small talk.

In retrospect, I can't believe I dated someone who would date someone who has what I like to call "Homesense Art" on their walls. You know, like those god-awful Tolouse Lautrec prints of bustling french bistros and can-can dancers at the local Moulin Rouge. I can appreciate art with the rest of them, but did you really get that on sale at Winners? Did you buy it with a gift certificate? Did you go enjoy a nice rib dinner at Applebee's afterwards and talk about how much money you saved and how great it'll look on your 'eggshell' walls? Are you going to go home and check your AOL e-mail account? Will Don't Stop Believin' be the song at your wedding?

Toulouse Lautrec was a sick man as a result of inbreeding (his parents were first cousins). I think the lady I'm referring to is a bit sick for other reasons.

holding on to that teenage feeling.

The Russian Judge says...




Today I feel approximately like a 2.4. Partly because of a hangover, and partly because I was hung out to dry, I'm trying to muster up the energy and luster to tell myself "It'll all be okay"!

It will all be okay, for I am one resilient spring chicken that will bounce back. And with a great new haircut, at that.

let's get it on.

I've simply got to stop dating* rappers.



11:05pm- "but yeah whenever i see andrew we rap about you, it funny".

Although I seem to date* an inordinate amount of men who spit rhymes more than tobacco; this one was obviously a mistake. I mean, just look at the spelling & grammar mistakes. I like to think that if someone was writing a rap about me, it would be really nice and flattering. Y'know, like something not using the word "bitch" or "cunt" or any other choice four letter words? I'm thinking Eric B. & Rakim's "What's on Your Mind?", not Ludacris.

I know homie's got all sorts of hoes in dif'rant area codes.

Rappers tend to have alot of love whether it be for their homies, their boo, their music, or their mamas. Thanks to a less-than-mutal breakup on my behalf, I'm guessing the Andrew character he was referring to isn't exactly writing hip hop love songs for this former shortie in his spare time. Whatever, the dude wore sweatpants on a regular basis. I just couldn't hack it anymore.

Instead of looking further into this, I've dedicated my evening to Eye Know by De la Soul. Featuring samples from one of my favourite Steely Dan songs, this song really does Peg, and me, proud.

Gets me three feet high and rising.

To this day, whenever a dude makes me a mix tape/CD/playlist programmed into my iPod, I always scan the song list for either of these numbers (...and to this day, no man has fulfilled that fantasy).

It's aiight. I've got plenty o' faith that one day it won't just be Steely Dan telling me "I know I'll love you better."


*Note: By date, I don't nessecarily mean date, if you know-what-I'm-sayin'. This is where those choice four letter words proooobably came in handy.
**Note: Definitely.

microphone mathematics.

Can you handle the pre-shah?

I have never been a YouTube person, and I probably will never be a YouTube person, but being in bed ill with what I can only assume is a modern day form of the Bubonic Plague has led me to explore the never-ending visual abyss that YouTube can provide even from under the covers. Unsure of what I wanted to watch, but very sure that it was not video upon video of drunk fucks drawing penises on their friends' faces, I looked up a very short-lived former flame. You all remember Leroy 'The Grandmaster' Young from Winnipeg Folk Festival 2006?

Technically, I met my old friend Leroy on the first night of the Calgary Folk Festival. I took the trip with my father as a bonding experience; I really just wanted to see Ani Difranco, he wanted to see Macy Gray. Since unlike the Winnipeg counterpart the Calgary Folk Festival does not feature the camping option, we stayed at the Fairmont.. Marriot.. Hyatt? Whatever the nicest hotel closest to the festival was.

Like camping with room service.

We lucked out because it was also the temporary home for hundreds of the festival's performers, and even better, the nightly festival afterparties. On a high from the fairly epic Broken Social Scene (ft. Miss Leslie Feist!) show that ended the first night of the festival, I was smoking a cigarette (or two, or three) outside the hotel before I joined my dad in my room for a drink (...or two, or three) when I met Leroy.

He was handsome, he was black, and he was everything I was looking for that weekend. He also turned out to be my ticket to what felt like endless booze-filled evenings spent partying with some festival favourites. Skipping to the end of the weekend, I was *this* close and very vocal about accepting his invitation to finish touring with him and then relocate to Belize but I decided finishing high school was probably a pretty important move, and after a very informative Wikipedia search, I found out he was 41. I was 17 at the time.

I remembered today that in that weekend together, several hours of footage was taken of me for a documentary that they were filming about Leroy that was intended to be titled "Sex, Drugs, and Poetry". Interview footage, footage of me dancing, footage of us making out... There's no way that all of it ended up on the cutting room floor. I am still, hours later, wondering if this documentary ever ended up being finished. After all, I haven't heard from or about Leroy Young in years. All I have left to remember him by is a roll of NSFW pictures from a crappy disposable camera that I haven't looked at in years (and can't even seem to remember where I put). Oh, and the footage of him on Youtube. Leroy was a true Belizean beatnik- he "had no time for time" which he used to tell me often. He wore a broken watch just to make his point. I sort of wish I kept in contact. Touring Belize with a cute beat poet could've made for an interesting GAP year.

Turns out YouTube ain't so bad. I still can't really figure out why they would reccomend a video called "Pedophile Beards" for me, sandwiched in the reccomendations section between Biggie & Bone Thugs...

But I hadn't watched this one in awhile and figured it was time. Featuring two friends (and another brief former flame of mine) of mine from Winnipeg, I leave you with Pip's Kid by Pip Skid featuring Elliot aka Nestor Wynrush, aka Black N' Roll, formerly aka Satchel Paige.. I still don't know what Ness is calling himself these days.



"Don't wear a condom, 'cuz it will break. This is what that shit will make: Babies! BABIES! Babies babies babies babies.. BABIES! Babies babies babies babies."

how ya like me now?

"Hey. Guy from freshwood. I hope it's okay that I took your number of your resume. Your just too cute to pass up the chance to say hello. Hello"
-Actual text message recieved Saturday, November 15 at 9:42am



Since when is it considered acceptable behaviour to obtain a girl's phone number from her resume?

Turns out all I needed to do to get a date (not that i've ever needed help in that department..)was move to Toronto; from Leon the Sears delivery man who delivered my stove (and then was hoping to be handy for another kind of delivery), to this guy...

On another note, I just spent this weeks grocery money on a Canon AE-1 online, my first e-bay purchase. I then, in turn, spent this weeks wine money on an inordinate amount of fancy cheeses at St. Lawrence Market. I'm so glad my priorities are in order.

it's all good!

In the old days, I could count on my dates to stay faithful at the very least until the end of the night. Not like my dates could really count on the same from me, but that's to be expected. They know what they're getting into by asking me out.

Instead of accepting a second date invitation (Yeah, right.), tonight I am staying at home in bed with a bottle of wine & the Beastie Boys. All of them.

Jealous?