all's quiet on the inner city front.

The idea of a drunk blog post is in fact NOT as endearing as I thought the idea was last night. Good thing I recently learned how to delete blog entries. I know one of the approximate three people that read my blog has an iPhone and probably already saw it, but he also saw me in the state that led me to believe that a drunk blog post was a good idea so he doesn't count. I think the rest of you who read it are probably too poor, or too from Winnipeg, to own an iPhone. And that's a-ok.




What IS great is listening to Bruce Cockburn in bed all morning, especially with a big mug of Kicking Horse dark roast in your greedy little handss. I've gone into hibernation & thats a-ok too. There's more than enough heartland canadian folk music around to last me a lifetime, or at least a short Toronto winter.

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.

old time rock n' roll.

"I love Bob Seger."



Four words that send this girl to the moon. A Bob Seger sing-a-long last night was fueled by some wine, a rye & coke sweaty-betty's style, a couple vodka & sodas, some more wine, more vodka, and some Jack. Sigh, We were just young and restless and bored. We found out that sometimes a dance party with only two people is the best kind of dance party. Working on our night moves.

Oh, and Ren? A text message this morning from me stated "How could I not publicly aknowledge those baby blues?". Some truly satisfying internet research has uncovered the fact that our good friend Bob's eyes are, in fact, brown. I apologize. I hope we can still be friends.