Joie de Vivre

I hitchhiked 3,726 km (according to Google) or 2,315 miles for you oldies … by myself when I was 14 years old. I lived at the height of the Greco-Roman empire (without the male dominance mind) in these modern times and now Rome is falling and I can’t imagine what it must be like for kids now. My youth, while (obviously) not idyllic, was, in retrospect friggin’ amazeballs! I grew up in the late 70s, 80s and 90s so I got THE BEST music and because I love so many different kinds of music I went to every venue there was. I danced to disco, live punk, love rock, djs playing rock, house, techno, soul … OMG you name it, I danced to it. In the early 80s I was the only white, female security at the Concert Hall for all the hip-hop shows, that was an experience!

The pandemic has put the kibosh on this and it is tragic that people are not able to go out and let loose – not that they really can these days with everyone with their camera phones out, everything getting filmed and people so disjointed there is no capability to actually lose yourself the way we did. Very sad. I was thinking that we should start creating immersive events where part of the deal is you are not allowed to bring your phone in so people could actually relax and experience it without feeling judged and put upon – so you could well and truly dance like no one’s watching. Even once the pandemic isolation is over, the days of dilapidated warehouse parties and punks living in falling down, abandoned buildings are over in Toronto. As with most things, ruined by money – our skyline rivals NY with all it’s condo skyscrapers, etc., but I digress.

Yeah, so I ran away a lot when I was young – starting at 11 years old! I used to hitchhike with a friend from Mississauga to Hamilton and back when I was 12 for something to do on the weekends. We’d get guys to pick us up, we’d smoke weed with them and hang out and then get out, simply cross the road and hitchhike back. Mississauga is a huge city now but when I was growing up there, there was literally a horse farm at the bottom of the hill where I lived and exactly two malls – Woodchester Mall and Sheridan Mall to hang out at. I also spent a lot of time hanging out and getting high with the gas station attendant at (I think) Sheridan Mall. Suffice to say my memory’s not the greatest (don’t look at me like that, it’s genetic not the weed (which ironically, now that it’s legal, I cannot smoke at all anymore)  – my Mom has never smoked, drank (very occasionally and I think I’ve seen her drunk once in my life) or done drugs and my memory is stellar compared to her). Because of always having a shite memory and being aware of this I’ve actually developed some techniques over the years so I don’t spend time looking for stuff that I’ve misplaced as much – that has saved me a lot of sanity. I must have wasted weeks if not months in my twenties looking for my house keys … ah well, better late than never!

My childhood was hella lame, will not get into details or the blame game, almost everyone has their “stuff”, no need to go into it – let’s face it, our traumas are only relevant and interesting to us and maybe shrinks or psychologists – anyone else listening is liable to zone out and fall off their chair while I (or anyone) was on with the ‘woe is me’ story. So I started running away when I was 11 and by the time I was 13 was in a group home for truancy; don’t worry kids, I’ll wait while you look it up. Back in my day, this, in fact, was a huge issue and yes, punishable by incarceration in a juvenile facility. While I was happy to no longer be the whipping boy at home, this was a whole ‘nother level of abusive. When I first got there I was put on “hand hold” – like you had to hold the staff’s hand ALL THE TIME, then it was room check, floor check and then you got outside privileges. They were called Viking Houses (here’s a cite for you Attorney General (Ontario) and Viking Houses v. Peel – SCC Cases ( 😉). Although my address was 35 Tyndall Avenue, although it’s been fixed up and remodeled, the façade is much the same as it was back then which is kind of interesting. I’ve gone by a few times and just walking by the house gives me butterflies.

They were eventually shut down because their methods were considered too controversial, i.e. if a kid acted out and had a tantrum they would do a “holding” where they would literally physically restrain the person until they calmed down. And being on handhold in public was excruciatingly embarrassing to a young teenager, but then again, isn’t everything lol. Honestly, I don’t know what I think in terms of how this impacted me psychologically. I do know that it was leaps and bounds above being in a juvenile detention centre. I’ve never tried to remember or reach out to any of the other kids that were there with me. I still remember my lawyer’s name though – Barry Edington.

I was there for a year and a half, got all my privileges and promptly ran away again – (that was the 3,700 km trek by myself from Toronto to Alberta – would not recommend). Although I was pretty well-versed in the safety aspects of travelling by thumb I got picked up by a trucker who wanted something I wasn’t willing to give and he dumped me off, amidst a huge snowstorm, on this bend where you couldn’t really see me. I stood there for nearly three hours thinking “oh great so I die by freezing to death on the side of a highway”. My hands and feet were numb as hell and I was going into hypothermic shock I’m sure when a Datsun truck finally came into view (the first vehicle in the three hours I’d been standing there), I stuck out my thumb hopefully and watched as it zipped by. As I was just about to give up hope I heard the screech of tires and the truck backing up. A lovely hippie guy (long brown hair, glasses and a wonderfully warm smile) came to a stop and flung the door open for me and greeted with “I almost missed you there, that’s a horrible spot to be in, you can barely see you!”

I clambered in and put my hands up against the blasting heat, so thankful. That man saved my life. But the best part of all was he had one of those 1970s tartan thermos with the red lid and he opened it up and asked if I wanted some coffee. Best coffee I have ever had in my whole life! I have no idea where he picked me up or dropped me off for that matter. I don’t remember his name or anything of pertinent value but I do know that was one of my many lives that got saved that day and I am forever thankful for karma being on my side that day. I wonder if I had died out there if I would have even made the news … luckily I will always have to wonder.

Alberta was another experience all unto itself but that is a story for another time.

Rome is Burning

Okay, as I sit here half corked at my computer waiting to be able to log off from my “new” job (only a 6-month contract – got let go during COVID – so fucking lucky to live in a country that helps during economic crisis so had EI – I am truly blessed in so many ways … but I digress – as I am wont to do, please bare with me.) Where was I? Oh yeah, we’re fucked.

I was supposed to be compiling something about my plight during COVID but dude, I grew up at the height of the Roman Empire (70s, 80s, 90s), if you’re new, Google it and see how we lived pre-cell phone, internet era – dudes it was off the hook and no recordings, so no regrets, no splashed all over the internet – we got to actually LIVE – anyone reading this at this point who is not borne in the sixties or before (and that’s not going to be a lot, if any – gawd damned plebs when it comes to social media and the internet – but damn boi, can you blame them?!) despite their intellect will only have an abstract concept of what I am about to bestow upon you. Love, light and NO RECORD OF WHAT YOU DID – hell to the L, ya!

I LOVE music, all kinds of music and the BEST thing in the whole wide world for me is to let lose and cut a rug ( Granted, when I grew up it was a phrase that was well past its due date but still it was valid. In this immediate gratification society of today it is heartbreaking to me how you have no sense of history, tradition and the things that used to be carried forward from generation to generation are now lost – [put in still of people staring at screens].

So back to music. Because I was so diversified compared to most – “I’m rock and roll”, “I’m a punk”, “I’m a goth”, “I’m into disco” … I was Danielle and I went everywhere and danced to everything.

The first bar I remember (please bare with me if stuff is out of sequence, hazy or misrepresented, I’m just going on vague recollections here and my my memory is haphazard and/or missing pieces, or some non-memory I’ve embellished to seem real … and that is why this shall be called fiction. Although, truth be told A LOT of it really is me and stuff I did) – so the bar … It was called the Upstairs Sidedoor and it was either just below Yonge … I think off of Gerrard or Dundas [will get lost down worm hole trying to find ANY information on this place later) … I’m figuring Dundas (hothead of wheeling and dealing, drugs and hookers). I was underage when I first went there I think – anywhere from 14 to 18 and it was stellar! – Yeah, let’s cut the difference and say I was 16.

I still have this memory of walking up this incredibly rickety and narrow staircase that was ill lit and squishy on impact – I’m sure it was riddled with mold under the (what I imagine was at one time) red, now mud-like carpeting put the stairs and of course, turning to the side and going in. Upstairs, Side Door – like literally!

Anywhoo – the door opened and the music and the outfits and the atmosphere – I was aghast, I almost fainted from happiness! I was one of maybe a handful of white people in the place and the rest were all literally pimps and hos and MAN were they decked out. I mean like fedoras with feathers, matching three-piece suits, canes with gold encrusted handles – women in heels that defied gravity and so much shiny material and sparkly stuff I just grinned from ear to ear – and then the music!!! OMG I was in heaven and I just was drawn to the dance floor and following the rhythm and soon I was amidst this throng of people and it was a small place just jam-packed with people and not well ventilated so on the dance floor everyone was hot, sweaty and writhing against each other.

I think I was one of the few people there too who wasn’t “working” (pimp, ho, dealer). In retrospect I was SO FUCKING PRIVILEGED to even be let into that place – not sure how I did the things I did back then but …

It didn’t occur to me until many, many years later that I had managed to permeate so many culture barriers by being there at that time. I never saw colour so much as I saw people who could and could not dance. And I will NEVER change my mind about this and I don’t care how wrong it is to say it – white people CANNOT fucking dance. So I followed the rhythm and it is anything but white, black, Hispanic, pick an African country … anything with heat IMHO. I think white people can’t dance because they were born cold. And then there was me (granted there are a few of us, but sadly we are few and far between – most of us are doing the two-step shuffle or that – oh my fuck, so amusing and I shouldn’t laugh but, almost beat dancers … you’re looking and you’re like … yeeesh, so close to the beat but OOOOFFFF nope, not quite there yet – and my all time favourites, the ones who are completely off the beat entirely and do this weird hand, foot random punch, kick thing while they’re dancing, or, you know, on the verge of a seizure – I’ma go out on a limb here and hope that y’all know I am in no way cowtowing to “norms” or “politically correct” in this tale. So – that said – I used it work at a place called Club Z and we would have Asian nights – this was where this display was most prolific. [Insert video later of my interpretation of such dancing.] And, I have to say – this took MANY, MANY years of emulating in order to even get this close, and some say I still have too much rhythm.

Not that anyone will read this but … I am publishing as I go and this will probably not be finished for months or years but I’ve finally started!

A Good Rant

So I got laid-off/let go AGAIN in June. Every two years for the almost the past decade – it’s getting a bit tedious to be honest. It’s too bad I couldn’t just semi-retire … ah to have money, but I can’t. Probably have to work on and off well into my seventies. And then I’m thinking about all these people on “disability” who have basically fucked the dog their entire life, like that piece of shit, waste of space neighbour that lives to my left and the fact that my taxes have essentially paid for that and you know, it makes me really fucking angry.

I don’t know why Canada keeps pretending like they’re European and caring for their people and concerned about healthcare, etc. when really all they want to do is be like the United States. It makes me sad.

I’m currently reading The Year of Living Danishly and granted it’s a very one-sided view of Denmark from someone who has a lot of money available to them and has never slummed it in her life but it also makes me sad for what Canada could be if it wasn’t so concerned with wealth and greed and trying so hard to be something it’s not. I wish I could leave but honestly, where would I go, what would I do and I know from people around the world that I have a really good setup where I am, even if I’m surrounded by succubus’s that just feed off others and have no purpose in life.

If you think this sounds harsh, please understand this. My piece of shit neighbour has destroyed not one but two units in this complex from not cleaning and allowing her animals to defecate and piss all over the unit. The Co-op, allegedly run by us, has done NOTHING in over 40 years to remediate or deal with this situation because you know “mental health” and all that alleged leftist, now we have no recourse, bullshit.

The last unit cost the co-op $40,000 to remediate (non of which was paid by either her or her mother because they are both sucking on the teat of the system) and the people living in that house now say the basement still (seven years later) smells like piss because it permeated the concrete. While she was living there, her unit had a small fire (due to her negligence), while they repaired it, they rehomed her in the building!

Now this stinky, piece of shit waste of a human being lives next door to me and guess who gets to smell this fucking stench in their unit because of it – me! If you know me, you know my place is spotless, well maintained and my sanctuary. I have a beautiful patio in the summer, a cozy, clean home in the winter and I love spending time here. But as I was saying …

Here’s the best part and a prime example of zero fucks given from this person. Her and I used to hang out (I thought we were friends but that was never the case, I will not bore you with the details of the extent of the malicious commentary she was making about me behind my back but I’m sure you can get the picture). When she was looking to “down-size” (she had fucking been living in a three-bedroom townhouse by herself for over a decade and the co-op I live in was afraid to do anything despite her being completely over housed because everyone’s afraid of her and her bully bullshit family) – who by the way are doing nothing except enabling this woman into a very early grave – she’s in her mid to late 40s now. If she makes it to 60 I’ll be surprised.


At the time we were hanging out and she said “oh hey, a unit beside you is open, I’m going to move in there, it’ll be great!” I begged, pleaded and harangued her to please not do this, I knew it would destroy our friendship, etc., etc. She didn’t fucking listen and moved in anyway. Like I said zero fucks given.

So now she has NO friends in this co-op, everyone hates her, including me – and seriously I thought I would never, ever hate anyone. I am a very forgiving and live and let live kind of person but dude, I fucking hate her with every fiber of my being and it’s not going away. It’s been over five years now.

I found her wallet on the ground a couple of weeks back and it was really hard for me to return it and not throw it in the garbage. I did return it, but I’m still kind of regretting that to be honest. Does that tell you how much I loathe and despise this person?!

About the malicious stuff behind my back, there was kind of a silver lining to that aspect of the story as well. I was still maintaining a friendship with her after she moved in and because of this, she was sometimes looking after my apartment when I went away (although I suspect she was doing little malicious things in my absence) but when I came back, my animals had always been well cared for and my place looked spotless so I was happy to have her do it.

So I came back one time from a weekend away and she had accidentally forgotten to close her Facebook. I read all the emails she had written to other people and what she was saying about me behind my back, none of it was nice. She referred to me as her “frenemy” and said horrible things about me. In retrospect I realized she did this with all of her so-called friends behind their back (with one exception). So I wonder if any of her other friends have clued into this fact.

It’s funny how clueless you can be sometimes but suffice to say, remember folks if they’re talking shit about everyone else then they’re talking shit about you behind your back as well.

And I rest my case about Canada sucking ass about caring for people.

Did Canadian Man With ALS Choose Assisted Suicide After Being Denied Adequate Care?

While it can’t be fully substantiated it still sucks balls.

Where is the Love?

I see all my friends getting abundantly creative during this year-long, at this point utterly ridiculous, no valuable statistics to show, let’s make sure Toronto ends up being a poverty stricken barren wasteland of a lockdown. And yet I can’t seem to get back to mine.

I used to love writing, keep a journal and the only way I could feel truly myself was through writing. Over the years I let it atrophy until now the writing adventures are few and far between. I’ve told people I used to write and they say “oh why don’t you start a blog?” Oh you mean like this one that I’ve had for how many ever years and no one fucking reads?! Yeah great idea.

The great thing about “no one” reading it is now that I’ve realized this is the case I can basically write what I want and I don’t have to worry about the thought police and all these hyper judgmental under the guise of politically correct wimpy snowflakes batting their totally inappropriate terms around.

I have two dogs so that’s awesome, they keep me grounded and keep me “here” – I don’t think I would survive without them. I was also hanging out a bit with my my small bubble of people, Hubert, LJ and my Mom but now I’ve lost LJ and Hubert to quarantine because Geronimo (one of LJ’s workers son tested positive). Mind he works in healthcare and gets tested every day which brings me back to the false positives fiasco. WHO is doing a debacle of a job also with regard to that. This whole thing has just been handled so badly.

And NO ONE is talking about the people dropping like flies in many of the African countries (as usual) because who gives a fuck about the poor people. It’s just ridiculous.

Meanwhile our piece of shit government is “helping the homeless” by providing addicts with drug paraphernalia and allowing them to just camp wherever the fuck they want and doing nothing to protect those that live in their midst and going out of their way to totally saturate certain neighbourhoods with thousands of homeless people while completely avoiding other areas, instead of spreading them out and giving them proper housing, outreach programs and the possibility of maybe getting back to a real life instead of living hand to mouth with no hope for the future.

Again the fucking SJWs are calling this “harm reduction” providing them with needles and such. Ask ANY recovered or recovering addict what they think of this and your answer is right there. All these people are doing is helping to kill off the addicts faster. There is NOTHING humane or righteous about this “aid” at all. They are essentially just helping people to commit slow suicide. What the fuck is wrong with these people?! I will almost guarantee you not one person handing out these drug kits was ever an addict, or a victim of an addict, or had a family member die from addiction – because these people find this abhorrent, counterproductive and not “helpful” at all. And yes, I can speak from experience.

I got laid off from my job a little over a week ago and honestly, I’m not worried at this point. I have a year of EI coming to me and I’m in no rush to look for another job, especially since technically I’m supposed to be going back to work at some point. (Don’t think that will happen and besides the whole making me take another job and go into the office fiasco left a REALLY bad taste in my mouth.)

Also being surrounded by people who basically get paid to lie for a living has taken a toll. No one says anything to your face, or talks to you, everything is done in a covert and underhanded way, so much so that most of the time you get blind-sided by things that would have been so much easier to deal with if they talked to you about stuff along the way. I’m so tired of being lied to and people hiding behind feigned smiles.

Okay that’s my rant for the day. Toodles and for anyone who actually read this, I hope you are well, I hope you are surrounded by love or have someone who loves or cares about you and I hope you are healthy and manage at least some semblance of happiness even if the situation is not ideal right now. Oh and PS, I’ve had this blog since 2012 – yep, almost 10 years and I doubt more than 10 people have read it. I do like the idea though of leaving something that’s public so when I die there is at least a small piece of me out there in the internetverse that goes on. (Celine Dion pops in head – oh no!)

Greetings from the land of COVID isolation

I started writing again a a few weeks back in my online journal, but no one can reads that (thankfully) because most of it’s ranting and boring drivel anyway, and yes I do talk about the weather. We live in Canada, it’s a thing. However, there’s no one who can read it. So I thought I’d start yammering along on here too. (Not that anyone will read it either, but at least here there’s a slight chance someone might come across it and either respond or have it help them through something.)

I’m pretty happy for the most part but I miss having someone to talk to on the regular. I miss having someone to call up and tell them all my little daily accomplishments. Silly things like I got a new shower curtain …

I had something happen that made my world shift a little and now I’m dealing with my “new world” which unfortunately doesn’t include a bestie that I can call up every day. Don’t get me wrong, I have several really good awesome gal pals (kind of sucks that three of them are across the country …) but I don’t have someone close by that I want to hang out with on the regular, you know? I miss having someone to stay up late with and giggle about men and stuff. I used to have a couple of men friends too but they seemed to have all but disappeared. Well one is a conspiracy theorist, anti-masker so I just couldn’t even in that conversation and we haven’t talked since.

And it’s not like I’m not trying either, I’m reaching out to people, making myself available – trying to kick it up a notch in the friendship department but people aren’t even responding for the most part, never mind making excuses. (Except as above, certain gal pals aside.)

I gave up the whole missing having a boyfriend thing quite some time ago. I’m trying to make my peace with the idea of not having one of those in the foreseeable or maybe ever. I’m very sad that I never got to get married. Not sad I didn’t have kids, especially now. Honestly I think bringing a child into the world at this point in time is morally reprehensible but that’s just my opinion.