I heard it from a friend, the revolution never happened.

On the bus ride to Stratford this weekend I sat next to a staunch Conservative from Alberta. After an hour, I had him convinced that homosexuals had a right to be married and that women had a right to choose. I also had him doubting what he referred to as “the absolute truth”. It got kind of tense and he accused me of being a post-modernist. I made a joke about Ralph Klein and then we talked about the weather.

I've broken up with the internet.

Blogshot!

Can't touch this do do do do do do do do

I bought hair dye at a garage sale for 3$ on Saturday. It was slightly expired but after I got over the burning sensation on my scalp, the end result is not too bad. My hair is pitch black now and Lavi says I look like Ashlee Simpson. I think I look like the angry goth kids from my highschool (circa 1997).

We went to karaoke at the Gladstone last night and Fake Prom 2005 was carrying on in the room next to the bar. We snuck in and danced like sluts on the stage. At my real prom in 1998 I danced like a slut on the stage for real. This time I was being semi ironic. Highlights included clearing a circle in the crowd and running-man battling with a bunch of girls sporting Jessica McClintock creations. I totally kicked their asses and was given “mad props” by party goers all night.

I am way too hungover and tired to write more right now. Plus Rambo is on tv and he is about to go back to Pakistan.

I am the only one left on the face of the planet without a cell phone.

I had one once, but then I realized that Rogers owned my soul and my credit record. It was a relationship that ended really badly, I’m still reeling from the effects.

Generally though, when it comes to communication I am a few years behind. Furthermore, with the recent departure of my upstairs neighbours to more affordable pastures, the gap between my personal communication outlets and that of the current trend has widened. For almost a year now, I have been mooching off of a wireless network that I believed to be emanating from the apartment above mine. “Jeff and Lisa” (as the network was called) had no idea that I was downloading gigabytes of music nightly while they footed the bill. However, this week, “Jeff and Lisa” moved to Parkdale and with them went my internet. Now the normal course of action would be to contact Bell or Rogers and suck it up and get a network of my own. However, I refuse to support the Bell barons, and well, given my “history” with Rogers, I now find myself feeling around in the dark, thrust back to 1994. Does anyone even remember what computers were like before internet? Glorified calculators really.

I’m trying to find the charm in my situation though. I write this from a trendy café on College Street. I admit, I got a little “gussied up” to come out here. Long gone are the comforts of surfing the net and blog stalking in my underwear. I realize that posting here now means that I will subject myself to the same ritual I subject myself on any given weekend. Makeup, hair, outfit carefully selected – I’m going out in public afterall. However, it’s hot out and this café is sweaty. My carefully applied makeup is streaming down my face and I’m starting to form pit stains on my American Apparel shirt.

I’m starting to feel less like the romantic lone writer enjoying a glass of Pinot by herself on a Wednesday night in Little Italy and more like the loner wannabe trendoid who’s friend’s are all out at art shows, free concerts, or cottages leading much more exciting lives. I think people are starting to either feel sorry for me or make fun of me.