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My favourite position is Dogliani style

Real talk: installing six pieces of IKEA furniture on a Sunday with subsequent plans to write, study, and plug away at a work report is a stupidly ambitious goal, but I knew plans wouldn't work out as soon as I woke up hungover to see the delivery truck arrive just outside the window. Who says yesterday's steamed golden lava bun-stained shirt isn't fashionable? Cue scenes with nails that won't screw and Viognier to quell such frustrations, and then Googling how many calories are spent putting furniture together for eight hours. And then, do you ever have fucking fantastic conversations with an AIDS physician on a Saturday night and 5-more-minutes yourself way too many times? Jesus Christmas. Piedmont week is the thicc daddy of the Northern Italian portion of...

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16 sparkling wines to drink alone in your room on New Year’s Eve

Girl, do not limit yourself. You can pick any day! New Year's Eve, New Year's Day, or fuck: why not March 6th? I support you. On that note of celebrations, though, I don't understand why it's ridiculously vogue to aggressively bluster about how you're over partying with large crowds and noisy beats. We get it. Can you stop making me feel bad for not fitting into your definition of introvert, for once? I can be the biggest withdrawn human endlessly swaying to Björk and eating baby carrots, but maybe my version of Saturday night Chopin and Netflix occasionally involves enjoying a Hillary Clinton drag impersonator rip off four layered tearaway pantsuits in a row at a bar where I've made just the right amount of mistakes over the past few months....

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12 other white Italian grapes for when you’re over Pinot Grigio

It's clear that we've taken a departure from the experimental seminars of 2015's Australia to the tacit themes of longevity and traditionalism of 2016's theme of Italy for the Vancouver International Wine Festival. It's expected that the colossal tasting room is skewed towards the stars of Tuscany, Piedmont, and Veneto, so this leaves the underdogs few and far between. There is not one Dolcetto (yeah I know: who cares) nor one pearl-clutching Franciacorta being poured during the whole festival, nor are there enough Montepulciano for me to make a terrible d'Ab(ruzzo) joke, so last year's boner for Australian Touriga Nacional would have to be partially satiated by a seminar on all things white and distinctively not Pinot Grigio. I often find the whites of...

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