If your child is anything like mine, he can sleep through the apocalypse, once he's deep in sleep. Seriously, 15 minutes into a nap, the fire brigade could pull up in front of our house with sirens wailing, and he wouldn't do anything more than sigh deeply and roll to one side. However, falling asleep requires a special kind of silent juju that I still haven't got straight, after two kids.
Yes, it's been 25 years since I was an awkward teenager, screaming pop ballads out my car window on the way to my job at K-Mart. Like many people, the songs of my teen years hold a special place in my heart. So this week I'm taking the Delorean to 1990 and remembering what the Top Five Songs were on Billboard's Top 100 chart this week way back when.
Dear Kristin Anderson-Lopez and Robert Lopez. First of all, let me congratulate you on your success. A hit Disney movie, two Oscars, an American Music Award, a big single...it's wonderful and awe-inspiring. But I think I can speak for all parents when I ask you to never compose music for a children's movie, ever again.
I don't wear makeup because of society. It's not because every endorsed picture of the naturally exquisite Sofia Vergara makes me want to set my corneas on fire. It's not because I don't like what I see in the mirror without embellishments (okay, it's a bit of all of those things). It's because, for the most part, wearing make up makes my days better.
"I like my violence like I like my beer: domestic" This was the recent Facebook status of popular east-end Montreal bar, Nacho Libre, whose social media manager somehow thought it completely appropriate to publish this cringe-inducing "joke." Isn't domestic abuse a riot? Sexist jokes are not funny -- they're hostile.
Do you really want to know why a barista not remembering their name offends people? Because people think they are special. Everyone thinks that his or her drink order is special and that his or her name is special. Everyone is too busy being offended about how they are special to realize that to an hourly employee trying to get by, you're just another non-fat, extra hot, no foam double latte.
I've been meaning to write this to you for some time, but to be honest, I've been so huddled up under layers of sweatshirts and blankets that it makes using a keyboard difficult. I suppose all that's really done is prolong the inevitable. But our time has come. I think it's time we re-evaluate our relationship.
People keep saying "Toronto deserves better." But there's more to it than that. Ford Nation deserves better. Forget your politics for one second. Forget left or right or suburban or urbanite. This guy shouldn't be your guy, no matter which side of the fence you fall off of during a drunken stupor. Ford Nation should want better than Rob Ford, because Ford Nation should be better than Rob Ford. If our leaders are supposed to be shining examples of the people they represent, surely Ford Nation can find someone else. Not just for Toronto, but for themselves.
It's almost All Hallow's Eve and people from age three to age 99 will be dressing up in costume, eating candy, and partying the night away on this spooky, festive occasion. Most people know the history of Halloween at this point but here are five random facts about Halloween you just might not know.
As Halloween and the holidays fast approach, the urge to indulge in candy. For that reason, many people wind up doing extra shifts at the gym. But there are annoying people at that gym and we all spot them. They are so common that it's likely you easily recognize the following five fitness fiascos from your local health club.
If you spend a lot of time watching movies, you begin to notice a trend: movies are about Average Joes. Yet it seems Hollywood apparently would have us believe that John Q. Public has easy access to all the things people with money tend to be doing. Here's a list of five examples of pricey things that we keep seeing Average Janes doing on TV and in the movies.
Marie Hopps was the first person I ever met who thought I was lovely, just because I existed. Every few days, I would stumble into Marie's apartment from one of my escapades, looking like a tomcat with a missing eye or a torn ear. She would patiently make a pot of tea and offer me chocolate digestive cookies, seemingly unfazed by the sight of my bloodshot eyes. I miss her.