Dear Laywer

You have read my blog. How did you like it?

You also told me you read my tweets and Facebook.  Hope I was able to entertain you.

Thank you for telling me, following my testimony, that you have googled me, checked my twitter and facebook, and read my blog.  I have nothing to hide.  I am health care professional by day and blogger and life lover by night.  My day job has nothing to do with my life job.

I love pizza, champers, movies, travelling, photography, cooking.  

I am opposed to Rob Ford, the Conservative government, ignorance, prejudice, traffic, environmental destroyers, shark finners.

I have a cat. Leave her out of this.

I love my (day) job and I think I’m pretty good at it.  Aside from this post, it is not a part of my social media life.

I will not stop blogging, tweeting, facebook status updating, twitpicing, flickring, linkedining, running, shopping, laughing, crying, and living.

Here I am.  I have nothing to hide.



Only ‘cause my feet are cold and his legs are warm.  Survival. Duh.

This photo is of the discovered equipment of Bill Biggart, a photojournalist who lost his life on 9/11.

LIFE: They Were There – 9/11 Photographers

Photo by Chip East

Via: photojojo

TIFF. Schmiff.

I had no interest in participating in anything TIFF this year.  I live across the street from Bell Lightbox and a stones throw from Roy Thompson Hall so I’m constantly being subjected to large gatherings of “Starfuckers” (as my dear friend refers to the hundreds who hang over security fences with the hope of catching a glimpse of their favourite hollywood celebrity).  The Starfuckers aren’t even the worst.  The #TIFFdouchbags (as twitter has cleverly named) with their TIFF lanyards, expensive shoes, and no taste talking at an inappropriate volume about the “most awesome industry party tonight” are the worst.

Who am I kidding?  I’m just jealous.  Of course I’d love to go to a movie screening in a luxury theatre and sit next to some of the greatest creative minds in the world.  And rubbing shoulders with Alexander Skarsgard wouldn’t be too shabby…

So when my friend Amber Mac called me and asked if I wanted to be her +1 to George Strombo’s TIFF party, the Starfucker in me squealed with excitement.  

Arrived in Yorkville to a massive herd of people fenced around the red carpet.  Yes, there was a red carpet.  Despite feeling totally out of place, Amber and I made our way into the massive party.  

Just like every Hollywood party I’ve ever been to (haha) the champagne (cava) and Kettle One martinis were flowing.  I stuck to my usual and vowed to drink responsibly despite the tempting open bar.

Within minutes we ran into the blondtourage also known as @casiestewart @keriblog and @laurenonizzle.  Being the geeks we all are, pics were snapped and uploaded to Twitter almost instantly.

The rest of the night was just a dream-like blur.  Hung out at arms-reach of Paul Giamatti, Bono, John Hamm and pretended to be unimpressed.  Sipped sparking wine like it was nothing more than tonic water.  I was slowly morphing into a TIFF douchebag. 

But just like a modern-day Cinderella Starfucker, the clock struck 4 am and my carriage turned back into a pumpkin.  So I made my way home and put away my glass slippers until next time.

P.S. Sorry for the shitty iPhone pics (not sorry).