I am afraid to tell people this.  In fact, to many of my esteemed friends and colleagues I have yet to.  Until now, that is.

I am not an animal person. In fact, I preface visits to people’s houses with the question: “Any pets?”

The few people I have confided this too stare at me with a mix of exasperation and confusion. Essentially, the look people give me when I tell them that I am not much of an animal gal is that of being a blackheart.  I do not want to harm the little bastards, as cute as they are; I ... Read More »]]>

I am afraid to tell people this.  In fact, to many of my esteemed friends and colleagues I have yet to.  Until now, that is.

I am not an animal person. In fact, I preface visits to people’s houses with the question: “Any pets?”

The few people I have confided this too stare at me with a mix of exasperation and confusion. Essentially, the look people give me when I tell them that I am not much of an animal gal is that of being a blackheart.  I do not want to harm the little bastards, as cute as they are; I just am missing that ‘Aww-look-he-peed’ gene.

Let me clarify. I have a love and appreciation for all universal creatures. Bunnies make me happy, Marineland was a favourite childhood place, and I could watch monkeys play for hours. I just don’t want them touching me.  Further, it would be nice to be able to leave the animals in their natural habitat and not have to come home praying my shoes are still intact.

My “Animal Thing” only started recently.  It progressed when my fear of farm birds took epic proportions. As funny as it may be, disproportionate birds are truly terrifying. Turkeys and ostriches and even roosters literally force me into hiding. I can recall a time in my early twenties when I spent the night at a girlfriend’s place- the sight and sound of her parrot was a near cause for an anxiety attack. Loud, large birds scare me unconditionally. It is my belief that the only bird I can appreciate is Tweety.

Next came my inner gross-out for what I’d like to call ‘Deep Sea Urchins.’ Squid, octopus, fish, swimming things with claws and or tails, and the dreaded lobster are enough to make me lock myself in the bathroom. No scuba diving for me. Maybe it is the vastness of the ocean; how large and copious it is. It boggles my mind and hurts my eyes to look at bizarre creatures of the sea. I have to avert my vision to the selection of fancy breads when I see the fish tank at Sobeys. Ironically, I once applied to be a waitress at a local Red Lobster.

Alas, this does not explain my aversion to house pets.  I needed to figure out more.

I recently discovered my new pet peeve – pun intended—after a recent four day house sitting experience in which I was to look after a dear friend’s four month old bulldog.  His name is Patrick and he is beautiful. He is cute, healthy and from what everyone told me while walking him, he is extremely happy.  I get this, understand this and actually appreciate this. While this is all true, it pains me to admit that he is also restless, whiny and needs constant attention.  Earmuffs, Patrick.

The moral debate to which whether or not I am a monster plagues me daily.

“He didn’t do anything!” Retorted said puppy’s mother when I grimaced and flinched at the dog licking my toes.  Sure, not technically, unless you count the immediate hives and stick that the dog slobber had created.

“You probably had a bad experience when you were a child.” Suggested another friend, who had to keep her dog on the balcony during a recent visit. Perhaps we could equate it to a Freudian theory.

“Well, we only had Whitney for a few months before you grew tired of her.” A fuzzy feeling statement expressed by my mother in regards to my childhood dog.

Then it clicked.

I am an only child with a viciously independent streak. I enjoy doing what I want, when I want to. I am only responsible for myself and happy to have no dependants. The only people I take care of are the ones who can enjoy a glass of wine, books, laughter and chit chat. I do not relate to anything otherwise.  Pair that with the fact that growing up, I was the “Allergy Kid.” A simple slumber party in grade school resulted in being hospitalized due to pet dander dancing through my body. Aside from lip-gloss and my cell phone, a constant supply of antihistamines still remains in my purse. Oh, and an inhaler. Long haired dogs, short haired cats, it doesn’t matter how one mixes the equation. Me, plus house pet equals being uncomfortable. That appears to be the bottom line. I have been conditioned to associate house pets as a cause of anxiety.  Dogs and cats can kill me, birds and fish are frightening. I have single handily begun to actually resent these creatures who mean no harm. However, as pseudo mean as this may come across, I matter before they do. So there it is. I don’t do pets.

Exhale. Wait for the backlash.

I should learn to get over this. I actually like my friend’s animals—I just don’t want to deal with them.  In fact, my cell phone background picture is of the previously mentioned bulldog puppy.  I like them in theory, but put in close quarters I twitch and watch them and constantly monitor my breathing.  Call me what you want, but please don’t call me a monster. I have years of ill association to deal with. I have recently been contemplating donating to PETA and other animal relief foundations to ease my guilt.

Baby steps, right?

Stephanie Churma is a freelance writer and editor living in Toronto. Whilst writing this piece she twice jumped in shock when three different dogs and a pigeon clambered over to her. She can be contacted at stephaniechurma@hotmail.com

Photo Credit © Willeecole | Dreamstime.com

When I am not working on any articles or edits, I pay bills as a cocktail server in a restaurant downtown. A typical late night shift includes frighteningly acute wit and idle time for jokes, pranks and conversation with co-workers. On a recent shift two of my favourite bartenders mentioned that they had read some of my columns, and while they were genuinely impressed, I got a reaction that caught me off guard.

“Ahh, Stephanie Churma giving relationship advice?!”  Said the girl.

“You know, it is so true how we never take our own advice.” Said the guy.

Cue communal laughter.

The wind was ... Read More »]]>

When I am not working on any articles or edits, I pay bills as a cocktail server in a restaurant downtown. A typical late night shift includes frighteningly acute wit and idle time for jokes, pranks and conversation with co-workers. On a recent shift two of my favourite bartenders mentioned that they had read some of my columns, and while they were genuinely impressed, I got a reaction that caught me off guard.

“Ahh, Stephanie Churma giving relationship advice?!”  Said the girl.

“You know, it is so true how we never take our own advice.” Said the guy.

Cue communal laughter.

The wind was nearly knocked out of me. Of course I write relationship advice. I was a romantic dreamer in grade school, with scrapbooks to prove it. I turned into a bratty flirt by 14, which then manifested into a wiser, yet still slightly masochistic adult.  Not to mention that I was, and still am involved in all of my girlfriends relationships. I watched them fall in love, I watched them get hurt, and through their hits and misses, I have learned an incredible amount. I have seen firsthand the damage that comes from infidelity-and can now spot behaviours that are associated with such. I could host world-wide seminars on breakups and now to understand this new twist in your life.  I have seen depressed men, angry men, fraudulent men, hilarious men, addicted men, caring men, famous men, you name it. Between my own highlights and war wounds, paired with my vivacious crew’s, it is safe to say I have a fair bit of knowledge on the subject.

However, the bartenders’ statements still stood in my mind. Rarely do we follow our own advice. How is it, that, we can know for certain what someone else should do, but, if it were ourselves under the microscope would we act the same?

Probably not.

Often times it can be difficult to take the road less travelled. In fact, most chose not to. It is easier to take the lazy way out, even if that means repeating the same lesson until we ‘get it’. We don’t take our own advice because it means having to be vigorously honest. It means doing things we do not want to do. It is easier to spur ideals into strangers then to face what we ourselves need to do. In theory, we know what needs to be done, yet in practise we backtrack.

I can write about men and sex and (ideally) get women to understand both a little bit better.  Yet, truth be told, in the past I have not been exceptionally wise when it comes to actually listening to myself. I have gotten back together when I knew it was over, I lent money when I knew I wouldn’t get it back. I spent a year with a man who didn’t even like me, and let me know it. The list is endless. The columnist in me would shake me cold, yet at the time I had to experience it. In fact, those exact mistakes are the proof I need to justify my concepts.

It is my belief that we have everything we need to thrive inside us. Some of the best gifts we can get include our intuition, confidence and integrity. You earn these character points by going through utter garbage, learning, and getting better. Ergo, you need to be a screw-up once in awhile to gain peace and wisdom. Especially if you choose to navigate through the deliciously excruciating world of sex and romantic companionship.

Upon reflection it turns out I wasn’t offended when Girl Bartender literally laughed at the idea of what I write about- not only do she and I compare notes- but she couldn’t wait to share her latest issues with me. How ironic.

Photo Credit © Gemenacom | Dreamstime.com

Stephanie Churma is a freelance writer with a focus on sex and relationships, lifestyle and personal development. Have a sex or dating story? stephaniechurma@hotmail.com

Follow me on twitter! www.twitter.com/stephaniechurma

Photo Credit © Gemenacom | Dreamstime.com

There comes a time once a year, that makes many cringe. Some will come down with pseudo serious nausea, irrational thinking, unintentional bon bon eating, and lest we forget the waterworks. This time of year can be detrimental to our psyche, and without proper care we could end up spending an entire 24 hours utterly miserable.

Ten points and one golden star to the lucky reader to guess what day I am referring to.

Raise your hand if Valentine’s Day is not your idea of a good time. I would like to say that for those readers who are in happy, loving ... Read More »]]>

There comes a time once a year, that makes many cringe. Some will come down with pseudo serious nausea, irrational thinking, unintentional bon bon eating, and lest we forget the waterworks. This time of year can be detrimental to our psyche, and without proper care we could end up spending an entire 24 hours utterly miserable.

Ten points and one golden star to the lucky reader to guess what day I am referring to.

Raise your hand if Valentine’s Day is not your idea of a good time. I would like to say that for those readers who are in happy, loving relationships to take this article in jest. However, there are “resident singletons” (thank you Bridget Jones) that truly dread this day.

Why is that?

I can say with near certainty that we as a society believe this day to be purely Hallmark. I am sure that many will denounce that with a mythical Cupid story- but let’s call a spade a spade. This cinnamon heart, red balloon day is meant to sell greeting cards.

What makes this day such a disaster is the concept that if you are not on the receiving end of said greeting cards, you essentially have a whole day to wallow about how lonely you are. If you do not have dinner plans at seven, or a hotel room booked, there is something wrong with you. Naturally, we would love to call our girlfriends and guffaw about how lavish our entire day will be. Cue dream sequence:

“Timothy is taking me to a luxe martini bar for oysters and chocolate covered strawberries.”

“Oh, well Michael is surprising me with a penthouse suite for the night where he will spend hours reading poems he wrote about me.”

“Well, I saw a little velvet box in John’s coat the other day, along with two tickets to Bali; no big deal.”

Naturally.

I surveyed my best friends, and the married one said she and her hubby don’t devout a specific day to honour their love.  They make a point to be loving and kind every day. With a two year old and twins on the way (at 27!) this is not a shocker. The engaged one said that she and her fiancé are strapped after putting down-payments for their wedding; V-day will likely be wine and a home cooked meal.  The one in the relationship isn’t really thinking about it, and the single ladies are going out with each other.

I think the problem is that there are so many people with so many expectations, that the pressure is all consuming. However, at the end of the day many take it easy on February 14^th.

Remember that nobody can make you feel inferior without your consent. You are not a holiday. Single? Go out with your friends. Stay in and listen to music. Take yourself on a date. My girlfriend is going by herself to a concert. Talk about self worth!   Lastly, you will hear at the office, on the subway and in papers grandioso stories about the “Timothys and Michaels and Johns” of the world and their lavish overindulgent splurges for their women.  Try not to look as if you just sucked a lemon whilst listening to the stories. Your turn is coming up, I promise.

Take Valentines’ Day for what it’s worth- marathon chick flicks, a girl’s night out and way too much chocolate.

Photo Credit © Tracy Whiteside | Dreamstime.com

Stephanie Churma is a freelance writer living in Toronto with a focus on Sex and Relationships, Lifestyle, Fashion, and Personal Development. Her Valentine’s Day will consist of snagging the comfy chair at Starbucks and canoodling with a latte. She can be contacted at stephaniechurma@hotmail.com

The inspiration for CHOO 24:7 came from Tamara herself. She wanted staple pieces that would work with her own wardrobe that would stand the test of time, remain fashionable, wearable and reliable. In doing so, however, she ... Read More »]]> Attention all resident fashionistas! I was just made aware of the newest concept for  Jimmy Choo’s Spring Summer 2010 collection, aptly titled CHOO 24:7. Founder and President Tamara Mellon wanted this season’s footwear to still embody the chic and iconic look that this brand has cultivated; yet with a few new sleek designs.  She has created ten investment pieces that will fit in anyone’s closet.

The inspiration for CHOO 24:7 came from Tamara herself. She wanted staple pieces that would work with her own wardrobe that would stand the test of time, remain fashionable, wearable and reliable. In doing so, however, she wanted to keep the classic look of a Jimmy Choo shoe, with a 2010 feel.

What makes this collection fly is the day to night options for any gal on the go. This collection was designed to take a woman from day to night, looking stylish and modern.  CHOO 24:7 created cute flats to run errands in, as well as sexy, bold heels for cocktails Saturday night.

The collection has styles for every woman. Sophisticates will gravitate towards such designs as “Lockett”- a patent black leather classic pump. Further, “Private” is another patent leather pump, this time in a soft nude with a peep toe sole. Attention brazen bombshells! “Lewis” is a leopard print pump that will add life to any outfit. Sirens will adore the sky-high platform pump “Clue” which swayed Heidi Klum down the Golden Globe runway. (Kate Hudson is a fan too!)

Scared of heights? Don’t fret darlings, as there are many heel sizes to choose from. Glitter flats such as “Finlay” will keep you looking stunning. Live for the extra inches? “Lance” is a bronze strappy sandal that will keep all eyes on you.

While these pieces may not be for the budge conscious, it is important as females to take care of ourselves. A stunning heel that will last, and be continuously stylish is never cheap. However, it is absolutely worth the price- these will neither fall apart nor fall out of style. Happy shopping!

The entire collection is available to view or purchase at www.jimmychoo.com

Photo’s c/o www.jimmychoo.com

Stephanie Churma is freelance writer living in Toronto with a focus on Fashion, Sex and Relationships, Lifestyle and Personal Development. She can be contacted at stephaniechurma@hotmail.com