Bad combo: hangover, black dress, hot barbecue
LEAH McLAREN, The Globe and Mail
Monday, September 10 2001

Nobody ever told me about the hangovers. Waking Sunday morning, the Party Princess felt more like a used baby wipe than what she actually is: a magnificent human specimen deserving of a lifetime of social veneration and wicked shoes. Ever the trooper, I conjured up another little black dress (my soon-to-be-dead stylist had the nerve to stand me up at Holt's last week) and limped out to meet the limo. My driver, who had just spent the last couple of hours on a driving range, was a little chipper.

Vision in black cruelly derailed one smokin' train of thought
LEAH McLAREN, The Globe and Mail
Saturday, September 8 2001

"Did you see which way Jennifer Love Hewitt went?" asked one of my colleagues. We were standing sipping gin and tonics on the balcony overlooking the magnificent ballroom at the Liberty Grand two hours into the opening night postgala bash. "That way," I lied, pointing down the stairs leading out of the cordoned-off VIP area.

Overstressed, underdressed, unimpressed
LEAH McLAREN, The Globe and Mail
Friday, September 7 2001

'Can I tell you how distressing my opening night at the umpteenth-whatever Toronto International Film thingy was? Maybe if you'd stop fidgeting with your coffee cup and just be sensitive to my needs for one single second? Thank you. Like I was saying, it's officially intolerable. Smoochey-smoochey this. Can-I-get-you-a-martini-Miss-that. So tiresome.'