’t you just wear whatever type of jeans you want, and still “fit in”… so, in theory, you could wear the jeans that I think are sexy?”

To which I reply:
“NO. Women’s trends are complex and nuanced, and even stepping one shade outside of the trend parameters will leave you susceptible to sheathed ridicule by other, more fashionable, women.”

2. Men’s brains are frozen in the era of their prime sexual state

So, I’m sure that your next argument is something like:

“Well, I don’t care what is FASHIONABLE, I’m just saying that women just overall DON’T LOOK SEXY in high waisted jeans. I’m not a SLAVE to FASHION, I’m just making a general comment about what looks good on women!”

Oh, how deluded you are.

I would argue that men’s perception of “sexy” has “levelling-off point”, graphically represented below, with the 5-7 years of their most potent sexual virility as the highest point. Let’s assume that, for most men, this is between 19 and 26 years of age.

My theory is that, whatever mode of fashion is prevalent during this era of their sexual prime will be what they consider “sexiest” for the rest of their life. Probably because, during this time, they had the highest incidence of sex.

Don’t believe me?

Let’s take a raw, honest look at some of male age demographics, and compare that with an image of what THEY would find “sexy”:

19 – 25 year-old men: correct me if I’m wrong, but judging by the hot-and-heavy petting I see in Trinity Bellwoods, the hottest guys in this male demographic seem to gravitate towards women who look like this:

26 – 33 year-old men: Ummmmm let’s take a look at “sexy” fashion for a girl in… oh… say… 2005, when this man was in his sexual prime*:


34 – 41 year old men: Reached sexual prime around… 1997:

Dude. Fashion has progressed beyond your wang. Accept it.

3. They’re only remembering the “hot” chicks.

Listen guys. I know that, when you’re thinking about “low-waisted jeans”, you’re thinking about the hottest, most hard-bodied chick, who has no love handles, and whose stomach is as flat as Billy Blanks’.

Dude. The chick that you’re imagining would look smokin’ hot in high-waisted jeans, too. She would look smokin’ hot in ANY form of jeans.

Reality Check: The low-waisted jean did NOT make the average woman’s body look attractive:

Reality Check: The high-waisted jean actually represents the ideal woman’s form much more accurately:

I have no idea why men would think that the first picture is more attractive.  Gross.

4. Men will still want to fuck you, even if you’re wearing high-waisted jeans

Finally, gentlemen, the main reason why your argument is not only flawed, but also irrelevant, is that you guys will still hit on, hook up with, bang, and commit to girls even if they are sporting the most high-waisted, camel-toey-est, mom-bum-iest jeans ever created.

Suck on that.

Posted in Illustrated, Style, Wisdom 14 Comments »

Welcome to My Awkward Past

When I was in like, Grade 6 or something along those lines, I was a huge, huge loser. Like, epic huge. Like, I spent weekends playing “cheetahs” by myself in my backyard with no friends.

In the game “cheetahs”, you spend the entire afternoon pretending you’re a cheetah and walking around on all fours in circles in your backyard, trying to be all slithery like a cheetah by sticking out your shoulder blades, and crouching down in tall grasses to hide yourself. If you want to spice things up, you can pretend that a you’re being chased by an elephant… this is an acceptable modification to “cheetahs”.  You can also play “Princess and Cheetah”, but you have to have a sister who is willing to walk around the backyard pretending to be the princess, while you walk around pretending to be her pet cheetah.  This is also acceptable.

But the basic point here is that I was a loser with no friends. Overweight, self-conscious, awkward, cheetah-obsessed… you know. Just a huge epic loser.

Epic losers do not often get invited to parties or sleepovers or anything along those lines. Usually, you just hang out at home with your parents, pretending you’re a cheetah. So on the very few occasions when I DID get invited to these things, I would get pretty excited, and try really hard for people to like me, which would actually intensify my losery characteristics, and would further solidify my status as “epic loser” in my Grade 6B homeroom class.

This one time, a bunch of girls were having a sleepover, and they had the generosity to invite me. Let me tell you… I was pretty excited to be included in this event. Although Grade 6 “Dancing to CeCe Peniston in the Unfinished Basement” parties usually cast a wider net when it came to invitations, SLEEPOVERS always had a carefully edited invite list… which meant I rarely got invited to them. So I was excited.

This particular girl had a hot tub and a pool, which made the status of the sleepover skyrocket… I mean ME? Awkward, fat cheetah-girl? At a pool-party-SLASH-sleepover? Wow.

For anyone who doesn’t know, here is the mandatory schedule for a girls’ Grade 6 sleepover in the late 80’s / early 90’s:

6:00 – 7:00: Discuss boys you like
7:00 – 7:30: Order and eat Kentucky Fried Chicken
7:30 – 9:00: Discuss boys you like
9:00 – 10:00: Play the board game Girl Talk while discussing boys you like
10:00 – 11:30: Watch the movie Grease
11:30 – 12:00: Discuss boys you like
12:00 – 1:00: Make up complex dance to Backstreet Boys/*nsync song
1:00 – 5:00: Discuss boys you like
5:00 – 9:00: Sleep

So, naturally, we decided to sit in the hot tub during the prescribed 7:30 – 9:00 pm “Discuss boys you like” timeslot. Now – since I had virtually no friends, I was not used to being open and honest with other girls about the boys I liked, so I was resistant to this whole discussion. However, as time passed, I started to feel more and more included… and more and more cool… so I finally, after months and months and months of keeping it a secret, told a bunch of other girls which boy I had a crush on.

SIGH! What a release! I had been able to confide in some friends! They accepted me! I was one of them! Be still my beating cheetah-heart!

So, the next Monday in 6B homeroom, I’m feeling pretty good. You know… slightly less losery… slightly more included in the social landscape of the 6th Grade. My teacher asked me to help her “hand out papers”. Basically, you walk around, handing out scrap papers to the class for them to write on. This was a coveted position – it gave you a higher degree of access to the boys in the class as you walked by their desk and accidentally brushed their arms while handing them their paper.

Suddenly, one of my newfound sleepover friends walked up to me and whispered aggressively “I WANT TO HAND OUT THE PAPERS”. I was feeling overly confident… you know.. being newly cool and all, and I said “But teacher asked me to help!”

She paused, looked me straight in the eye, and squeaked “If you don’t let me hand them out, I’m telling EVERYONE that you like [name of the boy I liked, who I now forget]”

I could feel the combined shock-hatred-disappointment in my throat, seeping through my body. I was devastated. The ONLY time that I had EVER told anyone who I liked, and it was about to blow back in my face like a horse’s fart.

My cheetah hunting instinct started to bubble in my solar plexus. I was SO mad. SO mad. I wanted to fucking kill this girl. So I did the next best thing.

I took the huge pile of scrap paper, pulled my hand back to wind it up and gain momentum, and slapped her across the face with them SO hard that the pile of sheets exploded and separated upon impact, blowing into the air and fluttering throughout the entire classroom dramatically. Everyone looked at us.

Yes. I hit that bitch.

That was the last sleepover I ever got invited to.

Posted in Illustrated, My Awkward Past 3 Comments »

Dear Stranger

Dear Chick Who Almost Gave Me a Heart Attack,

When you popped out of H&M in front of me and started walking down the street, I thought that you were actually naked from the waist down.  Like, I thought you were wearing no pants.  Actually pantsless.  For a split second, I sped up a little bit, because I was going to tell you that you forgot to re-put on your pants in the changeroom at H&M.

Then I realized you were wearing nude, slightly shiny leggings from American Apparel with a shirt that didn’t cover your bum or cooch.  The leggings were the EXACT colour of your skin, and they were so tight on your arse that they re-created your bum crack completely.  Thank GOD you weren’t walking towards me, because I didn’t have to see your gross freaky-deaky nude leggings camel toe.  I can only imagine you looked something like this



Posted in Dear Stranger, Illustrated 2 Comments »

Banana Consumption 101

I am a strong advocate of the importance of banana ripeness.  A banana is only “ripe” for one day in the span of its life, and you should eat it on that day.  It bothers me when you don’t. 

Should you be unclear on the accuracy of your banana ripeness level, here is a clear banana-ripeness legend:



If you eat a banana when it’s too green, it’s going to be all chalky and it’s going to make you sound all gross when you talk because all of the banana chalkiness will stick to your teeth and stuff.  It’s too green.  I would estimate that it will take a day to a day and a half for this banana to reach elusive banana ripeness perfection.



Although SOME people may think that it’s ok to eat this banana, it’s starting to get all rotty, and there is probably one of those secret banana bruises on it that only show up after you unpeel the banana – all soft and brown and watery like banana puss.  Plus, if the peel is at all brown, it will stink in your garbage IMMEDIATELY.  So, hypothetically, if you worked in an office, and you had a garbage can in your office, and I had to come into your office for a two hour meeting – then all I would be able to smell would be rotting banana peel.



Some of the people I know eat bananas at the “FULLY ROTTEN” stage.  Like fully rotten.  Like, there are multiple juicy puss bruises all over them, and they are already starting to stink, and the banana stem-pully-zipper thing at the top is starting to get all dry and shrively and when you try to unzip the banana, the whole banana just goes all soft in your hand and like, disintegrates.  If I ever see you eating this, I will projectile vomit all over your gross rotting banana and probably your face.



These are the characteristics of a perfectly ripe banana:

  •  approximately one inch of fading green at the stem of the banana;
  •  approximately 1/2 inch of fading green at the bottom of the banana;
  •  a subtle yellow colour, reminiscent of sunshine on a sunny July morn;
  •  a fresh scent, that is appropriately “banana-y”, but has no hint of “rotting banana bruise puss”;
  •  No brown discolourations whatsoever; and
  •  Firm and turgid to the touch.

Posted in Delicious Food, Illustrated, Wisdom 3 Comments »

Welcome to My Awkward Past

The very first time and very last time I ever asked a boy on a date was in the 12th grade. 

As I may have subtlety alluded to in some of my past posts, High School was not a pleasant time for me, for a multitude of reasons, mostly this one:


But really, the main reason that it sucked was because I was apparently a pariah to all men in the entire school. I have come to the conclusion that I must have had a deformity that was only visible to others, and/or I smelled like garbage baking in the sun, because there is still no tangible reason why I was so consistently rejected. 

There was actually a point where I asked myself “Am I a lesbian and everyone can notice but me?”  But then I assessed my level of attraction to Christian Slater and determined that this was not the case.

ANYways, I had a crush on this older guy because we were both literature nerds and he was tall and liked T.S. Eliot like I did, and he was in drama class like I was.  Sigh. 

Keeping on that nerd path… our school was in this super nerdy drama competition that was like, a very big deal in drama-nerd circles, and I decided that I was going to be all nerdy and go to the competition to watch the play and support the school, like a giant nerd.  So I think to myself: “Should I try to overcome my apparent deformity and/or baked garbage smell and ask him out to see the play?”

So I muster up all of my teenage-girl courage, and decide to wait for him outside of his Spanish class.

Let’s just set the scene here:  I have never ever ever really talked to a boy about anything remotely close to dates or dating or having a date, nor has anyone  ever asked me on a date, nor have I ever been on a date.  I am waiting outside his classroom by myself, wearing a Flosport Hoodie that is too big for me and Silver jeans that are too big for me and are all ripped at the cuff and Airwalk blue suede sneakers.  Everyone in his class is a year older than me and thinks I’m a nerd.  There is no one else in the hallway.  The bell rings and the class starts pouring out into the halls.  He comes out of the class, and I step in front of him:

Me: “Hee-eeeeeee-eeeee-eey”  (my voice oscilates through at least 20 different tonal levels in order to feign the appearance of “casual Natalie”)

Him: *pause* Hi.

Me:  “Hooo-oo-w’s it goooo-oo-ooin’?”

Him: *pause* Fine.

Me: *pause like an idiot*

Him: *pause*

Me: “Soooooooooo.  Are you going to that play thing tonight?”

Him: *pause* I dunno.

Me: Oh. Okay. Well.  There are some people going to watch. 

Him: *pause* ok…

Me: You should come!

Him: *pause* sigh *pause* Ummm maybe.  I guess so.

Me: OK!  SEE YOU LATER!!!!!!!


So I was pretty happy.  Like retard happy.  Like, I actually ran down the halls dancing in a haze of glory… not unlike this:

Sooooooo I think you can guess what happened.  I spent about 3 hours getting ready, trying on my whole wardrobe (and obviously settled on my OTHER Flosport hoodie and OTHER Silver jeans), I went to the venue… and he was no where to be found.  We went into the theatre… he was no where to be found.  The play started… he was no where to be found.  I spent the entire night craning my neck around to look at the back of the theatre… he was no where to be found.

Then I went home and listened to The Smiths all night long and cried, trying furiously to wash the phantom smell of baked garbage off my body.

And I never spoke to him again.

The End.

Posted in Illustrated, My Awkward Past 6 Comments »

Vintage Monster

Periodically, I become completely consumed by the overwhelming compulsion to purchase old jars, dirty pieces of metal, old electronic equipment, and mounds of vintage clothing for absolutely no reason. I have come to the conclusion that I am grappling with my own “Dr. Jeykll and Mr. Hyde” complex, where my “Dr. Jeykll” is a normal, socially adjusted girl who understands that her closets only contain a very small amount of useable space, and my “Mr. Hyde” is an obsessed and impulsive monster who purchases stupid things like 100-pound, old vintage typewriters that do not work, and have a lot of sharp pointy corners that cut you.

Clearly, a monstrous addiction is slowly taking over my brain. Let me demonstrate:

1. WHAT is THAT??!!
“Hmmmmmmm. It’s an old wooden box with some nostalgicky writing on the side.”

2. It’s kind of ugly.
“But sometimes ugly things look kind of cool because they’re ugly and you can be all like “yeah, I don’t care that it’s ugly. It totally, like, represents me, and the fact that it’s ugly indicates that I’m all interesting and complex and shit.”

3. Should I buy it?
“It is PROBABLY super valuable and would look super cool and all antiquey in my apartment”

4. If I don’t buy it now, it will be gone forever.
“This is a vintage store where there is ONLY ONE of everything. Do you think people find old wooden boxes of nostalgicky writing on the side EVERYDAY???”

5. If people come over to my place, they’ll see if and think I’m interesting
“Imagine? They’ll all talk about you when you’re not around and say “WOW. That Natalie chick is super interesting. Did you see that old wooden box with the nostalgicky writing on the side? What a cool chick.” ”

“This is the one item that represents everything I am totally and completely. If I don’t buy it, I am denying myself the opportunity to flower into the essence of myself”

6. Throw it in the closet.
“I don’t have anywhere to put this and I totally don’t need it.  Chuck it in the  back of the closet and never look at it again.”

Posted in Illustrated, Things, Vintage Love, Wisdom 1 Comment »

Begrudging Acceptance.

Today, when I took the dog out for her poopy break, there was frost on the ground.  That makes me frown.  My nose was all cold and my feet slipped on the frost and my coat was totally not enough so I was shivering.  I always forget how LONG and totally uncomfortable the winter is – it’s like piece of steel wool being pulled over your face slowly and painfully for 6 months.

Then, when I went to work, I noticed that everyone was ripping down their Halloween decorations… AND PUTTING UP CHRISTMAS STUFF.  Les balls grosse!  I don’t want winter to come!

I thought I would try to cheer myself up by thinking about all the things that make me smile about winter:

1. Snow Smashing
You know when then plow the road after the snow hardens a little bit, and it plows up all these like, big chunks of snow that are all scattered all over the sidewalk?  I love to jump on them and SMASH them into nothingness.  Like “Who so you think you are, snow chunk?!  SMASH! DIE!”  It makes me feel like a big man.

2. Hot Chocolate
So much hot chocolate will be in my belly this winter.  “Don’t make me run, I’m full of chocolate!”

3. Bailey’s
Speaking of hot chocolate, what about Bailey’s?  When is it EVER socially acceptable to drink Bailey’s unless it’s wintertime?  It’s sugar, alcohol, and powdered milk all mixed together into a wonderful concoction that it expensive and impossible to get drunk on.  Like, how much Bailey’s would someone have to drink to get drunk?  Your stomach would be so full of powdered milk, you would surely upchuck and/or have explosive diarrheas. 

4. Coziness
Mmmmm touques with big pom-poms, keepin’ my brains all toasty.  Mmmmm woolly leg warmers bein’ all warm on my stems.  Mmmmmm wool sweaters all cozy up in ma face.  Mmmmm floppy wool coats with big droopy collars heatin’ up ma neck bones.

5. Secret Snow Parallel-Universe
I love, love, love getting up early on a Sunday morning right after it snowed all night, and no one else is up, and I go get a coffee in my cozy uniform (see above), and I walk around in a parallel universe where it’s all quiet and white and all the shit from the street and sidewalks is covered up by snow and it’s all sparkly. 

Sigh.  That’s all my brain can be forced to think of right now, as such a large number of brain cells are consumed with negative thoughts about winter.  Tell me what you like about winter and I”ll draw it!

Posted in Favorite Things, Illustrated, Makes Me Frown No Comments »

Natalie’s Take on Nuptials

Ok, I need to take a break from Chicago Natalie – I’ll post the conclusion this weekend, but I’m feeling a little “insane-Chicago-Natalied-out”.

I’m going to a wedding tomorrow.  Unlike the picture you see above, where I am the only girl above 13 who is “eligible” to attend the bouquet toss, there are many things about weddings that I really like. 

These are the things that I like about weddings:

Usually, when you get to the reception, there are little appetizers and canapes.  I fucking LOVE little appetizer things.  Then, you get to the table, and there is usually a big, overflowing basket of rolls… with butta, and they bring more if you ask them to.  Then courses, courses, courses.  A perfect excuse to gorge myself on food stuffs.  And most of the people I know have some additional midnight food item… usually it’s poutine.   Natalie loves food in her belly.

2. Fanciness.
When you’re an adult, you don’t have tons of opportunities to be fancy.  Going to a wedding permits my “fancy” alternative personality to be released like a mushroom cloud of sparkles and chiffon petticoat layers.

3.  Permission to Dance Like Elaine from Seinfeld.
For those of you who have seen me dance after a couple of drinks, you are a select and privileged few.  Weddings are prime “Natalie Seizure-Dancing” sighting grounds.  I’m sure that Saturday will be no exception.

4. Yes.  The Open Bar.
As per my numerous previous allusions to my alcoholism, I like to drink the beers.  I also enjoy consuming beers without “paying” for them.  And since weddings are usually a “per hour” cost for alcohol (not per item consumed), I don’t feel bad about consuming SEVERAL over the course of the night.

Brrrap, brrrap!  Bring on dem nuptials!

Posted in Illustrated, Randomness, Wisdom No Comments »