I haven’t been taking too many pictures lately, mostly because I keep forgetting to charge my phone then I have to save every last bit of phone juice for pithy facebook comments-slash-googling pictures of hot boys.

Which means a lot of this post will require reading, but you can handle it. I have confidence in you.

Friday night Sarah got much-coveted tickets to the Bahamas concert, mostly due to her connections and all-around babeliness.  It is beneficial having a babely friend when you are significantly less babely because then she can get things with her babeliness and give them to you.  Which she did.  With a ticket to the show.

I don’t go to shows too often because I like to sit on my ass and listen to music while drinking wine in my house in my underwear, where I don’t have to deal with stupid people or washroom line-ups, but this was a good show.  You know when you’re at a show and the bass is like, so loud and well-timed that you’re all like “YES YES YES you are in beat with my heart, you attractive singer-songwriter, you.  We should probably get married.”.  Yeah, that totally happened.

The only bad thing was that I decided to run to the washroom 2 minutes before he went on and then when I got back Sarah and Julia had taken the initiative to move up to the front.  Being a total coward, I am physically and psychologically unable to push through crowds, so I stood by myself at the back of the bar for the whole time, swaying awkwardly with strangers…

… or as I like to call it “going to jam” by myself in the corner. 

Honestly, that wasn’t bad at all, it was just the four guys behind me who kept saying things like “This is boss.” and “This is the sickest track. I love this track.  Sickest track on the album”  SICK TRACK?  Who says that? WHAT IS THIS?  2004? 

The plan was to go to some art show thing at Brickworks, but then there was a line up of SIXTY BILLION PEOPLE so we decided to go to Pizza Pizza instead.

We probably sat in the Pizza Pizza for like 2 hours talking about stuff and business and eating pizza, and Sarah (maybe) almost got robbed, and then we went home and I ate an additional two hot dogs.  Really, they were called “frankfurters” on the packaging, which I thought was SO FUNNY in the middle of the night.  Like it said ”Put the frankfurter in boiling water” HA HA H AHAAAA.  I kept saying “frankfurter” in my mind for the next four days and giggled every time. 

Saturday I had lofty plans to walk around aimlessly and maybe buy a leather jacket (because 4 leather jackets is clearly not adequate), but instead it turned into this:

Which of course turned into this:

Little known fact: Ossington has turned into a fucking disgusting douchebag SHITHOLE.  We danced at Huey’s for a bit, which was fun, but while my two nice, relatively sober friends and I were standing outside, politely trying to get a cab, a tiny-nutsacked-loser THREW A FULL TALL CAN OF BEER AT US from a cab.  It smashed against the *Escalade* that was parked next to us and fucking exploded everywhere, narrowly missing Karen’s head.

Five minutes later a gross souped-up corvette thought that the car in front of him was going too slow, popped it into 3rd and gunned into oncoming traffic to pass him, narrowly missing groups of drunk people trying to get cabs.

You are all gross.

Anyways, I finally got a cab and the following conversation ensued:

Cab Driver: You seem like a nice lady – all of the people on that street were crazy.
Me: I KNOW – someone threw a beercar at us for no reason.
Cab Driver: You know where the best fares in the whole city are?
Me: No, where?
Cab Driver: That club Wicked.
Me: Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?  Really?
Cab Driver: Yes, they are all very excited to go home and get on with the rest of their night.
Me: *laughing* Yes, because their night is just beginning.
Cab Driver: Yes – you know you should go to Wicked.
Me: …
Cab Driver: It is only $10.00 for you to get in.
Me: You mean for ladies?
Cab Driver:  Yes.  Do you know how much it is for men?  $80.00.
Me: …
Cab Driver:  And even then sometimes they don’t get what they are paying for.
Me: …
Cab Driver: You should go to Wicked to see it, you know.
Me: …
Me: …
Me: WELL HERE IS MY HOUSE BYE GOTTA GO.

The actual conversation was about 30 times longer and involved many more encouraging statements about going to Wicked.

Anyways.  On Sunday I bought these mustard yellow witchy vintage Ferragamo shoes.  They might be a *little* too witchy, but you can suck my nut.

Please note my wrinkled up blue socks and how they make my feet look like blue pig hooves.

And now you are fully updated.