Queen of chav

I was reading up on Lily Allen to find out what this precious little sour tart was all about ... and to verify her authenticity.

And what did I encounter but a whole bunch of English slang that I had never heard before. Namely, I encountered the term chav (see the image? that's a chav).

Chav seems to speak to a group of skids that I, in my West Coast Canadian way, call "white yos" (think Surrey boys in gangsta suits). You know, those hard-core yos who talk "street cred" while they're pulling bills from the bank-of-dad.

I'm calling these precious little bits of our social network chavs from now on.

So back to little ole Lily... there's a possee of higher class brits who take on lower class accents for "street cred" (Hello Mr. Jagger!). A few articles on Miss Allen cited her as a pseudo chav. Well, actually, they didn't cite her as a pseudo chav, they called her out as an "overrated queen of chav". I dig this phrase.

Good terms like this equal good times.

So now I'm off to troll Robson Street to see if I can "accidentally" bump into some track-suited hipster and banish him or her an "overrated chav".

More fun terms: chav, scally, townie, ned, kev, yarco, dobber, mallie, meader

Sissie sun on my back

I'm posting from the middle of Union Square in San Francisco. The sun's warming my back; the slightest breeze is keeping me from overheating. Conditions are perfect. Everything is perfect.

But then perfection is a so easy to handle when its natural — so easy that it's hard to trust it.

Most of the time, I'm at work, walking the tight rope that is perfection and just getting it done. Trusting myself enough to sit here and soak up perfect conditions is making me light headed. I'm trying to ignore the niggling sense that I should leave it — and just find something and get it done.

But I've persevered, and won.

The co-worker I am travelling with had to leave this perfect condition to "get something done". I asked him what he had to do. And he said, "I dunno – something — I should get some shopping done."

I said fine. I'll meet you back at the hotel in an hour. I'm going to sit here for a while. Go have fun getting something done.

Spring in Toronto

Alas, this is true. On my way to work in the morning the melting snow revealed still-frozen little piles of dogshit. Lovely!

Spring "arrives" in two days: in Vancouver, the cherry (I almost wrote "cheery") blossoms are already in bloom. OK, in fairness, I brought my umbrella to work once in my first Toronto winter: for that reason alone (and because my full-length down and fur parka cost more than my first car) winter here didn't feel at all like a "normal" winter, ie. rain, rain, grey skies, rain. black skies, rain.

Instead, I got sunny crisp mornings, and sparkly evenings when you couldn't actually see the snow, but the air was full of invisible, iridescent sparkles. One evening after a movie (the excellent Notes on A Scandal ) the Ninja and I both noticed Central Canadian snowflakes for the first time (he's from the East Coast, I the West): perfect, flat, sharp-edged and laughably complex little constructions, again iridescent, sometimes landing singularly, sometimes landing x-ed with a fellow snowflake, like happily copulating little snowflakes, always perfect, always sharp, unmelting, decorative in one's parka's fur.

OK. I guess winter here isn't terrible.

Work wives

Today at work, I had ramen at Kintaro with a new co-worker who shares a similar lifestyle ... and love of bouncy castles.

Amidst slurps of flavourful noodles and juicy smacks of scintilating vegetables done to al dante perfection, he spoke of his former "work wife".

"Work wife!" I exclaimed, honing in on a new GBS phrase,"Tell me what you mean by this."

"You know," he casually gestured, "the person you share stuff with at work – the stuff that's outside of work."

I really love the phrase "work wife" because it befits the bond. You definitely have familial bonds with certain co-workers that lack a proper definition — one that enriches your life, but doesn't transgress. Plus the term is so nouveau '50s...so innocent, yet so Norman Rockwell racy.

Let me define it agan... At work, you have people with whom you are close. With whom you share an emotional bond that transcends the 9-5 boundaries, but never leaves it. This is your "work husband" or "work wife". So work with me: embrace the term and the bond, but not the person.

I think I'm going to make this man my "work husband".

It lifts me up. I need work love...friends, faux husbands, bosses. It makes this capitalist world a more loving place.

p.s. Kintaro has the most amazing ramen in Vancouver. They massage the noodles, and this is good. The noodles are tender, flavourful, and full of love.

p.s.s. The work husband just sent me this link: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Work_wife

Budgeting Tips for Cash-Strapped Bitches

Faux-Fendi feeling a little light of late?
Forced to choose between creature comforts and luscious libations?

Let the Ghetto Bitches share the wealth.

We give you the Gala Keg!



The equivalent of five and a third bottles of wine for around $30.

The easy-pour spout means less tipsy dripage.

The vacuum seal ensures freshness, meaning no more partial bottles languishing* to go stale and sour.

*can't say I've ever had this problem but some bitches do claim this is a concern.

And as if the above weren't reason enough to start rockin' the Gala Keg...I have one final feature to tempt you.




When you're done with the wine...
the bag doubles as a bath pillow!



Boop boop be doop, bitches.

Sex and vegetables...

...are two things my diet is missing.

Redrum

All work and no play makes Violet a dull blogger. All work and no play makes Violet a dull blogger. All work and no play makes Violet a dull blogger. All work and no play makes Violet a dull blogger. All work and no play makes Violet a dull blogger. All work and no play makes Violet a dull blogger. All work and no play makes Violet a dull blogger. All work and no play makes Violet a dull blogger. All work and no play makes Violet a dull blogger. All work and no play makes Violet a dull blogger. All work and no play makes Violet a dull blogger. All work and no play makes Violet a dull blogger. All work and no play makes Violet a dull blogger. All work and no play makes Violet a dull blogger. All work and no play makes Violet a dull blogger. All work and no play makes Violet a dull blogger. All work and no play makes Violet a dull blogger. All work and no play makes Violet a dull blogger. All work and no play makes Violet a dull blogger. All work and no play makes Violet a dull blogger. All work and no play makes Violet a dull blogger. All work and no play makes Violet a dull blogger. All work and no play makes Violet a dull blogger. All work and no play makes Violet a dull blogger. redrum.

Ghetto boy winter

Ah, if we're the ghetto bitches, then these two New Zeland boys are definitely our brothers. They're two hard core sissies, that's for sure. Words to our brothers.

(Who knew "Steve" from New Zeland originated Hip Hop in 2001? I sure didn't.)