Side hoe: A position allocated to a girl which is neither a wifey or a girlfriend but a side dish like nandos rice

“Hey, look at those sidechicks Amy, cheyan tattendaa”

Being a side hoe is all any smart, high achieving, success driven young woman needs in this world of sin, and in this blog post, I’m going to teach you how to be the Side Hoe of your dreams in 3 easy steps!

Note: Being a Side Hoe doesn’t mean literally hoe-ing yourself around to boys who are in committed relationships. Jesus Christ have some self respect!!!! Unless the boy in question is like in med-school or practicing law, you should under no circumstances be hoeing yourself off or ruining perfectly good relationships!! Being a side hoe is a state of mind.


Step 1: Accept Rejection

The first step is obviously the easiest, and will likely happen without any effort at all. If you’re reading this blog there is obviously something seriously wrong with you, so I highly doubt any boy is likely to want to stick around. I personally have been rejected by 100% of the guys I’ve reached out to over the past few months. At this point I’m practically hoping for rejection every time I work up the nerve to text a guy, because acceptance would break my streak.

It’s been humbling to say the least. I used to be terrified of rejection, and now I am numb to it. I hope everyone gets to experience a two-month period where they are rejected by every single boy they have ever known!! Truly humbling!!!

After being rejected by your entire contact list, you will start to experience a fire in the pit of your stomach – commonly referred to as animosity. This feeling will cause you to be so bitter about committed relationships and cast a halo of hope around the idea of being a Side Hoe. Which brings us to step 2.

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Step 2: Realize the power of the Side Hoe

The Side Hoe holds the up most power in the millennial dating world. Unlike the main hoe, the Side Hoe is on the same team as the boy in question. (Let’s not forget love is just a game ok). The Side Hoe gets to hear all the drama about the main hoe, and is sometimes privy to inside jokes with the boys, etc etc. The Side Hoe is like the chill* friend that guys would way rather be with than their annoying ass girlfriends.

Like I said, being a Side Hoe is really just a state of mind. You are a free woman and can freely spend your time focusing on friends, school, work and most fulfilling of all – curating the perfect Instagram grid without letting any dumb ass Y chromosome dick wad come in your way!! As a Side Hoe you will receive a small amount of attention in the form of snap chat pics and a handful of compliments here and there to get you through the week. As the world renowned John Green continues to remind us “We accept the love we think we deserve” !!!!


*Step 3: Allow your crazy to come out

It’s 2017 and playing hard to get is so two thousand and late!! HAHA. Being an absolute psychopath isn’t exactly a new endeavor for me, for my most received compliment since I got my braces off when I was 16 was that I was kind of hot but like really crazy. Boys are so sweet!!!

I often find myself agreeing to go out with friends only for the opportunity to get drunk which opens the flood gates to drunk texting/drunk calling. Which is pretty vanilla for me – child’s play really. I deleted a guy’s number to avoid the inevitable drunk calling but naturally am so psychotic that I memorized his number and called him two days later at A&W at 2am. I didn’t even realize how fucked up this was until I recounted the story to my therapist and the expression on her face made me realize that I was going to need to book about 7 more sessions.

As the Side Hoe there is really nothing to lose, so you might as well just let it all out. Step 1, has already made you numb to rejection so you have nothing to fear anymore and can just live your dreams.


The whole concept behind identifying as a Side Hoe is to change your mindset, and take your power back. There is no need to be waiting around for boys to text you, ask you to hangout, or profess their love to you. Fuck being chill – if you can’t beat em, join em!

Congrats, you’re officially a Side Hoe!!!!

If I was having a hard time finding guys before, this blog post isn’t really serving as a mating call but like I said I’ve had an astonishing rate of rejection over the past month so who gives a fuck at this point. I always preach the concept that you don’t need a boyfriend to make you feel valid but some instant gratification in the form of likes on this under achieving blog would be nice.

And one last thing –Don’t get upset, just replace he/boyfriend/boy/y chromosome dick wad – with whatever pronoun you god damn well please!


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Make Sustainable Fashion Great Again

I’ve come to the realization that with an audience as big as mine (nearly 17 followers from Sri – Lanka!!! Are you guys hacking me?? HAHA??), it has become selfish not to use my platform as a tool to better today’s society. After a school capstone project in my final semester of university, I’ve become obsessed with researching the negative effects of the fashion industry, and looking for ways to devote my consumerist habits in the direction of sustainable fashion.

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Peaceful Dumplings really lays it all out in this article – this shit makes me sweat profusely, and makes me want to run into my closet and light the entire thing on fire and wear bed sheets for the rest of my life but that wouldn’t do anybody any good.

Here is an excerpt from a paper I wrote on the topic that I think really captures the main problem with fashion if you haven’t already gotten the point:

Fast fashion is contributing to an environmental crisis as the second largest source of pollution worldwide, second to oil (Kurdyla, 2015). Fast fashion is also contributing to economic downturns globally, as 1 in 6 people work in the global fashion industry most which are women earning less than $3 per day (Kurdlyla, 2015). Even within North America, the growth of fast fashion is closing the gap between luxury and discount retailers, which has negative economic effects for our society. It is critical at this pivotal point that consumers are aware of the impact their purchasing behaviour has globally.


All jokes aside it actually is like really fucking bad – for a few different reasons. As you can see the problem is two-fold, bad for the environment, and bad for the economy – most notably for underpaid workers in 3rd world countries who are making Forever 21 sweaters on lunch breaks they never get. In the last 3 years’ fashion went from having 4 seasons to like 44 seasons (not to scale). Soon, nobody will be able to keep up and the whole thing will spiral out of control!!!!

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Here are 3 big things we can do to end this trend:

  1. Shop at sustainable companies

In Toronto, there are tons of new initiatives who are building a brand based on sustainable sourced garments. Some to check out are Uncle Studios, and UnCo. (from Ryerson Grads!!!). Companies who are investing in recycled fabrics, and who are paying fair wages to workers, preferably locally are the most ideal. But paying more at places like Aritzia, Nordstrom, Hudson’s Bay, Club Monaco, etc for well-made clothing that will last you longer, is STILL a more environmentally conscious decision. Buying less, and wearing your clothes for longer is a change in the right direction.

  1. Shop Vintage

The more we recycle clothing, the less NEW clothes will need to be made in factories. AND less clothing will be going to the landfill!

** Keep in mind that 80% of donated clothing items end up in landfills, so carelessly consuming fashion with the thought of just donating it later is NOT a sustainable way to live!!! (watch this video

But still, recycling your unwanted items, and shopping thrift is a move in the right direction.

  1. Shop less

The number one thing we can do is to unsubscribe from the system. I’ve made a conscious effort to abandon shopping habits all together, but especially to give up frequenting places like Zara, and H&M to buy things for one time occasions. I’ve stopped trying to live up to the style icons of Instagram, and just started appreciating and making the most of the wardrobe I already have. For example, instead of buying a new dress to wear to my convocation last week, I just re-vamped an old dress that I already owned to make it new for the occasion. Shopping less, has forced me to become creative with my wardrobe and has also encouraged me to appreciate the items I have.

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I hope these tips help, and if you weren’t already aware of the severity of the FASHION industry I hope this helped shed some light on that topic!!

Peace & blessings & dumplings



Not Skinny but Not Fat Eating Guide:

I’ve tried every diet in the book, including but not limited to the Keto diet, intermitted fasting, carb cycling, paleo, gluten free, and for 2 days I even went vegan! But needless to say, all these endeavours ended in the same way: me binge eating carbohydrates until I physically felt ill.

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I feel so ill looking at this monstrosity 

But fear not, I’ve finally cracked the code, and discovered the secret to eternal body positivity; Not giving a fuck. For the first time since I was like 16 I’ve just been eating whatever the fuck I want, whenever the fuck I want, and not to sound like vain or anything but I kind of look hot as shit- even naked!! (Every girl’s dream!!!) I literally shove Doritos, and ice-cream down my throat and wake up the next day to my dream body time and time again. I’d be lying if I said my bedroom lighting and mirror placement weren’t a factor contributing to my body revolution but alas.

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Having a hot body stems from the cosmoses – the more you fixate on it, the more out of reach it becomes. Once you break the cycle and escape the headspace that praises the idea of cheat meals, you’ll no longer be a prisoner in your own body. There’s like a legit science behind it, something like the guilt you feel makes you feel bad and want to eat more or something. Its unhealthy and such a waste of energy.

We are destined to do great things, and can’t waste our brain power counting calories, weighing our food, and starving ourselves for half the day. LIBERATE YOURSELF!

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I know if someone told me to just stop giving a fuck a few years ago I would have looked them dead in the eye and told them to fuck right off because my reality was that if I didn’t feel like I was starving to death then I wasn’t getting any thinner!!! I thought the best I could do was to provide an overview of what a typical week in my life of eating might look like:

Monday: Kept a full bag of vegan Doritos in my purse and shoved fistfuls of them into my mouth on the subway, at work, and in the gym change room.

Tuesday: Ran 3 miles in the morning, ate oatmeal with a banana, nuts, and almond milk, ended my night hammered off a bottle of Chardonnay at a gay bar, ate 2 slices of pizza post bar, AND stopped at A&W before going home.

Wednesday: Ate a Quest protein bar and an Earl Gray ice-cream cone for dinner.

Thursday: Started day with avo toast with an egg, ate Sushi and green juice for dinner (I am an icon)

Friday: Went to a spin class, drank a pressed juice, got drunk off one Girls Night Out Sangria (from a can), ate a hot dog from a street meat vendor and fell asleep with the lights on.

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Unless you want to compete in a bikini competition or be an Instagram bikini model, there really is NO POINT in obsessing over what you eat or how you look. Just eat what you want, mix in a salad and a spin class, and let go of the idea that one day you’ll have abs because abs won’t make you happy, but not stressing so much about your body WILL. I’m almost like overpowered by my pudgy stomach, and the way it feels when my thighs chafe because that’s the way my body is when I’m feeling my best, and being MY healthiest. There is NOTHING healthy about a mindset that enables you to feel stress and guilt after eating.

Happy Snacking!!

xx J

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Maternal Bond

There is a special bond that often forms between mothers and daughters, which has scientifically been called the “mother daughter bond” by Bill Nye and other scholars of the same calibre.

My mom is the number one fan. She always laughs the hardest at even at my most fucked up shit. I like to think it’s because she truly understands me, and has a wicked sense of humor, but it’s more likely because she’s just a good mom, and is practiced in unconditional love.

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T-Shirt reads: Life of the Party 

My mom has taught me many valuable life lessons throughout my 21 years but I will be dedicating this blog to highlighting just a few of my most fond memories of my mother teaching me to build character, perseverance, and to become more altruistic.

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There is a distinct time that I recall when my mom taught me the valuable lesson of determination, and putting my personal needs aside momentarily to serve the needs of the group at large. Two Christmas’s ago in Mexico, I found myself blackout drunk alongside my fearless companion, and the feature of this blog, my mom. The two of us, shit faced, had quite the task in front of us: to prepare the Christmas dinner. I suddenly realized the magnitude of the situation and confided in my mom that I was far too fucked to go on this journey with her.

My mom, the tyrant that she is, the glue who holds our little family together, gave me the pep talk of a lifetime, thus saving Christmas. She set down her glass of watered-down-box-Chardonnay, put both her hands on my shoulders and looked me dead in the eyes and told me that with a little dedication and grit I could get through this.  Following my fearless leader, I braved the storm of chopping vegetables, simmering sauces, and most physically demanding of all; setting the table, and all because of my brave, and awe inspiring mother, Christmas went ON.

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Wild beast in her natural habitat

Perhaps it has only been in recent years, since moving out on my own, that my mom and I’s mother daughter relationship has become more friend oriented, but I do specifically recall being rather obsessed with my mom even in my high school years. While other people were trying to sneak away to parties, my mom helped me serve Katy Perry themed jell-o shots to my High School friends in our basement. I will admit I sometimes try to keep my mom hidden away from my friends only because these so called “friends” often find my mom funnier than me – which quite frankly pisses me right off. I do however treasure how jovial this little lass is.

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I am forever grateful that my mom has always been so unapologetically herself. She never once put on a fake mom attitude. She let me see her as she truly was throughout it all. Her transparent attitude allowed me to do the same, to never be afraid to admit my faults, ask for help, or just let loose and be real.  While she is always down for a glass of wine and some silly attitude, my mom is actually really inspiring and like pretty smart, which in my opinion is a killer combination.

Happy Mother’s Day to my kind, empathetic, smart, brave, and sometimes funnier than me, mom, and long distance best and truest friend. I love you!!!!

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End of an Era

I’ve been wanting to write a post about finishing my undergrad but I have been far too emotionally unstable to handle the challenge of coming up with self deprecating material… but alas here we are.

People say your time at university is the best four years of your life, which genuinely terrifies me to hear considering in the past four years I’ve made like two close friends, and gained 30 pounds. If this is my peek in life then god fucking help me.

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I’m overcome with sadness about the ending of this chapter of my life. I refuse to accept that this sadness is nostalgia and have finally accepted that it is indeed regret. Surely I could have made better use of the past 1,460 days/35,040 hours.

I embarked on my undergrad career as most do: at the hot dog pep rally, face adorned in face-paint, sporting a god-awful FROSH t-shirt. I had fun, I made friends, and I tucked myself into my Bed Bath and Beyond bed in a bag dorm room special with a smile of success plastered on my little face.

First year went along fine, I did all the normal freshman type things but with an odd emphasis on food. I preferred going to potlucks over pre-drinks, and always used the drunk trip to Shawarma King as my main motivator when deciding whether or not to go to parties. For the first and only time in my life I had all these friends, and felt like I belonged or would be missed if I wasn’t around.  I was happy, and overweight, but most notably I was happy.

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The first half of second year I lived in denial of being in the greatest sophomore slump of all time. My closest friends dropped out of school, and I was unknowing lonely. I started going to group therapy because my problems weren’t severe enough to warrant the complimentary university funded one on one therapy for people with REAL problems. Group therapy was only helpful because I got to hear how bad other people’s lives were, and I realized my shit wasn’t actually so bad after all. Whoever said comparison is the thief of joy never attended university group therapy.

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Third year I moved to Paris for 6 months which was definitely the highlight of my undergrad and debatably the highlight of my life. My time abroad is simultaneously the thing that I am least regarded and most mocked for amongst my friends and acquaintances. Studying abroad in Paris sounds like an Elle Woods/sorority fetish to most, but in reality, it was nothing of the sort. Living in Paris changed my perspective on a lot of things. I was forced to find comfort in my loneliness, and began to admire the beauty in intelligence. I was proud of myself for the first time, in a real way. I wasn’t just making someone else proud but I had accomplished something I’d always wanted to do for no one else but myself. I felt like I was honouring my younger self’s aspirations – which felt güd.


Ever since moving back I felt lost with how to spend my remaining year. The fourth and final year is a hard path to navigate. Without considering any other options, I signed a contract for a full-time, big girl, salary job. Partly because it’s what I’ve always wanted to do, and partly because the thought of having no plans beyond graduation was paralyzing.

And now my time has run out, and I can’t help but feel there is more I should have done. I stayed within the lines. I went to the free tutoring, the free counselling, I pet the therapy dogs when I was sad, and went to frat party’s when I wasn’t. I was acknowledged and awarded for my hard work, all to reinforce my path to success. It’s like I’ve been subconsciously checking off items on a to-do list, that would lead me to a comfortable life. But now that it’s all been checked off I am faced with the discomfort that is a comfortable life. Perhaps it is just the disconnect of being twenty-one and trying to think for yourself, or know who you are, that has left me feeling like I’ve come up short in some way.

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I wish I had created something tangible to ensure the past four years would not dissipate and become forgotten.  I wish I could say I put my blood, sweat and tears into something meaningful. A project, a capstone or a thesis or something. Something that I would talk about over coffee with friends, I would sigh and tell them how I had worked tirelessly all night. How I came out stronger than I ever was before. I wish I had these mentors who had seen my potential all along and cheered me on from the side lines as I grew to discover it for myself.

I feel as though I was always waiting. Adults kept telling me things were about to get really good. And I waited. And fourth year approached and waiting turned into panicking, and panicking turned into sadness. Sadness that is now regret. I kept waiting for that moment that I was walking with my friend group on campus, at sunset, eating ice cream, linking arms and laughing. These plans we had made over group chat, where we all had nicknames for each other. We were constantly connected, and I still belonged, and I would still have been missed. But the waiting is over, and the time has run out.

I think after all this I had anticipated I’d feel more complete, that I would be known – by others and to myself. It cannot be said whether or not a thesis or a friend group complete with a group chat could have ever made this experience feel whole. Although I accomplished great things, and honoured aspirations, a part of me feels that there was always more that I neglected to explore. Perhaps that is just the nature of life. An ever lasting sense of incompletion- as it may be we are immortally unknown.


Alas I did take a psychology class during my time at university, and learned about the hindsight bias. For you uneducated folk that basically means that when you’re looking back at things, your faults seem so obvious, but at the time you did the best you could. Or something like that. I think I was just like a terrified 17 year old, afraid of failing who did my best, and took peoples advice and drank a lot of water and got 8 hours of sleep, and didn’t do drugs or have sex with strangers.

Part of me wonders if the only way to salvage all this is to travel to Thailand and do drugs at a half-moon party and like really FIND MYSELF – but at this point, even that would be far too predictable.

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The Instagram Epidemic

I think we can all admit that Instagram is like ruining our lives, but also is like the only thing that’s giving it meaning. Don’t deny it – I’m so sick of people claiming to have a “healthy” relationship with Instagram. Is there even such a thing as a healthy relationship with Instagram? The entire premise of Instagram is to create unhealthy habits of constant obsession with yourself and with people you don’t even know. I would agree that everyone abuses the power behind Instagram differently, and ultimately is abused by the power of Instagram differently but one thing is certain; Instagram is a sick and twisted drug that fucks with our minds by evoking simultaneous, instantaneous, and limitless self-love and self-loath.

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Like I said, we are all victimized by Insta in different ways. I personally like to spend about 70% of everyday stalking my own Instagram, usually smiling like a proud mom of the alter ego I’ve created through carefully staged and edited photos of donuts, fake boyfriends, and trendy wall paper. Once I’ve had enough of that, I’ll switch gears and begin to stalk my weekly pool of people who have better Instagram’s than me. I always have a revolving pool of approximately 4-7 girls who are in the same socio-economic state as me, usually just outside my friend circle. These girls often work as RedBull promoters, and are slightly hotter and better dressed than me. It can be assumed they have more stable friend groups, and they almost always have boyfriends. To put things in more simple terms: these girls are the mason jars of the world, and I’m a Styrofoam cup in comparison. The remaining 30% of my day is spent scrolling through their photos, and flipping back to my own feed every so often to rip it apart. If I ever run out of girls in my pool, I go to the “Explore Page” (created by Satan himself) for .5 seconds and instantly find thousands of new girls to become obsessed with.

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Instagram is straight fucked. Instagram is the greatest issue facing America today. I think the only people who aren’t being fucked by Instagram are people who have shitty Instagram feeds and like less than 200 followers. And those people don’t need to be getting fucked by Instagram, because let’s face it, they are being fucked by life (if you can’t identify with anything in this blog – you’re in this category). Hard to say which is worse though– all that is certain is that it’s become a race to the bottom.

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So yeah, I often think about deleting Instagram and just giving up, but here’s the thing: the only thing worse than playing the Instagram game, is not playing at all. So like, fuck no am I going to delete Instagram, because everything I’ve been working towards would lose all meaning. I’ve built an entire life around an Instagram persona. Without Instagram I don’t even know if I would find trendy brunch enjoyable??  I’d have to reconsider everything I do, everything I eat, and everything I wear.


The sad part is, we are all setting ourselves up for absolute chaos, because there is no way this shit is sustainable. Eventually no one will be able to keep up. We will all just fucking lose our minds, and have to go back to eating unflattering foods like tuna noodle casserole and wearing clothes for more than like 2 weeks. Lame as fuck. This is modern day Darwinism, only the strongest will survive. At the rate things are moving, if you don’t already have a brand deal with detox tea or a teeth whitening company – you’re not going to make it.

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Save me from myself

I used to compulsively read self-help books because I felt as though I was missing out on valuable life hacks if I spent my time, god forbid, indulging in a fiction novel.

Alas my love for self-help books came to a haltering end after reading a book that was spitting out some bullshit about how using self-deprecation as your differentiating way of being funny was a “cheap shot at humour that anyone could do”. Naturally, after reading this I broke the book over my knee and started ripping all the pages out and swallowing them whole. This was a personal attack, as self-depreciating humour is my one and only claim to fame.

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It’s nonsense like this, that bring shame to the self-help novel industry, and eventually isolated me so much so that I ditched book form therapy and began attending actual therapy in person form.

I’m a therapy guru. I don’t even know if I’m still fucked up or not, but I attend therapy weekly, none the less. In fact, I’ve noticed myself doing increasingly fucked up things throughout the week, with the intention of having something fun to talk about at my weekly therapy sessions. I’ve started my sessions by busting into my therapist’s office, throwing my bag on the floor and screaming “Buckle up, you’re in for a rough ride this week” on more than one occasion. I realize this is counterproductive, but perhaps this very act suggest therapy is indeed still very necessary??


One of my wildest fantasies involves me getting my sweaty little hands on my therapists note book, where she keeps track of my fucked-up words throughout our hourly sessions.

An amazing thing about the concept of therapy, is that all social norms do not apply in a therapists office. It’s like a safe space on methamphetamine and anything goes! I personally like to abuse this privilege by asking my therapist repetitive questions about her personal life. I say “enough about me, let’s talk about YOU”. Which puts her in an absolute frenzy. I watch her navigate the slippery slope of trying to be polite to her psychotic patient, while asserting her power all whilst remaining professional.

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I once decided it would be a good idea to find her on Facebook, which backfired when I mistakenly thought we had mutual friends, and almost had to terminate our relationship permanently. Lucky for me she just has a common name, and I accidentally stalked the wrong person!

Finally, I will admit, therapy isn’t all fun and mind games, it does come with a lifetime of unavoidable anxiety, stemming from the fear of running into your therapist in public. I tell my therapist on the regular that I feel that I can never fully live in the moment, because in the back of my head I’m always terrified of running into her. It’s ironic, really.

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I’m sure once you all read my post where I compared Eminem lyrics to the satanic rituals of networking, you probably thought that was as fucked up as it was ever going to get, but alas here I am, proving you all wrong, yet again.

I’m just trying to bring some light to the dark tunnel of mental illness, and normalize conversations about anxiety, and manipulating your therapist. I propose we take this conversation to a more collaborative platform, so please KIK me!

Xoxo JQ

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BFFs > BFs

I love you for running in the rain under a newspaper with me on the first day we met.

I love you for doing facemasks, back messages, and watching celebrity news on youtube with me nightly for an entire year.

I love you for always going back for seconds, thirds, and fourths at potlucks with me.

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I love you for steeling english muffins from our housemates in residence  – sorry guys

I love you for ordering 3 course meals at Tim Hortons, AND going back for seconds with me.

I love you for publishing my “I hate everything” poem, and being the only person to support my creative direction.

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I love you, for witnessing me throw up off a bunk bed, and then fall off said bunk bed, and still being friends with me!!!

I love you for sharing your Cody Simpson blanket with me, so we could eat Beaver Tails at a rave.

I love you for being the best gardian angel during that time our house burnt down and we had to sleep in ILLC for a week, on the slanted pull out couch.

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I love you for laughing with me at 1am during the aforementioned house burning down fiasco when we ran out of toilet paper and had to forfiet our image and call the front desk begging for them to bring us some.

I love you for supporting my every email to simmon.finn, because you are the only person that believes that justice should be served!

I love you for boycotting Okeefe meetings to get McDonalds and watch movies.

I love you for playing “Never Have I Ever” with just me, while we drank one Palm Bay each as an attempt to have a little FUN.

I love you for letting me borrow your moms roller blades for a year so we could start Rollerbalders at Rye TM

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I love you for helping me dye my hair black during my god awful long bob stage, and for helping me dry my wet hair with paper towel because we didn’t want to ruin our towels.

I love you for rescuing me in the gym locker room that one time the cocaine stalker chased me around the track.

I love you for helping me stalk the hot intramural dodgeball referee when I thought I had found “The One”.

I love you for always being up to eat a full medium sized Pizza Pizza with me (drunk AND sober).

I love you for always reading your Ryerson e-mails, and knowing about all the free food ops (lunch and learns).

I love you for making me carol with you and high school students on the corner of Bay and Dundas 🙂

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I love you for protecting me with Vodka Rockstars as we commuted to treacherous parties at Lansdown.

I love you for eating icecream sandwhiches and singing “Closing Time” in your kitchen at 11pm, and sending recordings to everyone we knew.

I love you for supporting my fitness ventures, and doing two laps around Christie Pits Park while I blasted French Montana out loud for all to hear.

I love you for being my favorite and only troup member to attend Phi Kappa Phi parties even though we are definetly not welcome.

I love you for letting me study at your house, while my housemates threw a rager, and you went on a date.

I love you for letting me hide me in your bed while you brought said date into the room so I could scare him  !!!!

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I love you for taking countless trips to the Dufferin Mall (safe Haven) with me to buy powersuits even though you hate capitalism!!

I love you for going to that freaky coffee shop “Creeds” with me and trying to study while pictures of Chihuahua’s rotated on the TV screens.

I love you for spending a night putting up signs to save the feral cats throughout downtown toronto with me.

I love you for loving the Maddy as much as I love the Maddy.

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I love you for letting me sleep on your hard wood floor for a week while I was homeless in Paris.

I love you for spending the best week of our lives together while I was homeless in Paris.

I love you for being on board to FaceTime every boy we knew so we could be annoying ass bitches to them at 2am.

I love you for forcing me to stop going to the vending machine and start going to parties during our first week in Paris.

I love you for running away screaming with me that time we saw the word FUCK written on the wall on our way to a sketchy party.

I love you for ordering the entire dessert menu with me.

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I love you for staying up all night with me and eating bread and Nutella while watching an entire season of The Bachelor.

I love you for loving the stank bus as much as I did, and for riding silently with me for an entire day!

I love you for being there when our favorite person almost took a dip in the Seine.

I love you for engaging in back messages on the floor in the lobby of the Louvre with me.

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I love you for helping me drive the uninsured U-Haul through Toronto, helping me paint my room, and helping me build all my IKEA furniture – I owe ya for that one !

I love you for not leaving my side when satan took over my body and I started wrapping toilet paper around my neck at my housewarming party.

I love you for countless breakfasts at the Mutual Street Deli, and for not judging me for eating pancakes AND a grilled cheese sandwhich!

I don’t know what I ever did to deserve your love, but I’m grateful everyday to have you by my side! Thank you for loving me, (the REAL unlovable bachelor) and Happy 3rd Annual BFF V-DAY!!

Together forever and never apart, maybe in distance but never in heart ❤

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Not narcissists, just vain!!

Everyone check out @lilelecta on Instagram !! She is the photographer behind these pics – that chick fucking rocks and risked getting hit by a bus just to capture a couple shit heads being in love!!!

In sickness & in Health

I just want to start out by warning all of my readers that this blog post is likely to be highly relatable and a very personal journey touching on one of the most pressing issues facing America today. Be forewarned.

For as long as I can remember I’ve suffered with the inexplainable/irrational fear of having an appendicitis at the most inopportune times.

Weekly, and often daily, I find myself identifying times in my life that would be the absolute worst to have an appendicitis. And then proceeding to mentally go through the actions of how I would suffer in silence. (I plan to read this blog word for word to my therapist at my next session DW guys!!!)

For example, the subway is common place for this shit to go down. I’ll be riding in rush hour and all the sudden be struck with thoughts of the big A (appendicitis- not anal). I imagine the sharp abdominal pain were to hit me, and how I’d be too embarrassed to inform anyone or ask for help. How I’d hope to just be let go easy and avoid eye contact with any bystanders to save myself any more humiliation than this life has already brought on.

Other instances occur when I’m at work, writing an exam, out with boys, in a profs office hours, at a job interview, at a networking event etc. The list truely goes on and is rather extensive and all encompassing.

Which is why I find it ever so poetic and beautiful that this past Friday night when I was struck with TRUE, TANGIBLE, sharp and isolated abdominal pain, accompanied with nausea and a fever, I was in a relatively safe space: my home.

Although I misdiagnosed myself with a rupturing appendicitis, and embarrassingly  texted my entire contact list, proclaiming that I was dying, and alarmed my roommates who told me I would probably be fine, and slept with the lights on because I figured it would be happier to die in the light than in the dark….

….. Idk I guess I’m just trying to say life is a lose lose situation.

“God gives his toughest battles, to this strongest soldiers” – Gandhi 

How to be pretty AND a genius!

It’s a commonly known fact that I am a sheer genius. Another commonly known fact is that I am about as empathetic as they come. If you are like me, and can put two and two together then you already know that in this blog post I’m going to be sharing my tips and tricks to getting straight A’s in university!

So if you love and value yourself and your education, than buckle up and read on! (If you really loved and valued your self than you wouldn’t be reading this blog).

I follow the simple, and often over looked learning method of the three R’s! Reduce, Re-use, RHIANNA. Just kidding. Read, Recite, and Review.

  • Read: I ALWAYS buy my textbooks, and follow the syllabus assigned in the first class, to complete each reading. Sometimes readings are long and dry AF, but I am always equipped with a highlighter, and a quiet space, and just get it done. I usually do the readings for the following weeks class, right after the class. For example, if I have a psychology class Tuesday from 9am-11am, right after class I will head to the library and read the following weeks chapter.  To really make sure things have sunk into my slow to absorb brain, I make notes directly after reading. I flip back through the chapter and type out everything that I’ve highlighted (i.e. the key concepts). This process usually takes about an hour.
  • Recite: Going to class is like half the battle. During class I will pull up the notes I made from the textbook (described in section 1), and follow along the lecture adding in key topics mentioned by the professor that I don’t already have. Coming to class with notes already prepared and a general idea of what the fuck is going on, puts you in the best position possible to listen and take away the most from the lecture.  I will also include any examples, and highlight anything the prof mentioned would be on the exam.
  • Review: Like I said in section 1, as soon as I finish class I head to the library to start reading the next chapter. But before I do that, I take about 15-30 minutes to review what I just learnt. Experts have claimed that if you review your material within 24 hours of learning it, you are more likely to remember. My method of review is by making and practicing flash cards. This sounds tedious but with the app Flash Card Hero it is easy and not to mention FUN! I honestly would recommend this app to anyone in school right now.
Photo of me @ HARVARD. i.e. photo evidence that I am a genius (for you non -believers)

And just like that, you will be a genius like me! As a champion for women reaching their destined success, I feel that it is my duty in a time like this to remind all of you that we are not all natural born geniuses (is that even a word?).  If you are someone who just can’t seem to get an A no matter how hard you study, then it’s time to face the music. It’s important to give up now, before its too late. Focus your energy into something that’s guaranteed to pay off. My suggestion would be finding a smart husband, who is nailing his exams in a university program that has a high track record of producing billionaires.

We can’t all be smart but we can all be successful women! 🙂