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.