Aplace

A Public Affair

I hate the clubs. If US Weekly is to be believed, if you have fame, money and success, then you also should be the girl who hits the clubs every weekend and has a great time. Every time I go to one, I get tired right away and find myself trapped between the rock and hard place that are a) receiving male attention and b) not receiving male attention.

Sometimes I try to get into the shoes of 17-year-old Fred for whom a night at Annie's (the cheeseball nightclub of choice for McGill freshmen, circa '97) was the ultimate in entertainment. I don't get that girl at all.  I want to go back in time and snap some sense into her, Freedom 55 Style. But alas...

My question to your, dear reader, is this: what is the age at which it becomes unseemly to be out at a nightclub?

K-OS

Yesterday, I went to see K-OS with Chris and his roommates, Chris and Shayla. I'm really sad that I didn't bring my camera to the concert because we were practically sitting in K-OS's lap. It was a lot of fun. Although initially I was elbowed and kicked into an undesirable position by a tag team of a man in a bunny suit and a gaggle of tanktopped wannabe groupies trying to catch K-OS's eye, I was eventually guided into a good spot by my co-attendees. K-OS is a very talented man as was his opening act Peter Elkas.

On the minus side, I'm really really really sick. TMI, I know, but the amount of snot I'm generating right now is just unbelievable and I've got so much work to do this weekend. I really thought this was going to be my scholastic victory lap. Just doing nothing before bearing (baring?) down for a year of non-stop effort and crushed self-esteem. But alas, the bad times may be starting now...The moot, the law journal, four classes !! It can't be done !! AAAAAAAAAH!

Woo! Woo! Zzz....

Alright, so I had the best intentions to live it up at Chris' party this weekend. And I gave it the old college try, for sure. Yet, somehow, by mid-party, I found myself sprawled on the host's bed, semi-conscious and possibly drooling. It was fine, though: I could overhear snippets of conversation and listen to the music, which are the best parts of any party anyways. Today, I feel fit as a fiddle, notwithstanding the craptastic weather Kingston's been having for the past week. I'm going to brunch with my old neighbour who just moved to Kingston from Turkey. We'll reminisce about the good old days, before I became such a mega-lush.

Rip van Winkle (redux)

O'Ferd, the notorious Irish gangsta

I slept for 11 hours last night probably due to the "carousing" of St-Patrick's day. Carousing in quotation marks because we never actually made it into the bar. We were only in the pre-bash holding area but since it was taking so long we left after getting hats. We retired to the Silver Wok, as un-Irish as it gets in Kingston. Our meal was delicious, though, and we wore our hats throughout so it was well worth it. There were some hitches: I totally OD'd on green eyeshadow but it is somehow next to invisible in that picture and others. Also, because of an early childhood aversion to green I own very little green clothing so I had to borrow a green Israeli Army t-shirt from Elana that really doesn't convey the Irish spirit as effectively as you'd think.

Okay, somehow I have to compensate for the fact it's 11:00 right now and I have yet to crack a book let alone get dressed.