Gimme Some Dace Moore

Instead of hitting the beach after brunch with the gang at Milestone's on 4th -- the norm on a sunny long weekend -- I went a little Main Street shopping with my girls Aims C. and Roop-a-Doop.

Clutching an orangina in one hand and wiping sweat off my brow with the other -- was it ever hot out yesterday, dayum! -- I tottered into the non-air conditioned stores and waded through a surprisingly mediocre collection of Main Street wares. A black one-piece cotton shorts outfit semi-caught my eye, as well as a pair of pin-striped short shorts with suspenders and a black tunic dress with a cinched bottom at Front & Company, but really, all I ended up buying was some organic hair product that promised a lavender-scented, tousled beach hair look.

However, a little stop into Eugene Choo re-introduced me to the label Dace Moore, named after its designer. Locally-based Moore started off small and is now quite big, selling across the nation at Holt Renfrew and hip boutiques across Canada and the States, L.A. and NYC included. The label is easy to wear, easy to layer and completely west coast laid back. Her Fall 2007 collection, dotted with shots of color in tights form -- already has me salivating uncontrollably. I'm particularly digging the Nanette short sleeve sweatshirt paired with the Robyn shorts, tights, long socks and calf boots, as well as the Gillian dress and Beverly coat with teal tights.

Oh, that Dace. Always making me want Moore.










I'm Lovin' it: Chirping. Definition? Someone -- usually a friend -- incessantly making fun of you for long periods of time, throwing out one diss after another. My buddy Scootsie is king of this game, chirping me on Friday during a night out at The Modern in Gastown (love that place, by the way...good crowd!). Though I can't remember all the chirps he threw down, I do vaguely recall him calling me a bad version of J-Lo and that the 80s called wanting their earrings back. Classic. Don't worry, I got him back yesterday.


I'm Over it: Girls in short shirts. There's something a little too ghetto/white trash/small town about a girl wearing a belly-baring top, regardless of how Fergie your abs are -- cover that shizz up! This was, in part, prompted by a server we had last night at Darby's Pub after the beach, who kept on having the haul down her shirt every 30 seconds. Classy McClass...not. Uh, then again, we WERE at Darby's...


Track of the Day: Colt 45 by Afroman, and I'm only saying this because the song is so freakin' hilarious. A good 95% of the lyrics are completely inappropriate for public posting, so you're gonna have to do your own Google lyrics search. And yes, Afroman really does have an afro.








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