The Village is really a summer thing. I've said it before and I'll reiterate it now. So... a couple of weeks ago on the first passable day of warmth in Toronto would I not happen to spot the classic male Faux Hillary in his summer ensemble: sweatpants, those adidas flip flops that everyone owned in Rez, polo and sunglasses. Yes ladies put those Uggs away the David's patio is OPEN!
Alas I've been busy to recount tales from a blossoming Faux Hill Spring. In short I've dumped the jock, quit my job in MEDIA, travelled to LA (whose bling puts the Faux Hill Village to shame) and have once again found myself back as of May1st: Unemployed, potentially friendless, sitting watching life passby on the patio of the Faux Hill Village. To make matters even better the Rama has reared his summer head only to profess his love for yours truly only days before he gets shipped off to war/ fine an oil rig. Well don't I feel like Sandra Bullock in that awful Hemingway inspired movie with Chris O'Donnell (yum).
In fact... as I ventured into Starbucks over the weekend only to run in one of Those Girls.
"FH how are you?"
"Good"
"I haven't seen you since last summer. When you were here like everyday."
"Well I'm back baby..."
And to that point I found myself this morning sitting and having a latte at the Starbucks jockeying for position on the patio. Uhm... FYI I'm a celebrity god dammit. Does Kirstin Dunst jockey for space at the Urth Caffe on Melrose (that's just a little LA talk, baby). No. No she doesn't. I am the Kirstin Dunst of the Faux Hill Village.
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