flight notes

“Enjoy your life.” I said to myself as i shuffled through the air canada snake to the front of the line with my big-ass suitcase and carry-on laptop bag, “Stop worrying about the future, status quo, and who hates me cos THIS is it. You’re doing IT. Right now! You’re blonde, petite again finally, everyone is anxiously rubbernecking you in line, who is that girl? Someone clearly, something? Should I wait until my next ever-elusive big break to enjoy an all-expenses paid trip to San Diego, California on Ford’s dime for a Blogher convention, an unbelievable opportunity (to break out internationally no doubt and at the very least, to network my balls off at round-the-clock parties, galas, talks, and various shindigs) and a fabulous quickie work/pleasure perk vacation. All I wished for when I got back from Miami early July was for more palm trees and then some dude writes with this amazing offer. Do I wanna Tijuana? (it’s so close) I do.

I am staying at the Hard Rock Hotel. So excited. I under-packed too if you can believe it. I found a gorgeous and massive pink sparkly swirled ring at the airport for $10 as well as travel insurance and $ exchange.

But anyway, it is my mission to make more of a concerted effort to enjoy my life. I find once August hits the general populous is a bit cuckoo from summer, summer blues? Summer’s almost over blues? For me its been nothing but the summer of raymi, I’ve done so much. I find it’s too easy to be consumed by anxiety, little life worries torment you. TWO YEAR PLAN has been my mantra for the past however many months and what does that even mean? I just imagine this arbitrary block of time that represents 2 years til 3-0 and I should really stop thinking that way, it’s negative and so what? Thirty? Pfft. This I can safely say from my 1.5 year’s junior footing on the right side of thirty. People have been calling me old since I was 22, to be frank. To rob a girl of years she hasn’t lived yet is desperate. You had those years already, lived them, now let her come to live hers on her own time and means. You in your way, me in mine.

I just read an inspirational missive bequeathed by one Lady Gaga regarding fame, “Stay true to your fucking self, no matter what show no sign of pain, no sign of weakness, no sign of apology for who you are. Be yourself. This is who I am.”

We have weaker moments when sticks and stones do seem to break our bones. I exhaust myself sometimes by how much I can let a nasty rumour about my person sting. I have tread through hell and back again with slander, harassment, you name it. But I am still me. I am still completely at home with my nudity and swat away crude hypocritical commentary about my persona or public displays of counter-culture hooliganism. You won’t? Well, I will. Don’t cry about it. You love Lady Gaga, she is ridiculous, awing and extreme and I don’t hold a candle to her hi-jinx, I’d like to but I’m a bit more realistic in my freak show limitations.

I think because of the internet people found it was ok to access and fuck with you, but, it’s NOT ok. If you surpass these people you had witty innocent banter with years ago, they turn on you. But not all of them. I have so many amazing readers, loyal little raymis, bosom buddies, confidantes, fans turned pals who have been watching all along.

Blah out of the darkness dude lets keep it bright.

Tonight is a Canadian party hosted by one of the cult-like mommy blogger enterprises, I’m sitting in the very last row of the plane (booked my flight v last minute and it totally shows) behind them all with their laptops open so I opened mine just to look busy. One blogher (no beef she’s awesome!) right off the bat made a comment about my nipples. Poor form I felt but I went along with it as I always do, it’s the go-to first impression chat topic which forces me to self-deprecate. Maybe having tits on my business card at an all women’s blogher convention was uh, a little bit oblivious of me but no, fuck that, I am taking heed of Gaga’s advice. This is who I am. “It’s so not a big deal” I thought to myself, “until you make one of it, tits no big deal.”

I am not turning my back on breasts, I don’t care how small mine are. When I first ever boldly decided to show them I was 19 years old. It kind of went with the times, the underground grime of the various scenes I flirted in. The sex industry, pre-hipster mods and misfits. ZERO of these women in the row ahead of me’s jobs existed back when I was bare-chested blogging, let alone more than half, I’d even wager 4/5 of this weekend’s blogher convention yet, why am I playing shy quiet mouse? (well, I am pretty shy) I have seniority here. It’s cos of my tits. No one likes me cos of my tits. No one has ever liked me cos of my tits. But why do they read me then? I refuse this alleged trainwreck label being the reason cos trust me, I have seen plenty trainwrecks and an outright trainwreck doesn’t represent multi-brands annually. It’s my tits. It’s always been my tits.

I staunchly believe that if women could keep their desk jobs they’d show their tits too. Not all women wedge themselves deeply in to the corporate arena so that they are pigeonholed conservative eternal disapproving lip pursers and inversely, not all corporate hardworking drone women loathe me either. How can you pick up your copies of Cosmo rag with blazing hot models in lingerie and fill out your stupid quizzes and utter expletives under your breath when you log on to my scene? Have we not established over a decade ago that I am not a square peg nor ever will be? You can’t look away from “the trainwreck”? Man that’s some locomotive engineer, what great mastery over this train off the rails, going over ten years strong now too. Still hasn’t crashed. 11 years in November.

In short, I didn’t think people would become so addicted like they did or that I’d become complacent with it, and lazy.

These various (“multi-threat talents” as my buddy tyler stewart refers to them by cough cough namedrop cough) skills I possess draw a crowd, in the beginning it was men, but then the women, the smarter of the sexes, caught on and started taking notes and now I’m sitting a billion miles up in the air over Flagstaff pretending to be sheepish over tits on a female centaur (satyr?) image that I appropriated from the internet that I (pretend) cannot wait to run out of so that I can design a new TIT FREE batch of cards.

I am not turning my back on tits, or sex, or, anything I believe in ever. I do reserve the right to augment my choices in life (like saying I’d never go blonde and cavort as a trophy lol) however. I do not think showing my tits or amazingly toned body (that I literally worked my ass off hard to achieve) is that big a deal and the reaction from the planet to a girl, a real life ordinary human girl’s decision to become as famous a blogger as possible and have the right to bare boobs, only tells me that it is my fucking duty to keep at’er. When life gives me a shitty hand, I play better. I also feel we are born to be what we end up being and it reveals itself to you as you go along, some have the realization sooner than others.

I love talking and writing and I’m smart enough to know that a stressed-out greasy ponytail will never sell a book that will take me far too long to write and oh, what’s this now, I like carrying the gritty arty warped erotic amateur self-taught photography torch? If my perception of art makes me a trainwreck then you sir are a fucking idiot.

I just don’t understand the logic here because if other bloggers can preach branding and methods, for ex: mommy blogging or tech, which by the way I someday will rule as one myself, a mommy blogger that is, and I make no arguments about that whatsoever, but why do I get thrown under the slutbus and I don’t even address my branding or sneaky ulterior motives? My branding is ME and if you refute that then you refute ME. It always comes passively too, it comes as an, “I heard you…” instead of the truth which is “I have my own internet connection and I saw for myself raymi, YOU, show YOUR tits.” If we want to sit around crucifying my boring tits and put feminism back a couple decades, fine, but then that gives me the right to bash your bullshit blog bandwagon gimmickry too then which is likely just a watered-down imitation version of my blog anyway.

I am a trailblazer. A pioneer. I was here first and I will probably be here last. Something profound like that.

xox your pal raymi

see ya at the pool!

Just about an hour ago. Ecstatic. Look it’s Erica Ehm! I still sort of sound like I have marbles in my mouth when I talk to her but I think she understands the raymi. She said I am not typical and when I sent her my inaugural fangirling email I said I was going to stare holes into her head like I had staring problems. She did not reply to that email hahaha. I followed that up with how every guy friend I have’s only message to her (upon hearing about this convention) was that they jerked off to her in the 80’s/90’s. Even better thanks friends for helping me look so fucking good all the time jesus. I think she was flattered by it though. You know I have tourette’s and zero filter (thanks mom).

When I check out I’m going to punch this glass window. I can outrun them easily.

You get to choose your favoured music for your room so I said GANGSTER RAP PLEASE. No just kidding, indie will be fine thank you. I am funny.

My delicious spicy shrimp from last night was a fun airport experience once I got through customs. Steph I soaked that shirt right through with sweat I thought I might have a seizure from dehydration. Had an epic one when I was a toddler, did I milk that story here yet? It was scary and thankfully I do not have epilepsy. Epicilepsy. I was kept in hospital for two weeks for tests.

On our way up. Erica’s room is right across from mine. I hope she doesn’t start thinking that I am for real for real obsessed with her. I’ve been spreading the raymi love around to all the mommy bloggers. They’re a pretty fun group and there’s a palpable wild side I can tell just waiting to come out. Erica said they’re all celebrating this convention and them-time. Maybe that’s why I was invited. Hmmm who is the most influential shit show animal house blogher to take with hmm lets see her, scanning blogrolls, newp boring, newp fake, hmm prissy, oh what is this raymi the minx blog…OH MY GOD! PERFECT!

I like to keep appearances as an organized princess.

It would be nice if they were like, now which rock god would you like to be hiding beneath the covers, all we have left this afternoon is Slash. I’LL TAKE HIM!

By the way I have a lot of freckles now.

I’m going to go for a wander now. Wish you were here! Sort of!

What should I wear tonight?

ps. my blue nail polish is BABY by Justin Bieber. cringe!

I brought the cream nu nappa version of my flower LONDON clutch AND I got the LYONS bag I coveted. Tarek totally told me I’d be getting it months ago, I forgot.

pre-roots garbage hair.

it’s gonna be a good fall. kind of a great double entendre eh.

new hot little clutch. brought it. my first clutch-clutch with no chain, though there’s hooks to affix a strap if you want. i’ll try to be a big girl and not do that. i’m a wimp sometimes.

I don’t know what this one is called but I love it so maybe THAT is what it’s called. Hi can I have the I love it that raymi has? kthxbai.

this one’s great cos it totally matches my hair.

ok I’m in San Diego what the crap am I doing on the internet?