90's Love

These photos were taken in the summer with an old digital SLR that, unfortunately, has a light leak. I think it's a Yashica? I can't remember, sorry.

At first I was going to photoshop them, but then I decided against it. They have this funny quality to them --sort of faded or washed out-- that reminds me of pics from my elementary days. Do you know the ones? You and your brother are standing in front of a forest, him in a No Fear t-shirt, and you sticking out your tongue like a loser.



love is for assholes

I've finally managed to arrange my three separate work schedules into one, barely feasible, work week. I don't remember the exact moment I cracked, but after too many doubles in a row I just said no. No more doubles.

I think, that in most other areas of life, doubles are generally considered a good thing. For example, a double shot of espresso is far more effective at fighting off exhaustion than one. A gin and tonic, times two, is a better investment in your future. A toonie, versus a loonie is simply no contest. And twins, I would imagine, are double the fun.

Anyway, just because I haven't talked about work enough, here's a gem. I was working on coat check, frustrated out of my mind with the general congestion of the bar, with people who wanted to check their coats in and out with every smoke outside, and with the drunken bros who want to spill life stories to me. The Beatles were playing overhead, and everyone was singing along (remember folks, simply being drunk doesn't make every song kareoke) "All you need is love." Suddenly my coworker pops his head around the corner, looks at me and says: THIS SONG IS FOR ASSHOLES!


so fresh

When my boyfriend says I'm dressed weird I just want to show him a picture of this chick and be like, WHAT-EVER!


They're Calling Us a Hero

I'm the one in the middle, sitting down, staring in the direction of nothing, and laughing. Glad they captured my good side.

Here's the link to the briefity brief article: http://www.nowtoronto.com/lifestyle/story.cfm?content=171729



In shift number 1 of the day (yes, there was more than one) I managed to cut my hand. No big deal really, except for the fact that I cut it on a FUCKING BAGUETTE.

Okay, gotta go back to wondering why in the world I don't have a real job.

It's 6:32 am. I am going to leave for work soon. I sat down to drink my coffee -- a small but effective bribe I use to convince myself that the feeling I have when I wake up at this hour is not physical pain, but exhaustion.

I see the wine glass left over from last night and think, hey, I could totally understand how drinking (steadily) before work comes about.

Just sayin'.