your beauty must be rubbing off.

Crawling Out of My Blogging Coma

Comas can last anywhere from days, to weeks, to months and sometimes even years. Lucky for you smitten kittens, mine only lasted three weeks. After an excessive amount of the un-bloggable happening in the 416 over the past little while, I figured it was time today to crawl out of my coma just in time for my holy return to the 204. Warn the Venetian Snares & Burton Cummings, my weekend is filling up quickly. It will be a refreshing change to get back to my friends in Winnipeg who are more Birkenstock than brunch. 

Recovery from a coma, if you ever come out of it, is gradual. Be it brain damage or heart damage, sometimes the surgery doesn't work the wonders we wish it would. Growing up, we learn that a happy ending isn't always inevitable and sometimes you just have to pull the plug. Whether you're grieving the death of a loved one, or the death of a certain love, there is no standard way to treat the pain. No miracle cure, no miracle pill, and there's often nothing you can say or do to make it better. The New Death Etiquette is actually, well, no etiquette at all. We're all grieving someone, something, somewhere and we all recover in our own way. In our own time. Just because things worked out better for Person A rather than Person B in the end doesn't necessarily mean all the hurt and pain caused is forgiven or forgotten.

After a rather hellish couple months on the home front, the seas are finally calm in the city leaving me free & happy to visit my boyfriend in Halifax next weekend. I love a good seat sale, and my Haligonian mother will be just as happy to see me. Between the Titanic Graveyard with the Simple Ontario Boy & my grandmother's gravesite with Mama Wilton, I've got alot to do in four days in Halifax & Hubbards and I simply can't wait. With mid-terms & break-ups in my hindsight, I've certainly been in no vegetative state recently. "Doctors" say I've made a miraculous recovery from the drama I've nonethless undergone the past few months and they say there's no better way to recover than get outside and breathe the fresh salt-soaked ocean air. 

And I didn't even need a lollipop at the end of it all.

somebody's watching you.

Not only is my good pal & hairdresser, Jeese Crowe, featured in Teen Flare's "Street Style" section this week, but so is yours truly..

Believe me. Pink is the last colour of tights I would've picked to wear, but they were the only ones left on my floor without an embarrassing number of visible holes. I have never regretted anything more now that I'm on the internet looking like, well, this. Granted, my hair looks fantastic but really? Did Teen Flare just call my fur a "vintage scarf"? Dress from H&M, tights from HBC, "vintage" boots, belt, and scarf I guess sounds more accessible to teeny-boppers than Dress from H&M, tights leftover from a houseguest, cowboy boots found outside/inside a dumpster in Winnipeg, belt from Value Village, and amazing fur I woke up with after spending a drunken evening at a party at a vintage store.

Turns out I was more interesting than the art at the gallery show that photo was taken at. 

Just a note, I was not wearing the fur as a necklace either. It is actually an extremely practical neckwarmer when the Toronto weather dips into Winnipeg Territory. I am, however, glad that I could help Teen Flare figure out that "Yes! Vintage + New=Fab". 

Glad that I, "one of Canada's chicest fashionistas", could be of service.

lazy confessions (what went wrong).

Yep, looking through photos on Facebook tonight made me realize that I did indeed have dreadlocks this time last year. Oh, for God's sakes, Alicia. Shut the door! I can hear you vomiting from all the way over at Queen & Bathurst. 

love song for (shitty rural) ontario.

I want to go here.

This is Welland, Ontario by the way.

a young man with an eye, and friends up a tree.

Please allow me to introduce to you my new could-be-to-be roommate starting, well, sometime in April until... Well. Who the hell knows. He's can be as unpredictable as they come and his Coca-Cola addiction rivals any coke addiction on Intervention. 

Ladies & Gentleman, Richard Bars!

bloor street breakdown.

A (Good) Picture's Worth a Thousand Words

The past 48 hours, I really have been thinking about investing a lot of time & energy into finding a new hobby. I briefly considered cross-stitching, but decided I should perfect knitting first (or at least learn how to knit something that isn't a potholder or a scarf). I thought about learning how to make my own wine, but we all know how that would end.  I've decided on photography. I bought a Canon AE-1 on e-Bay when I first moved to Toronto, and inherited my dad's A-1 in perfect condition for Christmas this past year & have sort of been fucking around with them for the past couple months. I am now vowing to take it more seriously; if not for my own interest, then at least to save money by doing my own food photography when I have my soon-to-be-famous food blog. 

I swear this interest is f'real, and not just because I think I look kinda cute with a film camera in my hand.

easy money (the good times are killing me).

Under the Boardwalk, We'll be Havin' Some Fun

If you can't find me at Ella's Uncle with a coffee, my living room with a bottle of whiskey, or, well, anywhere with a bottle of wine, you'll soon be able to find me on Beatrice Street exclusively playing board games with Laura-Louise. Monopoly will now be monopolizing most of my time. You can't take Pennsylvania, Baltic, or Virginia Avenue to get to our own little private Park Place, but you'll probably be able to find us by the pungent smell of cigarette smoke & cointreau breath from floating all the way down Dundas West. 

Under the boardwalk, down by the sea. On a blanket with my baby is where I will be.

baby, it's you.

Didn't your mother tell you that if you don't have anything nice to say, you shouldn't say anything at all? 

Especially not on Valentine's Day to a (really drunk) girl in a pretty dress.

Hmph.

that's right (all you need is love).

Happy Valentine's Day, lovelies.

luck let a gentleman see (just how nice a dame you can be).

Luck Be a Lady Tonight

Although I've been a little down on my luck the past few weeks, be it with my job or the gentlemen in my life, I was a very lucky lady to be treated to dinner at Oddfellow's the other night. I'd been looking forward to dinner there for months, read review after review (and eschewed the bad ones from my memory), and looked in with jealousy every time I passed the corner of Queen & Shaw on my way to some other Toronto institution.

As Now & Eye Weekly have both reported, the food wasn't perfect. My photog friend & I had been looking forward to the lamb-stew-for-two all week and it didn't exactly live up to my expectations. The ambience, however, was a perfect 10. The bring-your-own-bottle policy allowed me to pick up a nice Chianti Ruffino at the local liquor shoppe, and lucky for me, he picked up the check for everything else. 

Although our quasi-pseudo-non-relationship-friendship status to me is sometimes more controversial than Frank Sinatra's switch from the Democratic to the Republican party, I had the most fun I'd had in, well, days, but the company was just lovely. And, having dinner out instead of in my apartment as usual gave me an excuse to wear my new (amazing! life-changing! head-turning!) black vintage dress, and make whiskey sours (my new specialty) for my old friend. 

One day, we may reunite as lovers-or-whatever; a revival more epic than that of Sinatra, Davis & Martin's in '87 (You know, the 'Together Again' tour?), but for now I am oh-so-happy that I have such a good friend in the city. A man who doesn't mind when I eye-ball other men down Oddfellows' famed communal table, or drool over my dream woman, Pamelia Kurstin, on YouTube because, to be honest, most of the time he's right there droolin' over her next to me. 

It's his MacBook Pro we're watching all those YouTube videos on.

public service announcement.

Waiting for a Different Kind of Ceiling to Fall

There was nothing I was looking more forward to tonight than my nice, big, warm, disheveled bed. I washed my sheets the other night so my bedroom smells like lilacs with a hint of Nag Champa that has seeped over from my living room to cover up the I-got-drunk-and-smoked-a-cigarette-indoors smell (more like got-drunk-and-let-my-visitors-smoke.. Turns out I'm a non-smoker). I cleaned up the piles of leopard print, purses, lingerie, and band t-shirts I'll never wear more than once off the floor so you could actually see the hardwood. 

No classes, technically, on Thursdays usually means I can get up early (depending on the goings-on the night before), get coffee, and do schoolwork for a couple hours, and waste a bunch of money thrift shopping or grocery shopping; depending on what kind of hunger pains I've got that day. 

Up at six, out of the house by six forty-five, in the doors of George Brown by 7:20 and in class soon after... It was an especially long day. A four hour butchery class, an all-afternoon-long demo in egg cookery (like I couldn't already make a perfect bechamel...) and a short break followed by a unexpectedly long lecture on canadian artisanal, farmstead & fine cheese ending at 10:00pm really sucked the life out of me. But, when push comes to chevre, I loved every minute of it. 

I loved every minute of today until I crawled into bed just now, at 2:15am... to find that it was soaking wet. And full of drywall. Or whatever ceilings are made of. And looked up. And understood why.

Now there's nothing I'm looking forward to more than reaming out my flaky landlord, the one that's been "meaning to patch up the plumbing and the ceiling" since... November? I have a feeling it's got something to do with the horrific rainstorm I walked home from school in, but that doesn't make me feel any better than the fact that I have to sleep on my couch tonight.

this modern love.

Staying Healthy in a Sick Economy

I'm sick. Really, really not feeling well. I've found that whenever I get the slightest bit depressed these days, my immune system totally & completely shuts down. 

I like to do really nice things for my friends when I'm sick. I always make 'care packages' for boyfriends/lovers/gentleman friends when they're sick, and I usually buy (or pick, depending on the season) flowers for ladyfriends. You know, make homemade soup. Buy magazines or the newspaper, depending on the person. 

Today I was feeling just awful, physically and mentally. I'd sort of lost some of my faith in humanity recently, or, you know.. most of my faith. I ran out of episodes of Law & Order on my PVR. I was too exhausted and sickly to make my own chicken stock to make soup, and even if I wasn't, the idea of food really disgusted me. All I wanted was someone to care, or pretend to care, and that didn't seem to be happening anytime soon. I actually changed out of my pretty lacy nightgown this afternoon into sweatpants and anyone that really knows me knows that's a sign that I truly couldn't give a shit/am actually ill. With one of my best friends in Victoria, BC and the other in good ol' Winnipeg, MB I surely was not (..could not be) expecting any VIP treatment. No one to bring make me tea, feed me soup and orange juice, or watch bad TV with me.

...Until a good friend of mine showed up at my door around six pm. With coffee. And flowers. He may not have stuck around (thank god, I'd like to forget that anyone saw me in sweatpants... let alone someone I've slept with), but I don't remember the time someone bought me flowers. I don't even own a vase (see photo above for my alternative). My faith was renewed. I had a smile on my face. I changed out of my sweatpants. I drank my (free) coffee.

Life is okay after all.

baby, take off your cool.

To go out... Not to go out.. To go out... Not to go out...

That is the question.

...The other question is "Where on Earth did that girl on the left get that fabulous fur?"

what a wonderful surprise.

O immune system, where art thou?

I was feeling fine this morning. Perfect actually, considering the sea of cheap beer & whiskey sours I drowned in last night deeper than the Mississippi itself. Starting at one of the neighborhood's more endearing establishments (followed by the "New Sweaty Betty's" with a mostly-platonic pal and ending with an ironic moustache at one of the neighborhood's most god-awful cheap late night eateries, I thought a hangover would be inevitable. That was until a late-night car/person accident jolted me right back to sobriety before I even crawled into bed. A coulda' been near death experience always wakes you up too, right?

Between a select few of us in the area, one (or more) of us always seems to be sick. As common as the common cold could be, I don't think that's what I'm feelin' now. I'm slightly feverish and plenty delirious and in no shape whatsoever to charm my new friends I was supposed to go dancing with tonight. As Laura-Louise can attest to, antihistamines & wine never seem to mix... well. The magnum of riesling chilling in my freezer will just have to wait for next week. Or, you know, tomorrow.



Even George Clooney, the silver fox himself, could not get me out tonight. Don't get me wrong, I may sound like a (wo)man of constant sorrow these days, but I'm really, really okay! I really just think I could use (another) night in. Instead of standing in line at the self-described hot bed for culture, I'm crafting things for my coffee table. Another overpriced, and over-enjoyed, brunch is coming to me around noon tomorrow and I gotta be ready for it. I can't afford another bottle of Coldfx, but can apparently afford the grilled fruit breakfast at Musa once a week. Again, my priorities are obviously in order. And again, that's okay by me.

not your grandmother's mink.

Real fun 'fur' the whole family.

There are some really key, important, wonderful things that any gentleman (or lady, on another note entirely..) could do in order to have me devote myself to them, and only them, for all eternity. I'm really a simple lady if you look past the crazy hair. In addition to sending grammatically correct text-messages, the ability to give a really great shoulder rub, and the requisite secret passion for classic rock, I'd love to date a man who could appreciate and love my appreciation and love for fur. I hope to maybe meet a fellow one day (besides my loving father who spoils me so) who could shower me with vintage stoles, wraps, hats, and coats that even Lindsay Lohan would want to make off with. That would really ruffle my feathers.

Granted, I'd love to be able to afford all that stuff myself, but with another 5-6 years of school ahead of me and my assumedly to-be-tip-heavy job that won't be starting until summertime, for now a girl's just gotta dream.

When I have babies, and I'm not too busy churning my own butter at the family farmhouse, I'd love to pull a Kate Moss and use a stole as a baby sling. Winnipeg would not understand, but I think if I steered clear of the steps outside Fashion Week, I could probably remain unscathed in Toronto- and terribly cute at the same time!

So for now, boys, listen up! I'd gladly take either one on the left or the right. If you feel like there needs to be something in it for you, just imagine rolling around on it in front of the fireplace at the farmhouse I mentioned earlier. That I'd be happy to do fur you.

(you caught me) smilin'.

Between school during the weekdays and travelling to small Ontario music festivals with two new friends (and classmates) selling bakewares some weekends, I'll be working here this summer.



See you on the patio, lovelies. I hear the horse bresaola is spectacular.

a moment on the lips, forever on the hips (is okay by me).

In case you were wondering (and apparently I need to start a food blog & also buy a Digital SLR)...



The menu for last night's dinner party entailed:
-Filet Mignon wrapped in bacon, topped with a Dulchetta Gorgonzola shallot-cream sauce
-Buttermilk fried onion straws
-My secret recipe for garlic smashed potatoes (I stand by firmly that nobody makes better mashed/smashed potatoes than I do)
-Balsamic grilled baby asparagus

Total caloric intake? 1,467,634.



The entire cost of a dinner for six was roughly $100- not including wine. Considering the six of us finished off half a box, three magnums, and a regular 750mL bottle of red in just under 4 hours... the wine probably cost more than the dinner (And not only in price; I may or may not have thrown up my meal.) $100 for an absolutely wonderful dinner for six just blows my mind, and the fact that two first-year (first month, really) culinary students could pull off such a fabulous (and well-timed!) meal makes me the happiest girl in the city. A dinner party like it's 1929 all over again.

The filet itself we bought at St. Lawrence market. The cost of seven pre-bacon-wrapped-filets? $33. We grilled them off & then roasted them in a hot cast iron skillet.. in hot duck fat. Not only did we get the beautiful grill marks of a BBQ on my Breville panini grill, but roasting steaks after a quick sear always gives you the perfect pink centre; something my dad would tell me after his prerequisite post-BBQ margerita(s).

As for the sides, we made up the gorgonzola sauce. Obviously blue cheese is delicious in absolutely any form, but you can't really go wrong when combining it with about eighty thousand other forms of fat. Two shallots, a ton of butter to sweat them in, 35% heavy cream, and one $10 block of gorg resulted in fucking H-E-A-V-E-N. The asparagus we blanched, marinated in balsamic vinegar, and then grilled last-minute while the steaks were roasting off.

For the onion straws, I adapted this recipe from memory. I also took a little from the onion ring recipe I used for this epic dinner that I took from Anthony Sedlak's The Main. They turned out so well that I was surprised when I went to clean the kitchen this morning that my overnight guest didn't grab the rest to take on the streetcar to work, he loved them so much.

I'd give you my secret recipe for the best roasted garlic mashed potatoes in the world, but I'm afraid I've simply got to go eat the leftovers.

writing you a letter, looking for my heart pt II.

Who doesn't love getting mail?

Returning from a (successful) job interview and a leisurely coffee with my Toronto hairdresser-slash-confidante, I checked my mail for the first time in about a week. If I look past my overdue credit card bill, a form from the Canada Revenue Agency reporting how much was taken out of my RESP, and several bills from Bell, it was really good today. Not only did my new Toronto Life and Fashion (hey, the subscription was free!) magazines come, but so did my tickets for the now-sold-out Neko Case show in April. I'm always convinced that when I order tickets on the internet they'll never make their way to my door but of course I was wrong again.

Last night I hosted my first dinner party after moving to Toronto and it was a grand success. Starting with an extremely decadent (buttery...rich...) dinner and ending with a lovely (drunken... slurring...) sing-a-long with a friend & frequent dinner guest in my bed, I woke up feeling pretty satisfied in more ways than one.

It's been a good day.

small talk.

In retrospect, I can't believe I dated someone who would date someone who has what I like to call "Homesense Art" on their walls. You know, like those god-awful Tolouse Lautrec prints of bustling french bistros and can-can dancers at the local Moulin Rouge. I can appreciate art with the rest of them, but did you really get that on sale at Winners? Did you buy it with a gift certificate? Did you go enjoy a nice rib dinner at Applebee's afterwards and talk about how much money you saved and how great it'll look on your 'eggshell' walls? Are you going to go home and check your AOL e-mail account? Will Don't Stop Believin' be the song at your wedding?

Toulouse Lautrec was a sick man as a result of inbreeding (his parents were first cousins). I think the lady I'm referring to is a bit sick for other reasons.

I ordered this slip off e-bay tonight on a whim.




A beautiful, full-length black silk BACKLESS nightgown. Doesn't hurt that I have an almost identical one in soft pink already.

I love vintage lingerie. I would swim in it if I could. I often lounge around my apartment in a slip and several strands of pearls. I wear lipstick when I do my laundry & my vacuuming. I don't even care if there's anyone else around to see it, although it's also nice if there is. When I was sixteen, I spent $200 on a black corset for Valentine's Day for a boyfriend from some shitty mall lingerie store and wore it under everything I owned. Not to suck my stomach in, or anything, but mostly just because I thought it was really glamourous and beautiful. I used to own several garter belts. I love thigh high stockings and lace and satin n' shit. Next thing you know, I'm going to start bathing in gin.



Apparently I like to think I'm Miss Hannigan from Annie. You know, the part of the film where she gets drunk and croons Little Girls & wears lingerie and lounges around in satin. I absolutely adore Carol Burnett. (Un)fortunately, with my new haircut I look a little more like Orphan Annie.

Next on my list, and my credit card bill, is this:



It's mine as soon as one of you has $1,195 to lend me. Plus shipping. This beautiful YSL Amber fox fur coat is my reason for living, and it's not even hanging in my closet yet. I've got a pretty great collection of furs on the go; I have a short mink, a fox fur, a mid-length sable, a couple faux-furs and a new stole (assumedly fox) with silk lining and a pocket that perfectly fits my flask. My Ragpickers finds will tide me over until my mother tires of her full-length mink that I've had my eye on for years, or until Daddy Warbucks decides he could do with another curly haired, dimpled wonder in his life. Whichever comes first.

The sun finally came out in Toronto today which allowed some ladyfriends and I do to some thrift & fabric shopping after the requisite Sunday brunch. It was really nice. From The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow to You're Never Fully Dressed Without a Smile in less than 72 hours.

Not bad. Not bad at all.

one of these things first.

Be my life.

anything you want (not that).

Thanks to a new haircut, a love note in my inbox, and some insightful advice that really has put things into perspective... I'm now temporarily sitting at a 7.3 in terms of mood. Actually, I'm enjoying a scone & a coffee at Ella's Uncle, so I'm more like at a 9.5. Although, I'm sure as soon as I step foot back out in the snow and back into my apartment that is in absolute desperate need of a tidy-slash-overhaul, I'll ignore the dishes and wine stains on the hardwood and crawl right back into bed.

I'm feeling pretty positively about my bob. I have Jesse at the Grateful Head to thank for that.

And thank you to Richard for the kind-hearted note this morning, If you weren't gay, or in Winnipeg, I'd kiss you right on the lips.

**EDIT: I'm still under a five. The 9.5 was an illusion after three large coffees and a goat cheese scone. I feel awful and horrible, but I still feel great about my short hair.

holding on to that teenage feeling.

The Russian Judge says...




Today I feel approximately like a 2.4. Partly because of a hangover, and partly because I was hung out to dry, I'm trying to muster up the energy and luster to tell myself "It'll all be okay"!

It will all be okay, for I am one resilient spring chicken that will bounce back. And with a great new haircut, at that.

Fuck me, I have to be miserable sometime.

Soon, I'm going to get over myself & walk in the boots with the holes in them over to Loverboy's with a tupperware container full of chicken noodle, with new broth that I fashioned myself in half an hour with and isn't awful.

I'm a good cook. My hair is nice. I'm a good girlfriend. I'm a good non-girlfriend. I use unbleached paper towel. I don't have a soul; I am a soul, I have a body. I'm pretty thoughtful at times. I appreciate when my friends do nice things for one another. I tell girls when I like their dresses and it makes them happy. I don't like kareoke, but I appreciate that others do AND THAT'S OKAY. I'm a good person. My job is lucky to have me and I am lucky to have them.

It's all gonna be okay!

On the bright side, I not only just saw an episode of Law & Order with Gary Busey guest-starring, but I also am currently watching an episode of SVU I've never seen before. It's starring a really startlingly good-looking black man.

It's snowing. Usually I love a good snowstorm, a white winter, but my "new" (read: Value Village) boots are apparently not even Toronto-winter-worthy. My left boot has sprung a leak and I am constantly wet & cold.

School is hard. No matter how good of a cook I know I am, my beady-eyed Scottish professor is a really, really tough marker and having a low grade (even if it is the second highest in the class) is driving me nuts. Hard is good, granted. I think the 7am classes are just getting to me.

I miss my best friends. I don't necessarily miss Winnipeg, but there's constantly things I see and do every day that I wish they were here for.

A cute guy asked me out on a date (thing) tonight. I originally had said yes, but I'm too miserable and cynical today to be on best first-date behaviour. Also, I'm smitten with Loverboy. Unfortunately, I'm starting to doubt the return of his ador. I can't even write openly about this shit in my own blog. Aforementioned Loverboy reads it.

I lost a mitten today. Well, a wool sock that was acting as a mitten because..

I am really, truly poor. I have been eating carrots from a 10lb bag that I bought two weeks ago. I am now almost out. Fortunately, my parents will be sending me some grocery money for February. Unfortunately, it's not enough. I need to work, and I'm not getting the shifts I need. I also don't have the energy to look for a new job.

I picked up chicken soup at Prague on my way home from class for Loverboy who is currently recovering from a bout of food poisoning. I put it down on the floor to take off my boots. The broth poured out onto the hardwood. That's what I get for cutting corners and not making it myself.

I'm miserable and in an awful mood and could use some cheering up.

don't know if i'm comin' or goin'.

Basically, I think this is pretty great.

Basically, I'm going to find a boyfriend. Who's with me?

soul clappin' (slap choppin')

I make melt-in-your-mouth buttermilk biscuits.



I also, apparently, am so distracted by my new love for the internet that I burned not only my dinner, but also the buttermilk biscuits I was planning to leave outside Loverboy's door. I can't justify the walk in the apocalyptic cold just to leave a polaroid tacked to the door.

However, in hindsight, that may have been cuter.

Damn.

waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Today I got a text message from Papa Wilton informing me that the company I work for has cut 1,400 jobs this month and also closed one of their major call centres in Pennsylvania and a distribution centre in Tennessee. A quick google upon my return home from my aforementioned job site (and the only shift i've had in weeks) has confirmed this.

Although I haven't gotten the axe yet, I noticed on the schedule today that I am one of the only seasonal sales employees that are still on it. I can only assume that I'm next, despite the joie de vivre I bring to the electrics section.

I suppose that's what I get for selling out for the man.

born to live with heartache.

May I present to you ladies & gentleman of the world wide internet, my lifeblood & reason for living; Katie Kidder. Girl inspires more heartfelt love songs than anyone I know. She also enjoys Law & Order:SVU almost as much as I do. What a catch.

having a coke with you.

...is even more fun than going to San Sebastian, Irún, Hendaye, Biarritz, Bayonne
or being sick to my stomach on the Travesera de Gracia in Barcelona
partly because in your orange shirt you look like a better happier St. Sebastian
partly because of my love for you, partly because of your love for yoghurt
partly because of the fluorescent orange tulips around the birches
partly because of the secrecy our smiles take on before people and statuary
it is hard to believe when I’m with you that there can be anything as still
as solemn as unpleasantly definitive as statuary when right in front of it
in the warm New York 4 o’clock light we are drifting back and forth
between each other like a tree breathing through its spectacles

and the portrait show seems to have no faces in it at all, just paint
you suddenly wonder why in the world anyone ever did them
I look
at you and I would rather look at you than all the portraits in the world
except possibly for the Polish Rider occasionally and anyway it’s in the Frick
which thank heavens you haven’t gone to yet so we can go together the first time
and the fact that you move so beautifully more or less takes care of Futurism
just as at home I never think of the Nude Descending a Staircase or
at a rehearsal a single drawing of Leonardo or Michelangelo that used to wow me
and what good does all the research of the Impressionists do them
when they never got the right person to stand near the tree when the sun sank
or for that matter Marino Marini when he didn’t pick the rider as carefully
as the horse
it seems they were all cheated of some marvellous experience
which is not going to go wasted on me which is why I’m telling you about it



Thank you, Frank O'Hara. I'd love to have a coke with you, again. Yeah, I said it.

girl in trouble.

I want this all the time, it's just too bad that the glasses in this picture aren't full; be it of champagne (as shown here) or the Wine Rack's finest red (or the bottle furthest from the finest).

Tuesday brought an interesting twist into my life which prompted a heavy bout of enjoyable early evening drinking on Wednesday... Thursday... Friday. I've slowly graduated from boxed wine to bottles, and the company has been different, albeit enjoyable, every evening and there's no point in stopping now. My hostel is back open for business and I have an enjoyable young New Zealander-soon-cum-Winnipegger crashing on my couch tonight. Being a sort-of-pseudo newly-single-ish girl in the big city has not proven to be as awful as I originally predicted, but only because I've had friends to keep my feet (and heart) warm at all times.

At least I have for the past three days.

And hey, at least if I run out of friends, I'll always have the cute lesbian at the friendly neighborhood coffee shoppe. God knows even if I didn't really want this break to happen in our sort-of-pseudo-friendship-cum-relationship, my cell phone's text messaging bill could sure use it.

what's wrong with groovin'.

Text Message of the Night:



"Try N to sleep. Can u keep the screaming to min thx."
-Miranda, Your Friendly Neighborhood Mostly-Lesbian Downstairs Neighbor 11:44pm

And no, I don't care to explain, because nothing (or plenty) good can come of it. It's just funnier sans explanation.

where is the sun?

Even in times of sorrow, my new & improved internet obsession already makes me feel better about myself.

Via Twitter, I came home to this tonight:



"aggiepanda @karmaelektra omg im so glad youre here. <3
about 5 hours ago from web in reply to karmaelektra"

Thank you, Aggie. You are almost as bejeweled as Aretha Franklin's hat.

the way you look tonight.

Ringo Starr once said "I can't wear hats, they bring too much attention to my nose."



I would update my blog, but I am simply too busy google-imaging pictures of Aretha Franklin's bejeweled hat from today's Inaugural festivites. It simply brings too much attention to her style. Soon, the Torontoist will be predicting "Churchgoer Chic" to be the new look of 2009. This hat is better than "I get on (The TTC)".

The reason I pay for internet?

"Courtney says:
January 20th, 2009 at 11:59 am
That hat is both my Facebook status and reason for being."

i want to take you higher.

As of recently, I'm basically out of work and thus can no longer afford groceries. Fortunately, my cupboard is stocked with all sorts of goodies so I am making a fairly epic "pantry dinner". For most, this might mean KD or Beef-a-roni or whatever that tinned shit's called..

I'm having a quick & easy multigrain linguini with pesto, sun-dried tomatoes, grilled artichokes & goat cheese.

Just sayin'.

To the guy who has been trying to get out of a snowbank outside my window for over an hour and a half...

... You aren't going to get out of that snowbank anytime soon. That's what you get for talking on your cell phone and smoking a cigarette while you parallel park. I think you could use some lessons not only in parking, but in life as well.

On another note, I think you can really tell a lot about a person by their Wikipedia searches, even moreso than their horoscope, a Livejournal meme, or their Facebook inbox.

I only say this, because if I weren't me, and I saw what I, Lauren Wilton, had searched for on Wikipedia in the past 30 days, I would really, truly, madly, deeply want to be my friend. Other than Savage Garden, some of my latest searches include the following:

Barbra Streisand, interracial relationships, houseplants, Indian hip-hop, Bruce Springsteen, oak trees, mud, jungle fever, sub-irrigation, deep frying in lard, foot-candles, lesbian bed death, Mighty Igor Vodic, flash-mobbing, tribadism, Stonehenge.. and many more.

On yet another note, via facebook I just learned that my favourite chinese food restaurant in Winnipeg has now closed. Somewhat of a family tradition, my dad used to take me there and the owner would sit and drink with us and tell me all about how he & my father used to get drunk together in hot tubs. Thanks alot, information age. I'd rather not know that the River Mandarin's chicken with lemongrass will never be gracing my palette ever again.

i was made to love magic.

Today I read an interesting article on Bitten, David Bittman's New York Times blog on food, in which the author posed the following question of his readers:

"I’d like to help readers who are trying to think of the perfect meal for a girlfriend/boyfriend/husband/wife on Valentine’s Day, but tastes are far from universal, so it’s a challenge. So here’s my question: What would you like a loved one to cook for you this February 14?"

See above, a couple very much so in love.


This is a question that I have been pondering for years. Last year, I made my then-sweetheart homemade Thai food. He took me for thai, a then first for me, on our first date the previous October; a night we both originally thought was simply to justify the night before (& a very public makeout session at a Brother Ali show). Sure enough, four months later there we were: Green Curry with chicken & vegetables, pad thai with tofu, and thai-style rice made for a lovely dinner, and since he was an hour late, it didn't involve too much cooking after he already arrived. I feel like this is an important Valentine's Day move. You know, so you have your hands free to drink red wine and make out (and exchange heartfelt, thoughtful gifts if you're into that sort of thing). I started dinner off with a plate of grilled pita & assorted crackers, roasted garlic, and brie. Certainly not Thai, but delicious nonetheless. No one says no to brie, and I always say yes to anything with roasted garlic.


Needless to say, this article piqued my interest. With my then-sweetheart behind me (don't fret, we're still good friends!), and a new one on the table, I know that the pressure's on. I now go to culinary school at George Brown, home of one of the best schools for my program in the country, and I can no longer make a shitty dish & simply shrug it off. Even if I'm only a month into the two year program.

I hadn't a fleeting thought about Valentine's Day until just now, and now for the past hour it's but all I can think about. Do I go the traditional route (think: filet mignon, blue cheese, red wine, anything caramelized..), or eclectic? I'm allergic to oysters and don't know his thoughts on figs, so aphrodisiacs are probably not the way to go. Indian food, too. We went for Indian food on our first real dinner & a movie "date". Considering that's the only time I've ever had Indian food, I hardly think this is one of those times that the "road less travelled" philosophy is the.. way to travel? I think even Robert Frost himself would agree.



Fortunately for me, he's a boy, and he's not picky, so as long as it's home-cooked I'm sure we'll both be happy. As I pleasantly discovered this past weekend, he likes to cook too, and gets really enthusiastic after three or four beers. I chose to find it endearing and rather cute when my buttermilk onion rings turned into buttermilk onion ring cake after he got a little tong-happy to one-too-many rap songs (and maybe one too many beers as well!). For all I know, I could be getting a little trigger-happy myself as we haven't even discussed the V word yet.

Part of the author's question, not quoted above, was also asking for savory breakfast ideas (presumedly for the morning after). The guy who suggested you serve your significant other cold pizza for Valentine's Day breakfast makes me feel physically ill. Sure, chivalry's dead and all, but can't you at least poach your girlfriend an egg?

I can only hope my Loverboy is reading this.

que sera, sera (whatever will be, will be).

Today’s horoscope:

You should feel comfortable trusting the people who are in power right now -- your life might feel like a roller coaster right now, but that doesn't mean you are being taken for a ride. And any turbulence you are experiencing is not their fault. Be a team player! Now is not the time to let your emotions tell you what to do. Hedge your bets and stay right where you are. Moving away from the known can feel exciting, but it's simply not the best move for you right now.

Where I would like to have stayed put today would've been in Loverboy's bed. As I've blogged before, Sunday mornings are a family favourite. I firmly believe there is not much better in life than coffee under the sheets and (steamy, awesome, sweet...) sex before noon. Unfortunately, all that morning sex obviously threw me for a loop because after running (!!!) home in a mild snowstorm to change into my 'appropriate' work clothes, I hopped the streetcar & the subway just in time to make it to work... to find out I don't work. This is not the first time this has happened, either.

On my way home from 'wasting away' a couple hours reading The NY Times with a coffee & croissant at Starbucks, when leaving the sidewalk to board the 501 Queen, not only was I nearly hit by a car, but I was splashed harder than one of Ron Jeremy's extras. Only, you know, from a puddle.



Hey, this is Toronto. You never know.

Wet tights (and jacket, and scarf, and face..) and all, I trudged home in a beautiful snowstorm. "The kind of snowflakes Hollywood orders up for holiday comedies", someone once mused via text message.



I got splashed by a car. I've got a 7 o'clock class tomorrow morning. I made a beautiful lamb sausage, sundried tomato & spinach ragu for dinner that I couldn't eat after I found a chunk of glass in my first bowl. But that's all okay. I'm spending the night with the internet; food and design blogs of total & complete strangers dazzling me from afar.

I couldn't be much happier all considering.