F*** you, Phil

I probably forgot to tell you, but one of my best friends is a contractor, and he's building a modern house in Parkdale. Phil bought a decrepit old place on Fuller Avenue, and after the original plans to keep part of the facade didn't work out (because the house had been built out of sticks, Pez and toilet paper), he tore the whole thing down and started fresh.

Now that the shell is coming together, I thought I'd start a little series called #fuckyouphil.

Fuck Phil because his place is going to have ten foot ceilings on every floor (slightly shy in the basement, where the polished concrete floor will be heated), smart wiring for TVs and phones, digital controls everywhere, a hot tub on the deck outside the master suite, and the entire thing will be designed by his talented wifey, Alanna.

FUCK. PHIL. Because I can't believe that a 34-year-old dude who still likes Oasis and whose vocabulary consists mainly of "Yeah, man" is going to have a place like that, and because I'm clearly totally jealous.

And fuck Phil for making me climb that ladder, my tummy is still sad.

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