In order to put off getting organized for Christmas, the Sweetie and I decided to brave the blowing snow and get ourselves some chocolate at The Distillery District instead. Why clean the house or get ready for Christmas when there are steaming cups of hot chocolate to be had?

The Distillery District looks really magical right now, with little fairy lights strung everywhere and the brick streets lined with evergreen boughs. I actually had a moment when I thought winter could be pretty.

I quickly came to my senses and pulled us into Soma Chocolatemaker for some warmth and their magical Mayan hot chocolate elixir. Bravo to the Mayans for building pyramids and their astronomical advances, but the true accomplishment is discovering that chocolate and chili’s go so well together. I had a big cup with steamed milk, while The Sweetie opted for a short cup which was a gooey thick mass of pure heaven. My fuzzy head felt instantly clearer, and all was right with the world again.

Nothing like a nip of chocolate to put everything in perspective and take the sting out of winter, at least temporarily.

Sheba Ethiopian Restaurant on College Street is absolutely scrumptious and a bargain eater’s delight. You can stuff yourself and have a beer for less than $20.00 and the atmosphere is cozy and inviting, perfect for whiling away a couple of hours with friends. It’s a perfect date place as well. There is something wonderfully sensual and intimate about eating with your hands. The only drawback, unfortunately, is that all of the waitresses are gorgeous. Really really gorgeous. And friendly. My girlfriend and I had planned on going with our sweeties. We purposely opted for a Friday night, figuring that all the really gorgeous waitresses would be out on dates. We hoped that there would only be plain waitresses left, leaving our men free to gaze upon us adoringly and undistracted.

Alas, no.

Luckily we were able to take comfort in the delicious food and despite the gorgeous waitresses, we’ll be back (maybe for a girl’s night).

If there is any way that autumn in Toronto can be somewhat redeemed, it is the start of Doc Soup. Once a month, from October till April, a documentary is shown at the Bloor Cinema. A subscription to Doc Soup which includes admission to all monthly movies, plus ten passes to the Hot Docs festival is a mere $140 (plus GST). That works out to less than $8.00 per movie which is a great deal and guaranteed to satisfy more than any formulaic Hollywood movie ever could.

I have been a documentary nerd forever. It started with Wild Kingdom nature shows I’d watch with my grandmother as a kid. I’d always be waiting for a grisly kill, terrified and thrilled as a sickly gazelle was separated from the pack by a deadly lioness. I’d hyperventilate when some poor unsuspecting zebra would take a drink in the crocodile infested watering hole. From then on it has been a lifetime of gobbling up documentaries. They have fascinated me, shocked me and broken my heart.

Doc Soup and Hot Docs has grown rapidly over the years. I am glad more people are turning on to the power of documentaries. I can’t help it though, I start getting resentful whenever something becomes a scene. I guard my geekiness jealously and much prefer being a documentary nerd over a documentary hipster. Perhaps I am being unfair and judgmental. I never said I was a generous documentary lover. Nor do I claim that my love of documentaries spills over to a benevolent love of people. Luckily my doc love overrides my hatred of scenesters. That and the fact that the Bloor Cinema makes amazing fresh popcorn and layers the butter midway through the bag so that every kernel is saturated. I am forced to dig deep and continue to embrace Doc Soup and find some generosity in my small elitist heart.

Nothing like unseasonably warm temperatures, gorgeous fall colours, a road trip with my sweetie, hot coffee and fresh scones to add up to a perfect autumn day.

We took a trip to Aberfoyle Antique market for a day of strolling arm in arm, treasure hunting, and shooing away angry wasps that seemed to be out in full force. It is with sweaty palms and bated breath that I scurry through rows of sparkling glass, musty tablecloths and glistening jewels. I am convinced that one of these days I will find the full set of Pyrex bowls from my childhood that I am lusting after at a drastically reduced price. I love the awful displays of terrifying dolls, convinced that they are secretly watching me and will come to life later at night.

I love the eccentric shoppers with their little dogs, clucking at their finds . I love catching snippets of conversation and the gravelly laughter from the pack-a-day smoking vendors. I am overcome with excitement and benevolence on these trips, and feel like a beatific rummaging goddess.

This trip yielded a fantastic ice crusher, (hello margarita pre-mix goodness!) sold by my favourite rockabilly/Betty Page vintage babe vendor. I can only imagine how fabulous her home must be, filled with smiley tomato head condiment holders, cone shaped bras and peep toe pumps.

All in all, a glorious afternoon of autumnal thrills and chills.

My supposed mandate is to fill my days and nights with inexpensive cool experiences. Enlighten myself on the cheap and all that. Therefore Nuit Blanche should have fit the bill perfectly. Free all night contemporary art throughout downtown Toronto, I should have been all over it. If only it wasn’t for :

1) all the other people shuffling along the streets en masse.

And then

2) I was frightened when I read about Jillian McDonald’s “Zombies in Condoland” at College Street and Yonge Street. If there is one thing that scares the bejeebus out of me, it’s the hateful zombie. Apparently regular citizens could show up dressed as zombies, or enjoy a zombie makeover at the event. All well and good, sure, participation is a great thing and all, but what happens if a real zombie sneaks in? How would anyone know until it is too late?

My sister had a baby the day before, which

3) triggered an early onset midlife crisis in myself. Questions of what is my purpose? What am I doing with my life anyway? Why don’t conversations of breast pumps excite me? If I don’t have kids, who’ll visit me when I’m old? Etc. Etc.

This of course led to a

4) sleepless night, which isn’t a good lead up to wandering the streets of Toronto all night, Nuit Blanche or not. It’s great in theory, but feeling a little fragile,

5) tired, and not liking the

6) distinct autumnal chill in the air, ugh, I opted instead for a movie, far from

7) crowds, complete with my sweetie and buttered popcorn with fake white cheddar chemical powder on top.

Sorry Nuit Blanche. I’m sure I missed some great experiences. Cheap and cool is fabulous, but warm and cozy always wins.