The Trashbag Collective

What's this? After less than 3 days back in Toronto, I somehow made my way onto a scenester events photo site. How is this even possible? Can I revert back to this life that easily?

All interesting questions, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

After getting back to Toronto, I moved into a period of limbo at fan-favourite 518, home of the The Party Formely Known as the September 11th Party, the (not for) Chinese New Year's Party, the Manic Titanic Party, and the most noteably, the place where I met Alex Dodd. (We walked these very halls for the first nearly exactly a year ago!)

I'll be moving into my own new place on Friday, just down the street, but it's obvious that my week at 518 was just meant to be. Julia (Jules) gave me the use of her empty room, and after Dayn took to the door with a can of spray paint, it became mine for the week.

Dayn and I have been walking around without our shirts on in the 30 degree plus humidity. It's fun.

On Saturday, after a summer of sobriety, SmAshley, R2Rose and Klo-wee came together in what I fondly refer to as the Trashbag Collective. Our mission for the night? Fake prom 2007: An Enchanted Evening.

It was time for pre-drinks at my temporary home, with the temporary roomates:

Dayn.
Mark.

The Trashbag Collective, which is something I mean only in the fondest of terms. I pick friends solely based upon their trashbaginess, in fact.

On the way to the Palais Royal, Ashley started screaming, "I love the Police!" to which the cab driver skeptically told her, "You're too young to even know who they are." "I just saw them play!" said Ash, defending herself. She spent the rest of the cab ride convincing him that she has serious old school music cred.

She managed to win him over in the end, and they sang together. Ashley reached over lovingly and pulled his ball cap to the side, gangsta style. They shared a laugh. It was a special moment in time. We gave him a huge tip.

Stumbling out of the cab, there was only one problem: Rebecca didn't have a ticket. "I'm sure you can buy one at the door," we all assured her on the ride there. But as soon as we pulled up to the curb, a security guard stopped us. "They sold out an hour and a half ago," he said, "so I hope you all have tickets."

Rebecca's face fell. What were we going to do?

At the same time, another cab pulled up, and overheard our woes. "My friend has an extra ticket," this guy told us. Bingo! Problem solved! It was already turning out to be a magical and enchanted evening, indeed.

Ashley practiced posing for the inevitable photographers within while we waited for Rebecca's ticket to arrive.

Inside!
I never truly got to have a "prom" myself. Instead, we dressed up in $400 dresses, went to the same place in town where they hold rodeos and auction cattles, ate some lumpy potatoes and wilted lettuce, took some pictures and called it a day. No dancing. None. (Okay. Actually, there was ONE song during the entire affair, but no dance floor was cleared, so I dance with my Dad in between all the long tables. I don't think this counts.) I've been to three high school graduations as an escort, but I have never been to a prom, persay.

But I do know that this is what prom pictures look like. . .

. . .and that this is what prom pictures should look like.

And again: the typical prom snapshot.

And what dates are probably really thinking about whenever they stand under balloon archways.

Fake Prom Band.

Some romantic dancing.

Some romantic standing.

It was romance and enchantment around. But the night quickly drew to an end and we feared turning into pumpkins, or worse, true trashbags. I managed to dance enough to make up for the 3 proms that I never had, until I couldn't walk anymore.

We did some good work, ladies.

And then we went home in our golden carriage (look who it is!)--maybe not to Prince Charming, but home to temporary homes filled with people who care about us and thoughts of fairies and sugarplums in our heads, happily ever after.