oh hey there hi there ho there.

excuuuuuuse me i think i ordered extra toppings.

i love the jesus is in you sign across from wrongbar. so intentional. save the young heathens. you can’t see shit in this pic though. when you go out for a dart just look up and over, you’ll see it.

interesting bonds be made out on the smoke stoop.

i know retarded shit was said i just don’t know what it was, not even at the time. but it was funny. strange so doesn’t even phase me anymore. tune it right out.

feeling this mr. rogers look.

don’t think i won’t do it. oh and as an aside everyone at wrongbar thank you for making me look super good in front of my date last nite. nav, linds, ewan, steve, every single one said look it’s raymi the miiiinx one after the other so good ha. never such a reception, the timing was on too i felt like a d-bag but whatever. then i pretended to be humble about it. then the zipper on my hello kitty clutch exploded off. then Dustman dutty d lost my hat. losing something means successful evening i gather. you think shit’s gonna go tame and then it never ever does.

talking about weird try playing an mj video game where he dies over and over like double dragon and comes back to life but when he dies he’s flat on his face with his hat falled off. what’s next an anna nicole smith pinball game? ha i wish.

ohhhh shit.

i can share the stage though, here’s your moment moonwalker.

yeah i’m so hard.

whomever spun last nite, it was goood. i have to admit this, i kinda like dirty grime dub. still. nostalgic for shit you barely liked the first time around but it’s better now, they’ve taken out the too many donks aspect to it. google ‘put a donk on it’ if you’re going huh??? right now. though, i will dance to anything (almost) and i like showin’ off my slick moves when the music is juust right. people are giving me grief over how too skinny i apparently am now. look, i’m not starving, i eat and i eat well. i’m just in shape on top of close to nil body fat from all the dancing i do and being single (singlish) keeps you on your game. i am not actively trying to lose or doing anything purposely to be looking the way i look right now in the body so, sorry. i’m ripped, for once. i was purposely jutting out my shoulder like that to increase the clavicle quotient cos i am fun like that.

dust kept rap attacking this guy who got all white about it but appreciated the ten thousand freestyle hostages, he’d put his hand to his mouth all mr. wilson and be like, that is good or whatever. pretty funny but hellooo look at that guy’s makeup in the sideground there, what’s up apocalypto.

ok byeeeeeeeeeee.

i am drinking a modest half pint here.

here’s the video at mitzi’s sister from yesterday adil of mycitylives.com shot of me gabbin’ away about how much i like the place. if you go to the site and type in a place across the city it just may come up video form with a review of the place delivered by some other toronto notable. after this we went to magic pony and then the central. videos of those to come later. hit this link to see a map of the city with the pop up video to mitzi’s. it’s cute super cool and unique, the site concept i mean.

then i changed because i wasn’t feeling my jacket and it was a little hot.

kristin is aaaadorable and so modest and shy and funny. we haz a history yo.

took a little to-go’er from m pony. bilby the tear drip. drop?

blah blah blah great hash.

red flag’s bro.

abi came by. then gill. impromptu hang out of nowhere, pretty fun and caj.

mean gene chez ace of spades, diamond smuggler on the side.

i too am getting another tattoo, soon. not sure what of yet though. apparently if i get RAYMI that would be “gay”. i’m also thinking of a flower off nirvana’s unplugged live in new york sleeve and then of course some sort of border for blythe. ok thanks byeeeee.

update: Torontoist‘s take on our soshe media circle jerk which i have more to say about (good things)(of value!) at some point when i have two seconds to myself oh my gawsh jeez!

hoff moment.

kamila’s first time at sneaky dee’s! also their jamesons is 3.75 a shot! !!HUHU!>??

rajiv is aaron’s roommate and he’s in some band i dunno a big deal or something (WAS in oh no forest fires but they’re dead now), or his brother is, or they both are don’t even get me started on how much i confuse the two it drives me nuts and fucks with my buzz. aaron works at the central with me. that’s mia, she runs in their crew. she is awesome and when we hang it’s a you’re awesome no YOU’RE awesome competition. which is great cos i was a super shy wiener when i met everyone i thought they all hated me. i know hey! me? hated? pfft.

two can play at this, ponyboy. also i have no idea who is on my shirt. it’s the one that yells. claudia schiffer? seal’s wife yeah i know but is that her name? meh. i swear a seal could take over my blog and no one would fucking notice. oh man i didn’t even mean to say seal two times in a row and now three hahah.

blahaha we’re so funny omg i know right blahaha ugh barf.

kam brought the funk and she brought it good.

jesus alright already we get it. if you were at sneaky dee’s last nite or know anything about music please tell me what band that guy is in (or don’t i really don’t care). it was the balconies playing and then 400 other people from bands doing 60s/70s covers and do you think i knew who any of them were? make your exit was one band, um, i forget the rest. put it in the comments if you were paying attention.

think we have a dance move theme on the horizon. man we cut loose. i’ll tell you my toronto dance theory vs. us in a second.

no comment.

Kam Sam nachos time!

Raymi Lauren White
where!?

Kam Sam
sneaky dees, wanna come?

Raymi Lauren White
come to my hood for once!!

(then we texted and i OBVIOUSLY buckled)

Raymi Lauren White
just think if i didnt read this i wouldnt be hung as fuck right now hahahaha

THANKS INTERNET

so we give’r at the central when we close down and dance the floor into pieces i feel largely because we’re serving all nite long seeing everyone else cut loose and party then once last call rolls around we’re all THAT’S FUCKING IT turn the music to what we wanna hear and just straight rip it. customers are like whaaaaaat? we’re all this is our bar move out of my way if you don’t want a dance move in the eye. so then you go out to conservatively acting music loving venues where people don’t dance like orangutans and you’re all, oh right, i’m in the real world right now maybe tone it down to a 6. i asked kamila if i was too wasted dancing and she said no then i realised that was like asking fire if you were hot because she was ten sheets to the wind i was trying to function my drunk to kind of oversee her business cos out of nowhere she was plastered, i wasn’t. i drink like a fat british man, forever and ever and i can handle it (not in the mornings though but…) plus jamesons was 3.75 so turning down that deal would just be pure stupidity. i’m also a nervous drinker and i’m nervous all the time. nervous all the time plus 3.75 plus fat british man i think you get what i’m saying here.

the other brother romesh who didn’t have a beard the last time i met him so i of course was all hey insert the hybrid combination name i have for rajiv/romesh that escapes me now and only comes out when my drinking alter-ego “little pharma” appears (melodie made that one up) this paragraph makes no sense. i am dyslexic. romesh is in hey rosetta. THE END. no wait we were talking about scotch vs whiskey and i said my grandpa drank cheap scotch all the time despite being rich as shit, why the cheap stuff? i offered (i ask questions then i answer them) that perhaps it was because dude was all, i am going to be drinking a loooot of this shit so i may as well get used to the cheap stuff. he wasn’t a cheap man at all either. romesh said, no wait this was a rajiv story. who cares. point is they had a four hundred dollar bottle of scotch around christmas time and their dad isn’t really a drinker, they get home, dad has drunk the bottle entirely, they were like daaaad that bottle was worth four hundred dollars! dad’s all, baaaah, it wasn’t even good.

in summation, it doesn’t matter how expensive the scotch is, it will ALWAYS taste like awful gasoline paint thinner henceforth, whiskey prevails. scotch is just a better word, more eloquent and prestigious sounding.

ps. there is ANOTHER brother with an R name these guys have. FUCKKKKK. romin? ronin? ROHAN! i love that place!

hahahaha

yeah i dunno what’s going on here.

i get really jealous at concerts. i feel like storming the stage then i remember that i suck at everything.

i get angry when the singer fucks up my favourite song though. it only happened a few times. all in all, killer performance by one and all and a totally good theme. everyone loves covers and getting shitty to them.

wild pictures always come out of dee’s backlighting.

ok i am getting sick of looking at this guy. he drank chocolate milk off a post office box last nite on our way up bathurst. he habitually eats garbage for a laugh to gross everyone out. it fucking worked!

ooh the scarves.

i showed up in a thermal waffle shirt (that is adorable) but then i started movin’ and was all this has got to go. glad i always stuff a costume change in my bag and fyi. yeah, don’t wear thermal shirts to concerts.

do you think that little red splotch is skin cancer?

i just remembered mia knocking my drink out of my hand all over our feet it was pretty funny. i’m glad she did i didn’t need it anyway.

i’m skinnier than the model on my shirt. ha no i’m not. though i might be.

knock knock

who’s there?

SKINNY!

great finale everyone up together who am i brooklnvegan man music write ups are so cheesy. oh yeah i haven’t even blogged my vivian girls nite yet. feh.

the singer chick was on.

then we got held hostage mentally while getting shawarmas. we were blitzed, they were certainly on something and it was sooooo sloooooow. asking to pay like totally insulted one of the dudes. like hurry up please can we get the fuck out of here yet? how come during the day it’s rapid fire assembly line but right now it’s 20 minutes and we’re the first in line? because everyone was stuh-oned.

i hate drinking. why can’t they just let you smoke weed indoors?

danny is the shit.

when i meet docile cats and make a big deal about them people are always like, what do you mean? get over it. i’m all no no, you don’t know where i’ve been (cid).

if it’s hump day and you’re not gettin’ humped, do something about it.

xoxo

rape me from raymi lauren on Vimeo.

i rode my bike for the first time and it was terrible and horrible and amazing. it was raining. i have to break half a block before needing to stop otherwise i plow into people or have to perform bike “tricks” off curbs which is pretty awesome if you’re standing around waiting for whatever to happen to you and then i come along and happen right in front of you. i like to check out my reflection a lot while zipping around but i realized today i probably shouldn’t be doing that while drag racing taxis and arrogant dudes in beamers. especially in the rain.

it’s not that i’m conceited it’s just, i put effort into my “look” and i spend a lot of time alone and i’m sort of insecure and agoraphobic, so then i finally get out of the house which takes piles of effort and makeup and hair being did and a cute outfit, maybe i should get to check that shit out a little too, no?

the first dealer i dated, one of his friends commented that this girl (me) looks in the mirror A LOT. i didn’t know i did that until it was pointed out. then i was like, fuck, he’s right. that dealer spent a good portion of time making me feel like shit about myself to keep me in line (try it dicks, it works) and so every time i’d get up off the couch at whatever party we were at i’d pass the hallway mirror and be like, blown away by how cute i was. not saying i was totally babely (even though i was pretty on my game at the time) or anything i was just so dominated mentally i forgot that i looked pretty at all so it would be a major headfuck being confronted by my appearance every time i took a piss. i’d come back into the living room a whole new person. confident. then i’d start engaging with others in the room, abandon my wallflowerishness for an hour or two.

so, these are my thoughts when you catch me bewildered by my own reflection. i am bipolar. i feel ugly and beautiful at the same time, all of the time. i am vain and i am humble. barf barf barf when i sat down this was not the vision i had for this whimsical little post.

had an inspiring lunch with an old hombre at il gato nero. talked some business. exchanged ideas. things keep snowballing. momentum building.

i have an earache from the windy cold bike ride home. almost rode into a woman outside the lcbo on brock. treated myself to a bottle of jamesons (for the house) and some red wine, chit-chatted with the clerk who used to work out of the liquor store i used to go to in the annex, i figured he got fired for sexual harassment or something cos he flirts a mean streak. nope, just transferred.

i have no plans for the evening.

i need to go to the dentist my teeth are hurting. i drink way too much coffee.

thanks for subscribing to the raymi times. xo for now.

eye makeup slightly fucked. i think i have hay-fever. what’s that shit called when your eyes water up when spring hits? allergies, hay-fever? blah. i’m pretty sure there isn’t any hay in toronto.

our waitress was a bitch. he said it first, i’m just backing it.

fresh in from mexico. ugh.

ate like pigs.

il gato nero is a funny spot for me personally. one, it is on the street where my toronto residing life first began and two, because of this and how lazy i am, it is the scene where i first ever met with a venture capitalist who wanted to make bank off me (didn’t happen).

i’ve met with several venture capitalist types over the years and it’s all fine and dandy until contract time comes along. essentially, they want to own you and the rights to everything you invented. so deals fall through but at least you got a panini out of it haha.

this time around shit’s different though. have you heard of a life rights option agreement? i sort of had before but today it makes way more sense. ok that’s enough teasing for now.

Good evening Lauren!

P.S: pour te faire une idée, je fais partie de ta liste de contacts facebook et nous avons nos initiales en commun.

please learn english you say such beautiful things! on fridays at work there is french club and i get guys to translate your comments to me and then they fall in love with me over what you say about me. haha.

babelfish says this:

Since time that I read your blog, I must admit that many posts touched me at a point which I could not describe. That one in fact left! As much to reveal itself can make fear, as much it can be a play, with all reflected them that generates. For my part, I made of them the expenses and me left there grown like never and rich person an experiment without similar. And in the company which surrounds you, one needs solid kidneys! Thus I decree you a césar, because you it merits! No valid blogs, guys: no testicles! Shy persons! Trops proud! Or as that does not have to cry, that does not speak! Too bad! A small currency: Who dares, win! And above all: keep presses! I will not go until acknowledging my feelings in your connection, one will take to me for a nutcase. It is thanks to them that I write to you besides! Thus I remain in the shade! And not, I am not nutcase! P.S: to make you an idea, I belong to your contact list facebook and we have our initial in common.

i love this commitment. right down to the shoes and up to the hair, the glasses, the pants, the, trunk? thank you for taking me back in time with you, traveler. waiting for a bus too, even. i could never wait for a bus in any one of my outfits i’m too sober for this life for. i have to get in a cab as fast as is possible and right to a darkened bar. though it might have to do with the gaggle of lushes waiting up my street the second i hit it but still, this guy, middle of the day, he got up that morning and said fuck it i’m goin’ bob dylan, i am bob dylan, and no one can fucking stop me.

hat tip.

britt keeps doling these out at the speed of like one a month i don’t even look like this anymore hahah.

ok here’s a question i’m getting around to answering now.

if the blogger wrote a blog and no one was there to read it, did they actually write anything?

would they continue writing? -billie

ahh what a great question. i love pretentious open-ended ethereal self-ego stroking artistic bombastic questions one can really lunatic out to. woah look at that sentence. anyway, i cherish the days when it was very tree falling in the woods and no one heard me, even though i began day one of blogging already with an audience. raymi the minx was born of the viceland.com wassup forum. i am super sick of typing that but that’s how it all began. i kind of really want to see some of those threads again. i was 17.

anyway, my first roommate when i moved to toronto at 19 pending my five month stint in brooklyn (when i was 18 and sort of interned at vice til they fastly learned how useless i was going to be in the office, and stubborn, and self-entitled so they invented a bartending job for me in their soho store) my toronto roommate was/is a mega tech genius scottish dude. we had our own server and this mentally insane looking computer laboratory in the cellar, and because of that guy i learned about this thing called BLOG STATISTICS or HITS. it was so ghetto, just a white blank page that every few minutes we’d refresh and his mind was blooooooown when he saw how much traffic was being directed to our crawford street ghetto apartment, to my blog. in less than the ten minutes it took for him to connect whatever the fuck to my blog and ping pong something or other, one hundred people had been on my blog and the number kept rising, we blocked our own ip to be sure we weren’t hallucinating these numbers. this is all in that period post the dot com millionaire boom window closing. i was 19 and internet famous in this sort of significant way. it was bizarre. if people wanted to let you know you were a piece of shit they had to write you an email. commenting didn’t really exist. guestbooks did. hahahaha gay.

there was still a lot of distance though, between me, us, and them. more isolating, despite knowing the reader was there, i could live more like they actually weren’t.

but now if every single reader went away would i still blog? yes. i would journal like it was 1998. or 1990 when i bought myself my first journal. i have so much of my life documented and i wonder if any of it is even worthwhile or meaningful, what is the point. why do i write everyday what the fuck do i think i am doing here and who the hell do i think i am?

me at 15. missing my first boyfriend being emo during a family vacation. teenagers are the worst hey, what stupid bunches of drags.

cut off my beautiful hair five days into knightsbridge uk (17). was sent for school for an exchange program in the summer, half in london half in oxford. surrounded by rich rosedale kids. i had five one night stands and kept to myself a lot, separated myself from the pack, venturing out to pubs and bars and cafes drinking my way the whole way through journaling alone at nite, sitting with strangers, typically men. so cliche. one of the teachers in this program lived above me in the crawford ghetto (which was not actually a ghetto, but a house on crawford street in little italy). small world. i was homesick for people i barely knew. raymi wasn’t invented yet but i was poking around viceland, blogger wasn’t invented yet. when i got back to canada i interned at a women’s magazine d/t toronto, while working simultaneously at home hardware, commuting my ass to the bone and working weekends and the one monday we didn’t go to our job placements, this was my last year of highschool. i was pale as a ghost and lonely and had a stupid fucking haircut working in cabbagetown and i had to sign a confidentiality agreement so i can’t write a devil wears prada type memoir about my experience. clearly i wanted to be a writer. or work for a magazine. i’d take vice or toronto star but once i saw the other side of the print world i was kinda like, uhhh fuck that, too much work, too much competition, too much writing about things that AREN’T ME. i wanted to be the star. i still want my own raymi magazine some day.

being somewhat under-challenged and sneaky i spent the majority of my time on viceland writing and talking about myself, my commute into the the city, junkies on parliament, posting photos too from scans i took with film throwaways. i stayed up past midnight habitually hanging with my friend ward who is one part rainman and ten parts loyd christmas (dumb and dumber). insanely intelligent when it comes to computers and OCD about car components. i wrote about him a lot. how he took all the chrome off his parent’s car as a kid. called his own house for his friend shafquat (the other extension). would go to drive thru, order and pay for food then drive away (multiple times) before the food arrived. stupid funny shit like that. he taught me how to drive stick, i didn’t have my g1 (still don’t) i’d drive around meadowvale village back and forth all over most nights with him then go back to his place and geek out online. (nights i wasn’t doing stuff like, dudes, of course).

basically i had an itch to scratch, being nocturnal, constantly on the go. i was ready to take on the fucking world, i had a mentor, a savvy guy in the music industry who thought my writing in the vice forums was good and constant and unique, i drew an audience, loved me, hated me, i had them. he said, take them with you, make a blog. me, what’s a blog? him, go check it out come back to me. i kind of drag my heels a few days on it because i am so addicted to the forums and the instant gratification coming out of there.

a photo from one of ward and i’s drive-thru journies. it went viral, as much as something could go viral in 1999. fuck i just totally remembered the three months i lived in maine in-between brooklyn and toronto. i’m nostalgic for those three months because i truly was isolated in maine yet still had my blog and readership, also a radio show called there’s something about raymi. i had happy moments of isolation alone in the den my boyfriend’s father died in, he too alone, blogging away, alone but not alone. this is kind of all over the place but i feel it’s necessary as in every interview for some reason, they need to know the timeline of my blog, pre-dating it and when it first started blowing up like there is some sort of secret in the makeup of this thing? it’s like when you start out with a new therapist they want to know EVERYTHING going back to birth (everything gets blamed on the mother anyway, don’t bother wasting your time) they also want to know every drug too. like, get over it already why does it matter if i did shrooms once? does it mean i hate my mother?

in the car from the airport from maine i said to my dad i am going to work for three month’s straight, save money then move to toronto and become an internet superstar. he was like, whatever lauren. we drove to the pub below his apartment at the time and i sat there, internally glowing about my new plan. these are rare moments. i always feel them when i come back from somewhere. fresh perspective.

fuck, i blog because i know there are moments of brilliance and moments of insanity and sometimes oh my god shut the fuck up already moments, but still, there are moments period. for me. i write my best when my heart is breaking, when i am hopeful and for some reason i am hopeful. as much of the blatantly cynical idiotic showboat that i am, i think that there is in fact something to all this and documenting everyday is a privilege that ought to be did, whether anyone ever reads it or not. it’s the only way i can like myself anymore. writing. knowing one day it will all form together and make sense to me. that’s basically the first thing i should have said here.

one more thing. i know i’m late on this, but wow, the stupidest thing i have read in a very long time. for so many reasons i don’t have the energy to address it all. two choice quotes, “Men clearly have an urge to blog that women lack.” and “We also tend to lack the public confidence that comes so easily to many men.”

woman, i am ashamed for you. i hope you were on your period when you wrote that.

one major point i forgot to make the other day was, if you want to be famous on the internet right now BE a dude because the blog world is so over-saturated with pussy. take this blog, be a guy, and do as i do. you’d blow the fuck up. there aren’t enough guy ME’s out there. what internet circles is this ignorant woman running in? christ. so stupid. also, WHERE are these alleged male blogs? i can barely count on one hand how many male blogs i read. ps. GUESS WHAT MY GENDER IS!

good day ladies and gentlemen.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NabmUHSHC1s&feature=player_embedded

oh boy, what a week. all i fantasize about is getting back to my bed and my weed and my laptop and my tickle trunk room and then i sit here playing catchup, going through emails, complaining about being behind. it’s ok, i’ve a week to take my time. i have a new secret project on the horizon i’m pretty thrilled about. i’m sure many of you will not be thrilled about it though hehheheh.

negroni’s paninis are the best. now i can stop making uncouth inside jokes to myself about the name of the restaurant and being all offended about it. yesterday was the final day of burning the candle at both ends (more like pouring gasoline all over dynamite beside a candle lit at both ends)(was that even funny?) spent my gong show hangover watching the latest episode of lost (seriously most confusing shit ever, pretty hilarious) then precious, which actually blended well with the hangover. i remember i was hung out of my mind once and nauseous and black snake moan helped me through it.

the carpaccio is on par with bar mercurio’s, which is my favourite carpaccio in all of the city.

oh hi. didn’t take ONE picture at suck academy. i checked my bag. on my way out (late) i couldn’t find my hello kitty clutch. just found it now tucked away in the stupidest place ever. trying to find hello kitty in my room is beyond needle in a haystack. aside from all the ganj paraphernalia a teenage girl could move in like that and not skip a junior high beat. actually, a teenage girl would probably laugh her ass off at my room.

tried to get a flat rate from the ten billionth cab we took across the city. i pretended we were both from vancouver. it backfired cos bro was trying to take advantage of our touristy bullshit. i just tuned him out and let jenny deal with it. i can’t even remember the crap i was feeding him. when i woke up the next morning i was like, where the fuck am i? that’s a tale for a day never.

look how disgusting blood oranges are. i did not even try this motherfucker out.

C. i love exploiting her and she helps by playing into it, we’re a good team. WE ARE GONNA FUCKIN’ DESTROY THIS CIIIIIITY.

i want to go stay at thor again so bad now and this time i’ll be skinny for it. sorry for having a complex (not sorry) about it jeez. when people say it to your face every two seconds you kinda can’t help being aware of it. ok so you’re not allowed to say you’re pretty, or skinny. right. cool woman there, very positive of you. YOU can say stuff about me but i can’t say stuff about me. what planet are you on, planet go fuck yourself?

took us awhile to get out of the hotel there were so many reflective surfaces in our way.

she made me take my white socks off. toe cleavage is something i should be more in tune with, apparently. here’s one thing though, when you do the socks and heels look that look is not for other chicks, it’s for dudes and their boners. i was going for french prostitute until toe cleavage nazi influenced me.

there’s really just one way to be though so don’t fuck around.

i figured out how i got 30 bruises all over my body.

pre-eating was a good (my) idea.

apparently i won the hair contest i didn’t know we were having. ooh what did i win?

gorgeous face i’ll take that prize.

saw the harlettes last nite at revival. such a mood lifter. i’m going to audition too. many more updates comin’ your way soon.

xoxo

just whizzed by where my bike is locked up and it hasn’t been stolen. great news. if it wasn’t raining i’d have gotten out of the cab and rode its ass home.

alicia interrupted some of my extremely important dance moves to take this photo of me for her sunglasses photo montage collection. they look like blind people shades. awesome party the other nite. a little dramatic and awkward and um, yeah, but in the end everything worked out more or less, for this guy.

britt don’t worry your bday pics are comin’. also my day with spliffanie and the rest of my mtv pics.