"My nose is so stuffed I feel claustrophobic in my own body." -- Janice.
I concur.

I think that the hip-hop dance class was a bad idea.
Now, whenever i'm out with my friends, my shoulders have a life of their own.
Not only do they constantly pop and do weird things when I'm dancing,
I'm sometimes tempted to attempt the body wave thingy.
Not nearly as sexy as one might think.


American Idol is on right now. I really want Clay to win. But I think it might be Ruben's night. And I'm going to be upset when Clay loses. Very upset.

Riding downtown last weekend, I noticed our bus was very unfashionable. Because of the number of drinks I had consumed pre-bus-ride, I felt emboldened. "Is it just me, or is everyone on this bus extremely badly dressed? Look at that skater boy. He is wearing tapered jeans and brown loafers. You can't skate in loafers." After a short rant, my friend called me a fashion nazi.
I can't help it.
I judge.

And you really can't skate in loafers.


Sunny and 26. Finally.


Is it weird that I don't recognise myself in pictures anymore? I just got back 3 rolls of film of the past week, and in almost all of the pictures I was in, I had to look at it for a few seconds to figure out who that girl was with all my friends. Blogger is being finicky, I best post this before I lose it.


Went to Freak Lunchbox today. Sooooo much candy. I felt guilty about spending so much on chocolate and sugar. You couldn't even begin to count the number of points that were in my bag when I left. But there was a sign up that said Gabriel Byrne shopped there trice. TRICE! Then I didn't feel so bad. But my tummy is starting to feel bad. Damn those gummy worms and chocolate sprinkley candies.


what passes for a pickup line in Halifax:
"so, do you watch canadian idol?"
singing Avril Lavigne in the coat check line. Fun times.


I always get stuck with the crazy landlords.
In Newfoundland, I had the father of the current Pop Star, and for a while he used to just randomly stop over to 'check up'. And he'd mow our lawn at crazy times. Oh well, I shouldn't complain. Kinda like a brush with fame. (in a six-degrees of Kevin Bacon/Newfoundland kind of way)
Now I have to go to my last Halifax apartment to get rid of a shopping cart, or risk not getting my six-hundred dollar damage deposit back. Fun.


A few nights ago a friend and I went to Reflections to see some friends spin. They said they would start at 10:30. Like the good friends we are, we showed up at 10:15. Turns out they didn't really start at 10:30. At this point, the only people in the bar were the bartenders and bouncers. So picture two girls in a big, cavernous bar with only the gay barstaff. I felt very conspicuous. Almost like a wannabe FH. Like I was trying to pick up, but not in the usual way. Like I was looking for a Jack to my Karen.
Then our friends showed up, and they started to spin, and all was good.