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.