Wednesday, April 28, 2010

METH MOUTH BE GONE!!

"Welcome to the 21st century", texted my brother. Cool, I guess.


Bought my first 12 pack of Dr. Pepper in eons on Monday. So far so good. As you may know, I used to knock back at least 2 litres a day, along with 6 cups of coffee.





















Did you know they now make tall cans of Dr. Pepper?? It's about time, you guys. You can find it at the Esso at Saint Laurent and Sherbrooke. But at Blockbuster it's 2 cans for 2 bones, which is sweet. Pepsi too, make a run for it.

Next biggie of the week is this.

TOMORROW I GET MY CROWNS!

As you may know, 2008 was the year of breaking my jaw twice and making all that early teen orthodontia go to waste, much like Justin Bieber's virginity. What do you mean, what does that even mean?? Underneath it all, I've looked like a meth addict (and NOT the Fergalicious kind...) for at least a year and a half and I'm bored the fuck out, yo.





















That said, taking out my falsies is a pretty great party trick and also a decent way to figure out whether peeps are cool or lame.

A few weeks ago, I popped into Blue Dog on a Wednesday and the bartender who's there more often than not had broken one of his front tooth caps, revealing a slightly discoloured and more lonely looking tooth. He pointed it out to me right away, I guess because he felt less than pretty. I hadn't even noticed and couldn't have cared less. But since he was clearly insecure about it, I decided to whip off my falsies with my tongue and show him where the real shit's at. Like, "HEY, WHO CARES?! COULD BE WORSE!" He was grossed out in a superlame way which confirmed my suspicion that he's kind of a douche. I had an accident or two!! Hey buddy, I just engaged in a selfless act to save you from your vanity! Duh!!

One time at karaoke night when nothing was happening, the DJ played Dave Matthews Band's Crash, why, I do not know, but this guy felt the need to announce to me, "This song has helped me get laid at LEAST four times." BARF ON YOU, BUD. You're not even THAT goodlooking. And your all-over print sweatshirts really BLOW...

GET ME OUT OF HERE!!































VEESH ME LECK!!

(Wish my luck in a vaguely Russian accent, thank you very much.)

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

"SO LONG, LUDDITE!"

As time goes by, I get scared of this shit. Like I'll forget how to go off on tangents and be terribly inconcise, which is apparently not a word. Since fucking when, I say.

This is a week of big deals. Yesterday, I activated the apparently "cheap-ass" cell phone my friend Nick gave me in September when he crossed over to the dark side, aka iPhoneville. I had to go to the Virgin Mobile clinic in the Eaton Centre, a very scary place.

The girl there told me that my V-card I bought at Esso wasn't working because after three months without putting money on the phone, the number goes kaput.

Honey treated me like I was from another planet. Which I am, but let's be frank, I look a lot like real people that are not aliens in disguise.

Perhaps you heard a couple of weeks ago that 40% of adults in China and India are onto us, in that they believe that aliens walk the earth disguised as humans.

The truth is out there.

See: Victoria Beckam.




















Soanyway. I decided that not having a cell phone kind of harshes my game. When it comes to booty calls, it's like going to McGill and not taking Ritalin. Plus, I think I'll be a killer txt flrt. Seriously you guys, I used to be really good at MSN.

"Good start, Nicola."

Okay, current events... Guru passed away last week, which brought me back to straight kicking it with my dear friend Georgia in France in the summer of 2001. It was all about Jazzmatazz. Nectar from a Mason jar, 7 dollar dress. And Marlboro Lights. And hash. Them were the days, for sure. Now, let's take it back to the high school house party...



One of my favourite BBC Radio1 DJS, Gilles Peterson, made his show this past week a Guru tribute, which you can listen to here but only for the next 13 hours, so get on it.

I find Gilles Peterson generally throws down great foreplay music. I think if you grab a bottle of red and listen to his show from the beginning with one total fox, you'll probably score at least a steamy make-out sesh. So get flirting, team.

If it were at all possible, I would love to keep him in my back pocket to provide original soundtracks to get down to. I think this is a really great idea. A house DJ to provide a musical score for your sex life. Like a personal chef but way cooler. Rather than "I'm feeling bloated, lean fish and steamed vegetables, please" it would be like, "So tonight we're feeling taking some ecstacy and fucking on the pool table. Gilles, man, we trust you so just go with our pace, and if you could throw in a little Daft Punk, that would be great."

You dig??

More big deals to be shared shortly, thanks for coming.