Time of My Life

Done and done. Full details to follow, but can't type now. So tired. Just know this, really and truly one of the best days of my life. Who knew? There was a bride in there afterall!

Lucky

Well, just a matter of hours before Crown and I are off to the city of sin to make it official. I probably won't post again until all is said and done.

Wish me luck?

With the gambling, I mean. I'm already lucky in love. The luckiest.

We'll chat in a few days, when I'm a Mrs.

The Final Countdown

Still. Slightly. Hung. Over.

Saturday night I had the absolute pleasure to paint the town red with three of Toronto’s finest females, Scarbie, Ragdoll and The Suze. These generous and beautiful women took me out to celebrate the impending nuptuals, which, by the way are impending really freakin’ quickly. Five days and counting…

My memories of our Sex and the City style outing to a chic Queen West-West eatery and uber-trendy hotspot are still soggy from too much tequila, but from what I can recall:

a) We were all looking foxy and I have a picture to prove it but NO IDEA how to transfer it from my cell phone onto this magical glowing box.

b) Our meals were fantastic despite the fact that our waitress forgot to bring our plate of Moroccan spiced olives. Twice.

c) A banana walked by the restaurant while we were eating. A banana. This was before any tequila touched lips, I swear.

d) The Suze used her skillz to by pass the line at the club, but forgot that she was supposed to bring us with her! She did knock on the window and wave at us from the inside though, ever the thoughtful and loving friend.

e) Some guy came up to me and said, “Let me guess…. Jessica Simpson?” and then, not 30 minutes later another guy called me Jessica Simpson. I’d be developing a complex and blaming my new hair cut and her removal of extensions… but… fuck man, it’s Jessica Simpson. Who can complain?

f) Friends called me Jess for rest of the evening.

g) As if spending a whole night with my three favourite Tdot babes isn’t enough… my three favourite Tdot boys showed up later too. Weirdo rolled up around 1am, followed closely by Crown and GParty.

h) Crown was acting all badass and cocky because they wouldn’t let him pass the line, and in his words, “He could get into this motherfucker in three phone calls or less.” This is the behaviour that Scarbie and I dream of witnessing from him when we’re together. Cracks us up into fits. But also? Got to admit, HOT.

i) Weirdo danced on his speaker for about three solid hours. Also cracks us up. Also kinda hot.

j) GParty. What can I say about GParty? Who can have anything but the best time ever when GParty is in the house? Love him so much.

k) Also, Spiderman was at the club. I do not mean Toby Maguire the actor who plays Spiderman in the blockbuster Hollywood film adaptations about the famous comic book hero. I mean, some guy dressed as Spiderman. Full one piece spandex type suit completely with head sock and booties. Granted this maybe less random than the banana-guy (see above) but still, when’s the last time you saw a super-hero at a nightclub? I mean really.

l) Ran into some blasts from my past. One guy from university and one chick from high school. Both knew me in my “other life,” so my memories, especially of the guy, were fuzzy at best. It was kind of a worlds colliding moment. Luckily, from what I can recall, the past stayed firmly planted in the past. Was pretty jokes, actually.

m) Last call is extended until 4am in Toronto during the TIFF (film festival), so I’m sure you can imagine the amount of damage that was done. Enough said.

A huge and heartfelt thanks to my awesome girls who gave me a really special night, even though I said I didn’t need any fuss. You have made me vow that we do not need a bloody Las Vegas wedding to get us out together for a night of booty shaking!

Thank you. Love you. Never drinking again.

The Name of the Game

Just 'cause I haven't showed him off in about, um, five minutes.

I give you:



Stinky Stinkerson.
Barky Barkerson.
Sulky Sulkerson.
Sheddy Shedderson.
Pukey Pukerson.
Itchy Itcherson.
Scratchy Scratcherson.
Poopy Pooperson.
Momey Momerson.
Sleepy Sleeperson.
Cutey Cuterson.
Puppy Pupperson.

When I'm Sixty-Four

I have been spending an exorbitant amount of money on personal maintenance. Seriously my friends. Between the waxing, facials and mani-pedis, I’m headed for the poor house.

Here’s my theory. The more you start to indulge in these quick aesthetic tune-ups, the more you start to need them. I’m serious. When I was only getting one mani-pedi every two months or so, my feet were soft, toes lovely, hands like butter. Now? Scaly chipped, peeling and cracked after like five days. Sure, summer plays a role, but I think there’s a greater evil lurking in the shadows.

Age. There, I said it.

I get it now.

The older you get, the fatter, dryer, pastier, frizzier and wrinklier you get. It’s all true. Holy fuck.

Anyway, my point. With the pending nuptials bearing down on me, I’ve been feeling some added pressure to get the car into the shop, so to speak. Through out the summer I’ve been going for monthly facials, I’ve had purifying back treatments, hair cuts and colours. I’ve been springing for the “good” shampoo.

Naturally, summer requires waxing. I’ve been upping the ante and going full burn on the bikini in prep for poolside in Sin City. Also, have added eyebrows to the list, something that until this year, I’ve always tended to myself. Now there’s no going back! The brows need a professional! That arch, that perfectly “natural shape” that is SO NOT NATURAL AT ALL. I can’t do that. No way.

Then there's the ever present gym-membership. Plus I’ve been religious about weekly yoga. And this week I added a tanning package to the list. Tan lines won’t do, will they? NO THEY WILL NOT.

Add up all these services and it feels like springing for the full detailing at the car wash, you don’t really want to pay someone to shake out your mats, but do it yourself? As if.

So this fall, when I’m wearing last year’s boot cut jeans, instead of this year’s drainpipes; and if you see me in pointy-toed kitten heels, instead of round toed platforms; just know, underneath those out-of-date fashions lies smoothly waxed skin, soft, supple heels and a bloody expensive tan.

My one saving grace? Am off food. Saving a few bucks there. But trust me, once I’ve actually fit into my dress, I’ll be back on the burgers, and those few extra dollars will be flying out the window as well.

Will I give up my other services then, too? Somehow, I don’t see it happening. Like prune juice and comfortable shoes, looks like they are just an inevitable part of my future.