Oscars 2017

The 89th Academy Awards and another trip to Snoresville. The best part of the evening? The Rolex commercial that debuted during the broadcast.


The red-carpet style has been getting increasingly boring as the years go on - and I think 2017 hit an all time low. So low, I honestly don't think there was anyone worth mentioning. I feel for those who actually had to commentate on the coma-inducing selection of gowns. On the bright side, the blandness in fashion meant the ACLU ribbons were that much more obvious.

For four hours I experienced little, save for pangs of disappointment every time La La Land won an award. Hugely overrated, this movie was many things, Oscar-worthy was not one of them. Watch any hollywood musical between 1950-1970 and tell me I'm wrong. Acting, singing, dancing - in all categories they were doing a superior job in the the 50's. When at long last we hit the evening's high - the announcement for best picture - I was thrilled and astounded that a colossal blunder meant the Oscar went to Moonlight.  A movie I have not seen (and probably won't see) but am confident the performances and production are far superior to la la - this based on 30 second clips shown during the Academy Awards. 

If you've watched Love Actually as many times as I have, when Joni Mitchell's Both Sides Now begins you're reduced to tears anyway. Now imagine there's a steady stream of beloved faces that you grew up with that are gone forever. Cue: sobbing.

All I know is next year we'll be celebrating 90 years of Academy Awards. The Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences better bring out the big guns. And if Donald Trump is still president (as I suspect he will be for 8 more years) they may literally have to.


Happy New Year or whatever . . . .

. . . . . now back to me.

I have a milestone creeping up.


Friends have been checking in with husband and myself wondering what I'm doing for my birthday. 
The answer is: nothing (god willing).

Pay attention:
I want to be left alone but want to get lots of presents. Good ones. Not garbage. However it's been drawn to my attention, unless there's some sort of gathering the present thing may not happen. So what's more important? Some damn peace and quiet or 'things'? Good Question.

I've recommended a tasteful dinner for two at a restaurant I'm about 10 years late in visiting (not for lack of annually hinting and/or suggesting). We'll see what happens. 

The real test is: if I get what I want, people actually read my blog. It's a win win.



Nosebleeds 101

As middle age looms menacingly in front of me, at least I can take comfort in one thing. My most successful life hack.

Nosebleeds: Saddled with this burden since early childhood, I've had to staunch my fair share of bloody noses. From 4 hour gushers via both nostrils to 1 minute teasers, I've tackled them all. I've had them in the comfort of my home, at my desk at work and once in a Notting Hill alleyway when a snogging session turned horrifying in the sniff of a nose. Nosebleeds are the worst. And by worst, I mean the a c t u a l WORST. They can be scary, are always uncomfortable and are messy to boot.

A nasty nosebleed can make easy work of a box of Kleenex. Damp cool rags, tilting your head back, tilting your head forward, pinching the bridge of your nose. Garbage. All of it. I wish my Mom had thought of this when I was 7, life would have been a lot easier. 

One word: Tampons. This should be a no-brainer - but in my experience it is not. So fellow nosebleed-ers this is what you do.

  1. Get yourself a tampon with applicator (I find these work better). 
  2. Discard the applicator
  3. Cut the tampon into 3 equal pieces (conveniently nostril sized)
  4. Voila.

I ALWAYS have a few chopped up tampons on hand - as nosebleeds are unpredictable. At the ripe old age of 39, I have figured out how to handle this particular nuisance. Tampax has been as convenient for my nostrils as my other parts. So next time you have a gusher, instead of swapping out blood soaked tissues every few seconds and having to put your life on hold for however long - shove a little blob of cotton into your nostril (be gentle) and you can continue, making dinner or finishing that Excel spreadsheet. Plus, with less activity going on around your delicate nose, I wager the gushing will cease sooner. You're welcome.



At long last my personality type has been identified. Thanks to a thoughtful email and link supplied by my Dad.

I am a Curmudgeon - a chip off the old cranky block.

There are some questionable requirements in being considered a curmudgeon. ie: Being an artist disqualifies, yet being penniless and/or unemployed is a must? Hand in hand my friend. Hand in hand.

If you don't want to read the full article (enlightening) here are the most pertinent excerpts. 

Most qualifying characteristics as held by me:

  1. "Delicacy, prettiness, warmth, softness, sweetness, sparkle - pretty well define what a curmudgeon is not."
  2. "Humanity is of little or no interest to a curmudgeon; what he most desires from others is that they would leave him alone."
  3. "Curmudgeonly Communication - There isn't any. Note that communication has to do with people understanding you and coming back with ideas of their own. Remember, it doesn't matter if people understand you. They ought to, and if they don't, it's their own fault."
  4. "A curmudgeon should either be capable of saying "Harrumph", "Humph", or "Hmmf" convincingly. How do you know if you are convincing? When you say it, people should look taken aback or even offended."
  5. "The ideal curmudgeon is retired. If that is not possible, almost-penniless unemployment is pretty good. Really, anything will work if it is not touchy-feely or likely to spread happiness and joy."
  6. "Like a curmudgeon, the female equivalent can even be rather lovable, and essential to the character of the neighborhood. One example would be the general's housekeeper in the movie White Christmas" - refer to term battleaxe.

To do:

  1. "Attend a finishing school to learn how to be excruciatingly polite and have proper timing, which for a curmudgeon means being slightly off. Anyone trying to shake your hand should miss it, anyone trying to hug you should meet your shoulder instead."

Now get off my porch!

speaking of asses . . .


"SON OF A  . . ." I spat as I brushed a curiously lethargic wasp off my ankle. The insect was flung out of the way and under our little cafe table. It continued to crawl around on the ground showing zero interest in flying.

"Did it sting you?" 


Boyfriend went to teach the wasp a lesson - by way of killing it -  

"Leave it alone, it's fine." I said. If I'm nothing else I'm a lover of living things. Cough* 

We watched wasp for a bit as it continued to drag its lazy thorax up our table leg. Gradually we lost interest - coincidently right around the time our sandwiches arrived. We happily ate for a bit until as if looking for more sandwich, I peeked under the table.

"Where'd it go?"

Boyfriend shrugged - he looked under the table also, but the wasp had disappeared. At least from view.

"It's probably making a home in my purse." I said as I sipped my coffee. Within a minute I was on my feet, flailing around and screaming bloody murder. The wasp casually dropped out of my skirt. 

"GODDAMNIT! It just stung me in the ass!" 

Clutching my right cheek I began hobbling around in circles. The table next to us ignored me beautifully despite the holy scene I was making. Finally Boyfriend thoughtfully asked if I was okay. Shaking my fist at the wasp who was still casually strolling between cafe tables - Boyfriend pulled me indoors.

"Ow! - Ow! - Ow!" I shrieked with every step, dragging my scene inside Boyfriend quickly ushered me into the bathroom. 

"It's stinger is still inside my dress it keeps stinging me!" 

"Just calm down and be still."

"Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhh!" I continued wailing while trying to tear off my dress. 

I stood in the bathroom in my underwear while Boyfriend inspected the stabbing.

"Yup, that's where he got you." he said helpfully, poking at my bottom - "There's no stinger you're fine." Using quick thinking - in the fashion of adventure movies the world over - he began sucking out the venom.

"It's not a snake bite." I commented as he looked up, lips firmly planted on my ass. (where they belong) 

He began inspecting my dress while I uselessly focussed on the pain. He didn't find the stinger so he slipped my dress on over my head and packed up our gear. Still loudly complaining as we left the cafe, Boyfriend turned to me.

"I told you I should've killed it."

Girl? Boy? Who gives a shit.

I'm going to preface this post by saying I'm a huge bitch. To many of you this comes as no surprise. 

So let's get down to business. Babies: They all look alike. And by that I mean - unless a parent is dressing them a deliberate way, it's incredibly difficult to tell the gender of an infant. But who the hell cares anyway? 

Specifically with baby girls, it seems parents (and I'm guessing it's primarily mothers) are infuriated when people mistake their girls for boys. When a full pink ensemble just won't do - Enter: god-awful headbands. Glorified elastics adorned with butterflies, flowers and shame, these ridiculous things are suffocating tiny craniums in order to distinguish that yes, this pooping, gurgling blob is in fact a girl. 

Now that you know my stand on baby accessories I can tell you that I recently I got the best gift ever. It was by way of text and in the shape of a blurry photograph. 

My issues with this poster:

1. Headbands should be outlawed to begin with. They're just plain dumb. 

2.  I find the sentimental value statement mildly dubious. The blankie I've had since birth has sentimental value. It's 40 years old, made by my godmother and an entire corner has been nibbled away. This is a headband belonging to a child who by the looks of it is, I don't know 8 months old? 

3. Horribly misleading phrasing. MISSING punctuated by baby pictures. The word LOST may have been more appropriate. Also maybe only one cropped image of JUST the headband. 

4. What's the reward? I shudder to think. 

Told you. HUGE bitch. 


I told a pregnant woman her hair was going to fall out. 

I have no business dolling out advice at the best of times. But to a pregnant woman? I am not pregnant, nor have I been pregnant so what gives me the right? Sheer thoughtlessness and stupidity that's what. 

Anyway, I think I sufficiently terrified this poor girl. In my defence I'm an idiot - also, I assumed if I knew about the post birth hair loss thing ALL pregnant women did to. I was wrong. I think I saved the situation by yammering on about the dozens of women I know that recently had babies and the helpful fact that they aren't balding. Phew.



Is it bad . . .

That my favorite thing to do in the world is watch TV? I mean tonight for instance, I can't think of anything I'd rather do than turn on Arachnophobia and eat potato chips. Unless it was turn on Arachnophobia and eat Cheezies?

TV is the best. I can totally unwind - my mind goes blank (more blank than normal) and I can relax. It helps me sleep, it helps me forget, it makes me happy. It is my heroine. 

Here's the Arachnophobia Trailer. Tell me I'm crazy. 

Get Stuffed

is that a bat or a duck hanging from the ceiling - or is it some bizarre hybrid? Either way, fluorescent lights are doing wonders for this place. 

is that a bat or a duck hanging from the ceiling - or is it some bizarre hybrid? Either way, fluorescent lights are doing wonders for this place. 

Is taxidermy in - and by in I mean acceptable? Many of us grew up with it to a certain degree; From shellacked turtles to various hides nailed to grandma's wall - I know my childhood involved a healthy amount. To this day, many a rumpus room probably still has a selection of antlers dotting their wood-panelled walls. So, despite prevailing winds blowing in the direction of vegetarianism can people find a place in their psyche for stuffed game despite a literal distaste for animals?

I say yes. The resurgence of taxidermy and the like, probably has hipster-populated coffee shops that double as “general stores” to thank for its brewing popularity. Furnished with Edison-esque light bulbs and an array of bleached antlers these once novelty-type shops, are now taking the place of useful corner stores (You know - somewhere to buy milk, and I don't mean almond or soy). I suppose It was just a matter of time before we began thinking of bits of fauna skull as decorative again. Let's face it - it's only been 4 decades or so since rumpus rooms showcased deer heads on their wood panelled walls. 

We don't see it often in sustainably PC Vancouver, but there are actual shops devoted to the rare and unusual natural sciences. Save for museums and those strategic antlers or lacquered swordfish hovering over the latest trendy watering hole, we don't often see a concentration of biological odds and ends.  I was horrified and amused back in the early 2000's when I stumbled upon the legendary London establishment “Get Stuffed”. To this day i recall the exotic creatures that lay inside its caged doors. 

On my to-do list next time I hit PAris, is the marvellously disturbing Deyrolle. It has a close to 200 year history of not only taxidermy but geological specimens and “curiosities”. Many of Deyrolle's specimens are antique - others are thoughtfully acquired. Set up as essentially a life size textbook, the specimens were originally intended to be used for educational purposes. 

Thanks to Darwin and pith helmet clad hunters looking for the latest whiskered edition to their front hall, an interest in natural history took off in the late 1800's and Deyrolle was able to make a successful go at providing pedagogical specimens. And voila, there went the Dodo bird. There is a distinct difference between the cobbled together basements we are perhaps used to and a refined of a collection such as Deyrolle. Filmmakers Woody Allen and Wes Anderson have both used the establishment in and for their work. 

In the late 20th century taxidermy became less and less acceptable, save for those who actually ate what they shot. This ensures hunting is not so much a sport, as it is grocery shopping – or as culinary types refer to as: nose to tail eating. Just take a glance through every second issue of national geographic. The horrors are staggering. Hunting for kicks, with the sole purpose to have something to hang your hat on was and to this day is, more than frowned upon. What you want to do with your pet ferret after he passes on is your business – lets leave the elephants out of it. 

For the opposite end of the taxidermy spectrum (visit @craptaxidermy on twitter to see how the procedure can go hilariously wrong. This bizarre twitter feed reinforces the acceptability of taxidermy as a form of amusement and enjoyment) 

put an egg on it.

i swear to god.

If I see one more bowl of pasta (udon, vermicelli or fettuccini - it doesn't matter) with a GD fried egg on top I am going to lose it. The "amazing" of the food world; you can't swing a cat on social media without seeing an otherwise delightful looking meal topped off with a quivering blob of yellow. It seems that the current trend, because radishes still haven't quite completely caught on, are runny-ass eggs. Gross with a capital Gag. 

Sadly this abhorrent movement isn't limited to noodles. Burgers, stir-fry, soups and pizza have all hopped aboard this revolting band wagon. I don't care if it's quail, free-range or whatever, get it off my asparagus.

I've never had a problem going to restaurants and ordering anything I want off the menu. I am not a fussy eater. With breakfasts it's expected that the customer will state "how they want their eggs". At the latest infuriatingly bespoke watering hole, the chemistry of the dish is thrown off if the egg is anything but drippy. (heaving*) I am finding this limiting and disgusting. 

When will it end? What's next? Come on radishes - try harder!

The Un-Bride via South Granville Inhabiter

Name that album cover. FYI - I'd sooner wear that whipped cream on my wedding day than walk down the aisle in a 50lb Vera Wang.

I'm getting married.


Here's my step by step journey to cranky bride-dom. Remember it's going to list the entries backwards - so be sure to start at the beginning (end?)

Warning: It may get Pageant-y.

Sunday’s predictions: Today.

Besides mentally preparing for the In Memoriam (RIP Louis Jourdan) portion of the evening, I am once again predicting the top fashion trends of the evening. Sadly if the Golden Globes were any indication, my predictions (even the safe ones) may be lost to an overall theme. One word: Pageant. (I'm pointing fingers at you Versace)

Lofty Predictions:

  • Demure necklines – think high Victorian necklines or prim collars.
  • Sheer, see-through etc.  -  Whether it’s lace or organza, the message is: “Look at my underpants!”
  • Underpants – See above. With a host of runways sporting deliberately coordinated underthings, I predict underpants to be the accessory du jour.
  • Pleats – it’s been spat up on  runways for almost two seasons, plus Lupita did it last year*

predictable Predictions:

  • The color yellow – this season’s ‘red’
  • The color cobalt blue – the less adventurous yellow.
  • Thigh – After two years we get it, you all have legs; thanks a million Angelina Jolie.
  • Strategic cut-outs – This includes mid-riffs (last years Met Gala’s runaway trend)
  • Florals – simply because you can’t swing a cat with out hitting a Giambattista Valli gauzy floral dress anymore.

* Lets just make this easy - whatever Lupita Nyong’o did last year, it’ll be gracing the red carpet this year.  See:  pleats, sternums, florals, capes, the color red and the princess gown.

Oscars from years past:

Valentines, sh-malentines con't

We want you're opinion. But only if its positive.

Not really - be honest, because lets face it, if people were all sweetness and light all the time it would be quite difficult to to take anyones opinion seriously. 

We've got fortune cookies with pick-up lines (bad ones obviously), lonely bubbles and a sappy scholastic heart. 

Like the classics? Shop them here: 


Amazing Jar

I said it before and I'll say it again. If you don't like vocal fry and the word amazing The Bachelor is not the show for you. 

Jimmy Kimmel guest-bachelored on the show this past week and the unimaginable occurred. 

At long last. Jimmy Kimmel (and the shows producers?) took it upon themselves to tackle the amazing epidemic (see past blog post). People should be punished for unimaginative and flagrant use of the word amazing. Whether it be lashings or a monetary fine there must be consequences.  The Bachelor chose the more prime-time acceptable route and introduced a swear-jar directed at the overuse of amazing throughout the episode. 

I almost cried - and then called all my friends. I may have been more excited about this than my engagement.

Sternum Watch 2014 con't - Met Gala

As usual, with unwashed hair and garbed in tattered denim, an American Apparel hoody and with no authority whatsoever I have the audacity to vomit out my picks and pans at this years Met Gala. The theme was something vague and everyone stuck to it expertly.

The Met Gala is a who’s who of  who’s wearing what.  From underwhelming, to inappropriate and back again the night was highly entertaining, even when viewed from across the continent and 12 hours after it took place.

The Trends: Sternums, slits, sheer skirts, side boob and exposed midriffs.  

The Worst:  

Rosamund Pike – horrific. That is all.  Sandra Lee (who?) wore a cross between Kim Basinger’s 1990 Oscar atrocity and a little girl’s dream come true.  The winner of my Terrible Choice Award was Lena Dunham. Seeing Giambattista Valli look god-awful was a first for me. Dunham looked dreadful in a dress that was so wholly unflattering, that when she took her shoes off it almost looked better.

The Misguided:

In a dress that belonged on a (albeit stylish) flight attendant in the mid 60’s , Michelle Williams looked meek and ineffectual as usual.  More than the dress I think it’s that feeble tight-lipped grin of hers that says, “You have to like me because I’m average – I’m just like you.” She could be stark naked and I’d still be yawning.

While we’re on the subject of total boredom, lets discuss the most overrated couple of 2014. Kim Kardashian and Kanye West smacked of averageness, wearing similar expressions reading as “we’re going through the motions” Kim had a not at all surprising strapless, slit-up-to-there navy dress designed by Who Cares while Kanye, looked adequate.  In my highly unprofessional opinion, I think it’s over between them. I think Kanye will be lucky if he makes it to the alter before he goes the way of Chris Humphries. Really, was it worth having a baby with a publicity stunt? That goes for both of you.

Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen. We get it. You’re twins.  Wearing gorgeous gowns that would have looked better on anyone but them, their complimentary choices looked like they were 12 cats away from living in a derelict Georgian mansion. I imagine this is the type of outfit they’d live out their days in mourning should the other one die first. 

The Best:

In clashing pink separates, Emma Stone although harnessing three of the evening’s trends (mid riff , side boob and slit) looked effortlessly lovely. Her hair was only so so, but far better than the other unfortunate women who erred on the side of “bed head”. I’m talking to you Chloe Sevigny.

Lastly, besides being exceedingly thin, Kate Bosworth looked superb. Wearing a salmon slip dress with delicate and strategic slices across her rib cage, the ensemble embodied everything that’s good about simplicity.  Stella McCartney did it again. And then again on Cara Delavigne and then one more time on Rihanna.

Honorable mention:

Nice to see Andre Leon Tally in clothes that fit and not a parachute.

The end.

related article: Sternum watch 2014