Naramata

I've just returned from my brief trip to the Okanagan Wine Country (Wine Country always sounds like a made-up place, doesn't it? Much like Villainville or Cellulite City). Many hours were spent exploring the Naramata region, sipping as much wine as one could stomach on serpentine streets. My palate may not be refined enough to detect notes of forest floor in a glass of Pinot Noir, but that doesn't mean I couldn't thoroughly enjoy the experience and guess the easier notes, like raspberries and currants. When in doubt, amateur oenophiles, always say raspberries and currants. As for me, I'm already planning my next trip to a sylvan area, so that I can finally sample that famous forest floor.

Notice

I'll be out of town until Friday - adventure calls. Please remember to water my plant and starch my shorts. No, it's not gross and I'd do it for you, so don't make that face. Extra stiff. Thanks.  

Legitimately Sinister

Dress, Brooks Brothers. Sweater, Banana Republic. Scarf, American Apparel. Brooch, vintage. Handbag, Ann Taylor. Pumps, Nine West.

Did you know… that I am an ambidextrous calligrapher? My left-handed cursive is the ugly sister, but a sibling nonetheless. This self-taught skill was a result of my war paranoia – a childhood fear that I could be drafted at any time (even as a woman! even as a child!). Recurring nightmares had me driving ambulance cars (for obvious reasons), looking for family members in a sea of people, and watching myself get shot from a convenient new body. In daydreams, I would survive by having my right arm amputated, so the clumsy left would need to become my livelihood – a sinister thought, indeed! I guess you could say I liked to be prepared, although I still don’t have a driver’s license so I should probably dream up a new wartime occupation. Paranoia is a full-time job, isn't it?

In Search of Reading Time

Dress, Talbots. Blouse, Banana Republic. Trench, J.Crew. Headband, Holt Renfrew. Belt, Eddie Bauer. Wellies, Hunter.

It's that time of the year again, folks. Time to pull the wellies out of storage and dust off your old edition of Swann's Way that you've been meaning to read for a decade or so. 'Tis the season to be cultured and start getting hipsters' Proustian references.

Encyclopedic Kitsch

Cardigan, J.Crew. Shell, Talbots. Jeans, Gap. Headband, Holt Renfrew. Pumps, Banana Republic.

If you had told me last year that leopard went with everything, I would've promptly included your name in a special list I reserve for tacky people, alongside Liberace and Tammy Faye (you should be so lucky!). Then again, I read The Encyclopedia of Bad Taste from leopard cover to leopard cover years ago and have been biased ever since. Now that I've been sporting feline footwear a few times a week, perhaps it's time to revisit some other déclassé items on that list. Stay tuned for photographs of my new lava lamp and Twinkie addiction.

The Doppelgänger

Cardigan, J.Crew. Shirt & shorts, Banana Republic. Scarf, Holt Renfrew. Belt, Joe Fresh. Sandals, Geox.

A couple of nights ago, I found myself scouring the potato chip racks of a 7-Eleven in my neighborhood. The cashier snickered a bit, so I assumed he was judging the quantity or quality of my purchases (fair enough). He then accused me of having gone to St. Joseph's, which I naturally assumed was a prep school with killer uniforms. He snickered again and claimed it was a NIGHTCLUB. I assured him I would never set foot in such a place (not anymore, anyway), but he didn't believe me because "It sure looked like you in that purple dress." I made my escape before he had a chance to say that I'd supposedly grinded with him or done body-shots off his bros, but this case of mistaken identity has had me thinking. If you happen to see this doppelgänger doing the Jersey Turnpike in a purple dress near you, please know that it is not I. Most nights, I am too busy brushing up on Camelot couture and watching Cami Secret infomercials, which leaves little time for purple-dress-clubbing.

TV Jackie

Shirt, Talbots. Skirt, Club Monaco. Scarf, Icici. Pumps, Banana Republic.

Have I ever mentioned I'm a TV addict? Mad Men, Property Virgins, Jersey Shore - I watch it all, though draw the line at I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant, for obvious reasons. Tonight I watched the Jacqueline Kennedy special and I have a feeling some of you may have as well. Did you tear up at the sight of the tombstone that read "baby girl Kennedy?" Did you take mental notes of Jackie's outfits for upcoming cocktail parties? Did you find satisfaction in her nonchalant use of vocabulary you'd previously only encountered in books? (So that's how you pronounce détente...). No? Okay. I guess it was an exciting night of television, what with the Billy The Exterminator marathon and all.