The Girl in the Dirty Shirt.

Old favourite Oasis songs and these ridiculously pretty Christophe Kutner photographs (which, FYI, are making me a little nostalgic for my uber-blonde hair) make uneventful Wednesdays far more enjoyable than they would be otherwise. Can this week just be over yet?

If I may be so bold that I just say something

come and make me my day.

The clouds around your soul don't gather there for nothing

but I could chase them all away

Why'd you need a reason for to feel happy?

Or be shining for the rest of the world?

Give me just a smile, and would you make it snappy?

Get your shit together, girl.

You've got a feeling lost inside it just won't let you go.

Your life is sneaking up behind it just won't let you go.

No, it just won't let you go.

Here's what I'm trying to say...

Is would you maybe come dance here with me?

Because to me it doesn't matter if your hopes and dreams are shattered.

When she says something, she'll make me believe

In the girl who wears a dirty shirt

She knows exactly what she's worth to me.

If you ever find yourself inside a bubble,

you've got to make your own way home.

But you can call me anytime you're seeing double.

Now you know you're not alone.

You've got a feeling lost inside it just won't let you go.
Your life is sneaking up behind it just won't let you go.
No, it just won't let you go.
Here's what I'm trying to say...

Is would you maybe come dance here with me?
Cos to me it doesn't matter if your hopes and dreams are shattered.
When she says something, she'll make me believe
In the girl who wears a dirty shirt
She knows exactly what she's worth to me.
And now I see.

Random Thursday Happiness includes...

1. Finding the perfect dress to wear to this wedding I have attend on Saturday. The prospect of being stranded in a place outside of my agreeable realm of TTC service (I honestly don't remember the last time I went somewhere that the TTC did not extend out to..it's kind of terrifying) filled with strangers and family that I hate (Hi, Dad) is emotionally daunting enough for me thankyouverymuch, I don't need the added worry of looking sub-par. And now, thanks to the lovely dress I acquired last night in a post-work power shop, I won't.

I first learned this lesson from a wise, brilliant friend who always sauntered in to our most formidable 8 a.m. university exams looking absolutely and entirely impeccable. When I eventually worked up the nerve to ask her why this was the case, I was met with a bit of wisdom which has not been quickly forgotten: "If this all turns out shit, which it probably will, at least I know I can catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror later and feel better about life."

Moral of the story: A dress that makes your boobs look great combined with a healthy amount of narcissism can go a long way when you're out of your comfort zone.

2. The fact that I have the next four days free to do whatever I please with (with the exception of the aforementioned wedding uncomfortable-ness...but hey, it's an excuse to wear a pretty dress, drink on someone else's dollar and flirt with dudes, so it can't be all bad).

Knowing me this means that the next four days of my life will consist of little more than my usual chain-smoking/drinking/going out/sleeping in/eating food every once in a while, but then again most anything that's not being confined within the beige walls of office hell seems pretty fucking delightful by me.

3. This, this and this article by Kate Carraway for Eye Weekly. I'm pretty sure she's been following me around town given the absolute fucking spot-on ness of her columns lately in relation to my life. Or we're just the same person. Either way.

4. The following photos of impossibly beautiful Scandinavian-by-way-of-Seattle models living out my dreams of summer, being gorgeous and grunge-tastically bohemian. Whoever is the first to find me a hot Kurt Cobain-esque boyfriend, so-ugly-it-borders-on-being-cute floral crochet poncho and a turquoise van to play guitar on top of first wins at life...fuck it, find me even one of those things and I'll buy you a cupcake or something.

I Think I'm In Love.

Nah, this post's title isn't a reference to a Spiritualized song (for once), it's about this goddamn Marni collection that is quite literally making my brain implode with awesomeness. It's wearable yet cerebral, playful and profesh, luxury for the slightly loopy at its absolute best. I thought I was 'over' fashion, what with having recently disbanded Thee Fashion Blog That Shall Not Be Named, but Consuelo Castiglioni has quickly changed my mind on the matter and deftly weaseled the love for colour, proportion and sky-high platform shoes back into my cold, black, 5-outfit-redundant heart as of late.

The woman of the venerable Italian house's Fall 2009 Ready-to-Wear collection is, in my mind, the lovechild of Margot Tenenbaum (kohl-eyed, scrawny-armed former prodigy with a depressive streak from Wes Anderson's The Royal Tenenbaums) and Howard Roark (sexy power-tripping genius architect from Ayn Rand's The Fountainhead). Marni's marriage of Roark's egomaniacal intelligence and Margot's fabulously eccentric heiress shtick basically renders me speechless, and wanting nothing more than to be this Roark-Margot hybrid with a wardrobe filled with nothing but the following outfits...in my brilliant skyscraper penthouse, of course.

This one below would be for lazy Sunday shopping; I would totally pick up a box of chai tea, a brick of Camembert, some graphing pencils and a carton of Marlboro Reds in this splendid mish-mash of an outfit. I've no doubt my Cantonese convenience store clerk would be a fan of the jaunty hat.

I would wear this next one when taking public transit. Because even though my father is a massively loaded architect and my mom is a playwright heiress mess, I still like to keep it real and tell my driver to fuck off every once in a while. The massive workman gloves seem awfully functional re: poor people germs, as does the breastplate-like beaded vest thing (seriously though, what would you call that thing?) But I digress.

A navy blue fur coat is obviously one of the most badass articles of clothing one could possess, and as such this ensemble would naturally adorn me while conducting my daily badass activities, whatever those may be.

The cape hearkens back to a time when men were chivalrous and women were ladylike and people actually gave a shit about what they looked like before they walked out the front door in the morning; in sloppy modernity, however, the cape-wearing individual has, by and large, been relegated to something of a crazy person. But no matter, because this is exactly what I would want to be wearing while taking a stroll down Fifth Avenue with my pet pig on my way to hot yoga.

The jacquard overcoat, printed knees socks and outrageously high open-toed wedge sandals are obviously perfect for attending my Thursday afternoon Sartrean Existentialism class at NYU, and having coffee and a heated debate about the true beneficiary in Wagner and Nietzsche's friendship with my dashing T.A. on a nearby park bench afterwards. Obviously.

The perfect party dress for when my attendance is required at yet another dreadfully boring Saturday evening gala. The jeweled bib-front is questionable/quirky enough to pique the curiosity of the more conservative individuals in my socio-economic strata, but inoffensive/expensive enough to keep their comments at bay. Also, it's sexy without being restrictive in such a way that would make climbing into the town car difficult after a few too many bottles of champers, the importance of which is not to be minimized.