I need a coffee. And like 12 punches in the face. Currently thinking about telecommuting from under my desk. Phone-it-in-Fridays! Yes.

I need a coffee. And like 12 punches in the face. Currently thinking about telecommuting from under my desk.

Phone-it-in-Fridays! Yes.

Guy at 0:24 is so rude. He didn’t even say PLEASE. 
(Do you think there is a modifier for Canadians?) 

That time it was grey

THIS IS NOT FALL. There are no crunchy leaves; only dank, silt-laden sidewalks and TTC patrons covered in a pervy-moist film of urban grumpies. I really don’t know what I was expecting of October, being that I’m a “grown-up” who has a daily latte and minimal time for forts.

ANYWAY. What’s new with me, you ask? Oh, you didn’t? THEN STOP READING MY BLOG, INTERNET VAGRANT.

I am very busy editorializing, scraping the vestiges of summer skin off of my nasal bridge, sourcing alternate income, awaiting my iPhone 4S (a fitting tribute to Steve Jobs) and pretending I don’t need glasses. I’ve also developed a nasty habit of buying $100 worth of groceries and then finding solace in non-cupboarded food sources; I’m on this new diet where you eat one gyro every day and look on, gobsmacked, when your thighs no longer touch.

I could like Toronto.

Tonight I am headed to AAA Army Surplus on Baldwin to sniff out a heavy-duty khaki vest – the last piece of the sartorial puzzle for my Halloween debut as “Slutty Christiane Amanpour”. I ditched the whole Katie as Fried Egg concept when I realized that today was…today: Two days before a completed costume is required. There is something really awesome/disturbing about realizing you already own all of the good necessary to look exactly like someone else. Without shopping. 

It makes perfect sense when you think about it: C.A. is an award-winning journalist and I have Booze-and-Joan-Didion Mondays. We’re indistinguishable, really.

Let’s. Do. This.

For the umpteenth, well-intentioned time: I am announcing my promise to post on the regular. This is subject to change and – if we’re being realistic – at the mercy of my affinity for online teevs.


La-la-la-love these guys.

Whale Tooth  


beautifulaccomplice asked:

Wub Ou?



Everybody was well-dressed and everybody was a mess.

- The Strokes, “I’ll Try Anything Once”

Literary Line-Up

I’m the kind of gal who tends to start what she can’t finish (book-wise). So in the interest of slaying the ever-growing tower of books on —-and now, surrounding—- my night table, here is my list of books to read. In no particular order. Just so I can finally make it to the bathroom in the middle of the night without stubbing my toes on Kerouac, Sedaris and the rest of those hardcover nogoodniks.

  1. Life - Keith Richards
  2. Veronica - Mary Gaitskill
  3. A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius - Dave Eggers
  4. The Sun Also Rises - Ernest Hemingway
  5. How to Lose Friends and Alienate People - Toby Young
  6. The Picture of Dorian Gray - Oscar Wilde
  7. Eats, Shoots and Leaves - Lynne Truss
  8. Just Kids - Patti Smith
  9. How Did You Get This Number? - Sloane Crosley
  10. Outliers - Malcolm Gladwell
  11. We Tell Ourselves Stories in Order to Live - Joan Didion Anthology
  12. Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim - David Sedaris
  13. The Bonfire of the Vanities - Tom Wolfe
  14. On the Road - Jack Kerouac
  15. Kitchen Confidential - Anthony Bourdain

Most of these are 1/3-1/2 finished.

See ya, 2011. 

Thought of the Day

Are police officers allowed to have hair? Would it be against their uniform requirements to have luscious locks? Sitting in Tim’s last night with the Step-sizzle - along with 4 other married couples re-igniting their respective wilting romances over Bagel B.E.L.Ts and watered-down French Vanillas - I saw, not one, but THREE cops come in, not one of which displayed any follicular prowess.

Theory: Hair significantly reduces an officer’s aerodynamism when chasing baddies. (Guess who was raised on Donkey Kong.)

Alternate Theory: Helmet chafe?

Alternate-alternate Theory: Complicity with that bad-ass aesthetic of bald men who seem to silently boast that they survived a mean scalpin’ during a gang war/bar fight/Kenny Chesney concert. (See also: Every bouncer ever.)